The Mousetrap and Other Plays

by Agatha Christie

ROYDE. Gather there’s a spot of bother. What made you come here at the same time as Nevile and his new wife? Did you have to agree?

  AUDREY. (Rising and standing L. of the armchair L. C.) Yes. Oh, I know you can’t understand . . .

  ROYDE. (Moving to R. of the armchair L. C.) But I do understand. I know all about it. (Audrey looks doubtfully at Royde.) I know exactly what you’ve been through—(With meaning.) But it’s all past, Audrey, it’s over. You must forget the past and think of the future. (Nevile enters by the French windows and moves up R. of the chaise.)

  NEVILE. Hullo, Audrey, where have you been all the morning? (Audrey moves to R. of the easy chair down L. Royde moves above the coffee table.)

  AUDREY. I haven’t been anywhere particular.

  NEVILE. I couldn’t find you anywhere. What about coming down to the beach for a swim before lunch?

  AUDREY. (Crossing to the coffee table.) No, I don’t think so. (She looks among the magazines on the table. Royde moves on to the rostrum.) Have you seen this week’s London Illustrated News?

  NEVILE. (Moving to R. of Audrey.) No. Come on—the water will be really warm today.

  AUDREY. Actually, I told Mary I’d go into Saltington with her to shop.

  NEVILE. Mary won’t mind. (Audrey picks up a magazine. He takes her hand.) Come on, Audrey.

  AUDREY. No, really . . . (Kay enters by the French windows.)

  NEVILE. (As he sees Kay.) I’m trying to persuade Audrey to come bathing.

  KAY. (Moving to R. of the chaise.) Oh? And what does Audrey say?

  AUDREY. Audrey says “no.” (Audrey withdraws her hand from Nevile’s and exits L.)

  ROYDE. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and unpack. (Royde pauses a moment by the bookshelves up L., selects a book, then exits L.)

  KAY. So that’s that. Coming, Nevile?

  NEVILE. Well, I’m not sure. (He takes a magazine from the coffee table, sits on the chaise, leans back and puts his feet up.)

  KAY. (Impatiently.) Well, make up your mind.

  NEVILE. I’m not sure I won’t just have a shower and laze in the garden.

  KAY. It’s a perfect day for bathing. Come on.

  NEVILE. What have you done with the boy friend?

  KAY. Ted? I left him on the beach and came up to find you. You can laze on the beach. (She touches his hair.)

  NEVILE. (Moving her hand from his hair.) With Latimer, I suppose? (He shakes his head.) Doesn’t appeal to me a lot.

  KAY. You don’t like Ted, do you?

  NEVILE. Not madly. But if it amuses you to pull him around on a string . . .

  KAY. (Tweaking his ear.) I believe you’re jealous.

  NEVILE. (Pushing her hand from his ear.) Of Latimer? Nonsense, Kay.

  KAY. Ted’s very attractive.

  NEVILE. I’m sure he is. He has that lithe South American charm.

  KAY. You needn’t sneer. He’s very popular with women.

  NEVILE. Especially with the ones over fifty.

  KAY. (Pleased.) You are jealous.

  NEVILE. My dear—I couldn’t care less—he just doesn’t count.

  KAY. I think you’re very rude about my friends. I have to put up with yours.

  NEVILE. What do you mean by that?

  KAY. (Moving above the chaise to R. of the coffee table.) Dreary old Lady Tressilian and stuffy old Mr. Treves and all the rest of them. (She sits on the coffee table, facing Nevile.) Do you think I find them amusing? (Suddenly.) Nevile, do we have to stay on here? Can’t we go away—tomorrow? It’s so boring . . .

  NEVILE. We’ve only just come.

  KAY. We’ve been here four days—four whole long days. Do let’s go, Nevile, please.

  NEVILE. Why?

  KAY. I want to go. We could easily find some excuse. Please, darling.

  NEVILE. Darling, it’s out of the question. We came for a fortnight and we’re going to stay a fortnight. You don’t seem to understand. Sir Mortimer Tressilian was my guardian. I came here for holidays as a boy. Gull’s Point was practically my home. Camilla would be terribly hurt. (He smiles.)

  KAY. (Rising and moving to the window up L.; impatiently.) Oh, all right, all right. I suppose we have to suck up to old Camilla, because of getting all that money when she dies.

  NEVILE. (Rising and moving on to the rostrum, angrily.) It’s not a question of sucking up. I wish you wouldn’t look at it like that. She’s no control over the money. Old Mortimer left it in trust to come to me and my wife at her death. Don’t you realize it’s a question of affection?

