The Mousetrap and Other Plays

  LOMBARD. Let’s go and explore.

  MARSTON. Oh, wizard!

  LOMBARD. Things are a bit at sixes and sevens with the Owens not turning up.

  MARSTON. Tricky, what? I say, wizard place for a holiday, what?

  (Exit MARSTON and LOMBARD Left 1. BLORE wanders out on balcony, looks sharply into room and presently exits Right on balcony as GENERAL MACKENZIE and WARGRAVE talk. WARGRAVE continues to sit like a Buddha. He observes MACKENZIE, who is Right Centre, standing looking rather lost, absentmindedly pulling his moustache. MACKENZIE is carrying a shooting stick. He looks at it wistfully, half opens and closes it.)

  WARGRAVE. Aren’t you going to sit down?

  MACKENZIE. Well, to tell you the truth, you seem to be in my chair.

  WARGRAVE. I am sorry. I didn’t realize you were one of the family.

  MACKENZIE. Well, it’s not that exactly. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been here before. But you see I live at the Benton Club—have for the last ten years. And my seat is just about there. Can’t get used to sitting anywhere else.

  WARGRAVE. It becomes a bit of a habit. (He rises; breaks to Right.)

  MACKENZIE. Yes, it certainly does. Thank you—(Sits up Left.) Well, it’s not quite as good as the Club’s but it’s a nice chair. (Confidentially) To tell you the truth, I was a bit surprised when I got this invitation. Haven’t had anything of the kind for well over four years. Very nice of them, I thought.

  ROGERS. (Enters Left 1. Picks up WARGRAVE’s coat from sofa.) Can I have your keys, sir?

  WARGRAVE. Is Lady Constance Culmington expected here, can you tell me? (Gives him keys.)

  ROGERS. (Surprised) Lady Constance Culmington? I don’t think so, sir. Unless she’s coming down with Mr. and Mrs. Owen.

  WARGRAVE. Oh.

  ROGERS. Allow me, sir. (Takes GENERAL MACKENZIE’s coat.) Can I have your keys, sir?

  MACKENZIE. (Rising. Crossing down Left) No, thanks. I’ll unpack for myself.

  ROGERS. Dinner is at eight o’clock, sir. Shall I show you to your room?

  MACKENZIE. Please.

  (MACKENZIE goes to door Left 1, which ROGERS holds open for him. WARGRAVE follows more deliberately, looking around room in an unsatisfied fashion. ROGERS follows them out. Sound of seagulls, then DOCTOR ARMSTRONG arrives upon balcony from Left, followed by NARRACOTT carrying his suitcase. ARMSTRONG is a fussy, good-looking man of forty-four. He looks rather tired.)

  NARRACOTT. Here you are, sir. I’ll call Rogers. (Exits Left 1.)

  (ARMSTRONG looks round; nods approval; looks out at sea. Then NARRACOTT returns. ARMSTRONG tips him. NARRACOTT exits to Centre Left. ARMSTRONG sits settee up Right. BLORE comes along balcony from Right; pauses at sight of ARMSTRONG.)

  BLORE. (To above settee) How are you? Davis. Davis is the name.

  ARMSTRONG. Mine’s Armstrong. (Rises.)

  BLORE. Doctor Armstrong, I believe.

  ARMSTRONG. Yes.

  BLORE. Thought so. Never forget a face.

  ARMSTRONG. Don’t tell me I’ve forgotten one of my patients!

  BLORE. No, no, nothing like that, but I once saw you in Court giving expert evidence.

  ARMSTRONG. Oh, really? Are you interested in the Law?

  BLORE. Well, you see, I’m from South Africa. Naturally, legal processes in this country are bound to interest a Colonial.

  ARMSTRONG. Oh, yes, of course.

  BLORE. (Crossing down Right) Have a drink?

  ARMSTRONG. No, thanks. I never touch it.

  BLORE. Do you mind if I do? Mine’s empty.

  ARMSTRONG. Not a bit.

  BLORE. (Pours himself a drink.) I’ve been having a look round the island. It’s a wonderful place, isn’t it?

  ARMSTRONG. (Crossing to Centre) Wonderful. I thought as I was coming across the mainland what a haven of peace this was.

  BLORE. (Up to him, putting his face close to his) Too peaceful for some, I daresay.

  ARMSTRONG. (Moves to Left) Wonderfully restful. Wonderful for the nerves. I’m a nerve specialist, you know.

  BLORE. Yes, I know that. Did you come down by train? (Goes to him.)

  ARMSTRONG. (Up Left to window) No, I motored down. Dropped in on a patient on the way. Great improvement—wonderful response.

