POLICEMAN. And possibly for the sake of greater security you tied a string round it—did you? CINDERELLA. I did. POLICEMAN (_after a glance at_ MR. BODIE _to indicate that the supreme moment has come_). You then deposited the little parcel—where? BODIE (_in an agony_). Cinderella, be careful! (_She is so dreading to do the wrong thing that she can only stare. Finally, alas, she produces the fatal packet from her pocket. Quiet triumph of our policeman._) BODIE. My poor child! CINDERELLA (_not realising yet that she has given herself away_). What is it? Go on. POLICEMAN. That’ll do. You can stand down. CINDERELLA. You’ve found out? POLICEMAN. I have. CINDERELLA (_breathless_). And what am I? POLICEMAN (_kindly_). I’m sorry. CINDERELLA. Am I—common clay? (_They look considerately at the floor; she bursts into tears and runs into the pantry, shutting the door._) POLICEMAN (_with melancholy satisfaction_). It’s infall_ay_ble. BODIE. At any rate it shows that there’s nothing against her. POLICEMAN (_taking him further from the pantry door, in a low voice_). I dunno. There’s some queer things. Where does she go when she leaves this house? What about that ball?—and her German connection?—and them boards she makes into boxes—and A. C. Celeste? Well, I’ll find out. BODIE (_miserably_). What are you going to do? POLICEMAN. To track her when she leaves here. I may have to adopt a disguise. I’m a masterpiece at that. BODIE. Yes, but— POLICEMAN (_stamping about the floor with the exaggerated tread of the Law_). I’ll tell you the rest outside. I must make her think that my suspicions are—allayed. (_He goes cunningly to the pantry door and speaks in a loud voice._) Well, sir, that satisfies me that she’s not the party I was in search of, and so, with your permission, I’ll bid you good evening. What, you’re going out yourself? Then I’ll be very happy to walk part of the way with you. (_Nodding and winking, he goes off with heavy steps, taking with him the reluctant_ MR. BODIE, _who like one mesmerised also departs stamping_.