Part 42

(HAKE goes out.)

(GEOFFREY continues his letters. A few moments pass; HAKE re-enters, closes the door.)

HAKE. (He seems puzzled.) It’s a lady, sir

(GEOFFREY turns.)

HAKE. At least—hardly a lady. A Mrs. Chinn.

GEOFFREY. Mrs. Chinn! (He glances at his watch.) At twelve o’clock at night. Well, all right. I’ll see her.

(HAKE opens the door, speaks to MRS. CHINN. She enters, in bonnet and shawl.)

HAKE. Mrs. Chinn.

GEOFFREY. Good evening, Mrs. Chinn.

MRS. CHINN. Good evening, sir.

GEOFFREY. You needn’t stop, Hake. I shan’t be wanting anything.

HAKE. Thank you.

GEOFFREY. Apologise for me to Mrs. Hake. Good-night.

HAKE. Good-night, sir.

(HAKE goes out. A minute later the front door is heard to slam.)

GEOFFREY. Won’t you sit down? (He puts a chair for her left of the table.)

MRS. CHINN. (Seating herself.) Thank you, sir.

GEOFFREY. (He half sits on the arm of the easy-chair below the fire.) What’s the trouble?

MRS. CHINN. It’s my boy, sir—my youngest. He’s been taking money that didn’t belong to him.

GEOFFREY. Um. Has it been going on for long?

MRS. CHINN. About six months, sir. I only heard of it to-night. You see, his wife died a year ago. She was such a good manager. And after she was gone he seems to have got into debt.

GEOFFREY. What were his wages?

MRS. CHINN. Nineteen shillings a week, sir. And that with the rent and three young children—well, it wants thinking out.

GEOFFREY. From whom did he take the money—his employers?

MRS. CHINN. Yes, sir. He was the carman. They had always trusted him to collect the accounts.

GEOFFREY. How much, would you say, was the defalcation?

MRS. CHINN. I beg pardon, sir.

GEOFFREY. How much does it amount to, the sums that he has taken?