The Mousetrap

When the curtain rises, the room is empty. An incongruous carpet sweeper stands negligently against the easy chair downL. Thomas Royde enters immediately by the French windows. He is a bronzed middle-aged man, good-looking in a rugged way. He carries a suitcase and a set of golf clubs. As he reaches the upstage end of the chaise, the door downL. is banged by someone as though rushing out of the room. Royde shrugs, moves to the window bay, puts his case and clubs at theL. end of it, opens theC. sash of the window, then takes his pipe and pouch from his pocket and stands gazing out of the window and filling his pipe. Kay Strange rushes inR. She is dressed in tennis kit and carries a towel. Clearly upset about something, she does not see Royde, tosses the towel on the chaise, goes to the table downR. and takes a cigarette from the box on it. As she does so, she sees the photograph of Audrey, drops the cigarette, picks up the photograph, rips it from the frame, tears it in half and throws it angrily into the wastepaper basket. Royde turns sharply. Kay pauses a moment, then looks round and sees Royde. She looks at once like a guilty child and is for a moment too startled to say anything.

KAY. Oh! Who are you?

ROYDE. (Moving toR. of the rostrum) I’ve just walked up from the bus stop. I’m . . .

KAY. (Interrupting.) I know who you are. You’re the man from Malaya.

ROYDE. (Gravely.) Yes, I’m the man from Malaya.

KAY. (Moving to the coffee tableC.) I just—came in, to get a cigarette. (She takes a cigarette from the box on the coffee table, crosses to the French windows and turns.) Oh, hell, what’s the good of explaining? What do I care what you think, anyway? (Kay rushes out R. Royde stares thoughtfully after her. Mary Aldin enters L. She is a dark-haired woman of about thirty-six, pleasant and noncommittal in manner and entirely competent. Nevertheless there is something faintly intriguing about her reserve. Royde turns to Mary.)

MARY. (MovingL. C.) Mr. Royde? (Royde moves toR. of Mary and shakes hands with her.) Lady Tressilian is not down yet. I am Mary Aldin—Lady Tressilian’s dogsbody.

ROYDE. Dogsbody?

MARY. The official term is secretary—but as I don’t know shorthand and such talents I have are purely domestic, “dogsbody” is a much better word.

ROYDE. I know all about you. Lady Tressilian told me in her Christmas letter what a wonderful difference you had made to her.

MARY. I’ve very fond of her. She has a lot of personality.

ROYDE. (Moving toL. of the chaise) That’s quite an understatement. (He turns to Mary.) How’s her arthritis?

MARY. It makes her rather helpless, poor dear.

ROYDE. I’m sorry about that.

MARY. (Moving on to the rostrum) Can I offer you a drink?

ROYDE. No, thank you. (He moves on to theR. end of the rostrum and looks out of the window.) What’s that great caravanserai over there?