crude and ambitious mantelpiece, is in the centre of the left
     wall; and uncomfortable-looking heavy armchairs are on each side
     of it.  On the mantelpiece are a marble clock and a few bits of
     china.  In the angle formed at the left side is a small Queen Anne
     writing-table, open.  To the right of the room is a large sofa. 
     The floor is heavily carpeted, and there are many rugs scattered
     about.

When the curtain rises, the room is in darkness. WILLIAM, the footman, enters hurriedly and switches on the electric light.  He rushes to the table, looks eagerly around, shifting cups and glasses, napkins, etc., then goes on his hands and knees and searches on the carpet.  After a moment, SMITHERS, the lady’s-maid, follows him.

SMITHERS. [Eagerly.] Can’t you find it?

WILLIAM. [Sulkily.] No.  Not yet.  Give me time.

SMITHERS. [Feeling along the table-cloth.] Under one of those rugs, perhaps.

WILLIAM.  Well, I’m looking. [Motor-horn sounds sharply, off.] All right, all right!

SMITHERS. [With a jerk of the head.] Missis is telling him to do it.

WILLIAM. [On all fours, crawling about.] Very like her voice, too, when she’s angry.  Drat the thing!  Where can it be?

     [He peers into the coal-scuttle.

SMITHERS.  No good looking in there, stupid.

WILLIAM.  They always say it’s the unlikeliest places—­

     [MARTIN, the butler, comes in.

MARTIN.  Come, come, haven’t you found it?

WILLIAM.  No, Mr. Martin.  It ain’t here.

MARTIN. [Bustling about.] Must be, must be.  She says—­

WILLIAM.  I can’t help what she says.  It ain’t.

MARTIN. [Looking under the sofa.] Just you hustle, young man, and don’t give me any back-answers.

     [Having completed his examination of the sofa, he moves to the
     sideboard, and fusses round that.

SMITHERS. [Methodically shaking out each napkin.] I tell you she’s cross.

MARTIN. [Hard at work, searching.] Doesn’t mind disturbing us, in the midst of our supper!

WILLIAM. [Who, all the time, has been on all fours searching.] We’re dirt, that’s what we are—­dirt.

MARTIN. [Reprovingly.] William, I’ve told you before—­

WILLIAM.  Very sorry, Mr. Martin, but this is the first time I’ve accepted an engagement at a stockbroker’s. [He has been crawling round the curtains at the back, shaking them; pulling hard at one of them he dislodges the lower part.] Lor! Now I’ve done it!

SMITHERS.  Clumsy!

MARTIN. [Severely.] That comes of too much talk Never mind the curtain—­go on looking.

     [WILLIAM drops on to his hands and knees again; HARVEY WESTERN
     comes into the room, perturbed and restless.  He is a
     well-preserved man of fifty.