Act III
I-- After the Duff-Gordons are shipped out on a cattle boat to work as rubber sappers in a Brazillian rainforest, I decide to pay a visit to J. Bruce Ismay. I'm rounding up all the cads I can find and knocking their heads together.
(That evening, I arrive on the steps of a large black castle where Ismay lives in seclusion. The sign reads "Trespassers will be hanged, drawn, and quartered". However, little does Ismay know, but his feeble attempts to keep everyone away don't really work too well, not in my case. My job--- to reveal the truth!)
ISMAY (While ascending a tall, spiral staircase; an evil grin adorning his face): Well, it's a good thing I'm alone, considering the fact I'm a total cad and coward...yo ho! What is that shape moving around down there? Is that my poodle? Is that Mrs. Ismay? No...Harold Sanderson!! Are you down there...Eeeek! No response. Man, I hate it when this happens.
I: J. Bruce Ismay, are you a cad, or a coward, or both? And by the way, nice house.
ISMAY: Who are you? What do you want?
I: Information.
ISMAY: Aha! It's Patrick McGoohan down there!! I thought so...
I: No, it isn't.
ISMAY: Ummmm...is it Tom Baker???
I: No, it is no BBC TV Personality, Ismay. It's just a guy looking for answers!
ISMAY (quivering): Ummmm...oh.
I: So, J. Brute, are you a cad or a coward or both?
ISMAY: Ummm...both actually...I mean, I don't know. Stop subjecting me to this torture, you are just like Senator Smith! No respect for anyone's privacy!!
I: I've come for answers. I want them.
ISMAY: But...the North Atlantic, it was so scary! Besides, White Star Line needed me! J.P. Morgan needed me...
I: J.P. Morgan's dead. White Star didn't need cowards...
ISMAY: Alright! Alright! Ummm...look over there...
I: Where?
ISMAY: There, behind you, you know...it's William E. Carter, go bother him...
I: That's not...hey! Come back here.
(ISMAY races up-stairs and tries to load his blunderbust. The door bursts open and knocks the gun out of his hands...a struggle ensues...)
That Evening...At Home...
I: Well, that's done. Poor old Ismay. Like Sir Cosmo, he's both cad and coward. I don't suppose we shall see the likes of him again, considering he now works as a mustache waxer for a small mustache waxing firm. I got him the job, I'm afraid. I felt so incredibly sorry for him, once I saw the poor guy begging in the streets, with tattered tweed, and his broken mustache. I know it's not an ideal job, but hey! That's life, especially for a Titanic villain. Anyway, to-morrow I'm off to find poor old Quartermaster Hitchens...