SLEUTH

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by Anthony Shaffer

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 Copyright © 1970 by Peter Shaffer Limited
Copyright © 1998 by Anthony Shaffer All Rights Reserved

SLEUTH is fully protected under the copyright laws of the British

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and the rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved.
ISBN 978-0-573-xxxxx-x

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 SLEUTH was presented by Helen Bonfils, Morton Gottlieb and Michael
White at The Music Box, N.Y.C., on November 12, 1970. The director
was Clifford Williams. The original cast included:

CAST
(In Order of Appearance)

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ANDREW WYKE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anthony Quayle
MILO TINDLE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Keith Baxter

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INSPECTOR DOPPLER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Philip Farrar
DETECTIVE SERGEANT TARRANT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Harold K. Newman
POLICE CONSTABLE HIGGS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roger Purnell

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The English production of SLEUTH was presented at St. Martin’s
Theatre, London, by Michael White and was directed by Clifford
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Williams. The original English cast was as follows:

ANDREW WYKE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anthony Quayle

MILO TINDLE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Keith Baxter
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INSPECTOR DOPPLER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanley Rushton

DETECTIVE SERGEANT TARRANT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Robin Mayfield
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POLICE CONSTABLE HIGGS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Liam McNulty

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 CHARACTERS

ANDREW WYKE
MILO TINDLE
INSPECTOR DOPPLER
DETECTIVE SERGEANT TARRANT
CONSTABLE HIGGS

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SETTING

ACT ONE

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Andrew Wyke’s country home in Wiltshire

A summer evening
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ACT TWO
Two days later
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 ACT ONE

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(The Curtain rises on the living room of ANDREW
WYKE’s Norman Manor House in Wiltshire. It is

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stone-flagged, and a tall window runs the height of
the back wall. It is divided laterally by a minstrels’
gallery which, in turn, is approached by a

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winding staircase. A wardrobe, grandfather clock,
and bureau stand on the gallery, respectively left
and right. Upstage right is the hallway leading
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to the unseen front door. Upstage left a corridor
leads into another part of the house. Standing in
this corridor is a large basket hamper. Games of
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all kinds adorn the room, ranging in complexity
from chess draughts and chequers to early dice
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and card games and even earlier blocking games

like Senat and Nine Men Morris. Upstage center,
by the window, under the gallery is a full-sized
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“Laughing Sailor.”)
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(As the play opens ANDREW WYKE is sitting at his

desk, typing. He is a strongly built, tall, fleshy
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man of 57, gone slightly to seed. His fair hair

carries on it the suspicion that chemical aid has
been invoked to keep the grey at bay. His face,
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sourly amused and shadowed with evaded self-

knowledge, is beginning to reflect the absence
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of constant, arduous employment. He wears a

smoking jacket and black tie. The clock strikes
eight o’clock. ANDREW turns to look at clock,
finishes typing, takes the page from the typewriter
and begins to read.)

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2 SLEUTH

ANDREW. “As you appear to know so much, Lord Merridew,

sir,” said the Inspector, “I wonder if you could explain
just how the murderer managed to leave the body of
his victim in the middle of the tennis court, and effect
his escape without leaving any tracks behind him in
the red dust. Frankly, sir, we in the Police Force are
just plain baffled.” St. John Lord Merridew, the great

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detective, rose majestically, his huge Father Christmas
face glowing with mischievous delight. Slowly he

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brushed the crumbs of seedy cake from the folds of
his pendulous waistcoat. “The police may be baffled,
Inspector,” he boomed, “but Merridew is not. It’s all a

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question of a little research and a little ratiocination.
Thirty years ago, the murderer, Doctor Grayson, was
a distinguished member of the Ballet Russe dancing
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under the same of Oleg Graysinski. The years may
have altered his appearance, but his old skill had not
deserted him. He carried the body out to the centre of
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the tennis court, walking on his points along the white
tape which divided the service boxes. From there he
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threw it five feet into the court, towards the base line,
where it was found, and then, with a neatly executed
fouette, faced about and returned the way he had
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come, thus leaving no traces.”

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Splendid! Absolutely splendid! Merridew loses none

of his cunning, I’m glad to say. (The doorbell rings.
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ANDREW finishes his drink, then exits to hallway.) Oh,

hallo. Good evening, Milo Tindle, is it?
MILO. Yes. Mr. Wyke?
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ANDREW. Yes. Do come in, won’t you?

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MILO. Thank you.

(The front door is heard to close. ANDREW walks

back into the room. He is followed by MILO.
TINDLE. He is about 35, slim, dark-haired and
of medium height. He has a sharp, sallow face
alive with a faintly Mediterranean wariness.
 SLEUTH 3

Everything about him is neat from his exactly

parted hair to the squared off white handkerchief
in the breast pocket of his blue mohair suit.)

ANDREW. Let me take your coat. I’ll hang it up for you. Do

make yourself at home. (ANDREW hangs coat on coat
rack upstage.) I see you found the entrance to the lane

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alright?
MILO. Yes. (Walks about surveying room.)

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ANDREW. Well done. Most people go straight past it. It’s so
good of you to drop over.

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MILO. Not at all. I found your note when I got down from
London this afternoon.
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ANDREW. Oh, good. I popped it through your letter box.

MILO. What’s that? (Indicating life-size figure of a sailor

sitting in front of window.)
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ANDREW. Oh, that’s Jolly Jack Tarr, the Jovial Sailor. He

and I have a very good relationship. I make the jokes
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and he laughs. You see ha ha ha now let me get you a

drink. (Moves to drinks trolley.) What will you have?
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Scotch, gin, vodka?

MILO. Scotch.
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ANDREW. How do you like it? Soda, water, ice?

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MILO. Just ice. And what’s this? (Has crossed to table

downstage left center on which there is a large game.)
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ANDREW. Oh, that’s a game.

MILO. A child’s game. (Picks up one of the pieces.)

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ANDREW. It’s anything but childish, I can assure you. I’ve

been studying it for weeks, and I’m still only a novice.
It’s called Senat, played by the ancient Egyptians.
It’s an early blocking game, not unlike our own Nine
Men Morris. Would you mind putting that back where
you found it? It’s taken me a long time to get it there.
4 SLEUTH

(Seeing that MILO is stumped.) Three up from the black

line. How are you settling in to Laundry Cottage?
MILO. Very well.

ANDREW. Using it for weekends, that sort of thing?

MILO. Yes.

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ANDREW. It’s a charming little place, isn’t it?

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MILO. Yes, it is.

ANDREW. Well, cheers.

MILO. Cheers.

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ANDREW. Astonishing success. And I hope you’ll be very
happy there. Now do come and sit down. Forgive me
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if I just tidy up a bit. I’ve just reached the denouement
of my new book. “The Body on the Tennis Court.” Tell
me, would you agree that the detective story is the
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normal recreation of noble minds?
MILO. Who said that?
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ANDREW. Oh, I’m quoting Philip Guedalla. A biographer

in the thirties. The golden age when every cabinet
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minister had a thriller by his bedside, and all the

detectives were titled. Before your time I expect.
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MILO. Perhaps it would have been truer to say that noble

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minds were the normal recreation of detective story

writers.
ANDREW. Yes. Indeed and why not? Even in these squalid
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times I set my own work among the gentry. And a

great number of people seem to enjoy it, in spite of the
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Welfare State.
MILO. I’m surprised they haven’t done any of your stuff on
television.
ANDREW. Television? Oh, God forbid.

MILO. Well, they’re always doing crime stories.

 SLEUTH 5

ANDREW. What you mean these ghastly things where the

police race around in cars and call all the suspects
chummy?
MILO. Yes. That’s the kind of thing.

ANDREW. Oh, no, that’s not my line of country at all. That

is detective fact, not detective fiction.

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MILO. And of course as such is of much less interest to

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noble minds.
ANDREW. Exactly, you’ve put it in a nutshell, my dear
Milo, if I may so address you.

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MILO. Of course.

ANDREW. Thank you, we need to be friendly. Now do sit

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down and let me get you another drink. I’m one ahead
of you. That’s the way.

( MILO starts to sit in chair below staircase.

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ANDREW moves to drinks table.)

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I understand you want to marry my wife. You’ll forgive

me raising the matter, but as Marguerite is away for a
few days, she’s up in the north, you know, staying with
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relatives.
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MILO. Is she?

ANDREW. Yes, so I thought it an appropriate moment to

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have a little chat.

MILO. Yes.
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ANDREW. Well, is it true?

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MILO. Well… Well, yes, with your permission of course.

ANDREW. Oh yes, of course. (He crosses to MILO.) Zere, put

zat behind your necktie.
MILO. Cheers.
6 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Prost. (He stands in front of fireplace.) Yes, I’m

glad you’re not like so many young fellows these days
seem to think they can do anything they like without
asking anyone’s permission.
MILO. Certainly not.

ANDREW. Good. I’m very glad to hear it. I know you won’t

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object then if I ask you a few questions about your
parents and so on.

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MILO. My mother came from Hereford. She was a farmer’s
daughter. She died some years ago. My father is an
Italian who came to this country in the thirties.

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ANDREW. Jewish?

MILO. Half, on his mother’s side, that for the Fascists was
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the important side. The male they felt didn’t transmit
the disease so virulently.
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ANDREW. Dreadful, dreadful.

MILO. Of course I’m not at all religious myself, I’m an

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agnostic.
ANDREW. My dear boy, you don’t have to explain to me.
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We’re all liberals here, I hope. I can assure you, I have

no prejudice against Jews or even half-Jews. Some
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of my best friends are half-Jews. Mind you I take it

you have no objections to any children that you and
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Marguerite may have being brought up Church of

England?
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MILO. None whatsoever if that’s what Marguerite wants.

ANDREW. You haven’t discussed it yet?

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MILO. Not yet, it doesn’t seem to have cropped up.

ANDREW. Well, I suppose in some ways that’s rather

a relief. But if you take my advice you’ll opt for
Church of England. So much simpler. Couple of
hours on Christmas Eve and Good Friday and you’ve
 SLEUTH 7

seen the whole thing off nicely. And of course if you

throw in Remembrance Sunday they award you the
distinguished Christian medal.
MILO. It’s the same with a lot of Jews. My father used to
say “most people only talk to their really old friends
two or three times a year. Why should God be angry if

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He gets the same treatment?”
ANDREW. Most amusing. Your father? Was his name

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Tindle? It doesn’t sound very Italian.
MILO. His name was Tindolini. But if you had a name like
that in England in those days you had to make a-da-

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ice cream. He was a watch-maker and so he changed
it.
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ANDREW. Was he a successful man?

MILO. No. His business failed. He went back to Italy. I

send him money from time to time and go and visit
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him and get a little sun or skiing, depending, of course,

on the season.
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ANDREW. Come on now, let’s talk about you. Tell me, what
do you do for a living?
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MILO. I’m in the travel business. I have my own agency in

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South London.
ANDREW. Have you really? What fun! Tindle’s Travels, eh?
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I see, and where do you live?

MILO. I live above the office.
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ANDREW. Oh, do you? In South London?

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MILO. Yes, I rent the whole house. It’s attractive and it’s
convenient. It’s Georgian.
ANDREW. I’m sure it’s perfectly delightful but I doubt
whether an eighteenth century architectural gem
south of the Thames whispers quite the same magic to
Marguerite as it does to you.
8 SLEUTH

MILO. She adores old houses. She can’t wait to live there.

ANDREW. I thought she was already living there—at least

for a couple of nights a week. I’m not mistaken, am I?

(MILO shrugs in embarrassment.)

And surely your motive in renting the cottage down

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here was to increase the incidence of this hebdomadal
coupling?

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MILO. I came to be near the woman I love. It is a great
pain for us to be apart. You wouldn’t understand.
ANDREW. Possibly not. But I understand Marguerite well

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enough to know that she does not adore old houses.
She’s lived here quite a time, and between them the
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rising damp and the Death Watch Beetle have put the
boot into her good and proper. These days she’s only
to look at a mullioned window and she breaks out in
lumps.
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MILO. (Hotly.) Perhaps it wasn’t the house so much as the

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person she had to share it with.

ANDREW. Now, now. I thought you were well brought
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up. Surely you know it’s very rude to make personal

remarks.
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MILO. I’m sorry. You were disparaging my lover.

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ANDREW. On the contrary, I was reminiscing about my

wife.
MILO. Yes, well it comes to the same thing, doesn’t it?
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ANDREW. Things usually do. I’ll wager that within a year,

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it’s you who will be doing the disparaging, and I who

will be doing the rhapsodising, having quite forgotten
how intolerably tiresome, vain, spendthrift, self-
indulgent and generally bloody crafty she really is.
MILO. If you don’t love Marguerite, you don’t have to
abuse her.
 SLEUTH 9

ANDREW. My dear boy, if I choose to say that my wife

converses like a child of six, and makes love like the
abominab’e snowman, I shall.
MILO. Now look here…

ANDREW. And I certainly don’t need her lover’s permission

to do so either. In fact, the only thing I need to know

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from you is, can you afford to take her off my hands?

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MILO. Afford to…

ANDREW. Afford to support her in the style to which she

wasn’t accustomed before she met me, but now is.

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MILO. (Gestures around the room.) She won’t need all this
when we’re married. It’ll be a different life—a life of
love and simplicity.
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(ANDREW sneers.)
Alright, sneer at that. It’s almost a national sport in
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this country—sneering at love.

