BRODIE. We shall see. Let me take you to your room. Come. And, remember, it is for your brother’s sake. It is to save me. MARY. I am true Brodie. Give me time, and you shall not find me wanting. But it is all so sudden . . . so strange and dreadful! You will give me time, will you not? I am only a woman, and . . . O my poor Walter! It will break his heart! It will break his heart! (_A knock_.) BRODIE. You hear! MARY. Yes, yes. Forgive me. I am going. I will go. It is to save you, is it not? To save you. Walter . . . Mr. Leslie . . . O Deacon, Deacon, God forgive you! (_She goes out_.) BRODIE. Amen. But will He? SCENE VII BRODIE, HUNT HUNT (_hat in hand_). Mr. Deacon Brodie, I believe? BRODIE. I am he, Mr.— HUNT. Hunt, sir; an officer from Sir John Fielding of Bow Street. BRODIE. There can be no better passport than the name. In what can I serve you? HUNT. You’ll excuse me, Mr. Deacon. BRODIE. Your duty excuses you, Mr. Hunt. HUNT. Your obedient. The fact is, Mr. Deacon [we in the office see a good deal of the lives of private parties; and I needn’t tell a gentleman of your experience it’s part of our duty to hold our tongues. Now], it’s come to my knowledge that you are a trifle jokieous. Of course I know there ain’t any harm in that. I’ve been young myself, Mr. Deacon, and speaking— BRODIE. O, but pardon me. Mr. Hunt, I am not going to discuss my private character with you. HUNT. To be sure you ain’t. [And do I blame you? Not me.] But, speaking as one man of the world to another, you naturally see a great deal of bad company. BRODIE. Not half so much as you do. But I see what you’re driving at; and if I can illuminate the course of justice, you may command me. (_He sits_, _and motions_ HUNT _to do likewise_.) HUNT. I was dead sure of it; and ’and upon ’art, Mr. Deacon, I thank you. Now (_consulting pocket-book_), did you ever meet a certain George Smith? BRODIE. The fellow they call Jingling Geordie? (HUNT _nods_.) Yes. HUNT. Bad character. BRODIE. Let us say . . . disreputable. HUNT. Any means of livelihood? BRODIE. I really cannot pretend to guess, I have met the creature at cock-fights [which, as you know, are my weakness]. Perhaps he bets. HUNT. [Mr. Deacon, from what I know of the gentleman, I should say that if he don’t—if he ain’t open to any mortal thing—he ain’t the man I mean.] He used to be about with a man called Badger Moore. BRODIE. The boxer? HUNT. That’s him. Know anything of him? BRODIE. Not much. I lost five pieces on him in a fight; and I fear he sold his backers. HUNT. Speaking as one admirer of the noble art to another, Mr. Deacon, the losers always do. I suppose the Badger cockfights like the rest of us? BRODIE. I have met him in the pit. HUNT. Well, it’s a pretty sport. I’m as partial to a main as anybody. BRODIE. It’s not an elegant taste, Mr. Hunt.