The Mousetrap and Other Plays

ACT THREE

Scene I

SCENE: The Chambers of Sir Wilfrid Robarts, Q.C. The same evening.

When the Curtain rises, the stage is empty and in darkness. The window curtains are open. GRETA enters immediately and holds the door open. MAYHEW and SIR WILFRID enter. MAYHEW carries his brief-case.

GRETA. Good evening, Sir Wilfrid. It’s a nasty night, sir. (GRETA exits, closing the door behind her.)

SIR WILFRID. Damned fog! (He switches on the wall-brackets by the switch below the door and crosses to the window.)

MAYHEW. It’s a beast of an evening. (He removes his hat and overcoat and hangs them on the pegs up L.)

SIR WILFRID. (Closing the window curtains) Is there no justice? We come out of a stuffy Court Room gasping for fresh air, and what do we find? (He switches on the desk lamp.) Fog!

MAYHEW. It’s not as thick as the fog we’re in over Mrs. Heilger’s antics. (He crosses to the desk and puts his case on the up L. corner.)

SIR WILFRID. That damned woman. From the very first moment I clapped eyes on her, I scented trouble. I knew she was up to something. A thoroughly vindictive piece of goods and much too deep for that simple young fool in the dock. But what’s her game, John? What’s she up to? Tell me that. (He crosses below the desk to L.)

MAYHEW. Presumably, it would seem, to get young Leonard Vole convicted of murder.

SIR WILFRID. (Crossing down R.) But why? Look what he’s done for her.

MAYHEW. He’s probably done too much for her.

SIR WILFRID. (Moving up R. of the desk) And she despises him for it. That’s likely enough. Ungrateful beasts, women. But why be vindictive? After all, if she was bored with him, all she had to do was walk out. (He crosses above the desk to L.) There doesn’t seem to be any financial reason for her to remain with him.

GRETA. (Enters and crosses to the desk. She carries a tray with two cups of tea.) I’ve brought you your tea, Sir Wilfrid, and a cup for Mr. Mayhew, too. (She puts one cup on each side of the desk.)

SIR WILFRID. (Sitting L. of the fireplace) Tea? Strong drink is what we need.

GRETA. Oh, you know you like your tea really, sir. How did it go today?

SIR WILFRID. Badly.

(MAYHEW sits L. of the desk.)

GRETA. (Crossing to SIR WILFRID) Oh, no, sir. Oh, I do hope not. Because he didn’t do it. I’m sure he didn’t do it. (She crosses to the door.)

SIR WILFRID. You’re still sure he didn’t do it. (He looks thoughtfully at her.) Now why’s that?

GRETA. (Confidently) Because he’s not the sort. He’s nice, if you know what I mean—ever so nice. He’d never go coshing an old lady on the head. But you’ll get him off, won’t you, sir?

SIR WILFRID. I’ll—get—him—off.

(GRETA exits.)

(He rises. Almost to himself.) God knows how. Only one woman on the jury—pity—evidently the women like him—can’t think why—he’s not particularly—(He crosses to R. of the desk.) good looking. Perhaps he’s got something that arouses the maternal instinct. Women want to mother him.

MAYHEW. Whereas Mrs. Heilger—is not the maternal type.

SIR WILFRID. (Picking up his tea and crossing with it to L.) No, she’s the passionate sort. Hot blooded behind that cool self-control. The kind that would knife a man if he double-crossed her. God, how I’d like to break her down. Show up her lies. Show her up for what she is.

MAYHEW. (Rising and taking his pipe from his pocket) Forgive me, Wilfrid, but aren’t you letting this case become a personal duel between you and her? (He moves to the fireplace, takes a pipe cleaner from the jar on the mantelpiece and cleans his pipe.)

SIR WILFRID. Am I? Perhaps I am. But she’s an evil woman, John. I’m convinced of that. And a young man’s life depends on the outcome of that duel.

MAYHEW. (Thoughtfully) I don’t think the Jury liked her.

SIR WILFRID. No, you’re right there, John. I don’t think they did. To begin with, she’s a foreigner, and they distrust foreigners. Then she’s not married to the fellow—she’s more or less admitting to committing bigamy.

(MAYHEW tosses the pipe cleaner into the fireplace, then crosses to L. of the desk.)

None of that goes down well. And at the end of it all, she’s not sticking to her man when he’s down. We don’t like that in this country.

MAYHEW. That’s all to the good.

SIR WILFRID. (Crossing above the desk to R. of it) Yes, but it isn’t enough. There’s no corroboration of his statements whatsoever. (He puts his tea on the desk.)

(MAYHEW crosses to L.)

He admits being with Miss French that evening, his fingerprints are all over the place, we haven’t managed to find anybody who saw him on the way home, and there’s the altogether damning matter of the will. (He stands above the desk.) That travel agency business doesn’t help. The woman makes a will in his favour and immediately he goes enquiring about luxury cruises. Couldn’t be more unfortunate.

