AustLit

Lady in Danger

by

Max Afford

(1942)

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(A comedy-thriller)

by Malcolm (Max) Afford

1942

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Characters

BILL SEFTON	A journalist
MONICA	his wife (also a writer)
MRS. IDAMAE LAMPREY	their landlady
DR. GILBERT NORTON	a neighbour
SYLVIA MEADE	(hat and gloves)
ANDREW MEADE	(thin, untidy man in his mid-thirties, fellow journalist to BILL)
DETECTIVE DENNIS MARSH
CONSTABLE POGSON
CHIEF INSPECTOR WILLIAM BURKE	(fifties, formal)
CORPSE	(non acting)
CAT	(soft toy)

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ACT ONE

SCENE 1

The entire action of the play takes place in the living room of the flat of BILL and MONICA SEFTON in South Kensington, London. This is a comfortable and well-furnished room on the ground floor. The rear wall has two windows, curtained in chintzes and overlooking a small back garden. Under the left-hand window is a dining room table and chairs. Under the right window, a small desk on which stands a portable typewriter and reference books. Centre stage, between the windows, a tall built-in cupboard. Entrance to the flat is in the right-hand corner. Curtains screen a small entrance hall. Down right stands a TV cabinet and top a telephone. Up left an entrance to the bedroom. Up right the entrance to the kitchen. Other necessary furnishings are an old-fashioned sideboard with drawers, a divan, and several chairs. On the walls are a number of good prints.

When the curtain rises, the room is empty. It is about nine o'clock of a warm summer's evening. Both windows are partly open and a breeze flutters the curtains. At the desk, a piece of paper has been placed in the typewriter and the chair is pushed back as though someone has risen hurriedly. After a pause, the hall door opens. BILL SEFTON, a stocky athletic young man in his mid-twenties enters the living room. He is carrying a number of small parcels, some in brown paper, some in tissue. He crosses to the table and puts them down.

BILL (calling): I couldn't get any milk! (No answer. He begins to unwrap the parcels, revealing a loaf of bread, half-pound of butter, a jar of fish paste, and a packet of paper serviettes. Then, realizing he has not been answered, he calls)

BILL: MONICA... (No reply. He looks puzzled, then crosses into the kitchen, taking the groceries with him. Returning, he looks around, frowns, and crosses, peering into the bedroom.)

BILL: MONICA--are you in the bathroom? (Still no reply. BILL stands irresolute for a moment, then he notices the chair pulled back from the desk. He starts toward it and stumbles over something on the floor. Muttering, he bends down and picks up a broom. He calls to the empty room) Can't you put things back in their place! (He moves to the built-in cupboard and swings open the right hand door. The figure of a young woman is revealed...it falls forward into his arms. BILL gives a yelp of mingled dismay, horror, and surprise.)

BILL: (surprised) MONICA! Darling, for God's sake--I (He glances frenziedly left and right then carries the limp figure to the divan. Kneeling beside it, he begins to massage the girl's hands, helplessly and almost in-coherent with alarm.)

BILL: MONICA...! Darling...! What happened? MONICA--speak to me! MONICA...! (He gives another helpless, frenzied glance around the room.)

BILL: She's still breathing, thank God! Brandy! Brandy's the thing. (He rises and starts for the sideboard. MONICA SEFTON on the divan suddenly sits upright, revealing herself as an attractive and vivacious young woman.)

MONICA: BILL darling... (As he wheels, staring wide-eyed at her.) What's the matter?

BILL: MONICA! You're all right?

MONICA: Of course I'm all right. Did I frighten you?

BILL (almost shrilly): Did you...? (His voice deepens.): Look here, what the hell's your game!

MONICA: Darling, it's no game. It's a deadly serious business. But tell me--what was your reaction? Ringing the police or calling a doctor? What flashed through your mind--suicide, murder, accident--(She stops abruptly at the expression on his face and jumps from the divan.) Easy now, old boy...easy...!

BILL: Easy be damned! You hid in the cupboard to scare the living daylights out of me!

MONICA: BILL darling--if I'd known you were going to be so upset, I'd never have done it! Honest! But I just had to know--

BILL: Know what?

MONICA: The emotions of a husband who stumbles on a situation like that! You see, I'm on the wretched third act...where Henry Maltravers finds the body of his third wife stuffed in the linen basket--

BILL: Of all the utter drivel!

MONICA: It's only by personal observation I can get Henry's true emotions down on paper! That's why I have, to know how you feel--

BILL: Like turning you over my knee and spanking some sound commonsense into you!

MONICA: That's fine encouragement when I'm trying to write the crime play of the ages...

BILL: Sure! The ages between four and six!

MONICA (shortly): Sell those bright quips to the Light Entertainment Programme!

BILL: I'll stick to honest newspaper reporting. Honest, MONICA--I can't think what's come over you! Three weeks ago, you were a sane normal woman.

MONICA: Three weeks ago you had a job, my pet. Through no fault of your own, you lost it.

BILL: So what!

MONICA: Now it's up to me to do something!

BILL: By taking nose dives out of cupboards? The only writing you'll do is on a free medicine form! Anyhow, what happened to your mystery novel?

MONICA: I've decided to try the drama.

BILL: Why?

MONICA: Some plays make a lot of money...

BILL: So do some poker machines! But always for the next chap!

MONICA (warmly): You can't say my writing interferes with your comfort. You still get three good meals a day.

BILL: After what happened this afternoon, we mightn't have those much longer.

MONICA: Oh, BILL...! Bad as that?

BILL: Worse!

MONICA: I thought you seemed mighty quiet over dinner this evening.

BILL: I felt too rotten even to talk about it. Mops, I've had one hell of a day! It didn't take Digby-Smith long to start spreading his poison--there wasn't an editor who'd even see me!

MONICA (gently): Never mind...

BILL: We've got to mind! Thirty quid in the bank and we're three weeks behind with the rent!

MONICA: Mrs. Lamprey will just have to wait.

BILL: I hate owing money--rent particularly. Kind of shabby pride, I suppose.

MONICA: Perhaps I could get a job somewhere...

BILL: I'll earn the salary in this family! You stick to play-writing!

MONICA: BILL! I might even sell something to television!

BILL: Not even when they sell soap on it!

MONICA: Darling, I'm serious. Goodness knows they need new stuff--instead of filling out their programmes with ten-year-old films.

BILL: So that's where you got the idea for the cupboard stunt! That old Gracie Allan film we saw! And it wasn't funny even then!

MONICA: I've told you I'm sorry. It's just that I didn't think...

BILL: That's the trouble with you--you're always leaping head first into things!

MONICA: Such as?

BILL: Well--this nonsense about wanting a Kensington address—and signing a long lease for this apartment!

MONICA: When I signed the lease we could afford a Kensington address!

BILL: Not any longer! (He prowls the room, a restless unhappy young man.) Of course, there's one way out of this mess...

MONICA: Tell me.

BILL: I could always pocket my pride and apologize to Digby-Smith.

MONICA: You couldn't possibly do that! It would admitting his charges were right!

BILL: I see all that.

MONICA: And you'd let yourself be humiliated?

BILL: Damn it all, MONICA, do you think I'd enjoy crawling to that clot? But if we don't earn some money very soon, we'll have no more home than a banshee!

MONICA (after a worried pause): What makes you think you'd get back the job?

BILL: Coming out of the bank today I met Andy Meade. He says Marden felt pretty rotten about being ordered to fire me. Marden hinted to Andy that if I made a statement, saying I'd misreported Digby-Smith, the paper would take me back like a shot!

MONICA: You musn't do anything so foolish! Besides, everyone knows how unreliable Andy is!

BILL: You've got a stupid prejudice against him...and all because he happened to take a few drinks at our wedding!

MONICA: He was too tight to stand! And look at the life poor Sylvia leads...disappearing for days on end!

BILL: Andy Meade's a crime reporter. You can't expect him to lead office hours! What's more, he's the best friend we've got!

MONICA: Speak for yourself!

BILL: If that's the way you feel, you'd better take yourself to a movie tomorrow evening ..

MONICA: Why?

BILL: I've asked Andy and Sylvia to dinner.

MONICA: I like Sylvia, but Andy...! Really, BILL, you are the limit! This morning you make a ridiculous scene because I'd asked Dr. NORTON in for supper--yet without even mentioning it you ask people for dinner!

BILL: I'm mentioning it now, aren't I?

MONICA: Anyhow, what's the idea?

BILL: Andy's coming around to discuss what's to be done about an out-of-work reporter! They're trying to help me because they're friends...which is more than I can say for that pill juggler next door!

MONICA: Now BILL...

BILL: How did we ever come to get on his visiting list?

MONICA: A few days ago I cut my hand opening a tin of soup. I was on my way to the chemist's for some plaster when I met Dr. NORTON in the hall. He took me into his flat and dressed the wound.

BILL: Touting for business in the corridor, eh?

MONICA: Don't be ridiculous!

BILL: Your hand's all right now?

MONICA: Quite.

BILL: Then why is he coming here this evening?

MONICA: I want some information from him.

BILL: What about?

MONICA: Poisons.

BILL: Poisons? Good Grief, we're not back on the play again?

MONICA: We are.

BILL: But when you were fooling around with that detective novel, you collected enough drivel on poisons to fill several garbage bins!

MONICA: But this is a completely new plot. Now I've got to have expert medical advice. I want to know just how [long] a certain poison takes to work.

BILL: For Pete's sake...

MONICA: All right--you can sneer! But I've worked out what looks to be the perfect murder. And for two pins, I wouldn't mind trying it out on Mr. Digby-Smith.

BILL (shortly): And finish up with a rope around your neck.

MONICA: Not this girl! You just wait till you read my third act! It's all a matter of finding the right kind of poison--something that the police would never suspect being--

(She stops abruptly as BILL makes a warning gesture and glances out into the hall. He crosses and pulls aside the curtains.)

BILL: Mrs. Lamprey!

(MRS. IDAMAE LAMPREY enters. She is in her late sixties, an untidy grey-haired woman exuding an air of gone-to-seed gentility. She has the dreamy, vaguely resentful expression of one completely out of her generation and her pinched, refined speech is studded with archaic phrases. She stands blinking just inside the curtains)

BILL: What is it?

MRS. LAMPREY: Dear Mr. Sefton...I'm afraid little Susie has been saucy again...

BILL: Oh, for Pete's sake!

MRS. LAMPREY: Now now, you musn't scold the thought-less fribble--

MONICA: But after what she did yesterday...

MRS. LAMPREY (quickly): That was very, very brazen of the little romp and I gave her a serious talking-to! But on this occasion, it is but a very minor indiscretion and I've wiped it up...every tiny trace of it!

BILL: Why can't that dog stay upstairs where it belongs?

MRS. LAMPREY (plaintively): No matter how many times I rebuke her, the minx simply cannot comprehend. In the times past, before my husband was taken, all this residence was hers...I've tried to explain to Susie that we have fallen upon evil times.

BILL: And you've had to convert your ground floor into two flats. Yes--we know all about that!

MRS. LAMPREY (vaguely): So difficult to make Susie comprehend that we've had to take in...lodgers. So very, very humiliating, you understand? When I was a gel, papa would not let us even walk past a lodging house--

BILL (interrupting): Times have changed, Mrs. Lamprey! And now, if you will excuse us...

MRS. LAMPREY (hesitating): To be sure. But there is one small, distasteful circumstance...

MONICA (bluntly): If it's the rent...

MRS. LAMPREY: It does so distress me to mention money...so very, very vulgar, don't you think? Oswald always attended to such gross necessities...Papa brought us up never to acknowledge that coinage even existed...

MONICA: Very handy! But we'll settle our account at the end of the week, won't we BILL?

BILL: Sure thing!

MRS. LAMPREY (who has been staring vaguely at BILL, says to MONICA):

He's got a vastly fine head, hasn't he? Papa always impressed us that you could tell a gentleman by the way he held his head. It's just...something! (She nods to herself.) Dogs have it, too, mark my words...

BILL: We'll do that!

MONICA: And sometime later, we'd love to have a talk about it. But right now, we're expecting Dr. NORTON...

(MRS. LAMPREY leans toward them, hand to mouth. She speaks in a confiding whisper.)

MRS. LAMPREY: HE hasn't got it! He may call himself a professional gentleman, but I take leave to disagree. Papa would have conned him at a glance...a nonde-script leech...a quack...(She pauses and gives an ingratiating little smile.) Could either of you young people obleege me with a cigarette?

MONICA: Of course.

(She produces a packet and hands over a cigarette. MRS LAMPREY takes it, saying)

MRS. LAMPREY: I trust it isn't one of your poisoned variety, my dear...

MONICA (startled): Poisoned?

MRS. LAMPREY (archly): I could not help but overhear your conversation...Such strange and wild romancing. I do trust it was merely some odd kind of jesting...

(She gives them a meaning look and exits, leaving BILL and MONICA staring at each other. As the outer door shuts.)

MONICA: Now just what did she mean by that crack?

BILL: Listening, eh?

MONICA: I hope she doesn't go around spreading that kind of talk!

BILL (uneasily): Don't worry--no one would take her seriously. Poor old duck's halfway round the bend, anyhow. It's my fault for not closing the door when I came in.

MONICA: You can't. The lock's on the blink.

BILL: Since when?

MONICA: This morning. It's jammed or something.

BILL: You know, I'm getting heartily sick of this place. We've had nothing but bad luck ever since we moved in here!

MONICA: So what do we do?

BILL: Look around for something else.

MONICA: But there's the lease...

BILL: We might get someone to take it over. How about phoning Sylvia--she might know--(A tap on the outer door interrupts him. MONICA glances quickly at her wrist-watch.)

MONICA: Dr. NORTON!

(She glances around the flat, sees a broom propped against the wall. She moves across and puts this in the tall cupboard centre. She returns and begins to punch and shake out the cushions. Her eye falls on BILL.)

MONICA: Darling, straighten your tie! And just look at your hair!

(BILL grunts something uncomplimentary and goes into the bedroom. The tap on the door sounds again. MONICA gives a last glance into the sideboard mirror and then goes into the hallway. We hear her open the door.)

MONICA (offstage): This is very kind of you, doctor...

NORTON (offstage): Pleasure, Mrs. Sefton--downright pleasure!

(He enters with MONICA. DR. GILBERT NORTON is a plump, pink faced, genial little man in his mid fifties who peers through rimless glasses. While he is neatly dressed there is somehow a suggestion of soiled linen underneath. His manner has a kind of professional

heartiness that would be frowned on in Harley Street. He pauses and peers short-sightedly around the flat.)

NORTON: Nice...very nice. But the pictures are yours, am I .. right?

MONICA: Yes. Mrs. Lamprey's taste rather ran to Holman Hunt and the Stag at Bay. You should have seen the examples that were here!

NORTON: I have. She shifted 'em into my flat!

(There is a slight awkward pause. MONICA says quickly)

MONICA: Doctor, I hope you won't think it's like my cheek, but...well...this is a kind of professional visit.

NORTON: Oh?

MONICA: Please sit down. My husband will be here in a minute.

NORTON (sits): Your husband's not feeling up to scratch?

MONICA: BILL? Oh, no--he's got a constitution like a horse! Never a day's illness in the twelve months we've been married. No...you see...I'm the one who wants your advice.

NORTON (his eyes twinkling): Something on your mind, am I right?

MONICA: And only a doctor can help me.

NORTON: Generally a worrying time--the first twelve months. But it might be better if you came into my flat...

MONICA: Oh, no, I don't want to put you to any trouble--She stops as BILL enters from bedroom. BILL--this is Dr. NORTON.

NORTON (rising and shaking BILL'S hand): How d'you do, Mr. Sefton. Your good lady's just been telling me--

BILL (interrupting): I know. It's ridiculous taking up your time like this.

NORTON: Ridiculous? But that's what we're here for, you know. But you'd both better just pop next door...

BILL: What for?

NORTON: The examination.

BILL: What examination?

NORTON: My dear fellow, you both want an end to your worries, am I right? So--(He stops, sensing the embarrassment and seeing the rising dismay in their faces.) I say, I'm NOT right!

