Whodunnit Mrs Christie

That's a nice greeting.

  Thomas: You know I don't want anyone to see you here.

  Dave: No need to be ashamed of me. (He sits down on sofa with his feet up)

  Thomas: Ashamed of myself more. You could ruin me here.

  Dave: I thought the old lady knows you keep bad company.

  Thomas: She knew. I promised I'd give up the horses after the last disaster.

  Dave: It's in the blood. You can never give it up. (pause) So you don't think you could touch her for another loan?

  Thomas: Don't be ridiculous. If I got into a jam like that again, well, I don't know - I'd hate to think what might happen.

  Dave: (laughing) At your age too. I'd have thought you'd have learnt some moderation by now.

  Thomas: Well did she see you coming in?

  Dave: Don't you worry. Young David Bains is too slippery for that.

  Thomas: Where did you put the motor bike?

  Dave: (Rising and moving forward) Just as you told me. I parked her up the road a bit and hiked the rest. Saw the old lady passing in a taxi, so I thought, lovely day like this, nice big house, long drive, I’ll walk right up to the front door and greet me old mate Thomas.

  Thomas: So she didn't see you?

  Dave: I told you...

  Thomas: That's all right then. But if anyone else runs into you here, you're my nephew down from Australia. Understand?

  Dave: Sure. You worry too much. Where's Janet, by the way?

  (He goes to exit right. Thomas brings him back)

  Thomas: (Hissing) I told you, I don't want anyone to know you're here.

  Dave: Janet knows me anyway.

  Thomas: I know, but she might let it slip that you've been here.

  Dave: Well where is she? Taken a bit of a shine to me, I reckon. It's the old Aussie good looks.

  Thomas: I don't know where she is. Are you here to see her or me?

  Dave: Oh that's right. Slipped me mind for a moment. Listen Thommo...

  Thomas: Don't call me Thommo.

  Dave: Sorry mate. Look, I've got a sure thing this afternoon.

  Thomas: Another?

  Dave: This one's different. It's a scheme.

  Thomas: What sort of scheme?

  Dave: An accumulator.

  Thomas: Oh, one of them.

  Dave: That's right. You put your money on a horse in the first race. If it wins, it all goes on the second race. If you win again, it all goes on a horse in the third race, then...

  Thomas: I know, I know, big money. But if any one of them loses, you've blown the lot.

  Dave: But this time it’s different. I worked out a sequence of three sure fire.

  Thomas: I've heard that before.

  Dave: Just listen. Sea Fever in the first, Banbury Boy in the second...

  Thomas: I don't know about Sea Fever. There's some good horses in that race.

  Dave: Trust me, he's a certainty. I put your five quid on it. Four to one.

  Thomas: All right, but he's not a certainty.

  Dave: That's where you're wrong. Look at the time.

  Thomas: (Looking at clock on mantle-piece) It's already been run.

  Dave: Swarmed all over them at the finish. Won by a nose. Twenty five crisp ones in me pocket. (He takes out money and holds it in front of Thomas)

  Thomas: Twenty five pounds! Well done Dave. I can use that.

  Dave: (Snatching the money out of his reach) But here's the idea. Hold off on the twenty five. Put it all on the next - Banbury Boy, then...

  Thomas: Banbury Boy's favourite.

  Dave: Even money. Dead cert. Double your money - fifty quid, then put the lot on Half a League in the last.

  Thomas: Half a League hasn't won in months.

  Dave: But here's the rub. The bookies know that too - so he's twelve to one.

  Thomas: So they think he's no good.

  Dave: Just keep quiet and listen. Now I happen to know the trainer, Ron Foster. I was drinking with him Friday. He said, jumping out of his skin, that horse.

  Thomas: Same old story.

  Dave: But there's more. He said, all we need is a good pace set - a bold front runner, and Half a League'll run all over the top of them at the finish.

  Thomas: All right, but what if no one sets a fast pace?

  Dave: (Touching nose) Just leave it to your Uncle Dave. I happen to know Johnny Wade, rider of Boy Blue in the same race.

  Thomas: But Boy Blue doesn't stand a chance.

  Dave: That's right, so the jockey'll be partial to a little sling up front.

  Thomas: (Interest growing) What are you getting at?

  Dave: Twenty five to Johnny to take his horse to the front and set the pace we want, then we sit back and watch Half a League bring in the money. Fifty pounds at twelve to one, that's six hundred clear profit.

  Thomas: Six hundred....

  (Thomas wanders to right, front. Dave follows)

  Dave: So we're on then?

  Thomas: (To himself) That would be just the right start.

  Dave: A start - it's more than a start, mate.

  Thomas: For my scheme - six hundred - build up a stake....

  Dave: You're dreaming now. Six hundred in the pocket. All I need is...

