The Mousetrap and Other Plays

ACT TWO

Scene I

SCENE: The same. Saturday morning.

When Curtain rises, it is a fine morning. The clock is striking eleven. The French windows are open, and music is coming softly from the radio. The tune is “I cried for you.” JOHN enters briskly Left. He is humming, looks happy and good-tempered. He moves to Left Centre, checks his watch with the clock on the mantelpiece, goes on to the terrace up Centre, takes a cigarette from his case and lights it. GUDGEON enters Left. He carries a salver with a note on it.

GUDGEON. (Moving Left Centre) A note for you, sir.

JOHN. (Moving to Right of GUDGEON; surprised) For me? (He takes the note.)

GUDGEON. They are waiting for an answer, sir.

JOHN. It looks as though it’s going to be a fine day, Gudgeon.

GUDGEON. Yes, sir. There was quite a haze over the downs early this morning.

(JOHN reads the note and frowns angrily.)

JOHN. There’s no answer, Gudgeon.

GUDGEON. (Turning and crossing to the door Left.) Very good, sir.

JOHN. Where is everybody?

GUDGEON. (Stopping and turning) Her ladyship has gone down to the farm, sir. The gentlemen have gone out shooting, and I believe Miss Harvey and Miss Henrietta are in the garden.

JOHN. Thank you, Gudgeon.

(GUDGEON exits Left. JOHN moves on to the terrace up Centre, rereads the note, utters an angry ejaculation, crumples the note and puts it in his pocket. MIDGE enters Right. She carries an armful of dahlias and loose leaves.)

MIDGE. (Crossing to Left of the coffee table) Good morning. (She kneels, takes the vase from the coffee table and starts filling it with the dahlias.)

JOHN. Good morning.

MIDGE. Gerda up yet?

JOHN. No, she had breakfast in bed. She had a headache. I told her to lie in for once.

MIDGE. I meant to spend the whole morning in bed, but it was so lovely outside that I couldn’t.

JOHN. Where’s Henrietta?

MIDGE. I don’t know. She was with me just now. She may be in the rose garden.

(JOHN exits up Centre to Right. LADY ANGKATELL enters Left. She carries a basket of eggs.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Music? (She moves to the radio.) Oh no, dear, oh no—no. (She switches off the radio.) Stop! We can’t be swinging so early in the day.

MIDGE. I wish you’d do these dahlias, Lucy. They defeat me.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Crossing to the drinks table) Do they, darling? (She puts the basket on the floor Left of the drinks table.) What a shame—never mind. (She moves dreamily to the writing table.) Now then, what did I want? Ah, I know. (She lifts the telephone receiver.) Now let me see—ah yes, this thing. (She cradles the receiver first in one arm and then in the other.)

(MIDGE stares amazed at LADY ANGKATELL.)

(With satisfaction) Ah! I see what it is. (She replaces the receiver.)

MIDGE. What are you doing. Lucy?

LADY ANGKATELL. Doing?

MIDGE. You seemed to be having a kind of game with the telephone receiver.

LADY ANGKATELL. Oh, that was Mrs. Bagshaw’s baby. (She looks at MIDGE.) You’ve got the wrong vase, darling.

MIDGE. (Rising) What did you say?

LADY ANGKATELL. I said you’d got the wrong vase. It’s the white vase for dahlias.

MIDGE. No, I meant what did you say about somebody’s baby?

LADY ANGKATELL. Oh, that was the telephone receiver, my pet.

MIDGE. (Moving to the drinks table) I don’t wonder that Gerda Cristow nearly has a nervous breakdown every time you talk to her. (She picks up the white vase and jug of water from the drinks table, moves and puts them on the coffee table.) What has Mrs. Bagshaw’s baby got to do with the telephone receiver? (She pours some water into the vase and fills it with the dahlias, during the ensuing speeches.)

LADY ANGKATELL. She seemed to be holding it—the baby, I mean—upside down. So I was trying this way and that way. And of course I see what it is—she’s left-handed. That’s why it looked all wrong. Is John Cristow down yet?

MIDGE. Yes, he went into the garden to look for Henrietta.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Sitting on the sofa at the Right end of it) Oh! Do you think that was very wise of him?

MIDGE. What do you mean?

LADY ANGKATELL. Well, I don’t want to say anything . . .

MIDGE. Come on, Lucy. Give.

LADY ANGKATELL. Well, you know, darling, that I don’t sleep very well. And when I can’t sleep I’m inclined to prowl around the house.

MIDGE. I know, half the guests think it’s burglars, the other half think it’s ghosts.

LADY ANGKATELL. Well, I happened to be looking through the passage window. John was just coming back to the house, and it was close on three o’clock.

(There is a pause. MIDGE and LADY ANGKATELL look at each other.)

MIDGE. (Picking up the jug and vase of dahlias and crossing with them to the drinks table) Even for old friends who have a lot to say to each other, three in the morning is a little excessive. (She puts the jug and vase on the drinks table.) One wonders what Gerda thinks about it.

LADY ANGKATELL. One wonders if Gerda thinks.

MIDGE. (Easing above the sofa) Even the meekest of wives may turn.

LADY ANGKATELL. I don’t think Henrietta was sleeping very well either last night. The light was on in her room, and I thought I saw her curtains move.

MIDGE. Really, John is a fool.

LADY ANGKATELL. He’s a man who’s always taken risks—and usually got away with them.

MIDGE. One day he’ll go too far. This was a bit blatant, even for him.

LADY ANGKATELL. My dear child, he couldn’t help himself. That woman just sailed in last night and—grabbed him. I must say I admired her performance. It was so beautifully timed and planned.

MIDGE. Do you think it was planned?

LADY ANGKATELL. (Rising) Well, darling, come, come. (She smiles, picks up the Daily Mirror and crosses to the fireplace.)

MIDGE. You may say, in your detached way, she gave a beautiful performance—but it remains to be seen whether Gerda and Henrietta agree with you.

(SIR HENRY enters Left. He carries two revolvers.)

SIR HENRY. (Crossing to Right) Just going to have a little practice down at the targets. Like to come along and try your hand, Midge?

MIDGE. I’ve never shot with a pistol or a revolver in my life. I shall probably drill a hole in you, Cousin Henry.

SIR HENRY. I’ll take jolly good care that you don’t.

MIDGE. Well, it would be nice to think that I might some day be able to turn the tables on a burglar.

SIR HENRY. Every woman ought to learn to shoot with a revolver.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Moving and sitting in the armchair Left Centre.) Now you’re on Henry’s hobby. He has a whole collection of pistols and revolvers, including a lovely pair of French duelling pistols. (She starts to read the paper.)

MIDGE. Don’t you have to have licences for them?

SIR HENRY. Of course.

MIDGE. Have you ever had a burglar?

SIR HENRY. Not yet, but we live in hopes. If he does come, Lucy will probably shoot him dead.

MIDGE. (Surprised) Lucy?

SIR HENRY. Lucy’s a far better shot than I am. Lucy always gets her man.

MIDGE. I shall be simply terrified.

(She exits Right. SIR HENRY follows her off. HENRIETTA enters up Centre from Left.)

HENRIETTA. (Easing above the sofa) Hullo, are the Angkatells going to exterminate each other?

LADY ANGKATELL. They’ve gone down to the targets. Why don’t you join them, Henrietta?

HENRIETTA. Yes, I will. I was rather good last spring. Are you going, Lucy?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes. No. I must do something about my eggs first. (She looks around.)

HENRIETTA. Eggs?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, they are over there in the basket, darling.

(HENRIETTA moves to the drinks table, picks up the basket of eggs and takes it to LADY ANGKATELL.)

Oh! Thank you, my pet. (She puts the basket on the floor Right of her chair, then resumes reading.)

HENRIETTA. (Moving down Centre) Where’s Edward?

LADY ANGKATELL. I think he took his gun and went up to the woods. Henry was going with him—but someone came to see him about something.

HENRIETTA. I see. (She stands lost in thought.)

(Two revolver SHOTS are heard off Right.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Doing any work this morning?

HENRIETTA. (Sitting on the sofa) No. It’s gone stale on me.

(A revolver SHOT is heard off Right.)

LADY ANGKATELL. I think it’s so clever of you, darling—doing all these odd abstract things.

HENRIETTA. I thought you didn’t like them, Lucy.

LADY ANGKATELL. No, I’ve always thought them rather silly. But I think it’s so clever of you to know they’re not.

(GERDA enters hurriedly Left. She looks alarmed.)

GERDA. I heard shots—quite near the house.

LADY ANGKATELL. Nothing, darling—Henry—target practice—they’ve got targets in what used to be the bowling alley.

HENRIETTA. (Rising) Come and have a try, Gerda.

GERDA. Is it difficult? (She crosses to HENRIETTA.)

HENRIETTA. No, of course not. You just close your eyes and press the trigger and the bullet goes somewhere.