BILL: By God you're not!

MONICA (quickly): Oh, no, doctor. It's nothing like that!

BILL: I'd better explain before this business gets more complicated. You see, doctor, my wife's trying to write a play.

NORTON: Really now?

MONICA: It's a play all about murder and crime. That's what I meant by professional advice, doctor. I want some help on poisons and their effects on the body.

NORTON: What kind of poisons?

MONICA: Well, aren't there certain kinds that leave no trace?

(NORTON stares from one to the other. It is plain he can't quite make up his mind whether MONICA is serious. He takes off his glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief as he speaks.)

NORTON: Now look here, Mrs. Sefton--you're a pretty intelligent young woman. But you ought to know better than to ask a question like that.

BILL (to MONICA): I told you so!

MONICA: Darling, go and put the kettle on...

BILL: But it's--

MONICA (firmly): BILL--please!

(BILL turns to NORTON, gives a helpless half-shrug and goes into the kitchen.)

MONICA (rather awkwardly): I'm sorry if I've been--what do you call it--unethical.

NORTON (replacing glasses): Ethics have nothing to do with it. It's plain commonsense. If we doctors went around broadcasting that kind of information, we'd find our-selves in Queer Street! Now, don't take me up the wrong way when I say this, but after all...we're more or less strangers now, am I right?

MONICA: I suppose so.

NORTON: Except that you cut your hand on a tin-opener, I don't know a thing about you.

MONICA (impetuously): I'm an only child, doctor--my parents were killed in the blitz. I'm all alone except for BILL--

NORTON (interrupting): Hold on there--hold on! I don't want your personal history. But what about this writing you're doing?

MONICA: WHAT about it?

NORTON: If you'd said it was some kind of lovey-dovey romantic thing, I could understand it. But murder! What's put that idea into your head?

(MONICA hesitates and gives a side-glance at the half-open kitchen door before she goes on.)

MONICA: Do you know Alistair Digby-Smith?

NORTON: The politician married to Lord Cookhaven's daughter?

MONICA: That's the man!

NORTON (frowning): Something in the press recently...he stood for Democratic Independent, but was licked by the Liberals...am I right?

MONICA (nodding): BILL worked on the Echo--about a month ago, he went around to interview Digby-Smith. The old boy was half-tight although BILL didn't realize it until he came out with some pretty dangerous statements.

NORTON: How dangerous?

MONICA: Well, among other things he said that Britain's only hope of avoiding total bankruptcy was to ally herself with Red China. In that way, the nation could salvage some of its investments in that country.

NORTON (impressed): Digby-Smith said that?

MONICA: That was mild compared with other nonsense. Anyhow, when BILL got back to the office he showed his notes to Marden, the sub-editor. Marden got such a shock, he rang Digby-Smith who'd had time to sober up...

NORTON: And he denied the whole thing, I suppose?

MONICA: Worse than that!

NORTON: Indeed?

MONICA: He accused BILL of a deliberate frame-up. So that when I tell you Lord Cookhavcn owns the Echo--From the kitchen comes a warning call.

BILL: MONICA!

MONICA (calling back): There in a minute, darling! (To NORTON.) Now Digby-Smith has fixed it, so BILL can't get another job on a newspaper in London.

NORTON: Victimization, eh?

MONICA: But it gave me the idea for my murder play. If only you knew the slow, lingering deaths I'd planned for that precious politician—From the kitchen, BILL calls in growing alarm.

BILL: MONICA!

MONICA (calling): If it's boiling dear, make the tea! (To NORTON.) That's why I need medical advice.

NORTON (after slight pause--fatherly): Mrs. Sefton, you surprise me--bless me if you don't! But surely you need a lot of other knowledge to write a crime play?

MONICA: Oh, I've got that!

(She moves to the sideboard, opens drawer, and takes out a large book. Brings it across and opens it before NORTON.)

MONICA: Months ago I started a detective novel. So I began collecting cuttings on famous crimes. A reporter friend of ours helped me. He spent some time in the States.

NORTON (shaking his head): I'd never have believed it, honestly! And I suppose your husband helps you?

MONICA: BILL? Oh, no--he'd like me to chuck the whole thing! Only this morning he complained you couldn't pick up a piece of paper without finding a formula for poison scribbled on it.

NORTON closes the book as BILL enters from kitchen with crockery on a tray.

NORTON: Your wife's a very interesting young woman, Mr. Sefton.

BILL: She talks too much!

NORTON: I'd no idea I had such a bloodthirsty young neighbour...

BILL: Bloodthirsty? Don't make me laugh! One peep at a real corpse and MONICA'd pass out like a light!

MONICA: Oh, you know everything!

BILL (cheerfully): I know that you've been handing the doctor a lot of mouldy cock in here, You and your perfect murders! You can't even see a stray dog in the street without practically bursting into tears and--(He stops as from somewhere in the room a distinct tapping sounds.) What's that?

MONICA: Someone at the door?

BILL: I thought it came from the window... (They turn and look.)...might be the wind...

MONICA: There isn't even a breeze tonight...(She stops as the curtains move slightly.) BILL! Someone's out there!

BILL: I'll find out!

MONICA: Darling, be careful...

(He puts her gently aside and crosses to the window. He jerks back the curtains. A large black cat sits on the sill, staring into the room.)

BILL: Good Grief, it's a moggie! Scat...! Get away, you black brute! Shoo!

MONICA: BILL--don't you dare! (She runs to the window and gathers the cat in her arms, crooning to it as she returns.) Poor pussy--poor, poor darling. BILL, how could you? You've almost scared the life out of it!

BILL: That makes it mutual! He damn near scared the daylights out of me!

MONICA: He didn't mean to--he's just terribly, terribly sweet.

BILL: Don't put your face near him--he's probably mangy!

MONICA: He isn't--is he, doctor?

NORTON: Looks in the pink to me!

BILL: Healthy or not, he doesn't stay here.

MONICA: Why not?

BILL: Because it's in the lease! Mrs. Lamprey won't have a cat about the place, because of that menace Susie!

MONICA: Mrs. Lamprey just isn't going to know! I wonder if he's hungry? (She moves into the kitchen and we hear her voice offstage.) I want a saucer...ah, yes...now, my precious, down you go. And drink that! (She emerges, watching through the door.) BILL, do come and look at him. You never saw such an expression of pure bliss!

BILL: MONICA! Once and for all--

MONICA: Darling, don't be difficult. You know I've wanted a pet ever since Master died.

BILL: Master was a dog! And this ugly brute doesn't even belong to us. What's more, we'll be kicked out of this flat if--

MONICA (interrupting):--But we were going to give notice in any case! (She turns to NORTON.) Doctor, don't you think the cat should stay?

NORTON: I say, Mrs. Sefton--that's the second curly one you've asked me this evening.

BILL (to MONICA): You ought to have more sense than to ask a thing like that!

MONICA: You don't want the doctor to give his opinion because you know he'll agree with me!

BILL: I've got too much regard for his commonsense!

NORTON: Tell you what I'll do. Let's have pussy and I'll turn him loose out in the street.

BILL: By all means! Take the brute now!

MONICA: BILL! That's downright dishonest! How can we possibly give something away which doesn't belong to us in the first place! Why, that's close to larceny!

BILL: Oh, my God!

NORTON: You've made up your mind to keep the cat, am I right?

MONICA: Yes!

NORTON: Then that seems all there is to it.

MONICA: There now, see? Everybody's happy!

BILL: Not if I bed down with fleas tonight! Oh, let's forget the brute and have supper. (He turns to NORTON.) Er...do you have milk in your tea, doctor?

NORTON: Never touch it! Supper, I mean. Eat three regular meals a day and you'll sleep your seven hours at night. That's a bit of free medical advice for you! (He holds out his hand to them.) It's been quite a treat to meet you, I must say.

BILL (as they shake hands): Sure we can't offer you anything? What about a sherry?

NORTON: Wouldn't dare risk it--not with my stomach. Got to pamper it, you know. All right for you young bloods--eat and drink what you want. But you wait till you're my age...Now, don't come out...I'm only next door, you know. Good evening to you...good evening...(He exits and the door closes in the hallway.)

MONICA: Well! I hope you're satisfied!

BILL: Now what have I done?

MONICA: Ruined the entire evening...

BILL: If you're beefing about your cock-eyed play, he never intended giving you any information!

MONICA: I could have talked him round. But you had to place him in such an embarrassing domestic situation that he left at the first opportunity!

BILL: It'd have been a damn sight more embarrassing if he HAD stayed!

MONICA: Why?

BILL picks up the milk jug and inverts it.

BILL: Empty!

MONICA: But I told you to buy some...

BILL: And I told you I couldn't get any. But you were too busy nose diving out of cupboards to listen to me!

MONICA: But there's half a pint in the fridge.

BILL: And it's staying there! I've got to be up bright and early looking for a job. I need some breakfast before...(But MONICA has suddenly clapped a dismayed hand over her mouth.) What's the matter?

MONICA: BILL darling, you're going to be absolutely livid. You see, I was certain you'd bought some milk. And that poor lost creature looked so hungry...

BILL: MONICA! Oh, no...no...You haven't given my breakfast milk to that mangy horror...? (MONICA, staring wordlessly, just nods.) That settles it! (He strides for the kitchen.) That bag of fleas goes out of the window on his ear--right this moment!

MONICA: BILL! Are you crazy! Touch that cat and you're tempting fate! Don't you ever want to get another job?

BILL: What's that got to do with it?

MONICA: Everything! It's a black cat, isn't it? And everyone knows how lucky it is for a black cat to cross your path!

BILL: Not when it takes the milk out of my tea!

(MONICA goes to him and slips her arms around him.)

MONICA: BILL darling--let me keep him, please. I'll promise I'll never ask you for anything else...ever!

BILL (weakening): Hang it all, MONICA--you can't want a pet as much as that!

MONICA: It's not so much a pet as...a kind of omen. A lucky omen. And we do, need luck, BILL, so very badly! You, especially, darling! I want you to have all the luck in the world! Please, BILL...let me keep him...may I?

BILL: I knew you'd load the dice somehow. All right. You win.

MONICA (happily): And you'll see how right I am, darling. You'll never regret it. BILL, I've got the strangest hunch about that cat. Something seems to tell me things are going to be quite different--(There is a loud crash of crockery from the kitchen. MONICA and BILL spring apart in alarm. MONICA rushes to the kitchen door and looks in. She stands appalled.) My, dinner set! Your mother's wedding present...! Oh, BILL...

(The cat scuttles through the open kitchen door and darts across the stage as the curtain falls quickly.)

ACT ONE

SCENE 2

(The scene is the same. It is about six o'clock on the following evening. The flat is lit by the dying light of the afternoon sun which fades as the action proceeds. The hall door opens and there is the sound of voices offstage.)

MONICA: Go through, Sylvia. (SYLVIA MEADE enters followed by MONICA. SYLVIA is a smartly dressed young woman, brittle and sophisticated in manner and speech. As MONICA switches on the light, she stands looking around the room.) What do you think of it?

SYLVIA: Looks all right from here.

MONICA: Of course it's in a perfect mess...

SYLVIA: Darling, don't apologize. I know nothing disconcerts a woman more than having her friends drop in and find the place looking as it usually does! Is it clean?

MONICA: We haven't scratched yet.

SYLVIA: Where's the kitchen?

MONICA (gesturing): Through there. Bedroom there and bathroom beyond. Sylvia, do you think your friend will take over the lease?

SYLVIA: It's possible. The rent seems reasonable...

MONICA: Not to us!

SYLVIA: Any pests? It's not haunted or anything?

MONICA: Only by Mrs. Lamprey--she's the old duck who owns the place. She lives upstairs.

SYLVIA: Aren't you nervous living on the ground floor?

MONICA: Oh, no ..

SYLVIA: I'd be scared some of Andy's thick-ear gangster friends might come around peeping in my teepee!

MONICA: Darling, the way we are at the moment a burglar wouldn't make his bus fare! Slip into the bedroom and take off your hat while I look to the dinner.

(SYLVIA starts for the bedroom and enters, switching on light. MONICA takes off her hat and gloves and is moving to the kitchen when her friend's voice halts her.)

SYLVIA (coming from bedroom): What's this--animal week?

MONICA: Why?

SYLVIA: There's a cat the size of a Landseer lion curled up on your bed!

MONICA: That's Rameses. But I shut him in the kitchen...

SYLVIA: Then it is yours?

MONICA: Well, it is and it isn't. The poor darling wandered in here last night and I gave him some milk. BILL was furious, particularly as he wreaked havoc with our dinner set.

SYLVIA: BILL?

MONICA: No, no--the cat! That's why I christened him Rameses the Wrecker, you know. Ever study Egyptology?

SYLVIA: Good heavens no. I never got beyond recognizing Cleopatra's Needle on a foggy afternoon...(A knock sounds at the door.) Is this BILL?

MONICA: He wouldn't knock--Pull that door shut. (SYLVIA closes the bedroom door and MONICA goes out into the hall.) Oh, hello Mrs. Lamprey...

MRS. LAMPREY (offstage): Could I have a few minutes civil conversation with you, Mrs. Sefton?

MONICA: Of course...come in.

MRS. LAMPREY enters, obviously ill at ease but stiff backed and tight lipped.

MRS. LAMPREY: I am rather nonplussed as to how to handle this situation. It is times like this I greatly miss Oswald. Papa always brought us up to avoid any suggestion of a SCENE...so very undignified and common...

MONICA: But...what's wrong?

MRS. LAMPREY (bracing herself): I...I really must ask you to vacate these premises at the end of the week! One of the circumstances made most plain in our agreement was that we could not have a pussy-cat in this dwelling.

MONICA (wide-eyed): But whatever makes you think we're keeping a cat in here?

MRS. LAMPREY: Aren't you?

MONICA: Of course not! How ridiculous!

MRS. LAMPREY: Then, pray, how do you explain the extraordinary event that happened this afternoon? I was lying down with Susie at my side when all un-expectedly, the minx became vastly discomposed. Such sniffing and growling and scratching--la, it was most alarming! Then I had a notion that perhaps she wished to pay a wee visit, so I let her free. She ran helter-skelter down the stairs to your door where she began her fantastic motions all over again...

MONICA: I hope you jolly well stopped her in time!

MRS. LAMPREY: I was too dismayed! For within this very room, it was as though bedlam had broken loose! Such commotion as to be near indescribable...and a hissing and spitting and caterwauling fit to raise the very hair upon your head! And there was Susie, acting like something demented! There were sudden heavy foot-steps and then an outburst of words in some outlandish foreign tongue...

MONICA (amazed): Oh, no...

MRS. LAMPREY: Yes, indeed! I was trembling from head to foot. But I took my courage in both hands and knocked a loud summons on the door...and abruptly, like a miracle, every sound in here ceased! It was so silent I could hear my fluttering heart...

MONICA (firmly): I'm sorry, Mrs. Lamprey, but you must have dreamed it...

MRS. LAMPREY (stiffly): I assure you--

MONICA: And I assure you this apartment's been empty all the afternoon. My husband's out and I've just come in from a matinee with my friend. Could the noise have been out in the alleyway? Sounds carry, you know...

BILL (entering with two wrapped bottles): What's the trouble?

MONICA: Hello darling. The funniest thing. Mrs. Lamprey thought she heard a cat in here. You haven't noticed one around, have you?

BILL (shortly): No.

MONICA (begins shepherding her out): You see, you must have been mistaken. Now, as we have guests for dinner, I must get busy...

MRS. LAMPREY: But there is Susie...SHE knows there's something strangely amiss. This evening, she wouldn't even look at the fine serving of plaice I'd bought especially for her...And DOGS KNOW...they have a sixth sense...(She exits, bewildered. BILL waits until MONICA returns.)

BILL: I told you something like this would happen!

MONICA: You haven't said hello to Sylvia.

SYLVIA: Let's skip that. I want to know why you publicly disown a cat...when it's in there larger than life and blissfully flexing itself on your bed!

