WEDGECROFT. Get him to open his oyster of a mind and.... FARRANT. So it is and his face like a stone wall yesterday. Absolutely refused to discuss the matter with me! CANTELUPE. May I ask, Cyril, why are we concerning ourselves with this wickedness at all? HORSHAM. Just at this moment when we have official weight without official responsibility, Charles.... WEDGECROFT. I wish I could have let Percival out of bed, but these first touches of autumn are dangerous to a convalescent of his age. HORSHAM. But you saw him, Farrant ... and he gave you his opinion, didn't he? FARRANT. Last night ... yes. HORSHAM. I suppose it's a pity Blackborough hasn't turned up. FARRANT. Never mind him. HORSHAM. He gets people to agree with him. That's a gift. FARRANT. Wedgecroft, what is the utmost O'Connell will be called upon to do for us ... for Trebell? WEDGECROFT. Probably only to hold his tongue at the inquest to-morrow. As far as I know there's no one but her maid to prove that Mrs. O'Connell didn't meet her husband some time in the summer. He'll be called upon to tell a lie or two by implication. FARRANT. Cantelupe ... what does perjury to that extent mean to a Roman Catholic? CANTELUPE'S _face melts into an expression of mild amazement._ CANTELUPE. Your asking such a question shows that you would not understand my answer to it. FARRANT. [_Leaving the fellow to his subtleties._] Well, what about the maid? WEDGECROFT. She may suspect facts but not names, I think. Why should they question her on such a point if O'Connell says nothing? HORSHAM. He's really very late. I told ... [_He stops._] Charles, I've forgotten that man's name again. CANTELUPE. Edmunds, you said it was. HORSHAM. Edmunds. Everybody's down at Lympne ... I've been left with a new man here and I don't know his name. [_He is very pathetic._] I told him to put O'Connell in the library there. I thought that either Farrant or I might perhaps see him first and-- _At this moment_ EDMUNDS _comes in, and, with that air of discreet tact which he considers befits the establishment of a Prime Minister, announces_, "Mr. O'Connell, my lord." _As_ O'CONNELL _follows him_, HORSHAM _can only try not to look too disconcerted._ O'CONNELL, _in his tightly buttoned frock coat, with his shaven face and close-cropped iron grey hair, might be mistaken for a Catholic priest; except that he has not also acquired the easy cheerfulness which professional familiarity with the mysteries of that religion seems to give. For the moment, at least, his features are so impassive that they may tell either of the deepest grief or the purest indifference; or it may be, merely of reticence on entering a stranger's room. He only bows towards_ HORSHAM'S _half-proffered hand. With instinctive respect for the situation of this tragically made widower the men have risen and stand in various uneasy attitudes._