Mrs. Jones.  I ’ll take it back and tell them all about it. [She attempts to wrest the box from him.]

Jones.  Ah, would yer?

[He drops the box, and rushes on her with a snarl.  She slips back past the bed.  He follows; a chair is overturned.  The door is opened; Snow comes in, a detective in plain clothes and bowler hat, with clipped moustaches.  Jones drops his arms, Mrs. Jones stands by the window gasping; snow, advancing swiftly to the table, puts his hand on the silver box.]

Snow.  Doin’ a bit o’ skylarkin’?  Fancy this is what I ’m after.  J. B., the very same. [He gets back to the door, scrutinising the crest and cypher on the box.  To Mrs. Jones.] I’m a police officer.  Are you Mrs. Jones?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, Sir.

Snow.  My instructions are to take you on a charge of stealing this box from J. Barthwick, Esquire, M.P., of 6, Rockingham Gate.  Anything you say may be used against you.  Well, Missis?

Mrs. Jones. [In her quiet voice, still out of breath, her hand upon her breast.] Of course I did not take it, sir.  I never have taken anything that did n’t belong to me; and of course I know nothing about it.

Snow.  You were at the house this morning; you did the room in which the box was left; you were alone in the room.  I find the box ’ere.  You say you did n’t take it?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, sir, of course I say I did not take it, because I did not.

Snow.  Then how does the box come to be here?

Mrs. Jones.  I would rather not say anything about it.

Snow.  Is this your husband?

Mrs. Jones.  Yes, sir, this is my husband, sir.

Snow.  Do you wish to say anything before I take her?

     [Jones remains silent, with his head bend down.]

Well then, Missis.  I ’ll just trouble you to come along with me quietly.

Mrs. Jones. [Twisting her hands.] Of course I would n’t say I had n’t taken it if I had—­and I did n’t take it, indeed I did n’t.  Of course I know appearances are against me, and I can’t tell you what really happened:  But my children are at school, and they’ll be coming home—­and I don’t know what they’ll do without me.

Snow.  Your ’usband’ll see to them, don’t you worry. [He takes the woman gently by the arm.]

Jones.  You drop it—­she’s all right! [Sullenly.] I took the thing myself.

Snow. [Eyeing him] There, there, it does you credit.  Come along, Missis.

Jones. [Passionately.] Drop it, I say, you blooming teck.  She’s my wife; she ’s a respectable woman.  Take her if you dare!

Snow.  Now, now.  What’s the good of this?  Keep a civil tongue, and it’ll be the better for all of us.