The Mousetrap and Other Plays

  MRS. BOYLE. (Off) This is Monkswell Manor, I presume?

  GILES. (Off) Yes . . .

  ( MRS. BOYLE enters through the archway up Right, carrying a suitcase, some magazines and her gloves. She is a large, imposing woman in a very bad temper.)

  MRS. BOYLE. I am Mrs. Boyle. (She puts down the suitcase.)

  GILES. I’m Giles Ralston. Come in to the fire, Mrs. Boyle, and get warm.

  (MRS. BOYLE moves down to the fire.)

  Awful weather, isn’t it? Is this your only luggage?

  MRS. BOYLE. A Major—Metcalf, is it?—is seeing to it.

  GILES. I’ll leave the door for him.

  (GILES goes out to the front door.)

  MRS. BOYLE. The taxi wouldn’t risk coming up the drive.

  (GILES returns and comes down to Left of MRS. BOYLE.)

  It stopped at the gate. We had to share a taxi from the station—and there was great difficulty in getting that. (Accusingly) Nothing ordered to meet us, it seems.

  GILES. I’m so sorry. We didn’t know what train you would be coming by, you see, otherwise, of course, we’d have seen that someone was—er—standing by.

  MRS. BOYLE. All trains should have been met.

  GILES. Let me take your coat.

  (MRS. BOYLE hands GILES her gloves and magazines. She stands by the fire warming her hands.)

  My wife will be here in a moment. I’ll just go along and give Metcalf a hand with the bags.

  (GILES exits up Right to the front door.)

  MRS. BOYLE. (Moving up to the arch as GILES goes) The drive might at least have been cleared of snow. (After his exit) Most offhand and casual, I must say. (She moves down to the fire and looks round her disapprovingly.)

  (MOLLIE hurries in from the stairs Left, a little breathless.)

  MOLLIE. I’m so sorry I . . .

  MRS. BOYLE. Mrs. Ralston?

  MOLLIE. Yes. I . . . (She crosses to MRS. BOYLE, half puts out her hand, then draws it back, uncertain of what guest house proprietors are supposed to do.)

  (MRS. BOYLE surveys MOLLIE with displeasure.)

  MRS. BOYLE. You’re very young.

  MOLLIE. Young?

  MRS. BOYLE. To be running an establishment of this kind. You can’t have had much experience.

  MOLLIE. (Backing away) There has to be a beginning for everything, hasn’t there?

  MRS. BOYLE. I see. Quite inexperienced. (She looks round.) An old, old house. I hope you haven’t got dry rot. (She sniffs suspiciously.)

  MOLLIE. (Indignantly) Certainly not!

  MRS. BOYLE. A lot of people don’t know they have got dry rot until it’s too late to do anything about it.

  MOLLIE. The house is in perfect condition.

  MRS. BOYLE. H’m—it could do with a coat of paint. You know, you’ve got worm in this oak.

  GILES. (Off) This way, Major.

  (GILES and MAJOR METCALF enter up Right. MAJOR METCALF is a middle-aged, square-shouldered man, very military in manner and bearing. GILES moves up Centre. MAJOR METCALF puts down a suitcase he is carrying and moves above the armchair Centre; MOLLIE moves up to meet him.)

  This is my wife.

  MAJOR METCALF. (Shaking hands with MOLLIE) How d’you do? Absolute blizzard outside. Thought at one time we shouldn’t make it. (He sees MRS. BOYLE.) Oh, I beg your pardon. (He removes his hat.)

  (MRS. BOYLE exits down Right.)

  If it goes on like this I should say you’ll have five or six feet of snow by morning. (He crosses to the fire.) Not seen anything like it since I was on leave in nineteen-forty.

  GILES. I’ll take these up. (Picking up the cases. To MOLLIE) which rooms did you say? Blue Room and the Rose Room.

  MOLLIE. No—I put Mr. Wren in the Rose Room. He liked the fourposter so much. So it’s Mrs. Boyle in the Oak Room and Major Metcalf in the Blue Room.

  GILES. (Authoritatively) Major? (He moves Left towards the stairs)

  MAJOR METCALF. (Instinctively the soldier) Sir!

  (MAJOR METCALF follows GILES and they exit up the stairs Left. MRS. BOYLE enters down Right and moves up to the fireplace)

  MRS. BOYLE. Do you have much servant difficulty here?

  MOLLIE. We have quite a good local woman who comes in from the village.

  MRS. BOYLE. And what indoor staff?

  MOLLIE. No indoor staff. Just us. (She moves down to Left of the armchair Centre.)

