Nick: “Well, you’re at least a cigarette case ahead — or wasn’t it worth keeping?”
Nora says, “Nick,” reprovingly, while Selma, not knowing he is kidding her, says, “I sent it back, of course, with a note saying it wasn’t mine, but I don’t—” She breaks off to look at the butler, who is standing in the doorway.
The butler says, “A — ah — gentleman from the police to see you, Mrs. Landis.”
Selma screams and faints.
Selma’s scream brings in Aunt Katherine, followed by the rest of the family. During the ensuing hubbub, while they are bringing her to, asking each other what happened, Lieutenant Abrams comes in. He nods at Nick, says, “I thought maybe you’d be here,” looks at Selma, and asks, “Is the lady in trouble Mrs. Selma Landis?”
Nick: “Yes.”
Abrams: “I thought maybe it was.” Then, to Nora, who is now looking at him: “Evening, Mrs. Charles.”
By this time the others have noticed him. Aunt Katherine looks inquiringly at him. Nick introduces them elaborately: “Miss Forrest, may I present Lieutenant Abrams of the Police Department homicide detail?”
Aunt Katherine asks sharply, “Homicide?”
Selma pushes past her to put her hands on Abrams’s arms, demanding, “What has happened to him?”
Abrams (as always, in a manner that may come from stupidity, or may come from a shrewd pretense of stupidity): “He was killed this afternoon. Didn’t Mr. Charles tell you?”
Selma stares at him in dumb horror.
Nora: “He doesn’t mean Robert, dear. He means Pedro, the gardener we used to have. You remember him.” She helps Selma to a chair, then asks Abrams indignantly, “Did you do that on purpose?”
Aunt Hattie: “I can’t understand a thing that’s going on.” She points at Abrams: “Is this man a burglar? Why doesn’t someone call the police?”
Abrams addresses Nick: “You didn’t tell ’em about Pedro being killed?”
Nick: “This is my wife’s family. They’d think I did it.”
Abrams: “I see what you mean. My wife’s got relations, too.”
The butler appears in the doorway and says, “Mr. David Graham to see Mrs. Landis.” Selma starts up from her chair.
Aunt Katherine says, “I think it better that we be home to no one but members of the family this evening.”
Selma protests, “I want to see David. Ask him to come in, Henry.”
The butler remains in the doorway, looking at Aunt Katherine, who says, “Selma, I don’t want to have to—”
Before she has finished this threat, David comes in hurriedly, going straight to Selma and asking, “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Aunt Katherine replies coldly, “That is exactly what we’d like to know. Something is said about a gardener being killed and Selma becomes hysterical.”
David: “A gardener? What’s that got to do with Selma?”
Lieutenant Abrams: “Excuse me, but that's what we’re trying to find out. This man is killed coming to see Mr. and Mrs. Charles, and a little while later Mrs. Landis phones all excited and talking about killing herself and—”
David, angrily: “And on the strength of that you come here to annoy her?”
Abrams, patiently: “Not only that. Mrs. Charles said she,” indicating Selma, “knew him, and how are we going to get anywhere if we don’t talk to the people that knew him?”
Nora: “I didn’t say she knew him. I said she might remember him.” She turns to David: “It was Pedro who used to work for Papa when we had the place in Ross.”
David: “Oh, yes. I remember him, a tall man with a long, gray mustache. But what—”
Abrams: “So you knew him, too. Well, what do you know about him?”
David: “Nothing. I merely saw him when I was a visitor there, and I’ve never seen him since.”
Abrams: “And you, Mrs. Landis?”
Selma: “I may have seen him, but I don’t remember him at all.”
Abrams: “And how about the rest of you?”
None of the Forrests admits knowing Pedro.
Abrams: “Mrs. Charles says Mrs. Landis’s husband might know him. Is he here?”
Selma: “No. He… he’ll be in later, but I don’t think he’ll remember the man any better than I do.”
Abrams: “Did you ever go by the name of Selma Young?”
Selma: “Certainly not!”
Abrams: “Anybody here know Selma Young?”
Nobody does.
Abrams: “Now I got to ask you again about that telephone talk of yours with Mrs. Charles.”
Selma: “Please, it had nothing to do with this. It was… was a purely personal thing.”
Abrams: “You mean something to do with your husband?”
Aunt Katherine: “Mr… ah… Abraham, you are being impertinent. Furthermore, my niece is under a doctor’s care, and—”
Abrams, stolidly: “What doctor?”
Aunt Katherine: “Doctor Frederic Kammer.”
Abrams nods: “I know of him.” Preparing to leave, he says resignedly, “I can’t help it if people don’t like me. I got my work to do. Good night.” He goes out.
(Note: David should leave house with Nick and Nora, parting from them in street. Foggy.)
When Nick and Nora leave, Nick asks Harold, the chauffeur, “Where’s a good place to get the stink of respectability out of our noses?”
Harold, grinning and chewing his gum: “I get it. Well, there’s Tim McCrumb’s, and there’s the Lichee, and there’s the Tin Dipper. None of them three ain’t apt to be cluttered up with schoolteachers.”
Nick: “Suppose we try the Lichee.”
Harold: “That’s a good pick,” while Nora looks at Nick from the comers of her eyes. As they get into the car she says, “You are going to find Robert?”
Nick: “I didn’t lose him.”
Nora: “It would put you in right with the family.”
Nick: “And that’s what I’m afraid of.”
In Dancer’s apartment at the Lichee Club, Robert, drunk and looking as if he has been drunk for several days, is lying back in a chair, holding a drink. Polly is sitting on the arm of his chair, running her fingers through his hair. He is saying, “Comes tomorrow and we’ll be out of this town for good. No more wife squawking at me, no more of her family egging her on, no more of this,” waving his glass around the place. “Just you and me off someplace together.” He pulls her down in his lap and asks, “Good, baby?”
She says, “Swell.” Then, “You’re sure this — what's his name? — Graham — will come through all right?”
Robert: “Sure. He's nuts about Selma. He fell all over himself when I put it to him. The only thing is, maybe I was a sucker not to ask him for twice as much for clearing out. Don’t worry about the money; he’ll have it ready in the morning just as he promised.”
Polly, reassured, asks thoughtfully, “Does she know about it?”
Robert, scornfully: “Of course not. He couldn’t tell her. She’s batty as a pet cuckoo. She’d blow up and make him call off the whole thing.”
Polly: “Then suppose she finds out about it afterwards and won’t marry him.”
Robert: “Listen. This guy’s a sap, and he’s in love with her. He wants to marry her all right, but even if he knew there was no chance of that, he’d still pay me to clear out. He thinks I’m bad for her and he lo-o-ves her and wants her to be ha-a-ppy.”
Polly laughs and kisses him, says, “If you want to hear me sing, you’d better come on out and find a table. I go on in a few minutes.”
Outside the door, Phil has been listening. He turns away from the door not quite quickly enough as Dancer comes up behind him. Dancer says casually, “Catch a good earful?”