MRS. BRAMSON: A page-boy or something of the sort.

DORA _comes back to the front door, looks back, and beckons. She is followed by_ DAN, _who saunters past her into the room. He is a young fellow wearing a blue pill-box hat, uniform trousers, a jacket too small for him, and bicycle-clips: the stub of a cigarette dangles between his lips. He speaks with a rough accent, indeterminate, but more Welsh than anything else.

His personality varies very considerably as the play proceeds: the impression he gives at the moment is one of totally disarming good humour and childlike unself-consciousness. It would need a very close observer to suspect that there is something wrong somewhere--that this personality is completely assumed._ DORA _shuts the front door and comes to the back of the sofa._

MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_): Well?

DAN (_saluting_): Mornin', all!

MRS. BRAMSON: So you're Baby-face?

DAN: That's me. (_Grinning._) Silly name, isn't it? (_After a pause._) I must apologise to all and sundry for this fancy dress, but it's my working togs. I been on duty this mornin', and my hands isn't very clean. You see, I didn't know as it was going to be a party.

MRS. BRAMSON: Party?

DAN (_looking at_ OLIVIA): Well, it's ladies, isn't it?

HUBERT: Are you shy with ladies?

DAN (_smiling at_ OLIVIA): Oh, yes.

OLIVIA _moves away coldly._ DAN _turns to_ MRS. BRAMSON.

MRS. BRAMSON (_cutting_): You smoke, I see.

DAN: Yes. (_Taking the stub out of his mouth with alacrity and taking off his hat_) Oh, I'm sorry. I always forget my manners with a cigarette when I'm in company.... (_Pushing the stub behind his ear, as_ OLIVIA _crosses to the armchair_) I always been clumsy in people's houses. I am sorry.

MRS. BRAMSON: You know my maid, Dora Parkoe, I believe?

DAN: Well, we have met, yes ... (_with a grin at_ DORA).

MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ DORA): Go away!

DORA _creeps back into the kitchen_.

You walked out with her last August Bank Holiday?

DAN: Yes.... Excuse me smiling, but it sounds funny when you put it like that, doesn't it?

MRS. BRAMSON: You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

DAN (_soberly_): Oh, I am.

MRS. BRAMSON: How did it happen?

DAN (_embarrassed_): Well ... we went ... did _you_ have a nice bank holiday?

MRS. BRAMSON: Answer my question!

HUBERT: Were you in love with the wench?

DAN: Oh, yes!

MRS. BRAMSON (_triumphantly_): When did you first meet her?

DAN: Er--bank holiday morning.

MRS. BRAMSON: Picked her up, I suppose?

DAN: Oh, no, I didn't pick her up! I asked her for a match, and then I took her for a bit of a walk, to take her mind off her work--

HUBERT: You seem to have succeeded.

DAN (_smiling at him, then catching_ MRS. BRAMSON's _eye_): I've thought about it a good bit since, I can tell you. Though it's a bit awkward talking about it in front of strangers; though you all look very nice people; but it is a _bit_ awkward--

HUBERT: I should jolly well think it is awkward for a chap! Though of course, never having been in the same jam myself--

MRS. BRAMSON: I haven't finished with him yet.

HUBERT: In that case I'm going for my stroll ...

_He makes for the door to the hall._

OLIVIA: You work at the Tallboys, don't you?

DAN: Yes, miss. (_Grinning_) Twenty-four hours a day, miss.

HUBERT (_coming to_ DAN'S _left_): Then perhaps you can tell us something about the female who's been murdered?--

_An unaccountable pause_. DAN _looks slowly from_ OLIVIA _to_ HUBERT, _and back again_.

Well, can you tell us? You know there was a Mrs. Chalfont staying at the Tallboys who went off one day?

DAN: Yes.

HUBERT: And nobody's seen her since?

DAN: I know.

MRS. BRAMSON: What's she like?

DAN (_to_ MRS. BRAMSON): But I thought you said--or somebody said--something about--a murder?

HUBERT: Oh, we don't_know_, of course, but there _might_ have been, mightn't there?

DAN (_suddenly effusive_): Yes, there might have been, yes!

HUBERT: Ever seen her?

DAN: Oh, yes. I used to take cigarettes an' drinks for her.

MRS. BRAMSON (_impatiently_): What's she _like_?

DAN: What's she like?... (_To_ MRS. BRAMSON)--She's ... on the tall side. Thin ankles, with one o' them bracelets on one of 'em. (_Looking at_ OLIVIA) Fair hair--

_A sudden thought seems to arrest him. He goes on looking at_ OLIVIA.

MRS. BRAMSON: Well? Go on!

DAN (_after a pause, in a level voice_): Thin eyebrows, with white marks, where they was pulled out ... to be in the fashion, you know.... Her mouth ... a bit thin as well, with red stuff painted round it, to make it look more; you can rub it off ... I suppose. Her neck ... rather thick. Laughs a bit loud; and then it stops. (_After a pause_) She's ... very lively. (_With a quick smile that dispels the atmosphere he has unaccountably created_) You can't say I don't keep my eyes skinned, can you?

HUBERT: I should say you do! A living portrait, if ever there was one, what? Now--

MRS. BRAMSON (_pointedly_): Weren't you going for a walk?

HUBERT: So I was, by Jove! Well, I'll charge off. Bye-bye.

_He goes out of the front door_.

OLIVIA (_her manner faintly hostile_): You're very observant.

DAN: Well, the ladies, you know ...

MRS. BRAMSON: If he weren't so observant, that Dora mightn't be in the flummox she is now.

DAN (_cheerfully_): That's true, ma'am.

OLIVIA (_rising_): You don't sound very repentant.

DAN (_as she crosses, stiffly_): Well, what's done's done's my motto, isn't it?

_She goes into the sun-room. He makes a grimace after her and holds his left hand out, the thumb pointing downwards_.

MRS. BRAMSON: And what does that mean?

DAN: She's a nice bit of ice for next summer, isn't she?

MRS. BRAMSON: You're a proper one to talk about next summer, when Dora there'll be up hill and down dale with a perambulator. Now look here, young man, immorality--

MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen_.