The New Black Mask (No 5)

Dashiell Hammett After the Thin Man: Part I

NBM is honored to have the opportunity to publish for the first time Dashiell Hammetts original story on which the 1936 movie After the Thin Man was based.

It is commonly believed that Hammett’s writing career ended with the completion of his fifth novel, The Thin Man, in 1933 and that he never again produced a long work of fiction. Not so. In fact, Hammett wrote two long original pieces after 1933: After the Thin Man, 115 pages in typescript; and Another Thin Man, 144 pages in typescript. Both of them were written as screen stories, the story line on which a screenplay is based.

There were six movies in the Thin Man series starring William Powell as Nick Charles and Myrna Loy as Nora. Beginning in 1934 with The Thin Man, based on Hammett’s novel, the series spanned thirteen years and included After the Thin Man (1936), Another Thin Man (1939), Shadow of the Thin Man (1941), The Thin Man Goes Home (1944), and Song of the Thin Man (1947). The screenplays for the first three movies in the series were by Hammett’s friends Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich; the last three were produced without consultation with Hammett, and each of them employed different writers.

Hammett’s association with MGM was stormy. After the success of the movie The Thin Man in 1934, a wire was sent from the Culver City office of MGM to the New York office requesting that Hammett be hired to write a sequel. Despite Louis B. Mayers warning about Hammett’s “irregular habits,” a contract was negotiated by which Hammett was paid $2000 a week for ten weeks to write original story material. Hammett arrived in Culver City on October 29,1934, rented a six-bedroom penthouse at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, and proceeded to astonish Hollywood regulars with his profligacy. Two days after arriving in Hollywood, Hammett wrote Lillian Hellman that he had been doing “a little town roaming” until 5 a.m. and had begun work on his Thin Man sequel at ten that morning. The town roaming became habitual. He drank the nights away in the company of a variety of female partners and then complained about being harassed by starlets; he rarely went to the studio and frequently refused to talk by phone or even to correspond with director W. S. Van Dyke or producer Hunt Stromberg; and at the end of his ten-week contract, he had only a thirty-four-page plot summary to show.

The material was promising enough, however, to induce MGM to offer Hammett a new longterm contract which provided for a salary of $1000 a week to work as a script doctor and $1750 a week when he was working on “complete continuity.” As Stromberg put it in a memo: “If Ham-met ever sobers up and becomes fit to work, we would then have exclusive call on his services.” The contract included a cancellation clause that allowed the studio to fire him with one week’s notice, and they were forced to exercise that right at least once before After the Thin Man was completed, rehiring him within a week.

The screen story published here is Hammett's second draft. After his thirty-four-page summary was accepted, Hackett and Goodrich prepared a script. Hammett then revised the plot line, working from that script. There was a final revise before the movie was shot (the changes will be discussed at the end of the second part of After the Thin Man in NBM6), but in most respects the movie follows the story published here.

After the Thin Man was released on Christmas Day 1936, with James Stewart playing David, Elissa Landi as Selma, and Joseph Calleia as Dancer. When the movie was released, the studio heads decided that while they wanted to continue the Thin Man series, they were no longer willing to be forced to accept Hammett’s behavior because of his ownership of literary rights to the series’ characters. So in February 1937, MGM agreed to pay Hammett $40,000 for all rights in perpetuity “to write and use, and cause to be written and used, stories… which contain any or all of the characters” in the motion pictures The Thin Man and After the Thin Man. Hammett worked sporadically for MGM during the next two years, but his only produced work was the third Thin Man movie. In a sullen mood after an argument with Hunt Stromberg during his work on that project, Hammett wrote to Lillian Hellman: “Maybe there are better writers in the world, but nobody ever invented a more insufferably smug pair of characters. They can’t take that away from me even for $40,000.”

NOTE: Transitional material (italicized in brackets) has been supplied by the editors.

[The action begins on board a train from New York as it pulls into San Francisco. It is New Year's Eve, and the Charleses are returning home just after Nick has solved The Thin Man case. They are met at the train by a gaggle of reporters congratulating Nick on his recent success as a detective and asking if he will continue his career as a private eye. His answer is a flat no.

When they reach their palatial home, Nick and Nora find a boisterous New Year's Eve and welcome-home party in progress and join it unrecognized, as most of the guests do not know them.]

On sound track, three pistol reports from front door, followed by the sound of door crashing back against wall and a man’s hoarse exclamation.

