MALCOLM. Nonsense, I'll go and fetch him in. (_Crosses to L._)

GEORGE (_clutching him by the sleeve_). You don't know what it's like,
sir. It ain't fit to look at by yourself, it ain't indeed. It's got the
awfullest deathlike face, and short cropped red hair--it's--

(_Smothered cry is heard._)

What's that? (_Backs to C and leans on chair._)

(_ALL start, and a quick pattering of footsteps is heard rapidly
approaching the room. The door flies open and HIRST flings himself
gasping and shivering into MALCOLM'S arms. The door remains open. He has
only his trousers and shirt on, his face very white with fear and his
own hair all standing on end. LEEK lights the gas, then goes to R. of
HIRST._)

OMNES. What's the matter?

MALCOLM. Why, it's Hirst.

(_Shakes him roughly by the shoulder._)

What's up?

HIRST. I've seen--oh, Lord! I'll never play the fool again. (_Goes C._)

OTHERS. Seen what?