The Mousetrap

VERA. Turn it off! Turn it off! It’s horrible!

(LOMBARD switches it off. MRS. ROGERS groans.)

ARMSTRONG. A disgraceful and heartless practical joke.

WARGRAVE. (With significance) So you think it’s a joke, do you?

ARMSTRONG. What else could it be?

(EMILY sits down Right.)

WARGRAVE. (With significance) At the moment I’m not prepared to give an opinion.

(ROGERS enters Left 2 with brandy and glass on tray. Puts it on table up Left.)

MARSTON. Who the devil turned it on, though? And set it going?

WARGRAVE. We must enquire into that. (He looks significantly atROGERS.)

(LOMBARD enters up Right with record; puts it on chair Right Centre. MRS. ROGERS begins to move and twist.)

MRS. ROGERS. Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!

(The OTHERS move nearer, obscuring table where the brandy is. Attention is focused on MRS. ROGERS.)

ROGERS. (Above sofa) Allow me, Madam. (ToARMSTRONG) Allow me, sir. If I speak to her—Ethel—Ethel—(His tone is urgent and nervous) It’s all right. All right, do you hear? Pull yourself together.

(MRS. ROGERS begins to gasp and moan. She tries to pull herself up. Her frightened eyes stare round the room.)

ARMSTRONG. (Taking wrist) You’ll be all right now, Mrs. Rogers. Just a nasty turn.

(BLORE pours out brandy up Left.)

MRS. ROGERS. Did I faint, sir?

ARMSTRONG. Yes.

MRS. ROGERS. It was the voice—the awful voice—like a judgement—

(ROGERS makes anxious movement. MRS. ROGERS’s eyelids flutter. She seems about to collapse again.)

ARMSTRONG. Where’s the brandy? (They draw back a little, disclosing it. BLORE gives glass to VERA, who gives it to ARMSTRONG. VERA sits Left edge of sofa, holding cushion under MRS. ROGERS’s head) Drink this, Mrs. Rogers.

MRS. ROGERS. (She gulps a little. Revives. She sits up again.) I’m all right now. I just—gave me a turn.

ROGERS. (Quickly) Of course it did. Gave me a turn too. Wicked lies it was! I’d like to know—

(WARGRAVE at Centre deliberately clears his throat. It stops ROGERS, who stares at him nervously. WARGRAVE clears his throat again, looking hard at ROGERS.)

WARGRAVE. Who was it put that record on the gramophone? Was it you, Rogers?

ROGERS. I was just obeying orders, sir, that’s all.

WARGRAVE. Whose orders?

ROGERS. Mr. Owen’s.

WARGRAVE. Let me get this quite clear. Mr. Owen’s orders were—what exactly?

ROGERS. I was to put on a record on the gramophone in the study. I’d find the records in the drawer in there. I was to start with that one, sir. I thought it was just to give you all some music.

WARGRAVE. (Sceptically) A very remarkable story.

ROGERS. (Hysterically) It’s the truth, sir. Before Heaven, it’s the truth. I didn’t know what it was—not for a moment. It had a name on it. I thought it was just a piece of music.

(WARGRAVE looks towards LOMBARD, who examines record.)

WARGRAVE. Is there a title?

LOMBARD. (Grinning) A title? Yes, sir. It’s entitled “Swan Song.”

(It amuses him, but some of the OTHERS react nervously.)

MACKENZIE. The whole thing is preposterous—preposterous! Slinging accusations about like this. Something must be done about it. This fellow Owen, whoever he is—(Moves up Left.)

EMILY. That’s just it. Who is he?

WARGRAVE. (With authority) That is exactly what we must go into very carefully. I should suggest that you get your wife to bed, Rogers. Then come back here.

ROGERS. Yes, sir.

ARMSTRONG. I’ll give you a hand.

VERA. (Rising) Will she be all right, Doctor?

ARMSTRONG. Yes, quite all right.

(ARMSTRONG and ROGERS help MRS. ROGERS up and take her out Left 1.)