i'Ras'u 
 
 itn- 
 
 
 The. witness 
 
 
 
 
 •• v- 
 
 
THE 
 
 DEAD WITNESS) 
 
 > 
 
 OR, 
 
 SIN AND ITS SHADOW. 
 
 & UJrama, 
 
 IN THREE ACTS, 
 
 Founded on '‘The Widow’s Story” of The Seven Poor Travellers, 
 by Charles Dickens. 
 
 The Drama written by 
 
 WYBERT REEVE, 
 
 (member of the dramatic authors’ society) 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 1 Won at Last;" 11 Not so Bad after all;" “ Never Rechon your 
 Chickens “Supper Gratis “ Pike O 1 Callaghan;" 11 1 Love 
 You;" “ Match for a Mother -in- Law “ Obliging a 
 Friend ;" dc. f dec. 
 
 TORONTO: 
 
 R, B. BUTLANO, PUBLISHER, 
 
 37 King Street West. 
 
 London : 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 
 
 Publisher, 
 
 89, STRAND. 
 
 New York : 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH & SON, 
 
 Publishers, 
 
 28, WEST 23rd STREET. 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [First produced at Theatre Royal , Sheffield, under the 
 management of Mr. Charles Pitt.) 
 
 Characters. 
 
 HENRY VERNON ( a Coiner) ... Mr. Wu. TorxocK. 
 
 ALFRED DAVAGER (his Confederate — 
 
 an Aristocratic Thief) ... ... Mr. James Craig. 
 
 TOBY WELSH {a Plebeian Follower) ... Mr. J. Harvey. 
 MARKS {a Detective) ... ••• Mr. T. Bridgeford. 
 
 BLINKER {Second Detective) ... Mr. Cromwell. 
 
 \ 
 
 MARY VERNON ( Wife of Henry).,, Miss Annie Ness, 
 ELLEN BRANDER {her Sister) ... Miss Leighton. 
 
 SARAH TIPPETTS {a Servant , with the 
 
 prevailing weakness of her sex) «»* Miss Elton. 
 
 SYNOPSIS OF SCF-NERY AND INCIDENTS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.— VERNON’S HOUSE. 
 
 Sarah sitting up — A Wife’s anxiety — A dissipated Husband—His 
 Companions — A thirsty Thief — An Exit out of the window — 
 Pleasant recollections — “How happy could I be with either,” &c. 
 
 Scene II.— STREET. 
 
 Detectives on the track— A plot for capture — The two Rogues— 
 Toby and his cigar. 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 Scene III.— ROOM IN VERNON’S HOUSE. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE! — The newspaper paragraph — £500 
 reward — Ellen’s arrival — Mutual distrust — Meeting of the 
 Coiners — Division of the plunder — Oath of secresv — ELLEN 
 ON THE WATCH!— SHE SECURES THE PROOF!— 
 “I have you in my power”— A FACE AT THE WINDOW- 
 
 TABLEAU. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SceneI.— ROOM IN VERNON’S HOUSE. 
 
 The Sisters — Home secrets — The mystery — An interruption— - 
 Vernon’s suspicions aroused — The resolve — “ I’ll have some pledge 
 of secresy, or find the means to silence her.” 
 
 Scene II.— STREET near VERNON’S HOUSE. 
 
 The Deetives in disguise — Marks,, a Life Guardsman — Blinker 
 a CyCmtryman — The plant — “Come into my bower, says the 
 spider to the fly” — Sarah’s weakness for the military. 
 
 Scene III.— OAK CHAMBER (Night). 
 
 The Secret visitor — Reproaches— Threat of betrayal — The proof— 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE !— THE MURDER OF 
 ELLEN I— Remorse of Vernon— THE SHADOW OF HIS 
 
 SIN ! — Tableau. 
 
 ACT 111. 
 
 Scene I.— VERNON’S HOUSE. 
 
 THE DEAD ! — Davager, a Doctor— The guilty — terrible sus- 
 picions— Watching by the dead— THE SHADOW!— THE SPOT 
 OF BLOOD ! — “ To the secret chamber, there to learn the 
 
 dreadful truth !” 
 
 Scene II.— CHAMBER. 
 
 An inquisitive Servant Girl— Comrades in guilt — Reproaches— 
 Defiance — Toby at bay — The secret trap — Tb* Detectives 
 
 outwitted. 
 
 Scene III.— THE SECRET CHAMBER. 
 
 The sliding panel — The fatal discovery — The Coiners — A letter-* 
 The blood-stained dagger — Vernon confronts his Wife — A woman’? 
 wrongs — The struggle and escape — A comrade turned Traitor— 
 The fatal shot — Arrival of the Detectives — An unexpected 
 witness— REMORSE ! -THE DEAD WITNESS! 
 
{^.B.—This piece is entered on the List of the Dramatic Authors’ Society, a&d 
 can be played by all Assessed Manager:-, &c.] 
 
 THE DEAD WIT N EBB; 
 
 OK, SIN AND ITS SHADOW, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. — Vernon's House. Doors , c. ; fireplace , R. ( fin 
 
 nearly out) ; door, r.3e, ; door, L. 2 E. ; window to lift up, 
 L. 3 E ; doors bached by interior ; candles on table , nearly 
 burnt out; blank letter on table; curtains to window; clock 
 strikes twelve as Curtain rises. — Music . 
 
 Sarah Tippetts discovered seated before fire, dozing; she 
 nearly falls off chair. 
 
 Sarah. It was nearly a case that time ; a little more, and 1 
 should have pitched head foremost into the fire. Oh dear l 
 Oh lor! I am so sleepy. This sitting up of nights don’t 
 agree with my constitution. I shall have to give notice if 
 master will insist on staying out in this manner ; for missus 
 will sit up, and make me do the same to keep her com- 
 pany ; she can lay in bed in the morning, I can’t. 
 {yawning and advancing) Oh, these men, these men ! If 
 they once take to staying out of nights, they ain’t good 
 for much afterwards ; they generally gets worser and 
 worser, until they never come home at all. They are the 
 selfishest of all living creaturs, I do believe A pipe of 
 tobacco, a cigar, or a glass more grog, and a little more talk 
 about theirselves, is quite enough to make them forget the 
 misery of their anxious wives at home, {crossing, and sitting 
 in chair , L.) Why don’t women begin as they mean to go on, 
 that’s what I want to know ? Oh, if ever I am lucky enough 
 to have a husband, not one moment’s sleep does he get if ha 
 keeps me out of my bed. I’ve got a tongue, and I’d let him 
 know I was not afraid of using it. I wish I had a husband 
 to practise on now. I’ve been wishing it for a long time. 
 Oh dear! {sighing and looking, r. 3 E.) Here comes missus, 
 looking so pale and tired. {Music) 
 
 Enter Mary, door, a. 3 e. 
 
 Mary. You must be getting very sleepy, Sarah ! 
 
 Sarah. I’m awful tired, ma’am. 
 
 Mary. And it’s very late, is it not ? 
 
 Sarah, It’s awful late, ma’am. 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 5 
 
 Act 1.1 
 
 Mary. You had better go to bed, I will sit up alone. 
 
 Sarah, {aloud) Thankee, ma’am, (aside) Sicli is life, ana 
 matrimony in partic’lar ! Exit, door, L. 
 
 Mary. Twelve o’clock, and Harry not returned ! My eyes 
 are weary with work, and I fear lest I should fall asleep. 
 (sitting, R.) It is very strange he should keep me watching so 
 anxiously for his return — night after night. When he does 
 come, i love him so dearly, I cannot find it in my heart to 
 chide him. Before I married him, I was told he was wild, 
 unprincipled, bad ; but I did not care for all they said ; mine 
 was no school-girl fancy, to be frightened away by what might 
 happen. I had no life, no hope without him. My poor mother ! 
 how often she told me I was wrong and foolish, and only 
 chided me the more when I said he had promised to be good 
 and kind, and I knew he would not deceive me. Can it be 
 that he is doing so ? Do I regret the sacrifices I have made ? 
 (rising) No, no, Harry, I love you too well for that ! 
 
 (Henry is heard singi' /j outside) 
 Thank heaven, he has come at last ! 
 
 Enter Henry, c., singing, “ For wine inspires us and fires 
 us,” dec., he is half drunk, his dress disordered, and smoking 
 a cigar. 
 
 Mary, (going to him) Oh, Harry, my dear husband, hoW 
 anxiously I have been waiting for you ! 
 
 Harry. Have you, Medora? Just get the wine out, my 
 dear ? 
 
 Mary. No, you have had enough to-night ; pray don’t take 
 any more. 
 
 Henry. Are you master here, or am I? Do I pay for the 
 wine, or do you ? 
 
 Mary. I only speak for your good. 
 
 Henry. Then don’t speak again. I know what is good for 
 me better than you do* (singing) “ I’ve been roaming, I’ve 
 been roaming.” 
 
 Mary. Hush ! you will wake the servants if you make so 
 much noise ! 
 
 Henry. Serve them right, the lazy wretches, they have no 
 right to go to bed. 
 
 Mary. Poor things, they are tired with working all day. 
 Harry, I have never seen you so bad as you are to-night ; 
 some one has been tempting you to drink, I know they have. 
 (he sits in chair, R.) 
 
 Henry. They have— they have, the wretches; they know 
 what an innocent fellow I am. My sweet Medora, you don’t 
 know all my good qualities yet. Never mind, it’s never too late 
 to learn. 
 
5 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 Matiy. But I never hope to learn you are often thus. You 
 will be sorry in the morning, 1 am sure you will. ( kneeling at 
 
 his side) 
 
 Henry. Perhaps so. Wait until the morning comes, and 
 we shall see. 
 
 Mary. I wanted to tell you something. 
 
 Henry. Speak out; what is it? # 
 
 Mary. My clear sister Ellen is coming to-morrow; here is a 
 letter (showing it) I received by to-night’s post. Head it. 
 She speaks so kindly, and promises to cheer me with netos 
 from home. 
 
 Henry. Cheer you — why don't I cheer you enough? What 
 more do you want ? 
 
 Mary. Yes, of course; but you know what I mean? 
 
 Henry. I suppose you mean what you say. 
 
 Mary. Here is the letter — read it. 
 
 Henry, [rising) Oh, the devil take it ! I should only see 
 the letters double. ( tears it up) There, that’s the best place for 
 it. (throwing it on floor) It won’t trouble me again. 
 
