A one act play I wrote a while ago. It's a murder-mystery-comedy skit thing influenced mostly by the dozens of Agatha Christie books I've read at one point or another.
Eureka
The scene opens on an early 20th century parlor. It is evening. The back is lined with bookshelves. In center stage there is an old fashioned sofa designed to seat two people. Stage right of the sofa, slightly at an angle, is a matching armchair. On both ends of the sofa are small tables. One has a lamp and several wine glasses, ranging from empty to nearly brimming. A crystal ashtray is also on the table, filled with butts. Evidently it has seen a lot of use recently. The other table is actually a drinking cart. It has numerous bottles. One the second level of the table, below the table top, are several wine glasses and tumblers, clean and unused. The bookshelves which line the back wall have been made the depositing place of even more wine glasses—these, like their counterparts on the first table, have been used. Stage left has a fireplace and stage right has tall windows covered by heavy curtains. Near the window is a broken wineglass, having fallen on the floor. The room has four occupants. RAYMOND STONECASTLE, a conventionally handsome, well-dressed man in his 20s, paces behind the sofa. His hands are behind his back, his right arm gripping his left wrist. His pacing is jerky and troubled. COLONEL SPENCE, a tan, broad-shouldered, weather beaten man in his 60s, sits in the armchair. His physique has the look of someone who by nature is very fit, but has put on weight in the recent years. He grips a tumbler of rum in his hand, resting it on his knee. He sits upright with his feet firmly stationed on the ground, far apart. On the side of the sofa closest to the Colonel sits MADELINE TURNER, a young woman wearing rather dowdy, old fashioned clothes. She wears no jewelry and if she wears makeup, she does not wear enough. She is neither beautiful nor ugly. Altogether her face is one which is instantly forgotten. She appears to be jumpy, starting at the storm raging outside. Her hands are clasped together and are turning white. Her legs are crossed at the ankles. She is pressing up against her armrest, leaving a great amount of room in between her and SYLVIA RANDALL, a woman who is probably about the same age as Madeline, though she seems older. Her eyes are only half open, as if she is bored. Sylvia wears a tight, red dress which ends right before her knees. Her legs are clad in black or dark brown panty hose. Her legs are crossed at the knee and as a result one of her feet is elevated, its red stiletto bobbing up and down in the air. She is almost lying on her side of the sofa and is languidly smoking a cigarette out of a long cigarette holder. A small handbag in the same color as her dress sits next to her on the sofa.
A particularly loud boom of thunder causes Raymond to flinch and stop his pacing. He quickly recommences. The Colonel also flinches, shaking his tumbler but not enough to spill it. Madeline squeals and jumps in her seat, her hand resting on the armrest of the sofa. Sylvia alone is unfazed, taking a long, slow draught from her cigarette.
COLONEL: [comfortingly] There, there, m’girl [he tries to pat Madeline’s hand on the armrest but she immediately withdraws it]. There’s really nothing to worry about.
MADELINE: Nothing to worry about? Of course there’s something to worry about!
Another boom of thunder comes, causing the same reactions as before.
COLONEL: Come, come Miss Turner; a little rain never hurt anyone.
SYLVIA: [amusedly, drawing out each word] Except for the people who catch pneumonia and [pauses to flick the ash off her cigarette] die.
MADELINE: [shuddering] Don’t say that!
SYLVIA: [sitting up straighter, defiantly] Why shouldn’t I? Isn’t that what’s on all our minds?
RAYMOND: [halting his pacing to put his hands on the back of the sofa and lean in to face Sylvia, nicely] I say Miss Turner, the girl doesn’t wish to discuss such a gloomy topic, so couldn’t you—
SYLVIA: [snorts and leans back on the couch, rolling her eyes] Well gloomy or not, there are still five corpses in the drawing room.
Madeline whimpers. Raymond recommences his pacing.
RAYMOND: [exasperatedly] I say, that’s not exactly sporting, what!
SYLVIA: [reveling wickedly] Or—no, I’m sorry, there are seven corpses in the drawing room, aren’t there?
COLONEL: Really, girl, you’ve had your fun.
SYLVIA: [to herself] Yes, silly me. I had it confused with the billiard room. There are five dead bodies in the billiard room. [theatrically slaps her forehead] Silly, silly, silly me!
MADELINE: [turning to face Sylvia with her fists balled up] Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
SYLVIA: Well I’m sorry, but I have never been one to ignore the elephant in the room. If you all wish to kick back and play a game of bridge, I can’t stop you, but you can count me out.