BILL: Is it, by God! (He leaps into the bedroom and we hear his angry voice offstage.) Scat, you brute! Get off--get away--shoo!

(A door slams offstage and he appears somewhat dishevelled.) I've shut the brute in the bathroom and I hope it drowns itself in the cistern! (He proceeds to unwrap the bottles of sherry and place them on the sideboard)

MONICA: Does Andy carry on like this?

SYLVIA: Does he? My dear, I had a canary once--for company while Andy was away! The rows we had over that poor bird! Andy did everything except sue it for alienating my affections.

MONICA: BILL--weren't you calling for Andy?

BILL: I missed him at the office. They said he'd gone out on a story.

SYLVIA: Don't be at all surprised if he forgets about the whole arrangement.

BILL: Not Andy!

SYLVIA: You haven't seen him since he stopped drinking!

MONICA: Andy has?

SYLVIA: Doctor's orders! He came home one night last week, sat down in a chair and couldn't get up again. I don't know who was scared most—Andy or me. It was some kind of alcoholic paralysis.

MONICA: Whatever did you do?

SYLVIA: Phoned the doctor. He called another and they took Andy off to hospital. Did all kinds of odd things to him. Now he's on some ghastly diet of grated carrots and orange juice. (As MONICA moves into the kitchen.) Can I help, dear?

MONICA (exiting to kitchen): No. But I'll leave the door open so I won't miss anything.

BILL (grinning): Poor old Andy! How is he now?

SYLVIA: Never looked better--except that the paralysis seems to have worked upward! At the most in-convenient moments, his mind goes blank...

BILL: No kidding?

SYLVIA: Cross my heart! He gets bushed on the silliest things. Last night he went to introduce me to some people and couldn't think of my name!

BILL: You'd better look after him. It's probably over-work.

SYLVIA: Over-work my eye! It's his boozing. A system that's been hardened to double whiskies for a decade can't be expected to adjust itself to pure orange juice without complications.

BILL: But what if he gets one of these temporary amnesia attacks while he's away from home?

SYLVIA: He's got his name and address on all his underwear.

BILL: Now, Sylvia--what kind of situation would have him rambling around in his underwear?

SYLVIA: The kind of situation he's always in...when he doesn't come home to me!

(MONICA enters from kitchen carrying a cloth.)

MONICA: BILL, if Andy isn't drinking, you might as well serve some sherry now.

BILL takes a bottle from the sideboard and goes into kitchen while MONICA lays the cloth.

SYLVIA: Doing anything interesting lately?

MONICA: Didn't you know? I'm writing a play.

SYLVIA: Why?

MONICA: We hope to make some money.

SYLVIA: Darling, I hate to dis-illusion you. But the only certain means of making money out of a play, is to do it in a double bed in a Brighton hotel!

(BILL enters with decanter and glasses on a tray.)

BILL: That's what I tell her.

MONICA: I'm still going on with it.

SYLVIA: Watch your step, MONICA. This writing business is like the love urge. You decide to dabble, just for fun's sake. Before you know where you are, you're up to your eyes in it. I know! I've been keeping a diary for years!

BILL: True confessions?

SYLVIA: Four blushes to the page!

BILL: MONICA's effort is much less exciting. A child's essay on murder.

MONICA: How do you know! You've never seen it.

BILL: I'm psychic!

SYLVIA: Now now, you two! (To MONICA.) How much have you done?

MONICA: Finished the first two acts. I'll show you...

(She crosses to the desk)

SYLVIA (quickly): I'll take your word for it, darling. I'm sure it's frightfully good because--(She stops as MONICA, after opening a drawer, turns a puzzled face to them.)

What's the matter?

MONICA: That's funny. It isn't here.

BILL: So what?

MONICA: You haven't taken my manuscript, have you?

BILL: Of course not.

MONICA: Then where is it?

BILL: Maybe the cat ate it!

MONICA: Very funny, I'm sure! (She resumes her search of the desk, getting more flustered and angry.)

SYLVIA: When did you have it last?

MONICA: I was working on it this morning. I'll swear I put it away in this drawer.

BILL: No one ever goes to that drawer except you.

MONICA: I'm not so sure! It would be like you to hide it...just to be funny!

BILL: That's not my idea of being funny!

MONICA: Then where is it?

BILL: Just where you put it!

(MONICA gives him a "look" and, turning, rummages through the drawer a third time. Then she turns to him...)

MONICA: BILL--a joke's a joke but this is carrying things too far! I've spent valuable time on that play! Think of all the trouble I've gone to on research...

BILL: Like falling out of cupboards and giving me heart failure! I'd like to know how you'd carry on if I did a thing like that!

MONICA: You wouldn't! Because you've neither the wit nor the imagination to think of it!

BILL: Is that so! Well, two can play at that game! (As they stand glowering at each other, SYLVIA crosses to the sideboard.)

SYLVIA: In between rounds, can I help myself to a sherry?

MONICA: Oh, Sylvia, I'm sorry...

SYLVIA: Don't worry about me. It's all so nice and homely...

MONICA: Now, BILL, for the last time--

BILL: For the last time, I haven't touched your infantile play because I haven't seen it! If you say you put it in the drawer it must BE there!

(A knock is heard at the hall door but the angry contestants do not hear it. SYLVIA cocks an ear as she sips her sherry.)

MONICA: But I've searched--

BILL: Then you've probably left it lying around and it's been thrown out with the rest of the rubbish. In which case it serves you right!

MONICA: SERVES ME RIGHT?

BILL: You need a sharp lesson. Look at the way you scribble those notes on poisons on anything that comes to hand! God knows what anyone would say if they found them!

MONICA: They'd say that there was at least one person in this family with intelligence!

BILL: Ha-ha-ha!

(The knock is repeated. SYLVIA, unnoticed, moves into the hall.)

MONICA: All right, my boy! You'll laugh on the other side of your face when my play's produced!

BILL: When your play's produced, I won't be here to laugh! Nor will any other members of this present generation!

MONICA: You'll eat those words, my boy! I swear to you that one day I'll be famous! I'll be written up in every newspaper in this city! I'll be interviewed--and photographed--and pointed out as a Personality! I'll be NEWS--and you'll be darned proud to be my husband!

MEADE (entering): SO THERE!

BILL: Andy!

(ANDY MEADE is a thin, untidy man in his mid-thirties. He has a tired, experienced, rather droll face lightened by a pair of sharp intelligent eyes. A highly strung person, he moves quickly and illustrates his speech with quick nervous gestures.)

SYLVIA: I just let him in--does anybody mind?

BILL: Could you hear us out there?

MEADE: Hear you? You were coming at me from all sides--like Cinerama!

MONICA: Oh Gosh--what will Mrs. Lamprey think?

BILL: Bit late to worry about that now! Andy, let's have your hat.

MEADE: No dice, BILL. I can't stay.

SYLVIA: Why not?

MEADE: I've just run up against the juiciest assignment since the Christie murders. Supposed to be on the job right now, but I grabbed a taxi and came around here to let you all in on the Stop Press news.

BILL: Something big broken?

MEADE: I'll say it's big! Your buddy, Alistair Digby-Smith just handed in his pail.

BILL: Andy...!

SYLVIA: Not dead?

MEADE: Stiff as mutton! In a private hospital at four o'clock this morning.

MONICA: Oh...(Distressed, she turns away. BILL slips his arm about her and there is a short awkward silence.)

BILL: This wouldn't be another of your cock-eyed jokes...?

MEADE: I don't pull faces over a corpse. I'm giving it to you straight.

BILL: Four o'clock this morning?

MEADE: Sure!

BILL: But how did the afternoon papers come to miss it?

MEADE: There's an elaborate game of hush-hush going on my boy! Don't ask me why. But if one of the ambulance men hadn't hit the hops and blabbed, it'd still be a secret. Forced into a corner, the hospital guys are hinting about a heart attack.

SYLVIA: What's the truth?

MEADE: I've been a newspaper man for so Iong I wouldn't know the truth if it slapped me on the back! But my guess is that someone's put the finger on this Digby Smith character--and pressed hard!

SYLVIA: Oh, you've got murders on the brain!

BILL: You know something, Andy?

MEADE: Just this. The C.I.D. are swarming all over Digby-Smith's house. And the top brass at the hospital won't let anyone see the body--gentlemen of the press ... are especially taboo!

SYLVIA: You don't seem actually in the dark!

MEADE: Trouble with me, I'm no gentleman! Mind you, I played square with that little nurse--boy, was she curvaceous! Even told her I was married. But not until she came across with the information that Digby-Smith was wearing pyjamas when he was brought in. And his face and body were covered in scratches.

SYLVIA: What kind of scratches?

MEADE: Take a look at those talons you're wearing on the ends of your fingers, sugar! (He sees the sherry decanter and begins to casually veer toward it.)

BILL: But that doesn't even start to make sense, Andy! Digby-Smith was a husky six-footer. A fingernail scratch couldn't cause the death of that big ox!

MEADE: Agreed (He has casually reached for the decanter, but SYLVIA slaps his hand.)...and to cock it up still more, the chauffeur's missing.

BILL: Who's he?

MEADE: His name's Frederick Smith and I figure he's something they work with mirrors. Been with Digby-Smith only two weeks. No one knows anything about him.

BILL (after a pause): Any ideas yourself, Andy?

MEADE (shrugging): Just guess-work, laddie. But Digby-Smith's got a dirty record. I think he's been horsing around with some woman. When he ticks her off the list, she gets sore and lets him have it.

SYLVIA: And the chauffeur?

MEADE: Could be in the know and gets out before the cops start taking him apart. (He takes a photograph from his pocket and passes it around.) This is a street snap I hoisted from the chauffeur's room while the master minds were sampling the old port. It's Smith out of uniform. Take a good look. If you see anyone like that, ring me first and then the police.

SYLVIA: You think this is the killer?

MEADE: I think he's a red herring. Scratches--fingernails--cherchez la femme! (He glances at his wrist-watch and starts for the hall Holy bells! As for me, cherchez la taxi! Not a syllable of this to a soul, remember!)

BILL: All right. I'll come out with you.

MEADE: Sorry about the chow, MONICA...some other time...

SYLVIA: I've got the car outside. Can I drive you?

MEADE: Not on your life, sugar. When the road turns the same way as you do, it's sheer coincidence! (He exits with BILL. SYLVIA turns and looks at MONICA. She is sitting on the divan, rather white and shaken.)

SYLVIA: So it caught up with him at last! How do you feel about it?

MONICA: Quite sick in the stomach!

SYLVIA: But I thought you'd be dancing in the street--

MONICA: Sylvia...don't!

SYLVIA: But it's turned out just as you planned ...

MONICA: That's the horrible part. It's one thing to wish but it's different when it actually happens. It's almost as though I...I had something to do with it ...

SYLVIA: But that's crazy!

MONICA: I know. But it doesn't make me feel any better.

(BILL enters from hallway and he, too, is looking rather subdued.)

SYLVIA: Anything new?

BILL: Only that Andy's impressed on me again that we hold our tongues. It might mean his job.

SYLVIA (tapping her chest): Meet the sphinx!

BILL: Before this mess is cleaned up, he's got a hunch there's a pile of dirty linen to be washed--

MONICA: Don't let's talk about it any more, BILL. Do you mind?

BILL: Suits me. How about a sherry?

SYLVIA: Do us all good!

(BILL pours and hands three glasses around. He sits on the divan with MONICA. SYLVIA, senses that they would prefer to be alone)

SYLVIA: Anything I can do in the kitchen?

MONICA: You might take a look at the meat. It's probably black by now.

(SYLVIA takes her drink into the kitchen. There is a pause. BILL, watching MONICA, gives a half smile and raises his glass.)

BILL: Bung-ho, darling. (MONICA forces a worried smile but makes no attempt to drink. BILL reaches out and takes her free hand) Sorry I blew my top about that manuscript, moppet. After dinner, we'll all look for it.

MONICA: No, BILL. I never want to see it again.

BILL: What about all the work you've put into it?

MONICA: I don't care. After this, I do all my creating over the stove. I've learned my lesson.

BILL (gently): No more thinking out complicated murder plots?

MONICA: Never again!

BILL: Or scribbling down formulas for poisons?

MONICA: After dinner, I'm going to find all those silly pieces of paper and burn them.

BILL: But don't you want to be a famous playwright--written up in every newspaper?

MONICA: I must have been very angry to say such a stupid thing!

BILL (smiling and raising his glass): Bung-ho?

MONICA: Bung-ho, darling. (She smiles and they drink. BILL gives her fingers a squeeze as they rise.) I'll go on with the table. Would you give Sylvia a hand in the kitchen?

(BILL exits to kitchen. MONICA picks up her hat, together with SYLVIA's hat and gloves. She goes into the bedroom. The stage is empty for half a minute.)

MONICA: (returns and crosses to the table. On the way, she brushes against an ashtray on the arm of the divan and scatters the ashes to the floor. She gives a little gasp of irritation.) Where's the dustpan...?

(She crosses to the tall cupboard and swings open the door. The figure of a man is revealed inside, standing rigid with his back to MONICA.)

MONICA (irritably): Now listen, BILL. I'm in no mood for this kind of nonsense...Come out of there!

(She grabs impatiently at his shoulder. The figure crumples at his knees and begins to fall outward as BILL enters from the kitchen.)

BILL: Were you talking to me--?

(He sees the falling figure and yelps.)

BILL: MONICA!

MONICA: BILL! Oh, BILL...!

(She runs to him. They both stare transfixed at the figure on the floor.)

BILL: How the blazes...?

MONICA: I don't know...he was in the cupboard...thought it was you, BILL...I touched him ..

(SYLVIA comes from the kitchen. BILL gives the half-fainting MONICA to her then he moves to the body and turns it over on its back.)

SYLVIA: It's that chauffeur!

MONICA: What's wrong with his face?

BILL: Covered in deep scratches! We'd better get a doctor.

MONICA: Next door! Dr. NORTON...

SYLVIA: Will you be all right?

BILL: I'll look after her. (SYLVIA exits quickly. BILL helps MONICA to the divan.) Better sit down, old girl. Take it easy. You don't want to go passing out or anything.

MONICA: I...I'm all right now.

BILL: Good!

MONICA: But...the man in our cupboard...his face so scratched...

BILL: Easy, darling. He can't hurt you. Besides, I'm here.

MONICA: Yes...(She glances at the figure and shudders.) Hadn't we better...cover him up...

BILL: I'll get a sheet from the bedroom. Sure you're all right to be left alone for a minute?

MONICA: Yes...

BILL (going toward bedroom): If you feel like going off, take deep breaths and put...put...(Suddenly he gulps and grasps the back of a chair.) Funny...but I feel kinda...swimmy...myself ..

MONICA (realizing): Oh, no...BILL...no...don't...(But BILL turns, looks at her glassily for a moment, and then slides down to the carpet. MONICA runs to him, is bending over him when MRS. LAMPREY enters...a very dignified, angry MRS. LAMPREY who talks as she enters.)

MRS. LAMPREY: Oh, la, miss...and what a deceit! What a gross romancer! To say you had no pussy-cat here when the animal itself just leapt headlong from the bathroom window! And to terrify poor Susie so she let out one wild scream of surprise and...

(Her voice trails off taking in the extraordinary tableau of the room. MRS. LAMPREY blinks, focusses.)

MRS LAMPREY (vaguely): But surely that's your husband?

MONICA (almost overcome): Yes ..

MRS. LAMPREY: Bless me now...what ails the lad? Is he sick?

MONICA: No...he...he just fainted.

MRS. LAMPREY: Sal Volatile! I have a special potion of my own...And what of the other gentleman? Is he swooning, too?

MONICA (gulping): No, Mrs. Lamprey...he...he's dead...

MRS. LAMPREY (a weak smile): Another of your foolish, idle jokes--?

MONICA (nerves tight with hysteria): Listen, you stupid old woman! Get yourself down to earth for a minute! This chap's dead...what's more, we think he's been murdered! Murder, do you understand--here, in your house...That's going to mean police...and reporters and newspaper headlines and...

