A TABLOID A TABLOID A TRAGIC FARCE By ARTHUR ECKERSLEY Copyright, 1914, by Samuel French, Ltd New York SAMUEL FRENCH Publisher 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET London SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND FfcB 4 19H ©C!.D 35911 A TABLOID Produced at the 'i.iui\ Theatre, London, on Tuesday, November 5, 191 3, ^v^t!^ tJie following cast : — Sherwood {A Dramatisl) . Knight {his friend) . TtioRNDiKE {an old actnr) . Mr. Athol Stewart. Mr. Arthur Vezin. Mr. Fisher Wlvite. ..:• it n - •g 1 g % _ n A TABLOID Scene. — Sherwood's chambers. Handsomely fur- nished room. Door to hall l. of back, with outer door seen beyond it. Table c. littered with writing materials. Reading lamp on it. Easy chair r. of table, other chair l. of it. Sideboard c. of back, bearing decanter, syphons and glasses. Time. — Close on midnight. As curtain rises, enter L.c. Sherwood, a handsome man of about 40, followed by Knight, slightly younger. Both are in evening dress, with overcoats and opera hats. Sherwood turns on the light. Sherwood. Well, here we are. What's the time ? Knight. Nearly twelve. The very- \vitching hour, what ? Sherwood. Humph ! One advantage of our English habits is that you get home in time to do a bit of work before turning in. Have a whisky ? Knight. No thanks. Don't know why I came up this extra flight of stairs. Must be toddling down again to my own room now. Sherwood. Rot. I don't really want to start writing straight off. Knight. Then you ought to. Lord, Sherwood, if my work brought me in as much as yours, I'd grudge every minute I spent away from it. Sherwood. Stuff ! 7 gf A TABLOID; 'Knight. Lucky devil ! Here you are with a play running that's the rage of London, making one.fortune fdr you while you wait, and nothing to do but ;to sit ddwii ' and write another. Sherwood (comes down to ic-ble, fingers M.S.). Yes. Here's the other. Hah: fin.ished already. ■ Knight. What did I tell you ? Behold the suc- cessful dramatist, without a care or an enemy in the world. "Sherwood (frowns slightly). Humph! 'Knight. That's true, isn't it? Sherwood. Without an enemy in the world ? Well yes, perhaps. None to speak of. Knight. I knew it. And half the managers in tdwn on their knees for that manuscript. (Curiously.) Is that the play about the man who commits a murder ? Sherwood. Yes. It's the one I was telling you of t'o-iiight in the bar. ' Knight. Ah ! You said you didn't know what the hero's sensations would be, and you'd half a mind to try a murder yourself to find out. 'Sherwood. That's it. (Laughs.) My idea of humour. Knight (gravely). You don't mind my saying so, old' man, but I think, if I were you, I wouldn't say things like that, in public — even humorously. SMEkwooD. Oh my dear fellow, why not ? ' itlsfiGHT. One never knows. They might come to bear an awkward meaning. Sherwood. Rubbish ! How could they? ;, ' K'niGHt. As I say, one never knows. There w^re hkif-a-dozen men in that bar to-night who may have overheard you. As a matter of fact, I saw that some of them did. They looked round curiously. Sherwood. Perhaps. You make me appear horribly conceited, but — — : , 'Ki^ii,v these floors are jolly thin. 10 A TABLOID. Sherwood. Well I hope you won't, for your sake. Good-night. Knight. Good-night. (Both up to outer door, which Sherwood opens.) Hullo, they've put the light out on the stairs. Never mind, I can find my way down one flight. So long. (His voice is heard receding. Sherwood then shuts outer door, switches off light' in hall, and returns slowly into room.) Sherwood (stands c. hy table. Speaks thoughtfully to himself). An old out-of-work actor. Queer, if it should be the same, when I've been thinking so much of him lately. (Rouses himself.) Well — you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, and I did no more than many another would have done in my place. Still — if he should come, and try to threaten What rubbish ! As if it was likely ! Now then to work. (Takes off dress coat and puts on velvet jacket. Then turns on reading lamp, puts out other light, and sits R. of table. Lights pipe.) If I was onl}' as sure of myself as dear old Bobbie Knight imagines me. Wouldn't do to come a howler over the second, after a success like my first. People might begin to think it odd. Well, here goes. (Draws papers towards him, and begins to read, a slight pause. Then gentle knocking is heard on outer door L.c. Sherwood glances up. Knocking repeated. His face begins to show some uneasiness.) Queer ! Some one outside, at this hour. Oh ! (Reassuringli!.) It must be old Bob come back for .something. (Knocking again.) .Unless A TABLOID. 