  MRS. BOYLE. In-deed. I understood this was a guest house in full running order.

  MOLLIE. We’re only just starting.

  MRS. BOYLE. I would have said that a proper staff of servants was essential before opening this kind of establishment. I consider your advertisement was most misleading. May I ask if I am the only guest—with Major Metcalf, that is?

  MOLLIE. Oh no, there are several here.

  MRS. BOYLE. This weather, too. A blizzard (She turns to the fire)—no less—all very unfortunate.

  MOLLIE. But we couldn’t very well foresee the weather!

  (CHRISTOPHER WREN enters quietly from the stairs Left and comes up behind MOLLIE.)

  CHRISTOPHER. (Singing)

  “The North Wind doth blow

  And it will bring snow

  And what will the robin do then, poor thing?”

  I adore nursery rhymes, don’t you? Always so tragic and macabre. That’s why children like them.

  MOLLIE. May I introduce. Mr. Wren—Mrs. Boyle.

  (CHRISTOPHER bows.)

  MRS. BOYLE. (Coldly) How d’you do?

  CHRISTOPHER. This is a very beautiful house. Don’t you think so?

  MRS. BOYLE. I have come to the time of life when the amenities of an establishment are more important than its appearance.

  (CHRISTOPHER backs away up Right. GILES enters from the stairs Left and stands below the arch.)

  If I had not believed this was a running concern I should never have come here. I understand it was fully equipped with every home comfort.

  GILES. There is no obligation for you to remain here if you are not satisfied, Mrs. Boyle.

  MRS. BOYLE. (Crossing to Right of the sofa) No, indeed, I should not think of doing so.

  GILES. If there has been any misapprehension it would perhaps be better if you went elsewhere. I could ring up for the taxi to return. The roads are not yet blocked.

  (CHRISTOPHER moves down and sits in the armchair Centre.)

  We have had so many applications for rooms that we shall be able to fill your place quite easily. In any case we are raising our terms next month.

  MRS. BOYLE. I am certainly not going to leave before I have tried what the place is like. You needn’t think you can turn me out now.

  (GILES moves down Left.)

  Perhaps you will take me up to my bedroom, Mrs. Ralston? (She moves majestically towards the staircase Left.)

  MOLLIE. Certainly, Mrs. Boyle. (She follows MRS. BOYLE. To GILES, softly, as she passes him) Darling, you were wonderful . . .

  (MRS. BOYLE and MOLLIE exit Left up the stairs.)

  CHRISTOPHER. (Rising, childishly) I think that’s a perfectly horrible woman. I don’t like her at all. I’d love to see you turn her out into the snow. Serve her right.

  GILES. It’s a pleasure I’ve got to forgo, I’m afraid.

  (The door bell peals.)

  Lord, there’s another of them.

  (GILES goes out to the front door.)

  (Off) Come in—come in.

  (CHRISTOPHER moves to the sofa and sits. MISS CASEWELL enters up Right. She is a young woman of a manly type, and carries a case. She has a long dark coat, a light scarf and no hat. GILES enters.)

  MISS CASEWELL. (In a deep, manly voice) Afraid my car’s bogged about half a mile down the road—ran into a drift.

  GILES. Let me take this. (He takes her case and puts it Right of the refectory table.) Any more stuff in the car?

  MISS CASEWELL. (Moving down to the fire) No, I travel light.

  (GILES moves above the armchair Centre.)

  Ha, glad to see you’ve got
a good fire. (She straddles in front of it in a manly fashion.)

  GILES. Er—Mr. Wren—Miss—?

  MISS CASEWELL. Casewell. (She nods to CHRISTOPHER.)

  GILES. My wife will be down in a minute.

  MISS CASEWELL. No hurry. (She takes off her overcoat.) Got to get myself thawed out. Looks as though you’re going to be snowed up here. (Taking an evening paper from her overcoat pocket) Weather forecast says heavy falls expected. Motorists warned, etcetera. Hope you’ve got plenty of provisions in.

  GILES. Oh yes. My wife’s an excellent manager. Anyway, we can always eat our hens.

  MISS CASEWELL. Before we start eating each other, eh?

  (She laughs stridently and throws the overcoat at GILES, who catches it. She sits in the armchair Centre.)

  CHRISTOPHER. (Rising and crossing to the fire) Any news in the paper apart from the weather?

  MISS CASEWELL. Usual political crisis. Oh yes, and a rather juicy murder!

  CHRISTOPHER. A murder? (Turning to MISS CASEWELL) Oh, I like murder!

