Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the ensemble.
I suppose you think I'm the prompter.
I'm not.
I am the conductor.
This is my answer to outdoor opera.
Singing opera in the outdoors is like painting with oils under water.
I don't claim the art suffers but the artist does.
The orchestra may have a bit of difficulty seeing me
but I am also less of a target for the audience
should they decide to become demonstrative.
I understand the soprano and the tenor have stopped
fighting so the curtain must be about to go up.
But before you see tonight's opus we present this little opera bouff.
We have heard the testimony of Dr. Payne,
the Andersons family physician,
and we've also had a report from Sergeant Cresse
who was summoned to the Andersons home on the night of the tragedy.
Now Mr. Anderson, we would like you to tell us exactly what happened on the evening of
February 4th prior to the death of the deceased.
We have already read the transcript of the
testimony you gave to the police, but perhaps
you wouldn't mind going over the details another time.
Will you take the chair, please, Mr. Anderson?
I'm afraid you're writing in.
Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing about the truth?
I do. - Be seated.
Well, it was about eight o'clock.
That's the hour.
My wife and I generally dined on the help's night off.
She was in the kitchen.
She liked the opportunity to have the kitchen
to herself once a week and always made one of my favorite dishes.
She always refused to tell me what we were having for dinner.
But my guess was beef stroganoff.
Valerie suggested a bottle of wine with dinner.
We debated briefly as to whether to have a burgundy or a claret
and finally decided on a Beaujolais.
She went to get a bottle from the cellar.
I returned my paper.
Several moments passed.
Then there was a thud.
Valerie!
It was dark in the cellar and she didn't answer me.
I wondered where she was.
The light in the cellar had burned out.
I suppose I was a little panicky by this time.
I couldn't imagine what had happened.
And then I saw her.
At first I only saw her foot.
And then...
As soon as I touched her face, I knew she was dead.
I rushed upstairs and called Dr. Payne.
Later he called the police.
Thank you, Mr. Anderson.
One moment, please.
The district attorney may want to ask you a few questions.
Mr. Anderson,
why, when your wife was busy preparing dinner, did you allow her to go
down into the cellar after the wine instead of going after it yourself?
She always did.
She knew where it was.
I see.
Now, about the cellar light.
Sergeant Cresse has already testified that the bulb was burned out, as you've said.
But how long had it been burned out?
I don't know.
I rarely went down to the cellar.
Why do you suppose Mrs. Anderson used matches to light her way down when there was a
flashlight so conveniently nearby in the hallway?
Well, things like that, tools and whatnot, were my department.
She never could find a pair of pliers and an extension cord, a tube of cement.
This book of matches marked Exhibit A.
These are the matches that were found besides your wife's body, are they not?
I suppose she picked them up hurriedly.
Hmm.
She was known as Val?
To a few of her close friends.
I always call her Valerie.
Thank you.
That will be all, Mr. Anderson.
You may step down.
Thank you.
Based upon the police report and the evidence heard here,
we find that the death of Valerie Anderson was accidental.
Death was due to a fracture of the cervical vertebrae sustained when the deceased
suffered a fall in the Anderson home
on February the 4th of this year.
Thank you.
These things are always an ordeal.
But it's over now.
Well, thank you, Sergeant.
I'm grateful for the courtesy and understanding you've all shown.
Not at all.
Keep them.
Okay, pal, on your way.
Morning, Pat.
Morning, Mr. Anderson.
Andy!
It's so good to see you back.
Thank you, Molly.
You're sure you're not rushing things?
Work's the best thing for me right now.
Thank you.
Oh, Mr. Anderson, we hadn't expected you quite so soon.
Well, I mean... It's all right, Maggie.
It's best to get these awkward moments over with as soon as possible.
Yes, sir.
Mr. Gordon phoned three times this morning.
Things haven't changed much in three weeks.
And Mr. Vincent scheduled a meeting for ten.
Right.
Andy!
Good to see you.
I'm meeting to call you, you know, and say how sorry I was.
I'm glad you didn't, Charlie.
I'd rather talk business right now.
Yes, Mr. Anderson.
Miss Wright, will you get Mr. Gordon back again before he has to call a fourth time?
I'm afraid he's already online, too, Mr. Anderson.
Anderson?
Yes, Mr. Gordon.
Sorry to hear of your loss.
Well, thank you. That's very kind of you.
Terrible shock.
Well, I appreciate your sympathy, Mr. Gordon.
How's the new container coming?
