The Mousetrap and Other Plays

ACT THREE

SCENE: The same. The following Monday morning.

When Curtain rises, it is a fine morning, the French windows are open and a small fire burns in the grate. GUDGEON ushers in the INSPECTOR and the SERGEANT Left.

GUDGEON. I will inform Sir Henry you are here, sir.

(He exits Left.)

SERGEANT. (Glancing at the drinks table) Nice flowers. (He moves to the fireplace.)

INSPECTOR. (Moving up Centre and standing in the French windows) Yes.

SERGEANT. (Turning and looking at the picture over the mantelpiece) I rather like this picture. Nice house. I wonder whose it is?

INSPECTOR. That’s Lady Angkatell’s old home.

SERGEANT. Is it now? All sold up like everything else nowadays?

INSPECTOR. No, it belongs to Edward Angkatell. Entailed, you see.

SERGEANT. (Turning) Why not to Sir Henry? He’s got the title.

INSPECTOR. No. He’s a KCB. He was only a second cousin.

SERGEANT. You seem to know all about the family.

INSPECTOR. (Moving down Right) I’ve taken the trouble to find out all I could. I thought it might have a bearing on the case.

SERGEANT. I don’t quite see how. (He eases Left Centre.) Anyway, we’re getting places at last—or aren’t we?

INSPECTOR. Aren’t we is probably right.

(DORIS enters up Centre from Left.)

DORIS. (Standing in the French windows) Ssh!

SERGEANT. Hullo.

DORIS. (Moving Centre; conspiratorially) I come round this way because I didn’t want Mr. Gudgeon to spot me. They say out there it’s common to have anything to do with the police, but what I say is let justice be done.

SERGEANT. That’s the spirit, my girl. And who says it’s common to have anything to do with the police?

DORIS. (Turning to the SERGEANT) Mrs. Medway—the cook. She said it was bad enough anyway to have police in the house and a thing that had never happened to her before and she was afraid she wasn’t going to have a light hand with her pastry. (She pauses for breath.) And if it wasn’t for her ladyship she’d give in her notice, but she couldn’t leave her ladyship in the lurch. (She crosses to Left of the sofa. To the INSPECTOR) All potty about her ladyship they are.

SERGEANT. Well, come to the part about justice being done.

DORIS. (Turning and crossing to Right of the SERGEANT) It’s what I seen with my own eyes.

SERGEANT. And very nice eyes they are, too.

DORIS. (Nudging the SERGEANT) Oh, go on! Well, Saturday afternoon it was—the very day of the murder. I went to shut the bedroom windows because it looked like rain, and I happened to glance over the banisters, and what did I see?

SERGEANT. Well—what did you see?

DORIS. I saw Mr. Gudgeon standing in the front hall with a revolver in his hand and he looked ever so peculiar. Gave me quite a turn it did.

INSPECTOR. Gudgeon?

DORIS. (Moving to Left of the sofa) Yes, sir. And it come to me as perhaps he was the murderer.

INSPECTOR. Gudgeon!

DORIS. (Crossing below the sofa to Left of the INSPECTOR) And I hope I’ve done right in coming to you, but what they’ll say to me in the servants’ hall I don’t know, but what I felt was—let—

SERGEANT. You did quite right, my girl.

DORIS. And what I feel is . . . (She breaks off and listens.) Someone’s coming. (She moves quickly up Centre.) I must hop it. I’m supposed to be counting the laundry.

(She exits up Centre to Left.)

SERGEANT. (Moving up Centre and looking after DORIS) That’s a useful girl. She’s the one who was hanging about for Miss Craye’s autograph.

(SIR HENRY enters Left.)

INSPECTOR. Good morning, Sir Henry.

SIR HENRY. (Crossing to Left of the sofa) Good morning, Inspector.

SERGEANT. Good morning, sir.

(SIR HENRY nods to the SERGEANT.)

SIR HENRY. (To the INSPECTOR) You wanted to see me?

INSPECTOR. (Crossing to Left Centre) Yes, Sir Henry. We wanted some further information.

SIR HENRY. Yes?

INSPECTOR. Sir Henry, you have a considerable collection of firearms, mostly pistols and revolvers. I wanted to know if any of them are missing.

SIR HENRY. (Sitting on the sofa at the Left end of it) I don’t quite understand. I have already told you that I took two revolvers and one pistol down to the target alley on Saturday morning, and that I subsequently found that one of them, a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson, was missing. I identified this missing revolver as the one that Mrs. Cristow was holding just after the murder.

INSPECTOR. That is quite correct, Sir Henry. According to Mrs. Cristow’s statement, she picked it up from the floor by her husband’s body. We assumed, perhaps naturally, that that was the gun with which Doctor Cristow was shot.