11 {With a quick movement he gets up, extinguishes. pi^pe and goes into hall, turning on light. He opens (^u^ter door. Against the darkness beyond, you see, stand- ing on the threshold, an elderly, pale man, shahbi'ty dressed, like a decayed actor. * . ■ ; He looks steadily at Sherwood for a moment, lijithoiti speaking.) Sherwood (sharply). What is it ? W'hat do you want ? Thorndike. You know. Sherwood. Oh it's j^ou, is it ? (A slight pause,, then quickly) Come in. Thorndike [entering). That's better. That's more hke your friendly, hospitable self, Mr. Sherwood. I felt sure you'd be glad to see me. Sherwood (follows him into room, after closing outer, door). Then you felt wrong. I'm not glad to see you. As a matter of fact, I'm very busy. Thorndike (leering). Another play, Mr. Sher- wood ? I see it is. Quite a coincidence, my visit. Sherwood. Look here, I won't pretend I don't guess what you've come for. You want money, eli ? Thorndike. You put the matter very bluntly, Mr. Sherwood. Sherwood. I've no time to waste. How much ? Here's five pounds, will that satisfy you ? Thorndike. Oh dear, dear. I'd much rather, that we sat down and talked over the matter in a friendly spirit. Y'ou mustn't imagine that I'Ve come to blackmail you, Mr. Sherwood. Sherwood (short laugh). It looks rather like it, doesn't it ? Thorndike (has reseated himself l. of table),^ Well, appearances are so often deceptive. Fory example — here are you, the author of that successful, play, rich, and famous. People wouldn't think, to 12 A TABLOID. look at us two, that it was really my play, would they ? Sherwood (sits k. of table, watching hini). Well ? Thorndike. Well — however I've no wish to make accusations — unless I'm obhged. Sherwood. Exactly ; I understand that as a threat, eh ? Thorndike, Oh dear, you do twist my words. {Looking round room.) Very agreeable quarters, these, Mr. Sherwood. Circumstances have altered since I last had the pleasure of talking to you. Sherwood. That was some years ago. Thorndike. Three years, Mr. vSherwood, since we were on tour together, and I did myself the honour to show you that little scheme of mine, that idea for a play (chuckles gently) the play. Sherwood. Hadn't you better come to the point ? Thorndike. You were very interested in the idea, and praised it. I remember thinking at the time how kind that was of you. Sherwood (rises impatiently). And afterwards — since you won't say what you mean, I'll say it myself —I took the idea and used it for my own ends ; made money out of it, which you think should have been yours, eh ? Thorndike (gently reminiscent). It's not only the money, Mr. Sherwood ; there are other little matters between us. I always consider, in my fanciful way> that it was you who killed my wife. Sherwood. I ? Thorndike. She was a foolish woman, and per- haps over sanguine. But she believed a great deal in that play of mine, and the shock of — of what hap- pened — helped, undoubtedly — to kill her. Sherwood. Have you come here to-night to threaten me ? ' Thorndike. Oh Mr. Sherwood! Just when we were chatting together so pleasantly over old times: Sherwood. You've not answeri^d: my question. How much do you want? A TABLOID. 13 Thorndike, I want (meaningly) a great deal from you, Mr. Sherwood. Sherwood. Well, I'll make it ten pounds. Thorndike. Ten pounds now, and some more in a little time. I dare say I shall often drop in. Sherwood. And if I defied you ? You can prove nothing. That my play bears some vague resemblance to an idea of yours. That sort of accusa- tion has been brought often enough, and always failed. You should know that. Thorndike. But it hardly does a beginner any good, Mr. Sherwood. Not one who is just making his name. That's what you are going to pay me to prevent. Sherwood. Well I've said how far I'll go. Ten pounds now, and — perhaps — another later on. You can't bleed me for ever. After that, you may starve. for all I care ; and the sooner the better. Thorndike (gently). Not starve, Mr. Sherwood. Starvation isn't a pleasant death. Sherwood (brutal). Please yourself. Thorndike. It was starvation — and grief — that killed my dear wife. Starvation isn't a pleasant death to watch either. Fortunately, I have some friends who would save me from that. Sherwood. Are there others that you get money from then ? , Thorndike, Oh dear me no, Mr. Sherwood. Not that kind of friends at all. I was alluding— (fumbles in his, pocket) (produces small phial of tabloids.) — to these. Sherwood (curious in spite of himself). Those ? Thorndike. The one universal friend of failures like me. We needn't mention his name ; but these^^ (removes .stopper, fingers phial almost lovingly.). these are his little ministers. • ' Sherwood (fascinated). You mean — death? 