60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      RANKIN. And where may Miles be now, Sir Howard?

      SIR HOWARD (abruptly). Don’t you know that he is dead?

      RANKIN (much shocked). Never haird of it. Dear, dear: I shall never see him again; and I can scarcely bring his face to mind after all these years. (With moistening eyes, which at once touch Lady Cicely’s sympathy) I’m right sorry — right sorry.

      SIR HOWARD (decorously subduing his voice). Yes: he did not live long: indeed, he never came back to England. It must be nearly thirty years ago now that he died in the West Indies on his property there.

      RANKIN (surprised). His proaperty! Miles with a proaperty!

      SIR HOWARD. Yes: he became a planter, and did well out there, Mr. Rankin. The history of that property is a very curious and interesting one — at least it is so to a lawyer like myself.

      RANKIN. I should be glad to hear it for Miles’s sake, though I am no lawyer, Sir Howrrd.

      LADY CICELY. I never knew you had a brother, Howard.

      SIR HOWARD (not pleased by this remark). Perhaps because you never asked me. (Turning more blandly to Rankin) I will tell you the story, Mr. Rankin. When Miles died, he left an estate in one of the West Indian islands. It was in charge of an agent who was a sharpish fellow, with all his wits about him. Now, sir, that man did a thing which probably could hardly be done with impunity even here in Morocco, under the most barbarous of surviving civilizations. He quite simply took the estate for himself and kept it.

      RANKIN. But how about the law?

      SIR HOWARD. The law, sir, in that island, consisted practically of the Attorney General and the Solicitor General; and these gentlemen were both retained by the agent. Consequently there was no solicitor in the island to take up the case against him.

      RANKIN. Is such a thing possible to-day in the British Empire?

      SIR HOWARD (calmly). Oh, quite. Quite.

      LADY CICELY. But could not a firstrate solicitor have been sent out from London?

      SIR HOWARD. No doubt, by paying him enough to compensate him for giving up his London practice: that is, rather more than there was any reasonable likelihood of the estate proving worth.

      RANKIN. Then the estate was lost?

      SIR HOWARD. Not permanently. It is in my hands at present.

      RANKIN. Then how did ye get it back?

      SIR HOWARD (with crafty enjoyment of his own cunning). By hoisting the rogue with his own petard. I had to leave matters as they were for many years; for I had my own position in the world to make. But at last I made it. In the course of a holiday trip to the West Indies, I found that this dishonest agent had left the island, and placed the estate in the hands of an agent of his own, whom he was foolish enough to pay very badly. I put the case before that agent; and he decided to treat the estate as my property. The robber now found himself in exactly the same position he had formerly forced me into. Nobody in the island would act against me, least of all the Attorney and Solicitor General, who appreciated my influence at the Colonial Office. And so I got the estate back. “The mills of the gods grind slowly,” Mr. Rankin; “but they grind exceeding small.”

      LADY CICELY. Now I suppose if I’d done such a clever thing in England, you’d have sent me to prison.

      SIR HOWARD. Probably, unless you had taken care to keep outside the law against conspiracy. Whenever you wish to do anything against the law, Cicely, always consult a good solicitor first.

      LADY CICELY. So I do. But suppose your agent takes it into his head to give the estate back to his wicked old employer!

      SIR HOWARD. I heartily wish he would.

      RANKIN (openeyed). You wish he WOULD!!

      SIR HOWARD. Yes. A few years ago the collapse of the West Indian sugar industry converted the income of the estate into an annual loss of about 150 pounds a year. If I can’t sell it soon, I shall simply abandon it — unless you, Mr. Rankin, would like to take it as a present.

      RANKIN (laughing). I thank your lordship: we have estates enough of that sort in Scotland. You’re setting with your back to the sun, Leddy Ceecily, and losing something worth looking at. See there. (He rises and points seaward, where the rapid twilight of the latitude has begun.)

      LADY CICELY (getting up to look and uttering a cry of admiration). Oh, how lovely!

      SIR HOWARD (also rising). What are those hills over there to the southeast?

      RANKIN. They are the outposts, so to speak, of the Atlas Mountains.

      LADY CICELY. The Atlas Mountains! Where Shelley’s witch lived! We’ll make an excursion to them tomorrow, Howard.

      RANKIN. That’s impoassible, my leddy. The natives are verra dangerous.

      LADY CICELY. Why? Has any explorer been shooting them?

      RANKIN. No. But every man of them believes he will go to heaven if he kills an unbeliever.

      LADY CICELY. Bless you, dear Mr. Rankin, the people in England believe that they will go to heaven if they give all their property to the poor. But they don’t do it. I’m not a bit afraid of that.

      RANKIN. But they are not accustomed to see women going about unveiled.

      LADY CICELY. I always get on best with people when they can see my face.

      SIR HOWARD. Cicely: you are talking great nonsense and you know it. These people have no laws to restrain them, which means, in plain English, that they are habitual thieves and murderers.

      RANKIN. Nay, nay: not exactly that.

      LADY CICELY (indignantly). Of course not. You always think, Howard, that nothing prevents people killing each other but the fear of your hanging them for it. But what nonsense that is! And how wicked! If these people weren’t here for some good purpose, they wouldn’t have been made, would they, Mr. Rankin?

      RANKIN. That is a point, certainly, Leddy Ceecily.

      SIR HOWARD. Oh, if you are going to talk theology —

      LADY CICELY. Well, why not? theology is as respectable as law, I should think. Besides, I’m only talking commonsense. Why do people get killed by savages? Because instead of being polite to them, and saying Howdyedo? like me, people aim pistols at them. I’ve been among savages — cannibals and all sorts. Everybody said they’d kill me. But when I met them, I said Howdyedo? and they were quite nice. The kings always wanted to marry me.

      SIR HOWARD. That does not seem to me to make you any safer here, Cicely. You shall certainly not stir a step beyond the protection of the consul, if I can help it, without a strong escort.

      LADY CICELY. I don’t want an escort.

      SIR HOWARD. I do. And I suppose you will expect me to accompany you.

      RANKIN. ’Tis not safe, Leddy Ceecily. Really and truly, ’tis not safe. The tribes are verra fierce; and there are cities here that no Christian has ever set foot in. If you go without being well protected, СКАЧАТЬ