The Mousetrap and Other Plays by Agatha Christie

  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.)