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  Having fulfilled her obligation to her publisher, she moved to a different publishing house, William Collins, with what many believe to be her masterpiece, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926), which became a bestseller.

  It was in 1926 that she disappeared. Feared kidnapped or murdered, her absence made headlines, boosting her sales. She was perfectly safe, having checked into a hotel under the name of her husband’s mistress. She claimed she ran away because of stress; cynics claimed it was all a publicity stunt.

  She wrote sixty-six novels and scores of short stories that were collected in fourteen volumes, as well as an autobiography (which never mentioned her disappearance) and numerous plays, most famously The Mousetrap, which opened in 1952 and continues in London’s West End as the longest-running stage play of all time—a fixture on the scene for tourists as significant as the Tower of London and British Museum; there have been more than twenty-seven thousand performances.

  More than two dozen theatrical films have been based on Christie’s books, approximately seventy television adaptations, and numerous BBC radio programs. Of the twenty-nine stage plays that she wrote, the best is arguably The Witness for the Prosecution, which progressed from a short story to a play to a motion picture, with added surprises in each incarnation.

  In the story, Leonard Vole has been arrested for the murder of Emily French, who had been so enamored of him, in spite of the fact that he was forty years younger, that she had turned over control of her finances to him. She was murdered soon after. Vole swears his innocence and is confident that Romaine, his wife, will provide him with an unassailable alibi: he was home much earlier than the time of the murder. Shockingly, she not only refuses to testify about the alibi but asserts her hatred of Vole and states that he came home with blood on his clothes. With his alibi shattered, Vole faces certain death when his attorney suddenly acquires a priceless piece of evidence that will acquit him. The surprise ending reveals that Vole did, in fact, commit the murder.

  Christie was proud of the story but unhappy with the ending because she did not like that the villain got away with his crime, so she wrote a new ending when she adapted it for the stage. In the play, which opened in London on October 28, 1953, it turns out that Vole has a young mistress, with whom he plans to run away, leaving Romaine to face perjury charges. In a rage, Romaine grabs a knife and stabs Vole to death.

  THE FILM

  Title: Witness for the Prosecution, 1957

  Studio: United Artists

  Director: Billy Wilder

  Screenwriters: Larry Marcus, Billy Wilder, Harry Kurnitz

  Producer: Arthur Hornblow Jr.

  THE CAST

  • Tyrone Power (Leonard Vole)

  • Marlene Dietrich (Christine Vole/Helm)

  • Charles Laughton (Sir Wilfrid Robarts)

  • Elsa Lanchester (Miss Plimsoll)

  • John Williams (Mr. Brogan-Moore)

  • Henry Daniell (Mr. Mayhew)

  • Ian Wolfe (H. A. Carter)

  The film version, quite close to the original story and play, adds several elements that I won’t reveal here—I’ve already given away too many spoilers. A remarkable cast, excellent direction, screenwriters wise enough to keep most of Dame Agatha’s work intact—all resulted in an outstanding film. It was nominated for six Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Charles Laughton for Best Actor in a Leading Role, Elsa Lanchester for Best Supporting Actress, and Billy Wilder for Best Director.

  Other actors had been considered for the part of Vole before Tyrone Power was hired for the role, including William Holden, Gene Kelly, Kirk Douglas, Glenn Ford, Jack Lemmon, and the unlikely Roger Moore. Marlene Dietrich may not have been the first choice to play Christine (Romaine in the story and play), as Rita Hayworth and Ava Gardner had also been considered for the role—but, then, Gardner seems to have been the first choice to play every juicy role in the 1940s and 1950s.

  Screenwriter Harry Kurnitz never worked with Billy Wilder again after this film, calling him “a fiend.” He said the director was an exhausting collaborator who was “actually two people: Mr. Hyde and Mr. Hyde.”

  Marlene Dietrich was confident that she would be nominated for an Academy Award, even recording a new introduction to her Las Vegas show mentioning her nomination. She was crushed when she failed to be nominated. Her role as a woman deeply in love was enhanced by her real-life crush on Power, who was embarrassed by her advances. It has been reported that Charles Laughton also had a crush on Power.

