The setting is an old Edwardian manor house. The year is unknown.
HUTTER and wife NAT step out of the front door and beckon as a car is heard coming up the driveway. They are both thirty-something. Hutter seems slightly stiff and formal, where Nat is more easygoing. She rubs her hands together and shivers.
Out of the car climbs JUDITH, wearing an oversized winter coat. Younger, awkward in a sociable way, librarianish. She shakes hands with Hutter when he offers, and engages Nat in a sort of shoulder-hug.
HUTTER: You must be Judith. The Professor said you were coming. I am Jean Hutter, at your service, and this is the lovely Natassja.
NAT: My friends call me Nat. It is lovely to meet you, although I wish the circumstances were better.
Judith laughs sharply, then looks between the two of them. Hutter glares at her angrily.
JUDITH: Sorry, that wasn’t appropriate. It’s just that if circumstances were better, we wouldn’t meet at all. Sorry, I don’t mean-
NAT: It’s fine, really. Come inside. I take it you and the Professor know each other?
JUDITH: Only by association.
They enter the house.

Inside, the PROFESSOR and PHILIP are huddled around the fireplace, apparently deep in discussion. As Hutter, Nat and Judith enter, they turn as if caught out.
PROFESSOR: Oh, thank goodness, Hutter! You’ve closed the door! I assume our final guest has arrived?
He is an older man, well-dressed if fussily so, with long graying hair. He comes across to greet Judith with a low bow.
JUDITH: Professor Whale?
PROF: Indeed.
He kisses her hand. Judith giggles nervously.
PROF: And, since our fifth number is of a more reticent sort in general, allow me to make his introduction also. Ladies, Mr. Philip E. Howerd, author of the fantastical.
PHILIP nods silently. He’s very still, quiet, and always seems to be deep in thought.
JUDITH: I don’t think I saw him at the funeral. In fact, I don’t think any of you were there?
Hutter seems amused, more than a little condescending.
HUTTER: This is more of a… personal affair. For more important matters than the mere interment of decomposing flesh.
Nat elbows him.
NAT: Jean! I promise, he’s not normally this macabre.
JUDITH: It’s alright. The Archivist always had a dry sense of humour.
PROF: It’s drier now.
Hutter laughs. Nobody else does.
PROF: Allow me to fetch some tea. Judith?
JUDITH: Yes please. I’m starving – or whatever the equivalent for tea is?
PHILIP: Parched, traditionally.
The Professor exits, dignity unruffled by his inappopriate joke. Judith approaches Philip and extends a hand. Philip looks at it as if it might bite him.
JUDITH: It’s a pleasure to meet you. I think I read one of your stories once. One of the scary ones. I do love a good horror story!
PHILIP: Yes, thank you.
Nat pulls Hutter aside as Judith tries unsuccessfully to draw Philip into a conversation.
NAT: Why are you trying to scare her, darling?
HUTTER: She’s young, Natassja. I have my doubts about her.
They return to the sitting-room.
JUDITH: What is this, then – some kind of double-secret extra will-reading?
The Professor returns carrying cups of tea for himself, Hutter and Judith. He pours milk from a small jug into one of the cups and hands it to the woman.
PROF: Here you are, my dear. Careful now! It’s hot!
Judith blows on the tea.

JUDITH: How did you know him? The Archivist, I mean.
NAT: Oh, I hardly did. I saw him a few times, but Jean never introduced us. He said we wouldn’t get on.
JUDITH: Really? Did he say why?
NAT: … I don’t think so? I just assumed he wasn’t a very social person. Jean met him through his work.
JUDITH: What does he do?
NAT: He’s a researcher. He helps write popular history books. Well, I always say he really ghostwrites them – half of the personalities from the television couldn’t operate a typewriter if their lives depended on it.
HUTTER: Are you badmouthing my clients again, Natassja?
Hutter slides into the conversation.
JUDITH: So you knew him from your work. I worked with him. Would it interest you to know he never mentioned you?
HUTTER: What are you saying?
JUDITH: I’m not saying anything. Have you ever met Professor Whale before tonight?
HUTTER: No.
JUDITH: What about Philip?