(Two SHOTS are heard off Right. HENRIETTA and GERDA exit Right. A SHOT is heard off Right. LADY ANGKATELL rises, crosses to the coffee table, puts the newspaper on it, and picks up the vase and odd leaves. Two SHOTS are heard off Right. LADY ANGKATELL crosses to the wastepaper basket, drops the leaves in it, then moves to the drinks table and puts the vase on it. Two SHOTS are heard off Right. JOHN enters up Centre from Right. He is smoking a cigarette.)

JOHN. Has the war started?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, dear—no, dear. Henry. Target practice.

JOHN. He’s very keen. I remember.

LADY ANGKATELL. Why don’t you join them?

JOHN. (Crossing to the fireplace) I ought to write some letters. (He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the mantelpiece.) I wonder if you’d mind if I wrote them in here?

LADY ANGKATELL. (Easing above the sofa) Of course. You’ll find stamps in the little drawer. If you put the letters on the hall table, Gudgeon will see that they go.

JOHN. This is the best run house in England.

LADY ANGKATELL. Bless you, darling. Now let me see—(She looks around) where did I lay my eggs? Ah, there, by the chair. (She picks up the basket of eggs and moves to the door Left.)

JOHN. I didn’t quite understand what you meant.

(LADY ANGKATELL exits Left. JOHN crosses to the writing table, and takes a note from his pocket. He reads it, then crumples it and throws it into the wastepaper basket. He sits, sighs heavily and starts to write. VERONICA enters up Centre from Left. She carries a large, very flamboyant, red suède handbag.)

VERONICA. (Standing at the French window up Centre; imperiously) John.

JOHN. (Turning; startled) Veronica. (He rises.)

VERONICA. (Moving down Centre) I sent you a note asking you to come over at once. Didn’t you get it?

JOHN. (Pleasantly, but with reserve) Yes, I got it.

VERONICA. Well, why didn’t you come? I’ve been waiting.

JOHN. I’m afraid it wasn’t convenient for me to come over this morning.

VERONICA. (Crossing to Left of JOHN) Can I have a cigarette, please?

JOHN. Yes, of course. (He offers her a cigarette from his case.)

(Before he can give her a light, VERONICA takes her own lighter from her handbag and lights the cigarette herself.)

VERONICA. I sent for you because we’ve got to talk. We’ve got to make arrangements. For our future, I mean.

JOHN. Have we a future?

VERONICA. Of course we’ve got a future. We’ve wasted ten years. There’s no need to waste any more time. (She sits on the sofa, Centre of it, and puts her handbag on the Right end of the sofa.)

JOHN. (Easing to Right of the sofa) I’m sorry, Veronica. I’m afraid you’ve got this worked out the wrong way. I’ve—enjoyed meeting you again very much, but you know we don’t really belong together—we’re worlds apart.

VERONICA. Nonsense, John. I love you and you love me. We’ve always loved each other. You were very obstinate in the past. But never mind that now.

(JOHN crosses above the sofa to Left of it.)

Look, our lives needn’t clash. I don’t mean to go back to the States for quite a while. When I’ve finished the picture I’m working on now, I’m going to play a straight part on the London stage. I’ve got a new play—Elderton’s written it for me. It’ll be a terrific success.

JOHN. (Politely) I’m sure it will.

VERONICA. (Condescendingly) And you can go on being a doctor. You’re quite well-known, they tell me.

JOHN. (Moving down Left Centre; irritably) I am a fairly well-known consultant on certain diseases—if it interests you—but I imagine it doesn’t.

VERONICA. What I mean is we can both get on with our own jobs. It couldn’t have worked out better.

JOHN. (Surveying her dispassionately) You really are the most interesting character. Don’t you realize that I’m a married man—I have children?

VERONICA. (Rising and crossing to Right of JOHN) Well, I’m married myself at the moment. But these things are easily arranged. A good lawyer can fix anything. (Softly) I always did mean to marry you, darling. I can’t think why I have this terrible passion for you—(She puts her arms around JOHN’s neck) but there it is.

JOHN. (Shaking her off; brusquely) I’m sorry, Veronica. (He moves to the fireplace.) It’s out of the question.

VERONICA. But I tell you a good lawyer can easily fix . . .

JOHN. No good lawyer is going to fix anything. Your life and mine have nothing in common.

VERONICA. (Moving to Right of JOHN and facing him) Not after last night?

JOHN. You’re not a child, Veronica. You’ve had two husbands and, I’ve no doubt, a good many lovers. What does “last night” mean exactly? Nothing at all, and you know it.

VERONICA. If you’d seen your face, yesterday evening—when I came through that window—we might have been back in the South of France all those years ago.

JOHN. I was back in the South of France. (Gently) Try to understand, Veronica. You came to me last night straight out of the past. I’d been thinking about you. Wondering whether I’d been as wise a young man as I’d thought myself—or whether I’d simply been a coward. And suddenly—there you were—like a dream come to life. But you were a dream. Today I’m back in the present, a man ten years older. (He crosses to Left of the sofa.) A man you don’t know and probably wouldn’t like very much if you did know him.

VERONICA. Are you telling me that you prefer your wife to me?

JOHN. Yes—yes, I am. (He sits on the sofa at the Left end of it.) I’ve suddenly realized how very much fonder I am of her than I knew. When I got back to this house last night—or in the early hours of the morning—I suddenly saw how stupidly I’d risked losing everything in the world I need. Fortunately, Gerda was asleep. She’d no idea what time I got back. She believes I left you quite early.

VERONICA. Your wife must be a very credulous woman.

JOHN. She loves me—and she trusts me.

VERONICA. She’s a fool! (She crosses to Left of the sofa.) And anyway, I don’t believe a word of what you say. You love me.

JOHN. I’m sorry, Veronica.

VERONICA. (Breaking down Centre; incredulously) You don’t love me?

JOHN. I’ve been perfectly frank with you. You are a very beautiful and very seductive woman, Veronica—(He rises and moves up Right of the sofa) but I don’t love you.

VERONICA. (Furiously) You belong to me, John. (She moves below the sofa.) You always have. Ever since I got to England, I’ve been thinking about you, planning how best to meet you again. (She kneels on the sofa.) Why do you think I took this idiotic cottage down here? Simply because I found out that you often came down for weekends with the Angkatells.

JOHN. So it was all planned last night. (He crosses above the sofa to Right of the armchair Left Centre.) I noticed your lighter was working this morning.

VERONICA. (Rising and turning) You belong to me.

JOHN. (Coldly angry) I don’t belong to anyone. Where do you get this idea that you can own another human being? I loved you once and I wanted you to marry me and share my life. (He moves to the fireplace and stands with his back to it.) You wouldn’t.

VERONICA. My life and my career were much more important than yours. Anyone can be a doctor. (She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table.)

JOHN. Are you really quite as important as you think?

VERONICA. (Crossing to Right of JOHN) If I’m not right at the top yet, I will be.

JOHN. I wonder. I rather doubt it. There’s something lacking in you, Veronica—what is it? Warmth—generosity—you give nothing. You take—take—take all the time.

VERONICA. (Speaking in a low voice convulsed with rage) You turned me down ten years ago. You’ve turned me down today. My God, I’ll make you suffer for it!

JOHN. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Veronica. You’re very lovely, my dear, and I once cared for you very much. Can’t we leave it at that?

VERONICA. No. (She crosses to the French windows up Centre, turns and stands in the window.) You be careful of yourself, John Cristow. I hate you more than I ever thought it possible to hate anyone.

JOHN. (Annoyed) Oh!

VERONICA. And don’t fool yourself that I believe you’re turning me down because of your wife. It’s that other woman.

JOHN. What other woman?

VERONICA. The one who came through that door last night and stood looking at you. If I can’t have you, nobody else shall have you, John. Understand that.

(She exits angrily up Centre to Left, leaving her handbag on the sofa. JOHN stands looking after her for a moment, then crosses to the writing table, picks up the letter he has been writing, tears it up and puts it in the wastepaper basket. GUDGEON enters Right, crosses to Left of the sofa, turns and sees JOHN.)

GUDGEON. I beg your pardon, sir, do you know where her ladyship is?

JOHN. They’re all down in the target alley, I believe.

GUDGEON. They finished shooting some time ago, sir.

(JOHN takes VERONICA’s note from his pocket, screws it up, drops it in the direction of the wastepaper basket, but it misses and falls alongside.)

JOHN. (Moving to the bookshelves above the drinks table) Then they must be in the garden somewhere.

(GUDGEON crosses below the sofa, picks up the crumpled note, puts it in the wastepaper basket, then picks up the wastepaper basket, crosses and exits Left. JOHN selects a book from the bookshelves, moves above the sofa and glances at the opening pages. There is a noise off from the Left end of the terrace up Centre. JOHN drops the book on the sofa, goes on to the terrace faces Left, and gives a sudden start of alarm.

Why! What are you doing? Put that down. Why you . . .

(The sound of a revolver SHOT is heard up Centre. JOHN staggers down the steps, tries to cross to the door Left, then collapses on the floor down Left Centre. A revolver is tossed on to the terrace up from Left. There is a pause, then GERDA enters quickly down Left. She carries her leathercraft bag. She runs to Left of JOHN.)

