Watson. Good heavens! Is that Forman?
(Holmes nods "Yes.")
Holmes. Yes, that's Forman all right. Has Inspector Bradstreet come with his men?
Forman. Yes, sir. One of em's in the hall there 'olding her. The others are in the kitchen garden. They came in over the back wall from Mortimer Street.
Holmes. One moment. (Sits in thought.) Watson, my dear fellow (Watson moves toward Holmes at desk.) As you doubtless gather from the little episode that has just taken place, we are making the arrests. The scoundrels are hot on my track. To get me out of the way is the one chance left to them, and I'm taking advantage of their mad pursuit to draw them where we can quietly lay our hand on them—one by one. We've made a pretty good haul already—four last night in the gas chamber—seven this afternoon in various places, and one more just now, but I regret to say that, up to this time the Professor himself has so far not risen to the bait.
Watson. Where do you think he is now?
Holmes. In the open streets under some clever disguise watching for a chance to get at me.
Watson. And was this woman sent in here to
Holmes. Quite so. A spy—to let then know by some signal, probably at that window (pointing L.) if she found me in the house. And it has just occurred to me that it might not be such a bad idea to try the Professor with that bait. Forman! (Motions him to come down.)
Forman. Yes, sir! (Comes down R. of Holmes after giving glance out of door C.)
Holmes (voice lower). One moment. (Bus.) Bring that Larrabee woman back here for a moment, and when I light a fresh cigarette—let go your hold on her—carelessly—as if your attention was attracted to something else. Get hold of her again when I tell you.
Forman. Very well, sir!
(Exit quickly at door up C. to re-enter at door up C. bringing in Madge Larrabee to down R.C. They stop. Madge calm, but looks at Holmes with the utmost hatred. Brief pause.)
Holmes. My dear Mrs. Larrabee— (Madge, who has looked away, turns to him angrily) I took the liberty of having you brought in for a moment (puffs cigarette, which he has nearly finished) in order to convey to you in a few fitting words—my sincere sympathy in your rather—unpleasant—predicament.
Madge (hissing it out angrily between her teeth). It's a lie! It's a lie! There's no predicament.
Holmes. Ah—I'm charmed to gather—from your rather forcible observation—that you do not regard it as such. Quite right, too.