  After seeing the movie, Agatha Christie said it was the only film based on her work that she liked. Years later, she acknowledged that she also liked Murder on the Orient Express (1974).

  TELEVISION

  There were several adaptations of Witness for the Prosecution made for television.

  •1949: BBC Television. It starred Dale Rogers as Leonard Vole, Mary Kerridge as Romaine Vole, and Derek Elphinstone as Sir Wilfrid Roberts W. C. It was directed by John Glyn-Johns and adapted by Sidney Budd.

  •1953: CBS Television. It starred Tom Drake as Leonard Vole, Andrea King as Romaine Vole, and Edward G. Robinson as Sir Wilfred Roberts Q. C. It was directed by Richard Goode and adapted by Anne Howard Bailey.

  •1982: Hallmark Television. It starred Beau Bridges as Leonard Vole, Dianna Rigg as Christine Vole, and Ralph Richardson as Sir Wilfred Roberts Q. C. It was directed by Alan Gibson and adapted from the film version by John Gay.

  •2016: BBC Television. It starred Billy Howle as Leonard Vole, Kim Cattrall as Emily French, and Andrea Riseborough as Romaine Vole. It was shown in two parts, on December 26 and 27.

  THE WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION

  Agatha Christie

  MR. MAYHERNE ADJUSTED HIS PINCE-NEZ and cleared his throat with a little dry-as-dust cough that was wholly typical of him. Then he looked again at the man opposite him, the man charged with wilful murder.

  Mr. Mayherne was a small man precise in manner, neatly, not to say foppishly dressed, with a pair of very shrewd and piercing grey eyes. By no means a fool. Indeed, as a solicitor, Mr. Mayherne’s reputation stood very high. His voice, when he spoke to his client, was dry but not unsympathetic.

  “I must impress upon you again that you are in very grave danger, and that the utmost frankness is necessary.”

  Leonard Vole, who had been staring in a dazed fashion at the blank wall in front of him, transferred his glance to the solicitor.

  “I know,” he said hopelessly. “You keep telling me so. But I can’t seem to realize yet that I’m charged with murder—murder. And such a dastardly crime too.”

  Mr. Mayherne was practical, not emotional. He coughed again, took off his pince-nez, polished them carefully, and replaced them on his nose. Then he said:

  “Yes, yes, yes. Now, my dear Mr. Vole, we’re going to make a determined effort to get you off—and we shall succeed—we shall succeed. But I must have all the facts. I must know just how damaging the case against you is likely to be. Then we can fix upon the best line of defence.”

  Still the young man looked at him in the same dazed, hopeless fashion. To Mr. Mayherne the case had seemed black enough, and the guilt of the prisoner assured. Now, for the first time, he felt a doubt.

  “You think I’m guilty,” said Leonard Vole, in a low voice. “But, by God, I swear I’m not! It looks pretty black against me, I know that. I’m like a man caught in a net—the meshes of it all round me, entangling me whichever way I turn. But I didn’t do it, Mr. Mayherne, I didn’t do it!”

  In such a position a man was bound to protest his innocence. Mr. Mayherne knew that. Yet, in spite of himself, he was impressed. It might be, after all, that Leonard Vole was innocent.

  “You are right, Mr. Vole,” he said gravely. “The case does look very black against you. Nevertheless, I accept your assurance. Now, let us g
et to facts. I want you to tell me in your own words exactly how you came to make the acquaintance of Miss Emily French.”

  “It was one day in Oxford Street. I saw an elderly lady crossing the road. She was carrying a lot of parcels. In the middle of the street she dropped them, tried to recover them, found a bus was almost on top of her and just managed to reach the kerb safely, dazed and bewildered by people having shouted at her. I recovered the parcels, wiped the mud off them as best I could, retied the string of one, and returned them to her.”

  “There was no question of your having saved her life?”