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ANDREW. I don’t have to sneer at it. I simply don’t believe

you. For Marguerite, love is the fawning of a willing
lap dog, and simplicity a square cut 24-carat diamond.
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MILO. (Rises to his feet, and moves upstage center.) I don’t

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know what I’m doing here. With a little effort I’m sure
you could find a much more appreciative audience.
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ANDREW. Oh, now, Milo. You disappoint me. Rising to

your feet like that and bridling.
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MILO. (Abashed.) I wasn’t bridling. I was protesting.

ANDREW. It looked like a good old-fashioned Hedy

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Lamarr bridle to me.

MILO. (Turning to ANDREW.) Who?

ANDREW. Oh, very good! Very good! Come on, dear boy,
let’s talk about something that matters desperately to
both of us.
10 SLEUTH

MILO. Marguerite?

ANDREW. Money! Have you got any?

MILO. Well, I’m not a millionaire, but I’ve got the lease
on the house and some capital equipment, and the
turnover in the business this year has been increasing
every month. By this time next year I…

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ANDREW. This year, next year, sometime never. But the

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fact of the matter is that at present you’re broke.
MILO. I’ll survive.

ANDREW. Of course you will. No question of it. But surely

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mere survival is not the point. Presumably, when
you’re married to Marguerite you’ll want a little place
in the sun, a fast car and a couple of mistresses.
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MILO. Why presumably? Just because you need those
things.
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ANDREW. Of course I do. And so does every right-thinking,

insecure, deceitful man. The only question is how to
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get them. (Moves to drinks table.)

MILO. I’m sure you do alright. (Crosses to fireplace.)
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ANDREW. Me? Oh no. Just this fading mansion, the

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oldest, slowest Rolls Royce in Wiltshire, and only one

mistress, I’m afraid.
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MILO. Téa? That Finnish girl who runs the Sauna Baths in
Swindon?
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ANDREW. Oh, so you know about her, do you?

MILO. Marguerite and I have no secrets from each other.

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ANDREW. (Mock heroic.) Not even mine, it seems. Téa is

a Karelian goddess. Her mother was Ilma, supreme
divinity of the air; her father Jumala, the great Creator.
Her golden hair smells of pine, and her cobalt eyes are
the secret forest pools of Finlandia.
 SLEUTH 11

MILO. I hear she’s a scrubbed blonde with all the sex

appeal of chilled Lysol.
ANDREW. (With dignity.) There are those who believe that
cleanliness is next to sexiness. If I were you I wouldn’t
pay much attention to what Marguerite says. You can
take it from at me that Téa’s an engaging little trollop,

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and she suits me mightily. Mind you, she takes a bit of
keeping up with, it’s a good job I’m pretty much of an

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Olympic sexual athlete.
MILO. I suppose these days you’re concentrating more on
the sprints than the long distance stuff.

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ANDREW. Not so, dear boy. I’m in the pink of condition.
I could copulate for England at any distance.
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MILO. Well, they do say in Olympic circles that the point
is to take part, rather than to win, so I suppose there’s
hope for us all. Are you going to marry her?
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ANDREW. Marry a goddess? No, I wouldn’t presume. I

might get turned into a birch tree. I merely want to
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live with her.

MILO. Well, what’s stopping you?
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ANDREW. Basically the firm of Prurient and Pry, Ltd.,

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whom you and Marguerite have seen fit to employ.

Don’t look so damned innocent. Those nicotine-
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stained private detectives who’ve been camping

outside Tea’s flat for the last week.
MILO. So you spotted them?
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ANDREW. A Bantu with glaucoma couldn’t have missed

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them. No one can read the Evening News for four

hours in a Messerschmidt bubble car and hope to
remain undetected.
MILO. Sorry about that. It was Marguerite’s idea.

ANDREW. Whose else’s? Who paid?

12 SLEUTH

MILO. I did.

ANDREW. I wonder you could afford it.

MILO. It was an insurance policy against your changing

your mind about divorcing Marguerite.
ANDREW. My dear boy, let us have no misunderstanding.

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I’ve nothing against you marrying Marguerite. There’s
nothing I want more than to see you two tucked up

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together. But it’s got to be a fixture. I want to lose the
dear girl for life, not just for a Tindle two-week tour
economy class. No, you listen to me. You don’t under-
stand her like I do. I’m sure you think you do, but you

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don’t. The fact of the matter is that if you fail her, by
which I mean cancelling the account at Harrods, or
shortchanging her on winter in Jamaica, she’ll be back
PL
to me in a jiffy mewing for support—and guilty wife or
no, she may be entitled to get it.
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MILO. Don’t be so bloody pathetic. Winter in Jamaica?
I’m not going to take her for winter in Jamaica. You’re
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worrying unnecessarily. Once Marguerite is married

to me she’ll never think about returning to you. Never.
And don’t worry about my being able to look after her
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either.
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ANDREW. Good. Been mending her ways, has she? No

more flying off to Paris for the weekend? No more
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champagne suppers?
MILO. So she’s used to luxury. Whose fault is that?
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ANDREW. It’s not a fault if you can afford it. But can you?
Now tell me, how much has this brief liaison cost so
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far? £500? Or more? 800—1000? And that father of

yours in Italy, when did you last send him any money?
Now you see why I’m concerned. I tell you she’ll ruin
you. In two years, to coin a phrase, you’ll be a used
gourd. And what’s more, a used gourd with a sizeable
overdraft.
 SLEUTH 13

MILO. We’ve often talked about money. I’ve told her we

spend too much.
ANDREW. And she seems to take no notice?

MILO. (Low.) None.

ANDREW. A silvery laugh? A coquettish turn of the head?

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MILO. Something like that.

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ANDREW. Exactly. Don’t despair. It’s to solve this little
problem that I have invited you here tonight. This, as
they say, is where the plot thickens.

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MILO. Ah!

ANDREW. Let me get you another drink before we go on.

Come and sit down. (Crosses to drinks table for bottle.)
PL
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Once
upon a time there lived in Wiltshire an Englishman
named Andrew Wyke who, in common with most of
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his countrymen, was virtually castrated by taxation. To

avoid total emasculation, his accountants advised him,
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shortly before the last devaluation, to put the bulk of

his money, some £135,000 into jewellery. His wife, of
course, was delighted.
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MILO. You made her a present of it?

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ANDREW. No, no. Nothing of the sort. The jewellery is all

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mine, as well Marguerite knows. But we felt she might

as well wear it, as bank it. After all, it’s fully insured.
MILO. I see what you mean by the plot thickening. It
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usually does when insurance is mentioned.

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ANDREW. I’m glad you follow me so readily. I want you to

steal that jewellery.
MILO. (Astounded.) What?

ANDREW. Tonight, for choice. Marguerite is out of the

house. It’s an admirable opportunity.
14 SLEUTH

MILO. You must be joking.

ANDREW. You would know it if I were.

MILO. But…but what about the servants?

ANDREW. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins? Oh, I’ve sent them off to
the beach with their shovels and pails. They won’t be

E
back till Sunday night. So you see, the house is empty.
MILO. I see.

AT
ANDREW. What do you say?

MILO. It sounds criminal.

IC
ANDREW. Of course it’s criminal. All good money-making
schemes in England have got to be these days. The
jewellery when it’s not in the bank resides in the safe
PL
in the base of this column here. Have a look behind
you. Just under the stairs there. It’s there now. All you
have to do is steal that jewellery and sell it abroad and
U

live happily ever after with Marguerite. All I have to

do is to claim the insurance money and live happily
D

ever after with Téa. Well, in my case perhaps, not ever

after, but at least until I get fed up with a diet based
principally on the elk.
T

MILO. Is that what you asked me over to hear? A scummy

O

little plot to defraud the insurance company?

N

ANDREW. I’m sorry you find the plot scummy. I thought it

was nicely clear and simple.
MILO. Nicely obvious and clearly unworkable. Supposing
O

I do as you say and steal the jewels. What then? If I

sell them under my own name I’ll be picked up just as
D

soon as you report their loss. If I sell them to a fence,

even supposing I could find one, I’d get a fraction of
their real value.
ANDREW. Not with the fences I know.

MILO. What fences would you know?

 SLEUTH 15

ANDREW. I know some of the finest fences in Europe.

Prudent yet prodigal. I met them some years ago while
researching “The Deadly Affair of the Druce Diamond.”
MILO. I never read it.

ANDREW. You never read it! Heavens! You missed an

absolute corker. It sold 100,000 copies. Milo, I must

E
confess, on your behalf I have already contacted a
certain friend of mine in Amsterdam. He will treat

AT
you very generously; you won’t get the full value of the
jewels but you will get two-thirds, say 90,000 pounds,
and you’ll get it in cash.

IC
MILO. Why should this man be so generous?

ANDREW. Because he will have what fences never have—

PL
title to the jewels. I will see to it that in addition to
stealing the jewellery itself I will also see to it that
you steal the receipts I got for it. All you have to do
U
is hand them over together. Now what happens when
my insurance company swings into action, antennae
D

pulsing with suspicion? It discovers that someone

impersonating Andrew Wyke sold the jewels for
90,000 pounds cash, but they’ve still got to pay me.
T

Hard cheese. Think it over, Milo. It’s worth quite a bit

of thought. Take your time. There’s no hurry. No hurry
O

in the world. (A long pause.)

N

MILO. (Considers the proposition.) Look, I know this

sounds stupid, but…but—well, have you had any
experience—I mean, have you ever actually committed
O

a crime before?
ANDREW. Only in the mind’s eye, so to speak. For the
D

purpose of my books. St. John Lord Merridew would

have a pretty lean time of it if I didn’t give him any
crime to solve.
MILO. Merridew?
16 SLEUTH

ANDREW. My detective, St. John Lord Merridew. Known

to millions all over the civilized world. “An ambulatory
tun of port with the face of Father Christmas.” That’s
how I describe him. “A classical scholar with a taste for
good pipes and bad puns, but with a nose for smelling
out evil, superior to anything in the force.”

E
MILO. Oh yes, the police are always stupid in your kind
of detective stories, aren’t they? They never solve

AT
anything. Only an amateur sleuth ever knows what’s
really happening. But that is detective fiction. This is
fact.

IC
ANDREW. My dear boy, I am quite aware of the difference.
I also know that insurance investigators are as sharp
as razors, and that is why, as Queen Victoria said to
PL
Lord Melbourne on the occasion of her coronation,
“Everything has to be done Kosher.”
MILO. I’m just saying there’s a difference between writing
U

and real life, that’s all. And there’s another thing. How
do I know this isn’t one big frame-up?
D

ANDREW. Frame-up?

MILO. Yes. That you really hate my association with your

T

wife, and would give five years of Olympic sexual

O

athleticism to see me in jail. Once I’m clear of the

house, an anonymous phone call to the police…
N

ANDREW. And be stuck with Marguerite for another

bickering eternity? Bodystocking on the breakfast
tray, false eyelashes in the wash basin, the bottles,
O

the lotions, the unguents, the oils and that incessant,

vapid yak. Oh, God help me. I suppose I could shop
D

you to the police, my dear boy, it’s for you to evaluate…

MILO. I don’t know. It’s not so simple…

ANDREW. You have an expensive woman and no money.

It seems to me if you want to keep Marguerite there is
only one thing you can do—steal those jewels.
 SLEUTH 17

MILO. Why don’t you steal them and simply hand them
over to me?
ANDREW. But surely that’s obvious? The burglary has to
be a real one. This house has actually got to be broken
into.
MILO. Well, why don’t you break into it?

E
ANDREW. Well, it’s a question of agility for one thing.

AT
(American accent.) Hey, Milo baby, will you do me a
favor? Leave this to me, huh? You know what I mean?
Crime is my speciality. I’ve got a marvelous plan and
I’ve got it all worked out to the last detail. You’re the

IC
star, kid. I’m only the producer.
MILO. (Timidly.) 90,000 pounds.
PL
ANDREW. Come on. Courage. Try it out loud. 90,000
pounds! Tax free! In cash! You’ve got to sell a lot of
Tindle Tours to make that kind of money.
U

MILO. Alright, I’ll do it. Where shall I break in?

D

ANDREW. Wait a minute, come back. Now the first thing

you have to do is disguise yourself.
T

MILO. What on earth for?

O

ANDREW. Supposing someone saw you climbing in?

MILO. Who? You’re not overlooked.

N

ANDREW. Who knows? A dallying couple. A passing

sheep rapist. And, dear boy, remember the clues we’re
O

to leave for the police and the insurance company. I

absolutely insist, you must be disguised.
D

MILO. Alright, what do you suggest?

ANDREW. I’ve plenty to suggest. But first of all, would you

mind moving that “object”? Just shove it up the cor-
ridor out of harm’s way.
18 SLEUTH

(MILO moves fish tank to upstage hall. ANDREW

gets dressing-up basket.)

ANDREW. You have to be disguised alright. We don’t want

your footsteps in the flower beds or your coat button
snagged on the window sill. So off with that jacket
for a start. Now then, as Marguerite has assuredly

E
told you, in younger days we were always dressing
up in this house. What with amateur dramatics, and

AT
masquerades and costume balls, there was virtually no
end to the concealment of identity.
MILO. She’s never mentioned it.

IC
ANDREW. No… (Wistfully.) well, it was all some years ago.
(Briskly.) Anyway, let’s see what we’ve got. (Opens
PL
basket.) Item. A face mask, a flat cap, a striped jersey
and a bag marked Swag.
MILO. I thought the idea was that I was not to be taken for
U
a burglar.
ANDREW. Fashions have changed, you know.
D

MILO. Not as much as all that. It’s asking for trouble.

T

(ANDREW takes out KKK hood and puts it on.)

