Praise for The Mousetrap

‘The cleverest murder mystery of the British theatre. I think The Mousetrap could run forever’

Daily Telegraph

‘The Mousetrap is to West End theatre what ravens are to the Tower of London. Its disappearance could impoverish us’

Financial Times

‘Even more thrilling than the plot is the atmosphere of shuddering suspense. No one brews it better than Agatha Christie’

Daily Express

Contents

Praise for The Mousetrap

Title Page

Introduction by Sophie Hannah

The Mousetrap Script

ACT I: Scene I

ACT I: Scene 2

ACT II: Scene 1

The Backstage Story

Interview with Adam Spiegel

First Notices

History of The Mousetrap

A Cast of Characters

Keeping the Secret

Appendix

Permissions

Agatha Christie Said ...

The Works of Agatha Christie

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Letter from the original producer of The Mousetrap to the owner of the Ambassador’s Theatre in the summer of 1956.
They, thankfully, agreed to his request.

Introduction by Sophie Hannah

My favourite story about Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap is one that Mathew Prichard, Christie’s only grandson, told me: he remembers being in the bath one day at his childhood home in Wales, and through the bathroom door he overheard a conversation between Christie and her son-in-law Anthony Hicks. Christie had just found out that there was a potential problem with giving her forthcoming stage play the same title as her radio play upon which it was based: Three Blind Mice.

Christie originally wrote Three Blind Mice in response to a request from Queen Mary, the wife of King George V, for a new Agatha Christie story for her 80th birthday. The BBC approached Christie and she agreed. The 30-minute play was broadcast in 1947. Christie then wrote a short story version, also called Three Blind Mice, and this was published in Cosmopolitan magazine in the US in 1948 and later in the 1950 collection Three Blind Mice and Other Stories. When asked to turn the story into a stage play, Christie’s original intention had been to use the same title, but the producer of a completely different West End play called Three Blind Mice insisted that a new name be found.

Mathew Prichard remembers hearing his grandmother expressing frustration about the need to ditch a perfectly good title and find a new one. He heard Anthony Hicks say, ‘What about The Mousetrap?’ and Christie concede that, yes, The Mousetrap might work as an alternative. Ever since Mathew told me this story, it has stuck with me – the accidental overhearing by a child, who couldn’t possibly have realised the significance of the conversation at the time, of the moment at which this vital artefact of cultural history, the world’s longest-running play, was named.

The Mousetrap is, of course, the perfect title for Christie’s dramatic masterpiece. It also strikes me as ideal that it was prevented from having the same name as its radio play predecessor. No one knew how significant and famous the play would become when the possibility of a stage version was first mooted, but it feels entirely right that it has its own unique name.

In her autobiography, Christie wrote that she expected the play to run for a maximum of eight months; it broke the record for the longest-running West End play in 1957 and is now the longest-running play of any kind in the history of theatre. On his ninth birthday, Mathew Prichard was gifted the rights to The Mousetrap by his grandmother, who might not have known that he had been hoping for a bike! The film rights to the play were sold in 1956, but a clause prevented the film being made while the West End show was still running and, to this day, the only film adaptations in existence are unofficial Bengali and Russian versions.

My personal connection to The Mousetrap began with a spoiler! A famous and crucial feature of the play is that, having discovered whodunnit, the audience is sworn to secrecy before they leave the theatre. Well, I spoilered The Mousetrap for myself by inadvertently reading an online blog about some of Christie’s major works, which gave away the secret without first issuing a warning. By this time, I had been asked by none other than Mathew Prichard and his son James to write the first new Poirot novel since Christie’s death, and I had eagerly accepted the challenge. Part of the reason I was offered the opportunity was that I was known to be a Christie superfan: I had been reading and re-reading her novels since the age of twelve and raved about their brilliance in public whenever I had the chance. But I had not yet seen The Mousetrap and, knowing it was among the crown jewels of her oeuvre, I was planning to go as a special treat for me and my family, as soon as I had finished and delivered the manuscript of my first Poirot novel.

My dismay upon reading this spoiler, therefore, was not insignificant. However, I soon perked up after reminding myself that one of the great things about Christie’s work is that it is equally enjoyable to read or watch when one knows the solution as when one does not. This is one of the key pieces of evidence that Christie is not merely a superb mystery plotter but also a genius in a more literary sense; the pleasure offered by every word, line and scene, and in watching how it all comes together, even when one already knows some or all of the details, is immense, and the reader, or watcher, is impressed every time by much more than the simple answers to the questions of who- and whydunnit.

When my husband, children and I finally went to see The Mousetrap, I was the only one of our party who was a fan of murder mysteries, but all four of us absolutely loved the play. I remember the kids’ faces shining with delight at the end. ‘That was so brilliant!’ they said, before I had a chance to ask them if they had enjoyed it. My husband, whose favourite form of entertainment theatre is not, and who enjoys critiquing things he has seen (particularly if he has been ‘encouraged’ to watch them by his bossy wife), had not one single criticism to offer. ‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘Loved it. Just brilliant.’

As we left the theatre, I wondered aloud to my family, ‘Will there ever be another murder mystery play as brilliant as The Mousetrap? Probably not.’ As I said those words (well, perhaps ten or twenty seconds later, to be strictly accurate), I had a brilliant, simple, high-concept idea for a murder mystery play: a stranger arrives at the home or office of a detective or amateur sleuth, says nothing more than ‘I am the murderer’ and then disappears. The detective’s task is to find out a) who this man is and b) what murder or murders he has committed, if any.

When my family and I got home, I sat down immediately with my notebook and developed the idea further, thinking of it as ‘my Mousetrap’. (Note: I did not for a second think it might be as good or as successful as The Mousetrap; nevertheless, it had been very clearly inspired by watching Christie’s play, so the nickname stuck.) With the help of my composer friend Annette Armitage, I added songs (for which Annette wrote the brilliant music), because I love musicals as much as I love murder mysteries, and soon The Mystery of Mr E was being performed in several locations in the UK. As I write this introduction, filming of the screen adaptation is just about to finish. None of this would be happening if I had not been to the theatre to watch The Mousetrap that day and been so inspired by it.

The Mousetrap’s popularity and prominence shows no sign of subsiding. It has been staged in more than 27 languages and 50 countries, and after 70 years as a UK stage hit, it’s heading to Broadway.

Long may it reign!

Sophie Hannah, February 2023

The Mousetrap’s first programme

THE MOUSETRAP
Script

A play by Agatha Christie

This script is the version of the play performed on stage today. Over the last 70 years there have been small changes made to the stage directions and occasional use of language, but otherwise the text remains very close to Agatha Christie’s orginal.

The following abbreviations are used in the stage directions:

‘C’: Centre stage

‘R’: Stage right

‘L’: Stage left

‘RC’: Right centre

‘LC’: Left centre

ACT I

Scene I

SCENE – The Great Hall at Monkswell Manor. Late afternoon.

The house looks not so much a period piece but a house which has been lived in by generations of the same family with dwindling resources. There are tall windows up C; a big arched opening up R leading to the entrance hall, the front door and the kitchen; and an arched opening L leading upstairs to the bedrooms. Up L leading off the stairs is the door to the library; down L is the door to the drawing room; and down R the door (opening on stage) to the dining room. R is an open fireplace and beneath the window up C a window seat and a radiator. The hall is furnished as a lounge. There is some good old oak, including a large refectory table by the window up C and an oak chest in the entrance hall up R. The curtains and the upholstered furniture – a sofa LC, an armchair C, a large leather armchair R, and a small stool down R – are shabby and old-fashioned. There is a combined desk and bookcase L, with a radio and telephone on it. There is another chair up RC by the window, a Canterbury containing newspapers and magazines above the fireplace, and a small half-circular card table behind the sofa. There are two wall brackets over the fireplace which are worked together; and a wall bracket on the L wall, one L of the library door and one in the entrance hall, which are also worked together. There are double switches L of the arch up R and on the downstage side of the door down L, and a single switch on the upstage side of the door down R. A table lamp stands on the sofa table.

Before the CURTAIN rises, the house lights fade to a complete BLACKOUT and the music of “Three Blind Mice” is heard.

VOICE ON THE RADIO:

... and according to Scotland Yard, the crime took place at twenty-four Culver Street, Paddington.

(The lights come up, revealing the hall at Monkswell Manor. It is late afternoon and almost dark. Snow can be seen falling heavily through the windows up C. There is a fire burning. A freshly painted signboard is standing on its side on the stairs against the archway L; it has on it in large letters: MONKWELL MANOR GUEST HOUSE)

The murdered woman was a Mrs Maureen Lyon. In connection with the murder, the police are anxious to interview a man seen in the vicinity, wearing a dark overcoat, light scarf and a soft felt hat.

(MOLLIE RALSTON enters through the arch up R. She is a tall, pretty, young woman with an ingenuous air. She puts down her handbag and gloves on the armchair C then crosses to the radio and switches it off during the next speech. She places a small parcel in the desk cupboard)

Motorists are warned against ice-bound roads. The heavy snow is expected to continue, and throughout the country there will be a certain freezing, particularly at points on the north and north-east of Scotland.

MOLLIE:

(calling) Mrs Barlow! Mrs Barlow!

(Receiving no reply, she crosses to the armchair C, picks up her handbag and one glove, and then goes out through the arch up R. She removes her overcoat and then returns. She moves up to the window and feels the radiator. Then she moves down to the sofa table and switches on the table lamp. She looks round and notices the large signboard lying on its side on the stairs. She picks it up and places it against the wall L of the window alcove. She steps back, nodding her head) It really does look nice – oh! (She notices that there is no “S” on the sign) How stupid of Giles. (She looks at her watch then at the clock) Gosh! (MOLLIE hurries off up the stairs L)

(GILES enters from the front door R. He is an attractive young man in his twenties. He stamps his feet to shake off the snow, opens the oak chest and puts inside a big paper carrier he has been carrying. He takes off his overcoat, hat and scarf, moves down and throws them on the armchair C. Then he goes to the fire and warms his hands)

GILES:

(calling) Mollie? I’m back. Mollie? Where are you?

(MOLLIE enters from the arch L)

MOLLIE:

(cheerfully) Doing all the work, you brute. Hello, darling. (She crosses to GILES)

GILES:

(kissing her) Hullo, sweetheart. Your nose is cold.

MOLLIE:

I’ve just come in.

GILES:

Why? Where have you been? Surely you’ve not been out in this weather?

MOLLIE:

I had to go down to the village for some stuff I’d forgotten. Did you get the chicken wire?

GILES:

It wasn’t the right kind. I went on to another dump but that wasn’t any good either. Practically a whole day wasted. My God, I’m half frozen. Car was skidding like anything. The snow’s coming down thick. What do you bet we’re snowed up tomorrow?

MOLLIE:

Oh dear, I do hope not. (She crosses to the radiator and feels it) If only the pipes don’t freeze.

GILES:

We’ll have to keep the central heating well stoked up.

MOLLIE:

Not too good at the moment.

GILES:

I wish they’d send the coke along. We’re getting rather low.

MOLLIE:

(moving down to the sofa and sitting) Oh! I do so want everything to go well at first. First impressions are so important.

GILES:

(moving down to the sofa) Is everything ready? Nobody’s arrived yet, I suppose?

MOLLIE:

No, thank goodness. I think everything’s in order. Mrs Barlow hooked it early. Afraid of the weather, I suppose. And she left the wireless on again.

GILES:

What a nuisance these daily women are. That leaves everything on your shoulders.

MOLLIE:

And yours! This is a partnership.

GILES:

So long as you don’t ask me to cook.

MOLLIE:

No, no, that’s my department. Anyway, we’ve got lots of tins in case we are snowed up. Oh, Giles, do you think it’s going to be all right?

GILES:

Got cold feet, have you? Are you sorry now we didn’t sell the place when your aunt left it to you, instead of having this mad idea of running it as a guest house?

MOLLIE:

No, I’m not. I love it. And talking of a guest house, just look at that! (She indicates the signboard in an accusing manner)

GILES:

Pretty good, what?

MOLLIE:

It’s a disaster! Don’t you see? You’ve left out the “S”, Monkwell instead of Monkswell.

GILES:

Good Lord, so I did. However did I come to do that? But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Monkwell is just as good a name.

MOLLIE:

You’re in disgrace. Go and stoke up the central heating.

GILES:

Across that icy yard! Ugh! Shall I bank it up for the night now?

MOLLIE:

No, you don’t do that until ten or eleven o’clock at night.

GILES:

How appalling!

MOLLIE:

Hurry up. Someone may arrive at any minute now.

GILES:

You’ve got all the rooms worked out?

MOLLIE:

Yes. Mrs Boyle, Front Four-poster Room. Major Metcalf, Blue Room. Miss Casewell, East Room. Mr Wren, Oak Room.

GILES:

I wonder what all these people will be like. Oughtn’t we to have got rent in advance?

MOLLIE:

Oh, no, I don’t think so.

GILES:

We’re rather mugs at this game.

MOLLIE:

They bring luggage. If they don’t pay, we hang on to their luggage. It’s quite simple.

GILES:

I can’t help thinking we ought to have taken a correspondence course in hotel keeping. We’re sure to get had in some way. Their luggage might be just bricks wrapped up in newspaper and where should we be then?

MOLLIE:

They all wrote from very good addresses.

GILES:

That’s what servants with forged references do. Some of these people may be criminals hiding from the police.

MOLLIE:

I don’t care what they are so long as they pay us seven guineas every week.

GILES:

You’re such a wonderful woman of business, Mollie. I want a kiss. And another.

MOLLIE:

Central heating.

GILES:

Central heating.

MOLLIE:

And take that board with you.

GILES:

And take that board with you. I think we should have opened a guest house in the Bahamas.

(GILES exits through the arch up R, carrying the signboard)

GILES:

(off) Oh Lord!

(MOLLIE switches on the radio and pulls the curtains)

VOICE ON THE RADIO:

And according to Scotland Yard, the crime took place at twenty-four Culver Street, Paddington. The murdered woman was a Mrs Maureen Lyon. In connection with the murder, the police –

(MOLLIE crosses to the armchair C)

– are anxious to interview a man in the vicinity, wearing a dark overcoat –

(MOLLIE picks up Giles’ overcoat)

– light scarf –

(MOLLIE picks up his scarf)

– and a soft felt hat.

(MOLLIE picks up his hat and exits through the arch up R)

Motorists are warned against ice-bound roads. The heavy snow is expected to continue, and throughout the country...

(Doorbell rings. MOLLIE enters, crosses to the desk, switches off the radio and hurries off through the arch up R)

MOLLIE:

(off) Hello. Do come in.

CHRISTOPHER:

(off) Thanks so much.

MOLLIE:

(off) You must be frozen. Let me take your hat and coat.

(CHRISTOPHER enters through the arch up R with a suitcase, which he places R of the refectory table)

(MOLLIE enters and moves up C)

CHRISTOPHER:

Weather is simply awful. My taxi gave up at your gate. Wouldn’t attempt the drive. No sporting instinct. Are you Mrs Ralston?

MOLLIE:

Yes.

CHRISTOPHER:

How delightful! My name’s Christopher Wren.

MOLLIE:

How do you do, Mr Wren?

CHRISTOPHER:

You know, you’re not at all as I’d pictured you. I’ve been thinking of you as a retired general’s widow, Indian Army. I thought you’d be terrifically grim and memsahibish, and that the whole place would be simply crammed with Benares brass. Instead, it’s heavenly (crossing below the sofa L of the sofa table) – quite heavenly. (To the painting) Hello. Lovely proportions. (Pointing at the desk) That’s a fake! (Pointing at the table) Ah, but this table’s genuine. I’m simply going to love this place. (He moves below the armchair C) Have you got any wax flowers or birds of paradise?

MOLLIE:

I’m afraid not.

CHRISTOPHER:

What a pity! Well, what about a sideboard? A purple, plummy mahogany sideboard with great solid carved fruits on it?

MOLLIE:

Yes, we have – in the dining room. (She glances at the door down R)

CHRISTOPHER:

May I see it?

MOLLIE:

Of course.

CHRISTOPHER:

How super. I must see it. It’s exquisite! Oh, I adore it. Pure Victoriana. (GILES enters) Oh, and a chiffonier. I adore chiffoniers.

(MOLLIE enters from the dining room, followed by CHRISTOPHER. MOLLIE moves C)

CHRISTOPHER:

(as he enters) Absolutely perfect. Real bedrock respectability.

MOLLIE:

Do come and warm yourself.

CHRISTOPHER:

But why do away with a centre mahogany table? Little tables just spoil the effect.

MOLLIE:

We thought guests would prefer them. Mr Wren, this is my husband.

CHRISTOPHER:

(moving up to GILES and shaking hands with him) How do you do? Terrible weather, isn’t it? Takes one back to Dickens and Scrooge and that irritating Tiny Tim. So bogus. Of course, Mrs Ralston, you’re absolutely right about the little tables. I was being carried away by my feeling for period. If you had a mahogany dining table, you’d have to have the right family round it. (He turns to GILES) Stern, handsome father with a beard, prolific, faded mother, eleven children of assorted ages, a grim governess and somebody called “poor Harriet”, the poor relation who acts as general dogsbody and is very, very grateful for being given a good home!

GILES:

(disliking him) I’ll take your suitcase upstairs for you. (He picks up the suitcase. To MOLLIE) Oak Room, did you say?

MOLLIE:

Yes.

CHRISTOPHER:

I do hope that it’s got a four-poster with little chintz roses?

GILES:

It hasn’t.

(GILES exits L up the stairs with the suitcase)

CHRISTOPHER:

I don’t believe your husband is going to like me. How long have you been married? Are you very much in love?

MOLLIE:

(coldly) We’ve been married just a year. Perhaps you’d like to go up and see your room?

CHRISTOPHER:

Ticked off! But I do so like knowing all about people. I mean, I think people are so madly interesting. Don’t you?

MOLLIE:

Well, I suppose some are and some are not.

CHRISTOPHER:

No, I don’t agree. They’re all interesting, because you never really know what anyone is like – or what they are really thinking. For instance, you don’t know what I’m thinking about now, do you?

MOLLIE:

Not in the least.

CHRISTOPHER:

You see? The only people who really know what other people are like are artists – and they don’t know why they know it! But if they’re portrait painters (he moves C), it comes out – on the canvas.

MOLLIE:

Are you a painter?

CHRISTOPHER:

No, I’m an architect. My parents, you know, baptised me Christopher, in the hope that I would be an architect. Christopher Wren! As good as halfway home. Actually, of course, everyone laughs about it and makes jokes about St Paul’s. However – who knows? – I may yet have the last laugh.

(GILES enters from the archway up L and crosses to the arch up R)

Chris Wren’s precast concrete boxes may yet go down in history! (To Giles) I’m going to like it here. I find your wife most sympathetic.

GILES:

(coldly) Indeed.

CHRISTOPHER:

(Turning to look at MOLLIE) And really very beautiful.

MOLLIE:

Oh, don’t be absurd.

CHRISTOPHER:

There, isn’t that like an Englishwoman? Compliments always embarrass them. European women take compliments as a matter of course, but Englishwomen have all the feminine spirit crushed out of them by their husbands. (He turns and looks at GILES) There’s something very boorish about English husbands. Don’t you think?

MOLLIE:

(hastily) Come up and see your room. (She crosses to the arch up L)

CHRISTOPHER:

Shall I? How thrilling.

MOLLIE:

(To GILES) Be an angel and stoke up the hot-water boiler.

GILES:

How thrilling.

(MOLLIE and CHRISTOPHER exit up the stairs L. The doorbell peals. There is a pause then it peals several times impatiently)

(GILES exits hurriedly up R to the front door. The sound of wind and snow is heard for a moment or two)

MRS BOYLE:

(off) This is Monkswell Manor, I presume?

GILES:

(off) Yes... I’m Giles Ralston.

(MRS BOYLE enters through the archway up R, carrying some magazines and her gloves. She is a large, imposing woman in a very bad temper)

MRS BOYLE:

And I am Mrs Boyle.

GILES:

Please warm yourself by the fire, Mrs Boyle.

(MRS BOYLE moves down to the fire)

Awful weather, isn’t it? Is this your only luggage?

MRS BOYLE:

A major – Metcalf, is it? – is seeing to it. The taxi wouldn’t risk coming up the drive.

(GILES returns and comes down to L of MRS BOYLE)

It stopped at the gate. We had to share a taxi from the station – and there was great difficulty in getting that. Nothing ordered to meet us, it seems.

GILES:

I’m so sorry. We didn’t know what train you would be coming by, you see, otherwise of course, we’d have seen that someone was – er – standing by.

MRS BOYLE:

All trains should have been met.

GILES:

Let me take your coat.

MRS BOYLE:

Thank you.

(GILES removes MRS BOYLE’s coat. She stands by the fire warming her hands)

GILES:

My wife will be here in a moment. I’ll just go along and give the major a hand with the bags.

(GILES exits up R to the front door)

MRS BOYLE:

(moving up to the arch as GILES goes) The drive might at least have been cleared of snow. (After his exit) Most offhand and casual, I must say. Woodworm.

(MOLLIE hurries in from the stairs L, a little breathless)

MOLLIE:

I’m so sorry I ...

MRS BOYLE:

Mrs Ralston?

MOLLIE:

Yes. I ... (She crosses to MRS BOYLE, half puts out her hand, then draws it back, uncertain of what guest house proprietors are supposed to do)

(MRS BOYLE surveys MOLLIE with displeasure)

MRS BOYLE:

You’re very young.

MOLLIE:

Young?

MRS BOYLE:

To be running an establishment of this kind. You can’t have had much experience.

MOLLIE:

There has to be a beginning for everything, hasn’t there?

MRS BOYLE:

I see. Quite inexperienced. (She looks round) An old house. I hope you haven’t got dry rot. (She sniffs suspiciously)

MOLLIE:

(indignantly) Certainly not!

MRS BOYLE:

A lot of people don’t know they have got dry rot until it’s too late to do anything about it.

MOLLIE:

The house is in perfect condition.

MRS BOYLE:

H’m – it could do with a coat of paint. You know, you’ve got worm in that oak.

GILES:

(off) This way, Major.

METCALF:

Thank you.

(GILES and MAJOR METCALF enter up R. METCALF is a middle-aged, square-shouldered man, very military in manner and bearing)

MOLLIE:

Hello. I’m Mrs Ralston.

METCALF:

How do you do? (He sees MRS BOYLE) Oh, I beg your pardon. Absolute blizzard outside. Thought at one time we shouldn’t make it. (He removes his hat) If it goes on like this, I should say we’ll have five or six feet of snow by morning. Not seen anything like it since I was on leave in 1940 ...

GILES:

I’ll take these up. (Picking up the cases. To MOLLIE) Which rooms did you say? Blue Room and the Rose Room.

MOLLIE:

No – I put Mr Wren in the Rose Room.

GILES:

Why?

MOLLIE:

He liked the four-poster so much. So, it’s Mrs Boyle in the Oak Room and Major Metcalf in the Blue Room.

GILES:

(authoritatively) Major. (He moves L towards the stairs) Major!

METCALF:

(Instinctively the soldier) Sir!

(METCALF follows GILES and they exit up the stairs L)

MRS BOYLE:

Do you have much servant difficulty here?

MOLLIE:

We have quite a good local woman who comes in from the village.

MRS BOYLE:

And what indoor staff?

MOLLIE:

No indoor staff. Just us.

MRS BOYLE:

Indeed. I understood this was a guest house in full running order.

MOLLIE:

We’re only just starting.

MRS BOYLE:

I would have said that a proper staff of servants was essential before opening this kind of establishment. I consider your advertisement was most misleading. May I ask if I am the only guest – with Major Metcalf, that is?

MOLLIE:

Oh no, there are several here.

MRS BOYLE

This weather, too. A blizzard (she turns to the fire), no less – all very unfortunate.

