The Mousetrap

INSPECTOR. So you said.

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

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

VERONICA. (Quickly) Yes.

INSPECTOR. Are you quite sure, Miss Craye?

VERONICA. Of course I’m sure.

INSPECTOR. What about this bag of yours?

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

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

VERONICA. And what makes you think that?

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

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

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

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

INSPECTOR. Why poor John?

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

INSPECTOR. Yes?

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

INSPECTOR. It must be. Very sudden and unexpected.

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

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

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

(The SERGEANT clears his throat.)

INSPECTOR. Yes, Sergeant?

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

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

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

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

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

VERONICA. Gun?

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

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

SERGEANT. (With a step towards theINSPECTOR) But . . .

(The INSPECTOR quells the SERGEANT with a glance.)

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

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

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

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

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

VERONICA. I won’t say another word.

INSPECTOR. Very wise.