The Great Adventure | Page 6

room.
CARVE and PASCOE are together, the latter ready to leave.
CARVE. Will there have to be an inquest?
PASCOE. Inquest? Of course not.
CARVE. It's some relief to know that. I couldn't have faced a coroner.
PASCOE. (Staring at him.) Perfectly ordinary case.
CARVE. That's what you call perfectly ordinary, is it? A man is quite
well on Tuesday afternoon, and dead at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning.
(Looking at his watch.) My watch has stopped.
PASCOE. (With fierce sarcasm.) One of those cheap German watches,
I suppose, that stop when you don't wind them up! It's a singular thing
that when people stay up all night they take it for granted their watches
are just as excited as they are. Look here, you'll be collapsing soon.
When did you have anything to eat last?
CARVE. Almost half an hour ago. Two sausages that were sent in
yesterday for the nurse.
PASCOE. She's gone?
CARVE. Oh yes.
PASCOE. Well, take my advice. Try to get some sleep now. You've
had no reply from the relatives--the auctioneer cousin--what's his
Christian name--Cyrus?
CARVE. No, I--I didn't telegraph--I forgot----
PASCOE. Well, upon my soul! I specially reminded you yesterday
afternoon.
CARVE. I didn't know the address.
PASCOE. Ever heard of the London Directory? You'd better run out
and wire instantly. You don't seem to realize that the death of a man
like Ilam Carve will make something of a stir in the world. And you
may depend on it that whether they'd quarrelled or not, Cyrus Carve
will want to know why he wasn't informed of the illness at once.
You've let yourself in for a fine row, and well you deserve it.
CARVE. (After a few paces.) See here, doctor. I'm afraid there's been
some mistake. (Facing him nervously.)
PASCOE. What?
CARVE. I--I----
(Bell rings.)

PASCOE. (Firmly.) Listen to me, my man. There's been no sort of
mistake. Everything has been done that could be done. Don't you get
ideas into your head. Lie down and rest. You're done up, and if you
aren't careful you'll be ill. I'll communicate with Cyrus Carve. I can
telephone, and while I'm about it I'll ring up the registrar too--he'll
probably send a clerk round.
CARVE. Registrar?
PASCOE. Registrar of deaths. There'll be all kinds of things to attend
to. (Moving to go out.)
(Bell rings again.)
CARVE. (As if dazed.) Is that the front door bell?
PASCOE. (Drily.) Quite possibly! I'll open it.
(Exit.)
(CARVE, alone, makes a gesture of despair. Re-enter PASCOE with
CYRUS CARVE.)
PASCOE. (As they enter.) Yes, very sudden, very sudden. There were
three of us--a nurse, my assistant, and myself. This is Mr. Shawn, the
deceased's valet.
CYRUS. Morning. (Looks round at disorder of room contemptuously.)
Pigstye!... My name is Cyrus Carve. I'm your late master's cousin and
his only relative. You've possibly never heard of me.
CARVE. (Curtly.) Oh yes, I have! You got up a great quarrel when you
were aged twelve, you and he.
CYRUS. Your manner isn't very respectful, my friend. However you
may have treated my cousin, be good enough to remember you're not
my valet.
CARVE. How did you get to know about it?
CYRUS. I suppose he forbade you to send for me, eh? (Pause.) Eh?
CARVE. (Jumping at this suggestion.) Yes.
PASCOE. So that was it.
CYRUS. (Ignoring PASCOE.) Ha! Well, since you're so curious, I saw
it a quarter of an hour ago in a special edition of a halfpenny rag; I was
on my way to the office. (Showing paper.) Here you are! The Evening
Courier. Quite a full account of the illness. You couldn't send for me,
but you could chatter to some journalist.
CARVE. I've never spoken to a journalist in my life.
CYRUS. Then how----?

PASCOE. It's probably my assistant. His brother is something rather
important on the Courier, and he may have telephoned to him. It's a big
item of news, you know, Mr. Carve.
CYRUS. (Drily.) I imagine so. Where is the body?
PASCOE. Upstairs. (Moving towards door.)
CYRUS. Thanks. I will go alone.
PASCOE. Large room at back--first floor.
(Exit CYRUS, L.)
I think I'd prefer to leave you to yourselves now. Of course, Mr. Carve
will do all that's necessary. You might give him my card, and tell him
I'm at his service as regards signing the death certificate and so on.
(Handing card.)
CARVE. (Taking card perfunctorily.) Very well. Then you're going?
PASCOE. Yes. (Moves away and then suddenly puts out his hand,
which CARVE takes.) Want a word of advice?
CARVE. I--I ought----
PASCOE. If I were you I should try to get something better than
valeting. It's not your line. You may have suited Ilam Carve, but you'd
never suit an ordinary employer. You aren't a fool--not by any means.