The Mousetrap

GRETA. (Crossing toSIRWILFRID) Oh, no, sir. Oh, I do hope not. Because he didn’t do it. I’m sure he didn’t do it. (She crosses to the door.)

SIRWILFRID. You’re still sure he didn’t do it. (He looks thoughtfully at her.) Now why’s that?

GRETA. (Confidently) Because he’s not the sort. He’s nice, if you know what I mean—ever so nice. He’d never go coshing an old lady on the head. But you’ll get him off, won’t you, sir?

SIRWILFRID. I’ll—get—him—off.

(GRETA exits.)

(He rises. Almost to himself.) God knows how. Only one woman on the jury—pity—evidently the women like him—can’t think why—he’s not particularly—(He crosses to R. of the desk.) good looking. Perhaps he’s got something that arouses the maternal instinct. Women want to mother him.

MAYHEW. Whereas Mrs. Heilger—is not the maternal type.

SIRWILFRID. (Picking up his tea and crossing with it toL.) No, she’s the passionate sort. Hot blooded behind that cool self-control. The kind that would knife a man if he double-crossed her. God, how I’d like to break her down. Show up her lies. Show her up for what she is.

MAYHEW. (Rising and taking his pipe from his pocket) Forgive me, Wilfrid, but aren’t you letting this case become a personal duel between you and her? (He moves to the fireplace, takes a pipe cleaner from the jar on the mantelpiece and cleans his pipe.)

SIRWILFRID. Am I? Perhaps I am. But she’s an evil woman, John. I’m convinced of that. And a young man’s life depends on the outcome of that duel.

MAYHEW. (Thoughtfully) I don’t think the Jury liked her.

SIRWILFRID. No, you’re right there, John. I don’t think they did. To begin with, she’s a foreigner, and they distrust foreigners. Then she’s not married to the fellow—she’s more or less admitting to committing bigamy.

(MAYHEW tosses the pipe cleaner into the fireplace, then crosses to L. of the desk.)

None of that goes down well. And at the end of it all, she’s not sticking to her man when he’s down. We don’t like that in this country.

MAYHEW. That’s all to the good.

SIRWILFRID. (Crossing above the desk toR. of it) Yes, but it isn’t enough. There’s no corroboration of his statements whatsoever. (He puts his tea on the desk.)

(MAYHEW crosses to L.)

He admits being with Miss French that evening, his fingerprints are all over the place, we haven’t managed to find anybody who saw him on the way home, and there’s the altogether damning matter of the will. (He stands above the desk.) That travel agency business doesn’t help. The woman makes a will in his favour and immediately he goes enquiring about luxury cruises. Couldn’t be more unfortunate.

MAYHEW. (Moving to the fireplace) I agree. And his explanation was hardly convincing.

SIRWILFRID. (With a sudden complete change of manner and becoming very human) And yet, you know, John, my wife does it.

MAYHEW. Does what?

SIRWILFRID. (Smiling indulgently.) Gets travel agencies to make out itineraries for extensive foreign tours. For both of us. (He takes the tobacco jar from the mantelpiece and puts it on the desk.)

MAYHEW. Thank you, Wilfrid. (He sitsL. of the desk and fills his pipe.)

SIRWILFRID. She’ll work it all out to the last detail and bemoan the fact that the boat misses a connection at Bermuda. (He moves to R. of the desk.) She’ll say to me that we could save time by flying but that we wouldn’t see anything of the country, and (He sits R. of the desk.) what do I think? And I say: ‘It’s all the same to me, my dear. Arrange it as you like.’ We both know that it’s a kind of game, and we’ll end up with the same old thing—staying at home.

MAYHEW. Ah, now with my wife, it’s houses.

SIRWILFRID. Houses?