 Mary. ( looking at it) My poor letter ! You are very unkind, 
 Harry! (rising) 
 
 Henry. You can tell me all about it, just as well. Youi 
 sister Ellen ! I don’t remember her. 
 
 Mary. I am sure you do ; but you won’t own it. You told 
 her once that she was much handsomer then I was : I 
 remember that. 
 
 Henry. Of course you clo! Raise a woman’s jealousy, and 
 trust her for not forgetting it. 
 
 Mary. No, I have too much confidence to be jealous — 
 besides, she is my sister. 
 
 Henry. Well some people are jealous of their grandmothers! 
 
 Mary. How can you talk like that, Harry ? 
 
 Henry. Because it pleases me. I suppose I may say what 
 I like in my own house : you would not deny me that? But 
 come, get to bed ! 
 
 Mary. Are you not coming? It is very late— you had 
 better not sit up longer. 
 
 Henry. I have business to transact— important business — 
 go along, and don’t trouble about me — I’m all right. 
 
 Mary. You are tired.? 
 
 Henry. I can rest here as well as anywhere else. 
 
 Mary. But 
 
 Henry. That will do ; no more buts— dp as I tell you. 
 Remember I am your lord and master : and your lord and 
 master wishes to be alone, (he tries to wave his hand in a 
 dignified manner) 
 
 Exit Mary, looking, hack sorrowfully , door R. 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 7 
 
 SC, 1.] 
 
 Henry. The deuce take all the women. What a bother it 
 is to get rid of them ! I told her to get out the wine— she's 
 gone and left me to do it myself! I’ll call her back — [going) no 
 I won’t. I suppose Davager is cold enough waiting all this 
 time. She is safe, so I’ll admit him. [bold music — opens 
 window and whistles softly ) 
 
 Enter Davager, dressed very showily, followed by Toby rather 
 
 shabbily dressed ; Toby falls head foremost into the room ; 
 
 Davager picks him up, and throws him round into L. corner . 
 
 Henry. Don’t make a noise, you idiot. 
 
 Davager. You idiot, don’t make a noise ; do you hear 
 what the governor says ? 
 
 Toby. In course I does ; I ain’t deaf.* And don’t you go 
 knocking me about like that ’ere again. My limbs is tender 
 and won’t stand it ; and if they does, I don’t, [going up to him) 
 So I tells yer. *> ; 
 
 Davager. [threatening) What? 
 
 Toby. Nothing, [shrinking away) My constitootion is weak, 
 Wait till I gets stronger. 
 
 Davager. You are a pretty fellow. 
 
 Toby. I knows I is. 
 
 Davager, Hold your tongue. I mean you are a pretty 
 fellow to enter a gentleman’s window like that ; a nice sort of 
 a cracksman you’d make, wouldn’t you ? 
 
 ITenry gets out wine and places it on table . 
 
 Toby. In course I should. 
 
 Davag. Couldn’t you see how gracefully I did it ? 
 
 Toby. In course I could ; but it ain’t everybody as is so 
 lanky on the pins as you are. 
 
 Henry. That will do ; let us have no more humbug, or I’ll 
 wring one or both of your necks, half-drunk as I am. Come, 
 sit down. 
 
 Davag. Do you hear what the guv’nor says? He’ll 
 wring your neck. Come and sit down. (Toby is about to 
 sit in arm chair) Now then, my beauty, get out of that ; 
 you’ve got the guv’nor’s chair, [throwing him round) 
 
 Toby. There you go again ; you’ve torn my Sunday coat. 
 
 Henry. Sit down, will you? [violently — all seated )* Now 
 then, to business. How have you got on ? 
 
 Davag. First-rate, [seeing wine , coughs) Oh Lord, how 
 the dust does stick in my throat. How is your throat, Toby ? 
 
 Toby. Full to the brim, [coughing violently) I’ve got a 
 whole dust-heap there. 
 
 Henry. There is wine on the table, help yourselves. 
 
 * Davager. 
 
 Toby. 
 
 J*. 
 
 L. 
 
 Henry. 
 
8 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act t. 
 
 Toby. In course we will, {seizes hold of bottle and fills glass , 
 drinks it, fills again , is about to drink , Davager takes it away) 
 
 Davag. No, you don’t, you greedy rascal. Where are 
 your manners ? 
 
 Toby. You’d have seen, if you’d only have waited; you’re 
 in such a awful hurry with your perliteness. I takes time over 
 mine. ( 
 
 Henry. What money have you got rid of? 
 
 Davag. Twenty pounds, and Toby managed ten! 
 
 Toby. One of it I coaxed out of a innocent little infant, 
 as was set to mind her father’s shop whilst he was at his dinner. 
 When I thinks on her face, when her father finds out she’s 
 given nineteen bob ai*d a tanner for a Brummagen gilt sov. it 
 makes me weep. I’ll take a refresher, {drinks a glass of wine) 
 
 Henry. I suppose you want a new supply ? 
 
 Davag. You’ve hit the right nail on the head, guv’nor ! 
 
 Henry. Come to-morrow night, and I’ll clench it. I’ll not 
 trust myself to settle with you now. 
 
 Davag. Why, you don’t think we’d swindle you, do you? 
 
 Toby. In course he does, if he gives us the chance ! {fills 
 again , Davager takes the glass from him and drinks it) 
 
 Davag. No, you don’t — you’ve had enough. I say, guv’nor, 
 what are you afraid of? — you’re as sober as a judge ! 
 
 Henry. You lie ! Come again to-morrow night at eleven — 
 for hang me if I stay up any longer, {rising) The sooner you 
 get out the way you came in the better I shall like it. 
 
 Davag. ( rising ) Then we have had this journey for 
 nothing. 
 
 Henry, {advancing) Very likely, unless you meet any poor 
 devil whose pocket you can pick on the road. 
 
 Davag. {swaggering) Pickpockets! Do you take us for 
 blackguards, sir ? Do you cast an aspersion on our dignity ? 
 
 Toby. ( imitating him extravagantly) Yes, sir ! Do you take 
 us for blackguards? Do you cast a dignity on our liaspersions? 
 (Henry threatens him , and he retreats to L. corner , then quietly 
 goes to bottle and empties it) 
 
 Davag. I trust we are a cue above the pick-pocket line. 
 We are now well-known members of the Stock Exchange. 
 
 Tcby. Yes, in the flimsey business — better known than trusted, 
 
 Davag. Toby, some more wine to cool my indignation. 
 
 Toby. It’s taken so much to cool mine, that there ain’t none 
 left. 
 
 Davag. You drunken vagabond, you disgrace the society 
 of gentlemen. 
 
 Toby. In course I does ; that’s why I keeps yours. 
 
 Henry. If both of you are not out of that window in half-** 
 minute, I’ll throw you out. 
 
TIIR DEAD WITNESS, 
 
 9 
 
 Sc. 2.] 
 
 Toby. Oh, no, we never mention it. We won’t trouble 
 you. I’m off, sharp as a lamplighter. 
 
 Gets out of window and disappears. 
 
 Davag. I regret I cannot compliment you on your good 
 manners. ( sitting on window sill) Treat me as a gentleman, is 
 all I ask 
 
 Henry. ( pushing him out of ivindow) Go to the devil. 
 
 Toby, {without) Oh, oh, my back is broke. 
 
 Davag. ( without ) What do you go to bed there for ? 
 
 Toby. ( without ) ’Cos I fell, and couldn’t help it. (theit 
 voices are heard quarrelling as Henry closes the window) 
 
 Henry. Confound the noisy idiots. I’ll have no more of 
 this game after a few weeks. A few more hundreds and I put 
 up the shutters, and close my shop. I’ll go in for a large Hy, 
 and cut this low company. Another glass, and then to bed. 
 {looks at bottle) It’s empty. Confound their impudence. Let 
 me see, if I remember rightly, my wife said her sister was 
 coming to-morrow ; and I have a kind of confused recollection 
 of her being a devilish pretty girl. If so ; {laughing) ha, ha, 
 ha ! Well, we’ll think about it, {sings) “ How happy could I 
 be with either,” &c. Exit, door R, 1 E. 
 
 Scene Second. — Street near Henry's House— Lights down , 
 ** Enter Marks, r., Blinker, l. 
 
 Marks. Well, on the scent? 
 
 Blinker. Believe so. 
 
 Marks. Report 
 
 Blink. Two men, in at window? 
 
 Marks. When ? 
 
 Blink. Half-an-hour ago. 
 
 Marks. Know them ? 
 
 Blink. Too dark to see. 
 
 Marks. Vernon at home ? 
 
 Blink. Of course he is, to receive his pals l 
 
 Marks. He is our man. 
 
 Blink. Not a doubt of it. 
 
 Marks. He’s a downy bird, we must be cautious to nail 
 him. 
 
 Blink. Precisely my sentiments. 
 
 Marks. We must get into the house. How? 
 
 Blink. Make love to the servant gal. 
 
 Marks. Precisely my sentiments. 
 
 Blink. I am on like a barnacle ! 
 
 Marks. No, I takes that duty. 
 
 Blink. ’Tain’t fair. I always does the dirty work You 
 sollars the cream and leaves me the skim milk. 
 
10 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 1, 
 
 Marks. Ladies is captious, they require delicately handling. 
 Experience does it. 
 
 Blink. You takes care nobody else has a tug at the reins 
 when you’ve got a filly in training. 
 
 Marks. Appearance is as necessary as experience. I am 
 good-looking, you are not. 
 
 Blink. That’s a matter of taste. What a happy chap you 
 must be ! 
 
 Marks. Why? 
 
 Blink. To be always shaking hands with yourself when 
 you looks in the glass. 
 
 Marks. Vernon’s pals, {looking oft) b») 
 
 Blink. Bight you are. 
 
 Marks. We must know ’em. 
 
 Blink. Bight you are. (Marks conceals himself \ r., 
 Bunker, u) 
 
 Enter Toby and Davager, l, 1 e. 
 
 Toby. Oh, my back! I know it’s broken. I can feel it a 
 opening and shutting, 
 
 Davag. Serve you right. What did you go to bed under 
 the window for? 
 
 Toby. X wasn’t a-going to bed. I was a-getting up ; 1 fell, 
 I couldn’t help it, could I ? 
 
