Fitz. I’m not a policeman, I’m a private detective; but we won’t split hairs. (Pockets coin.) I thought Smailey was my man, now I’m sure of it. Ha! ha! Now, Smailey has a game. The question is, what is it? He says it’s his scutcheon, but that is Walker, because his father was a wig-maker. However, it’s quite clear that, whatever his game may be, it is my duty to put that inestimable woman on her guard.
Enter Mrs. Van Brugh.
Mrs. V. B. Has not Mr. Smailey returned?
Fitz. No, ma’am, he has not. (He shows traces of emotion.)
Mrs. V. B. Mr. Fitz Partington, is any thing the matter?
Fitz. Ma’am, you have come upon me in a moment of professional conscientiousness. Avail yourself of it, for such moments are rare and fleeting. Beware of Smailey.
Mrs. V. B. What in the world do you mean?
Fitz. I mean that he is endeavoring to prove that—that you were not legally married to Captain Van Brugh.
Mrs. V. B. (intensely agitated). Mr. Fitz Partington, you can not be aware of the full import of your words. What can be Mr. Smailey’s motive for making these preposterous inquiries?