Act I

The curtain rises on a room which suggests rather than represents the lounge smoke-room of a small ocean liner. There is a bar on the right with the usual array of glasses and bottles on the counter and on the shelves behind it. On the extreme left is a small writing table, and the rest of the furniture consists of the usual small round tables and swivel arm-chairs that are found in the smoke-room on most liners. Up against the bar are two high stools. Around the room at the back is a red cushioned wall seat. The carpet is of warm neutral tone. There are three doors. One behind the bar: another leading off left and a third, centre, opening on to the deck. This centre door is wide open, and behind it can be seen the liner railings. The colour of the sky at the back arrests the attention at once. It is a curious colour⁠—vague and almost nondescript. There are four portholes in the back wall, fitted up with small curtains which are now drawn. Three large lights hang from the ceiling, and some small lamp brackets on the walls.

The sun is shining, and it is a clear still morning. Behind the bar stands Scrubby, busy polishing the glasses⁠—preparatory to the boat sailing. He is dressed in the usual uniform of a ship’s steward. His manner is always calm and reposeful, and his voice gentle and kindly. He is an elderly man, typically English.

Ann is seen to pass along the deck, and she comes through the centre door into the room. She is wearing a hat and coat, underneath which is a simple but very smart clinging frock of green. She is young, but one sees at once that she is terribly nervous. She pauses and looks round in a frightened manner. Then Scrubby clinks a glass and she turns and sees him.

Ann. Oh, I beg your pardon⁠—good morning.

Scrubby. Good morning, madam.

Ann. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid we’ve lost our way.

Scrubby. Where do you want to get to, Madam?

Ann. The cabins, of course.

Scrubby. Cabins?

Ann. Yes! Where we sleep. I’m afraid I’m awfully stupid. I’ve never been on the sea before.

Scrubby. The old ship will be highly flattered. You’ll find all the berths right forward (points to the left) down there.

Ann. Thank you very much. (She goes up to the centre opening and speaks to someone outside.) Henry, come along, dear, I was quite right, this is the way.

(Henry enters from the deck. He is wearing a well-cut lounge suit and a dark soft hat. He is an ardent young man, about thirty years old. He is good looking, quietly emotional, serious and sincere. He is rather mystic in manner, and behaves like a dazed man who has recently received a severe shock.)

Henry. Sorry, I was looking at the sea. What did you say?

Ann. This is the way, dear.

Henry. Oh, good! We’ll probably find all our stuff in the cabin already. How did you find out?

Ann. He told me. (Indicating Scrubby.)

Henry. Oh!⁠—good morning!

Scrubby. Good morning, sir.

(Ann moves down to left.)

Henry. Bit confusing these boats, aren’t they?

Scrubby. Yes, sir, to begin with.

Ann. Come along, dear.

Henry. I say, I’m feeling awfully tired.

Ann. Do you wonder?⁠—after what you’ve been through?

Henry. No, I suppose I don’t. I can’t quite focus it all even now, you know. By Jove, we’ll have a gorgeous trip though, won’t we.

Ann. Yes, dear.

Henry. The rest⁠—the peace and⁠—and⁠—

Ann. Don’t worry so, dear.

Henry. And the forgetfulness⁠—

Ann. Of course, dear, don’t worry.

Henry. No, I won’t, I won’t! (To Scrubby.) Thanks for telling my⁠—my wife the way.

Ann. Give me your hand.

Henry. What’s that?

Ann. Give me your hand, dear.

Henry. Oh! You treat me like a child! I’m quite all right really.

Ann. Give me your hand. (Goes to her, takes her hand.) There!

Henry. Thanks for the hand.

Ann. Come along.

(They go off together, left, and a moment later Tom Prior enters by the centre door. Prior is a slight young man, highly strung. He is not specifically drunk at the moment, but rather more displays the mellow and bland cock-sureness of a youth who for some time has kept himself going with constant stimulants. He is wearing a lounge suit, and is very cheerful and smiling.)

Tom. Oh!⁠—er⁠—good morning, steward.

Scrubby. Good morning, sir.

Tom. This is the smoke-room, I suppose?

Scrubby. Yes, sir.

Tom. Look here, then⁠—er⁠—how long before we sail?

Scrubby. About a quarter of an hour⁠—sir⁠—or more⁠—or less.

Tom. Then I say, could I⁠—er⁠—I get a drink?

Scrubby. Certainly, sir.

Tom. Bravo! (He crosses right and sits down.) I want it.

Scrubby. What shall I get you, sir?

Tom. A Scotch.

Scrubby. Any soda-water, sir?

Tom. No, thank you.

Scrubby. All Scotch!

Tom. As a matter of fact, steward, you’ll probably see a lot of me during this trip. Yes, you’ll get to know me quite well, so I thought I’d warn you to begin with.

Scrubby (brings drink). The warning is an honour, sir.

Tom. Yes, thanks. How much is it?

Scrubby. Oh, you needn’t pay, sir.

Tom. What!

Scrubby. If you’ll just sign this. (Presents chit book.)

Tom. Oh yes, of course, I’d forgotten that catch. Have one yourself?

Scrubby. No thank you, sir.

Tom (drinks). Ah, that’s better. As a matter of fact, steward, I’d a rather thick night last night⁠—

Scrubby. Indeed, sir!

Tom. Yes⁠—yes⁠—and I want pulling together. By Jove⁠—it must have been a jolly thick night because I can’t remember anything about it now. But never mind⁠—(Drinks again.) It’s a gorgeous morning, anyway.

Scrubby. It is, sir. A pity some people should be alive to spoil it.

Tom. What’s that?

Scrubby. I was talking to myself, sir.

Tom. I say, steward, how many passengers have we got?

Scrubby. Not many, sir, it’s our slack time of year.

