Page 32 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

VISHNANDA: Sir, I do not follow the meaning of your words.

METCALF: Come off it. That beard doesn’t fool me.

VISHNANDA: I fear that you, like Miss Peabody, have seen what is
not there. I assure you that my beard is no less substantial than any
other material body of your experience.

METCALF: Cut the sanctimonious double-talk. Perkinson had a
photo of you that might as well be a mugshot. You’re Louie
Wycznanski, alias Louie the Weasel, alias Boxcar Benny, alias
Wishbone, alias God-knows-what-else. It’s been a few years, and you
probably don’t remember me, but I was there with the Arkansas
troopers when you crossed the state line in a car full of—

VISHNANDA: Stop! I see there is no point in trying to deceive you
any further. Yes, I was Louis Wycznanski, a long time ago.

METCALF: It wasn’t that long ago, you old con artist! What did you
do , start some kind of weird religion for rich widows?

VISHNANDA: If you would allow me to—

METCALF: And that kid out there—Perkinson—you’ve got him in a
trance, I see. Don’t tell me it’s a coincidence that you’re both on this
balloon at the scene of a crime!

VISHNANDA: I have many followers in California. It is not odd
that our paths should cross, especially at higher altitudes.

METCALF: Never mind the baloney. What I want to know is, what
was there between you and Fisk?

VISHNANDA: (sighs) Since you have discovered my secret, I might
as well confess.

METCALF: It’s about time, but I didn’t think murder was your
game, Louie.

VISHNANDA: No, no, no! Your suspicious mind is stumbling all
over itself in its haste to arrive at a conclusion. What I must confess

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