MOLLIE:

But we couldn’t very well foresee the weather!

(CHRISTOPHER enters quietly from the stairs L)

CHRISTOPHER:

(singing)

“The North Wind doth blow

And it will bring snow

And what will the robin do then, poor thing?”

I adore nursery rhymes, don’t you? Always so tragic and macabre. That’s why children like them.

MOLLIE:

May I introduce. Mr Wren – Mrs Boyle.

CHRISTOPHER:

How do you do, madam?

MRS BOYLE:

(coldly) How do you do?

CHRISTOPHER:

This is a very beautiful house. Don’t you think so?

MRS BOYLE:

I have come to the time of life when the amenities of an establishment are more important than its appearance.

(GILES enters from the stairs L and stands below the arch)

If I had not believed this was a running concern, I should never have come here. I understood it was fully equipped with every home comfort.

MOLLIE:

Well, I ...

GILES:

There is no obligation for you to remain here if you are not satisfied, Mrs Boyle.

MRS BOYLE:

No, indeed, I should not think of doing so.

GILES:

If there has been any misapprehension, it would perhaps be better if you went elsewhere. I could ring up for the taxi to return. The roads are not yet blocked. We have had so many applications for rooms that we shall be able to fill your place quite easily. In any case, we are raising our terms next month.

MRS BOYLE:

I am certainly not going to leave until I have tried out what the place is like. You needn’t think you can turn me out now.

(GILES moves down L)

Perhaps you will take me up to my bedroom, Mrs Ralston? (She moves majestically towards the staircase L)

MOLLIE:

Certainly, Mrs Boyle. (She follows MRS BOYLE. To GILES, softly, as she passes him) Darling, you were wonderful ...

(MRS BOYLE and MOLLIE exit L up the stairs)

CHRISTOPHER:

(rising; childishly) I think that’s a perfectly horrible woman. I don’t like her at all. I’d love to see you turn her out into the snow. Serve her right.

GILES:

It’s a pleasure I’ve got to forgo, I’m afraid.

CHRISTOPHER:

Oh!

(The doorbell peals)

GILES:

Lord, there’s another of them!

CHRISTOPHER:

Another?

GILES:

Sorry.

CASEWELL:

Is this Monkswell Manor Guest House?

GILES:

Yes, it is.

CASEWELL:

Thank heavens for that. I’m half frozen.

(MISS CASEWELL enters up R. She is a young woman and carries a case. She has a long dark coat, a light scarf and hat)

(GILES enters)

CASEWELL:

Afraid my car’s bogged about half a mile down the road – ran into a drift.

GILES:

Let me take this. (He takes her case and puts it R of the refectory table) Any more stuff in the car?

CASEWELL:

(Moving down to the fire) No, I travel light. Ha, glad to see you’ve got a good fire.

GILES:

Er – Mr Wren – Miss –?

CASEWELL:

Casewell. (She nods to CHRISTOPHER)

CHRISTOPHER:

How do you do.

CASEWELL:

Evening.

GILES:

My wife will be down in a minute.

CASEWELL:

No hurry. (She takes off her overcoat) Got to get myself thawed out. Looks as though you’re going to be snowed up here. (Taking an evening paper from her overcoat pocket) Weather forecast says heavy falls expected. Motorists warned, etcetera. Hope you’ve got plenty of provisions in.

GILES:

Oh yes. My wife’s an excellent manager. Anyway, we can always eat our hens.

CASEWELL:

Before we start eating each other, eh? (She laughs stridently and throws the overcoat and hat at GILES, who catches them. She sits in the armchair)

CHRISTOPHER:

Any news in the paper – apart from the weather?

CASEWELL:

Usual political crisis. Oh yes, and a rather juicy murder!

CHRISTOPHER:

A murder? (Turning to MISS CASEWELL) Oh, I like murder!

CASEWELL:

(handing him the paper) They seem to think it was a homicidal maniac. Strangled a woman somewhere near Paddington. Sex maniac, I suppose. (She looks at GILES)

CHRISTOPHER:

Doesn’t say much, does it? (He sits on the stool and reads) “The police are anxious to interview a man seen in the vicinity of Culver Street at the time. Medium height, wearing darkish overcoat, lightish scarf and soft felt hat. Police messages to this effect have been broadcast throughout the day.”

CASEWELL:

Useful description. Fit pretty well anyone, wouldn’t it?

CHRISTOPHER:

When it says that the police are anxious to interview someone, is that a polite way of hinting that he’s the murderer?

CASEWELL:

Could be.

GILES:

Who was the woman who was murdered?

CHRISTOPHER:

Mrs Lyon. Mrs Maureen Lyon.

GILES:

Young or old?

CHRISTOPHER:

It doesn’t say. It doesn’t seem to have been robbery ...

CASEWELL:

(To GILES) I told you – sex maniac.

(MOLLIE comes down the stairs and crosses to MISS CASEWELL)

GILES:

Here’s Miss Casewell, Mollie. My wife.

CASEWELL:

(rising) How d’you do? (She shakes hands with MOLLIE vigorously)

(GILES picks up her case)

MOLLIE:

It’s an awful night. Would you like to come up to your room? The water’s hot, if you’d like a bath.

CASEWELL:

You’re right, I would.

(MOLLIE and MISS CASEWELL exit to the stairs L. GILES follows them, carrying the case)

(Left alone, CHRISTOPHER rises and makes an exploration. He opens the door down L, peeps in and then exits. A moment or two later he reappears on the stairs L. He crosses to the arch up R and looks off. He sings the whole of “Little Jack Horner” – sung from the curtain in the style of Bertha Wadell – and chuckles to himself, giving the impression of being slightly unhinged mentally. He moves behind the refectory table)

(GILES and MOLLIE enter from the stairs L, talking. CHRISTOPHER hides behind the curtain)

GILES:

Now that they have all arrived, we’ll have to give them something to eat or they’ll start getting difficult.

MOLLIE:

Major Metcalf won’t be difficult, he’s very pleasant. It’s Mrs Boyle that frightens me. We must have a nice dinner. I’m giving them chicken, potatoes and peas, and baked apples and custard and cheese to follow. Do you think that will be all right?

GILES:

Oh, I should think so. Not very original perhaps.

CHRISTOPHER:

Boo!

GILES:

For the love of Pete!

CHRISTOPHER:

Oooooh! Aghhhhh! A ha! Got you there! Oh, sorry! Silly, I know. Oh, look here do let me help. I adore cooking. Do you have any eggs?

MOLLIE:

Oh, yes, we’ve got plenty of eggs. We keep hens.

CHRISTOPHER:

Well, how about egg mayonnaise to start with and if you’ve got a bottle of cheap, any type wine, you could add it to the chicken, did you say? Give it a continental flavour. Oh, just ... show me where the kitchen is and what you’ve got, and we’ll pray for divine inspiration.

(CHRISTOPHER goes to exit through the archway R to the kitchen. He stops and turns to MOLLIE)

Or how about a Spanish omelette. Olé!

(MOLLIE and CHRISTOPHER exit USR. GILES frowns, mutters to himself and crosses to the small armchair DR. He picks up CASEWELL’s newspaper and starts to read it with deep attention. He jumps as MOLLIE comes back into the room and speaks)

GILES:

Idiot.

MOLLIE:

Isn’t he sweet? (She moves above the sofa table) He’s put on an apron and he’s getting all the things together. He says leave it all to him and don’t come back for half an hour. If our guests want to do the cooking themselves, it will save a lot of trouble.

GILES:

Why on earth did you give him the best room?

MOLLIE:

I told you, he liked the four-poster.

GILES:

He liked the pretty four-poster. Twerp!

MOLLIE:

Giles!

GILES:

I’ve got no use for that kind. (Significantly) You didn’t handle his suitcase, I did.

MOLLIE:

Had it got bricks in it?

GILES:

It was no weight at all. If you ask me there was nothing inside it. He’s probably one of those young men who go about bilking hotelkeepers.

MOLLIE:

I don’t believe it. I like him. (She pauses) I think Miss Casewell’s rather peculiar, don’t you?

GILES:

Terrible female – if she is a female.

MOLLIE:

It seems very hard that all our guests should be either unpleasant or odd. Anyway, I think Major Metcalf’s all right, don’t you?

GILES:

Probably drinks.

MOLLIE:

Oh, do you think so?

GILES:

No, I don’t. I was just feeling rather depressed. Well, at any rate, we know the worst now. They’ve all arrived.

(The doorbell rings)

MOLLIE:

Who can that be?

GILES:

Probably the Culver Street murderer.

MOLLIE:

(rising) Don’t!

(GILES exits up R to the front door)

PARAVICINI:

I beg of you. May I come in?

GILES:

Yes, of course.

(MR PARAVICINI staggers in up R, carrying a small bag. He is foreign and dark and elderly. He leans on the L side of the arch. GILES enters)

PARAVICINI:

A thousand pardons. I am – where am I?

GILES:

This is Monkswell Manor Guest House.

PARAVICINI:

But what stupendous good fortune! Madame!

(He moves down to MOLLIE, takes her hand and kisses it)

(GILES crosses above the armchair C)

What an answer to prayer. A guest house – and a charming hostess. My Rolls-Royce, alas, has run into a snowdrift. Blinding snow everywhere. I do not know where I am. Perhaps, I think to myself, I shall freeze to death. And then I take a little bag, I stagger through the snow, I see before me big iron gates. A habitation! I am saved. Twice I fall into the snow as I come up your drive, but at last I arrive and immediately – (he looks around) despair turns to joy. (Changing his manner) You can let me have a room – yes?

GILES:

Oh.

MOLLIE:

Yes. It’s rather a small one, I’m afraid.

PARAVICINI:

Naturally – naturally – you have other guests.

MOLLIE:

We’ve only just opened this place as a guest house today and so we’re – we’re rather new at it.

PARAVICINI:

(leering at MOLLIE) Charming – charming ...

GILES:

What about your luggage?

PARAVICINI:

That is of no consequence. I have locked the car securely.

GILES:

But wouldn’t it be better to get it in?

PARAVICINI:

No. No. (He moves up to R of GILES) I can assure you on such a night as this, there will be no thieves abroad. And for me, my wants are very simple. I have all I need – here – in this little bag. Yes, all that I need.

MOLLIE:

You’d better get thoroughly warm.

PARAVICINI:

Thank you.

(PARAVICINI crosses to the fire)

MOLLIE:

I’ll see about your room. I’m afraid it’s rather a cold room because it faces north, but all the others are occupied.

PARAVICINI:

You have several guests, then?

MOLLIE:

There’s a Mrs Boyle and Major Metcalf.

GILES:

Miss Casewell.

MOLLIE:

And a young man called Christopher Wren – and now – you.

PARAVICINI:

Yes – the unexpected guest. The guest that you did not invite. The guest who just arrived – from nowhere – out of the storm. It sounds quite dramatic, does it not? Who am I? You do not know. Where do I come from? You do not know. Me, I am the man of mystery. (He laughs)

But now, I tell you this. I complete the picture. From now on there will be no more arrivals. And no departures either. By tomorrow – perhaps even already – we are cut off from civilisation. No butcher, no baker, no milkman, no postman, no daily papers – nobody and nothing but ourselves. That is admirable, admirable. It could not suit me better. My name, by the way, is Paravicini.

GILES:

Oh, yes. Ours is Ralston.

PARAVICINI:

Mr and Mrs Ralston? (He nods his head as they agree. He looks round him and moves up to R of MOLLIE) And this, you say, is Monkswell Manor Guest House?

GILES and MOLLIE:

Yes.

PARAVICINI:

Good. Monkswell Manor Guest House. (He laughs) Perfect. (He laughs and crosses to the fireplace) Perfect.

(MOLLIE looks at GILES and they both look at PARAVICINI uneasily as – the CURTAIN falls)

ACT I

Scene 2

SCENE – The same. The following afternoon.

When the CURTAIN rises it is not snowing, but snow can be seen banked high against the window. MAJOR METCALF is seated on the sofa reading a book and MRS BOYLE is sitting on the large armchair R in front of the fire, writing on a pad on her knee.

MRS BOYLE:

Hoovering after lunch. I consider it most dishonest of them not to have told us they were only just starting this place.

METCALF:

Well, everything’s got to have a beginning, you know.

MRS BOYLE:

What? Speak up!

METCALF:

Everything’s got to have a beginning, you know. Excellent breakfast this morning. Good coffee. Scrambled eggs. Home-made marmalade. And all nicely served, too. Little woman does it all herself.

MRS BOYLE:

Amateurs – there should be a proper staff.

METCALF:

Excellent lunch, too.

MRS BOYLE:

Corn beef.

METCALF:

But very well disguised corn beef. Red wine in it. Mrs Ralston promised to make a steak and kidney pie for us tonight.

MRS BOYLE:

(rising and crossing to the radiator) These radiators are not really hot. I shall speak about it.

METCALF:

Very comfortable beds, too. At least mine was. Hope yours was, too.

MRS BOYLE

It was quite adequate. (She returns to the large armchair R and sits) I don’t quite see why the best bedroom should have been given to that very peculiar young man.

METCALF:

Got here ahead of us. First come, first served.

MRS BOYLE:

From the advertisement, I got quite a different impression of what this place would be like. A comfortable writing room and a much larger place altogether – with bridge and other amenities.

METCALF:

Regular old tabbies’ delight.

MRS BOYLE:

I beg your pardon.

METCALF:

Yes, you’re probably right.

(CHRISTOPHER enters L from the stairs unnoticed)

MRS BOYLE:

No, indeed, I shan’t stay here long.

CHRISTOPHER:

(laughing) No. No, I don’t suppose you will.

(CHRISTOPHER exits into the library up L)

MRS BOYLE:

Really, that is a very peculiar young man. Unbalanced mentally, I shouldn’t wonder.

METCALF:

Do you think he’s escaped from a lunatic asylum?

MRS BOYLE:

I shouldn’t be at all surprised.

(MOLLIE enters through the archway up R)

MOLLIE:

(calling upstairs) Giles?

(MRS BOYLE registers disapproval)

MOLLIE:

(to MRS BOYLE) Sorry.

(she crosses up L) Giles!

GILES:

(off) Yes?

MOLLIE:

Can you shovel the snow away again from the back door?

GILES:

Hang on!

METCALF:

I’ll give you a hand, what?

MOLLIE:

Thanks, Major. (She exits up R)

METCALF:

(He rises and crosses up R to the arch. Ad lib no no no) Good exercise. Must have exercise.

(MAJOR METCALF exits. GILES enters from the stairs, crosses)

GILES:

Coming! (He exits up R)

(MOLLIE returns, carrying a duster and a vacuum cleaner, crosses the hall and runs upstairs. She collides with MISS CASEWELL, who is coming down the stairs)

MOLLIE:

Sorry!

CASEWELL:

That’s all right.

(MOLLIE exits. MISS CASEWELL comes slowly C)

MRS BOYLE:

Really! What an incredible young woman. Doesn’t she know anything about housework? Carrying a Hoover through the front hall. Aren’t there any back stairs?

CASEWELL:

Oh yes – nice back stairs. Very convenient if there was a fire.

MRS BOYLE:

Then why not use them? Anyway, all the housework should have been done in the morning before lunch.

CASEWELL:

I gather our hostess had to cook the lunch.

MRS BOYLE:

All very haphazard and amateurish. There should be a proper staff.

CASEWELL:

Not very easy to get nowadays.

MRS BOYLE:

No, indeed, the working classes seem to have no idea of their responsibilities.

CASEWELL:

Poor old working classes. Got the bit between their teeth, haven’t they?

MRS BOYLE:

(frostily) I gather you are a socialist.

CASEWELL:

Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m not a Red – just pale pink. But I don’t take much interest in politics – I live abroad.

MRS BOYLE:

I suppose conditions are much easier abroad.

CASEWELL:

I don’t have to cook and clean – as I gather most people have to do in this country.

MRS BOYLE:

This country has gone sadly downhill. Not what it used to be. I sold my house last year. Everything was too difficult.

CASEWELL:

Hotels and guest houses are easier.

MRS BOYLE:

They certainly solve some of one’s problems. Are you over in England for long?

CASEWELL:

Depends. I’ve got some business to see to. When it’s done – I shall go back.

MRS BOYLE:

To France?

CASEWELL:

No.

MRS BOYLE:

Italy?

CASEWELL:

No.

(MISS CASEWELL crosses to the radio, turns it on, at first softly, then increases the volume)

MRS BOYLE:

(annoyed, as she is writing) Would you mind not having that on quite so loud! I always find the wireless rather distracting when one is trying to write letters.

CASEWELL:

Do you?

MRS BOYLE:

If you don’t particularly want to listen just now ...

CASEWELL:

It’s my favourite programme. There’s a writing table in there. (She nods towards the library door up L)

MRS BOYLE:

I know. But it’s much warmer in here.

CASEWELL:

Much warmer, I agree. (She dances to the music)

(MRS BOYLE, after a moment’s glare, rises and exits into the library up L)

Bloody old bitch. (She moves to the large armchair and sits)

(CHRISTOPHER enters from the library up L and moves down L)

CHRISTOPHER:

(gesturing back to the library) Wherever I go that woman seems to hunt me down – and then she glares at me – positively glares.

CASEWELL:

(indicating the radio) Turn that thing off.

(CHRISTOPHER turns the radio off)

CHRISTOPHER:

Is that better?

CASEWELL:

Oh yes, it’s served its purpose.

CHRISTOPHER:

What purpose?

CASEWELL:

Tactics, boy.

(CHRISTOPHER looks puzzled. MISS CASEWELL indicates the library)

CHRISTOPHER:

Oh, you mean her.

CASEWELL:

She’d pinched the best chair. I’ve got it now.

CHRISTOPHER:

You drove her out. I’m glad. I’m very glad. I don’t like her a bit. (Crossing quickly to MISS CASEWELL) Let’s think of things we can do to annoy her, shall we? I wish she’d go away from here.

CASEWELL:

In this? Not a hope.

CHRISTOPHER:

But when the snow melts.

CASEWELL:

Oh, when the snow melts lots of things may have happened.

CHRISTOPHER:

Yes – yes – that’s true.

Snow’s rather lovely, isn’t it? So peaceful – and pure… It makes one forget things.

CASEWELL:

It doesn’t make me forget.

CHRISTOPHER:

How fierce you sound.

CASEWELL:

I was thinking.

CHRISTOPHER:

What sort of thinking?

CASEWELL:

Ice on a bedroom jug, chilblains, raw and bleeding – one thin, ragged blanket – a child shivering with cold and fear.

CHRISTOPHER:

My dear, it sounds too, too grim – what is it? A novel?

CASEWELL:

You didn’t know I was a writer, did you?

CHRISTOPHER:

Are you? (He rises and moves down to her)

CASEWELL:

Actually, I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you. (She puts the magazine up in front of her face)

(CHRISTOPHER looks at her doubtfully, then crosses L, turns up the radio very loud and exits into the drawing room. The telephone rings.)

(MOLLIE runs down the stairs, duster in hand, and goes to the telephone)

MOLLIE:

(Picking up the receiver) Yes? (She turns off the radio) Yes – this is Monkswell Manor Guest House ... What? ... No, I’m afraid Mr Ralston can’t come to the telephone just now. This is Mrs Ralston speaking. Who ...? The Berkshire Police ...?

(MISS CASEWELL lowers her magazine)

Oh, yes, yes, Superintendent Hogben, I’m afraid that’s impossible. He’d never get here. We’re snowed up. Completely snowed up. The roads are impassable ...

(MISS CASEWELL rises and crosses to the arch up L)

Nothing can get through ... Yes ... Very well ... But what ... Hullo – Hullo ... (She replaces the receiver)

(GILES enters up R wearing an overcoat. He removes the overcoat and hangs it up in the hall)

GILES:

Mollie, do you know where there’s another shovel?

MOLLIE:

(Moving up C) Giles, the police have just rung up.

GILES:

Police?!

CASEWELL:

Trouble with the police, eh? Serving liquor without a licence?

(MISS CASEWELL exits L up the stairs)

MOLLIE:

They’re sending an inspector or a sergeant or something.

GILES:

(Moving to R of MOLLIE) But he’ll never get here.

MOLLIE:

That’s what I told them. But they seemed quite confident that he would.

GILES:

Nonsense. Even a jeep couldn’t get through today. Anyway, what’s it all about?

MOLLIE:

That’s what I asked. But he wouldn’t say. Just said I was to impress on my husband to listen very carefully to what Sergeant Trotter, I think it was, had to say, and to follow his instructions implicitly. Isn’t it extraordinary?

GILES:

(Moving down to the fire) What on earth do you think we’ve done?

MOLLIE:

(Moving down to L of GILES) Do you think it’s those nylons from Gibraltar?

GILES:

I did remember to get the wireless licence, didn’t I?

MOLLIE:

Yes, it’s in the kitchen dresser.

GILES:

I had rather a near shave with the car the other day, but it was entirely the other fellow’s fault.

MOLLIE:

We must have done something ...

GILES:

(kneeling and putting a log on the fire) Probably something to do with running this place. I expect we’ve ignored some tinpot regulation of some ministry or other. You practically can’t avoid it, nowadays. (He rises and faces MOLLIE)

MOLLIE:

Oh dear, I wish we’d never started this place. We’re going to be snowed up for days, and everyone is cross, and we shall go through all our reserve of tins.

GILES:

Cheer up, darling. (He takes MOLLIE in his arms) Everything’s going all right at the moment. I’ve filled up all the coal scuttles and stoked the Aga and fed the hens. I’ll go and do the boiler next and chop some logs ... (He breaks off) You know, Mollie, come to think of it, it must be something pretty serious to send a police sergeant trekking out in all this. It must be something really urgent ...

MOLLIE:

But what on earth could it be?

(GILES and MOLLIE look at each other uneasily)

(MRS BOYLE enters from the library up L)

MRS BOYLE:

(coming to L of the refectory table) Ah, there you are, Mr Ralston. Do you know, the central heating in the library is practically stone cold?

GILES:

Sorry, Mrs Boyle, we’re a bit short of coke and ...

MRS BOYLE:

I am paying seven guineas a week – and I do not want to freeze.

GILES:

I’ll go and stoke it up.

(GILES exits by the archway up R. MOLLIE follows him to the arch)

CHRISTOPHER:

(off DSL, singing manically) Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full! Baaaaaa!

MRS BOYLE:

Mrs Ralston, if you don’t mind my saying so, that is a very extraordinary young man you have staying here. His manners.

MOLLIE:

He’s an extremely brilliant young architect.

MRS BOYLE:

I beg your pardon?

MOLLIE:

Christopher Wren is an architect ...

MRS BOYLE:

(She crosses to the fire) My dear young woman. I have naturally heard of Sir Christopher Wren, he built St Paul’s. You young people seem to think that no one is educated but yourselves.

MOLLIE:

I meant this Wren. His name is Christopher. His parents called him that because they hoped he’d be an architect. And he is – or nearly is one – so it turned out all right.

MRS BOYLE:

Humph. Sounds a fishy story to me. (She sits in the large armchair) I should make some inquiries about him if I were you. What do you know of him?

MOLLIE:

Just as much as I know about you, Mrs Boyle – which is that you are both paying us seven guineas a week to stay here. That is really all I need to know, isn’t it? And all that concerns me. It doesn’t matter to me whether I like my guests, or whether (meaningly) I don’t.

MRS BOYLE:

You are young and inexperienced and should welcome advice from someone more knowledgeable than yourself. And what about this foreigner?

MOLLIE:

What about him?

MRS BOYLE:

You weren’t expecting him were you?

MOLLIE:

To turn away a bona fide traveller is against the law, Mrs Boyle. You should know that.

MRS BOYLE:

Why do you say that?

MOLLIE:

(Moving down C) Weren’t you a magistrate, sitting on the bench, Mrs Boyle?