Tom. The last time I came out⁠—why⁠—it must be over ten years ago⁠—I was going tea planting, and⁠—and⁠—I was only about nineteen⁠—and⁠—(Pause.) Phew, how time flies! Get me some cigarettes.

Scrubby. Yes, sir! Egyptians, Turkish or Virginian?

Tom. Gold Flake. What’s the old Captain like?

Scrubby. Very decent sort I’ve heard say, sir. Very respected, I know.

Tom. Oh, I don’t like that sort⁠—not on these small ships. Now when I went out before⁠—

Scrubby. Your cigarettes, sir.

Tom. Thank you. And get me another drink. The same.

(Mrs. Cliveden-Banks enters from the centre and goes down to Tom. She is a withered old harridan of fifty odd⁠—probably once beautiful. Smartly frocked in travelling costume. She carries an armful of magazines.)

Mrs. C-Banks. Ah ha! I thought I knew that voice!

Tom. What! (Rises, turns.) Oh, really! Good gracious! Mrs. Cliveden-Banks! How are you? What a surprise. (Shakes hands.)

Mrs. C-Banks. I saw your name on the passenger list, so I asked for the bar at once, and here you are! (Sits left of table.)

Tom. Delighted. Come and sit down. What are you doing here? (Sits above table.)

Mrs. C-Banks. Joining my dear husband. And I’m afraid we’re in for a very dull trip. There is nobody on board⁠—at least nobody who is anybody. Though, of course, the poor creatures can’t help that. You follow me. What I say I mean in the most kindly manner⁠—but still, there it is.

Tom. We must try and cheer each other up then, Mrs. Banks.

Mrs. C-Banks. Yes, all friends at sea, of course. By the way, my name is Cliveden-Banks. You know, of course, but it’s such a long while since we met. There was a plain Mrs. Banks in the divorce court lately⁠—so silly of her⁠—and so plain, judging from the Daily Mirror⁠—a total stranger, of course. Still it’s made me very particular about my hyphen. Not that I am ever likely to appear in a divorce court.

Tom. No, most unlikely. (With a significant appraisal of her.)

Mrs. C-Banks. Still you see what I mean.

(Scrubby puts drink on table.)

Tom. Of course. Thank you. Mrs. Cliveden-Banks, will you have a drink?

Mrs. C-Banks. Thank you⁠—what are you drinking⁠—ginger ale?

Tom. No⁠—er⁠—whiskey.

Mrs. C-Banks. At this time in the morning?

Tom. Whiskey at any time in the morning, afternoon or evening.

Mrs. C-Banks. I’m afraid you’re still a naughty boy. I’ll have a ginger ale. (Scrubby proceeds to fetch her the drink.) When I said there was nobody on board, dear Mr. Prior, between you and me, there is one person on board to whom I shall take a strong objection. He’s a clergyman.

Tom. Poor blighter! I should pity rather than blame him.

Mrs. C-Banks. Oh, don’t you know? Clergymen at sea are dreadfully unlucky. We shall probably all go to the bottom. If we do I shall blame the clergyman entirely. In my opinion steamship companies have no right to let clergymen travel at all. The clergy ought to stay at home in their own parishes and do good, not go gadding about all over the world putting other people’s lives in danger.

Scrubby. Your ginger ale, madam! (Puts drink on table.)

Mrs. C-Banks. Thank you, steward. (Takes drink.) Isn’t that so?

Scrubby. Isn’t what so, Madam?

Mrs. C-Banks. Oh, you must have been listening to what I was saying.

Scrubby. I assure you, Madam, I was not.

Mrs. C-Banks. How odd! (Tom signs for drink.) I was remarking that the sea-faring men regard the presence of a Clergyman on board your ship as highly unlucky.

Scrubby. I believe there is a superstition to that effect, Madam, yes. (Returns behind bar.)

Mrs. C-Banks. There! I told you so. Well, the best thing we can do is to cut the fellow dead. Nicely, of course, but firmly. (They change glasses.)

Tom. Just as you like. But will we save the boat by doing it?

Mrs. C-Banks. How droll you are!

Tom. Look out! Talk of the⁠—

(The Rev. William Duke enters left, crosses to desk and looks for writing paper and envelope. As he does so he speaks to Tom. Duke is a very sincere, earnest young clergyman.)

Duke. Good morning, sir.

Tom (in a loud voice to Mrs. C-Banks). How is the Colonel?

Mrs. C-Banks. Dear Benjamin, I regret to say is feeling the heat dreadfully. I should have joined him last year, but somehow I never got time. The penalty of popularity. My great friend, Mabel, the Duchess of Middleford⁠—you don’t know her, of course, she was only saying to me at the Palace the other day⁠—

Duke (as he sits at writing desk with paper, etc., turns to Tom.) Good morning.

Tom. Eh⁠—oh, good morning.

Mrs. C-Banks. Who is that man?

Tom. Really, Mrs. Cliveden-Banks, I dunno⁠—I⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. How strange! Peculiar people one must meet, mustn’t one, in public places. Never mind. Let me see, where was I?

Tom. With your great friend whom I don’t know.

Mrs. C-Banks. Oh yes, of course. (Rev. William Duke sits left and writes.) And then that strange man whom we neither of us know interrupted by wishing you good morning. Never mind. Mabel pointed out to me very clearly that I was in danger of neglecting my duty. She said to me quite plainly, almost brutally, and she can be very brutal sometimes⁠—“My dear Genevieve,” she said, “you must remember you are a daughter of the Empire, a soldier’s daughter⁠—a soldier’s wife. Your place is by your husband’s side in far far India.” In fact she was so insistent on my leaving England that if I didn’t know her really well, I should have felt she wanted to get rid of me. Still I have taken her advice, I have abandoned London’s gaieties and go to help poor dear Benjamin rule a lot of black men. Frankly I hate the idea.