  KAY. Not with me, it isn’t. She hates me.

  NEVILE. Don’t be stupid.

  KAY. (Moving to L. of the armchair L. C.) Yes, she does. She looks down that bony nose of hers at me, and Mary Aldin talks to me as though I were someone she’d just met on a train. They only have me here on sufferance. You don’t seem to know what goes on.

  NEVILE. They always seem to me to be very nice to you. (He moves to the coffee table and throws the magazine on it.) You imagine things.

  KAY. Of course they’re polite. But they know how to get under my skin all right. I’m an interloper. That’s what they feel.

  NEVILE. Well—I suppose that’s only natural . . .

  KAY. Oh, yes, I daresay it’s quite natural. They’re devoted to Audrey, aren’t they? (She turns and looks towards the door L.) Dear, well bred, cool, colorless Audrey. Camilla has never forgiven me for taking Audrey’s place. (She turns, moves above the armchair L. C. and leans on the back of it.) I’ll tell you something—Audrey gives me the creeps. You never know what she’s thinking.

  NEVILE. (Sitting on the chaise.) Oh, nonsense, Kay, don’t be absurd.

  KAY. Audrey’s never forgiven you for marrying me. Once or twice I’ve seen her looking at you—and the way she looked at you frightened me.

  NEVILE. You’re prejudiced, Kay. Audrey’s been charming. No one could have been nicer.

  KAY. It seems like that, but it isn’t true. There’s something behind it all. (She runs above the chaise to R. of Nevile and kneels beside him.) Let’s go away—at once—before it’s too late.

  NEVILE. Don’t be melodramatic. I’m not going to upset old Camilla just because you work yourself up into a state about nothing at all.

  KAY. It isn’t nothing at all. I don’t think you know the first thing about your precious Audrey. (Lady Tressilian and Treves enter by the French windows.)

  NEVILE. (Furiously.) She isn’t my—precious Audrey. (Lady Tressilian moves above the chaise.)

  KAY. Isn’t she? Anyone would think so, the way you follow her about. (She sees Lady Tressilian.)

  LADY TRESSILIAN. Are you going down to bathe, Kay?

  KAY. (Rising, nervously.) Yes—yes, I was.

  LADY TRESSILIAN. Almost high tide. It ought to be very pleasant. (She knocks her stick against the leg of the chaise.) What about you, Nevile?

  NEVILE. (Sulkily.) I don’t want to bathe.

  LADY TRESSILIAN. (To Kay.) Your friend, I think, is down there waiting for you. (Kay hesitates a moment, then crosses and exits by the French window. Treves moves down R.) Nevile, you’re behaving very badly. You really must stand up when I come into the room. What’s the matter with you—forgetting your manners?

  NEVILE. (Rising quickly.) I’m sorry.

  LADY TRESSILIAN. (Crossing to the armchair L. C.) You’re making us all very uncomfortable. I don’t wonder your wife is annoyed.

  NEVILE. My wife? Audrey?

  LADY TRESSILIAN. Kay is your wife now.

  NEVILE. With your High Church principles I wonder you admit the fact.

  LADY TRESSILIAN. (Sitting in the armchair L. C.) Nevile, you are exceedingly rude. (Nevile crosses to R. of Lady Tressilian, takes her hand and kisses her on the cheek.)

  NEVILE. (With sudden disarming charm.) I’m very sorry, Camilla. Please forgive me. I’m so worried I don’t know what I’m saying. (Treves sits in the easy chair down R.)

  LADY TRESSILIAN. (With affection.) My dear boy, what else could you expect with this
stupid idea of being all friends together?

  NEVILE. (Wistfully.) It still seems to me the sensible way to look at things.

  LADY TRESSILIAN. Not with two women like Audrey and Kay.

  NEVILE. Audrey doesn’t seem to care.

  TREVES. How did the matter first come up, Nevile? (Nevile withdraws his hand from Lady Tressilian’s and moves down L. of the chaise.)

  NEVILE. (Eagerly.) Well, I happened to run across Audrey in London, quite by chance, and she was awfully nice about things—didn’t seem to bear any malice or anything like that. While I was talking to her the idea came to me how sensible it would be if—if she and Kay could be friends—if we could all get together. And it seemed to me that this was the place where it could happen quite naturally.

  TREVES. You thought of that—all by yourself?

  NEVILE. Oh, yes, it was all my idea. And Audrey seemed quite pleased and ready to try.

  TREVES. Was Kay equally pleased?