SIR HENRY. Do you mean—it wasn’t?

INSPECTOR. We have now received the report of our ballistics expert. Sir Henry, the bullet that killed Doctor Cristow was not fired from that gun.

SIR HENRY. You astound me.

INSPECTOR. Yes, it’s extremely odd. The bullet was of the right calibre, but that was definitely not the gun used.

SIR HENRY. But may I ask, Inspector, why you should assume that the murder weapon came from my collection?

INSPECTOR. I don’t assume it, Sir Henry—but I must check up before looking elsewhere.

SIR HENRY. (Rising and crossing to Left) Yes, I see that. Well, I can tell you what you want to know in a very few moments.

(He exits Left.)

SERGEANT. He doesn’t know anything.

INSPECTOR. (Moving up Centre) So it seems. (He goes on to the terrace and stands looking off Left.)

SERGEANT. What time’s the inquest?

INSPECTOR. Twelve o’clock. There’s plenty of time.

SERGEANT. Just routine evidence and an adjournment. It’s all fixed up with the Coroner, I suppose?

(MIDGE enters Left. She wears her hat and coat, and carries her handbag, gloves and suitcase.)

INSPECTOR. (Turning) Are you leaving, Miss Harvey?

MIDGE. (Crossing to Centre) I have to get up to town immediately after the inquest.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to Right of MIDGE) I’m afraid I must ask you not to leave here today.

MIDGE. But that’s very awkward. You see, I work in a dress shop. And if I’m not back by two thirty there’ll be an awful to-do.

INSPECTOR. I’m sorry, Miss Harvey. You can say you are acting on police instructions.

MIDGE. That won’t go down very well, I can tell you. (She crosses below the sofa to the writing table, puts her handbag and gloves on it and stands the case on the floor above the writing table.) Oh well, I suppose I’d better ring up now and get it over. (She lifts the telephone receiver. Into the telephone.) Hullo . . .

(The voice of the OPERATOR is reasonably audible.)

OPERATOR. Number please.

MIDGE. Regent four-six-nine-two, please.

OPERATOR. What is your number?

MIDGE. Dowfield two-two-one.

(The INSPECTOR eases to Left of the sofa and looks at the SERGEANT.)

OPERATOR. Dowfield two-two-one. There’s a twenty-minute delay on the line.

MIDGE. Oh!

OPERATOR. Shall I keep the call in?

MIDGE. Yes, keep the call in, please. You’ll ring me?

OPERATOR. Yes.

MIDGE. Thank you. (She replaces the receiver.)

(SIR HENRY enters Left.)

SIR HENRY. Do you mind leaving us, Midge?

MIDGE. Of course—but I’m expecting a call. (She picks up her suitcase and crosses to Left.)

SIR HENRY. I’ll give you a hail when it comes through, unless they forget all about it.

(MIDGE exits Left. SIR HENRY closes the door behind her.)

(He crosses to Left of the INSPECTOR.) A second thirty-eight Smith and Wesson exhibit in a brown leather holster is missing from my study.

INSPECTOR. (Taking a revolver from his pocket) Would it be this gun, Sir Henry?

(SIR HENRY, surprised, takes the revolver from the INSPECTOR and carefully examines it.)

SIR HENRY. Yes—yes, this is it. Where did you find it?

INSPECTOR. That doesn’t matter for the moment. But the shot that killed Doctor Cristow was fired from that gun. May I speak to your butler, Sir Henry? (He holds out his hand for the revolver.)

SIR HENRY. (Handing the revolver to the INSPECTOR) Of course. (He turns, crosses to the fireplace and presses the bell-push.) Do you want to speak to him in here?

INSPECTOR. (Putting the revolver in his pocket) If you please, Sir Henry.

SIR HENRY. Do you want me to go away or to remain? I should prefer to remain. Gudgeon is a very old and valued servant.

INSPECTOR. I would prefer you to be here, Sir Henry.

(GUDGEON enters Left.)

GUDGEON. You rang, Sir Henry?

SIR HENRY. Yes, Gudgeon. (He indicates the INSPECTOR.)

(GUDGEON looks politely at the INSPECTOR.)

INSPECTOR. Gudgeon, have you lately had a pistol or a revolver in your possession?

(SIR HENRY sits in the armchair Left centre)

GUDGEON. (Crossing to Left of the INSPECTOR; imperturbably) I don’t think so, sir. I don’t own any firearms.

SERGEANT. (Reading from his notebook) “I happened to glance over the banisters and I saw Mr. Gudgeon standing in the front hall with a revolver—

(GUDGEON reacts by clenching his fists.)