Duke (still sitting at table, turns). I’m awfully sorry to bother you, Madam, but could you tell me what the date is?

Mrs. C-Banks. What was that?

Duke. I ought to know, of course, seeing that it’s the date we sail, but my memory’s so⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. Did you say the date?

Duke. Yes, if you please.

Mrs. C-Banks. The date?

Duke. If you would⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. You’re trying to start a conversation with me, aren’t you?

Duke (laughs). Well, frankly, as we’re all to be shipmates, the sooner we get to know each other the better, don’t you think?

Mrs. C-Banks. That, young man, is a matter of opinion.

Duke. Oh, I’m awfully sorry if⁠—I didn’t think introductions were necessary on board ship.

Mrs. C-Banks. Possibly they may not have been in the days of Walter Raleigh. Not having been there myself at the time I cannot say for certain. But customs change at sea, young man, even though the Church remains exactly where it always was. Under the circumstances, therefore, there can be no question of me giving you a date.

Duke. I beg your pardon⁠—I’ll find it out for myself.

Mrs. C-Banks. Was that cutting enough, dear Mr. Prior?

Tom. Oh yes, most; but what did it mean?

Mrs. C-Banks. I don’t know.

(Mrs. Midget wanders on from the deck. A poor charwoman in black little bonnet, black shawl and dress⁠—her best. Very humble, simple and obviously out of place in these strange surroundings. But sweet and motherly.)

Mrs. Midget. You’ll excuse me, mum, but⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks (looking up and seeing her). Good gracious!

Mrs. Midget. You’ll excuse me speaking up as it were, but I must say something to someone. And as you’re the only other lady I’ve seen about, bar myself, I must ask you to give me a⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. Mr. Prior, am I to be attacked from all sides?

Mrs. Midget (starts suddenly at sound of name). Mr. Prior?

Tom. Any objection?

Mrs. Midget. No, very pleased to meet you. You see, mum, I ’ad to follow yer because yer see, mum, I’ve been struck all of a ’eap.

Mrs. C-Banks. You’ve been what?

Mrs. Midget. Struck all of a ’eap.

Mrs. C-Banks. Mr. Prior, rescue me. And you had better do something for this good woman, too. It appears she has been struck all of a heap⁠—whatever that may mean.

Tom. Well⁠—what’s the trouble?

Mrs. Midget. Well, sir, thanking you, it’s like this, as it were⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. “As it were.” How quaint! “As it was” is correct, of course⁠—we all know that from our Prayer Book. Go on.

Mrs. Midget. Well, sir, it were like this, as it was; only last Saturday, Mrs. Roberts and I were talking about the sheets being damp, and I says⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. Ah! Sheets⁠—damp. The good woman is, of course, a stewardess.

Tom. Are you?

Mrs. Midget. Am I what?

Tom. A stewardess on this boat?

Mrs. Midget. No, I’m a passenger.

Mrs. C-Banks. She’s a passenger! Oh, I see it, she’s a passenger! I see it all! The whole thing has come to me in a flash! She’s a passenger. Don’t worry yourself any more, Mr. Prior, I have solved the good woman’s trouble. She’s a passenger and she’s lost her way; haven’t you, good woman?

Mrs. Midget. Exactly, mum.

Mrs. C-Banks. Mr. Prior, tell that steward fellow to tell somebody to take the good woman back to her proper place immediately. She’s been wandering. She’s on the wrong deck, she’s in the wrong class. Goodbye, good woman, goodbye. So glad to have been so helpful.

Mrs. Midget. Thank you, mum.

Tom (going to her). Oh, steward, just get someone to show this woman steerage⁠—er⁠—third class deck⁠—or something, will you?

Scrubby (turns to Tom). The third class, sir?

Tom. Yes, please.

Scrubby. I think you’ve made some mistake, sir. There is only one class on the boat.

(Rev. William Duke finishes his letter and goes out left.)

Mrs. C-Banks. (Faintly.) What was that?

Tom. Only one class?

Scrubby. Yes, sir. It’s the same on all this line.

Mrs. C-Banks. What was that?

Tom. Oh, sorry⁠—I didn’t know. (Returning.) Er⁠—Mrs. Cliveden-Banks.⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. Mr. Prior, did I, or did I not hear that fellow say there is only one class on this boat?

Tom. He said so, certainly.

Mrs. C-Banks. Mr. Prior, the thing’s impossible.

Tom. Well, he ought to know.

Mrs. C-Banks. How dare she⁠—how dare my secretary book me a passage on a vessel with only one class? How am I to know who are the ladies and gentlemen, and who are not?

Tom. Now, now, don’t get excited.

Mrs. C-Banks. Excited! Mr. Prior, a terrible thought has just struck me. That woman there⁠—

Tom. Well, what about her?

Mrs. C-Banks. She probably eats.

Tom. Extremely likely, I should say.

Mrs. C-Banks. Well then⁠—if she eats⁠—and if there’s only one class⁠—she will eat in the same place as we shall. It can’t be done, I shall disembark immediately.

Tom. Now look here, Mrs. Banks⁠—Mrs. Cliveden-Banks⁠—she’s probably only a lady’s maid or something.

Mrs. C-Banks. Who would have a maid like that⁠—outside a theatrical boarding house?

Tom. The idea of your landing is absurd. Don’t get nervy about nothing. We can easily avoid her. If you’re really upset⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. And I am, I am!

Tom. Then I’ll question her.

Mrs. C-Banks. Yes. Do, do, quickly. It would be quite impossible for me to lunch at the same table with a woman who has been struck all of a heap.

Tom. Come here, will you? I⁠—er⁠—we want to help you if we possibly can. (Drinks.)

Mrs. Midget. Thank you, sir.