O

ANDREW. Try this one on for size. Ku Klux Klan invades

country home. Fiery cross flames on Salisbury plain.
N

Police baffled.
MILO. Isn’t it a trifle conspicuous for Wiltshire?
O

ANDREW. I must confess I think you have a point there.

(ANDREW puts on monk’s costume.) Here is an absolute
D

beauty, that is if you care for things ecclesiastical, as I

am sure you must. What about Brother Light-fingers?
MILO. Oh, for God’s sake…

ANDREW. Oh, come on. Let’s make this a Gothic folly.

(Edgar Lustgarten voice.) Perhaps we shall never know
the identity of the cowled figure seen haunting the
 SLEUTH 19

grounds of the manor house on the night of the terrible

murder. Even to this day, some of the locals claim to
hear the hideous screams of the victim echoing around
the chimney pots. Murder! Murder! Murder!
MILO. Murder? It’s a simple robbery we’re planning, that’s
all.

E
ANDREW. Sorry. I got a bit carried away. It’s a good job you
stopped me. I’m not at all sure I wasn’t going to add a

AT
crucified countess entombed in her bedroom, guarded
by a man-eating sparrowhawk.
MILO. Look here, Andrew, you probably think this is all

IC
one great big game. But it’s my freedom you’re playing
with.
PL
(ANDREW puts on gorilla mask.)
Come on, Andrew, stop mucking about.
U
ANDREW. I’m merely trying to introduce a little romance
into modern crime and, incidentally, into your life.
D

MILO. Marguerite will bring all the romance into my life I

need, thank you all the same.
T

ANDREW. Marguerite romantic? Good God! Marguerite

couldn’t have got Johann Strauss to waltz.
O

MILO. Look, Andrew, they’re great costumes, but haven’t

N

you just got an old pair of sneakers and a raincoat and

sock that I can pull over my head?
ANDREW. Old pair of sneakers and a sock? How dreary!
O

That’s the whole trouble with modern crime. No

imagination. Tell me, do you find any romance in
D

a truckload of pork sausages being swiped on the

Manchester bypass?
MILO. Not particularly.
20 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Well, of course not. Or that an 83-year-old night

watchman has had his silly interfering old skull beaten
in with a lead pipe?
MILO. Of course not.

ANDREW. Well, come on then. Let’s give our crime the

true sparkle of the thirties, a little aristocratic amateur

E
quirkiness. Think of all that wonderful material going
to waste. There’s the ice dagger, the poison that leaves

AT
no trace, the monogrammed cigarette stubbed in
the ash tray, charred violet note paper in the hearth,
Dusenberg tire marks in the driveway, the clutching

IC
hand from behind the panel, sinister Orientals, “Ah,
so, as, so,” twin brothers from Australia, “Hi there,
cobber, hi there, blue,” where were you on the night of
PL
the 13th? I swear I didn’t do it, Inspector, I’m innocent,
I tell you, innocent…
MILO. God, you’ve gone off like a firecracker!
U

ANDREW. Well, dear boy, that’s the romance of crime.

D

Don’t you feel the need to give your lifelong arch-

enemy Inspector Plodder of the Yard a run for his
money?
T

MILO. Inspector Plodder?

O

ANDREW. I tell you, Milo, we’re on the brink of a great

crime, a masterpiece of ingenuity—and you are the
N

star, you are the who-what-dunnit! Now come on, you

can’t resist that. (Holds up French courtier’s coat.)
O

MILO. Hey. I rather fancy that!

ANDREW. It’s Monsieur Beaucaire to the life. And here’s

D

another smasher—Little Bo Peep? (ANDREW sings

“Little Bo Peep.”)
MILO. No!

ANDREW. Why not?

MILO. I haven’t got the figure for it.

 SLEUTH 21

ANDREW. Well, you’re so choosey, aren’t you? There’s not a

great deal left. (Pulls out a clown’s costume.) We’ll have
to settle for Joey.
MILO. Heh! That’s the best.

ANDREW. Can’t you see it all, the sawdust ring, the tinsel,
the glitter, the roar of the crowd, the smell of the

E
greasepaint, the high wire, and, Milo, think of it, the
kiddies all love you.

AT
MILO. Right then.

ANDREW. Well, give me your jacket, I’ll hang it up for you.

IC
Above all we don’t want the police to find any fibres of
this lovely material. Oh, and the shirt and trousers too.
MILO. What?
PL
ANDREW. Oh yes, you know how clever they are in those
laboratories of theirs. Run no risk, I always say. That’s
U
it. Don’t be shy, you’re among friends. Into your smalls.
Oh, I know a well-brought-up boy when I see one.
D

Folds his pants at night.

(MILO gives ANDREW his trousers which ANDREW,

T

along with the jacket, throws into the armoire

while MILO takes off his shirt and tie. Knocking on
O

bannister.)
Valet service, sir! You rang?
N

MILO. Shirt and tie. (Throws them up to ANDREW.)

ANDREW. Yes, sir. 24-hour service, sir.

O

MILO. Do you want the shoes too?

D

ANDREW. Oh, yes, sir. Shoes too. Clean in the morning.

Yes, sir. Good night, sir. (ANDREW puts all the clothes
in the armoire.) Give a clown your finger and he’ll take
your hand.
MILO. What was that?
22 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Just an old English proverb I was thinking of.

(MILO sings to himself, “Vesti la giubba” as he

dresses in clown costume. He ends singing “ninety
thousand pounds. Tax free. In cash.”)

MILO. Ecco, Milo.

E
ANDREW. Bravissimo. Now all you need are the boots.

AT
MILO. (Pulls a huge pair of boots from the basket.) Hey, I
could go skiing on these in Italy.
ANDREW. The clown is such a happy chap,

IC
His nose is painted red,
His trousers baggy as can be,
PL
A topper on his head.
He jumps around the circus ring,
And juggles for his bread,
U

Then comes the day he tries a trick,

D

And drops down…

Come on, do us a trick.
T

MILO. What sort of trick?

O

ANDREW. Oh, I don’t know. Something funny. Something

to make me laugh. Trip up and fall on your arse.
N

MILO. Certainly not, I don’t think that’s a very funny idea.

ANDREW. I think it’s hilarious. Well, what about a bit of

O

juggling then? (ANDREW takes two oranges from the

drinks table.) Ladies and gentlemen. Introducing
D

for the first time in this country the world-famous

Tindolini. Allez oop… (ANDREW throws oranges to
MILO.) Allez oop.

(Produces an umbrella from the dressing-up

basket and throws it to MILO. At the same time,
MILO throws the two oranges to ANDREW. MILO
 SLEUTH 23

opens the umbrella and runs about the stage

reciting ANDREW’s poem.)

MILO. The clown is such a happy chap,

His nose is painted red,
His trousers…

E
(Slips in front of the fireplace and falls very hard
on his arse.)

AT
ANDREW. Poor boy—what a terrible bang. Never mind
then. Upsy Daisy! Remember the first rule of the
circus: If at first you don’t succeed…

IC
MILO. Give up. Can we get on with this charade, please!
(Gets up, umbrella still in hand.)
PL
ANDREW. Of course. Yours to command. Put your umbrella
down, it’s stopped raining, and come and sit down and
I’ll give you the tools of your trade. (
U

Opens swag bag. MILO puts umbrella in basket

D

and then sits on top of it.)

Do you know what this is?
T

MILO. Yes, it’s a glass cutter.

O

ANDREW. That’s for breaking in with. That is a piece of

putty for holding onto the cut piece of glass so it
N

doesn’t clatter to the ground and awaken the ravenous

Doberman you suspect lurks inside; and a stethoscope.
O

MILO. A stethoscope?

ANDREW. Safebreakers for the use of. The theory is you

D

tried to pick the lock by listening to the tumblers,

failed and then resorted to dynamite.
MILO. Dynamite? I don’t know anything about dynamite.

ANDREW. I do. Leave that to me. That’s the practical side,

now for the poetic. Now what we need is some bizarre
touch to crown the whole thing. I know. What about
24 SLEUTH

an old program of Barnum and Bailey left impaled on

a splinter of glass?
MILO. Why don’t you take a full-page advertisement in
The Times and tell them all what we’re going to do?
ANDREW. I was only trying to lighten Inspector Plodder’s
day for him… If you don’t like the idea…

E
MILO. There’s no such animal as Inspector Plodder outside

AT
one of your detective stories. It’ll be Inspector Early
Bird or Detective Sergeant No Stone Unturned. You
can bet your bottom dollar on that… (Gets up but
stumbles over boots.) I can’t move in this costume.

IC
These boots are ridiculous.
ANDREW. Don’t take them off. Can’t you see the head-
PL
lines? Wiltshire paralyzed. West Country in a ferment.
Where will Big Boot strike next?
MILO. Yes, but…
U

ANDREW. Seriously, Milo, all those boots will tell the

D

police is that a true professional realized the flower

beds would carry footprints, and decided to disguise
his own a little eccentrically. Now walk over here and
T

check you’ve got everything! Glass cutter? Putty?

Stethoscope? The mask! (Takes top hat and mask out
O

of basket and throws mask to MILO.) And a top hat.

You cannot break into my house improperly dressed.
N

(MILO has mask on.)

Milo, it’s absolutely terrific. Now, very important, the
O

ladder. Right. Go out of the front door and across the

lawn. In the comer is a shed. In the shed is a ladder.
D

Bring the ladder back and stand it against that window

and you break in up there on the gallery.
MILO. Will you come out and hold the ladder steady for
me?
 SLEUTH 25

ANDREW. I don’t think we want my footprints in the

flower beds.
MILO. Right then. Leave it to me. (Starts to go off.)

ANDREW. Milo! (Holds out his hand.) Good luck, partner.

(They shake.)

E
MILO. Ninety thousand pounds!

ANDREW. Tax free!

AT
MILO. In cash!

BOTH Hooray!

IC
(MILO exits. ANDREW sobers. He picks up all
the costumes and returns them to the basket. He
PL
removes the Senat to the pool table and turns out
the lights except for the desk lamp. MILO. knocks
on the window from the outside.)
U

ANDREW. For Christ’s sake, can’t you keep those great feet
off my Busy Lizzies?
D

(ANDREW takes a length of flex and black box

with dynamite, black tape and detonator from
T

desk drawer. He sits down in chair downstage and

begins to wire the explosive device. MILO appears
O

outside the window with a very tall ladder which

he bangs against the window frame.)
N

Puss, puss, puss, do you hear a noise, puss! Was that a

step on the stairs? No, it was just the wind. You know,
O

puss, I sometimes think there’s a curse on this house.

Nothing is ever still here. But you shouldn’t pay any
D

attention to me. Not to your silly old mistress. I’m just

a silly old woman who is afraid of her own shadow.
(Noise of glass cutter scoring window.) What was
that, puss? Someone’s prowling in the garden. We’re
all going to be murdered in our beds. No, no, just my
fancies, the front door is locked, and the window is too
high, no one could possibly break into our snug little
home.
26 SLEUTH

(There is a terrific crash as MILO drops pane of

glass.)

ANDREW. May I ask what the hell you’re up to?

MILO. I dropped the glass.

ANDREW. It sounded like the fall of the Bastille.

E
MILO. (Standing up.) I’ve still got the putty.

AT
ANDREW. That’s my brave boy. You can put that down
anywhere you like.
MILO. I can lose these at any rate. (Puts mask and top hat

IC
on bureau.) Now for the jewels!
ANDREW. No. Not yet. You’re not supposed to know where
PL
the jewels are. You have to hunt about first and make
a mess. Go along there. See, there’s the bedroom. Go
in, turn on the light and make a mess. Throw some
clothes on the floor—Marguerite’s for choice…that’s it.
U

(MILO goes into bedroom, turns on light and

D

returns with a pile of women’s lingerie which he

puts neatly on the floor.)
T

What are you doing now? Don’t pack ’em. Ravage ’em.
Don’t you know how burglars leave a place? (Takes a
O

flying kick at the pile of clothes, sending them all over.)

Now into the wardrobe next. Hey I Steady on! Those
N

are my shirts!
MILO. (Is throwing the contents of the armoire —shirts,
O

underwear, pajamas —all over the room. With relish.)

Got to be thorough. It would be suspicious if the
D

burglar started to play favorites.

ANDREW. It’s a martyrdom. Will you stop that, Milo, and
get cracking on that chest of drawers?
MILO. (Crosses to chest and tries the top drawer.) It’s
locked.
ANDREW. I know it’s locked. Use your jimmy on it.
 SLEUTH 27

MILO. I haven’t got a jimmy. You didn’t give me one.

Remember?
ANDREW. (Parody childish voice.) Well, well just have to
go and find you one, won’t we?

(Goes downstairs, followed by MILO, who slips

down the flight of stairs, hitting only two stairs.)

E
Really, Milo, you are the wettest, soppiest night

AT
intruder I’ve ever come across. Now, don’t look so hurt
and wounded. I think you’re a very nice chap. I rather
like you but I can’t think what Marguerite sees in you.

IC
MILO. The sympathy and kindness of a kindred spirit,
actually.
PL
ANDREW. It’s like a Bengali tigress bedding down with
Bambi. (Gives MILO the jimmy which he took front the
swag bag.) Go on, off you go.
U
MILO. (Climbing back up the stairs.) I know we’re a damn
sight happier than you are with your old frozen ice
D

maiden.
ANDREW. You probably take it more seriously, that’s all.
T

MILO. You have to be serious if you want to be in love.

O

ANDREW. You have to be serious about crime if you want

to afford to be in love. Now get cracking on that chest
N

of drawers.
MILO. (Uses the jimmy to break into the top drawer and
comes out with a can.) Heh, there’s a tin of chocolate
O

biscuits. (Opens the can and three toy snakes spring

out over the downstairs.)
D

ANDREW. (Laughing at MILO who has been frightened.)