 Davag. Yes, you are a low, vulgar prig. I feel myself 
 disgraced when I’m near you. 
 
 Toby. Well, then, why don’t you keep your distance. 
 
 Davag. Because you are useful. Why don’t you learn the 
 art of getting into a house without troubling the door. 
 
 Toby. I can’t. I never inherited the only virtue my old 
 dad ever had — that was climbing. He was a chirnbley sweep. 
 
 Davag. As for Master Vernon, we’ll take him down a peg, 
 if he gives us his fine airs, 
 
 Toby. In course we will ; we’ll stop his air altogether, by 
 taking him down one peg and hanging him on another before 
 we’ve done with him. lie talks as if he was king o’ England 
 and Dook o’ Vellington all rolled into one. 
 
 Davag. Come along, we have to be at the ken by two 
 o’clock ; and it isn’t wise for us to be found in the streets at 
 this time of night. 
 
 Toby. No, it’s late for wirtuous coves like us to be picked 
 up — somebody might find us too valuable to be dropped in a 
 hurry, {making grimace) Oh, my eye! I’m blowed if that cigar 
 ain’t a turning me up. 
 
 Davag. What did you smoke it for ? 
 
 Toby. Did’nt you make me, because we was a walking 
 through a harhstocratic neighbourhood to Vernori’s, Yoq 
 
TIIE HEAD WITNESS. 
 
 11 
 
 wanted me to give myself a haristocratic hair, and I tells you it 
 ain’t in my natur. 
 
 Day ag. You will never be anything but one of the canaille . 
 You want the genius to rise in your profession. 
 
 Toby. I fears the only rise 1 shall ever take will be by your 
 side with a hempen cravat, And that’s what I call taking the 
 rise out of a chap. Oh, Davager, I am very ill, what with 
 my back and what my ’totlier. Oh, I’m doubled up. (falls 
 against Davager) 
 
 Davag. Stand up, you idiot ; I’m not a lamp-post. You’re 
 drunk. 
 
 Toby. I only wishes I was. A man’s never what I calls 
 drunk ’till he’s insensible. 
 
 Davag. I shall cut you one of these days. 
 
 Toby. If you do I’ll peach. 
 
 Davag. (turning on him fiercely ) You will do what ? 
 
 Toby. I’ll preach. IIow you turns on a feller ! I said I’ll 
 preach in the Methodist or Baptist line. I’ll cut the smashing 
 business, and go in for the conwerted sinner dodge. 
 
 Davag. I thought you threatened me with peaching. I’d 
 Turing your neck as I would a dog’s if I caught you at it. 
 
 Toby. Don’t talk like that, Da’vie, my boy, to a pal, 
 ’taint pleasant. 
 
 Davag. Come on, no more humbug. 
 
 Toby. I’m werry ill ; what with my back, and what with 
 my ’tother ; oh lor. They exeunt , r. 1 E. 
 
 Marks and Blinker, who have been watching , advance . 
 
 Marks. Do you see ? (hitting Marks on shoulder and pointing) 
 
 Blink, (rubbing shoulder) Yes, and feel too. 
 
 Marks. Davager the gent. 
 
 Blink. And Toby the crow. 
 
 Marks. We are on the scent 
 
 Blink. Bight you are. 
 
 Marks, (pointing, r.) Bun ’em to ground. 
 
 Blink. Five hundred pounds, my tulip ! (going, R.) 
 
 Marks. Bight you are ! To-morrow I am on for the gal. 
 
 Blink. Cream as I said, (pointing, r.) and the skim milk 
 for me. Exit Marks, l., Blinker, it. 
 
 Scene Third. — Vernon's Room. Same as Scene First — lamp 
 
 burning on table with green shade over it — lime-light ready at 
 
 window , L. 
 
 Henry discovered reading a newspaper, seated at table— M ary at 
 worh , R. — candle burning on table. 
 
 Henry, (reading aside) What is this? “ Several detectives 
 11 have been on the alert lately, to discover certain makers 
 (i and distributors of counterfeit coin. A gang is evidently in 
 
 
 f 
 

 TtlE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 u existence — who at the present moment, and for some time 
 “ past, Yave been defrauding the government and the public tc 
 “ a large c mount. £500 reward is offered for such information 
 4< as shall lead to their discovery.” So— so, they are on the 
 look out ! 
 
 Mary. Wl^ are you looking so cross Harry, — is there 
 anything the matter? 
 
 Henry. Nothing. So you tell me I was not quite sober 
 when I returned last night ? 
 
 Mary'. You were not indeed. 1 was so sorry to sec you in 
 such a state. 
 
 Henry. 1 daresay you were. Is it this evening you expect 
 your sister ? 
 
 Mary. Yes, and I expect her every minute. She said in 
 her letter ten o’clock. 
 
 Henry. ( putting down 'payer and looking at watch) It is past 
 that time now. 
 
 Mary. You have been very busy to-day in that secret 
 chamber of yours. I should so like to look inside it. If you 
 leave the key about you will find me, like Blue Beard’s wife, 
 taking a sly peep one of these days. 
 
 Henry. If you do, take care you are not punished for your 
 curiosity in the same way. 
 
 Mary. Nonsense, you would not be so cruel. Why are 
 you so particular, 1 could almost think you are committing 
 some great crime there ? 
 
 Henry t . I wish you would hold your tongue, and not pry 
 into affairs that you have no business with. 
 
 Mary. ( putting down work) You have not been home for 
 many evenings, so you must not be angry with me. ( taking up 
 paper) Come, let me read to you ! 
 
 Henry. Oh, very well, go on. 
 
 Marg. Did you read a paragraph about a reward being 
 offered for the discovery of a gang of coiners. Such men 
 must be very wicked ; they are cowardly thieves. I wish it 
 was in my power to give them up to justice and punishment. 
 Henry. ( starting up) What do you say ? 
 
 Marg. How terrible you look ! What have I said ? 
 
 Henry". Too much. Repeat such words, and I’ll— - 
 
 Ellen enters quickly at this moment , door c. — she starts on seeing 
 the position of Henry — he turns , sees who it is, and moves 
 away confused in manner — Ellen advances — Sarah has 
 followed , bringing a small portmanteau , which she places on 
 chair near door , and exit. 
 
 Mary, {seeing her) My sister, my dear sister ( they embrace) 
 Ellen. Mary, my poor sister, how altered you are ! You 
 look so pale, {aside) What was he doing? 
 
SO. 3.] THE DISAb iVITf^ESS. 13 
 
 Mary, (aside) Nothing, don’t speak of it again; he is very 
 kind to me. (aloud) Harry, here is my sister. 
 
 Henry, (advancing) Your sister Ellen! So it is! De- 
 lighted to see you, Come, shake hands, (going to her— she 
 turns away) 
 
 Mary, (aside to Ellen quickly) Give him your hand, for 
 my sake. (Ellen reluctantly does so) 
 
 Henry, (aside) So — so she turns from me — my wife whispers 
 something to her. I’ll be even with them, (aloud) I hope 
 you enjoyed your ride, this fine day? 
 
 Ellen. Yes, thank you, very much, (to Mary) I cannot 
 help thinking you are very ill ? 
 
 Henry, (laughing) 111 ! Ha, ha, ha ! What an idea. What 
 is there to make her ill ? 
 
 Ellen, (looking at him) If she dared, I think she might 
 easily answer that question. 
 
 Mary. No, no. You mistake each other. Come, take off 
 your shawl and bonnet, (she assists Ellen in removing them) 
 I’ll order some refreshment ; you must want it after your long 
 journey. Ellen, dear Ellen, (taking her hands) I cannot tell 
 you all the joy I feel at once more seeing you ! 
 
 Ellen. I knew you would be glad ; but don’t order any- 
 thing for me; I could not take it; 1 am very tired, and I 
 think going to bed will do me the most good. 
 
 Mary. Then you shall go at once — your room is quita 
 ready. 
 
 Henry, (looking at icatch— aside) That i* fortunate. J 
 shall get rid of them in time. 
 
 Ellen. I have so much to tell you, of mother and of 
 home, but I know you will forgive me until to-morrow. 
 
 Mary. They are all well ? 
 
 Ellen. All. 
 
 Mary. Then 1 will forgive you. Come this way. (taking 
 candle, and going to door c.) 
 
 Henry. Wife, never mind about returning, I have some 
 particular business, and I wish to be alone, (to Ellen) Permit 
 me to open the door, (does so) Goodnight, (he offers his hand— 
 Ellen rejects it — sees the appealing look of Mary, then gives it) 
 They exeunt , c., and Henry closes door . 
 (Henry, advancmg) Poor creature, (laughing) She shudders. 
 She will get over that in time. Pretty and coy — requires an 
 extra dose of flattery I suppose. There is an odd look about 
 her, 1 don’t exactly like, and she appears instinctively to have 
 some suspicion about me. Well, nil desperandum ! I have 
 never yet failed in gaining a woman’s favours, if I have set my 
 mind to it ; and it shall not be my fault, if I do not succeed 
 with her. ( ivhistle heard —opens the window curtains — the lime • 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 Tilt DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 light shines into the room through the window , and across the hack 
 of stage — he speaks after looking out) Just in time. ( opening 
 window and calling in a low voice) Be cautious, and enter 
 quickly. (Davager and Tory ascend , and get in at window) 
 Be quiet — make no noise. People are within hearing. 
 
 Davag. The devil there are ! 
 
 Toby. What, the beaks ? I’m off. {going) 
 
 IIenry. {seizing him and throwing him round , L.) Stay 
 where you are, you cowardly poltroon ; it is only my wife and 
 her sister. 
 
 Toby. Why didn’t you say so at fust. Blessed if I shan’t 
 have my coat torn off my back if you’re all a-going to have a 
 turn at me in this way. 
 
 Davag. {swaggering to him) Toby Welsh, you’re next to a 
 coward. 
 
 Toby, i know I is, so I’ll keep my distance, {moving away) 
 
 Davag. I’ll {threatening him) 
 
 Henry, {putting his arm down) No, you won’t. Enough of 
 this. Pay me the money, or go back as you came. Come 
 sit down, both of you, and let us settle this business. Out 
 with the dust. (Henry sits C., at hack of table , which is c. of 
 stage , Toby, l., Davager, r.) 
 