MRS BOYLE:

All I say is that this Pari ... Para ...

MOLLIE:

Paravicini

MRS BOYLE:

Or whatever he calls himself, seems to me ...

(PARAVICINI enters softly)

PARAVICINI:

Beware, dear lady. You talk of the devil and here he is.

(MRS BOYLE jumps)

MRS BOYLE:

I didn’t hear you coming.

PARAVICINI:

Nobody ever hears me if I do not want them to; I find that very amusing.

MRS BOYLE:

Indeed? (rising) Well, I must get on with my letters. I’ll see if it’s a little warmer in the drawing room.

PARAVICINI:

(sings) “Che gelida manina” ...

MRS BOYLE:

... buffoon ...

(MRS BOYLE exits to the drawing room down L. MOLLIE follows her to the door)

PARAVICINI:

My charming hostess looks upset. What is it, dear lady? (He leers at her)

MOLLIE:

Everything’s rather difficult today. Because of the snow.

PARAVICINI:

Yes. Snow makes things difficult, does it not? (He rises) Or else it makes them easy. Yes – very easy.

MOLLIE:

I don’t know what you mean.

PARAVICINI:

No, there is quite a lot you do not know. I think, for one thing, that you do not know very much about running a guest house.

MOLLIE:

I daresay we don’t. But we mean to make a go of it.

PARAVICINI:

Brava – brava!

MOLLIE:

I’m not such a very bad cook ...

PARAVICINI:

(leering) You are without doubt an enchanting cook. May I give you a little word of warning, Mrs Ralston? You and your husband must not be too trusting, you know. Have you references with these guests of yours?

MOLLIE:

Is that usual? (She turns to PARAVICINI) I always thought people just – just came?

PARAVICINI:

It is advisable to know a little about the people who sleep under your roof. Take, for example, myself. I turn up saying that my car is overturned in a snowdrift. What do you know of me? Nothing at all! I may be a thief, a robber, (he moves slowly towards MOLLIE) a fugitive from justice – a madman – even – a murderer.

MOLLIE:

(backing away) Oh!

PARAVICINI:

You see! And perhaps you know just as little of your other guests.

MOLLIE:

Well, as far as Mrs Boyle goes ...

(MRS BOYLE enters from the drawing-room)

MRS BOYLE:

The drawing room is far too cold to sit in. I shall finish my letter in here. (She crosses to the large armchair)

PARAVICINI:

Allow me to poke the fire for you. (He moves R and does so)

(MAJOR METCALF enters up R through the archway)

METCALF:

(to MOLLIE, with old-fashioned modesty) Mrs Ralston, is your husband about? I’m afraid the pipes of the – er – the downstairs cloakroom are frozen.

MOLLIE:

Oh dear. What an awful day. First the pipes and then the police.

(PARAVICINI drops the poker with a clatter. MAJOR METCALF stands as though paralysed)

MRS BOYLE:

(startled) Police?

METCALF:

(loudly as if incredulous) Police, did you say? (He moves to the L end of the refectory table)

MOLLIE:

They rang up. Just now. To say they’re sending a sergeant out here. (She looks at the snow) But I don’t think he’ll ever get here.

(GILES enters from the archway up R with a basket of logs)

GILES:

I’ve done my best but that boiler just isn’t trying ... Hullo, is anything the matter?

METCALF:

I hear the police are on their way here. Why?

GILES:

Oh, that’s all right. No one can get through in this. Why, the drifts must be five feet deep. The roads are all banked up. Nobody will get here today. (He takes the logs to the fireplace) Excuse me, Mr Paravicini. May I put these down?

(Paravicini moves down stage of the fireplace.)

(There are three sharp taps on the window as SERGEANT TROTTER presses his face to the pane and peers in. MOLLIE gives a cry and points. GILES crosses and throws open the window. SERGEANT TROTTER is on skis and is a cheerful, commonplace young man with a slight cockney accent)

TROTTER:

Are you Mr Ralston?

GILES:

Yes.

TROTTER:

Thank you, sir. Detective Sergeant Trotter. Berkshire Police. Can I get these skis off and stow them somewhere?

GILES:

(Pointing R) Go round that way to the front door. I’ll meet you.

TROTTER:

Thank you, sir.

(GILES leaves the window open and exits to the front door up R)

MRS BOYLE:

Would somebody please close that window.

(MOLLIE crosses below the refectory table to the window)

GILES:

(off) Here we are.

TROTTER:

(off) Thank you.

PARAVICINI:

(moving up to C of the refectory table; in a fierce whisper to MOLLIE) Why did you send for the police, Mrs Ralston?

MOLLIE:

But I didn’t. (She shuts the window)

MRS BOYLE:

I suppose that’s what we pay our police force for, nowadays, to go round enjoying themselves at winter sports.

(CHRISTOPHER enters from the drawing room L and comes to L of the sofa. PARAVICINI moves to the R end of the refectory table)

CHRISTOPHER:

Who’s that man? Where did he come from? He passed the drawing room window on skis. All over snow and looking terribly hearty.

MRS BOYLE:

You may believe it or not, but that man is a policeman. A policeman – skiing!

TROTTER:

Thank you, sir.

(GILES and TROTTER enter from the front door. TROTTER has removed his skis and is carrying them)

GILES:

This is Detective Sergeant Trotter.

TROTTER:

Good afternoon.

MRS BOYLE:

You can’t be a sergeant. You’re too young.

TROTTER:

I’m not quite as young as I look, madam.

CHRISTOPHER:

But terribly hearty.

GILES:

We’ll stow your skis away under the stairs, Sergeant.

TROTTER:

Thank you, sir.

(GILES and TROTTER exit through the archway up R)

METCALF:

Excuse me, Mrs Ralston, but may I use your telephone?

MOLLIE:

Of course, Major Metcalf.

(MAJOR METCALF goes to the telephone and dials)

CHRISTOPHER:

He’s very attractive, don’t you think so? I always think that policemen are very attractive.

MRS BOYLE:

No brains. You can see that at a glance.

METCALF:

(into the telephone) Hullo! Hullo! ... (To Mollie) Mrs Ralston, this telephone is dead – quite dead.

MOLLIE:

It was all right a while ago.

METCALF:

The line’s gone with the weight of the snow, I suppose.

CHRISTOPHER:

So, we’re quite cut off now. Quite cut off. That’s funny, isn’t it?

METCALF:

(moving to L of the sofa) I don’t see anything to laugh at.

MRS BOYLE:

No, indeed.

CHRISTOPHER:

Ah, it’s a private joke of my own.

GILES:

(off) This way, Sergeant.

TROTTER:

(off) Thank you, sir.

(GILES enters from the archway up R, followed by TROTTER)

TROTTER:

(taking out his notebook) Now we can get to business, Mr Ralston. Mrs Ralston?

(MOLLIE moves down C)

GILES:

Do you want to see us alone? If so, we can go into the library.

TROTTER:

It’s not necessary, sir. It’ll save time if everybody’s present.

MOLLIE:

Oh, do hurry up and tell us. (She moves up to the R end of the refectory table) What have we done?

TROTTER:

(surprised) Done? Oh, it’s nothing of that kind, Mrs Ralston. It’s something quite different. It’s more a matter of police protection, if you understand me.

MOLLIE:

Police protection?

TROTTER:

It relates to the death of Mrs Lyon – Mrs Maureen Lyon of twenty-four Culver Street, London, West two, who was murdered yesterday, the fifteenth instant. You may have heard or read about the case?

MOLLIE:

Yes. I heard it on the wireless. The woman who was strangled?

TROTTER:

That’s right, madam. (To GILES) The first thing I want to know is if you were acquainted with this Mrs Lyon.

GILES:

Never heard of her.

(MOLLIE shakes her head)

TROTTER:

You mayn’t have known her under the name of Lyon. Lyon wasn’t her real name. She had a police record and her fingerprints were on file, so we were able to identify her without difficulty. Her real name was Maureen Stanning. Her husband was a farmer, John Stanning, who resided at Longridge Farm not very far from here.

GILES:

Longridge Farm! Wasn’t that where those children ...?

TROTTER:

Yes, the Longridge Farm case.

(MISS CASEWELL enters from the stairs L)

CASEWELL:

Three children ... (She crosses to the armchair C and sits)

(Everyone watches her)

TROTTER:

That’s right, miss. The Corrigans. Two boys and a girl. Brought before the court as in need of care and protection. A home was found for them with Mr and Mrs Stanning at Longridge Farm. One of the children subsequently died as the result of criminal neglect and persistent ill-treatment. Case made a bit of a sensation at the time.

MOLLIE

(Very much shaken) It was horrible.

TROTTER:

The Stannings were sentenced to terms of imprisonment. Stanning died in prison. Mrs Stanning served her sentence and was duly released. Yesterday, as I say, she was found strangled at twenty-four Culver Street.

MOLLIE:

Who did it?

TROTTER:

I’m coming to that, madam. A notebook was picked up near the scene of the crime. In that notebook was written two addresses. One was twenty-four Culver Street. The other (he pauses) was Monkswell Manor.

GILES:

What?

TROTTER:

Yes, sir. That’s why Superintendent Hogben, on receiving this information from Scotland Yard, thought it imperative for me to come out here and find out if you knew of any connection between this house, or anyone in this house, and the Longridge Farm case.

GILES:

(moving to the L end of the refectory table) There’s nothing – absolutely nothing. It must be a coincidence.

TROTTER:

Superintendent Hogben doesn’t think it is a coincidence. He’d have come himself if it had been in any way possible. Under the weather conditions, and as I can ski, he sent me with instructions to get full particulars of everyone in the house, to report back to him by phone, and to take what measures I thought fit to ensure the safety of the household.

GILES:

Safety? What danger does he think we’re in? Good Lord, he’s not suggesting that somebody is going to be killed here.

TROTTER:

I don’t want to frighten any of the ladies – but frankly, yes, that is the idea.

GILES:

But – why?

TROTTER:

That’s what I’m here to find out.

GILES:

But the whole thing’s crazy!

TROTTER:

Yes, sir. It’s because it’s crazy that it’s dangerous.

MRS BOYLE:

Nonsense!

CASEWELL:

I must say, it seems a bit far-fetched.

CHRISTOPHER:

I think it’s wonderful. (He turns and looks at MAJOR METCALF)

MOLLIE:

Is there something that you haven’t told us, Sergeant?

TROTTER:

Yes, Mrs Ralston. Below the two addresses was written “Three Blind Mice”. And on the dead woman’s body was a paper with “This is the first” written on it, and below the words, a drawing of three little mice and a bar of music. The music was the tune of the nursery rhyme “Three Blind Mice”. You know how it goes.

(He sings) “Three blind mice.

Three blind mice.

See how they run ...“

MOLLIE:

(Singing) “See how they run,

They all ran after the farmer’s wife,

Who cut off ...“

Oh, it’s horrible.

GILES:

There were three children and one died?

TROTTER:

Yes, the youngest, a boy of eleven.

GILES:

What happened to the other two?

TROTTER:

The girl was adopted by someone. We haven’t been able to trace her present whereabouts. The elder boy deserted from the army and has not been heard of since. According to the army psychologist, he was definitely unbalanced. A bit funny in the head, that’s to say.

MOLLIE:

They think it was he who killed Mrs Lyon – Mrs Stanning?

TROTTER:

Yes.

MOLLIE:

And that he’s a homicidal maniac (she sits) and that he will turn up here and try to kill someone – but why?

TROTTER:

That’s what I’ve got to find out from you. As the superintendent sees it, there must be some connection. (To GILES) Now you state, sir, that you yourself have never had any connection with the Longridge Farm case?

GILES:

No.

TROTTER:

And the same goes for you, madam?

MOLLIE:

(Not at ease) I – no – I mean – no connection.

TROTTER:

What about staff?

MRS BOYLE:

Huh! (MRS BOYLE registers disapproval)

MOLLIE:

We haven’t got any staff. (She rises and moves up R to the arch) That reminds me. Would you mind, Sergeant Trotter, if I went to the kitchen? I’ll be there if you want me.

TROTTER:

That’s quite all right, Mrs Ralston.

(MOLLIE exits by the archway up R)

Now, can I have all your names, please?

MRS BOYLE:

This is quite ridiculous. We are merely staying in a kind of hotel. We only arrived yesterday. We’ve nothing to do with this place.

TROTTER:

You’d planned to come here in advance, though. You’d booked your rooms here ahead.

MRS BOYLE:

Well, yes. All except Mr ...? (She looks at PARAVICINI)

PARAVICINI:

Paravicini. My car overturned in a snowdrift.

TROTTER:

I see. What I’m getting at is that anyone who’s been following you around might know very well that you were coming here. Now, there’s just one thing I want to know and I want to know it quick. Which one of you is it that has some connection with that business at Longridge Farm?

(There is a dead silence)

You’re not being very sensible, you know. One of you is in danger – deadly danger. I’ve got to know which one that is.

(There is another silence)

All right, I’ll ask you one by one. (To PARAVICINI) You, first, since you seem to have arrived here more or less by accident, Mr Pari ...?

PARAVICINI:

Para ... Paravicini. But, my dear inspector, I know nothing, but nothing of what you have been talking about. I am a stranger in this country. I know nothing of these local affairs of bygone years.

TROTTER:

Mrs ...?

MRS BOYLE:

Boyle. I don’t see – really, I consider it an impertinence ... Why on earth should I have anything to do with such – this distressing business?

(MAJOR METCALF looks sharply at her)

TROTTER:

(looking at MISS CASEWELL) Miss ...?

CASEWELL:

(slowly) Casewell. Leslie Casewell. I never heard of Longridge Farm, and I know nothing about it.

TROTTER:

You, sir?

METCALF:

Metcalf ... Major. Read about the case in the papers at the time. I was stationed at Edinburgh then. No personal knowledge.

TROTTER:

And you?

CHRISTOPHER:

Christopher Wren. I was a mere child at the time. I don’t remember even hearing about it.

TROTTER:

And that’s all you have to say – any of you?

(There is a silence)

(Moving) Well, if one of you gets murdered, you’ll have yourself to blame. Now then, Mr Ralston, can I have a look round the house?

GILES:

Certainly. We’ll start through here.

(TROTTER exits up R with GILES)

CHRISTOPHER:

(rising) My dears, how melodramatic. (He moves up to the refectory table) I do admire the police. So stern and hard-boiled. Quite a thrill, this whole business. “Three Blind Mice”. How does the tune go? (He whistles it)

MRS BOYLE:

Really, Mr Wren!

CHRISTOPHER:

Don’t you like it? (He moves to L of MRS BOYLE) But it’s a signature tune – the signature of the murderer. Just fancy what a kick he must be getting out of it.

MRS BOYLE:

Melodramatic rubbish. I don’t believe a word of it.

CHRISTOPHER:

But just wait, Mrs Boyle. Till I creep up behind you, and you feel my hands on your throat.

MRS BOYLE:

Stop ...

METCALF:

That’ll do, Christopher.

CHRISTOPHER:

It’s only a joke.

METCALF:

It’s a poor joke, anyway. In fact, it’s not a joke at all.

CHRISTOPHER:

Oh, but it is! That’s just what it is. A madman’s joke. That’s just what makes it so deliciously macabre. (He moves up R to the archway, looks around and giggles) If you could just see your faces! (sings) Did you ever see such a thing in your life?

(CHRISTOPHER exits through the archway)

MRS BOYLE:

A singularly ill-mannered and neurotic young man.

(MOLLIE enters from the dining room down R and stands by the door)

MOLLIE:

Where’s Giles?

CASEWELL:

Taking our policeman on a conducted tour of the house.

MRS BOYLE:

Your friend, the architect, has been behaving in a most abnormal manner.

METCALF:

Young fellows seem nervy nowadays. Daresay he’ll grow out of it.

MRS BOYLE:

Nerves? I’ve no patience with people who say they have nerves. I haven’t any nerves.

METCALF:

No? Perhaps that’s just as well for you, Mrs Boyle.

MRS BOYLE:

What do you mean?

METCALF:

I think you were actually one of the magistrates on the bench at the time. In fact, you were responsible for sending those three children to Longridge Farm.

MRS BOYLE:

Really, Major Metcalf. I can hardly be held responsible. We had reports from welfare workers. The farm people seemed very nice and were most anxious to have the children. It seemed most satisfactory. Eggs and fresh milk and a healthy out-of-doors life.

METCALF:

Kicks, blows, starvation, and a thoroughly vicious couple.

MRS BOYLE:

But how was I to know? They were very civilly spoken.

MOLLIE:

Yes, I was right. It was you.

MRS BOYLE:

One tries to do a public duty and all one gets is abuse.

(PARAVICINI laughs heartily)

PARAVICINI:

You must forgive me, but indeed I find all this most amusing. I enjoy myself greatly ... Funny people the English.

(still laughing, PARAVICINI exits down L to the drawing room.)

(MOLLIE moves to R of the sofa)

MRS BOYLE:

I thoroughly dislike that man!

CASEWELL:

Where did he come from last night?

MOLLIE:

I don’t know.

CASEWELL:

Looks a bit of a phoney to me. Wears make-up, too. Rouge and powder. Disgusting. He must be quite old, too.

MOLLIE:

And yet he skips about as though he were quite young.

METCALF:

You’ll be wanting more wood. The fire is almost dead. I’ll see to it.

(MAJOR METCALF exits up R)

MOLLIE:

It’s almost dark and yet it’s only four in the afternoon. I’ll turn the lights on. (She moves down R and switches on the table light)

That’s better.

MRS BOYLE:

Now, where did I leave my pen? (Exits to library) Brr. It’s cold!

MOLLIE:

(moving up to the window to close the curtains) What a horrid little tune that is. (Switches remainder of lights on)

CASEWELL:

Don’t you like it? Reminds you of your childhood perhaps – an unhappy childhood?

MOLLIE:

I was very happy as a child.

CASEWELL:

You were lucky.

MOLLIE:

Weren’t you happy?

CASEWELL:

No.

MOLLIE:

I’m sorry.

CASEWELL:

But all that’s a long time ago. One gets over things.

MOLLIE:

I suppose so.

CASEWELL:

Or does one? Damned hard to say.

MOLLIE:

They say that what happened when you’re a child matters more than anything else.

CASEWELL:

They say – they say. Who says?

MOLLIE:

Psychologists.

CASEWELL:

All humbug. Just a damned lot of nonsense. I’ve no use for psychologists and psychiatrists.

MOLLIE:

I’ve never really had much to do with them.

CASEWELL:

A good thing for you, you haven’t. It’s all a lot of hooey – the whole thing. Life’s what you make it. Go straight ahead – don’t look back.

MOLLIE:

One can’t always help looking back.

CASEWELL:

Nonsense, it’s a question of willpower.

MOLLIE:

Perhaps.

CASEWELL:

(forcefully) I know.

MOLLIE:

I expect you’re right ... (she sighs) But sometimes things happen – to make you remember ...

CASEWELL:

Don’t give in. Turn your back on them.

MOLLIE:

Is that really the right way? I wonder. Perhaps that’s all wrong. Perhaps one ought really to ... face them.

CASEWELL:

Depends what you’re talking about.

MOLLIE:

I don’t really know what I’m talking about.

(Ad lib) Oh don’t worry this happens, hold on ... Oh, come on! That’s better.

CASEWELL:

Nothing from the past is going to affect me – except in the way I want it to.

(MISS CASEWELL exits into the dining room leaving the door open. GILES and TROTTER enter from the stairs R)

TROTTER:

Well, everything’s all right upstairs. (He looks at the open dining room door, crosses and exits into the dining room. He reappears in the archway up R)

MOLLIE:

Giles, what on earth is going on?

GILES:

God knows.

(MISS CASEWELL exits into the dining room, leaving the door open. MOLLIE rises and begins to tidy up, rearranging the cushions, then moves up to the curtains. GILES moves up L of MOLLIE. TROTTER crosses down L)

TROTTER:

(Opening the door down L) What’s in here, drawing room?

GILES:

Yes. Darling, are you bearing up?

MOLLIE:

Yes.

(The sound of the piano is heard much louder while the door is open. TROTTER exits into the drawing room and shuts the door. Presently he reappears at the door up L)

MRS BOYLE:

(off) Would you mind shutting that door. This place is full of draughts.

TROTTER:

Sorry, madam, but I’ve got to get the lay of the land.

(TROTTER closes the door and then reappears down the stairs)

Well, that completes the tour. Nothing suspicious. I think I’ll make my report now to Superintendent Hogben. (He goes to the telephone)

MOLLIE:

But you can’t telephone. The line’s dead ...

TROTTER:

(swinging round sharply) What? (He picks up the receiver) Since when?

MOLLIE:

Major Metcalf tried it just after you arrived.

TROTTER:

But it was all right earlier. Superintendent Hogben got through all right.

MOLLIE:

Oh, yes. I suppose, since then, the lines are down with the snow.

TROTTER:

I wonder. It may have been cut. (He puts the receiver down and turns to them)

GILES:

Cut? But who would cut it?

TROTTER:

Mr Ralston ... Just how much do you know about these people who are staying in your guest house?

GILES:

I – we – we don’t really know anything about them.

TROTTER:

Ah.

GILES:

Mrs Boyle wrote from a Bournemouth hotel, Major Metcalf from an address in – where was it?

MOLLIE:

Leamington.

GILES:

Wren wrote from Hampstead and the Casewell woman from a private hotel in Kensington. Paravicini, as we’ve told you, turned up out of the blue last night. Still, I suppose they can all identify themselves. They’ve all still got ration books, that sort of thing.

TROTTER:

I shall go into all that, of course. But it all takes time.

MOLLIE:

But even if this – this maniac is trying to get here and kill us all – or one of us, we’re quite safe now. Because of the snow. No one can get here till it melts.

TROTTER:

Unless he’s here already.

GILES:

Here already?

TROTTER:

Why not, Mr Ralston? All these people arrived here yesterday evening. Some hours after the murder of Mrs Stanning. Plenty of time to get here.

GILES:

But except for Paravicini, they’d all booked beforehand.

TROTTER:

Well, why not? These crimes were planned.

GILES:

Crimes? There’s only been one crime. In Culver Street. Why are you sure there’ll be another here?

TROTTER:

That it will happen here, no – I hope to prevent that. That it will be attempted, yes.

GILES:

I can’t believe it. It’s so fantastic.

TROTTER:

It isn’t fantastic. It’s just facts.

MOLLIE:

You’ve got a description of what this man looked like in London?

TROTTER:

Medium height, indeterminate build, darkish overcoat, soft felt hat, face hidden by a muffler. (Spoke in a whisper) ... There are six darkish overcoats hanging up in the hall now. One of them is yours, Mr Ralston... There are six soft felt hats ... You see what I mean? It’s this telephone wire that worries me. If it’s been cut ...

(He crosses to the phone, bends down and studies the wire)

MOLLIE:

I must go and get on with the vegetables.

(MOLLIE exits USR.)

(GILES picks up MOLLIE’s glove from the armchair C and holds it absently, smoothing it out. He extracts a London bus ticket from the glove – stares at it – then after MOLLIE – then back to the ticket)

GILES:

Mollie!

TROTTER:

Is there an extension?

(GILES frowns at the bus ticket and does not answer)

GILES:

I beg your pardon. Did you say something?

TROTTER:

Yes, Mr Ralston, I said, “Is there an extension?”

GILES:

Yes, up in our bedroom.

TROTTER:

Go and try it up there for me, will you?

(GILES exits to the stairs, carrying the glove and bus ticket and looking dazed.)

(TROTTER continues to trace the wire to the window. He pulls back the curtain and opens the window, trying to follow the wire.

He crosses to the arch up R, goes out and returns with a torch. He moves to the window, jumps out and bends down, looking, then disappears out of sight. It is practically dark.)

(MRS BOYLE enters from the library up L, shivers and notices the open window)

MRS BOYLE:

(moving to the window) Who’s left this window open again? (She shuts the window and closes the curtain, then moves to the fire.