The new container for kitty modes?
Just a moment, please.
I wrote you a week or so ago, giving you my ideas.
Uh, yes.
I agree. The container should be opaque.
Yes, the Indian figure should be cut out for kitties.
We've had time to go through them.
I'm sorry I haven't been able to carry through on this, but...
The last sketches you submitted were no good at all.
Anderson?
I'll make those changes right away, Mr. Gordon.
Yes, Mr. Anderson.
Miss Wright, didn't you keep my calendar up to date while I was away?
Yes, I think so. I mean, I always do.
Well, today is Monday the 25th.
Will you please bring it up to date?
I'm due for the conference with Mr. Vincent.
You gentlemen are my top executives.
Perhaps one of you can explain to me what this is.
Andy?
I'm sorry, Mr. Vincent.
I've never seen that particular container before.
I've been away for a few weeks.
Then let me explain for your benefit.
This is Whiskeroff.
A revolutionary new shaving preparation contained in a prosaic
and commonplace old-fashioned tube designed by our organization.
This is unthinkable.
Mr. Vincent, the manufacturer did express a desire for a tube.
Manufacturers don't know what they want, blessing.
That's why they come to us, the leading industrial designers in the business.
Yes, sir. I'm sorry, but I've had to take on
several added accounts lately with Andy gone and...
Whiskeroff is the new miracle shaving preparation.
You just rub it on, then whisk it off.
And whiskers are painlessly gone.
Completely.
Not for hours, but for a day. A full day.
Whisk.
Doesn't that immediately suggest the most modern packaging?
Why, it's almost spelled out for you.
Andy, I'm putting you in charge of this.
Come up with an attractive container.
Give me something creative.
Something worthy of Vincent Industrial Design.
You're the man to do it.
I appreciate your confidence, sir.
Try it on yourself. Personal reaction. Nothing like it.
It's priceless, Andy.
Priceless.
Gentlemen.
Andy!
I've discovered a bright young fellow who I
think would be a credit to this organization.
And I'd appreciate it very much if you'd kind of
take him under your wing and show him the ropes.
You might start him in retail display.
I'd be happy to, Mr. Vincent.
I've got a lot of back work to catch up on.
Oh, so much the better.
Baptism of fire, that sort of thing.
See what he's made of. Name's Granville.
I'd be glad to keep an eye on him.
Good. Put him on a whisker off.
He might have some ideas.
Mr. Anderson?
Yes. I'm Peter Granville. I'm supposed to start working here today.
Oh, yes. Mr. Vincent spoke about you. Glad to have you join us.
Thank you, sir.
Miss Wright.
Would you take Mr. Granville up to the retail display
unit, have Marshall fill him in on basic procedure? I'd be glad to.
I'll be along as soon as I get free.
Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Oh, Mr. Gordon phoned again.
Oh, I'll get him.
You go along with Mr. Granville.
Mr. Gordon, please.
Anderson?
I can't hear you.
Miss Wright.
Haven't you changed this calendar yet?
Miss Wright!
Mr. Anderson?
Sergeant Cresse.
What did you want to see me about?
I'd be a little more comfortable if we had our talk inside, don't you think?
Yes.
Thank you.
Take your coat.
No, no, thank you.
I'm not going to be long.
Drink?
Yes.
As a matter of fact, a little bourbon need,
if you don't mind, kind of take the chill off.
Ah.
Thank you.
Cheers.
Mr. Anderson, to the best of your knowledge, do you have any enemies?
Why?
Police, Department, etc., etc., etc., sir.
Ray the case of Valerie Anderson's demise.
It might interest you to know that her husband
always hated her and made her life miserable.
That's a lie.
It might also interest you to know that Anderson had her life insured for $50,000.
Wasn't it a remarkable coincidence that she
just happened to fall down those stairs
sometime afterwards?
Let me see that.
No signature, of course.
There is a postscript, however.
P.S.
What about those matches?
Well, what about those matches?
What about the letter?
It's a pack of lies and innuendos
that "sometimes afterwards" happened to be two years later.
And we were both insured for $50,000, as I'm sure you know.
Now, Mr. Anderson, don't get upset.
I'm not accusing you of anything.
I'm merely curious as to the identity of the letter writer, that's all.
But whoever he is, he's beneath contempt.
Of course he is.
A sheep.
However, that postscript does bring up a rather bothersome point.
A point that really wasn't covered at the inquest.
Oh?