(But MRS. LAMPREY, staring at her with dropping jaw, has in turn started to sway dangerously. She rolls up her eyes and pitches forward into MONICA's arms)

MONICA (calls wildly):...BILL...Sylvia...doctor...someone come and help me...help...help...help...

The curtain falls rapidly.

ACT TWO

SCENE 1

(The scene is the same. It is about seven-thirty on the following evening. The setting is unchanged, except that on the floor before the linen cupboard pieces of stamp paper are seen roughly marking the position occupied by the mysterious body. At the table, DETECTIVE DENNIS MARSH sits writing in a note book. He is a fresh-faced, worried looking young man in his mid-twenties. Presently the telephone on the sideboard rings. MARSH jumps to his feet as though galvanized and crosses to the instrument, jerking the receiver from the hook.)

MARSH (eagerly): Hello...yes, yes, this is Marsh speaking! Who...? (His face falls.) Oh, all right...let him come up...

(He replaces the receiver, pulls out a handkerchief, and mops his face. Then he heaves a worried sigh and looks at his wrist-watch. Resignedly, he returns to the table and picks up his notebook as, offstage, MEADE's voice is heard.)

MEADE (offstage): Evening, Pogson!

POGSON (offstage): Evening, Mr. Meade...I say, sir, you can't go in there!

MEADE (offstage): Relax, Poggie. You know I never go where I'm not invited...

(He enters, cigarette in mouth, as untidy as ever. By this time, MARSH has crossed and is poking through MONICA's desk. MEADE pauses just inside the door.)

MEADE: Have you got a warrant to do that?

MARSH (turning): All right, Andy, what is it?

MEADE: What's what?

MARSH: You told the constable on guard outside that you had an urgent message for me. Is it about the wife?

MEADE: Your wife or mine?

MARSH: Mine!

MEADE: Denny boy, you surprise me! I always believed you bedded down with the Manual of Balistics!

MARSH (hotly): So that's it! Just a cheap trick to get your nose inside here? (He jerks a thumb at the door.) BLOW!

MEADE (soothingly): Now now, Denny...

MARSH (hunching his shoulders): Listen, smart guy...get out of here before I--(He stops abruptly as the phone makes a ghostly tingling.)

MEADE: What's the matter?

MARSH: Sssh! (He continues to stare at the now silent phone.) I thought that was going to ring...

MEADE (curiously): What's got you so strung up?

MARSH: Never mind!

MEADE: If it's something new on this case...

MARSH: Now, get this, Andy! You don't worm as much as a syllable out of me. All information comes from the inspector.

MEADE: But I thought old trout-face was up to his ears in the Digby-Smith case ...

MARSH: This IS the Digby-Smith case!

MEADE (triumphant): So there IS a connection! (He drops his facetiousness, glances quickly around the room and his eye lights on the bedroom door.) Do me a favour, will you? Let me move in there and listen.

MARSH: Not on your life! If they ever found out, next week I'd be back pounding the pavement!

MEADE: Just what's the big conspiracy around here? On other murders, I'm welcome as pay day! But mention the Digby-Smith affair and the iron curtain comes down with a clang!

MARSH: Look here, Andy--I'm worried enough as it is.

MEADE: That makes it unanimous! Open the book!

MARSH: I've told you--we've got orders from way up top! As far as you vultures are concerned, Digby-Smith died of a heart attack following a stroke.

MEADE (gesturing to cupboard): And the boyfriend fell dead in sympathy?

MARSH: Have it any way you like!

(He turns back to the desk. MEADE crosses to the divan. Lighting a cigarette, he lolls back on the cushions. Hands behind head, he addresses the ceiling.)

MEADE: Jesus, it's been a lousy day! Eighty-nine at three o'clock and hotter tomorrow! I pity those poor bastards on the beat...Just think of it...some of them might be detectives with cushy inside jobs...if they'd had a pal in the reporters' room...

MARSH (short): Get going, will you?

MEADE (reminiscently): What was the line I used in the report on the Colchester snatch? Oh, yes, "The initiative and resource shown by Constable Dennis Marsh..." Then there was that cat burglary when we ran your photograph on the front page.

MARSH: I know all about that, Andy.

MEADE: And when I heard about your promotion, I must have been one of the first people to ring you. Funny how certain phrases stick in your mind! "Andy," you said, "this is your work and if ever I have a chance to put a favour your way..."

MARSH: Damn it all, man! I can't do it! It's too big--too risky!

MEADE (on his feet--dynamic): Let me stay in that bedroom and so help me Caesar, if newspaper influence can do it, they'll be painting Inspector on your door!

MARSH: But if they find you!

MEADE: I'll stay so quiet you'll hear my dandruff drop!

MARSH (after slight hesitation): All right, but on one condition.

MEADE: Name it!

MARSH: You print nothing until it's been sieved by Security!

MEADE (impressed): Security, eh?

MARSH: You heard me. (He crosses and throws open the bedroom door.) God help us both if they find you in here!

MEADE: Security can't hurt me.

MARSH (doubling his fist): No! But I can! (He slams the door shut behind MEADE and moves back to the table as POGSON's voice, very respectful, is heard offstage.)

POGSON: Good evening, sir.

BURKE (offstage): Evening, my man. Marsh inside?

POGSON: Yes, sir.

(CHIEF INSPECTOR WILLIAM BURKE enters. He is a heavily built man in his mid-fifties. He carries a small attache case and his manner is curt, brisk, and official. His deep voice has a slightly adenoidal edge.)

BURKE: Evening, Marsh.

MARSH: Evening, sir.

BURKE: Everything in hand?

MARSH: Yes, sir.

BURKE (crossing to table): Glad to hear it. So far, the only thing I've caught is a cold! That mausoleum of Digby-Smith's has more draughts than a monkey house!

MARSH: Bad show, sir. You tried eucalyptus?

BURKE: Eh?

MARSH: Old-fashioned, sir, but my wife swears by it. Few drops in boiling water--wrap your head and inhale the fumes.

BURKE: Messy, too. I'll stick to the antibiotics. (He looks keenly at MARSH.) You don't look too chipper yourself, my boy. Anything wrong?

MARSH: Not with me, sir. It's the wife. She's in hospital.

BURKE: Too bad. Anything serious?

MARSH: Yes...no...that is...it's her first, sir.

BURKE: Well, well! Congratulations!

MARSH: Yes, sir--thank you, sir. But it hasn't arrived yet. Oh!

MARSH: I know there's no danger, sir, not with all these modern aids. But all the same, a chap can't help worrying.

BURKE: Fine way to start a murder investigation! I'm going to have the flu and you're going to have a baby!

MARSH: Er...the wife, sir.

BURKE: Amounts to the same thing! Look here, you'd better cut off to the hospital. I can phone through to the Yard and--

MARSH: I'd rather you didn't, sir. I'd rather be doing something to keep my mind off it.

BURKE: Please yourself. They know where to get you?

MARSH: I've given them this number. They'll ring here. That's another reason I'd like to stick around.

BURKE: All right! (He takes a small phial from his pocket and shakes out two tablets.) Where's the kitchen?

MARSH: There.

BURKE: Find a glass and bring me some water. I've got to get these things down. (MARSH exits to kitchen. BURKE stands looking around the apartment. MARSH re-enters. BURKE takes water, swallows tablets, and drinks.) That's over for another hour! Now, how long have you been here?

MARSH: Since four o'clock.

BURKE: Got your report?

MARSH: Yes.

BURKE: Let's have it boiled down small!

MARSH: How much do you know, sir?

BURKE (consults notebook): At seven-forty-five last night, constables Timmins and Hart were summoned to this apartment by the owner, a Mrs. Lamprey. They found a man paralysed on the floor. There was a doctor already in attendance...

MARSH: Name of NORTON. G.P. Lives next door.

BURKE: He's standing by?

MARSH: Ready whenever we want him!

BURKE: Good! (Glances at notes again.) Taken to hospital, the dead man was subsequently identified as Frederick John Smith, chauffeur to Alistair Digby-Smith. Later, Smith died of curare poisoning introduced through scratches on his skin. That was at ten o'clock this morning. He was moved to the morgue where one of our men noticed the injuries and commented on their similarity to Digby-Smith's...(Shuts his notebook.) carry on.

MARSH: I came here with Donlin and Armstrong. We made enquiries and discovered such evidence as to enable us to return with a warrant to search this apartment.

BURKE: Find anything?

MARSH: In the dustbin were several pieces of charred paper—recently burnt. They're down at headquarters being photographed under the infra-red camera.

BURKE: Anything else?

MARSH: No, sir.

BURKE: Nothing resembling a weapon?

MARSH: Well...(He hesitates a moment and crosses to the sideboard, opening a drawer and producing an object.) Only this, sir.

BURKE: An automatic!

MARSH: No, sir. Fooled me in the beginning. You watch...(He presses the trigger and a cigarette pops out of the barrel.) Trick cigarette case...

BURKE: Huh!

MARSH: Several gadgets about like this. (He returns the object to the drawer.) Property of the young lady here. I believe she used to work for a toy manufacturer.

BURKE: Young woman occupant of this flat?

MARSH: Mrs. MONICA Sefton.

BURKE: Where is she now?

MARSH: With her husband under guard. We've put them in the owner's living room while--(The telephone shrills abruptly and MARSH leaps toward it. BURKE watches with a sardonic eye.) Hello...yes, speaking...(Deflated.) Oh, yes, he's here. Hold the line. It's for you, sir.

BURKE: And they say the mother has the worse time! (Takes receiver.) Burke here. Yes. (Sharply.) All of them? Good...good...(Hangs up and turns to MARSH.) That was the lab report on your charred paper.

MARSH: What was it?

BURKE: Data on a number of well-known poisons. Curare among them. (As MARSH reacts, he delves inside his attache case and turns with a framed photograph in his hand.) When you searched this place, find anything connected with this chap?

MARSH (surprised): That's Oscar Sneddon!

BURKE (grimly): One of the most dangerous subversive agents this country ever spawned! He's the man behind the attempted sabotage of the naval base and that disastrous fire at the docks six months ago!

MARSH: But he was never caught...

BURKE: Security has the answer to that! They swear that Sneddon was planning his biggest coup--something that made those other acts look like child's play! They were giving him rope...hoping they would step in at the right moment and grab the whole gang! But  somehow, Sneddon must have got wise! Almost over-night, he vanished!

MARSH: McLean and Burgess all over again, eh?

BURKE: Just like that!

MARSH: Where did you get this photograph, sir?

BURKE (heavily): From a drawer in Alistair Digby-Smith's private study...Now, take a look at the inscription at the bottom. (He hands the photograph to MARSH, who squints at it then looks up in amazement.)

MARSH: This is dynamite!

BURKE: Security thinks the same. That's why they've clamped down on this dirty business. They realize that if the newspapers got as much as a breath of the truth, it could mean another election!

MARSH: Y...yes, sir.

BURKE: We're sitting right on the edge of a volcano, my boy. And this is no time to be having babies!

(MARSH gives a wild, despairing glance at the closed bedroom door. BURKE, returning the picture to his case, does not notice it. He looks up as MARSH speaks again.)

MARSH: Where does the girl fit into this?

BURKE: Girl?

MARSH: Mrs. Sefton.

BURKE: That's what we're here to find out! Any proof she knew Digby-Smith?

MARSH: She knew him all right. Hated his guts!

BURKE (sharply): Eh?

MARSH: Pretty expert at this poison business, too.

BURKE (staring at him): What are you talking about?

MARSH: It's true, sir! What's more, she was heard to boast about it!

BURKE: Heard by whom?

MARSH: The owner of this place--Mrs. Ida Lamprey.

BURKE (slowly): You know, I think we might start with this woman. Get her in here.

MARSH (crossing to hallway--calling): Pogson! Ask Mrs. Lamprey to come here.

(He returns as BURKE closes the attache case. Suddenly he wrinkles his nose, stiffens. His head goes back and he draws a deep breath to sneeze. Then he relaxes and grunts.)

BURKE: No...dammit!

MARSH: Looking at a bright light is supposed to help, sir

BURKE: Pshaw!

POGSON (at door): Mrs. Lamprey, sir.

MRS. LAMPREY enters, looking even more vague and out-of-touch than before. She stands looking from one official to the other with a little frown of perplexity.

BURKE: Mrs. Ida Lamprey?

MRS. LAMPREY (correcting): Ida MAE. (She quotes dream-ily) "Ida Mae, Blithe and gay,  Spreading joy the livelong day..." I can still hear dear sweet nanny telling the other children--

BURKE (interrupting): Yes yes, of course! Now, about this tragedy that occurred here...

MRS. LAMPREY: So very, very vexatious!

BURKE: We'd like to know something about your tenants--this Mr. and Mrs. Sefton.

MRS. LAMPREY (vaguely): Oh, there were others before them, sir. I had a coloured gentleman here, but he made the most distressing smells in the kitchen. He said he was in the diplomatic service, but his head was quite the wrong shape...

BURKE (patiently): We're only interested in Mrs. Sefton.

MRS. LAMPREY: Such a sweet, sweet face...but you never can tell. Although Susie knew! Dogs do, you know! Susie never took to her, not from the very beginning. I shouldn't be surprised if she'd KICKED Susie...

BURKE: Yes, but--

MRS. LAMPREY: Mind you, she could be so very kind! She gave me a cigarette last night...not that I dared smoke it after all that outlandish talk about poisoning people...

BURKE: That's what we want to know! What exactly did this girl say?

MRS. LAMPREY: Such odd talk! I tried to put it right out of my head ...

BURKE: It's very important that we know, Mrs. Lamprey. Try to remember!

MRS. LAMPREY: Now...let me think... (She places her hand on her forehead and closes her eyes.) I remember. She said that she knew all about poisons and that she could commit a crime no one would suspect.

BURKE (grimly): She did, eh?

MRS. LAMPREY: Then she mentioned a name...some person she appeared to dislike. Oh dear, I'm such a dunce at remembering names...

BURKE: Was it...Digby-Smith?

MRS. LAMPREY: I don't know …

BURKE: But if you heard the other part of her conversation...?

MRS. LAMPREY (with faded dignity): I trust you don't think I was eavesdropping, sir! If so, I find the suggestion most distasteful! All my life--

BURKE (quickly): Nothing like that was meant at all, Mrs. Lamprey! But how did you feel about this girl's remarks?

MRS. LAMPREY: I thought she was just being a tease. Because she didn't always speak the truth. She had a pussy-cat in here yesterday and if it hadn't been for... I would never have known--(The telephone rings abruptly. MARSH half-rises from chair where he is taking notes but BURKE is before him. He lifts the receiver.)

BURKE: Hello...yes speaking. But hold on for a moment, would you? (To MARSH.) Would you take Mrs. Lamprey back and ask Mr. Sefton to come here?

MARSH: Thank you, Mrs. Lamprey.

MRS. LAMPREY: It was a black pussy-cat and it jumped out of the bathroom window. Susie was DEMENTED--it terrified the poor, wee romp...

MARSH (as they exit): Very interesting, Mrs. Lamprey, I'm sure...

BURKE (turning to phone): Right. Let's have it! (His tone sharpens.) Actually inviting him to the apartment? Of course I want to see it! Send a man over with it at once! He hangs up as MARSH re-enters. Better luck next time!

MARSH (worried): If anything went wrong, I suppose they'd let me know?

BURKE: Nothing's gone wrong!

MARSH: They're taking a devil of a time...

BURKE: Might mean a double issue! What's Mrs. Sefton's first name?

MARSH: MONICA.

BURKE: Got a specimen of her handwriting?

MARSH: There's a grocery list in the kitchen...

BURKE: Get it.

(MARSH enters and emerges from kitchen with a scribbling pad. BURKE glances at it, tears off the top slip, and is putting it in his notebook as BILL, far from amiable, enters from hallway.)

MARSH: Ah, Mr. Sefton?

BILL: Look here, what's the idea of locking us up like this? We're not criminals!