Tom. Excuse me. (Finishes drink.) Thanks. Now, what is⁠—your name?

Mrs. Midget. Midget.

Tom. What?

Mrs. Midget. Midget.

Mrs. C-Banks. That, to begin with, is an alibi. No one could possibly be called Midget.

Mrs. Midget (warming in quick resentment). Oh, couldn’t they? Well, I’ll show you whether they could or not all right. Midget’s as good a name as any other name, Midget is. And don’t you forget it, old Mrs. ’Igh and Mighty. My name’s Midget all right, Midget married me all right, and I can prove it, and I’ve got my lines, which was a job to get as I admit.

Mrs. C-Banks. How dreadfully sordid!

Mrs. Midget. But when it comes to utter strangers tellin’ me as I don’t know what my own name is, then I speaks up and unabashed, as I would do in front of the ’ole street. I’ve nothing to ’ide, I’ve not, I’m not one of these⁠—

Mrs. C-Banks. That will do, that will do. The world is full of troubles we know. Doubtless you have had yours, my good⁠—er⁠—my woman.

Mrs. Midget. I ’ave ’ad trouble, I confess.

Tom. But what’s your present one⁠—that’s what⁠—what we want to know?

Mrs. Midget. Where am I?

Tom. On board⁠—on board this ship.

Mrs. Midget. Yes, but what for?

Tom. How should I know. Are your tickets and luggage all right?

Mrs. Midget. I suppose so. I’m not one to worry over little things.

Tom. Have you been to your cabin yet?

Mrs. Midget. No.

Tom. What’s the number?

Mrs. Midget. ’Ow do I know if I ain’t been there?

Tom. I say⁠—you’re not tight, are you?

Mrs. Midget. Tight?

Tom. Blotto⁠—squiffy⁠—gone away.

Mrs. Midget. Not me. “T.T.” I am.

Tom. How wise of you. (Drinks.) Well, are you ill?

Mrs. Midget. Now, that’s what I’m a-wondering. Am I ill? I don’t think so. I don’t feel ill. And yet I said to Mrs. Roberts last Thursday⁠—or was it Wednesday⁠—never mind, I said to ’er any way I says⁠—“What I want” says I⁠—or did she say it to me? Never mind, it don’t make no difference, one of us says it to the other, “What I or you want” according to which ever of us did say it, “is a thorough ’oliday.” And then⁠—wait a minute⁠—I remember now⁠—it’s all coming back⁠—I’ve come on ’ere to meet somebody.

Tom. Oh, that’s it, is it?

Mrs. Midget. Yes, at the other end. It was our parson’s idea. “A thorough ’oliday” of course! ’Ow silly of me to forget. But of course I ain’t ’ad much to eat to-day and what with the excitement and one thing and another, and Mrs. Roberts⁠—

Tom. Damn Mrs. Roberts!

Mrs. Midget. Oh, I do, sir⁠—often.

Tom. Look here, what you want’s a sandwich and a drink, and a good sleep. Then you’ll remember everything. Someone should have brought you here, of course. But if you’re being met at the other end, there’s nothing to worry about.

Mrs. Midget. Thank you, sir.

Mrs. C-Banks. The woman is obviously light-headed. Have her removed.

Tom. Steward, can you find out this passenger’s stewardess for me⁠—for her. Have her put in her charge, see she gets everything she should have. Nervous you know, never been to sea.

Scrubby. Certainly, sir. (Crosses left from behind bar.)

Mrs. C-Banks. I should certainly suggest a sleep for her. A long, long sleep⁠—in fact, if I were in her place I should take a complete rest, have all my meals in my own cabin, and never come on deck at all. I’m sure she would feel better if she did that.

Mrs. Midget. Much obliged. But I ’ope to be ’opping about like a cricket in an ’our or two.

Scrubby. This way, Madam.

Mrs. Midget. (Flattered by the attention.) Thank you, Captain.

(Scrubby and Mrs. Midget go off together left.)

Scrubby. Straight ahead.

Mrs. C-Banks. I should like to burn Miss Longton. Miss Longton is my secretary.

Tom (looking after them). Do you think that woman was speaking the truth?

Mrs. C-Banks. No. She’s probably one of a gang of international crooks. Look at the way she scraped acquaintance with me. Personally I shall be on my guard against her. (Low muffled syren heard.) What do you think that is?

Tom. Sailing shortly, I suppose.

Mrs. C-Banks. Then I shall go on deck and wave farewell to the dear old white cliffs. (Rises.) By the way, I’m told on many parts of the coast they’re crumbling fast. Still, England, England, there is no country like her.

Tom. Thank goodness.

Mrs. C-Banks. Why do you say that?

Tom. I don’t. That’s what other countries say.

Mrs. C-Banks. How naughty you are. Well, come along and protect me from the mob.

Tom. No, thanks, if you’ll excuse me. I’d far rather remain here and slip away from my native land oblivious of her disregard for me.

Mrs. C-Banks. Which means⁠—?

Tom. That I’m going to have another drink.

Mrs. C-Banks. You’re a bad lad. Still, I’ll see you later.

(She passes through the centre door and goes left along the deck.)

Tom. I suppose so. Confound the woman. (Drinks and lights cigarette.)

(Rev. William Duke re-appears from the left.)

Oh, I say, Padre!

Duke. How is the Colonel? (Goes up right to table.)

Tom. Padre.

Duke. Were you speaking to me, sir?

Tom. Yes. I want to⁠—to apologise.

Duke (centre). What for?

Tom. Cutting you stone dead like the silly old woman I was with.

Duke. Oh, that’s all right.

Tom. Sure?

Duke. Sure!

Tom. Positive?

Duke. Positive!

Tom. Good. Have a drink?

Duke. Thanks. (He sits down left of table.)

Tom. The fellow will be back in a second.

