GERALD (holding out his cigarette-case). Have another cigarette?
(They each light one, and GERALD sits down in the chair opposite to
him.) Let's look at it calmly. You've done nothing dishonourable, I
know that. That's obvious.

BOB. You see, Jerry, I'm so hopeless at that sort of business.
Naturally I got in the way of leaving things to Marcus. But that's
all. (Resentfully) Of course, that's all.

GERALD. Good. Well, then, you're making much too much fuss about
it. My dear boy, innocent people don't get put into prison
nowadays. You've been reading detective stories. "The Stain on
the Bath Mat," or "The Crimson Sponge." Good Lord! I shall be
coming to _you_ next and saying that _I'm_ going to be put in
prison for selling secret documents to a foreign country. These
things don't happen; they don't really, old boy.

BOB (cheered, but not convinced). I don't know; it looks devilish
bad, what I can make of it.

GERALD. Well, let's see what I can make of it.

BOB (trying not to show his eagerness). I was wondering if you
would. Come up on Monday and we'll have a go at it together. Marcus
has gone, of course. Probably halfway to South America by now.
(Bitterly) Or wherever you go to.

GERALD. Right-o! At least, I can't come on Monday, of course, but
we'll have a go at it on Thursday.