As you recall,
according to the evidence presented, your wife, having tried to set
her life at finding it not functioning,
chose not to tell you, but got a book of matches,
lit one, and started on the stairs.
So?
Either tripping or falling while the match was lit,
or losing her footing when the
match went out, the book of matches presumably
falling with her, since they were found by her hand on the cellar floor.
So?
Well, Mr. Anderson,
no burned out match was found.
Well maybe she didn't use one.
Why would she have them? She had no intention of using them.
All right, so she had them with her.
You just haven't been able to find the burned out match.
Well, finding a matchstick is rather like finding a needle in a haystack, isn't it?
I would certainly think so.
Well, the point is, Mr. Anderson, that we are trained
to find needles in haystacks than we usually do.
But all that traffic down there, the doctor, you and your men, even myself,
one of us might have kicked the match aside, picked
it up on the sole of our shoe, carried it out.
My men are very thorough, Mr. Anderson.
I'm afraid there was no burned out match.
Are you trying to say that I put those matches there
so that you'd think that she had them with her?
I'm not trying to say anything of the sort.
That I put a burned out light bulb in the cellar
so that it would seem that she had to use them?
That she didn't fall down those steps but was pushed?
Mr.
Are you accusing me of murder, Sergeant Cresse?
I never spoke of murder.
You did.
I'll let you know later, man.
Charlie.
Hi, Annette.
I used whisker off this morning instead of shaving.
It's a miracle.
I never saw anything like it.
I've got to come up with a sensational packaging device.
I'm sorry.
I didn't come up with the right thing to please the old man.
That's not your fault, Charlie.
You were overloaded with me gone.
Good morning, Mr. Anderson.
Mr. Lessing. - Good morning.
Miss Wright. Anything?
Yes, Mr. Gordon calling.
He wants to know why the new model for Kitty Modes isn't in his hands yet.
I'll call him in a few minutes.
Sweetheart, I love you so much I can't bear not seeing you.
Andy leaves for Chicago next week and we can be together again.
Until then, my darling, always your Val.
Yes, sir.
Miss Wright, where is the envelope that this letter came in?
I don't know, sir.
I don't recall opening that letter at all.
I'll be glad to look on my desk if you want me to.
Never mind. That'll be all.
Mr. Anderson,
I'm sorry I should have knocked.
I have a list of suggestions for the whisker-off container.
If you'd look at them... Would you mind leaving them?
I'm rather busy at the moment.
Well, if I could explain them to you...
Just give me a chance to do a couple of things and then I'll look at them.
Of course.
Well, thank you very much, sir.
I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you to death.
I was a million miles away.
Well, if you're worried about Mr. Gordon,
I've got the new sketches for Kitty Molds right here.
I stayed up until two o'clock last night to finish them.
Thanks, Molly.
I really appreciate that.
Well, for you, sir, it was a pleasure.
Molly, I can trust you.
I think you know that.
Have lunch with me, please.
Well, I wonder if I should trust you.
Please do. It's very important.
I promised Mr. Wyvern I'd work through lunch to catch up.
Dinner, then?
Will you have dinner, please?
I shouldn't sound so available, but...
I'd be delighted.
Thanks, Molly.
Believe it, you don't mean what you're saying.
Well, I do mean it.
My wife had a lover.
This letter is in her handwriting.
Why would anybody want to send that to you now?
Well, her boyfriend suspects that I found out about him.
Murdered Valerie because I was jealous.
Oh, Andy.
He's trying to pin this on me, shake me up,
make me admit it.
My desk calendar, February 4th, the day she died.
That can't be true. It could have been a coincidence,
just an oversight on the part of Ms. Wright.
That letter to the police,
that made ...
the sergeant suspect me.
That could have been written by some crank.
Andy, you're still upset over Valerie's death
and you're just imagining all sorts of things.
Who'd do a thing like this to me?
It has to be somebody in the Vincent Company.
Somebody in the office put that letter in my mail.
Andy,
I can't explain that letter, but it doesn't imply all the things you're inventing.
Someone may want to hurt you,
but that doesn't mean... Charlie Lessing.
The old man racked him up about that Whiskeroff container.
Handed the job to me.
Charlie must loathe me.
Charlie doesn't resent you and he hardly knew Valerie.
You're not making any sense.
Molly, I'm not the most stable person in the world.
I had an emotional breakdown during the war.
Battle fatigue.
I'm vulnerable under pressure.
I admit that.
But I'm not imagining this.
