HENRIETTA. By the terrace.
INSPECTOR. And then?
HENRIETTA. And then—John died.
INSPECTOR. Was he conscious before he died.
HENRIETTA. Oh yes, he opened his eyes.
INSPECTOR. Did he say anything?
HENRIETTA. (After a pause) He said “Henrietta”.
INSPECTOR. You knew him well?
HENRIETTA. Very well indeed.
INSPECTOR. He didn’t say anything else?
HENRIETTA. No.
INSPECTOR. (Crossing above the sofa to Left of it) What happened next?
HENRIETTA. Let me see—oh yes, Gerda cried out. She was swaying, and waving the revolver about. I thought it might go off. I went and took it from her and tried to get her on to the sofa.
INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) Were you particularly a friend of Doctor Cristow or of Mrs. Cristow?
HENRIETTA. That’s rather a difficult question to answer.
INSPECTOR. (Sympathetically and gently) Is it, Miss Angkatell?
HENRIETTA. (Resolutely) Well, I’ll take a short cut. I was John Cristow’s mistress. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?
INSPECTOR. (Crossing to HENRIETTA) Thank you, Miss Angkatell. (He takes a cigarette case from his pocket and offers a cigarette to HENRIETTA. Gently) I’m afraid we have to know all the facts.
HENRIETTA. (Taking a cigarette; in a dry voice) If this particular fact has no bearing on the case, and I don’t see how it can have, is there any necessity to make it public? Not only for my sake. It would give Mrs. Cristow a good deal of unnecessary pain.
INSPECTOR. (Lighting HENRIETTA’s cigarette) Mrs. Cristow had no idea of the relationship between you and her husband?
HENRIETTA. None.
INSPECTOR. Are you sure of that?
HENRIETTA. Absolutely.
INSPECTOR. (Crossing above the sofa to Right of it) How long had you and Doctor Cristow been lovers?
HENRIETTA. I became his mistress six months ago. I did not say we were lovers.
INSPECTOR. (Looking at her with quickened interest) I’m not sure that I know what you mean, Miss Angkatell.
HENRIETTA. I think you will know if you think about it.
INSPECTOR. There was no question of a divorce?
HENRIETTA. Certainly not. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. John Cristow had had affairs with other women. I was only one of—a procession. I don’t think he really cared for any woman except his wife. But she wasn’t the kind of woman he could talk to about his work. He was doing research work on an obscure disease.
(The INSPECTOR sits on the sofa at the Right end of it.)
He was a very brilliant man, and his research work was the real passion of his life. He got into the habit of coming into my studio and talking to me about it. Actually it was a good deal above my head, but I got some books on the subject and read it up, so that I could understand better. And my questions, even if they weren’t very technical, helped him to formulate his own ideas. (She speaks naturally, as to a friend.) And then—suddenly—I got between John and what he was thinking about. I began to affect him as a woman. He didn’t want to fall in love with me—he’d been in love when he was a young man, and it had left him afraid of going through it again. No, he just wanted an affair, like other affairs he had. I think he thought that if he had an affair with me, he’d get me out of his system and not be distracted from his work any more.
INSPECTOR. And was that satisfactory to you?
HENRIETTA. No, no, of course not. But it had to do. I loved John Cristow, and I was content that he should have what he wanted.
INSPECTOR. I see. It was like that.
HENRIETTA. I’ve been forgetting that you’re a policeman.
INSPECTOR. Policemen are quite like other men. We hear a good deal that isn’t strictly relevant—perhaps it’s because we’re impersonal—like priests.
HENRIETTA. Yes, yes, I suppose you must learn a good deal about the human heart. (She rises and flicks her cigarette ash into the ashtray on the coffee table. The following sentence does not ring quite true.) So now you understand why John said “Henrietta” just before he died.
(The SERGEANT enters Left.)
INSPECTOR. It’s a small point, Miss Angkatell—(He rises and stands Right of the sofa) but why did you take the revolver away from Mrs. Cristow?
HENRIETTA. I told you. I thought she was going to faint.
INSPECTOR. It was one of the revolvers used earlier for target practice. The only clear prints on it are Mrs. Cristow’s and—naturally—yours. (He pauses.) It would have been better if nobody had touched it.
HENRIETTA. One doesn’t realize these things at the time. Is that all, Inspector?
