KEITH. Is your promise worth anything? LARRY. [With one of his flashes] "Unstable as water, he shall not excel!" KEITH. Exactly. But if I'm to help you, you must do as I say. I must have time to think this out. Have you got money? LARRY. Very little. KEITH. [Grimly] Half-quarter day--yes, your quarter's always spent by then. If you're to get away--never mind, I can manage the money. LARRY. [Humbly] You're very good, Keith; you've always been very good to me--I don't know why. KEITH. [Sardonically] Privilege of A brother. As it happens, I'm thinking of myself and our family. You can't indulge yourself in killing without bringing ruin. My God! I suppose you realise that you've made me an accessory after the fact--me, King's counsel--sworn to the service of the Law, who, in a year or two, will have the trying of cases like yours! By heaven, Larry, you've surpassed yourself! LARRY. [Bringing out a little box] I'd better have done with it. KErra. You fool! Give that to me. LARRY. [With a strange smite] No. [He holds up a tabloid between finger and thumb] White magic, Keith! Just one--and they may do what they like to you, and you won't know it. Snap your fingers at all the tortures. It's a great comfort! Have one to keep by you? KEITH. Come, Larry! Hand it over. LARRY. [Replacing the box] Not quite! You've never killed a man, you see. [He gives that crazy laugh.] D'you remember that hammer when we were boys and you riled me, up in the long room? I had luck then. I had luck in Naples once. I nearly killed a driver for beating his poor brute of a horse. But now--! My God! [He covers his face.] KEITH touched, goes up and lays a hand on his shoulder. KEITH. Come, Larry! Courage! LARRY looks up at him. LARRY. All right, Keith; I'll try. KEITH. Don't go out. Don't drink. Don't talk. Pull yourself together! LARRY. [Moving towards the door] Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith. KEITH. No, no. Courage! LARRY reaches the door, turns as if to say something-finds no words, and goes. [To the fire] Courage! My God! I shall need it! CURTAIN SCENE II At out eleven o'clock the following night an WANDA'S room on the ground floor in Soho. In the light from one close-shaded electric bulb the room is but dimly visible. A dying fire burns on the left. A curtained window in the centre of the back wall. A door on the right. The furniture is plush-covered and commonplace, with a kind of shabby smartness. A couch, without back or arms, stands aslant, between window and fire.