The Mousetrap and Other Plays

ACT TWO

Scene I

The same. The following morning.

The windows are open and the room has been tidied. It is a fine morning. There are only eight Indians on the mantelpiece.

Suitcases are piled up on the balcony. ALL are waiting for the boat to arrive. MACKENZIE is sitting up Left in his chair, looking definitely a little queer. EMILY is sitting Right Centre, knitting, with her hat and coat on. WARGRAVE is sitting windowseat up Right, a little apart, and is thoughtful. His manner is judicial throughout scene. VERA, by window Centre, is restless. She comes into the room as if to speak, no one takes any notice, goes down Left and sits.

ARMSTRONG and BLORE come up Right on balcony.

ARMSTRONG. We’ve been up to the top. No sign of that boat yet.

VERA. It’s very early still.

BLORE. Oh, I know. Still, the fellow brings the milk and the bread and all that. I should have thought he’d have got here before this. (Opens door Right 2 and looks in) No sign of breakfast yet—Where’s that fellow Rogers?

VERA. Oh, don’t let’s bother about breakfast—

WARGRAVE. How’s the weather looking?

BLORE. (To window Centre) The wind has freshened a bit. Rather a mackerel sky. Old boy in the train yesterday said we were due for dirty weather. Shouldn’t wonder if he wasn’t right—

ARMSTRONG. (Up Centre. Nervously) I wish that boat would come. The sooner we get off this island the better. It’s absurd not keeping a boat on the island.

BLORE. No proper harbour. If the wind comes to blow from the south-east, a boat would get dashed to pieces against the rocks.

EMILY. But a boat would always be able to make us from the mainland?

BLORE. (To Left of EMILY) No, Miss Brent—that’s just what it wouldn’t.

EMILY. Do you mean we should be cut off from the land?

BLORE. Yes. Condensed milk, Ryvita and tinned stuff till the gale had blown itself out. But you needn’t worry. The sea’s only a bit choppy.

EMILY. I think the pleasures of living on an island are rather overrated.

ARMSTRONG. (Restless) I wonder if that boat’s coming. Annoying the way the house is built slap up against the cliff. You can’t see the mainland until you’ve climbed to the top. (To BLORE) Shall we go up there again?

BLORE. (Grinning) It’s no good, Doctor. A watched pot never boils. There wasn’t a sign of a boat putting out when we were up there just now.

ARMSTRONG. (To down Right) What can this man Narracott be doing?

BLORE. (Philosophically) They’re all like that in Devon. Never hurry themselves.

ARMSTRONG. And where’s Rogers? He ought to be about.

BLORE. If you ask me, Master Rogers was pretty badly rattled last night.

ARMSTRONG. I know. (Shivers) Ghastly—the whole thing.

BLORE. Got the wind up properly. I’d take an even bet that he and his wife did do that old lady in.

WARGRAVE. (Incredulous) You really think so?

BLORE. Well, I never saw a man more scared. Guilty as hell, I should say.

ARMSTRONG. Fantastic—the whole thing—fantastic.

BLORE. I say, suppose he’s hopped it?

ARMSTRONG. Who, Rogers? But there isn’t any way he could. There’s no boat on the island. You’ve just said so.

BLORE. Yes, but I’ve been thinking. We’ve only Rogers’s word for that. Suppose there is one and he’s nipped off in the first thing.

MACKENZIE. Oh! No. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave the island. (His tone is so strange they stare at him.)

BLORE. Sleep well, General? (Crosses Right of MACKENZIE.)

MACKENZIE. I dreamed—yes, I dreamed—

BLORE. I don’t wonder at that.

MACKENZIE. I dreamed of Lesley—my wife, you know.

BLORE. (Embarrassed) Oh—er—yes—I wish Narracott would come. (Turns up to window.)

MACKENZIE. Who is Narracott?

BLORE. The bloke who brought us over yesterday afternoon.

MACKENZIE. Was it only yesterday?

BLORE. (Comes down Centre. Determinedly cheerful) Yes, I feel like that, too. Batty gramophone records—suicides—it’s about all a man can stand. I shan’t be sorry to see the back of Indian Island, I give you my word.

MACKENZIE. So you don’t understand. How strange!

BLORE. What’s that, General?

(MACKENZIE nods his head gently. BLORE looks questioningly at ARMSTRONG, then taps his forehead significantly.)

ARMSTRONG. I don’t like the look of him.

BLORE. I reckon young Marston’s suicide must have been a pretty bad shock to him. He looks years older.

ARMSTRONG. Where is that poor young fellow now?

BLORE. In the study—put him there myself.

VERA. Doctor Armstrong, I suppose it was suicide?

ARMSTRONG. (Sharply) What else could it be?

VERA. (Rises, crosses to Right sofa; sits.) I don’t know. But suicide—(She shakes her head.)

BLORE. (Crosses to behind Left sofa.) You know I had a pretty funny feeling in the night. This Mr. Unknown Owen, suppose he’s on the island. Rogers mayn’t know. (Pause) Or he may have told him to say so. (Watches ARMSTRONG) Pretty nasty thought, isn’t it?

ARMSTRONG. But would it have been possible for anyone to tamper with Marston’s drink without our seeing him?

BLORE. Well, it was standing up there. Anyone could have slipped a dollop of cyanide in if they’d wanted to.

ARMSTRONG. But that—

ROGERS. (Comes running up from Right on balcony. He is out of breath. Comes straight to ARMSTRONG.) Oh, there you are, sir. I’ve been all over the place looking for you. Could you come up and have a look at my wife, sir?

