Plays of William E. Henley and R.L. Stevenson - LightNovelsOnl.com
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SMITH. All serene. (_To_ AINSLIE) Am I to cut that liver out of you?
Now, am I? (_A whistle_.) 'St! here we are. (_Whistles a modulation_, _which is answered_.)
SCENE II
_To these_ BRODIE
MOORE. Waiting for you, Deacon.
BRODIE. I see. Everything ready?
SMITH. All a-growing and a-blowing.
BRODIE. Give me the light. (_Briefly examines tools and door with bull's eye_.) You, George, stand by, and hand up the pieces. Ainslie, take the glim. Moore, out and watch.
MOORE. I didn't come here to do sentry-go, I didn't.
BRODIE. You came here to do as I tell you. (MOORE _goes up slowly_.) Second bunch, George. I know the lock. Steady with the glim. (_At work_.) No good. Give me the centrebit.
SMITH. Right. (_Work continues_. AINSLIE _drops lantern_.)
BRODIE. Curse you! (_Throttling and kicking him_.) You shake, and you shake, and you can't even hold a light for your betters. Hey?
AINSLIE. Eh Deacon, Deacon . . .
SMITH. Now Ghost! (_With lantern_.)
BRODIE. 'St, Moore!
MOORE. Wot's the row?
BRODIE. Take you the light.
MOORE (_to_ AINSLIE). Wo' j' yer shakin' at? (_Kicks him_.)
BRODIE (_to_ AINSLIE). Go you, and see if you're good at keeping watch.
Inside the arch. And if you let a footfall pa.s.s, I'll break your back.
(AINSLIE _retires_.) Steady with the light. (_At work with centrebit_.) Hand up number four, George. (_At work with picklock_.) That has it.
SMITH. Well done our side.
BRODIE. Now the crow bar! (_At work_.) That's it. Put down the glim, Badger, and help at the wrench. Your whole weight, men! Put your backs to it! (_While they work at the bar_, BRODIE _stands by_, _dusting his hands with a pocket-handkerchief_. _As the door opens_.)_ Voila_! In with you.
MOORE (_entering with light_). Mucking fine work too, Deacon!
BRODIE. Take up the irons, George!
SMITH. How about the P(h)antom?
BRODIE. Leave him to me. I'll give him a look. (_Enters office_.)
SMITH (_following_). Houp-la!
SCENE III
AINSLIE; _afterwards_ BRODIE; _afterwards_ HUNT _and_ OFFICERS
AINSLIE. Ca' ye that mainners? Ye're grand gentry by your way o't! Eh sirs, my hench! Ay, that was the Badger. Man, but ye'll look bonnie hangin'! (_A faint whistle_.) Lord's sake, what's thon? Ay, it'll be Hunt an' his lads. (_Whistle repeated_.) Losh me, what gars him whustle, whustle? Does he think me deaf? (_Goes up_. BRODIE _enters from office_, _stands an instant_, _and sees him making a signal through the arch_.)
BRODIE. Rats! Rats! (_Hides L. among lumber_. _Enter noiselessly through arch_ HUNT _and_ OFFICERS.)
HUNT. Birds caught?
AINSLIE. They're a' ben the house, mister.
HUNT. All three?
AINSLIE. The hale set, mister.
BRODIE. Liar!
HUNT. Mum, lads, and follow me. (_Exit_, _with his men_, _into office_.
BRODIE _seen with dagger_.)
HUNT (_within_). In the King's name!
MOORE (_within_). Muck!
SMITH (_within_). Go it, Badger.
HUNT (_within_). Take 'em alive, boys!
AINSLIE. Eh, but that's awful. (_The Deacon leaps out_, _and stabs him_. _He falls without a cry_.)
BRODIE. Saved! (_He goes out by the arch_.)
SCENE IV
HUNT _and_ OFFICERS; _with_ SMITH _and_ MOORE _handcuffed_. _Signs of a severe struggle_
HUNT (_entering_). Bring 'em along, lads! (_Looking at prisoners with lantern_.) Pleased to see you again, Badger. And you too, George. But I'd rather have seen your princ.i.p.al. Where's he got to?
MOORE. To h.e.l.l, I hope.
