The Mousetrap and Other Plays

by Agatha Christie

  (JUSTIN lights the cigarettes with his lighter)

  MEREDITH. Oh—Philip! You wouldn’t get much from him. Philip’s a busy man. So busy making money, that he hasn’t time for anything else. If he did remember anything, he’d remember it all wrong. (He sniffs the snuff)

  CARLA. (sitting on the settee at the upstage end) Then you tell me.

  (JUSTIN sits on the settee at the downstage end)

  MEREDITH. (guardedly) Well—you’d have to understand a bit about your father—first.

  CARLA. (matter-of-fact) He had affairs with other women and made my mother very unhappy.

  MEREDITH. Well—er—yes—(he sniffs) but these affairs of his weren’t really important until Elsa came along.

  CARLA. He was painting her?

  MEREDITH. Yes, my word—(he sniffs) I can see her now. Sitting on the terrace where she posed. Dark—er—shorts and a yellow shirt. “Portrait of a girl in a yellow shirt”, that’s what he was going to call it. It was one of the best things Amyas ever did. (He puts his snuff-box in his pocket)

  CARLA. What happened to the picture?

  MEREDITH. I’ve got it. I bought it with the furniture. I bought the house, too. Alderbury. It adjoins my property, you know. I didn’t want it turned into a building estate. Everything was sold by the executors and the proceeds put in trust for you. But you know that, I expect.

  CARLA. I didn’t know you’d bought the house.

  MEREDITH. Well, I did. It’s let to a Youth Hostel. But I keep one wing just as it was, for myself. I sold off most of the furniture . . .

  CARLA. But you kept the picture. Why?

  MEREDITH. (as though defending himself) I tell you, it was the best thing Amyas ever did. My word, yes! It goes to the nation when I die. (He pauses)

  (CARLA stares at Meredith)

  Well, I’ll try to tell you what you want to know. Amyas brought Elsa down there—ostensibly because he was painting her. She hated the pretence. She—she was so wildly in love with him and wanted to have it out with Caroline then and there. She felt in a false position. I—I understood her point of view.

  CARLA. (coldly) You sound most sympathetic towards her.

  MEREDITH. (horrified) Not at all. My sympathies were all with Caroline. I’d always been—well, in love with Caroline. I asked her to marry me—but she married Amyas instead. Oh, I can understand it—he was a brilliant person and very attractive to women, but he didn’t look after her the way I’d have looked after her. I remained her friend.

  CARLA. And yet you believe she committed murder?

  MEREDITH. She didn’t really know what she was doing. There was a terrific scene—she was overwrought . . .

  CARLA. Yes?

  MEREDITH. And that same afternoon she took the conine from my laboratory. But I swear there was no thought of murder in her mind when she took it—she had some idea of—of—doing away with herself.

  CARLA. But as your brother Philip said, “She didn’t do away with herself.”

  MEREDITH. Things always look better the next morning. And there was a lot of fuss going on, getting Angela’s things ready for school—that was Angela Warren, Caroline’s half-sister. She was a real little devil, always scrapping with someone, or playing tricks. She and Amyas were forever fighting, but he was very fond of her—and Caroline adored her.

  CARLA. (quickly) After once trying to kill her?

  MEREDITH. (looking at Carla; quickly) I’ve always been sure that that story was grossly exaggerated. Most children are jealous of the new baby.

  CARLA. (after puffing at her cigarette) My father was found dead—after lunch, wasn’t he?

  MEREDITH. Yes. We left him on the terrace, painting. He often wouldn’t go into lunch. The glass of beer that Caroline had brought him was there by his side—empty. I suppose the stuff was already beginning to work. There’s no pain—just a slow—paralysis. Yes. When we came out after lunch—he was dead. The whole thing was a nightmare.

  CARLA. (rising; upset) A nightmare . . .

  MEREDITH. (rising) I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t want to talk about it to you. (He looks at Justin)

  CARLA. If I could go down there—to where it happened. Could I?

  MEREDITH. Of course, my dear. You’re only to say the word.

  CARLA. (moving C and turning to face Justin) If we could go over it there—all of us . . .

  MEREDITH. What do you mean by all of us?

  CARLA. (turning to face Meredith) Your brother Philip and you, and the governess, and Angela Warren, and—yes—even Elsa.

  MEREDITH. I hardly think Elsa would come. She’s married, you know.