 Davag. I say, guv’nor, just cast your eye over this paper. 
 {pulls out of his pocket a placard offering) “ Five Hundred 
 Pounds Reward — To anybody who will give information which 
 will lead to the apprehension of certain coiners,” &c. That’s 
 liberal, ain’t it ? More liberal than pleasant. 
 
 Henry, {throwing it on floor at back) Hang the reward, 
 what do I care ; first settle our accounts, then we will talk of 
 that. 
 
 Davag. You’re a cool hand, guv’nor, 
 
 Toby. Cool as a cowcumber, ain’t he? I wish I was 
 your brother, guv’nor— then I might have had a share of your 
 pluck. 
 
 Henry. I want £10 of you, Davager. 
 
 Davag. ( throws coin on table) There you are —down on the 
 nail ! 
 
 Henry. And a fiver of you, Toby. 
 
 Toby, {putting coin on table) There you are, guv’nor. I 
 ought to have a medal for being so jolly honest. 
 
 Henry, {looking at a coin) What is this, you impudent 
 fool — would you try and cheat me ? 
 
 Toby. In course I would ! No, no, I mean, in course, I 
 wouldn’t ! {talcing the coin and biting it) No, it isn’t — yes, it is. 
 Well, I’m blessed, if that ain’t queer! {giving another) 
 
 Davag. You low scoundrel! Would you try and cheat 
 the guv’nor ? 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 15 
 
 Sc. 3.] 
 
 Henry. ( talcing up a coin from his ) Have the kindness to 
 look at that, Mr. Alfred Davager ; and, if you value your 
 neck, don’t either of you try it on again. 
 
 Davao. ( talcing coin and trying it) No, it isn’t — yes, it is. 
 Guv’nor, upon my soul, I didn’t mean it. 
 
 Toby. ( imitating Davager) You low sooundrel ! Would 
 you go for to try to cheat the guv’nor? 
 
 Davag. It’s so dark, Vernon, I couldn’t see, or feel. 
 
 Toby. No more could I. I couldn’t see to feel, or feel to 
 see. 
 
 Davao. And they got mixM up together ? 
 
 Toby. That you couldn’t cell ’tother from which. 
 
 (Henry has counted and tested the coin during this) 
 
 Henry ( taking out a hag of gold from his pocket) Here is a 
 fresh supply. (Toby puts his hand to the money — Henry hits 
 him sharply over the knuckles) Hands off! A word before I 
 give you any more. (Music) 
 
 Enter Ellen, c. 
 
 Ellen. I forgot my portmanteau, (seeing them ) she stops and 
 listens , the mooidight shines upon her from the window) What do 
 I see? I will listen. 
 
 Henry. Concerning this reward offered for our apprehension, 
 no information can come, except from one of you. Now mark 
 my words — if either of you dare to betray me, and I cannot 
 have revenge upon you myself, I have those about me who 
 will do my will, if they mount the steps of the scaffold for it ; — 
 be faithful, and you share with me; betray me, and you sign 
 your own death-warrant. 
 
 Davag. I swear to be true. 
 
 Toby. So do I, guv’nor. 
 
 Henry. Then the coiner’s gang may bid defiance to them 
 all. (they join hands . and Henry proceeds to divide the money) 
 
 Ellen, (at hack) My sister’s husband a coiner! Ah, that 
 paper! (secures the one thrown down hy Henry) Villain, 
 villain, I have you in my power. 
 
 (just as she is securing the paper the face of Marks, the 
 detective , is seen in the moonlight peering in cautiously 
 through the window) 
 
 END OP THE FIRST ACT. 
 
16 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS, 
 
 [A ct 2, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene First. — Music. Lights full up. A Room in Vernon ’« 
 
 Home , (second grooves) ; doors R. and L. ; tables and chair* 
 
 to be closed in. 
 
 Ellen and Mary discovered holding each other's hand. 
 
 Ellen. Mary, I have been here some days, and during that 
 time, not by one action has your husband justified the opinion 
 you appear to hold of him. I not teil you all I know. 
 
 Mary. And I do not wish to anything, for you wrong 
 my husband. I could wish he was not so violent in his temper ; 
 but he means no wrong to ;ne. I love him, and my duty is to 
 obey. 
 
 Ellen. Poor girl, you are too good, too kind, too patient ! 
 I would to heaven, Mary, fate had given you a better lot in 
 life. 
 
 Mary. Why should you wish it, if I am satisfied? 
 
 Ellen. You are not satisfied. I know it by the change in 
 your appearance — by the anxious watching of your husband. 
 
 Mary. The idea that he loves me less than he once did will 
 sometimes cross my mind; but it makes me sad to see your 
 coldness to him — you speak and look as if you hate him; and 
 I know he loves you as a sister. 
 
 Ellen. For heaven’s sake be silent ! Do not name such a 
 word as love in connection with him — it is a sacrilege ! (rises 
 and walks about) 
 
 Mary. Hear me, Ellen! You are very different from me. 
 You possess the strength of mind and power of will I know I 
 am lacking ; but you are premature and violent in your dis- 
 likes. Whatever his failings maybe, remember I am his wife, 
 and it little becomes me to hear words spoken against him* 
 even from a sister ! 
 
 Ellen. If you knew all 1 have discovered 
 
 Mary. Discovered what ? 
 
 Ellen, (recollecting herself) I mean all I suspect, (aside) I 
 dare not tell her, it would break her heart. 
 
 Mary. I hear much between you I cannot understand. I 
 have heard you speaking in the garden, with angry voices — 
 voices I could not mistake. Why was this, Ellen ? 
 
 Ellen, (quicklg) You have heard us ; you did not listen? 
 
 Mary. No ; why should. I ? Between my husband and my 
 sister 1 am too just to suspect or doubt. Yet, I will own 
 your words raise up a mystery more painful than the truth, 
 whatever that may be. I am living among shadows. My 
 very husband and sister seem not real, for their lives are 
 hidden from me, 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 So. 1.] 
 
 Ellen. Mary, what is his profession? 
 
 Mary. I do not know ; he has no profession, 
 
 Ellen. lias he fortune, then? 
 
 Mary. I never heard so. He gives me money when I want 
 it, and is always generous. I know no more. 
 
 Ellen. How does he get that money? If you will not 
 believe me, when I tell you he is a bad, wicked man— if you 
 will not leave him, and come to those who are waiting with 
 open arms and loving hearts to receive you at home — I must 
 tell you more to save you from the future. I ask you again, 
 how does he get that money. Have you no fear ? (Music) # 
 
 Mary. There is a terrible mystery in your words ; tell me 
 their meaning, I implore you ? 
 
 Ellen. Your husband, Henry Vernon, is 
 
 Enter Henry, quickly , l. 
 
 Henry. Henry Vernon is here , what have you to say about 
 him? I presume I may know the secret ? 
 
 Ellen. It is yours already. I only regret it is not your 
 wife’s. Another opportunity may occur when we can speak 
 without the fear of a listener. 
 
 Exit door , r.-^1ary on his entrance has sunk doom into a 
 chair, R. 
 
 Henry, (going to her , and speaking fiercely) What has that 
 woman told you ? 
 
 Mary. Nothing. 
 
 Henry. It is false! 
 
 Mary, (rising) It is true — true as I am your wife. 
 
 Henry. What has site been saying ? 
 
 Mary. She asked me if I knew your profession— from 
 whence your money came ? That was all. 
 
 Henry. What business is that of hers? If she is your 
 sister, what right has she to interfere in my private affairs — 
 there shall be an end to it ! ( laying hold of her) Tell -me, what 
 did you reply ? 
 
 Mary. You frighten me, Harry. What could I say, but 
 that I knew nothing? 
 
 Henry. Better that than too much, (releasing her) Tears 
 and folly, the same round — always the same ! Why did I 
 marry a pretty doll— a plaything — no wife ? (walks about stage 
 — Mary is leaning on table, with her handkerchief covering 
 her eyes, as if weeping — she is seated R. of table — aside, seeing 
 her) Perhaps I have gone too far. I am harsh, unkind — I am 
 wearied of her love ; but it is not her fault ! (going to her) 
 Mary, I have been harsh. Come, girl, look up ; I did not 
 - mean to use you roughly; I was angry. Your sister has no 
 right to pry into our affairs. Come, forgive me! 
 
18 
 
 TITE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 2. 
 
 Mary. 1 do forgive you, Harry. There, you see I am not 
 crying any more. I will speak to Ellen, and ask her to think 
 more kindly of you. She must not suspect 
 
 Henry. ( quickly ) What does she suspect ? 
 
 Mary. I do not know ; I cannot tell what it is. 
 
 Henry. Did she give you no idea? 
 
 Mary. No, she was about to tell me when you entered. 
 I know it is all nonsense — only fears arising out of her love 
 for me. You shall be better friends. 
 
 Henry. I hope so ; we at least will try to be. I am going 
 out for a few minutes ; I shall soon return. In the meantime 
 go and sit in the drawing-room. ( crossing , R.) 
 
 Mary. I am so glad to hear you say that you won’t be long. 
 
 Henry. A few minutes only. Exit Mary, l. 
 
 What does her sister know or suspect ? I must find out, and 
 quickly too. This girl’s opposition to my approaches —the 
 very scorn with which she treats me — makes me doubly 
 anxious to conquer her dislike ; her hatred makes me feel that 
 I could love her. Angry words have passed between us, and 
 more than once she has threatened me. I’ll go to her now, 
 and try my fortune once again. I hear her footsteps above, 
 as I havt ^eard them often, when all others were sleeping 
 in the holism. My wife will not hear me pass the drawing- 
 room. If she does know the truth, I’ll have some pledge 
 from her of secresy, or find a means to silence her. 
 
 Exit, door R. 
 
 Scene Second. — Street near Vernon's House , the same as before , 
 The lights are gradually lowered during this Scene . 
 
 Enter Marks the detective , disguised as a soldier , in the undress 
 
 uniform of the Life Guards , and Blinker as a countryman. 
 
 Marks. Is there a military air about me ? 
 
 Blink. Right you are ! Your own mother wouldn’t know 
 yon . 
 
 Marks, {swaggering with small cane or whip in his hand) Do 
 you think I shall do any damage with the girls? 
 
 Blink. Damage ! you’ll break their hearts like china. I say 
 you only want a horse — what a lovely chimbley ornament 
 you’d make, like the chaps stuck outside the Horse Guards. 
 
 Marks. I feel every inch a soldier. 
 
