by Ayn Rand
SERGE: I did! I am a humanitarian.
HASTINGS: What? Another one?
INGALLS: He did more than that. It was he who gave Walter the idea of the gift in the first place.
SERGE: That is true! But how did you know it?
INGALLS: I guessed it.
HASTINGS: Tell me, what is that invention actually good for? I mean, in practical application.
INGALLS: Oh, for a source of cheap power. For lighting the slums, for instance, or running factory motors.
HASTINGS: Is that all?
INGALLS: That’s all.
HASTINGS: Well, you see? If it’s a purely commercial invention, why should the Soviets be anxious to get exclusive control of it? They would try to steal it, of course. But once Mr. Breckenridge had decided to save them the trouble and give it away, they would cheer him as their best friend. They spend billions trying to prompt giveaways of that kind. They would guard his life—at least until tomorrow noon. They wouldn’t send any spies around to kill him.
SERGE: But Mr. Hastings!
HASTINGS: Yes?
SERGE: I am not a Soviet spy!
HASTINGS: Okay. I haven’t said you were. [To the others] Well, here’s how we stand. On one side, we have Steve, who had not one, but two possible motives. He has no alibi at all and his fingerprints are on the gun. On the other side, we have Mr. Sookin, who has a perfect alibi and no possible motive.
SERGE: But then why do you not act? What more do you want? When you have the so good case against Mr. Ingalls?
HASTINGS: That’s why, Serge—because it is so good. It’s too good.
SERGE: Why do you not let the jury decide that?
HASTINGS: Because I am afraid that the average jury would agree with you.
[DIXON enters from the garden. He carries on his palm a tiny object wrapped in cellophane. He hands it to HASTINGS]
DIXON: Found in the grass near the machine.
HASTINGS: [Unwraps the cellophane. Looks, sighs with disgust] Oh Lord! . . . A cigarette butt. . . . I didn’t think murderers went around doing that anymore. [Waves to DIXON, who exits into the garden. HASTINGS picks up the cigarette butt, examines it] A Camel . . . burned just to the brand. . . . How convenient. . . . [Puts the butt down. Says wearily:] All right, who smokes Camels around here? [INGALLS takes out his cigarette case, opens it, and extends it to HASTINGS. HASTINGS looks and nods]
INGALLS: It doesn’t surprise you?
HASTINGS: No. [To the others] Does anyone else here smoke Camels? [They shake their heads]
ADRIENNE: I do.
INGALLS: You don’t smoke, Adrienne.
ADRIENNE: I do—on the stage. . . . I’m very good at staging things.
HASTINGS: I’m not too sure of that.
INGALLS: [In a warning tone] Adrienne . . .
ADRIENNE: [To HASTINGS] Keep him out of this. Are you running this investigation or is he? You’ve been reviewing things a lot around here. How about my doing that for a change?
HASTINGS: Go right ahead.
ADRIENNE: Well, for instance, look at me. I had two motives. I wanted to break my contract. If you wish to know how badly I wanted it—well, I tried to kill myself a year ago. If I’d try that, wouldn’t I try something else, as desperate—or worse? Today I asked Walter, for the last time, to release me. He refused. That alone would be enough, wouldn’t it? But that’s not all. I love Steve Ingalls. I’ve been in love with him for years. Oh, it’s all right for me to say that—because he doesn’t give a damn about me. Today—I learned that he loves Helen. [Looks at HASTINGS] Well? Am I going to finish? Or will you?
INGALLS: [To ADRIENNE] You’re going to shut up.
HASTINGS: No, Steve, I’d rather let Miss Knowland finish.
ADRIENNE: All right. Wouldn’t I be smart enough to kill Walter and frame Steve for it? Wouldn’t I figure that even if he’s not convicted, Helen will never be able to get him—because if he married her, it would be like signing a confession? How’s that? Pretty good case?
HASTINGS: Very good.
INGALLS: [Stepping forward] Adrienne . . .
ADRIENNE: [Snaps angrily] It’s your turn to shut up! [To HASTINGS] And besides, that business about the murderer interrupting the fireworks—that’s nothing but your own guess. What is there to prove it? Drop that—and my alilbi is as bad as Steve’s. Worse. Because I went out looking for Walter. Nothing wrong with this case, is there?
