The Mousetrap and Other Plays

  (CARLA smiles)

  Go on. Don’t keep Mr.—er . . . don’t keep him waiting. He wouldn’t be pleased. You’ll be hearing from me. (He ushers Carla to the arch)

  (CARLA exits)

  (He goes to the desk and lifts the receiver. Into the telephone) Get me Kellway, Blake and Leverstein, will you? I want to speak to Mr. Philip Blake personally. (He replaces the receiver) Cattle breeding!

  The lights dim to BLACK-OUT

  Scene II

  SCENE—Justin Fogg’s room.

  It is a very handsome room. A door up R leads to the outer office. Up L is a cupboard for drinks, let into the wall. A large and ornate desk is L with a damask-covered swivel chair behind it. A chair, to match, for visitors is down R. There are shaded, electric wall-brackets R and L. On the desk there is an intercom in addition to the telephone.

  When the LIGHTS come up, PHILIP BLAKE is sitting at the desk, smoking and reading the “Financial Times.” He is a good-looking man of fifty odd, grey at the temples, with a slight paunch. He is self-important, with traces of nervous irritability. He is very sure of himself. The intercom buzzes. PHILIP presses the switch.

  PHILIP. (into the intercom) Yes?

  VOICE. (through the intercom) Miss Le Marchant’s here, Mr. Blake.

  PHILIP. Ask her to come in.

  VOICE. Yes, Mr. Blake.

  (PHILIP releases the switch, frowns, folds his newspaper and lays it on the desk, rises, moves down L of the desk, turns and faces the door. He shows slight traces of uneasiness while he waits. CARLA enters. She wears a different coat, and carries different gloves and handbag)

  PHILIP. Good Lord.

  (PHILIP and CARLA look at each other for a moment, then CARLA closes the door and moves down C)

  Well, so it’s Carla. (He recovers himself and shakes hands with her) Little Carla! (With rather forced geniality) You were—what—five years old when I saw you last.

  CARLA. Yes. I must have been just about. (She screws up her eyes) I don’t think I remember you . . .

  PHILIP. I was never much of a children’s man. Never knew what to say to them. Sit down, Carla.

  (CARLA sits on the chair down R and places her handbag on the floor beside the chair)

  (He offers the box of cigarettes from the desk) Cigarette?

  (CARLA declines)

  (He replaces the box on the desk, moves behind the desk and looks at his watch) I haven’t much time, but . . . (He sits at the desk)

  CARLA. I know you’re a terribly busy person. It’s good of you to see me.

  PHILIP. Not at all. You’re the daughter of one of my oldest and closest friends. You remember your father?

  CARLA. Yes. Not very clearly.

  PHILIP. You should. Amyas Crale oughtn’t to be forgotten. (He pauses) Now, what’s this all about? This lawyer chap—Fogg—son of old Andrew Fogg, I suppose—

  (CARLA nods)

  —wasn’t very clear about why you wanted to see me. (There is a trace of sarcasm in his voice during the following sentence) But I gathered that it wasn’t just a case of looking up your father’s old friends?

  CARLA. No.

  PHILIP. He told me that you’d only recently learnt the facts about your father’s death. Is that right?

  CARLA. Yes.

  PHILIP. Pity, really, you ever had to hear about it at all.

  CARLA. (after a pause; firmly) Mr. Blake, when I came in just now you were startled. You said “Good Lord!” Why?

  PHILIP. Well, I . . .

  CARLA. Did you think, just for the moment, that it was my mother standing there?

  PHILIP. There is an amazing resemblance. It startled me.

  CARLA. You—you didn’t like her?

  PHILIP. (dryly) Could you expect me to? She killed my best friend.

  CARLA. (stung) It could have been suicide.

  PHILIP. Don’t run away with that idea. Amyas would never have killed himself. He enjoyed life far too much.

  CARLA. He was an artist, he could have had temperamental ups and downs.

  PHILIP. He didn’t have that kind of temperament. Nothing morbid or neurotic about Amyas. He had his faults, yes—he chased women, I’ll admit—but most of his affairs were quite short lived. He always went back to Caroline.

  CARLA. What fun that must have been for her!

  PHILIP. She’d known him since she was twelve years old. We were all brought up together.

  CARLA. I know so little. Tell me.