ARMSTRONG. Yes, of course. (Goes towards door Left 1) Is she feeling under the weather still?

ROGERS. She’s—she’s—(Swallows convulsively; exits Left 2.)

ARMSTRONG. You won’t leave the island without me?

(They go out Left 1.)

VERA. (Rises; to Left of windows) I wish the boat would come. I hate this place.

WARGRAVE. Yes. I think the sooner we can get in touch with the police the better.

VERA. The police?

WARGRAVE. The police have to be notified in a case of suicide, you know, Miss Claythorne.

VERA. Oh, yes—of course. (Looks up Right towards the door of study and shivers.)

BLORE. (Opening door Left 2) What’s going on here? No sign of any breakfast.

VERA. Are you hungry, General? (MACKENZIE does not answer. She speaks louder) Feeling like breakfast?

MACKENZIE. (Turns sharply) Lesley—Lesley—my dear.

VERA. No—I’m not—I’m Vera Claythorne.

MACKENZIE. (Passes a hand over his eyes) Of course. Forgive me. I took you for my wife.

VERA. Oh!

MACKENZIE. I was waiting for her, you see.

VERA. But I thought your wife was dead—long ago.

MACKENZIE. Yes. I thought so, too. But I was wrong. She’s here. On this island.

LOMBARD. (Comes in from hall Left 1) Good morning.

(VERA to above Left sofa.)

BLORE. (Coming to down Left) Good morning, Captain Lombard.

LOMBARD. Good morning. Seem to have overslept myself. Boat here yet?

BLORE. No.

LOMBARD. Bit late, isn’t it?

BLORE. Yes.

LOMBARD. (To Vera) Good morning. You and I could have had a swim before breakfast. Too bad all this.

VERA. Too bad you overslept yourself.

BLORE. You must have good nerves to sleep like that.

LOMBARD. Nothing makes me lose my sleep.

(VERA to mantelpiece.)

BLORE. Didn’t dream of African natives, by any chance, did you?

LOMBARD. No. Did you dream of convicts on Dartmoor?

BLORE. (Angrily) Look here, I don’t think that’s funny, Captain Lombard.

LOMBARD. Well, you started it, you know. I’m hungry. What about breakfast? (To Left sofa—sits.)

BLORE. The whole domestic staff seems to have gone on strike.

LOMBARD. Oh, well, we can always forage for ourselves.

VERA. (Examining Indian figures) Hullo, that’s strange.

LOMBARD. What is?

VERA. You remember we found one of these little fellows smashed last night?

LOMBARD. Yes—That ought to leave nine.

VERA. That ought to leave nine. I’m certain there were ten of them here when we arrived.

LOMBARD. Well?

VERA. There are only eight.

LOMBARD. (Looking) So there are. (To mantelpiece.)

(They look at each other.)

VERA. I think it’s queer, don’t you?

LOMBARD. Probably only were nine to begin with. We assumed there were ten because of the rhyme. (ARMSTRONG enters Left 1. He is upset, but striving to appear calm. Shuts door and stands against it.) Hullo, Armstrong, what’s the matter?

ARMSTRONG. Mrs. Rogers is dead.

(WARGRAVE rises.)

BLORE and VERA. No! How?

(VERA to Right end Left sofa.)

ARMSTRONG. Died in her sleep. Rogers thought she was still under the influence of the sleeping draught I gave her and came down without disturbing her. He lit the kitchen fire and did this room. Then, as she hadn’t appeared, he went up, was alarmed by the look of her and went hunting for me. (Pause) She’s been dead about five hours, I should say. (Sits down Left. VERA sits Left sofa.)

BLORE. What was it? Heart?

ARMSTRONG. Impossible to say. It may have been.

BLORE. After all, she had a pretty bad shock last night.

ARMSTRONG. Yes.

WARGRAVE. (Comes down to Left end of Right sofa) She might have been poisoned, I suppose, Doctor?

ARMSTRONG. It is perfectly possible.

WARGRAVE. With the same stuff as young Marston?

ARMSTRONG. No, not cyanide. It would have to have been some narcotic or hypnotic. One of the barbiturates, or chloral. Something like that.

BLORE. You gave her some sleeping powders last night, didn’t you?

ARMSTRONG. (Rises; crossing to cabinet Right for drink of water) Yes, I gave her a mild dose of Luminal.

BLORE. Didn’t give her too much, did you?

ARMSTRONG. Certainly not. What do you mean?

BLORE. All right—no offence, no offence. I just thought that perhaps if she’d had a weak heart—

ARMSTRONG. The amount I gave her could not have hurt anyone.

LOMBARD. Then what exactly did happen?

ARMSTRONG. Impossible to say without an autopsy.

WARGRAVE. If, for instance, this death had occurred in the case of one of your private patients, what would have been your procedure?

ARMSTRONG. (Crossing Left; sits down Left) Without any previous knowledge of the woman’s state of health, I could certainly not give a certificate.

VERA. She was a very nervous-looking creature. She had a bad fright last night. Perhaps it was heart failure.

ARMSTRONG. Her heart certainly failed to beat—but what caused it to fail?

EMILY. (Firmly and with emphasis) Conscience.

(They all jump and look at her. WARGRAVE to Right.)

ARMSTRONG. What exactly do you mean by that, Miss Brent?

EMILY. You all heard—She was accused, together with her husband, of having deliberately murdered her former employer—an old lady.

BLORE. And you believe that’s true, Miss Brent?

EMILY. Certainly. You all saw her last night. She broke down completely and fainted. The shock of having her wickedness brought home to her was too much for her. She literally died of fear.

