Page 35 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

Well, to make a long story short, we got hitched and went into the
airship business, and that was the end of it. It was all my money and
he became just an employee. The company started making a profit
and I started drinking. Luigi Pomello and me: well, that’s another
story.

MACALLISTER: (alertly) Did you say he was in France?

POMELLO: Oh, yes, but not in “gay Paree”. He was out in a village
somewhere: it think it was called Cow-surly-Pie, or something funny
like that. He never talked much about it.

MACALLISTER: No! Can it be? (staggers back, unnoticed by
Pomello, who busily pours and downs another drink)

METCALF: (goes to Perkinson) Wake up, sleeping beauty!

PERKINSON: Unhhh. Oh. I was just meditating. (shakes head)

METCALF: Listen to me good, Perkinson. You’ve got no alibi, and
the Swami can’t help you now. If I can’t build a better case than I’ve
got against you now, I’ll have to let you go back to work.

PERKINSON: Work? You mean navigation?

METCALF: Yeah, yeah. Whatever it is you do up there with the
electric ear-muffs. But first we’re going to have a look at your gear.
Where is it?

PERKINSON: Oh. I have a duffel bag in the baggage compartment.

METCALF: Let’s go. (motions Perkinson to lead the way)

PERKINSON: But there’s a dead man in there. (Pomello looks up,
returns to seat)

METCALF: Ha! Fisk can’t hurt you now. Are you scared of a stiff?

PERKINSON: Not me! (they exit right)

MACALLISTER: (has entered cockpit) Captain: I must speak with
you.

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