The Mousetrap and Other Plays

  BATTLE. We’ll have ’em in here one at a time. (To Treves.) Which Mrs. Strange was it who discovered the murder?

  TREVES. Mrs. Audrey Strange.

  BATTLE. Oh, yes. Difficult when there are two Mrs. Stranges. Mrs. Audrey Strange is the divorced wife, isn’t she?

  TREVES. Yes. I explained to you the—er—situation.

  BATTLE. Yes, sir. Funny idea of Mr. Strange’s. I should have thought that most men . . . (Kay enters quickly L. She is very upset and slightly hysterical.)

  KAY. (Crossing towards the French windows, to Battle.) I’m not going to stay cooped up in that damned library any longer. I want some air and I’m going out. You can do what the hell you like about it. (Leach moves down L.)

  BATTLE. Just a minute, Mrs. Strange. (Kay stops and turns by the French windows.) There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out if you wish, but it’ll have to be later.

  KAY. I want to go now.

  BATTLE. I’m afraid that’s impossible.

  KAY. (Moving slowly down R.) You’ve no right to keep me here. I haven’t done anything.

  BATTLE. (Soothingly.) No, no, of course you haven’t. But you see, there’ll be one or two questions we’ll have to ask you.

  KAY. What sort of questions? I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about it.

  BATTLE. (Moving down C.; to Leach.) Get Benson, will you, Jim? (Leach nods and exits L.) Now you just sit down here, Mrs. Strange—(He indicates the chair L. of the card table) and relax.

  KAY. (Moving and sitting L. of the card table.) I’ve told you I don’t know anything. Why do I have to answer a lot of questions when I don’t know anything?

  BATTLE. (Moving above the card table and standing down R. of it, apologetically.) We’ve got to interview everybody, you see. It’s just part of the routine. Not very pleasant for you, or for us, but there you are.

  KAY. Oh, well—all right. (Police-Constable Benson enters L. Leach follows him on. Benson is a youngish man, fairish and very quiet. He moves to L. of the chaise and takes out a notebook and pencil.)

  BATTLE. (Sitting R. of the card table.) Now, just tell us about last night, Mrs. Strange.

  KAY. What about last night?

  BATTLE. What did you do—say from after dinner, onwards?

  KAY. I had a headache. I—I went to bed quite early.

  BATTLE. How early?

  KAY. I don’t know exactly. It was about a quarter to ten, I think.

  TREVES. (Interposing gently.) Ten minutes to ten.

  KAY. Was it? I wouldn’t know to the minute.

  BATTLE. We’ll take it was ten minutes to ten. (He makes a sign to Benson. Benson makes a note in his book.) Did your husband accompany you?

  KAY. No.

  BATTLE. (After a pause.) What time did he come to bed?

  KAY. I’ve no idea. You’d better ask him that.

  LEACH. (Crossing to L. of Kay.) The door between your room and your husband’s is locked. Was it locked when you went to bed?

  KAY. Yes.

  LEACH. Who locked it?

  KAY. I did.

  BATTLE. Was it usual for you to lock it?

  KAY. No.

  BATTLE. (Rising.) Why did you do so last night, Mrs. Strange? (Kay does not reply. Leach moves up R. C.)

  TREVES. (After a pause.) I should tell them, Kay.

  KAY. I suppose if I don’t, you will. Oh, well, then. You can have it. Nevile and I had a row—a flaming row. (Leach looks at Benson, who makes a note.) I was furious with him. I went to bed and locked the door because I was still in a flaming rage with him.

  BATTLE. I see—what was the trouble about?

  KAY. Does it matter? I don’t see how it concerns . . .

  BATTLE. You’re not compelled to answer, if you’d rather not.

  KAY. Oh, I don’t mind. My husband has been behaving like a perfect fool. It’s all that woman’s fault, though.

  BATTLE. What woman?

  KAY. Audrey—his first wife. It was she who got him to come here in the first place.

  BATTLE. I understood that it was Mr. Strange’s idea.

  KAY. Well, it wasn’t. It was hers.

  BATTLE. But why should Mrs. Audrey Strange have suggested it? (During the following speech, Leach crosses slowly to the door L.)

  KAY. To cause trouble, I suppose. Nevile thinks it was his own idea—poor innocent. But he never thought of such a thing until he met Audrey in the Park one day in London, and she put the idea into his head and made him believe he’d thought of it himself. I’ve seen her scheming mind behind it from the first. She’s never taken me in.

  BATTLE. Why should she be so anxious for you all to come here together?