She crosses to the radio and turns it on)

(There is a comedy programme on the radio. MRS BOYLE frowns)

Urgh! Not that filth!

(MRS BOYLE tunes in to a different programme)

VOICE ON THE RADIO:

To understand what I may term as the mechanics of fear, you have to study the precise effect produced on the human mind. Imagine, for instance, that you are alone in a room. It is late in the afternoon. A door opens softly behind you ...

(The door down R opens. The tune of “Three Blind Mice” is heard whistled. MRS BOYLE turns with a start)

MRS BOYLE:

(with relief) Oh, it’s you. I can’t find any programme worth listening to. (She moves to the radio and tunes in to the music programme)

(The lights suddenly go out)

Here – what are you doing? Why did you turn out the light?

(The radio is at full volume, and through it are heard gurgles and a scuffle. MRS BOYLE’s body falls)

(MOLLIE enters by the archway up R and stands perplexed)

MOLLIE:

Oh, not the lights again! What a noise!

(She switches on the lights at the switch up R and crosses to the radio to turn it down. Then she sees MRS BOYLE lying in front of the sofa)

Mrs Boyle! Mrs Boyle!

(MOLLIE goes to the body and screams as the CURTAIN quickly falls)

Giles. Giles.

ACT II

Scene 1

SCENE – The same. Ten minutes later.

When the CURTAIN rises, MRS BOYLE’s body has been removed and EVERYONE is assembled in the room.

TROTTER:

Now, Mrs Ralston, try and think – think ...

MOLLIE:

(at breaking point) I can’t think. My head’s numbed.

TROTTER:

Mrs Boyle had only just been killed when you got to her. You came from the kitchen. Are you sure you didn’t see or hear anybody as you came along the hallway?

MOLLIE:

No – no, I don’t think so. Just the wireless blaring out in here. I couldn’t think who’d turned it on so loud. I wouldn’t hear anything else with that, would I?

TROTTER:

That was clearly the murderer’s idea – or (meaningfully) murderess.

MOLLIE:

How could I hear anything else?

TROTTER:

You might have done. If the murderer had left the hall that way (he points L), he might have heard you coming from the kitchen. He might have slipped up the back stairs – or out into the dining room...

MOLLIE:

I think – I’m not sure – I heard a door creak – and shut – just as I came out of the kitchen.

TROTTER:

Which door?

MOLLIE:

I don’t know.

TROTTER:

Think, Mrs Ralston – try and think. Upstairs? Downstairs? Close at hand? Right? Left?

MOLLIE:

(tearful) I don’t know, I tell you. I’m not even sure I heard anything. (She moves down to the armchair C and sits)

GILES:

(rising and moving to L of the refectory table; angrily) Can’t you stop bullying her? Can’t you see she’s all in?

TROTTER:

(sharply) We’re investigating a murder, Mr Ralston. Up to now, nobody has taken this thing seriously. Mrs Boyle didn’t. She held out on me with information. You all held out on me. Well, Mrs Boyle is dead. Unless we get to the bottom of this – and quickly, mind – there may be another death.

GILES:

Another? Nonsense. Why?

TROTTER:

(gravely) Because there were three little blind mice.

GILES:

A death for each of them? But there would have to be some connection – I mean another connection – with the Longridge Farm business.

TROTTER:

Yes, there would have to be that.

GILES:

But why another death here?

TROTTER:

Because there were only two addresses in the notebook we found. Now, at twenty-four Culver Street there was only one possible victim. She’s dead. But here at Monkswell Manor there is a wider field. (He looks round the circle meaningly)

CASEWELL:

Nonsense. Surely it would be a most unlikely coincidence that there should be two people brought here by chance, both of them with a share in the Longridge Farm case?

TROTTER:

Given certain circumstances, it wouldn’t be too much of a coincidence. Think it out, Miss Casewell. Now, I want to get down quite clearly where everyone was when Mrs Boyle was killed. I’ve already got Mrs Ralston’s statement. You were in the kitchen preparing vegetables. You came out of the kitchen, along the passage, through the swing door into the hall and in here. (He points to the archway R) The radio was blaring, but the light was switched off, and the hall was dark. You switched the light on, saw Mrs Boyle, and screamed.

MOLLIE:

Yes. I screamed and screamed. And at last – people came.

TROTTER:

Yes. As you say, people came – a lot of people from different directions – all arriving more or less at once. Now then, when I got out of that window (he points) to trace the telephone wire, you, Mr Ralston, went upstairs to the room you and Mrs Ralston occupy, to try the extension telephone. Where were you when Mrs Ralston screamed?

GILES:

I was still up in the bedroom. The extension telephone was dead, too. I looked out of the window to see if I could see any sign of the wires being cut there, but I couldn’t. Just after I closed the window again, I heard Mollie scream and I rushed down.

TROTTER:

Those simple actions took you rather a long time, didn’t they, Mr Ralston?

GILES:

I don’t think so.

TROTTER:

I should say you definitely – took your time over them.

GILES:

I was thinking about something.

TROTTER:

Very well. Now then, Mr Wren, I’ll have your account of where you were.

CHRISTOPHER:

I’d been in the kitchen, seeing if there was anything I could do to help Mrs Ralston. I adore cooking. After that I went upstairs to my bedroom.

TROTTER:

Why?

CHRISTOPHER:

It’s quite a natural thing to go to one’s bedroom, don’t you think? I mean – one does want to be alone sometimes.

TROTTER:

You went to your bedroom because you wanted to be alone?

CHRISTOPHER:

And I wanted to brush my hair – and – er – tidy up.

TROTTER:

(looking hard at CHRISTOPHER’s dishevelled hair) You wanted to brush your hair?

CHRISTOPHER:

Anyway, that’s where I was!

TROTTER:

And you heard Mrs Ralston scream?

CHRISTOPHER:

Yes.

TROTTER:

And you came down?

CHRISTOPHER:

Yes.

TROTTER:

Curious that you and Mr Ralston didn’t meet on the stairs.

CHRISTOPHER:

I came down by the back stairs. They’re nearer to my room.

TROTTER:

Did you go to your room by the back stairs, or did you come through here?

CHRISTOPHER:

I went up by the back stairs, too.

TROTTER:

I see. Mr Paravicini?

PARAVICINI:

I have told you. I was playing the piano in the drawing room through there, Inspector. (He gestures L)

TROTTER:

I’m not an inspector – just a sergeant, Mr Paravicini. Did anybody hear you playing the piano?

PARAVICINI:

(smiling) I do not expect so. I was playing very, very softly – with one finger – so.

MOLLIE:

You were playing “Three Blind Mice”.

TROTTER:

(sharply) Is that so?

PARAVICINI:

Yes. It is a very catchy little tune. It is – how shall I say? – a haunting little tune? Don’t you all agree?

MOLLIE:

I think it’s horrible.

PARAVICINI:

Maybe. And yet – it runs in people’s head. Someone was whistling it, too.

TROTTER:

Whistling it? Where?

PARAVICINI:

I am not sure. Perhaps in the front hall – perhaps on the stairs – perhaps even upstairs in a bedroom.

TROTTER:

Who was whistling “Three Blind Mice”?

(There is no answer)

Are you making this up, Mr Paravicini?

PARAVICINI:

No, no, Inspector – I beg your pardon – Sergeant. (Sings to “Three Blind Mice”) As if I would do such a thing in my life.

TROTTER:

Go on, you were playing the piano.

PARAVICINI:

(holding out a finger) With one finger – so ... pianissimo ... And then I hear the radio – playing very loud – someone is shouting on it. It offended my ears. And after that – suddenly – I hear Mrs Ralston scream.

TROTTER:

Mr Ralston upstairs. Mr Wren upstairs. Mr Paravicini in the drawing room. Miss Casewell?

CASEWELL:

I was writing letters in the library.

TROTTER:

Could you hear what was going on in here?

CASEWELL:

No, I didn’t hear anything until Mrs Ralston screamed.

TROTTER:

And what did you do then?

CASEWELL:

I came in here.

TROTTER:

At once

CASEWELL:

I – think so.

TROTTER:

You say you were writing letters when you heard Mrs Ralston scream?

CASEWELL:

Yes.

TROTTER:

And got up from the writing table hurriedly and came in here?

CASEWELL:

Yes.

TROTTER:

And yet there doesn’t seem to be any unfinished letter on the writing desk in the library.

CASEWELL:

I brought it with me. (She opens her handbag, takes out a letter)

TROTTER:

(looking at it) Dearest Jess – h’m – a friend of yours, or a relation?

CASEWELL:

That’s none of your damned business.

TROTTER:

Perhaps not. You know, if I were to hear someone screaming blue murder when I was writing a letter, I don’t believe I’d take the time to pick up my unfinished letter, fold it and put it in my handbag before going to see what was the matter.

CASEWELL:

You wouldn’t? How interesting.

TROTTER:

(moving to METCALF) Now, Major Metcalf, what about you? You say you were in the cellar. Why?

METCALF:

(pleasantly) Looking around. Just looking around. I looked into that cupboard place under the stairs near the kitchen. Lot of junk and sports tackle. And I noticed there was another door inside it, and I opened it and saw a flight of steps. I was curious and I went down. Nice cellars you’ve got. Crypt of an old monastery, I should say. Probably why this place is called “Monkswell”.

TROTTER:

We’re not engaged in antiquarian research, Major Metcalf. We’re investigating a murder. Mrs Ralston has told us that she heard a door shut with a faint creak.

MOLLIE:

Yes.

TROTTER:

That particular door shuts with a creak. It could be, you know, that after killing Mrs Boyle, the murderer heard Mrs Ralston coming from the kitchen and slipped into the cupboard, pulling the door to after him.

METCALF:

A lot of things could be.

CHRISTOPHER:

(rising) There would be fingerprints on the inside of the cupboard.

METCALF:

Mine are there all right. But most criminals are careful to wear gloves, aren’t they?

TROTTER:

It’s usual. But all criminals slip up sooner or later.

PARAVICINI:

I wonder, Sergeant, if that’s really true?

GILES:

(moving to L of TROTTER) Look here, aren’t we wasting time? There’s one person who ...

TROTTER:

Please, Mr Ralston, I’m in charge of this investigation.

GILES:

Oh, very well, but for God’s sake get on with it.

(GILES exits by the door down L)

TROTTER:

(calling authoritatively) Mr Ralston! Mr Ralston!

(GILES re-enters grudgingly and stands by the door)

Thank you, sir. We’ve got to establish opportunity, you know, as well as motive. And now let me tell you this – you all had opportunity. There are two staircases – anyone could go up by one and come down by the other. Anyone could go down to the cellars by the door near the kitchen and come up by a flight of steps that leads up through a trapdoor to the foot of those back stairs there. (He points off R) The vital fact was that every one of you was alone at the time the murder was committed.

GILES:

But look here, Sergeant, you speak as though we were all under suspicion. That’s absurd!

TROTTER:

In a murder case, everyone is under suspicion.

GILES:

But you know pretty well who killed that woman in Culver Street. You think it’s the eldest of those three children at the farm. A mentally abnormal young man. Well, damn it all, there’s only one person here who fits the bill. (He points to CHRISTOPHER and moves slightly towards him)

CHRISTOPHER:

It’s not true – it’s not true! You’re all against me. Everyone’s always been against me. And now you’re going to frame me for a murder. It’s persecution, that’s what it is – persecution.

(GILES follows him but pauses at the L end of the refectory table)

METCALF:

(rising; kindly) Steady, lad, steady. (He pats CHRISTOPHER on the shoulder)

MOLLIE:

It’s all right, Chris. Nobody’s against you. (To TROTTER) Tell him it’s all right.

TROTTER:

We don’t frame people.

MOLLIE:

(To TROTTER) Tell him you’re not going to arrest him.

TROTTER:

(moving to L of MOLLIE; stolidly) I’m not arresting anyone. To do that, I’ve got to have evidence. I haven’t got any evidence – yet.

GILES:

I think you’re crazy, Mollie. (Moving up C. To TROTTER) And you, too! There’s just one person who fits the bill and, if only as a safety measure, he ought to be put under arrest. It’s only fair to the rest of us.

MOLLIE:

Wait, Giles, wait. Sergeant Trotter, can I – can I speak to you a minute?

TROTTER:

Certainly, Mrs Ralston. Will the rest of you go into the dining room, please?

PARAVICINI:

Must we, Sergeant? It was just getting interesting.

TROTTER:

Please!

GILES:

I’m staying.

MOLLIE:

No, Giles, you, too, please.

GILES:

I’m staying. I don’t know what’s come over you, Mollie.

MOLLIE:

Please.

(GILES exits after the others down R, leaving the door open. MOLLIE shuts it. TROTTER moves to the arch up R)

TROTTER:

Yes, Mrs Ralston, (moving above the armchair C) what is it you want to say to me?

MOLLIE:

(moving up to L of TROTTER) Sergeant Trotter, you think that this – this crazy killer must be the – elder of those two boys at the farm – but you don’t know that, do you?

TROTTER:

We don’t actually know a thing. All we’ve got so far is that the woman who joined with her husband in ill-treating and starving those children, has been killed, and that the woman magistrate who was responsible for placing them there has been killed. The telephone wire that links me with police headquarters has been cut...

MOLLIE:

You don’t even know that. It may have been just the snow.

TROTTER:

No, Mrs Ralston, the line was deliberately cut. It was cut just outside by the front door. I found the place.

MOLLIE:

(shaken) I see.

TROTTER:

Sit down, Mrs Ralston.

MOLLIE:

(sitting) But, all the same, you don’t know ...

TROTTER:

I’m going by probability. It all points one way; mental instability, childish mentality, desertion from the army and the psychiatrist’s report.

MOLLIE:

Oh, I know, and therefore it all seems to point to Christopher. But I don’t believe it is Christopher. There must be other possibilities.

TROTTER:

Such as?

MOLLIE:

(hesitating) Well – hadn’t those children any relations at all?

TROTTER:

The mother was a drunk. She died soon after the children were taken away from her.

MOLLIE:

What about their father?

TROTTER:

He was an army sergeant, serving abroad. If he’s alive, he’s probably discharged from the army by now.

MOLLIE:

You don’t know where he is now?

TROTTER:

We’ve no information. To trace him may take some time, but I can assure you, Mrs Ralston, that the police take every eventuality into account.

MOLLIE:

But you don’t know where he may be at this minute, and if the son is mentally unstable, the father may have been unstable, too.

TROTTER:

Well, it’s a possibility.

MOLLIE:

If he came home, after being a prisoner of war, perhaps, and having suffered terribly. If he came home and found his wife dead and that his children had gone through some terrible experience, and one of them had died through it, he might go off his head a bit and want – revenge!

TROTTER:

That’s only surmise.

MOLLIE:

But it is possible?

TROTTER:

Oh yes, Mrs Ralston, it’s quite possible.

MOLLIE:

So the murderer may be middle-aged, or even old. (She pauses) When I said the police had rung up, Major Metcalf was frightfully upset. He really was. I saw his face.

TROTTER:

(considering) Major Metcalf?

MOLLIE:

Middle-aged. A soldier. He seems quite nice and perfectly normal – but it mightn’t show, might it?

TROTTER:

No, often it doesn’t show at all.

MOLLIE:

So, it’s not only Christopher who’s a suspect. There’s Major Metcalf, as well.

TROTTER:

Any other suggestions?

MOLLIE:

Well, Mr Paravicini did drop the poker when I said the police had rung up.

TROTTER:

Mr Paravicini. (He appears to consider)

MOLLIE:

I know he seems quite old – and foreign and everything, but he mightn’t really be as old as he looks. He moves like a much younger man, and he’s definitely got make-up on his face. Miss Casewell noticed it, too. He might be – oh, I know it sounds very melodramatic – but he might be disguised.

TROTTER:

You’re very anxious, aren’t you, that it shouldn’t be young Mr Wren?

MOLLIE:

(moving to the fire) He seems so – helpless, somehow. (Turning to TROTTER) And so unhappy.

TROTTER:

Mrs Ralston, let me tell you something. I’ve had all possibilities in mind ever since the beginning. The boy, Georgie, the father – and someone else. There was a sister, you remember.

MOLLIE:

Oh – the sister?

TROTTER:

It could have been a woman who killed Maureen Stanning. A woman. The muffler pulled up and the man’s felt hat pulled well down, and the killer whispered, you know. It’s the voice that gives the sex away. Yes, it might have been a woman.

MOLLIE:

Miss Casewell?

TROTTER:

Oh yes, Mrs Ralston, there’s a very wide field. There’s yourself, for instance.

MOLLIE:

Me?

TROTTER:

You’re about the right age.

(MOLLIE is about to protest)

TROTTER:

(checking her) No, no. Whatever you tell me about yourself, I’ve got no means of checking it at this moment, remember. And then there’s your husband.

MOLLIE:

Giles, how ridiculous!

TROTTER:

How much do you know about your husband, Mrs Ralston?

MOLLIE:

How much do I know about Giles? Oh, don’t be silly.

TROTTER:

You’ve been married – how long?

MOLLIE:

Just a year.

TROTTER:

And you met him – where?

MOLLIE:

At a dance in London. We went in a party.

TROTTER:

Did you meet his parents?

MOLLIE:

He hasn’t any parents. They’re both dead.

TROTTER:

(significantly) They’re both dead.

MOLLIE:

Yes – but, oh, you make it sound all wrong. His father was a barrister and his mother died when he was a baby.

TROTTER:

You’re only telling me what he told you.

MOLLIE:

Yes – but ... (She turns away)

TROTTER:

You don’t know it of your own knowledge.

MOLLIE:

(turning back quickly) It’s outrageous that ...

TROTTER:

You’d be surprised, Mrs Ralston, if you knew how many cases rather like yours we get. Especially since the war. Homes broken up and families dead. There aren’t any backgrounds nowadays and young people settle their own affairs. They meet. They marry. Fellow says he’s been in the air force, or just finished his army training. Parents killed – no relations. Sometimes she doesn’t find out for a year or two that he’s an absconding bank clerk, or an army deserter or something equally undesirable. How long had you known Giles Ralston when you married him?

MOLLIE:

Just six weeks. But ...

TROTTER:

And you don’t know anything about him?

MOLLIE:

That’s not true. I know everything about him! I know exactly the sort of person he is. He’s Giles. And it’s absolutely absurd to suggest that he’s some horrible crazy homicidal maniac. Why, he wasn’t even in London yesterday when the murder took place.

TROTTER:

Where was he? Here?

MOLLIE:

He went across country to get some chicken wire.

TROTTER:

Bring it back with him? (He crosses to the desk)

MOLLIE:

No, it turned out to be the wrong kind.

TROTTER:

Only thirty miles from London, aren’t you? Only an hour by train – a little longer by car.

MOLLIE:

I tell you, Giles wasn’t in London.

TROTTER:

Just a minute, Mrs Ralston. (He crosses to the front hall, and comes back carrying a darkish overcoat. Moving to L of MOLLIE)

This your husband’s coat?

(MOLLIE looks at the coat)

MOLLIE:

(suspiciously) Yes. Why?

(TROTTER takes out a folded evening paper from the pocket)

TROTTER:

Evening Standard. Yesterday’s edition. Sold on the streets about three thirty yesterday afternoon.

MOLLIE:

I don’t believe it!

TROTTER:

Don’t you? (He moves up R to the arch with the coat) Don’t you?

(TROTTER exits through the archway up R with the overcoat. MOLLIE sits in the small armchair down R, staring at the evening paper. The door down R slowly opens)

MOLLIE:

Oh, it’s you.

CHRISTOPHER:

Mollie!

(MOLLIE jumps up and hides the newspaper under the cushion in the armchair C)

MOLLIE:

You startled me!

CHRISTOPHER:

Where is he? Where has he gone?

MOLLIE:

Who?

CHRISTOPHER:

The sergeant.

MOLLIE:

Oh, he went out that way.

CHRISTOPHER:

If only I could get away. Somehow – some way. Is there anywhere I could hide – in the house?

MOLLIE:

Hide?

CHRISTOPHER:

Yes – from him. It’s an old house – haven’t you got a priest’s hideaway or something like that?

MOLLIE:

No.

CHRISTOPHER:

Oh, Mollie, they’re all so frightfully against me. They’re going to say I committed these murders – particularly your husband.

MOLLIE:

Never mind him. Listen, Christopher, you can’t go on – running away from things – all your life.

CHRISTOPHER:

Why do you say that?

MOLLIE:

Well, it’s true, isn’t it?

CHRISTOPHER:

(hopelessly) Oh yes, it’s quite true.

MOLLIE:

You’ve got to grow up some time, Chris.

CHRISTOPHER:

I wish I hadn’t.

MOLLIE:

Your name isn’t really Christopher Wren, is it?

CHRISTOPHER:

No.

MOLLIE:

And you’re not really training to be an architect?

CHRISTOPHER:

No.

MOLLIE:

Why did you ...?

CHRISTOPHER:

Call myself Christopher Wren. It just amused me. And then they used to laugh at me at school and call me little Christopher Robin. Robin – Wren – association of ideas. It was hell being at school.

MOLLIE:

What’s your real name?

CHRISTOPHER:

We needn’t go into that. I ran away whilst I was doing my army service. It was all so beastly – I hated it. I hated it so much I ran away. Yes. Just like the ... the murderer. And, and, you see, my mother – my mother ...

(MOLLIE has a sudden wave of unease, which CHRISTOPHER notices)

MOLLIE:

Yes, your mother?

CHRISTOPHER:

Everything would be all right if she hadn’t died. She would have taken care of me – and looked after me ...

MOLLIE:

You can’t go on being looked after all your life. Things happen to you. And you’ve got to bear them – you’ve got to go on just as usual.

CHRISTOPHER:

One can’t do that.

MOLLIE:

Yes, one can.

CHRISTOPHER:

You mean – you have?

MOLLIE:

Yes.

CHRISTOPHER:

What was it? Something very bad?

MOLLIE:

Something I’ve never forgotten.

CHRISTOPHER:

Was it to do with Giles?

MOLLIE:

No, it was long before I met Giles.

CHRISTOPHER:

You must have been very young.

MOLLIE:

Perhaps that’s why it was so – awful. It was – horrible ... I try to put it out of my mind. I try never to think about it.

CHRISTOPHER:

So – you’re running away, too. Running away from things – instead of facing them?

MOLLIE:

Yes – perhaps, in a way, I am.

(There is a silence)

Considering that I never saw you until yesterday, we seem to know each other rather well.

CHRISTOPHER:

Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it.

MOLLIE:

I don’t know. I suppose there’s a sort of – sympathy between us.

CHRISTOPHER:

Anyway, you think I ought to stick it out.

MOLLIE:

Well, frankly, what else can you do?

CHRISTOPHER:

I might pinch the sergeant’s skis. I can ski quite well.

MOLLIE:

That would be frightfully stupid. It would be almost like admitting you’re guilty.

CHRISTOPHER:

Sergeant Trotter thinks I’m guilty.

MOLLIE:

No, he doesn’t. At least – I don’t know what he thinks. (She moves down to the armchair C, pulls out the evening paper from under the cushion and stares at it. Suddenly, with passion) I hate him – I hate him – I hate him ...

CHRISTOPHER:

(startled) Who?

MOLLIE:

Sergeant Trotter. He puts things into your head. Things that aren’t true, that can’t possibly be true.

CHRISTOPHER:

What is all this?

MOLLIE:

I don’t believe it – I won’t believe it ...

CHRISTOPHER:

What won’t you believe? (He moves slowly to MOLLIE, puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her round to face him) Come on – out with it!

MOLLIE:

(showing the paper) You see that?

CHRISTOPHER:

Yes.

MOLLIE:

What is it?

CHRISTOPHER:

Evening Standard. Midday edition.

