most trifling details. . . . Now, I dare say—in this brief moment or two you've discovered any number of things about me.
Holmes. Nothing of consequence, Mr. Chetwood—I have scarcely more than asked myself why you rushed off and sent that telegram in such a frightened hurry—what possible excuse you could have had for gulping down that tumbler of raw brandy at the "Lion's Head" on the way back—why your friend with the auburn hair left so suddenly by the terrace window—and what there can possibly be about the safe in the lower part of that desk to cause you such painful anxiety.
(Pause. Larrabee standing motionless looking at Holmes. Holmes picks up paper and reads.)
Larrabee. Ha! ha! very good! Very good indeed! If those things were only true now, I'd be wonderfully impressed. It would be absolutely
(He breaks off as Forman enters—coming down stairs. He quietly crosses to Larrabee, who is watching him and extends salver with a note upon it. Holmes is looking over paper languidly. Larrabee takes note. Forman retires up L.C.)
You'll excuse me, I trust.
(Holmes remains silent, glancing over paper and looking quietly at Forman. Larrabee reads the note hastily.)
(First a second's thought after reading, as he sees that Holmes is not observing him—then speaking). Ah—it's from—er—Miss Faulkner! Well really! She begs to be allowed to see—Mr. Holmes. She absolutely implores it! (Holmes looks slowly up as though scarcely interested.) Well, I suppose I shall have to give way. (Turns to Forman R.C.) Judson!
Forman. Sir.
Larabee (emphasizing words in italics). Ask Miss Faulkner to come down to the drawing-room. Say that Mr. Holmes is waiting to see her.
Forman. Yes, sir. (Bows and exits upstairs.)
Larrabee (trying to get on the free and easy style again). It's quite remarkable, upon my soul! May I ask—(turns toward Holmes)—if it's not an mpertinent question, what message you sent up that could have so aroused Miss Faulkner's desire to come down?
Holmes (looking up at Larrabee innocently). Merely that if she wasn't down here in five minutes I'd go up.
Larrabee (slightly knocked). Oh, that was it! (Going up into the alcove.)
Holmes. Quite so. (Rises and takes his watch out.) And unless I am greatly mistaken I hear the young lady on the stairs. In which case she has a minute and a half to spare. (Moving down stage R.C. by piano—taking opportunity to look at keys, music, etc.)