14' A TABLOID. Thorndike. Put one of these in your drink — ■ tasteless and undetectable afterwards they tell me. No pain, and in three minutes (smiles) you'd be as wise as Soloman. It's an old prescription that I've had for many years. Sherwood (fiercely). Why do you carrj^ them about with you ? Why do you bring them here, to-night ? Thorndike (mild astonishment). I always carry them about with me, Mr. Sherwood, in case of need. After all, one never knows. Sherwood. One never knows ? Thorndike. What might happen. (In fumbling with the phial, he overturns it. The tabloids are spilled on the table towards Sherwood.) Oh, I've upset them. How very unfortunate ! We must gather them all up — carefully. Sherwood (repeats as though dazed). One never knows what might happen. Thorndike (gathering the tabloids with eagerness). It wouldn't do to leave any of these lying about, would it ? No, no. They're too precious for that. One, two, three, four, five- — I thought there were six. [He appears not to notice that Sherwood has covered one with his hand. Gathers the others into phial.) Ha ! ha ! It shows what confidence I have in you Mr. Sherwood, to come to your rooms like this ; all alone, at dead of night, and show you the way to get rid of me. I suppose, ha ! ha ! you're the one man in the world who stands to gain anything by it. Sherwood (furious). You old devil ! Take your money, there it is. Now go ! Go quickly ! (He dare not look at him.) Thorndike. Yes, Mr. Sherwood, I'm going. (Pockets note.) Ten pounds. The first instalment of my ha ! ha ! my little income. A TABLOID. 15 Sherwood. Go ! Thorndike {smiling). It's very late, sir. You couldn't stand an old friend a drink before he goes ? Something to keep out the cold. Sherwood. Will you go if I do ? Thorndike. Certainl}^ of course, Mr. Sherwood sir, I'll go at once. (Sherwood impatiently turns up and mixes a drink at sideboard c. He still has the drug in his hand.) Sherwood. Very well then. Thorndike (still seated l. of table. Apparentlv musing happily to himself). Yes, I'll go. But I shall come back. Oh naturally I shall come back. Very often. Perhaps when j^ou least expect me, I shall drop in some evening, like this, and then you'll give me more money, because you'll be afraid of me. And — and the jest will be that you'll never know — when I'm — coming. {With slow enjoyment.) Sherwood {up c. with glass). Take care, you can go too far. I've warned you— take care. Thorndike {as though not heeding). I heard that you were engaged to be married, Mr. Sherwood, to a very charming young lady. Ha ! ha ! My little tale might interest her, mightn't it ? Sherwood {hoarsely, his hand shaking). You don't know what you're doing. Thorndike. Oh yes I do. I'm going to make you pay now. For as long as I live, you're going to be made to pay. Sherwood. Then if I must, I must. For — as long as you live. {Unseen by Thorndike, he drops tabloid in glass — the liquid fizzes for a moment, then is clear as before.) Thorndike {seems to have noticed nothing). Ha! ha ! That's better. That's your reasonable self 16 A TABLOID. again. I knew you'd come round. And rtiy drink mixed with your own hands. Very hospitable, I'm .sure. ' ■ ':;' '^'■•''^'■- • ,'■• '^ (Hejakes the tumbler from She^wooj);, who, i$ staring at him in terrified silence.), i,( •:■,,,, I'm much obliged to you. Here's \o our .pla Mend- ship, Mr. Sherwood. ; j it^ ■ (Drinks, then puts the glass doti/n 'dfi taUe.) ■,,■;■• • ■• "•■,v \),^.^^::y:r\■l ■■ • Strange,, . \ ■ i..,-.,. t; .:^ \ Sherwood (fascinated). What?, Thorn DIKE (slowly). They told me it had no taste. Sherwood (whisper). What do you mean ? TnoYq^DiKB (watching, him). That in three minutes I shall be dead. Sherwood. My God! You— know ? Thorndike. I knew all the time. (Gathering himself up fiercely, he almost hisses the next words.) It was a little trap, Mr. Sherwood. Sherwood. A trap — for whom ? Thorndike. For you. (His manner quite altered^ fierce and vindictiife.) Oh, and you walked into it so prettily. > So prettily. Sherwood, What do you meau ? You — you're dying. I've poisoned you. It'snotI that's trapped. Thorkdike. Isn't it ? The gallows Mr, Sher- wood. You're very near it, Sherwood. The gallows! Thorndike. That was where the scheme came in. What do I care even if lam dead. {Gloating.) I shall watch you all the sanie — and be satisfied. Listen. (Speaks quickly, his eyes fastened on Sherwood's face.) It was when I heard you talking to-nighl that I got the idea. Sometime, you might commit a murder A TABLOID. 