HASTINGS: Yes. There is. That’s why it’s good.
INGALLS: Greg, I won’t allow this.
HASTINGS: Come on, Steve, that’s the first foolish thing I’ve heard you say. What’s the matter with you? How can you stop me? [To ADRIENNE] Miss Knowland, have you noticed that you’re the only one here who’s been contradicting herself?
ADRIENNE: How?
HASTINGS: That’s why I like your case. Because it’s not perfect. I don’t like perfect cases. . . . How? Well, if Steve was framed, I see only two people who had a motive for framing him. Mr. Sookin and you. Mr. Sookin hates Steve. You love him—which is much more damning. Now look at Mr. Sookin. If he framed Steve, he’s been acting like a fool here, laying it on too thick. Now what would he do if he weren’t a fool?
SERGE: [With a new kind of dangerous, mocking note in his voice] He’d pretend to be one.
HASTINGS: [Looks at him with new interest, says slowly:]
Quite so. [Then lightly again:] Congratulations, Mr. Sookin. You’re beginning to understand my ways of thinking. You may be right. But there’s another possible method of being clever. The person who framed Steve might do his best to act afterward as if he were protecting him.
INGALLS: Greg!
HASTINGS: [His voice driving on intensely] Keep still, all of you! Do you see, Miss Knowland? You’ve put on a beautiful show of protecting Steve. And yet, it was you who gave away the story of that interrupted love scene. Why? To show us that you were jealous? Or to damn Steve?
INGALLS: [In a tone of such authority that HASTINGS has to remain silent] All right, Greg. That’s enough. [His tone makes everyone look at him] You wanted to know how I could stop you? Very simply. [Takes a notebook out of his pocket and throws it down on the table. Takes out a pencil and stands holding it in his hand, over the paper] Unless you leave Adrienne out of this, I’m going to write a confession that I did it.
[ADRIENNE stands stock-still, like a person hit over the head]
HASTINGS: But, Steve, you didn’t do it!
INGALLS: That’s your concern. Mine is only that she didn’t do it. I’m not going to put on a show of protecting her—as she’s been trying to protect me, very crudely. I’m not going to hint and throw suspicion on myself. That’s been done for me—quite adequately. I’m simply going to blackmail you. You understand? If I sign a confession—with the evidence you have on me, you’ll be forced to put me on trial. You’ll have no choice. You might know that I didn’t do it, but the jury won’t be so subtle. The jury will be glad to pounce upon the obvious. Have I made myself clear? Leave Adrienne out of this, unless you want an unsolved murder on your record—and on your conscience.
ADRIENNE: [It is a scream of terror, of triumph, of release all at once—and the happiest sound in the world] Steve! [He turns to look at her. They stand holding the glance. It is more revealing than any love scene. They look at each other as if they were alone in the room and in the world. . . . Then she whispers, choking:] Steve . . . you, who’ve never believed in self-sacrifice . . . you, who’ve preached selfishness and egoism and . . . you wouldn’t do this, unless . . . unless it’s—
INGALLS: [In a low, tense voice, more passionate than the tone of a love confession]—unless it’s for the most selfish reason in the world. [She closes her eyes. He turns away from her slowly. HELEN, who has been watching them, lets her head drop, hopelessly]
HASTINGS: [Breaking the silence] God help us when people begin protecting each other! When they start that—I’m through. [Throws the notebook to INGALLS] All right, Steve. Put it away. You win—for the
moment. I’ll have a few questions to ask you about this—but not right now. [To ADRIENNE] Miss Knowland, if you were actually protecting him, you have no respect for my intelligence at all. You should have known I wouldn’t believe that Steve is guilty. I know a frame-up when I see one. [To the others] And for the information of the scoundrel who did this, I’d like to say that he’s an incredible fool. Did he really expect me to believe that Steve Ingalls—with his brilliant, methodical, scientific mind—would commit a sloppy crime like this? I could readily accept Steve as capable of murder. But if he ever committed one, it would be the finest job in the world. There wouldn’t be a hair’s weight of a clue. He’d have an alibi—as perfect as a precision instrument. But to think of Steve leaving fingerprints and cigarette butts behind! . . . I’d like to get the bastard who planned this and punch him in the nose. It’s not a case, it’s a personal insult to me! TONY: And to Steve.
