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sees her shaking out his coat—in a changed voice.] Leave that coat alone!
     
    [The silver box drops from the pocket, scattering the cigarettes upon the bed. Taking up the box she stares at it; he rushes at her and snatches the box away.]
     
    MRS. JONES. [Cowering back against the bed.] Oh, Jem! oh, Jem!
     
    JONES. [Dropping the box onto the table.] You mind what you're sayin'! When I go out I'll take and chuck it in the water along with that there purse. I 'ad it when I was in liquor, and for what you do when you 're in liquor you're not responsible-and that's Gawd's truth as you ought to know. I don't want the thing—I won't have it. I took it out o' spite. I'm no thief, I tell you; and don't you call me one, or it'll be the worse for you.
     
    MRS. JONES. [Twisting her apron strings.] It's Mr. Barthwick's! You've taken away my reputation. Oh, Jem, whatever made you?
     
    JONES. What d' you mean?
     
    MRS. JONES. It's been missed; they think it's me. Oh! whatever made you do it, Jem?
     
    JONES. I tell you I was in liquor. I don't want it; what's the good of it to me? If I were to pawn it they'd only nab me. I 'm no thief. I 'm no worse than wot that young Barthwick is; he brought 'ome that purse that I picked up—a lady's purse—'ad it off 'er in a row, kept sayin' 'e 'd scored 'er off. Well, I scored 'im off. Tight as an owl 'e was! And d' you think anything'll happen to him?
     
    MRS. JONES. [As though speaking to herself.] Oh, Jem! it's the bread out of our mouths!
     
    JONES. Is it then? I'll make it hot for 'em yet. What about that purse? What about young Barthwick?
     
    [MRS. JONES comes forward to the table and tries to take the box; JONES prevents her.] What do you want with that? You drop it, I say!
     
    MRS. JONES. I'll take it back and tell them all about it. [She attempts to wrest the box from him.]
     
    JONES. Ah, would yer?
     
    [He drops the box, and rushes on her with a snarl. She slips back past the bed. He follows; a chair is overturned. The door is opened; Snow comes in, a detective in plain clothes and bowler hat, with clipped moustaches. JONES drops his arms, MRS. JONES stands by the window gasping; SNOW, advancing swiftly to the table, puts his hand on the silver box.]
     
    SNOW. Doin' a bit o' skylarkin'? Fancy this is what I 'm after. J. B., the very same. [He gets back to the door, scrutinising the crest and cypher on the box. To MRS. JONES.] I'm a police officer. Are you Mrs. Jones?
     
    MRS. JONES. Yes, Sir.
     
    SNOW. My instructions are to take you on a charge of stealing this box from J. BARTHWICK, Esquire, M.P., of 6, Rockingham Gate. Anything you say may be used against you. Well, Missis?
     
    MRS. JONES. [In her quiet voice, still out of breath, her hand upon her breast.] Of course I did not take it, sir. I never have taken anything that didn't belong to me; and of course I know nothing about it.
     
    SNOW. You were at the house this morning; you did the room in which the box was left; you were alone in the room. I find the box 'ere. You say you didn't take it?
     
    MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, of course I say I did not take it, because I did not.
     
    SNOW. Then how does the box come to be here?
     
    MRS. JONES. I would rather not say anything about it.
     
    SNOW. Is this your husband?
     
    MRS. JONES. Yes, sir, this is my husband, sir.
     
    SNOW. Do you wish to say anything before I take her?
     
    [JONES remains silent, with his head bend down.]
     
    Well then, Missis. I'll just trouble you to come along with me quietly.
     
    MRS. JONES. [Twisting her hands.] Of course I wouldn't say I hadn't taken it if I had—and I didn't take it, indeed I didn't. Of course I know appearances are against me, and I can't tell you what really happened: But my children are at school, and they'll be coming home—and I don't know what they'll do without me.
     
    SNOW. Your 'usband'll see to them, don't you worry. [He takes the woman gently by the arm.]
     
    JONES. You drop it—she's all right! [Sullenly.]