JACK. Reticule. [Looking round for any chance to get away.] I
don't know anything about it.

BARTHWICK. [Sharply.] Come, do you deny seeing this young lady
last night?

JACK. Deny? No, of course. [Whispering.] Why did you give me
away like this? What on earth did you come here for?

UNKNOWN. [Tearfully.] I'm sure I didn't want to--it's not likely,
is it? You snatched it out of my hand--you know you did--and the
purse had all my money in it. I did n't follow you last night
because I did n't want to make a fuss and it was so late, and you
were so----

BARTHWICK. Come, sir, don't turn your back on me--explain!

JACK. [Desperately.] I don't remember anything about it. [In a
low voice to his friend.] Why on earth could n't you have written?

UNKNOWN. [Sullenly.] I want it now; I must have, it--I 've got to
pay my rent to-day. [She looks at BARTHWICK.] They're only too glad
to jump on people who are not--not well off.

JACK. I don't remember anything about it, really. I don't remember
anything about last night at all. [He puts his hand up to his
head.] It's all--cloudy, and I 've got such a beastly headache.

UNKNOWN. But you took it; you know you did. You said you'd score
me off.