  MISS CASEWELL. (Handing him the paper) They seem to think it was a homicidal maniac. Strangled a woman somewhere near Paddington. Sex maniac, I suppose. (She looks at GILES.)

  (GILES crosses to Left of the sofa table.)

  CHRISTOPHER. Doesn’t say much, does it? (He sits in the small armchair Right and reads) “The police are anxious to interview a man seen in the vicinity of Culver Street at the time. Medium height, wearing darkish overcoat, lightish scarf and soft felt hat. Police messages to this effect have been broadcast throughout the day.”

  MISS CASEWELL. Useful description. Fit pretty well anyone, wouldn’t it?

  CHRISTOPHER. When it says that the police are anxious to interview someone, is that a polite way of hinting that he’s the murderer?

  MISS CASEWELL. Could be.

  GILES. Who was the woman who was murdered?

  CHRISTOPHER. Mrs. Lyon. Mrs. Maureen Lyon.

  GILES. Young or old?

  CHRISTOPHER. It doesn’t say. It doesn’t seem to have been robbery . . .

  MISS CASEWELL. (To GILES) I told you—sex maniac.

  (MOLLIE comes down the stairs and crosses to MISS CASEWELL.)

  GILES. Here’s Miss Casewell, Mollie. My wife.

  MISS CASEWELL. (Rising) How d’you do? (She shakes hands with MOLLIE vigorously.)

  (GILES picks up her case.)

  MOLLIE. It’s an awful night. Would you like to come up to your room? The water’s hot if you’d like a bath.

  MISS CASEWELL. You’re right, I would.

  (MOLLIE and MISS CASEWELL exit to the stairs Left. GILES follows them, carrying the case. Left alone, CHRISTOPHER rises and makes an exploration. He opens the door down Left, peeps in and then exits. A moment or two later he reappears on the stairs Left. He crosses to the arch up Right and looks off. He sings “Little Jack Horner” and chuckles to himself, giving the impression of being slightly unhinged mentally. He moves behind the refectory table. GILES and mollie enter from the stairs Left, talking. CHRISTOPHER hides behind the curtain. MOLLIE moves above the armchair Centre and GILES moves to the Right end of the refectory table.)

  MOLLIE. I must hurry out to the kitchen and get on with things. Major Metcalf is very nice. He won’t be difficult. It’s Mrs. Boyle really frightens me. We must have a nice dinner. I was thinking of opening two tins of minced beef and cereal and a tin of peas, and mashing the potatoes. And there’s stewed figs and custard. Do you think that will be all right?

  GILES. Oh—I should think so. Not—not very original, perhaps.

  CHRISTOPHER. (Coming from behind the curtains and moving between GILES and MOLLIE) Do let me help. I adore cooking. Why not an omelette? You’ve got eggs, haven’t you?

  MOLLIE. Oh yes, we’ve got plenty of eggs. We keep lots of fowls. They don’t lay as well as they should, but we’ve put down a lot of eggs.

  (GILES breaks away Left.)

  CHRISTOPHER. And if you’ve got a bottle of cheap, any-type wine, you could add it to the—“minced beef and cereals,” did you say? Give it a continental flavour. Show me where the kitchen is and what you’ve got, and I daresay I shall have an inspiration.

  MOLLIE. Come on.

  (MOLLIE and CHRISTOPHER exit through the archway Right to the kitchen. GILES frowns, ejaculates something uncomplimentary to CHRISTOPHER and crosses to the small armchair down Right. He picks up the newspaper and stands reading it with deep attention. He jumps as MOLLIE returns to the room and speaks.)

  Isn’t he sweet? (She moves above the sofa table.) He’s put on an apron and he’s getting all the things together. He says leave it all to him and don’t come back for half an hour. If our guests want to do the cooking themselves, it will save a lot of trouble.

  GILES. Why on earth did you give him the best room?

  MOLLIE. I told you, he liked the fourposter.

  GILES. He liked the pretty fourposter. Twerp!

  MOLLIE. Giles!

  GILES. I’ve got no use for that kind. (Significantly) You didn’t handle his suitcase, I did.

  MOLLIE. Had it got bricks in it? (She crosses to the armchair Centre and sits.)

  GILES. It was no weight at all. If you ask me there was nothing inside it. He’s probably one of those young men who go about bilking hotel keepers.

  MOLLIE. I don’t believe it. I like him. (She pauses.) I think Miss Casewell’s rather peculiar, don’t you?

  GILES. Terrible female—if she is a female.

  MOLLIE. It seems very hard that all our guests should be either unpleasant or odd. Anyway, I think Major Metcalf’s all right, don’t you?