—in his hand and he looked ever so peculiar . . .”

(The INSPECTOR looks at the SERGEANT, who breaks off abruptly.)

GUDGEON. That is quite correct, sir. I’m sorry it slipped my memory.

INSPECTOR. Perhaps you will tell us exactly what occurred.

GUDGEON. Certainly, sir. It was about one o’clock on Saturday. Normally, of course, I should have been bringing in luncheon, but owing to a murder having taken place a short time before, household routine was disorganized. As I was passing through the front hall, I noticed one of Sir Henry’s pistols, a small Derringer it was, sir, lying on the oak chest there. I didn’t think it should be left lying about, so I picked it up and subsequently took it to the master’s study and put it back in its proper place. I may add, sir, that I have no recollection of having looked peculiar.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to Right of the sofa) You say you put the gun in Sir Henry’s study? (He moves below the sofa and faces up stage.) Is it there now?

GUDGEON. To the best of my belief, sir. I can easily ascertain.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to Left of the sofa and taking the revolver from his pocket) It wasn’t—this gun?

GUDGEON. (Moving in to Left of the INSPECTOR and looking at the revolver) On no, sir. That’s a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson—this was a small pistol—a Derringer.

INSPECTOR. You seem to know a good deal about firearms.

GUDGEON. I served in the nineteen-fourteen-eighteen war, sir.

INSPECTOR. (Turning and moving down Right) And you say you found this Derringer pistol—on the oak chest in the hall?

GUDGEON. Yes, sir.

(LADY ANGKATELL enters up Centre from Left. The INSPECTOR eases above the Right end of the sofa.)

LADY ANGKATELL. (Moving Centre) How nice to see you, Mr. Colquhoun. What is all this about a pistol and Gudgeon? I found that child Doris in floods of tears. The girl was quite right to say what she saw if she thought she saw it. I find right and wrong bewildering myself—easy when wrong is pleasant and right is unpleasant—but confusing the other way about, if you know what I mean. And what have you been telling them about this pistol, Gudgeon?

GUDGEON. (Respectfully but emphatically) I found the pistol in the hall, m’lady. I have no idea who put it there. I picked it up and put it back in its proper place. That is what I have told the Inspector and he quite understands.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Gently shaking her head at GUDGEON) You shouldn’t have done that, Gudgeon. I’ll talk to the Inspector myself.

GUDGEON. But . . .

LADY ANGKATELL. I appreciate your motives, Gudgeon. I know you always try to save us trouble and annoyance. (Firmly) That will do now.

(GUDGEON hesitates, throws a quick glance at SIR HENRY, then bows and exits Left. SIR HENRY looks very grave.)

(She crosses to the sofa, sits and smiles disarmingly at the INSPECTOR.)

That was really very charming of Gudgeon. Quite feudal, if you know what I mean. Yes, feudal is the right word.

INSPECTOR. Am I to understand, Lady Angkatell, that you yourself have some further knowledge about the matter?

LADY ANGKATELL. Of course. Gudgeon didn’t find the gun in the hall at all. He found it when he took the eggs out.

INSPECTOR. The eggs?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, out of the basket. (She seems to think all is now explained.)

SIR HENRY. You must tell us a little more, my dear. Inspector Colquhoun and I are still at sea.

LADY ANGKATELL. Oh! The gun, you see, was in the basket—

(SIR HENRY rises.)

—under the eggs.

INSPECTOR. What basket? And what eggs, Lady Angkatell?

LADY ANGKATELL. The basket I took down to the farm. The gun was in it and I put the eggs in on top of the gun and forgot about it. When we found poor John Cristow shot in here, it was such a shock that I let go the basket and Gudgeon caught it just in time—because of the eggs.

(SIR HENRY moves slowly to the fireplace.)

Later I asked him about writing the date on the eggs—so that one shouldn’t eat the fresh ones before the old ones—and he said all that had already been attended to—and I remember now he was rather emphatic about it. He found the gun, you see, and put it back in Henry’s study. Very nice and loyal of him—but also very foolish, because, of course, Inspector, the truth is what you want to hear, isn’t it?

INSPECTOR. (Crossing above the sofa to Centre, grimly) The truth is what I mean to get.

LADY ANGKATELL. Of course. It’s all so sad, all this hounding people.

(The INSPECTOR moves to Left of the sofa.)

I don’t suppose whoever it was that shot John Cristow really meant to shoot him—

(The INSPECTOR and the SERGEANT look at each other.)

—not seriously I mean. If it was Gerda, I’m quite sure she didn’t. In fact, I’m rather surprised she didn’t miss—it’s the sort of thing one would expect of her.

