This time, the lights do not flicker. They begin to dim steadily toward and then into complete darkness as Stevens continues.
Nancy was the confidante, at first, while she — Nancy — still believed probably that the only problem, factor, was how to raise the money the blackmailer demanded, without letting the boss, the master, the husband find out about it; finding, discovering — this is still Nancy — realising probably that she had not really been a confidante for a good while, a long while before she discovered that what she actually was, was a spy: on her employer: not realising until after she had discovered that, although Temple had taken the money and the jewels too from her husband’s strongbox, she — Temple — still hadn’t paid them over to the blackmailer and got the letters, that the payment of the money and jewels was less than half of Temple’s plan.
The lights go completely out. The stage is in complete darkness. Stevens’ voice continues.
That was when Nancy in her turn found where Temple had hidden the money and jewels, and — Nancy — took them in her turn and hid them from Temple; this was the night of the day Gowan left for a week’s fishing at Aransas Pass, taking the older child, the boy, with him, to leave the child for a week’s visit with its grandparents in New Orleans until Gowan would pick him up on his way home from Texas.
(to Temple: in the darkness)
Now tell him.
The stage is in complete darkness.
Scene II
INTERIOR, TEMPLE’S PRIVATE sitting- or dressing-room. 9.30 p.m. September thirteenth ante.
The lights go up, lower right, as in Act I in the transition from the Courtroom to the Stevenses’ living-room, though instead of the living-room, the scene is now Temple’s private apartment. A door, left, enters from the house proper. A door, right, leads into the nursery where the child is asleep in its crib. At rear, french-windows open on to a terrace; this is a private entrance to the house itself from outside. At left, a cupboard door stands open. Garments are scattered over the floor about it, indicating that the cupboard has been searched, not hurriedly so much as savagely and ruthlessly and thoroughly. At right, is a fireplace of gas logs. A desk against the rear wall is open and shows traces of the same savage and ruthless search. A table, centre, bears Temple’s hat, gloves and bag, also a bag such as is associated with infants; two cases, obviously Temple’s, are packed and closed and sit on the floor beside the table. The whole room indicates Temple’s imminent departure, and that something has been vainly yet savagely and completely, perhaps even frantically, searched for.
When the lights go up, Pete is standing in the open cupboard door, holding a final garment, a negligee, in his hands. He is about twenty-five. He does not look like a criminal. That is, he is not a standardised recognisable criminal or gangster type, quite. He looks almost like the general conception of a college man, or a successful young automobile or appliance salesman. His clothes are ordinary, neither flashy nor sharp, simply what everybody wears. But there is a definite ‘untamed’ air to him. He is handsome, attractive to women, not at all unpredictable because you — or they — know exactly what he will do, you just hope he won’t do it this time. He has a hard, ruthless quality, not immoral but unmoral.
He wears a light-weight summer suit, his hat is shoved on to the back of his head so that, engaged as he is at present, he looks exactly like a youthful city detective in a tough moving-picture. He is searching the flimsy negligee, quickly and without gentleness, drops it and turns, finds his feet entangled in the other garments on the floor and without pausing, kicks himself free and crosses to the desk and stands looking down at the litter on it which he has already searched thoroughly and savagely once, with a sort of bleak and contemptuous disgust.
Temple enters, left. She wears a dark suit for travelling beneath a light-weight open coat, is hatless, carries the fur coat which we have seen, and a child’s robe or blanket over the same arm, and a filled milk bottle in the other hand. She pauses long enough to glance at the littered room. Then she comes on in and approaches the table. Pete turns his head; except for that, he doesn’t move.
PETE
Well?
TEMPLE
No. The people where she lives say they haven’t seen her since she left to come to work this morning.
PETE
I could have told you that.
(he glances at his wrist watch)
We’ve still got time. Where does she live?
TEMPLE
(at the table)
And then what? hold a lighted cigarette against the sole of her foot?
PETE
It’s fifty dollars, even if you are accustomed yourself to thinking in hundreds. Besides the jewellery. What do you suggest then? call the cops?
TEMPLE
No. You won’t have to run. I’m giving you an out.
PETE
An out?
TEMPLE
No, dough, no snatch. Isn’t that how you would say it?
PETE
Maybe I don’t get you.
TEMPLE
You can quit now. Clear out. Leave. Get out from under. Save yourself. Then all you’ll have to do is, wait till my husband gets back, and start over.
PETE
Maybe I still don’t get you.
TEMPLE
You’ve still got the letters, haven’t you?
PETE
Oh, the letters.
He reaches inside his coat, takes out the packet of letters and tosses it onto the table.
There you are.
TEMPLE
I told you two days ago I didn’t want them.
PETE
Sure. That was two days ago.
They watch each other a moment. Then Temple dumps the fur coat and the robe from her arm, onto the table, sets the bottle carefully on the table, takes up the packet of letters and extends her other hand to Pete.
TEMPLE
Give me your lighter.
Pete produces the lighter from his pocket and hands it to her. That is, he extends it, not moving otherwise, so that she has to take a step or two toward him to reach and take it. Then she turns and crosses to the hearth, snaps the lighter on. It misses fire two or three times, then lights. Pete has not moved, watching her. She stands motionless a moment, the packet of letters in one hand, the burning lighter in the other. Then she turns her head and looks back at him. For another moment they watch each other.
PETE
Go ahead. Burn them. The other time I gave them to you, you turned them down so you could always change your mind and back out. Burn them.
They watch each other for another moment. Then she turns her head and stands now, her face averted, the lighter still burning. Pete watches her for another moment.
Then put that junk down and come here.
She snaps out the lighter, turns, crosses to the table, putting the packet of letters and the lighter on the table as she passes it, and goes on to where Pete has not moved. At this moment, Nancy appears in the door, left. Neither of them sees her. Pete puts his arms around Temple.
I offered you an out too.
(he draws her closer)
Baby.
TEMPLE
Don’t call me that.
PETE
(tightens his arms, caressing and savage too)
Red did. I’m as good a man as he was. Ain’t I?
They kiss. Nancy moves quietly through the door and stops just inside the room, watching them. She now wears the standardised department-store maidservant’s uniform, but without cap and apron, beneath a light-weight open topcoat; on her head is a battered almost shapeless felt hat which must have once belonged to a man. Pete breaks the kiss.
Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ve even got moral or something. I don’t even want to put my hands on you in his house ——
He sees Nancy across Temple’s shoulder, and reacts. Temple reacts to him, turns quickly, and sees Nancy too. Nancy comes on into the room.
TEMPLE
(to Nancy)
What are you doing here?
NANCY
I brought my foot. So he can hold that cigarette against it.
TEMPLE
So you’re not just a thief: you’re a spy too.
PETE
Maybe she’s not a thief either. Maybe she brought it back.
(they watch Nancy, who doesn’t answer)
Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe we had better use that cigarette.
(to Nancy)
How about it? Is that what you came back for, sure enough?
TEMPLE
(to Pete)
Hush. Take the bags and go on to the car.
PETE
(to Temple but watching Nancy)
I’ll wait for you. There may be a little something I can do here, after all.
TEMPLE
Go on, I tell you! Let’s for God’s sake get away from here. Go on.
Pete watches Nancy for a moment longer, who stands facing them but not looking at anything, motionless, almost bemused, her face sad, brooding and inscrutable. Then Pete turns, goes to the table, picks up the lighter, seems about to pass on, then pauses again and with almost infinitesimal hesitation takes up the packet of letters, puts it back inside his coat, takes up the two packed bags and crosses to the french-window, passing Nancy, who is still looking at nothing and no one.
PETE
(to Nancy)
Not that I wouldn’t like to, you
