Press. [Struck] I say, major domo, don’t call in the police!  That’s the last resort.  Let me do the Sherlocking for you.  Who’s been down here?

L. Anne.  The plumber’s man about the gas—–­a little blighter we’d never seen before.

James.  Lives close by, in Royal Court Mews—­No. 3.  I had a word with him before he came down.  Lemmy his name is.

Press.  “Lemmy!” [Noting the address] Right-o!

L. Anne.  Oh!  Do let me come with you!

Poulder. [Barring the way] I’ve got to lay it all before Lord
William.

Press.  Ah!  What’s he like?

Poulder. [With dignity] A gentleman, sir.

Press.  Then he won’t want the police in.

Poulder.  Nor the Press, if I may go so far, as to say so.

Press.  One to you!  But I defy you to keep this from the Press, major domo:  This is the most significant thing that has happened in our time.  Guy Fawkes is nothing to it.  The foundations of Society reeling!  By George, it’s a second Bethlehem!

     [He writes.]

Poulder. [To James] Take up your wine and follow me.  ’Enry, bring the cooler.  Miss Anne, precede us. [To the press] You defy me?  Very well; I’m goin’ to lock you up here.

Press. [Uneasy] I say this is medieval.

     [He attempts to pass.]

Poulder. [Barring the way] Not so!  James, put him up in that empty ’ock bin.  We can’t have dinner disturbed in any way.

James. [Putting his hands on the Press’s shoulders] Look here—­go quiet!  I’ve had a grudge against you yellow newspaper boys ever since the war—­frothin’ up your daily hate, an’ makin’ the Huns desperate.  You nearly took my life five hundred times out there.  If you squeal, I’m gain’ to take yours once—­and that’ll be enough.

Press.  That’s awfully unjust.  Im not yellow!

James.  Well, you look it.  Hup.

Press.  Little Lady-Anne, haven’t you any authority with these fellows?

L. Anne. [Resisting Poulard’s pressure] I won’t go!  I simply must see James put him up!

Press.  Now, I warn you all plainly—­there’ll be a leader on this.

     [He tries to bolt but is seized by James.]

James. [Ironically] Ho!

Press.  My paper has the biggest influence

James.  That’s the one!  Git up in that ’ock bin, and mind your feet among the claret.

Press.  This is an outrage on the Press.

James.  Then it’ll wipe out one by the Press on the Public—­an’ leave just a million over!  Hup!

Poulder.  ’Enry, give ’im an ’and.

     [The press mounts, assisted by James and Henry.]