Whodunnit Mrs Christie

by Robert Challis

taken the lot.

  Sarah: But she didn't, did she?

  Rayner: And now, of course, with Lady Bayfield dead, and the money about to fall into your hands...

  Sarah: Our hands.

  Rayner: There's a strong inducement for him to stay with you.

  Sarah: I'd never thought of it that way.

  Rayner: Really? Everyone else seems to have thought out the angles on the Will very carefully.

  Sarah: That's because they're playing the game. Put I don't play it.

  Rayner: No, you don't play games, do you, Mrs. Hodges. That's all I want to ask you at present, but I’ll need you back in a few minutes. I have a few questions I have to ask your husband. Constable.

  (The constable leads Sarah out, right.)

  Rayner: Ice cool, Mrs. Christie, ice cool.

  Agatha: You think we're close, Inspector?

  Rayner: Adrenalin, you can always feel it. The thrill of the chase, you know, when you're homing in on your prey.

  Agatha: I, have that feeling at a certain point in my novels. But then, it's not real. The characters are only in the mind. But now, all this leaves me with a sick feeling in the stomach.

  Rayner: You harden to it, Mrs. Christie.

  (Enter Greg with the Constable, right.)

  Rayner: Mr. Hodges, please sit down.

  Greg: (Sitting at the table, right chair) Thankyou.

  Rayner: I understand you're a writer by trade.

  Greg: That's right.

  Rayner: Murder mysteries. Odd really when you think about it.

  Greg: What?

  Rayner: All you people here with a common interest in murder mysteries, and you find yourselves right in the middle of a real one.

  Greg: Not so odd really.

  Rayner: Why's that?

  Greg: Bit like children playing a game. There's always some blending of fantasy with reality. Someone here has obviously taken our game to its logical extension. An extra thrill.

  Rayner: (Sitting next to him) Any ideas? I mean as a crime writer to a detective.

  Greg: I'm in fiction. I wouldn't presume...

  Rayner: Oh don't be so modest. All murders begin in the imagination. Presume away.

  Greg: Very well then. I would say that in the end you always have to come back to psychology.

  Rayner: And where does that get us? (Greg rises from his seat)

  Greg: Motive's not enough. You can always find a motive. Most people wouldn't kill someone, even if there was a million pounds at stake. On the other hand, there are people capable of killing on the spur of the moment for the most trifling little annoyance.

  Rayner: We're not looking at a spur of the moment killing. There's been careful planning.

  Greg: Quite so. A murder, as this appears to be, of the cold blooded variety, is not the activity of a normal individual. We have to look for some evidence of a disturbed psyche - an obsessed or twisted mind. Don't you agree, Mrs. Christie?

  Agatha: I wouldn't like to think that a normal person is capable of cold blooded murder.

  Rayner: (standing and moving towards Greg) So where does that point?

  Greg: Now, I'm not going to get into that one.

  Rayner: Could we, for example, regard a man who condemns himself and his wife to poverty in the conviction that he's a great writer, as such an obsessed individual? Especially when the judgment of dozens of publishers points to his mediocrity.

  Greg: Now look, that's getting a bit strong. Who are you to make a judgment of my talent?

  Rayner: As I thought, completely unconcerned at the suggestion that you might be capable of murder. You're only stung by the thought you lack talent.

  Greg: The time will come when you eat those words.

  Rayner: It's the classic confrontation of fantasy and reality. The fantasy - you're an unrecognised genius. The reality - you're a drop out, living off your Aunt's charity, waiting to inherit a fortune you don't deserve, and all the time betraying a loyal wife in a sordid little affair!

  Greg: My God, Rayner, you'd better be careful.

  Rayner: No, Mr. Hedges, it's you who needs to be careful. Have you seen this before? (Produces bottle in plastic bag from pocket)

  Greg: Where did you get that?

  Rayner: It has your fingerprints on it, yours and no one else's. We've identified a few grains left in it as the same sleeping drug that was in the water at Lady Bayfield's bedside. After drugging her water, you clumsily disposed of the bottle from your bedroom window. Once Lady Bayfield had gone to her room, you excused yourself from down here and went to your room. When the coast was clear, you went into her room with your pillow and murdered her. Hearing someone coming, you left the pillow - not realising we were able to identify its source.

  Greg: My God, it's not true. I swear it. I'm not a murderer.

  Rayner: Over anxious to get the inheritance perhaps? Most likely infatuated with the idea of writing and carrying through your own murder plot. The truth is, Mr. Hodges, you're a fool, and a murderer. Constable!