MOLLIE:

Yesterday’s paper ... a London paper. And it was in Giles’ pocket. But Giles didn’t go to London yesterday.

CHRISTOPHER:

Well, if he was here all day ...

MOLLIE:

But he wasn’t. He went off in the car to look for chicken wire, but he couldn’t find any.

CHRISTOPHER:

Well, that’s all right. (Moving LC) Probably he did go up to London, after all.

MOLLIE:

Then why shouldn’t he tell me he did? Why pretend he’d been driving all round the countryside?

CHRISTOPHER:

Perhaps, with the news of this murder ...

MOLLIE:

He didn’t know about the murder. Or did he? Did he? (She moves to the fire)

CHRISTOPHER:

Good Lord, Mollie. Surely you don’t think – the sergeant doesn’t think ...

(During the next speech MOLLIE crosses slowly upstage to L of the sofa. CHRISTOPHER silently drops the paper on the sofa)

MOLLIE:

I don’t know what the sergeant thinks. And he can make you think things about people. You ask yourself questions and you begin to doubt. You feel that somebody you love and know well might be – a stranger. (Whispering) That’s what happens in a nightmare. You’re somewhere in the middle of friends and then you suddenly look at their faces and they’re not your friends any longer – they’re different people – just pretending. Perhaps you can’t trust anybody – perhaps everybody’s a stranger. (She puts her hands to her face)

CHRISTOPHER:

Oh, Mollie, listen to me.

(GILES enters from the dining room down R, but stops when he sees them)

GILES:

(at the door) I seem to be interrupting something.

MOLLIE:

No, we were just talking. I must go to the kitchen. (She moves R above the armchair C)

CHRISTOPHER:

(rising and moving C) I’ll come and give you a hand.

GILES:

(moving up to the fire) No, you won’t.

MOLLIE:

Giles.

GILES:

Tête-à-têtes aren’t very healthy things at the present. You keep out of the kitchen and keep away from my wife.

CHRISTOPHER:

But really, look here ...

GILES:

(furious) You keep away from my wife, Wren. She’s not going to be the next victim.

CHRISTOPHER:

So that is what you think of me.

GILES:

I’ve already said so, haven’t I? There’s a killer loose in this house – and it seems to me you fit the bill.

CHRISTOPHER:

I’m not the only one to fit the bill.

GILES:

I don’t see who else does.

CHRISTOPHER:

How blind you are – or do you just pretend to be blind?

GILES:

I tell you I’m worrying about my wife’s safety.

CHRISTOPHER:

So am I. I’m not going to leave you here alone with her.

GILES:

What the hell ...?

MOLLIE:

Please go, Chris.

CHRISTOPHER:

I’m not going.

MOLLIE:

Please go, Christopher. Please. I mean it ...

CHRISTOPHER:

(moving R) I shan’t be far away.

(Unwillingly, CHRISTOPHER exits through the arch up R)

GILES:

What is all this? Mollie, you must be crazy. Perfectly prepared to shut yourself up in the kitchen with a homicidal maniac.

MOLLIE:

He isn’t.

GILES:

You’ve only got to look at him to see he’s barmy.

MOLLIE:

He isn’t. He’s just unhappy. I tell you, Giles, he isn’t dangerous. I’d know if he was dangerous. And anyway, I can look after myself.

GILES:

That’s what Mrs Boyle said!

MOLLIE:

Oh, Giles – don’t.

GILES:

Look here, what is there between you and that wretched boy?

MOLLIE:

What do you mean between us? I’m sorry for him – that’s all.

GILES:

Perhaps you’d met him before. Perhaps you suggested to him to come here and that you’d both pretend to meet for the first time. All cooked up between you, was it?

MOLLIE:

Giles, have you gone out of your mind? How dare you suggest these things?

GILES:

Rather odd, isn’t it, that he should come and stay at an out-of-the-way place like this?

MOLLIE:

No odder than that Miss Casewell and Major Metcalf and Mrs Boyle should.

GILES:

I read once in a paper that these homicidal cases were able to attract women. Looks as though it were true. (He moves down C) How long has this been going on?

MOLLIE:

You’re being absolutely ridiculous (She moves R slightly) I never set eyes on Christopher Wren until he arrived yesterday.

GILES:

That’s what you say. Perhaps you’ve been running up to London to meet him on the sly.

MOLLIE:

You know perfectly well that I haven’t been up to London for weeks.

GILES:

(in a peculiar tone) You haven’t been up to London for weeks. Is – that – so?

MOLLIE:

What on earth do you mean? It’s quite true.

GILES:

Is it? Then what’s this? (He takes out MOLLIE’s glove from his pocket and draws out of it the bus ticket)

(MOLLIE starts)

This is one of the gloves you were wearing yesterday. I discovered it this afternoon when I was talking to Sergeant Trotter. You see what’s inside it – a London bus ticket!

MOLLIE:

(looking guilty) Oh – that ...

GILES:

So, it seems that you didn’t only go to the village yesterday, you went to London as well.

MOLLIE:

All right, I went to ...

GILES:

Whilst I was safely away racing round the countryside.

MOLLIE:

(with emphasis) Whilst you were racing round the countryside ...

GILES:

Come on now – admit it. You went to London.

MOLLIE:

All right. I went to London. So did you!

GILES:

What?

MOLLIE:

So did you. You brought back an evening paper. (She picks up the paper from the sofa)

GILES:

Where did you get hold of that?

MOLLIE:

It was in your overcoat pocket.

GILES:

Anyone could have put it in there.

MOLLIE:

Did they? No, you were in London.

GILES:

All right. Yes, I was in London. I didn’t go to meet a woman there.

MOLLIE:

(in horror; whispering) ... Perhaps ... you did ...

GILES:

Eh? What d’you mean? (He comes nearer to her)

(MOLLIE recoils, backing away down L)

MOLLIE:

Go away. Don’t come near me.

GILES:

(following her) What’s the matter?

MOLLIE:

Don’t touch me.

GILES:

Did you go to London yesterday to meet Christopher Wren?

MOLLIE:

Don’t be a fool. Of course I didn’t.

GILES:

Then why did you go?

(MOLLIE changes her manner)

MOLLIE:

I – shan’t tell you that. Perhaps – now – I’ve forgotten why I ...

GILES:

Mollie, what’s come over you? You’re different all of a sudden. I feel as though I don’t know you any more.

MOLLIE:

Perhaps you never did know me. We’ve been married how long – a year? But you don’t really know anything about me. What I’d done or thought or felt or suffered before you knew me.

GILES:

Mollie, you’re crazy ...

MOLLIE:

All right then, I’m crazy! Why not? Perhaps it’s fun to be crazy!

GILES:

(angrily) What the hell are you ...?

(MR PARAVICINI enters from the archway up R. He moves between them)

PARAVICINI:

Now, now. I do hope you young people are not both saying a little more than you mean. One is so apt to in these lovers’ quarrels.

GILES:

“Lovers’ quarrels”! That’s good.

PARAVICINI:

Quite so. Quite so. I know just how you feel. I have been through all this myself when I was a younger man. Jeunesse jeunesse – as the poet says. Not been married long, I imagine?

GILES:

(crossing to the fire) It’s no business of yours, Mr Paravicini ...

PARAVICINI:

(moving down C) No, no, no business at all. But I just came in to say that the sergeant cannot find his skis and I’m afraid he is very annoyed.

MOLLIE:

Christopher!

GILES:

What did you say?

PARAVICINI:

(moving to face GILES) He was wondering if you have by any chance moved them, Mr Ralston.

GILES:

No, of course not.

(TROTTER enters from the archway up R looking red and annoyed)

TROTTER:

Mr Ralston – Mrs Ralston, have you removed my skis from the cupboard?

GILES:

Certainly not.

TROTTER:

Somebody’s taken them.

PARAVICINI:

What made you happen to look for them?

TROTTER:

I need help here, reinforcements. I was going to ski over to the police station at Market Hampton to report on the situation.

PARAVICINI:

And now you can’t – dear, dear... Somebody’s seen to it that you certainly shan’t do that. But there could be another reason, couldn’t there?

TROTTER:

Yes, what?

PARAVICINI:

Somebody may want to get away.

GILES:

(moving to R of MOLLIE; to her) What did you mean when you said “Christopher” just now?

MOLLIE:

Nothing.

PARAVICINI:

(chuckling) So our young architect has hooked it, has he? Very, very interesting.

TROTTER:

Is this true, Mrs Ralston?

(CHRISTOPHER enters from the stairs L and comes to L of the sofa)

MOLLIE:

(moving slightly L) Well, I... Oh, thank goodness. You haven’t gone, after all.

TROTTER:

Did you take my skis, Mr Wren?

CHRISTOPHER:

(surprised) Your skis, Sergeant? No, why should I?

TROTTER:

Mrs Ralston seemed to think ... (He looks at MOLLIE)

MOLLIE:

Mr Wren is very fond of skiing. I thought he might have taken them just to – get a little exercise.

GILES:

Exercise?

TROTTER:

Now, listen, you people. This is a serious matter. Somebody has removed my only chance of communication with the outside world. I want everybody here – at once.

PARAVICINI:

I think Miss Casewell has gone upstairs.

MOLLIE:

I’ll get her.

(MOLLIE exits up the stairs. TROTTER moves to L of the arch up L)

PARAVICINI:

And I left Major Metcalf in the dining room.

(TROTTER opens the door down R)

But he’s not there now.

GILES:

I’ll try and find him.

(Off) Major.

(GILES exits up R. MOLLIE and MISS CASEWELL enter from the stairs)

TROTTER:

Have either of you seen Major Metcalf?

MOLLIE:

No.

CASEWELL:

No.

METCALF:

Hullo, wanting me?

TROTTER:

It’s a question of my skis.

METCALF:

Skis?

(GILES enters down R)

TROTTER:

Did either of you two remove a pair of skis from the cupboard near the kitchen door?

CASEWELL:

Good Lord, no. Why should I?

METCALF:

And I didn’t touch ‘em.

TROTTER:

Never the less, they are gone.

CASEWELL:

I’ve no idea where your skis are.

TROTTER:

I’d like you all to sit down, please (To MAJOR METCALF) You were actually in that cupboard?

METCALF:

Yes, I was.

TROTTER:

At the time Mrs Boyle was killed.

METCALF:

At the time Mrs Boyle was killed I’d gone down to the cellar.

TROTTER:

Were the skis in the cupboard when you passed through?

METCALF:

I haven’t the least idea.

TROTTER:

Didn’t you see them there?

METCALF:

Can’t remember.

TROTTER:

You must remember if those skis were there then?

METCALF:

No good shouting at me, young fellow. I wasn’t thinking about any damned skis. I was interested in the cellars. (He moves to the sofa and sits) Architecture of this place is very interesting. I opened the other door and I went on down. So I can’t tell you whether the skis were there or not.

TROTTER:

(moving down to L of the sofa) You realise that you, yourself, had an excellent opportunity of taking them?

METCALF:

Yes, yes, I grant you that. If I wanted to, that is.

TROTTER:

The question is, where are they now?

METCALF:

Ought to be able to find them if we all set to. Not a case of “Hunt the Thimble”. Whacking great things, skis. Supposing we all set to.

TROTTER:

Not quite so fast, Major Metcalf. That may be, you know, what we are meant to do.

METCALF:

Eh, I don’t get you?

TROTTER:

I’m in the position now where I’ve got to put myself in the place of a crazy, cunning brain. I’ve got to ask myself what he wants us to do and what he, himself, is planning to do next. I’ve got to try and keep just one step ahead of him. Because, if I don’t there’s going to be another death.

CASEWELL:

You still don’t believe that?

TROTTER:

Yes, Miss Casewell, I do. Three blind mice. Two mice cancelled out – a third mouse still to be dealt with. (Moving down C, with his back to the audience) There are six of you here listening to me. One of you’s a killer!

(There’s a pause. They are ALL affected and look uneasily at one another)

One of you’s a killer. I don’t know which yet, but I shall. And another of you is the killer’s prospective victim. That’s the person I’m speaking to. Mrs Boyle held out on me – Mrs Boyle is dead. You – whoever you are – are holding out on me. Well – don’t. Because you’re in danger. Nobody who’s killed twice is going to hesitate to kill a third time. And as it is, I don’t know which of you it is who needs protection.

(There is a pause)

(Crossing down C and turning his back to the audience) Come on, now, anybody here who has anything, however slight, to reproach themselves for in that bygone business, had better come out with it.

(There is a pause)

All right – you won’t. I’ll get the killer – I’ve no doubt of that – but it may be too late for one of you. (He moves up to C of the refectory table) And I’ll tell you another thing. The killer’s enjoying this. Yes, he’s enjoying himself a good deal ...

(There is a pause)

All right – you can go.

MOLLIE:

I must go and get on with the food.

(MAJOR METCALF exits into the dining room down R)

(CHRISTOPHER exits up the stairs L. MISS CASEWELL exits up the stairs. GILES moves C and MOLLIE follows; GILES stops and turns R. MOLLIE turns her back on him and moves behind the armchair C. PARAVICINI rises and moves R of MOLLIE)

PARAVICINI:

Talking of food, dear lady, have you ever tried chicken’s livers served on toast that has been thickly smeared with foie gras, with a very thin rasher of bacon just touched with a soupçon of French mustard? I will come with you to the kitchen and we will see what we can concoct together. A charming occupation.

(PARAVICINI takes MOLLIE’s right arm and starts to move up R)

GILES:

I’m helping my wife, Paravicini.

PARAVICINI:

Your husband is afraid for you. Quite natural under the circumstances. He doesn’t fancy your being alone with me.

(MOLLIE throws off PARAVICINI’s arm)

It is my sadistic tendencies he fears – not my dishonourable ones. (He leers) Alas, what an inconvenience the husband always is. (He kisses her fingers) A riverderla ...

MOLLIE:

I’m sure Giles doesn’t think ...

PARAVICINI:

He is very wise. Take no chances. Can I prove to you or to him or to our dogged sergeant that I am not a homicidal maniac? So difficult to prove a negative. And suppose that instead I am really ... (He hums the tune of “Three Blind Mice”)

MOLLIE:

Oh don’t.

PARAVICINI:

But such a gay little tune? Don’t you think? She cut off their tails with a carving knife – snick, snick, snick – delicious. Just what a child would adore. Cruel little things, children. (Leaning forward) Some of them never grow up.

(MOLLIE gives a frightened cry)

GILES:

Stop frightening my wife at once.

MOLLIE:

It’s silly of me. But you see – I found her. Her face was all purple. I can’t forget it ...

PARAVICINI:

I know. It’s difficult to forget things, isn’t it. You aren’t really the forgetting kind.

MOLLIE:

(incoherently) I must see to the food – the potatoes are all falling to pieces.

GILES:

Mollie.

MOLLIE:

Please, Giles, no.

GILES:

I’m coming with you!

(GILES and MOLLIE exit through the archway up R. PARAVICINI leans on the L side of the arch and looks after them, grinning)

TROTTER:

(rising and crossing to L of PARAVICINI) Why did you want to upset the lady, sir?

PARAVICINI:

Me, Sergeant? Oh, just a little innocent fun. I’ve always been fond of a little joke.

TROTTER:

There’s nice fun – and there’s fun that’s not so nice.

PARAVICINI:

(moving down C) Now I do wonder what you mean by that, Sergeant?

TROTTER:

I’ve been doing a little wondering about you, sir.

PARAVICINI:

Indeed?

TROTTER:

I’ve been wondering about that car of yours, and how it happened to overturn in a snowdrift so conveniently.

PARAVICINI:

Inconveniently, you mean, don’t you, Sergeant?

TROTTER:

That rather depends on the way you’re looking at it. Just where were you bound for, by the way, when you had this – accident?

PARAVICINI:

Oh – I was on my way to see a friend.

TROTTER:

In this neighbourhood?

PARAVICINI:

Not so very far from here.

TROTTER:

And what was the name and address of this friend?

PARAVICINI:

Now really, Sergeant Trotter, does that matter now? I mean, it has nothing to do with this predicament, has it?

TROTTER:

We always like the fullest information. What did you say this friend’s name was?

PARAVICINI:

I didn’t say.

TROTTER:

No, you didn’t say. And it seems you’re not going to say. Now that’s very interesting.

PARAVICINI:

But there might be – so many reasons. An amour – discretion. These jealous husbands.

TROTTER:

Rather old to be running round after the ladies at your time of life, aren’t you?

PARAVICINI:

My dear, Sergeant, I am not, perhaps, quite so old as I look.

TROTTER:

That’s just what I’ve been thinking, sir.

PARAVICINI:

What?

TROTTER:

That you may not be as old as you – try to look. There’s a lot of people trying to look younger than they are. If somebody goes about trying to look older – well, it does make one ask oneself why.

PARAVICINI:

Having asked questions of so many people – you ask questions of yourself, as well? Isn’t that overdoing things?

TROTTER:

I might get an answer from myself – I don’t get many from you.

PARAVICINI:

Well, well – try again – that is, if you have any more questions to ask.

TROTTER:

One or two. Where were you coming from last night?

PARAVICINI:

That is simple – from London.

TROTTER:

What address in London?

PARAVICINI:

I always stay at The Ritz Hotel.

TROTTER:

Very nice, too, I’m sure. What is your permanent address?

PARAVICINI:

I dislike permanency.

TROTTER:

What’s your business or profession?

PARAVICINI:

I play the markets.

TROTTER:

Stockbroker?

PARAVICINI:

No, no, you misunderstand me.

TROTTER:

Enjoying this little game, aren’t you? Sure of yourself, too. But I shouldn’t be too sure. You’re mixed up in a murder case, and don’t you forget it. Murder isn’t just fun and games.

PARAVICINI:

Not even this murder? (He gives a little giggle and looks sideways at TROTTER) Dear me, you’re very serious, Sergeant Trotter. I always have thought policemen have no sense of humour. Is the inquisition over – for the moment?

TROTTER:

For the moment – yes.

PARAVICINI:

Thank you so much. I shall go and look for your skis in the drawing room. Just in case someone has hidden them in the grand piano.

(PARAVICINI exits down L. MISS CASEWELL enters from stairs)

TROTTER:

(without turning his head) Just a minute, please.

CASEWELL:

Were you speaking to me?

TROTTER:

Yes. Perhaps you’d come and sit down.

(MISS CASEWELL looks at him warily and crosses below the sofa)

CASEWELL:

Well, what do you want?

TROTTER:

I’d like to have a little information from you.

CASEWELL:

What do you want to know?

TROTTER:

Full name, please.

CASEWELL:

Leslie Margaret (she pauses) Katherine Casewell.

TROTTER:

(with just a nuance of something different) Katherine ...

CASEWELL:

I spell it with a “K”.

TROTTER:

Quite so. Address?

CASEWELL:

Villa Mariposa, Pine d’Or, Majorca.

TROTTER:

That’s in Italy?

CASEWELL:

It’s an island – a Spanish island.

TROTTER:

I see. And your address in England?

CASEWELL:

Care of Morgan’s Bank, Leadenhall Street.

TROTTER:

No other English address?

CASEWELL:

No.

TROTTER:

How long have you been in England?

CASEWELL:

A week.

TROTTER:

And you have been staying since your arrival ...?

CASEWELL:

At the Ledbury Hotel, Kensington.

TROTTER:

What brought you to Monkswell Manor, Miss Casewell?

CASEWELL:

I wanted somewhere quiet – in the country.

TROTTER:

How long did you – or do you – propose to remain here? (He starts twirling his hair with his right hand)

CASEWELL:

Until I have finished what I came here to do. (She notices the twirling)

(TROTTER looks up, startled by a force in her words. She stares at him)

TROTTER:

And what was that?

(There is a pause)

And what was that? (He stops twirling his hair)

CASEWELL:

(with a puzzled frown) What?

TROTTER:

What was it you came here to do?

CASEWELL:

I beg your pardon. I was thinking of something else.

TROTTER:

You haven’t answered my question.

CASEWELL:

I really don’t see, you know, why I should. It’s a matter that concerns me alone. A strictly private affair.

TROTTER:

All the same, Miss Casewell ...

CASEWELL:

(rising and moving to the fire) No, I don’t think we’ll argue about it.

TROTTER:

(following her) Would you mind telling me your age?

CASEWELL:

Not in the least. It’s on my passport. I am twenty-four.

TROTTER:

Twenty-four.

CASEWELL:

You were thinking I look older. That is quite true.

TROTTER:

Is there anyone in this country who can – vouch for you?

CASEWELL:

My bank will reassure you as to my financial position. I can also refer you to a solicitor – a very discreet man. I am not in a position to offer you a social reference. I have lived most of my life abroad.

TROTTER:

In Majorca?

CASEWELL

In Majorca – and other places.

TROTTER:

Were you born abroad?

CASEWELL:

No, I left England when I was thirteen.

(There is a pause, with a feeling of tension in it)

TROTTER:

You know, Miss Casewell, I can’t quite make you out.

CASEWELL:

Does it matter?

TROTTER:

I don’t know. What are you doing here?

CASEWELL:

It seems to worry you.

TROTTER:

It does worry me ... (He stares at her) You went abroad when you were thirteen?

CASEWELL:

Twelve – thirteen – thereabouts.

TROTTER:

Was your name Casewell then?

CASEWELL:

It’s my name now.

TROTTER:

What was your name then? Come on – tell me.

CASEWELL:

What are you trying to prove? (She loses her calm)

TROTTER:

I want to know what your name was when you left England.

CASEWELL:

It’s a long time ago. I’ve forgotten.

TROTTER:

There are things one doesn’t forget.

CASEWELL:

Possibly.

TROTTER:

Unhappiness – despair ...

CASEWELL:

I daresay ...

TROTTER:

What’s your real name?

CASEWELL:

I told you – Leslie Margaret Katherine Casewell (She sits in the small armchair down R)

TROTTER:

(rising) Katherine ...? (He stands over her) What the hell are you doing here?

CASEWELL:

I I ... Oh God ... (She rises, moves C and drops on the sofa. She cries, rocking herself to and fro) I wish to God I’d never come here ... what shall I do? Oh God what shall I do?

(TROTTER, startled, moves to R of the sofa. CHRISTOPHER enters from the door down L)

CHRISTOPHER:

(coming to L of the sofa) I always thought the police weren’t allowed to give people the third degree.

TROTTER:

I have merely been interrogating Miss Casewell.

CHRISTOPHER:

You seem to have upset her. (To MISS CASEWELL) What did he do?

CASEWELL:

No, it’s nothing. It’s just – all this – murder – it’s so horrible. (She rises and faces TROTTER) I’ll go up to my room.

(MISS CASEWELL exits up the stairs L)

TROTTER:

(moving to the stairs and looking after her) It’s impossible ... I can’t believe it ...

CHRISTOPHER:

What can’t you believe? Six impossible things before breakfast like the White Queen.

TROTTER:

Oh yes. It’s rather like that.

CHRISTOPHER:

Dear me – you look as though you’d seen a ghost.

TROTTER:

(resuming his usual manner) I have seen something I ought to have seen before. Blind as a bat, I’ve been. But I think now we may be able to get somewhere.

CHRISTOPHER:

(impertinently) At last, the police have a clue ...

TROTTER:

(moving to R of the sofa table; with a hint of menace) Yes, Mr Wren – at last the police have a clue. I want everyone assembled in here again. Do you know where they are?

CHRISTOPHER:

(moving to L of TROTTER) Giles and Mollie are in the kitchen. I have been helping Major Metcalf to look for your skis. We’ve looked in the most entertaining places – but all to no avail. I don’t know where Paravicini is.

TROTTER:

I’ll get him. (He moves down L to the door) You get the others.

(CHRISTOPHER exits up R)

(Opening the door) Mr Paravicini. (Moving below the sofa) Mr Paravicini. (Returning to the door and shouting) Paravicini! (He moves up to C of the refectory table)

(PARAVICINI enters gaily down L)

PARAVICINI:

Little Bo Policeman has lost his skis and doesn’t know where to find them. Leave them alone, and they’ll come home, dragging a murderer behind them. What can I do for you?