MAYHEW. (Moving to the fireplace) I agree. And his explanation was hardly convincing.

SIR WILFRID. (With a sudden complete change of manner and becoming very human) And yet, you know, John, my wife does it.

MAYHEW. Does what?

SIR WILFRID. (Smiling indulgently.) Gets travel agencies to make out itineraries for extensive foreign tours. For both of us. (He takes the tobacco jar from the mantelpiece and puts it on the desk.)

MAYHEW. Thank you, Wilfrid. (He sits L. of the desk and fills his pipe.)

SIR WILFRID. She’ll work it all out to the last detail and bemoan the fact that the boat misses a connection at Bermuda. (He moves to R. of the desk.) She’ll say to me that we could save time by flying but that we wouldn’t see anything of the country, and (He sits R. of the desk.) what do I think? And I say: ‘It’s all the same to me, my dear. Arrange it as you like.’ We both know that it’s a kind of game, and we’ll end up with the same old thing—staying at home.

MAYHEW. Ah, now with my wife, it’s houses.

SIR WILFRID. Houses?

MAYHEW. Orders to view. Sometimes I think that there’s hardly a house in England that’s ever been up for sale that my wife hasn’t been over. She plans how to apportion the rooms, and works out any structural alterations that will be necessary. She even plans the curtains and the covers and the general colour scheme. (He rises, puts the tobacco jar on the mantelpiece and feels in his pocket for a match.)

(SIR WILFRID and MAYHEW look at each other and smile indulgently.)

SIR WILFRID. H’m—well . . . (He becomes the Q.C. again.) The fantasies of our wives aren’t evidence, worse luck. But it helps one to understand why young Vole went asking for cruise literature.

MAYHEW. Pipe dreams.

SIR WILFRID. (Taking a matchbox from the desk drawer) There you are, John. (He puts the box on the desk.)

MAYHEW. (Crossing to L. of the desk and picking up the matchbox) Thank you, Wilfrid.

SIR WILFRID. I think we’ve had a certain amount of luck with Janet MacKenzie.

MAYHEW. Bias, you mean?

SIR WILFRID. That’s right. Overdoing her prejudice.

MAYHEW. (Sitting L. of the desk) That was a very telling point of yours about her deafness.

SIR WILFRID. Yes, yes, we got her there. But she got her own back over the wireless.

(MAYHEW finds that the matchbox is empty, throws it in the wastepaper basket and puts his pipe in his pocket.)

Not smoking, John?

MAYHEW. No, not just now.

SIR WILFRID. John, what really happened that night? Was it robbery with violence after all? The police have to admit that it might have been.

MAYHEW. But they don’t really think so and they don’t often make a mistake. That inspector is quite convinced that it was an inside job—that that window was tampered with from the inside.

SIR WILFRID. (Rising and crossing below the desk to L.) Well, he may be wrong.

MAYHEW. I wonder.

SIR WILFRID. But if so who was the man Janet MacKenzie heard talking to Miss French at nine-thirty? Seems to me there are two answers to that.

MAYHEW. The answers being . . . ?

SIR WILFRID. First that she made the whole thing up, when she saw that the police weren’t satisfied about its being a burglary.

MAYHEW. (Shocked.) Surely she wouldn’t do a thing like that?

SIR WILFRID. (Crossing to C.) Well, what did she hear, then? Don’t tell me it was a burglar chatting amicably with Miss French—(He takes his handkerchief from his pocket.) before he coshed her on the head, you old clown. (He coshes MAYHEW with the handkerchief.)

MAYHEW. That certainly seems unlikely.

SIR WILFRID. I don’t think that that rather grim old woman would stick at making up a thing like that. I don’t think she’d stick at anything, you know. No—(Significantly.) I don’t think—she’d stick—at—anything.

MAYHEW. (Horrified) Good Lord! Do you mean . . . ?

CARTER. (Enters and closes the door behind him.) Excuse me, Sir Wilfrid. A young woman is asking to see you. She says it has to do with the case of Leonard Vole.

SIR WILFRID. (Unimpressed.) Mental?

CARTER. Oh, no, Sir Wilfrid. I can always recognize that type.

SIR WILFRID. (Moving above the desk and picking up the tea-cups) What sort of a young woman? (He crosses to C.)

CARTER. (Taking the cups from SIR WILFRID) Rather a common young woman, sir, with a free way of talking.

SIR WILFRID. And what does she want?

CARTER. (Quoting somewhat distastefully) She says she ‘knows something that might do the prisoner a bit of good.’

SIR WILFRID. (With a sigh) Highly unlikely. Bring her in.

(CARTER exits, taking the cups with him.)

What do you think, John?

MAYHEW. Oh well, we can’t afford to leave any stone unturned.

(CARTER enters and ushers in a WOMAN. She appears to be aged almost thirty-five and is flamboyantly but cheaply dressed. Blond hair falls over one side of her face. She is violently and crudely made up. She carries a shabby handbag. MAYHEW rises.)

CARTER. The young lady. (CARTER exits.)