Ever been had? Down you come. Don’t trip over this
flex and blow yourself up.

(ANDREW plugs flex into switch on wall upstage

left.)
28 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Stand by for countdown, 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 -

Contact!

(Noise of explosion and puff of smoke from safe.

MILO runs to safe.)

MILO. Ah! It’s hot.

E
ANDREW. Go ahead, burn yourself, it’s worth it. You’ve got
gloves on.

AT
(MILO throws three file folders out of safe.)
No, I don’t want the accounts.

IC
MILO. (With jewel box.) I’ve got it! I’ve got it! (Is shaking
the box violently.)
PL
ANDREW. What are you doing now? It’s a jewel box. not a
maraca.
MILO. I thought it might have a secret catch. It’s locked,
U

you see.
D

ANDREW. Well, smash it open. Jesus! You’ve got all the

killer instinct of a twenty-year-old poodle.
MILO. (Forces lock on box with the jimmy.) It’s such a
T

pretty box—it seems such a waste.

O

(The box spills open. MILO sits entranced, letting

the jewels flash and sparkle through his fingers.)
N

Dear God!
O

ANDREW. Ah! Moses looks upon the promised land.

MILO. They’re beautiful. This ruby necklace.

D

ANDREW. Do you know when we got that? On our

honeymoon. In Cairo of all places. Go on, take a look
at it.
MILO. It’s fantastic.

ANDREW. It’s not bad.

 SLEUTH 29

MILO. I’d like my father to be here now.

ANDREW. I’ll bet you would.

MILO. Poor old blighter, he had no idea what it was all

about…sitting there hunched up over his Mickey
Mouse watches squinting his eyesight away like a little
old gnome, and for what? To give me an education at a

E
second-rate English private school because he thought
he owed it to me and the brave new Anglo-Saxon

AT
world he’d adopted. Poor old bugger.
ANDREW. Put them away. I’ll get you the receipts in a
minute. We’d better have a little light so we can see

IC
what we’re doing. (Turns on lights.) Now, Milo, we
embark on phase two of the operation. This is the fun
bit. It’s the moment when the householder, wrenched
PL
from his dreams by the sound of the explosion,
surprises his burglar. In the ensuing fight the house is
sacked.
U

MILO. Why is it necessary for you to surprise me at all?

D

ANDREW. Because if I’ve seen you at close quarters, I can

always describe you to the police…
T

MILO. Now look here…

O

ANDREW. …wrongly. (INSPECTOR’s voice.) Excuse me, sir.

Did you manage to get a good look at the intrader’s
N

face? (Normal voice.) Yes, Inspector, I did. It was the

face of a demented gorilla. Ten minutes I fought with
him…his hot breath in my face, his eyes like glowing
O

coals. Just look at the wreckage.

MILO. I understand. How much sacking do you want
D

done?
ANDREW. A decent bit, I think. A few chairs on their
backs, some china ornaments put to the sword. You
know—convincing but not Carthaginian.

(MILO carefully turns a chair over.)

30 SLEUTH

ANDREW. You call that convincing? Let the encyclopedia

fly like autumn leaves.

(Throws books out of bookcase.)

Let the contents of the drawers be strewn to the four
winds.

E
(Pulls out the bottom right desk drawer and
dumps its contents on the floor.)

AT
Over with the table with a crash!

(Overturns the table that the Senat was on.)

IC
Hey, that’s my manuscript.

(MILO has thrown ANDREW’s manuscript in the

PL
air.)

ANDREW. I think we’ll leave that for my secretary to sort

U
out. I never liked this horrible little figurine. I can’t
think why Marguerite is so devoted to it.
D

(Takes figurine from mantel and throws it against

the pool table, smashing it.)
T

Now let’s see what accident lends to artifice.

O

(Surprises MILO with a punch in the stomach.)

Seconds out of the ring!
N

(Throws a heavy book from the desk, hitting MILO.)

O

MILO. No fair. You’re bigger than I am.

(Runs upstage by drinks table. ANDREW throws

D

another big book. MILO comes around stairs

to fireplace with ANDREW in pursuit. ANDREW
throws cocktail shaker at MILO.)

Seriously, old man.

(ANDREW punches MILO in the stomach again, sending

him backwards over the fender onto the hearth.)
 SLEUTH 31

Christ! That hurt!

ANDREW. (Giving MILO a hand out of the fireplace.) Never

mind, Tindolini. Back into the ring. You’re a big boy
now. Don’t despair. This fight is fixed. It’s about now
that I take a dive. This is where you lay me out cold.
MILO. What? For real?

E
ANDREW. Naturally. When the police come I must be able

AT
to show them a real bump.

(MILO smiles with delight)

IC
I thought you’d like this bit.
MILO. What shall I use? (Crosses to desk and picks up
lamp.)
PL
ANDREW. Not my opaline if you don’t mind.

MILO. (Running to log basket.) The poker. That’s it. The

U

poker. The original blunt instrument.

D

(Beats the logs viciously. ANDREW eyes the poker

apprehensively.)
T

ANDREW. Milo. Don’t let your enthusiasm run away with

you.
O

MILO. I’m doing my best.

N

ANDREW. We are not discussing a murder weapon, dear

boy. It is only an object from which I receive, in the
classic formula, a glancing blow which renders me
O

temporarily unconscious.
MILO. Such as?
D

ANDREW. Well, frankly, I’m rather off the whole idea now
I’ve seen you in action. I think we’d do far better to
concentrate on some device which will raise a bump
without actually cracking the cranium. Now what
would those fathers of the scientific detective story
R. Austin Freeman or Arthur B. Reeve have come up
32 SLEUTH

with? There was something like this in The Red Thumb

Mark—1907, no, it was The Silent Bullet—1912…
MILO. What about…what about a bee sting projected into
the scalp through a blow pipe?
ANDREW. Milo, that is sheer genius. There’s only one
thing. Can you lay hands on a bee at short notice?

E
(MILO shakes head no.)

AT
Never mind. You’re still trying very hard. I know,
you can always tie me up and gag me and leave me
to be found by the cleaning woman in the morn-

IC
ing. (Charlady’s voice.) Lawks, Mr. Wyke, what are
you doing there all trussed up like a turkey cock?
(ANDREW mimes being tied up and gagged and trying
PL
to get the charlady to untie him.) Mmmmmmmmm…
Mmmmmmmmmm… Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…
(Charlady’s voice) Workin’ out something for one of
U
them creepy book.s of yours, are you? Well, never you
mind me, sir. I won’t disturb you. I’ll just get on with
D

me dustin’.
MILO. If I don’t manage to knock you down, how do I
T

manage to tie you up?

ANDREW. That’s a very good question. I know. You could
O

always hold a gun on me.

N

MILO. (Sitting in throne chair.) Oh, no. We professional

burglars don’t like firearms very much.
ANDREW. But, as you’re a rank amateur, you can always
O

conquer your scruples. (Produces revolver from center

drawer in desk.) Here. How about this? Don’t you
D

think its wicked-looking blue barrel is just the job?

MILO. Is that loaded?

ANDREW. Of course it is. What’s the good of it otherwise?

And I think it should go off a couple of times in the
fight.
 SLEUTH 33

MILO. Why?

ANDREW. It would lend credence to my story of you

holding a gun on me while you gagged me and tied me
up. Hearing a noise and fearing burglars, I took my
revolver and tiptoed in to investigate. Ahhh! That’s the
moment you attacked me…in the struggle it goes off,

E
blowing to smithereens a few priceless possessions.
Being an old ‘fraidy cat householder I allowed brutish

AT
you to take possession of it— (Forces gun on MILO.)
there, see, you’ve got it—while you gagged me and tied
me up. What about that?

IC
MILO. I suppose so.

ANDREW. Uninventive but believable. Now then, what to

sacrifice? What do you say to the demoliton of that
PL
gaudy Swansea puzzle jug? The gloriously witty idea is
that when you tip it up the liquid pours out of a hole in
the back, and not through the spout.
U

MILO. A bit obvious, really.

D

ANDREW. Exactly! Obvious and ugly. Let us expose its

shortcomings. (ANDREW draws a bead on it, then
lowers the gun.) On the other hand, the creme bruté
T

coloring lends it an attractive solidity I should miss.

O

Now how about that giant Staffordshire mug with the

inscription on it? What does the beastly thing say?
N

MILO. (Moves a little towards it and reads out. Reading.)

“In the real cabinet of friendship everyone helped his
neighbor and said to his brother be of good cheer.”
O

ANDREW. Proletarian pomposity!

D

(Suddenly raises his gun and fires, shattering

the jug. MILO turns in surprise, as he realizes the
bullet must have passed reasonably close to his
head.)
You might say good shot.
MILO. Good shot.
34 SLEUTH

ANDREW. It’s nothing. (Looks around him. His eye falls on

a china figurine on the plinth on the left column. Takes
aim.) Down with all deviationist, reactionary Dresden
shepherdesses. (Shoots and the Dresden shepherdess
flies into pieces.)
MILO. Bravo!

E
ANDREW. Oh, what jolly fun this is! I say, did you ever
know Charlie Begby?

AT
MILO. I don’t think so.

ANDREW. The finest show I’ve ever seen. I once saw him

IC
bag six ducks with one shot.
MILO. No.
PL
ANDREW. I tell you he did. The only trouble was he was
blind drunk and they were china ducks on his aunty’s
living-room wall. And I said, but, Charlie, you can’t do
U
that, it’s the closed season. (Presses button on desk and
Sailor laughs. ANDREW touches Sailor on head and it
D

stops.) The worse the joke the more he laughs. It’s not
really all that funny. There’s an open season on some
creatures all the year round. (Turns the gun on MILO.)
T

Seducers and wife stealers, for example.

O

MILO. Only in Italian opera, surely.

ANDREW. You should know. It’s the land of your origin,

N

isn’t it?
MILO. No. I’m English. I was bom here in England.
O

ANDREW . Were you now? In England. Dear old

cradle-of-the-parliamentary system. Who-screws-my-
D

wife-merits-a-large-scotch-and-soda England?
MILO. Sense-of-humour-fair-trial England, I mean.

ANDREW. That’s the way a foreigner talks. In their hearts

they think: filthy wet country, ugly red cold men who
don’t know how to treat a woman.
 SLEUTH 35

MILO. What’s brought all this on? What are you doing
with that gun?
ANDREW. Pretty obviously pointing it at you.

MILO. For God’s sake, why?

ANDREW. (Slowly.) Because I’m going to kill you.

E
MILO. You’re going to… (Laughs nervously.) Oh Jesus! I
suppose this is some sort of game.

AT
ANDREW. Yes. We’ve been playing it all evening. It’s called,
“You’re going to die and no one will suspect murder.”
(A pause.)

IC
MILO. (Considers his position.) You mean all this steal my
wife’s jewels stuff was just a…
PL
ANDREW. Of course! I invited you here to set up the
circumstances of your own death. The break-in, the
disguise, the jewels in your pocket, the householder
U

aroused, grappling with the thief, the gun going off a

couple of times and then the final fatal shot.
D

MILO. For God’s sake, Andrew, knock it off!

ANDREW. Can you find a flaw in it?

T

MILO. (Beginning to feel desperate.) Marguerite! They’ll

O

trace the connection between me and Marguerite.

They’ll know that’s why you did it.
N

ANDREW. I am perfectly entitled to tackle a man wearing a

mask burglaring my house in the middle of the night.
O

The law will have every sympathy with me. Property

has always been more highly regarded in England
D

than people. And Marguerite will think you were just

an adventurer after her jewels—a petty sneak thief
who found larceny less burdensome than marriage.
You really are a dead duck, aren’t you? Not a moral or
romantic attitude left.
MILO. I believe you’re serious.
36 SLEUTH

ANDREW. I’m not afraid of killing you, if that’s what you

mean.
MILO. You’ve got to be. Mortally afraid for your soul.

ANDREW. I thought Jews didn’t believe in Hell.

MILO. We believe in not playing games with life.

E
ANDREW. Ha! Wit in the face of adversity. Well done.
You’ve learnt something from the English. Here’s

AT
something else to learn…a sporting chance. Go on,
why don’t you make a run for it?

(Turns his back and MILO starts to run. ANDREW

IC
whirls about, ready to shoot.)

MILO. And give you the chance to shoot me down in cold

PL
blood?
ANDREW. In hot blood, you mean. I’m going to shoot you
down in cold blood anyway.
U

MILO. Look, stop pointing that gun at me… I hate guns…

D

Please, this is sick.

ANDREW. You should be flattered by the honour I’m doing
T

you—to take your life lightheartedly to make your

death the centre piece of an arranged bit of fun. To put
O

it another way, your demise will recreate a noble mind.

MILO. This is where I came in.
N

ANDREW. Yes. It is where you go out too, I’m afraid. The

only question to be decided is where you shall be
O

found. Sprawled over the desk like countless colonels

in countless studies? Or propped up in the log basket
D

like a rag doll? Which would you prefer—early Agatha

Christie or vintage S. S. Van Dyne?
MILO. For Christ’s sake, Andrew, this is not a detective
story, this is real life. You are talking of doing a real
murder. Of killing a real man—don’t you understand?
 SLEUTH 37

ANDREW. Perhaps I shouldn’t do it with a gun at all.

Perhaps I should shove the ham knife into you, and
leave you face down in the middle of the floor. Your
blood staining the flagstones a deep carmine.
MILO. (Shuddering.) Oh God!

