Page 14 - Murder on the Dirigible
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Murder on the Dirigible

        passengers) No objections? Fine. (nods at Matthews, who returns to
        cockpit and works on radio while Perkinson looks on; Pomello sits,
        sighing  loudly)  Okay,  we’re  going  to  play  this  by  the  book.  Miss
        MacAllister. I want you to put all this stuff I took out of his pockets
        and lock it up in the galley until I need it. Oh, and take the briefcase,
        too. (MacAllister gathers up items and goes into galley) Fine. Now I
        need a volunteer. You, there: you look fairly healthy.

        OGLETHORPE: Me?

        METCALF: Yeah, you. Come on and give me a hand. Let’s get this
        guy out of the way so I can get to work. Miss MacAllister!

        MACALLISTER: (from galley) Yes?

        METCALF: Can you unlock the door to the baggage compartment?

        MACALLISTER: Yes. Right away.

        METCALF:  Okay.  Lift  his  legs,  buddy.  I  want  everybody  else  to
        remain seated until I get back. (they carry Fisk back to galley and exit
        right, after MacAllister unlocks door)

        PEABODY: (to Vishnanda) You thief! Give that back to me!

        VISHNANDA:  I beg your pardon, Madam?

        PEABODY: My shawl. You took my shawl!

        VISHNANDA: This? (points to own shoulders) This is mine. You
        are mistaken, a victim of sensory delusion.

        PEABODY: (peers closely at him) Don’t you try any more of that
        Devil’s  talk  on  me,  Swami  whoever-you-are!  That’s  my  Kashmir
        shawl. It’s been in my family for three generations.

        VISHNANDA: Madam, I assure you that this meagre covering was
        the  gift  of  a  disciple.  I  have  very  few  possessions,  but  this  is
        unequivocally mine.

        PEABODY: Liar! If you don’t hand it over immediately, I’ll—


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