(MAJOR METCALF enters through the arch up R. GILES and MOLLIE enter up R, with CHRISTOPHER)

METCALF:

What is all this? (He moves down to the fire)

TROTTER:

Sit down, Major, Mrs Ralston ...

MOLLIE:

Must I come now? It’s very inconvenient.

TROTTER:

There are more important things than meals, Mrs Ralston. Mrs Boyle, for instance, won’t want another meal.

METCALF:

That’s a very tactless way of putting things, Sergeant.

TROTTER:

I’m sorry, but I want co-operation and I intend to get it. Mr Ralston, will you go and ask Miss Casewell to come down again? She went up in her room. Tell her it will only be for a few minutes.

(GILES exits to the stairs L)

MOLLIE:

Have your skis been found, Sergeant?

TROTTER:

No, Mrs Ralston, but I may say I have a very shrewd suspicion of who took them, and of why they were taken. I won’t say any more at the present moment.

PARAVICINI:

Please don’t. I always think explanations should be kept to the very end. That exciting last chapter, you know.

TROTTER:

(reprovingly) This isn’t a game, sir.

CHRISTOPHER:

Isn’t it? Now there I think you are wrong. I think it is a game – to somebody.

PARAVICINI:

You think the murderer is enjoying himself. Maybe – maybe.

(GILES and MISS CASEWELL, now quite composed, enter from the stairs L)

CASEWELL:

What is happening?

TROTTER:

Sit down, Miss Casewell. (Officially) Will you all pay attention, please? You may remember that after the murder of Mrs Boyle, I took statements from you all. Those statements related to your positions at the time the murder was committed. These statements were as follows: (he consults his notebook) Mrs Ralston in the kitchen, Mr Paravicini playing the piano in the drawing room, Mr Ralston in his bedroom. Mr Wren, ditto. Miss Casewell in the library. Major Metcalf (he pauses and looks at MAJOR METCALF) in the cellar.

METCALF:

Correct.

TROTTER:

Those were the statements you made. I had no means of checking these statements. They may be true – they may not. To put it quite clearly, five of those statements are true, but one is false – which one? (He pauses while he looks from one to the other) Five of you were speaking the truth, one of you was lying. I have a plan that may help me to discover the liar. And if I discover that one of you lied to me – then I know who the murderer is.

CASEWELL:

Not necessarily. Someone may have lied – for some other reason.

TROTTER:

I rather doubt that.

GILES:

But what’s the idea? You’ve just said you had no means of checking these statements.

TROTTER:

No, but supposing everyone was to go through these actions a second time.

PARAVICINI:

(sighing) Ah, that old chestnut. Reconstruction of the crime.

TROTTER:

Not a reconstruction of the crime, Mr Paravicini. A reconstruction of the movements of apparently innocent persons.

METCALF:

And what do you expect to learn from that?

TROTTER:

You will forgive me if I don’t make that clear just at the moment.

GILES:

You want – a repeat performance.

TROTTER:

Yes, Mr Ralston, I do.

MOLLIE:

It’s a trap.

TROTTER:

What do you mean, it’s a trap?

MOLLIE:

It is a trap. I know it is.

TROTTER:

I only want people to do exactly what they did before.

CHRISTOPHER:

(also suspicious) But I don’t see – I simply can’t see – what you can possibly hope to find out by just making people do the things they did before. I think it’s just nonsense.

TROTTER:

Do you, Mr Wren?

MOLLIE:

Well, you can count me out. I’m too busy in the kitchen. (She rises and moves up R)

TROTTER:

I can’t count anybody out. One might almost believe that you’re all guilty by the looks of you. Why are you all so unwilling?

GILES:

Of course, what you say goes, Sergeant. We’ll all co-operate. Eh, Mollie?

MOLLIE:

(unwilling) Very well.

GILES:

Wren?

(CHRISTOPHER nods)

Miss Casewell?

CASEWELL:

Yes.

GILES:

Paravicini?

PARAVICINI:

(Throwing up his hands) Oh yes, I consent.

GILES:

Metcalf?

METCALF:

(slowly) Yes.

GILES:

Are we all to do exactly what we did before?

TROTTER:

The same actions will be performed, yes.

PARAVICINI:

(rising) Then I will return to the piano in the drawing room. Once again, I will pick out with one finger the signature tune of a murderer. (He sings, gesturing with his finger) Tum, dum, dum – dum dum dum ... (He moves down L)

TROTTER:

(Moving down C) Not quite so fast, Mr Paravicini. (To MOLLIE) Do you play the piano, Mrs Ralston?

MOLLIE:

Yes, I do.

TROTTER:

And you know the tune of “Three Blind Mice”.

MOLLIE:

Don’t we all know it?

TROTTER:

Then you could pick it out on the piano with one finger just as Mr Paravicini did.

MOLLIE:

Yes.

TROTTER:

Good. Please go into the drawing room, sit at the piano, and be ready to play when I give you the signal.

(MOLLIE crosses L below the sofa)

PARAVICINI:

But, Sergeant, I understood that we were each to repeat our former roles.

TROTTER:

The same actions will be performed, but not necessarily by the same people. Thank you, Mrs Ralston.

PARAVICINI:

Permit me, dear lady. (MOLLIE exits)

GILES:

I don’t see the point.

TROTTER:

There is a point. It is a means of checking up on the original statements, and maybe one statement in particular. Now then, will you all pay attention, please. I will assign each of you your new stations. Mr Wren, will you kindly go to the kitchen. Just keep an eye on Mrs Ralston’s dinner for her. You’re very fond of cooking, I believe.

(CHRISTOPHER exits up L)

Mr Paravicini, will you go up to Mr Wren’s room. Major Metcalf, will you go up to Mr Ralston’s room and examine the telephone there. Miss Casewell, would you mind going down to the cellars? Mr Wren will show you the way. Unfortunately, I need someone to reproduce my own actions. I am sorry to ask it of you, Mr Ralston, but would you go out by that window and follow the telephone wire round to near the front door. Rather a chilly job – but you’re probably the toughest person here.

GILES:

No objection to my wearing a coat?

TROTTER:

I should advise it, sir, and take my torch. It’s on the hall table.

METCALF:

And what are you going to do?

TROTTER:

I am enacting the part of Mrs Boyle.

METCALF:

Taking a bit of a risk, aren’t you?

TROTTER:

You will all stay in your places and remain there until you hear me call you by name. Thank you.

(MISS CASEWELL rises and exits up R. GILES moves behind the refectory table and opens the R curtain.)

(MAJOR METCALF exits up L)

PARAVICINI:

(shrugging his shoulders) Parlour games!

(PARAVICINI exits up R)

(GILES climbs out of the window and exits)

(TROTTER exits to library. Gets gun. Crosses to window – shuts it, closes curtain.

Crosses to radio and turns it on.

Crosses to arch USR and turns light off.

Crosses to DSR door, snatches open and shuts.

Crosses to table lamp, turns it off.

Crosses to USR arch, turns more lights off.

Crosses to radio, turns it off)

TROTTER:

Mrs Ralston, count to ten and then start playing.

(Crosses to USL arch switch off.

Crosses to C)

(calling) Mrs Ralston! Would you come in now, please.

(MOLLIE enters down L and moves below the sofa)

MOLLIE:

Yes, what is it? You’re looking very pleased with yourself. Have you got what you wanted?

TROTTER:

I’ve got exactly what I wanted.

MOLLIE:

You know who the murderer is?

TROTTER:

Yes, I know.

MOLLIE:

Which of them?

TROTTER:

You ought to know, Mrs Ralston.

MOLLIE:

I?

TROTTER:

Yes, you’ve been extraordinarily foolish, you know. You’ve run a very good chance of being killed by holding out on me. As a result, you’ve been in serious danger more than once.

MOLLIE:

I don’t know what you mean.

TROTTER

(Moving slowly above the sofa table to R of the sofa; still quite natural and friendly) Come now, Mrs Ralston. We policemen aren’t quite so dumb as you think. All along I’ve realised that you had first-hand knowledge of the Longridge Farm affair. You knew Mrs Boyle was the magistrate concerned. In fact, you knew all about it. Why didn’t you speak up and say so?

MOLLIE:

(very much affected) I wanted to forget. (She sits at the L end of the sofa)

TROTTER:

Your maiden name was Waring?

MOLLIE:

Yes.

TROTTER:

Miss Waring. You were a teacher – in the school where those children went.

MOLLIE:

Yes.

TROTTER:

It’s true, isn’t it, that Jimmy, the child who died, managed to get a letter posted to you? The letter begged for help – help from his kind young teacher. You never answered that letter.

MOLLIE:

I couldn’t. I never got it.

TROTTER:

You just – didn’t bother.

MOLLIE:

That’s not true. I was ill. I went down with pneumonia that very day. The letter was put aside with others. It was weeks afterwards that I found it. And by then that poor child was dead ... (Her eyes close) Dead. Waiting for me to do something – hoping – gradually losing hope ... Oh, it’s haunted me ever since ... If only I hadn’t been ill – if only I’d known ... Oh, it’s monstrous that such things should happen.

TROTTER:

(his voice suddenly thick) Yes, it’s monstrous. (He takes a revolver out of his pocket)

MOLLIE:

I thought the police didn’t carry guns ... (She suddenly sees TROTTER’s face, and gasps in horror)

TROTTER:

The police don’t ... I’m not a policeman, Mrs Ralston. You thought I was a policeman because I rang up from a call box and said I was speaking from police headquarters and that Sergeant Trotter was on his way. I cut the telephone wires before I came to the front door. You know who I am, Mrs Ralston? I’m Georgie – I’m Jimmy’s brother, Georgie.

MOLLIE:

Oh. (She looks round her wildly)

TROTTER:

(rising) You’d better not scream, Mrs Ralston – because if you do, I shall shoot ... I’d like to talk to you a little. (He turns away) I said I’d like to talk to you a little. Jimmy died. (His manner becomes very simple and childlike) That nasty, cruel woman killed him. They put her in prison. Prison wasn’t bad enough for her. I said I’d kill her one day ... I did, too, in the fog. It was great fun. I hope Jimmy knows. “I’ll kill them all when I’ve grown up.” That’s what I said to myself. Because grown-ups can do anything they like. (Gaily) I’m going to kill you in a minute.

MOLLIE:

(She tries very hard to be persuasive) You’ll never get safely away, you know.

TROTTER:

(pettishly) Someone’s hidden my skis! I can’t find them. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t really mind if I get away or not. I’m tired. It’s all been such fun. Watching you all. And pretending to be a policeman.

MOLLIE:

That gun will make a lot of noise.

TROTTER:

It will rather. Much better to do it the usual way, and take you by the neck. (He slowly approaches her, whistling “Three Blind Mice”) The last little mouse in the trap.

(MOLLIE screams)

(MISS CASEWELL and MAJOR METCALF appear in the arch up R)

CASEWELL:

Georgie, Georgie, you know me, don’t you? Don’t you remember the farm, Georgie? The animals, that fat old pig, and the day the bull chased us across the field. And the dogs.

TROTTER:

Dogs?

CASEWELL:

Yes, Spot and Plain.

TROTTER:

Kathy?

CASEWELL:

Yes, Kathy – you remember me now, don’t you?

TROTTER:

Kathy, it is you. What are you doing here?

CASEWELL:

I came to England to find you. Georgie, give me the gun. The gun, Georgie. Give me the gun. I didn’t recognise you until you twirled your hair the way you always used to do.

(TROTTER twirls his hair)

Yes, you always did it. Georgie, come with me. (Firmly) You’re coming with me.

TROTTER:

Where are we going?

CASEWELL:

(gently, as if to a child) It’s all right, Georgie. I’m taking you somewhere where they will look after you, and see that you won’t do any more harm. Georgie ...?

TROTTER:

Kathy?

CASEWELL:

Georgie, you must come with me. You’re to come with me, now.

TROTTER:

(happily) Kathy?

(MISS CASEWELL exits up the stairs, leading TROTTER by the hand. MAJOR METCALF switches on the lights, crosses to the stairs, and looks up)

METCALF:

(calling) Ralston! Ralston!

(MAJOR METCALF exits up the stairs. GILES enters from the arch up R. He rushes over to MOLLIE on the sofa, sits and takes her in his arms)

GILES:

Mollie, Mollie, are you all right? Darling, darling.

MOLLIE:

Oh, Giles.

GILES:

Whoever would have dreamt it was Trotter?

MOLLIE:

He’s mad, quite mad.

GILES:

Yes, but why?

MOLLIE:

I was mixed up in it all, I taught in the school. It wasn’t my fault – but he thought I could have saved that child.

GILES:

Darling, you should have told me.

MOLLIE:

I wanted to forget.

(MAJOR METCALF enters from the stairs and comes to C)

METCALF:

Everything’s under control. He will be unconscious soon with a sedative – his sister’s looking after him. Poor fellow’s as mad as a hatter, of course. I’ve had my suspicions of him all along.

GILES:

You did? Didn’t you believe he was a policeman?

METCALF:

I knew he wasn’t a policeman. You see, Mr Ralston, I’m a policeman.

GILES:

You?

METCALF:

As soon as we got hold of that notebook with “Monkswell Manor” written in it, we saw it was vital to have someone on the spot. When it was put to him, Major Metcalf agreed to let me take his place. I couldn’t understand it when Trotter turned up. (He sees the revolver on the sofa table and picks it up)

MOLLIE:

And Miss Casewell is his sister?

METCALF:

Yes, it seems she recognised him just before this last business. Didn’t know what to do, but fortunately came to me about it, just in time. Well, it’s started to thaw, help should be here pretty soon. Oh, by the way, I’ll remove those skis. I hid them on top of the four-poster.

MOLLIE:

And I thought it was Paravicini.

METCALF:

I shall examine that car of his rather carefully. Probably a thousand or so Swiss watches in the spare wheel. Nasty bit of goods.

(MAJOR METCALF exits up R)

GILES:

Mollie, I believe you thought I was ...

MOLLIE:

Giles, what were you doing in London yesterday?

GILES:

Darling, I was buying you an anniversary present. We’ve been married just a year today.

MOLLIE:

Oh. That’s what I went to London for.

(MOLLIE rises, goes to the desk cupboard and takes out the parcel)

GILES:

No.

MOLLIE:

And I didn’t want you to know. (Handing him the parcel) Happy anniversary.

MOLLIE:

(GILES unwraps the parcel) They’re cigars.

GILES:

Oh, darling how sweet of you.

MOLLIE:

I do hope they’re all right.

GILES:

They’re splendid. And Japanese, too.

MOLLIE:

You will smoke them?

GILES:

(heroically) I’ll try.

MOLLIE:

What’s my present?

GILES:

Oh, nearly forgot. I didn’t know what to get you. I went to shop after shop and finally I found this. (He rushes up to the chest in the entrance hall, takes out the hatbox and returns. Proudly) It’s a hat.

MOLLIE:

(taken aback) A hat?

GILES:

Just for best. The girl in the shop said it was the last thing in hats.

MOLLIE:

(faint voice) I believe her. Oh, it’s lovely.

GILES:

Put it on. How super!

(MOLLIE puts the hat on. MAJOR METCALF rushes in up R)

METCALF:

Er ... hope I’m not intruding but there’s a terrible smell of burning coming from the kitchen.

(MOLLIE rushes up R towards the kitchen)

MOLLIE:

(wailing) Oh, my pie!

CHRISTOPHER:

I think it’s done.

CURTAIN

CURTAIN SPEECH:

Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your warm reception this evening. Now that you have seen The Mousetrap, you are our partners in crime and in order to preserve the tradition of The Mousetrap, we ask you to keep the secret of whodunnit locked in your hearts. Thank you and goodnight.

THE
BACKSTAGE
STORY

Interview with Adam Spiegel – Producer of The Mousetrap

First Notices

The History of The Mousetrap

A Cast of Characters

Keeping the Secret

Interview with Adam Spiegel –
Producer of The Mousetrap

Over the past 25 years, Adam Spiegel has produced extensively in London’s West End, as well as various tours throughout the UK and internationally. In March 2018, Adam Spiegel Productions took over producing the world’s longest-running show, Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap.

Photo by Matt Crockett

What drew you to The Mousetrap in terms of becoming its producer?

Well, there are two very different strands to it. The Mousetrap is the crown jewels for the West End, so to have the opportunity to be custodian of the crown jewels is something that you would be a fool to ignore!

I also felt there was room to grow the prominence of the show and that there was a real opportunity to refresh it for a new generation. I was very excited by that prospect. The Mousetrap is unlike any other West End production, due to its sheer longevity. As a theatre producer, you are often operating with great highs and great lows. It’s quite a challenge. It was therefore very appealing to work on a show that can be approached as a constant within the landscape of British theatre. So really, it was a mix of passion and respect for the play, with a desire to enable as many people to see it as possible.

How does it feel for you, personally, to be one of only three producers in 70 years of the play’s existence?

It is an honour. I am very proud of the fact that since taking over management of the show, we have revitalised it. I’ve been blown away by how universally it is enjoyed, whether by audiences from here in the UK or from overseas and young or old alike. If you stopped ten people in the street and asked them to name a West End play, nine of them would very likely say The Mousetrap.

It’s also impossible to have this conversation without acknowledging Covid; I took over in 2018 and two years later we were shut – for the first time in the production’s history. I am immensely proud that The Mousetrap was the play that reopened the West End and that the eyes of the world were on that evening. That has, in my opinion, reminded theatregoers across the world of its significance.

What is it about The Mousetrap that keeps drawing an audience?

Firstly, it’s really good. Secondly, it becomes far less surprising that it’s the world’s longest-running show when you consider that Agatha Christie is the world’s best-selling novelist of all time. So the answer to why is: Agatha Christie. What she achieved is extraordinary.

There is also an element of trust and universal appeal; a point at which success nourishes more success. So, for example, there are audience members today who were taken as a grandchild, who have subsequently taken their own children and grandchildren. Of the ten million people who have seen The Mousetrap in the last 70 years, for many it would have been the first time they have been to the theatre. It’s a terrific introduction to the wonder of live performance. A play that tackles dark themes but without patronising the audience and draws everyone there into a shared experience – unravelling clues, identifying red herrings and, ultimately, leaving them desperate to figure out whodunnit.

What tweaks and changes have you made over the last few years?

We have made very few changes, to be honest, perhaps some words here and there. To produce The Mousetrap is to be its guardian, rather than trying to rework a show that has proven itself over seven decades.

Do you have a dream cast of past and present actors?

That is an interesting question. For the 60th anniversary there was a charity performance with Tamsin Greig, Sir Patrick Stewart, Hugh Bonneville, Miranda Hart and Julie Walters – that was extraordinary. But I must admit, when we reopened the show in May 2021, Derek Griffiths, who presented Play School when I was growing up, gave his larger-than-life performance as Major Metcalf and would have to be part of any dream line-up for me.

What are the challenges, if any, of staging The Mousetrap now?

I think the challenge is making sure it’s at the forefront of people’s minds when thinking of going to the theatre. If you are a theatregoer, you shouldn’t ever be able to say, ‘I haven’t seen it yet’ – it should be the equivalent of required reading.

What are your hopes for the 70th anniversary, particularly thinking about the tour and taking it outside of London?

We’re having this conversation at a time when the play is enjoying astonishing support. The production is also touring and being met by standing ovations. Now, even for me as a champion of the show, that is amazing. We have been experiencing a sincere groundswell of support, enthusiasm and love for the show, so my hope is to try to replicate that love everywhere the play goes.

When audiences respond as they have been, they are of course applauding the brilliant work of the actors onstage and company members, but they are also acknowledging, celebrating and honouring the traditions associated with this play and the work of Agatha Christie. I want every performance, around the world, to be received both as a play and as a part of an ongoing tradition.

Something that is so clever about The Mousetrap is how it involves the audience at the end, encouraging them to ‘Keep the Secret’. Has that moment always been in there?

It has always been there. Audiences enjoy the ‘nod and the wink’, knowing that they are joining a 70 year-long institution.

Of course, if you trawl online, you can find out who the murderer is, but really, why would you? With Agatha Christie it’s not just about the final reveal, it’s about the world she builds and the webs she spins, which make it all so special.

And on a lighter note, are there any funnier moments, things that have gone wrong over the years?

In honesty, we’ve encountered very few glitches over the years. We’re in a unique position with the cast, for example – if, for some reason, an actor is unable to play their part, we have a considerable pool of talent in the UK who starred in The Mousetrap. In an emergency, we have a substitutes’ bench unlike anyone else’s!

First Notices

The Mousetrap premiered at the Theatre Royal, Nottingham on 6 October 1952 before transferring to the Ambassdors Theatre in London on 25 November the same year. What follows is a snapshot of the reception from critics.

Notices from the first London performances.

Daily Graphic and Sketch

A mousetrap snaps with a scream.

Agatha Christie wrote The Mousetrap as an 80th birthday present for Queen Mary, her no.1 fan. But then it was a radio play called Three Blind Mice.

Last night on the stage of the Ambassadors Theatre it became the eighth Christie play to reach the West End – a piece of ‘you’ll never guess who’, well up to the mark.

It starts in darkness with a scream. Seven human exhibits appear in a snowbound guesthouse. The eighth turns out to be Mr Richard Attenborough on skis.

Who Dunnit?

One more blackout ... one more scream ... and the stout lady on my right lies throttled. Who dunnit? It is an animated detective puzzle with a set of neat performances, including one, for the record, by Allan McClelland.

The Times

... The piece admirably fulfils the special requirements of the theatre. There are only two acts. The first of exposition and preparation, the second of action and conjecture. The people are nicely assorted, and each is individually labelled and readily identified – the manly young woman, the effeminate young man, the dubious military man, the maiden lady who perpetually announces she is being imposed upon, the elderly foreigner with the painted face whom Mr Martin Miller makes half devil, half jack in the box, and, of course, the young couple who own and run the place. These provide the colour, the mystification, the suspense and the screams, and Miss Jessica Spencer, Mr Allan McClelland, Mr Aubrey Dexter and Miss Mignon O’Docherty as the first of the characters mentioned above, and Miss Sheila Sim and Mr John Paul as the last two, all fit the play as snugly as pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. There remain the alarming silences, which are perhaps the true test of such a piece on the stage. That we feel them to be alarming can only be thanks to the producer Mr Peter Cotes.

Daily Mail

‘A scream – then curtains’

We hear the screams of the first murder before the curtain rises, and the killer, by using ‘Three Blind Mice’ as his trademark, makes it clear in his warning message that two more will follow. Everything points to their taking place at a snowbound guesthouse and Richard Attenborough promptly arrives on skis from the local police station to find the murderer and foil his plans.

This detective, however, appears to be better at skiing than solving, for the second victim falls almost at his feet, and still the murderer eludes him. Which of the guests was the killer or killed, and whether he or she completes the hat-trick, nothing would induce me to say.

... the play, tautly directed by Peter Cotes, has the expert merit of keeping us guessing to the very end.

After years of screen crime, Mr Attenborough obviously finds his lot of policeman a happy one. His wife, Sheila Sim, copes charmingly with an uncharming houseful, and Martin Miller, that redoubtable saver of plays in distress, lavishes his usual violent energy on a play that in this case needs no salvation.

The Star

Guesthouse Killer

Some brain-teasing problems arise in Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap at the Ambassadors Theatre.

In a snowbound country guesthouse, five visitors are confronted with the news that one of them is probably a killer out for revenge, and that there will be three victims, in token of which the first is polished off very quickly.

Who is the killer? Who will be the next victim? What is the motive?

These are some of the questions to be solved by a young detective sergeant, and the audience are made to share his perplexity and the excitement of wondering what the next step will be.

For most of the time the play had me guessing wrong until close on the solution.