  “Oh! dear me, no. All I did was to perform a common act of courtesy. She was extremely grateful, thanked me warmly, and said something about my manners not being those of most of the younger generation—I can’t remember the exact words. Then I lifted my hat and went on. I never expected to see her again. But life is full of coincidences. That very evening I came across her at a party at a friend’s house. She recognized me at once and asked that I should be introduced to her. I then found out that she was a Miss Emily French and that she lived at Cricklewood. I talked to her for some time. She was, I imagine, an old lady who took sudden violent fancies to people. She took one to me on the strength of a perfectly simple action which anyone might have performed. On leaving, she shook me warmly by the hand, and asked me to come and see her. I replied, of course, that I should be very pleased to do so, and she then urged me to name a day. I did not want particularly to go, but it would have seemed churlish to refuse, so I fixed on the following Saturday. After she had gone, I learned something about her from my friends. That she was rich, eccentric, lived alone with one maid, and owned no less than eight cats.”

  “I see,” said Mr. Mayherne. “The question of her being well off came up as early as that?”

  “If you mean that I inquired—” began Leonard Vole hotly, but Mr. Mayherne stilled him with a gesture.

  “I have to look at the case as it will be presented by the other side. An ordinary observer would not have supposed Miss French to be a lady of means. She lived poorly, almost humbly. Unless you had been told the contrary, you would in all probability have considered her to be in poor circumstances—at any rate to begin with. Who was it exactly who told you that she was well off?”

  “My friend, George Harvey, at whose house the party took place.”

  “Is he likely to remember having done so?”

  “I really don’t know. Of course it is some time ago now.”

  “Quite so, Mr. Vole. You see, the first aim of the prosecution will be to establish that you were in low water financially—that is true, is it not?”

  Leonard Vole flushed.

  “Yes,” he said, in a low voice. “I’d been having a run of infernal bad luck just then.”

  “Quite so,” said Mr. Mayherne again. “That being, as I say, in low water financially, you met this rich old lady and cultivated her acquaintance assiduously. Now if we are in a position to say that you had no idea she was well off, and that you visited her out of pure kindness of heart—”

  “Which is the case.”

  “I dare say. I am not disputing the point. I am looking at it from the outside point of view. A great deal depends on the memory of Mr. Harvey. Is he likely to remember that conversation or is he not? Could he be confused by counsel into believing that it took place later?”

  Leonard Vole reflected for some minutes. Then he said steadily enough, but with a rather paler face:

  “I do not think that that line would be successful, Mr. Mayherne. Several of those present heard his remark, and one or two of them chaffed me about my conquest of a rich old lady.”

  The solicitor endeavoured to hide his disappointment with a wave of the hand.

  “Unfortunately,” he said. “But I congratulate you upon your plain speaking, Mr. Vole. It is to you I look to guide me. Your judgement is quite right. To persist in the line I spoke of would have been disastrous. We must leave that point. You made the acquaintance of Miss French, you called upon her, the acquaintanceship progressed. We want a clear reason for all this. Why did you, a young man of thirty-three, good-looking, fond of sport, popular with your friends, devote so much time to an elderly woman with whom you could hardly have anything in common?”

  Leonard Vole flung out his hands in a nervous gesture.

  “I can’t tell you—I really can’t tell you. After the first visit, she pressed me to come again, spoke of being lonely and unhappy. She made it difficult for me to refuse. She showed so plainly her fondness and affection for me that I was placed in an awkward position. You see, Mr. Mayherne, I’ve got a weak nature—I drift—I’m one of those people who can’t say ‘No.’ And believe me or not, as you like, after the third or fourth visit I paid her I found myself getting genuinely fond of the old thing. My mother died when I was young, an aunt brought me up, and she too died before I was fifteen. If I told you that I genuinely enjoyed being mothered and pampered, I dare say you’d only laugh.”

  Mr. Mayherne did not laugh. Instead he took off his pince-nez again and polished them, always a sign with him that he was thinking deeply.