ANDREW. Or best of all, how about a real 1930s murder

E
weapon—the mashie niblick? I think I’ve got one
here someplace. Yes, here it is. My dear old mashie

AT
niblick. You would be discovered somewhere over
here, I think, in a fair old mess. (Dramatic voice.) The
body lay on its back, its limbs grotesquely splayed like

IC
a broken puppet. The whole head had been pulped
as if by some superhuman force. “My God,” said the
Inspector, turning pale, “Thompson, you’d better bring
PL
a tarpaulin. Excuse me, sir, but was all this violence
strictly necessary?” “I’m sorry, Inspector. It was when I
saw him handling my wife’s nightdresses. I must have
U
completely lost control of myself.” “All right, sir, don’t
get upset. I understand.” No. I don’t like it. It’s cheap.
D

(Throws the golf club down.) No. I think the scene the
police find is simply this. After the fight you flee up the
stairs to regain your ladder. I catch you on the landing
T

and in the renewed struggle, I shoot you. Nothing

succeeds like simplicity, don’t you agree, Milo? Now,
O

some of my own fingerprints on my own gun. On your

feet, up!
N

(Forces MILO to mount the stairs at gun point.

MILO clings terrified to the banister.)
O

Did you know that on the morning of his execution

King Charles I put on two shirts? “If I tremble with
D

cold,” he said, “my enemies will say it was from fear;

I will not expose myself to such reproaches.” You too,
Milo Tindle, must attempt dignity as you mount the
steps to the scaffold.
MILO. (Pleading.) But why, Andrew? Why?
38 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Stop sniveling…you can’t think it’ll gain you

mercy.
MILO. I must know why!

ANDREW. I’m amazed you have to ask. But since you do,
it’s perfectly simple. I hate you. I hate your smarmy,
good-looking Latin face and your easy manner. I’ll

E
bet you’re easy in a ski lodge, and easy on a yacht, and
easy on a beach. I’ll bet you a pound to a penny, that

AT
you wear a gold charm around your neck, and that in
summer your hairy chest is matted with sun oil. I hate
you because you are a mock humble, jewelled, shot

IC
cuff-link sponger, a world is my oyster-er, a seducer of
silly women, and a king among marshmallow snakes.
I hate you because you are a creeping ponce. A wop. A
PL
Yid. A not one of me. Come, little man, did you really
think I was going to give up my wife and jewels to you?
That I would make myself that ridiculous?
U

MILO. Why not? You’re not in love with her.

D

ANDREW. She’s mine whether I love her or not. I found

her, I’ve kept her. I am familiar with her. And once she
was in love with me.
T

MILO. And now she’s in love with me, and the dog in
O

the manger won’t let go. (Tries to attack him.) The

mad dog in the manger who should be put down for
N

everyone’s sake.
ANDREW. (Deadly.) And you are a young man, dressed as
a clown about to be murdered. Put the mask on, Milo.
O

(A pause.)
D

MILO. No, please.

ANDREW. (Reaches up and lifts the clown mask off the

banister where MILO previously hung it.) Put it on!

(MILO takes the mask and fumbles it onto his face)

Excellent. Farewell, Punchinello!
 SLEUTH 39

(Lifts the pistol to MILO’s head. MILO is shaking

with fear)

MILO. Please…

(ANDREW pulls the trigger. MILO falls backwards

down the stairs and lies still. ANDREW, satisfied
that he has done his work well, smiles to himself.)

E
ANDREW. Game and set, I think.

AT
(Curtain.)

IC
PL
U
D
T
O
N
O
D
D
O
N
O
T
D
U
PL
IC
AT
E
 ACT TWO

E
(The curtain rises to the sound of the slow move-
ment of Beethoven’s “Seventh Symphony” which

AT
is playing on a record player. ANDREW enters
from kitchen with a tray containing a large
pot of caviar, toast, wedge of lemon, a bottle of

IC
champagne and glass. He puts tray on desk and
stands conducting the music. The movement
comes to an end. ANDREW crosses to record player
PL
and turns over the record. He returns to desk and
starts to eat. The telephone rings.)

ANDREW. Hello… Yes, I will. Hello, Hawkins, where the

U

devil are you? What? Well, you’re a fool, man, you

should have checked the times of the trains. You know
D

how dependent I am on you and Mrs. H. The Rolls is

in a filthy mess, it needs washing. And I’ve had to get
T

my own supper for the third night running. That’s jolly

fine, but man cannot live by caviar alone. Alright…but
O

in the morning then…first thing…alright, first thing…

’bye.
N

(Continues eating. The doorbell rings. ANDREW

goes to the window, the bell rings more insistently.
O

ANDREW puts on his suit jacket and goes to answer

the bell.)
D

DOPPLER. (Offstage.) Mr. Wyke…my name is Inspector

Doppler of the Wiltshire County Constabulary.

(There is a door slam and ANDREW enters followed

by INSPECTOR DOPPLER.)

41
42 SLEUTH

ANDREW. The Wiltshire County Constabulary, you say?

(Turning off music.) Come in. Always pleased to see
the police.
DOPPLER. Can’t say the same about everyone, sir. Most
people seem to have what you might call an allergy to
us.

E
ANDREW. Can I offer you a brandy, Inspector? Or don’t
you drink on duty?

AT
DOPPLER. Oh yes, sir. I always drink on duty. I can’t afford
to on my own time.

IC
ANDREW. (Handing the INSPECTOR a brandy.) Well, what
can I do for you, Inspector?
DOPPLER. (Taking drink.) Thank you, sir. I’m investigating
PL
a disappearance, sir.
ANDREW. Disappearance?
U

DOPPLER. Yes, sir. Of a Mr. Milo Tindle. Do you know the

gentleman, sir?
D

ANDREW. Yes, that’s the chap who’s taken Laundry

Cottage.
T

DOPPLER. That’s right. He walked out of Laundry Cottage

O

on Friday night and hasn’t been seen since.

ANDREW. Good Lord.
N

DOPPLER. Do you know this gentleman well, sir?

ANDREW. Vaguely. He came to the house once or twice.

O

How can I help?

D

DOPPLER. When did you last see Mr. Tindle, sir?

ANDREW. Oh, months ago. I can’t exactly remember. As

I told you, he wasn’t a close friend; rather more an
acquaintance.
DOPPLER. Really, sir. That doesn’t quite accord with our
information. In fact, he told Jack Benn, the barman of
 SLEUTH 43

the White Lion, he was coming to see you, two nights

ago.
ANDREW. Barmen are notorious opponents of exacti-
tude, Inspector. Vinous gossip is their stock in trade.
In particular, I’ve always found that Jack Benn’s
observations need constant correction.

E
DOPPLER. Really, sir? I was wondering if you could correct
something else for me.

AT
ANDREW. What’s that?

DOPPLER. The impression gained by a man who happened

IC
to be passing your house two nights ago, that a fierce
struggle was taking place in here.
ANDREW. Does it look like it?
PL
DOPPLER. And that shots were fired?

ANDREW. (Uncertainly.) Shots?

U

DOPPLER. Three, our man thinks.

D

ANDREW. A car backfiring?

DOPPLER. No, sir. These were shots. From a gun. Our man
T

is positive.
O

ANDREW. May I ask why you took two days to come and
ask me about all this?
N

DOPPLER. Well, sir, things take longer to check out than

you think. We like to be certain of our facts before
troubling a gentleman like yourself.
O

ANDREW. Facts? What facts?

D

DOPPLER. After our informant reported the incident,

we did a spot of checking in the village, and as I say,
Mr. Benn was very helpful.
ANDREW. There’s an upright citizen, then.

DOPPLER. Quite so, sir.

44 SLEUTH

ANDREW. If there were more like him…

DOPPLER. He told us that Mr. Tindle popped into the pub

Friday evening for a quick one, and said he was just
on his way up to see you. Well, what with him being
a newcomer to these parts and all, we thought we’d
better have a word with him, and see if he could throw

E
any light on the subject. But as I previously indicated
he seems to have disappeared, sir.

AT
ANDREW. But what’s that got to do with me?

DOPPLER. He wasn’t at his cottage all of Saturday, nor all

today. We must have called half a dozen times.

IC
ANDREW. By Jove, Merridew would have been proud of
you. Now, Inspector, if that’s all you have to say…
PL
DOPPLER. When we stepped inside Mr. Tindle’s cottage to
make sure he’d come to no harm, we found this note,
sir. (Reading.) “Urgent we talk. Come Friday night
U

eight o’clock. Wyke.” Is that your handwriting, sir?

D

ANDREW. (Trying to keep the note.) Yes. Yes, it is. Thank

you very much.
DOPPLER. (Takes back the note.) So Mr. Tindle was here?
T

ANDREW. Yes. The Potman spoke sooth.

O

DOPPLER. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering my

N

original question now, sir.

ANDREW. Which one?
O

DOPPLER. Was there a struggle here on Friday night?

ANDREW. In a manner of speaking, yes. It was a game we

D

were playing.
DOPPLER. A game? What kind of game?

ANDREW. It’s rather difficult to describe. It’s called

Burglary.
DOPPLER. Please don’t joke, sir.
 SLEUTH 45

ANDREW. Isn’t it about time you told me I don’t know the

seriousness of my own position?
DOPPLER. A man comes here, there is a fight. Shots are
heard. He disappears. What would you make of that if
you were me?
ANDREW. An open and shut case. But things are not

E
always what they seem. In my last book, for example,
Merridew proved by a phonetic mis-spelling the

AT
forgery of a document apparently written by a deaf
mute.
DOPPLER. I’m waiting for an explanation.

IC
ANDREW. Tindle arrived at eight and left about an hour
and a half later. I haven’t seen him since.
PL
DOPPLER. And nor has anyone else, sir.

ANDREW. This is absurd. Are you suggesting that I killed

U
Tindle?
DOPPLER. Killed Tindle, sir? I never mentioned the word
D

kill.
ANDREW. Oh, really! You can’t pull that old one on me.
T

(Joke INSPECTOR’s voice.) Garotted, sir? Might I ask

how you knew that her ladyship was garotted? Surely
O

you told me so, Inspector. (INSPECTOR’s voice.) No, sir.

I never mentioned the word garotted.
N

DOPPLER. I’m sorry you find us so comic, sir. On the whole

what we do is necessary.
O

ANDREW. Just doing your job, that’s the overworked

phrase, I think.
D

DOPPLER. That’s quite true, sir. (Unbidden, he sits center.)

ANDREW. Please do sit down.

DOPPLER. Your wife and Mr. Tindle have been associating

closely for some time.
46 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Oh, so you know about that, do you? ( Joke

INSPECTOR’s voice.) I suppose you can’t keep anything
secret in a small village.
DOPPLER. Perfectly true, sir.

ANDREW. You aren’t suggesting a crime passionel, I

hope, Inspector—not over Marguerite. It would be

E
like knifing somebody for a tablespoonful of cold rice
pudding.

AT
DOPPLER. I’m very partial to rice pudding, sir. I find it a
great standby.

IC
ANDREW. (Oratorically.) All of you had either means,
motive or opportunity, said Inspector Doppler as he
thoughtfully digested another spoonful of his favorite
PL
pud. But only one of you had all three.
DOPPLER. Exactly so, sir! That person is you.
U
ANDREW. I suppose I’d better tell you what happened.

DOPPLER. Yes.
D

ANDREW. Want a bribe to believe it?

DOPPLER. I’ll have another drink.

T

ANDREW. Well, Inspector, as you have correctly stated,

O

Tindle was having an affair with my wife. Now, I’m

one of that rare breed of men who genuinely don’t
N

mind losing gracefully to a gent who’s playing by the

same rules. But to be worsted by a flash crypto Italian
lover, who mistakes my boredom for impotence and
O

my provocative energy for narcissism is too much. It’s

like starting every game Love 30 down and the umpire
D

against you.
DOPPLER. You mean you couldn’t bring yourself to accept
the situation, sir? Is that what you’re saying?
ANDREW. I think what infuriated me most was the things
he said about me—things that Marguerite repeated to
 SLEUTH 47

me. I mean no man likes to listen to the other man’s

witticisms when he’s trying to choke down his late
night Ovaltine.
DOPPLER. What sort of things, sir?

ANDREW. Oh, you know, smarmy, deceitful things which

any lover can say about any husband. It’s just too

E
easy for them with a captive audience groggy on
rediscovered youth and penis envy. (Pause.) It’s not

AT
really playing the game.
DOPPLER. You seem to regard marriage as a game, sir.

IC
ANDREW. Not marriage, Inspector. Sex. Sex is the game
with marriage the penalty. Round and round the
board we jog towards each futile anniversary. Pass go.
PL
Collect 200 rows, 200 silences, 200 scars in the deep
places. It’s just as well that I don’t lack for amorous
adventure. Finlandia provides.
U

DOPPLER. Are you trying to tell me that because of your

indifference to your wife, you had no motive for killing
D

Mr. Tindle?
ANDREW. I’m simply saying that in common with most
T

men I like to have my cookie and ignore it. That’s

rather witty!
O

DOPPLER. Well, sir, I must say you’re very frank.

N

ANDREW. Disarmingly so, I hope.

DOPPLER. Go on, sir.

O

ANDREW. As I say, I thought I’d teach young Master Tindle

a lesson for his presumption. You may not know this,
D

Inspector, but take it from me, the surest way to a

man’s heart is through humiliation. You soon find out
what he’s made of.
DOPPLER. So you invited him here and humiliated him?
48 SLEUTH

ANDREW. I most certainly did. I invited him to the house

for a drink and suggested to him that as my wife had
expensive tastes and he was virtually a pauper, the
only course open for him was to steal some valuable
jewellery which I have in the safe.
DOPPLER. And he agreed to this?

