The Mousetrap

(SIR WILFRID and MAYHEW look at each other. SIR WILFRID crosses and stands L.)

MAYHEW. And your wife will say definitely that you were at home at that time?

LEONARD. Of course she will.

MAYHEW. (Rising and moving to the fireplace) You are very fond of your wife and your wife is very fond of you?

LEONARD. (His face softening) Romaine is absolutely devoted to me. She’s the most devoted wife any man could have.

MAYHEW. I see. You are happily married.

LEONARD. Couldn’t be happier. Romaine’s wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I’d like you to know her, Mr. Mayhew.

(There is a KNOCK at the door.)

SIRWILFRID. (Calling) Come in.

GRETA. (Enters. She carries an evening paper.) The evening paper, Sir Wilfrid. (She points to a paragraph as she hands the paper to him.)

SIRWILFRID. Thank you, Greta.

GRETA. Would you like a cup of tea, sir?

SIRWILFRID. No, thank you. Oh, would you like a cup, Vole?

LEONARD. No thank you, sir.

SIRWILFRID. No, thank you, Greta. (He crosses below theOTHERStoR. of the desk)

(GRETA exits.)

MAYHEW. I think it would be advisable for us to have a meeting with your wife.

LEONARD. You mean have a regular round-table conference?

(SIR WILFRID sits R. of the desk.)

MAYHEW. I wonder, Mr. Vole, if you are taking this business quite seriously enough?

LEONARD. (Nervously.) I am. I am, really, but it seems—well, I mean it seems so much like a bad dream. I mean that it should be happening to me. Murder. It’s a thing you read about in books or newspapers, but you can’t believe it’s a thing that could ever happen to you, or touch you in any way. I suppose that’s why I keep trying to make a joke of it, but it isn’t a joke, really.

MAYHEW. No, I’m afraid it’s not a joke.

LEONARD. But I mean it’s all right, isn’t it? Because I mean if they think Miss French was killed at half past nine and I was at home with Romaine . . .

MAYHEW. How did you go home? By bus or underground?

LEONARD. I walked. It took me about twenty-five minutes, but it was a fine night—a bit windy.

MAYHEW. Did you see anyone you knew on the way?

LEONARD. No, but does it matter? I mean Romaine . . .

SIRWILFRID. The evidence of a devoted wife unsupported by any other evidence may not be completely convincing, Mr. Vole.

LEONARD. You mean, they’d think Romaine would tell a lie on my account?

SIRWILFRID. It has been known, Mr. Vole.

LEONARD. Oh, I’m sure she would, too, only in this case I mean she won’t be telling a lie. I mean it really is so. You do believe me, don’t you?

SIRWILFRID. Yes, I believe you, Mr. Vole, but it’s not me you will have to convince. You are aware, are you not, that Miss French left a will leaving you all her money?

LEONARD. (Absolutely flabbergasted.) Left all her money to me? You’re joking!

(MAYHEW resumes his seat C.)

SIRWILFRID. I’m not joking. It’s in tonight’s evening paper. (He hands the paper across the desk.)

LEONARD. (Reads the paragraph.) Well, I can hardly believe it.

SIRWILFRID. You knew nothing about it?

LEONARD. Absolutely nothing. She never said a word. (He hands the paper toMAYHEW.)

MAYHEW. You’re quite sure of that, Mr. Vole?

LEONARD. Absolutely sure. I’m very grateful to her—yet in a way I rather wish now that she hadn’t. I mean it—it’s a bit unfortunate as things are, isn’t it, sir?

SIRWILFRID. It supplies you with a very adequate motive. That is, if you knew about it, which you say you didn’t. Miss French never talked to you about making a will?

LEONARD. She said to Janet once, “You’re afraid I shall make my will again,” but that was nothing to do with me. I mean, it was just a bit of a dust-up between them. (His manner changes.) Do you really think they’re going to arrest me?

SIRWILFRID. I think you must prepare yourself, Mr. Vole, for that eventuality.

LEONARD. (Rising) You—you will do the best you can for me, won’t you, sir?

SIRWILFRID. (With friendliness.) You may rest assured, my dear Mr. Vole, that I will do everything in my power to help you. Don’t worry. Leave everything in my hands.

LEONARD. You’ll look after Romaine, won’t you? I mean, she’ll be in an awful state—it will be terrible for her.

SIRWILFRID. Don’t worry, my boy. Don’t worry.