Duke. Good.

Tom. Cigarette?

Duke. Thanks.

Tom. Hot, isn’t it?

Duke. Yes. Hot.

Tom. Yes⁠—er⁠—do you think we shall have⁠—er⁠—smooth passage?

Duke. Quite. I mean⁠—I hope so.

Tom. So do I.

Duke. I suppose we all do.

Tom. Er⁠—yes. I suppose we all do. I say, I must tell you, of course, that I should never have behaved as I did just now, pretending not to see you and all that, but of course I’m a very weak character.

Duke. Strong of you to admit it.

Tom. Yes, I’m easily swayed. No stamina. (Drinks.) I can’t think why. And the old cat was drivelling along, and she persuaded me not to see you. Told me you were unlucky.

Duke. Ha!

Tom. So I agreed not to. I always agree with anyone I’m with. She was to blame entirely.

Duke. I have always found it an unwise habit to run down other people. They have a nasty way of getting to hear about it and retaliating⁠—with interest.

Tom. You’re not going to preach a sermon, are you?

Duke. Good lor’, no! I say, do you know Bethnal Green?

Tom. Good heavens, no!

Duke. Take my advice then and don’t; I do. I’ve known it for the last eight years. And I’m sick of the slums and people I was trying to keep straight with sermons⁠—official and otherwise⁠—and the drizzle, and the smell of tea in urns with the Vicar⁠—oh yes, the Vicar more than anything. No, no, no more sermons from me for a bit. But I beg your pardon, I must be boring you.

Tom. Not at all so far. You must have had a pretty rotten time!

(Scrubby re-enters from the left and goes to bar.)

Duke. Oh, I don’t know, I’m awfully keen on my job. I want a rest, that’s all.

Tom. “A thorough ’oliday,” in fact. Hello, he’s our man. This will do you good. What’s it to be?

(Scrubby collects empty glasses.)

Duke. Beer, please.

Tom. Er⁠—steward⁠—er what is your name?

Scrubby. Scrubby.

Tom. Midget and Scrubby. Good lor’! Oh, well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. A Bass please, and a⁠—the same.

Scrubby. Yes, sir.

Duke. I think everybody ought to be awfully keen, don’t you?

Tom. What do you mean? Sort of getting up in the morning before breakfast and having a cold bath? Because if you do, I don’t.

Duke. No, no, not necessarily that, of course. But keen every moment of the day, keen on something⁠—never wasting a moment⁠—at it, always at it, as it were. Now there’s the trip for instance, that we’re going on. We must arrange to enjoy every moment of it.

Tom. Why?

Duke. Because we’re meant to.

Tom. Oh!

Duke. We must organise amongst ourselves. I’ve thought out lots of jolly little ideas.

Tom. Such as⁠—?

Duke. Well⁠—for instance⁠—we’ll get up a concert.

Tom. Oh! that will be jolly. Must we get up a concert?

Duke. Of course.

Tom. How awful! Why must we?

Duke. Just to amuse the other passengers.

Tom. Would it amuse the other passengers?

Duke. And ourselves too.

Tom. Oh, I see.

Duke. It always is done, you know.

Tom. Some habits want breaking⁠—

Duke. Do you sing?

Tom. No.

Duke. That’s a pity.

Tom. Do you recite?

Duke. Er⁠—no⁠—

Tom. That’s excellent!

(Scrubby advances with drinks.)

Scrubby. Your drinks, sir, and it’s quite all right.

Tom. What’s quite all right?

Scrubby. The lady, sir.

Tom. Which lady?

Scrubby. The lady you wanted put in charge of her stewardess.

Tom. Oh yes, of course. That lady. Thanks very much.

Scrubby. Thank you, sir. (Returns behind bar.)

Duke. I say, I really oughtn’t to know, but I’d always understood you couldn’t get a drink on board a ship until she sailed?

Tom. Neither you can as a rule. That never struck me⁠—don’t say anything.

Duke. It’s very queer.

Tom. It’s very lucky. Cheero!

Duke. Cheero!

Tom. Got any other gadget on you for the passenger’s amusement? Perhaps you’d like me to walk the plank or something?

Duke. We ought to have some sports, of course.

Tom. Why did I put the idea into your head?

Duke. You can help with the organization. You need not participate.

Tom. Right. I’ll organize anything you like⁠—from here. Cheery spot this.

(Through the centre door enters Mr. Lingley. He is a hard and unpleasant business man, aged fifty-five or sixty. He is loud and officious, and is obviously self made. He has on a travelling cap and a heavy overcoat, and he is carrying an attaché case, containing business papers. He is evidently in a great hurry.)

Lingley. Ah, good morning, gentlemen. My name’s Lingley.

Tom. Hurray!

Lingley. I’ve had a narrow shave⁠—nearly missed her.

Duke (rises). Duke’s my name. Very warm to-day, sir.

Lingley. Damn warm⁠—I beg your pardon, I didn’t notice your collar⁠—very warm. Steward get me a drink. (Sits at table left.)

(Duke sits.)

Scrubby. Whiskey and soda, sir?

Lingley. No, confound you, ginger ale with some ice. Yes, I left it a bit too late, another five minutes and I’d have missed her.

Duke. We’ll soon be off then?

Lingley. We’re sailing now.

Tom. Land of hope and glory⁠—au revoir! (Drinks.)

Duke. You motored here?

Lingley. No, flew⁠—in my office two hours ago. Now I must get on with things. (Opens attaché case and lays out papers.)

(Scrubby brings him his drink.)

Duke (to Tom). There you are, you see, the man’s keen.

Tom. I know the blighter.

Lingley (to Scrubby). How much?

Scrubby. You needn’t pay, sir.

Lingley. I always pay. How much?

Scrubby. One shilling, sir.