(The INSPECTOR crosses above the sofa to Right.)

If she did shoot him, she’s probably dreadfully sorry about it now. It’s bad enough for children having their father murdered, without having their mother hanged for it. (Accusingly) I sometimes wonder if you policemen think of these things.

INSPECTOR. (Crossing below the sofa to Left of it; taken aback) We are not contemplating making an arrest just at present, Lady Angkatell.

LADY ANGKATELL. (With a dazzling smile) Well, that’s sensible. But I have always felt that you are a very sensible man, Mr. Colquhoun.

INSPECTOR. Er—thank you, Lady Angkatell. (He breaks up Centre and turns.) Now I want to get this clear. (He moves down Left Centre.) You had been shooting with this revolver?

LADY ANGKATELL. Pistol.

INSPECTOR. Ah yes, so Gudgeon said. You had been shooting with it at the targets?

LADY ANGKATELL. Oh, no, no. I took it out of Henry’s study before I went to the farm.

INSPECTOR. (Looking at SIR HENRY and then at the armchair Left Centre) May I?

(SIR HENRY nods.)

(He sits.) Why, Lady Angkatell?

LADY ANGKATELL. (With unexpected triumph) I knew you’d ask me that. And of course there must be some answer. (She looks at SIR HENRY.) Mustn’t there, Henry?

SIR HENRY. I should certainly have thought so, my dear.

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, obviously I must have had some idea in my head when I took that little Derringer and put it in my egg basket. (She looks hopefully at SIR HENRY.) I wonder what it could have been?

SIR HENRY. My wife is extremely absentminded, Inspector.

INSPECTOR. So it seems.

LADY ANGKATELL. Why should I have taken that pistol?

INSPECTOR. (Rising and breaking up Centre) I haven’t the faintest idea, Lady Angkatell.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Rising) I came in here—this being your study, Henry—with the window there and the fireplace here. I had been talking to Simmonds about pillow cases—let’s hang on to pillow cases—and I distinctly remember crossing—(She moves to the writing table) over to the fireplace—and thinking we must get a new poker—the curate, not the rector—(She looks at the INSPECTOR) you’re probably too young to know what that means.

(The INSPECTOR and the SERGEANT look at each other.)

And I remember opening the drawer and taking out the Derringer—it was a nice handy little gun—I’ve always liked it—and dropping it in the egg basket. And then I . . . No, there were so many things in my head—(She eases to the sofa and sits) what with bindweed in the border—and hoping Mrs. Medway would make a really rich nègre en chemise.

SERGEANT. (Unable to contain himself) A nègre en chemise

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, chocolate, eggs and cream. John Cristow loved a really rich sweet.

INSPECTOR. (Moving to Left of the sofa) Did you load the pistol?

LADY ANGKATELL. (Thoughtfully) Ah, did I? Really, it’s too ridiculous that I can’t remember. But I should think I must have, don’t you, Inspector?

INSPECTOR. I think I’ll have a few more words with Gudgeon. (He turns and crosses to the door Left.) When you remember a little more, perhaps you’ll let me know, Lady Angkatell?

(The SERGEANT crosses to the door Left.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Of course. Things come back to one quite suddenly sometimes, don’t they?

INSPECTOR. Yes.

(He exits Left. The SERGEANT follows him off. The clock strikes eleven.)

SIR HENRY. (Crossing to Left of the sofa) Why did you take the pistol, Lucy?

LADY ANGKATELL. I’m really not quite sure, Henry—I suppose I had some vague idea about an accident.

SIR HENRY. Accident?

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, all those roots of tree sticking up—so easy to trip over one. I’ve always thought that an accident would be the simplest way to do a thing of that kind. One would be dreadfully sorry, of course, and blame oneself . . . (Her voice trails off.)

SIR HENRY. Who was to have had the accident?

LADY ANGKATELL. John Cristow, of course.

SIR HENRY. (Sitting Left of her on the sofa) Good God, Lucy!

(LADY ANGKATELL’s manner suddenly changes. All the vagueness goes and she is almost fanatical.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Oh, Henry, I’ve been so dreadfully worried. About Ainswick.

SIR HENRY. I see. So it was Ainswick. You’ve always cared too much about Ainswick, Lucy.

LADY ANGKATELL. You and Edward are the last of the Angkatells. Unless Edward marries, the whole thing will die out—and he’s so obstinate—that long head of his, just like my father. I felt that if only John were out of the way, Henrietta would marry Edward—she’s really quite fond of him—and when a person’s dead, you do forget. So, it all came to that—get rid of John Cristow.