RAYMOND: Well we can’t exactly do that, don’t you know!
COLONEL: Yes, you need four people to play bridge!
RAYMOND: Well, only three people play bridge, actually. But then who would be the dummy?
SYLVIA: [eyeing both the Colonel and Raymond. Her face has no expression] I’m sure either of you two would be perfect for the part.
COLONEL: [condescendingly, having missed the insult] Thank you, my dear girl, but you do not understand.
RAYMOND: [also having missed the rather obvious insult] Yes, you see, if Colonel Spence and I are playing, we cannot be the dummy. One cannot play cards and be the dummy at the same time!
SYLVIA: [innocently] So you two are not card players then?
RAYMOND: [to the Colonel] I do not believe she understands us.
COLONEL: [shaking his head fondly] Women—it’s no use explaining cards to them.
SYLVIA: [smiling] Yes, we are dummies.
MADELINE: [Explodes. Leaps up and waves her arms. Hysterically] Enough! She’s insulting you! Don’t you understand? She’s calling you dummies! She’s making one of her awful jokes, just like she’s been doing all evening!
Raymond and the Colonel both ponder over this, furrowing their brows and stroking their chins.
RAYMOND: I say Miss Turner, you must be deuced exhausted.
COLONEL: Yes, it has been a rather trying evening. Perhaps you had better sit down and rest.
Raymond goes over to Madeline and helps her sit down. She sits down exhaustedly.
RAYMOND: Now do not feel bad that your nerves have been shaved to the wire. We shall all forget your outburst. I daresay anyone under your stress would be able to misinterpret that little exchange. [He goes behind the sofa and resumes his pacing] After all, sixteen deaths in the course of one dinner party do take a toll on one.
Madeline shudders again. The Colonel pats her on the shoulder reassuringly.
COLONEL: Now, now, my dear, do not worry yourself. I am sure this dashed business will be cleared up satisfactorily and you will attend many enjoyable dinner parties in the future.
SYLVIA: You couldn’t attend any worse than this one.
RAYMOND: [ponderingly] You know, I don’t think that’s true. At least this one had a decent spread—quail and beef and all manner of positively delish liquor. This whiskey I’ve been drinking all evening is to die for!
Madeline squeaks. No one notices.
RAYMOND: At this one dinner party—at the flat of one of my old school fellows, goes by the name of Bosie Barman—anyway, his man quit the day of, and it was one of the most disappointing affairs! There was some cold meat, but Grubber Winship did away with most of that—
COLONEL: Theodore Winship? You know him?
RAYMOND: [Delightedly] Old Grubber? Of course! Back when we were little tadpoles in school he used to cheat off me!
SYLVIA: [Amazedly] Someone would cheat off you?
COLONEL: Theodore’s my cousin Harriet’s child! [He rises and he and Raymond happily clap each other on the shoulders]
RAYMOND: Fancy that! It’s a small world—
SYLVIA: [annoyed] Yes, and this evening it became nineteen people smaller. Perhaps we should be discussing this?
COLONEL: [wagging his finger] Now, now Miss Randall, there you go making a mountain out of a molehill again. [he sits down]
RAYMOND: 19 people haven’t died. [laughing] Only 16.
MADELINE: [rubbing her temples as if she has a headache] She’s right. 19 people died.
RAYMOND: [confidently] I don’t think so. Now, I admit I wasn’t exactly the prized bundle of gray matter back in my maths class, but I do recall that there were twenty to dinner. We four are left, so 16 people died. [he happily claps his hands together, and keeps them together, at this conclusion]
MADELINE: You’re forgetting the domestics.
RAYMOND: [scratching his head, looking up] Oh dear, you are correct! The maid, butler, and cook all died, didn’t they? How inconvenient. I am always forgetting the domestics! That’s why my man Parker quit on me. It seems I neglected the little detail of a holiday bonus and he became quite snippy and I had a word or two to say to him and then—
COLONEL: [nodding sympathetically] It’s so difficult to find good help these days.
SYLVIA: [annoyed but calm] And this evening it became even harder to find good help these days.
RAYMOND: Why would anyone want to kill the staff? I’d understand why someone would want to kill our host; Uncle Franklin cheated at golf and told the most longwinded accounts of his boring army adventures in India...like the time he scared off hostiles by imitating a monkey or some such nonsense. [the Colonel stiffens and looks annoyed] [Raymond speaks declaratively, with his hands on his hips] He was a poop!