  Thomas: A couple of big bets - a few hundred at fives, then the really big one, maybe five or ten thousand. I'll be a man of substance.

  Dave: Step at a time mate. Now I was wondering...

  Thomas: One day, Dave, I’ll get that stake together - a run of luck, that's all I need. God knows if it isn't owing to me. Then I'll be someone.

  Dave: Throw in this job here.

  Thomas: No, no, I'll stay hare, but it'll be different. A bit more respect. I won't be Thomas any more. I'll be Mr. Thomas.

  Dave: (Laughing) Mr. Thomas.

  Thomas: You can laugh, but I've dreamed of it. One day, Lady Bayfield will look me in the eye and say, Mr. Thomas, would you mind driving me to the station. And I’ll say, with pleasure, Lady Bayfield, with the utmost pleasure.

  Dave: But we're running out of time here. I need twenty five pounds.

  Thomas: Respect, in her eyes. Not just the butler anymore, a real person. Then I could die happy. That's all I ask.

  Dave: Twenty five quid I need mate, for the sling to Boy Blue's jockey. Twenty five quid.

  Thomas: Twenty five pounds? But can't you take that from the profits of the second race?

  Dave: And halve the stake on the last leg? What do you want, three hundred quid or six hundred?

  Thomas: But twenty five pounds...

  Dave: You were paid this week weren't you?

  Thomas: Yes but...

  Dave: Six hundred quid.

  Thomas: Wait a second.

  (Thomas exits right. Dave goes to cabinet, pours a drink, comes down to the centre front of stage and holds his glass up in a toast.)

  Dave: Here's to your twenty five pounds, you mug. (drinks)

  (Thomas enters from right, holding bank notes in his hand. He gives these to Dave who turns his back to Thomas, flicks quickly through the notes, counting them, puts them in his wallet, grins to himself then turns back to Thomas.)

  You won't regret it, mate. Remember, ten percent to me when it's over.

  (Door bell sounds.)

  Thomas: Somone coming. You've got to get out. I don't want you seen here. Up the hallway, through the kitchen, then out the servants' entrance. (ushering him out exit left)

  Dave: Is that all the thanks I get?

  (Exits left into the house. Thomas exits left to front door and returns a moment later with Greg and Sarah Hodges. Greg puts a small travelling case down just inside the room next to the entrance.)

  Sarah: And how are you today, Thomas?

  (She goes and sits left end of settee. Greg goes to sit in arm chair)

  Thomas: Fine thank you, Mrs. Hodges. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for Lady Bayfield. She's had some bad days lately, I'm afraid.

  Sarah: Her heart again?

  Thomas: I'm afraid so.


  Greg: This might be our last visit, then? (Thomas reacts)

  Sarah: For Heaven’s sake, Greg, don't start.

  Greg: And where was she off to in such a hurry?

  Thomas: Sir?

  Greg: We passed her on the road on our way in.

  Thomas: She's meeting her guest at the station.

  Greg: (Interested) Oh? And who's it to be this weekend?

  Thomas: She's not saying, but she says it's someone very special.

  Greg: No clues?

  Thomas: Madam did let slip that the guest is a lady.

  Greg: Really? That narrows it down a bit. Not too many retired detectives who are female. Perhaps a famous detective's wife. Or a forensic expert maybe? There's plenty of women in that line. Or maybe another publisher. Let's hope.

  Thomas: (With a hint of sarcasm) Still looking for a publisher, Mr. Hodges?

  Greg: (Suddenly animated, rising from his seat and walking across stage) Damn, in this writing business, it's not how well you write that counts, it's whom you know. I'm not an arrogant man, God knows, but it gets on your goat when you see some of the rubbish that gets published. At least my murder mysteries have some depth to them.

  Thomas: It must be a trial, Sir.

  Greg: (Looking sharply at Thomas) of course, most people don't recognize quality when they see it.

  Thomas: Madam has some contacts in publishing.

  Greg: So she keeps telling me, and promising introductions.

  Thomas: I understood she introduced you to someone from Penguin.

  Greg: Not interested in new authors - that's the problem.

  Sarah: Perhaps you're aiming too high.

  Greg: (Angry) Rubbish. When you've got talent and you know it, you've no choice but to exploit it. Don't you agree, Thomas?

  Thomas: Certainly Sir. That's why I've been a butler for the past thirty years.

  Greg: (Glancing at him) Some kind of grand publicity stunt, that's what you need. Get a name for something, then the publishers will queue up. You know the best way to get a book published these days?

  Thomas: I've no idea Sir.

  Greg: Prison.

  Sarah: You're not serious!

  Greg: Get yourself put away for some particularly despicable crime, and believe me, you're laughing all