The Mousetrap and Other Plays

by Agatha Christie

  MIDGE. (Moving to the radio) I don’t think Edward will ever really love anyone but you.

  HENRIETTA. Oh, don’t be absurd, Midge.

  MIDGE. I’m not absurd. It’s the sort of thing one—knows.

  HENRIETTA. Edward wouldn’t ask you to marry him unless he wanted to.

  MIDGE. (Switching on the radio) He may have thought it—wise.

  HENRIETTA. What do you mean?

  GERDA. (Off Left; calling) Henrietta.

  HENRIETTA. (Crossing to the door Left.) I’m coming, Gerda.

  (She exits Left. The radio warms up and music is heard. The tune is “La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin.” MIDGE moves to the fireplace, puts her gloves on the mantelpiece and looks in the mirror. EDWARD enters up Centre from Left.)

  EDWARD. (Moving Left Centre.) The car’s outside.

  MIDGE. (Turning) If you don’t mind, I’ll go with Lucy.

  EDWARD. But why . . . ?

  MIDGE. She loses things—and flutters—I’ll be useful. (She moves down Left.)

  EDWARD. (Hurt) Midge, is anything the matter? What is it?

  MIDGE. (Crossing to Right) Never mind now. We must get to the inquest.

  EDWARD. Something is the matter.

  MIDGE. Don’t—don’t bother me.

  EDWARD. Midge, have you changed your mind? Did I—rush you into things just now? (He moves below the sofa.) You don’t want to marry me after all?

  MIDGE. No, no—we must keep on with it now. Until all this is over.

  EDWARD. What do you mean?

  MIDGE. As things are—it’s better you should be engaged to me. Later, we can break it off. (She turns her back to him.)

  (EDWARD looks stunned for a moment, then controls himself and speaks in a monotone.)

  EDWARD. I see—even for Ainswick—you can’t go through with it.

  MIDGE. (Turning) It wouldn’t work, Edward.

  EDWARD. No, I suppose you are right. (He turns and faces up Left.) You’d better go. The others will be waiting.

  MIDGE. Aren’t you . . . ?

  EDWARD. I’ll be along. I’m used to driving alone.

  (MIDGE exits up Centre to Left. EDWARD crosses and exits Left. After a few moments, he reenters. He carries a revolver. He closes the door, crosses to the radio and switches it off, moves to the fireplace, picks up MIDGE’s gloves from the mantelpiece and puts them in his pocket. He then moves Left Centre and opens the revolver to see if it is loaded. As he snaps the revolver shut, MIDGE enters up Centre from Left.)

  MIDGE. Edward—are you still here?

  EDWARD. (Striving to appear natural) Why, Midge, you startled me.

  MIDGE. (Moving above the sofa) I came back for my gloves. (She leans over the back of the sofa and looks under the cushions.) I left them somewhere. (She looks towards the mantelpiece and sees the revolver in EDWARD’s hand.) Edward, what are you doing with that revolver?

  EDWARD. I thought I might have a shot or two down at the targets.

  MIDGE. At the targets? But there’s the inquest.

  EDWARD. The inquest, yes, of course. I forgot.

  MIDGE. (With a step towards him) Edward—what is it? (She moves in to Right of him.) My God! (She snatches the gun from him, crosses to the mantelpiece.) Give me that revolver—you must be mad. (She puts the revolver on the up-stage end of the mantelpiece.)

  (EDWARD sits in the armchair Left Centre.)

  (She turns.) How could you? (She kneels down Left of EDWARD.) But why, Edward, but why? Because of Henrietta?

  EDWARD. (Surprised) Henrietta? No. That’s all over now.

  MIDGE. Why—tell me why?

  EDWARD. It’s all so hopeless.

  MIDGE. Tell me, darling. Make me understand.

  EDWARD. I’m no good, Midge. Never any good. It’s men like Cristow—they’re successful—women admire them. But I . . . Even for Ainswick you couldn’t bring yourself to marry me.

  MIDGE. You thought I was marrying you for Ainswick?

  EDWARD. Heaven on a plate—but you couldn’t face the prospect of having me thrown in.

  MIDGE. That’s not true, that’s not true. Oh, you fool! Don’t you understand? It was you I wanted, not Ainswick. I adore you—I’ve always adored you. I’ve loved you ever since I can remember. I’ve been sick with love for you sometimes.

  EDWARD. You love me?

  MIDGE. Of course I love you, you darling idiot. When you asked me to marry you I was in heaven.

  EDWARD. But then why . . . ?