COLONEL: [muttering to himself] Franklin was a blighter, always stealing my army stories. At least I’ll never have to hit the links with him again.
RAYMOND: He even bawled at me, his own flesh and blood nephew…mind you he never did like me. Seemed to think I was a bit of a dimwit…still, shame he’s kicked it.
COLONEL: [nodding reverently] A great tragedy.
SYLVIA: [drily] Your grief is stirring.
MADELINE: [tearing up] It’s all so sad. I don’t know what to do.
Raymond reaches into his breast pocket and hands Madeline his handkerchief, patting her shoulder. Madeline blows her nose.
RAYMOND: I know it’s hard, but things will turn up.
MADELINE: [tearily, her voice cracking] They will?
RAYMOND: [confidently] Oh yes. It seems someone needs a new secretary every minute. You’re bound to find a new boss!
Madeline bursts into tears, burying her face on the armrest and placing her arms around her head. Raymond looks disconcertedly to the others.
RAYMOND: The poor girl’s really broken up about losing her [as in the first two syllables of “position”] posish.
MADELINE: [voice muffled] You fool! I’m not crying about that! I’m crying about Franklin being dead!
RAYMOND: Oh yes. [pause] Rather.
SYLVIA: This is all very touching, but there is something a little more urgent we need to discuss.
COLONEL: Yes, I’m almost out of rum. Raymond, [holding up tumbler] you wouldn’t mind topping me off?
Raymond takes the tumbler.
RAYMOND: Not a bit, old bean!
Raymond goes over to the drink cart and begins refilling the Colonel’s glass.
SYLVIA: Not that. The murders!
Madeline’s weeping becomes louder and Raymond, astonished, drops the Colonel’s glass. It breaks.
RAYMOND: [shocked] Murders?
SYLVIA: You don’t mean to tell me you thought 19 people just dropped dead the same evening by chance!
RAYMOND: [pauses, abashedly] Well I’d hoped. [He leans down to pick up the shards]
COLONEL: Better let the servants get that.
SYLVIA: What servants?
Raymond pours the Colonel another glass of rum and hands it to him.
COLONEL: Thankee, m’boy.
He drinks deeply. Raymond begins to pace behind the sofa again.
SYLVIA: [scathingly] Now that we’re all topped off, can we talk about the murders?
Madeline’s crying once again becomes louder.
COLONEL: [eyeing Madeline anxiously] You don’t think we’d better postpone this discussion until the poor girl’s in better spirits?
SYLVIA: By the time that happens the police will have already come and incarcerated the lot of us!
RAYMOND: [scandalized] I say!
SYLVIA: The ugly truth is that 19 people have died this evening, and that means one of the people in this room is a murderer!
There’s another boom of thunder. Madeline squeaks and jumps in her seat. She is still crying, but paying attention.
SYLVIA: Now the police were telephoned about an hour and a half ago when the first murder occurred. Lord Stonecastle didn’t tell them about the murder; he just told them to come on by when they could.
MADELINE: [fondly] He was always so discrete!
SYLVIA: Why they haven’t arrived yet I don’t know. Where is the nearest police station?
MADELINE: About half an hour away by automobile. We are somewhat remote.
SYLVIA: They should be here soon then…unless they’ve been delayed on account of weather.
MADELINE: The roads leading to the manor are prone to floods.
SYLVIA: In any case, I propose that the four of us settle who the murderer is before they come. That saves three of us a lot of unpleasantness.
COLONEL: [delightedly] A mystery! [rubbing his hands together] Delicious, delicious! Always envisioned myself as a detective when I was a child.
SYLVIA: Let’s start at the first murder: Mrs. Powell.
MADELINE: [almost as if in a trance] She just sort of keeled over. Right where Raymond is now.
Raymond hops away, looking disturbed. He leans against the fireplace mantle.
COLONEL: Ah, Mrs. Powell. Great shame that. She bred the most marvelous hunting dogs.
MADELINE: No, that was Mrs. Granger. She’s the one who collapsed in front of the fireplace.
Raymond again hops away from his current location. He recommences his pacing.
SYLVIA: Was Mrs. Powell the one with all the ghastly costume jewelry?
MADELINE: [cattily] No, my dear. I believe that was your friend, Mrs. Barnes.
