The Mousetrap

NEVILE. (In a low voice.) You’re my wife, Audrey. You always will be. (He sees Mary.) Ah—Miss Aldin—are you going up to Lady Tressilian? (Audrey moves on to the L. end of the rostrum.)

MARY. (Crossing toL. C.) Yes—when Mr. Treves comes down. (Royde enters by the French windows and stands R. of the chaise. Nevile stares for a moment at Royde, then exits by the French windows. Wearily.) Oh, dear! I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tired in my life. If Lady Tressilian’s bell rings tonight, I’m quite certain I shall never hear it. (She sits in the armchair L. C.)

AUDREY. (Turning and moving to the downstage edge of the rostrum.) What bell?

MARY. It rings in my room—in case Lady Tressilian should want anything in the night. It’s one of those old-fashioned bells—on a spring and worked with a wire. It makes a ghastly jangle, but Lady Tressilian insists that it’s more reliable than electricity. (She yawns.) Excuse me—it’s this dreadful sultry weather, I think.

AUDREY. You ought to go to bed, Mary. You look worn out.

MARY. I shall—as soon as Mr. Treves has finished talking to Lady Tressilian. Then I shall tuck her up for the night and go to bed myself. Oh, dear. It’s been a very trying day. (Latimer enters by the French windows and moves down R.)

ROYDE. It certainly has.

AUDREY. (After a look at Latimer.) Thomas! Let’s go on to the terrace. (She crosses to the French windows.)

ROYDE. (Moving to Audrey.) Yes—I want to tell you about a detective story I’ve been reading . . . (Audrey and Royde exit by the French windows. There is a pause, as Latimer looks after Royde and Audrey for a moment.)

LATIMER. You and I, Miss Aldin, seem to be the odd men out. We must console each other. (He moves to the butler’s tray.) Can I get you a drink?

MARY. No, thank you.

LATIMER. (Pouring a drink for himself.) One conjugal reconciliation in the rose garden, one faithful swain nerving himself to pop the question. Where do we come in? Nowhere. We’re the outsiders. (He moves to the downstage edge of the rostrum and raises his glass.) Here’s to the outsiders—and to hell with all those inside the ringed fence. (He drinks.)

MARY. How bitter you are.

LATIMER. So are you.

MARY. (After a pause.) Not really.

LATIMER. (Moving below the coffee table toR. of it.) What’s it like, fetching and carrying, running up and down stairs, endlessly waiting on an old woman?

MARY. There are worse things.

LATIMER. I wonder. (He turns and looks towards the terrace.)

MARY. (After a pause.) You’re very unhappy.

LATIMER. Who isn’t?

MARY. Have—(She pauses.) you always been in love with Kay?

LATIMER. More or less.

MARY. And she?

LATIMER. (Moving upR. C.) I thought so—until Nevile came along. Nevile with his money and his sporting record. (He moves to L. of the chaise.) I could go climbing in the Himalayas if I’d ever had the cash.

MARY. You wouldn’t want to.

LATIMER. Perhaps not. (Sharply.) What do you want out of life?

MARY. (Rising, after a pause.) It’s almost too late.

LATIMER. But not quite.

MARY. No—not quite. (She moves on to the rostrum.) All I want is a little money—not very much—just enough.

LATIMER. Enough for what?

MARY. Enough to have some sort of life of my own before it’s too late. I’ve never had anything.

LATIMER. (Moving toR. of Mary.) Do you hate them, too, those inside the fence?

MARY. (Violently.) Hate them—I . . . (She yawns.) No—no—I’m too tired to hate anybody. (Treves enters L.)

TREVES. Ah, Miss Aldin, Lady Tressilian would like you to go to her now if you will be so kind. I think she’s feeling sleepy.

MARY. That’s a blessing. Thank you, Mr. Treves. I’ll go up at once. (She crosses to the door L.) I shan’t come down again so I’ll say good night now. Good night, Mr. Latimer. Good night, Mr. Treves.