Ebag.  Sheer carelessness, my lord.

Alcar.  Or we might ask ourselves why a valet should try to pass himself off as a world-renowned artist.  Or, on the other hand, why a world-renowned artist should pass himself off as a valet.

Carve.  Sheer carelessness, my lord.

Alcar.  But these details of psychology are beside the main point.  And the main point is (to carve)—­Are you Ilam Carve or are you Albert Shawn? (To the others.) Surely with a little goodwill and unembarrassed by the assistance of experts, lawyers, and wigs generally, we can settle that!  And once it is settled the need for a trial ceases.  (Carve assumes an elaborately uninterested air.) The main point does not seem to interest you, Mr. X.

Carve. (Seeming to start.) I beg your pardon.  No, not profoundly.  Why should it?

Alcar.  Yet you claim——­

Carve.  Excuse me.  I claim nothing except to be let alone.  Certainly I do not ask to be accepted as Ilam Carve.  I was leading a placid and agreeable existence in a place called Putney, an ideal existence with a pearl among women, when my tranquillity was disturbed and my life transformed into a perfect nightmare by a quarrel between a retail trades-man (indicating Ebag) and a wholesale ink-dealer (indicating Texel) about one of my pictures.  It does not concern me.  My role is and will be passive.  If I am forced into the witness-box I shall answer questions to the worst of my ability, and I shall do no more.  I am not cross.  I am not sulking; but I consider that I have a grievance.  If I am here, it is solely because my wife does what she likes with me.

Texel.  Bravo!  This is as good as the trial.

Alcar. (Good-humouredly.) Will you answer questions here?

Carve. (Good-humouredly.) It depends.

Alcar.  Do you assert that you are Ilam Carve?

Carve.  I assert nothing.

Alcar.  Are you Ilam Carve?

Carve.  Yes, but I don’t want to be.

Alcar.  Might I inquire why you allowed your servant to be buried in your name?

Carve.  Well, he always did everything for me—­a most useful man....  But I didn’t ‘allow’ him to be buried in my name.  On the contrary, I told various people that I was not dead—­but strange to say, nobody would believe me.  My handsome, fascinating cousin here wouldn’t even let me begin to tell him.  Even my wife wouldn’t believe me, so I gave it up.

     (Texel does not conceal his enjoyment of the scene.)

Cyrus. (Grimly.) Which wife?

     (Carve twiddles his thumbs.)

Alcar.  But do you mean——­

Texel.  May I interrupt, Lord Leonard?  I could listen for hours to this absolutely stupendous gentleman.  A circus is nothing to it.  But aren’t we jumping the track?  I’ve got two witnesses.  Mr. Cyrus Carve will swear that your Mr. X is not his cousin.  And the original Mrs. Albert Shawn will swear that he is her husband.  That’s my case.  How is my esteemed opponent going to answer it?