  KAY. (Quickly and breathlessly.) Because she wanted to get hold of Nevile again. That’s why. She’s never forgiven him for going off with me. This is her revenge. She got him to fix it so that we’d be here together and then she got to work on him. She’s been doing it ever since we arrived. (Battle crosses above the card table to C.) She’s clever, damned clever. She knows just how to look pathetic and elusive. Poor sweet, injured little kitten—with all her blasted claws out.

  TREVES. Kay—Kay . . .

  BATTLE. I see. Surely, if you felt so strongly, you could have objected to this arrangement of coming here?

  KAY. Do you think I didn’t try? Nevile was set on it. He insisted.

  BATTLE. But you’re quite sure it wasn’t his idea?

  KAY. I’m positive. That white-faced little cat planned it all.

  TREVES. You have no actual evidence on which to base such an assertion, Kay.

  KAY. (Rising and crossing to R. of Treves.) I know, I tell you, and you know it, too, though you won’t admit it. Audrey’s been . . .

  BATTLE. Come and sit down, Mrs. Strange. (Kay crosses reluctantly to L. of the card table and sits.) Did Lady Tressilian approve of the arrangement?

  KAY. She didn’t approve of anything in connection with me. Audrey was her pet. She disliked me for taking Audrey’s place with Nevile.

  BATTLE. Did you—quarrel with Lady Tressilian?

  KAY. No.

  BATTLE. After you’d gone to bed, Mrs. Strange, did you hear anything? Any unusual sounds in the house?

  KAY. I didn’t hear anything. I was so upset I took some sleeping stuff. I fell asleep almost at once.

  BATTLE. (Crossing to R. of the card table.) What kind of sleeping stuff?

  KAY. They’re little blue capsules. I don’t know what’s in them. (Battle looks at Benson, who makes a note.)

  BATTLE. (Moving to the chaise.) You didn’t see your husband after you went up to bed?

  KAY. No, no, no. I’ve already told you that I locked the door.

  BATTLE. (Picking up the niblick and bringing it to L. of Kay.) Have you ever seen this before, Mrs. Strange?

  KAY. (Shrinking away.) How—how horrible. Is that what—what it was done with?

  BATTLE. We believe so. Have you any idea to whom it belongs?

  KAY. (Shaking her head.) There are packets of golf clubs in the house. Mrs. Royde’s—Nevile’s—mine . . .

  BATTLE. This is a man’s club. It wouldn’t be one of yours.

  KAY. Then it must be . . . I don’t know.

  BATTLE. I see. (He moves to the chaise and replaces the niblick on it.) Thank you, Mrs. Strange, that’s all for the present. (Kay rises and moves down R.)

  LEACH. There’s just one other thing. (Kay turns. He crosses to L. of Kay.) Would you object to letting Detective Sergeant Pengelly take your fingerprints?

  KAY. My—fingerprints?

  BATTLE. (Smoothly.) It’s just a matter of routine, Mrs. Strange. We’re asking everybody.

  KAY. I don’t mind anything—so long as I don’t have to go back to that menagerie in the library.

  LEACH. I’ll arrange for Sergeant Pengelly to take your fingerprints in the breakfast room. (Kay crosses below Leach to L. C., looks closely at Treves for a moment, then exits L. Leach crosses and exits L. Benson closes his notebook and waits stolidly.)


  BATTLE. Benson. Go and ask Pollock if he saw some small blue capsules in Mrs. Strange’s room—Mrs. Kay Strange. I want a specimen of them.

  BENSON. Yes, sir. (He moves to the door L.)

  BATTLE. (Moving C.) Come back here when you’ve done that.

  BENSON. Yes, sir. (Benson exits L.)

  TREVES. (Rising.) Do you think the same drug was used to—er—dope Miss Aldin?

  BATTLE. (Moving on to the R. end of the rostrum.) It’s worth checking up on. Would you mind telling me, sir, who stands to gain by Lady Tressilian’s death?

  TREVES. Lady Tressilian had very little money of her own. The late Sir Mortimer Tressilian’s estate was left in trust for her during her lifetime. On her death it is to be equally divided between Nevile and his wife.

  BATTLE. Which wife?

  TREVES. His first wife.

  BATTLE. Audrey Strange?

  TREVES. Yes. The bequest is quite clearly worded, “Nevile Henry Strange, and his wife, Audrey Elizabeth Strange, née Standish.” The subsequent divorce makes no difference whatever to that bequest.

  BATTLE. (Moving down R.) Mrs. Audrey Strange is of course fully aware of that?

  TREVES. Certainly.

  BATTLE. And the present Mrs. Strange—does she know that she gets nothing?

