The Real Inspector Hound and Other Plays

by Stoppard, Tom

  CYNTHIA: Don’t—I love Albert!

  BIRDBOOT: He’s dead. (Shaking her.) Do you understand me—Albert’s dead!

  CYNTHIA: No—I’ll never give up hope! Let me go! We are not free!

  BIRDBOOT: YOU mean Myrtle? She means nothing to me—nothing!—she’s all cocoa and blue nylon fur slippers—not a spark of creative genius in her whole slumping kneelength-knickered body——

  CYNTHIA: You’re a cad, Simon! You will use me and cast me aside as you have cast aside so many others!

  BIRDBOOT: No, Cynthia—now that I have found you——

  CYNTHIA: You’re ruthless—so strong—so cruel——(BIRDBOOT seizes her in an embrace, during which MRS. DRUDGE enters, and MOON’S fevered voice is heard.)

  MOON: Have you taken leave of your tiny mind? (CYNTHIA breaks free.)

  CYNTHIA: Stop—can’t you see you’re making a fool of yourself!

  MOON: She’s right.

  BIRDBOOT (to MOON): You keep out of this.

  CYNTHIA: Yes, what is it, Mrs. Drudge?

  MRS. DRUDGE: Should I close the windows, my lady? The fog——

  CYNTHIA: Yes, you’d better.

  MOON: Look, they’ve got your number——

  BIRDBOOT: I’ll leave in my own time, thank you very much.

  MOON: It’s the finish of you, I suppose you know that——

  BIRDBOOT: I don’t need your twopenny Grubb Street prognostications—I have found something bigger and finer——

  MOON: (bemused, to himself): If only it were Higgs....

  CYNTHIA: … And fetch the Major down.

  MRS. DRUDGE: I think I hear him coming down stairs now. (She leaves. The sound of a wheelchair’s approach as before. BIRDBOOT prudently keeps out of the chair’s former path but it enters from the next wing down and knocks him flying. A babble of anguish and protestation.)

  CYNTHIA: Simon—say something!

  BIRDBOOT: That reckless bastard (as he sits up).

  CYNTHIA: Thank God!——

  MAGNUS: What’s he doing here?

  CYNTHIA: He just turned up.

  MAGNUS: Really? How do you like it here?

  BIRDBOOT: I couldn’t take it night after night. (FELICITY enters.)

  FELICITY: So—you’re still here.

  CYNTHIA: Of course he’s still here. We’re going to play cards. There is no need to introduce you two, is there, for I recall now that you, Simon, met me through Felicity, our mutual friend.

  FELICITY: Yes, Simon is an old friend——

  BIRDBOOT: Ah—yes—well, I like to give young up and comers the benefit of my—er—Of course, she lacks technique as yet——

  FELICITY: Last night.

  BIRDBOOT: I’m not talking about last night!

  CYNTHIA: Indeed? Well, you deal, Felicity. Simon, you help me with the sofa.

  BIRDBOOT (to MOON): Did you see that? Tried to kill me. I told you it was Magnus—not that it is Magnus.

  MOON: Who did it, you mean?

  BIRDBOOT: What?

  MOON: You think it’s not Magnus who did it?

  BIRDBOOT: Get a grip on yourself, Moon—the facts are staring

  you in the face. He’s after Cynthia for one thing.

  MAGNUS: It’s Gascoyne, isn’t it?

  BIRDBOOT: Over my dead body!

  MAGNUS: If he comes between us...

  MOON (angrily): For God’s sake sit down!

  CYNTHIA: Simon!

  BIRDBOOT: She needs me, Moon. I’ve got to make up a four. (CYNTHIA and BIRDBOOT move the sofa as before, and they all sit at the table.)

  CYNTHIA: Right! Who starts?

  MAGNUS: I do. I’ll dummy for a no-bid ruff and double my holding on South’s queen. (While he moves cards.)

  CYNTHIA. Did I hear you say you saw Felicity last night, Simon?

  BIRDBOOT: Er—er——

  FELICITY: Pay twenty-ones or trump my contract. (Discards.) Cynthia’s turn.