Nick, followed by Nora, goes to the front door. The man who admitted them to the house — sober now — is standing at the door staring down with horrified face at a dead man huddled on the vestibule floor at his feet. The man at the door turns his frightened face to Nick and gasps, “I opened the door — bang, bang — he said ‘Mees Selma Young’ and fell down like that.”

Nick corrects him mechanically — “Bang, bang, bang” — while kneeling to examine the man on the floor. He rises again almost immediately, saying, “Dead.” By now guests and servants are crowding around them. Nora, craning her neck to look past Nick at the dead man’s face, exclaims, “Nick, it’s Pedro!”

Nick: “Who is Pedro?”

Nora: “You remember. Pedro Dominges — used to be Papa’s gardener.”

Nick says, “Oh, yes,” doubtfully, looking at Pedro again. Pedro is a lanky Portuguese of fifty-five, with a pleasant, swarthy face and a gray handlebar mustache. Nick addresses the butler, “Phone the police, Peters.” Then he turns to discover that the man who opened the door has tiptoed past the corpse and is now going down the steps to the street. “Wait a minute,” Nick calls. The man turns around on the bottom step and says very earnestly, “Listen, I…, I… This kind of thing upsets me. I got to go home and lay down.”

Nick looks at the man without saying anything, and the man reluctantly comes back up the steps complaining, “All right, brother, but you’re going to have a sick man on your hands.”

A little man, obviously a crook of some sort, plucks at Nick’s elbow and whines, “You got to let me out, Nick. You know I’m in no spot to be messing with coppers right now.”

Nick: “You should have thought of that before you shot him.”

The little man jumps as if he had been kicked.

During this scene a crowd has been gradually assembling in the street around the door: first a grocer’s delivery boy, then a taxi driver, pedestrians, etc. Now a policeman pushes his way through the crowd, saying, “What’s going on here?” and comes up the steps. He salutes Nick respectfully and says, “How do you do, Mr. Charles? Glad to see you back,” then sees the dead man and goggles at him.

Nick: “We called in.”

The policeman goes down the steps and begins to push the crowd around, growling, “Get back there! Get back there!” In the distance a police siren can be heard.

Indoors, a few minutes later, Lieutenant Abrams of the police homicide detail — who looks somewhat like an older version of Arthur Caesar — is saying to Nora, “You’re sure of the identification, Mrs. Charles? He’s the Pedro Dominges that used to be your gardener?”

Nora: “Absolutely sure.”

Abrams: “How long ago was that?”

Nora: "Six years at least. He left a little before my father died.”

Abrams: “Why’d he leave?”

Nora: “I don’t know.”

Abrams: “Ever see him since?”

Nora: “No.”

Abrams: “What did he want here?”

Nora: “I don’t know. I—”

Abrams: “All right. Thanks.” He speaks to one of his men: “See what you can get.” The man goes to a phone in another room. (In this scene, the impression to be conveyed is that Abrams has already asked his preliminary questions and is now patiently going over the same ground again, checking up, filling in details.)

Abrams turns to the guests: “And none of you admit you know him, huh?” Several of them shake their heads, the others remain quiet.

Abrams: “And none of you know a Miss Selma Young?”

There is the same response.

Abrams: “All right.” Then, more sharply: “Mullen, have you remembered anything else?”

The man who had opened the door runs his tongue over his lips and says, “No, sir. It’s just like I told you. I went to the door when it rang, thinking it was maybe some more guests, or maybe them” — nodding at Nick and Nora — “and then there was the shots and he kind of gasped what sounded to me like ‘Mees Selma Young’ and he fell down dead like that. I guess there was an automobile passing maybe — I don’t know.”

Abrams, aside to Nick: “Who is he?”

Nick: “Search me.”

Abrams to Mullen: “Who are you? What were you doing here?”

Mullen, hesitantly: “I come to see about buying a puppy and somebody give me a drink and—” His face lights up and he says with enthusiasm, “It was a swell party. I never—”

Abrams interrupts him: “What are you doing answering the doorbell if you just chiseled in?”

Mullen, sheepishly: “Well, I guess I had a few drinks and was kind of entering in the spirit of the thing.”

Abrams addresses one of his men: “Take good-time Charlie out to where he says he lives and works and find out about him.” The man takes Mullen and goes out.