  (The Constable handcuffs him and takes him out exit right.)

  Greg: (As he is led out struggling) You can't do this. I demand to see a lawyer.

  Rayner: (Once Greg is out of the room) I had a feeling about him from the start. Didn't like him. Just couldn't put my finger on it.

  Agatha: Are you sure about him?

  Rayner: (Sharply) Of course I am. Years of experience. But it's not just feeling. The evidence is overwhelming - fingerprints, murder weapon, motive, and in his own words, the psychology...

  Agatha: But for a cold blooded murderer, he seems so incredibly careless. His actions seem more like those of a man in panic - hurling the bottle from his window - his fingerprints all over vital evidence, then his melodramatic announcement of Lady Bayfield's death.

  Rayner: Believe me, I've seen murderers far clumsier. It's never as neat as in your novels, where everyone carefully cleans off fingerprints. No matter how carefully planned, the act of murdering someone is bound to inspire panic.

  Agatha: It almost looks as if he's trying to cover for someone else - that he stumbled on the body and vital evidence, jumped to certain conclusions, panicked and set out to destroy the evidence.

  Rayner: In real life, Mrs. Christie, we can't write the final chapter just the way that suits us.

  (Sarah rushes in from right, distraught, followed by Constable)

  Sarah: It's not true, he didn't do it. He's covering for me. You can't take him to prison. It'd kill him, I know him, it'd kill him.

  Rayner: Calm yourself, Mrs. Hodges. The truth is you'll be well rid of him.

  Sarah: But you can't do this. It wasn't supposed to happen. He's just a child.

  Rayner: A child maybe, but a murderer all the same.

  Sarah: No, no, it was me. I did it. I did it for the money, so he'd stay with me. But he found out and tried to cover for me. I never wanted the blame to fall on him. I wanted her dead, but I wanted her money for the two of us. Can't you see, it was my only chance of keeping him. (She collapses)

  CURTAIN

  ACT III

  (The next morning. Room unchanged from Act II. Pillow etc. have been moved from coffee table. Drinks removed from table. Agatha, alone, on the phone.)

  Agatha: Inspector Twentyman, Scotland Yard? Ah good, this is Agatha again. Bill, have you found the information I asked for? You have? There was a cancellation? (Writing) leaving London six thirty P.M. for Paris. Very interesting. Were you able to find out who made the booking? Thelma Bayfield in the name of Janet Drewer. Really! Booking made on the fourteenth. That would be last Wednesday. And the cancellation? Made by Miss Drewer herself on Saturday afternoon. Thank you very much Bill, you've been very helpful. A lot of things become clear now. Yes. Thank you. (Hangs up. Thomas enters from right.)

  Thomas: Oh! Mrs. Christie - you're still here.

  Agatha: Some unfinished business. Another hour or so and I'll be done, and off home.

  Thomas: I envy you.

  Agatha: What do
you mean?

  Thomas: You have a home to return to. This is my only home, and now it's finished.

  Agatha: How long will you stay on here?

  Thomas: They want me to stay until the Will's settled - caretaker - then the house goes on the market.

  Agatha: That's a pity.

  Thomas: Unavoidable, or so they say. Most of lady Bayfield's wealth was tied up with the property. With three beneficiaries, it seems there's no alternative.

  Agatha: What will you do when it’s settled?

  Thomas: I'm not thinking of anything beyond today.

  Agatha: But you'll have to start planning for the future.

  Thomas: The future! There isn't any. I'm an old man now. With Lady Bayfield gone, I can't see that I’ll be of any use to anyone.

  Agatha: You mustn't think that way. You've worked hard all your life. With some money coming your way, you should be thinking of enjoying the retirement you've earned. Get yourself a nice little flat somewhere. Wander down to the horse races just as you feel like it - a little flutter now and then with no one to tell you off.

  Thomas: I've never been able to have 'just a little flutter'. Whatever I've got in my pocket ends up with the bookie, and often money that I don't have as well. I couldn't imagine this inheritance lasting long.

  Agatha: Just a little self control...

  Thomas: A modest wage, and living here, has kept me out of too much trouble. The bookies know I haven't much, so they won't let me overdo it. The problem is, I know myself too well. when it comes to gambling on the horses, I don't have any self control. Once the bookies know I have all this money, it'll be open go and unlimited credit. There are people who never hold on to money, and I'm one of them. I'd be in the bankruptcy courts within a year. That's if I didn't drop dead first.

  Agatha: But you're in excellent health.

  Thomas: I've seen it happen with so many others. Hardly a day's sickness to their retirement. Within a year, they're dead. It's the feeling of uselessness that does it, I think.