BURKE: Just a formality. Sit down...(As BILL obeys reluctantly.) You told Detective Marsh that the man found in the cupboard was a complete stranger to you?

BILL: That's right.

BURKE: And to your wife?

BILL: Naturally!

BURKE: Naturally. Mr. Digby-Smith...was he also a stranger?

BILL: No.

BURKE: A friend?

BILL: Far from it. The blighter was responsible for me losing my job on the newspaper. Said I'd misreported him.

BURKE: In what way?

BILL: He gave out some dangerous political statements...not that he meant them--he was drunk as an owl at the time!

BURKE: What did your wife think of your dismissal?

BILL: She took it pretty much to heart.

BURKE: She...disliked Digby-Smith?

BILL: We both did. Heartily!

BURKE: But your wife's dislike was scarcely strong enough to inspire...personal injury?

BILL (on his feet--incredulously): MONICA? Injure Digby--Smith? Are you crazy?

BURKE: We have a witness, Mr. Sefton, who alleges over-hearing your wife make certain curious statements. The young lady was heard to say that she was an expert on poisons and could commit a perfect murder that could baffle--(BILL has been listening incredulously. Now he sits back with abroad, relieved chuckle.) You find this amusing, Mr. Sefton?

BILL: For Pete's sake, inspector! You surely haven't been wasting time taking down that tripe?

BURKE: Wasting time?

BILL: Yes...because it's all about MONICA's play! You see, my wife's got a maggot in her mind she can write a detective play for television.

BURKE: Indeed?

BILL: We used to talk over the plot together. Sometimes she'd come out with the craziest things!

BURKE (after slight pause): This work...is it finished?

BILL: I don't think it ever will be. MONICA gets a kick out of playing with these ideas. That's why she borrowed that scrapbook of unusual crimes.

BURKE: Scrapbook?

BILL: It's in the sideboard...(BURKE crosses, opens sideboard drawers till he finds a. large book. He returns with it as BILL continues.) It belongs to a friend of mine--a crime reporter. He's been collecting those cuttings for years.

BURKE (flicking through pages): Curious hobby, I must say. (Closes the book and asks almost casually) Has Mrs. Sefton ever been out of England?

BILL: Oh, yes!

BURKE: Where?

BILL: To the Continent.

BURKE: What part?

BILL: West Berlin. She went there on business.

BURKE: What kind of business?

BILL: She was private secretary to a Swiss importer of toys and novelties. Chap named Vogel.

BURKE: Where is Mr. Vogel now?

BILL: I haven't a clue. Some months ago, the import restrictions knocked him out of business and MONICA found herself without a job. But I say, what's all this leading up to?

BURKE: We have to ask all kinds of questions. Sometimes they don't lead anywhere.

BILL: Can I go back to my wife now? She's still a bit upset...

BURKE: We'd prefer you didn't worry her just now. (He breaks as CONSTABLE POGSON enters with an envelope.)

POGSON: Just arrived from headquarters, sir.

BURKE: Thank you. (He slits the envelope and extracts a sheet of paper. Glances at it then slips the paper into his notebook. Nods to POGSON. No answer.) Would you take Mr. Sefton back and ask his wife to come here? Keep the young lady with you until we call.

POGSON: Yes sir. (To BILL.) This way, sir.

BILL (to BURKE): I don't understand the half of this!

BURKE (gravely): Neither do we, son. Get along now. (BILL gives him an angry puzzled glance and exits with POGSON.) How do you feel about him?

MARSH: Sorry!

BURKE: Because he happens to be in love with his wife?

MARSH (nodding): And because he's got a nasty shock coming to him!

BURKE: Then he's in the clear?

MARSH: Why else would he give us the motive for Digby-Smith's murder so pat?

BURKE: Talking too much...yes! (Slight pause.) You know Marsh, if we could establish a link between the chauffeur and this girl, we might almost say they were chosen to shut Digby-Smith's mouth between them.

MARSH: But why this particular girl, sir?

BURKE: This particular girl had connections in West Berlin, remember!

MARSH (doubtfully): Yes, but--

BURKE: Remember what Hastings told us this morning? These agents no longer go around in false beards and pockets bulging with bombs! They're ordinary bluff workmen like that foreman at the Darlington Steel Mills or short-sighted clerks or servant girls...

MARSH: Or nice little housewives like Mrs. MONICA Sefton, eh?

BURKE: Who knows all about crimes and poisons because she happens to be writing a play! Funny you didn't run across the manuscript when you searched the apartment.

MARSH: Nothing like that here, sir.

BURKE: So...if it doesn't exist, we might assume that it was just a smokescreen to cover her researches into obscure methods of murder! Any idea how she might have committed the crime?

MARSH: Well...if it wasn't too far-fetched, I'd say she might have painted her fingernails with curare and just let both those men have it!

BURKE (grunting): Before this case is finished, that might be the least fantastic thing about it. Did you check up on the estimated time Digby-Smith was attacked?

MARSH: Approximately ten o'clock on the night before he died.

BURKE: I wonder if Mrs. Sefton has an alibi for that time?

MARSH: Ready for her now, sir?

BURKE: Yes.

(MARSH exits. BURKE reaches into his vest pocket and takes out a small thermometer. He thrusts this into his mouth. Then he takes out his notebook, extracts the folded piece of paper and compares it with the grocery list. Then he takes the thermometer from his mouth, holds it up to the light, and grimaces.)

BURKE: I'm practically a dead man myself!

He returns the thermometer to his pocket as MARSH enters with MONICA. She is not yet aware of the danger in which she stands and, although her manner is worried, it is still fairly self-possessed.

MONICA: Inspector Burke?

BURKE (nodding): Sit down, Mrs. Sefton. We're sorry to trouble you after your nasty experience yesterday, but there are a few points we'd like straightened out...

MONICA: What is it you want to know?

BURKE: What made you go to the linen cupboard at that particular time?

MONICA: I wanted some serviettes...we use part of the cupboard as a linen press.

BURKE: The man concealed inside--you'd no idea how he came to be there?

MONICA: None whatever.

BURKE: Did you recognize the man?

MONICA (she hesitates a moment): Well...just how do you mean?

BURKE: Come, come, Mrs. Sefton--surely the question is simple enough! Had you met this man before?

MONICA (promptly): Oh, no!

BURKE (pressing the point): The fellow, then, was a complete and utter stranger to you?

MONICA: Y...Yes...

BURKE (watching her closely): You don't seem exactly certain on that point...

MONICA: But I can assure you, inspector, I have never met nor spoken with that man in my life--never!

BURKE: I see. (He pauses.) There is, of course, an alternative...

MONICA: I don't understand.

BURKE: You might have known this man through some...correspondence?

MONICA: If by that you mean I might have written to this stranger—the answer is no, never!

BURKE: You're perfectly certain of that, Mrs. Sefton?

MONICA (half amused, half angry): Of course I'm certain! (BURKE gives her a long, searching look. Deliberately he takes out his notebook and extracts the folded paper. Keeping one part folded back, he shows her the other. BURKE: Is that your hand writing?)

MONICA (after slight pause, nods): Yes, it looks like mine. What is it?

BURKE: You don't know? (MONICA puts out her hand to take the paper but BURKE withdraws it swiftly.) I want you to listen to this note...(He reads slowly.) "I must see you at once. Something HAS GONE WRONG. The same address. Urgent--don't fail me!" (He looks up.) It's signed with the initial M. (He pauses and watches MONICA's puzzled expression.)

Well, Mrs. Sefton?

MONICA: Well what?

BURKE: Did you write those words?

MONICA: Of course I didn't!

BURKE: Yet you admit they are in your handwriting!

MONICA: It...it looks like mine, but...Inspector, where did you get that note?

BURKE: It was found in the pocket of the man hidden in your cupboard!

MONICA (she stares at him, utterly bewildered): But that's quite impossible ...

BURKE: Nevertheless, it's true, Mrs. Sefton.

MONICA: But how could it possibly...? May I see the note?

(BURKE hesitates a moment and then passes it over. MONICA frowns over the words for a few seconds then her face clears.) But this is part of my play!

BURKE (glancing at MARSH): Indeed?

MONICA: That's how it comes to be in my handwriting. I'm writing a detective play. In it a man called Henry Maltravers murders his wife for her insurance money, hoping to make it look like an accident...(She pauses, catches an expression of open incredulity on BURKE's face, and hurries on nervously.) Suspicion is aroused when Maltravers bungles the job. He writes to his accomplice--his mistress. That's why. it's signed like that...M. for Maltravers...(She stops and hands the paper back to BURKE who receives it in, stolid silence.) You...you believe me, don't you, Inspector?

BURKE: I think you've overlooked the circumstances under which this note was found.

MONICA: I haven't overlooked them. It's just that I can't understand them.

BURKE: Neither can we, Mrs. Sefton!

(He turns away. Relieved, MONICA rises.)

MONICA: Is that all?

BURKE (turning): Not quite. This...er...play you were writing.

MONICA: Yes?

BURKE: Could we see it?

MONICA: Of course! I keep it in--

BURKE (as she stops): Yes?

MONICA: Do you want to see it at this moment?

BURKE (steadily): If you please.

MONICA: I've just remembered. It's been...mislaid ..

BURKE (with a glance at MARSH): Mislaid?

MONICA: Last night I wanted to show it to...to some-body. When I went to get it, it wasn't where I'd put it. But I'm certain it will turn up.

BURKE (drily): No doubt. Was it a large manuscript?

MONICA: Fairly. I'd already finished the first two acts.

BURKE: Not a very easy thing to...mislay, Mrs. Sefton?

MONICA: No--that's why it must be around here somewhere.

BURKE: Mrs. Sefton, before you say anything more, I should tell you that three detectives have searched this apartment very thoroughly. So that, if any manuscript such as you describe existed, it could not have possibly been overlooked.

MONICA: Inspector...

BURKE: I suggest my men didn't find the manuscript because it doesn't exist and never has existed!

(For the first time, MONICA begins to sense the net closing about her and from now on her manner becomes more desperate.)

MONICA: But that's ridiculous, inspector! Of course I was writing the play. That's why I collected all that data on poisons!

BURKE: Oh, yes--your data on poisons...We're rather interested in that. How long did it take you to gather that material?

MONICA: About six months.

BURKE: A difficult task, I should say?

MONICA: I had to wade through all kinds of medical books and encyclopaedias--I certainly wouldn't care to do it all over again.

BURKE: Had you used this data?

MONICA: Oh, no. I didn't need the information until the last act.

BURKE (abruptly): Then why burn the notes?

MONICA (caught off guard): Burn...? How did you know I'd burnt them?

BURKE (snapping): Answer the question! You admit you went to considerable trouble to collect the information--yet without waiting to use it, you burn the papers! WHY?

MONICA: Because--(She is about to say something else but obviously changes her mind.) Because I'd finished with them!

BURKE: Meaning that it had served its purpose? A purpose quite unconnected with the writing of this so far purely hypothetical play?

MONICA: Yes--no--(She looks around desperately.) Why are you asking me all these questions?

(BURKE does not answer. He walks across to the desk and begins to tap idly on the space bar of the typewriter.)

BURKE: Is this your machine?

MONICA: It belongs to my husband, but I use it.

BURKE: What for?

MONICA: Typing what you call my hypothetical play!

BURKE (almost casually): Don't you find that long fingernails interfere with your typing?

MONICA: I don't wear my fingernails long.

BURKE: Do you mind if I see them?

(He puts out his hand. MONICA is about to extend her fingers--indeed, is in the act of doing so when abruptly she pulls them back, staring at him.)

MONICA: So that's it! You think I'm the mysterious woman who scratched Digby-Smith's face--(realizing she has been told this in confidence, she stops. There is a moment's pause, then BURKE speaks very quietly.)

BURKE: How did you know that the face was scratched?

MONICA (cornered): I--I--

BURKE: Go on, Mrs. Sefton.

MONICA: I--must have read it in the newspapers ..

BURKE: No newspaper printed that information and you know it! Isn't it time you stopped lying? You were lying, weren't you?

MONICA: Y--Yes...

BURKE: Then how did you know?

MONICA: A...friend told me.

BURKE: Why not say so in the first place?

MONICA: Because it was told to me--in confidence. If it ever came out, he might lose his job.

BURKE: And what's the name of this obliging friend?

MONICA: You've no right to ask me!

BURKE (disgusted): So...you're still lying?

MONICA: Not.

BURKE: I say you are, young woman! I say that the friend who told you how Digby-Smith died was the man to whom you wrote that note--the man hidden in your cupboard and whom you discovered only when he was as good as dead!

MONICA, almost speechless, stares at him in terror. Then she whispers.

MONICA: You can't believe that--you can't!

BURKE: Mrs. Sefton...

MONICA: I've told you over and over again! I didn't write that note! I never knew the man! I didn't dream he was in the cupboard...(Her voice breaks and she is very near tears.) Oh, what's the use? I can see you don't believe me. (She sinks back into her chair, very white and shaken. BURKE watches her for a few moments before continuing.)

BURKE: On the evening before last, where were you?

MONICA: Here.

BURKE: ALL the evening?

MONICA (wearily): Yes...yes ..

BURKE: You didn't leave for an interval of say...half an hour between ten and half-past?

MONICA: No, no. I was here--all the time!

BURKE: Alone?

MONICA: No. BILL--my husband was with me.

BURKE: Anyone else?

MONICA: No...yes, yes! Dr. NORTON was here. He lives next door and he came in for supper.

BURKE: I see...(He calls.) Pogson! (POGSON enters.) I'll want to talk with you again, Mrs. Sefton. Meanwhile, I must ask you to wait with the constable.

MONICA: But I've told you all I know...

BURKE (coldly): Please! (MONICA gives him a despairing look and exits with POGSON. BURKE stands looking after her. He takes out his handkerchief, blows his nose, and wipes his eyes. Turns to MARSH.) This is one hell of a business!

MARSH: Your cold or Mrs. Sefton?

BURKE: Both! But she's giving me the worst headache!

MARSH: Seems pretty straightforward to me, sir...

BURKE (grunting): Really?

MARSH: Notice how she sidestepped producing the play manuscript?

BURKE: True.

MARSH: And she gave herself away properly over Digby Smith's injuries...

BURKE: Yes. If it wasn't for two things, Marsh, you could pack up and go off to the hospital and leave me to finish the case.

MARSH: Two things, sir?

BURKE: There's the chauffeur...why did she want him so urgently? Why kill him? And having killed him, why reveal the body in that way?

MARSH: As the note said, something went wrong. Mrs. Sefton bundled the body into the cupboard since it was the only thing to do!

BURKE: And I suppose she couldn't hope to keep it hidden indefinitely...Then there's the actual METHOD of murder...

MARSH: Those scratches surely mean personal contact with Digby-Smith?

BURKE: Then the woman's lying when she says she never left this apartment?

MARSH: The husband would know...

BURKE: I'm afraid we can't place much weight on his testimony. But there's this doctor fellow...

MARSH: NORTON?

BURKE: Yes. Ask him if he'd mind giving-us a few minutes. Don't send Pogson. Go yourself. (MARSH nods and exits. BURKE stands irresolute for a moment, then takes a phial from his pocket. He empties two more tablets into his hand. He goes into kitchen and emerges with a glass of water. Is about to swallow the tablets when DR. NORTON enters with MARSH.) Dr. NORTON?

NORTON: That's right.

BURKE: I suppose Detective Marsh told you...?

NORTON: Oh, yes, inspector.

BURKE: Sorry to bother you, doctor, but I think you can help me.

NORTON: In a professional capacity?

BURKE (seeing his eye on the glass and tablets): Oh, no. This is rather more serious than a flu attack. Excuse me...He takes the tablets with the water.

I've got to do that to stop my head falling off.

NORTON: Bad as that, eh? Better let me prescribe something for you.

BURKE: Later perhaps. (He gestures to a chair and NORTON sits.) You know, of course, what happened in here last night?

NORTON: Extraordinary business!

BURKE: You attended the man found in here?

