The Mousetrap

MARY. That’s the new Easterhead Bay Hotel. It was only finished last year—isn’t it a horror? (She closes the window.) Lady Tressilian doesn’t like this window opened, she’s always afraid that someone might fall out. Yes, Easterhead Bay is a terrific resort, you know, nowadays. (She crosses to the chaise, picks up Kay’s towel and tidies the cushions.) I suppose when you came here as a boy there was nothing the other side of the estuary except a few fishermen’s cottages. (She pauses.) You did come here for your school holidays, didn’t you? (She puts the towel tidily on the end of the chaise.)

ROYDE. Yes, old Sir Mortimer used to take me out sailing—he was mad keen on sailing.

MARY. Yes. He was drowned out there.

ROYDE. Lady Tressilian saw it happen, I wonder she can go on living here.

MARY. I think she preferred to remain with her memories. But she won’t have any boat kept here—she even had the boathouse pulled down.

ROYDE. So if I want to sail or go for a row, I’ve got to go to the ferry.

MARY. (Crossing to the butler’s tray) Or cross to the Easterhead side. That’s where all the boats are nowadays.

ROYDE. (Moving above the chaise.) I hate changes. Always have. (Rather self-consciously.) May I ask who else is staying here?

MARY. Old Mr. Treves—you know him? (Royde nods.) And the Stranges.

ROYDE. (Moving toRof her.) The Stranges? You mean—Audrey Strange, Nevile’s first wife?

MARY. Audrey, yes. But Nevile Strange and his—new wife are here, too.

ROYDE. Isn’t that a bit odd?

MARY. Lady Tressilian thinks it very odd indeed.

ROYDE. Bit awkward—what? (Mathew Treves enters by the French windows R., fanning himself with an old-fashioned panama hat. He is an elderly and distinguished lawyer of ripe experience and great shrewdness. He has retired from his London firm some years ago and is now a keen observer of human nature. His voice is dry and precise.)

TREVES. (As he enters.) Rather too much glare on the terrace today . . . (He sees Royde.) Ah, Thomas. Nice to see you after all these years. (He stands up L. of the chaise.)

ROYDE. (Moving to Treves.) I’m very glad to be here. (He shakes hands with Treves.)

MARY. (Moving to Royde’s suitcase.) Shall I take your things up to your room?

ROYDE. (Crossing quickly to Mary.) No, no, I can’t let you do that. (He picks up his suitcase and golf clubs. Mary leads the way to the door L., sees the sweeper and picks it up.)

MARY. (With a vexed exclamation.) Really! Mrs. Barrett . . . These daily women are impossible. It makes Lady Tressilian very angry when things are left all over the place.

ROYDE. (Following Mary to the doorL.) I think my sudden arrival on the terrace frightened the poor woman. (He looks towards Treves. Treves smiles.)

MARY. Oh, I see. (Mary and Royde exitL. Treves turns to the bureau, sees the torn photograph in the wastepaper basket, stoops with a little difficulty and picks up the pieces. His eyebrows rise and he makes a little sound like “Tut, tut.”)

KAY. (Off L.; calling.) Where are you going to, Nevile?

NEVILE. (OffL.) Only into the house for a moment. (Treves puts the pieces of the photograph into the wastepaper basket. Nevile Strange enters by the French windowsL. He wears tennis kit and carries the remains of a glass of lemonade. He crosses to the coffee table and puts the glass on it.) Isn’t Audrey here?

TREVES. No.

NEVILE. Where is she? Do you know?

TREVES. I have no idea.

KAY. (Off, calling.) Nevile—Nevile. (Treves moves down R. of the chaise.)