The Mousetrap полностью

TROTTER. I see. And your address in England?

MISSCASEWELL. Care of Morgan’s Bank, Leadenhall Street.

TROTTER. No other English address?

MISSCASEWELL. No.

TROTTER. How long have you been in England?

MISSCASEWELL. A week.

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

MISSCASEWELL. At the Ledbury Hotel, Knightsbridge.

TROTTER. (Sitting at the Right end of the sofa) What brought you to Monkswell Manor, Miss Casewell?

MISSCASEWELL. 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.)

MISSCASEWELL. Until I’ve 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.)

MISSCASEWELL. (With a puzzled frown) Eh?

TROTTER. What was it you came here to do?

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

TROTTER. (Rising and moving to Left ofMISSCASEWELL) You haven’t answered my question.

MISSCASEWELL. 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 . . .

MISSCASEWELL. (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?

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

TROTTER. Twenty-four?

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

TROTTER. Is there anyone in this country who can—vouch for you?

MISSCASEWELL. 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?

MISSCASEWELL. In Majorca—and other places.

TROTTER. Were you born abroad?

MISSCASEWELL. 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. (He backs away Left slightly.)

MISSCASEWELL. Does it matter?

TROTTER. I don’t know. (He sits in the armchair Centre.) What are you doing here?

MISSCASEWELL. It seems to worry you.

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

MISSCASEWELL. Twelve—thirteen—thereabouts.

TROTTER. Was your name Casewell then?

MISSCASEWELL. It’s my name now.

TROTTER. What was your name then? Come on—tell me.

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

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

MISSCASEWELL. It’s a long time ago. I’ve forgotten.

TROTTER. There are things one doesn’t forget.

MISSCASEWELL. Possibly.

TROTTER. Unhappiness—despair . . .

MISSCASEWELL. I daresay . . .

TROTTER. What’s your real name?

MISSCASEWELL. I told you—Leslie Margaret Katherine Casewell. (She sits in the small armchair down Right.)

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

MISSCASEWELL. I . . . Oh God . . . (She rises, moves Centre, and drops on the sofa. She cries, rocking herself to and fro.) I wish to God I’d never come here.

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

CHRISTOPHER. (Coming Left 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. (ToMISSCASEWELL) What did he do?

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