The Mousetrap полностью

MOLLIE. (Cheerfully) Doing all the work, you brute. (She crosses to Giles.)

GILES. Oh, there you are—leave it all to me. Shall I stoke the Aga?

MOLLIE. Done.

GILES. (Kissing her) Hullo, sweetheart. Your nose is cold.

MOLLIE. I’ve just come in. (She crosses to the fire.)

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 netting?

GILES. It wasn’t the right kind. (He sits on the Left arm of the armchair Centre) 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 not 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. (Rising and moving up toMOLLIE) We’ll have to keep the central heating well-stoked up. (He feels the radiator.) H’m, not too good—I wish they’d send the coke along. We’ve not got any too much.

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 Right of the sofa) Is everything ready? Nobody’s arrived yet, I suppose?

MOLLIE. No, thank goodness. I think everything’s in order. Mrs. Barlow’s hooked it early. Afraid of the weather, I suppose.

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

MOLLIE. And yours! This is a partnership.

GILES. (Crossing to the fire) So long as you don’t ask me to cook.

MOLLIE. (Rising) No, no, that’s my department. Anyway, we’ve got lots of tins in case we are snowed up. (Crossing to GILES) 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. (Complacently) Pretty good, what? (He crosses to Left of the signboard.)

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 as good a name.

MOLLIE. You’re in disgrace. (She crosses to the desk.) 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. (She sits at the desk and picks up a paper from it.) Mrs. Boyle, Front Fourposter Room. Major Metcalf, Blue Room. Miss Casewell, East Room. Mr. Wren, Oak Room.

GILES. (Crossing to Right of the sofa table) 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. (He moves up to the signboard and picks it up.)

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.

(GILES exits through the arch up Right, carrying the signboard. MOLLIE switches on the radio.)

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—