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MISS CASEWELL. Oh, when the snow melts lots of things may have happened.

CHRISTOPHER. Yes—yes—that’s true. (He goes to the window.) Snow’s rather lovely, isn’t it? So peaceful—and pure . . . It makes one forget things.

MISS CASEWELL. It doesn’t make me forget.

CHRISTOPHER. How fierce you sound.

MISS CASEWELL. I was thinking.

CHRISTOPHER. What sort of thinking? (He sits on the windowseat.)

MISS CASEWELL. Ice on a bedroom jug, chilblains, raw and bleeding—one thin ragged blanket—a child shivering with cold and fear.

CHRISTOPHER. My dear, it sounds too, too grim—what is it? A novel?

MISS CASEWELL. You didn’t know I was a writer, did you?

CHRISTOPHER. Are you? (He rises and moves down to her.)

MISS CASEWELL. Sorry to disappoint you. Actually I’m not. (She puts the magazine up in front of her face.)

(CHRISTOPHER looks at her doubtfully, then crosses Left, turns up the radio very loud and exits into the drawing room. The telephone rings. MOLLIE runs down the stairs, duster in hand, and goes to the telephone.)

MOLLIE. (Picking up the receiver) Yes? (She turns off the radio.) Yes—this is Monkswell Manor Guest House . . . What? . . . No, I’m afraid Mr. Ralston can’t come to the telephone just now. This is Mrs. Ralston speaking. Who . . . ? The Berkshire Police . . . ?

(MISS CASEWELL lowers her magazine.)

Oh yes, yes, Superintendent Hogben, I’m afraid that’s impossible. He’d never get here. We’re snowed up. Completely snowed up. The roads are impassable . . .

(MISS CASEWELL rises and crosses to the arch up Left.)

Nothing can get through . . . Yes . . . Very well . . . But what . . . Hullo—hullo . . . (She replaces the receiver.)

(GILES enters up Right wearing an overcoat. He removes the overcoat and hangs it up in the hall.)

GILES. Mollie, do you know where there’s another spade?

MOLLIE. (Moving up Centre) Giles, the police have just rung up.

MISS CASEWELL. Trouble with police, eh? Serving liquor without a licence?

(MISS CASEWELL exits Left up the stairs.)

MOLLIE. They’re sending out an inspector or a sergeant or something.

GILES. (Moving to Right ofMOLLIE) But he’ll never get here.

MOLLIE. That’s what I told them. But they seemed quite confident that he would.

GILES. Nonsense. Even a jeep couldn’t get through today. Anyway, what’s it all about?

MOLLIE. That’s what I asked. But he wouldn’t say. Just said I was to impress on my husband to listen very carefully to what Sergeant Trotter, I think it was, had to say, and to follow his instructions implicitly. Isn’t it extraordinary?

GILES. (Moving down to the fire) What on earth do you think we’ve done?

MOLLIE. (Moving to Left ofGILES) Do you think it’s those nylons from Gibraltar?

GILES. I did remember to get the wireless licence, didn’t I?

MOLLIE. Yes, it’s in the kitchen dresser.

GILES. I had rather a near shave with the car the other day but it was entirely the other fellow’s fault.

MOLLIE. We must have done something . . .

GILES. (Kneeling and putting a log on the fire) Probably something to do with running this place. I expect we’ve ignored some tinpot regulation of some Ministry or other. You practically can’t avoid it, nowadays. (He rises and faces MOLLIE.)

MOLLIE. Oh dear, I wish we’d never started this place. We’re going to be snowed up for days, and everyone is cross, and we shall go through all our reserve of tins.

GILES. Cheer up, darling, (He takesMOLLIEin his arms) everything’s going all right at the moment. I’ve filled up all the coalscuttles, and brought in the wood, and stoked the Aga and done the hens. I’ll go and do the boiler next, and chop some kindling . . . (He breaks off.) You know, Mollie, (He moves slowly up to Right of the refectory table) come to think of it, it must be something pretty serious to send a police sergeant trekking out in all this. It must be something really urgent . . .