Richard Attenborough did so well as the blunt young sergeant that I was hoping news of his promotion would come before the play had ended.

Evening Standard

Agatha Christie duly fooled me about the murderer’s identity in her new thriller The Mousetrap at the Ambassadors Theatre last night. Do I bear any grudge against the author on that score? Certainly not. She had kept us all guessing and jumping for most of the evening, and her killer was at least a possible candidate for the audience to spot.

... But what a jumble of coincidences and possibilities Miss Christie makes of her denouement. The murderer I accept – not the fantastic circumstances.

On such occasion you can’t say much about the acting without betraying the author. Mr Attenborough quietly dominant and Allan McClelland as a social misfit share the most effective scenes with Jessica Spencer and Miss Sim. In leaving it at that, I am playing fair with this author – fairer perhaps than she deserves for once.

Evening News

But Not Enough Cheese.

Let us consider Agatha Christie’s crime play The Mousetrap performed at the Ambassadors Theatre. Now the chief virtue of a mousetrap is that you can take some cheese out of it when you have to entertain unexpected visitors. And our chief demand of a crime play is that it shall deal with normal people in abnormal circumstances.

Mrs Christie fails on both these points. There is not enough cheese in the mousetrap to entertain her expected visitors, and her criminal is an abnormal person.

If I, in full possession of what I call my reason, murdered the Governor of the Bank of England, then a sound play might be made out of my motives, but if I lose what little reason I had and then murdered the Governor of the Bank of England, or the Prime Minister, or the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the Editor of the Evening News, then I would be sent to Broadmoor, and my action would be considered outside any dramatic consideration whatever.

Mad peoples’ motives are of no interest to anyone else.

However, the author sets out a pleasantly puzzling whodunnit story in a country guesthouse, and most of the people are potentially unpleasant enough to keep us guessing.

Daily Telegraph

New Christie Thriller. A Strong Cast.

Agatha Christie is an author whose plays I almost inevitably enjoy; but writing notices about them is completely un-rewarding. Take this latest effort by her, The Mousetrap at the Ambassadors. Two murders happen in it, one which is before the rise of the curtain, one during a blackout.

If I were to tell you who did them I should spoil the enjoyment of all Mrs Christie’s devoted fans; but if I don’t tell you then I close the door on all discussion of the play. I can only assure you that the authoress maintains her form.

News of the World

Whodunnit? I was racking my brains along with the rest after the first act of The Mousetrap at the Ambassadors London. Agatha Christie, that peeress among plotters, was mystifying us again. For her new theme this time she has chosen the nursery rhyme ‘Three Blind Mice’, and if the device is obtrusive to begin with, you forgive her as the plot thickens. That highly efficient pair Sheila Sim and Richard Attenborough head a convincing cast, and there are interesting character studies by Martin Miller and Allan McClelland.

The Observer

Ghoul and Pool.

Agatha Christie has a taste for nursery rhymes. Why not? They tinkle their horrors to the tots and they will make murder wherever they go. To one who so neatly disposed of ‘Ten Little Indians’ three blind mice are quite a small order. They are now coped with in The Mousetrap (Ambassadors). Hamlet said that he used the play title ‘tropically’ and Miss Christie plays metaphorically with her vermin. But there is nothing tropical about the home county weather which blankets the land in impassable snowdrifts, and so gives ample scope for terror to be lurking in a guesthouse.

... There has been murder in Paddington, there will be two more killings in Berks, since the farmer’s wife in the adage had three of them on the run and under the knife.

On whom will the next blow fall, and why? There is no need to say more. The audience is kept guessing while the guest hostess (Sheila Sim) is kept shrieking. It is all gloriously improbable and a trifle untidy, but it goes with a swing and the actors have some character to work on. Richard Attenborough leads a capable team through the humours as well as the horrors of this hotel with death on the menu; small wonder that it could not collect any staff.

Sunday Pictorial

An Agatha Christie whodunnit is always worthwhile, and The Mousetrap is well up to standard. A snowed-in guesthouse, murder, clues, red herrings and a bunch of suspects. Miss Christie mixes her brew lovingly and skilfully.

Empire News

Dickie Attenborough and Shelia Sim in a tasty whodunnit. Never have so many been suspected for so long.

The People

Although the theatre is flooded with crime plays of more than average quality, I must place this latest from Agatha Christie well up on my shortlist of winners. Eight very peculiar people in a snowbound house, one a killer. Richard Attenborough is the detective. The old, old set up but with ingenious new twists expertly put over by an unusually strong company, including Sheila Sim, Jessica Spencer, Allan McClelland and Martin Miller. Peter Cotes, by his production, never fluffs a thrill.

Sunday Graphic

Agatha Christie stews the stage with so many red herrings that the fishy smell gets a little out of hand. A snowed-up house party have a maniacal stranger in their midst. Acting on the principle that the killer usually looks the most honest man of the lot, you should spot him/her in the interval. Allan McClelland gives a delicious performance, and I pronounce him not guilty on all accounts. Richard Attenborough I let off with a caution.

Sunday Times

Mrs Christie takes detective stories seriously ... Wilde could not write a good crime novel. Compared with Mrs Christie in the construction of elaborate mysteries, Simenon and Miss Dorothy Sayers are but precocious children. Conan Doyle’s puzzles are as ingenious as Mrs Christie’s, but the clues in these best of detective stories are often shamefully concealed. When I reread Conan Doyle some months ago, I was horrified to find how often Holmes solved the problem through a red stain on the carpet that was not mentioned till the last paragraph.

There is none of this hiding of vital facts in Mrs Christie. Like American journalists, she believes her public has a right to the news, however indiscreet. She keeps the audience moving step by step with her detective. In the first act of The Mousetrap for example, she provides a clue that points straight at the murderer, even though (have I not implied that she is skilful?) it seems to be directed at someone else.

... There is much pleasure in The Mousetrap. I have spoken of its dramatic tension and of the liveliness of some of the dialogue. Mr Richard Attenborough’s painstaking detective is a careful and intelligent portrayal worthy of close study; Mr Matin Miller’s hysterically gay old man is properly trying to the nerves, and Mr Peter Cotes’s production taut and exciting.

Sunday Express

Does Agatha Christie Really Play Fair?

... So we set our minds to pick out the killer.

Trapped.

What about the tall black-haired host, who said that he hadn’t been in London for a week yet had in the pocket of his dark coat a copy of a London evening newspaper of the day before? And what about his wife, who hadn’t been to London for a month but who possessed a bus ticket from London also dated the day before?

Ho! Ho! Trapped in the second act with a whole act to go! It is true that London evening papers are purchasable in districts even as remote as Berkshire, but we shall let that pass.

Then there was an effeminate young man who loved flowers and wanted to help cook the meals. In spite of the fact that the part was delightfully played by Allan McClelland he was obviously odd, and might do anything.

Very Vague.

Finally, we had a middle-aged officer who seemed very vague about military matters: also an extraordinary European from the other side of the Iron Curtain, and a mysterious young woman with haunted eyes.

In fact, it was one of the damndest collections of paying guests.

The History of
The Mousetrap

The first cast of The Mousetrap when it premiered in Nottingham. Richard Attenborough and Sheila Sim were co-stars and also married.

1952

The Mousetrap had its world premiere on 6 October 1952 at the Theatre Royal, Nottingham.

The play subsequently visits the New Theatre, Oxford; Manchester Opera House; The Royal Court Theatre, Liverpool; Theatre Royal, Newcastle; The Grand Theatre, Leeds; and The Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham; before opening in London at the Ambassadors Theatre on Tuesday, 25 November.

In the cast are Richard Attenborough, Sheila Sim, Martin Miller, Jessica Spencer, Aubrey Dexter, Mignon O’Doherty, Allan McClelland and John Paul.

Review by Daily Express, 26 November 1952:

‘There is a new fashion in murder plays. Usually you see who does the crime. The question then is “How will they catch him?”

Agatha Christie snaps her fingers at fashion. In her new play she trundles on again her snowbound house in the wilds, and simply asks Whodunnit.

A guesthouse this time. A murderer has been traced here. Richard Attenborough arrives – on skis – as the local police sergeant. He knows one of the guests is a killer. He also knows that two guests will be the next victims ... Even more thrilling than the plot is the atmosphere of shuddering suspense. No one brews it better than Agatha Christie.’

Another of the first notices, written by Raymond Moore in the Sunday Dispatch, takes umbrage at Agatha Christie for ‘tricking’ the audience by extending the mystery into programme. In his fury, he reveals the identity of the murderer: ‘I always feel honour bound not to give away too much of a play or a film that depends on the story, but this time I don’t mind at all.’ Peter Saunders did mind, however, and wrote to express his disapproval (see here).

The play then transferred to London and opened at the Ambassador’s Theatre on 25 November 1952

1953

Letter to the Editor of The Stage, 5 January 1953:

‘Agatha Christie left London last Monday (January 5) for a four-month trip to Baghdad, carrying with her the knowledge that the previous week her play The Mousetrap, in which Richard Attenborough and Sheila Sim are starring at the Ambassadors Theatre, took more money in any week than any other play or musical since the theatre was built forty years ago.’

The Ambassadors Theatre performs a survey on the audience of The Mousetrap and asks ‘Can you remember what it was that first made you think you would like to see this show?’

1955

The Mousetrap passes the first of many milestones, playing its 1,000th performance on the 22 April.

Letter from Peter Saunders giving Agatha Christie’s observations on the play

1956

To honour Agatha Christie’s many literary works, she is appointed Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE) in the 1956 New Year Honours.

1957

The Mousetrap marks its 1,998th performance on 13 September, making making it the longest-running straight play in the history of British theatre.

Programme from the 1,998th performance

1958

A major record is achieved by The Mousetrap on 12 April 1958 when it plays its 2,239th performance, thereby becoming the longest-ever running in London. On the evening of Sunday, 13 April, Peter Saunders gives a party to celebrate at The Savoy Hotel.

Reply from HRH Princess Margaret’s lady-in-waiting to Peter Saunders to send her apologies for being unable to attend

Menu from The Savoy reception

Letter from Peter Saunders to Richard Attenborough confirming running order for the party

From Richard Attenborough’s speech on the night of the party:

‘When on 6 October 1952 at the Theatre Royal, Nottingham ... I opened in a play called The Mousetrap, I don’t think that [I], or any other members of the cast, dreamt for one moment that it would still be running on April 13th 1958. Why not? Indeed I can remember, you know, those ghastly get-togethers after a first night on tour, when opinion ranges from the fairly sensible pessimism to the ludicrous optimism, the voice of sanity emerged in the person of our author, who said, “Well darlings, I think we’ll get a few months out of it. It won’t break any records, of course, but it might run a little time.” We believed her. We certainly didn’t believe that we might all be here five or six years later.’

Agatha Christie with Richard Attenborough, Sheila Sim and Peter Saunders at the party

The following morning, Douglas Marlborough from the Daily Mail writes an amusing account of Agatha Christie’s arrival at the party:

‘A silver-haired middle-aged woman with a motherly smile walked into The Savoy Hotel last night and was stopped by a porter as she approached the banqueting hall where a big theatrical party was about to begin. “Your ticket, please, ma’am,” said the porter. But she didn’t have a ticket. She was the guest of honour ... “I know many people don’t know me ... but they did let me in,” she added with a smile.’

1959

The cast of The Mousetrap, armed with various props, gives a special performance at HMP Wormwood Scrubs in West London on Sunday, 15 March. During the performance, two prisoners escape.

1961

The Mousetrap makes history by being the first advertiser of any kind at Lord’s Cricket Ground, London, when it advertises on a cricket scorecard.

1962

Agatha Christie cuts a half-ton cake with producer Peter Saunders to celebrate the 10th anniversary at a party at The Savoy Hotel. She is persuaded to make a speech:

‘This is awful. I never have been any good at making speeches and usually someone comes to the rescue and makes my speech for me. But nobody is going to help me tonight, so I’ve got to do it myself.

Anyway the first thing is the great thanks and the really heartfelt gratitude I feel for this great party tonight, and the goodness of everybody. And the terrible excitement of a play that has run ten years and longer than any other play and sometimes I really can’t believe it’s me. I mean it’s not the sort of thing that would happen to me. If I was writing a book it wouldn’t be a person like me that had written a play that had run for ten years. So don’t let anybody say that nothing exciting happens to you when you are old because it does. It’s just as nice to be 72 as it is to be young; in fact, tonight it couldn’t be more exciting.’

Agatha Christie and Peter Saunders at the 10th anniversary party

1966

Agatha Christie had a great love of horse racing and on 17 August 1966, ‘The Mousetrap Challenge Cup’ is inaugurated. It is run at Devon and Exeter Races and Agatha presents the trophy to the first winner. The race continues to be run each year until 1991.

1970

Agatha Christie turns 80.

On 5 October 1970, the London Evening News ‘gifts’ the Ambassadors Theatre as a prize in a competition. The winner can have the theatre for a night and do anything they want. They can give it away, keep the takings or even see the show with no one else in the audience. A housewife, Mrs Brenda Coleman, is the winner and she gives half the takings to Great Ormond Street Hospital for sick children who helped to save her daughter’s sight. She invites many of the hospital staff to a champagne reception and, with her husband, has a holiday with the balance.

1971

Agatha Christie is made a Dame (DBE) by Queen Elizabeth II for her contributions to literature.

1973

On Sunday, 25 November 1973, Agatha Christie and Peter Saunders hosted a lunch at The Savoy Hotel to celebrate The Mousetrap’s 21st birthday. At the top table with them were guests Lord Goodman, actors Richard Attenborough and Cicely Courtneidge, Agatha Christie’s daughter and son-in-law, the hotel’s managing director and the playwright Ray Cooney, among others.

Invitation to The Mousetrap’s 21st birthday luncheon

1974

On Saturday, 23 March 1974, The Mousetrap closed at the Ambassadors Theatre. It reopened the following Monday – thereby keeping the continuance of the run – next door at the larger St Martin’s Theatre, where it has gone on to break every longevity record in the history of the theatre.

1976

At the end of the performance of The Mousetrap at the St Martin’s Theatre on 12 January 1976, actor Brian McDermott, playing Detective Sergeant Trotter, speaks to the packed house:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this afternoon the best-known, best-loved English writer in the world, Dame Agatha Christie, died and a few hours ago it seemed that The Mousetrap would close for the first time in its history. Those of us who knew her saw a quiet, shy, sensitive lady, but she also had great courage and determination and we knew she would have wanted the show to go on. As a mark of respect to a great English lady, will you please rise and join in a moment of silence.’

Of course, they do.

14 May 1976

The Mousetrap Company

I would like to thank the cast for coming to Dame Agatha’s memorial service and particularly thank the male members of the cast who acted as ushers.

On 17 December, The Mousetrap passes yet another milestone of 10,000 performances.

Letter to Mrs Rose (who wrote to say how many times her family had seen the play) from Peter Saunders, 13 December 1976:

How very kind of you to to write about The Mousetrap.

I wish I could say it was a record but it has happened several times and one of the contributory factors of the success of The Mousetrap in its past decade is that when children become of Mousetrap age – whatever that may be – they go and see it and when the younger brothers and sisters reach the same age they have to see it.

A friend of mine has six children, has seen it six times and swears he won’t have any more.

1977

On 25 November 1977, producer Peter Saunders hosts a celebratory party for 1,000 guests at The Savoy Hotel, marking the 25th birthday of the show. Prime Minister James Callaghan was the guest of honour. A special silver souvenir folder containing messages of congratulations from many distinguished people is presented to the audience at the performance that evening.

Telegram from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother:

I AM DELIGHTED TO LEARN OF THE CELEBRATIONS AT THE SAVOY HOTEL TO MARK THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE MOUSETRAP PLEASE CONVEY MY WARMEST CONGRATULATIONS TO PETER SAUNDERS AND THE MEMBERS OF THE COMPANY PAST AND PRESENT AND TO ALL THOSE ASSOCIATED WITH ST MARTIN’S THEATRE

25th anniversary programme

1981

Royal National Institute for the Deaf performance with six signers interpreting

On 14 May, a private matinee of The Mousetrap is performed for an audience of profoundly deaf people, most of whom have not been to a theatre before. There are six interpreters (three each side of the stage) to translate the play into sign language. It is the first time a West End play is specially interpreted in sign language for deaf people. The Royal National Institute for the Deaf proudly report the fact to the press to draw attention to the innovation:

‘Mr Peter Saunders, the producer, is giving the special matinee performance and the Royal National Institute for the Deaf sees this as a significant contribution to the International Year for Disabled People and towards recognition of the special needs of deaf people. The occasion will be an experimental one but the RNID is hopeful that it may lead to other similar opportunities for deaf people to be able to go to the theatre – something which the rest of the population takes for granted.’

Peter Saunders, the theatre impresario and the first producer of The Mousetrap, is made a Knight of the Realm.

Two actresses who have starred in The Mousetrap, Mary Tempest and Helen Lloyd, blow out the candles at the 29th anniversary party

1982

Speakers: Sir Peter Saunders, Sir Richard Attenborough CBE, The Right Honourable Lord Denning, Mr Mathew Prichard

The Mousetrap celebrates its 30th year and the original Detective Sergeant Trotter Sir Richard Attenborough reads a congratulatory letter from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother to the performers and the audience.

1983

The total gross taken by The Mousetrap reaches £10 million on 31 May.

A survey of The Mousetrap taken in the last week of December finds that:

‘its main audience are infrequent theatregoers, who visit the theatre whilst on holiday, as tourists to London, or as a family outing at holiday periods.‘

1985

The number of actors or actresses who have appeared in The Mousetrap passes the 200 mark.

1988

On 24 November, The Mousetrap celebrates 15,000 performances.

His Royal Highness The Prince Edward attends the performance. All profits and advertising from the event go to help MIND, the leading mental health charity.

Programme from the gala performance

Several supporters of The Mousetrap add their own messages:

The Government attaches great importance to the development of mental health services, and the contribution of the voluntary sector, in which MIND plays a leading part, is gratefully acknowledged.

Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister 1979–1990

The present representatives of Agatha Christie’s family, including my mother (Agatha Christie’s daughter), step-father and my wife and three children all join together in wishing The Mousetrap and MIND a most successful evening.

Mathew Prichard, grandson of Agatha Christie

People often ask whether we had any idea when we opened The Mousetrap that it would go on to break all theatrical records. The answer, frankly, is that we didn’t. In fact, I well remember an anguished inquest after the first night in Nottingham when I personally believed it might not even reach London’s West End. Darling Agatha, Dame Agatha as she was to become, listened for nearly two hours to all our fears. Then, since it was long past midnight, she decided to go to bed. Half way up the hotel staircase, she paused and looked down at us all. ‘You know, my dears,’ she said prophetically in her shy, quiet way, ‘I think we might have quite a nice little run.’

Sir Richard Attenborough

I would like to send my very best wishes to all concerned with the Royal Gala in aid of MIND. I attended the first night of The Mousetrap 37 years ago. And as a fledgling theatrical impresario, was of the opinion that it would not run. I am glad that I was wrong and that this Gala can be of such significant help to MIND.

Peter Hall, National Theatre Director, 1973–1988

After a lengthy search on the part of Peter Saunders, thirty of the leading ladies who have appeared in The Mousetrap are invited to attend the party to celebrate the 15,000th performance and Richard Attenborough is photographed alongside them.

From Peter Saunders to Peter Plouviez:

We are having one of our Savoy Hotel Mousetrap parties on 24 November (I hope you will keep lunchtime on that day free) and I am desperately trying to trace five particular members of The Mousetrap of bygone years.

Can you possibly, as a matter of some urgency, tell me if you have any address or telephone number for the following:

Ann Kennedy

Heather Stannard

Carol Marsh

Alice Fraser

Patricia Donovan

If you can’t perhaps you will let me know.

To Sir Richard Attenborough:

Just for the record I enclose a card for the 24th (not that you will need it) and as you know, I should be so grateful if you could both be with us at 11.30 a.m.

To actress Joanna Palmer:

I do hope you and your guest will come to this party as I am trying to get all The Mousetrap leading ladies in a special photograph which I think will be fun.

Although the party doesn’t start until midday, I am wondering whether you and your guest could possibly be at The Savoy at 11.30 a.m. sharp as we are hoping to get the press to photograph The Ladies shortly after that and before the party starts, and it should make a historic photo call.

To journalist Jay Iliff:

Thank you so much for the splendid piece on Sunday. We now have two of the three missing ladies but in addition, Joanna Palmer (1973), who was in South Africa and who we had written off, saw your piece just as she returned and contacted us!

Grateful thanks. The photographs have been returned.

I do hope you will use the enclosed card.

At the last party we asked Lady Olga. Should she want to come perhaps you will let me know.

Sir Richard Attenborough with thirty of the leading ladies

Speakers: Sir Richard Attenborough CBE, Mr Mathew Prichard, Sir Peter Saunders

1992

Prime Minister John Major and Mrs Major attend a party to celebrate The Mousetrap’s 40th anniversary with Sir Peter and Lady Saunders.

1993

David Turner returns to direct the show, which he will continue to do for the next eleven years.

1994

Sir Stephen Waley-Cohen takes over as Producer of The Mousetrap.

1997

The total number of actors or actresses who have performed in The Mousetrap passes 300.

2000

On 16 December, the show celebrates 20,000 performances and breaks another record. Numerous news outlets report the achievement, including The Mix, who shrewdly open their review with the words, ‘Cheesy or brilliant? Whatever your opinion of The Mousetrap, it is the longest running play ever ... ’

2001

The West End cast perform a semi-staged version of the show at the Agatha Christie Theatre Festival on one of the hottest nights of the year. A gala performance was attended by celebrities and pupils from thirteen schools. The Mousetrap Foundation arranged for the pupils to attend as part of their drive to create opportunities for young people.

The Mousetrap cast reunion 11 October 2001 – Sir Richard Attenborough with cast members from the past fifty years

2002

A Royal visit. To celebrate the 50th anniversary, Queen Elizabeth II and The Duke of Edinburgh attend a gala performance on 25 November 2002.

2003

Sir Peter Saunders, theatre manager and producer, dies on 6 February 2003, aged ninety-two. In the Telegraph’s fulsome obituary of Peter, they describe how he came to be approached by Agatha Christie: ‘Peter’s first sight of The Mousetrap was in a restaurant: “Agatha Christie handed it to me in The Ivy,” he later recalled, “a brown paper parcel deliberately done up so as not to look like a script. ‘There’s a present for you,’ she said.”’

2004

Richard Attenborough and Sheila Sim help the cast and crew of The Mousetrap celebrate the 52nd year of the play.

2010

The Mousetrap plays to packed houses for two weeks in the Lyceum Theatre in Shanghai. Subtitles in Chinese ran on either side of the stage throughout the performance. Agatha Christie is ‘bigger than Shakespeare’ in China and her plays are performed regularly in Chinese, but this was the first time a British company had been invited.

2012

The Mousetrap tours Australia for eight months playing to 150,000 theatregoers.

The Mousetrap goes on its first ever tour of the UK since its pre-West End tour in 1952, playing in over 120 venues across the UK.

On 18 November, both the 25,000th performance and the 60th year of the production are marked by a special diamond anniversary gala performance with a star-studded cast directed by Phyllida Lloyd.

The Mousetrap 6oth anniversary gala performance cast

Tamsin Greig appears as MOLLIE RALSTON

Hugh Bonneville appears as GILES RALSTON

Harry Lloyd appears as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Dame Julie Walters appears as MRS BOYLE

Nicholas Farrell appears as MAJOR METCALF

Miranda Hart appears as MISS CASEWELL

Sir Patrick Stewart appears as MR PARAVICINI

Iain Glen appears as DETECTIVE SERGEANT TROTTER

The money raised by the performance goes towards Mousetrap Theatre Projects.

