The Mousetrap

BATTLE. Yes, sir. Thrown down by the bed, blood-stained and with white hairs sticking to it. (Treves makes a gesture of repulsion.) I shouldn’t have deduced a niblick from the appearance of the wound, but apparently the sharp edge of the club didn’t touch the head. The doctor says it was the rounded part of the club hit her.

TREVES. The—er—murderer was incredibly stupid, don’t you think, to leave the weapon behind?

BATTLE. Probably lost his head. It happens.

TREVES. Possibly—yes, possibly. I suppose there are no fingerprints?

BATTLE. (Rising and moving upR. C.) Sergeant Pengelly is attending to that now, sir. I doubt if it’s going to be as easy as that. (Inspector Leach enters L. He is a youngish man, about thirty-eight to forty, thin and dark. He speaks with a slight Cornish accent. He carries a niblick golf club.)

LEACH. (Crossing above the easy chairL. C. toL. of Battle.) See here, Uncle. Pengelly has brought up a beautiful set of dabs on this—clear as day.

BATTLE. (Warningly.) Be careful how you go handling that, my boy.

LEACH. It’s all right, we’ve got photographs. Got specimens of the blood and hair, too. (He shows the club to Battle.) What do you think of these dabs? Clear as clear, aren’t they? (Battle inspects the fingerprints on the shaft of the club, then crosses to R. of Treves.)

BATTLE. They’re clear enough. What a fool! (He shows the club to Treves.)

LEACH. That’s so to be sure.

BATTLE. All we’ve got to do now, my lad, is ask everyone nicely and politely if we may take their fingerprints—no compulsion, of course. Everyone will say “yes”—and one of two things will happen. Either none of the prints will agree, or else . . .

LEACH. It’ll be in the bag, eh? (He crosses to the door L. Battle nods.)

TREVES. Doesn’t it strike you as extremely odd, Battle, that the—er—murderer should have been so foolish as to leave such a damning piece of evidence behind—actually on the scene of the crime?

BATTLE. I’ve known ’em do things equally foolish, sir. (He puts the club on the chaise.) Well, let’s get on with it. Where’s everybody?

LEACH. (Moving upL.) In the library. Pollock is going through all their rooms. Except Miss Aldin’s, of course. She’s still sleeping off the effects of that dope.

BATTLE. We’ll have ’em in here one at a time. (To Treves.) Which Mrs. Strange was it who discovered the murder?

TREVES. Mrs. Audrey Strange.

BATTLE. Oh, yes. Difficult when there are two Mrs. Stranges. Mrs. Audrey Strange is the divorced wife, isn’t she?

TREVES. Yes. I explained to you the—er—situation.

BATTLE. Yes, sir. Funny idea of Mr. Strange’s. I should have thought that most men . . . (Kay enters quickly L. She is very upset and slightly hysterical.)

KAY. (Crossing towards the French windows, to Battle.) I’m not going to stay cooped up in that damned library any longer. I want some air and I’m going out. You can do what the hell you like about it. (Leach moves down L.)

BATTLE. Just a minute, Mrs. Strange. (Kay stops and turns by the French windows.) There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out if you wish, but it’ll have to be later.

KAY. I want to go now.

BATTLE. I’m afraid that’s impossible.

KAY. (Moving slowly downR.) You’ve no right to keep me here. I haven’t done anything.

BATTLE. (Soothingly.) No, no, of course you haven’t. But you see, there’ll be one or two questions we’ll have to ask you.

KAY. What sort of questions? I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about it.

BATTLE. (Moving downC.; to Leach.) Get Benson, will you, Jim? (Leach nods and exitsL.) Now you just sit down here, Mrs. Strange—(He indicates the chair L. of the card table) and relax.

KAY. (Moving and sittingL. of the card table.) I’ve told you I don’t know anything. Why do I have to answer a lot of questions when I don’t know anything?

BATTLE. (Moving above the card table and standing downR. of it, apologetically.) We’ve got to interview everybody, you see. It’s just part of the routine. Not very pleasant for you, or for us, but there you are.