INSPECTOR. Yes, thank you, Miss Angkatell, that’s all for the present.
(The SERGEANT opens the door. HENRIETTA crosses and exits Left. The SERGEANT closes the door behind her.)
SERGEANT. Get anything useful out of her?
INSPECTOR. She was Cristow’s mistress. She told me that accounts for his saying “Henrietta” before he died.
SERGEANT. (Crossing to Left of the sofa) That seems fair enough.
INSPECTOR. If it’s true.
SERGEANT. What other reason could he have for saying her name?
INSPECTOR. It could have been—an accusation.
SERGEANT. You mean she might have done him in?
INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) It’s possible.
SERGEANT. My money’s on the wife. If Mrs. Cristow had found out about her husband and this Henrietta, it gives us what we want—a motive.
INSPECTOR. Henrietta Angkatell says she didn’t know.
SERGEANT. You can’t be sure of that. Somebody tipped Mrs. Cristow off as like as not.
INSPECTOR. (Moving to the alcove and looking off at the statue) She couldn’t have hidden her feelings for long. She’s not that kind of woman.
SERGEANT. What about the others? They’re in the clear, I suppose?
INSPECTOR. There doesn’t seem any reason why any of them should have wanted John Cristow dead. (He turns and crosses above the sofa to the writing table.) But there’s a good deal we don’t know yet. They’re all watchful and cagey about what they say.
SERGEANT. I can’t see how Sir Henry or Lady Angkatell could have any reason for wanting Cristow out of the way.
INSPECTOR. Nor the little girl—Miss Harvey. But remember that statement of Edward Angkatell’s: “Did John Cristow say anything before he died? Nothing at all.” A flat denial, that of what we know to be true. Both Sir Henry and Miss Harvey say that John Cristow said “Henrietta” in quite a loud voice.
SERGEANT. You think Edward Angkatell’s sweet on this Henrietta woman?
INSPECTOR. That is my idea.
SERGEANT. And was doing his best not to get her mixed up in it.
INSPECTOR. Exactly.
SERGEANT. Yes—it certainly looks like it.
INSPECTOR. (Easing below the sofa) And granting that, Penny, it gives us another suspect.
SERGEANT. Edward Angkatell?
INSPECTOR. (Sitting on the sofa at the Right end of it) Yes. He’s the nervous sort. If he cared very much for Henrietta and discovered that she was John Cristow’s mistress, he’s just the quiet type that goes off half-cock when everybody least expects it.
SERGEANT. Hoped he’d get her when the other man was out of the way?
INSPECTOR. We’ve both known cases like that.
SERGEANT. (Moving up Centre) So in your opinion it’s between the three of them, Henrietta Angkatell, Edward Angkatell and the wife?
INSPECTOR. Oh, I’ve got a very open mind about it, Penny—a very open mind. (He takes VERONICA’s handbag from under the cushion and holds it up.) Just tell me what you make of this?
SERGEANT. (Moving to Left of the sofa) Lady’s handbag.
INSPECTOR. Undoubtedly.
SERGEANT. We went over it when we did this room. (He consults his notebook.) Two pounds ten shillings in notes, seven shillings
in cash, the usual lipstick, powder compact and rouge. Silver cigarette lighter. Lace handkerchief unmarked. All very Ritzy. Belongs to one of the ladies, I suppose, I couldn’t say which.
(The INSPECTOR rises with the bag in his hand, crosses to the fireplace and presses the bellpush.)
I didn’t go into the matter, as I didn’t think it important.
INSPECTOR. You think it belongs to one of the ladies in this house?
SERGEANT. (Moving up Left Centre) I assumed so. Have you any reason for thinking otherwise?
INSPECTOR. Only aesthetic sense. (He crosses to Left of the sofa.) Not in good enough taste for Lady Angkatell. Too expensive for little Miss Harvey. Far too fashionable for Mrs. Cristow. Too flamboyant for Henrietta Angkatell. It doesn’t seem to me to belong to this household at all. (He looks at the bag.) I find it—very intriguing.
SERGEANT. (Easing to the fireplace) I daresay I can find out who it does belong to. But as I say, the contents being nothing out of the ordinary . . .
INSPECTOR. Are you quite sure you’ve mentioned all its contents?
SERGEANT. I think so, sir.
(GUDGEON enters Left.)
GUDGEON. You rang, sir?