ARMSTRONG. (Doubtfully) It is a possible theory. One cannot adopt it without more exact knowledge of her state of health. If there was a latent cardiac weakness—

EMILY. Call it, if you prefer, An Act of God.

(EVERYONE is shocked.)

BLORE. Oh, no, Miss Brent. (Moves up Left).

(LOMBARD to window.)

EMILY. (Emphatically) You regard it as impossible that a sinner should be struck down by the wrath of God? I do not.

WARGRAVE. (Strokes his chin. His voice is ironic. Coming down Right) My dear lady, in my experience of ill doing, Providence leaves the work of conviction and chastisement to us mortals—and the process is often fraught with difficulties. There are no short cuts.

BLORE. Let’s be practical. What did the woman have to eat and drink last night after she went to bed?

ARMSTRONG. Nothing.

BLORE. Nothing at all? Not a cup of tea? Or a glass of water? I’ll bet you she had a cup of tea. That sort always does.

ARMSTRONG. Rogers assures me she had nothing whatever.

BLORE. He might say so.

LOMBARD. So that’s your idea?

BLORE. Well, why not? You all heard that accusation last night. What if it’s true? Miss Brent thinks it is, for one. Rogers and his missus did the old lady in. They’re feeling quite safe and happy about it—

VERA. Happy?

BLORE. (Sits Left sofa.) Well—they know there’s no immediate danger to them. Then, last night, some lunatic goes and spills the beans. What happens? It’s the woman who cracks. Goes to pieces. Did you see him hanging round her when she was coming to? Not all husbandly solicitude? Not on your sweet life. He was like a cat on hot bricks. And that’s the position. They’ve done a murder and got away with it. But if it’s all going to be raked up again now, it’s the woman will give the show away. She hadn’t got the nerve to brazen it out. She’s a living danger to her husband, that’s what she is, and him—he’s all right. He’ll go on lying till the cows come home, but he can’t be sure of her. So what does he do? He drops a nice little dollop of something into a nice cup of tea, and when she’s had it, he washes up the cup and saucer and tells the doctor she ain’t had nothing.

VERA. Oh, no. That’s impossible. A man wouldn’t do that—not to his wife. (Rises; goes up Left.)

BLORE. You’d be surprised, Miss Claythorne, what some husbands would do. (Rises.)

ROGERS. (Enters Left 2. He is dead white and speaks like an automaton. Just the mask of the trained servant. To VERA) Excuse me, Miss. I’m getting on with breakfast. I’m not much of a hand as a cook, I’m afraid. It’s lunch that’s worrying me. Would cold tongue and gelatine be satisfactory? And I could manage some fried potatoes. And then there’s tinned fruit and cheese and biscuits.

VERA. That will be fine, Rogers.

BLORE. Lunch? Lunch? We shan’t be here for lunch! And when the hell’s that boat coming?

EMILY. Mr. Blore! (Picks up her case and marches up to Right windowseat—sits.)

BLORE. What?

ROGERS. (Fatalistically) You’ll pardon me, sir, but the boat won’t be coming.

BLORE. What?

ROGERS. Fred Narracott’s always here before eight. (Pause) Is there anything else you require, Miss?

VERA. No, thank you, Rogers.

(ROGERS goes out Left 2.)

BLORE. And it’s not Rogers! His wife lying dead upstairs and there he’s cooking breakfast and calmly talking about lunch! Now he says the boat won’t be coming. How the ’ell does he know?

EMILY. Mr. Blore!

BLORE. What?

VERA. (Crossing down Left) Oh, don’t you see? He’s dazed. He’s just carrying on automatically as a good servant would. It’s—it’s pathetic, really.

BLORE. He’s pulling a fast one, if you ask me.

WARGRAVE. The really significant thing is the failure of the boat to arrive. It means that we are being deliberately cut off from help.

MACKENZIE. (Rising) Very little time. We mustn’t waste it talking about things that don’t matter.

(He turns to window. ALL look at him dubiously before resuming.)

LOMBARD. (Down Right to WARGRAVE) Why do you think Narracott hasn’t turned up?

WARGRAVE. I think the ubiquitous Mr. Owen has given orders.

LOMBARD. You mean, told him it’s a practical joke or something of that kind?

BLORE. He’d never fall for that, would he?

LOMBARD. Why not? Indian Island’s got a reputation for people having crazy parties. This is just one more crazy idea, that’s all. Narracott knows there’s plenty of food and drink on the island. Probably thinks it’s all a huge joke.

VERA. Couldn’t we light a bonfire up on the top of the island? So that they’d see it?

LOMBARD. That’s probably been provided against. All signals are to be ignored. We’re cut off all right.

VERA. (Impatiently) But can’t we do something?

LOMBARD. Oh, yes, we can do something. We can find the funny gentleman who’s staged this little joke, Mr. Unknown Owen. I’ll bet anything you like he’s somewhere on the island, and the sooner we get hold of him the better. Because, in my opinion, he’s mad as a hatter. And as dangerous as a rattlesnake.

WARGRAVE. Hardly a very good simile, Captain Lombard. The rattlesnake at least gives warning of its approach.

LOMBARD. Warning? My God, yes! (Indicating nursery rhyme) That’s our warning. (Reading)

“Ten little Indian boys—”

There were ten of us after Narracott went, weren’t there?

“Ten little Indian boys going out to dine;

One went and choked himself—”

Marston choked himself, didn’t he? And then—

“Nine little Indians sat up very late.

One overslept himself”—overslept himself—

The last part fits Mrs. Rogers rather well, doesn’t it?