GERDA. John—oh, John! (She crosses up Centre, goes on to the terrace, picks up the revolver, looks off Left, then stands at the top of the steps, facing front.)

(GUDGEON enters hurriedly Left. A moment later SIR HENRY enters Right. He is followed on by MIDGE.)

SIR HENRY. (Crossing to Right of JOHN) What’s happened?

(GUDGEON moves to Left of JOHN.)

Cristow! Cristow! Good God, what’s happened? (He kneels beside JOHN.)

MIDGE. (Moving above the sofa) Gerda—John—what is it?

GUDGEON. (Kneeling Left of JOHN) Doctor Cristow, sir—what is it?

SIR HENRY. (Raising JOHN’s head and shoulders) He’s been wounded. (He feels JOHN’s heart.)

(JOHN is still breathing. GUDGEON rises and eases Left.)

GUDGEON. Wounded? How did it happen?

SIR HENRY. Ring for a doctor, Gudgeon.

(GUDGEON crosses to the writing table and lifts the telephone receiver.)

MIDGE. Is he dead?

SIR HENRY. No.

(LADY ANGKATELL enters Left. HENRIETTA enters Right.)

HENRIETTA. I heard—a shot. (She kneels down Right of JOHN.) John—John.

(EDWARD enters up Centre from Left and stands Right of the French windows. JOHN opens his eyes and looks at HENRIETTA.)

JOHN. (Trying to raise himself; in a loud urgent voice) Henrietta—Henrietta . . . (He collapses.)

(SIR HENRY feels JOHN’s heart, then looks at HENRIETTA and GERDA.)

GERDA. (Moving below the armchair Left Centre, hysterically) He’s dead—he’s dead. John’s dead.

(HENRIETTA moves to Right of GERDA and takes the revolver from her. LADY ANGKATELL moves to Left of GERDA and puts her arms around her.)

John’s dead.

(The Curtain begins to fall.)

GUDGEON. (Into the telephone) Get me Doctor Murdock.

CURTAIN

Scene II

SCENE: The same. Later the same day.

When Curtain rises, the weather has changed; the wind is rising and the sky is overcast. The windows are closed, with the exception of the right side of the French windows up Centre. LADY ANGKATELL is seated on the sofa at the Right end, knitting. MIDGE is seated on the chair down Right. EDWARD is seated in the armchair Left Centre, doing “The Times” crossword. HENRIETTA is standing on the terrace up Centre. After a while HENRIETTA moves down Centre. She pauses as the clock strikes two, then paces below the sofa to Right and gazes out of the window Right.)

LADY ANGKATELL. I knew the weather was too good to last. I wish I knew what to do about meals. This Inspector person and the other one—does one send them something on a tray? Or do they have a meal with us later?

(HENRIETTA turns.)

The police aren’t at all as they are in books. This Inspector Colquhoun, for instance, well he’s a gentleman. I know one mustn’t say that these days—it annoys people—but he is. (She pauses.)

(HENRIETTA crosses above the sofa to Left.)

(Suddenly.) St. Albans!

(EDWARD and HENRIETTA look at LADY ANGKATELL in surprise.)

HENRIETTA. What about St. Albans? (She moves to the alcove.)

LADY ANGKATELL. No, no, Hendon. The police college. Quite unlike our local Inspector Jackson, who is very nice, but such a heavy accent, and such a heavy moustache.

(HENRIETTA opens the curtain of the alcove, switches on the light and stands Right of the arch, looking off Left at the statue.)

MIDGE. Why did they send someone down from Scotland Yard? I thought the local people always dealt with things first.

EDWARD. This is the Metropolitan area.

MIDGE. Oh, I see.

(HENRIETTA moves to the fireplace, leaving the alcove curtain open and light on.)

LADY ANGKATELL. I don’t think his wife looks after him properly. I imagine she’s the kind of woman that’s always cleaning the house, and doesn’t bother to cook.

EDWARD. Inspector Colquhoun?

LADY ANGKATELL. No, no, dear. Inspector Jackson. I shouldn’t think Colquhoun was married. Not yet. He’s quite attractive.

HENRIETTA. They’re a long time in with Henry.

LADY ANGKATELL. The worst of murder is it does upset the servants so.

(HENRIETTA crosses above the sofa to the window Right.)

We were to have duck for lunch. Still, cold duck can be quite nice. I suppose one couldn’t sit down and have a little bit, could one? (She pauses.) No.

MIDGE. It was all horrible. (She shivers.) It’s dreadful having to sit in here.

LADY ANGKATELL. Well, darling, we’ve got to sit in here. There is nowhere else to sit.

(HENRIETTA turns and crosses below the sofa to the fireplace.)

First they turn us out of here and take photographs, then they herd us back in here and make the dining room their headquarters, and now this Inspector Colquhoun is in the study with Henry.

(There is a pause. HENRIETTA turns and faces the fireplace.)

What does one do about Gerda, do you think? Something on a tray? A little strong soup, perhaps?

MIDGE. (Rising and moving to the window Right; vehemently) Really, Lucy, you’re quite inhuman. (She gazes out of the window.)

LADY ANGKATELL. (Surprised) Darling, it’s all very upsetting, but one has to go on with meals and things. Excitement even makes one rather hungry—rather sick, too.

MIDGE. Yes, I know. That’s just what one does feel.

LADY ANGKATELL. Reading about murders in newspapers gives one no idea how trying they can be. I feel as though I’d walked about fifteen miles. Just think, we’ll be in the News of the World next week—perhaps even tomorrow.

EDWARD. I never see the News of the World.

LADY ANGKATELL. Don’t you? Oh, I always do. We pretend to get it for the servants, but Gudgeon is very understanding. He doesn’t take it to the servants’ hall before the evening. You should read it, Edward. You’d be amazed at the number of old Colonels who make improper advances to nurse-maids.

(GUDGEON enters Left. He carries a tray of coffee and sandwiches.)

Ah! (She moves along the sofa and sits Centre of it.)

GUDGEON. (Crossing to the coffee table) Shall I take something in to the study to Sir Henry and the police officer?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, yes, thank you, Gudgeon, I’m a little worried about Mrs. Cristow.

GUDGEON. Simmonds has already taken her up some tea, and some thin bread and butter and a boiled egg, m’lady. (He turns and crosses to the door Left.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Thank you, Gudgeon. I had forgotten about the eggs, Gudgeon. I meant to do something about them.

GUDGEON. (Stopping and turning) I have already attended to that, m’lady. (With a trace of emphasis) Quite satisfactorily, I think. You need have no further anxiety.

(He exits Left.)

LADY ANGKATELL. I don’t know what I should do without him. These substantial sandwiches are just what is needed—not as heartless as a sit-down meal, and yet . . .

MIDGE. (Starting to cry; hysterically) Oh, Lucy—don’t!

(LADY ANGKATELL looks surprised. EDWARD rises, crosses to the drinks table, puts his paper and pencil on it, then moves to MIDGE and puts an arm around her as she sobs unrestrainedly.)

EDWARD. Midge . . .

LADY ANGKATELL. Poor dear. It’s all been too much for her.

EDWARD. Don’t worry, Midge. It’s all right. Come and sit down. (He leads her to the sofa and sits her at the Right end of it.)

MIDGE. I’m sorry to be such a fool.

EDWARD. We understand.

MIDGE. I’ve lost my handkerchief.

(LADY ANGKATELL pours out four cups of coffee.)

EDWARD. (Handing MIDGE his handkerchief) Here—have mine.

MIDGE. Thank you.

EDWARD. (Moving to the coffee table) And have some coffee.

MIDGE. No, I don’t want anything.

EDWARD. Yes, you do. (He hands MIDGE a cup of coffee.) Come on now—drink this. It’ll make you feel better.

LADY ANGKATELL. Some coffee, Henrietta?

HENRIETTA. Yes, thank you. Shouldn’t one of us go up to Gerda?

(EDWARD picks up a cup of coffee and crosses with it to HENRIETTA.)

LADY ANGKATELL. My dear child, one doesn’t know what to think.

(EDWARD moves to the coffee table, picks up a cup of coffee for himself and eases up Centre.)

One doesn’t even know what her reactions are. How would one feel if one had just killed one’s husband? One simply doesn’t know.

HENRIETTA. Aren’t we assuming rather too readily that Gerda has killed her husband?

(There is an awkward pause. EDWARD looks at LADY ANGKATELL and shifts uneasily. LADY ANGKATELL looks searchingly at HENRIETTA, trying to make up her mind about something.)

EDWARD. Well, we found her standing over his body with the revolver in her hand. I imagined there was no question about it.

HENRIETTA. We haven’t heard yet what she has to say.

EDWARD. It seems self-evident to me.

(HENRIETTA moves up Centre and goes on to the terrace.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Mind you, she had every provocation. John behaved in a most barefaced manner. After all, there are ways of doing these things. Being unfaithful, I mean.

(GERDA enters Left. She is very shaky and incoherent. She carries her leathercraft bag.)

