BATTLE. Yes, we know . . . (Nevile and Leach enter by the French windows. Kay follows them on and stands down R. of the card table. Leach stands up R. He rises and moves L. C.) You are a very lucky man, Mr. Strange.
NEVILE. (Moving above the card table.) Lucky? Why?
BATTLE. Miss Aldin saw Lady Tressilian alive after you left the house, and we’ve already established you were on the ten-thirty-five ferry.
NEVILE. (Bewildered.) Then—that lets me out? But the bloodstained jacket—(He moves to R. of the chaise.) The niblick with my fingerprints on it . . . ? (Kay sits in the easy chair down R.)
BATTLE. (Moving to L. of the chaise.) Planted. Very ingeniously planted. Blood and hair smeared on the niblick head. Someone put on your jacket to commit the crime and then stuffed it away in your wardrobe to incriminate you.
NEVILE. (Moving behind the chair L. of the card table.) But why? I can’t believe it.
BATTLE. (Impressively.) Who hates you, Mr. Strange? Hates you so much that they wanted you to be hanged for a murder you didn’t commit?
NEVILE. (After a pause; shaken.) Nobody—nobody . . . (Royde enters by the French windows and moves slowly towards the card table as—)
THE CURTAIN FALLS
ACT THREE
Scene I
SCENE: The same. The next morning.
Most of the furniture has been replaced in its original position, but the coffee table is now on the rostrum up C. and the workbasket has been removed.
When the curtain rises it is about eleven o’clock. The sun is shining brightly and the bay and French windows are open. Royde is standing on the rostrum, gazing out of the window. Mary enters by the French windows. She looks a little pale and worried. She moves above the chaise and sees Royde.
MARY. Oh, dear!
ROYDE. (Closing the window and turning.) Anything the matter?
MARY. (Laughing with a slight note of hysteria.) Nobody but you could say a thing like that, Thomas. A murder in the house and you just say “Is anything the matter?” (She sits on the chaise, at the upstage end.)
ROYDE. I meant anything fresh.
MARY. Oh, I know what you meant. It’s really a wonderful relief to find anyone so gloriously just-the-same-as-usual as you are.
ROYDE. Not much good, is it, getting all het up over things?
MARY. No, you’re very sensible, of course. It’s how you manage to do it, beats me.
ROYDE. (Moving down L. C.) I’m not so—close to things as you are.
MARY. That’s true. I don’t know what we should have done without you. You’ve been a tower of strength.
ROYDE. The human buffer, eh?
MARY. The house is still full of policemen.
ROYDE. Yes, I know. Found one in the bathroom this morning. I had to turf him out before I could shave. (He sits in the armchair L. C.)
MARY. I know—you come across them in the most unexpected places. (She rises.) They’re looking for something. (She shivers and moves up R.) It was a very near thing for poor Nevile, wasn’t it?
ROYDE. Yes, very near. (Grimly.) I can’t help feeling pleased he’s had a bit of a kick in the pants. He’s always so damned complacent.
MARY. It’s just his manner.
ROYDE. He’s had the devil’s own luck. If it had been some other poor chap with all that evidence piled against him, he wouldn’t have had a hope.
MARY. It must have been someone from outside.
ROYDE. It wasn’t. They’ve proved that. Everything was fastened up and bolted in the morning. (Mary moves to the C. bay window and examines the catch.) Besides, what about your dope? That must have been someone in the house.
MARY. (Shaking her head.) I just can’t believe it could have been one of—us. (She moves to the R. end of the rostrum. Latimer enters by the French windows. He carries his jacket.)
LATIMER. (Moving to R. of the chaise.) Hullo, Royde. Good morning, Miss Aldin. I’m looking for Kay. Do you know where she is?
MARY. I think she’s up in her room, Mr. Latimer.
LATIMER. (Putting his jacket over the upstage end of the chaise.) I thought she might like to come and have lunch at the hotel. Not very cheerful for her here, in the circumstances.
MARY. You can hardly expect us to be very cheerful after what’s happened, can you?
LATIMER. (Moving down R.) That’s what I meant. It’s different for Kay, though, you know. The old girl didn’t mean so much to her.
MARY. Naturally. She hasn’t known Lady Tressilian as long as we have.
LATIMER. Nasty business. I’ve had the police over at the hotel this morning.
MARY. What did they want?