SYLVIA: [looking Madeline up and down scathingly] Well, my dear, at least she could afford pastes.
COLONEL: [springs up with his index finger pointing up] Eureka! I’ve got it! It was Mrs. Barnes!
RAYMOND: Really! Beastly clever of you! I never would have known. Well [he slaps his hands together] case closed!
SYLVIA: Not so fast Mr. Stonecastle. Perhaps we should find out why Mrs. Barnes is thus imputed?
COLONEL: She was the woman wearing the big brooch, right?
SYLVIA: She was one of them, at any rate.
COLONEL: Oldest trick in the book! These people were all poisoned, correct? Well, what if that brooch was one of those trick brooches you can store things in? She hides the poison in there and she does away with everyone—easy as pie!
RAYMOND: I say, that’s using the old grey cells!
SYLVIA: [falsely] It is an admirable solution… [rolling her eyes] except it doesn’t explain why Mrs. Barnes killed herself or how she managed to kill another 10 people after she herself was killed.
COLONEL: [disappointed] Oh…that’s right. [He sits back in his seat]
SYLVIA: Anyway, number two was the rector, Mr. Foster.
MADELINE: I believe you are mistaken. Mr. Perry was the rector, and he was the third to be killed.
SYLVIA: No, Mr. Foster was the rector. I remember because he and I were having a conversation about opera and he quoted Exodus—
MADELINE: No, it was Mr. Perry you had that conversation with—
RAYMOND: Which was the one with the splendid plum suit?
COLONEL: Mr. Brooks and it was burgundy.
RAYMOND: No, I am fairly certain it was plum—
SYLVIA: But Mr. Perry was the one who brought the box of dates—
COLONEL: Then who wore burgundy?
MADELINE: Mr. Jenkins!
RAYMOND: Which one?
MADELINE: The plum!
SYLVIA: I thought they were dates!
RAYMOND: You two are both mistaken! It was Mr. Brown who brought dates! Cynthia and Georgiana!
SYLVIA: Not girls! The dish!
RAYMOND: Well that Cynthia was quite a dish!
COLONEL: Cynthia Green?
SYLVIA: No, she wore pink.
RAYMOND: Then who wore plum?
COLONEL: Mr. Perry!
RAYMOND: No! Perry brought the plums!
SYLVIA and MADELINE: [shouting] The dates!
COLONEL: That was Mr. Brown!
SYLVIA: [frustrated] Hold on, let’s get this straight—
COLONEL: I thought Cynthia’s last name was Henderson!
MADELINE: No, it’s Green!
COLONEL: Burgundy!
RAYMOND: Plum!
MADELINE: Dates!
RAYMOND: Mr. Brown’s dates had nothing to do with this!
SYLVIA: [springs up] Hold on! Everyone be quiet!
COLONEL: [springing up in the same manner as before] Eureka! I’ve got it! It was the man who brought the plums!
MADELINE: The dates?
Sylvia groans and sinks into the couch.
RAYMOND: [doubtfully] I don’t think Mr. Brown would hurt a fly.
COLONEL: Not Mr. Brown! Mr. Perry! The rector.
SYLVIA: No, the rector was Mr. Foster—
MADELINE: No, it was Mr. Perry—
COLONEL: --whoever it was, that’s the person who committed the murders.
RAYMOND: [slaps the mantle in delight] I say, you are truly top notch! How do you do it?
SYLVIA: Yes, how did you reach this conclusion?
COLONEL: The oldest trick in the book—
SYLVIA: --after the jewelry, of course—
COLONEL: His dates were poisoned!
RAYMOND: Now that’s a fine way to talk about two splendid girls—
SYLVIA and MADELINE: The fruit!
COLONEL: It would be the perfect way to slip someone poison! He could have prepared it before the party started!
MADELINE: There’s just one problem with that theory.
COLONEL: Eh?
MADELINE: I ate a date.
RAYMOND: As did I, come to think of it.
COLONEL: Oh. And so did I. [falls into his seat] This detective business is dashed difficult.
SYLVIA: [drily] Yes, who would have suspected you couldn’t pick up a profession in five minutes?
RAYMOND: [In front of the window] Probably that novelist Ms. Sanders. That girl had a brain the size of Bosie Barman’s fat head…and he has one fat head. Fatter than Bongo Phillips’ middle region.
SYLVIA: I’ll never forget seeing her die…she was hoping for the arrival of the police—she was just looking through the window curtain
Raymond hops away from his place.