Not since this morning, not since that letter.
Somebody's out to get me.
Why, Andy? Who?
It's got to be somebody at the office.
Reverton,
Charlie Lessing, Wyvern,
maybe Vincent.
They all knew Valerie at office parties,
dinner at our home.
Andy, I think we should find someplace more private.
People from the office drop in here.
Oh, I'm embarrassing you.
All right.
We'll find a place more private.
My house.
Hello, Mr. Anderson.
That's Granville.
Yes, I know. I saw him. Let's go.
Vincent's hired him to spy on me.
Andy, will you please stop imagining?
The man stopped in for a drink. Now let's go.
Please don't leave me, Molly.
You're the only one I can talk to.
The only one I can trust.
Look at this room.
That furniture.
Those lamps, pictures.
Listen to this.
That was her favorite piece of music.
No class.
No taste.
A dull, drab, cold woman.
That's all she was.
No taste.
No refinement.
Whatever made me think she was so wonderful
that first time I met her at the cocktail party.
Cheap little... I should have pushed her down those steps a long time ago.
Andy.
Oh.
I didn't mean that I did push her.
I swear I didn't, Molly.
I didn't.
What I meant is I should have... I... I should have married a girl like you.
Andy, you've had too many martinis.
I should have met you at that cocktail party.
You're a lovely girl.
Kind. Understanding.
Randy, I wish you had met me instead.
But this is not the time to talk about it.
You're a little drunk, you know.
You're not thinking very clearly.
I'm thinking very clearly.
First time in my life.
That cheap little...
running around with some man.
You've no proof of it.
Dear, can't you let it alone?
Oh, you helped me, Molly.
Lovely girl.
Sweet, understanding.
I think we both had too many martinis.
Come on.
Let's get you up to bed, huh?
We'll talk about it another day.
Oh, Marley. Marley. Oh, I'm sorry, Marley.
I'm sorry. I thought you... I thought you were...
That concludes the first half of our show.
But rather than have you
go out for an intermission,
television brings the intermission to you.
I shall be here at its conclusion.
Good evening and welcome back to the show.
In case you are
wondering why I took no intermission, frankly I'm stuck in here.
I shall attempt to wriggle out during the second half of our story.
It will begin when the following commercial ends.
Mr. Vincent wants you to join him for lunch and the special delivery just arrived.
Eat something, Andy.
I'm not hungry.
Are you coming with a new container for Whiskeroff?
Have you tried it yet? Yeah, I tried it.
It stings a little. Well, not exactly stings.
It's smart. I used it this morning. It was yesterday morning.
Andy, I'm worried about you.
You've been so touchy since you got back.
I lost my wife, you know.
Oh, yes, I know. Well, it's no good to brood.
You're worth suffering, too.
Look, Andy,
it's a terrible thing that happened to Val, but...
Val?
What?
You called her Val.
Well, I don't see what...
That's how she signed that letter.
What letter?
Look, Andy, I don't know what's going on, but...
You could have put that letter in my mail.
The matches, too. What on earth are you talking about?
You could have been Valerie's lover.
Andy,
I think maybe you came back to work much too soon.
I'm sorry, sir. I'm very sorry.
Oh, Molly, Molly, I've got to talk to you.
Well, Andy, I'm on my way up. - Please.
Let's go into my office.
Molly, I'm terribly sorry about last night, but I want you to know that...
Andy, please don't worry about it. Please, I understand.
I've already forgotten about what happened last night.
But I haven't forgotten what you said. I meant it, Molly,
every word of it. I should have married a girl like you.
Oh, Andy.
Molly, could...
Andy?
Yes? Dictation, please.
Come in. Yes, sir.
Letter to Mr. Gordon. Kitty Modes, you know the address.
Dear Mr. Gordon, you're absolutely right.
The sketches are no good.
I've told our illustration department to work on new ones.
We regret the delay, appreciate your patience,
sincerely, and so on.
Got that? Yes, sir.
Interoffice memo to Wyvern, illustration department.
Kitty Modes tossed our sketches back at us.
Their criticism on this occasion, as on others,
is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.
But we have to humor them.
Of all our pestilential clients, Kitty Modes is the worst.
They demand ten times as much as any other client.
But make them up some sketches to please their childish hearts.
Shoot that down to Wyvern immediately. - Yes, sir.
No calls now, please.
I have the same thing, bartender.
Drinking on the job? Come to gloat? Gloat?
You mean about your kissing, Molly? That is entirely
your affair, old man, in a manner of speaking.
