The Early Ayn Rand

INGALLS: Oh, yes. But one can do a lot with circumstantial evidence.

CURTAIN

SCENE I

Half an hour later. Before the curtain rises we hear the sound of Chopin's "Butterfly Etude" played on the piano. It is played violently, exultantly— the gay notes dancing in laughter and release. The music continues as the curtain rises.

STEVE INGALLS is alone on stage. He is pacing the room impatiently; he glances at his wristwatch. Then there is the sound of a car driving up. He looks out. He walks to the entrance door Left and throws it open suddenly, at the right moment, before the bell is rung. SERGE stands outside.

SERGE: [As he enters, angrily] How thoughtful of you. [Pulls the Courier out of his pocket and throws it to him] There is nothing in the Courier about the Soviet Culture and Friendship Society. Or the FBI.

INGALLS: No?

SERGE: No! I make all the long trip for nothing.

INGALLS: [Glancing through the paper] Guess Joe Cheeseman gave me the wrong dope.

SERGE: And where is everybody? [INGALLS slips the paper into his pocket and doesn't answer] Why is it in the house all the windows dark? [INGALLS stands watching him silently] What is the matter?

INGALLS: Serge.

SERGE: Yes?

INGALLS: Mr. Breckenridge has been murdered.

SERGE: [Stands stock-still for a long moment, then emits one short, sick gasp like a moan. Then snaps hoarsely and crudely:] You are crazy!...

INGALLS: [Without moving] Mr. Breckenridge is lying dead in the garden.

SERGE: [Sinks down into a chair, his head in his hands, and moans] Boje moy!... Boje moy!...

INGALLS: Save it for the others, Serge. Save it for an audience.

SERGE: [Jerks his head up, his voice harsh and deadly] Who did it?

INGALLS: You. Or I. Or any of us.

SERGE: [Jumping up, ferociously] I?!

INGALLS: Pipe down, Serge. You see, it's the one question that none of us must ask under the circumstances. Leave that to Greg Hastings.

SERGE: Who?

INGALLS: Greg Hastings. The district attorney. He will be here any moment. I'm sure he'll answer your question. He always does.

SERGE: I hope he's good, I hope

INGALLS: He's very good. Not one unsolved murder in his whole career. You see, he doesn't believe that there can be such a thing as a perfect crime.

SERGE: I hope he should find the monster, the fiend, the unspeakable —

INGALLS: Let me give you a tip, Serge. Cut down on that kind of stuff around Greg Hastings. I know him quite well. He won't fall for the obvious. He'll always look further than that. He's clever. Too clever.

SERGE: [His voice rising angrily] But why do you say this to me? Why do you look at me? You do not think that I...

INGALLS: I haven't even begun to think, Serge. [TONY enters Right]

TONY: [Gaily] The cops arrived? [Sees SERGE] Oh, it's you, Serge, old boy, old pal.

SERGE: [Startled] I beg your pardon?

TONY: You look wonderful. The ride's done you good. It's wonderful to drive fast at night, against the wind, with nothing to stop you! To drive fast, so fast — and free!

SERGE: [Aghast] But what is this? [Whirls on INGALLS] Oh, I see! It was the joke. It was the horrible joke from you... [To TONY] Mr. Breckenridge he is not dead?

TONY: [Lightly] Oh yes, Mr. Breckenridge is dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead as a tombstone. Good and dead.

SERGE: [To INGALLS] He has lost his mind!

INGALLS: Or just found it. [HELEN enters, coming down the stairs]

HELEN: Tony, why did you —

SERGE: Oh, Mrs. Breckenridge! Permit me to express the deepest sympathy at this terrible —

HELEN: Thank you, Serge. [Her manner is now simple, young, more natural than it has ever been] Why did you stop playing, Tony? It was so lovely. I've never heard you play like this before.

TONY: But you will hear me again. You will — for years — and years — and years — [INGALLS exits up the stairs] SERGE: Mrs. Breckenridge —

HELEN: I will give you a piano, Tony. Now. Tomorrow.