Page 42 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

METCALF: Swami? Aw, forget it. The kind of balls you like to hit
don’t ever leave the table. That leaves Perkinson and—

MACALLISTER: Wait! (all look at her) You don’t have to look any
further: I did it. I killed Wendell Fisk.

(together)
METCALF: Well, I’ll be damned!
OGLETHORPE: You!
POMELLO: What are you saying?

MACALLISTER: (grips back of seat) I’m your murderer, Mr.
Metcalf. You can stop bothering all these people.

METCALF: I can’t figure it. Why’d you do it?

MACALLISTER: He—he made advances to me. I had to protect
myself.

METCALF: With a poisoned golf tee?

MACALLISTER: It—it was his. He showed me the curare and said it
could kill anybody with just a little scratch. I found the golf tee on the
floor and took the poison bottle out of the briefcase when he was in
the bathroom. It was easy. I never thought anyone would discover
how it was done.

METCALF: And where is the poison now?

MACALLISTER: Like Mr. Gross said, I flushed it out of the airship.

METCALF: This is hard to swallow. Are you willing to sign a
confession when we land?

MACALLISTER: Yes, sir. Anything you say.

METCALF: Well, you can’t beat a confession, especially if you don’t
have to beat anyone to get it. All it took was turning up the heat a
little. I should have known: poison is a woman’s weapon—or so it
says in the manuals. By the way, I have an announcement for you

41