JACK. I have some news for you about your stepmother, Mrs. Everest. By the idiotic conditions of your late father’s will--if the old lady marries again before your birthday on Monday next the whole fortune he left becomes not yours but hers. WALTER. He meant it the other way about. JACK. Yes, but that is how the will reads--instead of writing “_He_ shall inherit,” your father wrote “_she_ shall inherit.” She is the “she.” About forty-five thou., isn’t it? WALTER. Nearer fifty. JACK. An adventurer named Potterfield has lately come to the village, found out about the will, made love to the old lady, got a special license, and is bringing her to town to marry her to-morrow. WALTER. What? JACK. Stella is coming here directly. This wedding must be stopped or postponed. WALTER. Jack, something’s got to be done--suppose I were taken ill--very ill. JACK. No good at all. WALTER. Well, suppose that--no, that’s no use--suppose again that--no, that’s no good either. I have a dim kind of idea that in some way my invention is going to help us. JACK. You said it had failed. WALTER. It failed living; it might be of use dead. (_Swiss Jodel._) Hullo, tra la la! (_Momentary dissipated business._) (_STELLA enters D. in F._) WALTER. Hullo, Stella how are you? Jack has told me all about this adventurer, Potterfield. I’ve an idea to checkmate my stepmother. (_Gives her seat._) I’m going to postpone their marriage not by being ill--I’m going to die. What do you think of that? JACK. I think it’s the weakest thing I ever heard of. WALTER. In that cupboard there is a figure exactly like myself which was timed to spring into existence yesterday at 5 p.m.--only it didn’t. It’s the work my father never completed. Something went wrong. There the figure is and will remain, dead as a nut. I even dressed it in my best clothes, gave it a name, too, christened it Cyril Davidson. STELLA. Cyril Davidson? (_Laughs._) JACK. What was the little idea of making it like yourself? WALTER. My father’s instructions were to make the man I was creating a handsome, good-looking fellow, according to the very best available model. All you’ve got to do is to produce the dead figure and say it’s me. I’ll go away to Brighton; they can’t in common decency marry before the funeral. JACK. Then it seems you made an electric man. _My_ chief doubt is it won’t be like enough. WALTER. Come and see! (_Music. He takes key from pocket, unlocks door of cupboard, and a man in black frock-coat, with black bowler, is seen seated with back to audience._) STELLA. Oh, how wonderful! (_Looking in._) JACK. Wonderful! (_Looking in._) STELLA. Walter, that _is_ you! (_Bell rings off D. in F._) WALTER. Bell!--that may be my stepmother! (_He quickly closes cupboard._) We might go into the other room. I call it my drawing-room, because there is a piano and three gold-fish in a bowl. (_STELLA goes into room R._) Jack, in case she comes I’d better be off. Can you lend me any cash?