roadway.

     Chris. A common woman or a lady?

     Izod. A lady—jolly dark, jolly pretty, and
     jolly ill.

     Chris. (curiously) What does she do at an inn in
     Market-Sinfield? (sits on table)
     Izod. She gave out that she was a stranger in
     these parts, and wanted to see a clergyman. She
     was a weight!

     Chris. Well?

     Izod. So I fetched Mr. Dormer, the mad parson.

     Chris. Did he go to her?

     Izod. I dunno. Coin for tobacco! (rises)
     (Izod goes up to arch.)
     Chris. I've only got a little money. I'll fetch
     it, dear, (she takes up mug reflectively) A pretty lady
     in Market-Sinfield—very dark, very ill, and among
     strangers, (sighing) How unlucky all dark women
     seem to be!

     Izod. Coin for tobacco! (rapping table)
     Chris. (starting) Oh, yes, dear.

     (She goes off L., Izod again produces the keys and
     jingles them on the table.)
     Izod. (glancing in the direction of door R., C.)     Keys! and a name cut on the key-ring, (shaking
     them) What sort of a tune do they play, I wonder?
     (rises)
     (Chris, re-enters carrying a small purse. She comes
     L. of table, and empties the contents into his R.
     hand.)
     (counting money) Five bob.

     Chris. Leave me a little.

     Izod. (pocketing money) There's a shilling for
     you. I'll pay you what I owe you when you coax
     the squire to employ me regularly on the farm, (goes
     to R., C.)
     Chris. (C.) That'll never be—I've tried.

     Izod. Have you? (showing bunch of keys) Look
     there. Don't snatch; read the name on the ring.
     (showing the ring only)
     (She examines the ring, which he still holds fast.)     Chris. The name of the man who is always hanging
     about this place, (quickly) Where did you get
     this?

     (Gilbert Hythe appears in the archway from L.;
     as he enters, they separate, Izod to R., she to L.)
     Gil. Is the Squire indoors, Christie? (He comes
     down C. He is a fine, strapping fellow, about thirty,
     dressed roughly in an old velvet jacket, cords and
     gaiters. He carries a light double-barrelled gun)
     Chris. (L.) Yes, Mr. Hythe.

     Gil. (C, seeing Izod) What the devil are you
     doing here?

     Izod. (R.) Nothing.

     Gil. That's what you're always doing everywhere.
     Get out!

     Izod. (defiantly) I cleaned the windows here last
     Tuesday, and I haven't been paid for it.

     Gil. That's a lie. (goes towards him)
     Izod. Well, then, I have been paid for it, and I've
     come to visit my dear sister.

     Gil. Look here, Izod, I've had half an hour at
     the ricks this morning, ferreting the rats. A man
     shoots rats because they are vermin—it's lucky for
     you, and idlers like you, that you're on two legs
     instead of four.

     Chris. For shame, Gilbert Hythe; I'm his sister.
     (goes to C.)
     Gil. I beg your pardon, Christie; I ought to have
     held my tongue before you. Look here, Izod, my
     lad, you know that the Squire can't bear the sight
     of loafers and ne'er-do-wells. Why don't you go
     where you're welcome? (goes up stage to archway)
     Izod. Where's that? I've mislaid the address.
     (Christie goes to L.)
     Gil. (in archway) Christie, tell the Squire that
     I have brought two men with me—young Rob Johns,
     the fiddler's son, and a newspaper chap.

     Chris. (at L., C.) Very well. And your dinner
     is waiting for you, Mr. Hythe, (pointing to door L.)     and has been this half-hour.

     Gil. My dinner—oh, yes. Izod, old fellow, eat
     my dinner for me; I'm busy.

     Chris. (gratefully) Thank you, Mr. Hythe.

     Gil. And then pull yourself together, man, and
     work.

     (Gil. goes off up stage, through archway. Chris.
     comes quickly to Izod, who gets to C. Christie
     goes up stage and looks after Gilbert.)
     Chris. Tell me, dear, dear, dear, where did you
     find that key ring?

     (Izod looks round cautiously.)
     Izod. (pointing to windows above archway) I
     cleaned those windows here last week, and badly paid
     I was for the job.

     Chris. Well?

     Izod. On that beam which is broad enough for a
     man to crawl along, I found this bunch of keys.

     Chris. What does that mean?

     Izod. Look here, (he goes up stage R. C., to the
     stonework which runs up to the coping) Do you see
     this? An easy flight of steps up to that window
     sill.

     Chris. What of it?

     Izod. (pointing to the ivy running up the wall)     The ivy is old and strong enough—if you clutch it,
     no fear of falling.

     Chris. What of it?

     Izod. (removing some of the leaves from the
     stonework) Look there—footprints—where a boot
     has kicked away the old crust from the stones.

     Chris. (in an earnest whisper) What of it?

     Izod. (pointing above) More footprints up there,
     stopping at that window, and under the window this
     key-ring, without a speck of rust on it.

     Chris. (earnestly) Tell me what you think—tell
     me what you mean!

     Izod. (comes down to her) I mean that that is
     the Squire's room, and that this bunch of keys belongs
     to the man who seems more anxious than anyone
     in the parish to be in the Squire's company. I
     mean that if the Squire wants to entertain a visitor
     unbeknown to you or anybody about the place, that     is the way in.

     Chris. Climb to a window, when there's a door
     there?

     Izod. (pointing to door R., C.) Who sleeps at the
     head of the stairs, outside the Squire's room?

     Chris. I do. (Izod gives a short whistle) But
     the dog, Izod,—nobody that the dog doesn't love,
     dares try to pass the gateway—the dog!

     Izod. Who gave the dog to the Squire, a twelve-
     month back?

     Chris. Ah!

     Izod. (holding out bunch of keys) Why, the man
     whose name is cut on that key-ring! (Chris.
     snatches the keys from him, and puts them behind
     her back. Izod seizes her hand) Give them up to
     me, you devil!

     Chris. (firmly) I'll call Gilbert Hythe, if you
     touch me,