NORTON: Well--attended is hardly the word...You see, a young woman burst into my apartment to say there was a dead man in this place. My first thought was that something had happened to Mr. Sefton. I hurried in here but the fellow was a complete stranger to me.

BURKE: You examined the body?

NORTON: The fellow was rigid with some organic paralysis...His condition was so serious I ordered him to hospital, right away.

BURKE: Do you know the Sefton couple very well?

NORTON: We're just neighbours.

BURKE: And before you were called in last evening, had you visited this apartment before?

NORTON: Once.

BURKE: When was that?

NORTON: Mrs. Sefton asked me in for supper on the evening before last. She...wanted some medical information.

BURKE: On what branch?

NORTON (after slight hesitation): Poisons...(He adds quickly.) It was for some kind of play she was writing.

BURKE: Oh? You saw the manuscript?

NORTON: No. But--

BURKE (as he stops): But what, doctor?

NORTON: Nothing--nothing.

BURKE (watching him closely): Doctor, while you were in this room, did you hear Mrs. Sefton mention either directly or indirectly a man named Digby-Smith?

NORTON: Why?

BURKE: Because Digby-Smith was murdered, doctor--in a manner identical with the man found in Mrs. Sefton's cupboard!

NORTON (obviously shocked): Oh Lord no--she wasn't serious! I'm certain she wasn't ..

BURKE: Serious? Serious about what?

NORTON (uncomfortably): Look here, inspector, I don't know that I want to be mixed up in all this...

BURKE: Doctor...

NORTON: Well?

BURKE: Your reluctance is understandable. On the other hand, we have a difficult job to do.

NORTON: But surely this girl's childish threats--

BURKE (interrupting sharply): Then she DID make threats? Threats against whom?

NORTON (uncomfortably): Look here--

BURKE: Was it Digby-Smith?

NORTON (after a pause): Yes.

BURKE: Why?

NORTON: She appeared to think the man was responsible for her husband's dismissal.

BURKE (watching him): I believe you said you were just a casual acquaintance, doctor?

NORTON: True.

BURKE: Surely this was rather a...personal subject to discuss with a comparative stranger?

NORTON: It came out in connection with her play ..

BURKE: Yes?

NORTON: I'd asked the young lady why she chose a crime motif. She said she'd got the idea after brooding on...on punishing Digby-Smith for his persecution of her husband.

BURKE (softly): Great Scott!

NORTON: But I'm certain it was just a lot of silly nonsense! You've only got to look at Mrs. Sefton to realize she wouldn't harm a living soul!

BURKE (aside): That's why they chose her...

NORTON: Beg pardon?

BURKE: I was just thinking aloud.

NORTON: Is that all, inspector?

BURKE: Bear with me just a little longer...(He takes his notebook from his pocket and flicks through it.) What time did you come into this apartment?

NORTON: Sometime after nine o'clock.

BURKE: And you left?

NORTON: Possibly fifteen minutes later.

BURKE: Then you weren't here around ten o'clock?

NORTON: Oh, no.

BURKE: But I was under the impression Mrs. Sefton had asked you for supper?

NORTON: That's right. What's more, I might have stayed if it hadn't been for that wretched cat.

BURKE: Cat?

NORTON: Mrs. Sefton brought it in. Her husband told her to get rid of the animal, but she refused. So I decided it was time for me to leave.

BURKE: You don't like cats?

NORTON: I loathe them!

BURKE: They affect some people that way--something to do with an allergy...

NORTON: Not in my case! It's just pure funk. I had a nasty experience in Edinburgh just after the war.

BURKE (politely): Really?

NORTON: I was house surgeon at a hospital and pretty ragged from overwork. I'd been yarning with some of the other doctors and the talk turned to murders. One chap told a particularly ghastly story about a cat--I think some of the students overheard what we were saying. That night, after I'd dropped off to sleep, one of them dropped a cat through my bedroom window. It landed smack on my chest. I awoke with a yell, thinking I'd been scratched by its poisoned claws--

BURKE (sharply): Poisoned claws?

NORTON (a little surprised at the bark): That's right. I suppose I must have been dreaming about the crime.

BURKE (slowly): What crime, doctor?

NORTON; It happened in Rouen--a woman took a cat, painted its claws with poison and dropped it on a sleeping man suspected of being a collaborator...(He shudders.) Now, the very sight of a cat gives me the creeps!

(BURKE has recovered his poise. Behind NORTON's back, he makes a warning gesture to the excited MARSH.)

BURKE (smoothly): Quite understandable, doctor. Now, you've been extremely patient with us. I don't think we need keep you any longer.

NORTON (shaking his head): You know, it's extraordinary how we're made...

BURKE: After your experience in Edinburgh--

NORTON (interrupting): I wasn't thinking of myself, inspector. It's the young woman. I judged her as .. well...rather scatterbrained. I never dreamt--(He breaks as BURKE buries his face in his handkerchief to check an abortive sneeze.) Look here, are quite sure. I can't help about that cold?

BURKE (shakes his head): Don't worry about me, doctor. I'll soon be home in bed.

NORTON (grunting): Best place for you! (He nods and exits. MARSH watches him go then rises excitedly.)

MARSH: That would be the cat the landlady saw jumping from the bathroom window!

BURKE: Of course!

MARSH: Certainly something new in weapons, sir!

BURKE: That's why she used it.

MARSH: And the chauffeur?

BURKE: Came here to get the cat. Either by accident or design, he got himself scratched.

MARSH: What's the next move, sir?

BURKE: I'm going to talk to Security. Give me three minutes and then bring Mrs. Sefton back in here.

MARSH (starts to exit): Very good, sir.

BURKE: And close the hall door after you!

(MARSH exits and the hall door closes. BURKE stands thinking for a moment then he crosses to the telephone. Dials a number, waits, and when he speaks his voice is lowered.)

Section Eight-O. One-four-one, please. (Pause.) Yes, sir--reporting from South Kensington. We've struck a very broad lead on the Digby-Smith affair. Young married woman--Mrs. MONICA Sefton. You'd better have someone check, sir. (Pause.) Too involved to tell you over the phone, but I suggest you talk to the woman yourself. (Pause.) Oh, no sir—just a minnow, I'm afraid. The big fish are still at the bottom of the pool. (Pause.) I'd say in about twenty minutes...yes, sir...thank you, sir...(He hangs up and stands looking around the room. Then he picks up MONICA's scrap book. Opening it he begins to check each item carefully.

Suddenly he stiffens, nods, folds a page in the book, and is closing it when a tap sounds at the door.) Come in! (MARSH enters with a pale and worried MONICA. BURKE addresses her abruptly, his manner much more official than before.) Mrs. Sefton...

MONICA: Yes?

BURKE: We've been talking with Dr. NORTON. He said that while he was in here the other evening, you brought a cat into the room.

MONICA (wearily): I didn't bring it. I found it curled up on the window sill.

BURKE: Weren't you afraid?

MONICA: Afraid?

BURKE: Afraid the creature might have scratched you?

MONICA: It never entered my head!

BURKE (smoothly): Strange...! Have you any idea what happened to your cat?

MONICA: It wasn't MY cat! It strayed in here. Because was half-starved, I gave it some milk.

BURKE: Yet you denied any knowledge of the animal to your landlady!

MONICA: Only because I was afraid she'd send it away!

BURKE: And naturally you wouldn't want this particular creature falling into strange hands...(As MONICA stares at him, he picks up the cutting book and begins to turn the pages.) Quite an amount of dangerous information here, Mrs. Sefton...

MONICA: I...I suppose so.

BURKE: Information like this, for example! (He stabs a finger at a cutting. MONICA looks at his tight, stern face and then at the cutting. Her own face is a study in bewilderment.)

MONICA: Where did that come from?

BURKE: Are you trying to tell us you've never seen this before?

MONICA: Never--never! What is it?

BURKE (heavily): An account of a murder committed at Rouen...a woman painted the claws of a cat with poison. She used it as a murder weapon...just as you murdered Alistair Digby Smith! (MONICA is staring at him in horror. She speaks huskily)

MONICA: You're making a dreadful mistake...

BURKE: No, Mrs. Sefton! You're the one making the mistake! In fact, you made two! You didn't imagine the cat would find its way back here...and you should have destroyed this press cutting along with your notes on curare poisoning!

MONICA: Inspector...

BURKE (interrupting quietly): Who's the top man in your group?

MONICA: What are you saying?

BURKE (stern): Mrs. Sefton, you've made two mistakes! Don't make a third! We're asking you to cooperate with us...giving you your last chance!

MONICA: But I've done nothing wrong...

BURKE: Mrs. Sefton--

MONICA: This is just crazy, inspector...I've never harmed anyone! I took the cat in because it was homeless and hungry...because I wanted a pet more than anything...I...I...

She sees BURKE's rigid face and her voice trails away helplessly. BURKE stares at her fixedly for a moment.

BURKE: That's your answer?

MONICA: There's no other answer...

BURKE: Very well! I must ask you to come with me.

MONICA: What for?

BURKE: We have reason to believe that you're deeply involved in murder and treason against Her Majesty's Government. On these charges, you're to be questioned by an agent of Security Intelligence!

(MONICA gives a shuddering sigh and drops back into her chair, looking from right to left, a little trapped movement.)

MONICA: I...I want my husband...

BURKE: Sorry!

MONICA (cracking): I want my husband...(She screams hysterically.) BILL...BILL, where are you? BILL...!

BURKE: Now, Mrs. Sefton...

MONICA: BILL...! Help me...help me...!

She collapses sobbing. There is a sudden scuffle in the hallway and BILL enters, pushing past POGSON doing his best to restrain him.

BILL: MONICA...

MONICA: BILL...oh BILL...

(He runs to MONICA, who slips into his arms. BILL soothes her, glaring over his shoulder at BURKE.)

BILL: What the hell are you doing to her? (He touches MONICA's hair gently.) Darling, for God's sake ..

MONICA: They've been saying terrible things to me...They want to take me away...

BILL: Just let 'em try!

BURKE: We're taking your wife along for further questioning, Mr. Sefton.

BILL: Does this mean she's under arrest?

BURKE: Not yet.

BILL: Then she doesn't have to go!

BURKE: There's no compulsion, sir. It's merely a question of cooperation. If your wife has nothing to hide ..

BILL: Nothing at all!

BURKE:...then there's no reason why she should refuse to come with us, is there?

(BILL, plainly nonplussed by this, turns to his wife.)

BILL: MONICA...

MONICA: I'll have to go, darling. It's just too silly...they can't hold me for anything. I'm sorry I went to pieces just now...But I'm all right now...really I am.

BILL: You look anything but all right to me!

MONICA: The sooner this thing's straightened out, the better for everyone. Would you get me a hat from the bedroom...oh...and my bag ..

(BILL gives her a helpless look, then pushes rudely past BURKE.)

BILL: EXCUSE ME!

(He exits into the bedroom. The telephone rings. BURKE answers it.)

BURKE: Hold the line, please. (To MARSH.) Your call, I think.

MARSH leaps for the phone.

MARSH: Hello...yes...speaking...(His face falls.) Another HOUR? Oh well...thanks...thanks...(He replaces the receiver as BILL re-enters carrying a hat and handbag. Hands these to MONICA and wheels on BURKE.)

BILL: I'm coming, too!

BURKE: We'd rather you didn't, sir. You'll have plenty of time to talk with your wife later on.

MONICA (to BILL): Yes, darling. I'll be back soon.

BILL: You bet your sweet life you will!

(He takes her in his arms and kisses her. MONICA clings to him for an instant, then she walks steadily from the room. MARSH, who has been gathering the scrapbook and other evidence, exits behind her. BURKE picks up his case and moves toward the door. There he turns.)

BURKE: Believe me, I'm very sorry about this.

BILL: You can go to hell!

(BURKE shrugs and walks through into hallway. We hear him sneeze loudly. BILL, a picture of bewildered misery, stands looking after him. The bedroom door opens and MEADE enters.)

MEADE: BILL...

BILL (wheeling): Where did you come from?

MEADE: The bedroom.

BILL: But I was in there!

MEADE: Ever heard of a bathroom? But never mind the whys and wherefores! MONICA's up to her bridge-work in trouble...

BILL: I know. But they can't DO anything to her.

MEADE: Stop kidding yourself, BILL. I was in that room for the whole show. Digby-Smith's a member of a commo cell. The rest of the red noses rubbed him out because he talked out of turn. But those cops think MONICA did the job!

BILL: But MONICA only has to explain ..

MEADE: Get the wax out of your ears--they've framed her prettier than an old master! If I didn't know MONICA...if I was on a jury and presented with the evidence I've been hearing--

BILL: Circumstantial evidence!

MEADE: Sure--sure! But 90 per cent of murderers are hanged on circumstantial evidence!

(BILL, horrified as much by the futile anger in his voice as by MEADE's words, stares at him, then drops into a chair.)

BILL: Andy...I'm lost...MONICA, why MONICA...of all people?

MEADE: That's the nut and kernel of the mess! Why MONICA? Tens of thousands of people packed into this corner of the city--yet they choose her! Why? Then there's the chauffeur...

BILL: The blighter in our cupboard?

MEADE: I've a feeling he's the key to the whole puzzle. What's more, I could prove it, if only--

BILL: If only what?

MEADE: I could remember his name!

BILL: His name's Smith!

MEADE: And mine's Danny Kaye! I'm not clowning, BILL you know I never forget a face! Somewhere during the past year I've seen that ugly pan--and it didn't come under the heading of the Smith family!

BILL: Smith--Brown--Jones! Does it matter WHAT he called himself?

MEADE: Does it matter if you ever see MONICA free again? It makes just that subtle difference!

BILL: Then think, man...think!

MEADE: I can't!

BILL: And you're the master mind! What's got into you?

MEADE: Orange juice! I've got acidity of the brain!

BILL: Can't you be serious?

MEADE: This is serious! I can't think because I'm too sober!

BILL: Then get drunk!

MEADE: Eh?

BILL: Get drunk! Roaring, stinking drunk!

MEADE: You know, you've got something there...What's in the house?

BILL: Sherry.

MEADE (shuddering): Holy bells! I couldn't think of my own name on that!

BILL: I'll slip down to the local...

MEADE: No, wait! (He crosses to the telephone and dials a number.) I want you here, BILL--you've got to be wise to the whole affair. It's much deeper than we think, because...(Breaks--curtly into phone.) Hello honey...yes...I'm ringing from BILL's apart-ment, so don't ask any

questions but just do as you're told for once. Get the car out, call in at the club, and pick up a quart of scotch--yes--you heard! And listen, Syl...bring along that diary of yours...Why? Because I want to read it! I'll tell you why? A pack of treasonous rats have tossed a noose around MONICA's neck and unless we're smart, they're going to pull it tight...What's that? Am I drunk? No...BUT I BLOODY SOON WILL BE!

Black out. Quick curtain.

ACT TWO

SCENE 2

(The curtain rises almost immediately on the same scene. MEADE, in his shirt-sleeves, lies full length on the divan, an empty glass in his hand. A pint of scotch has been emptied, the second is half full. BILL is pacing restlessly backstage. SYLVIA sits in one of the chairs reading from a small leather bound book.)

SYLVIA: June 25th, Andy and I had a row because he swore. I hadn't given him the money to pay the telephone. Had hair set in morning. In afternoon went to charity matinee Uncle Tom's Cabin. The bloodhounds were poorly supported by the rest of the cast...She turns a page. June 26th...

BILL (shaking MEADE): Here...listen! Don't go to sleep!

MEADE: Not sleepin'...just thinking with my eyes closed. Go on, Syl.

SYLVIA: Do you want everything read out?

MEADE: Everythin'!

SYLVIA (sighs--reads): June 26th--still not speaking. Ella Perkins rang me all in a flap. Was it true Cecily Rankin was having a baby in December? Rang Cecily, who was so vague about dates I'm certain it must be true. Rang. Ella but she'd gone. Felt awfully miserable. Went to

Abbott and Costello film and had a good cry. Felt better.

Turns page.

How am I doing?

MEADE: Lousy!