WOMAN. (Looking sharply from SIR WILFRID to MAYHEW) Here, what’s this? Two o’ yer? I’m not talking to two of yer. (She turns to go.)

SIR WILFRID. This is Mr. Mayhew. He is Leonard Vole’s solicitor. I am Sir Wilfrid Robarts, Counsel for the Defence.

WOMAN. (Peering at SIR WILFRID) So you are, dear. Didn’t recognize you without your wig. Lovely you all look in them wigs.

(MAYHEW gives SIR WILFRID a nudge, then stands above the desk.)

Havin’ a bit of a confab, are you? Well, maybe I can help you if you make it worth my while.

SIR WILFRID. You know, Miss—er . . .

WOMAN. (Crossing and sitting L. of the desk) No need for names. If I did give you a name, it mightn’t be the right one, might it?

SIR WILFRID. (Standing C.) As you please. You realize you are in duty bound to come forward to give any evidence that may be in your possession.

WOMAN. Aw, come off it! I didn’t say I knew anything, did I? I’ve got something. That’s more to the point.

MAYHEW. What is it you have got, madam?

WOMAN. Aye-aye! I was in court today. I watched the—that trollop give her evidence. So high and mighty about it too. She’s a wicked one. A Jezebel, that’s what she is.

SIR WILFRID. Quite so. But as to this special information you have . . .

WOMAN. (Cunningly.) Ah, but what’s in it for me? It’s valuable, what I’ve got. A hundred quid, that’s what I want.

MAYHEW. I’m afraid we could not countenance anything of that character, but perhaps if you tell us a little more about what you have to offer . . .

WOMAN. You don’t buy unless you get a butcher’s, is that it?

SIR WILFRID. A butcher’s?

WOMAN. A butcher’s ’ook—look.

SIR WILFRID. Oh, yes—yes.

WOMAN. I’ve got the goods on her all right. (She opens her handbag.) It’s letters, that’s what it is. Letters.

SIR WILFRID. Letters written by Romaine Vole to the prisoner?

WOMAN. (Laughing coarsely) To the prisoner? Don’t make me laugh. Poor ruddy prisoner, he’s been took in by her all right. (She winks.) I’ve got something to sell, dear, and don’t you forget it.

MAYHEW. (Smoothly.) If you will let us see these letters, we shall be able to advise you as to how pertinent they are.

WOMAN. Putting it in your own language, aren’t you? Well, as I say, I don’t expect you to buy without seeing. But fair’s fair. If those letters will do the trick, if they’ll get the boy off, and put that foreign bitch where she belongs, well, it’s a hundred quid for me. Right?

MAYHEW. (Taking his wallet from his pocket and extracting ten pounds) If these letters contain information that is useful to the defense—to help your expenses in coming here—I am prepared to offer you ten pounds.

WOMAN. (Almost screaming.) Ten bloody quid for letters like these. Think again.

SIR WILFRID. (Crossing to MAYHEW and taking the wallet from him) If you have a letter there that will help to prove my client’s innocence, twenty pounds would I think not be an unreasonable sum for your expenses. (He crosses to R. of the desk, takes ten pounds from the wallet, returns the empty wallet to MAYHEW, and takes the first ten pounds from him.)

WOMAN. Fifty quid and it’s a bargain. That’s if you’re satisfied with the letters.

SIR WILFRID. Twenty pounds. (He puts the notes on the desk.)

(The WOMAN watches him and wets her lips. It is too much for her.)

WOMAN. All right, blast you. ’Ere, take ’em. Quite a packet of ’em. (She takes the letters from her handbag.) The top one’s the one will do the trick. (She puts the letters on the desk, then goes to pick up the money.)

(SIR WILFRID is too quick for the WOMAN and picks up the money. The WOMAN quickly retrieves the letters.)

SIR WILFRID. Just a moment. I suppose this is her handwriting?

WOMAN. It’s her handwriting all right. She wrote ’em. It’s all fair and square.

SIR WILFRID. We have only your word for that.

MAYHEW. Just a moment. I have a letter from Mrs. Vole—not here, but at my office.

SIR WILFRID. Well, madam, it looks as though we’ll have to trust you—(He hands her the notes.) for the moment. (He takes the letters from her, smooths them out and begins to read.)

(The WOMAN slowly counts the notes, carefully watching the OTHERS meanwhile. MAYHEW moves to SIR WILFRID and peers at the letters. The WOMAN rises and crosses towards the door.)

(To MAYHEW.) It’s incredible. Quite incredible.

MAYHEW. (Reading over his shoulder) The cold-blooded vindictiveness.

SIR WILFRID. (Crossing to the WOMAN) How did you get hold of these?

WOMAN. That’d be telling.

SIR WILFRID. What have you got against Romaine Vole?

(The WOMAN crosses to the desk, suddenly and dramatically turns her head, swings the desk lamp so that it flows on to her face on the side that has been turned away from the audience, pushing her hair back as she does so, revealing that her cheek is all slashed, scarred and disfigured. SIR WILFRID starts back with an ejaculation.)

