The Mousetrap

WARGRAVE. If Miss Claythorne suspects one of us three, that is rather an awkward question.

VERA. I’m sure it isn’t any of you. If you ask me who I suspected, I’d say Doctor Armstrong.

BLORE. Armstrong.

VERA. Yes. Because, don’t you see, he’s had far and away the best chance to kill Mrs. Rogers. Terribly easy for him, as a doctor, to give her an overdose of sleeping stuff.

BLORE. That’s true. But someone else gave her brandy, remember.

(EMILY goes up Left and sits.)

WARGRAVE. Her husband had a good opportunity of administering a drug.

BLORE. It isn’t Rogers. He wouldn’t have the brains to fix all this stunt—nor the money. Besides, you can see he’s scared stiff.

(ROGERS and LOMBARD, in mackintoshes, come up Right on balcony and appear at window. BLORE goes and lets them in. As he opens the window, a swirl of loud wind and rain comes in. EMILY half screams and turns round.)

LOMBARD. My God, it’s something like a storm.

EMILY. Oh, it’s only you—

VERA. Who did you think it was? (Pause) Beatrice Taylor?

EMILY. (Angrily) Eh?

LOMBARD. Not a hope of rescue until this dies down. Is that coffee? Good. (ToVERA) I’m taking to coffee now, you see.

VERA. (Takes him a cup) Such restraint in the face of danger is nothing short of heroic.

WARGRAVE. (Crosses to down Left; sits) I do not, of course, profess to be a weather prophet. But I should say that it is very unlikely that a boat could reach us, even if it knew of our plight, under twenty-four hours. Even if the wind drops, the sea has still to go down.

(LOMBARD sits Left sofa. ROGERS pulls off his shoes.)

VERA. You’re awfully wet.

BLORE. Is anyone a swimmer? Would it be possible to swim to the mainland?

VERA. It’s over a mile—and in this sea you’d be dashed on the rocks and drowned.

EMILY. (Speaking like one in a trance) Drowned—drowned—in the pond—(Drops knitting.)

WARGRAVE. (Rising; startled, moves up to her) I beg your pardon, Miss Brent. (He picks it up for her.)

BLORE. After-dinner nap.

(Another furious gust of wind and rain.)

VERA. It’s terribly cold in here. (To Right; sits on fender.)

ROGERS. I could light the fire if you like, Miss?

VERA. That would be a good idea.

LOMBARD. (Crossing Right) Very sound scheme, Rogers. (He sits on fender; puts on shoes.)

ROGERS. (Goes towards Left 1 door—is going through, but comes back and asks) Excuse me, but does anybody know what’s become of the top bathroom curtain?

LOMBARD. Really, Rogers, are you going bats too?

BLORE. (Blankly) The bathroom curtain?

ROGERS. Yes, sir. Scarlet oilsilk. It’s missing.

(They look at each other.)

LOMBARD. Anybody seen a scarlet oilsilk curtain? No good, I’m afraid, Rogers.

ROGERS. It doesn’t matter, sir, only I just thought as it was odd.

LOMBARD. Everything on this island is odd.

ROGERS. I’ll get some sticks and a few knobs of coal and get a nice fire going. (Goes out Left 2.)

VERA. I wonder if he would like some hot coffee. He’s very wet. (Runs out after him, calling “Rogers.”)

LOMBARD. What’s become of Armstrong?

WARGRAVE. He went to his room to rest.

LOMBARD. Somebody’s probably batted him one by now!

WARGRAVE. I expect he had the good sense to bolt his door.

BLORE. It won’t be so easy now that we’re all on our guard. (Lights cigarette at mantelpiece.)

(A rather unpleasant silence.)

WARGRAVE. I advise you, Mr. Blore, not to be too confident. I should like shortly to propose certain measures of safety, which I think we should all adopt.

LOMBARD. Against whom?

WARGRAVE. (Up Centre) Against each other. We are all in grave danger. Of the ten people who came to this island, three are definitely cleared. There are seven of us left—seven little Indian boys.

LOMBARD. One of whom is a bogus little Indian boy.

WARGRAVE. Exactly.

BLORE. (To Right Centre) Well, in spite of what Miss Claythorne said just now, I’d say that you, Sir Lawrence, and Doctor Armstrong are above suspicion. He’s a well-known doctor, and you’re known all over England.