VERA. You don’t think—Do you mean that he wants to kill us all?

LOMBARD. Yes, I think he does.

VERA. And each one fits with the rhyme!

ARMSTRONG. No, no, it’s impossible. It’s coincidence. It must be coincidence.

LOMBARD. Only eight little Indian boys here. I suppose that’s coincidence too. What do you think, Blore?

BLORE. I don’t like it.

ARMSTRONG. But there’s nobody on the island.

BLORE. I’m not so sure of that.

ARMSTRONG. This is terrible.

MACKENZIE. None of us will ever leave this island.

BLORE. Can’t somebody shut up Grandpa?

LOMBARD. Don’t you agree with me, Sir Lawrence?

WARGRAVE. (Slowly) Up to a point—yes.

LOMBARD. Then the sooner we get to work the better. Come on, Armstrong. Come on, Blore. We’ll make short work of it.

BLORE. I’m ready. Nobody’s got a revolver, by any chance? I suppose that’s too much to hope for.

LOMBARD. I’ve got one. (Takes it out of pocket.)

BLORE. (BLORE’s eyes open rather wide. An idea occurs to him—not a pleasant one.) Always carry that about with you?

LOMBARD. Usually. I’ve been in some tight places, you know.

BLORE. Oh. Well, you’ve probably never been in a tighter place than you are today. If there’s a homicidal maniac hiding on this island, he’s probably got a whole arsenal on him—and he’ll use it.

ARMSTRONG. You may be wrong there, Blore. Many homicidal maniacs are very quiet, unassuming people.

WARGRAVE. Delightful fellows!

ARMSTRONG. You’d never guess there was anything wrong with them.

BLORE. If Mr. Owen turns out to be one of that kind, we’ll leave him to you, Doctor. Now then, let’s make a start. I suggest Captain Lombard searches the house while we do the island.

LOMBARD. Right. House ought to be easy. No sliding panels or secret doors. (Goes up Right towards study.)

BLORE. Mind he doesn’t get you before you get him!

LOMBARD. Don’t worry. But you two had better stick together—Remember—“One got left behind.”

BLORE. Come on, Armstrong.

(They go along and out up Right.)

WARGRAVE. (Rises) A very energetic young man, Captain Lombard.

VERA. (To up Left) Don’t you think he’s right? If someone is hiding on the island, they’ll be bound to find him. It’s practically bare rock.

WARGRAVE. I think this problem needs brains to solve it. Rather than brawn. (Goes up Right on balcony.)

VERA. Where are you going?

WARGRAVE. I’m going to sit in the sun—and think, my dear young lady. (Goes up Right on balcony.)

EMILY. Where did I put the skein of wool? (Gets up and comes down Right.)

VERA. Did you leave it upstairs? Shall I go and see if I can find it?

EMILY. No, I’ll go. I know where it’s likely to be. (Goes out Left 1.)

VERA. I’m glad Captain Lombard has got a revolver.

MACKENZIE. They’re all wasting time—wasting time.

VERA. Do you think so?

MACKENZIE. Yes, it’s much better to sit quietly—and wait.

VERA. Wait for what? (Sits Left sofa.)

MACKENZIE. For the end, of course. (There is a pause. MACKENZIE rises, opens and shuts both doors Left.) I wish I could find Lesley.

VERA. Your wife?

MACKENZIE. (Crosses up Right. Below Right sofa) Yes. I wish you’d known her. She was so pretty. So gay—

VERA. Was she?

MACKENZIE. I loved her very much. Of course, I was a lot older than she was. She was only twenty-seven, you know. (Pause) Arthur Richmond was twenty-six. He was my ADC. (Pause) Lesley liked him. They used to talk of music and plays together, and she teased him and made fun of him. I was pleased. I thought she took a motherly interest in the boy. (Suddenly to VERA, confidentially) Damn fool, wasn’t I? No fool like an old fool. (A long pause) Exactly like a book the way I found out. When I was out in France. She wrote to both of us, and she put the letters in the wrong envelope. (He nods his head) So I knew—

VERA. (In pity) Oh, no.

MACKENZIE. (Sits Right sofa) It’s all right, my dear. It’s a long time ago. But you see I loved her very much—and believed in her. I didn’t say anything to him—I let it gather inside—here—(Strikes chest) a slow, murderous rage—Damned young hypocrite—I’d liked the boy—trusted him.

VERA. (Trying to break spell) I wonder what the others are doing?

MACKENZIE. I sent him to his death—

VERA. Oh—

MACKENZIE. It was quite easy. Mistakes were being made all the time. All anyone could say was that I’d lost my nerve a bit, made a blunder, sacrificed one of my best men. Yes, it was quite easy—(Pause) Lesley never knew. I never told her I’d found out. We went on as usual—but somehow nothing was quite real any more. She died of pneumonia. (Pause) She had a heartshaped face—and grey eyes—and brown hair that curled.

VERA. Oh, don’t.

MACKENZIE. (Rises) Yes, I suppose in a way—it was murder. Curious, murder—and I’ve always been such a law-abiding man. It didn’t feel like that at the time. “Serves him damn well right!” that’s what I thought. But after—(Pause) Well, you know, don’t you?

VERA. (At a loss) What do you mean?

MACKENZIE. (Stares at her as though something puzzles him) You don’t seem to understand—I thought you would. I thought you’d be glad, too, that the end was coming—

VERA. (Draws back, alarmed. Rises; backs down Left.) I—(She eyes him warily.)

MACKENZIE. (Follows her—confidentially) We’re all going to die, you know.