SIR HENRY. (Aghast) Lucy! It was you . . .

LADY ANGKATELL. (Her elusive self again) Darling, darling, you don’t imagine for a moment that I shot John? (She laughs, rises, crosses to the fireplace and picks up the box of chocolates from the mantelpiece.) I did have that silly idea about an accident. But then I remembered that he was our guest. (She eases Centre.) One doesn’t ask someone to be a guest and then get behind a bush and have a pop at them. (She moves above the sofa and leans over the back of it.) So you musn’t worry, Henry, any more.

SIR HENRY. (Hoarsely) I always worry about you, Lucy.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Taking a chocolate from the box) There’s no need to, dear. (She holds up the chocolate.) Look what’s coming. Open.

(SIR HENRY opens his mouth.)

(She pops the chocolate into SIR HENRY’s mouth.) There! John has been got rid of without our having to do anything about it. It reminds me of that man in Bombay who was so rude to me at a dinner party. (She crosses to the window Right.) Do you remember? Three days later he was run over by a tram.

(She exits Right. The telephone rings. SIR HENRY rises, moves to the telephone and lifts the receiver.)

OPERATOR. Your Regent call, sir.

SIR HENRY. (Into the telephone) Hullo—yes—Regent call?

(MIDGE enters Left.)

MIDGE. For me?

SIR HENRY. Yes.

(MIDGE crosses to the telephone and takes the receiver from SIR HENRY, who exits Right.)

MIDGE. (Into the telephone Right) Hullo. Is that Madame?

VOICE. No, it’s Vera.

MIDGE. Can I speak to Madame herself?

VOICE. Hold on, will you.

(There is a short pause, then another VOICE is heard through the telephone.)

VOICE. ’Ullo. This is Madame Henri speaking.

MIDGE. It’s Miss Harvey.

VOICE. Why are you not ’ere? You are coming back this afternoon, yes?

MIDGE. No, no, I’m afraid I can’t come back this afternoon.

(EDWARD enters up centre from Left and moves to Left Centre.)

VOICE. Oh, always these excuses.

MIDGE. No, no, it’s not an excuse.

(EDWARD asks by a gesture whether she minds him staying.)

(She puts her hand over the mouthpiece. To EDWARD) No—no, don’t go. It’s only my shop.

VOICE. What is it then?

MIDGE. (Into the telephone) There’s been an accident.

(EDWARD picks up a magazine from the coffee table, then sits on the sofa at the Left end of it.)

VOICE. An accident? Don’t tell me these lies. Don’t make these excuses.

MIDGE. No, I’m not telling you lies or making excuses. I can’t come back today. I’m not allowed to leave. It’s the police.

VOICE. The police?

MIDGE. Yes, the police.

VOICE. What ’ave you done?

MIDGE. It’s not my fault. One can’t help these things.

VOICE. Where are you?

MIDGE. I’m at Dowfield.

VOICE. Where there is a murder?

MIDGE. Yes, you read about it in the paper?

VOICE. Of course. This is most inconvenient. What do you think my customers will say when they know you are mixed up in a murder?

MIDGE. It’s hardly my fault.

VOICE. It’s all most upsetting.

MIDGE. Murder is.

VOICE. It’s very exciting for you. Very nice for you to be in the limelight.

MIDGE. I think you are being rather unjust.

VOICE. If you do not return today, you will not ’ave any job. There are plenty of girls who would be ’appy to ’ave it.

MIDGE. Please don’t say such things. I’m very sorry.

VOICE. You will return tomorrow or don’t dare to show your face again.

(MIDGE replaces the receiver. She is near to tears.)

EDWARD. Who was that?

MIDGE. My employer.

EDWARD. You should have told her to go to hell.

MIDGE. And get myself fired?

EDWARD. I can’t bear to hear you so—subservient.

MIDGE. You don’t understand what you’re talking about. (She moves above the sofa.) To show an independent spirit one needs an independent income.

EDWARD. My God, Midge, there are other jobs—interesting jobs.

MIDGE. Yes—you read advertisements asking for them every day in The Times.

EDWARD. Yes.

MIDGE. (Moving up Centre) Sometimes, Edward, you make me lose my temper. What do you know about jobs? Getting them and keeping them? This job, as it happens, is fairly well-paid, with reasonable hours.

EDWARD. Oh, money!

MIDGE. (Moving to Left of the sofa) Yes, money. That’s what I use to live on. I’ve got to have a job that keeps me, do you understand.

EDWARD. Henry and Lucy would . . .