E
ANDREW. With alacrity. I persuaded him to get out of
his clothes and to dress up as a clown, in which

AT
ludicrous disguise he broke into the house and blew
open the safe. He then pocketed the jewels, struggled
convincingly round this room and was about to make

IC
off, when I turned nasty and revealed to him the real
purpose of the evening. This of course was that I had
maneuvered him into a position where by pretending
PL
to mistake him for a burglar, I could, as the outraged
householder, legitimately shoot him as he raced away
up the stairs. By the time the police arrived I would be
U
standing here in my night attire—innocent, bewildered
and aggrieved. And as you know, Inspector, there’s no
D

liar in this country more likely to be believed than an

owner-occupier standing in front of his own fireplace
with his hair on end wearing striped Viyella pajamas.
T

DOPPLER. What was Mr. Tindle’s reaction to all this?

O

ANDREW. It was electrifying! He swallowed my story

hook, line and sinker. He fell on his knees, pleaded
N

for his life, but I was implacable. I put the gun against
his head and I shot him…with a blank cartridge. He
fainted dead away. It was most gratifying.
O

DOPPLER. Gratifying or not, sir, Mr. Tindle must have

D

been put in fear for his life. Such action invites a grave
charge of assault.
ANDREW. Well, that is marginally better than the charge
of murder you were contemplating a few minutes ago.
DOPPLER. I still am contemplating it, sir.
 SLEUTH 49

ANDREW. Oh, come now, Inspector. I’ve told you what

happened. After a few minutes, Tindle recovered his
senses, realized shrewdly that he wasn’t dead after all
and went off home.
DOPPLER. (Shaking his head in disbelief.) Just like that?

ANDREW. Well, he needed a few glasses of cognac to get

E
the moving parts working. I mean, wouldn’t you?

AT
DOPPLER. I doubt whether I would have survived
completely undamaged, sir. I find the whole thing
most irresponsible.

IC
ANDREW. Irresponsible, my foot! I was upholding the
sanctity of marriage. That’s more than most people are
prepared to do these days. By this action I was clearly
PL
stating, “Marriage isn’t dead. It’s alive and well and
living in Wiltshire.”
DOPPLER. Tell me, did Mr. Tindle say anything before he
U

left?
D

ANDREW. No. He seemed quite speechless. He just lurched

off. (Laughs.)
DOPPLER. I’m sorry you appear to find all this so funny,
T

Mr. Wyke. I can assure you we’re not going to take

O

quite the same attitude.

ANDREW. Look, why don’t you see this from my point of
N

view? Damnit, the fellow was a thief. He was stealing

my wife.
O

DOPPLER. So you tortured him?

ANDREW. (Exploding.) It was a game!

D

DOPPLER. A game?

ANDREW. A bloody game, yes!

DOPPLER. It sounds rather sad, sir—like a child not

growing up.
ANDREW. What’s so sad about a child playing, eh?
50 SLEUTH

DOPPLER. Nothing, sir—if you’re a child.

ANDREW. Let me tell you, Inspector. I have played games

of such complexity that Jung and Einstein would have
been proud to participate. Games of construction and
games of destruction. Games of hazard, and games
of callidity. Games of deductive logic, inductive logic,

E
semantics, color association, mathematics, hypnosis
and prestidigitation. I have achieved leaps of the mind

AT
and leaps of the psyche unknown in ordinary human
relationships. And I’ve had a great deal of not wholly
innocent fun.

IC
DOPPLER. And now you have achieved murder.

ANDREW. No!
PL
DOPPLER. I believe so, sir.

ANDREW. No.
U
DOPPLER. Would you mind if I had a look around, sir?

ANDREW. Go ahead. Make yourself entirely at home.

D

Crawl about on all fours. Do whatever you like. Get

out your envelope and imprison hairs. Gather ye blunt
instruments while ye may.
T

(DOPPLER starts to examine the room.)

O

I ask myself, if I wanted to conceal Tindle’s body where

N

would I put him? In the cellar? Too traditional.

(DOPPLER shakes the Sailor.)

O

What are you doing? Making friends and influencing

people? (Back to his other thought.) In the water tank?
D

Too poisonous. In the linen cupboard? Too aromatic.

In the furnace? Too residual. In the herbaceous
border? Too ossiferous. In the…
DOPPLER. Excuse me, sir, but that hole there… (Pointing to
mantel.) …and this one behind that candlestick…they
look like bullet holes.
 SLEUTH 51

ANDREW. Quite right, Inspector. So they are.

DOPPLER. I understood you to say, sir, that you used a

blank.
ANDREW. Two live bullets to set up the trick. One blank to
complete it. I had to persuade Tindle I was in earnest.
There’s no point in playing a game unless you play it to

E
the hilt, is there?

AT
DOPPLER. I see, sir. One blank. I’d like you to show me
where Mr. Tindle was when you killed him.
ANDREW. Pretended to kill him, you mean.

IC
DOPPLER. That’s right, sir. Show me, please, exactly where
he was when the bullet hit him.
PL
ANDREW. You do realize, of course, there wasn’t a real
bullet.
DOPPLER. Very well, sir. Show me where he was when the
U

blank cartridge was fired.

D

ANDREW. With the greatest of pleasure. He was standing,

I should say kneeling, cowering here. He fainted and
fell down the stairs flippity-floppity bang!
T

DOPPLER. I see. About here you say, sir?

O

ANDREW. No, I said nearer to me. You’ll have to come

down again, won’t you?
N

DOPPLER. Were you standing close to Mr. Tindle when you

fired the gun?
O

ANDREW. Very. I was standing over him, in fact, with the

gun pressed against his head. It was the pressure of
D

the gun coupled with the noise of the explosion that

did the trick.

(There is a pause as DOPPLER goes on examining

the staircase.)
Inspector, I’d like to facilitate your work in every way…
52 SLEUTH

(Offers DOPPLER his magnifying glass. DOPPLER

ignores the offer.)

DOPPLER. Joke blood, sir?

ANDREW. I’m not quite sure I follow, Inspector.

DOPPLER. This here on the banister. It’s dried blood.

E
ANDREW. Blood? Where?

AT
DOPPLER. Here at the bottom, sir, in the angle of the
banister—don’t touch it. (Scrapes at the banister with
his pocket knife.)

IC
ANDREW. Don’t carve your name…

DOPPLER. That’s dried blood, sir. Here’s some more.

PL
Someone’s been rubbing at the carpet. Do you see, sir?
There, deep in the pile that’s blood, sir. Oh! It’s still
damp. Could you explain how it got there, sir?
U
ANDREW. I have no idea. Tindle wasn’t…the back of his
head was a good bit scorched but there was nothing
D

else…you must believe me!

DOPPLER. Why should I, sir?
T

ANDREW. But it’s impossible, it was only a game.

O

DOPPLER. Game, sir? With real bullets and real blood?

ANDREW. Yes, Inspector, a game. Look at the window.

N

Here’s the pane of glass he cut out in order to break

in and if you look down there in the flower bed, you’ll
see his footprints, size 28 or whatever the damn things
O

were. And here’s the chest of drawers he broke open

with the jimmy.
D

DOPPLER. Thanks, sir, but I don’t require a conducted tour.

Over the years my eyes have been adequately trained
to see things for themselves.
ANDREW. I’m sure they have, Inspector. I’m just pointing
out a few facts which would help substantiate my
 SLEUTH 53

story. And if you’ll look under the stairs here you’ll see
the safe we blew open…
DOPPLER. Where are the jewels now, sir?

ANDREW. I put them in the bank yesterday.

DOPPLER. On a Saturday?

E
ANDREW. Yes, Inspector, on a Saturday. I drove over to
Salisbury and put them in the night safe. I felt they’d

AT
be better off there. I mean, anyone could break into
the house and steal them.
DOPPLER. How provident, sir.

IC
ANDREW. And look down the corridor, you’ll see the
dressing-up basket…
PL
DOPPLER. (Turns away and looks out the window.) You
didn’t point out that mound of earth in the garden, did
you, sir?
U

ANDREW. (Looks out window from gallery.) Mound of

D

earth? What mound of earth?

DOPPLER. Over there, by the far wall. In the shadow of that
yew tree. Would you say it had been freshly dug, sir?
T

ANDREW. How the hell should I know? It’s probably

O

something the gardener’s doing. Yes, I fancy he did say

something about a new flower bed.
N

DOPPLER. A flower bed right underneath a yew tree, sir?

ANDREW. I’ve told you I don’t know. Why don’t you ask
O

the man yourself? You’ll probably find him out there

somewhere maundering around on his moleskinned
D

knees aching for an opportunity to slander his

employer.
DOPPLER. Funny, sir. I’ve always found that gardeners
make excellent witnesses. They’re slow, they’re
methodical, they’re positive.
54 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Inspector, I’ve had just about enough of this

farce. Go and dig the damned thing up, if you want to.
DOPPLER. Oh, we shall, sir. Don’t worry.

ANDREW. Look, do you really think that I’d leave a dead

body out there in the garden, and leave that newly
turned earth for everyone to find?

E
DOPPLER. If you weren’t expecting us, sir, yes. In a couple

AT
of weeks, with some bulbs or a little grass seed, it
would be difficult to tell it had ever been disturbed. We
in the police force know just how fond murderers are
of their back gardens, sir.

IC
ANDREW. You’re nearer a killer’s heart in a garden than
anywhere else on earth, eh?
PL
DOPPLER. Except a bedroom, sir. I think you’ll find that
a bedroom is still the favorite. (DOPPLER rummages
in the wardrobe.) Tch. Tch. Tch. What a way to keep
U

clothes! All screwed up at the back of your wardrobe.

Why should you do that, I wonder. (Picks up a shirt.)
D

Here are some initials, sir. M. T., sir!

(ANDREW takes shirt from DOPPLER. DOPPLER

T

gets suit jacket from wardrobe.)

O

Made by Owen & Smith of Percy Street. 29th

of the fourth, 1970 for Mr. Milo Tindle. Tell me
N

something, sir. When Mr. Tindle lurched off as you put

it, did he lurch naked?
ANDREW. Inspector, I haven’t the slightest idea…
O

DOPPLER. Didn’t you tell me that Mr. Tindle stripped off

D

here the other night to disguise himself as a clown?

ANDREW. Yes, that’s right.

DOPPLER. Another part of the humiliation process, I

suppose.
 SLEUTH 55

ANDREW. But he changed back before he left. I mean,

you can’t really see him walking through the village
dressed as a clown, can you?
DOPPLER. No, sir, I can’t. Which makes the appearance of
his clothes here all the more significant.
ANDREW. It’s all so difficult…

E
DOPPLER. On the contrary, sir, I think it’s all very simple.

AT
I think you started this exactly as you say you did, as a
game, in order to play a diabolical trick on Mr. Tindle,
but that it went wrong. Your third shot was not a
blank as you had supposed, but was in fact a live

IC
bullet which killed Mr. Tindle stone dead, spattering
his blood on the bannister in the process. When you
realized what you’d done you panicked and buried him
PL
in the garden. It was silly of you not to wash the blood
properly off the bannister and burn his clothes though.
U
ANDREW. I’ve told you Tindle left here alive.

DOPPLER. I don’t believe it.

D

ANDREW. I didn’t murder him.

DOPPLER. I accept that. As I said, I think it happened

T

by accident. We’ll be quite content with a charge of

O

manslaughter.
ANDREW. I did not kill him! He left here alive.
N

DOPPLER. If you will pardon a flippancy, sir, you had better

tell that to the judge.
O

ANDREW. Look. There’s one way of settling this. If you

think Tindle is in the garden, go and dig him up.
D

DOPPLER. We don’t need to find him, sir. Recent decisions

have relieved the prosecution of producing the corpus
delicti. If Mr. Tindle is not under the newly turned
earth, it will merely indicate that in your panic you
first thought of putting him there, then changed your
mind and buried him somewhere else.
56 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Where?

DOPPLER. Does it matter? Spook Spinney! Flasher’s Heath!

It’s all the same to us. He’ll turn up sooner or later—
discovered by some adulterous salesman, or oversexed
boy scout. And if he doesn’t, it scarcely matters, there’s
so much circumstantial evidence against you. Come

E
along, it’s time to go.
ANDREW. Go! What do you mean go? I’m not going

AT
anywhere!
DOPPLER. I’m afraid I must insist, sir! There’s a police car
outside.

IC
ANDREW. You can have twenty police cars out there. I’m
not going.
PL
DOPPLER. Now let’s have no trouble, sir. Please don’t make
it difficult.
U
ANDREW. (Wildly.) I must see a lawyer. It’s my right.

DOPPLER. We can make a call from the station, sir. We

D

wouldn’t want to do anything unconstitutional. Come

on, sir. At the most you’ll only get seven years!
T

ANDREW. (Horrified.) Seven years!

O

DOPPLER. Seven years to regret playing silly games that go

wrong.
N

ANDREW. (Bitterly.) It didn’t go wrong. It went absolutely

right. You’ve trapped me somehow.
O

DOPPLER. Yes, sir. You see, we real life detectives aren’t

as stupid as we are sometimes portrayed by writers
D

like yourself. We may not have our deer-stalker hats,

our pipes, or our orchid houses, but we tend to be
reasonably effective for all that.
ANDREW. Who the hell are you?

DOPPLER. Detective Inspector Doppler, sir, spelt as in C.

Doppler 1803–1853 whose principle it was that when
 SLEUTH 57

the source of any wave movement is approached,

the frequency appears greater than it would to an
observer moving away. It is also not unconnected with
the German word Dopple meaning double—hence
Doppleganger or double image. And of course, for
those whose minds run to these things, it is virtually
an anagram of the word Plodder. Inspector Plodder

E
becomes Inspector Doppler, if you see what I mean,
sir!