 Blink. You looks as if you did ! 
 
 Marks. It’s an honorable profession. 
 
 Blink. But it ain’t a profitable one — fifteen-pence a day, 
 and find your own luxuries. I say, do you think they’ll smell 
 a rat through my disguise? 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 19 
 
 Sc. 2.] 
 
 Marks. Not they. You are sure you heard them say they 
 were coming to Vernon’s this evening? 
 
 Blink. Certain, sure. They’re getting a bit disgusted with 
 his treatment of them— says he comes the high and mighty 
 too much. 
 
 Marks. You work the plant, and we’ll collar the coin, my 
 pippin ! 
 
 Blink. Will I — won’t I — like a bird ! 
 
 Marks, (looking off ] r.) Here they are^do the yokel. 
 Meet me here in two hours. 
 
 Blink. Right you are — I am fly ! 
 
 Enter Davager and Toby— they stop on seeing Marks and 
 Blinker, who stand a little over , l. 
 
 Toby. Hilloa! — what’s the little game? (aside to Davager) 
 
 Davag. A yokel and a lobster ! What is up ? 
 
 Toby. The lobster is a fine one— ain’t he ? 
 
 Day ag. He’s well drawn out. To cover, and watch the 
 game ! 
 
 Toby. Close as an egg-shell, (they conceal themselves , r.) 
 
 Marks. So, my man, you’ve just come to London ? 
 
 Blink, (assuming a strong country dialect) Aye, I be just 
 com to Lunnon. 
 
 Marks. From what part of the country ? 
 
 Blink. I com fra Zomerzetshire. 
 
 Marks. From Somersetshire. I thought so. And you 
 want to know where you can put up for the night? 
 
 Blink. Aye, I be hard-up to know. 
 
 Marks. Where folks are honest, I suppose ? 
 
 Blink. E’es ; they mun be honest, for I got a bit brass, 
 thee zees, in my pocket. 
 
 Toby puts his head out quickly . 
 
 Toby, My heye, here’s a chance ! 
 
 Davag. (hitting his hat over his eyes ) Be quiet, you ol. 
 
 They disappear c gain. 
 
 Marks. Have you got much? 
 
 Blink, (grinning) May’be thou’d like to know; but I ain’t 
 sich a fule as I looks. 
 
 Marks. Well, mate, there is no judging by appearances. 
 Do you mean to say you distrust a soldier? 
 
 Blink. Ees ; soddiers ain’t a bit more to be trusted than 
 other folk, I reckon. 
 
 Marks. Well, look here, mate, I don’t like to see a country 
 chap like you taken in, as you will be if you don’t look out, 
 for cute as you think yourself, you ain’t half a match for the 
 sharps you’ll find in London. I’m going to call on my sweet* 
 
20 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 Act 2 , 
 
 heart in the house yonder. ( •pointing , L.) I shan't be halfian- 
 hour, if you like to wait. I’ll take you to some honest 
 quarters ; what d’ye say ? 
 
 Blink. Thank’ee, I will, Doan i be long. 
 
 Marks. I’ll be back directly. You’ll excuse me, but we 
 military chaps are ever ready at the call of Beauty. Exit, L. 
 
 Blink. Too ready nor welcome often, I guess. Aye, what 
 a great strange whirligig place this Lunnon be? (Davager and 
 Toby have advanced on each side of him) 
 
 Davag. (as if overhearing him) Never was there a more 
 philosophical reflection. London is a maze, in which once 
 lost, you are never found again, (bowing) 
 
 Toby. No, you wanishes like a wision. (bowing extravagantly) 
 
 Blink, {looking at them, with wonder) Aye, well thee be 
 two queer looking chaps anyway. Where did’st thee com 
 from ? ^ 
 
 Toby. We spring’s up like a ingun whenever we’re wanted. 
 
 Blink. But I do’ant want’ee. 
 
 Davag. You are mistaken. We happened to be passing* 
 and overheard your conversation with that soldier. You are 
 an innocent — you require protection. We will protect you. 
 
 Toby. Yes, we will pertect you. 
 
 Blink. You look’s prutty chaps to protect a body! 
 
 Davag. Judge not by appearances —for instance, that man 
 who has just left you looks like a lobster, but he is a shark ! 
 He’ll swallow you up like a bit of pork. 
 
 Blink, {pretending to be frightened) Noa — noa ! — will he 
 though — he’s a soddier! 
 
 Davag. What is a soldier, but one of the canaille of 
 eociety ? 
 
 Toby. Yes, I’d have beet/ a canal myself, only my mother 
 died with grief at the wery thought. 
 
 Davag. My friend and 1 are members of the Antediluvian 
 Order of Yokel-protection and Chawbacon-eye-openingSociety. 
 
 Toby. Yes, we’re the original Heye-hopeners. 
 
 Blink. What be thy wark ? 
 
 Davag. To seek out, in London, all benighted travellers 
 like yourself, and conduct them to a place of rest, where their 
 spirits may be lightened. 
 
 Toby, (aside) And their pockets too. 
 
 Blink. They won’t rob I of my money! 
 
 Davag. Bob you ! No, we’ve a patent safety 4 ‘ Chubb’s 
 Defiance” and a “ Who’s Griffiths?” kept on purpose to put 
 your coin in. 
 
 Blink. You won’t take me in, if I wants a bit o’ change! 
 
 Davag. No, you’ll find no false change about us! Come 
 along, my cowslip. 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 21 
 
 5fo. 2.] 
 
 Blink. I must tell soddier chap. 
 
 Davag. If he sees you again he’ll bleed you like a leech. 
 Toby, give him your arm like a gentleman. 
 
 Toby, {giving it) In course i will, {aside) Here’s a yokel to 
 plant some Brummagem on. 
 
 Blink. Thee’rt queer ’uns, but I’m not to be done. I 
 comes fra Zomerzetshire, I does. 
 
 Davag. Of course you do. {singing) “So come into my 
 bower ” 
 
 Toby. “ Says the spider to the fly.” 
 
 {they go off singing, R., Blinker laughing and saying , 
 
 “ I’m not to be done, thee knows.” 
 
 Enter Marks and Sarah, l. 
 
 Marks, {looking after Bunker — aside) Blinker’s made his 
 plant. 
 
 Sarah. What a noise those men are making ! 
 
 Marks. They are, Sarah. That is your name ? 
 
 Sarail It is. How did you know it ? 
 
 Marks. Your brother told me. 
 
 Sarah. I ain’t got no brother. I’ve got a cousin. 
 
 Marks. Of course, I mean your cousin. 
 
 Sarah. How is he ? * 
 
 Marks. Hearty. 
 
 Sarah. How did you find me out r 
 
 Marks. He told me. Your cousin asked me to call and see 
 you. 
 
 Sarah. When did you see him ? 
 
 Marks. The day before yesterday. 
 
 Sarah. Lor, did you ; but he’s in India. 
 
 Marks. Of course he is. 
 
 Sabah. How did you come here so quickly then? 
 
 Marks. By submarine telegraph. 
 
 Sarah. But that’s a wire ? 
 
 Marks. Of course it is, and I sat on it. The electric spark 
 phizzed me here in no time. But to .7? ton to your cousin. 
 He’s not married yet. 
 
 Sarah. He had a wife long ago. 
 
 Marks. Of course he had ; I mean he hasn’t got another. 
 Sarah. He’d have committed bigamy if he had. 
 
 Marks. That’s nothing, bless you, we often commit trigamy 
 in the army, in India ! 
 
 Sarah. Then I’ll never marry a soldier. 
 
 Marks. Oh, don’t say that, Sarah, after my taking all this 
 trouble to find you out ! Have you got a good place here? 
 Sarah. Not very. Master’s a rum ’an, 
 
 Marks. I thought so. 
 
22 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [AbV 2, 
 
 Sarah Treats his wife badly. 
 
 Marks. The brute! What is he? 
 
 Sarah. Nothing — at least, nobody knows what he is. 
 Marks. Let me come and see you this evening. I’il tell 
 you all about your cousin. 
 
 Sarait. Master’s very particular — won’t let no strangers 
 into the house. 
 
 Marks. I am not a stranger — think of your cousin. 
 
 Sarah. You means honour? 
 
 Marks. Honour — I swear it on my sword ! 
 
 Sarah. But you ain’t got one. 
 
 Marks. Consider I have. 
 
 Sarah. Well, then, you may. 
 
 Marks* (sings) “ Oh charming May.” Ono chaste salute. 
 Sarah. No, I couldn’t. 
 
 Marks. But I could. ( hissing her) You’ll hear my whistle 
 at the gate — you’ll answer it? 
 
 Sarah. I will, by letting you into the arey. 
 
 Marks. Oh, blissful thought ! Till then, farewell, my beautL 
 ful, my own ! (going to embrace her again) 
 
 Sarah. Don’t, in the open street. 
 
 Marks, liight you are. I’ll keep it for the close kitchen ; 
 you and I and nobody by. 
 
 Sarah, (aside) He’s a fine young man. If he’d been made 
 for my husband I couldn’t have liked him better. 
 
 Exit, L., hissing her hand. 
 Marks. I flatter myself I’ve managed that capitally. Once 
 in the house, I nail my man and the reward. Marks, my 
 boy, shake hands with yourself! Bight you are. 
 
 Exit. R. 
 
 Scene Third. — Oak Chamber in Vernon's House. Music. 
 Window L., with shutters to open ; a large opening C., bached 
 by the transparency , which is painted to match room ; door L. 2 E. ; 
 fire burning R. ; red mediums . 
 
 Ellen discovered seated thoughtfully before fire — Henry quietly 
 enters , and places his hand on her shoulder . — (Music ends 
 with chord) 
 
 Ellen. Who is that? 
 
 Henry. Do not be alarmed. 
 
 Ellen. What is it you want, creeping into the room like a 
 thief? 
 
 Henry. A hard word, Ellen, to use to your brother-in-law. 
 Ellen. Why do you come here ? 
 
 Henry. 1 came to solicit a more generous feeling towards 
 me. 1 came to prove to you how much you wrong me. 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 2:4 
 
 Ellen. In what ? 
 
 Henry. In all things. I confess my treatment to my wife 
 may sometimes appear harsh : I have but one excuse. 
 
