The Tenth Man

5

TRIPP HAS GOT HIS LEGS UP ON THE STOVE, SOME SAUSAGE rolls in his pocket, and he is reading his favorite poet Newbolt aloud, in a kind of subhuman drone which is his method with poetry. “Play up, play up and play the game… the dons on the dais serene…” He is surprised by a knock at the door. He opens it and is still more surprised by the sight of his notional subagent, the cinema actress. Her car has broken down outside: can she have his help? Outside in the car two thugs crouch ready to knock Tripp on the head. A third-a tall stupid sentimental-looking German of immense physique-keeps watch at the end of the street. Tripp says he knows nothing about cars; now if it had been a sewing machine…

Mrs. Tripp is coming up the road. She has obviously lost her way. Tripp by this time is demonstrating the special points of the Singer sewing machine… Mrs. Tripp is cold and miserable. She leans against a fence and cries. A little further down the road the sentimental German watches her. He is torn between pity and duty. He edges nearer.

Mr. Tripp is talking about poetry to the cinema actress…

Mrs. Tripp weeps on the German’s shoulder and tells him how her husband is betraying her at this moment, but she can’t remember the number of the house…

The Germans in the car are getting very cold. They get out and begin to walk up and down… Tripp is reading Newbolt to the actress… “His captain’s hand on his shoulder smote… ” Mrs. Tripp and the German peer in at the window. He hasn’t realized that this treacherous husband has anything to do with him. Mrs. Tripp moans, “Take me away,” and he obeys at once-in his comrades’ car. Somebody-he is too sentimentally wrought up to care who-tries to stop him and he knocks him down. He deposits Mrs. Tripp at her own door.

Tripp is still reading poetry when there is another knock at the door. One German pulls in the other German who is still unconscious. There is a babble of German explanations. “He was trying to mend the car,” the actress explains, “and it ran away from him.”

“I’ll ring up the garage,” Tripp says. He goes in an alcove, where nobody has seen the telephone. They prepare to knock him out. “Wrong number,” he says furiously. “It’s the police.” When he puts down the receiver again they knock him out.