VERA. (Looking round for help) I—I don’t know.

MACKENZIE. (Vaguely to VERA) You’re very young—you haven’t got to that yet. The relief! The blessed relief when you know that you’ve done with it all, that you haven’t got to carry the burden any longer. (Moves up Right.)

VERA. (Follows him—moved) General—

MACKENZIE. Don’t talk to me that way. You don’t understand. I want to sit here and wait—wait for Lesley to come for me. (Goes out on balcony and draws up chair and sits. The back of his head down to shoulders is visible through window. His position does not change throughout scene.)

VERA. (Stares after him. Her composure breaks down. Sits Left sofa.) I’m frightened—Oh! I’m frightened—

(LOMBARD comes in up Right.)

LOMBARD. (Crosses Left) All correct. No secret passage—one corpse.

VERA. (Tensely) Don’t!

LOMBARD. I say, you do look low. How about a drink to steady your nerves?

VERA. (Rises, flaring up) A drink! Two corpses in the house at nine o’clock in the morning and all you say is “Have a drink!” An old man going quite crackers—“Have a drink!” Ten people accused of murder—that’s all right—just have a drink. Everything’s fine so long as you have a drink.

LOMBARD. All right. All right.—Stay thirsty. (Goes to Left 2 door.)

VERA. Oh, you—you’re nothing but a waster—an adventurer—you make me tired. (Moves to fireplace.)

LOMBARD. (Crossing to her) I say, you are het up. What’s the matter, my sweet?

VERA. I’m not your sweet.

LOMBARD. I’m sorry. I rather thought you were.

VERA. Well, you can think again.

LOMBARD. Come now—you know you don’t really feel like that. We’ve got something in common, you and I. Rogues and murderers can’t fall out. (He takes her hand—she draws away.)

VERA. Rogues and murderers—!

LOMBARD. Okay. You don’t like the company of rogues and murderers—and you won’t have a drink. I’ll go and finish searching—(Exits Left 1.)

(EMILY enters Left 1. VERA moves up to window.)

EMILY. Unpleasant young man! I can’t find it anywhere. (Sees VERA’s face) Is anything the matter? (To above Left sofa.)

VERA. (Low) I’m worried about the General. He really is ill, I think.

EMILY. (Looks from VERA to MACKENZIE, then goes out on balcony and stands behind him. In loud, cheerful voice, as though talking to an idiot child) Looking out for the boat, General? (VERA to down Left. MACKENZIE does not answer. EMILY waits a minute, then comes slowly in. Unctuously) His sin has found him out.

VERA. (Angrily) Oh, don’t.

EMILY. One must face facts.

VERA. Can any of us afford to throw stones?

EMILY. (Comes down Centre; sits Right sofa.) Even if his wife was no better than she should be—and she must have been a depraved woman—he had no right to take judgement into his own hands.

VERA. (Coldly angry) What about—Beatrice Taylor?

EMILY. Who?

VERA. That was the name, wasn’t it? (Looks at her challengingly.)

EMILY. You are referring to that absurd accusation about myself?

VERA. Yes.

EMILY. Now that we are alone, I have no objection to telling you the facts of the case—Indeed, I should like you to hear them. (VERA sits Left sofa) It was not a fit subject to discuss before gentlemen—so naturally I refused to say anything last night. That girl, Beatrice Taylor, was in my service. I was very much deceived in her. She had nice manners and was clean and willing. I was very pleased with her. Of course, all that was sheerest hypocrisy. She was a loose girl with no morals. Disgusting! It was some time before I found out that she was what they call “in trouble.” (Pause) It was a great shock to me. Her parents were decent folks, too, who had brought her up strictly. I’m glad to say they didn’t condone her behaviour.

VERA. What happened?

EMILY. (Self-righteously) Naturally, I refused to keep her an hour under my roof. No one shall ever say I condoned immorality.

VERA. Did she drown herself?

EMILY. Yes.

VERA. (Rises to Left.) How old was she?

EMILY. Seventeen.

VERA. Only seventeen.

EMILY. (With horrible fanaticism) Quite old enough to know how to behave. I told her what a low depraved thing she was. I told her that she was beyond the pale and that no decent person would take her into their house. I told her that her child would be the child of sin and would be branded all its life—and that the man would naturally not dream of marrying her. I told her that I felt soiled by ever having had her under my roof—

VERA. (Shuddering) You told a girl of seventeen all that?

EMILY. Yes, I’m glad to say I broke her down utterly.

VERA. Poor little devil.

EMILY. I’ve no patience with this indulgence towards sin.

VERA. (Moves up Left to above sofa.) And then, I suppose, you turned her out of the house?

EMILY. Of course.

VERA. And she didn’t dare go home—(Comes down Right to Centre) What did you feel like when you found she’d drowned herself?

EMILY. (Puzzled) Feel like?

VERA. Yes. Didn’t you blame yourself?

EMILY. Certainly not. I had nothing with which to reproach myself.

VERA. I believe—I believe you really feel like that. That makes it even more horrible. (Turns away to Right, then goes up to Centre windows.)

EMILY. That girl’s unbalanced. (Opens bag and takes out a small Bible. Begins to read it in a low mutter) “The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made—(Stops and nods her head) In the net which they hid is their own foot taken.” (ROGERS enters Left 2. EMILY stops and smiles approvingly.) “The Lord is known by the judgement He executeth, the wicked is snared in the work of his own hand.”

ROGERS. (Looks doubtfully at EMILY) Breakfast is ready.

EMILY. “The wicked shall be turned into hell.” (Turns head sharply) Be quiet.