INSPECTOR. Yes. Can you tell me to whom this bag belongs?
GUDGEON (Crossing to Left of the INSPECTOR) I’m afraid not, sir. I don’t recollect ever having seen it before. I could ask her ladyship’s own maid, sir. She would probably know better than I should.
INSPECTOR. Thank you.
(GUDGEON turns, moves to the door down Left, then hesitates and turns.)
GUDGEON. It just occurred to me, sir, if I might make a suggestion?
INSPECTOR. By all means.
GUDGEON. (Moving Left Centre) It might possibly be the property of Miss Veronica Craye.
SERGEANT. (Moving to Left of GUDGEON) Veronica Craye? The film star? Is she in this part of the world?
GUDGEON. (Giving the SERGEANT a dirty look; to the INSPECTOR) She occupies the cottage a hundred yards up the lane. Dovecotes, it’s called.
INSPECTOR. Has Miss Craye been here?
GUDGEON. She was here yesterday evening, sir.
INSPECTOR. And she was carrying this bag?
GUDGEON. No, sir. She was in evening dress and was carrying a white diamanté bag. But I think it possible Miss Craye was here earlier this morning for a short time.
INSPECTOR. When?
GUDGEON. About midday, sir.
INSPECTOR. You saw her?
GUDGEON. I didn’t see her myself, sir.
SERGEANT. Well, who did?
GUDGEON. (With an angry glance at the SERGEANT) The underhousemaid observed her from one of the bedroom windows, sir.
The girl is an ardent movie fan. She was quite thrilled.
SERGEANT. I’ll have a word with that girl.
(He exits Left.)
INSPECTOR. Lady Angkatell didn’t mention that Miss Craye had been here this morning.
GUDGEON. I don’t think her ladyship was aware of Miss Craye’s visit.
INSPECTOR. Who did she come to see, then?
GUDGEON. As to that, sir, I couldn’t say.
(The INSPECTOR crosses above the sofa to Right of it.)
H’m! (He coughs.)
INSPECTOR. (Turning to GUDGEON) Yes?
GUDGEON. A note was brought over from Dovecotes for Doctor Cristow earlier in the morning. Doctor Cristow said there was no answer.
INSPECTOR. I see. What happened to that note?
GUDGEON. I think I could produce it for you, sir. I picked up some crumpled paper by the wastepaper basket.
INSPECTOR. Thank you, Gudgeon—I should be extremely obliged if you will bring it to me at once.
GUDGEON. (Turning and crossing to the door Left) Very good, sir.
INSPECTOR. I gather Doctor Cristow knew Miss Craye?
GUDGEON. It would seem so, sir. He went over to see her last night—after dinner. (He waits expectantly.)
INSPECTOR. When did he return?
GUDGEON. As to that, sir, I could not say. Acting on Sir Henry’s instructions I left the side door unfastened when I retired to bed at twelve fifteen A.M.
(The INSPECTOR puts the bag on the writing table.)
Up to that time Doctor Cristow had not returned.
(VERONICA enters up Centre from Left.)
VERONICA. I’ve just heard the news. It’s awful—just awful. (She moves above the sofa.) Are you . . . ?
INSPECTOR. I’m Inspector Colquhoun of Scotland Yard.
VERONICA. Then John was murdered?
(GUDGEON exits abruptly Left.)
INSPECTOR. Oh yes, Miss Craye, he was murdered.
VERONICA. So you know who I am? (She moves below the Left end of the sofa.)
INSPECTOR. I’m very fond of a good film.
VERONICA. How charming of you. (She sits on the sofa at the Left end of it.) I’m over in England to make a picture.
INSPECTOR. (Crossing below the sofa to Left Centre.) Doctor Cristow was a friend of yours?
VERONICA. I hadn’t seen him for years. I came over last night to borrow some matches—and the first person I saw when I came into the room was John Cristow.
INSPECTOR. Were you pleased to see him?
VERONICA. I was very pleased. It’s always nice to meet an old friend.
INSPECTOR. He called on you yesterday evening, I believe?
VERONICA. Yes, I asked him to come over after dinner if he could manage it. We had a delightful talk about old times and old friends.
INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) What time did he leave?
VERONICA. I’ve really no idea. We talked for quite a while.
INSPECTOR. About old times?
VERONICA. Yes, of course a lot had happened to us both.