  CARLA. (wryly) Several times, I hear.

  MEREDITH. She’s changed very much. Philip saw her at a theatre one night.

  CARLA. Nothing lasts. You loved my mother once—but that didn’t last, did it? (She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray on the stool)

  MEREDITH. What?

  CARLA. (crossing down L) Everything’s different from what I thought it would be. I can’t seem to find my way.

  (JUSTIN rises)

  If I could go down to Alderbury . . .

  MEREDITH. You’re welcome at any time, my dear. Now, I’m afraid I must . . .

  (CARLA gazes out front)

  JUSTIN. (moving to the hall) I’ll get your coat, sir. (He sees Carla is in a brown study) Carla’s most grateful to you, sir. (He takes Meredith’s coat, hat and muffler from the hooks)

  CARLA. (recollecting herself) Oh, yes. Yes, thank you for coming.

  (MEREDITH goes to the hall where Justin helps him on with his coat)

  MEREDITH. Carla, the more I think of it all . . .

  CARLA. Yes?

  MEREDITH. (moving C) I believe, you know, that it’s quite possible Amyas did commit suicide. He may have felt more remorseful than we know. (He looks hopefully at Carla)

  CARLA. (unconvinced) It’s a nice thought.

  MEREDITH. Yes, yes—well, good-bye, my dear.

  CARLA. Good-bye.

  MEREDITH. (taking his hat from Justin) Good-bye, Mr. Fogg.

  JUSTIN. (opening the door) Good-bye, sir.

  MEREDITH. (mumbling) Good-bye. Good-bye.

  (MEREDITH exits. JUSTIN closes the door and moves C)

  CARLA. Well!

  JUSTIN. Well!

  CARLA. What a fool!

  JUSTIN. Quite a nice kindly fool.

  (The telephone rings)

  CARLA. (crossing to the telephone) He doesn’t believe anything of the sort. (She lifts the receiver) Why does he say so? (Into the telephone) Yes? . . . Yes. I see. (She replaces the receiver. Disappointed) She’s not coming.

  JUSTIN. Lady Melksham?

  CARLA. Yes. Unavoidably prevented.

  (JUSTIN goes into the hall and collects his coat)

  JUSTIN. Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.

  CARLA. (looking out of the window) I’ve got to see her, she’s the hub of it all.

  JUSTIN. (moving C and putting on his coat) You’re going to take tea with Miss Williams, aren’t you?

  CARLA. (flatly) Yes.

  JUSTIN. (rather eagerly) Want me to come with you?

  CARLA. (without interest) No, there’s no need.

  JUSTIN. Maybe there’ll be a letter from Angela Warren in tomorrow’s post. I’ll phone you if I may?

  CARLA. (still looking through the window) Please.

  JUSTIN. (after a pause) What a fool your father was.

  (CARLA turns)

  Not to recognize quality when he had it.

  CARLA. What do you mean?

  JUSTIN. Elsa Greer was pretty brash, you know, crude allure, crude sex, crude hero worship.

  CARLA. Hero worship?

  JUSTIN. Yes. Would she have made a dead set at your father if he hadn’t been a celebrated painter? Look at her subsequent husbands. Always attracted by a somebody—a big noise in the world—never the man himself. But Caroline, your mother, would have recognized quality in a—(he pauses and self-consciously gives a boyish
smile) well—even in a solicitor.

  (CARLA picks up Justin’s brief-case and looks at him with interest)

  CARLA. I believe you’re still in love with my mother. (She holds out the brief-case)

  JUSTIN. Oh, no. (He takes the brief-case and smiles) I move with the times, you know.

  (CARLA is taken aback, but is pleased and smiles)

  Good-bye.

  (JUSTIN exits. CARLA looks after him, taking in what he has said. The telephone rings. CARLA lifts the receiver. The light starts to dim as twilight falls)

  CARLA. (into the telephone) Hullo? . . . Yes . . . Oh, it’s you, Jeff . . . (She takes the whole instrument and sits in the armchair with it, tucking one leg under her) It may be a silly waste of time, but it’s my time and if I . . . (She straightens the seam of her stocking) What? . . . (Crossly) You’re quite wrong about Justin. He’s a good friend—which is more than you are . . . All right, so I’m quarrelling . . . No, I don’t want to dine with you . . . I don’t want to dine with you anywhere.

