OLIVIA: And what do they think? MRS. TERENCE (_over her shoulder_): They think it's me. I know they think it's me. _She goes into the hall and opens the front door._ HUBERT (_outside_): Good afternoon, Mrs. Terence. MRS. TERENCE: Oh ... come in, sir. (_Coming back into the room_) It's a civilian for a change. _She is followed by_ HUBERT. HUBERT (_to_ OLIVIA): I say, this is all getting pretty terrible, isn't it? OLIVIA: Yes, terrible. MRS. TERENCE: Oh, terrible, terrible. There's one word for it; it's terrible. Forty-eight hours since they found 'er. They'll never get 'im now. HUBERT: Terrible.... MRS. TERENCE: There was another charabanc load just after two o'clock. All standin' round the rubbish-'cap eatin' sandwiches. Sensation, that's what it is. OLIVIA: Would you like some food, Hubert? HUBERT: Well, I-- MRS. TERENCE: They're still looking for the 'ead. HUBERT (_to_ OLIVIA, _with a slight grimace_): No, thanks. I had lunch. MRS. TERENCE: Mangled, she was, mangled.... Did you see your name in the _Express_, sir? HUBERT: I--er--did catch a glimpse of it, yes. MRS. TERENCE: Little did you think, sir, when you was digging that pit for my rubbish, eh? 'E may 'ave been _watchin'_ you digging it ... ooh! I have to sit in my kitchen and think about it. HUBERT: Then why don't you leave? MRS. TERENCE (_indignantly_): How can I leave, with the whole village waitin' on me to tell 'em the latest? (_Going towards the kitchen_) I 'eard 'er 'ead must have been off at one stroke. One stroke.... HUBERT: Really. MRS. TERENCE (_turning at the door_): She wasn't interfered with, though. _She goes into the kitchen._ HUBERT: How they all love it.... How's the old lady bearing up in the old invalid chair, eh? OLIVIA: She's bursting out of it with health. And loving it more than anybody. This is my latest job--a press-cutting book. There was a picture of her in the _Chronicle_ yesterday; she bought twenty-six copies. HUBERT (_taking his pipe out_): She'll get to believe she did it herself in the end.... Is she in? OLIVIA: She's gone over to Breakerly to interview a local paper. HUBERT: The lad pushing the go-cart?... He's the devoted son all right, isn't he? OLIVIA (_after a pause_): I don't talk to him much. HUBERT: Nice fellow. I've thought a lot about that prying into his things--pretty bad show, really, you know. (_Going to the left window_) I wonder if they'll ever nab him? OLIVIA (_with a start_): What do you mean? HUBERT: The fellow who did it.... Wonder what he's doing now. OLIVIA: I wonder. HUBERT: Damn clever job, you know, quietly.... That was a rum touch, finding that broken lipstick in the rubbish-heap.... You know, the fact they still have no idea where this woman's head is---- OLIVIA (_convulsively_): Don't.... HUBERT: Sorry. OLIVIA (_after a pause_): It's a bit of a strain. HUBERT (_earnestly_): Then why don't you leave? OLIVIA: I--I couldn't afford it.