GERDA. (Looking around apologetically) I—I really couldn’t lie down any longer. I felt—so restless.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Rising and moving to GERDA) No, of course not. (She leads her to the sofa and sits her at the Left end of it.) Come and sit here, my dear. (She moves above the sofa.) Midge, that little cushion.

(MIDGE rises, puts her cup on the writing table, then takes the cushion from the chair down Right and hands it to LADY ANGKATELL.)

(To GERDA.) Put your feet up. (She puts the cushion behind GERDA’s head.) We were just about to have some sandwiches. Would you like one?

GERDA. No, no, thank you. I—I am only just beginning to realize it. I haven’t been able to feel—I still can’t feel—that John is really dead. That I shall never see him again. Who could possibly have killed him?

(They all look embarrassed. SIR HENRY enters Left. He is followed on by INSPECTOR COLQUHOUN, who is a thoughtful, quiet man with charm and a sense of humour. His personality is sympathetic. He must not be played as a comedy part. SIR HENRY has a filled pipe in his hand.)

SIR HENRY. (Moving to the fireplace) Inspector Colquhoun would like to talk to Gerda, my dear. (He turns.) Could you take him up and . . . (He sees GERDA and breaks off.)

LADY ANGKATELL. This is Mrs. Cristow, Mr. Colquhoun.

(The INSPECTOR crosses to Left of the sofa.)

GERDA. (Nervously) Yes—yes—I—you want to talk to me? About John’s death?

INSPECTOR. I don’t want to distress you, Mrs. Cristow, but I would like to ask you a few questions. You’re not bound to answer them unless you wish to do so, and you are entitled, if you like, to have your solicitor present before you say anything at all.

SIR HENRY. That is what I should advise, Gerda.

GERDA. (Putting her feet to the ground and sitting up) A solicitor? But why a solicitor? A solicitor wouldn’t know anything about John’s death.

INSPECTOR. Any statement you choose to make . . .

GERDA. I want to tell you. It’s all so bewildering—like a bad dream. I haven’t been able to cry, even. I just don’t feel anything at all.

SIR HENRY. It’s the shock.

GERDA. You see, it all happened so suddenly. I’d gone back to the house. I was just coming downstairs to fetch my leathercraft bag, and I heard a shot—came in here and there was John—lying all twisted up—and blood—blood . . .

(MIDGE moves to the chair down Right and sits.)

INSPECTOR. What time was this, Mrs. Cristow?

(LADY ANGKATELL and MIDGE exchange looks.)

GERDA. I don’t know. It might have been twelve o’clock—or half past.

INSPECTOR. Where had you been before you came downstairs?

GERDA. In my room.

INSPECTOR. Had you just got up?

GERDA. No, I’d been up for about three-quarters of an hour. I’d been outside. Sir Henry was very kindly teaching me how to shoot—but I did it so badly I couldn’t hit the target at all.

(LADY ANGKATELL and MIDGE exchange looks.)

Then I walked round a little—for exercise—came back to the house for my leatherwork bag, went upstairs, came down and then—as I told you—I heard a shot and came in here—and there was John dead.

HENRIETTA. (Coming down the steps up Centre) Dying. (She moves to the drinks table, puts down her cup, takes a cigarette from the box on the table and lights it from the one she is smoking.)

(They all look at HENRIETTA.)

GERDA. I thought he was dead. There was the blood and the revolver. I picked it up . . .

INSPECTOR. Why did you pick it up, Mrs. Cristow?

(There is a tense pause. All look at the INSPECTOR.)

GERDA. I don’t know.

INSPECTOR. You shouldn’t have touched it, you know.

GERDA. Shouldn’t I?

(MIDGE takes a cigarette from the case in her bag.)

INSPECTOR. And then what happened?

GERDA. Then the others all came in and I said, “John’s dead—somebody’s killed John.” But who could have killed him? Who could possibly have wanted to kill him?

(SIR HENRY strikes a match suddenly and lights his pipe. EDWARD looks at him for a moment.)

John was the best of men, so good, so kind. He did everything for everyone. He sacrificed himself. Why, his patients all adored him. It must have been some sort of accident, it must—it must.

MIDGE. Couldn’t it have been suicide?

(MIDGE feels in her bag for her lighter.)

INSPECTOR. No. (He crosses below the sofa to Right of it.) The shot was fired from at least four feet away.

GERDA. But it must have been an accident.

INSPECTOR. It wasn’t an accident, Mrs. Cristow. (He takes his lighter from his pocket and lights MIDGE’s cigarette.) There was no disagreement between you?

GERDA. Between John and me? No.

(MIDGE rises and crosses above the sofa to the steps up Centre.)

INSPECTOR. Are you sure of that?

GERDA. He was a little annoyed with me when we drove down here. I change gear so badly. I—I don’t know how it is, whenever I’m in the car with him, I never seem to do anything right. I get nervous.

INSPECTOR. There was no serious disagreement? No—quarrel?

GERDA. Quarrel? Between John and me? No, Inspector. No, John and I never quarrelled. He was so good, so kind. (She starts to cry.) I shall never see him again.

(MIDGE moves to Left of the sofa.)

(The INSPECTOR nods and moves up Right.)

MIDGE. Yes. Come and have a rest. You’ll feel better.

LADY ANGKATELL. Tell Simmonds—a hot-water bottle.

(MIDGE leads GERDA to the door Left and they exit together.)

(To the INSPECTOR.) She adored him.

INSPECTOR. Just so. (He moves down Right.) Now, I should like to talk to you all, one at a time. Perhaps, Lady Angkatell, you wouldn’t mind . . . ?

LADY ANGKATELL. (Delighted) Oh no, of course not, Inspector. I want to do everything I can to help you. (She eases to Left of the sofa.) I feel that we must all be very very cooperative.

INSPECTOR. That’s certainly what we should like.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Confidentially) Actually, this is my first murder.

INSPECTOR. Indeed?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, an old story to you, of course. I suppose you’re always rushing about here and there, arresting people, sending out flying squads?

INSPECTOR. We’re not quite so dynamic as all that.

SIR HENRY. My wife is very fond of going to the pictures, Inspector.

INSPECTOR. I’m afraid in real life it’s much more boring than on the screen. (He crosses below LADY ANGKATELL to Left Centre.) We just go on asking people a lot of rather dull questions.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Radiantly) And now you want to ask me a lot of questions. Well, I shall do everything I can to help you. As long as you don’t ask me what time anything was, or where I was, or what I was doing. Because that’s something I never remember—even when I was quite tiny.

SIR HENRY. Don’t discourage the Inspector too much, my dear. (He moves to the door Left and opens it.) May I come along, too?

INSPECTOR. I should be pleased, Sir Henry.

SIR HENRY. My wife’s remarks are sometimes rather hard to follow. I can act as interpreter.

(LADY ANGKATELL crosses and exits Left. The INSPECTOR and SIR HENRY follow her off. HENRIETTA moves on to the terrace up Centre and stands in the window. EDWARD watches her in silence for a few moments. She pays no attention to him.)

EDWARD. It’s not so warm as yesterday.

HENRIETTA. No, no—it’s cold—autumn chill.

EDWARD. You’d better come in—you’ll catch cold.

HENRIETTA. I think I’ll go for a walk.

EDWARD. I shouldn’t.

HENRIETTA. Why?

EDWARD. (Crossing to the fireplace and putting his cup and saucer on the mantelpiece) Well, for one thing it’s going to rain—and another—they might think it odd.

HENRIETTA. You think a policeman would plod after me through the woods?

EDWARD. I really don’t know. One can’t tell what they’re thinking—the whole thing seems obvious.

HENRIETTA. Gerda, you mean?

EDWARD. After all, who else is there?

HENRIETTA. (Moving to Right of the armchair Left Centre) Who else had a motive to kill John Cristow?

EDWARD. Yes.

HENRIETTA. Did Gerda have a motive?

EDWARD. If she found out a few things—after all, last night . . . (He breaks off.)

HENRIETTA. John and Veronica Craye, you mean?

EDWARD. (Slightly embarrassed) Well, yes. (Impatiently) He must have been crazy.

HENRIETTA. He was. Adolescent passion unresolved and kept in cold storage and then suddenly released. (She crosses to the coffee table and stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray.) He was crazy all right.

EDWARD. She’s a remarkably good-looking woman in a rather hard, obvious sort of way. But I can’t see anything to lose your head about.

HENRIETTA. I don’t suppose John could—this morning.

EDWARD. (Turning to face the fire) It’s an unsavoury business.

HENRIETTA. Yes. (She crosses to Right of the sofa.) I think I will go for a walk.

EDWARD. Then I’ll come with you.

HENRIETTA. I’d rather be alone.

EDWARD. (Moving below the sofa) I’m coming with you.

HENRIETTA. Don’t you understand? I want to be alone—with my dead.

EDWARD. I’m sorry. (He pauses.) Henrietta, I haven’t said anything—I thought you’d rather I didn’t. But you do know, don’t you, how sorry I am?

HENRIETTA. Sorry? (With a bitter smile) That John Cristow’s dead?