HUTTER: He’s a busy man, an author like him-
JUDITH: We’re all strangers to each other, you see. Isn’t it odd how a man’s life can touch so many others that have no relationship to each other at all?
She smiles.
JUDITH: Odd and sort of beautiful, right?
The little group breaks apart. Judith wanders through a door into a dark, concealed area of the stage, nursing her tea. After a while of quiet conversation, the Professor raises his teacup and dings on it with his spoon.
PROF: I tell you what, I think that this is the occasion for a toast! And tea is no drink for a toast.
He goes to a large and hitherto unremarked bag and withdraws from it a bottle of Scotch, not full.
PROF: Now does anyone have some glasses?
He leaves in the opposite direction to Judith. Hutter and Nat gravitate towards Philip.
NAT: So… do you and the professor know each other?
HUTTER: Natassja!
Philip shakes his head. A moment later, the professor re-emerges, brandishing glasses.
PROF: A toast! A toast!
He sets down the four on the end table and pours a little bit of scotch into each one. Suddenly he looks up and counts.
PROF: And Judith makes five… Oh, dear. I seem to have come up short.
NAT: It’s okay. I don’t drink.
The professor wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow and picks up his own glass.
PROF: I’ll start- Oh dear, where is Judith? Has she wandered off already? Surely we aren’t that dull!
Hutter laughs. Nat looks somewhat troubled.
PROF: Well, there’s no sense in starting without her.
A moment. Nobody wants to go looking. The professor raises his glass, undaunted.
PROF: To our mutual friend, the Archivist. His influence brought us together, showed us each our purpose. May he continue to guide us.
He drinks, gestures to Hutter. Hutter glances at Nat, then picks up his glass and raises it.
HUTTER: Without him, I never would have gotten my job. Never would have met my wife. My life would be completely changed. May he continue to guide us.
He drinks.
HUTTER: Philip?
Philip raises his glass, stares into it for a moment as if fascinated by the light, and then drinks.
PROF: Well, that’s a characteristically astute observation. You know, I think that he was quite possibly the most remarkable person I have ever known. It is a rare thing to find, a wise man whose vision is unclouded by the petty mist of spirituality. A bold thinker! And a great conversationalist besides.
He’s beginning to sway. One suspects he may have had a little to drink earlier which is now beginning to hit him. Hutter, laughing, guides him to a chair.
HUTTER: Enough, Professor. Judith still has to give her toast. Where is Judith, anyhow? Natassja, did you see where she went?
NAT: I don’t know, she just sort of went… off.
Nat gestures offstage after Judith.
HUTTER: “Off”?
He repeats the gesture.
HUTTER: Well then, let’s go “off” and get her!
He grabs Nat’s hand and leads her away, leaving the Professor and Philip alone.
PROF: Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.
PHILIP: I met him countless times while I was writing my last book. His office was always cold, and full of obscure texts piled like standing stones in some arcane configuration. He read my manuscripts front to back and told me without once checking a reference what dates I had wrong, when I had mistranslated a word. The smallest inaccuracy, he would leap on it, the way a lioness leaps, and tears the gazelle apart in a moment. For that reason, I don’t agree with your toast, professor. “May he continue to guide us” is the kind of thing he wouldn’t stand for. “He continues to guide us.”
The professor has fallen asleep. Philip sips his drink.
PHILIP: Yes, well.
A hideous SCREAM shatters the silence! The professor sits bolt upright. Philip runs into the darkened area of the stage and it is REVEALED:
Judith lies on the floor, HIDEOUSLY DEAD. BLOOD everywhere. Nat is clinging to Hutter’s leg, whimpering. Hutter is shaking, white as a sheet. Philip reacts silently to the discovery. A moment later, the professor enters, carrying his glass of scotch.
PROF: I say, Philip, what do you mean by running off and leaving me alone in there- Oh. My goodness.
NAT: She’s dead!
PROF: I can see that! I’m drunk, not blind!
BLACKOUT, with a loud metallic crash.
HUTTER: Shutters! Steel shutters, covering the windows!
PHILIP: Then we’re trapped in here… with a killer on the loose!
A dramatic musical cue may be inserted here, at the director’s discretion.