Act II

Midday. A room in a Moorish castle. A divan seat runs round the
dilapidated adobe walls, which are partly painted, partly faced
with white tiles patterned in green and yellow. The ceiling is
made up of little squares, painted in bright colors, with gilded
edges, and ornamented with gilt knobs. On the cement floor
are mattings, sheepskins, and leathern cushions with geometrical
patterns on them. There is a tiny Moorish table in the middle;
and at it a huge saddle, with saddle cloths of various colors,
showing that the room is used by foreigners accustomed to chairs.
Anyone sitting at the table in this seat would have the chief
entrance, a large horseshoe arch, on his left, and another saddle
seat between him and the arch; whilst, if susceptible to
draughts, he would probably catch cold from a little Moorish door
in the wall behind him to his right.

Two or three of Brassbound's men, overcome by the midday heat,
sprawl supine on the floor, with their reefer coats under their
heads, their knees uplifted, and their calves laid comfortably on
the divan. Those who wear shirts have them open at the throat for
greater coolness. Some have jerseys. All wear boots and belts,
and have guns ready to their hands. One of them, lying with his
head against the second saddle seat, wears what was once a
fashionable white English yachting suit. He is evidently a
pleasantly worthless young English gentleman gone to the
bad, but retaining sufficient self-respect to shave carefully and
brush his hair, which is wearing thin, and does not seem to have
been luxuriant even in its best days.

The silence is broken only by the snores of the young gentleman,
whose mouth has fallen open, until a few distant shots half waken
him. He shuts his mouth convulsively, and opens his eyes
sleepily. A door is violently kicked outside; and the voice of
Drinkwater is heard raising urgent alarm.

DRINKWATER. Wot ow! Wike ap there, will yr. Wike ap. (He rushes
in through the horseshoe arch, hot and excited, and runs round,
kicking the sleepers) Nah then. Git ap. Git ap, will yr, Kiddy
Redbrook. (He gives the young qentleman a rude shove.)

REDBOOK (sitting up). Stow that, will you. What's amiss?

DRINKWATER (disgusted). Wot's amiss! Didn't eah naow fawrin, I
spowse.

REDBROOK. No.

DRINKWATER (sneering). Naow. Thort it sifer nort, didn't yr?

REDBROOK (with crisp intelligence). What! You're running away,
are you? (He springs up, crying) Look alive, Johnnies: there's
danger. Brandyfaced Jack's on the run. (They spring up hastily,
grasping their guns.)

DRINKWATER. Dineger! Yuss: should think there wors dineger. It's
howver, thow, as it mowstly his baw the tawm YOU'RE awike. (They