(The INSPECTOR moves up Centre and closes the window.)
He’d done very well in his profession, I understand. And he’d married since I knew him.
INSPECTOR. (Easing up Right.) You didn’t know his wife?
VERONICA. No, no, he introduced us here last night. I gathered from what he—well, didn’t exactly say, but hinted at—that his married life wasn’t awfully happy.
INSPECTOR. Oh, really.
VERONICA. I think his wife was one of those dim ineffectual women who are inclined to be jealous.
INSPECTOR. (Moving to Right of the sofa) Had she any cause for jealousy?
VERONICA. Oh, don’t ask me. I just thought there might have been a little trouble lately. Jealousy does make people do such dreadful things.
INSPECTOR. You think he was shot by his wife?
VERONICA. Oh, I don’t really know anything about it. It was my maid—she told me that his wife had actually been found standing over him with the revolver still in her hand. But of course the wildest stories do get around in the country.
INSPECTOR. (Easing above the writing table) This one happens to be quite true.
VERONICA. Oh, I suppose his wife found out about him and the sculptress woman.
(The SERGEANT enters Left. He carries the crumpled note.)
INSPECTOR. Excuse me.
(The SERGEANT crosses below the coffee table to the INSPECTOR and hands him the crumpled note.)
VERONICA. Of course.
SERGEANT. (Aside to the INSPECTOR) He got back at three o’clock. (He moves up Right.)
VERONICA. I really just came over to—to . . .
INSPECTOR. (Picking up the handbag) To get your bag, perhaps? It is your bag?
VERONICA. (Disconcerted) Oh yes. (She rises.) Thank you.
INSPECTOR. Just a moment.
(VERONICA resumes her seat on the sofa.)
(He refers to the note, then crosses below the sofa to Left Centre) Doctor Cristow returned to this house at three A.M. this morning. Isn’t that rather an unconventional hour?
VERONICA. We were talking about old times.
INSPECTOR. So you said.
VERONICA. It must have been much later than I thought.
INSPECTOR. Was that the
last time you saw Doctor Cristow?
VERONICA. (Quickly) Yes.
INSPECTOR. Are you quite sure, Miss Craye?
VERONICA. Of course I’m sure.
INSPECTOR. What about this bag of yours?
VERONICA. Oh, I must have left that last night, when I came to get the matches.
INSPECTOR. Rather large and heavy for an evening bag. (He pauses.) I think you left it here this morning.
VERONICA. And what makes you think that?
INSPECTOR. (Moving to the fireplace and putting the bag on the mantelpiece) Partly this note of yours. (He smooths out the note and reads it.) “Please come over this morning. I must see you, Veronica.” A little curt, Miss Craye. Doctor Cristow, I believe, said there was no answer. He didn’t come to you—so you came here to see him, didn’t you?
VERONICA. (Rising and moving to the armchair Left Centre, with a change of manner) How wonderful you are! You seem to know everything.
INSPECTOR. Not quite everything. What happened when you came here? Did you quarrel?
VERONICA. We-ell—you couldn’t call it a quarrel exactly. (She sighs and sits in the armchair Left Centre.) Poor John.
INSPECTOR. Why poor John?
VERONICA. I didn’t want to tell you. It didn’t seem fair.
INSPECTOR. Yes?
VERONICA. John went mad—quite mad. He’d been in love with me years ago. He—he wanted to leave his wife and children—he wanted me to get a divorce and marry him. It’s really quite frightening to think one can have such an affect on a man.
INSPECTOR. It must be. Very sudden and unexpected.
VERONICA. I know. Almost unbelievable. But it’s possible, you know, never to forget—to wait and hope and plan. There are men like that.
INSPECTOR. (Watching her closely and moving above the armchair to Right of it) And women.
VERONICA. Yes—yes—I suppose so. Well, that’s how he was. I pretended at first not to take him seriously. I told him he was mad. He’d said something of the kind last night. That’s why I sent him that note. I couldn’t leave things like that. I came over to make him realize that what he suggested was impossible. But he wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. And now—he’s dead. I feel dreadful.
(The SERGEANT clears his throat.)
INSPECTOR. Yes, Sergeant?
SERGEANT. (Easing above the sofa; to VERONICA) I understand from information received that as you left by that window you were heard to say—(He refers to his notebook) “I hate you more than I ever thought it possible to hate anyone.”