  BLORE. (Up to him) Best part of two hundred miles, isn’t it? How long did it take you?

  ARMSTRONG. (To up Right Centre) I didn’t hurry. I never hurry. Bad for the nerves. Some mannerless young fellow nearly drove me into the ditch near Amesbury. Shot past me at about eighty miles an hour. Disgraceful bit of driving. I’d like to have had his number.

  BLORE. (Comes to him) Yes, and if only more people would take the numbers of these young road hogs.

  ARMSTRONG. Yes. You must excuse me. I must have a word with Mr. Owen. (He bustles out Left 1.)

  BLORE. (Following down Left) Oh, but—Mr. Owen isn’t coming down—

  (BLORE rings bell below Left 1 door. Finishes drink; puts glass on Left sofa. ROGERS enters almost immediately Left 1.)

  ROGERS. You rang, sir?

  BLORE. Yes, take my hat, will you? (Hands him his cap) What time’s supper?

  ROGERS. Dinner is at eight o’clock, sir. (Pauses) In a quarter of an hour. I think tonight dressing will be optional.

  BLORE. (Familiarly) Got a good place, here.

  ROGERS. (Draws himself up rather stiffly) Yes, thank you, sir.

  BLORE. Been here long?

  ROGERS. Just under a week, sir.

  BLORE. Is that all? (Pause) So I don’t suppose you know much about this crowd that’s here?

  ROGERS. No, sir.

  BLORE. All old friends of the family?

  ROGERS. I really couldn’t say, sir.

  BLORE. Oh, well—Oh, Rogers—

  ROGERS. Yes, sir?

  BLORE. Rogers, do you think you could put some sandwiches and a bottle of beer in my room at night? I get an ’ell of an appetite with this sea air.

  ROGERS. I’ll see what I can do, sir.

  BLORE. Rogers—I’ll see you won’t lose by it. Where’s my room?

  ROGERS. I’ll show you, sir.

  BLORE. (As they go out) Good. I can do with a wash and brush up straight away. (Exits Left 1 with ROGERS.)

  (Enter MRS. ROGERS Left 2. She picks up glass from sofa and from table up Left and takes them down Right. Enter ROGERS with tray of eight glasses.)

  MRS. ROGERS. (She takes glasses off tray and ROGERS puts on dirty ones) Oh, there you are, Rogers. You ought to clear these dirty glasses. You’re always leaving the dirty work to me. Here I am with a four-course dinner on my hands and no one to help me. You might come and give me a hand with the dishing up. (To above Left sofa) Who was it that you were talking to, by the way?

  ROGERS. Davis, South African gentleman. No class if you ask me—and no money either.

  MRS. ROGERS. (Comes down Right of sofa to Centre) I don’t like him—Don’t like any of ’em much. More like that bunch we had in the boarding house, I’d say.

  ROGERS. Davis gives out he’s a millionaire or something. You should see his underwear! Cheap as they make ’em.

  MRS. ROGERS. Well, as I said, it’s not treating us right. All these visitors arriving today and the maids not coming till tomorrow. What do they think we are?

  ROGERS. Now, then—Anyway, the money’s good.

  MRS. ROGERS. So it ought to be! Catch me going into service again unless the money was good.

  ROGERS. (To Centre) Well, it is good, so what are you going on about?

  MRS. ROGERS. Well, I can tell you this, Rogers. I’m not staying anywhere I’m put upon. Cooking’s my business! I’m a good cook—

  ROGERS. (Placating her) First rate, old girl.

  MRS. ROGERS. But the kitchen’s my place and housework’s none of my business. All these guests! I’ve a good mind to put my hat and coat on and walk out now and go straight back to Plymouth.

  ROGERS. (Grinning) You can’t do that, old girl.

  MRS. ROGERS. (Belligerently) Who says I can??
?t? Why not, I should like to know?

  ROGERS. Because you’re on an island, old girl. Had you forgotten that?

  MRS. ROGERS. Yes, and I don’t know as I fancy being on an island.

  ROGERS. Don’t know that I do, either, come to that. No slipping down to a pub, or going to the pictures. Oh, well, it’s double wages on account of the difficulties. And there’s plenty of beer in the house.

  MRS. ROGERS. That’s all you ever think about—beer.

  ROGERS. Now, now, stop your nagging. You get back to the kitchen or your dinner will be spoilt.

  MRS. ROGERS. It’ll be spoilt anyway, I expect. Everybody’s going to be late. Wasted on them, anyway. Thank goodness I didn’t make a soufflé. (Enter VERA Left 1. MRS. ROGERS goes to Left 2 door.) Oh, dinner won’t be a minute, Miss. Just a question of dishing up. (Exits Left 2.)

