The Mousetrap and Other Plays (114 page)

CARLA
. I don't need to forgive. She didn't do it.

JUSTIN
. (
turning to her
) Then who the devil did?

(
CARLA
, taken aback, looks up at Justin
)

(
He crosses below Carla to
R
) Well, that's the point, isn't it? Nobody else had the slightest motive. If you were to read up the reports of the case . . .

CARLA
. I have. I've gone to the files. I've read up every single detail of the trial.

(
JUSTIN
crosses behind the desk and goes through the file he put on it
)

JUSTIN
. Well, then, take the facts. Aside from your mother and father, there were five people in the house that day. There were the Blakes—Philip and Meredith, two brothers, two of your father's closest friends. There was a girl of fourteen, your mother's half-sister—Angela Warren, and her governess—Miss—something or other, and there was Elsa Greer, your father's mistress—and there wasn't the least suspicion against any of them—and besides, if you'd seen . . . (
He breaks off
)

CARLA
. (
eagerly
) Yes—go on . . .

JUSTIN
. (
turning to the window; with feeling
) If you'd seen her standing there in the witness-box. So brave, so polite—bearing it all so patiently, but never—for one moment—fighting. (
He looks at Carla
) You're like her, you know, to look at. It might
be
her sitting there. There's only one difference. You're a fighter. (
He looks in the file
)

CARLA
. (
looking out front; puzzled
) She didn't fight—why?

JUSTIN
. (
crossing down
L
) Montagu Depleach led for the defence. I think now that may have been a mistake. He had an enormous reputation, but he was—theatrical. His client had to play up. But your mother didn't play up.

CARLA
. Why?

JUSTIN
. She answered his questions with all the right answers—but it was like a docile child repeating a lesson—it didn't give old Monty his chance. He built up to the last question—“I ask you, Mrs. Crale,
did
you kill your husband?” And she said: “No—er—no, really I d-didn't.” She stammered. It was a complete anti-climax, utterly unconvincing.

CARLA
. And then what happened?

JUSTIN
. (
crossing above Carla to the desk
) Then it was Asprey's turn. He was Attorney-General, later. Quiet, but quite deadly. Logic—after old Monty's fireworks. He made mincemeat of her. Brought out every damning detail. I—I could hardly bear it . . .

CARLA
. (
studying him
) You remember it all very well.

JUSTIN
. Yes.

CARLA
. Why?

JUSTIN
. (
taken aback
) I suppose . . .

CARLA
. Yes?

JUSTIN
. I was young, impressionable.

CARLA
. You fell in love with my mother.

(
JUSTIN
forces a laugh and sits at the desk
)

JUSTIN
. Something of the kind—she was so lovely—so helpless—she'd been through so much—I—I'd have died for her. (
He smiles
) Romantic age—eighteen.

CARLA
. (
frowning
) You'd have died for her—but you thought her guilty.

JUSTIN
. (
firmly
) Yes, I did.

(
CARLA
is really shaken. She bends her head, fighting back her tears.
TURNBALL
enters and moves to
L
of the desk
)

TURNBALL
. A Mr. Rogers is here, sir, asking for Miss Le Marchant. (
He looks at Carla
)

CARLA
. Jeff. (
To Turnball
) Please—ask him to wait.

TURNBALL
. Certainly, Miss Le Marchant.

(
TURNBALL
looks closely at Carla for a moment, then exits
)

CARLA
. (
looking after Turnball
) He looked at me . . . (
She breaks off
)

JUSTIN
. Turnball was at your mother's trial. He's been with us for nearly forty years.

CARLA
. Please, ask him back.

(
JUSTIN
rises and moves to the arch
)

JUSTIN
. (
calling
) Turnball. (
He returns to
R
of the desk
)

(
TURNBALL
enters
)

TURNBALL
. Yes, sir?

(
JUSTIN
motions to Carla.
TURNBALL
moves down
L
of Carla
)

CARLA
. Mr. Turnball—I'm Carla Crale. I believe you were at my mother's trial.

TURNBALL
. Yes, Miss Crale, I was. Er—I knew at once who you were.

CARLA
. Because I'm so like my mother?

TURNBALL
. The dead spit of her, if I may put it so.

CARLA
. What did you think—at the trial? Did you think she was guilty?

(
TURNBALL
looks at Justin.
JUSTIN
nods for Turnball to answer
)

TURNBALL
. (
kindly
) You don't want to put it that way. She was a sweet, gentle lady—but she'd been pushed too far. As I've always seen it, she didn't rightly know what she was doing.

CARLA
. (
to herself; ironically
) Extenuating circumstances. (
She looks at Justin
)

(
JUSTIN
sits at the desk. After a while,
CARLA
looks back at Turnball
)

TURNBALL
. (
after a pause
) That's right. The other woman—that Elsa Greer—she was a hussy if ever there was one. Sexy, if you'll excuse the word. And your father was an artist—a really great painter; I understand some of his pictures are in the Tate Gallery—and you know what artists are. That Greer girl got her hooks into him good and proper—a kind of madness it must have been. Got him so he was going to leave his wife and child for her. Don't ever blame your mother, Miss Crale. Even the gentlest lady can be pushed too far.

JUSTIN
. Thank you, Turnball.