  PHILIP. (sitting back comfortably in his chair) She used to come and stay at Alderbury for the holidays with the Crales. My family had the big house next door. We all ran wild together. Meredith, my elder brother, and Amyas were much of an age. I was a year or two younger. Caroline had no money of her own, you know. I was a younger son, out of the running, but both Meredith and Amyas were quite good catches.

  CARLA. How cold-blooded you make her sound.

  PHILIP. She was cold-blooded. Oh, she appeared impulsive, but behind it there was a cold calculating devil. And she had a wicked temper. You know what she did to her baby half-sister?

  CARLA. (quickly) No?

  PHILIP. Her mother had married again, and all the attention went to the new baby—Angela. Caroline was jealous as hell. She tried to kill the baby.

  CARLA. No!

  PHILIP. Went for her with a pair of scissors, I believe. Ghastly business. The child was marked for life.

  CARLA. (outraged) You make her sound a—a monster!

  PHILIP. (shrugging) Jealousy is the devil.

  CARLA. (studying him) You hated her—didn’t you?

  PHILIP. (startled) That’s putting it rather strongly.

  CARLA. No, it’s true.

  PHILIP. (stubbing out his cigarette) I suppose I’m bitter. (He rises, moves to R of the desk and sits on the downstage corner of it) But it seems to me that you’ve come over here with the idea in your head that your mother was an injured innocent. That isn’t so. There’s Amyas’s side of it, too. He was your father, girl, and he loved life . . .

  CARLA. I know. I know all that.

  PHILIP. You’ve got to see this thing as it was. Caroline was no good. (He pauses) She poisoned her husband. And what I can’t forget, and never will forget, is that I could have saved him.

  CARLA. How?

  PHILIP. My brother Meredith had a strange hobby. He used to fiddle about with herbs and hemlock and stuff and Caroline had stolen one of his patent brews.

  CARLA. How did you know that it was she who had taken it?

  PHILIP. (grimly) I knew all right. And I was fool enough to hang about waiting to talk it over with Meredith. Why I hadn’t the sense to realize that Caroline wouldn’t wait, I can’t think. She’d pinched the stuff to use—and by God, she used it at the first opportunity.

  CARLA. You can’t be sure it was she who took it.

  PHILIP. My dear girl, she admitted taking it. Said she’d taken it to do away with herself.

  CARLA. That’s possible, isn’t it?

  PHILIP. Is it? (Caustically) Well, she didn’t do away with herself.

  (CARLA shakes her head. There is a silence)

  (He rises and makes an effort to resume a normal manner) Have a glass of sherry? (He moves below and L of the desk to the cupboard up L, takes out a decanter of sherry and a glass and puts them on the desk) Now, I suppose I’ve upset you? (He pours a glass of sherry)

  CARLA. I’ve got to find out about things.

  PHILIP. (crossing and handing the glass to Carla) There was a lot of sympathy for her at the trial, of course. (He moves behind the desk) Amyas behaved badly, I’ll admit, bringing the Greer girl down to Alderbury. (He replaces the decanter in the cupboard) And she was pretty insolent to Caroline.

  CARLA. Did you like her?

  PHILIP. (guardedly) Young Elsa? Not particularly. (He turns to the cupboard, takes out a bottle of whisky and a glass and puts them on the desk) She wasn’t my type, damnably attractive, of course. Predatory. Grasping at everything she wanted. (He pours whisky for h
imself) All the same, I think she’d have suited Amyas better than Caroline did. (He replaces the bottle in the cupboard)

  CARLA. Weren’t my mother and father happy together?

  PHILIP. (with a laugh) They never stopped having rows. His married life would have been one long hell if it hadn’t been for the way of escape his painting gave him. (He squirts soda into his drink and sits at the desk)

  CARLA. How did he meet Elsa?

  PHILIP. (vaguely) Some Chelsea party or other. (He smiles) Came along to me—told me he’d met a marvellous girl—absolutely different from any girl he’d met before. Well, I’d heard that often enough. He’d fall for a girl like a ton of bricks, and a month later, when you mentioned her, he’d stare at you and wonder who the hell you were talking about. But it didn’t turn out that way with Elsa. (He raises his glass) Good luck, m’dear. (He drinks)

  (CARLA sips her sherry)

  CARLA. She’s married now, isn’t she?

  PHILIP. (dryly) She’s run through three husbands. A test pilot who crashed himself, some explorer chap whom she got bored with. She’s married now to old Lord Melksham, a dreamy peer who writes mystical poetry. I should say she’s about had him by now. (He drinks)

  CARLA. Would she have gotten tired of my father, I wonder?