  GILES. Probably drinks!

  MOLLIE. Oh, do you think so?

  GILES. No, I don’t. I was just feeling rather depressed. Well, at any rate we know the worst now. They’ve all arrived.

  (The door bell rings.)

  MOLLIE. Who can that be?

  GILES. Probably the Culver Street murderer.

  MOLLIE. (Rising) Don’t!

  (GILES exits up Right to the front door. MOLLIE crosses to the fire.)

  GILES. (Off) Oh.

  (MR. PARAVICINI staggers in up Right, carrying a small bag. He is foreign and dark and elderly with a rather flamboyant moustache. He is a slightly taller edition of Hercule Poirot, which may give a wrong impression to the audience. He wears a heavy fur-lined overcoat. He leans on the Left side of the arch and puts down the bag. GILES enters.)

  PARAVICINI. A thousand pardons. I am—where am I?

  GILES. This is Monkswell Manor Guest House.

  PARAVICINI. But what stupendous good fortune! Madame! (He moves down to MOLLIE, takes her hand and kisses it.)

  (GILES crosses above the armchair Centre.)

  What an answer to prayer. A guest house—and a charming hostess. My Rolls-Royce, alas, has run into a snowdrift. Blinding snow everywhere. I do not know where I am. Perhaps, I think to myself, I shall freeze to death. And then I take a little bag, I stagger through the snow, I see before me big iron gates. A habitation! I am saved. Twice I fall into the snow as I come up your drive, but at last I arrive and immediately—(He looks round) despair turns to joy. (Changing his manner) you can let me have a room—yes?

  GILES. Oh yes . . .

  MOLLIE. It’s rather a small one, I’m afraid.

  PARAVICINI. Naturally—naturally—you have other guests.

  MOLLIE. We’ve only just opened this place as a guest house today, and so we’re—we’re rather new at it.

  PARAVICINI. (Leering at MOLLIE) Charming—charming . . .

  GILES. What about your luggage?

  PARAVICINI. That is of no consequence. I have locked the car securely.

  GILES. But wouldn’t it be better to get it in?

  PARAVICINI. No, no. (He moves up to Right of GILES.) I can assure you on such a night as this, there will be no thieves abroad. And for me, my wants are very simple. I have all I need—here—in this little bag. Yes, all that I need.

  MOLLIE. You’d better get thoro
ughly warm.

  (PARAVICINI crosses to the fire.)

  I’ll see about your room. (She moves to the armchair Centre.) I’m afraid it’s rather a cold room because it faces north, but all the others are occupied.

  PARAVICINI. You have several guests, then?

  MOLLIE. There’s Mrs. Boyle and Major Metcalf and Miss Casewell and a young man called Christopher Wren—and now—you.

  PARAVICINI. Yes—the unexpected guest. The guest that you did not invite. The guest who just arrived—from nowhere—out of the storm. It sounds quite dramatic, does it not? Who am I? You do not know. Where do I come from? You do not know. Me, I am the man of mystery. (He laughs.)

  (MOLLIE laughs and looks at GILES, who grins feebly. PARAVICINI nods his head at MOLLIE in high good humour.)

  But now, I tell you this. I complete the picture. From now on there will be no more arrivals. And no departures either. By tomorrow—perhaps even already—we are cut off from civilization. No butcher, no baker, no milkman, no postman, no daily papers—nobody and nothing but ourselves. That is admirable—admirable. It could not suit me better. My name, by the way, is Paravicini. (He moves down to the small armchair Right.)

  (GILES moves to Left of MOLLIE.)

  PARAVICINI. Mr. and Mrs. Ralston? (He nods his head as they agree. He looks round him and moves up to Right of MOLLIE.) And this—is Monkswell Manor Guest House, you said? Good. Monkswell Manor Guest House. (He laughs.) Perfect. (He laughs.) Perfect. (He laughs and crosses to the fireplace.)

  (MOLLIE looks at GILES and they look at PARAVICINI uneasily as the Curtain falls.)

  CURTAIN

  Scene II

  SCENE: The same. The following afternoon.

  When Curtain rises it is not snowing, but snow can be seen banked high against the window. MAJOR METCALF is seated on the sofa reading a book, and MRS. BOYLE is sitting in the large armchair Right in front of the fire, writing on a pad on her knee.

  MRS. BOYLE. I consider it most dishonest not to have told me they were only just starting this place.

  MAJOR METCALF. Well, everything’s got to have a beginning, you know. Excellent breakfast this morning. Good coffee. Scrambled eggs, homemade marmalade. And all nicely served, too. Little woman does it all herself.