SYLVIA: Her wine glass is still there from when she dropped it.
MADELINE: I believe she was fourth—
COLONEL: [rising as before] Eureka! I’ve got it!
MADELINE: Here we go again.
COLONEL: It was Ms. Sanders! Who better to conduct a series of murders than a detective novelist?
SYLVIA: [sarcastically] I don’t know…maybe someone who didn’t have over ten people die after she died?
COLONEL: [seats himself] Oh yes, same old hitch.
SYLVIA: Oldest hitch in the book.
RAYMOND: [confused] I thought the jewelry was the oldest trick in the book.
Madeline groans.
RAYMOND: Which book are we talking about anyway? Not one of Ms. Sander’s books, by any chance?
SYLVIA: I need a drink.
RAYMOND: Say no more, say no more. [strides over to the drinks table] Or rather, say more, because I’m not sure what you take.
SYLVIA: I’ve been drinking scotch all evening [Madeline looks disgusted]
RAYMOND: [waves an empty bottle] The scotch has been spent, I’m afraid. [inspects an unopened bottle] Perhaps you would prefer this wine?
MADELINE: [springs up, loudly] Don’t open that!
RAYMOND: [hastily sets down the bottle] Eh?
Madeline strides over to the drink table.
MADELINE: That’s Franklin’s favorite wine! It’s the last of the vintage to be bottled, too, and he always says that is the strongest! Don’t waste it on [gesturing towards Sylvia] her!
SYLVIA: [offended] Excuse me?
RAYMOND: [picks up the bottle and looks more closely at it] Ah yes, this is the wine Uncle Franklin makes here, isn’t it? Sometimes gives it domestics in lieu of time off…[chuckles] am I ever glad I was born rich! Is this year’s vintage any good?
MADELINE: [stiffly] I wouldn’t know. I was out of town during this year’s bottling and tonight was the first night they were to be opened. And besides, I don’t drink alcohol.
SYLVIA: [sarcastically] There’s a big surprise.
MADELINE: Anyway, that’s your uncle’s wine, so I don’t think you should open it.
RAYMOND: [brandishes his index finger] Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. This is my wine.
MADELINE: This bottle belongs to Lord Stonecastle!
RAYMOND: That may be true, but as of an hour ago I, being my uncle’s closest living relative, received his title, his money, his estate, and this wine. So I’ll bally well open it if I want to. Not that I want to. Wine is not my beverage of choice.
MADELINE: You can’t be serious!
RAYMOND: Oh but I am serious! Never liked the stuff!
SYLVIA: I believe she was speaking of your inheritance…
RAYMOND: Oh, rather. Yes. You may call me Lord Stonecastle!
Madeline slumps into her seat. The Colonel rises and wrings Raymond’s hand.
COLONEL: Congratulations, m’boy! Always knew you would make something of yourself!
SYLVIA: If by making something you mean staying alive until his uncle died.
RAYMOND: Let me tell you it hasn’t been easy.
The Colonel sits down, only to shoot up again.
COLONEL: Eureka! I’ve got it! Raymond’s the murderer!
RAYMOND: [enthusiastically] You really are marvelous with your keen intelli—[he pauses, insulted and indignant] Well I like that! Why should I be the murderer?
COLONEL: You had the motive!
RAYMOND: Don’t be silly. If I’d wanted Uncle Franklin dead I would have acted on it ages ago. Like when he tried to set me up with that awful Miss Marner. Had teeth like a walrus and breath to match.
COLONEL: Perhaps you have debts which place you in pressing need of the money.
RAYMOND: Debts? I don’t gamble! And anyway, you’re forgetting one important point!
SYLVIA: That someone as boneheaded as you couldn’t have killed 19 people and avoided detection this long?
RAYMOND: [smugly, gloating] That’s right! I bet you’re feeling pretty stupid now, eh?
The Colonel seats himself.
COLONEL: I hadn’t thought of that.
RAYMOND: No, not thinking is usually my department. But here’s what I think—
SYLVIA: This should be good.
RAYMOND: Whoever killed 19 people must be some sort of mad psychopath. And how are people driven crazy?
SYLVIA: Spending extended periods of time in rooms with dimwits?
RAYMOND: [thinks this over] Possibly, but I was thinking of breakdowns, and those are caused by stress. And if someone’s stressed, they probably work a lot, and that leaves out everyone in the room!
MADELINE: You’re saying it couldn’t be one of us because we don’t have jobs?