WOMAN. See that?

SIR WILFRID. Did she do that to you?

WOMAN. (Crossing to C.) Not her. The chap I was going with. Going with him steady, I was too. He was a bit younger than me, but he was fond of me and I loved him. Then she came along. She took a fancy to him and she got him away from me. She started to see him on the sly and then one day he cleared out. I knew where he’d gone. I went after him and I found them together. (She sits L. of the desk.) I told ’er what I thought of ’er and ’er set on me. In with one of the razor gangs, he was. He cut my face up proper. “There,” he says, “no man’ll ever look at you now.”

SIR WILFRID. Did you go to the police about it?

WOMAN. Me? Not likely. ’Sides it wasn’t ’is fault. Not really. It was hers, all hers. Getting him away from me, turning ’im against me. But I waited my time. I followed ’er about and watched ’er. I know some of the things she’s bin up to. I know where the bloke lives who she goes to see on the sly sometimes. That’s how I got hold of them letters. So now you know the whole story, mister. (She rises, thrusts her face forward and pushes her hair aside.) Want to kiss me?

(SIR WILFRID shrinks back.)

I don’t blame yer. (She crosses to L.)

SIR WILFRID. I’m deeply sorry, deeply sorry. Got a fiver, John?

(MAYHEW shows his empty wallet.)

(He takes his wallet from his pocket and extracts a fivepound note.) Er—we’ll make it another five pounds.

WOMAN. (Grabbing the note) ’Oldin’ out on me, were yer? Willin’ to go up another five quid. (She advances on SIR WILFRID.)

(SIR WILFRID backs towards MAYHEW.)

Ah, I knew I was being too soft with you. Those letters are the goods, aren’t they?

SIR WILFRID. They will, I think, be very useful. (He turns to MAYHEW and holds out a letter.) Here, John, have a butcher’s at this one.

(The WOMAN slips quickly out of the door.)

MAYHEW. We’ll have a handwriting expert on these for safety’s sake, and he can give evidence if necessary.

SIR WILFRID. We shall require this man’s surname and his address.

MAYHEW. (Looking around) Hullo, where has she gone? She mustn’t leave without giving us further particulars. (He crosses to C.)

SIR WILFRID. (Crosses and exits hurriedly. Off, calling) Carter! Carter!

CARTER. (Off.) Yes, Sir Wilfrid?

SIR WILFRID. (Off.) Carter, where did that young woman go?

CARTER. (Off.) She went straight out, sir.

SIR WILFRID. (Off.) Well, you shouldn’t have let her go. Send Greta after her.

CARTER. (Off.) Very good, Sir Wilfrid.

(SIR WILFRID enters and crosses to L. of MAYHEW.)

MAYHEW. She’s gone?

SIR WILFRID. Yes, I’ve sent Greta after her, but there’s not a hope in this fog. Damn! We must have this man’s surname and address.

MAYHEW. We won’t get it. She thought things out too carefully. Wouldn’t give us her name, and slipped out like an eel as soon as she saw us busy with the letters. She daren’t risk having to appear in the witness box. Look what the man did to her last time.

SIR WILFRID. (Without conviction) She’d have protection.

MAYHEW. Would she? For how long? He’d get her in the end, or his pals would. She’s already risked something coming here. She doesn’t want to bring the man into it. It’s Romaine Heilger she’s after.

SIR WILFRID. And what a beauty our Romaine is. But we’ve got something to go on at last. Now as to procedure . . .

CURTAIN

Scene II

SCENE: The Old Bailey. The next morning.

When the Curtain rises, the Court is awaiting the entry of the JUDGE. Leonard and the WARDER are seated in the dock. Two BARRISTERS are seated at the L. end of the back row of BARRISTERS’ seats. SIR WILFRID and his ASSISTANT are in their places. MAYHEW is standing L. of the table talking to SIR WILFRID. The CLERK OF THE COURT, the JUDGE’S CLERK and the STENOGRAPHER are in their places. The three visible MEMBERS OF THE JURY are seated. The POLICEMAN is at the doors up L. The USHER is standing at the top of the steps up R.C. MYERS, his ASSISTANT and two BARRISTERS enter up C. MYERS crosses to SIR WILFRID and starts talking angrily. The ASSISTANT and the BARRISTERS take their seats. There are three KNOCKS on the JUDGE’S door. The USHER comes down the steps to R.C.

USHER. Stand up.

(ALL stand. The JUDGE and ALDERMAN enter by the JUDGE’S door and take their seats.)

All persons who have anything further to do before my lady the Queen’s justices of Oyer and Terminer and general gaol delivery for the jurisdiction of the Central Criminal Court draw near and give your attendance. God Save the Queen.

(The JUDGE bows to the Court and ALL take their seats. The USHER sits on the stool down R.)