  PHILIP. Who knows?

  CARLA. I must meet her.

  PHILIP. Can’t you let things go?

  CARLA. (rising and putting her glass on the desk) No, I’ve got to understand.

  PHILIP. (rising) Determined, aren’t you?

  CARLA. Yes, I’m a fighter. But my mother—wasn’t.

  (The intercom buzzes. CARLA turns and picks up her bag)

  PHILIP. Where did you get that idea? Caroline was a terrific fighter. (He presses the switch. Into the intercom) Yes?

  VOICE. (through the intercom) Mr. Foster’s here, Mr. Blake.

  PHILIP. Tell him I won’t keep him a moment.

  VOICE. Yes, sir.

  (PHILIP releases the switch)

  CARLA. (struck) Was she? Was she really? But—she didn’t fight at her trial.

  PHILIP. No.

  CARLA. Why didn’t she?

  PHILIP. Well, since she knew she was guilty . . . (He rises)

  CARLA. (angrily) She wasn’t guilty!

  PHILIP. (angrily) You’re obstinate, aren’t you? After all I’ve told you!

  CARLA. You still hate her. Although she’s been dead for years. Why?

  PHILIP. I’ve told you . . .

  CARLA. Not the real reason. There’s something else.

  PHILIP. I don’t think so.

  CARLA. You hate her—now why? I shall have to find out. Good-bye, Mr. Blake. Thank you.

  PHILIP. Good-bye.

  (CARLA moves to the door and exits, leaving the door open)

  (He stares after her for a moment, slightly perplexed, then he closes the door, sits at the desk and presses the intercom switch. Into the intercom) Ask Mr. Foster to come in.

  VOICE. (through the intercom) Yes, sir.

  PHILIP sits back in his chair and picks up his drink as the lights dim to BLACK-OUT

  Scene III

  SCENE—The sitting-room of an hotel suite.

  There is an arch back C leading to a small entrance hall with a door L. There is a long window R. A french settee stands L with an armchair to match R. In front of the settee there is a long stool, and a small table with a house telephone stands under the window. There are electric wall-brackets R and L of the arch. In the hall there is a console table and a row of coathooks on the wall R.

  When the LIGHTS come up, JUSTIN is by the armchair, placing some files in his brief-case. His coat is on the settee. CARLA enters the hall from L, puts her gloves and handbag on the hall table, removes her coat and hangs it on the hooks.

  CARLA. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.

  JUSTIN. (surprised and pleased) Really? (He puts his brief-case on the armchair and moves down R) Meredith Blake will be here at three o’clock.

  CARLA. Good! What about Lady Melksham?

  JUSTIN. She didn’t answer my letter.

  CARLA. Perhaps she’s away?

  JUSTIN. (crossing to L of the arch) No, she’s not away. I took steps to ascertain that she’s at home.

  CARLA. I suppose that means that she’s going to ignore the whole thing.

  JUSTIN. Oh, I wouldn’t say that. She’ll come all right.

  CARLA. (moving C) What makes you so sure?

  JUSTIN. Well, women usually . . .

  CARLA. (with a touch of mischief) I see—you’re an authority on women.

  JUSTIN. (stiffly) Only in the legal sense.

  CARLA. And—strictly in the legal sense . . . ?

  JUSTIN. Women usually want to satisfy their curiosity.

  (CARLA sees Justin’s coat on the settee, crosses and picks it up)

  CARLA. I really do like you—you make me feel much better. (She moves towards the hooks)

  (The telephone rings)

  (She thrusts the coat at Justin, crosses and lifts the telephone receiver. Into the telephone) Hello? . . .

  (JUSTIN hangs his coat in the hall)

  Oh, ask him to come up, will you? (She replaces the receiver and turns to Justin) It’s Meredith Blake. Is he like his hateful brother?

  JUSTIN. (moving C) A very different temperament, I should say. Do you need to feel better?

  CARLA. What?

  JUSTIN. You said just now I made you feel better. Do you need to feel better?

  CARLA. Sometimes I do. (She gestures to him to sit on the settee)

  (JUSTIN sits on the settee)

  I didn’t realize what I was letting myself in for.

  JUSTIN. I was afraid of that.

  CARLA. I could still—give it all up—go back to Canada—forget. Shall I?

  JUSTIN. (quickly) No! No—er—not now. You’ve got to go on.