  CYNTHIA: I’ll trump your contract with five dummy no-trumps there (discards), and I’ll move West’s rook for the re-bid with a banker ruff on his second trick there. (Discards.) Simon?

  BIRDBOOT: Would you mind doing that again?

  CYNTHIA: And I’ll ruff your dummy with five no-bid trumps there,(discards) and I support your re-bid with a banker for the solo ruff in the dummy trick there, (discards.)

  BIRDBOOT (standing up and throwing down his cards): And I call your bluff!

  CYNTHIA: Well done, Simon!

  (MAGNUS pays BIRDBOOT while CYNTHIA deals.)

  FELICITY: Strange how Simon appeared in the neighbourhood from nowhere, we know so little about him.

  CYNTHIA: Right, Simon, it’s your opening on the minor bid. Hmm. Let’s see. I think I’ll overbid the spade convention with two no-trumps and King’s gambit offered there—(discards) and West’s dummy split double to Queen’s Bishop four there!

  MAGNUS (as he plays cards): Faites vos jeux. Rien ne va plus. Rouge et noir. Zero.

  CYNTHIA: Simon?

  BIRDBOOT (triumphant, leaping to his feet) And I call your bluff!

  CYNTHIA (imperturbably): I meld.

  FELICITY: I huff.

  MAGNUS: I ruff.

  BIRDBOOT: I bluff.

  CYNTHIA: Twist.

  FELICITY: Bust.

  MAGNUS. Check.

  BIRDBOOT: Snap.

  CYNTHIA: How’s that?

  FELICITY: Not out

  MAGNUS: Double top.

  BIRDBOOT: Bingo!

  CYNTHIA: No! Simon—your luck’s in tonight.

  FELICITY: We shall see—the night is not over yet, Simon

  Gascoyne! (She quickly exits.)

  BIRDBOOT (looking after FELICITY): Red herring—smell it a mile off. (To MAGNUS.) Oh, yes, she’s as clean as a whistle, I’ve seen it a thousand times. And I’ve seen you before too, haven’t I? Strange—there’s something about you——

  MAGNUS: Care for a spin round the rose garden, Cynthia?

  CYNTHIA: No, Magnus, I must talk to Simon.

  BIRDBOOT: There’s nothing for you there, you know.

  MAGNUS: You think so?

  BIRDBOOT: Oh, yes, she knows which side her bread is buttered. I am a man not without a certain influence among those who would reap the limelight—she’s not going to throw me over for a heavily disguised cripple.

  MAGNUS. There’s an old Canadian proverb——

  BIRDBOOT: Don’t give me that—I tumbled to you right from the start—oh, yes, you chaps are not as clever as you think.... Sooner or later you make your mistake.... Incidentally, where was it I saw you?... I’ve definitely——

  MAGNUS (leaving): Well, I think I’ll go and oil my gun. (Exit.)

  BIRDBOOT (after MAGNUS): Double bluff!—(to CYNTHIA) I’ve seen it a thousand times.

  CYNTHIA: I think Magnus suspects something. And Felicity? Simon, was there anything between you and Felicity?

  BIRDBOOT: No, no—that’s all over now. I merely flattered her a a little over a drink, told her she’d go far, that sort of thing. Dear me, the fuss that’s been made over a simple flirtation——

  CYNTHIA (as MRS. DRUDGE enters behind): If I find you have falsely seduced me from my dear husband Albert, I will kill you, Simon Gascoyne!

  (The “CURTAIN” as before, MRS. DRUDGE and CYNTHIA leave, BIRDBOOT starts to follow them.)

  MOON: Birdboot!

  (BIRDBOOT stops.)

  MOON: For God’s sake pull yourself together.

  BIRDBOOT: I can’t help it.

  MOON: What do you think you’re doing? You’re turning it into a complete farce!

  BIRDBOOT: I know, I know—but I can’t live without her. (He is making erratic neurotic journeys about the stage.) I shall resign my position, of course. I don’t care I’m a gonner, I tell you——(He has arrived at the body. He looks at it in surprise, hesitates, bends and turns it over.)

