SWINDON. (_fiercely, dreading a renewal of her entreaties_). Take that woman away.
RICHARD. (_springing across the table with a tiger-like bound, and seizing Swindon by the throat_). You infernal scoundrel.
The sergeant rushes to the rescue from one side, the soldiers from the other. They seize Richard and drag him back to his place. Swindon, who has been thrown supine on the table, rises, arranging his stock. He is about to speak, when he is anticipated by Burgoyne, who has just appeared at the door with two papers in his hand: a white letter and a blue dispatch.
BURGOYNE. (_advancing to the table, elaborately cool_). What is this? What’s happening? Mr. Anderson: I’m astonished at you.
RICHARD. I am sorry I disturbed you, General. I merely wanted to strangle your understrapper there. (_Breaking out violently at Swindon_) Why do you raise the devil in me by bullying the woman like that? You oatmeal faced dog, I’d twist your cursed head off with the greatest satisfaction. (_He puts out his hands to the sergeant_) Here: handcuff me, will you; or I’ll not undertake to keep my fingers off him.
The sergeant takes out a pair of handcuffs and looks to Burgoyne for instructions.
BURGOYNE. Have you addressed profane language to the lady, Major Swindon?
SWINDON. (_very angry_). No, sir, certainly not. That question should not have been put to me. I ordered the woman to be removed, as she was disorderly; and the fellow sprang at me. Put away those handcuffs. I am perfectly able to take care of myself.
RICHARD. Now you talk like a man, I have no quarrel with you.
SWINDON. His name is Dudgeon, sir, Richard Dudgeon. He is an impostor.
BURGOYNE. (_brusquely_). Nonsense, sir; you hanged Dudgeon at Springtown.
BURGOYNE. Oh, your uncle. (_To Swindon, handsomely_) I beg your pardon, Major Swindon. (_Swindon acknowledges the apology stiffly. Burgoyne turns to Richard_) We are somewhat unfortunate in our relations with your family. Well, Mr. Dudgeon, what I wanted to ask you is this: Who is (_reading the name from the letter_) William Maindeck Parshotter?
BURGOYNE. Is William—Maindeck and so on—a man of his word?
BURGOYNE. Thank you, Mr.—’m Dudgeon. By the way, since you are not Mr. Anderson, do we still—eh, Major Swindon? (_meaning “do we still hang him?”_)