In another room, the detective at the phone is saying, “Right, Mack. I got it.” He hangs up. As he reaches the door, the phone rings. He glances around, goes softly back to it.

In the hallway, the butler answers the phone: “Mr. Charles’s residence… Yes, Mrs. Landis… Yes, ma’am.” He goes into the room where the others are and speaks aside to Nora: “Mrs. Landis is on the telephone, ma’am.”

Nora goes to the phone, says, “Hello, Selma. How are you, dear?”

Selma, in hat and street clothes, her face wild, cries hysterically: “Nora, you and Nick have simply got to come tonight! Something terrible has happened! I don’t know what to… I’ll kill myself if… You’ve got to! If you don’t, I’ll—” She breaks off as she sees Aunt Katherine standing in the doorway looking sternly at her. Aunt Katherine is very old but still bigboned and powerful, with a grim, iron-jawed face. She, too, is in hat and street clothes, and she leans on a thick cane. Selma catches her breath in a sob and says weakly, “Please come.”

Nora, alarmed: “Certainly we’ll come, dear. We’ll do—”

Selma says hastily, “Thanks,” and hangs up, avoiding Aunt Katherine’s eyes. Aunt Katherine, not taking her eyes from Selma, puts out a hand and rings a bell, saying when a servant comes in, “A glass of water.” Both women remain as they are in silence until the servant returns with the water. Then Aunt Katherine takes the water from the servant, takes a tablet from a small bottle in her own handbag, and with water in one hand, tablet in the other, goes to Selma and says, “Take this and lie down until time for dinner.”

Selma objects timidly: “No, Aunt Katherine, please. I’m all right. I’ll be quite all right.”

Aunt Katherine: “Do as I say — or I shall call Dr. Kammer.”

Selma slowly takes the tablet and water.

The detective at Nick’s who has been listening on the extension quickly puts down the phone and, re# turning to the room where the others are, calls Abrams aside and whispers into his ear, telling him what he overheard. While this is going on, Nora returns and tells Nick, “You’re in for it, my boy. I promised Selma we’d come to Aunt Katherine’s for dinner tonight. I had to. She’s so upset she—”

Nick: “That means outside of putting up with the rest of your family, we’ll have to listen to her troubles with Robert. I won’t—”

Nora, coaxingly: “But you like Selma.”

Nick: “Not that much.”

Nora: “Please, Nicky.”

Nick: “I won’t go sober.”

Nora pats his cheek: “You’re a darling.”

Abrams comes back from his whispered conference with the other detective and says, “Mrs. Charles, I’ll have to ask you who you were talking to on the phone.”

Nora, puzzled: “My cousin, Selma Landis.”

Abrams: “She married?”

Nora: “Yes.”

Abrams: “What was her last name before she was married?”

Nora: “Forrest, the same as mine.”

Abrams: “She ever go by the name of Young?”

Nora: “Why no! Surely you don’t think—” She looks at Nick.

Abrams: “What was she so excited about?”

Nora, indignantly: “You listened?”

Abrams, patiently: “We’re policemen, Mrs. Charles, and a man’s been killed here. We got to try to find out what goes on the best way we can. Now, is there any connection between what she was saying and what happened here?”

Nora: “Of course not It’s probably her husband.”

Abrams: “You mean this fellow that was killed?”

Nick: “There’s a thought!” He asks Nora solemnly, “Do you suppose Selma was ever married to Pedro?”

Nora: “Stop it, Nick.” Then to Abrams: “No, no. It’s her husband she was talking about.”

Abrams nods: “Maybe that’s right I can see that I’m a married man myself.” After a moment’s thought he asks, “Did she know this fellow that was killed?”

Nora: “I suppose so. She and my husband and her husband were all friends and used to come there before any of us were married.”

Abrams: “Then her husband might know him too, huh?”

Nora: “He might.”

Abrams turns to Nick: “How come you didn’t recognize him before Mrs. Charles told you?”

Nick: “Who notices a gardener unless he squirts a hose on you?”

Abrams: “There’s something in that. I remember once when — Well, never mind.” He addresses the detective who phoned: “Find out anything about Dominges?”

The detective: “Did a little bootlegging before repeal — bought hisself an apartment house at 346 White Street — lives there and runs it hisself. Not married. No record on him.”

Abrams asks the assembled company: “346 White Street mean anything to anybody?” Nobody says it does. He asks his men: “Got all their names and addresses?”