  NEVILE. Well—no—I had a spot of bother with Kay. I can’t think why. I mean if anyone was going to object, you’d think it would be Audrey.

  LADY TRESSILIAN. (Rising.) Well, I’m an old woman. (Treves rises.) Nothing people do nowadays seems to make any sense. (She moves to the door L.)

  TREVES. (Crossing to the door L.) One has to go with the times, Camilla. (He opens the door.)

  LADY TRESSILIAN. I feel very tired. I shall rest before lunch. (She turns to Nevile.) But you must behave yourself, Nevile. With or without reason, Kay is jealous. (She emphasizes her following words by banging her stick on the carpet.) I will not have these discordant scenes in my house. (She peaks off L.) Ah, Mary—I shall lie down on the library sofa. (Lady Tressilian exits L. Treves closes the door.)

  NEVILE. (Sitting on the chaise.) She speaks to me as though I were six.

  TREVES. (Moving up R. C. and standing with his back to the audience.) At her age, she doubtless feels you are six.

  NEVILE. (Recovering his temper with an effort.) Yes, I suppose so. It must be ghastly to be old.

  TREVES. (After a slight pause, turning.) It has its compensations, I assure you. (Dryly.) There is no longer any question of emotional involvements.

  NEVILE. (Grinning.) That’s certainly something. (He rises and moves above the chaise to the French windows.) I suppose I’d better go and make my peace with Kay. I really can’t see, though, why she has to fly off the handle like this. Audrey might very well be jealous of her, but I can’t see why she should be jealous of Audrey. Can you? (Nevile grins and exits by the French windows. Treves thoughtfully strokes his chin for a moment or two, then goes to the wastepaper basket, takes out the pieces of the torn photograph and turns to the bureau to put the pieces into a pigeon-hole. Audrey enters L., looking round rather cautiously for Nevile. She carries a magazine.)

  AUDREY. (Crossing to the coffee table, surprised.) What are you doing with my photograph? (She puts the magazine on the table.)

  TREVES. (Turning and holding out the pieces of the photograph.) It seems to have been torn.

  AUDREY. Who tore it?

  TREVES. Mrs. Barrett, I suppose—that is the name of the woman in the cloth cap who cleans this room? I thought I would put it in here until it can be mended. (Treves’ eyes meet Audrey’s for a moment, then he puts the pieces of the photograph in the bureau.)

  AUDREY. It wasn’t Mrs. Barrett, was it?

  TREVES. I have no information—but I should think probably not.

  AUDREY. Was it Kay?

  TREVES. I told you—I have no information. (There is a pause, during which Audrey crosses to R. of the armchair R.)

  AUDREY. Oh, dear, this is all very uncomfortable.

  TREVES. Why did you come here, my dear?

  AUDREY. I suppose because I always come here at this time. (She crosses and stands below the armchair L. C.)

  TREVES. But with Nevile coming here, wouldn’t it have been better to have postponed your visit?

  AUDREY. I couldn’t do that. I have a job, you know. I have to earn my living. I have two weeks’ holiday and once that is arranged I can’t alter it.

  TREVES. An interesting job?

  AUDREY. Not particularly, but it pays quite well.

  TREVES. (Moving to R. of the coffee table.) But, my dear Audrey, Nevile is a very well-to-do man. Under the terms of your divorce he has to make suitable provision for you.

  AUDREY. I have never taken a penny from Nevile. I never shall.

  TREVES. Quite so. Quite so. Several of my clients have taken that point of view. It has been my duty to dissuade them. In the end, you know, one must be guided by common sense. You have hardly any money of your own, I know. It is only just and right that you should be provided for suitably by Nevile, who can well afford it. Who were your solicitors, because I could . . .

  AUDREY. (Sitting in the armchair L. C.) It’s nothing to do with solicitors. I won’t take anything from Nevile—anything at all.

  TREVES. (Eyeing her thoughtfully.) I see—you feel strongly—very strongly.

  AUDREY. If you like to put it that way, yes.

  TREVES. Was it really Nevile’s idea to come here all together?

  AUDREY. (Sharply.) Of course it was.

  TREVES. But you agreed?

  AUDREY. I agreed. Why not?

  TREVES. It hasn’t turned out very well, has it?

  AUDREY. That’s not my fault.

  TREVES. No, it isn’t your fault—ostensibly.

  AUDREY. (Rising.) What do you mean?

  TREVES. I was wondering . . .

  AUDREY. You know, Mr. Treves, sometimes I think I’m just a little frightened of you.

  TREVES. Why should you be?