BILL: Oh, this is hopeless! We've been messing around like this for more than an hour!

MEADE: Patience, caddie. You can't hurry nature.

BILL: But I want to be doing something!

(MEADE holds out his empty glass. BILL glares at it then, during the next reading, fills and hands it back.)

SYLVIA: June 27th: Last night, Lover Boy didn't even arrive home. Tried to ring EIla this morning re Rankin scandal but phone was dead. Found to my horror it had been cut off...Andy still hasn't paid that account! Had lunch with mother who was deeply sympathetic--said she warned me at the altar that Andy was a complete mess...

MEADE (muttering): The old battle-axe!

SYLVIA (turning page): June 28th, All is forgiven! The beast that walks like a man not only came home sober but brought a present for me. The sweetest little canary he'd bought at a pet shop--(She stops as MEADE sits upright with a sudden ejaculation.) Have I struck uranium?

MEADE: Quiet! (He rises and begins to pace the floor, muttering to himself) Canary...canary...a pet shop...that's right...the pet shop in St. Saviour's Lane...it had a glass door with gilt lettering...(Suddenly he wheels, his face alight.) That's the Joe!

The proprietor! Peter...Peter...Peter something...Peter Rose...no...Ross...Ross...Rostov...(Snaps his fingers.) Got it, by cracky! That's the name he was using! Peter Rostov! Well...congratulate me!

BILL: What for? Smith's real name was Rostov and he once kept a pet shop! Good! But how did he get into our cupboard?

MEADE: He came to get the cat!

SYLVIA: But Andy--

MEADE: Back to bed, Mrs. Pepys!

SYLVIA: No, listen Andy--how did Rostov know the cat was here?

BILL: Yes! Answer that one!

(But MEADE is staring at them, a curious expression dawning on his face. Suddenly he beats his forehead with his fist and speaks slowly.)

MEADE: Holy bells! Just how dumb can you get...(He wheels on BILL.) This doctor from next door...

BILL: NORTON?

MEADE: What d'you know about him?

BILL: Nothing...except he's a neighbour MONICA got friendly with. Why?

MEADE: There's a fish-like smell about good neighbour NORTON! Tell me, when MONICA found the cat on the window-sill, you and the doctor were the only other people in this room?

BILL: That's right!

MEADE: So you didn't tell Rostov the cat was here...nor did MONICA...Two from three leaves one, BILL!

BILL: NORTON! Oh, no--it couldn't have been NORTON! He made a voluntary statement that the dead man was a complete stranger to him!

MEADE: Yes...that's why it looks all lopsided to me!

SYLVIA: From where I sit, it looks even worse! Why should Rostov leave the cat here in the first place?

MEADE: NORTON lives next door, doesn't he? In the darkness—particularly if one was jittery and in a hurry to get rid of dangerous evidence—it would be easy to confuse the two windows. Particularly when NORTON was actually IN this room!

BILL: But...that would mean NORTON was hand in glove with Rostov?

MEADE: So the puppy's opening its eyes at last! Don't you see, BILL--when NORTON realized what had happened, Rostov got orders to rectify the mistake--before pussy got to prowling...

SYLVIA (on her feet): Objection!

MEADE (growling): Sit down!

SYLVIA: If this gang wanted to frame MONICA, why not leave the cat as additional evidence?

MEADE: Because the plot wasn't hatched then! Listen, NORTON orders Rostov to get the cat from this apartment. Peter makes an entrance through the window, gets himself scratched and starts to stiffen up. NORTON, waiting for him, decides to investigate. But the damage is done.

BILL: Then NORTON hides the body in our cupboard?

MEADE: Sure! After which, it must have occurred to him that with a little dirty juggling, MONICA could take the rap for the whole thing! To remove her play manuscript and plant that French news cutting in my scrapbook could be done in a few minutes.

SYLVIA: But what about the note found in Rostov's pocket--he couldn't have had that prepared!

MEADE: Oh, no! He had several hours to select that from the manuscript! And you played slap into his hands by asking him in to examine the body!

BILL (with slow angry realization): Doctor Bloody NORTON!

MEADE: It's the only answer to the question...why MONICA! Because she was the one person in this city with a ready made motive and a set of circumstances that stank to high heaven!

BILL: Well? What are we waiting for?

MEADE: Relax, laddie...

BILL: Relax? With MONICA getting the works at head-quarters?

MEADE: Sure! And if you take my advice--that's where you'll leave her! Before this case is finished, the most important witness is going to be MONICA herself. Backed by this fresh evidence, her statements could bust this Red group sky-high. But remember this--those babies aren't exactly shy when it comes to shutting people's mouths...

SYLVIA: And what do we do in the meantime? Sit in a corner and sew a fine seam?

MEADE: No...we three are going to have a quiet little pow-wow with Dr. NORTON...

BILL (moving to hallway): I'Il get the swine in here now...

MEADE: Ah-ha! But no rough stuff. We've got to be subtle about this. (BILL exits. SYLVIA picks up MEADE's coat and holds it as he slips into it.)

SYLVIA: Know something, Andy? This just about establishes a record for us.

MEADE: Eh?

SYLVIA: We've been together a whole hour without scrapping!

MEADE: I've had something else to think about.

SYLVIA: You've always had a wife, you know.

MEADE: What's this? Sentimental session?

SYLVIA: No...just a change.

MEADE (after slight pause): You think I'm a lush, don't you?

SYLVIA: They don't come any wetter--or lower. But then you do some crazy little kindness and slip right past my guard.

MEADE (mocking): In spite of what mamma says?

SYLVIA (quietly): In spite of what anyone says...that's the hell of it!

(MEADE presses her hand awkwardly and turns away as BILL runs back into the room.)

BILL: He's not there! When he didn't answer the door, I went outside. There's not a light in the whole apartment!

MEADE: We've got to get to the Yard. Tell Burke what we've nosed out and get him to round up NORTON. Then we can pick up MONICA...

BILL: But she may not be at the Yard! Burke talked about Security. Not that they'll get anything out of her...

MEADE: Security might release her under watch...in which case she might come back here. (He pauses an instant.) Sylvia, you'd better wait...

SYLVIA: In this place--alone? Oh, no!

BILL: I'll stay.

MEADE: No. I want you down at headquarters for corro-boration. And it's going to need both of us to convince them. But MONICA's got to know the truth about NORTON...

SYLVIA: Surely there must be someone among us who can write? Why not leave a note?

(BILL crosses to the desk. He takes a pen and paper from a drawer and begins to scribble a note. He looks up.)

BILL: I've given her the low-down on NORTON...what else?

MEADE: Tell her to lock the door and keep it like that till we get back!

(BILL scribbles, then folds the paper, slips it into an envelope, and addresses it. He holds it up.)

BILL: Where's somewhere she's sure to see it?

SYLVIA: The sideboard? (As BILL crosses and props the letter up against an ornament.) Just to make certain MONICA knows where we are, we'd better mention it to Whistler's mother as we go out!

MEADE: Right! And the sooner we get down to Scotland Yard, the quicker we wrap up this affair and cook--(He breaks as the telephone rings abruptly. They all freeze for an instant, exchanging puzzled glances.) Answer it, BILL!

(BILL crosses and takes up the receiver--speaks cautiously.)

BILL: Hello? No, she's not here. Who is--? (Then sharply.) Hello...hello...hello...

MEADE: What is it?

BILL (slowly replacing receiver): A man...asking for MONICA ..

MEADE: Recognize the voice?

BILL: Maybe I've got him on the brain...but I'd lay a fiver to a penny it was NORTON. Probably ringing to find out the lie of the land...

MEADE: And we've played right into his hands by letting him know that the cops have picked up MONICA! Now...I wonder what the blighter's next move--

BILL (interrupting): Never mind NORTON! Let's get MONICA back here safe. Come on...

(The three start across for the hall door when the telephone shrills again. It brings them to a halt. BILL, after a moment's hesitation, starts toward it. But MEADE waves him back. He crosses to the instrument and lifts the receiver.)

MEADE (strained): Hello...yes...yes, this is the Sefton apartment...Eh? What's that?

(He listens with a look of blank amazement. Then he replaces the receiver and turns slowly.)

BILL: Andy...?

MEADE: Everything certainly happens to me! Now I'm the father of goddam twins!

Quick curtain.

ACT THREE

The scene is the same, between ten and fifteen minutes later. When the curtain rises, the stage is in darkness. Presently, we hear the sound of a key fitted into the lock. The door opens and a figure enters, reaching and turning on the light. MONICA is revealed. She still holds the doorkey in her hand and then puts it back into her bag. The living room is exactly as in the last scene. The bottles are on the floor, ashtrays are filled with butts, the cushions of the couch crumpled and awry. The envelope stands propped up against an ornament on the sideboard. MONICA looks haggard and almost at breaking point. She stands just inside the hallway and calls.

MONICA: BILL...Darling, where are you? (She waits. There is no answer. She looks wearily around the apartment then, crossing to the bedroom, opens the door and calls.)

BILL...BILL. I've come back...(Still no answer. She turns and surveys the untidiness of the room and, as if this is the last straw, she sinks into a chair and buries her face in her hands. There is a knock on the outer door. MONICA jumps to her feet, dabbing hastily at her eyes. She runs across to the curtains of the hallway, crying out)...

BILL! Oh, BILL...(She sweeps the curtains aside and her tone drops to

disappointment as NORTON is revealed.) Oh...doctor...!

NORTON: I saw your light come on--I naturally thought that your husband...(He stops as his eye takes in the litter of the apartment.) I say! Someone's been here!

MONICA (bitterly, shredded with nerves): Oh, yes! Quite a merry party! (She crosses and sinks into a chair.) This is all I needed to complete a perfect evening! You think at least BILL would be here to welcome me home...

NORTON: But you musn't blame your husband too much.

MONICA (deep in self-pity): Soaking up scotch almost as though he was glad to be rid of me!

NORTON: On the other hand, he might have been drowning his troubles...

MONICA: But why not wait for me?

NORTON: Well, you know how it is. He could have gone on to the local. Look here, I'll see if I can find him for you...(He starts toward the hallway but MONICA detains him.)

MONICA: Doctor...

NORTON (turning): Yes?

MONICA: Would you mind staying a while?

NORTON: As long as you wish. I've got a free evening--not a local call.

MONICA: Just until BILL comes back. I don't think I could face being here alone. I...I've had just about as much as I can take. You don't even have to talk...just stay with me...(NORTON, very sympathetic in manner, comes back and sits opposite her.)

NORTON (gently): It's been pretty sticky for you, eh?

MONICA: Yes.

NORTON: Nasty business being mixed up with the police...

MONICA: If only that was all!

NORTON: But surely--

MONICA (interrupting): Doctor, I've got the frightful feeling I'm going off my head...

NORTON (soothingly): Now now now...

MONICA: You've no idea what those men said to me down there! First one--then another! "Did you kill Digby-Smith?" The same question—and then, "Who gave you instructions? Who's your head man?" Over and over and over again...!

NORTON: Tch tch tch!

(Now wound tight with nerves, MONICA is talking only for release from strain.)

MONICA: The terrifying part is that after the same question has been fired at you time and time again, you begin to doubt your own mind! And they all seemed so certain I could answer their questions! It was like some awful nightmare where you know the things happening to you aren't true, yet you can't wake up to prove that they're not! (She stops, then almost desperately.) Doctor, I...I haven't done anything like they say, have I? Tell me truly!

NORTON: Of course you haven't, my dear.

MONICA: You're only saying that to be kind--because you don't really know, do you? But BILL knows! That's why I need him so much just now...(Her control slips and she cries again, fumbling for her handkerchief.) I...I'm sorry to make a fool of myself...

NORTON (after a pause--gently): Mrs. Sefton?

MONICA: Yes?

NORTON: They've let you free--free to come back here. Doesn't that prove they believe that you're innocent?

MONICA: I don't know...

NORTON: Try to look at things sensibly, my dear. If they thought you were guilty, they would never have let you go. You'd be arrested...charged...

MONICA: But that makes it only more confusing...

NORTON (patiently): In what way?

MONICA: Between questioning me, they said they had all the evidence they needed to convict me. I couldn't understand why they didn't arrest me. But I remember that the telephone in the room rang and one of the detectives answered it...

NORTON: Yes?

MONICA: Then the other men got together and went outside, leaving me quite alone. I thought it was some kind of trick...I didn't know what to do. But presently one of the detectives came in and said I was quite free to go. I couldn't understand it at all. There was a police car waiting outside...they drove me back here ..

She passes her hands over her face. One minute they were accusing me of murder and treason and all kinds of horrible things...Next they just turned me loose as though nothing had happened. Nothing seems to make sense any more, doctor...

NORTON watches her distress for a few moments, then...

NORTON: Mrs. Sefton--may I give you a little advice?

MONICA: Of course.

NORTON: Put the wretched business right out of your mind. Lie down and try to relax.

MONICA: I couldn't sleep...

NORTON: Don't try. Just make yourself comfortable here on the sofa...(He rearranges the cushions at one end.) I'm sure you'll feel so much better.

MONICA: All right. (She rises, picks up her handbag, and takes off her hat.) just get rid of these things.

NORTON: And don't forget...your oldest and most comfortable pair of slippers...

(MONICA smiles and exits into the bedroom, leaving the door partly open. NORTON frowns and stands irre-solute as though uncertain just what to do. He looks idly around the room and his eye encounters the`envelope on the sideboard. More out of curiosity than anything he crosses, picks it up, notes the name on it, and weighs it in his hand, still frowning as a

tap sounds at the hall door. NORTON lies the envelope flat on the sideboard. In this position it is naturally less con-spicuous. He is moving toward the hallway when the curtains part and MRS. LAMPREY enters. She is dressed for the street and stops in surprise at seeing

NORTON.)

MRS. LAMPREY: Why, Dr. NORTON...but how very strange! I thought the young woman had come back.

NORTON (quickly): Mrs. Sefton is in the bedroom. I'm just waiting with her until her husband returns...

MRS. LAMPREY: Oh...! But he's gone journeying to Scotland Yard!

MONICA (coming from bedroom): Scotland Yard? (She has changed into smart slacks but she is still wearing her shoes.) Mrs. Lamprey...how do you know?

MRS. LAMPREY (a trifle stiffly): The young gentleman mentioned this ..

MONICA: When?

MRS. LAMPREY: About ten minutes ago...it could have been longer...I'm so very nonplussed about time. But I was dressing when all at once there was such a wild commotion in the hallway I was certain a herd of wild blackamoors had been let loose! Then came a loud tattoo at my door and there was your husband, all agog with the news that they had discovered some fresh evidence about this wicked murder...

NORTON (sharply): What's this nonsense you're saying?

MRS. LAMPREY (tightly): I am passing on the communica-tion exactly as it was given to me. Such alarms and excursions I've never seen...and there was poor wee Susie hiding under the bed and wailing in her terror. I don't know which of us was the most upset...

NORTON: Thank you, Mrs. Lamprey. And now we musn't keep you. I notice you're going out.

MRS. LAMPREY: Oh, not far...just across the square. A dear friend of mine has discovered the most remarkable woman...and we are hoping for a manifestation...

NORTON (rudely): I've got no time for that rubbish!

MRS. LAMPREY (archly): You're too, too worldly, doctor...all you medical gentlemen are the same. Now I must go and give Susie her sleeping tablet...

MONICA: What for?

MRS. LAMPREY: Oh, I always take Susie with me. Usually she sleeps under the table as good as gold. But last time, I forgot her tablet and the wee romp did something quite, quite outrageous to a gentleman's leg It was sheer nervousness, you understand. So, just to be on the safe  side...now it's a sleeping pill...(She exits.)

MONICA (slowly): Fresh evidence...? Now, whatever can BILL have meant by that?

NORTON: We'll know very soon.

MONICA: Do you think I ought to ring Scotland Yard?

NORTON: I think you should change into your slippers and wait until your husband comes back. If this evidence is so important, he'll want you to be among the first to know.

