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