Walter.  It’s penal servitude.

Cokeson.  They’re nahsty places-prisons.

James. [Hesitating] I don’t see how it’s possible to spare him.  Out of the question to keep him in this office—­honesty’s the ’sine qua non’.

Cokeson. [Hypnotised] Of course it is.

James.  Equally out of the question to send him out amongst people who’ve no knowledge of his character.  One must think of society.

Walter.  But to brand him like this?

James.  If it had been a straightforward case I’d give him another chance.  It’s far from that.  He has dissolute habits.

Cokeson.  I didn’t say that—­extenuating circumstances.

James.  Same thing.  He’s gone to work in the most cold-blooded way to defraud his employers, and cast the blame on an innocent man.  If that’s not a case for the law to take its course, I don’t know what is.

Walter.  For the sake of his future, though.

James. [Sarcastically] According to you, no one would ever prosecute.

Walter. [Nettled] I hate the idea of it.

Cokeson.  That’s rather ‘ex parte’, Mr. Walter!  We must have protection.

James.  This is degenerating into talk.

     He moves towards the partners’ room.

Walter.  Put yourself in his place, father.

James.  You ask too much of me.

Walter.  We can’t possibly tell the pressure there was on him.

James.  You may depend on it, my boy, if a man is going to do this sort of thing he’ll do it, pressure or no pressure; if he isn’t nothing’ll make him.

Walter.  He’ll never do it again.

Cokeson. [Fatuously] S’pose I were to have a talk with him.  We don’t want to be hard on the young man.

James.  That’ll do, Cokeson.  I’ve made up my mind. [He passes into the partners’ room.]

Cokeson. [After a doubtful moment] We must excuse your father.  I don’t want to go against your father; if he thinks it right.

Walter.  Confound it, Cokeson! why don’t you back me up?  You know you feel——­

Cokeson. [On his dignity] I really can’t say what I feel.

Walter.  We shall regret it.

Cokeson.  He must have known what he was doing.

Walter. [Bitterly] “The quality of mercy is not strained.”

Cokeson. [Looking at him askance] Come, come, Mr. Walter.  We must try and see it sensible.

Sweedle. [Entering with a tray] Your lunch, sir.

Cokeson.  Put it down!

While Sweedle is putting it down on COKESON’s table, the detective, Wister, enters the outer office, and, finding no one there, comes to the inner doorway.  He is a square, medium-sized man, clean-shaved, in a serviceable blue serge suit and strong boots.

Cokeson. [Hoarsely] Here!  Here!  What are we doing?