  VERA. (To above Left sofa) Is everything all right, Rogers? Can you manage between the two of you?

  ROGERS. (Crossing up Left) Yes, thank you, Miss. The Missus talks a lot, but she gets it done. (Exits Left 2.)

  (VERA goes to Right window. EMILY enters Left 1, having changed.)

  VERA. What a lovely evening!

  EMILY. Yes, indeed. The weather seems very settled. (To Centre window.)

  VERA. (Comes down Right) How plainly one can hear the sea.

  EMILY. A pleasant sound. (Comes down Centre.)

  VERA. Hardly a breath of wind—and deliciously warm. Not like England at all.

  EMILY. I should have thought you might feel a little uncomfortable in that dress.

  VERA. (Not taking the point) Oh, no.

  EMILY. (Nastily) It’s rather tight, isn’t it?

  VERA. (Good-humoured) Oh, I don’t think so.

  EMILY. (Sits Left sofa; takes out grey knitting) You’ll excuse me, my dear, but you’re a young girl and you’ve got your living to earn—

  VERA. Yes?

  EMILY. A well-bred woman doesn’t like her secretary to appear flashy. It looks, you know, as though you were trying to attract the attention of the opposite sex.

  VERA. (Coming to Right Centre) And would you say I do attract them?

  EMILY. That’s beside the point. A girl who deliberately sets out to get the attention of men won’t be likely to keep her job long.

  VERA. (Laughing at her) Ah! Surely that depends on who she’s working for?

  EMILY. Really, Miss Claythorne!

  VERA. Aren’t you being a little unkind?

  EMILY. (Spitefully) Young people nowadays behave in the most disgusting fashion.

  VERA. Disgusting?

  EMILY. (Carried away) Yes. Low-backed evening dresses. Lying half naked on beaches. All this so-called sunbathing. An excuse for immodest conduct, nothing more. Familiarity! Christian names—drinking cocktails! And look at the young men nowadays. Decadent! Look at that young Marston. What good is he? And that Captain Lombard!

  VERA. What do you object to in Captain Lombard? I should say he was a man who’d led a very varied and interesting life.

  EMILY. The man’s an adventurer. All this younger generation is no good—no good at all.

  VERA. (Breaks to Right) You don’t like youth—I see.

  EMILY. (Sharply) What do you mean?

  VERA. I was just remarking that you don’t like young people.

  EMILY. (Rises; moves up Left) And is there any reason why I should, pray?

  VERA. Oh, no—(Pauses) but it seems to me that you must miss an awful lot.

  EMILY. You’re very impertinent.

  VERA. (Quietly) I’m sorry, but that’s just what I think.

  EMILY. The world will never improve until we stamp out immodesty.

  VERA. (To herself) Quite pathological. (Goes down Right.)

  EMILY. (Sharply) What did you say?

  VERA. Nothing.

  (EMILY sits up Left. Enter ARMSTRONG and LOMBARD Left 1, talking. They cross up Right.)

  LOMBARD. What about the old boy—

  ARMSTRONG. He looks rather like a tortoise, don’t you think so?

  LOMBARD. All judges look like tortoises. They have that venomous way of darting their heads in and out. Mr. Justice Wargrave is no exception.

  ARMSTRONG. I hadn’t realized he was a judge.

  LOMBARD. Oh, yes. (Cheerfully) He’s probably been responsible for sending more innocent people to their death than anyone in England. (WARGRAVE enters and looks at him.) Hullo, you. (To VERA) Do you two know each other? Mr. Armstrong—Miss Claythorne. Armstrong and I have just decided that the old boy—

  VERA. Yes, I heard you and so did he, I think.

  (WARGRAVE moves over to EMILY. EMILY rises as she sees WARGRAVE approaching.)

  EMILY. Oh, Sir Lawrence.

  WARGRAVE. Miss Brent, isn’t it?

  EMILY. There’s something I want to ask you. (EMILY indicating she wants to talk to him on the balcony) Will you come out here?

  WARGRAVE. (As they go) A remarkably fine night! (They go out Centre.)

  (LOMBARD up Centre. MARSTON enters Left 1 with BLORE. They are in conversation.)

  MARSTON. Absolutely wizard car—a super-charged Sports Mulatti Carlotta. You don’t see many of them on the road. I can get over a hundred out of her.

  (VERA sits on Right sofa.)

  BLORE. Did you come from London?

  MARSTON. Yes, two hundred and eight miles and I did it in a bit over four hours. (ARMSTRONG turns and looks at him.) Too many cars on the road, though, to keep it up. Touched ninety going over Salisbury Plain. Not too bad, eh?

