Giles.
Your wife?
Reynolds.
Yes.
Giles.
[Turning squarely toward him.] God, you're a bad 'un, ain't you?
Reynolds.
[Leaning back and smiling.] I'm what may be called a soldier of fortune, Mr. Giles.
Giles.
You come in on the blackmailing end of the game, eh? You'd do any damned thing for a ten dollar piece, wouldn't you?
Reynolds.
Yes, I'm afraid my price is a little lower than yours, Mr. Giles. [Leans forward again.] You might see Mrs. Reynolds. She's a nice little thing. I'm very fond of her, but she's too good for me.
Giles.
[Looking in front of him again.] Oh!
Reynolds.
Yes, it's the clothes, you know, that cause the trouble. She must have pretty clothes. She's young, you see. She [Noticing that Giles is interested he takes a pen and writes on a slip of paper, rises and puts the paper on Giles' knee.] That's our address, Mr. Giles.
