Mrs. Barthwick.  Perhaps you’ll say the man’s employer was wrong in dismissing him?

Barthwick.  Of course not.  It’s not there that I feel doubt.  What I ask myself is——­

Jack.  Port, please, Dad.

Barthwick. [Circulating the decanter in religious imitation of the rising and setting of the sun.] I ask myself whether we are sufficiently careful in making inquiries about people before we engage them, especially as regards moral conduct.

Jack.  Pass the-port, please, Mother!

Mrs. Barthwick. [Passing it.] My dear boy, are n’t you drinking too much?

     [Jack fills his glass.]

Marlow. [Entering.] Detective Snow to see you, Sir.

Barthwick. [Uneasily.] Ah! say I’ll be with him in a minute.

Mrs. Barthwick. [Without turning.] Let him come in here, Marlow.

     [Snow enters in an overcoat, his bowler hat in hand.]

Barthwick. [Half-rising.] Oh!  Good evening!

Snow.  Good evening, sir; good evening, ma’am.  I ’ve called round to report what I ’ve done, rather late, I ’m afraid—­another case took me away. [He takes the silver box out o f his pocket, causing a sensation in the Barthwick family.] This is the identical article, I believe.

Barthwick.  Certainly, certainly.

Snow.  Havin’ your crest and cypher, as you described to me, sir, I ’d no hesitation in the matter.

Barthwick.  Excellent.  Will you have a glass of [he glances at the waning port]—­er—­sherry-[pours out sherry].  Jack, just give Mr. Snow this.

     [Jack rises and gives the glass to snow; then, lolling in his
     chair, regards him indolently.]

Snow. [Drinking off wine and putting down the glass.] After seeing you I went round to this woman’s lodgings, sir.  It’s a low neighborhood, and I thought it as well to place a constable below —­and not without ’e was wanted, as things turned out.

Barthwick.  Indeed!

Snow.  Yes, Sir, I ’ad some trouble.  I asked her to account for the presence of the article.  She could give me no answer, except to deny the theft; so I took her into custody; then her husband came for me, so I was obliged to take him, too, for assault.  He was very violent on the way to the station—­very violent—­threatened you and your son, and altogether he was a handful, I can till you.

Mrs. Barthwick.  What a ruffian he must be!

Snow.  Yes, ma’am, a rough customer.

Jack. [Sipping his mine, bemused.] Punch the beggar’s head.

Snow.  Given to drink, as I understand, sir.

Mrs. Barthwick.  It’s to be hoped he will get a severe punishment.