Although I would keep it under wraps for a while if I were you.
I mean, period of mourning, that sort of thing.
Which means?
Nothing, Andy, nothing. I didn't come here to row, but to warn.
I was closeted with dear old Vincent just before, and frankly,
Chum, at the moment your position is a little bit shaky.
You're all converging on me, aren't you?
You may not believe this, Andy, and you probably won't, but
in my own fumbling and apt fashion, I'm trying to help you.
Help me? Help me right out in the street so you can get my job.
Andy, come on. I just spent a half an hour defending
you to the old man. Don't make me feel I made a mistake.
We all know what you've gone through. Valerie died a miserable, sudden death.
Sudden death?
Now what?
What do you mean, sudden death?
I don't get you.
You mean foul play?
What?
They both go together, don't they? Sudden death, foul play?
Andy, what in the name of... Dante!
Wait a minute, I just thought of something.
What?
No one else had easier access to this office.
So what does that mean?
No one else hung around or more at parties.
Hung around?
Are you talking about Valerie?
Yes, I'm.
I said no more calls.
This is Mr. Vincent's office. Mr. Vincent would like to see you before you leave.
Oh, all right.
Here are your letters.
Mr. Anderson, I have some ideas for the whisker off container.
Not now, not now. Later.
Pretty bad, isn't it?
The bedroom's the same way.
Pillows, mattress, terrible mess.
Pretty neat job of entry, though.
Managed to lock on the front door there.
You look kind of pale.
Let me get you a drink.
How long have you been here?
Just a little while.
How do I know you didn't do this? There you go.
Gilbert and Sullivan were right, I'm afraid.
A policeman's lock is not a happy one.
Actually, a mailman discovered your door standing open,
so I came over and found the house in this condition.
Waited till you got here. What happens?
You come in, you accuse me of all this.
Here is your drink.
No?
What do you suppose this is done for?
A search for evidence, maybe?
Whoever broke in wasn't searching for evidence,
because there isn't any evidence to find.
Whoever broke in was trying to destroy me.
They must have had a pretty good reason to suspect you.
And you?
I?
Yes, you.
Either make a formal charge of murder against me or get out.
There you go, talking about murder again.
Do you hear me?
Keep them.
Good night!
Oh, Mr. Anderson, I hope you don't mind. I borrowed this book.
Good morning, mister.
Anything?
No.
What happened to your face?
Vincent wants to see you right away.
That calendar, where'd it come from?
How would I know? Maybe it's a gift from our faithful secretary.
Or Molly O'Rourke.
Look at the date.
Little things amuse little girls.
You think it's a joke? Of course.
31st of February is sort of a super leap year.
Get it? Yes?
I want you in here, now.
Yes, sir.
He's expecting me.
Is something wrong, Mr. Vincent?
I'm going to read you a letter, Andy.
A memo, actually.
Keeley Modes tossed these sketches back to us.
Their criticism on this occasion, as on others,
is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.
But we'll have to humor them.
Of all our pestilential clients, Keeley Modes is the worst.
I don't understand.
Then allow me to enlighten you, Andy.
That memo was received this morning by Mr.
Gordon, who has quite understandably brought it to me.
I've never been so insulted in all my life.
Of all the unethical...
But I didn't send that memo to... Does it really matter, Andy?
The letter and the memo were unfortunately put in the wrong envelopes.
I repeat, does it really matter?
The point is one of attitude.
Your attitude.
I take full responsibility for that mistake, Mr. Gordon.
And I do beg your pardon.
You see, that memo was the product of an extreme
emotional tension that I've been undergoing.
I lost my wife, Mr. Gordon, this month.
You probably heard about it.
She fell down a flight of steps and broke her neck.
You must understand, I haven't been myself.
And it's not just me.
You see, somebody has been trying to break me down by... You must understand.
I'm sorry.
But it's quite out of my hands now, Mr. Anderson.
What?
Kitty Modes is taking their account to another company.
Oh, wait a second.
Surely if I apologize... It's too late for apologies, Andy.
Oh, but wait a minute, certainly this can all be straightened out.
Kitty Modes has been our client for 13 years.
Certainly this error on my part isn't going to end this long-established relationship.
It was not we who ended that relationship, Mr. Anderson.
Oh, please.
Andy, I'm giving you a leave of absence.
Half pay.
Take whatever time you need to pull yourself together.
Travel, rest, do what you like.