LATIMER. Checking up on Strange, I suppose. They asked me all sorts of questions. I told them he was with me from after eleven until half past two, and they seemed satisfied. Lucky thing for him that he decided to follow me over to the hotel that night, wasn’t it?
ROYDE. (Rising.) Very lucky. (He moves to the door L.) I’m going upstairs, Latimer. I’ll tell Kay you’re here, if I can find her.
LATIMER. Thanks. (Royde exits L. He looks toward the door L. for a moment, then goes to his jacket and takes his cigarettes from the pocket.) A queer chap. Always seems to be keeping himself bottled up and afraid the cork might come out. Is Audrey going to reward at long last the dog-like devotion of a lifetime? (He lights a cigarette for himself.)
MARY. (Crossing to the door L.; annoyed.) I don’t know, and it’s no business of ours. (She hesitates and turns.) When you saw the police did they say anything—I mean—did you get any idea as to who they suspect now. (She moves to L. of the armchair L. C.)
LATIMER. They weren’t making any confidences.
MARY. I didn’t suppose they were, but I thought, perhaps from the questions they asked . . .(Kay enters L.)
KAY. (Crossing to Latimer.) Hullo, Ted. It was sweet of you to come over.
LATIMER. I thought you could probably do with a bit of cheering up, Kay.
KAY. My God, how right you were. It was bad enough before in this house, but now . . .
LATIMER. What about a run in the car and lunch at the hotel—or anywhere else you like? (Mary moves down L.)
KAY. I don’t know what Nevile’s doing . . .
LATIMER. I’m not asking Nevile—I’m asking you.
KAY. I couldn’t come without Nevile, Ted. I’m sure it would do him good to get away from here for a bit.
LATIMER. (Shrugging his shoulders.) All right—bring him along if you want to, Kay. I’m easy.
KAY. Where is Nevile, Mary?
MARY. I don’t know. I think he’s in the garden somewhere.
KAY. (Crossing to the French windows.) I’ll see if I can find him. I won’t be long, Ted. (Kay exits by the French windows.)
LATIMER. (Moving up R.; angrily.) What she sees in him I can’t think. He’s treated her like dirt.
MARY. (Moving up L. of the armchair L. C.) I think she’ll forgive him.
LATIMER. She shouldn’t—now she’s got her share of the old girl’s money—she can go where she pleases, do what she likes. She’s got a chance now of having a life of her own.
MARY. (Sitting in the armchair L. C.; with obscure feeling.) Can one ever really have a life of one’s own? Isn’t that just the illusion that lures us on—thinking—planning—for a future that will never really exist?
LATIMER. That wasn’t what you were saying the other night.
MARY. I know. But that seems a long time ago. So much has happened since then.
LATIMER. Specifically, one murder.
MARY. You wouldn’t talk so flippantly about murder if . . .
LATIMER. If what, Miss Aldin? (He moves to R. of Mary.)
MARY. If you had been as close to murder as I have.
LATIMER. This time it is better to be an outsider. (Kay and Nevile enter by the French windows. Kay looks a little annoyed.)
KAY. (As she enters.) It’s no good, Ted. (She goes on to the R. end of the rostrum.) Nevile won’t come so we can’t go.
LATIMER. (Moving above the chaise.) I don’t see what harm it would do to go out to lunch—you’ve got to eat.
NEVILE. We can eat here. (He crosses to R. of Kay.) Hang it all, Kay, we can’t go joy-riding about the country. The inquest hasn’t been held yet.
LATIMER. If you feel like that about it, Strange, I suppose we’d better call it off. (He picks up his jacket and moves to the French windows.)
MARY. (Rising.) Perhaps you would care to stay and lunch with us, Mr. Latimer?
LATIMER. Well, that’s very nice of you, Miss Aldin . . .
NEVILE. (Moving above the chaise.) Yes, do, Latimer.
KAY. (Moving to L. of the rostrum.) Will you, Ted?
LATIMER. (Moving to R. of the chaise.) Thanks, I’d like to.
MARY. You’ll have to take pot luck. I’m afraid the domestic arrangements are just a little disorganized with the police popping in and out of the kitchen every two minutes.
LATIMER. If it’s going to be any trouble . . .
MARY. (Moving to the door L.) Oh, no—it’ll be no trouble at all. (Audrey enters L. Kay looks at the magazines on the coffee table.)
AUDREY. Has anyone seen Mr. Treves this morning?
NEVILE. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. (Latimer moves down R.)
MARY. He was talking to the Inspector in the garden about half an hour ago. Do you want him particularly?