  Agatha: Thomas, my caretaker is retiring shortly. I could consider you for his job. I'm out of the country quite often, and I need someone to keep an eye on the place.

  Thomas: It's no use pretending...

  Agatha: But the job would be perfect for you - some general maintenance work, light duties, but enough to keep you occupied, a place to live, some company, and meanwhile, time to enjoy a kind of semi-retirement.

  Thomas: It just wouldn't be the same. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. I'm too set in my ways. I've only known one life, and now that's over.

  Agatha: You'll have to do something.

  Thomas: I'm going to do something.

  Agatha: Oh?

  Thomas: I don't think there's anyone that knows me -I mean really knows what goes on in my mind.

  Agatha: Most people feel that way at some stage in their life.

  Thomas: There's people I'd call friends, but it's all superficial - someone to chat to at the races and share a beer. Even Lady Bayfield, after thirty years, didn't really know me. You just learn certain patterns of behaviour with each other. But neither she, nor anyone else really knew what goes on here. (Thumps his heart)

  Agatha: I'm sure there's a great deal of goodwill towards you.

  Thomas: Old Thomas, pottering around, looking after his Mistress, loyal to a fault, like a trusted moth eaten old hound. One weakness - a fondness for the horses - his one claim to being an individual. The fact is, I've never been tested. No one knows what I'm really capable of. I don't even know.

  Agatha: It isn't healthy to speculate that way. Lady Bayfield's death is bound to depress you.

  Thomas: She and I - (Pause) there was a kind of rapport. I'm not one for big words. It was like two opposite sides of a coin. I'd almost call it a sort of love. (Voice breaking a little)

  Agatha: (Sympathetically) It must be very hard for you.

  Thomas: Lady Bayfield's murderer killed two birds with one stone. I'm the other bird.

  Agatha: Lady Bayfield had perhaps only a few months left - weeks even. You've heard her talking about voluntary euthanasia. Life wasn't easy or enjoyable for her anymore with her illness. She'd led such an active life.

  Thomas: Are you saying it was a mercy killing, like putting down an old pet? If that's the case, then this old horse is ready for the glue factory.

  Agatha: I didn't mean...

  Thomas: You don't know how it is for people like us. If she had only weeks left, then they should have been the most precious in her life. And for me too.

  Agatha: I don't think she'd like to hear you talking this way.

  Thomas: You may be right there. (Pause) That's where she didn't really know me. Mrs. Christie, it would take an extraordinary kind of person to hold a pillow over the face of a helpless old lady.

  Agatha: I've thought that myself.

  Thomas: Hanging's very rare these days. If you ask my opinion, society's getting soft. They say it's hard to find someone to do the hangman's job. Maybe they should let the victim's loved ones do it.

  Agatha: But if it really came down to it, could you do that?

  Thomas: It's hard to picture, I must admit. But then again, it's hard to picture Lady Bayfield struggling to death with a pillow held to her face.

  Agatha: I have the same difficulty imagining Sarah that way.

  Thomas: Oh?

  Agatha: That's why in the end we just have to trust the courts - onus of proof, reasonable doubt.

  Thomas: That's the heart of it, knowing for certain. I don't believe Mrs. Hodges did it. Now there's others I could imagine...

  Agatha: Go on.

  Thomas: Nothing I can prove - and I've no evidence for it. But if I could know for certain who killed her, and what was going on in their mind... If only I could be sure.

  Agatha: It's not clean, as in a novel, with a last minute confession that clears away all doubt. There's always going to be that element of wondering.

  Thomas: If I could hear a confession, and meet their stare, eye to eye, and really know, then... You'd just finished on the phone when I came in. Mrs. Christie. You have your own ideas too, don't you?

  Agatha: Let's just say, I still have an open mind. Look, Thomas, you have to understand, life goes on. It's no use dwelling on things.

  Thomas: (Turning away) You're right, Mrs. Christie. Thank you for your advice.

  Agatha: I'm pleased to hear it. Now if you'll excuse me, I still have a few other things to do.

  (Exits left. Thomas goes to desk. He opens drawer with a key, takes out a revolver, loads it, places it in his jacket pocket. He is startled by the sound of the front door bell. He exits left and returns immediately with Dave)

  Dave: How's life treating you, mate?

  Thomas: What are you doing here?

  Dave: You've had a busy weekend, I heard.

  Thomas: Yes.

  Dave: Bit of luck, mate.

  Thomas: What?

  Dave: The old bird, kicking off like that. Something in it for you, mate?