  MIDGE. I was a fool. I got it into my head you were doing it because of the police.

  EDWARD. The police?

  MIDGE. I thought—perhaps—you’d killed John Cristow.

  EDWARD. I . . . ?

  MIDGE. For Henrietta—and I thought you’d got engaged to me to throw them off the scent. Oh, I must have been crazy. (She rises.)

  EDWARD. (Rising) I can’t say I’m sorry that Cristow is dead—(He crosses to the fireplace) but I should never have dreamed of killing him.

  MIDGE. (Moving in to Right of him) I know. I’m a fool. (She lays her head on his chest.) But I was so jealous of Henrietta

  EDWARD. (Putting his arms around her) You needn’t be, Midge. It was Henrietta, the girl, I loved. But that day you lit the fire for me, I realized Henrietta the woman was a stranger I didn’t know. When you asked me to look at you, I saw you for the first time, not Midge the little girl, but Midge the woman—warm and alive.

  MIDGE. Oh, Edward.

  EDWARD. Midge, don’t ever leave me again.

  MIDGE. Never. I promise you—never.

  (The sound of a motor horn is heard up Centre.)

  Heavens, Edward, we must go. They’re waiting. What did I come back for? Gloves!

  (EDWARD takes MIDGE’s gloves from his pocket and holds them out to her.)

  Oh, darling!

  (She takes the gloves from him, turns and exits up Centre to Left. EDWARD follows her off. The LIGHTS fade to a blackout, during which the alcove curtain is closed. There is a pause of six seconds, then the lights come up. One hour is presumed to have elapsed, during which the weather has turned stormy and the sky is overcast. GERDA and HENRIETTA enter up Centre from Left. HENRIETTA is supporting GERDA. They both carry handbags.)

  HENRIETTA. (As she enters) We’ve beaten the storm. Good heavens, it’s as dark as night in here. (As she passes the drinks table she switches on the lamp.) Are you all right? Sure? (She leads GERDA to the sofa.) Come over here and put your feet up. (She puts her handbag on the writing table.)

  (GERDA sits on the sofa at the Left end of it. HENRIETTA moves to the drinks table.)

  GERDA. I’m sorry to give so much trouble. I can’t think why I felt faint.

  HENRIETTA. (Pouring out a brandy and water) Anyone might; it was very stuffy in that place.

  GERDA. I hope I gave my evidence all right. I get so confused.

  HENRIETTA. You did very well indeed.

  GERDA. The Coroner was so very kind. Oh dear, I’m so glad it’s all over. If only my head didn’t ache so.

  HENRIETTA. (Picking up the drink and moving below the sofa) You need a drink. (She holds out the glass to GERDA.)

  GERDA. Oh no, thank you, not for me.

  HENRIETTA. Well, I need one. You’d much better have one too.

  GERDA. No—really.

  (HENRIETTA moves to the drinks table, takes a sip from the glass, then stands it on the table.)

  What I would love—but perhaps it would be giving a lot of trouble . . .

  HENRIETTA. (Moving to Right of the sofa) Get the idea of giving trouble out of your head, Gerda. What would you like so much?

  GERDA. I’d love some tea—a nice cup of hot tea.

  HENRIETTA. (Crossing to Left Centre) Of course.

  GERDA. But it is a trouble. The servants . . .

  HENRIETTA. (Crossing to the fireplace) That’s all right. (She stretches out a hand towards the bellpush, then stops.) Oh, I forgot, Gudgeon’s at the inquest.

  GERDA. It doesn’t matter.


  HENRIETTA. I’ll go down to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Medway.

  GERDA. She might not like being asked.

  HENRIETTA. She won’t mind. She mightn’t have liked answering a bell.

  GERDA. You’re very good to me.

  HENRIETTA exits Left. There is a flash of lightning, followed by a peal of thunder. GERDA rises, startled, crosses to the windows Right, glances out, moves up Centre, then turns, moves Left Centre and looks horror-struck at the spot where JOHN died. She catches her breath, crosses to the sofa, sits and starts to cry quietly.)

  (HENRIETTA enters Left.)

  Oh, John—John—I can’t bear it.

  HENRIETTA. The kettle’s on—only be a moment. (She crosses to Left of the sofa. Gently) Oh—Gerda, don’t cry. It’s all over now.

  GERDA. But what shall I do? What can I do without John?

  HENRIETTA. There are the children.

  GERDA. I know, I know. But John always decided everything.