Lingley. Damn⁠—er⁠—very expensive still⁠—here is one shilling.

Scrubby. Thank you, sir.

Lingley. What for? (Scrubby returns behind bar.) I haven’t tipped you.

Duke. I hope you won’t be so busy, sir, that we shan’t see you on the trip.

Lingley. Once in my state-room I don’t suppose I’ll leave it⁠—till we touch⁠—er⁠—er⁠—Marseilles.

Duke. I hope it’s interesting work, sir.

Lingley. No, it isn’t, but it keeps me busy⁠—I am an M.P. you know.

(Scrubby disappears through the door right.)

Duke. Oh! Pleased to meet you.

Lingley. Not at all. I’m on the London County Council as well, incidentally I own twenty-one music-halls, a chain of cinemas, two gold mines and a Methodist chapel. Naturally they want looking after.

Duke. Naturally. What are you doing with the chapel?

Lingley. Having it pulled down.

Tom. Sportsman!

Lingley. You⁠—you there!

Tom. Me?

Lingley. Yes! I know your face, don’t I? I never forget a face.

Tom. How that must sadden your sweet life at times.

Lingley. Where have I seen it before?

Tom. Oh, in your office. You gave me a job once. It lasted two days.

Lingley. What was the matter?

Tom. Your office! I couldn’t stand the atmosphere so I drownded it in drink.

Lingley. I remember. I remember. You were sacked mechanically.

Tom. Yes. You wouldn’t give me a second chance.

Lingley. No one has ever given me a second chance. I shall never expect one. I shall certainly never ask for one.

Tom. As you said when you sacked me mechanically. In my opinion, Mr. Lingley, L.C.C., M.P., you’re a pompous old idiot.

Lingley (rising). How dare you! How⁠—you must be crazy.

Tom. I’m not in your ghastly office now. I can say what I like. (Shouts.) You’re a blue-nosed baboon! There! I’ve dreamt I said that to you for weeks, and now I’ve said it.

Lingley. If you’re not careful, Mr.⁠—Mr.⁠—er⁠—er⁠—I’ll⁠—I’ll⁠—

Tom. If you’re not careful, Mr. Lingley, I’ll make you walk the plank at the sports.

Lingley. Mr. Prior, you are obviously drunk now.

Tom. I am drunk I admit⁠—but I had trusted not obviously.

Duke. Dear, dear, dear, dear!

Tom. Yes, that remark helps matters such a lot, doesn’t it?

Lingley. I shall go on deck. Where are my papers? I’ve been irritated. The doctors said I must not be irritated. I’ve too much to do to be irritated.

Duke. Oh, I’m sure Mr. Prior didn’t mean⁠—

Tom. I did. Every word of it. Shut up! He’s a pink-eyed rabbit. He’s a rotter, he’s a grasper⁠—

Lingley. Silence, sir! For goodness sake silence! I shan’t be able to concentrate after this interruption. I came here for peace, damn you. I’ve been thinking too hard as it is⁠—and now this little gnat⁠—he’s destroyed what I’d nearly completed in my mind. Damn you, sir, I’m sick of opposition⁠—Damn you⁠—you⁠—(the long low syren is heard again). Oh, my God! (Drops into a chair.)

Duke. Mr. Lingley, what is it? (Goes to Lingley.)

(Tom goes to above Lingley glass in hand.)

Lingley. Wait⁠—wait!

Duke. You’re looking ill.

Lingley. Yes, I am ill, I’m feeling ill I am. Suddenly. I must have help, I was warned about this. An arm, please⁠—and some of that stuff you’re drinking.

(Tom gives him drink and supports him.)

Thank you. I shall be all right in a minute.

Duke. I’ll get the doctor.

Lingley. No. He’ll only irritate me. I know what to do. I’ve been told what to do. Absolute quiet and fresh air. I’ll go on deck. (Feels in pocket.) Oh yes, I’d forgotten. I’m to take one of these. (Tom takes phial from his pocket and gives him a tabloid.) Thank you. I must keep quiet, calm and not think. I shall be all right in a minute, and I’ll see another man the moment I get to⁠—get to⁠—(Looks from one to the other.)⁠—where am I going to?

Duke. Marseilles you said, sir.

Lingley. Oh yes, of course, Marseilles. (Pause.) What am I going to Marseilles for?

Duke. Don’t worry now.

Lingley. No, don’t worry, that’s right. I felt quite faint for the moment, Mr. Duke; your drink has done me good. I’ll go on deck and sit down.

Duke. I’ll see you there.

Lingley. Thank you. I prefer to be alone. I’m quite all right. I shall soon remember everything. I know what I’m doing. (Rises.) Oh, I’ve forgotten my papers.

(Tom supports him towards the centre door.)

Duke. Leave them⁠—they can wait⁠—I’ll look after them.

Lingley. No, no, give them to me.

(Tom gives them.)

Duke. I wish you’d let me come and⁠—

Lingley. Please don’t worry me! It’s all right this time, I know it is, if I’m not worried. Thank you. I know what I’m doing, of course⁠—I know⁠—already I’m better. I’m going to meet someone, that’s all. But was it Aaronson or was it Bantock?

Duke. Remember what your doctor said, don’t worry!

Lingley (going towards the door). Of course not⁠—no. That was the worst attack I’ve had so far. But I’m better now⁠—yes⁠—and the quiet and sea air will soon clear my mind completely. Thank you. I wish I could remember if it was Aaronson or Bantock! Thank you, Mr. Duke, for your very kind assistance.

(He goes out slowly on to the deck and passes out of sight to the right. Duke follows up after him.)

Tom. Padre! (Up by centre opening.)

Duke (stopping). Well?

Tom. What was it?

Duke. I don’t know⁠—some sudden sort of attack⁠—I’m going to stop by him. (Starting to follow Lingley.)