“Yes.”

Abrams: “All right. You people can clear out. We’ll let you know when we want to see you again.”

The guests start to leave as if glad to go, especially a little group of men who have been herded into a comer by a couple of policemen, but this group is halted by one of the policemen, who says, “Take it easy, boys. We’ve got a special wagon outside for you. We been hunting for some of you for months.” They are led out between policemen.

Abrams, alone in the room with Nick and Nora, looks at Nick: “Well?”

Nick says, “Oh, sure,” and begins to mix drinks.

Abrams: “I didn't mean that exactly. I mean what do you make all this add up to? He’s killed coming to see you. He knows you two and Mrs. Charles’s relations, and that’s all we know he does know. What do you make of it?”

Nick, handing him a drink: “Maybe he was a fellow who didn’t get around much.”

[Nick and Nora go to Aunt Katherine’s for dinner. The party is composed of stodgy, aged family members with the exception of Selma, who is morose. After dinner, Nick and the men stay at table; the women retire to the parlor, where Selma entertains them by playing the piano. Nora, seated next to Selma, asks her in a whisper what is wrong. When she starts to answer, Aunt Katherine demands that she continue to play.]

Selma puts her hands to her face and runs from the room to the library beyond, while Aunt Katherine rises to her feet and the other women look wide-eyed and alarmed. Nora says, “Let me talk to her,” and goes out after Selma.

In the library, Selma is sobbing on a sofa. Nora sits down beside her, puts her arms around her, says, “Don’t, dear. Nick’ll find Robert for you. I’m sure he’s just—”

Selma sits up, pushing Nora’s arms away, crying hysterically: “Sometimes I hate you and Nick. You’re so happy together, and here Robert and I haven’t been married half as long and I’m so miserable. I wish he’d never come back. I wish he were dead. I don’t really love him. I never did, really. I was a fool to have married him instead of David.” She puts her head on Nora’s shoulder and begins to sob again.

Nora, stroking Selma’s hair: “Well then, dear, divorce him. Don’t let Aunt Katherine keep you from that. If you—”

Selma raises her head again: “But I’m such a fool. This is the first time he’s gone off like this without a word, without even telling me lies about where he’s going, but there have always been other women and I’ve always known it. But I’ve let him twist me around his little finger and made myself believe his lies even when I knew they were lies and — he doesn’t love me. He married me for my money. Yet he does horrible things to me, and then when I see him I let him smooth everything over and I want to think we love each other and everything will turn out all right. And it won’t, it won’t. It’s all lies and I’m a fool. Oh, why didn’t I marry David?” She bursts into tears again.

Meanwhile Aunt Katherine has come into the library and shut the door. Now she says coldly, “You are a fool, Selma, but you might have the decency not to scream so the servants will find out exactly what kind of fool you are.”

“Aunt Katherine!” Nora protests. “Selma’s not well. She—”

Aunt Katherine interrupts her, nodding her head grimly: “I know she’s not well. I know better than anyone else — except Doctor Kammer — how far from being well she really is.” Selma flinches. Aunt Katherine says to Nora, “Will you ask Nicholas to come in?” Nora hesitates as if about to say something, then goes out. Aunt Katherine says to Selma, “Fix yourself up. You look like Ophelia.” Selma flinches again and begins to fix her hair, dress, etc.

[When Nora goes to the dining room to summon Nick, she finds him in mock conversation with the rest of the men, who are all snoring comically. As Nick leaves the table, he places a floral centerpiece in the hands of one of them.]

Nick and Nora are going through the hallway. She is holding his arm and seems worried. She says, “Aunt Katherine wants to see you.”

Nick: “What have I done now?”

Nora: “Do you know why Robert wasn’t here tonight?”

Nick: “Because he’s smart.”

Nora: “I’m not fooling. He’s disappeared.”

Nick: “That’s swell. Now if we can get rid of—”

Nora: “Be nice to Selma, Nicky. She’s having such a tough time of it.”

Nick stops and turns Nora around to face him, looking at her with suspicion. He says, “Now come on, tell the old man. What are you getting him into?”

Nora, paying no attention to this: “And do try to be polite to Aunt Katherine. It’ll make it easier for Selma.”

Nick sighs deeply, and they go into the library.

[Nick questions Selma under Aunt Katherine’s watchful gaze about her problem, and she tells him the circumstances of Robert’s disappearance.]

