Act 1- Scene 2 Flashcards
METCALF: I shouldn’t be at all surprised
(calling) Giles?
GILES: Yes?
Can you shovel the snow away again from the back door?
CASEWELL: Sorry to disappoint you, actually I’m not
Yes? Yes- this is Monkswell Manor Guest House…. What? No I’m afraid Mr. Ralston can’t come to the phone just now. This is Mrs. Ralston speaking. Who…? The Berkshire Police? Oh, yes yes Superintendent Hogben. I’m afraid that’s impossible. He’d never get here. We’re snowed up. Completely snowed up. The roads are impassable. Nothing can get through. But… what… hello? Hello?
GILES: Mollie, do you know where there’s another spade?
Giles, the police have just rung up.
CASEWELL: Trouble with the police eh? Serving liquor without a licence?
They’re sending out an inspector or sergeant or something
GILES: But they’ll never get here.
That’s what I told them. But they seemed quite confident that he would
GILES: Nonsense. Even a jeep couldn’t get through today. Anyway, what’s it all about?
That’s what I asked. But he wouldn’t say. Just that I was to impress on my husband to listen very carefully to what Sergeant Trotter, I think it was, had to say, and to follow his instructions implicitly. Isn’t it extraordinary?
GILES: What on earth do you think we’ve done?
Do you think it’s those nylons from Gibraltar?
GILES: I did remember to get the wireless licence, didn’t I?
Yes, it’s in the kitchen dresser
GILES: I had rather a near shave with the car the other day but it was entirely the other fellow’s fault.
We must have done something…
GILES: Probably something to do with running this place. I expect we’ve ignored some tinpot regulation of some Ministry or other. You practically can’t avoid it nowadays.
Oh dear, I wish we’d never started this place. We’re going to be snowed up for days and everyone is cross, and we shall go through all our reserve of tins.
BOYLE:.. and does he ever brush his hair?
He’s an extremely brilliant young architect.
BOYLE: I beg your pardon?
Christopher Wren is an architect…
BOYLE:…. You young people seem to think that no-one is educated but yourselves.
I meant this Wren. His name is Christopher. His parents called him that because they hoped he’d be an architect. And he is- or nearly one- so it turned out all right.
BOYLE:… What do you know about him?
Just as much as I know about you, Mrs. Boyle- which is that you are both paying us seven guineas a week. That is really all I need to know. Isn’t it? and all that concerns me. It doesn’t matter to me whether I like my guests or whether (meaningly) I don’t.
BOYLE:… and what about this foreigner?
What about him?
BOYLE: You weren’t expecting him, were you?
To turn away a bona fide traveler is against the law, Mrs. Boyle, YOU should know that.
BOYLE: Why do you say that?
Weren’t you a magistrate sitting on the bench, Mrs. Boyle?
PARA: My charming young hostess looks upset. What is it my dear lady?
Everything’s rather difficult this morning. Because of the snow.
PARA: Yes, snow makes things difficult, does it not? Or else it makes them easy. Yes- very easy.
I don’t know what you mean.
PARA: No, there is quite a lot you do not know. I think, for one thing, that you do not know very much about running a guest house.
I daresay we don’t. But we mean to make a go of it.
PARA: Bravo- bravo!
I’m not such a very bad cook…
PARA:… You and your husband must not be too trusting you know. Have you references with these guests of yours?
Is that usual? I always though people just- just CAME
PARA:… Nothing at all! I may be a theif, a robber, a fugitive from justice- a madman- even- a murderer.
(backing away) Oh!
PARA: You see! And perhaps you know just as little of your other guests.
Well as far as Mrs. Boyle goes…
METCALF: Mrs. Ralston is your husband about? I’m afraid the pipes of the- er- the downstairs cloakroom are frozen.
Oh dear. What an awful day. First the police, and then the pipes.
METCALF: Police, did you say?
They rang up. Just now. To say they’re sending a sergeant out here. But I don’t think he’ll ever get here.
PARA: Why did you send for the police, Mrs. Ralston?
But I didn’t.
METCALF: Excuse me Mrs. Ralston, but may I use your telephone?
Of course Major Metcalf.
METCALF:… Mrs. Ralston this telephone is dead- quite dead.
It was all right about a half an hour ago.