SIR WILFRID. (Rising) My lord, since this was adjourned, certain evidence of a rather startling character has come into my hands. This evidence is such that I am taking it upon myself to ask your lordship’s permission to have the last witness for the prosecution, Romaine Heilger, recalled.

(The CLERK rises and whispers to the JUDGE.)

JUDGE. When exactly, Sir Wilfrid, did this evidence come to your knowledge?

(The CLERK sits.)

SIR WILFRID. It was brought to me after the Court was adjourned last night.

MYERS. (Rising) My lord, I must object to my learned friend’s request. The case for the prosecution is closed and . . .

(SIR WILFRID sits.)

JUDGE. Mr. Myers, I had not intended to rule on this question without first observing the customary formality of inviting your observations on the matter. Yes, Sir Wilfrid?

(MYERS sits.)

SIR WILFRID. (Rising) My lord, in a case where evidence vital to the prisoner comes into possession of his legal advisers at any time before the jury have returned their verdict, I contend that such evidence is not only admissible, but desirable. Happily there is clear authority to support my proposition, to be found in the case of the King against Stillman, reported in nineteen twenty-six Appeal Cases at page four-six-three. (He opens a law volume in front of him.)

JUDGE. You needn’t trouble to cite the authority, Sir Wilfrid. I am quite familiar with it. I should like to hear the prosecution. Now, Mr. Myers.

(SIR WILFRID sits.)

MYERS. (Rising) In my respectful submission, my lord, the course my friend proposes is, save in exceptional circumstances, quite unprecedented. And what, may I ask, is this startling new evidence of which Sir Wilfrid speaks?

SIR WILFRID. (Rising) Letters, my lord. Letters from Romaine Heilger.

JUDGE. I should like to see these letters to which you refer, Sir Wilfrid.

(SIR WILFRID and MYERS sit. The USHER rises, crosses to SIR WILFRID, collects the letters, passes them to the CLERK, who hands them to the JUDGE. The JUDGE studies the letters. The USHER resumes his seat.)

MYERS. (Rising) My friend was good enough to tell me only as we came into Court that he intended to make this submission, so that I have had no opportunity to examine the authorities. But I seem to remember a case in, I think, nineteen thirty, the King against Porter, I believe . . .

JUDGE. No, Mr. Myers, the King against Potter, and it was reported in nineteen thirty-one. I appeared for the prosecution.

MYERS. And if my memory serves me well, your lordship’s similar objection was sustained.

JUDGE. Your memory for once serves you ill, Mr. Myers. My objection then was overruled by Mr. Justice Swindon—as yours is now, by me.

(MYERS sits.)

SIR WILFRID. (Rising) Call Romaine Heilger.

USHER. (Rises and moves down C.) Romaine Heilger.

POLICEMAN. (Opens the door. Calling) Romaine Heilger.

JUDGE. If these letters are authentic it raises very serious issues. (He hands the letters to the CLERK.)

(The CLERK hands the letters to the USHER, who returns them to SIR WILFRID. During the slight wait that ensues, LEONARD is very agitated. He speaks to the WARDER, then puts his hands to his face. The USHER sits on the stool R. of the table. MAYHEW rises, speaks to LEONARD and calms him down. LEONARD shakes his head and looks upset and worried. ROMAINE enters up L., crosses and enters the witness box. The POLICEMAN closes the door.)

SIR WILFRID. Mrs. Heilger, you appreciate that you are still on your oath?

ROMAINE. Yes.

JUDGE. Romaine Heilger, you are recalled to this box so that Sir Wilfrid may ask you further questions.

SIR WILFRID. Mrs. Heilger, do you know a certain man whose Christian name is Max?

ROMAINE. (Starts violently at the mention of the name.) I don’t know what you mean.

SIR WILFRID. (Pleasantly.) And yet it’s a very simple question. Do you or do you not know a man called Max?

ROMAINE. Certainly not.

SIR WILFRID. You’re quite sure of that?

ROMAINE. I’ve never known anyone called Max. Never.

SIR WILFRID. And yet I believe it’s a fairly common Christian name, or contraction of a name, in your country. You mean that you have never known anyone of that name?

ROMAINE. (Doubtfully.) Oh, in Germany—yes—perhaps, I do not remember. It is a long time ago.

SIR WILFRID. I shall not ask you to throw your mind back such a long way as that. A few weeks will suffice. Let us say—(He picks up one of the letters and unfolds it, making rather a parade of it.) the seventeenth of October last.

ROMAINE. (Startled.) What have you got there?

SIR WILFRID. A letter.

ROMAINE. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

SIR WILFRID. I’m talking about a letter. A letter written on the seventeenth of October. You remember that date, perhaps.

ROMAINE. Not particularly, why?

SIR WILFRID. I suggest that on that day, you wrote a certain letter—a letter addressed to a man called Max.

ROMAINE. I did nothing of the kind. These are lies that you are telling. I don’t know what you mean.

SIR WILFRID. That letter was one of a series written to the same man over a considerable period of time.

ROMAINE. (Agitated.) Lies—all lies!