COLONEL: [springs up] Eureka! I’ve got it! It was Miss Turner!
MADELINE: [very squeaky, upset] Me? Why would you think that?
COLONEL: Because you, unlike the rest of us, have a job—
RAYMOND: [pops his head in between the two briefly] Had a job; can’t be a secretary to a dead man.
Madeline erupts into tears, once again laying her face on the armrest.
RAYMOND: And I don’t think the new Lord Stonecastle will be hiring her, if you catch my drift. [speaking out of the corner of his mouth] For one thing she’s a murderer.
Madeline sobs even louder.
RAYMOND: And for another the girl’s crying all the time!
SYLVIA: As much as I hate to say it, Miss Turner being employed doesn’t mean she’s guilty. Why would she kill anyone…especially her boss?
The Colonel sits down.
COLONEL: Well surely there’s an explanation somewhere. Miss Turner, were you on good terms with the late Lord Stonecastle?
Madeline raises her head, but she’s still crying.
MADELINE: We were on the best of terms.
SYLVIA: I’ll bet.
MADELINE: What’s that supposed to mean?
SYLVIA: [innocently] nothing.
MADELINE: [defiantly] No, you did not mean nothing! What did you mean?
SYLVIA: I just meant that…[looks around] it hasn’t escaped my notice that you two must have been on very good terms.
MADELINE: [balling up her fists, turning to face Sylvia directly] Just what are you implying?
SYLVIA: Well…you are very upset at his death—
MADELINE: Because he’s dead! Am I the only one here who appreciates that human lives have been lost this evening?
SYLVIA: [disgusted] Don’t get on your high horse—
MADELINE: 19 people have died and all you can think about is saving yourself some trouble! That’s why you want to find the murderer—not out of respect of the dead but to save your own skin.
SYLVIA: Is it a crime to—
MADELINE: And you [she turns to Raymond who stops dead in his tracks with a ‘me?’ expression] are more consumed by your new title and new estate than you are by the fact that one of your near relatives has died!
RAYMOND: I say—
MADELINE: And you [turning to the Colonel] think the death of your longtime army buddy is just an excuse to play detective!
COLONEL: Really—
SYLVIA: [“Take that” ish] At least none of us have been having an affair with our boss!
Everyone is silent. Everyone looks astonished at this outburst.
SYLVIA: That’s right! You think I didn’t notice how you were fawning over him at dinner? Or how you’ve called him nothing but “Franklin?” [gloating] No use playing the ingénue with us. A man twice your age—and married, no less!
RAYMOND: [shocked, but not unpleasantly so] Well how do you like that? That unfaithful old coot was unfaithful again! And he swore Miss Hughes would be the last one!
MADELINE: What?
RAYMOND: Miss Hughes—surely you remember her. Was engaged as a cook here about a year ago. Unc gave her the old heave ho a few months ago. Aunt Emily found out about their midnight rendez-vous and shattered that romance…but she was his wife so I suppose it was her domain. My mater told me all about it.
MADELINE: But Miss Hughes—she was employed after—after we started to—
SYLVIA: So the cheater cheated on you—[rolling her eyes] big surprise.
RAYMOND: I am amazed you never heard anything about it, Miss Turner. After all, she did make a bit of a ruckus when she made to leave, as I heard. Swore revenge or some such nonsense. Unc always did like the theatrical girls.
MADELINE: [looking past something in front of her] Franklin—he arranged for me to take a holiday in London with my aunt at around that time. I thought he was being so considerate but—[enraged] that lousy cheater was just getting me out of the way so he could break up with that hussy in solitude!
SYLVIA: Well, [somewhat humorously, shrugging her shoulders] now you have a motive for his death!
COLONEL: But if the girl was in love with the man, she wouldn’t kill him.
RAYMOND: No, though she might have liked to have given Aunt Emily the final curtain.
MADELINE: I don’t believe this! You think you have such a deep relationship with a man—
SYLVIA: --a married man—
MADELINE: --and it turns out it’s been a sham all this time! [Neither sad nor angry, now she just looks lost]
There’s a momentary silence.
COLONEL: [Springing up] Eureka! I’ve got it!
SYLVIA: [sarcastically] Oh thank God. It was getting sensible for a moment.
COLONEL: It was Miss Hughes! She hated Franklin, probably hated dear Emily—
RAYMOND: I am sorry old bean, but I happen to know from the source of all truth—
SYLVIA: Your mother?