(
TURNBALL
looks from Carla to Justin, then exits
)

CARLA
. He thinks as you do—guilty.

JUSTIN
. A gentle creature—pushed too far.

CARLA
. (
acquiescing
) I—suppose so—yes. (
With sudden energy
) No! I don't believe it. I won't believe it. You—you've got to help me.

JUSTIN
. To do what?

CARLA
. Go back into the past and find out the truth.

JUSTIN
. You won't believe the truth when you hear it.

CARLA
. Because it
isn't
the truth. The defence was suicide, wasn't it?

JUSTIN
. Yes.

CARLA
. It
could
have been suicide. My father
could
have felt that he'd messed up everything, and that he'd be better out of it all.

JUSTIN
. It was the only defense possible—but it wasn't convincing. Your father was the last man in the world to take his own life.

CARLA
. (
doubtfully
) Accident?

JUSTIN
. Conine—a deadly poison, introduced into a glass of beer by accident?

CARLA
. All right, then. There's only one answer. Someone else.

(
JUSTIN
begins to thumb through the file on his desk, which contains separate sheafs of notes on each person connected with the case
)

JUSTIN
. One of the five people there in the house. Hardly Elsa Greer. She'd got your father besotted about her, and he was going to get a divorce from his wife and marry her. Philip Blake? He was devoted to your father and always had been.

CARLA
. (
weakly
) Perhaps
he
was in love with Elsa Greer, too.

JUSTIN
. He certainly was not. Meredith Blake? He was your father's friend, too, one of the most amiable men that ever lived. Imagination boggles at the thought of his murdering anyone.

CARLA
. All right. All right. Who else do we have?

JUSTIN
. Angela Warren, a schoolgirl of fourteen? And the governess, Miss Whoever her name is.

CARLA
. (
quickly
) Well, what about Miss Whoever her name was?

JUSTIN
. (
after a slight pause
) I see the way your mind is working. Frustration, lonely spinster, repressed love for your father. Let me tell you that Miss—Williams—(
he looks in the file
) yes, that was her name—Williams—wasn't like that, at all. She was a tartar, a woman of strong character, and sound commonsense. (
He closes the file
) Go and see her for yourself if you don't believe me.

CARLA
. That's what I'm going to do.

JUSTIN
. (
looking up
) What?

CARLA
. (
stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the desk
) I'm going to see them
all.
(
She rises
) That's what I want you to do for me. Find out where they all are. Make appointments for me with them.

JUSTIN
. With what reason?

CARLA
. (
crossing to
L
) So that I can ask them questions, make them remember.

JUSTIN
. What can they remember that could be useful after sixteen years?

CARLA
. (
putting on her gloves
) Something, perhaps, that they never thought of at the time. Something that wasn't evidence—not the sort of thing that would come out in court. It will be like patchwork—a little piece of this and a little piece of that. And in the end, who knows, it might add up to something.

JUSTIN
. Wishful thinking. You'll only give yourself more pain in the end. (
He puts the file in the desk drawer
)

CARLA
. (
defiantly
) My mother was innocent. I'm starting from there. And you're going to help me.

JUSTIN
. (
stubbornly
) That's where you're wrong. (
He rises
) I'm not going to help you to chase a will-o'-the-wisp.

(
CARLA
and
JUSTIN
stare at each other.
)

JEFF
ROGERS
suddenly strides in.
TURNBALL
, indignantly protesting, follows him on.
JEFF
is a big, slick, self-satisfied man of thirty-five, good-looking and insensitive to others. He wears an overcoat and carries a hat, which he throws on to the desk.

JEFF
. (
standing above the desk
) Sorry to bust in, but all this sitting around in waiting rooms gives me claustrophobia. (
To Carla
) Time means nothing to you, honey. (
To Justin
) I take it you're Mr. Fogg? Pleased to meet you.

(
JEFF
and
JUSTIN
shake hands
)

TURNBALL
. (
in the archway; to Justin
) I'm extremely sorry, sir. I was—er—quite unable to restrain this—gentleman.

JEFF
. (
cheerily
) Forget it, Pop. (
He slaps Turnball on the back
)

(
TURNBALL
winces
)

JUSTIN
. It's quite all right, Turnball.

(
TURNBALL
exits
)

JEFF
. (
calling
) No hard feelings, Turnball. (
To Carla
) Well, I suppose you haven't finished your business, Carla?

CARLA
. But I have. I came to ask Mr. Fogg something—(
coldly
) and he's answered me.

JUSTIN
. I'm sorry.

CARLA
. All right, Jeff. Let's go. (
She moves to the arch
)

JEFF
. Oh, Carla—

(
CARLA
stops and turns
)

—I rather wanted to have a word with Mr. Fogg, myself—about some affairs of mine here. Would you mind? I'll only be a few minutes.

(
CARLA
hesitates
)

CARLA
. I'll go and soothe Mr. Turnball's feelings. He was absolutely horrified by your behaviour.

(
CARLA
exits
)

JEFF
. (
moving to the arch and calling
) That's right, darling. Tell him I'm an overseas hick who knows no better. (
He laughs loudly and turns
) That old boy's like something out of Dickens.

JUSTIN
. (
dryly
) Come in, Mr.—er . . . (
He looks unsuccessfully for Jeff's name on the band inside his hat
)