The Mousetrap

MACKENZIE. So you don’t understand. How strange!

BLORE. What’s that, General?

(MACKENZIE nods his head gently. BLORE looks questioningly at ARMSTRONG, then taps his forehead significantly.)

ARMSTRONG. I don’t like the look of him.

BLORE. I reckon young Marston’s suicide must have been a pretty bad shock to him. He looks years older.

ARMSTRONG. Where is that poor young fellow now?

BLORE. In the study—put him there myself.

VERA. Doctor Armstrong, I suppose it was suicide?

ARMSTRONG. (Sharply) What else could it be?

VERA. (Rises, crosses to Right sofa; sits.) I don’t know. But suicide—(She shakes her head.)

BLORE. (Crosses to behind Left sofa.) You know I had a pretty funny feeling in the night. This Mr. Unknown Owen, suppose he’s on the island. Rogers mayn’t know. (Pause) Or he may have told him to say so. (Watches ARMSTRONG) Pretty nasty thought, isn’t it?

ARMSTRONG. But would it have been possible for anyone to tamper with Marston’s drink without our seeing him?

BLORE. Well, it was standing up there. Anyone could have slipped a dollop of cyanide in if they’d wanted to.

ARMSTRONG. But that—

ROGERS. (Comes running up from Right on balcony. He is out of breath. Comes straight toARMSTRONG.) Oh, there you are, sir. I’ve been all over the place looking for you. Could you come up and have a look at my wife, sir?

ARMSTRONG. Yes, of course. (Goes towards door Left 1) Is she feeling under the weather still?

ROGERS. She’s—she’s—(Swallows convulsively; exits Left 2.)

ARMSTRONG. You won’t leave the island without me?

(They go out Left 1.)

VERA. (Rises; to Left of windows) I wish the boat would come. I hate this place.

WARGRAVE. Yes. I think the sooner we can get in touch with the police the better.

VERA. The police?

WARGRAVE. The police have to be notified in a case of suicide, you know, Miss Claythorne.

VERA. Oh, yes—of course. (Looks up Right towards the door of study and shivers.)

BLORE. (Opening door Left 2) What’s going on here? No sign of any breakfast.

VERA. Are you hungry, General? (MACKENZIEdoes not answer. She speaks louder) Feeling like breakfast?

MACKENZIE. (Turns sharply) Lesley—Lesley—my dear.

VERA. No—I’m not—I’m Vera Claythorne.

MACKENZIE. (Passes a hand over his eyes) Of course. Forgive me. I took you for my wife.

VERA. Oh!

MACKENZIE. I was waiting for her, you see.

VERA. But I thought your wife was dead—long ago.

MACKENZIE. Yes. I thought so, too. But I was wrong. She’s here. On this island.

LOMBARD. (Comes in from hall Left 1) Good morning.

(VERA to above Left sofa.)

BLORE. (Coming to down Left) Good morning, Captain Lombard.

LOMBARD. Good morning. Seem to have overslept myself. Boat here yet?

BLORE. No.

LOMBARD. Bit late, isn’t it?

BLORE. Yes.

LOMBARD. (To Vera) Good morning. You and I could have had a swim before breakfast. Too bad all this.

VERA. Too bad you overslept yourself.

BLORE. You must have good nerves to sleep like that.

LOMBARD. Nothing makes me lose my sleep.

(VERA to mantelpiece.)

BLORE. Didn’t dream of African natives, by any chance, did you?

LOMBARD. No. Did you dream of convicts on Dartmoor?

BLORE. (Angrily) Look here, I don’t think that’s funny, Captain Lombard.

LOMBARD. Well, you started it, you know. I’m hungry. What about breakfast? (To Left sofa—sits.)

BLORE. The whole domestic staff seems to have gone on strike.

LOMBARD. Oh, well, we can always forage for ourselves.

VERA. (Examining Indian figures) Hullo, that’s strange.

LOMBARD. What is?

VERA. You remember we found one of these little fellows smashed last night?

LOMBARD. Yes—That ought to leave nine.

VERA. That ought to leave nine. I’m certain there were ten of them here when we arrived.

LOMBARD. Well?

VERA. There are only eight.

LOMBARD. (Looking) So there are. (To mantelpiece.)

(They look at each other.)

VERA. I think it’s queer, don’t you?