HASTINGS: [Rising] I’ve had enough of this for tonight. Let’s get some sleep and some sense. I shall ask everybody not to leave this house, of course. I’ll have my men remain here—in this room and in the garden. I’ll be back early in the morning. I won’t ask you who killed Walter Breckenridge. I’ll know that when I find the answer to another question: who framed Steve Ingalls? . . . Good night. [Exits into the garden, calling:] Dixon! [As the others move to rise slowly or look at one another, INGALLS turns and walks to the stairs. ADRIENNE—who has looked at no one but him—makes a step to follow him. He stops on the stairs, turns to her, says calmly:]
INGALLS: I told you to wait. Sound vibrations travel very slowly, Adrienne. Not yet. [Turns and exits up the stairs, as she stands looking after him]
CURTAIN
SCENE 2
Early next morning. The room seems to be glowing. There is a clear blue sky outside and the house is flooded with sunlight.
HELEN and FLEMING are sitting at a table, deep in conversation. It is a serious conversation, but their voices are simple, light, natural.
FLEMING: Would we go by boat or by train?
HELEN: A plane would be best, don’t you think? Easier for Billy and he’ll enjoy it.
FLEMING: Do we have to make arrangements with Dr. Harlan in advance?
HELEN: I think so. I’ll telephone him today.
FLEMING: Long-distance?
HELEN: Yes, of course. Why not?
FLEMING: Helen . . . is it going to be very expensive—the operation and all?
HELEN: We don’t have to worry about that.
FLEMING: Yes, Helen. We do.
HELEN: [Looks at him. Then:] Of course. Forgive me. Bad habits are very hard to lose.
FLEMING: I thought—
[ARIENNE comes down the stairs. She walks as if her feet do not need to touch the ground. She wears a gay, simple summer dress. She looks like a person whose presence in a room would compete with the sunlight. But her manner is very simple; it is the manner of so profound a happiness that it cannot be anything but simple]
ADRIENNE: Good morning.
FLEMING: [Brightly] Good morning, Adrienne.
HELEN: [With a little effort] Good morning.
ADRIENNE: Mr. Hastings arrived?
FLEMING: Not yet.
ADRIENNE: [Looking through cigarette boxes] Any Camels around here? I think I’ll take up smoking. Camels are wonderful things. God bless every Camel butt in the world! [Finds a cigarette and lights it]
FLEMING: Never saw you look like that, Adrienne. Slept well?
ADRIENNE: [Walking to French doors] Haven’t slept at all. I don’t see why people insist on sleeping. You feel so much better if you don’t. And how can anybody want to lose a minute—a single minute of being alive?
FLEMING: What’s the matter, Adrienne?
ADRIENNE: Nothing. [Points to the garden] It’s the Fourth of July. [Exits into the garden]
HELEN: [Looks after her, then forces herself to return to the conversation] When we go to Montreal—
FLEMING: Look, Helen, here’s what I thought: I’ll have to take the money from you for Billy’s operation. That’s one time when it’s proper for a man to accept help. But don’t give me the money. Lend it. And charge me a fair interest on it. That, you see, would really be an act of humanity.
HELEN: Yes, Harvey. That’s what we’ll do.
FLEMING: [In a low voice] Thank you.
HELEN: And, of course, we’ll take legal steps to make him “Billy Fleming” again. . . . But you won’t forbid me to visit him, will you?
FLEMING: [Smiles happily, shaking his head. Then, at a sudden grim thought:] Helen. There’s one more thing. It’s still possible that they’ll decide that one of us . . . that . . .
HELEN: Yes. That one of us is the murderer.
FLEMING: Well . . . shall we agree that . . . if it’s one of us . . . the other will take Billy to Montreal?
HELEN: Yes, Harvey. And if it’s not one of us, then we’ll go together.
[INGALLS enters, coming down the stairs]
INGALLS: Good morning.
HELEN: Good morning, Steve.
FLEMING: [Looks at the two of them, then:] Is Billy up yet?
INGALLS: Don’t know. I haven’t been downstairs.
FLEMING: Guess I’ll go to see if he’s up. [Exits Right]
INGALLS: [Turning to HELEN] Helen.
HELEN: [Quietly] I know.
INGALLS: Helen, will you marry me?
HELEN: [Looks at him, startled, then shakes her head slowly] No, Steve.