  HENRIETTA. I know. (She hesitates a moment, then moves above the sofa, puts her hands on GERDA’s shoulders, and draws her back on the sofa.) There’s just one thing, Gerda. (She pauses.) What did you do with the holster?

  GERDA. (Staring front) Holster?

  HENRIETTA. The second revolver, the one you took from Henry’s study, was in a holster. What have you done with the holster?

  GERDA. (Repeating the word with an appearance of stupidity) Holster?

  HENRIETTA. (Urgently) You must tell me. Apart from that everything’s all right. There’s nothing else that can possibly give you away. They may suspect—but they can’t prove anything. But that holster’s dangerous. Have you still got it?

  (GERDA slowly nods her head.)

  Where is it?

  GERDA. I cut it up in pieces and put it in my leathercraft bag.

  HENRIETTA. (Moving to the drinks table and picking up the leathercraft bag) In this?

  (GERDA turns and nods.)

  (She moves to the writing table, switches on the table lamp, then takes some pieces of brown leather out of the leathercraft bag.) Quite a clever idea of yours.

  (GERDA, for the first time, speaks in a high, excited voice and shows that she is not quite sane.)

  GERDA. I’m not so stupid as people think. When did you know that I shot John?

  HENRIETTA. (Putting the bag on the writing table) I’ve always known. (She moves to Right of the sofa.) When John said “Henrietta” to me just before he died, I knew what he meant. I always knew what John wanted. He wanted me to protect you—to keep you out of it somehow. He loved you very much. He loved you better than he knew.

  GERDA. (Weeping) Oh, John—John.

  HENRIETTA. (Sitting Right of GERDA on the sofa) I know, my dear. I know. (She puts her arm around GERDA.)

  GERDA. But you can’t know. It was all a lie—everything. I had to kill him. I’d adored him so. I worshipped him. I thought he was everything that was noble and fine. He wasn’t any of those things.

  HENRIETTA. He was a man—not a god.

  GERDA. (Fiercely) It was all a lie. The night when that woman came here—that film woman. I saw his face as he looked at her. And after dinner he went over to see her. He didn’t come back. I went up to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Hour after hour—he didn’t come. At last I got up and put on a coat and my shoes and I crept downstairs and through the side door. I went along the lane to her cottage. The curtains were drawn at the front but I went round to the back. They weren’t drawn there because I crept up to the window and looked in. (Her voice rises hysterically.) I looked in.

  (There is a flash of lightning and a distant peal of thunder.)

  HENRIETTA. (Rising) Gerda!

  GERDA. I saw them—that woman and John. (She pauses.) I saw them. (She pauses.) I’d believed in John—completely—utterly—and it was all a lie. I was left with nothing—nothing. (She suddenly resumes a quiet conversational tone.) You do see, don’t you, Henrietta, that I had to kill him? (She pauses.) Is that tea coming? I do so want a cup of tea.

  HENRIETTA. (Moving above the Right end of the sofa) In a moment. Go on telling me, Gerda.

  GERDA. (Cunningly) They always said I was stupid when I was a child—stupid and slow. They used to say, “Don’t let Gerda do it, Gerda will take all day.” And sometimes, “Gerda never seems to take in anything you say to her.” Didn’t they see, all of them, that that made me more stupid and slower still? And then you know—I found a way. I used to pretend to be stupider than I was. I’d stare as though I didn’t understand. But inside, sometimes, I laughed. Because often I knew more than they thought.

  HENRIETTA. (Moving to Left of the sofa) I see—yes, I see.

  GERDA. John didn’t mind my being stupid—not at first. He used to tell me not to worry—to leave everything to him. Only when he was very busy he got impatient. And sometimes I used to think I couldn’t do anything right. Then I’d remember how clever he was—and how good. Only—after all, he wasn’t—so I had to kill him.

  HENRIETTA. Go on.

  GERDA. I knew I must be careful because the police are very clever. I read in a detective story that they could tell which revolver a bullet had been fired from. So I took a second revolver from Henry’s study and I shot John with that, and dropped the other by him. Then I ran round the house, in at the front door and through that door and over to John and picked the revolver up. I thought, you see, that first they’d think I had done it, and then they’d find that it wasn’t the right revolver and so I’d be cleared. And then I meant to put the revolver that had shot him into that film woman’s house and they’d think that she’d done it. Only she left her bag—so it was easier still. I slipped it into that later in the day. I can’t think why they haven’t arrested her. (Her voice rises.) They should have. (Hysterically) It was because of her I had to kill John.

  HENRIETTA. (Moving below the Left end of the sofa) You wiped your fingerprints off the second revolver you shot him with?