TROTTER: Thank you.
Oh, do hurry up and tell us. What have we done?
TROTTER:…It’s more a matter of police protection, if you understand me.
Police protection?
TROTTER:..You have have read about the case?
Yes, I heard it on the wireless. The woman who was strangled?
TROTTER:… Case made a bit of a sensation
It was horrible
TROTTER:… Yesterday, as I say, she was found strangled at twenty-four Culver street.
Who did it?
WREN: I think it’s wonderful.
Is there something you haven’t told us Sergeant?
TROTTER:… You know how it goes, (singing) “three blind mice”
(singing) Three blind mice, see how they run, they all ran after the farmers wife… Oh its horrible.
TROTTER:… A bit queer in the head, that’s to say.
They think it was he who killed Mrs. Lyon- Mrs. Stanning?
TROTTER: Yes.
And that he’s a homicidal maniac and that he will turn up here and try to kill someone- but why?
TROTTER: And the same goes for you madam?
(uneasily) I- no- I mean- no connection.
TROTTER: What about servants?
We haven’t got any servants. That reminds me, would you mind, Sergeant Trotter, if I went to the kitchen? I’ll be there if you want me.
BOYLE: A singularly ill-mannered and neurotic young man.
Where’s Giles?
BOYLE: But how was I to know? They were very civilly spoken.
Yes, I was right. It was you…
CASWELL: Where did he come from last night?
I don’t know.
CASWELL: Looks a bit of a spiv to me. Makes his face up too. Rouge and powder. Disgusting. He must be quite old too.
And yet he skips about as though he were quite young.
METCALF: You’ll be wanting more wood. I’ll get it.
It’s almost dark and yet it’s only four in the afternoon. I’ll turn the lights on. (turns the lights on) that’s better.
BOYLE: Now where did I leave my pen?
What a horrid little tune that is.
CASEWELL: Don’t you like it? reminds you of your childhood perhaps- an unhappy childhood?
I was very happy as a child.
CASEWELL: You were lucky.
Weren’t you happy?
CASEWELL: No.
I’m sorry.
CASEWELL: But all that’s a long time ago. One gets over things.
I suppose so.
CASEWELL: Or doesn’t one? Damned hard to say
They say that what happened when you’re a child matters more than anything else.
CASEWELL: They say- they say. Who says?
Psychologists.
CASEWELL: All humbug. Just a damned lot of nonsense. I’ve no use for psychologists and psychiatrists.
I’ve never really had much to do with them.
CASEWELL: A good thing for you you haven’t. It’s all a lot of hooey- the whole thing. Life’s what you make of it. Go straight ahead- don’t look back.
One can’t help always looking back
CASEWELL: Nonsense. It’s a question of willpower.
Perhaps.
CASEWELL: I know.
I expect you’re right… (sigh) but sometimes things happen- to make you remember.
CASEWELL: Don’t give in. Turn your back on them.
Is that really the right way? I wonder. Perhaps that’s all wrong. Perhaps one ought really have to- face them.
CASEWELL: Depends what you’re talking about.
I hardly know what I am talking about.
TROTTER: Well that completes the tour. Nothing suspicious. I think I’ll make my report now to Superintendent Hogben.
But you can’t telephone. The line’s dead.
TROTTER: What? Since when?
Major Metcalf tried it just after you arrived.
TROTTER: But it was all right earlier. Superintendent Hogben got through alright.
Oh yes. I suppose since then, the lines are down with the snow.
GILES: Mrs. Boyle wrote from a Bournemouth hotel, Major Metcalf from an address in- where was it?
Leamington
TROTTER: I shall go into all that, of course. But there’s not much reliance to be placed on that sort of evidence.
But even if this- this maniac is trying to get here and kill us all- or one of us, we’re quite safe now. Because of the snow. No-one can get here until it melts.
TROTTER: It isn’t fantastic, it’s just facts.
You’ve got a description of what this- man looked like in London?
TROTTER:… One of them is yours Mr. Ralston. There are three lightish felt hats..
I still can’t believe it.
TROTTER: You see? It’s this telephone wire that worries me. If it’s been cut…
I must go and get on with the vegetables.
BOYLE: Here- what are you doing? Why did you turn out the light?
Why is it all dark? What a noise!
