OLIVIA: All that time ... there may be something ... lying in the woods. Hidden under a bush, with two feet just showing. Perhaps one high heel catching the sunlight, with a bird perched on the end of it; and the other--a stockinged foot, with blood ... that's dried into the openwork stocking. And there's a man walking about somewhere, and talking, like us; and he woke up this morning, and looked at the weather. ... And he killed her.... (_Smiling, looking out of the window_) The cat doesn't believe a word of it, anyhow. It's just walking away. MRS. BRAMSON: Well! MRS. TERENCE: Ooh, Miss Grayne, you give me the creeps! I'm glad it is morning, that's all I can say.... BELSIZE: I don't think the lady can quite describe _herself_ as ordinary, after that little flight of fancy! MRS. BRAMSON: Oh, that's nothing; she writes poetry. Jingle jingle-- BELSIZE: I can only hope she's wrong, or it'll mean a nice job of work for us! ... Well, if anything funny happens, nip along to Shepperley police station. Pity you're not on the 'phone. Good morning.... Good morning.... MRS. TERENCE: This way.... _She follows_ BELSIZE _into the hall_. BELSIZE: No, don't bother.... Good morning. _He goes out._ MRS. TERENCE _shuts the door after him_. MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ HUBERT): What are _you_ staring at? HUBERT (_crossing to the fireplace_): Funny, I can't get out of my mind what Olivia said about the man being somewhere who's done it. MRS. TERENCE (_coming into the room_): Why, Mr. Laurie, it might be you! After all, there's nothing in your face that _proves_ it isn't! HUBERT: Oh, come, come! You're being a bit hard on the old countenance, aren't you? MRS. TERENCE: Well, 'e's not going to walk about with bloodshot eyes and a snarl all over his face, is he? _She goes into the kitchen._ HUBERT: That's true enough. MRS. BRAMSON: Missing woman indeed! She's more likely than not at this very moment sitting in some saloon bar. Or the films, I shouldn't wonder. (_To_ OLIVIA) pass me my wool, will you.... OLIVIA _crosses to the desk. A knock at the kitchen door_: DORA _appears, cautiously._ DORA: _Was_ it about me? OLIVIA: Of course it wasn't. DORA (_relieved_): Oh.... Please, mum, 'e's 'ere. MRS. BRAMSON: Who? DORA: My boy fr--my gentleman friend, ma'am, from the Tallboys. MRS. BRAMSON: I'm ready for him. (_Waving aside the wool which_ OLIVIA _brings to her_) The sooner he's made to realise what his duty _is_, the better. _I_'ll give him baby-face! DORA: Thank you, ma'am. _She goes out through the front door._ HUBERT: What gentleman? What duty? OLIVIA: The maid's going to have a baby. (_She crosses and puts the wool in the cupboard of the desk._) HUBERT: Is she, by Jove!... Don't look at me like that, Mrs. Bramson! I've only been in the county two weeks.... But is _he_ from the Tallboys? MRS. BRAMSON: A page-boy or something of the sort.