Arthur Birling lowered the telephone slowly and looked panic-stricken, at the others.
"That was the police. A girl has just died - on her way o the - after swallowing some disinfectant. And a police inspector is on his was here - to ask some - questions..."
They were all silent for what seemed like ages before Gerald spoke. "Is that supposed to be some kind of a joke? Who was that really, on the phone?"
"That was the police and an inspector is coming round to talk to us."
Mrs Birling collapsed into a near by armchair and Sheila went round to comfort her mother.
"May I get a drink?", Eric quietly asked his father.
"No, you cannot have a drink, you stupid boy. Is that all you can think about? Drink! You are the one that got us all into this mess and you are the one who has to deal with it".
"Father that's enough. You can't blame it all on Eric. We were all equally as much to blame. Didn't you listen to the inspector?" replied Sheila.
"That was not a bloody inspector. He was a hoax. The inspector is on his way here now. What are we going to do? The inspector is going to find out what we did, what you did; there will be an inquest. And my business is going to be ruined".
Sheila turned to face her father.
"Why do you always think about yourself? I can't believe that you have not learnt anything this evening!"
"This is not a time for an argument. What are we going to do? What are we going to say to the inspector when he comes?", cut in Mrs Birling.
"We are going to have to tell him what we all did; we can't hide...