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May I give you a little word of warning, Mrs. Ralston? (Moving below the sofa) You and your husband must not be too trusting, you know. Have you references with these guests of yours?

MOLLIE. Is that usual? (She turns toPARAVICINI) I always thought people just—just came?

PARAVICINI. It is advisable to know a little about the people who sleep under your roof. Take, for example, myself. I turn up saying that my car is overturned in a snowdrift. What do you know of me? Nothing at all! I may be a thief, a robber, (He moves slowly towardsMOLLIE) a fugitive from justice—a madman—even—a murderer.

MOLLIE. (Backing away) Oh!

PARAVICINI. You see! And perhaps you know just as little of your other guests.

MOLLIE. Well, as far as Mrs. Boyle goes . . .

(MRS. BOYLE enters from the drawing room. MOLLIE moves up Centre to the refectory table.)

MRS. BOYLE. The drawing room is far too cold to sit in. I shall write my letters in here. (She crosses to the large armchair.)

PARAVICINI. Allow me to poke the fire for you. (He moves Right and does so.)

(MAJOR METCALF enters up Right through the archway.)

MAJOR METCALF. (ToMOLLIE; with old-fashioned modesty) Mrs. Ralston, is your husband about? I’m afraid the pipes of the—er—the downstairs cloakroom are frozen.

MOLLIE. Oh dear. What an awful day. First the police and then the pipes. (She moves to the arch up Right.)

(PARAVICINI drops the poker with a clatter. MAJOR METCALF stands as though paralysed.)

MRS. BOYLE. (Startled) Police?

MAJOR METCALF. (Loudly; as if incredulous) Police, did you say? (He moves to the Left end of the refectory table.)

MOLLIE. They rang up. Just now. To say they’re sending a sergeant out here. (She looks at the snow.) But I don’t think he’ll ever get here.

(GILES enters from the archway up Right with a basket of logs.)

GILES. The ruddy coke’s more than half stones. And the price . . . Hullo, is anything the matter?

MAJOR METCALF. I hear the police are on their way here. Why?

GILES. Oh, that’s all right. No one can get through in this. Why, the drifts must be five feet deep. The roads are all banked up. Nobody will get here today. (He takes the logs to the fireplace.) Excuse me, Mr. Paravicini. May I put these down.

(PARAVICINI moves down stage of the fireplace. There are three sharp taps on the window as SERGEANT TROTTER presses his face to the pane and peers in. MOLLIE gives a cry and points. GILES crosses and throws open the window. SERGEANT TROTTER is on skis and is a cheerful, commonplace young man with a slight cockney accent.)

TROTTER. Are you Mr. Ralston?

GILES. Yes.

TROTTER. Thank you, sir. Detective Sergeant Trotter. Berkshire Police. Can I get these skis off and stow them somewhere?

GILES. (Pointing Right) Go round that way to the front door. I’ll meet you.

TROTTER. Thank you, sir.

(GILES leaves the window open and exits to the front door up Right.)

MRS. BOYLE. I suppose that’s what we pay our police force for, nowadays, to go round enjoying themselves at winter sports.

(MOLLIE crosses below the refectory table to the window.)

PARAVICINI. (Moving up to Centre of the refectory table, in a fierce whisper toMOLLIE) Why did you send for the police, Mrs. Ralston?

MOLLIE. But I didn’t. (She shuts the window.)

(CHRISTOPHER enters from the drawing room Left and comes to Left of the sofa. PARAVICINI moves to the Right end of the refectory table.)

CHRISTOPHER. Who’s that man? Where did he come from? He passed the drawing room window on skis. All over snow and looking terribly hearty.