EDWARD. (Taken aback) I meant—sorry for you. I know it’s been a great shock.

HENRIETTA. (Bitterly) Shock? Oh, but I’m tough, Edward. I can stand shocks. Was it a shock to you? (She crosses above the sofa to Left of it.) I wonder what you felt when you saw him lying there? Glad, I suppose. (Accusingly) Were you glad?

EDWARD. Of course I wasn’t glad. Cristow and I had nothing in common, but . . .

HENRIETTA. You had me in common. You were both fond of me, weren’t you? But it didn’t make a bond between you—quite the opposite.

EDWARD. Henrietta—don’t speak so bitterly. I do feel for you in your loss—your grief.

HENRIETTA. (Sombrely) Is it grief?

EDWARD. What do you mean?

HENRIETTA. (To herself) So quick. (She crosses to the fireplace.) It can happen so quickly. One moment living—breathing—and the next—dead—gone—emptiness. Oh, the emptiness. And here we are eating sandwiches and drinking coffee, and calling ourselves alive. And John, who was more alive than any of us, is dead. (She moves Centre.) I say the word, you know, over and over again to myself. Dead—dead—dead—dead—dead.

EDWARD. (Moving in to HENRIETTA and taking her by the shoulders) Henrietta. Henrietta, stop it—stop!

HENRIETTA. (Regaining control of herself; quietly) Didn’t you know I’d feel like this? What did you think? That I’d sit crying gently into a nice little pocket handkerchief while you held my hand? That it would all be a great shock for me, but that presently I’d begin to get over it?

(EDWARD drops his arms.)

And you’d comfort me very nicely? You are nice, Edward—(She crosses below him and sits on the sofa at the Left end of it) but it’s not enough.

EDWARD. (Deeply hurt) Yes, I’ve always known that.

HENRIETTA. What do you think it’s been like here today? With John dead and nobody caring but me and Gerda. With you glad, and Midge upset, and Henry worried, and Lucy enjoying, in a delicate sort of way, the News of the World come from print into real life. Can’t you see how like a fantastic nightmare it is?

EDWARD. (Moving up Right) Yes, I see.

HENRIETTA. At this moment nothing seems real to me but John. I know—I’m being a brute to you, Edward, but I can’t help it, I can’t help resenting that John, who was so alive, is dead . . . (She breaks off.)

EDWARD. And that I—(He turns above the sofa) who am half dead, am alive?

HENRIETTA. (Rising quickly and turning to face EDWARD) I didn’t mean that, Edward.

EDWARD. I think you did, Henrietta.

(HENRIETTA makes a hopeless gesture, turns and exits Right, leaving the window open. EDWARD looks after her like a man in a dream. MIDGE enters Left.)

MIDGE. (Moving Left Centre.) Brrr! It’s cold in here.

EDWARD. (Absently) Yes.

MIDGE. Where’s everybody?

EDWARD. I don’t know.

MIDGE. (Moving up Centre) Is something wrong? (She closes the French windows up Centre, then crosses and closes the window Right.) Do we want the windows open? Edward—(She touches his hand) you’re icy cold. (She takes his hand and leads him to the fireplace.) Come over here and I’ll light a fire. (She takes a box of matches from the mantelpiece, kneels and lights the fire.)

EDWARD. (Moving to the armchair Left Centre, deeply moved) You’re a dear child, Midge. (He sits.)

MIDGE. No, not a child. Do you still have fir cones at Ainswick?

EDWARD. Oh yes, there’s always a basket of them beside the fire.

MIDGE. Dear Ainswick.

EDWARD. (Looking towards the French windows Right.) One shouldn’t have to live there alone.

MIDGE. Did Henrietta go out?

EDWARD. Yes.

MIDGE. What an odd thing to do. It’s raining.

EDWARD. She was upset. Did you know that she and John Cristow . . . ?

MIDGE. Were having an affair? (She rises and replaces the matches on the mantelpiece.) Yes, of course.

EDWARD. Everybody knew, I suppose.

MIDGE. (Turning) Everybody except Gerda.

EDWARD. Damn him!

MIDGE. (Moving to EDWARD and kneeling down Left of him) Darling—don’t. (She holds his arm.)

EDWARD. Even dead—he’s got her.

MIDGE. Don’t, Edward—please.

EDWARD. She’s changed so much—since those days at Ainswick.

MIDGE. We’ve all changed.

EDWARD. I haven’t. I’ve just stayed still.

MIDGE. What about me?

EDWARD. You haven’t changed.

MIDGE. (Releasing his arm and looking away; bitterly) How do you know? You never look at me.

(EDWARD is startled. He takes her face in his left hand.)

I’m a woman, Edward.

(GUDGEON enters Left. MIDGE rises.)

GUDGEON. The Inspector would like to see you in the dining room, sir.

EDWARD. (Rising) Oh yes, certainly.

(He exits Left. GUDGEON closes the door after him. MIDGE moves above the armchair Left Centre to Right of it. During the ensuing dialogue, GUDGEON collects the tray from the coffee table, gets the coffee cups and saucers and puts them on it.)

MIDGE. Is Mrs. Cristow still resting?

GUDGEON. As far as I know, Miss, yes. Doctor Murdock left her some tablets and Simmonds has instructions to administer one every two hours.

MIDGE. Would you like one of us to go up to her?

GUDGEON. I hardly think that necessary, Miss. Simmonds is quite reliable.

MIDGE. I’m sure she is.

GUDGEON. (Moving to the door Left.) Thank you, Miss. Thank you.

(He exits Left taking the tray and coffee cups with him. MIDGE closes the door behind him. HENRIETTA enters the terrace up Centre from Left and taps on the window. MIDGE runs up Centre, lets HENRIETTA in, then closes the window behind her.)

MIDGE. How you startled me. (She nods Right.) I expected you to come in that way.

HENRIETTA. (Crossing to the fire) I’ve been walking round and round the house. I’m glad you lit a fire.

MIDGE. (Moving to Left of the sofa; accusingly) What did you do to Edward?

HENRIETTA. (Absently) Edward?

MIDGE. Yes, when I came in just now, he was looking dreadful—so cold and grey.

HENRIETTA. (Turning) Midge—Midge, if you care so much for Edward, why don’t you do something about him?

MIDGE. Do something? What do you mean?

HENRIETTA. (Impatiently) I don’t know. Stand on a table and shout. Draw attention to yourself. Don’t you know that’s the only hope with a man like Edward?

MIDGE. (Sitting on the sofa at the Left end of it) I don’t think Edward will ever care for anyone but you, Henrietta.

HENRIETTA. Then it’s very unintelligent of him.

MIDGE. Perhaps—but there it is.

HENRIETTA. He doesn’t even know what I’m like. He just goes on caring for his idea of what I once was. Today—I hate Edward.

MIDGE. You can’t hate Edward. Nobody could hate Edward.

HENRIETTA. I can.

MIDGE. But why?

HENRIETTA. Because he reminds me of a lot of things I’d like to forget.

MIDGE. What things?

HENRIETTA. Ainswick.

MIDGE. Ainswick? You want to forget Ainswick?

HENRIETTA. Yes, yes. I was happy at Ainswick. (She moves Left Centre.) Don’t you understand that I can’t bear just now to be reminded of a time when I was happy?

(LADY ANGKATELL enters Left. MIDGE rises.)

(Abruptly) I shall never go back to Ainswick.

(She moves to the door Left, ignores LADY ANGKATELL and exits.)

LADY ANGKATELL. What did she say?

MIDGE. (Crossing to Right.) She said she would never go back to Ainswick.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Closing the door) Oh, I think she will, darling.

MIDGE. You mean she’ll—marry Edward?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes. (She crosses to the drinks table, picks up the box of chocolates, then moves to Left of MIDGE.) I think so. (Cheerfully) Now that John Cristow’s out of the way. Oh yes, I think she’ll marry Edward. Everything’s working out quite for the best, isn’t it?

MIDGE. Perhaps John Cristow wouldn’t think so.

LADY ANGKATELL. No, well, I wasn’t thinking of him.

(The INSPECTOR enters Left. He is followed on by DETECTIVE SERGEANT PENNY. The SERGEANT is in plain clothes. He carries a notebook to which he frequently refers, and in which he makes further notes.)

INSPECTOR. Is Miss Angkatell about?

MIDGE. She went upstairs to change, I think. Shall I fetch her?

LADY ANGKATELL. (Crossing to Left.) No, no, I’ll go. I want to see how Gerda is. (She offers the chocolates to the INSPECTOR.) Sweetie? Soft centres.

INSPECTOR. No, thank you.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Offering the sweets to the SERGEANT) There’s a jelly baby there.

SERGEANT. No, thank you.

(LADY ANGKATELL exits Left. The SERGEANT closes the door.)

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to Left of the sofa) You’re Miss Harvey, aren’t you?

MIDGE. Yes. Margerie Harvey.

INSPECTOR. You don’t live here? (He indicates the sofa.) Do sit down.

MIDGE. No, I live at twenty-seven Strathmere Mansions, W—two.