 Ellen. And what is that ? (rising) 
 
 Henry. My love for you. I have told you so before. I 
 tell you so again. I know not what blind infatuation hurries 
 me on ; but I feel towards you a stronger love than ever I bore 
 to woman before. 1 grant my wife gentle, kind, and good; 
 but it matters not, in you I see a spirit far above hers, and so 
 far does it coincide with my strange nature. 
 
 Ellen. Strange, indeed, and vile. This is not the first time 
 you have compelled me to listen to your overtures. Would 
 you hear my answer again? It is this. You have a wife 
 who loves you devotedly — who, for your worthless self, has 
 sacrificed every hope of happiness in this world ; but, thank 
 heaven, if truth and gentleness be a passport to the next, she 
 indeed may claim it. You own such a heart as this, and how 
 do you value it? Why, less than a wolf might do. She is a 
 victim to your every passion, the gentle confiding spirit to 
 your every art, and knowing this, as I do, you dare to offer 
 me your love, and would, were it in your power, make me 
 another victim to your machinations at the sacrifice of my 
 sister’s heart and life. Go, sir, go ; I spurned you before, 
 and I spurn you again as I would a serpent in my path. 
 ( crosses , L.) 
 
 Henry. You are eloquence itself. But come, since love 
 is not to be the theme, I will change the subject. Perhaps 
 you will answer me this: You have threatened me with the 
 knowledge of a secret you possess — I wish to know it ? 
 
 Ellen. I do possess one, which doubly marks you for the 
 villain I before had thought fon ! 
 
 Henry. ( laughing ) Villain ? 
 
 Ellen. Yes, villain! and if you anger me more by your 
 presence, I will at once go to your wife and tell her. 
 
 Henry. Do so, and see if she will believe you ! 
 
 Ellen. Perhaps she might not, but others would. 
 
 Henry. Others? 
 
 Ellen. Yes, others— the officers of justice. Do you under- 
 stand me now? 
 
 (the lights have been gradually lowered \ and the red mediums 
 on with lime light — the effect of the setting sun shining 
 through the window , and red reflector to fire) 
 
 HeNRY. You are dreaming. What should officers of 
 justice want with me? 
 
 Ellen. Your own heart can answer that question, so spare 
 me the pain. 
 
M THE DEAD WITNESS. [Act A 
 
 Henry. If you do know aught, you love your sister too 
 well to betray me. 
 
 Ellen. Do not count on that as a safeguard. I have 
 loved her too well to add a still deeper pang to her already 
 sorrowful life ; but she must know it eventually, and I am only 
 delaying the bitter truth. 
 
 Henry. Tell her; then wh<*& would you do? 
 
 Ellen. What would I not do for her sake ? I would take 
 her back to her home- that home from whence you betrayed 
 her. In time she may learn to forget the man she once called 
 husband, who disgraces the title. 
 
 Henry. You would do this, and you would help to send me 
 to gaol, I suppose? I should like to know the means you 
 intend employing for such an end ? 
 
 Ellen. Since you goad me to it, I will show you. (showing 
 paper offering £500 reward , which she secured in the 1st Act) 
 
 Henry. That in your possession ! You know 
 
 Ellen. I do, that you are the man — the head of this gang. 
 You now know my power. For ray sister’s sake alone I have 
 failed to do my duty, although I feel the disclosure must come, 
 for guilt is seldom long concealed. I have hoped mine might 
 not be the tongue to denounce you ; but on your head rests the 
 blame, if you compel me, at all hazards to save my sister, and 
 release her from your power. 
 
 Henry, (with rage) I have heard enough! Kow, mark mv 
 words, before I quit this room, I will make you swear never tc, 
 reveal your knowledge ! 
 
 Ellen. You wilt make me — how ? 
 
 Henry. By asking, first — if that will mt suffice, by force ? 
 
 Ellen. Force— would you use violence to a woman ? 
 
 Henry. Yes, if she thwarts my purpose, and taunts me. as 
 you have done. % 
 
 Ellen. I had forgot, when I asked the question, you use 
 violence to your wife. Another woman can have little claim 
 upon your consideration. 
 
 Henry. Silence— you had better 1 
 
 Ellen. I fear you not. 
 
 Henry. Give me the oath— swear not to betray me ! 
 
 Ellen. I will not. 
 
 Henry. By heaven, you shall ! (talcing oy,t of his breast a 
 small dagger knife) 
 
 Ellen. Would you murder me, you coward ?' a 
 
 Henry. The oath— the oath —or take the penalty of your 
 hate and scorn ! 
 
 (hurried Music — A struggle — Ellen seizes the hand with the 
 dagger in it and at length throws him, off escaping , c.— 
 he rushes after her —she is calling u Help — help!”— kti 
 
THE DliAD WITNESS. 
 
 25 
 
 Act 3.] 
 
 drags bach the double of Ellen, the change being effected 
 just behind c. arch as quickly as possible — with one hand 
 he has seized her by the throat , with the other he is seen to 
 stab her — she falls— pause — Music changed to slow , and 
 continued to end of Act) 
 
 Henry. ( looking at the body) Dead— dead ! to what has my 
 mad passion driven me ? Murder is on my soul! God, what 
 shall I do ? Let me fly ! I cannot stay with the dead ! 
 (rushing to c., when Ellen appears in transparency at back , with, 
 one hand pointing to the dagger- wound) What is that — the dead 
 returned to life? No— no, there is the body, (pointing to the 
 one on stage) I am mad ! This is some horrid dream ! 
 
 Enter Mary quickly . 
 
 Mary. What means this dreadful noise? 
 
 Henry. Your sister is dead. 
 
 Mary. Dead ! Oh, no, no. I’ll not believe it. Ellen, my 
 sister, my poor sister, (falls weeping on the body) 
 
 Henry, (turning, and still seeing the figure) It is there, there 
 — the Dead Witness— The Shadow of my Sin ! 
 
 (he hides his face in his hands , the music is played forte , 
 and the Act falls on the picture.) 
 
 END OF THE SECOND ACT. 
 
 t 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene First. — Room in Vernon? s House same as last scene 
 of Second Act. Music. A bed is now R. C., on which lies 
 the double of Ellen ; window shutters are closed , l. ; candle 
 burning on table. 
 
 Davager, disguised as a doctor, is holding the hand, as if 
 feeling the pulse of Ellen ; Mary is kneeling by the bedside ; 
 Henry stands r., very pale, looking on the ground. 
 
 Henry. Doctor, is there no hope ? 
 
 Davag. I fear not. 
 
 Mary. Are you certain? ( 
 
 Davag. Quite certain — she is dead. 
 
 Mary, (rising) I will not believe it. How could she die? 
 Davag. Impossible to say. Gentlemen in our profession 
 cannot always tell; sometimes people die of one disease, and 
 sometimes of another. 
 
 Mary. There must be a cause for death Harry, (going to 
 
 c 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 26 
 
 [Act 3. 
 
 him) you were with her, you must know. How ghastly pale 
 you look ! 
 
 Davag. (i aside ) He has reason, too, or I’m much mistaken. 
 
 Mary. Do not turn your head away. You saw her die — 
 tell me all. 
 
 Henry. All what, Mary? You round her yourself on the 
 ground. She fell. I know no more. 
 
 Mary. You are deceiving me. How came you in the room 
 with her? You told me you were going out, and whilst wait- 
 ing for you I thought I heard a footstep steal past the drawing- 
 room door. Even then a mysterious shadow of evil seemed to 
 pass over me. I tried to think it folly, but it was useless. I 
 shuddered with a strange presentiment, and thought I heard a 
 warning spirit cry. (Henry sinks into chair , L.) It was no 
 illusion — it was my sister’s voice. Husband, [kneeling to him) 
 Speak, I implore you, what did all this mean ? 
 
 Henry, [rising) You were dreaming— I, too, heard your 
 sister fall upon the ground. I rushed into the room, and found 
 her as you did— dead ! 
 
 Mary. It is false ! When you entered that room, she was 
 a living woman ! 
 
 Henry, [going to her) Silence ! we are not alone. Would 
 you persuade the doctor there has been foul play? [crossing 
 to Davager) Take no heed of her — she is mad. 
 
 Davag. [aside to him) Is she ? I don’t think so. (Mary 
 has gone up to the bed) 
 
 Henry. What do you mean? 
 
 Davag. Murder. 
 
 Henry. You lie! 
 
 Davag. Do I? How came the blood upon her breast? 
 
 Henry. Silence on your life ! Here take this light, [giving 
 candle) Follow me. Wife, I will send the servant with another 
 for you directly, [aside to himself) When alone, she must 
 remain in the dark, or she will discover all. 
 
 Mary, [turning round from looking at her sister) Stay, 1 
 would speak to you, if only for a few minutes; do not refuse* 
 me, at such a time as this. 
 
 Henry. I suppose you must have your way. Go down 
 stairs, doctor; I’ll bring the light. (Davager puts candlestick 
 again on table) Wait for me a few minutes. 
 
 Davag. Anything to oblige, [as he is going out) Now, 
 Master Harry, you have bullied me long enough. I’ll be a 
 match for you, and send you to the gallows if you don’t look 
 out. Exit, door L. o, 
 
 Henry, What is it you want ? 
 
 Mary. Who is that man ? He is no doctor. 
 
 Henry t . How do you know that? 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS, 
 
 27 
 
 Sc. 1.] 
 
 Mary. By his appearance— by his manner, and the strange 
 look so full of desperate meaning he gave you as he quitted 
 this chamber. I read in that look an awful suspicion. 
 
 Henry. You are dreaming again. 
 
 Mary. I hope X am. I piV' r to heaven it is all a hideous 
 dream. 
 
 Henry. Why should you suspect him ? I had no time to 
 search for such a doctor as might have pleased your fancy, I 
 gladly brought the first I could get. Tins was the man. 
 
 Mary, Yet it took you a long time to find him. 
 
 Henry. Very likely. Some I called on were out or other- 
 wise engaged. Come, let me take you from this room. 
 
 Mary. No, I will not leave my sister’s side until I know 
 more. I have been living and moving among shadows long 
 enough. I will watch by her, pray for her, and trust in heaven 
 to send me that relief which you deny me, 
 
 Henry, You were never so obstinate before. 
 
 Mary. Is it not enough to change my nature? Go; seek 
 that man ; he is waiting. Leave me with the dead body of 
 my sister ! 
 
 Henry. Do you not fear, if I remove the light. 
 
