The Mousetrap

LOMBARD. By the wildest stretch of imagination, I cannot see what any homicidal maniac wants with a scarlet oilsilk curtain.

VERA. Things seem to have been disappearing. Miss Brent lost a skein of knitting wool.

LOMBARD. So the murderer, whoever he or she is, is a kleptomaniac too.

VERA. How does it go? “Five little Indian boys—”

LOMBARD.

“Going in for law,

One got in Chancery—”

VERA. In Chancery, but how could that apply? Unless, of course—(She looks at WARGRAVE.)

WARGRAVE. Precisely, my dear young lady. That’s why I’m sitting right here.

LOMBARD. Ah! But I’m casting you for the role of murderer—not victim.

WARGRAVE. The term can apply to a boxer.

LOMBARD. (ToVERA) Maybe we’ll start a free fight. That seems to let you out, my dear.

VERA. That awful rhyme. It keeps going round and round in my head. I think I’ll remember it till I die. (She realizes what she has said and looks around at the OTHERS. Pause) Mr. Blore’s a long time.

LOMBARD. I expect the big bad wolf has got him.

WARGRAVE. I have asked you once before to try and restrain your rather peculiar sense of humour, Captain Lombard.

LOMBARD. Sorry, sir. It must be a form of nervousness.

(BLORE enters Left 2 with a tin of biscuits. VERA to behind chair Right Centre. WARGRAVE rises to Left Centre, takes tin and opens it.)

WARGRAVE. Put your hands up. Search him.

(ARMSTRONG and LOMBARD cross to Left Centre; search BLORE. ARMSTRONG offers biscuits to VERA.)

VERA. (Sits Right Centre) No, thank you.

(BLORE sits down Left.)

LOMBARD. Come now—you’ve had no dinner. (To above VERA, Right Centre.)

VERA. I couldn’t eat anything.

LOMBARD. I warn you—Blore will wolf the lot.

BLORE. I don’t see why you need be so funny about it. Starving ourselves won’t do us any good. (Sadly) How are we off for cigarettes?

LOMBARD. (Takes out his case and opens it; sighs ruefully) I haven’t got any.

ARMSTRONG. I’ve run out too.

WARGRAVE. Fortunately, I’m a pipe smoker.

VERA. (Rousing herself. Crossing down Left) I’ve got a whole box upstairs in my suitcase. I’ll get them. I could do with a cigarette myself. (Pauses at door) See that you all stay where you are. (Goes out Left 1 carrying a candle from bookcase.)

(WARGRAVE to door, looking after her, leaving tin on sofa.)

BLORE. (Rises; fetches tin from sofa—eating solidly, up Left Centre) Not bad, these biscuits.

LOMBARD. What are they, cheese?

BLORE. Cheese and celery.

LOMBARD. That girl ought to have had some. (To Left.)

ARMSTRONG. Her nerves are in a bad state.

WARGRAVE. (To above Left sofa) I don’t know that I’d agree with you there, Doctor. Miss Claythorne strikes me as a very cool and resourceful young lady—quite remarkably so.

LOMBARD. (Up Left Centre—looking curiously atWARGRAVE) So that’s your idea, is it? That she’s the snake in the grass?

ARMSTRONG. Hardly likely—a woman!

WARGRAVE. You and I, Doctor, see women from slightly different angles.

BLORE. (Crossing down Right) What does anyone say to a spot of whisky?

LOMBARD. Good idea, providing we tackle an unopened bottle.