INSPECTOR. But you are a relation?

MIDGE. (Sitting on the sofa at the Right end of it) My mother was Lady Angkatell’s first cousin.

INSPECTOR. And where were you when the shot was fired?

MIDGE. In the garden.

INSPECTOR. You were all rather scattered, weren’t you? (He crosses above the sofa to Right of it.) Lady Angkatell had just come in from the farm. Mr. Angkatell down from the woods. You from the garden, Mrs. Cristow from her bedroom, Sir Henry from the target alley. And Miss Angkatell?

MIDGE. She’d been in the garden somewhere.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing above the sofa to Left of it) You quite boxed the compass between you all. Now, Miss Harvey, I’d like you to describe what you saw when you came in here, very carefully.

MIDGE. (Pointing Left Centre) John Cristow was lying there. There was blood—Mrs. Cristow was standing with the—revolver in her hand.

INSPECTOR. And you thought she had shot him?

MIDGE. Well, frankly, yes, I did.

INSPECTOR. You had no doubt about it?

MIDGE. No, not then.

INSPECTOR. (Quickly) But you have now. Why?

MIDGE. I suppose because I realized that I simply jumped to conclusions.

INSPECTOR. Why were you so sure she had shot him?

MIDGE. Because she had the revolver in her hand, I suppose.

INSPECTOR. But you must have thought she had some reason for shooting him. (He looks keenly at her.)

MIDGE. (Looking troubled) I . . .

INSPECTOR. Well, Miss Harvey?

MIDGE. I don’t know of any reason.

INSPECTOR. In fact, as far as you know, they were a very devoted couple?

MIDGE. Oh yes, they were.

INSPECTOR. I see. (He crosses below the sofa to Right of it.) Let’s get on. What happened next?

MIDGE. I think—yes, Sir Henry went and knelt down by him. He said he wasn’t dead. He told Gudgeon to telephone for the doctor.

INSPECTOR. Gudgeon? That’s the butler. So he was there too.

MIDGE. Yes, he was. Gudgeon went to the telephone and just then John Cristow opened his eyes. I think he tried to struggle up. And then—then he died. It was horrible.

INSPECTOR. And that’s all?

MIDGE. Yes.

INSPECTOR. (Moving up Right) He didn’t say anything at all before he died?

MIDGE. I think he said “Henrietta.”

INSPECTOR. (Turning) he said “Henrietta.”

MIDGE. She—(Agitatedly) she was just opposite him when he opened his eyes. He was looking right at her. (She looks at the INSPECTOR as if in explanation.)

INSPECTOR. I see. That’s all for now, thank you, Miss Harvey.

MIDGE. (Rising and crossing to the door Left) Well, I’d better go and find Henrietta. Lady Angkatell is so very vague, you know. She usually forgets what she went to do.

(The SERGEANT opens the door. MIDGE exits Left and the SERGEANT closes the door behind her.)

INSPECTOR. (Thoughtfully) Lady Angkatell is so very vague.

SERGEANT. (Crossing to Centre) She’s bats, if you ask me.

(The INSPECTOR holds out his hand and the SERGEANT gives him his notebook.)

INSPECTOR. I wonder. I wonder. (He flicks over the pages of the notebook.) Interesting discrepancies. Lady Angkatell says, (He reads) “He murmured something before he died, but she couldn’t catch what it was.”

SERGEANT. Perhaps she’s deaf.

INSPECTOR. Oh no, I don’t think she is. According to Sir Henry, John Cristow said “Henrietta” in a loud voice. When I put it to her—but not before—Miss Harvey says the same thing. Edward Angkatell says Cristow died without saying a word. Gudgeon does not precisely recollect. (He moves below the sofa.) They all know something, Penny, but they’re not telling us. (He sits on the sofa at the Right end of it.)

SERGEANT. We’ll get round to it. (He crosses to the INSPECTOR.) Think the wife did shoot him? (He takes his notebook from the INSPECTOR, then eases to Right of the sofa.)

INSPECTOR. Wives so often have excellent reasons for shooting their husbands that one tends to suspect them automatically.

SERGEANT. It’s clear enough that all the others think she did it.

INSPECTOR. Or do they probably all want to think she did it?

SERGEANT. Meaning exactly?

INSPECTOR. There’s an atmosphere of family solidarity in this house. They’re all blood relations. Mrs. Cristow’s the only outsider. Yes, I think they’d be glad to be sure she did it.

SERGEANT. (Crossing above the sofa to Centre.) But you’re not so sure?

INSPECTOR. Actually anyone could have shot him. There are no alibis in this case. (He rises and stands Right of the sofa.) No times or places to check. Just look at the entrances and exits. You could shoot him from the terrace, pop round the house and—(He indicates the window Right) in by this window. Or through the front door and hall and in by that door, and if you say you’ve come from the farm or the kitchen garden or from shooting in the woods, nobody can check that statement. (He looks through the window Right.) There are shrubs and undergrowth right up to the house. You could play hide-and-seek there for hours. (He moves above the sofa.) The revolver was one of those used for target practice. Anyone could have picked it up and they’d all handled it, though the only clear prints on it are those of Mrs. Cristow and Henrietta Angkatell. (He moves Left of the sofa.) It all boils down really to what sort of a man John Cristow was. (He moves below the sofa.) If you know all about a man, you can guess who would have wanted to murder him.

SERGEANT. We’ll pick up all that in London, in Harley Street. Secretary, servants.

INSPECTOR. (Sitting on the sofa at the Left end of it) Any luck with the servants here?

SERGEANT. Not yet. They’re the starchy kind. There’s no kitchen maid unfortunately. I always had a success with kitchen maids. (He moves above the armchair Left Centre to the fireplace.) There’s a daily girl as underhousemaid I’ve got hopes of. I’d like to put in a little more work on her now, sir, if you don’t want me.

(The INSPECTOR nods. The SERGEANT grins and exits Left. The INSPECTOR rises, moves to the window Right, looks out for a moment, then turns, moves up Centre and goes out on to the terrace. After a few moments he moves to the sofa and sits on it at the Left end. He becomes aware of something under the cushion behind him, moves the cushion and picks up VERONICA’s red handbag. He opens the bag, looks into it and shows considerable surprise. He closes the bag, rises, moves to Left of the sofa and weighs the bag in his hand. As he does so voices are heard off Left. He immediately replaces the bag on the sofa and covers it with the cushion.)

MIDGE. (Off Left) Oh, there you are, Henrietta. The Inspector would like to see you.

HENRIETTA. (Off Left) Thank you, Midge. Lucy’s just told me. I’m going in to see him now.

MIDGE. (Off Left) Oh good. I thought she might forget.

(The INSPECTOR crosses to Left of the sofa. HENRIETTA enters Left.)

HENRIETTA. (Closing the door) You wanted to see me? (She crosses to the sofa and sits on it at the Left end.)

INSPECTOR. Yes, Miss Angkatell. You’re a relation as well, aren’t you?

HENRIETTA. Yes, we’re all cousins. It’s rather confusing because Lady Angkatell married her second cousin and is actually an Angkatell herself.

INSPECTOR. Just a family party—with the exception of Doctor and Mrs. Cristow?

HENRIETTA. Yes.

INSPECTOR. (Moving up Right) Will you give me your account of what happened?

HENRIETTA. I was in the flower garden. (She points Right.) It’s through there. Not very far from the house. I heard the shot and realized it came from the house and not from the target alley down below. I thought that was strange, so I came in.

INSPECTOR. By which window?

HENRIETTA. (Pointing Right) That one.

INSPECTOR. Will you describe what you saw?

HENRIETTA. Sir Henry and Gudgeon, the butler, were bending over John Cristow. Mrs. Cristow was beside them. She had the revolver in her hand.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to Right of the sofa) And you concluded that she had shot him?

HENRIETTA. Why should I think so?

INSPECTOR. Didn’t you, in fact, think so?

HENRIETTA. No, I didn’t.

INSPECTOR. What did you think, then?

HENRIETTA. I don’t think I thought at all. It was all rather unexpected. Sir Henry told Gudgeon to call the doctor and he went over to the phone.

INSPECTOR. Who else was in the room?

HENRIETTA. Everybody, I think. No—Edward came in after I did.

INSPECTOR. Which way?

HENRIETTA. By the terrace.

INSPECTOR. And then?

HENRIETTA. And then—John died.

INSPECTOR. Was he conscious before he died.

HENRIETTA. Oh yes, he opened his eyes.

INSPECTOR. Did he say anything?

HENRIETTA. (After a pause) He said “Henrietta”.

INSPECTOR. You knew him well?

HENRIETTA. Very well indeed.

INSPECTOR. He didn’t say anything else?

HENRIETTA. No.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing above the sofa to Left of it) What happened next?

HENRIETTA. Let me see—oh yes, Gerda cried out. She was swaying, and waving the revolver about. I thought it might go off. I went and took it from her and tried to get her on to the sofa.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) Were you particularly a friend of Doctor Cristow or of Mrs. Cristow?

