The Mousetrap полностью

KAY. They’re little blue capsules. I don’t know what’s in them. (Battle looks at Benson, who makes a note.)

BATTLE. (Moving to the chaise.) You didn’t see your husband after you went up to bed?

KAY. No, no, no. I’ve already told you that I locked the door.

BATTLE. (Picking up the niblick and bringing it toL. of Kay.) Have you ever seen this before, Mrs. Strange?

KAY. (Shrinking away.) How—how horrible. Is that what—what it was done with?

BATTLE. We believe so. Have you any idea to whom it belongs?

KAY. (Shaking her head.) There are packets of golf clubs in the house. Mrs. Royde’s—Nevile’s—mine . . .

BATTLE. This is a man’s club. It wouldn’t be one of yours.

KAY. Then it must be . . . I don’t know.

BATTLE. I see. (He moves to the chaise and replaces the niblick on it.) Thank you, Mrs. Strange, that’s all for the present. (Kay rises and moves down R.)

LEACH. There’s just one other thing. (Kay turns. He crosses to L. of Kay.) Would you object to letting Detective Sergeant Pengelly take your fingerprints?

KAY. My—fingerprints?

BATTLE. (Smoothly.) It’s just a matter of routine, Mrs. Strange. We’re asking everybody.

KAY. I don’t mind anything—so long as I don’t have to go back to that menagerie in the library.

LEACH. I’ll arrange for Sergeant Pengelly to take your fingerprints in the breakfast room. (Kay crosses below Leach to L. C., looks closely at Treves for a moment, then exits L. Leach crosses and exits L. Benson closes his notebook and waits stolidly.)

BATTLE. Benson. Go and ask Pollock if he saw some small blue capsules in Mrs. Strange’s room—Mrs. Kay Strange. I want a specimen of them.

BENSON. Yes, sir. (He moves to the doorL.)

BATTLE. (MovingC.) Come back here when you’ve done that.

BENSON. Yes, sir. (Benson exitsL.)

TREVES. (Rising.) Do you think the same drug was used to—er—dope Miss Aldin?

BATTLE. (Moving on to theR. end of the rostrum.) It’s worth checking up on. Would you mind telling me, sir, who stands to gain by Lady Tressilian’s death?

TREVES. Lady Tressilian had very little money of her own. The late Sir Mortimer Tressilian’s estate was left in trust for her during her lifetime. On her death it is to be equally divided between Nevile and his wife.

BATTLE. Which wife?

TREVES. His first wife.

BATTLE. Audrey Strange?

TREVES. Yes. The bequest is quite clearly worded, “Nevile Henry Strange, and his wife, Audrey Elizabeth Strange, née Standish.” The subsequent divorce makes no difference whatever to that bequest.

BATTLE. (Moving downR.) Mrs. Audrey Strange is of course fully aware of that?

TREVES. Certainly.

BATTLE. And the present Mrs. Strange—does she know that she gets nothing?

TREVES. Really I cannot say. (His voice is doubtful.) Presumably her husband has made it clear to her. (He moves toL. of the card table.)

BATTLE. If he hadn’t she might be under the impression that she was the one who benefited?

TREVES. It’s possible—yes. (He sits L. of the card table.)

BATTLE. Is the amount involved a large one, sir?

TREVES. Quite considerable. Approaching one hundred thousand pounds.

BATTLE. Whew! That’s quite something, even in these days. (Leach enters L. He is carrying a crumpled dinner jacket.)

LEACH. (MovingL. C.) I say, take a look at this. Pollock has just found it bundled down in the bottom of Nevile Strange’s wardrobe. (Battle crosses to R. of Leach. He points to the sleeve.) Look at these stains. That’s blood, or I’m Marilyn Monroe.

BATTLE. (Taking the jacket from Leach.) You’re certainly not Marilyn Monroe, Jim. It’s spattered all up the sleeve as well. Any other suits in the room?

LEACH. Dark grey pinstripe hanging over a chair. And there’s a lot of water round the wash basin on the floor—quite a pool of it. Looks as if it had slopped over.

BATTLE. Such as might have been made if he’d washed the blood off his hands in the devil of a hurry, eh?

LEACH. Yes. (He takes some small tweezers from his pocket and picks some hairs off the inside of the collar.)

BATTLE. Hairs! A woman’s fair hairs on the inside of the collar.