INGALLS: Do you think that I am afraid?
HELEN: No. But if I told you what I think of this, you’d be very angry. You’re never angry, except when people say nice things about you. [As he is about to speak] No, Steve. You don’t love me. Perhaps you thought you did. Perhaps you didn’t know who it was that you really loved. I think you know it now. I do. You can’t hurt me, Steve, except if you refuse to admit this. Because, then, I’ll know that you have no respect for me at all.
INGALLS: [In a low voice] I’m sorry, Helen.
HELEN: [Nods her head slowly. Then forces herself to say lightly:] Besides, you should have noticed that I never said I loved you.
INGALLS: I noticed something else.
HELEN: Oh, that? Well, you must be generous, Steve. You mustn’t hold a moment’s weakness against me. After all, you’re very attractive, and . . . and Adrienne was right about your manner of making love.
INGALLS: Helen, I’m making it harder for you.
HELEN: [Calmly, her head high, looking straight at him] No, Steve, no. I wanted to say it. And now I want you to forget it. No, I don’t love you. I’ve never loved you. I’ve known you all these years—I’ve seen you so often—I’ve looked at you—I’ve heard your voice. . . . But I never loved you.
INGALLS: Helen . . .
HELEN: And that, Steve, is all you have a right to remember.
[She turns, walks to stairs. The doorbell rings. She stops on the stairs. INGALLS opens the door. HASTINGS enters]
HASTINGS: Good morning.
HELEN: Good morning, Mr. Hastings.
INGALLS: Hello, Greg.
HASTINGS: [To INGALLS] It would be your face that I’d have to see first. All right, I suppose I’d better take you first. [To HELEN] Will you excuse me, Mrs. Breckenridge? This case has upset all my theories. I’ll have to revert to the conventional and question some of the people in private.
HELEN: Yes, of course. I shall be upstairs if you want me. [Exits up the stairs]
HASTINGS: [Sitting down] Goddamn this case. Couldn’t eat a bite of breakfast this morning.
INGALLS: Oh, I did. I had scrambled eggs and bacon and fresh strawberries and coffee and—
HASTINGS: All right, all right. It doesn’t prove anything. You’d eat as well whether you’d done it or not. Did you do it?
INGALLS: What do you think?
HASTINGS: You know what I think. But damn it, Steve, if I don’t solve this, it’s you that they’ll throw to the lions. The jury lions.
INGALLS: I don’t
think I’m a good type for a martyr.
HASTINGS: No. But a swell type for a murderer.
INGALLS: Oh yes.
[DIXON enters Right, carrying a stack of newspapers and a phonograph record]
DIXON: Good morning, Chief. Here it is. [Deposits his load on a table]
HASTINGS: What about the shrubbery outside and the balcony?
DIXON: In perfect order. No broken branches. No footprints. Nothing. [Picking up the record] Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Minor all right. And the newspapers.
HASTINGS: [Looks through the newspapers, stops at one] Who reads the Red Worker?
DIXON: Mrs. Pudget.
HASTINGS: [Having gone to the bottom of the pile] No Courier?
DIXON: No Courier.
HASTINGS: Damn it, Dixon, we’ve got to find it—or prove that it wasn’t here at all!
INGALLS: But it was here. I saw it.
HASTINGS: That’s the hell of it! Too many of you saw it. I don’t think that little Holy Russian rat would’ve had the guts to fake it with an earlier edition. And yet I know there’s something phony about that alibi. Dixon, look through the garbage cans, the incinerators, everything!
DIXON: We did.
HASTINGS: Look again.
DIXON: Okay, Chief. [Exits Right]
HASTINGS: Steve, don’t be too damn noble and tell me who’d really have a reason to frame you around here!
INGALLS: If you’ll take my word for it—and I wish you would—no one.
HASTINGS: No one?
INGALLS: I wouldn’t vouch for Serge. But I know of no reason why he’d kill Walter.
HASTINGS: You know, I’m sure he’s done it. Look at how it was done. So crude, so obvious. I don’t see anyone else staging a frame-up quite so blatantly and hoping to get away with it. It just smells “Serge” all over. A dull, presumptuous, Communist mind that counts on its insolence to overcome the intelligence of anyone else.
INGALLS: But you’ve got to prove it.