  MOON: Birdboot, think of your family, your friends—your high standing the world of letters—I say, what are you doing? (BIRDBOOT is staring a
t the body’s face.)

  Birdboot... leave it alone. Come and sit down—what’s the matter with you?

  BIRDBOOT (dead-voiced): It’s Higgs.

  MOON: What?

  BIRDBOOT: It’s Higgs.

  (Pause.)

  MOON: Don’t be silly.

  BIRDBOOT: I tell you it’s Higgs!

  (MOON half rises. Bewildered.)

  I don’t understand.... He’s dead.

  MOON: Dead?

  BIRDBOOT: Who would want to...?

  MOON: He must have been lying there all the time....

  BIRDBOOT: … kill Higgs?

  MOON: But what’s he doing here? I was standing in tonight....

  BIRDBOOT (turning): Moon?...

  MOON (in wonder, quietly): So it’s me and Puckeridge now.

  BIRDBOOT: Moon …?

  MOON (faltering): But I swear I....

  BIRDBOOT: I’ve got it——

  MOON: But I didn’t——

  BIRDBOOT (quietly): My God … so that was it … (Up.) Moon—now I see——

  MOON:—I swear I didn’t——

  BIRDBOOT: Now—finally—I see it all——

  (There is a shot and BIRDBOOT falls dead.)

  MOON: Birdboot! (He runs on, to BIRDBOOT’J body.) (CYNTHIA appears at the french windows. She stops and stares. All as before.)

  CYNTHIA: Oh my God—what happened, Inspector?

  MOON (almost to himself): He’s dead.... (He rises.) That’s a bit rough, isn’t it?—A bit extreme!—He may have had his faults—I admit he was a fickle old … Who did this, and why? (MOON turns to face her. He stands up and makes swiftly for his seat. Before he gets there he is stopped by the sound of voices.)

  (SIMON and HOUND are occupying the critics’ seats.)

  (MOON freezes.)

  SIMON: To say that it is without pace, point, focus, interest, drama, wit or originality is to say simply that it does not happen to be my cup of tea. One has only to compare this ragbag with the masters of the genre to see that here we have a trifle that is not my cup of tea at all.

  HOUND: I’m sorry to be blunt but there is no getting away from

  it. It lacks pace. A complete ragbag.

  SIMON: I will go further. Those of you who were fortunate

  enough to be at the Comedie Française on Wednesday last, will not need to be reminded that hysterics are no substitute for éclat

  HOUND: It lacks élan.

  SIMON: Some of the cast seem to have given up acting altogether, apparently aghast, with every reason, at finding themselves involved in an evening that would, and indeed will, make the angels weep.

  HOUND: I am not a prude but I fail to see any reason for the shower of filth and sexual allusion foisted on to an unsuspecting public in the guise of modernity at all costs.... (Behind MOON, FELICITY, MAGNUS and MRS. DRUDGE have made their entrances, so that he turns to face their semicircle.)

  MAGNUS (pointing to BIRDBOOT’s body): Well, Inspector, is this your man?

  MOON (warily):... Yes … Yes....

  CYNTHIA: It’s Simon...

  MOON: Yes... yes... poor … (Up.) Is this some kind of a joke?

  MAGNUS: If it is, Inspector, it’s in very poor taste. (MOON pulls himself together and becomes galvanic, a little wild, in grief for BIRDBOOT.)

  MOON: All right! I’m going to find out who did this! I want everyone to go to the positions they occupied when the shot was fired—(they move; hysterically): No one will leave the house! (They move back.)

  MAGNUS: I think we all had the opportunity to fire the shot,

  Inspector——

  MOON (furious): I am not——

  MAGNUS:—but which of us would want to?

  MOON: Perhaps you, Major Magnus!

  MAGNUS: Why should I want to kill him?

  MOON: Because he was on to you—yes, he tumbled you right from the start—and you shot him just when he was about to reveal that you killed—(MOON points, pauses and then crosses to Higgs’s body and falters)—killed—(he turns Higgs over)—this … chap.