RAYMOND: The same—that Miss Hughes went across the pond. It’s possible she came back, I suppose…
COLONEL: [shakes his head as he sits down] but not at all likely.
RAYMOND: Especially as she’s making a bit of a smash on the American stage. I told you she was theatrical. One of my mother’s friends saw her in a production of Popping Up Lilies in New York two weeks ago. Raved about her. Apparently she has a real gift, and I’m not talking about her radiant beauty.
Madeline begins sobbing again.
COLONEL: Well someone else must have a motive. Who would wish Franklin ill? [A look of realization dawns on him and he springs up again] Eureka! I have a motive!
SYLVIA: [incredulous] You’re accusing yourself?
COLONEL: It’s always the person you least expect!
RAYMOND: I say, this is exciting!
SYLVIA: [going along with it] Okay Mr. Murderer—
RAYMOND: Colonel Murderer
SYLVIA: Ugh—wouldn’t want to say that five times fast.
RAYMOND: Colonel Murderer, Colonel Murderer, Colonel Murderer, Colonel Murderer, Colonel Murderer
SYLVIA: Anyway…Colonel—what is your supposed motive?
COLONEL: Well, Franklin was always stealing my war stories—
RAYMOND: He did you a big favor there—
COLONEL: And he cheated against me at golf!
Madeline and Sylvia exchange glances.
MADELINE: Colonel, we appreciate your detective skills—
Sylvia snorts
MADELINE: but if you’re the murderer…how did you do it?
COLONEL: [thinks for a few beats, perplexed] I really couldn’t say. Must have been some devious plan…but I’m not sure.
SYLVIA: [nodding kindly] Right. [pauses] Colonel, you didn’t do it.
COLONEL: [sighs] I suppose not. [sits down] But if I didn’t do it, who did?
RAYMOND: [points to Sylvia] Eureka!
SYLVIA: [annoyed] Oh, not you, too…
RAYMOND: It was you, Miss Randall!
SYLVIA: [unimpressed] And how did you decide that?
RAYMOND: [sheepishly] Well, you’re the only person we haven’t accused yet.
MADELINE: It is true that none of us know anything about you. As you came as Mrs. Barnes’s guest, none of us had ever met you before this evening.
SYLVIA: And if I’ve never met anyone before this evening, what possible reason could I have to kill anyone?
COLONEL: [springs up] Eureka! You didn’t have a motive for killing the strangers—you only had a motive for killing Mrs. Barnes! You killed the others to hide your true victim!
SYLVIA: Passing over the illogic which would make me commit eighteen extra murderers to cover up one murder, why would I want to kill Mrs. Barnes? So I could have her fake jewelry collection?
COLONEL: [sits down] I don’t know. There must be some reason.
MADELINE: [desperately] It’s no use! No matter how much we talk we’re not going to settle anything! What can we do?
RAYMOND: I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I know what I’m going to do! Drink! He walks over to the drinks cart] Anyone care to join me?
SYLVIA: I’ll have something.
COLONEL: So will I.
RAYMOND: Miss Turner?
MADELINE: [a little bit wildly] Why not? I don’t have job, the married man I was involved with cheated on me, now he’s dead, and I’m a suspect in his murder. Why shouldn’t I have something to drink?
RAYMOND: [cheerfully] That’s the spirit! [he looks down at the bottles in the drinking cart] Oh dear. Speaking of spirits, we appear to be running low.
SYLVIA: [rises and joins Raymond at the drinking cart] There’s no scotch left?
COLONEL: [also walks to the drinking cart] What about rum?
RAYMOND: [shakes his head] No and none I’m afraid. My whiskey’s finished too. All that’s left is [he checks the bottles] my special wine. But then—[he glances at Madeline] if you’d rather we not drink it—
MADELINE: [gets up and joins them at the table] Oh no, drink away. I’ll even join you. [viciously] Believe me, I’ll take great pleasure in drinking up Franklin’s favorite.
Raymond pours four wineglasses and hands them off.
RAYMOND: I’d like to propose a toast. We’ve seen so much death about us this evening, so how about a toast to life?
EVERYONE: [clinking glasses] To life!
Everyone drinks deeply.
COLONEL: Eureka! I’ve got it! It was Miss Hughes! She poisoned the wine before she left—she left while they were bottling it!
The four exchange horrified glances and collapse, dead, on the floor.
THE END
