piece of coal off the fire. He opens the door and peeps into the
lobby, listening to the wag-at-the-wall clock. All seems serene, and
he turns on the light. We see him clearly now. He is JOHN SHAND, age
twenty-one, boots muddy, as an indignant carpet can testify. He wears
a shabby topcoat and a cockerty bonnet; otherwise he is in the well-
worn corduroys of a railway porter. His movements, at first stealthy,
become almost homely as he feels that he is secure. He opens the bag
and takes out a bunch of keys, a small paper parcel, and a black
implement that may be a burglar's jemmy. This cool customer examines
the fire and piles on more coals. With the keys he opens the door of
the bookcase, selects two large volumes, and brings them to the
table. He takes off his topcoat and opens his parcel, which we now
see contains sheets of foolscap paper. His next action shows that the
'jemmy' is really a ruler. He knows where the pen and ink are kept.
He pulls the fine chair nearer to the table, sits on it, and proceeds
to write, occasionally dotting the carpet with ink as he stabs the
air with his pen. He is so occupied that he does not see the door
opening, and the Wylie family staring at him. They are armed with
sticks.]

ALICK [at last]. When you're ready, John Shand.

[JOHN hints back, and then he has the grace to rise, dogged and
expressionless.]

JAMES [like a railway porter]. Ticket, please.

DAVID. You can't think of anything clever for to go for to say now,
John.