I don’t trust James Ford. He may have gone to Scotland Yard already. Perhaps the detectives are already on their way.
Catherine.
You’ve said yourself that he’s to be relied on.
George Winter.
Oh, I’m frightened. And what’s the good? I’m dead beat. Perhaps to-morrow I shouldn’t have the nerve.
Catherine.
Oh, it’s awful.
George Winter.
[With a laugh.] Why, it’s your freedom.
[He goes to the table and pours himself out a glass of brandy.