  ARMSTRONG. I think you passed me on the road.

  MARSTON. Oh, yes?

  ARMSTRONG. You nearly drove me into the ditch.

  MARSTON. (Unmoved) Did I? Sorry. (To above Left sofa.)

  ARMSTRONG. If I’d seen your number, I’d have reported you.

  MARSTON. But you were footling along in the middle of the road.

  ARMSTRONG. Footling? Me footling?

  BLORE. (To relieve atmosphere) Oh, well, what about a drink?

  MARSTON. Good idea. (They move towards the drinks down Right.) Will you have one, Miss Claythorne?

  (LOMBARD drops down towards VERA.)

  VERA. No, thank you.

  LOMBARD. (Sitting beside VERA on sofa) Good evening, Mrs. Owen.

  VERA. Why Mrs. Owen?

  LOMBARD. You’d make the most attractive wife for any wealthy businessman.

  VERA. Do you always flirt so outrageously?

  LOMBARD. Always.

  VERA. Oh! Well, now we know. (She turns half away, smiling.)

  LOMBARD. Tell me, what’s old Miss Brent talking to the Judge about? She tried to buttonhole him upstairs.

  VERA. I don’t know. Funny—she seemed so definite that there wasn’t a Mr. Owen.

  LOMBARD. You don’t think that Mrs. Owen—I mean that there isn’t—that they aren’t—

  VERA. What, married, you mean?

  (ROGERS enters Left 2, switches on LIGHTS, draws curtains and exits to study up Right. MARSTON comes to Right end of Left sofa. LOMBARD rises to Left end sofa.)

  MARSTON. Damn shame we didn’t know each other. I could have given you a lift down.

  VERA. Yes, that would have been grand.

  MARSTON. Like to show you what I can do across Salisbury Plain. Tell you what—maybe we can drive back together?

  (Enter WARGRAVE and EMILY Centre. MACKENZIE enters; sits chair down Left.)

  VERA. (Surprised) But I—(Rising.)

  MARSTON. But it seems damn silly. I’ve got an empty car.

  LOMBARD. Yes, but she likes the way she’s going back and—

  VERA. (Crosses to fireplace) Look! Aren’t they sweet? Those ten little china Indians. (MARSTON and LOMBARD scowl at each other.) Oh, and there’s the old nursery rhyme.

  LOMBARD. What are you talking about? What figures? What nursery rhyme?

  VERA. (She points at the figures and rhyme—reading) “Ten little Indian boys going out to dine

  One choked his little self and then there were nine—”
(ROGERS enters up Right and crosses Left. VERA continues reading nursery rhyme. BLORE crosses up to below her; EMILY to above her.)

  “Nine little Indian boys sat up very late.

  One overslept himself and then there were eight.”

  (Crosses Left.)

  BLORE.

  “Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon.

  One got left behind and then there were seven—”

  VOICE. (Very slowly and clearly from off up Right) Ladies and gentlemen, silence, please! (ALL rise. EVERYBODY stops talking and stares round at each other, at the walls. As each name is mentioned that person reacts by a sudden movement or gesture.) You are charged with these indictments: that you did respectively and at divers times commit the following: Edward Armstrong, that you did cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees. William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James Stephen Landor. Emily Caroline Brent, that you were responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor. Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that you killed Peter Ogilvie Hamilton. (VERA sits Left sofa) Philip Lombard, that you were guilty of the deaths of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe. John Gordon MacKenzie, that you sent your wife’s lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death. (MACKENZIE sits down Left) Anthony James Marston, that you were guilty of the murder of John and Lucy Combes. Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that you brought about the death of Jennifer Brady. Lawrence John Wargrave, that you were guilty of the murder of Edward Seton. Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence?

  (There is a momentary paralysed silence. Then there is a scream outside door Left 2. LOMBARD springs across the room to it. Indignant murmur breaks out as people recover from first shock. Door Left 2 opens to show MRS. ROGERS in a fallen heap. MARSTON springs across to LOMBARD. They pick up MRS. ROGERS and carry her in to Right sofa. ARMSTRONG comes to her.)

  ARMSTRONG. It’s nothing much. She’s fainted, that’s all. She’ll be round in a minute. Get some brandy—

  BLORE. Rogers, get some brandy.

  (ROGERS, shaking all over, goes out Left 2.)

  VERA. Who was that speaking? It sounded—

  MACKENZIE. (Above Left sofa. His hands shaking, pulling at his moustache) What’s going on here? What kind of practical joke was that?

  (BLORE wipes face with handkerchief. WARGRAVE stands in the middle of room near sofas, thoughtfully stroking chin, his eyes peering suspiciously from one to the other.)