Tom. Padre!

Duke. Well?

Tom. It was my fault, I suppose.

Duke. Oh no, I⁠—

Tom. Are you angry with me?

Duke. Why should I be?

Tom. You know.

Duke. Drink is a terrible⁠—

Tom. It seemed to do him good.

(Returns to above table and sits, and Duke follows.)

Duke. That’s different.

Tom. You promised no sermons, anyway.

Duke. What made you start it?

Tom. You said everyone should be keen on something. Drink’s my hobby. Let’s leave it at that.

Duke. Please don’t joke about it.

Tom. All right. If you won’t be angry with me⁠—I hate people to be angry with me. But I wasn’t joking.

Duke (over Tom). I’ll see you later. In fact I hope to see a lot of you on the voyage. (Starting out centre.)

Tom. Thanks. That’s what I said to the steward. (Stopping him again.) Padre!

Duke (returning). Well⁠—well!

Tom. One moment.

Duke. What is it?

Tom. In strict confidence⁠—now we’re friends again⁠—has it struck you by any chance that there’s anything queer about this boat? Strictly between ourselves.

Duke. No, it hasn’t.

Tom. It has me.

Duke. How do you mean?

Tom. I think there’s something jolly queer about her. By Jove, if I were right it would be a joke!

Duke. I don’t follow you.

Tom. It’s difficult to explain. But Mr. Lingley⁠—and⁠—and⁠—Oh, I’m not quite sure myself. It may be only my⁠—

Duke. Imagination?

Tom. Exactly. Only somehow I don’t think it is.

Duke. Go on. I must hurry.

Tom. Yes. Well (turns to Duke) there was a sort of charwoman here just now⁠—you didn’t see her⁠—a very decent sort of soul, of course, but⁠—well⁠—hardly the kind of person you’d expect to find here. And she couldn’t remember where she was going. Excepting she was going to meet someone. (Turns to him.) Now this Lingley fellow’s just told us the same thing in different words. He couldn’t remember where he was going either, at least not clearly. And I’ve noticed lots of other little things. For instance, it’s absurd sailing with our passenger list⁠—there are so few of us. I tell you it’s queer⁠—and⁠—

Duke. Really I can’t follow you.

Tom. Then there’s old Mrs. Banks drivelling on about joining her husband⁠—Good lor’! It’s just struck me.

Duke. What has?

Tom. Colonel Cliveden-Banks kicked the bucket over a month ago. Surely she can’t have forgotten that. Or⁠—or would that be her father?

Duke. Mr. Prior, if you take my advice, you’ll follow Mr. Lingley’s example and get some fresh air on deck.

Tom. Yes, I think I will. All the same it is queer. (Rises to above table.) Certain you’re not angry with me?

Duke. Oh yes, certain. Shipmates, eh? (Shakes hands.)

Tom. Oh yes, shipmates. But I bet you cut me the moment we land.

Duke. Rot!

(He follows Lingley on to the deck. Henry has entered and is lighting his pipe from a match which he has taken from the table down left.)

Tom. Excuse me, sir, after you. (Coming up to him, takes his match and lights his cigarette from it.) Thanks. I say, do you mind if I ask you a question?

Henry. Of course not.

Tom. It’s rather a queer question.

Henry. Go on.

Tom. Do⁠—you⁠—know⁠—where⁠—you⁠—are going⁠—to?

Henry. Are you a Salvation Army man or what?

Tom. No, I’m quite serious.

Henry. Of course I know where I’m going to.

Tom. On this boat?

Henry. Certainly.

Tom. Thank goodness! I’m going to get some fresh air!

(He goes out on to the deck. Henry goes up towards the deck, looks out. Ann enters left.)

Ann. Why did you run away?

Henry. Wanted a match.

Ann. I had some.

Henry. A bit nervy too. (Coming down centre.)

Ann. You’ve no need to be now⁠—we’ve sailed.

Henry. Really!

Ann. Yes. I saw the water moving by the porthole.

Henry. (Runs up centre and looks out.) You’re right. Why, we’re well out. Almost open water.

Ann. Yes, dear.

Henry. Give me your hand. (To her.)

Ann. Hold tight to it.

Henry. Queer. It’s just like an ordinary sailing.

Ann. Is it? (Pause.)

Henry. A man just now asked me if I knew where I was going. I said I did.

Ann. That was right.

Henry. Funny question though, wasn’t it?

Ann. Oh, I don’t know.

Henry. He said it was queer. You don’t think he⁠—

Ann. Of course not, dear. Can you smell the sea?

Henry. Yes, fine, isn’t it?

Ann. I hope it will be terribly rough with lots of spray and wind.

Henry. Why?

Ann. You can hold me closer.

Henry. Ann! Ann! I’ve been worrying, I’ve been thinking just now⁠—these modern inventions⁠—and things like that, you know.

Ann. You prosaic old thing⁠—aren’t you?

Henry. They couldn’t possibly call us back even now, could they?

Ann. Of course not, dear. How could they? We’re safe enough as long as we hold tight.

Henry. It was a risk, though, wasn’t it?

Ann. Yes, dear.

Henry. If⁠—supposing⁠—if it hadn’t happened.

Ann. My dear, we always knew it would.

Henry. Yes, but if it hadn’t.

Ann. But we knew.

Henry. I think you were always more certain than I was.

Ann (sits). Well then, I knew for both of us.

Henry (sits). Yes, that’s right. You knew. Ann, I trust you so in things I can’t quite understand. Of course I trust you in things I can understand too. But you seem to know so much more about the big things than I do.

Ann. Perhaps I only pretend to.

Henry. Oh no, you know all right. Give me another light will you? Thanks. It’s nice being able to smoke. Ann?

Ann. Well, dear.

Henry. You’re quite, quite sure.