  Thomas: Don't be disrespectful.

  Dave: Oh come on, Thommo.

  Thomas: Don't call me Thommo.

  Dave: Oh I forgot. Perhaps it should be Mr. Thomas now.

  Thomas: What do you mean?

  Dave: We're both men of the world. Rumour on the grape vine is you've done nicely out of all this.

  Thomas: What happened to my accumulator?

  Dave: Don't worry about that. We've got bigger things now.

  Thomas: Twenty five pounds on Banbury Boy.

  Dave: Bolted in at even money.

  Thomas: Then Half a League at twelve to one.

  Dave: Came nowhere. Blown the lot.

  Thomas: I had a feeling that might happen.

  Dave: If you ask me, there was something shonky. Looked like the jockey pulled him up. They must be saving him for something big.

  Thomas: And the twenty five pounds I gave you for the other jockey to set a fast pace?

  Dave: John
ny Wade on Boy Blue? Worked a treat. Went straight to the front, led all the way, never headed. All the way win. Ten to one, a treat to watch.

  Thomas: You didn't happen to have any money on him?

  Dave: No way. I'm as dark about it as you are.

  Thomas: So you lost it all?

  Dave: That's about the size of it. But all that's kids stuff now. There's some top races this Wednesday. With the money you'll be getting...

  Thomas: A Will takes months to settle.

  Dave: Don't let that worry you. I'll put the word out. Unlimited credit. We'll burn them - you and me - the old partnership.

  Thomas: And of course, ten percent to you.

  Dave: Inside information, mate. I'm not giving it away for nothing.

  Thomas: I might as well tell you now. You can stop coming here. My racing days are over.

  Dave: Don't talk rubbish. Once a punter, always a punter.

  Thomas: There's only one gamble left in me, and it's not on the horses.

  Dave: But listen mate, when you hear what's running this week...

  Thomas: That's all. I've told you. Don't bother coming here anymore. Would you mind leaving now?

  Dave: I see. That's it. A bit of money now, and you're too good for your old mates.

  Thomas: That'll be all. The door's over here. (Moving to left exit)

  Dave: I'm getting the Picture now. You said that all you wanted was a stake -a few thousand. Now you've got it.

  Thomas: I’ll thank you not to call here again.

  Dave: Did the old bird call you Mr. Thomas before she kicked the bucket?

  Thomas: She didn't as a matter of fact.

  Dave: No chance for her to say, could you take me for a drive, Mr. Thomas, and for you to say, with the utmost pleasure, lady Bayfield.

  Thomas: There's no chance of that happening now.

  Dave: You know, I've been thinking. The police might be interested to know about your chequered career.

  Thomas: They know I like to bet.

  Dave: The full extent of it? All the sordid details? I've half a mind to drive up to the police station and tell them everything I know.

  Thomas: That shouldn't take long.

  Dave: (Turning nasty) Don't get smart with me. I think they might be very interested. That poor woman behind bars. Maybe they've been looking in the wrong direction.

  Thomas: Maybe they have.

  Dave: (Surprised pause) I guessed right, then. Of course, I could be persuaded to keep mum.

  Thomas: Oh could you?

  Dave: For, say, fifty quid.

  Thomas: Fifty pounds, you sell yourself cheaply.

  Dave: One hundred quid, smart alec.

  Thomas: For one hundred, you’d withhold vital evidence from the police?

  Dave: Sure. I know something. It has a price. Everything has a price. One hundred quid, you'll never see me again.

  (Front door bell rings. Thomas goes to left exit. Dave goes to sideboard to pour a drink.)

  Thomas: (Without turning round) Leave that bottle alone, Mr. Bains. (Dave puts it down. Thomas exits left and returns with Greg.)

  Thomas: You've come back. I thought you would.

  Greg: Who's he?

  Dave: I'm Thommo's relative, aren't I, mate? Long lost nephew from Australia. Run a sheep station, don't I, mate?

  Thomas: The door is over here Mr. Bains.

  Dave: (Exiting, left) One hundred quid, mate. I’ll be seeing you.

  Greg: What was that all about?

  Thomas: Nothing to concern you, Mr. Hodges.

  Greg: Have you seen Janet?

  Thomas: I believe she's still in her room, packing.

  Greg: Could you tell her I want to speak to her.

  Thomas: I should prefer not to accept any go-between role, Sir, when it comes to the two of you.

  Greg: Well, of all the rude...

  Thomas: Please save your breath, Sir. You've got what you wanted. I owe you nothing.

  Greg: I see. Suddenly cocky now the old hen's dead and you've got