The Mousetrap

(MOLLIE exits by the archway up Right. GILES crosses up Right to the arch, but he is stopped as TROTTER speaks.)

Now can I have all your names, please?

MRS. BOYLE. This is quite ridiculous. We are merely staying in a kind of hotel. We only arrived yesterday. We’ve nothing to do with this place.

TROTTER. You’d planned to come here in advance, though. You’d booked your rooms here ahead.

MRS. BOYLE. Well, yes. All except Mr.—? (She looks at PARAVICINI.)

PARAVICINI. Paravicini. (He moves to the Left end of the refectory table.) My car overturned in a snowdrift.

TROTTER. I see. What I’m getting at is that anyone who’s been following you around might know very well that you were coming here. Now, there’s just one thing I want to know, and I want to know it quick. Which one of you is it that has some connection with that business at Longridge Farm?

(There is a dead silence.)

You’re not being very sensible, you know. One of you is in danger—deadly danger. I’ve got to know which one that is.

(There is another silence.)

All right, I’ll ask you one by one. (To PARAVICINI) You, first, since you seem to have arrived here more or less by accident, Mr. Pari—?

PARAVICINI. Para—Paravicini. But, my dear Inspector, I know nothing, but nothing, of what you have been talking about. I am a stranger in this country. I know nothing of these local affairs of bygone years.

TROTTER. (Rising and moving down to Left ofMRS. BOYLE) Mrs.—?

MRS. BOYLE. Boyle. I don’t see—really I consider it an impertinence . . . Why on earth should I have anything to do with such—this distressing business?

(MAJOR METCALF looks sharply at her.)

TROTTER. (Looking atMISS CASEWELL) miss—?

MISS CASEWELL. (Slowly) Casewell. Leslie Casewell. I never heard of Longridge Farm, and I know nothing about it.

TROTTER. (Moving to Right of the sofa; toMAJOR METCALF) You, sir?

MAJOR METCALF. Metcalf—Major. Read about the case in the papers at the time. I was stationed at Edinburgh then. No personal knowledge.

TROTTER. (ToCHRISTOPHER) And you?

CHRISTOPHER. Christopher Wren. I was a mere child at the time. I don’t remember even hearing about it.

TROTTER. (Moving behind the sofa table) And that’s all you have to say—any of you?

(There is a silence.)

(Moving Centre) Well, if one of you gets murdered, you’ll have yourself to blame. Now then, Mr. Ralston, can I have a look round the house?

(TROTTER exits up Right with GILES. PARAVICINI sits at the window seat.)

CHRISTOPHER. (Rising) My dears, how melodramatic. He’s very attractive, isn’t he? (He moves up to the refectory table.) I do admire the police. So stern and hardboiled. Quite a thrill, this whole business. Three Blind Mice. How does the tune go? (He whistles or hums it.)

MRS. BOYLE. Really, Mr. Wren!

CHRISTOPHER. Don’t you like it? (He moves to Left of MRS. BOYLE.) But it’s a signature tune—the signature of the murderer. Just fancy what a kick he must be getting out of it.

MRS. BOYLE. Melodramatic rubbish. I don’t believe a word of it.

CHRISTOPHER. (Stalking behind her) But just wait, Mrs. Boyle. Till I creep up behind you, and you feel my hands on your throat.

MRS. BOYLE. Stop . . . (She rises.)

MAJOR METCALF. That’ll do, Christopher. It’s a poor joke, anyway. In fact, it’s not a joke at all.

CHRISTOPHER. Oh, but it is! (He moves above the armchair Centre.) That’s just what it is. A madman’s joke. That’s just what makes it so deliciously macabre. (He moves up Right to the archway, looks round and giggles.) If you could just see your faces!

(CHRISTOPHER exits through the archway)

MRS. BOYLE. (Moving up Right to the arch) A singularly ill-mannered and neurotic young man.

(MOLLIE enters from the dining room down Right and stands by the door.)

MOLLIE. Where’s Giles?

MISS CASEWELL. Taking our policeman on a conducted tour of the house.