Selma: “Our names might get in the papers. People might find out that I’m married to a drunken wastrel, a thief, a man who’s already cost me a small fortune getting him out of scrapes with women, a man who has never done a decent thing in—”

Aunt Katherine raps with her cane on the floor and says, “Selma, stop that nonsense!”

Selma puts her hands over her face and cries, “I don’t care what anybody knows, I don’t care what gets in the papers, if I can only be happy once again.”

Nora goes to her to soothe her.

Aunt Katherine, quietly: “We’ve kept our private affairs out of the public print up until now, and I hope we shall continue to do so.” She smiles at Nick as if conferring a favor on him. “I shall leave it in your hands, Nicholas. I know you’ll welcome a chance to help us, and I needn’t tell you how grateful we’ll be if you see that Robert returns home without any scandal.” She smiles at Nora, says, “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll go back to my guests. When you’ve quieted Selma, I think she’d better go off to bed.” She goes out calmly and majestically.

Nick, looking after her half-admiringly, half-disgustedly: “Katherine the Great!”

Selma comes over to Nick, holding out her hands: “I don’t know how to thank you, Nick.”

Nick takes her hands: “You mean you don’t know what to thank me for. What is all this fiddledeedee?”

Selma: “Robert hasn’t been home. I haven’t seen or heard from him for three days.”

Nick: “Where do you think he might be?”

Selma: “I don’t know. It’s some woman, of course. It gets worse and worse. Only last week some Chinese restaurant — Lichee or something — sent me a cigarette case they thought I’d left there, and I know it was some woman that was there with him, though he swore it wasn’t.”

Nick: “Well, you’re at least a cigarette case ahead — or wasn’t it worth keeping?”

Nora says, “Nick,” reprovingly, while Selma, not knowing he is kidding her, says, “I sent it back, of course, with a note saying it wasn’t mine, but I don’t—” She breaks off to look at the butler, who is standing in the doorway.

The butler says, “A — ah — gentleman from the police to see you, Mrs. Landis.”

Selma screams and faints.

Selma’s scream brings in Aunt Katherine, followed by the rest of the family. During the ensuing hubbub, while they are bringing her to, asking each other what happened, Lieutenant Abrams comes in. He nods at Nick, says, “I thought maybe you’d be here,” looks at Selma, and asks, “Is the lady in trouble Mrs. Selma Landis?”

Nick: “Yes.”

Abrams: “I thought maybe it was.” Then, to Nora, who is now looking at him: “Evening, Mrs. Charles.”

By this time the others have noticed him. Aunt Katherine looks inquiringly at him. Nick introduces them elaborately: “Miss Forrest, may I present Lieutenant Abrams of the Police Department homicide detail?”

Aunt Katherine asks sharply, “Homicide?”

Selma pushes past her to put her hands on Abrams’s arms, demanding, “What has happened to him?”

Abrams (as always, in a manner that may come from stupidity, or may come from a shrewd pretense of stupidity): “He was killed this afternoon. Didn’t Mr. Charles tell you?”

Selma stares at him in dumb horror.

Nora: “He doesn’t mean Robert, dear. He means Pedro, the gardener we used to have. You remember him.” She helps Selma to a chair, then asks Abrams indignantly, “Did you do that on purpose?”

Aunt Hattie: “I can’t understand a thing that’s going on.” She points at Abrams: “Is this man a burglar? Why doesn’t someone call the police?”

Abrams addresses Nick: “You didn’t tell ’em about Pedro being killed?”

Nick: “This is my wife’s family. They’d think I did it.”

Abrams: “I see what you mean. My wife’s got relations, too.”

The butler appears in the doorway and says, “Mr. David Graham to see Mrs. Landis.” Selma starts up from her chair.

Aunt Katherine says, “I think it better that we be home to no one but members of the family this evening.”

Selma protests, “I want to see David. Ask him to come in, Henry.”

The butler remains in the doorway, looking at Aunt Katherine, who says, “Selma, I don’t want to have to—”

Before she has finished this threat, David comes in hurriedly, going straight to Selma and asking, “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Aunt Katherine replies coldly, “That is exactly what we’d like to know. Something is said about a gardener being killed and Selma becomes hysterical.”

David: “A gardener? What’s that got to do with Selma?”