SIR WILFRID. You would seem to have been on—(Significantly.) intimate terms with this man.

LEONARD. (Rising) How dare you say a thing like that?

(The WARDER rises and attempts to restrain LEONARD.)

(He waves the WARDER aside.) It isn’t true!

JUDGE. The prisoner in his own interest will remain silent.

(LEONARD and the WARDER resume their seats.)

SIR WILFRID. I am not concerned with the general trend of this correspondence. I am only interested in one particular letter. (He reads.) “My beloved Max. An extraordinary thing has happened. I believe all our difficulties may be ended . . .”

ROMAINE. (Interrupting in a frenzy) It’s a lie—I never wrote it. How did you get hold of that letter? Who gave it to you?

SIR WILFRID. How the letter came into my possession is irrelevant.

ROMAINE. You stole it. You are a thief as well as a liar. Or did some woman give it to you? Yes, I am right, am I not?

JUDGE. Kindly confine yourself to answering Counsel’s questions.

ROMAINE. But I will not listen.

JUDGE. Proceed, Sir Wilfrid.

SIR WILFRID. So far you have only heard the opening phrases of the letter. Am I to understand that you definitely deny writing it?

ROMAINE. Of course I never wrote it. It is a forgery. It is an outrage that I should be forced to listen to a pack of lies—lies made up by a jealous woman.

SIR WILFRID. I suggest it is you who have lied. You have lied flagrantly and persistently in this Court and upon oath. And the reason why you have lied is made clear by— (He taps the letter.) this letter—written down by you in black and white.

ROMAINE. You are crazy. Why should I write down a lot of nonsense?

SIR WILFRID. Because a way had opened before you to freedom—and in planning to take that way, the fact that an innocent man would be sent to his death meant nothing to you. You have even included that final deadly touch of how you yourself managed accidentally to wound Leonard Vole with a ham knife.

ROMAINE. (Carried away with fury.) I never wrote that. I wrote that he did it himself cutting the ham . . . (Her voice dies away.)

(All eyes in court turn on her.)

SIR WILFRID. (Triumphantly.) So you know what is in the letter—before I have read it.

ROMAINE. (Casting aside all restraint) Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!

LEONARD. (Shouting) Leave her alone. Don’t bully her.

ROMAINE. (Looking wildly around) Let me get out of here—let me go. (She comes out of the witness box.)

(The USHER rises and restrains ROMAINE.)

JUDGE. Usher, give the witness a chair.

(ROMAINE sinks on to the stool R. of the table, sobs hysterically and buries her face in her hands. The USHER crosses and sits on the stool down R.)

Sir Wilfrid, will you now read the letter aloud so that the Jury can hear it.

SIR WILFRID. (Reading) “My beloved Max. An extraordinary thing has happened. I believe all our difficulties may be ended. I can come to you without any fear of endangering the valuable work you are doing in this country. The old lady I told you about has been murdered and I think Leonard is suspected. He was there earlier that night and his fingerprints will be all over the place. Nine-thirty seems to be the time. Leonard was home by then, but his alibi depends on me—on me. Supposing I say he came home much later and that he had blood on his clothes—he did have blood on his sleeve, because he cut his wrist at supper, so you see it would all fit in. I can even say he told me he killed her. Oh, Max, beloved! Tell me I can go ahead—it would be so wonderful to be free from playing the part of a loving, grateful wife. I know the Cause and the Party comes first, but if Leonard was convicted of murder, I could come to you safely and we could be together for always. Your adoring Romaine.”

JUDGE. Romaine Heilger, will you go back into the witness box?

(ROMAINE rises and enters the witness box.)

You have heard that letter read. What have you to say?

ROMAINE. (Frozen in defeat.) Nothing.

LEONARD. Romaine, tell him you didn’t write it. I know you didn’t write it.

ROMAINE. (Turning and fairly spitting out the words) Of course I wrote it.

SIR WILFRID. That, my lord, concludes the case for the defence.

JUDGE. Sir Wilfrid, have you any evidence as to whom these letters were addressed?

SIR WILFRID. My lord, they came into my possession anonymously, and there has been as yet no time to ascertain any further facts. It would seem likely that he came to this country illegally and is engaged on some subversive operations here . . .

ROMAINE. You will never find out who he is—never. I don’t care what you do to me. You shall never know.

JUDGE. Do you wish to re-examine, Mr. Myers?

(SIR WILFRID sits.)

MYERS. (Rising rather unhappily) Really, my lord, I find it somewhat difficult in view of these startling developments. (To ROMAINE.) Mrs. Heilger, you are, I think, of a highly nervous temperament. Being a foreigner you may not quite realize the responsibilities that lie upon you when you take the oath in an English court of law. If you have been intimidated into admitting something that is not true, if you wrote a letter under stress or in some spirit of make-believe, do not hesitate to say so now.

ROMAINE. Must you go on and on torturing me? I wrote the letter. Now let me go.

MYERS. My lord, I submit that this witness is in such a state of agitation that she hardly knows what she is saying or admitting.