  “I accept your explanation, Mr. Vole,” he said at last. “I believe it to be psychologically probable. Whether a jury would take that view of it is another matter. Please continue your narrative. When was it that Miss French first asked you to look into her business affairs?”

  “After my third or fourth visit to her. She understood very little of money matters, and was worried about some investments.”

  Mr. Mayherne looked up sharply.

  “Be careful, Mr. Vole. The maid, Janet Mackenzie, declares that her mistress was a good woman of business and transacted all her own affairs, and this is borne out by the testimony of her bankers.”

  “I can’t help that,” said Vole earnestly. “That’s what she said to me.”

  Mr. Mayherne looked at him for a moment or two in silence. Though he had no intention of saying so, his belief in Leonard Vole’s innocence was at that moment strengthened. He knew something of the mentality of elderly ladies. He saw Miss French, infatuated with the good-looking young man, hunting about for pretexts that should bring him to the house. What more likely than that she should plead ignorance of business, and beg him to help her with her money affairs? She was enough of a woman of the world to realize that any man is slightly flattered by such an admission of his superiority. Leonard Vole had been flattered. Perhaps, too, she had not been averse to letting this young man know that she was wealthy. Emily French had been a strong-willed old woman, willing to pay her price for what she wanted. All this passed rapidly through Mr. Mayherne’s mind, but he gave no indication of it, and asked instead a further question.

  “And you did handle her affairs for her at her request?”

  “I did.”

  “Mr. Vole,” said the solicitor, “I am going to ask you a very serious question, and one to which it is vital I should have a truthful answer. You were in low water financially. You had the handling of an old lady’s affairs—an old lady who, according to her own statement, knew little or nothing of business. Did you at any time, or in any manner, convert to your own use the securities which you handled? Did you engage in any transaction for your own pecuniary advantage which will not bear the light of day?” He quelled the other’s response. “Wait a minute before you answer. There are two courses open to us. Either we can make a feature of your probity and honesty in conducting her affairs whilst pointing out how unlikely it is that you would commit murder to obtain money which you might have obtained by such infinitely easier means. If, on the other hand, there is anything in your dealings which the prosecution will get hold of—if, to put it baldly, it can be proved that you swindled the old lady in any way, we must take the line that you had no motive for the murder, since she was already a profitable source of income to you. You perceive the distinction. Now, I beg of yo
u, take your time before you reply.”

  But Leonard Vole took no time at all.

  “My dealings with Miss French’s affairs are all perfectly fair and aboveboard. I acted for her interests to the very best of my ability, as anyone will find who looks into the matter.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Mayherne. “You relieve my mind very much. I pay you the compliment of believing that you are far too clever to lie to me over such an important matter.”

  “Surely,” said Vole eagerly, “the strongest point in my favour is the lack of motive. Granted that I cultivated the acquaintanceship of a rich old lady in the hope of getting money out of her—that, I gather, is the substance of what you have been saying—surely her death frustrates all my hopes?”

  The solicitor looked at him steadily. Then, very deliberately, he repeated his unconscious trick with his pince-nez. It was not until they were firmly replaced on his nose that he spoke.

  “Are you not aware, Mr. Vole, Miss French left a will under which you are the principal beneficiary?”

  “What?” The prisoner sprang to his feet. His dismay was obvious and unforced. “My God! What are you saying? She left her money to me?”

  Mr. Mayherne nodded slowly. Vole sank down again, his head in his hands.

  “You pretend you know nothing of this will?”

  “Pretend? There’s no pretence about it. I knew nothing about it.”

  “What would you say if I told you that the maid, Janet Mackenzie, swears that you did know? That her mistress told her distinctly that she had consulted you in the matter, and told you of her intentions?”

  “Say? That she’s lying! No, I go too fast. Janet is an elderly woman. She was a faithful watchdog to her mistress, and she didn’t like me. She was jealous and suspicious. I should say that Miss French confided her intentions to Janet, and that Janet either mistook something she said, or else was convinced in her own mind that I had persuaded the old lady into doing it. I dare say that she believes herself now that Miss French actually told her so.”