AUDREY. (Crossing to L. C.) Oh, no—I just wondered where he was.
NEVILE. (Looking off R.) They’re coming now. Not Mr. Treves. Superintendent Battle and Inspector Leach.
MARY. (Nervously.) What do you think they want now? (They all wait nervously. Battle and Leach enter by the French windows. Leach carries a long brown-paper parcel. He stands R. of the chaise.)
BATTLE. (Crossing to R. C.) Hope we’re not disturbing you all. There are one or two things we’d like to know about.
NEVILE. I should have thought you’d exhausted everything by now, Superintendent.
BATTLE. Not quite, Mr. Strange. (He takes a small chamois leather glove from his pocket.) There’s this glove, for instance—who does it belong to? (They all stare at the glove without answering. To Audrey.) Is it yours, Mrs. Strange?
AUDREY. (Shaking her head.) No, no, it isn’t mine. (She sits in the armchair L. C.)
BATTLE. (Holding the glove out towards Mary.) Miss Aldin?
MARY. I don’t think so. I have none of that color. (She sits in the easy chair down L.)
BATTLE. (To Kay.) What about you?
KAY. No. I’m sure it doesn’t belong to me.
BATTLE. (Moving to Kay.) Perhaps you’d just slip it on? It’s the left hand glove. (Kay tries on the glove but it is too small. He crosses to Mary.) Will you try, Miss Aldin? (Mary tries on the glove but it is too small. He moves to L. of Audrey.) I think you’ll find it fits you all right. Your hand is smaller than the other two ladies’. (Audrey reluctantly takes the glove.)
NEVILE. (Moving R. C. sharply.) She’s already told you that it isn’t her glove.
BATTLE. (Blandly.) Perhaps she made a mistake—or forgot.
AUDREY. It may be mine—gloves are so alike, aren’t they?
BATTLE. Try it on, Mrs. Strange. (Audrey slips the glove on her left hand. It fits perfectly.) It seems as if it is yours—at any rate it was found outside your window, pushed down into the ivy—with the other one that goes with it.
AUDREY. (With difficulty.) I—I don’t know—anything about it. (She hastily removes the glove and gives it to Battle.)
NEVILE. Look here, Superintendent, what are you driving at?
BATTLE. (Crossing to L. of Nevile.) Perhaps I might have a word with you privately, Mr. Strange?
LATIMER. (Moving to the French windows.) Come on, Kay, let’s go out in the garden. (Kay and Latimer exit by the French windows.)
BATTLE. There’s no need to disturb everybody. (To Nevile.) Isn’t there somewhere else we could . . . ?
MARY. (Rising quickly.) I was just going, in any case. (To Audrey.) You coming with me, Audrey?
AUDREY. (Almost in a dream.) Yes—yes. (She nods in a dazed, frightened manner, and rises slowly. Mary puts her arm around Audrey, and they exit L.)
NEVILE. (Sitting on the chaise.) Now, Superintendent? What’s this absurd story about gloves outside Audrey’s window?
BATTLE. It’s not absurd, sir. We’ve found some very curious things in this house.
NEVILE. Curious? What do you mean by curious?
BATTLE. Give us the exhibit, Jim. (Leách moves to R. of Battle, extracts a heavy, steel-headed poker from his parcel, hands it to Battle, then moves down L. C. He shows the poker to Nevile.) Old-fashioned Victorian fire-iron.
NEVILE. You think that this—
BATTLE.—was what was really used? Yes, Mr. Strange, I do.
NEVILE. But why? There’s no sign . . .
BATTLE. Oh, it’s been cleaned, and put back in the grate of the room where it belonged. But you can’t remove bloodstains as easily as all that. We found traces all right. (He moves up C. and puts the poker on the window-seat.)
NEVILE. (Hoarsely.) Whose room was it in?
BATTLE. (With a quick glance at Nevile.) We’ll come to that presently. I’ve got another question to ask you. That dinner jacket you wore last night, it’s got fair hairs on the inside of the collar and on the shoulders. Do you know how they got there? (He moves to the L. end of the rostrum.)
NEVILE. No.
BATTLE. (Crossing and standing up R.) They’re a lady’s hairs, sir. Fair hairs. There were several red hairs, as well, on the sleeves.
NEVILE. These would be my wife’s—Kay’s. You are suggesting that the others are Audrey’s?