 Mary. 1 fear nothing. ( turning to bed) 
 
 Henry, (aside) Should she discover ! (taking light) Fool, fool 
 that I have been ! How will it end ? The scaffold — no, no ! I 
 will die by my own hand if all else fail. Exit — lights down . 
 
 Mary. Dead! Is it possible ? And but a few hours I saw 
 her so full of life — so beautiful — now lying here a corpse, 
 without life, without hope ! Oh, that word has set my brain 
 on fire! What hope remains for me ? To linger on through 
 life, with one fearful suspicion ever haunting me. It is 
 surely a dream or I am mad ! If I could sleep the horrible 
 truth away, or sleep for ever by my sister’s side ! To live 
 and know a husband I have loved so dearly— worthless; a 
 sister, the companion of my childhood, the loving partner of 
 my once happy hours, dead beneath my roof, no one to say 
 how or by what means she died ! Heaven help me 1 
 Heaven help me ! 
 
 Ellen appears through the transparency— small stain of blood 
 is seen on her side . 
 
 Mary, (starting up) Ellen — my sister ! 
 
 Ellen. Murdered ! (pointing to spot of blood) 
 
 Mary. By whom ? 
 
 Ellen. Search in the secret chamber for the truth. 
 
 Vanishes. 
 
 Mary. Murdered! — murdered! — by whom? It is gone. 
 My sister’s body here — yet her spirit spoke to me ! Her 
 
28 
 
 THIC DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 8. 
 
 breath seemed to fall upon my cheek — her eyes were looking 
 through the darkness at me — I heard that fearful word “ mur- 
 dered” from h,er lips! Oh, T am suffocating — air, air ! ( opens 
 the shutters — lightning and thunder — starts hack) The heavens 
 are filled with anger at this dreadful deed! Hark! I hear 
 footsteps on the gravel walk— who can be there? There are 
 forms gliding from behind the trees. I will know all. ( going 
 to hed) There was blood upon her breast ! (i removing clothes) 
 Ah, it is here— as in the vision — the neck is bruised by a mur^ 
 derous grasp ! u Search in the secret chamber,” the spirit 
 said. 1 will obey it. Yes, to the secret chamber — there to 
 learn the dreadful truth ! Exit, 
 
 Scene Second. — Chamber (in first or second grooves ), 
 Window in flat. 
 
 Enter Da yager, l. 1 e. 
 
 Davag. How very kind of the governor to place himself in 
 my power as he has done. Because lie’s afraid of a real doctor, 
 he gives me the benefit of finding out his last game. If ever a 
 woman was murdered she was, and he is the murderer. I’ll 
 make him pay for the knowledge I possess, and if he is not 
 civil to me I’ll peach, and pocket the £500. There’s no fear 
 i;ow, for they’ve offered a free pardon to any pal turning 
 Queen’s evidence. With £500 in my pocket, I’ll take to the 
 ring, or anything in which I can turn over the cash. There’s 
 nothing like swagger, it’s amazing how it helps a chap on in 
 this world, (swaggers across stage) 
 
 Sarah puts her head on at wing , l. 
 
 Sarah. There he is. What a fine man for a doctor, (ad- 
 vancing) I’ll ask him all about it. (coughs) 
 
 Davag. (turning quickly) Is it possible, have I the honour 
 of seeing a lady, before me ? (bowing) 
 
 Sarah, (curtseying) You have. * 
 
 Davag. Delicious contemplation. 
 
 Sarah, (aside) What a very polite and handsome gentle- 
 man. (aloud) You are a doctor ? 
 
 Davag. I am for the time being— an Esculapian Professor 
 of Materia Medica. 
 
 Sarah. Them’s hard names. 
 
 Davag. Very— understood only by the faculty. 
 
 Sarah. What’s that? 
 
 Davag. The faculty means a body of professional men 
 who have the faculty of understanding each other, and of 
 keeping their knowledge tQ themselves. 
 
 Sarah. Lor, now I look at you, you are very like a soldier, 
 $ new sweetheart of mine, 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 29 
 
 Sc. 2.] 
 
 Davag. A handsome man, of course ? * -’r 
 
 Sarah. Oh, that he is ! 
 
 Davag. Then he’s my brother. 
 
 Sarah. It’s very strange. 
 
 Davag. Strange but true. 
 
 Sarah. Poor Mistress Ellen’s death is very awful. 
 
 Davag. Very! 
 
 Sarah. What did she die of? 
 
 Davag. A complicated complication of stomaehical sen- 
 sations, acting on the conglomerated amalgamations of the 
 stereoscopic nerves. 
 
 Sarah. Good gracious !— had she got all that? But didn’t 
 mistress say something about master being in the room ? 
 
 Davag. How do you know? You were not in the room 
 when she said so. I suspect your ear was at the keyhole. 
 
 Sarah. Well, sir, I was so frightened. 
 
 Davag. And you took to the keyhole for safety, eh? 
 Sarah, what you heard was hallucination of the digestive 
 organs. 
 
 Sarah. Doesn’t she suspect something? 
 
 Davag. Yes. 
 
 Sarah. What? 
 
 Davag. That she has got a very inquisitive servant girl, 
 who will get her discharge, if she does not hold her tongue 
 Here is your master coming. 
 
 Sarah. Please not to say a word to him. (crossing, r.) 
 There is something awful going on in the house. I shall give 
 warning to my missus, and leave to-morrow — as sure as my 
 name is Sarah ! Exit, R. 
 
 Enter Henry, l. 
 
 Henry. Now, Davager, let us come to an understanding. 
 What do you suspect ? 
 
 Davag. Can’t you guess? You’d have been sorry for a 
 real doctor to see that body. 
 
 Henry. Do you think I killed her? 
 
 Davag. “ Open confession is good for the soul”— I do. 
 
 Henry. It is false. 
 
 Davag. No, it is not. 
 
 Henry. I was a fool to trust you. 
 
 Davag. Not a doubt of that. As you have ridden the high 
 horse so long, you might as well have kept your seat a little 
 longer. 
 
 Henry. There is no proof. I defy you ! 
 
 Davag. You had better not ; recollect yo v »’ v *. wanted for 
 something else. 
 
30 THE DEAD WITNESS. [ACT 3. 
 
 Henry. You are my accomplice; and that is not your only 
 crime. 
 
 Davag. Not by a good many ; only you see there is a free 
 pardon, for any one who will peach on the guv’nor of our snug 
 little party. 
 
 Henry. Villain ! you would beu’ay me ? 
 
 Davag. Don’t call names, it isn’t polite — I would ; and will 
 give the information necessary, if you cannot make it worth 
 my while to hold my tongue. 
 
 Henry. Threatened, and by you 
 
 Davag. By me, Doctor Davager, M. D. — on this occasion, 
 professor of humbug in the illustrious college over which you 
 preside — receiving my diploma from you, and ready to give 
 evidence in this important case, like an honest man, if I’m paid 
 for it. or hold my tongue, and still keep up my character, if 
 you come down with the dust more handsomely on t’other 
 side. 
 
 Henry. It is you, and such as you, that have made me 
 what I am, and may my curses cling to you for it ; you found 
 me an easy pupil in your hands, for good or evil. I had made 
 but one false step, which I might have atoned — you lured me 
 on to crime, and deprived me of the chance. 
 
 Davag. And I must say you took to it like mother’s milk, 
 and precious quick topp’d us all. You’ve been a gentleman 
 you have — a regular swell ; so no wonder your education, and 
 the brains you’ve got being a bit above ours, raised you to the 
 presidential chair — and you’ve made us feel it. Will you come 
 down handsomely, or will you not ? 
 
 Henry. I have not the means. 
 
 Davag. Then pay the penalty. 
 
 Henry. I have paid it — I pay it now in the agony of my 
 remorse ; do what you will — I am mad ! — reckless ! — no 
 punishment can surpass a man’s own guiUy conscience. 
 
 Davag. A very moral sentiment, remarkably well expressed, 
 but not to the point. Will you pay like a man for my silence. 
 
 Henry. No, I cannot. Do your worst ; I defy you. 
 
 Exit, L. 
 
 Davag. There’s gratitude ! What a wicked world it is ? I 
 would have done the friendly honest thing with him if he 
 would only have paid me for it. Ah, it’s no use, Roguery 
 pushes Honesty off the pavement — the world won't let you be 
 virtuous if you’ve a mind to it. Ergo, Roguery, I am thine 
 once more. Exit, r. 
 
 Toby lifts up window at Davager’s exit, and loolcs in 
 
 Toby. Any port in a storm, so here I goes, [gets in) What’s 
 
THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 31 
 
 Sc. 2.] 
 
 tip? I can’t make out. Davager is fetched all in a hurry, 
 and puts on his perfessional togs. I comes a-lookin’ after 
 him and the guv’nor, and runs slap agin two chaps a-prowlin’ 
 about the garding. If they ain’t detectives, it’s queer to me. 
 I gave them the go-by round the house. ( looking about) This is 
 the very room as I wanted, ( pointing to trap) and there’s the 
 trap, which goes right down into a snug place next to the 
 guv’nor’s private room ; it’s an inwention of the guv’nor’s for 
 things and wisitors as he keeps dark. Eh! what’s that? 
 (i listening ) Footsteps a-coming upstairs. Oh, Cleopatra 
 Jemima Jenkinson, it’s the beaks. I see’d the guv’nor open 
 the spring ; I’ll give ’em the go-by. (he is just stooping to 
 spring) 
 
 Enter Marks and Blinker, hastily . 
 
 Marks. Now, then, my tulip, we’ve nailed you at last. 
 
 Toby. You’re wery kind to be so attentive. What are you 
 arter ? 
 
 Marks. You and your pals. Toby the Crow, I know you. 
 
 Toby. Does yer? Well, I don’t feel proud of your ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Blink. You’ve given us the slip before, you don’t do so 
 again. 
 
 Toby. Don’t I? Well, I wouldn’t make so sure o’ that 
 either. 
 
 Marks. We are on the lay for the rest of your gang, We 
 must gag you, my fine fellow, to prevent you making a row. 
 
 Toby. Well, if I am a fine feller, you needn’t make a row 
 about it, and as for noise, I’ll be as dumb as an oyster. 
 
 Marks. We don’t trust you. We’ve been on the look-out 
 a long time. 
 
 Toby. Have you? You must be very tired, help your* 
 selves to a chair. 
 