But I don't want a leave of absence.
I'm not asking what you want, Andy.
Oh, I see.
19 years of loyal service and now the ash can.
Is that it? Andy, I'm not firing you.
On the contrary.
It is because of your good work in the past that I'm seeing to it that you rest.
Recover from this period of upset.
Why, in three or four months you'll be fine.
Three or four months?
Well, I feel you need at least that much time.
You feel? How about the way I feel?
Andy, it is because of my consideration of your
feelings that we are having this conversation.
No, no.
Work is what I need.
I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Vincent. I made a mistake.
I've made lots of mistakes.
I accused you of being Valerie's lover.
That's ridiculous, of course.
But I must go on working. I have a job to do.
I can't leave everything in Lessing's hands.
He's perfectly capable.
Oh, yes, he's capable.
He's capable of having me thrown right out of the agency.
Are you blaming Charlie now for what's happened?
Don't you understand it was Charlie?
My good friend Charlie who's been trying to drive me out of my mind.
He's the one who's been changing the calendar,
sending me letters, trying to intimidate me.
Oh, Andy, for... Mr. Vincent, Charlie Lessing was my wife's lover.
Oh, I've had enough of this.
I don't need your job.
I don't need your miserable half-pay leave of absence.
I don't need you, and I'll find out who's responsible for these things.
Andy, you... you aren't well.
You don't even look well.
What's the matter with your face?
Oh, that's a little joke on you, Mr. Vincent.
Go ahead, use whisker off, give up shaving.
Your face will be so tender you won't be able to touch it.
What?
No matter what kind of a container you stuff it in.
Oh, you're dead.
You're dead.
Yes, she's dead, Anderson.
And you can't murder her twice.
Now, would you like to tell us exactly how you did it?
What are you trying to prove?
Look what we've already done to an innocent man.
Ennis.
You're as squeamish as the Commissioner.
He asked me to resign, you know.
Yes, I heard about it when I reported back to headquarters this morning.
My handling of the case wasn't approved.
Unorthodox methods, he said.
That's a polite description for breaking into
a suspect's house and scaring him after death.
Just when did you adopt this holier-than-now attitude?
I don't seem to recall any objections from you during the investigation.
Investigation?
Persecution, you mean?
Altering his calendar, sending him forged letters, ransacking his apartment.
Oh, yes, I did what I was told. I carried out your orders.
But tell me, just what have we accomplished outside of terrifying him?
Even the Commissioner didn't deny that my methods worked.
He just didn't approve of them, that's all.
But I don't believe Anderson is guilty.
Well, I'm going to prove you wrong.
You think you'll get a signed confession from him?
I know I will.
You can see the patient now, gentlemen.
Well?
I don't want to see him.
Such a soft boy.
We will find a change in him, Sergeant.
For some reason, he has a fear of shaving.
Come in.
Please, come in.
He's writing something that could be important.
Oh, is he?
Mr. Anderson?
Is somebody here to see you?
I don't know him.
Are you sure?
Why don't you look at him, Mr.
Anderson? I don't need to look at him.
You're writing something, huh?
To her?
May I see?
Perfectly all right, Mr. Anderson.
Let him see it.
Mr. Anderson's wife comes to torment him,
and he hopes to stop her with these writings.
Is that what he tells you?
She came last night.
She knew the date, of course.
Date?
The 31st of February.
She always comes in.
Back.
She's right!
No!
Go away!
It's not the 31st of February!
No!
Well?
He's mad.
Congratulations.
What does that mean?
You know his background as well as I do.
You know he's been headed for the edge for years.
And all it took to finish him was just a little push, but it wasn't a criss.
Look, he put a burnt-out bulb in the cellar, then he
pushed his wife down the stairs, and he broke her neck.
Now what more do you require, boy?
A blueprint?
No!
What the district attorney requires?
Evidence!
The only way that matchbook could have got by the body
was if Anderson put it there himself after he killed her.
That isn't evidence.
Well, he's guilty.
You want a match?
You thought I had one?
There's a book of them by your feet.
Yeah.
I have a hole in my pocket.
As a matter of fact, I do.
A hole in your pocket?
Yes, a hole in my pocket.
So? What if Anderson had a hole in his pocket
the night his wife died?
What if he had a book of matches in that pocket
and they fell out onto the cellar floor?
Must make you very happy
to realize what you've done, Sergeant.
Several stagehands are attempting to pull me out of here.
If they succeed by next week,
I shall bring you another story.
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