MIDGE. We’ve been into that before. Of course they would. (She crosses to the fireplace.) It’s no good, Edward. You’re an Angkatell and Henry and Lucy are Angkatells, but I’m only half an Angkatell. My father was a plain little businessman—honest and hardworking and probably not very clever. It’s from him I get the feeling I don’t like to accept favours. When his business failed, his creditors got paid twenty shillings in the pound. I’m like him. I mind about money and about debts. Don’t you see, Edward, it’s all right for you and Lucy. Lucy would have any of her friends to stay indefinitely and never think about it twice—and she could go and live on her friends if necessary. There would be no feeling of obligation. But I’m different.

EDWARD. (Rising) You dear ridiculous child. (He puts the magazine on the coffee table.)

MIDGE. I may be ridiculous but I am not a child.

EDWARD. (Crossing to the fireplace and standing above MIDGE) But it’s all wrong that you should have to put up with rudeness and insolence. My God, Midge, I’d like to take you out of it all—carry you off to Ainswick.

MIDGE. (Furiously and half crying) Why do you say these stupid things? You don’t mean them. (She sits on the pouffe.) Do you think it makes life any easier when I’m being bullied and shouted at to remember that there are places like Ainswick in the world? Do you think I’m grateful to you for standing there and babbling about how much you’d like to take me out of it all? It sounds so charming and means absolutely nothing.

EDWARD. Midge!

MIDGE. Don’t you know I’d sell my soul to be at Ainswick now, this minute? I love Ainswick so much I can hardly bear to think of it. You’re cruel, Edward, saying nice things you don’t mean.

EDWARD. But I do mean them. (He eases Centre, turns and faces MIDGE.) Come on, Midge. We’ll drive to Ainswick now in my car.

MIDGE. Edward!

EDWARD. (Drawing MIDGE to her feet) Come on, Midge. We’re going to Ainswick. Shall we? What about it, eh?

MIDGE. (Laughing a little hysterically) I’ve called your bluff, haven’t I?

EDWARD. It isn’t bluff.

MIDGE. (Patting EDWARD’s arm, then crossing to Left of the sofa) Calm down, Edward. In any case, the police would stop us.

EDWARD. Yes, I suppose they would.

MIDGE. (Sitting on the sofa at the Left end of it; gently) All right, Edward, I’m sorry I shouted at you.

EDWARD. (Quietly) You really love Ainswick, don’t you?

MIDGE. I’m resigned to not going there, but don’t rub it in.

EDWARD. I can see it wouldn’t do to rush off there this moment—(He moves to Left of the sofa) but I’m suggesting that you come to Ainswick for good.

MIDGE. For good?

EDWARD. I’m suggesting that you marry me, Midge.

MIDGE. Marry . . . ?

EDWARD. I’m not a very romantic proposition. I’m a dull dog. I read what I expect you would think are dull books, and I write a few dull articles and potter about the estate. But we’ve known each other a long time—and perhaps Ainswick would make up for me. Will you come, Midge?

MIDGE. Marry you? (She rises.)

EDWARD. Can you bear the idea?

MIDGE. (Kneeling at the Left end of the sofa and leaning over the end of it towards EDWARD; incoherently) Edward, oh, Edward—you offer me heaven like—like something on a plate.

(EDWARD takes her hands and kisses them. LADY ANGKATELL enters Right.)

LADY ANGKATELL. (As she enters) What I feel about rhododendrons is that unless you mass them in big clumps you don’t get . . .

MIDGE. (Rising and turning to LADY ANGKATELL) Edward and I are going to be married.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Dumbfounded) Married? You and Edward? But, Midge, I never dre . . . (She recovers herself, moves to MIDGE, kisses her, then holds out her hand to EDWARD.) Oh, darling, I’m so happy. (She shakes EDWARD’s hand and her face lights up.) I am so delighted. You’ll stay on here and give up that horrid shop. You can be married from here—Henry can give you away.

MIDGE. Darling Lucy, I’d love to be married from here.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Sitting on the sofa at the Right end of it.) Off-white satin, and an ivory prayer book—no bouquet. Bridesmaids?

MIDGE. Oh no, I don’t want any fuss.

EDWARD. Just a very quiet wedding, Lucy.

LADY ANGKATELL. Yes, I know exactly what you mean, darling. Unless one carefully chooses them, bridesmaids never match properly—there’s nearly always one plain one who ruins the whole effect—usually the bridegroom’s sister. And children—children are the worst of all. They step on the train, they howl for Nannie. I never feel a bride can go up the aisle in a proper frame of mind while she’s so uncertain what’s happening behind her.

MIDGE. I don’t need to have anything behind me, not even a train. I can be married in a coat and skirt.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Rising and crossing Left Centre) Oh no, Midge—that’s too much like a widow. Off-white satin, and I shall take you to Mireille.