  (ELSA MELKSHAM enters the hall from L, quietly closes the door and stands in the hall, looking at Carla. ELSA is tall, beautiful, very made-up and extremely smart. She wears hat and gloves, and a red velvet coat over a black dress, and carries her handbag)

  At the moment your stock is pretty low with me. (She bangs the receiver down, rises and puts the instrument on the table R)

  ELSA. Miss Le Marchant—or do I say “Miss Crale”?

  (CARLA, startled, turns quickly)

  CARLA. So you’ve come after all?

  ELSA. I always meant to come. I just waited until your legal adviser had faded.

  CARLA. You don’t like lawyers?

  ELSA. I prefer, occasionally, to talk woman to woman. Let’s have some light. (She switches on the wall-brackets by the switch L of the arch then moves down C and looks hard at Carla) Well, you don’t look very much like the child I remember.

  CARLA. (simply) I’m like my mother.

  ELSA. (coldly) Yes. That doesn’t particularly prejudice me in your favour. Your mother was one of the most loathsome women I’ve ever known.

  CARLA. (hotly) I’ve no doubt she felt the same about you.

  ELSA. (smiling) Oh, yes, the feeling was mutual. (She sits on the settee at the upstage end) The trouble with Caroline was that she wasn’t a very good loser.

  CARLA. Did you expect her to be?

  ELSA. (removing her gloves; amused) Really, you know, I believe I did. I must have been incredibly young, and naïve. Because I myself couldn’t understand clinging on to a man who didn’t want me, I was quite shocked that she didn’t feel the same. But I never dreamt that she’d kill Amyas rather than let me have him.

  CARLA. She didn’t kill him.

  ELSA. (without interest) She killed him all right. She poisoned him more or less in front of my eyes—in a glass of iced beer. And I never dreamed—never guessed . . . (With a complete change of manner) You think at the time that you will never forget—that the pain will always be there. And then—it’s all gone—gone—like that. (She snaps her fingers)

  CARLA. (sitting in the armchair) How old were you?

  ELSA. Nineteen. But I was no injured innocent. Amyas Crale didn’t seduce a trusting young girl. It wasn’t like that at all. I met him at a party and I fell for him right away. I knew he was the only man in the world for me. (She smiles) I think he felt the same.

  CARLA. Yes.

  ELSA. I asked him to paint me. He said he didn’t do portraits. I said what about the portrait he’d done of Marna Vadaz, the dancer. He said special circumstances had led to that. I knew they’d had an affair together. I said, “I want you to paint me.” He said, “You know what’ll happen? I shall make love to you.” I said, “Why not?” And he said, “I’m a married man, and I’m very fond of my wife.” I said that now we’d got that settled, when should we start the sittings? He took me by the shoulders and turned me towards the light and looked me over in a considering sort of way. Then he said, “I’ve often thought of painting a flight of outrageously coloured Australian macaws alighting on St. Paul’s Cathedral. If I painted you in your flamboyant youth against a background of nice traditional English scenery, I believe I’d get the same effect.” (She pauses. Quickly) So it was settled.

  CARLA. And you went down to Alderbury.

  (ELSA rises, removes her coat, puts it on the downstage end of the settee and moves C)

  ELSA. Yes. Caroline was charming. She could be, you know. Amyas was very circumspect. (She smiles) Never said a word to me his wife couldn’t have overheard. I was polite and formal. Underneath, though, we both knew . . . (She breaks off)

  CARLA. Go on.

  ELSA. (putting her hands on her hips) After ten days he told me I was to go back to London.

  CARLA. Yes?

  ELSA. I said, “The picture isn’t finished.” He said, “It’s barely begun. The truth is I can’t paint you, Elsa.” I asked him why, and he said that I knew very well “why” and that’s why I’d got to clear out.

  CARLA. So—you went back to London?

  ELSA. Yes, I went. (She moves up C and turns) I didn’t write to him. I didn’t answer his letters. He held out for a week. And then—he came. I told him that it was fate and it was no use struggling against it, and he said, “You haven’t struggled much, have you, Elsa?” I said I hadn’t struggled at all. It was wonderful and more frightening than mere happiness. (She frowns) If only we’d kept away—if only we hadn’t gone back.

  CARLA. Why did you?

  ELSA. The unfinished picture. It haunted Amyas. (She sits on the settee at the upstage end) But things were different this time—Caroline had caught on. I wanted to have the whole thing on an honest basis. All Amyas would say was, “To hell with honesty. I’m painting a picture.”