AT
(MILO removes his disguise.)

ANDREW. (A shriek.) Milo!

IC
MILO. (Normal voice.) The same.

ANDREW. You shit!

PL
MILO. Just so.

ANDREW. You platinum-plated, copper-bottomed, dyed

U

in the wool, all-time, knock-down, dragout, champion

bastard Milo!
D

MILO. Thanks.

ANDREW . You weasel! You cozening coypu! You

T

mendacious bollock of Satan.

O

MILO. Obliged.

ANDREW. Milo! You triple-dealing turd!

N

MILO. In your debt.

O

ANDREW. Mind you, I’m not saying it wasn’t well done. It

was absolutely brilliant.
D

MILO. Thank you.

ANDREW. Have a drink, my dear fellow.

MILO. Let me wash first. I’m covered in make-up and

spirit gum.
58 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Just down the corridor there on your right.

Cheers!
MILO. Good health. (MILO exits to bathroom upstage left.)

ANDREW. Yes, I must say, Milo, I congratulate you. It was

absolutely first class. You really had me going there for
a minute.

E
MILO. For a minute?

AT
ANDREW. It was a long minute, I concede. But mind you,
I had my suspicions towards the end. Flasher’s Heath
indeed! That was pushing it a bit, don’t you think?

IC
MILO. I was just giving you one of your well-known
English sporting chances.
PL
ANDREW. What did you think of my performance? The
anguish of an innocent man trapped by circumstantial
evidence.
U

MILO. Undignified—if it really was just a performance.

D

ANDREW. Of course it was, and it had to be undignified to

be convincing. As I say, I had my suspicions.
MILO. Indeed. (MILO reenters from upstage left.) How
T

cleverly you kept them to yourself.

O

ANDREW. And how well you executed it. I loved your

Inspector Doppler. His relentless courtesy, his chilly
N

rusticity, his yeoman beadiness.

MILO. (Climbing stairs. With DOPPLER voice and gait.) I’m
O

glad you view the trifling masquerade in that light, sir.

ANDREW. Quite a minor masterpiece in its way. Worthy to
D

take his place among the great detectives of fiction—

Roger Sheringham—Inspector Ringrose—but how
did you do it? I suppose you slipped in here yesterday
when I was over in Salisbury?
MILO. Yes, I waited to see you leave.
 SLEUTH 59

ANDREW. And put the clothes in the wardrobe and

sprinkled a little sacrificial blood on the banister.
MILO. Exactly. Only it wasn’t my blood, you’ll be relieved
to hear. It was obtained from a pig’s liver.
ANDREW. I’ll thank you to do me a favor and wipe it off
before you go. I don’t want to fertilize the woodworm.

E
MILO. Question: Where would you find a homosexual

AT
woodworm?
ANDREW. What?

MILO. In a tall-boy. (Having changed to his own clothes,

IC
MILO comes back down stairs.) I’d like that drink now.

ANDREW. Yes, of course. (ANDREW pours brandy for

PL
MILO.) And richly you deserve it, my dear fellow.

MILO. You know I haven’t congratulated you on your game

yet. You brought it off with great clan.
U

ANDREW. Did you think so? Oh, good! Good! I must say
D

I was rather delighted with it myself. Tell me…did you

really think that your last moment on earth had come?
MILO. Yes.
T

ANDREW. You’re not angry with me, are you?

O

MILO. Anger is a meaningless word in this context.

N

ANDREW. My dear fellow, I just wanted to get to know

you—to see if you were, as I suspected, my sort of
person.
O

MILO. A games-playing sort of person?

D

ANDREW. Exactly.

MILO. And am I?

ANDREW. Are you? I should say so.

MILO. And what exactly is a games-playing person?

60 SLEUTH

ANDREW. He is the complete man, isn’t he? A man of

reason and imagination; of potent passions and bright
fancies. He’s joyous, he’s unrepentant. His weapons
are the openness of a child and the cunning of a pike
and armed with these he faces out the black bloody
terrors of living. For me personally he is a man who is
prepared to live his life without the crutch of domestic

E
tension. You see, at heart, I’m rather a solitary man.
An arrangement of clouds, the secret mystery of

AT
landscape, a game of intrigue and revelation, mean
more to me than people—even the people I’m
supposed to be in love with. I’ve never met a woman to

IC
whom the claims of intellect were as absolute as they
are to me. For a long time I was reticent about all this,
knowing that people would mistake my adroit heart
PL
for one of polished stone. But now I don’t care any
more. I’m out in the open. I’ve turned my whole life
into one great work of happy invention.
U

MILO. And you think I’m like that?

D

ANDREW. Yes, I do.

MILO. You’re wrong.

T

ANDREW. I’m not. Look at the way you chose to get back
at me—by playing Doppler.
O

MILO. That was just the need for revenge. Every Italian
N

knows about that.

ANDREW. Rubbish. You could have revenged yourself in
any one of a hundred crude Mafiosi ways—you could
O

have cut off the gardener’s hands or staked the cleaning

woman out on the driveway, or even I suppose, as a last
D

hideous resort, engraved loutish words on the paint-

work of my Rolls Royce. But no, you had to resort to
a game.
MILO. I like to pay back in kind.
 SLEUTH 61

ANDREW. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Come on now—

is honor satisfied? Is it one set all?
MILO. (Hard.) By no means. Your game was superior to
mine. I merely teased you for a few minutes with the
thought of prison. You virtually terrified me to death.
And that changes you profoundly. Once you’ve given

E
yourself to death, actually faced the fact that the coat
sleeve button, the banister, the nail on your fourth

AT
finger, are the last things you’re going to see ever—and
then heard the sound of your own death—things can
never be the same again. I feel I’ve been tempered by
madness. I stand outside and see myself for the first

IC
time without responsibility.
ANDREW. That’s shock, my dear chap. It’ll pass. Here, let
PL
me get you another drink.

(MILO pulls sharply away from ANDREW.)

U
How cold you are. Milo, my dear fellow, I didn’t realize
how absolutely cold…
D

MILO. So that my only duty now is to even our score. That’s

imperative. As you would put it, I’m three games up in
T

the second set, having lost the first one six love. That’s
right, isn’t it? That’s about how you see it? I should
O

hate to cheat.
ANDREW. You’re being too modest, Milo. In my scoring it’s
N

one set all.

MILO. Oh no, I can’t accept that. You see to the ends of
O

playing the game and drawing honourably level, I

have killed someone.
D

ANDREW. Killed someone?

MILO. Murdered someone. Committed murder.

ANDREW. You’re not serious.

MILO. Yes.
62 SLEUTH

ANDREW. What is this? Some new murder game?

MILO. Yes. But it has a difference. Both the game and the
murder are real. There’s absolutely no point in another
pretence murder game between us, is there?
ANDREW. No, none. But I don’t like to take advantage of
you in your present emotional state.

E
MILO. It can’t wait.

AT
ANDREW. Alright. Alright. We’ll play your game. Come on,
tell me—who have you killed?
MILO. Your girlfriend, Téa.

IC
ANDREW. You killed Téa?

MILO. She whose cobalt eyes were the secret forest pools of
PL
Finlandia. I closed them.
ANDREW. You…
U

MILO. I strangled her—right here on this rug—I strangled

her and… I had her first.
D

ANDREW. You raped her…

MILO. No. Not rape. She wanted it.

T

ANDREW. You’re lying. You can’t take me in with a crude

O

game like that. Come on, Milo. You’re in the big league
now. I expected better sport from you than that.
N

MILO. You’ll have all the sport you can stomach in a

moment, Andrew. That I promise you.
O

ANDREW. Really, Milo…

D

MILO. When I was here yesterday, planting the blood and

clothes for my Inspector Doppler scene, Téa came
by. She was looking for you. I strangled her. She was
under that freshly dug mound of earth in the garden
that so took Inspector Doppler’s fancy.
ANDREW. Was? You mean she’s not there now?
 SLEUTH 63

MILO. No. I moved her.

ANDREW. (Derisory.) You moved her? Where to? Flasher’s

Heath I suppose.
MILO. Something like that. It was too easy leaving her
here… Too easy for the game you are going to play
against the clock before the police arrive.

E
ANDREW. The police?

AT
MILO. Yes. You see, about an hour ago I ’phoned them up
and asked them to meet me here at ten o’clock tonight.
They should be here in about ten minutes.

IC
ANDREW. (Sarcastic.) Yes, yes. I’m sure they will be. Led,
no doubt, by intrepid downy Inspector Doppler.
PL
MILO. Oh no. It’ll be a real policeman this time, have
no fear of that. Detective Sergeant Tarrant, that’s his
name. I told him a lot about you, Andrew. I told him
U
I know you to be a man obsessed with games-playing
and murder considered as a fine art. Your life’s great
D

ambition, I said, of which you’d often spoken, was

to commit an actual real life murder, hide the body
somewhere where it couldn’t be traced to you and then
T

leave clues linking you with the crime, strewn about

this house in the certain knowledge that the pedestrian
O

and simple-minded police wouldn’t recognise them

for what they were.
N

ANDREW. Obsessed with games-playing and murder

considered as a fine art. Milo, you’re preposterous!
O

Please, Sergeant, Andrew Wyke can’t rest until he’s

committed a real murder which is going to make fools
D

out of all you coppers. Tell that in the average police

station and you’ll be clapped straight into the giggle
wagon.
MILO. Not so in fact. I told them that if they didn’t
believe me, one look at your books and the contents
of your house would confirm what I said about your
obsessions.
64 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Go on.

MILO. I also told them that two days ago your girlfriend,
Téa, had come to my house in great distress saying you
suspected she was having affairs with other men and
had threatened to kill her.
ANDREW. The police swallowed all that?

E
MILO. After some demur, yes.

AT
ANDREW. The fuzz are watching too much TV.

MILO. You mustn’t resent imagination in public office,

Andrew. Of course, I went on, I had no proof that any

IC
harm has actually been done to her, but I thought I
had better report the matter, particularly as I had
just received an excited phone call from you, Andrew,
PL
saying you were all set to achieve your life’s great
ambition.
U
ANDREW. (Starting to dial phone.) My dear boy, I quite
appreciate you have been capitivated by the spirit of
D

games-playing and the need, as you see it, to draw

even, but frankly you are trying too hard to be a big
boy, too soon. Hello, Joyce darling, Andrew here. May
T

I speak to Téa, please. She what? …When was this? I

can’t make out what you’re saying… Where? …What?
O

…Hello…hello… Joyce…hello…
N

MILO. I told you. I killed her yesterday. Now you sweat for
your life. You have a little over eight minutes before
the law arrives. It’s going to be your giant brain against
O

their plodding ones. Concealed in this room are two

incriminating clues. And as a final expression of your
D

contempt for the police, you’ve added the murder

weapon itself. Do you follow me so far?
ANDREW. (Admiringly.) You bastard!

MILO. No judgments, please. Three objects. Those you

don’t find, be sure the police will. I should add that
they’re all in plain view though I have somewhat
 SLEUTH 65

camouflaged them to make the whole thing more fun.

The first object is a crystal bracelet.
ANDREW. Not…

MILO. Yes, I tore it from her wrist…off you go. It’s

inscribed “From Andrew to Téa, a propitiary offering
to a Karelian goddess.”

E
ANDREW. Alright! Alright! I know how it’s inscribed.

AT
MILO. Would you like some help?

ANDREW. Yes, damn you!

IC
MILO. For any man
With half an eye.
PL
What stands before him may espy;
But optics sharp it needs, I ween,
To see what is not to be seen.
U

ANDREW. (Furious.) You said everything was in plain view.

D

MILO. Well, it’s paradoxical old me, isn’t it?

ANDREW. I’ll roast you for this, Tindle… I’ll roast you
T

alive…
MILO. Six minutes.
O

ANDREW. Six minutes. I’ve got to work quickly. It’s in plain

N

view, yet can’t be seen. H’m…an optical trick involved.

MILO. A propitiary offering, eh! What was it you had to
O

propitiate for, I wonder?

ANDREW. None of your damn business.
D

MILO. Just for being yourself, I suppose. Just for being

bloody cold, torturing Andrew Wyke. Poor Téa, I
wonder if all her jewellery was inscribed with apologies
for your bully boy behaviour.
ANDREW. That is a cheap jibe.
66 SLEUTH

MILO. Mind you, at least you gave her some. Marguerite

just had the use of them.
ANDREW. I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract
me. But you won’t succeed… I’ll solve your puzzle…
Now then… Optics sharp it needs, I ween; to see what
is not to be seen. Seen with the eye…with the naked

E
eye…so it could be microscopic! You only see a fraction
of it. That’s it! (Takes large magnifying glass on desk

AT
and starts searching.)
MILO. You don’t need the Sherlock Holmes kit, Andrew.
The bracelet is full-sized and in full view. Though the

IC
detective angle isn’t a bad one. I wonder how your
man St. John Lord Merridick would have gone about
the search?
PL
ANDREW. Merridew. St. John Lord Merridew.

MILO. Perhaps he’d have clambered up on to that desk

U
to have a look on top of that plinth, hauling his great
tun of port belly after him. Or perhaps he’d have gone
D

straight to the chimney…

(ANDREW goes to fireplace.)

T

And shoved his fat Father Christmas face right up it.