  GERDA. Of course. I’m cleverer than people think. I got rid of the revolver. (She frowns.) But I did forget about the holster.

  HENRIETTA. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it now. I think you’re quite safe, Gerda. (She sits Left of GERDA on the sofa.) You must go away and live in the country quietly somewhere—and forget.

  GERDA. (Unhappily) Yes, yes, I suppose I must. I don’t know what to do. I don’t really know where to go. I can’t make up my mind—John always decided everything. My head aches.

  HENRIETTA. (Rising) I’ll go and get the tea.

  (She crosses and exits Left. GERDA looks cunningly towards the door Left, rises, moves to the drinks table, takes a small poison bottle out of her handbag and stretches out her hand towards HENRIETTA’s glass. She pauses, takes a handkerchief from her handbag and lifts the glass with it. HENRIETTA reenters quietly Left. She carries a tray of tea. GERDA, with her back to HENRIETTA, is unaware of the entry. As HENRIETTA watches, GERDA tips the contents of the poison bottle into HENRIETTA’s glass, then replaces the bottle and handkerchief in her handbag.

  HENRIETTA quietly exits. GERDA turns, moves below the sofa and sits.

  HENRIETTA reenters, crosses to the coffee table and puts the tray on it.) Here’s your tea, Gerda.

  GERDA. Thank you so much, Henrietta.

  HENRIETTA. (Moving to the drinks table) Now, where’s my drink? (She picks up her glass.)

  GERDA. (Pouring milk into the cup) This is just what I wanted. You are very good to me, Henrietta.

  HENRIETTA. (Moving slowly down Right.) Shall I have this? Or shall I have a cup of tea with you?

  GERDA. (Pouring the tea; cunningly) You don’t really like tea, do you, Henrietta?

  HENRIETTA. (Sharply) I think, today, I prefer it. (She puts her glass on the coffee table and crosses to the door Left.) I’ll go and get another cup.

  (She exits Left. GERDA frowns with annoyance, and rises. She looks around, sees the revolver on the mantelpiece, glances at the door Left, then runs to the mantelpiece and picks up the revolver. She examin
es it, notes that it is loaded, nods with satisfaction and utters a little sob. The INSPECTOR enters down Right.)

  INSPECTOR. What are you doing with that gun, Mrs. Cristow?

  GERDA. (Turning; startled) Oh, Inspector, how you startled me. (She puts her hand over her heart.) My heart—my heart isn’t strong, you know.

  INSPECTOR. (Crossing to Right of GERDA) What were you doing with that gun?

  GERDA. I found it here.

  INSPECTOR. (Taking the revolver from GERDA) You know all about loading a gun, don’t you? (He unloads it, puts the cartridges in one pocket and the revolver in another.)

  GERDA. Sir Henry very kindly showed me. Is—is the inquest over?

  INSPECTOR. Yes.

  GERDA. And the verdict?

  INSPECTOR. It was adjourned.

  GERDA. That’s not right. They should have said it was wilful murder and that she did it.

  INSPECTOR. She?

  GERDA. That actress. That Veronica Craye. If they adjourn things, she’ll get away—she’ll go back to America.

  INSPECTOR. Veronica Craye didn’t shoot your husband, Mrs. Cristow.

  GERDA. She did. She did. Of course she did.

  INSPECTOR. No. The gun wasn’t in her bag when we first searched this room. It was put there afterwards. (He pauses.) We often know quite well who’s guilty of crime, Mrs. Cristow—(He looks meaningly at her) but we can’t always get sufficient evidence.

  (GERDA, terrified, steps back, stumbles and collapses on to the pouffe.)

  GERDA. (Wildly) Oh, John—John—where are you? I want you, John.

  INSPECTOR. Mrs. Cristow—Mrs. Cristow—don’t—don’t, please.

  (GERDA sobs hysterically. The INSPECTOR crosses to the coffee table, picks up HENRIETTA’s glass, sniffs it, takes it to GERDA and hands it to her. GERDA, not noticing what it is, drinks the contents of the glass. After a few moments, she rises, staggers and crosses below the sofa. As she starts to fall the INSPECTOR crosses to her and lowers her on to the sofa. HENRIETTA enters Left. She carries a cup and saucer. She crosses hurriedly to Left of the sofa, kneeling and putting the cup and saucer on the coffee table, as the INSPECTOR takes the empty glass from GERDA.)

  HENRIETTA. Gerda, Gerda. (She sees the glass. To the INSPECTOR) Did you—did you give her that?