ROGERS. Do you know where the gentlemen are, Miss? Breakfast is ready. (To above Left sofa.)

VERA. Sir Lawrence Wargrave is sitting out there in the sun. Doctor Armstrong and Mr. Blore are searching the island. I shouldn’t bother about them. (She comes in.)

EMILY. “Shall not the isles shake at the sound of the fall, when the wounded cry, when the slaughter is made in the midst of thee?”

VERA. (To Left. Coldly. After waiting a minute or two) Shall we go in?

EMILY. I don’t feel like eating.

ROGERS. (To MACKENZIE) Breakfast is ready. (Goes off Right on balcony.)

EMILY. (Opens Bible again) “Then all the princes of the sea shall come down from their thrones, and lay away their robes, and put of their ’broidered garments.” (Enter BLORE up Right) “They shall clothe themselves with trembling, they shall sit upon the ground, and shall tremble at every moment, and be astonished at thee.” (Looks up and sees BLORE, but her eyes are almost unseeing.)

BLORE. (Speaks readily, but watches her with a new interest) Reading aloud, Miss Brent?

EMILY. It is my custom to read a portion of the Bible every day.

BLORE. Very good habit, I’m sure. (To down Right.)

(ARMSTRONG comes Right along balcony and in.)

VERA. What luck did you have?

ARMSTRONG. There’s no cover on the island. No caves. No one could hide anywhere.

(WARN Curtain.)

BLORE. That’s right. (LOMBARD enters Left 2.) What about the house, Lombard?

LOMBARD. No one. I’ll stake my life there’s no one in the house but ourselves. I’ve been over it from attic to cellar.

(ROGERS enters from balcony. WARGRAVE comes Right along balcony, slowly, and in to Right of window.)

ROGERS. Breakfast is getting cold.

(EMILY is still reading.)

LOMBARD. (Boisterously) Breakfast! Come on, Blore, you’ve been yelping for breakfast ever since you got up. Let’s eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Or who knows, perhaps even today!

(VERA and ARMSTRONG cross to Left 2 door.)

EMILY. (Rises; drops knitting. BLORE picks it up.) You ought to be ashamed of such levity, Captain Lombard. (Crosses Right.)

LOMBARD. (Still in the same vein, with determination) Come on, General, can’t have this. (Calls) Breakfast, I say, sir—(Goes out on balcony to MACKENZIE. Stops—stoops—comes slowly back and stands in window. His face is stern and dangerous.) Good God! One got left behind—There’s a knife in MacKenzie’s back.

ARMSTRONG. (Goes to him) He’s dead—he’s dead.

BLORE. But he can’t be—Who could have done it? There’s only us on the island.

WARGRAVE. Exactly, my dear sir. Don’t you realize that this clever and cunning criminal is always comfortably one stage ahead of us? That he knows exactly what we are going to do next, and makes his plans accordingly? There’s only one place, you know, where a successful murderer could hide and have a reasonable chance of getting away with it.

BLORE. One place—where?

WARGRAVE. Here in this room—Mr. Owen is one of us!

CURTAIN

Scene II

There is a storm; the room is much darker—the windows closed and beating rain and wind.

WARGRAVE comes in from Left 2, followed by BLORE.

BLORE. Sir Lawrence?

WARGRAVE. (Centre) Well, Mr. Blore?

BLORE. I wanted to get you alone. (Looks over shoulder at dining room) You were right in what you said this morning. This damned murderer is one of us. And I think I know which one.

WARGRAVE. Really?

BLORE. Ever hear of the Lizzie Borden case? In America. Old couple killed with an axe in the middle of the morning. Only person who could have done it was the daughter, a respectable, middle-aged spinster. Incredible. So incredible that they acquitted her. But they never found any other explanation.

WARGRAVE. Then your answer to the problem is Miss Emily Brent?

BLORE. I tell you that woman is as mad as a hatter. Religious mad, I tell you—she’s the one. And we must watch her.

WARGRAVE. Really? I had formed the impression that your suspicions were in a different quarter.

BLORE. Yes—But I’ve changed my mind, and I’ll tell you for why—she’s not scared and she’s the only one who isn’t. Why? Because she knows quite well she’s in no danger—hush—

(WARGRAVE goes up Right. VERA and EMILY enter from Left 2. VERA is carrying coffee tray. EMILY up Centre.)

VERA. We’ve made some coffee. (She puts tray on tabouret Right Centre. BLORE moves up to tabouret) Brr—it’s cold in here.

BLORE. You’d hardly believe it when you think what a beautiful day it was this morning.

VERA. Are Captain Lombard and Rogers still out?

BLORE. Yes. No boat will put out in this—and it couldn’t land, anyway.

VERA. Miss Brent’s. (Hands coffee cup to BLORE.)

(EMILY comes down; sits Left sofa.)

WARGRAVE. Allow me. (Takes cup and hands it to EMILY.)

VERA. (To WARGRAVE) You were right to insist on our going to lunch—and drinking some brandy with it. I feel better.

WARGRAVE. (Returns to coffee tray—takes his own coffee; stands by mantelpiece) The Court always adjourns for lunch.

VERA. All the same, it’s a nightmare. It seems as though it can’t be true. What—what are we going to do about it?

(BLORE sits chair Right Centre.)

WARGRAVE. We must hold an informal Court of Enquiry. We may at least be able to eliminate some innocent people.

BLORE. You haven’t got a hunch of any kind, have you, Miss Claythorne?

WARGRAVE. If Miss Claythorne suspects one of us three, that is rather an awkward question.