JUDGE. You may remember, Mr. Myers, that Sir Wilfrid cautioned the witness at the time of her previous statement and impressed upon her the sacred nature of the oath she had taken.

(MYERS sits.)

Mrs. Heilger, I wish to warn you that this is not the end of the matter. In this country you cannot commit perjury without being brought to account for it, and I may tell you that I have no doubt proceedings for perjury will shortly be taken against you. The sentence for perjury can be severe. You may stand down.

(ROMAINE stands down. The POLICEMAN opens the door. ROMAINE crosses and exits. The POLICEMAN closes the door.)

Sir Wilfrid, will you now address the Jury on behalf of the defence?

SIR WILFRID. (Rising) Members of the Jury, when truth is clearly evident it speaks for itself. No words of mine I’m sure can add to the impression made upon you by the straightforward story which the prisoner has told, and by the very wicked attempt to incriminate him, evidence of which you have just witnessed . . .

(As SIR WILFRID speaks the LIGHTS dim to black-out. After a few seconds the LIGHTS come up. The JURY are out but are just re-entering the box.)

CLERK. (Rising) Vole, stand up.

(LEONARD rises.)

Members of the Jury, are you all agreed upon your verdict?

FOREMAN. (Standing) We are.

CLERK. Do you find the prisoner, Leonard Vole, guilty or not guilty?

FOREMAN. Not guilty, my lord.

(A buzz of approbation goes round the court.)

USHER. (Rising and moving down C.) Silence!

JUDGE. Leonard Vole, you have been found not guilty of the murder of Emily French on October fourteenth. You are hereby discharged and are free to leave the Court. (He rises.)

(ALL rise. The JUDGE bows to the Court and exits up R., followed by the ALDERMAN and the JUDGE’S CLERK.)

USHER. All persons who have anything further to do before my lady the Queen’s justices of Oyer and Terminer and general gaol delivery for the jurisdiction of the Central Criminal Court may depart hence and give your attendance here again tomorrow morning at ten-thirty o’clock. God Save The Queen.

(The USHER, the JURY and the STENOGRAPHER exit down R. The BARRISTERS, ASSISTANTS and the CLERK OF THE COURT exit up C. The WARDER and the POLICEMAN exit up L. LEONARD leaves the dock and crosses to MAYHEW.)

MAYHEW. Congratulations, my boy!

LEONARD. I can’t thank you enough.

MAYHEW. (Tactfully indicating SIR WILFRID) This is the man you’ve got to thank.

(LEONARD crosses to C. to meet SIR WILFRID, but comes face to face with MYERS, who glares at him, and exits up C. SIR WILFRID crosses to R. of LEONARD.)

LEONARD. (Turning to SIR WILFRID) Thank you, sir (His tone is less spontaneous than it was to MAYHEW. He dislikes SIR WILFRID it seems.) You—you’ve got me out of a very nasty mess.

SIR WILFRID. Nasty mess! Do you hear that, John? Your troubles are over now, my boy.

MAYHEW. (Moving to L. of LEONARD) But it was a near thing, you know.

LEONARD. (Unwillingly) Yes, I suppose it was.

SIR WILFRID. If we hadn’t been able to break that woman down . . .

LEONARD. Did you have to go for her the way you did? It was terrible the way she went to pieces. I can’t believe . . .

SIR WILFRID. (With all the force of his personality.) Look here, Vole, you’re not the first young man I’ve known who’s been so crazy over a woman that he’s been blinded to what she’s really like. That woman did her level best to put a rope round your neck.

MAYHEW. And don’t you forget it.

LEONARD. Yes, but why? I can’t see why. She’s always seemed so devoted. I could have sworn she loved me—and yet all the time she was going with this other fellow. (He shakes his head.) It’s unbelievable—there’s something there I don’t understand.

WARDER. (Enters up L. and moves to L. of the table.) Just two or three minutes more, sir. We’ll slip you out to a car by the side entrance.

LEONARD. Is there still a crowd?

(ROMAINE, escorted by the POLICEMAN, enters up L.)

POLICEMAN. (In the doorway.) Better wait in here, ma’am. The crowd’s in a nasty mood. I’d let them disperse before you try to leave.

ROMAINE. (Moving down L. of the table) Thank you.

(The POLICEMAN and the WARDER exit up L. ROMAINE crosses towards LEONARD.)

SIR WILFRID. (Intercepting ROMAINE) No, you don’t.

ROMAINE. (Amused) Are you protecting Leonard from me? Really, there’s no need.

SIR WILFRID. You’ve done enough harm.

ROMAINE. Mayn’t I even congratulate Leonard on being free?

SIR WILFRID. No thanks to you.

ROMAINE. And rich.

LEONARD. (Uncertainly.) Rich?

MAYHEW. Yes, I think, Mr. Vole, that you will certainly inherit a great deal of money.

LEONARD. (Boyishly) Money doesn’t seem to mean so much after what I’ve been through. Romaine, I can’t understand . . .

