Page 36 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

MATTHEWS: Eh? Lucille. Where’s Perkinson?

MACALLISTER: I don’t know. Captain, I’ve just been talking to
Mrs. Pomello about you.

MATTHEWS: I suppose she gave you quite an earrul. Let me assure
you that whatever happened in the past has no bearing on—

MACALLISTER: Please, Captain: before you go on, I must tell you
something. My last name is not really MacAllister; my mother
adopted it when we emigrated to the States. Her maiden name was
Mireille Latour. She was born and raised in Caillou-sur-le-Paille. Does
that mean anything to you?

MATTHEWS: (frowns, then does double-take) What!

MACALLISTER: (unsteady) Well, does it?

MATTHEWS: But, but—this is incredible! Lucille, when were you
born?

MACALLISTER: December 12, 1918.

MATTHEWS: Then, then—

MACALLISTER: (sits) Yes?

MATTHEWS: (looks into her face intently) Then I am your father.
(she cries into hands) I didn’t know. I had to leave, but I wasn’t well.
Not in my mind. I lost touch with her, with everyone, for years. I
can’t even speak a word of French, now. I—I don’t what to say.

METCALF: (re-enters passenger compartment with Perkinson) All
right. I couldn’t hold you on a charge if we were on the ground, so
you can get back to the cockpit.

PERKINSON: Oh, thank you, sir! (goes into cockpit, as Metcalf
looks at others suspiciously) Excuse me, sir. Mr. Metcalf said I could
return to my post.

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