  CARLA. (sitting in the armchair) That’s not what you advised in the first place.

  JUSTIN. You hadn’t started then.

  CARLA. You still think—that my mother was guilty, don’t you?

  JUSTIN. I can’t see any other solution.

  CARLA. And yet you want me to go on?

  JUSTIN. I want you to go on until you are satisfied.

  (There is a knock on the hall door. CARLA and JUSTIN rise. CARLA goes to the hall, opens the door and steps back. JUSTIN crosses to R of the armchair and faces the hall. MEREDITH BLAKE enters the hall from L. He is a pleasant, rather vague man with a thatch of grey hair. He gives the impression of being rather ineffectual and irresolute. He wears country tweeds with hat, coat and muffler)

  MEREDITH. Carla. My dear Carla. (He takes her hands) How time flies. May I? (He kisses her) It seems incredible that the little girl I knew should have grown up into a young lady. How like your mother you are, my dear. My word!

  CARLA. (slightly embarrassed; gesturing to Justin) Do you know Mr. Fogg?

  MEREDITH. My word, my word! (He pulls himself together) What? (To Justin) Ah, yes, I knew your father, didn’t I? (He steps into the room)

  (CARLA closes the door then moves into the room and stands L of the arch)

  JUSTIN. (moving to R of Meredith) Yes, sir. (He shakes hands) May I take your coat?

  MEREDITH. (unbuttoning his coat; to Carla) And now—tell me all about yourself. You’re over from the States—

  (JUSTIN takes Meredith’s hat)

  —thank you—no, Canada. For how long?

  CARLA. I’m not quite sure—yet.

  (JUSTIN eyes Carla)

  MEREDITH. But you are definitely making your home overseas?

  CARLA. Well—I’m thinking of getting married.

  MEREDITH. (removing his coat) Oh, to a Canadian?

  CARLA. Yes.

  (MEREDITH hands his coat and muffler to JUSTIN who hangs them with the hat, in the hall)

  MEREDITH. Well, I hope he’s a nice fellow and good enough for you, my dear.

  CARLA. Naturally I think so. (She gestures to Meredith to sit
in the armchair)

  (MEREDITH goes to sit in the armchair, sees Justin’s brief-case and picks it up. JUSTIN moves above the armchair)

  MEREDITH. Good. If you’re happy, then I’m very happy for you. And so would your mother have been.

  CARLA. (sitting on the settee at the upstage end) Do you know that my mother left a letter for me in which she said she was innocent?

  MEREDITH. (turning and looking at Carla; sharply) Your mother wrote that?

  CARLA. Does it surprise you so much?

  (JUSTIN sees Meredith is uncertain what to do with the briefcase and offers to take it)

  MEREDITH. Well, I shouldn’t have thought Caroline . . . (He hands the brief-case to Justin)

  (JUSTIN puts the brief-case on the table R)

  I don’t know—I suppose she felt—(he sits in the armchair) it would distress you less . . .

  CARLA. (passionately) It doesn’t occur to you that what she wrote me might be true?

  MEREDITH. Well, yes—of course. If she solemnly wrote that when she was dying—well, it stands to reason that it must be true—doesn’t it? (He looks up at Justin for support)

  (There is a pause)

  CARLA. What a rotten liar you are. (She rises)

  MEREDITH. (shocked) Carla!

  (CARLA goes into the hall and picks up her handbag)

  CARLA. Oh, I know it was meant to be kind. But kindness doesn’t really help. I want you to tell me all about it. (She steps into the room and searches in her bag)

  MEREDITH. You know the facts—(to Justin) doesn’t she?

  JUSTIN. (crossing down L) Yes, sir, she does.

  MEREDITH. Going over them will be painful—and quite unprofitable. Better let the whole thing rest. You’re young and pretty and engaged to be married and that’s all that really matters.

  (JUSTIN sees CARLA searching in her bag, takes out his cigarette case and offers it to her, MEREDITH takes a snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket)

  JUSTIN. (to Carla) You looking for one of these?

  MEREDITH. (offering the snuff-box to Carla) Have a pinch of . . . No, I don’t suppose you do, but I’ll . . . (He offers the box to Justin) Oh, will you?

  (JUSTIN declines. CARLA takes a cigarette from JUSTIN who also takes one)

  CARLA. I’ve asked your brother Philip, you know. (She puts her bag on the stool)