  (CARLA laughs)

  Why do you laugh?

  CARLA. (rising and turning to the window) Because I know just how he felt.

  ELSA. (angrily) How should you know?

  CARLA. (simply) Because I’m his daughter, I suppose.

  ELSA. (distantly) Amyas’s daughter. (She looks at Carla with a new appraisement)

  CARLA. (turning and crossing above the armchair to C) I’ve just begun to know that. I hadn’t thought about it before. I came over because I wanted to find out just what happened sixteen years ago. I am finding out. I’m beginning to know the people—what they felt, what they are like. The whole thing’s coming alive, bit by bit.

  ELSA. Coming alive? (Bitterly) I wish it would.

  CARLA. My father—you—Philip Blake—Meredith Blake. (She crosses down L) And there are two more. Angela Warren . . .

  ELSA. Angela? Oh, yes. She’s quite a celebrity in her way—one of those tough women who travel to inaccessible places and write books about it. She was only a tiresome teenager then.

  CARLA. (turning) How did she feel about it all?

  ELSA. (uninterested) I don’t know. They hustled her away, I think. Some idea of Caroline’s that contact with murder would damage her adolescent mind—though I don’t know why Caroline should have bothered about damage to her mind when she had already damaged her face for her. When I heard that story I ought to have realized what Caroline was capable of, and when I actually saw her take the poison . . .

  CARLA. (quickly) You saw her?

  ELSA. Yes. Meredith was waiting to lock up his laboratory. Caroline was the last to come out. I was just before her. I looked over my shoulder and saw her standing in front of a shelf with a small bottle in her hand. Of course, she might only have been looking at it. How was I to know?

  CARLA. (crossing to C) But you suspected?

  ELSA. I thought she meant it for herself.

  CARLA. Suicide? And you didn’t care?

  ELSA. (calmly) I thought it might be the best way out.

  CARLA. (crossing above the armchair to the window) Oh, no . . .

  ELSA. Her marriage to Amyas had been a failure from the start—if she’d really cared for him as much as she pretend
ed, she’d have given him a divorce. There was plenty of money—and she’d probably have married someone else who would have suited her better.

  CARLA. How easily you arrange other people’s lives. (She moves down R) Meredith Blake says I may come down to Alderbury. I want to get everyone there. Will you come?

  ELSA. (arrested, but attracted by the idea) Come down to Alderbury?

  CARLA. (eagerly) I want to go over the whole thing on the spot. I want to see it as though it were happening all over again.

  ELSA. Happening all over again . . .

  CARLA. (politely) If it’s too painful for you . . .

  ELSA. There are worse things than pain. (Harshly) It’s forgetting that’s so horrible—it’s as though you were dead yourself. (Angrily) You—stand there so damned young and innocent—what do you know about loving a man? I loved Amyas. (With fire) He was so alive, so full of life and vigour, such a man. And she put an end to all that—your mother. (She rises) She put an end to Amyas so that I shouldn’t have him. And they didn’t even hang her. (She pauses. In an ordinary tone) I’ll come to Alderbury. I’ll join your circus. (She picks up her coat and holds it out to Carla)

  (CARLA crosses to Elsa and helps her on with her coat)

  Philip, Meredith—Angela Warren—all four of us.

  CARLA. Five.

  ELSA. Five?

  CARLA. There was a governess.

  ELSA. (collecting her bag and gloves from the settee) Oh, yes, the governess. Very disapproving of me and Amyas. Devoted to Caroline.

  CARLA. Devoted to my mother—she’ll tell me. I’m going to see her next. (She goes into the hall and opens the door)

  ELSA. (moving to the hall) Perhaps you’ll get your legal friend to telephone me, will you?

  (ELSA exits. CARLA closes the door and moves C)

  CARLA. The governess!

  The LIGHTS dim to BLACK-OUT

  Scene IV

  SCENE—Miss Williams’ bed-sitting-room.

  It is an attic room with a small window in the sloping roof L. The door is presumed to be in the “fourth wall.” There is a fireplace, fitted with a gas fire, back C. There is a divan with cover and cushions R. A gate-legged table stands under the window. A small table with a table-lamp on it is R of the fireplace. Upright chairs stand L of the fireplace and down L and there is an old-fashioned armchair with a footstool under it, C. An electric kettle is plugged into the skirting, R of the fireplace.