The Mousetrap полностью

MRS. BOYLE. (Moving down to the large armchair) Your friend, the architect, has been behaving in a most abnormal manner.

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

MRS. BOYLE. (Sitting) Nerves? I’ve no patience with people who say they have nerves. I haven’t any nerves.

(MISS CASEWELL rises and crosses to the stairs Left.)

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

MRS. BOYLE. What do you mean?

MAJOR METCALF. (Moving to Left of the armchair Centre.) 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.

MAJOR 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. (She moves up Centre and stares atMRS. BOYLE) It was you . . .

(MAJOR METCALF looks sharply at MOLLIE.)

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.

(Still laughing, PARAVICINI exits down Left to the drawing room. MOLLIE moves to Right of the sofa.)

MRS. BOYLE. I never did like that man!

MISS CASEWELL. (Moving to Left of the sofa table) Where did he come from last night? (She takes a cigarette from the box.)

MOLLIE. I don’t know.

MISS CASEWELL. Looks a bit of a spiv to me. Makes his face up, too. Rouge and powder. Disgusting. He must be quite old, too. (She lights the cigarette.)

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

MAJOR METCALF. You’ll be wanting more wood. I’ll get it.

(MAJOR METCALF exits up Right.)

MOLLIE. It’s almost dark and yet it’s only four in the afternoon. I’ll turn the lights on. (She moves down Right and switches on the wall brackets over the fireplace.) That’s better.

(There is a pause. MRS. BOYLE glances uncomfortably first at MOLLIE and then at MISS CASEWELL, who are both watching her.)

MRS. BOYLE. (Assembling her writing things) Now where did I leave my pen? (She rises and crosses Left.)

(MRS. BOYLE exits up Left to the library. There is the sound of a piano being played from the drawing room—the tune of “Three Blind Mice” picked out with one finger.)

MOLLIE. (Moving up to the window to close the curtains) What a horrid little tune that is.

MISS CASEWELL. Don’t you like it? Reminds you of your childhood, perhaps—an unhappy childhood?

MOLLIE. I was very happy as a child. (She moves round to Centre of the refectory table.)

MISS CASEWELL. You were lucky.

MOLLIE. Weren’t you happy?

MISS CASEWELL. (Crossing to the fire) No.

MOLLIE. I’m sorry.

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

MOLLIE. I suppose so.

MISS CASEWELL. Or doesn’t one? Damned hard to say.

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

MISS CASEWELL. They say—they say. Who says?

MOLLIE. Psychologists.

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

MOLLIE. (Moving down below the sofa) I’ve never really had much to do with them.

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

MOLLIE. One can’t always help looking back.

MISS CASEWELL. Nonsense. It’s a question of will power.