  TREVES. Really I cannot say. (His voice is doubtful.) Presumably her husband has made it clear to her. (He moves to L. of the card table.)

  BATTLE. If he hadn’t she might be under the impression that she was the one who benefited?

  TREVES. It’s possible—yes. (He sits L. of the card table.)

  BATTLE. Is the amount involved a large one, sir?

  TREVES. Quite considerable. Approaching one hundred thousand pounds.

  BATTLE. Whew! That’s quite something, even in these days. (Leach enters L. He is carrying a crumpled dinner jacket.)

  LEACH. (Moving L. C.) I say, take a look at this. Pollock has just found it bundled down in the bottom of Nevile Strange’s wardrobe. (Battle crosses to R. of Leach. He points to the sleeve.) Look at these stains. That’s blood, or I’m Marilyn Monroe.

  BATTLE. (Taking the jacket from Leach.) You’re certainly not Marilyn Monroe, Jim. It’s spattered all up the sleeve as well. Any other suits in the room?

  LEACH. Dark grey pinstripe hanging over a chair. And there’s a lot of water round the wash basin on the floor—quite a pool of it. Looks as if it had slopped over.

  BATTLE. Such as might have been made if he’d washed the blood off his hands in the devil of a hurry, eh?

  LEACH. Yes. (He takes some small tweezers from his pocket and picks some hairs off the inside of the collar.)

  BATTLE. Hairs! A woman’s fair hairs on the inside of the collar.

  LEACH. Some on the sleeve, too.

  BATTLE. Red ones, these. Mr. Strange seems to have had his arm around one wife and the other one’s head on his shoulder.

  LEACH. Quite a Mormon. Looks bad for him, don’t it?

  BATTLE. We’ll have to have the blood on this tested later to see if it’s the same group as Lady Tressilian’s.

  LEACH. I’ll try and arrange it, Uncle.

  TREVES. (Rising and moving down R.; very perturbed.) I can’t believe, I really can’t believe that Nevile, whom I’ve known all his life, is capable of such a terrible act. There must be a mistake.

  BATTLE. (Moving and putting the jacket on the chaise.) I hope so, I’m sure, sir. (To Leach.) We’ll have Mr. Royde in next. (Leach nods and exits L.)

  TREVES. I’m quite sure there must be some innocent explanation, Battle, for that stained dinner jacket. Quite apart from lack of motive, Nevile is . . .

  BATTLE. Fifty thousand pounds is a pretty good motive, sir, to my mind.

  TREVES. But Nevile is well off. He’s not in need of money.

  BATTLE. There may be something we know nothing about, sir. (Benson enters L. and crosses to L. of Battle. He carries a small round box.)

  BENSON. Pollock found the pills, sir. (He hands the box to Battle.) Here you are.

  BATTLE. (Looking into the box.) These are the things. I’ll get the doctor to tell us whether they contain the same stuff that was given to Miss Aldin. (He moves up R. Royde enters L.)

  ROYDE. (Moving L. C.) You want to see me?

  BATTLE. (Moving down R. C.) Yes, Mr. Royde. (He indicates the chair L. of the card table.) Will you sit down, sir?

  ROYDE. Rather stand.

  BATTLE. Just as you like. (Benson takes out his notebook and pencil. Treves sits in the easy chair down R.). I’d like you to answer one or two questions, if you’ve no objection.

  ROYDE. No objection at all. Nothing to hide.

  BATTLE. (Moving below the card table.) I understand that you have only just returned from Malaya, Mr. Royde.

  ROYDE. That’s right. First time I’ve been home for seven years.

  BATTLE. You’ve known Lady Tressilian for a long time?

  ROYDE. Ever since I was a boy.

  BATTLE. Can you suggest a reason why anyone should want to kill her?

  ROYDE. No.

  BATTLE. (Moving up R. of the card table.) How long have you known Mr. Nevile Strange?

  ROYDE. Practically all my life.

  BATTLE. (Moving up R. C.) Do you know him sufficiently well to be aware if he was worried over money?

  ROYDE. No, but I shouldn’t think so. Always seems to have plenty.

  BATTLE. If there was any trouble like that, he wouldn’t be likely to confide in you?

  ROYDE. Very unlikely.

  BATTLE. (Moving down L. of the card table.) What time did you go to bed last night, Mr. Royde?

  ROYDE. Round about half past nine, I should think.

  BATTLE. That seems to be very early.

  ROYDE. Always go to bed early. Like to get up early.

  BATTLE. I see. Your room is practically opposite Lady Tressilian’s, isn’t it?