HENRIETTA. That’s rather a difficult question to answer.

INSPECTOR. (Sympathetically and gently) Is it, Miss Angkatell?

HENRIETTA. (Resolutely) Well, I’ll take a short cut. I was John Cristow’s mistress. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to HENRIETTA) Thank you, Miss Angkatell. (He takes a cigarette case from his pocket and offers a cigarette to HENRIETTA. Gently) I’m afraid we have to know all the facts.

HENRIETTA. (Taking a cigarette; in a dry voice) If this particular fact has no bearing on the case, and I don’t see how it can have, is there any necessity to make it public? Not only for my sake. It would give Mrs. Cristow a good deal of unnecessary pain.

INSPECTOR. (Lighting HENRIETTA’s cigarette) Mrs. Cristow had no idea of the relationship between you and her husband?

HENRIETTA. None.

INSPECTOR. Are you sure of that?

HENRIETTA. Absolutely.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing above the sofa to Right of it) How long had you and Doctor Cristow been lovers?

HENRIETTA. I became his mistress six months ago. I did not say we were lovers.

INSPECTOR. (Looking at her with quickened interest) I’m not sure that I know what you mean, Miss Angkatell.

HENRIETTA. I think you will know if you think about it.

INSPECTOR. There was no question of a divorce?

HENRIETTA. Certainly not. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. John Cristow had had affairs with other women. I was only one of—a procession. I don’t think he really cared for any woman except his wife. But she wasn’t the kind of woman he could talk to about his work. He was doing research work on an obscure disease.

(The INSPECTOR sits on the sofa at the Right end of it.)

He was a very brilliant man, and his research work was the real passion of his life. He got into the habit of coming into my studio and talking to me about it. Actually it was a good deal above my head, but I got some books on the subject and read it up, so that I could understand better. And my questions, even if they weren’t very technical, helped him to formulate his own ideas. (She speaks naturally, as to a friend.) And then—suddenly—I got between John and what he was thinking about. I began to affect him as a woman. He didn’t want to fall in love with me—he’d been in love when he was a young man, and it had left him afraid of going through it again. No, he just wanted an affair, like other affairs he had. I think he thought that if he had an affair with me, he’d get me out of his system and not be distracted from his work any more.

INSPECTOR. And was that satisfactory to you?

HENRIETTA. No, no, of course not. But it had to do. I loved John Cristow, and I was content that he should have what he wanted.

INSPECTOR. I see. It was like that.

HENRIETTA. I’ve been forgetting that you’re a policeman.

INSPECTOR. Policemen are quite like other men. We hear a good deal that isn’t strictly relevant—perhaps it’s because we’re impersonal—like priests.

HENRIETTA. Yes, yes, I suppose you must learn a good deal about the human heart. (She rises and flicks her cigarette ash into the ashtray on the coffee table. The following sentence does not ring quite true.) So now you understand why John said “Henrietta” just before he died.

(The SERGEANT enters Left.)

INSPECTOR. It’s a small point, Miss Angkatell—(He rises and stands Right of the sofa) but why did you take the revolver away from Mrs. Cristow?

HENRIETTA. I told you. I thought she was going to faint.

INSPECTOR. It was one of the revolvers used earlier for target practice. The only clear prints on it are Mrs. Cristow’s and—naturally—yours. (He pauses.) It would have been better if nobody had touched it.

HENRIETTA. One doesn’t realize these things at the time. Is that all, Inspector?

INSPECTOR. Yes, thank you, Miss Angkatell, that’s all for the present.

(The SERGEANT opens the door. HENRIETTA crosses and exits Left. The SERGEANT closes the door behind her.)

SERGEANT. Get anything useful out of her?

INSPECTOR. She was Cristow’s mistress. She told me that accounts for his saying “Henrietta” before he died.

SERGEANT. (Crossing to Left of the sofa) That seems fair enough.

INSPECTOR. If it’s true.

SERGEANT. What other reason could he have for saying her name?

INSPECTOR. It could have been—an accusation.

SERGEANT. You mean she might have done him in?

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) It’s possible.

SERGEANT. My money’s on the wife. If Mrs. Cristow had found out about her husband and this Henrietta, it gives us what we want—a motive.

INSPECTOR. Henrietta Angkatell says she didn’t know.

SERGEANT. You can’t be sure of that. Somebody tipped Mrs. Cristow off as like as not.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to the alcove and looking off at the statue) She couldn’t have hidden her feelings for long. She’s not that kind of woman.

SERGEANT. What about the others? They’re in the clear, I suppose?

INSPECTOR. There doesn’t seem any reason why any of them should have wanted John Cristow dead. (He turns and crosses above the sofa to the writing table.) But there’s a good deal we don’t know yet. They’re all watchful and cagey about what they say.

SERGEANT. I can’t see how Sir Henry or Lady Angkatell could have any reason for wanting Cristow out of the way.

INSPECTOR. Nor the little girl—Miss Harvey. But remember that statement of Edward Angkatell’s: “Did John Cristow say anything before he died? Nothing at all.” A flat denial, that of what we know to be true. Both Sir Henry and Miss Harvey say that John Cristow said “Henrietta” in quite a loud voice.

SERGEANT. You think Edward Angkatell’s sweet on this Henrietta woman?

INSPECTOR. That is my idea.

SERGEANT. And was doing his best not to get her mixed up in it.

INSPECTOR. Exactly.

SERGEANT. Yes—it certainly looks like it.

INSPECTOR. (Easing below the sofa) And granting that, Penny, it gives us another suspect.

SERGEANT. Edward Angkatell?

INSPECTOR. (Sitting on the sofa at the Right end of it) Yes. He’s the nervous sort. If he cared very much for Henrietta and discovered that she was John Cristow’s mistress, he’s just the quiet type that goes off half-cock when everybody least expects it.

SERGEANT. Hoped he’d get her when the other man was out of the way?

INSPECTOR. We’ve both known cases like that.

SERGEANT. (Moving up Centre) So in your opinion it’s between the three of them, Henrietta Angkatell, Edward Angkatell and the wife?

INSPECTOR. Oh, I’ve got a very open mind about it, Penny—a very open mind. (He takes VERONICA’s handbag from under the cushion and holds it up.) Just tell me what you make of this?

SERGEANT. (Moving to Left of the sofa) Lady’s handbag.

INSPECTOR. Undoubtedly.

SERGEANT. We went over it when we did this room. (He consults his notebook.) Two pounds ten shillings in notes, seven shillings in cash, the usual lipstick, powder compact and rouge. Silver cigarette lighter. Lace handkerchief unmarked. All very Ritzy. Belongs to one of the ladies, I suppose, I couldn’t say which.

(The INSPECTOR rises with the bag in his hand, crosses to the fireplace and presses the bellpush.)

I didn’t go into the matter, as I didn’t think it important.

INSPECTOR. You think it belongs to one of the ladies in this house?

SERGEANT. (Moving up Left Centre) I assumed so. Have you any reason for thinking otherwise?

INSPECTOR. Only aesthetic sense. (He crosses to Left of the sofa.) Not in good enough taste for Lady Angkatell. Too expensive for little Miss Harvey. Far too fashionable for Mrs. Cristow. Too flamboyant for Henrietta Angkatell. It doesn’t seem to me to belong to this household at all. (He looks at the bag.) I find it—very intriguing.

SERGEANT. (Easing to the fireplace) I daresay I can find out who it does belong to. But as I say, the contents being nothing out of the ordinary . . .

INSPECTOR. Are you quite sure you’ve mentioned all its contents?

SERGEANT. I think so, sir.

(GUDGEON enters Left.)

GUDGEON. You rang, sir?

INSPECTOR. Yes. Can you tell me to whom this bag belongs?

GUDGEON (Crossing to Left of the INSPECTOR) I’m afraid not, sir. I don’t recollect ever having seen it before. I could ask her ladyship’s own maid, sir. She would probably know better than I should.

INSPECTOR. Thank you.

(GUDGEON turns, moves to the door down Left, then hesitates and turns.)

GUDGEON. It just occurred to me, sir, if I might make a suggestion?

INSPECTOR. By all means.

GUDGEON. (Moving Left Centre) It might possibly be the property of Miss Veronica Craye.

SERGEANT. (Moving to Left of GUDGEON) Veronica Craye? The film star? Is she in this part of the world?

GUDGEON. (Giving the SERGEANT a dirty look; to the INSPECTOR) She occupies the cottage a hundred yards up the lane. Dovecotes, it’s called.

INSPECTOR. Has Miss Craye been here?

GUDGEON. She was here yesterday evening, sir.

INSPECTOR. And she was carrying this bag?

GUDGEON. No, sir. She was in evening dress and was carrying a white diamanté bag. But I think it possible Miss Craye was here earlier this morning for a short time.

INSPECTOR. When?

GUDGEON. About midday, sir.

INSPECTOR. You saw her?

GUDGEON. I didn’t see her myself, sir.

SERGEANT. Well, who did?

GUDGEON. (With an angry glance at the SERGEANT) The underhousemaid observed her from one of the bedroom windows, sir.