  MAGNUS: But what motive would there be for killing him? (Pause.) Who is this chap? (Pause.) Inspector?

  MOON (rising): I don’t know. Quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met. (Long pause.) Well... now...

  MRS. DRUDGE: Inspector?

  MOON (eagerly): Yes? Yes, what is it, dear lady?

  MRS. DRUDGE: Happening to enter this room earlier in the day to close the windows, I chanced to overhear a remark made by the deceased Simon Gascoyne to her ladyship, viz.—“I will kill anyone who comes between us.”

  MOON: Ah—yes—well, that’s it, then. This … chap … (pointing) was obviously killed by (pointing) er … by (pause) Simon.

  CYNTHIA: But he didn’t come between us!

  MAGNUS: And who, then, killed Simon?

  MRS. DRUDGE: Subsequent to that reported remark, I also happened to be in earshot of a remark made by Lady Muldoon to the deceased, to the effect, “I will kill you, Simon Gascoyne!” I hope you don’t mind my mentioning it.

  MOON: Not at all. I’m glad you did. It is from these chance remarks that we in the force build up our complete picture before moving in to make the arrest. It will not be long now, I fancy, and I must warn you, Lady Muldoon that anything you say——

  CYNTHIA: Yes!—I hated Simon Gascoyne, for he had me in his power!—But I didn’t kill him!

  MRS. DRUDGE: Prior to that, Inspector, I also chanced to overhear a remark made by Miss Cunningham, no doubt in the heat of the moment, but it stuck in my mind as these things do, viz., “I will kill you for this, Simon Gascoyne!”

  MOON: Ah! The final piece of the jigsaw! I think I am now in a position to reveal the mystery. This man (the corpse) was, of course, McCoy, the Canadian who, as we heard, meeting Gascoyne in the street and being solicited for sixpence for a toffee apple, smacked him across the ear, with the cry, “How’s that for a grudge to harbour, you sniffling little workshy!” all those many years ago. Gascoyne bided his time, but in due course tracked McCoy down to this house, having, on the way, met, in the neighbourhood, a simple ambitious girl from the provinces. He was charming, persuasive—told her, I have no doubt, that she would go straight to the top—and she, flattered by his sophistication, taken in by his promises to see her all right on the night, gave in to his simple desires. Perhaps she loved him. We shall never know. But in the very hour of her promised triumph, his eye fell on another—yes, I refer to Lady Cynthia Muldoon. From the moment he caught sight of her there was no other woman for him—he was in her spell, willing to sacrifice anything, even you, Felicity Cunningham. It was only today—unexpectedly finding him here—that you learned the truth. There was a bitter argument which ended with your promise to kill him—a promise that you carried out in this very room at your first opportunity! And

  I must warn you that anything you say——

  FELICITY: But it doesn’t make sense!

  MOON: Not at first glance, perhaps.

  MAGNUS: Could not Simon have been killed by the same person who killed McCoy?

  FELICITY: But why should any of us want to kill a perfect stranger?

  MAGNUS: Perhaps he was not a stranger to one of us.

  MOON (faltering): But Simon was the madman, wasn’t he?

  MAGNUS: We only have your word for that, Inspector. We only have your word for a lot of things. For instance—McCoy. Who is he? Is his name McCoy? Is there any truth in that fantastic and implausible tale of the insult inflicted in the Canadian streets? Or is there something else, something quite unknown to us, behind all this? Suppose for a moment that the madman, having killed this unknown stranger for private and inscrutable reasons of his own, was disturbed before he could dispose of the body, so having cut the telephone wires he decided to return to the scene of the crime, masquerading as—Police Inspector Hound!

  MOON: But... I’m not mad... I’m almost sure I’m not mad....

  MAGNUS: … only to discover that in the house was a man,

  Simon Gascoyne, w
ho recognized the corpse as a man against

  whom you had held a deep-seated grudge … !

  MOON: But I didn’t kill—I’m almost sure I——