  AUDREY. I don’t know. You’re a very shrewd observer. I sometimes . . . (Mary enters L.)

  MARY. Audrey, will you go to Lady Tressilian? She’s in the library.

  AUDREY. Yes. (Audrey crosses and exits L. Treves sits on the chaise. Mary goes to the butler’s tray and collects the dirty sherry glasses.)

  TREVES. Miss Aldin, who do you think is behind this plan of meeting here?

  MARY. (Moving to R. of the butler’s tray.) Audrey.

  TREVES. But why?

  MARY. (Moving to L. of Treves.) I suppose—she still cares for him.

  TREVES. You think it’s that?

  MARY. What else can it be? He’s not really in love with Kay, you know.

  TREVES. (Primly.) These sudden passionate infatuations are very often not of long duration.

  MARY. You’d think Audrey would have more pride.

  TREVES. In my experience, pride is a word often on women’s lips—but they display little sign of it where love affairs are concerned.

  MARY. (With bitterness.) Perhaps. I wouldn’t know. (She looks towards the French windows.) Excuse me. (Mary exits L. Royde enters by the French windows. He carries a book.)

  TREVES. Ah, Thomas, have you been down to the ferry?

  ROYDE. (Crossing to C.) No, I’ve been reading a detective story. Not very good. (He looks down at the book.) Always seems to me these yarns begin in the wrong place. Begin with the murder. But the murder’s not really the beginning.

  TREVES. Indeed? Where would you begin?

  ROYDE. As I see it, the murder is the end of the story. (He sits in the armchair L. C.) I mean, the real story begins long before—years before, sometimes. Must do. All the causes and events that bring the people concerned to a certain place on a certain day at a certain time. And then, over the top—zero hour.

  TREVES. (Rising.) That is an interesting point of view.

  ROYDE. (Apologetically.) Not very good at explaining myself, I’m afraid.

  TREVES. (Moving above the coffee table.) I think you’ve put it very clearly, Thomas. (He uses the coffee table as a globe.) All sorts of people converging towards a given spot and hour—all going towards zero. (He pauses briefly.) Towards Zero. (Treves looks at Royde, and the lights fade to Black-Out, as—the Curtain falls.)

  CURTAIN

  Scene II


  SCENE: The same. After dinner, four days later. When the Curtain rises, the lights are on. The curtains of the bay window are half closed. The French windows are open, the curtains undrawn. The night is very warm, sultry and cloudy. Kay is seated on the chaise, smoking a cigarette. She is in evening dress and looks rather sulky and bored. Ted Latimer is standing on the rostrum, gazing out of the window. He is a very dark, good-looking man of about twenty-six. His dinner suit fits him a shade too well.

  KAY. (After a pause.) This is what I call a wildly hilarious evening, Ted.

  LATIMER. (Turning.) You should have come over to the hotel as I suggested. (He moves to the downstage edge of the rostrum.) They’ve got a dance on. The band’s not so hot, but it’s fun.

  KAY. I wanted to, but Nevile wasn’t keen.

  LATIMER. So you behaved like a dutiful wife.

  KAY. Yes—and I’ve been rewarded by being bored to death.

  LATIMER. The fate of most dutiful wives. (He moves to the record player on the window-seat.) Aren’t there any dance records? We could at least dance.

  KAY. There’s nothing like that here. Only Mozart and Bach—all classical stuff.

  LATIMER. (Moving to the coffee table.) Oh, well—at least we’ve been spared the old battleaxe tonight. (He takes a cigarette from the box.) Doesn’t she ever appear at dinner, or did she just shirk it because I was there? (He lights his cigarette.)

  KAY. Camilla always goes to bed at seven. She’s got a groggy heart or something. She has her dinner sent up on a tray.

  LATIMER. Not what you’d call a gay life.

  KAY. (Rising abruptly.) I hate this place. (She moves below the chaise then up R. of it.) I wish to God we’d never come here.

  LATIMER. (Moving to L. of her.) Steady, honey. What’s the matter?

  KAY. I don’t know. (She crosses and stands below the armchair L. C.) It’s just—sometimes I get—scared.

  LATIMER. (Moving to R. of the coffee table.) That doesn’t sound like you, Kay.

  KAY. (Recovering.) It doesn’t, does it? But there’s something queer going on. I don’t know what, but I’ll swear that Audrey’s behind it all.

  LATIMER. It was a damn silly idea of Nevile’s—coming here with you at the same time as his ex-wife.

  KAY. (Sitting in the armchair L. C.) I don’t think it was his idea. I’m convinced she put him up to it.