in the streets, and make a disturbance as he sometimes does.

MARLOW. [Holding up the empty decanter.] Not a drain! Next time
he hits you get a witness and go down to the court----

MRS. JONES. Yes, I think I 've made up my mind. I think I ought
to.

MARLOW. That's right. Where's the ciga----?

[He searches for the silver box; he looks at MRS. JONES, who is
sweeping on her hands and knees; he checks himself and stands
reflecting. From the tray he picks two half-smoked cigarettes,
and reads the name on them.]

Nestor--where the deuce----?

[With a meditative air he looks again at MRS. JONES, and,
taking up JACK'S overcoat, he searches in the pockets.
WHEELER, with a tray of breakfast things, comes in.]

MARLOW. [Aside to WHEELER.] Have you seen the cigarette-box?

WHEELER. No.

MARLOW. Well, it's gone. I put it on the tray last night. And
he's been smoking. [Showing her the ends of cigarettes.] It's not
in these pockets. He can't have taken it upstairs this morning!
Have a good look in his room when he comes down. Who's been in
here?