Justice. Galsworthy John
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to go. I don't care; I'll have you.
RUTH. You've just to say; it's not too late.
FALDER. It is too late. Here's seven pounds. Booking office 11.45 to-night. If you weren't what you are to me, Ruth – !
RUTH. Kiss me!
They cling together passionately, there fly apart just as COKESON re-enters the room. RUTH turns and goes out through the outer office. COKESON advances deliberately to his chair and seats himself.
COKESON. This isn't right, Falder.
FALDER. It shan't occur again, sir.
COKESON. It's an improper use of these premises.
FALDER. Yes, sir.
COKESON. You quite understand-the party was in some distress; and, having children with her, I allowed my feelings – [He opens a drawer and produces from it a tract] Just take this! "Purity in the Home." It's a well-written thing.
FALDER. [Taking it, with a peculiar expression] Thank you, sir.
COKESON. And look here, Falder, before Mr. Walter comes, have you finished up that cataloguing Davis had in hand before he left?
FALDER. I shall have done with it to-morrow, sir – for good.
COKESON. It's over a week since Davis went. Now it won't do, Falder. You're neglecting your work for private life. I shan't mention about the party having called, but —
FALDER. [Passing into his room] Thank you, sir.
COKESON stares at the door through which FALDER has gone out; then shakes his head, and is just settling down to write, when WALTER How comes in through the outer Office. He is a rather refined-looking man of thirty-five, with a pleasant, almost apologetic voice.
WALTER. Good-morning, Cokeson.
COKESON. Morning, Mr. Walter.
WALTER. My father here?
COKESON. [Always with a certain patronage as to a young man who might be doing better] Mr. James has been here since eleven o'clock.
WALTER. I've been in to see the pictures, at the Guildhall.
COKESON. [Looking at him as though this were exactly what was to be expected] Have you now – ye – es. This lease of Boulter's – am I to send it to counsel?
WALTER. What does my father say?
COKESON. 'Aven't bothered him.
WALTER. Well, we can't be too careful.
COKESON. It's such a little thing – hardly worth the fees. I thought you'd do it yourself.
WALTER. Send it, please. I don't want the responsibility.
COKESON. [With an indescribable air of compassion] Just as you like. This "right-of-way" case – we've got 'em on the deeds.
WALTER. I know; but the intention was obviously to exclude that bit of common ground.
COKESON. We needn't worry about that. We're the right side of the law.
WALTER. I don't like it,
COKESON. [With an indulgent smile] We shan't want to set ourselves up against the law. Your father wouldn't waste his time doing that.
As he speaks JAMES How comes in from the partners' room. He is a shortish man, with white side-whiskers, plentiful grey hair, shrewd eyes, and gold pince-nez.
JAMES. Morning, Walter.
WALTER. How are you, father?
COKESON. [Looking down his nose at the papers in his hand as though deprecating their size] I'll just take Boulter's lease in to young Falder to draft the instructions. [He goes out into FALDER'S room.]
WALTER. About that right-of-way case?
JAMES. Oh, well, we must go forward there. I thought you told me yesterday the firm's balance was over four hundred.
WALTER. So it is.
JAMES. [Holding out the pass-book to his son] Three – five – one, no recent cheques. Just get me out the cheque-book.
WALTER goes to a cupboard, unlocks a drawer and produces a cheque-book.
JAMES. Tick the pounds in the counterfoils. Five, fifty-four, seven, five, twenty-eight, twenty, ninety, eleven, fifty-two, seventy-one. Tally?
WALTER. [Nodding] Can't understand. Made sure it was over four hundred.
JAMES. Give me the cheque-book. [He takes the check-book and cons the counterfoils] What's this ninety?
WALTER. Who drew it?
JAMES. You.
WALTER. [Taking the cheque-book] July 7th? That's the day I went down to look over the Trenton Estate – last Friday week; I came back on the Tuesday, you remember. But look here, father, it was nine I drew a cheque for. Five guineas to Smithers and my expenses. It just covered all but half a crown.
JAMES. [Gravely] Let's look at that ninety cheque. [He sorts the cheque out from the bundle in the pocket of the pass-book] Seems all right. There's no nine here. This is bad. Who cashed that nine-pound cheque?
WALTER. [Puzzled and pained] Let's see! I was finishing Mrs. Reddy's will – only just had time; yes – I gave it to Cokeson.
JAMES. Look at that 't' 'y': that yours?
WALTER. [After consideration] My y's curl back a little; this doesn't.
JAMES. [As COKESON re-enters from FALDER'S room] We must ask him. Just come here and carry your mind back a bit, Cokeson. D'you remember cashing a cheque for Mr. Walter last Friday week – the day he went to Trenton?
COKESON. Ye-es. Nine pounds.
JAMES. Look at this. [Handing him the cheque.]
COKESON. No! Nine pounds. My lunch was just coming in; and of course I like it hot; I gave the cheque to Davis to run round to the bank. He brought it back, all gold – you remember, Mr. Walter, you wanted some silver to pay your cab. [With a certain contemptuous compassion] Here, let me see. You've got the wrong cheque.
He takes cheque-book and pass-book from WALTER.
WALTER. Afraid not.
COKESON. [Having seen for himself] It's funny.
JAMES. You gave it to Davis, and Davis sailed for Australia on Monday. Looks black, Cokeson.
COKESON. [Puzzled and upset] why this'd be a felony! No, no! there's some mistake.
JAMES. I hope so.
COKESON. There's never been anything of that sort in the office the twenty-nine years I've been here.
JAMES. [Looking at cheque and counterfoil] This is a very clever bit of work; a warning to you not to leave space after your figures, Walter.
WALTER. [Vexed] Yes, I know – I was in such a tearing hurry that afternoon.
COKESON. [Suddenly] This has upset me.
JAMES. The counterfoil altered too – very deliberate piece of swindling. What was Davis's ship?
WALTER. 'City of Rangoon'.
JAMES. We ought to wire and have him arrested at Naples; he can't be there yet.
COKESON. His poor young wife. I liked the young man. Dear, oh dear! In this office!
WALTER. Shall I go to the bank and ask the cashier?
JAMES. [Grimly] Bring him round here. And ring up Scotland Yard.
WALTER. Really?
He goes out through the outer office. JAMES paces the room. He stops and looks at COKESON, who is disconsolately rubbing the knees of his trousers.
JAMES. Well, Cokeson! There's something in character, isn't there?
COKESON. [Looking at him over his spectacles] I don't quite take you, sir.
JAMES. Your story, would sound d – d thin to any one who didn't know you.
COKESON.