2013

The Mousetrap performs at the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore directed by The Mousetrap’s Artistic Director, Denise Silvey.

2015

The Mousetrap Company wins the first ever West End Bake Off raising £4,000 for the charity Acting for Others.

2017

Janet Hudson-Holt becomes the Be Inspired Champion at the Olivier Awards for her work as the Costume Supervisor for The Mousetrap. For over twenty years she had been an integral part of the show, making the wheel of The Mousetrap turn.

2018

The Mousetrap has its third producer as Adam Spiegel becomes custodian of the longest-running show in the world. On 18 September 2018, the cast celebrate The Mousetrap passing yet another incredible milestone – 27,500 performances.

2021

The Mousetrap reopens on 17 May – leading the West End out of lockdown after the Covid pandemic. The show played to an audience of just over 200 – about half the usual capacity – with masks worn throughout by the theatregoers who sat in socially distanced rows. The following morning, journalists reflect on the achievement and The Times notes, ‘Mousetrap audience gets a nibble of normality.’ Meanwhile, a reviewer from the Telegraph, who was lucky enough to be among the 200, amusingly describes his excitement:

‘Like Pope John Paul II kissing the tarmac upon landing in the UK in 1982, I felt compelled to smack a ritualistic peck on the pavement outside St Martin’s Theatre ahead of its first performance since the 16 March closures last year. Theatreland is back!’

2022

The Mousetrap celebrates its 70th year with a nationwide tour, celebratory matinee and drinks reception.

The Mousetrap 70th anniversary cake

Speech from Adam Spiegel and introduction to performance:

‘Hello. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Adam Spiegel and I have the honour to be the producer of The Mousetrap.

The last time that I spoke from this stage was on May 17th last year when The Mousetrap reopened the West End after Covid. At that point there were no guarantees that this play would survive long enough to celebrate its 69th birthday, never mind its 70th.

However, the last year and a half has been amongst the strongest periods in The Mousetrap’s considerable history. Theatregoers from London, elsewhere in the UK and from abroad have converged on this magical jewel of a theatre to see the play that has become a symbol of London theatre’s resilience.

Most of you here today have played a part in the life of The Mousetrap, either onstage, backstage or front of house. You should all be incredibly proud to have been part of this historic success story.

At this point I shall pass you over to Agatha Christie. Enjoy this special performance of The Mousetrap!’

Cartoon by Nick Newman

A Cast of Characters

In Order of Appearance:

MOLLIE RALSTON

GILES RALSTON

CHRISTOPHER WREN

MRS BOYLE

MAJOR METCALF

MISS CASEWELL

MR PARAVICINI

DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

MOLLIE RALSTON

A newlywed who has inherited Monkswell Manor and has recently opened it as a guesthouse with her husband. But why has she opened a guesthouse now ... and what is she hiding?

GILES RALSTON

The more cautious proprietor of Monkswell Manor, and Molly’s husband of only one year. A man with no solid past, he appears to have little interest in running a guesthouse, and is quick to judge his guests.

CHRISTOPHER WREN

A young architect with a flamboyant and often inappropriate sense of humour. His energetic conversation style can appear light-hearted, but also has an unnerving undertone. It is clear that he is hiding something.

MRS BOYLE

A retiree whose acerbic tone makes her a challenging guest. Strong-willed and uncompromising, she has a chip on her shoulder and a secret on her mind ...

MAJOR METCALF

A disciplined and affable gentleman who seems all too keen to help his hosts cope with the consequences of the snowstorm. But who is he really, and why is he there?

MISS CASEWELL

An aloof young woman on a business trip. Unwilling to discuss private matters and disinterested in the opinion of her fellow guests. She’s travelled a long way to be there, but why?

MR PARAVICINI

A roguish gentleman who hides his reasons for being there and acts as if visiting from another era. He delights in the guests’ uncertainty and appears to enjoy the game ... but what part does he play?

DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

The young detective assigned to report on the Monkswell Manor case as it unfolds. Determined and authoritative, with a keen mind. Will he solve the case before it’s too late?

––– The original West End cast of 1952 –––

Sheila Sim as MOLLIE RALSTON

John Paul as GILES RALSTON

Allan McClelland as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Mignon O’Doherty as MRS BOYLE

Aubrey Dexter as MAJOR METCALF

Jessica Spencer as MISS CASEWELL

Martin Miller as MR PARAVICINI

Richard Attenborough as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

Allan McClelland, Richard Attenborough and Aubrey Dexter

Janet Hargreaves joined as an understudy in 1960 for both of the two young female roles – MISS CASEWELL and MOLLIE RALSTON – and went on in both parts. Later the same year she took the role of Mollie Ralston. She returned in November 1997 to play MRS BOYLE and remains the only actor to have played all three female roles during their career.

The cast for the 2000th performance included (from left to right): Derek Bloomfield, Huntley Gordon (stage manager), David Raven, Mary Law, Mysie Monte and William Abney. David Raven played Major Metcalf in 4,575 London performances between 1957 and 1968, which earned him an entry in The Guinness Book of Records.

––– The 10th anniversary cast of 1962 –––

Margo Jenkins as MOLLIE RALSTON

Michael McClain as GILES RALSTON

Simon Brent as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Elizabeth Bird as MRS BOYLE

Brian McDermott as MAJOR METCALF

Brenda Kempner as MISS CASEWELL

Otto Diamant as MR PARAVICINI

Mark Kingston as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

Mysie Monte played the part of MRS BOYLE for twelve and a half years between 2 May 1955 and 26 November 1967, with a break between 20 November 1960 and 6 November 1961 when she was replaced by the actress Madoline Thomas. When asked in 1967 why she was leaving the cast Miss Monte replied, ‘I think I have earned a rest.’

Letter from Peter Saunders to Betty Turner, 17 July 1970:

Dear Miss Turner,

Verity will be away for some little time and I am, therefore, answering your letter on her behalf.

I am terribly sorry that since the departure of our long resident MAJOR METCALF and MRS BOYLE, I have decided that it is best from every point of view to have a completely new cast each year.

Apart from the advantages of keeping artists fresh, there is always the difficulty that if it is not a specific policy, then the embarrassment comes when someone (not you) asks to stay on when I, as a management, think I might do better.

I do hope you will understand.

PETER SAUNDERS

––– The 20th anniversary cast of 1972 –––

Pamela Charles as MOLLIE RALSTON

Geoffrey Kenion as GILES RALSTON

Michael Sadler as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Chili Bouchier as MRS BOYLE

Fred Kitchen as MAJOR METCALF

Vanessa Forsyth as MISS CASEWELL

Steve Plytas as MR PARAVICINI

Paul Darrow as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

––– The 30th anniversary cast of 1982 –––

Mary Tempest as MOLLIE RALSTON

Malcolm Bullivant as GILES RALSTON

Martin Weedon as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Margaret Ingils as MRS BOYLE

Derek Bond as MAJOR METCALF

Sally Goodman as MISS CASEWELL

Barry Martin as MR PARAVICINI

Michael Deacon as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

Nancy Seabrooke, who served as understudy for MRS BOYLE for 15 years, is the longest-serving understudy in theatre history (1979–1995).

––– The 40th anniversary cast of 1992 –––

Judy Hopton as MOLLIE RALSTON

Kenneth Price as GILES RALSTON

Philip Wrigley as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Margaret Ashcroft as MRS BOYLE

Michael Wynne as MAJOR METCALF

Karen Davies as MISS CASEWELL

Julian Battersby as MR PARAVICINI

Dominic Kemp as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

In 1996, Joy Uttley celebrated her 90th birthday and 25 years as stage door keeper.

Meanwhile, in December of that year, Richard Coleman and Peggy Sinclair, who are only the second husband and wife team to feature in the cast, celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary with champagne and flowers at the curtain call.

––– The 50th anniversary cast of 2002 –––

Lisa Barry as MOLLIE RALSTON

Vincent Carmichael as GILES RALSTON

Tim Bettsworth as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Susan Bovell as MRS BOYLE

Andrew Bolton as MAJOR METCALF

Emma Flett as MISS CASEWELL

Peter Yapp as MR PARAVICINI

Matthew J Wilson as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

The Mousetrap took to the stage the year Queen Elizabeth II took to the throne. In 2002 they celebrated their Golden Jubilee year together.

––– The 60th anniversary cast of 2012 –––

Zara Plessard as MOLLIE RALSTON

Toby W Davies as GILES RALSTON

Stephen Yeo as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Anne Kavanagh as MRS BOYLE

Andrew Bone as MAJOR METCALF

Natasha Rickman as MISS CASEWELL

Michael Fenner as MR PARAVICINI

Philip Sarson as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

––– The 25,000th performance and 60th year celebration cast of 2012 –––

Tamsin Greig as MOLLIE RALSTON

Hugh Bonneville as GILES RALSTON

Harry Lloyd as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Dame Julie Walters as MRS BOYLE

Nicholas Farrell as MAJOR METCALF

Miranda Hart as MISS CASEWELL

Sir Patrick Stewart as MR PARAVICINI

Iain Glen as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

––– The 60th anniversary touring cast of 2012 –––

Jemma Walker as MOLLIE RALSTON

Bruno Langley as GILES RALSTON

Steven France as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Jan Waters as MRS BOYLE

Graham Seed as MAJOR METCALF

Clare Wilkie as MISS CASEWELL

Karl Howman as MR PARAVICINI

Thomas Howes as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

THE 2021 PRODUCTION

Two different casts plus a complete set of understudies worked in rotation to ensure that the play could operate during the time of Covid. Casts were referred to as ‘Marple’ and ‘Poirot’. ‘Marple’ performed on 17–19 May, 28 May–3 June, 11–17 June, 25 June–1 July, and 9–11 July. ‘Poirot’ performed on 20–27 May, 4–10 June, 18–24 June, and 2–8 July.

––– The ‘Marple’ cast of 2021 –––

Cassidy Janson as MOLLIE RALSTON

Danny Mac as GILES RALSTON (until 13 June)

Adam Lilley as GILES RALSTON (after 13 June)

Alexander Wolfe as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Susan Penhaligon as MRS BOYLE

Derek Griffiths as MAJOR METCALF

Lizzie Muncey as MISS CASEWELL

David Rintoul as MR PARAVICINI

Paul Hilliar as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

––– The ‘Poirot’ cast of 2021 –––

Kate Tydman as MOLLIE RALSTON

Nicholas Bailey as GILES RALSTON

Joshua Griffin as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Louise Jameson as MRS BOYLE

Paul Bradley as MAJOR METCALF

Sarah Moss as MISS CASEWELL

Tony Timberlake as MR PARAVICINI

Charlie Clements as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

––– The 70th anniversary cast of 2022 –––

Sara Lessore as MOLLIE RALSTON

George Banks as GILES RALSTON

Jonathan Tynan-Moss as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Sarah Whitlock as MRS BOYLE

Philip Childs as MAJOR METCALF

Phoebe Sparrow as MISS CASEWELL

Rob Pomfret as MR PARAVICINI

George Jones as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

––– The 70th anniversary touring cast of 2022 –––

Joelle Dyson as MOLLIE RALSTON

Laurence Pears as GILES RALSTON

Elliot Clay as CHRISTOPHER WREN

Gwyneth Strong as MRS BOYLE

Todd Carty as MAJOR METCALF

Essie Barrow as MISS CASEWELL

John Altman as MR PARAVICINI

Joseph Reed as DETECTIVE SGT TROTTER

For the 70th anniversary, The Mousetrap programme was reissued with artwork inspired by the 1952 edition

Keeping the Secret

‘At the conclusion of every performance of The Mousetrap a member of the cast steps forward to deliver the Curtain Speech, asking the audience to keep the secret of whodunnit locked in their hearts. Generations of theatregoers have embraced this tradition and feel themselves becoming a part of British theatre history, as do I,’ Ian Talbot, director of The Mousetrap

Peter Saunders writes to Moore Raymond, Editor of Sunday Dispatch.

A poem appears on the back of the letter:

Mr Raymond, please behave,

Keep A Secret Till the Grave –

If you give the plot away

Then the Play is shot away .....

Don’t you feel some slight remorse

Spoiling Christie’s tour-de-force?

APPENDIX

Permissions

Agatha Christie Said ...

The Works of Agatha Christie

Acknowledgements

Permissions

PICTURE CREDITS

All photographs are included by kind permission of Mousetrap Productions Limited and Agatha Christie Limited, with the following exceptions:

Adam Spiegel © Matt Crockett

Agatha Christie © TopFoto/Photoshop

Agatha Christie with Richard Attenborough © Getty/Keystone

Photo of the cast outside HMP Wormwood Scrubs © TopFoto/Photoshop

Agatha Christie and Peter Saunders © Topfoto

Photo of Mary Tempest and Helen Lloyd © Alamy/PA

Richard Attenborough and leading ladies © Alamy E10PRW

Cast Reunion © Paul Hennesy

Queen Elizabeth II © Alamy

Lord and Lady Attenborough at the 52nd anniversary © Alamy/PA

60th anniversary gala performance cast © Shutterstock/Alan Davidson

70th anniversary cake © Emma Stace

First cast in action © Arena PAL/University of Bristol

The Mousetrap cast © Shutterstock/John Taylor/ANL

25,000th performance cast © Getty/Dave M. Benett

25,000th performance cast © Craig Sugden

TEXT PERMISSIONS

All letters, programmes and document extracts are included by kind permission of Mousetrap Productions Limited and Agatha Christie Limited, with the following exceptions:

Letter from Lady-in-Waiting © Crown copyright

Cricket scorecard © Marylebone Cricket Club

Telegram from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother © Crown copyright

Letter from Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Martin Gilliat © Crown copyright

Letter from His Royal Highness The Prince Edward © Crown copyright

Cartoon of Then ... and Now © Nick Newman

Permission has been granted for use by Agatha Christie Limited but all efforts have been made to trace the sources

Agatha Christie Said ...

Collected quotes from selected interviews with Agatha Christie.

‘I have a very strong feeling that it is not part of an author’s life to be in the limelight. If you act or if you are an MP or a public-spirited woman who sits on committees, then you are part of it.’

On killing her victims: ‘I prefer to poison them.’

‘I am not good at speeches. I would rather write ten plays than make one speech.’

On leaving for Baghdad where she was to go on excavation work with her husband: ‘You don’t know what a relief it is to get away for two or three months to a place where there is no telephone, no doorbell, no wireless or television, no publisher demanding the next chapter of a book ... and where the difficulty of getting to see you means that any visitor must be interesting to have made the effort.’

About cooks in camp she said: ‘We found that the best cooks were those who got drunk. You can’t have everything and a good cook is worth keeping.’

On her job at Nimrud and Nineveh beyond Baghdad: ‘My job is to clean the relics we find, photograph and catalogue them. It is quite an exciting job. We use methylated spirits to remove the soil and orange sticks to prise off the unwilling bits of encrusted earth. Some of the pieces are extraordinarily difficult to clean. So I invented a new method. I sent one of the boys into Mosul to buy a hypodermic syringe. I stuck the needle into the earth clinging to the, say, piece of ivory, and pressed the plunger. The methylated spirit did its job and off came the obstinate earth covering and left us the treasure.’

‘I retreat into myself with fiction. I emerge from myself in my husband’s work.’

‘The great thing about being a successful author is that one can get a taxi whenever one wants one.’

About being interviewed: ‘I never have anything interesting to say.’

‘No one ever enjoys writing. It is far too much an effort of concentration. In the evening you feel dead. If the day has gone well, you are quite played out and if it has gone badly, you feel all broody.’

About her ambitions when she was young: ‘In my young days you never set out to do anything unless you had a vocation. I felt I had one towards music. I played the piano well but I thought not quite well enough. I also sang quite well but my voice was not strong enough for opera and I was too shy to stand up in public.’

At the age of eighty-two when asked whether she still enjoyed writing: ‘I wouldn’t say that anyone enjoys their work. I mean you have chosen something as your profession and you just get on with it. It is great fun thinking about writing and planning it and getting ready to do it but when it gets down to the hard work, it isn’t so much fun.’

On trying to explain the success of The Mousetrap: ‘It is the sort of play you can take anyone to. It is not really frightening. It is not really horrible. It is not really a farce but it has a little bit of all these things and perhaps that satisfied a lot of different people.’

‘Shyness comes over me still. You never know when. Not in purely social things; these you learn in the course of life. But I am still nervous when I go into shops.’

‘I was not educated in any way. We had much more fun. Young girls nowadays at the nineteen stage studying and having nervous breakdowns and popping pills ... you ought not to be unhappy at that age.’

‘I am disappointed in not being good enough to go with a musical career. I love music – going to the opera. But if you aren’t good enough, you aren’t.’

‘I don’t mix with other writers. I like odd people, interesting characters. If I go to a party it is always barristers I talk to – very amusing talkers and they help you out with your conversation so you can believe you are brilliant too. That is a nice feeling. Most scientists are nice to talk to and never seem to put on any kind of side. And they read detective stories which helps.’

‘I often wonder whether people who read a book can know if it has been hard work or a pleasure to write.’

‘I invented Miss Marple with my own grandmother in mind.’

In 1970 she said, ‘I only write one book a year now, which is sufficient to give me a very good income. If I write more I’d enlarge the finances of the Inland Revenue who would spend it mostly on idiotic things.’

On her work: ‘Halfway between a crossword puzzle and a hunt in which you can pursue the trail sitting comfortably at home in your armchair.’

‘I do not think I could look a really ghastly mangled body in the face. It is the means I am interested in. I do not usually describe the end in detail because it is often a corpse.’

‘I am like a sausage-machine. As soon as one is made and cut off the string, I have to think of the next one.’

Works of Agatha Christie

1920 The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Poirot)

1922 The Secret Adversary

1923 The Murder on the Links (Poirot)

1924 The Man in the Brown Suit

1924 Poirot Investigates (short stories)

1925 The Secret of Chimneys

1926 The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (Poirot)

1927 The Big Four (Poirot)

1928 The Mystery of the Blue Train (Poirot)

1929 Partners in Crime (short stories)

1929 The Seven Dials Mystery

1930 Black Coffee (play)

1930 Giant’s Bread

1930 The Murder at the Vicarage (Miss Marple)

1930 The Mysterious Mr Quin (short stories)

1931 The Floating Admiral (an anthology that included stories by other writers)

1931 The Sittaford Mystery (US: Murder at Hazelmoor)

1932 Peril at End House (Poirot)

1932 The Stranger (play)

1932 The Thirteen Problems (Miss Marple short stories)(US: The Tuesday Night Murders)

1933 Ask a Policeman (an anthology that included stories by other writers)

1933 The Hound of Death (short stories)

1933 Lord Edgware Dies (Poirot) (US: Thirteen at Dinner)

1934 The Listerdale Mystery (short stories)

1934 Murder on the Orient Express (Poirot) (US: Murder in the Calais Coach)

1934 Parker Pyne Investigates (short stories) (US: Mr Parker Pyne – Detective)

1934 Unfinished Portrait

1934 Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? (US: The Boomerang Clue)

1935 Death in the Clouds (Poirot) (US: Death in the Air)

1935 Three Act Tragedy (Poirot) (US: Murder in Three Acts)

1936 The A.B.C. Murders (Poirot)

1936 Cards on the Table (Poirot)

1936 Murder in Mesopotamia (Poirot)

1936 Six Against the Yard (an anthology that included stories by other writers)

1937 Akhnaton (play)

1937 Death on the Nile (Poirot)

1937 Dumb Witness (Poirot) (US: Poirot Loses a Client)

1937 Murder in the Mews (Poirot stories, including The Incredible Theft) (US: Dead Man’s Mirror)

1938 Appointment with Death (Poirot)

1938 Hercule Poirot’s Christmas (US: Murder for Christmas)

1939 And Then There Were None

1939 Murder Is Easy (US: Easy to Kill)

1939 The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories (two Parker Pynes, five Poirots, one Marple and one other)

1940 One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (Poirot) (US: The Patriotic Murders)

1940 Sad Cypress (Poirot)

1941 Evil Under the Sun (Poirot)

1941 N or M?

1942 The Body in the Library (Miss Marple)

1942 Five Little Pigs (Poirot) (US: Murder in Retrospect)

1942 The Moving Finger (Miss Marple)

1942 Murder on the Nile (play)

1943 And Then There Were None (play)

1944 Absent in the Spring

1944 Death Comes as the End

1944 Towards Zero

1945 Appointment with Death (play)

1945 Sparkling Cyanide (US: Remembered Death)

1946 The Hollow (Poirot)

1947 The Labours of Hercules (Poirot short stories)

1948 The Rose and the Yew Tree

1948 Taken at the Flood (Poirot) (US: There Is a Tide)

1948 The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories (one Poirot)

1949 Crooked House

1950 A Murder Is Announced (Miss Marple)

1950 Three Blind Mice and Other Stories (four Miss Marples, three Poirots)

1951 The Hollow (play)

1951 They Came to Baghdad

1951 The Under Dog and Other Stories (Poirot)

1952 A Daughter’s a Daughter

1952 Mrs McGinty’s Dead (Poirot)

1952 The Mousetrap (play)

1952 They Do It with Mirrors (Miss Marple) (US: Murder with Mirrors)

1953 After the Funeral (Poirot) (US: Funerals Are Fatal)

1953 A Pocket Full of Rye (Miss Marple)

1953 Witness for the Prosecution (play)

1954 Destination Unknown (US: So Many Steps to Death)

1954 Hercule Poirot and the Greenshore Folly

1954 Spider’s Web (play)

1955 Hickory Dickory Dock (Poirot) (US: Hickory, Dickory, Death)

1956 The Burden

1956 Dead Man’s Folly (Poirot)

1956 Towards Zero (play)

1957 4.50 from Paddington (Miss Marple) (US: What Mrs McGillicuddy Saw!)

1958 Ordeal by Innocence

1958 The Unexpected Guest (play)

1958 Verdict (play)

1959 Cat Among the Pigeons (Poirot)

1960 The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding and Other Stories (one Miss Marple, five Poirots)

1960 Go Back for Murder (play)

1961 Double Sin and Other Stories

1961 The Pale Horse

1961 The Rule of Three (play): Afternoon at the Seaside; The Patient; and The Rats

1962 The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side (Miss Marple)

1963 The Clocks

1964 A Caribbean Mystery (Miss Marple)

1965 At Bertram’s Hotel (Miss Marple)

1966 Third Girl (Poirot)

1967 Endless Night

1968 By the Pricking of My Thumbs

1969 Hallowe’en Party (Poirot)

1970 Passenger to Frankfurt

1971 The Golden Ball and Other Stories (US collection)

1971 Nemesis (Miss Marple)

1972 Elephants Can Remember (Poirot)

1973 Postern of Fate

1974 Poirot’s Early Cases

1975 Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case

1976 Sleeping Murder (Miss Marple)

1979 Miss Marple’s Final Cases and Two Other Stories

1991 Problem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories

1997 While the Light Lasts and Other Stories

Dear Reader, thank you for joining us to celebrate 70 years of The Mousetrap. We now invite you to do as audiences have done before you and #KeepTheSecret ...

‘Now that you have seen The Mousetrap, you are our partners in crime and in order to preserve the tradition of The Mousetrap, we ask you to keep the secret of whodunnit locked in your hearts. Thank you and goodnight.’

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The casts, creatives, stage management, technicians, staff, suppliers, contractors, audiences and supporters at St Martins Theatre and all of our partners in crime across the last seventy years.

Copyright

First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Orion Fiction

an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

An Hachette UK Company

Introduction © Sophie Hannah 2023

Play Script © Mousetrap Productions Limited 1952

Stage performing rights to The Mousetrap are represented by Concord Theatricals.

www.concordtheatricals.com / www.concordtheatricals.co.uk

Agatha Christie asserted her right to be identified as the Proprietor of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN (eBook) 978 1 3987 1583 7

www.orionbooks.co.uk