The girl is an ardent movie fan. She was quite thrilled.

SERGEANT. I’ll have a word with that girl.

(He exits Left.)

INSPECTOR. Lady Angkatell didn’t mention that Miss Craye had been here this morning.

GUDGEON. I don’t think her ladyship was aware of Miss Craye’s visit.

INSPECTOR. Who did she come to see, then?

GUDGEON. As to that, sir, I couldn’t say.

(The INSPECTOR crosses above the sofa to Right of it.)

H’m! (He coughs.)

INSPECTOR. (Turning to GUDGEON) Yes?

GUDGEON. A note was brought over from Dovecotes for Doctor Cristow earlier in the morning. Doctor Cristow said there was no answer.

INSPECTOR. I see. What happened to that note?

GUDGEON. I think I could produce it for you, sir. I picked up some crumpled paper by the wastepaper basket.

INSPECTOR. Thank you, Gudgeon—I should be extremely obliged if you will bring it to me at once.

GUDGEON. (Turning and crossing to the door Left) Very good, sir.

INSPECTOR. I gather Doctor Cristow knew Miss Craye?

GUDGEON. It would seem so, sir. He went over to see her last night—after dinner. (He waits expectantly.)

INSPECTOR. When did he return?

GUDGEON. As to that, sir, I could not say. Acting on Sir Henry’s instructions I left the side door unfastened when I retired to bed at twelve fifteen A.M.

(The INSPECTOR puts the bag on the writing table.)

Up to that time Doctor Cristow had not returned.

(VERONICA enters up Centre from Left.)

VERONICA. I’ve just heard the news. It’s awful—just awful. (She moves above the sofa.) Are you . . . ?

INSPECTOR. I’m Inspector Colquhoun of Scotland Yard.

VERONICA. Then John was murdered?

(GUDGEON exits abruptly Left.)

INSPECTOR. Oh yes, Miss Craye, he was murdered.

VERONICA. So you know who I am? (She moves below the Left end of the sofa.)

INSPECTOR. I’m very fond of a good film.

VERONICA. How charming of you. (She sits on the sofa at the Left end of it.) I’m over in England to make a picture.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing below the sofa to Left Centre.) Doctor Cristow was a friend of yours?

VERONICA. I hadn’t seen him for years. I came over last night to borrow some matches—and the first person I saw when I came into the room was John Cristow.

INSPECTOR. Were you pleased to see him?

VERONICA. I was very pleased. It’s always nice to meet an old friend.

INSPECTOR. He called on you yesterday evening, I believe?

VERONICA. Yes, I asked him to come over after dinner if he could manage it. We had a delightful talk about old times and old friends.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) What time did he leave?

VERONICA. I’ve really no idea. We talked for quite a while.

INSPECTOR. About old times?

VERONICA. Yes, of course a lot had happened to us both.

(The INSPECTOR moves up Centre and closes the window.)

He’d done very well in his profession, I understand. And he’d married since I knew him.

INSPECTOR. (Easing up Right.) You didn’t know his wife?

VERONICA. No, no, he introduced us here last night. I gathered from what he—well, didn’t exactly say, but hinted at—that his married life wasn’t awfully happy.

INSPECTOR. Oh, really.

VERONICA. I think his wife was one of those dim ineffectual women who are inclined to be jealous.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to Right of the sofa) Had she any cause for jealousy?

VERONICA. Oh, don’t ask me. I just thought there might have been a little trouble lately. Jealousy does make people do such dreadful things.

INSPECTOR. You think he was shot by his wife?

VERONICA. Oh, I don’t really know anything about it. It was my maid—she told me that his wife had actually been found standing over him with the revolver still in her hand. But of course the wildest stories do get around in the country.

INSPECTOR. (Easing above the writing table) This one happens to be quite true.

VERONICA. Oh, I suppose his wife found out about him and the sculptress woman.

(The SERGEANT enters Left. He carries the crumpled note.)

INSPECTOR. Excuse me.

(The SERGEANT crosses below the coffee table to the INSPECTOR and hands him the crumpled note.)

VERONICA. Of course.

SERGEANT. (Aside to the INSPECTOR) He got back at three o’clock. (He moves up Right.)

VERONICA. I really just came over to—to . . .

INSPECTOR. (Picking up the handbag) To get your bag, perhaps? It is your bag?

VERONICA. (Disconcerted) Oh yes. (She rises.) Thank you.

INSPECTOR. Just a moment.

(VERONICA resumes her seat on the sofa.)

(He refers to the note, then crosses below the sofa to Left Centre) Doctor Cristow returned to this house at three A.M. this morning. Isn’t that rather an unconventional hour?

VERONICA. We were talking about old times.

INSPECTOR. So you said.

VERONICA. It must have been much later than I thought.

INSPECTOR. Was that the last time you saw Doctor Cristow?

VERONICA. (Quickly) Yes.

INSPECTOR. Are you quite sure, Miss Craye?

VERONICA. Of course I’m sure.

INSPECTOR. What about this bag of yours?

VERONICA. Oh, I must have left that last night, when I came to get the matches.

INSPECTOR. Rather large and heavy for an evening bag. (He pauses.) I think you left it here this morning.

VERONICA. And what makes you think that?

INSPECTOR. (Moving to the fireplace and putting the bag on the mantelpiece) Partly this note of yours. (He smooths out the note and reads it.) “Please come over this morning. I must see you, Veronica.” A little curt, Miss Craye. Doctor Cristow, I believe, said there was no answer. He didn’t come to you—so you came here to see him, didn’t you?

VERONICA. (Rising and moving to the armchair Left Centre, with a change of manner) How wonderful you are! You seem to know everything.

INSPECTOR. Not quite everything. What happened when you came here? Did you quarrel?

VERONICA. We-ell—you couldn’t call it a quarrel exactly. (She sighs and sits in the armchair Left Centre.) Poor John.

INSPECTOR. Why poor John?

VERONICA. I didn’t want to tell you. It didn’t seem fair.

INSPECTOR. Yes?

VERONICA. John went mad—quite mad. He’d been in love with me years ago. He—he wanted to leave his wife and children—he wanted me to get a divorce and marry him. It’s really quite frightening to think one can have such an affect on a man.

INSPECTOR. It must be. Very sudden and unexpected.

VERONICA. I know. Almost unbelievable. But it’s possible, you know, never to forget—to wait and hope and plan. There are men like that.

INSPECTOR. (Watching her closely and moving above the armchair to Right of it) And women.

VERONICA. Yes—yes—I suppose so. Well, that’s how he was. I pretended at first not to take him seriously. I told him he was mad. He’d said something of the kind last night. That’s why I sent him that note. I couldn’t leave things like that. I came over to make him realize that what he suggested was impossible. But he wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. And now—he’s dead. I feel dreadful.

(The SERGEANT clears his throat.)

INSPECTOR. Yes, Sergeant?

SERGEANT. (Easing above the sofa; to VERONICA) I understand from information received that as you left by that window you were heard to say—(He refers to his notebook) “I hate you more than I ever thought it possible to hate anyone.”

VERONICA. I’m sure I never said that. What have you been listening to? Servants’ talk?

SERGEANT. One of your fans, Miss Craye, was hanging around hoping to get your autograph. (Significantly) She heard a great deal of what went on in this room.

VERONICA. (Rising; angrily) All a pack of lies. (To the INSPECTOR) Can I have my bag, please?

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to the fireplace) Certainly, Miss Craye. (He picks up the bag.) But I’m afraid I shall have to keep the gun.

VERONICA. Gun?

(The INSPECTOR takes a handkerchief from his pocket, puts it round his hand, opens the bag and takes out a revolver.)

INSPECTOR. Didn’t you know there was a gun in your bag?

SERGEANT. (With a step towards the INSPECTOR) But . . .

(The INSPECTOR quells the SERGEANT with a glance.)

VERONICA. There wasn’t a gun. It’s not mine. I don’t know anything about a gun.

INSPECTOR. (Examining the revolver) Thirty-eight Smith and Wesson the same calibre as the bullet that killed John Cristow.

VERONICA. (Angrily) Don’t you think you can frame me! (She moves to the INSPECTOR.) I’ll see my attorney. I’ll . . . How dare you!

INSPECTOR. (Holding out the bag) Here’s your bag, Miss Craye.

(VERONICA snatches the bag from him. She looks both angry and frightened.)

VERONICA. I won’t say another word.

INSPECTOR. Very wise.

(VERONICA turns, glares at the SERGEANT, then exits hurriedly up Centre to Left. The INSPECTOR looks after her, twisting the revolver which he holds carefully in the handkerchief.)

SERGEANT. (Easing to Right of the armchair Left Centre.) But, sir, I . . .

INSPECTOR. But me no buts, Penny. Things are not what they seem, and all the rest of it. (He moves to the armchair Left Centre and sits slowly in it.)

(The SERGEANT opens his mouth to protest.)

(He silences the SERGEANT with a gesture.) I know—I know. Now I wonder . . . ?

CURTAIN