VERA. I’m sure it isn’t any of you. If you ask me who I suspected, I’d say Doctor Armstrong.

BLORE. Armstrong.

VERA. Yes. Because, don’t you see, he’s had far and away the best chance to kill Mrs. Rogers. Terribly easy for him, as a doctor, to give her an overdose of sleeping stuff.

BLORE. That’s true. But someone else gave her brandy, remember.

(EMILY goes up Left and sits.)

WARGRAVE. Her husband had a good opportunity of administering a drug.

BLORE. It isn’t Rogers. He wouldn’t have the brains to fix all this stunt—nor the money. Besides, you can see he’s scared stiff.

(ROGERS and LOMBARD, in mackintoshes, come up Right on balcony and appear at window. BLORE goes and lets them in. As he opens the window, a swirl of loud wind and rain comes in. EMILY half screams and turns round.)

LOMBARD. My God, it’s something like a storm.

EMILY. Oh, it’s only you—

VERA. Who did you think it was? (Pause) Beatrice Taylor?

EMILY. (Angrily) Eh?

LOMBARD. Not a hope of rescue until this dies down. Is that coffee? Good. (To VERA) I’m taking to coffee now, you see.

VERA. (Takes him a cup) Such restraint in the face of danger is nothing short of heroic.

WARGRAVE. (Crosses to down Left; sits) I do not, of course, profess to be a weather prophet. But I should say that it is very unlikely that a boat could reach us, even if it knew of our plight, under twenty-four hours. Even if the wind drops, the sea has still to go down.

(LOMBARD sits Left sofa. ROGERS pulls off his shoes.)

VERA. You’re awfully wet.

BLORE. Is anyone a swimmer? Would it be possible to swim to the mainland?

VERA. It’s over a mile—and in this sea you’d be dashed on the rocks and drowned.

EMILY. (Speaking like one in a trance) Drowned—drowned—in the pond—(Drops knitting.)

WARGRAVE. (Rising; startled, moves up to her) I beg your pardon, Miss Brent. (He picks it up for her.)

BLORE. After-dinner nap.

(Another furious gust of wind and rain.)

VERA. It’s terribly cold in here. (To Right; sits on fender.)

ROGERS. I could light the fire if you like, Miss?

VERA. That would be a good idea.

LOMBARD. (Crossing Right) Very sound scheme, Rogers. (He sits on fender; puts on shoes.)

ROGERS. (Goes towards Left 1 door—is going through, but comes back and asks) Excuse me, but does anybody know what’s become of the top bathroom curtain?

LOMBARD. Really, Rogers, are you going bats too?

BLORE. (Blankly) The bathroom curtain?

ROGERS. Yes, sir. Scarlet oilsilk. It’s missing.

(They look at each other.)

LOMBARD. Anybody seen a scarlet oilsilk curtain? No good, I’m afraid, Rogers.

ROGERS. It doesn’t matter, sir, only I just thought as it was odd.

LOMBARD. Everything on this island is odd.

ROGERS. I’ll get some sticks and a few knobs of coal and get a nice fire going. (Goes out Left 2.)

VERA. I wonder if he would like some hot coffee. He’s very wet. (Runs out after him, calling “Rogers.”)

LOMBARD. What’s become of Armstrong?

WARGRAVE. He went to his room to rest.

LOMBARD. Somebody’s probably batted him one by now!

WARGRAVE. I expect he had the good sense to bolt his door.

BLORE. It won’t be so easy now that we’re all on our guard. (Lights cigarette at mantelpiece.)

(A rather unpleasant silence.)

WARGRAVE. I advise you, Mr. Blore, not to be too confident. I should like shortly to propose certain measures of safety, which I think we should all adopt.

LOMBARD. Against whom?

WARGRAVE. (Up Centre) Against each other. We are all in grave danger. Of the ten people who came to this island, three are definitely cleared. There are seven of us left—seven little Indian boys.

LOMBARD. One of whom is a bogus little Indian boy.

WARGRAVE. Exactly.

BLORE. (To Right Centre) Well, in spite of what Miss Claythorne said just now, I’d say that you, Sir Lawrence, and Doctor Armstrong are above suspicion. He’s a well-known doctor, and you’re known all over England.

WARGRAVE. (Interrupts him) Mr. Blore, that proves nothing at all. Judges have gone mad before now. So have doctors. (Pause) So have policemen.

LOMBARD. Hear, hear. (VERA enters Left 2) Well, does he want some coffee?

VERA. (Crossing Right to tabouret Right Centre; lightly) He’d rather make himself a nice cup of tea! What about Doctor Armstrong? Do you think we ought to take him up a cup?

WARGRAVE. I will take it up if you like.

LOMBARD. I’ll take it. I want to change.

VERA. Yes, you ought to. You’ll catch cold.

WARGRAVE. (Smiling ironically) I think Doctor Armstrong might prefer to see me. He might not admit you, Captain Lombard. He might be afraid of your revolver.

BLORE. Ah, that revolver. (Meaningly) I want a word with you about that—

VERA. (To LOMBARD) Do go and change.

(WARGRAVE takes cup from her and, passing behind, goes out Left 2.)

LOMBARD. (Up Right Centre to BLORE) What were you going to say?

BLORE. I’d like to know why you brought a revolver down here on what’s supposed to be a little social visit.

LOMBARD. You would, would you? (After a momentary pause) I’ve led a rather adventurous life. I’ve got into the habit of taking a revolver about with me. I’ve been in a bit of a jam once or twice. (Smiles) It’s a pleasant feeling to have a gun handy. (To BLORE) Don’t you agree?