Ann. Quite sure, dear.

Henry. Isn’t ours a terribly big secret?

Ann. Isn’t it?

Henry. Yes, Ann, I love you.

Ann. I love you, Henry.

Henry. Always?

Ann. Always.

Henry. Ann, I wonder how the dog is?

Ann. You baby⁠—poor old Jock! Oh, they’ll look after him all right.

Henry. I hope so. I say, Ann, when dogs die, what do you think happens to them?

Ann. I dunno. There must be some sort of doggie’s heaven, I suppose.

Henry. What a jolly place it must be! No cats in it, of course.

Ann. Of course not. Just lots of bones and meat and water. And hot fires to lie in front of in the winter.

Henry. What about the kind masters?

Ann. I’d forgotten them. Oh, I expect there’s some arrangement so that the good dogs can’t remember the kind masters.

Henry. We remember, though.

Ann. Yes. You were a very kind master.

Henry (rises). It’s queer. (Over to centre.) Poor old Jock. (Turns.) I say, Ann, you don’t think⁠—

Ann. What?

Henry. Any of these other people can possibly know.

Ann. Our secret? Of course they can’t.

Henry. It is a wonderful secret.

Ann (rises). I told you, Henry, how it would be as long as we believed.

Henry. And yet? (Over to her.) I wonder if it’s safe⁠—even now.

Ann. What makes you say that?

Henry. I can’t quite remember, Ann, not clearly, not yet⁠—it’s coming back gradually of course, but⁠—but⁠—

Ann. Yes, dear?

Henry. Ann, haven’t you and I sinned in some way?

Ann. We’ve been true to each other. How can we have sinned?

Henry. If we had, Ann, could they separate us?

Ann. Hold my hand tightly.

Henry. I’m trying so hard to remember.

Ann. What, dear?

Henry. What it is we’ve done that isn’t right.

Ann. We’ve done nothing that isn’t right.

Henry. No. Not in our light, of course. But have we from other⁠—from the world’s⁠—

Ann. We’ve never cared for the world. We’re not going to care for it now.

Henry. If we were wrong and if it were something very, very wrong, they couldn’t separate us, could they?

Ann. That sort of thing’s all over now, Henry. You’ve forgotten our secret.

Henry. No, I haven’t, it’s all perfect, of course⁠—excepting this one thing. (Tom enters from the deck and unobserved by them stands quietly at the back leaning against doorway.) Don’t laugh⁠—don’t laugh at me, Ann, I’m only trying to remember, and asking for your help. But it seems (sits) to me this thing⁠—this crime, if it is one⁠—that we’ve committed, is something big and yet that it’s⁠—now don’t laugh⁠—that it’s only something to do with gas.

Ann (sits beside him). Gas?

Henry. Yes.

Ann. You silly.

Henry. It seems to me that before we left the flat⁠—

Ann. Our sad little flat!

Henry. I forgot⁠—to turn off⁠—the gas.

Ann. You terrible silly! Of course you did. We⁠—agreed⁠—that. That’s what we agreed.

Henry. There’s nothing very wrong in not turning off gas!

Ann. Don’t worry, dear. Take my hand.

Henry (laughs). Nothing so bad that they could separate us for it. You can’t blame people for not turning off gas! And yet, I’d have sworn⁠—Ann, you’re quite certain that there isn’t something else we’ve done. Something big?

Ann. There’s nothing else, dear, I’m certain. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.

Henry. I love you so.

Ann. Thank you, Henry. Don’t worry, dear.

Henry. I wish I could remember how we got here. We wanted to so long. Anyway, now we have.

Ann. Let’s go out on to the deck.

Henry. Yes, let’s⁠—bless you. (Both turn and see Tom.) Hello, sir.

Tom (quietly). Hello!

Henry. We didn’t notice you⁠—

Tom. It’s all right. I just came back to⁠—

Henry. May I introduce my wife. Ann, this is the gentleman who asked me if I knew where I was going.

Ann. How do you do?

Tom. How do you do?

(Tom is a changed man. His tone is quiet and sad, and he stands perfectly rigid. The awful truth which has dawned upon him has completely sobered him. There is a pause. Then Ann goes out on to the deck, and Henry follows her.)

Henry (as he goes). We’ll see you later. We’ve sailed you know.

(Scrubby appears behind the bar.)

Tom. Yes, I am right. (Comes down to bar.) The same.

Scrubby. Yes, sir, certainly sir. A very warm day, sir. (Bringing drink to table.)

Tom. I am right, aren’t I, Scrubby?

Scrubby. Right, sir, in the head, do you mean?

Tom (takes drink). You know what I mean.

Scrubby. No, I don’t sir. Right about what?

Tom. You⁠—I⁠—all of us on the boat.

Scrubby. What about all of us on this boat, sir?

Tom (trembling with apprehension). We are⁠—now answer me truthfully⁠—we are all dead, aren’t we?

Scrubby (after a pause. Very quietly with firm conviction.) Yes, sir, we are all dead. Quite dead. They don’t find out so soon as you have as a rule.

Tom (pause). Queer! (Sits left of table.)

Scrubby. Not when you get used to it, sir.

Tom. How long have you been⁠—you been⁠—oh, you know?

Scrubby. Me, sir? Oh, I was lost young.

Tom. You were what?

Scrubby. Lost young, sir.

Tom. I don’t understand.

Scrubby. No, sir, you wouldn’t not yet. But you’ll get to know lots of things as the voyage goes on.

Tom. Tell me⁠—tell me one thing⁠—now. (His anxiety is terrific, and he is in a state of extreme tension.)

Scrubby. Anything I can, sir.

Tom (terrified). Where⁠—where are we sailing for?

Scrubby. Heaven, sir. (Pause.) And hell too, (pause) it’s the same place you see.

Curtain.