ROMAINE. (Smoothly.) Leonard, I can explain.

SIR WILFRID. No!

(SIR WILFRID and ROMAINE look at each other like antagonists.)

ROMAINE. Tell me, do those words the Judge said mean that I shall—go to prison?

SIR WILFRID. You will quite certainly be charged with perjury and tried for it. You will probably go to prison.

LEONARD. (Awkwardly.) I’m sure that—that everything will come right. Romaine, don’t worry.

MAYHEW. Will you never see sense, Vole? Now we must consider practicalities—this matter of probate.

(MAYHEW draws LEONARD down R., where they murmur together. SIR WILFRID and ROMAINE remain, measuring each other.)

SIR WILFRID. It may interest you to know that I took your measure the first time we met. I made up my mind then to beat you at your little game, and by God I’ve done it. I’ve got him off—in spite of you.

ROMAINE. In spite—of me.

SIR WILFRID. You don’t deny, do you, that you did your best to hang him?

ROMAINE. Would they have believed me if I had said that he was at home with me that night, and did not go out? Would they?

SIR WILFRID. (Slightly uncomfortable) Why not?

ROMAINE. Because they would have said to themselves: this woman loves this man—she would say or do anything for him. They would have had sympathy with me, yes. But they would not have believed me.

SIR WILFRID. If you’d been speaking the truth they would.

ROMAINE. I wonder. (She pauses.) I did not want their sympathy—I wanted them to dislike me, to mistrust me, to be convinced that I was a liar. And then, when my lies were broken down—then they believed . . . (In the Cockney accent of the WOMAN who visited SIR WILFRID at his office.) So now you know the whole story, mister—like to kiss me?

SIR WILFRID. (Thunderstruck.) My God!

ROMAINE. (As herself) Yes, the woman with the letters. I wrote those letters. I brought them to you. I was that woman. It wasn’t you who won freedom for Leonard. It was I. And because of it I shall go to prison. (Her eyes close.) But at the end of it Leonard and I will be together again. Happy—loving each other.

SIR WILFRID. (Moved.) My dear . . . But couldn’t you trust me? We believe, you know, that our British system of justice upholds the truth. We’d have got him off.

ROMAINE. I couldn’t risk it. (Slowly.) You see, you thought he was innocent . . .

SIR WILFRID. (With quick appreciation.) And you knew he was innocent. I understand.

ROMAINE. But you do not understand at all. I knew he was guilty.

SIR WILFRID. (Thunderstruck.) But aren’t you afraid?

ROMAINE. Afraid?

SIR WILFRID. Of linking your life with a murderer’s.

ROMAINE. You don’t understand—we love each other.

SIR WILFRID. The first time I met you I said you were a very remarkable woman—I see no reason to change my opinion. (Crosses and exits up C.)

WARDER. (Off up L.) It’s no good going in there, miss. It’s all over.

(There is a COMMOTION off up L. and then a GIRL comes running on up L. She is a very young strawberry blonde with a crude, obvious appeal. She rushes to LEONARD through the Q.C.’s bench and meets him down R.C.)

GIRL. Len, darling, you’re free. (She embraces him) Isn’t it wonderful? They’re trying to keep me out. Darling, it’s been awful. I’ve been nearly crazy.

ROMAINE. (With sudden violent harshness.) Leonard—who—is—this girl!

GIRL. (To ROMAINE, defiantly.) I’m Len’s girl. I know all about you. You’re not his wife. Never have been. (She crosses to R. of ROMAINE.) You’re years older than him, and you just got hold of him—and you’ve done your best to hang him. But that’s all over now. (She turns to LEONARD.) We’ll go abroad like you said on one of your cruises—to all those grand places. We’ll have a wonderful time.

ROMAINE. Is—this—true? Is she your girl, Leonard?

LEONARD. (Hesitates, then decides that the situation must be accepted.) Yes, she is.

(The GIRL crosses above LEONARD to R. of him.)

ROMAINE. After all I’ve done for you . . . What can she do for you that can compare with that?

LEONARD. (Flinging off all disguise of manner, and showing coarse brutality.) She’s fifteen years younger than you are. (He laughs.)

(ROMAINE flinches as though struck.)

(He crosses to R. of ROMAINE. Menacingly.) I’ve got the money. I’ve been acquitted, and I can’t be tried again, so don’t go shooting off your mouth, or you’ll just get yourself hanged as an accessory after the fact. (He turns to the GIRL and embraces her.)

ROMAINE. (Picks up the knife from the table. Throwing her head back in sudden dignity.) No, that will not happen. I shall not be tried as an accessory after the fact. I shall not be tried for perjury. I shall be tried for murder—(She stabs LEONARD in the back.) the murder of the only man I ever loved.

(LEONARD drops. The GIRL screams. Mayhew bends over LEONARD, feels his pulse and shakes his head.)

(She looks up at the JUDGE’S seat.) Guilty, my lord.

CURTAIN