17 .you said. Others heard it, as well, 1 was careful about that. , , Then I went to — to my garret, where I live now, alone, since my wife c^ied, and I wrote there a little note to be taken to the police. Do you begin 'to understand ? • Sherwood (hardly audible). Go on. Thorndike. I think you do. It was to fell them where I was coming ; to say that I had good reason to fear you, so that, if I didn't return, they would understand why. The police act quickly on a hint of that sort, Mr. Sherwood. They should be here — almost — directly. Sherwood. You devil. Sothatw^as your scheme, was it ? Thorndike {staggers to his feet ; glares at Sher- wood with concentrated hate). Yes. That was the scheme. I should have been dead soon, anyhow, the doctors told me that. And it was worth a few weeks to see you — now. Aha ! Mr. Sherwood,'the suceessr ful thief, who killed my wife and stole my triumph frorn me. . . . Now then (He staggers and sways, still watching Sherwood.) You're beginning to pay in earnest . . . the first instalment ha ! ha . . . the hangman shall collect the last . . . ah ! . . . Sherwood. How dare you (Movement, towards him. Thorndike sees it and laughs.) Thorndike. Too late. You understand. There's no need for that — now. Ah ! (He reels and falls lifeless, behind and a little L. of table.) Sherwood (trembling violently). My God ! He's gone. I've killed him. They'll fmd him here, and then — they'll know who did it. I've condemned myself. " Some day I might commit a murder," my 18 A TABLOID. own words ; Knight knew ... he warned me. What's that ? Footsteps ... on the stairs . . . it's they . . . already. (Up at door, listens.) There is some one coming up. Ah ! (Loud knocking at outer door.) Caught, in a trap ... he said so . , . But I can have the laugh of him yet. . . . Ha ! ha ! (Knocking louder.) Knock away, you'll not bring me to the gallows ahve. (Snatches phial from table, and begins to empty the contents into his hand.) I can have the laugh of you still, with these. (Knock and crash. Outer door flies open, and Knight in his shirt sleeves bursts into room.) Knight. Sherwood, what is it ? I heard a fall. (Sees body on floor, starts back with terrified cry.) My God ! What's this ? Sherwood (r. of table). Ha ! ha ! It's you, is it ? Just in time to see your prophecy fulfilled. I told you I should commit a murder, and I have. That was my enemy, I stole his work from him ; he came here to threaten me, and I've killed him. What's the good of concealments now ? The police know who did it. Everybody knows. They're on their way to take me at this moment — but I can escape them yet. Like this. (Shows drug in his hand.) That's the poison that killed him. Now — it's my turn. Knight (horrified). Dick ! Sherwood. It's the only escape left for me now. Look. A TABLOID. 19 (Puts hand to mouth and swallows the tabloid.) , Knight (rwsAtJi- jorward: catches his arm). Dick ! Good God ! Poisoned. Sherwood (stands motionless^speaks in a whisper) . Too late. I'm a dead man. (From behind the table, the grinning face of Thorndike rises slowly into view. He watches Sherwood with a little chuckle of amusement.) Thorndike (mildly). Oh dear me no you're not, Mr. Sherwood, any more than I am — they're quite harmless, those little lozenges, quite harmless I assure you. It was a little trick of mine, that's all. Sherwood (unnerved, incredulous). A trick? Thorndike. You said you wanted to know how it felt to commit a murder, didn't you ? Well, I fancy I've let you see — pretty completely. Sherwood {dazed). You weren't dead after all? Thorndike. You must accept my word for that, Mr. Sherwood. They used to tell me I was good at death-scenes. Knight. But I don't understand. What does this mean ? Thorndike. I've told you. It's the second time I've helped our friend here with his work. The first time perhaps was not quite intentional on my part ; this we'll regard as my revenge, eh ? We're quits now. Oh, and that blackmail, as you called it, Mr. Sher- wood — that of course was only part of my little scheme. (Fumbles in his breast.) I must return yo u the proceeds. Knight (glances at Sherwood). Coals of fire ! Thorndike (laying note on table). The ten pounds, Mr. Sherwood. And now. Til be going. Sherwood (passes hand over his eyes ; speaks as one waking jrom a dream). No, no. Stop. I've something more to say. Tell me, where are you living now ? 20 A TABLOID. / Thorndike. That finds me, Mr. Sherwood. (Giving card.) But why ? Sherwood. Because^because you've taught me more than one thing to-night. I ' ve treated you badly, but I'll make amends now. (Up to him, gives note.) Here, take this. As you said yourself — the first instalment. You'll hear from me every week now. I want — to make amends. Thorndike (takes note). Mr. Sherwood, I — I thank you. Sherwood (eagerly). Every week, remember. Thorndike (swi7es). Every week? That's gener- ous. But — it won't be for very long, Mr. Sherwood. Good-night. (He goes out sloidy at door u /J^he others watch him.) Curtain. Printed by Butler & Tanxer, Frome ani London. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS u 014 432 651 9 #