BATTLE. Oh, they are, sir. Unquestionably. We’ve had them compared with hairs from her brush.
NEVILE. Very likely they are. What about it? I remember I caught my cuff button in her hair the other night on the terrace.
LEACH. In that case the hairs would be on the cuff, sir. Not on the inside of the collar.
NEVILE. (Rising.) What are you insinuating?
BATTLE. There are traces of powder, too, inside the jacket collar. Primavera Naturelle, a very pleasant-scented powder and expensive. It’s no good telling me that you use it, Mr. Strange, because I shan’t believe you. And Mrs. Kay Strange uses Orchid Sun Kiss. Mrs. Audrey Strange uses Primavera Naturelle.
NEVILE. Supposing she does?
BATTLE. It seems obvious that on some occasion Mrs. Audrey Strange actually wore your dinner jacket. It’s the only reasonable way the hairs and the powder could have got inside the collar. You’ve seen the glove that was found in the ivy outside her window. It’s hers all right. It was the left hand glove. Here’s the right hand one. (He takes the glove from his pocket and holds it up. It is crumpled and stained with dried blood.)
NEVILE. (Huskily.) What—what’s that on it?
BATTLE. Blood, Mr. Strange. (He holds the glove out to Leach. Leach moves on to the rostrum and takes the glove from Battle.) Blood of the same group as Lady Tressilian’s. An unusual blood group.
NEVILE. (Moving slowly down R.) Good God! Are you suggesting that Audrey—Audrey—would make all these elaborate preparations to kill an old lady she had known for years so that she could get hold of that money? (His voice rises.) Audrey? (Royde enters quickly L.)
ROYDE. (Crossing to L. of the chaise.) Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like to be in on this.
NEVILE. (Annoyed.) Do you mind, Thomas? This is all rather private.
ROYDE. I’m afraid I don’t care about that. You see, I heard Audrey’s name mentioned . . .
NEVILE. (Moving to R. of the chaise, angrily.) What the hell has Audrey’s name got to do with you?
ROYDE. What has it to do with you, if it comes to that? I came here meaning to ask her to marry me, and I think she knows it. What’s more, I me
an to marry her.
NEVILE. I think you’ve got a damn nerve . . .
ROYDE. You can think what you like. I’m stopping here. (Battle coughs.)
NEVILE. Oh, all right! Sorry, Superintendent, for the interruption. (To Royde.) The Superintendent is suggesting that Audrey—Audrey committed a brutal assault on Camilla and killed her. Motive—money.
BATTLE. (Moving down L. C.) I didn’t say the motive was money. I don’t think it was, though fifty thousand pounds is a very sizeable motive. No, I think that this crime was directed against you, Mr. Strange.
NEVILE. (Startled.) Me?
BATTLE. I asked you—yesterday—who hated you. The answer, I think, is Audrey Strange.
NEVILE. Impossible. Why should she? I don’t understand.
BATTLE. Ever since you left her for another woman, Audrey Strange has been brooding over her hatred of you. In my opinion—and strictly off the record—I think she’s become mentally unbalanced. I daresay we’ll have these high-class doctors saying so with a lot of long words. Killing you wasn’t enough to satisfy her hate. She decided to get you hanged for murder. (Royde moves up to R.)
NEVILE. (Shaken.) I’ll never believe that. (He perches on the back of the chaise.)
BATTLE. She wore your dinner jacket, she planted your niblick, smearing it with Lady Tressilian’s blood and hair. The only thing that saved you was something she couldn’t foresee. Lady Tressilian rang her bell for Miss Aldin after you’d left . . .
NEVILE. It isn’t true—it can’t be true. You’ve got the whole thing wrong. Audrey’s never borne a grudge against me. She’s always been gentle—forgiving.
BATTLE. It’s not my business to argue with you, Mr. Strange. I asked for a word in private because I wanted to prepare you for what’s about to happen. I’m afraid I shall have to caution Mrs. Audrey Strange and ask her to accompany me . . .
NEVILE. (Rising.) You mean—you’re going to arrest her?
BATTLE. Yes, sir.
NEVILE. (Crossing below the chaise to R. of Battle.) You can’t—you can’t—it’s preposterous. (Royde moves to L. of Nevile.)
ROYDE. (Pushing Nevile down on to the chaise.) Pull yourself together, Strange. Don’t you see that the only thing that can help Audrey now is for you to forget all your ideas of chivalry and come out with the truth?
The Mousetrap and Other Plays Page 53