  ROYDE. Practically.

  BATTLE. Did you go to sleep immediately you went to bed?

  ROYDE. No. Finished a detective story I was reading. Not very good—it seems to me they always . . .

  BATTLE. Yes, yes. Were you still awake at half past ten?

  ROYDE. Yes.

  BATTLE. (Sitting L. of the card table.) Did you—this is very important, Mr. Royde—did you hear any unusual sounds round about that time? (Royde does not reply.) I’ll repeat that question. Did you . . . ?

  ROYDE. There’s no need. I heard you.

  BATTLE. (After a pause.) Well, Mr. Royde?

  ROYDE. Heard a noise in the attic over my head, rats, I expect. Anyway, that was later.

  BATTLE. I don’t mean that.

  ROYDE. (Looking at Treves, reluctantly.) There was a bit of a rumpus.

  BATTLE. What sort of rumpus?

  ROYDE. Well—an argument.

  BATTLE. An argument? Who was the argument between?

  ROYDE. Lady Tressilian and Strange.

  BATTLE. Lady Tressilian and Mr. Strange were quarreling?

  ROYDE. Well, yes. I suppose you’d call it that.

  BATTLE. (Rising and moving to R. of Royde.) It’s not what I would call it, Mr. Royde. Do you call it that?

  ROYDE. Yes.

  BATTLE. Thank you. What was this quarrel about?

  ROYDE. Didn’t listen. Not my business.

  BATTLE. But you are quite sure they were quarreling?

  ROYDE. Sounded like it. Their voices were raised pretty high.

  BATTLE. Can you place the time exactly?

  ROYDE. About twenty past ten I should think.

  BATTLE. Twenty past ten. You didn’t hear anything else?

  ROYDE. Strange slammed the door when he left.

  BATTLE. You heard nothing more after that?

  ROYDE. (Crossing below Battle to the card table.) Only rats. (He knocks out his pipe in the ashtray.)

  BATTLE. (Moving to the chaise.) Never mind the rats. (He picks up the niblick. Royde fills and lights his pipe. He moves to L. of Royde.) Does this belong to you, Mr. Royde? (Royde,
engrossed with his pipe, does not reply.) Mr. Royde!

  ROYDE. (Looking at the niblick.) No. All my clubs have got T.R. scratched on the shaft.

  BATTLE. Do you know to whom it does belong?

  ROYDE. No idea. (He moves up R.)

  BATTLE. (Replacing the niblick on the chaise.) We shall want to take your fingerprints, Mr. Royde. Have you any objection to that?

  ROYDE. Not much use objecting, is it? Your man’s already done it. (Benson laughs quietly.)

  BATTLE. Thank you, then, Mr. Royde. That’s all for the present.

  ROYDE. Do you mind if I go out for a bit? Feel like some fresh air. Only out on the terrace, if you want me.

  BATTLE. That’ll be quite all right, sir.

  ROYDE. Thanks. (Royde exits by the French windows. Benson sits on the window-seat.)

  BATTLE. (Moving C.) The evidence seems to be piling up against Mr. Strange, sir.

  TREVES. (Rising and moving to R. of the card table.) It’s incredible—incredible. (Leach enters L. and crosses to L. C.)

  LEACH. (Jubilantly.) The fingerprints are Nevile Strange’s all right.

  BATTLE. That would seem to clinch it, Jim. He leaves his weapon—he leaves his fingerprints; I wonder he didn’t leave his visiting card.

  LEACH. Been easy, hasn’t it?

  TREVES. It can’t have been Nevile. There must be a mistake. (He pours himself a glass of water.)

  BATTLE. It all adds up. We’ll see what Mr. Strange has to say, anyhow. Bring him in, Jim. (Leach exits L.)

  TREVES. I don’t understand it. I’m sure there’s something wrong. (Battle moves down L. C.) Nevile’s not a complete and utter fool. Even if he were capable of committing such a brutal act—which I refuse to believe—would he have left all this damning evidence strewn about so carelessly? (He moves up R.)

  BATTLE. Well, sir, apparently he did. (He moves to R. of the easy chair L. C.) You can’t get away from facts. (Nevile and Leach enter L. Nevile looks worried and a little nervous. He stands a moment in the doorway. He indicates the chair L. of the card table.) Come and sit down, Mr. Strange.

  NEVILE. (Crossing to the chair L. of the card table.) Thank you. (He sits. Treves crosses slowly above the others and stands down L.)

  BATTLE. We should like you to answer certain questions, but it’s my duty to caution you that you are not bound to answer these questions unless you wish.