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Deacon Brodie; or The Double Life, a play by Robert Louis Stevenson |
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ACT IV - TABLEAU VII. THE ROBBERY: SCENE I TO SCENE IV |
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_ The Stage represents the outside of the Excise Office in Chessel's Court. At the back, L.C., an archway opening on the High Street. The door of the Excise in wing, R.; the opposite side of the stage is lumbered with barrels, packing-cases, etc. Moonlight; the Excise Office casts a shadow over half the stage. A clock strikes the hour. A round of the City Guard, with halberts, lanterns, etc. enters and goes out again by the arch, after having examined the fastenings of the great door and the lumber on the left. Cry without in the High Street: 'Ten by the bell, and a fine clear night.' Then enter cautiously by the arch, SMITH and MOORE, with AINSLIE loaded with tools. SCENE I SMITH, MOORE, AINSLIE SMITH (ENTERING FIRST). Come on. Coast clear. MOORE (AFTER THEY HAVE COME TO THE FRONT.) Ain't he turned up yet? SMITH (TO AINSLIE). Now Maggot! The fishing's a going to begin. AINSLIE. Dinna cangle, Geordie. My back's fair broke. MOORE. O muck! Hand out them pieces. SMITH. All right, Humptious! (TO AINSLIE.) You're a nice old sort for a rag-and-bone man: can't hold a bag open! (TAKING OUT TOOLS.) Here they was. Here are the bunchums, one AND two; and jolly old keys was they. Here's the picklocks, crow-bars, and here's Lord George's pet bull's eye, his old and valued friend, the Cracksman's treasure! MOORE. Just like you. Forgot the rotten centrebit. SMITH. That's all you know. Here she is, bless her! Portrait of George as a gay hironmonger. MOORE. O rot! Hand it over, and keep yourself out of that there thundering moonlight. SMITH (LIGHTING LANTERN). All right, old mumble-peg. Don't you get carried away by the fire of old Rome. That's your motto. Here are the tools; a perfect picter of the sublime and beautiful; and all I hope is, that our friend and pitcher, the Deakin, will make a better job of it than he did last night. If he don't, I shall retire from the business - that's all; and it'll be George and his little wife and a black footman till death do us part. MOORE. O muck! You're all jaw like a sheep's jimmy. That's my opinion of you. When did you see him last? SMITH. This morning; and he looked as if he was rehearsing for his own epitaph. I never see such a change in a man. I gave him the office for to-night; and was he grateful? Did he weep upon my faithful bosom? No; he smiled upon me like a portrait of the dear departed. I see his 'art was far away; and it broke my own to look at him. MOORE. Muck! Wot I ses is, if a cove's got that much of the nob about him, wot's the good of his working single-handed? That's wot's the matter with him. SMITH. Well, old Father Christmas, he ain't single-handed to- night, is he? MOORE. No, he ain't; he's got a man with him to-night. SMITH. Pardon me, Romeo; two men, I think? MOORE. A man wot means business. If I'd a bin with him last night, it ain't psalm-singin' would have got us off. Psalm- singin'? Muck! Let 'em try it on with me. AINSLIE. Losh me, I heard a noise. (ALARM; THEY CROUCH INTO THE SHADOW AND LISTEN.) 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.)
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 pass, 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!
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. In the King's name! } MOORE. Muck! } (WITHIN.) SMITH. Go it, Badger. } HUNT. 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.)
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 principal. Where's he got to? MOORE. To hell, I hope. HUNT. Always the same pretty flow of language, I see, Hump. (LOOKING AT BURGLARY WITH LANTERN.) A very tidy piece of work, Dook; very tidy! Much too good for you. Smacks of a fine tradesman. It WAS the Deacon, I suppose? SMITH. You ought to know G. S. better by this time, Jerry. HUNT. All right, your Grace: we'll talk it over with the Deacon himself. Where's the jackal? Here, you, Ainslie! Where are you? By jingo, I thought as much. Stabbed to the heart and dead as a herring! SMITH. Bravo! HUNT. More of the Deacon's work, I guess? Does him credit too, don't it, Badger? MOORE. Muck. Was that the thundering cove that peached? HUNT. That was the thundering cove. MOORE. And is he corpsed? HUNT. I should just about reckon he was. MOORE. Then, damme, I don't mind swinging! HUNT. We'll talk about that presently. M'Intyre and Stewart, you get a stretcher, and take that rubbish to the office. Pick it up; it's only a dead informer. Hand these two gentlemen over to Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, with Mr. Jerry Hunt's compliments. Johnstone and Syme, you come along with me. I'll bring the Deacon round myself. ACT-DROP _ |
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