Page 25 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

METCALF: A real Boy Scout. By the way, where is your husband,
Mrs. Pomello?

POMELLO: Which one?

METCALF: Why, Luigi Pomello, of course. Who else?

POMELLO: So much for your investigations! You have no idea of
my life before I met Fisk.

METCALF: Then enlighten me.

POMELLO: Why bother? The less you know about me the less you
can insult me. Are you finished with your questions?

METCALF: Well, for the time being. But don’t think you’re in the
clear: I’ve got a notion that you and Fisk were planning some sort of
caper up there in Frisco.

POMELLO: Prove it.

METCALF: Maybe I will. Anyway, thanks for everything, lady:
you’ve been a big help.

POMELLO: Oh, flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Metcalf! You
have such a charming personality: You ought to be in pictures.
(leaves cockpit and returns to seat by way of galley and gets drink,
ignoring MacAllister’s signs to sit down directly)

METCALF: What a dame! I’ve never seen such a tough cookie. Do
you know if she was married previously, Matthews?

MATTHEWS: Indeed I do. I was her first husband.

METCALF: What? Are you pulling my leg?

MATTHEWS: No, I’m on the level. You would have found out by
yourself, anyway, sooner or later. We were married in 1926 and broke
up around the time she bought her first dirigible, six years ago.

METCALF: (embarrassed) Uh, well, don’t take anything I said about
her too personally, will you? Now, where’s that list of owners? Ah,

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