MIDGE. I can’t possibly afford Mireille.

LADY ANGKATELL. Darling, Henry and I will give you your trousseau.

MIDGE. (Crossing to LADY ANGKATELL and kissing her) Darling. (She turns, crosses to EDWARD and holds his hands.)

LADY ANGKATELL. Dear Midge, dear Edward! I do hope that band on Henry’s trousers won’t be too tight. I’d like him to enjoy himself. As for me, I shall wear . . . (She closes her eyes.)

MIDGE. Yes, Lucy?

LADY ANGKATELL. Hydrangea blue—and silver fox. That’s settled. What a pity John Cristow’s dead. Really quite unnecessary after all. But what an exciting weekend. (She moves to Left of MIDGE and EDWARD.) First a murder, then a marriage, then this, then that.

(The INSPECTOR and the SERGEANT enter Left.)

(She turns.) Come in—come in. These young people have just got engaged to be married.

INSPECTOR. (Easing Left Centre.) Indeed. My congratulations.

EDWARD. Thank you very much.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Crossing to the door Left) I suppose I ought to get ready for the inquest. I am so looking forward to it. I’ve never been to an inquest before.

(She exits Left. The SERGEANT closes the door. EDWARD and MIDGE cross and exit Right.)

SERGEANT. (Crossing to Right) You may say what you like, she’s a queer one. (He nods towards the window Right.) And what about those two? So it was her he was keen on, and not the other one.

INSPECTOR. So it seems now.

SERGEANT. Well, that about washes him out. Who have we got left?

INSPECTOR. We’ve only got Gudgeon’s word for it that the gun in Lady Angkatell’s basket is what he says it was. It’s still wide open. You know, we’ve forgotten one thing, Penny—the holster.

SERGEANT. Holster?

INSPECTOR. Sir Henry told us that the gun was originally in a brown leather holster. Where’s the holster?

(SIR HENRY enters Left.)

SIR HENRY. I suppose we ought to be starting—(He crosses to the windows Right.) but everyone seems to have disappeared for some extraordinary reason. (He looks out of the window and calls.) Edward. Midge.

(LADY ANGKATELL enters Left. She wears her hat and coat. She carries a prayer book and one white glove and one grey glove.)

LADY ANGKATELL. (Moving Left Centre) How do I look? Is this the sort of thing one wears?

SIR HENRY. (Turning and moving to Right of the sofa) You don’t need a prayer book, my dear.

LADY ANGKATELL. But I thought one swore things.

INSPECTOR. Evidence isn’t usually taken on oath in a Coroner’s court, Lady Angkatell. In any case, the proceedings will be purely formal today. (He crosses to the door Left.)

(The SERGEANT crosses to the door Left.)

Well, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll both be getting on our way.

(He exits Left. The SERGEANT follows him off.)

LADY ANGKATELL. (Easing to the fireplace) You and I and Gerda can go in the Daimler, and Edward can take Midge and Henrietta.

SIR HENRY. (Moving Centre) Where’s Gerda?

LADY ANGKATELL. Henrietta is with her.

(EDWARD and MIDGE enter Right. MIDGE picks up her bag and gloves from the writing table, and moves below the sofa. EDWARD crosses above the sofa to Right of SIR HENRY.)

SIR HENRY. Well, what’s this I hear about you two? (He shakes hands with EDWARD.) Isn’t this wonderful news? (He crosses to Left of MIDGE and kisses her.)

EDWARD. Thank you, Henry.

MIDGE. Thank you, Cousin Henry.

LADY ANGKATELL. (Looking at her gloves) Now what made me take one white glove and one grey glove? How very odd.

(She exits Left.)

EDWARD. (Moving up Centre) I’ll get my car round.

(He exits up Centre to Left.)

MIDGE. (Sitting on the sofa) Are you really pleased?

SIR HENRY. It’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time. You don’t know what it’ll mean to Lucy. She’s got Ainswick on the brain, as you know.

MIDGE. She wanted Edward to marry Henrietta. (Troubled) Will she mind that it’s me?

SIR HENRY. Of course not. She only wanted Edward to marry. If you want my opinion, you’ll make him a far better wife than Henrietta.

MIDGE. It’s always been Henrietta with Edward.

SIR HENRY. (Crossing to the fireplace) Well, don’t you let those police fellows hear you say so. (He fills his cigarette case from the box on the mantelpiece.) Best thing in the world from that point of view that he’s got engaged to you. Takes suspicion right off him.

MIDGE. (Rising) Suspicion? Off Edward?

