Pascoe. (Calmly.) I should certainly be surprised if he did.

Carve. (Astounded.) But—­but——­

Pascoe.  But what?

Carve.  You don’t mean to say—­Why, he’s a strong healthy man!

Pascoe.  Precisely.  Not very unusual for your strong healthy man to die of pneumonia in twenty-four hours.  You ought to know, at your age, that it’s a highly dangerous thing to be strong and healthy. (Turning away.) I’ll have another look at him before I go.

Carve. (Extremely perturbed.) But this is ridiculous.  I simply don’t know what I shall do without that man.

     The stage is darkened for a few moments to indicate passage of
     time.

SCENE 2

Time.—­The next morning but one.  Slightly less disorder in the room.

Carve and Pascoe are together, the latter ready to leave.

Carve.  Will there have to be an inquest?

Pascoe.  Inquest?  Of course not.

Carve.  It’s some relief to know that.  I couldn’t have faced a coroner.

Pascoe. (Staring at him.) Perfectly ordinary case.

Carve.  That’s what you call perfectly ordinary, is it?  A man is quite well on Tuesday afternoon, and dead at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning.  (Looking at his watch.) My watch has stopped.

Pascoe. (With fierce sarcasm.) One of those cheap German watches, I suppose, that stop when you don’t wind them up!  It’s a singular thing that when people stay up all night they take it for granted their watches are just as excited as they are.  Look here, you’ll be collapsing soon.  When did you have anything to eat last?

Carve.  Almost half an hour ago.  Two sausages that were sent in yesterday for the nurse.

Pascoe.  She’s gone?

Carve.  Oh yes.

Pascoe.  Well, take my advice.  Try to get some sleep now.  You’ve had no reply from the relatives—­the auctioneer cousin—­what’s his Christian name—­Cyrus?

Carve.  No, I—­I didn’t telegraph—­I forgot——­

Pascoe.  Well, upon my soul!  I specially reminded you yesterday afternoon.

Carve.  I didn’t know the address.

Pascoe.  Ever heard of the London Directory?  You’d better run out and wire instantly.  You don’t seem to realize that the death of a man like Ilam Carve will make something of a stir in the world.  And you may depend on it that whether they’d quarrelled or not, Cyrus Carve will want to know why he wasn’t informed of the illness at once.  You’ve let yourself in for a fine row, and well you deserve it.

Carve. (After a few paces.) See here, doctor.  I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. (Facing him nervously.)

Pascoe.  What?

Carve.  I—­I——­