 Marks. Davager is going to turn Queen’s evidence. 
 
 Toby. Is he? Then I’m wery sorry I disgraced myself by 
 keeping his company. 
 
 Marks. We’ll pin you, and then look after the governor. 
 Blinker, look out for the window. 
 
 Toby. I ain’t a dickey bird to fly out on it. 
 
 Marks. Consider yourself booked. 
 
 Toby. And bound in calf, {stooping down) 
 
 Blink. It will be a lifer. 
 
 Toby. Will it? Well, you needn't hurt a chap’s feelings. 
 {touching spring) 
 
 Marks. What are you up to ? 
 
 Toby. A-tieing my Vellington boots. What d’ye think? 
 What a sharp cove you are. 
 
32 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 [Act 3. 
 
 Marks. The devil himself can’t cheat me. 
 
 Toby. No, but Toby Welsh can. (trap descends with him 
 rapidly) 
 
 Marks. Damme, a trap. 
 
 ( they both rush to seize him, knock against each other , and 
 fall over the place where Toby has descended ) 
 
 Blink. Done 
 
 Marks. Brown. Why didn’t you hold him ? 
 
 Blink. How could I, when I couldn’t catch him? {getting up) 
 Marks, {in a rage ) Come this way ; we’ll pull the infernal 
 house done but we’ll be even with them yet. Exit hastily , L. 
 
 Blink. Right you are ; when we catch ’em. Exit , l. 
 
 Scene Third. — The Secret Chamber in Vernon’s house . 
 Window , C. ; a sliding panel, R. C. ; table R., desk on it, con- 
 taining papers and letters for Mary to read; table L., on 
 which are instruments for coining, retorts, chemicals , &c., 
 stamps, coins, metal; a dagger; small shaded lamp burning 
 on table ; lights a little down ; room of a sombre colour; placard 
 of reward on table . 
 
 Enter Toby cautiously, from sliding panel. 
 
 Toby. All right ; nobody here. That was a squeak for it, 
 and no mistake. If it hadn’t been for that trap door, I should 
 have been nailed, as sure as eggs is eggs. It’s given me a 
 flustration o’ the heart. I only wishes I’d a bottle of the 
 guv’nor’s wine to take the dust out of my throat, and keep 
 my pecker up. I am all right and snug here, though, in this 
 secret crib, where the gold and silver — to say nothing o’ the 
 flimsies — is turned out. equal to the genuine article. What 
 a clever chap Vernon is! If I’d only half his brains I’d 
 ruin the Bank o’ England in no time. But it’s no use 
 talking, I ain’t got the gumption— Eh, what’s that? Foot- 
 steps coining this way ! Is it those blessed beaks again ? 
 {going to door, opening it cautiously , and looking out) No, blow’d 
 if it ain’t a spectre, all in white My knees is a-knocking 
 like anythink. No, it ain’t a spectre, it’s a woman ; I shouldn’t 
 wonder if it ain’t the guvnor’s wife. What does she want 
 here ? He surely ain’t been fool enough to trust a petticoat 
 with the secret of our perfession ! She’s a coming this way. 
 
 (i comes down from door) I’ll skedaddle, and watch what she’s 
 arter. No good, I knows ; a woman’s a dangerous harticle, or 
 I’d have been married long ago. Here she comes— here I 
 goes. Exit through secret panel. 
 
Sc. 3.] 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 33 
 
 Enter Mary, from door, L. C. 
 
 Mary. This is the chamber, where I must learn the dreadful 
 truth. Heaven give me strength ! There is a light burning; 
 I am glad of that. Hour after hour he has passed in this 
 room — what has been his employment? {seeing coins , &c.) 
 What are these ? — Coins ! strange instruments ! {taking 
 up paper from table) A placard offering a reward for 
 certain coiners — Ah ! I see it all — my husband is one, and, 
 1 fear, the chief. 1 now know the reason for his anger 
 when I read the announcement in the paper this morning. 
 Here is a desk. I’ll break it open, {goes to table , L., and 
 takes up a small iron wrench or chisel) I will know the 
 worst, {breaks open desk) Papers — {throwing them out) coins 
 —bank notes — what’s this? A letter addressed to my 
 sister, in my husband’s handwriting — {opens it) the words 
 burn into my brain ! {reading) “ I have never really loved her, 
 “ Ellen ; she pleased me only as a doll would please a child, 
 “ and I married her from pity, not from love. You alone, 
 “ Ellen, could ffll my heart; you alone are a fitting helpmate 
 a for me in the world. Fly with me, Ellen.” I can read no 
 more — my sight is dim { putting back letter, as she staggers 
 against table) There is a dagger — { taking one) it is stained 
 with blood. Oh, heaven, can it be ? He — my husband — he 
 is my sister’s murderer ! 
 
 Enter Henry, l. c., quickly 
 
 Henry. Mary, my wife ! 
 
 Mary. Yes, your wife. 
 
 Henry. Why are you here ? 
 
 Mary. To learn the truth. 
 
 Henry. You have dared to enter this room? 
 
 Mary". I have ; and would to heaven 1 had done so before, 
 and the fearful crime of which you have been guilty might 
 have been prevented. 
 
 Henry. What would you have done ? 
 
 Mary. What would I have done ! Can you ask that ques- 
 tion ? Think you I would have lived in this house with a 
 swindler — a thief? 
 
 Henry t . Have a care. If you have discovered ail, it should 
 warn you to be cautious ; it should have taught you I am a 
 desperate man. Don’t provoke me to do more evil 1 Hear 
 me ! {advancing to her) 
 
 Mary. Keep back, touch me not, if you would not have me 
 fall dead at your feet. 
 
 Henry. I am your husband. ** 
 
 Mary. It is false, I have no husband. My heart is widowed. 
 
 Henry. I confess I have been harsh, unkind, neglectful j 
 but you know not how I have been tempted. 
 
34 
 
 THE DEAD WITNESS. 
 
 Mary. Tempted! Does that excuse a life of crime — a 
 cruel murder? 
 
 Henry. I was mad when 1 struck the blow; she goaded me 
 on to desperation. You wrong me. 
 
 Mary. Do I. Is that your letter ( showing it) written to 
 my sister ? Are these your words, u I have never loved her ? 11 
 As I tear the paper ( tearing letter and throwing pieces on stage) 
 so do I tear all love from my heart. 
 
 Henry. Hear me, I implore you. 
 
 Mary. Go into yonder room ; bring my sister back to life, 
 and turn my many tears of sorrow into tears of joy ; give me 
 back the light and cheerful heart that once was mine ; restore 
 the love and faith which, despite your unkindness and 
 neglect, I once felt for you; remove from off our child the 
 brand of a felon’s offspring. Do all this, and then repeat 
 the hallowed name of husband once again ! 
 
 Henry. Forbear, forbear! (kneeling) Oh, spare and pity 
 me ! 
 
 Mary. Pity you? For years I have suffered, and yet 
 patiently loved on ; for years I have been the silent victim of 
 your cruelty, and against my reason I have dreamt you loved 
 me. The dream is gone ! I knew you not ; I know you now, 
 and with that knowledge comes the scorn— the bitter scorn — 
 a woman feels when her love is betrayed and her confidence 
 destroyed! Villain, murderer! 
 
 Henry, (starting up) Be silent ! 
 
 Mary. I will not. 
 
 Henry. You are raising the devil in me, 
 
 Mary. I care not. 
 
 Henry. By hell you shall, (as if about to strike her) 
 
 Mary. Kill me, as you have killed my sister, ('pause — he 
 shrinks away— going) Henry Vernon, farewell! I will wander 
 forth an outcast, penniless, and never let me look upon your 
 face again, (going — Henry places himself in front of door) 
 
 Henry. You shall not leave me. 
 
 Mary. Stand from the door ! let me go forth. 
 
 Henry. I will not. (locks the door) You shall hear and 
 forgive me. 
 
 Mary. I never can forgive you ; let me pass, (footsteps and 
 voices are heard) 
 
 Henry. What’s that ? Footsteps coming this way ! (noise 
 increases) The officers are on my track — they near the door ! 
 I’ll not be taken alive. Ah, the window ! 
 
 (he runs to window , is about to leap out from a box standing 
 under it , vdien the door is burst open — Davager rushes 
 on, and firing a pistol , shoots him — Henry staggers 
 down and falls , c. — Mary rushes to him — hurried Mus \ 
 ending with chord) 
 
TllE t)EAft WITNESS. 35 
 
 Davag. I only meant to wing you, guv’noi* ; I have killed 
 
 you. 
 
 Henry. You have, I thank you for it, fo*‘ it has saved me 
 from the scaffold. 
 
 Blinker and Marks rush on with two other Officers. 
 
 Blink. Too late, by Jove; shot and dying! Who has 
 done this ? 
 
 Davag. He did it himself* 
 
 Enter Toby, quickhj. 
 
 Toby. That’s a lie. You did it, and I saw you through a 
 hole in this ’ere private door. 
 
 Blink, (i to Da yager) You’ll have to account for this. Just 
 secure him. (Officer does so) And that fellow, ( pointing td 
 Toby) he’s wanted. (Second Officer advances to him) 
 
 Toby. I know I is, and now I’m found, {to Davager) You 
 thought you were going to get Five hundred pounds, did you, 
 by turning Queen’s hevidence, and you couldn’t bear to see 
 your bird flying away, so you shot him. I’ll turn Queen’s 
 hevidence, and Prince o’ Wales hevidence too, now, agin you, 
 my friend ! 
 
 Henry. Mary, Mary, where are you ? It is so dark ! 
 
 {SIovj Music.) 
 
 Mary. I am here, Harry, at your side^ 
 
 Henry. I am dying. Do you forgive ire bow ? 
 
 Mary. I do, I do. 
 
 Henry. God bless you ! Forget that I have ever lived ; 
 forget that I have ever crossed your path in life ; instead of 
 its blessing, I have been its curse. What is that ? Look, 
 look, your sister’s spirit ! It points to me ! Ah ! what is this 
 upon my hands ? It is blood — blood ! I am a murderer. 
 ( hides his face in his hands — a pause — then looking up , and 
 seeing his wife) Forgive me, oh, forgive me! Mary, my 
 wife, see there, the shadow of my sin — the Dead Witness 
 of my crime ! (dies) 
 
 13 
 
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