SIR HENRY. (Turning) Counting Gerda out of it, I should say he was suspect number one. To put it bluntly, he loathed John Cristow’s guts.

MIDGE. (Crossing to Centre then moving up Left) I remember—the evening after the murder—so that’s why . . . (Her face grows desperately unhappy.)

(HENRIETTA enters Left.)

HENRIETTA. Oh, Henry, I’m taking Gerda with me. (She crosses to the drinks table and picks up her gloves and bag.) She is in rather a nervous state—and I think that one of Lucy’s conversations would just about finish her. We’re starting now.

SIR HENRY. (Moving to the door Left) Yes, we ought to be starting too.

(He exits Left, leaving the door open.)

(Off; calling.) Are you ready, Lucy?

HENRIETTA. (Putting on her gloves) Congratulations, Midge. Did you stand on a table and shout at him?

MIDGE. (Solemnly) I rather think I did.

HENRIETTA. I told you that was what Edward needed.

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

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

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

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

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

HENRIETTA. What do you mean?

GERDA. (Off Left; calling) Henrietta.

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

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

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

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

EDWARD. But why . . . ?

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

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

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

EDWARD. Something is the matter.

MIDGE. Don’t—don’t bother me.

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

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

EDWARD. What do you mean?

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

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

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

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

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

MIDGE. Aren’t you . . . ?

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

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

MIDGE. Edward—are you still here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

(EDWARD sits in the armchair Left Centre.)

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

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

MIDGE. Why—tell me why?

EDWARD. It’s all so hopeless.

MIDGE. Tell me, darling. Make me understand.

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

MIDGE. You thought I was marrying you for Ainswick?

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

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

EDWARD. You love me?

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

EDWARD. But then why . . . ?

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

EDWARD. The police?

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

EDWARD. I . . . ?

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

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

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

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

MIDGE. Oh, Edward.

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

MIDGE. Never. I promise you—never.

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

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

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

Oh, darling!

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

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

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

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

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

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

HENRIETTA. You did very well indeed.

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

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

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

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

GERDA. No—really.

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

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

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

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

HENRIETTA. (Crossing to Left Centre) Of course.

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

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

GERDA. It doesn’t matter.

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

GERDA. She might not like being asked.

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

GERDA. You’re very good to me.

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

(HENRIETTA enters Left.)

Oh, John—John—I can’t bear it.

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

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

HENRIETTA. There are the children.

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

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

GERDA. (Staring front) Holster?

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

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

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

(GERDA slowly nods her head.)

Where is it?

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

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

(GERDA turns and nods.)

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

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

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

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

GERDA. (Weeping) Oh, John—John.

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

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

HENRIETTA. He was a man—not a god.

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

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

HENRIETTA. (Rising) Gerda!

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

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

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

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

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

HENRIETTA. Go on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GERDA. Thank you so much, Henrietta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GERDA. I found it here.

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

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

INSPECTOR. Yes.

GERDA. And the verdict?

INSPECTOR. It was adjourned.

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

INSPECTOR. She?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INSPECTOR. Why, what was in it?

HENRIETTA. She put something in it—out of her bag.

(The INSPECTOR picks up GERDA’s handbag, opens it and takes out the poison bottle.)

INSPECTOR. (Reading the label) I wonder how she got hold of that? (He feels GERDA’s pulse, then shakes his head.) So—she’s killed herself.

HENRIETTA. (Rising and crossing to Right) No, it was meant for me.

INSPECTOR. For you, why?

HENRIETTA. Because I—I knew—something. (She crosses above the sofa to the back of the armchair Centre.)

INSPECTOR. You knew she’d killed her husband? Oh yes, I knew that too. We get to know people in our job. You’re not the killer type. She was.

HENRIETTA. (Breaking to the fireplace) She loved John Cristow—too much.

INSPECTOR. The worshipper—that was the name of the statue, wasn’t it? What happens next for you?

HENRIETTA. John told me once that if he were dead, the first thing I’d do would be to model a figure of grief. It’s odd, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

(The INSPECTOR moves to the writing table. LADY ANGKATELL enters up Centre from Left. She looks radiant.)

LADY ANGKATELL. (Moving down Centre) It was a wonderful inquest.

(The INSPECTOR lifts the telephone receiver.)

Exactly as they describe it in books, and . . . (She sees GERDA.) Has—has Gerda . . . ?

(The INSPECTOR looks at her in silence. HENRIETTA puts her hands to her eyes to hide her tears.)

(She nods her head.) How very, very fortunate . . .

INSPECTOR. (Into the telephone) Get me the police station, will you?

(HENRIETTA starts to sob as—the Curtain falls.)

CURTAIN