Flannelfoot

Lord Wexford:
[he enters the pub] Whisky, please, Miss, large one. 'Pon my soul, if it isn't young Harry Fitzgerald. Well, how are you my boy?

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Lord Wexford, I'm glad to see you again, Sir.

Lord Wexford:
Here, have a drink. Fill that up, whatever it is.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Light ale.

Lord Wexford:
Now, where have you been hiding all these years?

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Well, things weren't so good for us after father died so I don't hit the high spots like a used to.

Lord Wexford:
Reformed character, eh? Well, here we are, [he hands Fitzgerald his drink] Well, here's joy.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Cheers!

Lord Wexford:
We couldn't have met at a better time. This is going to be quite a night.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Oh, yeah?

Lord Wexford:
Yes, this is where Fleet Street shows Scotland Yard what's what.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Oh, really?

Lord Wexford:
Yeah, you know what these policemen are - good fellows, conscientious - but solid bone from the neck up.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Mmm... very solid, yes.

Lord Wexford:
Look, keep this to yourself but my friends and I are hoping to pull off something that Scotland Yard has failed to do for months... yes, we're going to lay that scoundrel Flannelfoot by the heels.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Well, that's most astonishing.

Lord Wexford:
You know I have a sort of feeling that Scotland Yard are going to look pretty silly before the night's finished. [they both laugh]

policeman:
Excuse me, Sergeant, Superintendent Carter would like a word with you on the phone.

Sgt. Fitzgerald:
Oh, thanks, Pat. Excuse me, won't you, Sir?

Lord Wexford:
Superintendent...? Then who...?

policeman:
That's Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald, Sir.