Larry.  Went back to her.

Keith.  Why—­in heaven’s name?

Larry.  She way lonely and afraid.  So was I, Keith.

Keith.  Where is this place?

Larry.  Forty-two Borrow Square, Soho.

Keith.  And the archway?

Larry.  Corner of Glove Lane.

Keith.  Good God!  Why, I saw it in the paper this morning.  They were talking of it in the Courts! [He snatches the evening paper from his armchair, and runs it over anal reads] Here it is again.  “Body of a man was found this morning under an archway in Glove Lane.  From marks about the throat grave suspicion of foul play are entertained.  The body had apparently been robbed.”  My God! [Suddenly he turns] You saw this in the paper and dreamed it.  D’you understand, Larry?—­you dreamed it.

Larry. [Wistfully] If only I had, Keith!

     [Keith makes a movement of his hands almost like his brother’s.]

Keith.  Did you take anything from the-body?

Larry. [Drawing au envelope from his pocket] This dropped out while we were struggling.

Keith. [Snatching it and reading] “Patrick Walenn”—­Was that his name?  “Simon’s Hotel, Farrier Street, London.” [Stooping, he puts it in the fire] No!—­that makes me——­[He bends to pluck it out, stays his hand, and stamps it suddenly further in with his foot] What in God’s name made you come here and tell me?  Don’t you know I’m—­I’m within an ace of a Judgeship?

Larry. [Simply] Yes.  You must know what I ought to do.  I didn’t, mean to kill him, Keith.  I love the girl—­I love her.  What shall I do?

Keith.  Love!

Larry. [In a flash] Love!—­That swinish brute!  A million creatures die every day, and not one of them deserves death as he did.  But but I feel it here. [Touching his heart] Such an awful clutch, Keith.  Help me if you can, old man.  I may be no good, but I’ve never hurt a fly if I could help it. [He buries his face in his hands.]

Keith.  Steady, Larry!  Let’s think it out.  You weren’t seen, you say?

Larry.  It’s a dark place, and dead night.

Keith.  When did you leave the girl again?

Larry.  About seven.

Keith.  Where did you go?

Larry.  To my rooms.

Keith.  To Fitzroy Street?

Larry.  Yes.

Keith.  What have you done since?

Larry.  Sat there—­thinking.

Keith.  Not been out?

Larry.  No.

Keith.  Not seen the girl?

     [Larry shakes his head.]

Will she give you away?

Larry.  Never.

Keith.  Or herself hysteria?

Larry.  No.