MONICA: I'll give him another five minutes...She goes into the bedroom, closing the door. (NORTON waits only until the door shuts then turns and looks at the letter on the sideboard. He crosses to it and puts out a hand to take it when the door opens and MONICA emerges in her slippers. NORTON pulls back his hand, moving away from the sideboard.)

NORTON: Now...that's much better!

(MONICA curls herself up on the sofa. NORTON surveys her for a few moments.)

MONICA: What's the matter?

NORTON: I'm still not sure you wouldn't be much better tucked up in bed!

MONICA: I'm all right now. Besides, doctor, I want to talk to you.

NORTON: What about?

MONICA: The new evidence BILL's discovered...I don't suppose it could have anything to do with Mrs. Lamprey?

NORTON (astonished): OUR Mrs. Lamprey?

MONICA: Yes...I don't suppose she could possibly be mixed up in this affair?

NORTON (staring at her): You're joking, surely?

MONICA: No...

NORTON: My dear child...whatever put an idea like that into your head?

MONICA: Several odd things...

NORTON: What were they?

MONICA: You remember the scrapbook I showed you the first night you came here?

NORTON: With all those cuttings in it? Yes, I recall it very well.

MONICA: In it the police found an account of a murder that paralleled the Digby-Smith case...

NORTON: Good gracious!

MONICA: But I'd never set eyes on it, doctor...it was completely strange to me. Someone had put it inside the book...deliberately put it there for the police to find...so that I'd be involved and suspected!

NORTON (very firmly): Mrs. Sefton! Now, once and for all, this must stop!

MONICA: But I'm trying to work out--

NORTON: Then leave it until the morning! How do you expect to relax when you keep churning this thing round and round in your mind?

MONICA: I suppose it's all pretty useless...

NORTON: Not only useless but downright stupid! What you want is something to take your mind right off the business.

MONICA (a half-smile): What do you suggest, doctor?

NORTON: A good old-fashioned remedy! A nice hot cup of tea!

MONICA (doubtfully): Well...

NORTON: I assure you it'll do us both the world of good!

MONICA: I thought you didn't drink tea...

NORTON: There's an exception to every rule, you know. Now, do you feel up to putting on the kettle?

MONICA (rising and smiling): I'm not paralysed, doctor, only very tired.

NORTON: Then tea's the answer!

(MONICA exits into the kitchen. NORTON stands stockstill for a moment then moves slowly across to the sideboard, keeping his eye on the open kitchen door. He reaches the sideboard and stretches out his fingers to take the letter when the telephone rings sharply. NORTON jerks back his fingers as MONICA flies out of the kitchen.)

MONICA: BILL...it's BILL...(NORTON, suddenly tense with suspicion, moves away from the sideboard. MONICA has picked up the receiver and is talking into it.) BILL! Is that you, darling...? (Her elation fades.) What? No! No, this isn't the Cumberland Hotel! No, no--it's a private apartment...(Patiently.) You're on the wrong number...WRONG NUMBER. (Pause.) I don't care how many sheep your father owns...No, no, I certainly will NOT have dinner with you! No, I did not call you darling! NO...CERTAINLY NOT! (She hangs up and turns.) Some Australian--full as a boot!

(Some of her old nervous excitement has returned. She takes a packet of cigarettes from her dressing gown pocket and takes a cigarette, talking as she does so.)

MONICA: I hope I wasn't too hard on him, but I was so certain it was BILL. And all I get is a lot of drool about the price of wool...(She has picked up a matchbox and opened it but her fingers are shaking so much she spills the contents on the floor.) Oh dear...!

(She is about to drop on her knees when NORTON comes forward with a lighter.)

NORTON: Here ..

MONICA: Oh, thanks...(She lights her cigarette.) I must be worse than I thought.

NORTON: The tea will help...

(MONICA goes back into the kitchen. NORTON moves to the sideboard. This time he picks up the letter. He fumbles with the flap when, abruptly, from the kitchen comes a loud crash of crockery. NORTON, tight with nerves, wheels and drops the letter. He bends to pick it up as MONICA comes out holding the fragment of china.)

MONICA: It happened again...this was the teapot that BILL's mother--(She stops as she sees the letter on the floor.) What's that?

NORTON (with an effort at steadiness): It...must have fallen from the sideboard...

MONICA: It's for me...from BILL! I KNEW he wouldn't go away without some explanation. And just fancy it being there all the time!

(She drops the piece of china and rips open the envelope, extracting the message. As she reads it, her face tightens. She raises her eyes to NORTON and quickly drops them again. NORTON stands watching her. There is a long stretching silence...When she can maintain it no longer without embarrassment MONICA slowly folds the paper and slips it into the envelope.)

NORTON (watching her): Bad news...?

MONICA (huskily): Oh, no...no ..

NORTON: Something good?

MONICA: Yes ..

NORTON: You don't actually look like a person who's had good news...

MONICA (stung into retaliation): You can't always judge by outward appearances, can you, doctor?

NORTON: True enough...(There is another pause. Now something watchful and rather dangerous has crept into the atmosphere.) Just what does Mr. Sefton say?

MONICA: Say...? Oh...well, it's not much more than Mrs. Lamprey told us. BILL says he's uncovered fresh evidence and gone to Scotland Yard with it...and...and he wants me to join him there.

NORTON: But why go to the trouble of leaving you a note when he'd already told our landlady?

MONICA: I suppose...just in case she forgot...(She tucks the note in her pocket.) I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me, doctor...

NORTON: But surely you're not going racing across the city now?

MONICA: I must!

NORTON: In your present state of hypertension, anything might happen to you!

MONICA: I can take care of myself!

NORTON: As a medical man, I disapprove most strongly. However, if you've made up your mind ..

MONICA: I have!

NORTON: Then I can only say that you're being very foolish. Good evening, Mrs. Sefton.

(He makes a stiff-backed exit. MONICA waits until she hears the outer door shut. Then she brings out the note and re-reads it, obviously uncertain what to do. Then she comes to a decision and, crossing to the phone, dials a number, glancing at her watch as she waits.)

MONICA: Hello...Scotland Yard? Would you put me through to Inspector Burke, please? My name is Mrs. Sefton...MONICA Sefton...Yes, I'm sure he'll talk to me...but hurry...please...(She puts BILL's note down by the telephone and sits drumming impatient fingers until...) Hello--inspector...? (From eagerness, her voice dies to disappointment.) Not there? Oh dear...Do you know where I'd find him? Yes, it's so very urgent...Thank you...I'll try there.

(She dials another number and waits, gnawing a thumb. The telephone rings and rings. Finally, she gives an impatient shake of her head and hangs up.) I could get there quicker in a taxi! (She crosses into the bedroom. In her haste, she leaves the letter by the phone. She emerges a minute later, her slippers changed for shoes and carrying a top-coat and a silk scarf She moves to the entrance and throws back the curtains, to recoil with a gasp of dismay. NORTON, twinkling and smiling, stands there. He holds a small glass containing some dark coloured liquid.)

NORTON: So you were serious when you said you were going out?

MONICA: How long have you been there?

NORTON: I came back to bring you this.

MONICA: What is it?

NORTON: A simple nerve draught...twenty grains of chloral hydrate...ten grains sodium bromide...

MONICA: What else?

NORTON (frowning): I don't understand...

MONICA: Do you imagine I'd drink anything you gave me?

NORTON: Frankly, Mrs. Sefton, from your attitude I'd say you were very much in need of something like this.

MONICA (shrilly): I don't want it! Isn't that enough? (She has been retreating slowly as NORTON advances into the room. She drops the coat and scarf on the sofa.) Now, will you please go away and leave me alone?

NORTON (injured): Look here, you're giving a pretty poor return for what was a simple neighbourly gesture. However, if you want to run yourself ragged, that's your affair. I'll leave the mixture here and hope that you come to your senses...(He has reached the desk and he puts down the glass. At the same time, his eye falls on the note by the telephone. He whips this up and runs his eyes over it as MONICA gives a gasp of dismay at her carelessness. She makes a movement toward the hallway but NORTON steps in front of her.)

NORTON (quietly): Sit down, Mrs. Sefton. (MONICA drops back onto the sofa.) We've got to have a little talk.

MONICA: You haven't much time, doctor...

NORTON: No?

MONICA: My husband's down at Scotland Yard...

NORTON: Probably reporting the crazy notion he's written in this note. No wonder he's finding it so hard to convince them!

MONICA: Convince them?

NORTON: Your husband and his friends have been gone almost half an hour. Do you imagine that if the authorities placed the slightest importance on his statement they wouldn't have been on my track long before this?

MONICA: But--

NORTON: The police aren't fools, Mrs. Sefton. They realize your husband would go to any lengths to save you. Can you see them accepting a fantastic theory like this without substantial proof? Because it is quite fantastic.

MONICA: If you didn't kill Digby-Smith yourself, you know, who did!

NORTON (gravely): Scotland Yard believes you're responsible...

MONICA: Then why did they let me go?

NORTON: They need additional evidence...

MONICA: They'll never get it!

NORTON: Oh yes they will! We're going to give it to them.

MONICA: What do you mean by that?

NORTON: Rather than give up the names of the rest of the group, you're going to commit suicide. It will be a martyr's death...and quite painless...(He rubs his hands, once again the affable twinkling little man.) Oh, quite painless, I assure you. Just a prick with a needle...and

your body found floating in the Thames. No marks...not a sign of violence. Only a letter bearing your signature...a suicide note explaining that you prefer to take this Way out...

MONICA (huskily): You...you'd kill me...?

NORTON: Don't blame me, Mrs. Sefton. Blame this state of society that demands an eye for an eye! Someone has to pay for all this and I can assure you it's not going to be me! Besides, all our plans have been made to--(He breaks suddenly as a noise sounds in the hallway. NORTON stiffens, staring at the curtains. They part and MRS. LAMPREY enters. She stands blinking vaguely at the tableau before her. Before she has time to speak, MONICA, now on the edge of hysteria, gives a cry of relief and runs to her.)

MONICA: Mrs. Lamprey...thank heaven you came back!...You've got to help me! This man's a murderer--he's planning to murder me! Call the police! Get help...

(As MRS. LAMPREY gives a helpless gasp and blinks at her...) Don't you understand what I'm saying to you? We're in terrible danger! This man's responsible for every-thing...he's the murderer the police are looking for...

(And now two things happen. NORTON gives an amused little chuckle and turns away. MRS. LAMPREY brushes MONICA's entreating hands from her. The vague, dreamy manner drops like a cloak, she seems suddenly to gain in stature. Her face hardens. Abruptly her hand comes up and she slaps MONICA who-recoils with a cry.)

MRS. LAMPREY (with slow bitterness): You little fool...!

(MONICA, almost bemused with terror at this fresh revelation, backs away as NORTON turns to the woman.)

NORTON (snapping): Where the devil have you been?

MRS. LAMPREY: It took longer than we expected. You can't do a perfect forgery in a few minutes.

NORTON: But you got it?

MRS. LAMPREY: Here...(She opens her handbag and produces a folded sheet of paper, passing it over.) Peter copied her signature from the lease...it's perfect! Fool any handwriting expert in Whitehall!

MORTON (examining it): The confession's got just the right note of hysteria. (He nods to typewriter.) You did it on that machine, of course?

MRS. LAMPREY: Only a few minutes before she got back here!

NORTON: Very nice work, Ida. His nibs is going to be very pleased with this.

MRS. LAMPREY: I've got final instructions...

NORTON: Well?

MRS. LAMPREY: Peter brings the car around in ten minutes. After we've got rid of her, we drive on out to Harrow. There'll be a private plane waiting for us...

NORTON: Good!

MRS. LAMPREY: We're expected at the usual place in Montmartre at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. We'll get passports for Switzerland. Orders are to lie low for the next few months.

NORTON: Then we musn't waste any more time. You've brought the things I need? (MRS. LAMPREY takes a tin box from her handbag. NORTON opens it and extracts a hypodermic syringe and a glass ampule. With careful deliberation, he breaks the ampule and begins to fill the syringe...as MONICA, sidling desperately around the room, makes a sudden break for the hallway. But MRS. LAMPREY leaps forward, grasps her, and pulls her back into the room.)

NORTON (sharply, looking up): Careful now! We don't want any brusies!

MRS. LAMPREY: I know my training, doctor!

MONICA (struggling): Why do you do this to me? I've never harmed you. How can you be so cruel! Please don't hurt me...please. (MRS. LAMPREY claps a hand over MONICA's mouth but the girl still struggles.)

NORTON (sharply): Hold her still! If she breaks the needle...(MRS. LAMPREY pins MONICA across the arm of the sofa with one hand. With the other she slips back the sleeve. NORTON bends over and lowers the syringe...A shot sounds from the window. NORTON gasps, drops the syringe, and clasps his arm with a grimace of pain. MRS. LAMPREY starts upright, releasing MONICA as the hallway curtains are swept aside and BURKE enters with MARSH. The latter carries an automatic. BILL enters, goes to MONICA, and gathers her in his arms.)

MONICA: BILL...oh BILL...

BILL: It's all right, darling. Everything's all right now...He leads her to the sofa as BURKE raps to MARSH.

BURKE: Take 'em outside and turn them over to the boys. Then come back here.

NORTON (whimpering): You've broken my arm.

BURKE: Pity!

MARSH: Get going...(NORTON walks through the hallway, but MRS LAMPREY stands her ground. She addresses BURKE.)

MRS. LAMPREY: Nothing is changed. We allow this kind of...margin for error. But the work goes on just the same. We have so very many friends...(Abruptly, she turns and exits, followed by MARSH.)

BURKE shrugs, then crosses to the window. Pulling back the curtains he reveals a small tape machine. From it he lifts a reel of tape.

MONICA: How did that thing get there?

BURKE: Part of our routine. That was why we let you go. We thought we might pick up something...a conversation, perhaps a telephone call. But we never dreamt of uncovering a cosy communist cell.

MONICA: Then you were outside...all the time?

BURKE: We have to take dangerous chances like this. The hardest part was keeping your husband quiet out there. Once or twice I thought we'd have to gag him.

MONICA: BILL...! You let them keep you out there--knowing what was happening in here?

BILL: We didn't get here until five minutes ago, darling...The rest of the time we were down at Scotland Yard, trying to sell them the truth about NORTON. But they wouldn't believe us--they said no one person could ever have laid all those false clues. Now we know that NORTON and Mrs. Lamprey worked it between them.

(During this conversation, MARSH has returned. He crosses to one of the pictures on the wall and removes a small microphone from behind it. BURKE hands him the reel of tape.)

BURKE: Take care of that! It's much more precious than your twins! (MARSH grins sheepishly and exits. BURKE comes forward to MONICA.)

BURKE: Mrs. Sefton...

MONICA: Yes?

BURKE: If it's any consolation, the government's going to be very grateful over what's happened this evening. And I'm going to suggest they show their appreciation in something more useful than words. (He pats her shoulder and smiles.) And incidentally, I think you've quite cured my cold...(He nods to BILL and, turning, makes for the hallway. On point of exit, he stops, screws up his face, and sneezes violently. Grunts.) Hmm...spoke too soon!

(He exits. MONICA and BILL look at each other. Then they smile and BILL laughs and holds MONICA closer.)

BILL: All right now?

MONICA: Yes, darling.

BILL: Tough day ahead, you know.

MONICA: Why?

BILL: When this story breaks in the press

MONICA: BILL, no!

BILL: But it's just what you wanted...

MONICA: Never!

BILL: Oh, yes! Right here in this room only two days ago! You were going to be famous .. written up in every newspaper--photographed--pointed out as a personality ..

MONICA: I didn't mean it, BILL--honestly! I don't want anything like that...not now--(There is a sudden flash from the hallway. ANDY MEADE enters, carrying a small camera and a flashlight.)

MEADE: Hold it!

MONICA: Andy...no...please...(But a second flash has gone off.)

MEADE: Remember what old De Rochefoucauld said? Never wish too hard for anything in case it comes true! So for the pictures...now for the news story of the year!

(He crosses and picks up the receiver of the phone, starts to dial. The curtain falls slowly.)

THE END