2
Smithers is a tall, stoop-shouldered man about forty. His bald head, perched on a long neck with an enormous Adam's apple, looks like an egg. The tropics have tanned his naturally pasty face with its small, sharp features to a sickly yellow, and native rum has painted his pointed nose to a startling red. His little, washy-blue eyes are red-rimmed and dart about him like a ferret's. His expression is one of unscrupulous meanness, cowardly and dangerous. He is dressed in a worn riding suit of dirty white drill, puttees, spurs, and wears a white cork helmet. A cartridge belt with an automatic revolver is around his waist. He carries a riding whip in his hand. He sees the woman and stops to watch her suspiciously. Then, making up his mind, he steps quickly on tiptoe into the room. The woman, looking back over her shoulder continually, does not see him until it is too late. When she does Smithers springs forward and grabs her firmly by the shoulder. She struggles to get away, fiercely but silently.
SMITHERS--(tightening his grasp--roughly) Easy! None o' that, me birdie. You can't wriggle out now I got me 'ooks on yer.
WOMAN--(seeing the uselessness of struggling, gives way to frantic terror, and sinks to the ground, embracing his knees supplicatingly) No tell him! No tell him, Mister!
SMITHERS--(with great curiosity) Tell 'im? (then scornfully) Oh, you mean 'is bloomin' Majesty. What's the gaime, any 'ow? What you sneakin' away for? Been stealin' a bit, I s'pose. (He taps her bundle with his riding whip significantly.)
WOMAN--(shaking her head vehemently) No, me no steal.
SMITHERS--Bloody liar! But tell me what's up. There's somethin' funny goin' on. I smelled it in the air first thing I got up this mornin'. You blacks are up to some devilment. This palace of 'is is like a bleedin' tomb. Where's all the 'ands? (The woman keeps sullenly silent. Smithers raises his whip threateningly.) Ow, yer won't, w