Oh, my God! cried the noble Lord, puking on his pipe
O

and indulging his famous taste for bad puns. This is

hardly a sootable place for a gentleman.
N

ANDREW. I won’t listen to you. What are the properties of

crystal? It’s hard…it’s brilliant…it’s transparent.
O

MILO. You’re getting warm, Andrew.

D

ANDREW. You see through it and you don’t see it. If

you want to hide something transparent you hide
it in something else transparent…like…like…like…
(ANDREW crosses quickly to bar, MILO’s glass, and
finally to the fish tank) Suddenly it’s all crystal clear.
(Takes bracelet from fish tank and waves it in front of
MILO.) There’s nothing to that. She could have left this
here any time.
 SLEUTH 67

MILO. True, it was only planted so that the police could

read the inscription. At least they’d know that your
relationship with Téa hadn’t always been a happy one.
ANDREW. Aren’t you the subtle one? What next?

MILO. The next object is more damning. The clue is a

riddle, which goes as follows:

E
Two brothers we are,

AT
Great burdens we bear,
On which we are bitterly pressed.
The truth is to say,

IC
We are full all the day,
And empty when we go to rest.
PL
ANDREW. Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me… I know that…don’t
tell me… It’s a…it’s a pair of shoes!
U
MILO. Very good. In this case only one, girl’s shoe. The
right one. Size 6. The other, I need hardly add, is still
D

on Téa’s body.
ANDREW. Oh, my God. Poor little Téa.
T

MILO. Poor Téa…well, that’s a bit better. It’s the first sign of
grief you’ve shown since you heard of her death.
O

ANDREW. It’s not true! But I haven’t got time now! You
think I don’t care about Téa but I have to think of
N

myself, haven’t I?
MILO. You’re loving it. You’re in a high state of brilliance
O

and excitement. The thought that you are playing a

game for your life is practically giving you an orgasm.
D

ANDREW. Keep your filthy mouth shut. What you see

before you is someone using enormous restraint
to keep terror in check, while he tries to solve a
particularly morbid and sadistic puzzle. It’s a triumph
of mind over atavism… (Sees shoe in the base of the
plinth.) Ah ha! (Pulls the shoe from the plinth and
throws it into the stove.)
68 SLEUTH

MILO. Excellent! Sorry it’s so messy. It’s only earth from

Téa’s first grave under your yew tree.
ANDREW. Third clue: That was the murder weapon you
said. Now you strangled her here. What with? Let’s
see…a rope? …a belt? …a scarf? …
MILO. It bit into her neck very deeply, Andrew. I had to

E
prise it loose.

AT
ANDREW. You filthy, dirty, sadistic little wop.

MILO. (Quite deliberately sweeps the Senat pieces onto the

floor and rises, facing ANDREW.) I hope I didn’t hear

IC
that correctly… It would be foolish to antagonise me
at this late stage. Because you’re certain to need a lot
more help, I would hate to have to start giving you
PL
oblique, Florentine sorts of clues sewn with treachery
and double dealing.
ANDREW. Come on, let’s have the clue. Get on with it.
U

MILO. As Don Quixote…

D

ANDREW. Don Quixote, yes… Cervantes 1547… 1616.

MILO. …in common with a great number of other chaps

T

remarked, “No es oro todo que reluce.”

O

ANDREW. I assume the other chaps didn’t say it in Spanish.

MILO. Well, at least you knew it was Spanish, even if you

N

can’t speak it. I suppose that’s what is meant by a

general education in England.
O

ANDREW. You’re pretty damned insufferable, Tindle.

MILO. Yes. I’ve learnt it. Let’s try you on a little Latin. Every
D

gentleman knows Latin. I’m sure you’re acquainted

with the Winchester College Hall Book of 1401?
ANDREW. Of course, I always keep it in paperback by my
bedside.
 SLEUTH 69

MILO. Then you will remember an entry by Alanus De

Insulis—“Non teneas murum totum quod splendet ut
nurum.”
ANDREW. So sorry. I never got beyond Caesar threw a
cohort across the river.
MILO. Wit in the face of adversity. Well done. I suppose

E
I could put it another way. “Que tout n’est pas or qu’en
voit luire.” That’s French, it’s thirteenth century.

AT
ANDREW. Say it again, slowly.

MILO. All-that-glitters-is-not-gold…

IC
ANDREW. All that glitters is not gold! Why in God’s name
couldn’t you have said so instead of wasting so much
time? You strangled her with something glittering and
PL
golden…

(MILO whistles a chord.)

U

Musical cue…come on, let’s have it. Notes? …Whistle?

…Music? …Scale? …Cord? …That’s it! A golden cord!
D

And you wound it into the bell pull. (ANDREW checks

bell pull.) No, dammit, you didn’t.
T

(MILO whistles “Anything Goes”.)

O

Anything goes. In olden d… In olden days a…glimpse

of stocking. It’s in the spin dryer.
N

(Starts off down corridor upstage left MILO stops

him.)
O

MILO. Cold, cold. It’s in this room, remember?

D

ANDREW. Where do you put stockings? On legs, legs.

MILO. (Sings.) “In olden days a glimpse of stocking was

looked on as something shocking…” I thought I heard
something. (Exits to hallway. Comes back on stage.)
Yes, Andrew, it’s the police. They’re coming up the
drive.
70 SLEUTH

ANDREW. Keep them out!

MILO. (Singing as he exits.)

“IN OLDEN DAYS A GLIMPSE OF STOCKING WAS LOOKED
ON AS SHOCKING…”
(Offstage.) Good evening. Detective Sergeant Tarrant?

E
TARRANT. Yes, sir. This is Constable Higgs.

MILO. Good evening, Constable.

AT
HIGGS. Good evening, sir.

(The clock strikes 10:00.)

IC
ANDREW. Olden days…a glimpse…now you see it now
you don’t. Of course, the pendulum of the grandfather
PL
clock. (Rushes to the clock and finds stocking.)
MILO. Nice of you to be so prompt. I apologise for keeping
you waiting out there for a moment. The front door’s
U

a bit stiff.
TARRANT. That’s alright, sir. We’re used to waiting.
D

MILO. Won’t you hang your coats up? It’s a bit warm inside.
T

TARRANT. Thank you, sir. I expect we’ll be here a little

time.
O

(ANDREW puts stocking into fire.)

N

MILO. Here, Constable. Let me take your helmet.

HIGGS. Thank you, sir. If it’s all the same to you I think I’ll
O

keep it with me but I’ll take my coat off. (Door slams

offstage.)
D

MILO. (Enters.) Come in, gentlemen. May I introduce

Mr. Andrew Wyke. Andrew, may I introduce Detective
Sergeant Tarrant and Constable Higgs.
ANDREW. Come in, gentlemen, come in. (A pause. No one
enters.)
 SLEUTH 71

MILO. Or perhaps I should say Inspector Plodder and

Constable Freshface. Thank you, Sergeant. We shan’t
be needing you now.
TARRANT’S VOICE That’s alright, sir. Better to be safe than
sorry, that’s what I say. Good night, sir.
MILO. (Own voice.) Good night, Sergeant. Good night,

E
Constable. Good night, sir.

AT
(ANDREW sinks on the settee, shattered.)
Now I’ll tell you about Téa. She did come here
yesterday looking for you. I was here setting the

IC
Doppler scene. I told her about the trick you had
played on me with the gun. She wasn’t a bit surprised.
She knows only too well the kind of games you play—
PL
the kind of humiliation you enjoy inflicting on people.
I said I wanted to play a game to get even with you,
and I asked her to help me. I asked her to lend me a
U
stocking, a shoe, a crystal bracelet. She collaborated
with enthusiasm. So did her flat-mate, Joyce. Would
D

you like to telephone Téa, she’ll talk to you now. But

then of course you don’t really have much to say to her.
She’s not really your mistress, is she? She told me you
T

and she hadn’t slept together for over a year. She told
me you were practically impotent—not at all, in fact,
O

the selector’s choice for the next Olympics?

N

ANDREW. Where are you going?

MILO. To collect Marguerite’s fur coat.

O

ANDREW. What? Oh… I see…she’s not coming back then?

MILO. No.
D

ANDREW. Milo… Milo…don’t go. Don’t waste it all on

Marguerite. She doesn’t appreciate you like I do. You
and I are evenly matched. We know what it is to play
a game and that’s so rare. Two people coming together
who have the courage to spend a little time of light
between the darkness joking…just joking…
72 SLEUTH

MILO. Do you mean live here?

ANDREW. Live here? …Yes…well…you can live here…

MILO. Is it legal in private between two consenting games-

players?
ANDREW. Please… I just want someone to play with.

E
MILO. No.

AT
ANDREW. Please.

MILO. No. Most people want someone to live with. But

you have no life to give anyone—only tricks and the

IC
shadows of long ago. Take a look at yourself, Andrew,
and ask yourself a few simple questions about your
attachment to the English detective story. Perhaps
PL
you might come to realize that the only world you can
inhabit is a dead world—a country house world where
peers and colonels die in their studies; where butlers
U
steal the port, and pert parlourmaids cringe, weeping,
behind green baize doors. It’s a world of coldness
D

and class hatred, and two-dimensional characters

who are not expected to communicate; it’s a world
where only the amateurs ever win, and where to be a
T

foreigner is to be automatically a figure of fun. To be

puzzled is all. Forgive me for taking Marguerite to a
O

life where people try to understand. To put it shortly,

your detective stories are the normal recreation of a
N

snobbish, outdated, life-hating, ignoble mind. I’ll get

that fur coat now. I presume it is Marguerite’s, unless,
of course, you’ve taken to transvestism as a substitute
O

for non-performance.
D

(Exits to bedroom. ANDREW leaps from the

fireplace fender where he has been sitting.)

ANDREW. Think! Think! Think! The coat…the fur coat…

of course. (Brightens visibly—a man who realizes
suddenly that he can snatch victory out of the jaws
of defeat.) You see, Inspector, I was working in the
 SLEUTH 73

morning room when I heard a sound in here so I took

my revolver and came in here to investigate. And there
was this young man running down the stairs with my
wife’s fur coat over his arm. I shouted for him to stop
but he paid no attention. He ran on toward the front
door. So naturally I fired. I aimed low, believe me I
did, but the most appalling thing has happened—I

E
seem to have killed him. (INSPECTOR’s voice.) That’s
alright, sir, mustn’t distress yourself unduly. A thing

AT
like that could happen to anyone. (ANDREW takes his
revolver from the center desk drawer as MILO re-enters
from bedroom and hides it behind his back.) You must

IC
understand that I can’t let you go now.
MILO. What do you mean?
PL
ANDREW. Going around telling everybody. No. It’s just not
possible.
MILO. Who would I tell? Who’d be interested?
U

ANDREW. Even one person would be too much. Even just

D

Marguerite—especially Marguerite.
MILO. What are you going to do then, Andrew? Shoot me
down? Play your old burglar game again?
T

ANDREW. Could be.

O

MILO. It wouldn’t work, now, even if you had the guts to go

N

through with it.

ANDREW. No? Why not?
O

MILO. Because of what happened after I left here on Friday

night.
D

ANDREW. Well?

MILO. I lurched home in the moonlight, numb and dazed,

and soiled. I sat up in a chair all night—damaged—
contaminated by you and by this house. The next
morning I went to the police station and told them
what had happened. One of them—Detective Sergeant
74 SLEUTH

Tarrant—yes, he’s real—took me into a little back room

and we had quite a long chat. I don’t think he paid
very much attention to anything I said, even though I
showed him the powder burn on the back of my head.
He seemed much more interested in my relationship
with Marguerite, which by the way, Andrew, they all
appeared to know about. I thought, “He’s not going to

E
do anything about this because I’m just a stranger from
London who’s screwing the wife of the local nob and

AT
has got just what he deserves.” Then I remembered my
father, and did what I might have done in Italy, and
I took my own revenge, I think well. But remember,

IC
Andrew, the police might still come.
ANDREW. Then why haven’t they?
PL
MILO. I don’t know, perhaps they won’t. But even so you
can’t play your burglar game, they’d never swallow it
now. So you see you’ve lost.
U

ANDREW. That’s all very ingenious, Milo, but I don’t

believe one word you’re saying.
D

MILO. Well, it’s true.

T

ANDREW. You’re lying.

MILO. Why don’t you phone Sergeant Tarrant if you don’t

O

believe me?
N

ANDREW. And say what? Please, Sergeant, has Milo Tindle

been in complaining that I framed him as a burglar
and then shot him? I’m not that half-witted.
O

MILO. Suit yourself.

D

ANDREW. I shall shoot you, Milo Tindle. You come here,

you ask my permission to steal away my wife, you pry
into my manhood, you lecture me on dead worlds and
ignoble minds, and you mock Merridew. Well, they’re
all real bullets this time.
MILO. I’m going home now.
 SLEUTH 75

(Starts to leave. ANDREW fires. MILO drops in

pain, fatally shot, ANDREW kneels and holds his
head up.)

ANDREW. You’re a bad liar, Milo Tindle, and in the final

analysis, an uninventive games-player. Can you still
hear me? Then listen to this, NEVER play the same

E
game three times running!

AT
(There is the sound of a car approaching and
pulling to a halt, while a blue POLICE car light
shines through the window. The doorbell rings.
Loud knocking on door. Painfully MILO lifts his

IC
head from the floor and laughs.)

MILO. Game, set and match! (His laugh becomes a cough.

PL
Blood trickles from his mouth. He grimaces in surprise
at the pain, and dies.)
U
(The knocking on the door is repeated more loudly.
ANDREW staggers to desk and accidentally presses
D

button. The Sailor laughs loudly. The knocking

becomes more insistent. ANDREW leans weakly
against pillar as the curtain falls.)
T
O

End
N
O
D