(Enter ARMSTRONG Left 1; stands down Left.)

BLORE. We don’t carry them. Now then, I want the truth about this gun—

LOMBARD. What a damned suspicious fellow you are, Blore!

BLORE. I know a fishy story when I hear one.

ARMSTRONG. If it’s about that revolver, I’d like to hear what you’ve got to say.

LOMBARD. (Crossing down Left) Oh, well, I got a letter, asking me to come here as the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Owen—It would be worth my while. The writer said that he had heard I’d got a reputation for being a good man in a tight place. There might be some danger, but I’d be all right if I kept my eyes open.

BLORE. I’d never have fallen for that.

LOMBARD. Well, I did. I was bored. God, how I was bored back in this tame country. It was an intriguing proposition, you must admit.

BLORE. Too vague for my liking.

LOMBARD. That was the whole charm. It aroused my curiosity.

BLORE. Curiosity killed the cat.

LOMBARD. (Smiling) Yes, quite.

VERA. Oh, do go and change, please!

LOMBARD. I’m going my sweet, I’m going. The maternal instinct I think it’s called.

VERA. Don’t be ridiculous—

(VERA, up Left, collects EMILY’s cup; goes down Right with it. LOMBARD exits Left 1.)

BLORE. (Crosses down Left) That’s a tall story. If it’s true, why didn’t he tell it to us last night?

ARMSTRONG. He might have thought that this was exactly the emergency for which he had been prepared.

VERA. Perhaps it is.

ARMSTRONG. (Crosses Right Centre; puts down cup on tabouret and goes Right.) I hardly think so. It was just Mr. Owen’s little bit of cheese to get him into the trap with the rest of us. He must have known him enough to rely on his curiosity.

BLORE. If it’s true, he’s a wrong ’un, that man. I wouldn’t trust him a yard.

VERA. (Up Centre) Are you such a good judge of truth?

(WARGRAVE enters Left 1.)

ARMSTRONG. (With a sudden outburst) We must get out of here—we must, before it is too late. (He is shaking violently.)

(BLORE sits down Left.)

WARGRAVE. The one thing we must not do is to give way to nerves. (Crosses Right above Left sofa.)

ARMSTRONG. (Sits on fender) I’m sorry. (Tries to smile) Rather a case of “Physician, heal thyself.” But I’ve been overworked lately and run down.

WARGRAVE. Sleeping badly?

ARMSTRONG. Yes. I keep dreaming—Hospital—operations—A knife at my throat—(Shivers.)

WARGRAVE. Real nightmares.

ARMSTRONG. Yes. (Curiously) Do you ever dream you’re in Court—sentencing a man to death?

WARGRAVE. (Sits Left sofa; smiling) Are you by any chance referring to a man called Edward Seton? I can assure you I should not lose any sleep over the death of Edward Seton. A particularly brutal and cold-blooded murderer. The jury liked him. They were inclined to let him off. I could see. However—(With quiet ferocity) I cooked Seton’s goose.

(EVERYONE gives a little shiver.)

BLORE. Brr! Cold in here, isn’t it? (Rises; to Centre.)

VERA. (Up Right of window) I wish Rogers would hurry up.

BLORE. Yes, where is Rogers? He’s been a long time.

VERA. He said he’d got to get some sticks.

BLORE. (Struck by the word) Sticks? Sticks? My God, sticks!

ARMSTRONG. My God! (Rises, looking at mantelpiece.)

BLORE. Is another one gone? Are there only six?

ARMSTRONG. (Bewildered) There are only five.

VERA. Five?

(They stare at each other.)

WARGRAVE. Rogers and Lombard? (Rises.)

VERA. (With a cry) Oh, no, not Philip!

(LOMBARD enters Left 1; meets BLORE rushing out Left 1, calling “Rogers.”)

LOMBARD. Where the hell is Blore off to like a madman?

VERA. (Running to him at Left Centre) Oh, Philip, I—

(WARN Curtain.)

WARGRAVE. (Up Right) Have you seen Rogers?

LOMBARD. No, why should I?

ARMSTRONG. Two more Indians have gone.

LOMBARD. Two?

VERA. I thought it was you—

(BLORE enters Left 1 looking pretty awful.)

ARMSTRONG. Well, what is it?

BLORE. (Only just able to speak. His voice quite unlike itself) In the—scullery.

VERA. Is he—?

BLORE. Oh, yes, he’s dead all right—

VERA. How?

BLORE. With an axe. Somebody must have come up behind him whilst he was bent over the wood box.

VERA. (Wildly) “One chopped himself in half—then there were six.” (She begins laughing hysterically.)

LOMBARD. Stop it, Vera—Stop it! (Sits her on Left sofa. Slaps her face. To the OTHERS) She’ll be all right. What next, boys? Bees? Do they keep bees on the island? (They stare at him as if not understanding. He keeps his nonchalant manner up with a trace of effort. Down to Centre) Well, that’s the next verse, isn’t it?

“Six little Indian boys playing with a hive;

A bumble bee stung one, and then there were five.” (He moves around the room.)

ARMSTRONG. My God! He’s right. There are only five.

LOMBARD. A bumble bee stung one—We all look pretty spry, nothing wrong with any of us. (His glance rests on EMILY) My God, you don’t think—(He goes slowly over to her, bends down, touches her. He then picks up a hypodermic syringe, and turns to face the others) A hypodermic syringe.

WARGRAVE. The modern beesting.

VERA. (Stammering) While she was sitting there—one of us—

WARGRAVE. One of us.

(They look at each other.)

ARMSTRONG. Which of us?

CURTAIN