Lieutenant Abrams: “Excuse me, but that's what we’re trying to find out. This man is killed coming to see Mr. and Mrs. Charles, and a little while later Mrs. Landis phones all excited and talking about killing herself and—”

David, angrily: “And on the strength of that you come here to annoy her?”

Abrams, patiently: “Not only that. Mrs. Charles said she,” indicating Selma, “knew him, and how are we going to get anywhere if we don’t talk to the people that knew him?”

Nora: “I didn’t say she knew him. I said she might remember him.” She turns to David: “It was Pedro who used to work for Papa when we had the place in Ross.”

David: “Oh, yes. I remember him, a tall man with a long, gray mustache. But what—”

Abrams: “So you knew him, too. Well, what do you know about him?”

David: “Nothing. I merely saw him when I was a visitor there, and I’ve never seen him since.”

Abrams: “And you, Mrs. Landis?”

Selma: “I may have seen him, but I don’t remember him at all.”

Abrams: “And how about the rest of you?”

None of the Forrests admits knowing Pedro.

Abrams: “Mrs. Charles says Mrs. Landis’s husband might know him. Is he here?”

Selma: “No. He… he’ll be in later, but I don’t think he’ll remember the man any better than I do.”

Abrams: “Did you ever go by the name of Selma Young?”

Selma: “Certainly not!”

Abrams: “Anybody here know Selma Young?”

Nobody does.

Abrams: “Now I got to ask you again about that telephone talk of yours with Mrs. Charles.”

Selma: “Please, it had nothing to do with this. It was… was a purely personal thing.”

Abrams: “You mean something to do with your husband?”

Aunt Katherine: “Mr… ah… Abraham, you are being impertinent. Furthermore, my niece is under a doctor’s care, and—”

Abrams, stolidly: “What doctor?”

Aunt Katherine: “Doctor Frederic Kammer.”

Abrams nods: “I know of him.” Preparing to leave, he says resignedly, “I can’t help it if people don’t like me. I got my work to do. Good night.” He goes out.

(Note: David should leave house with Nick and Nora, parting from them in street. Foggy.)

When Nick and Nora leave, Nick asks Harold, the chauffeur, “Where’s a good place to get the stink of respectability out of our noses?”

Harold, grinning and chewing his gum: “I get it. Well, there’s Tim McCrumb’s, and there’s the Lichee, and there’s the Tin Dipper. None of them three ain’t apt to be cluttered up with schoolteachers.”

Nick: “Suppose we try the Lichee.”

Harold: “That’s a good pick,” while Nora looks at Nick from the comers of her eyes. As they get into the car she says, “You are going to find Robert?”

Nick: “I didn’t lose him.”

Nora: “It would put you in right with the family.”

Nick: “And that’s what I’m afraid of.”

In Dancer’s apartment at the Lichee Club, Robert, drunk and looking as if he has been drunk for several days, is lying back in a chair, holding a drink. Polly is sitting on the arm of his chair, running her fingers through his hair. He is saying, “Comes tomorrow and we’ll be out of this town for good. No more wife squawking at me, no more of her family egging her on, no more of this,” waving his glass around the place. “Just you and me off someplace together.” He pulls her down in his lap and asks, “Good, baby?”

She says, “Swell.” Then, “You’re sure this — what's his name? — Graham — will come through all right?”

Robert: “Sure. He's nuts about Selma. He fell all over himself when I put it to him. The only thing is, maybe I was a sucker not to ask him for twice as much for clearing out. Don’t worry about the money; he’ll have it ready in the morning just as he promised.”

Polly, reassured, asks thoughtfully, “Does she know about it?”

Robert, scornfully: “Of course not. He couldn’t tell her. She’s batty as a pet cuckoo. She’d blow up and make him call off the whole thing.”

Polly: “Then suppose she finds out about it afterwards and won’t marry him.”

Robert: “Listen. This guy’s a sap, and he’s in love with her. He wants to marry her all right, but even if he knew there was no chance of that, he’d still pay me to clear out. He thinks I’m bad for her and he lo-o-ves her and wants her to be ha-a-ppy.”

Polly laughs and kisses him, says, “If you want to hear me sing, you’d better come on out and find a table. I go on in a few minutes.”

Outside the door, Phil has been listening. He turns away from the door not quite quickly enough as Dancer comes up behind him. Dancer says casually, “Catch a good earful?”

Phil: “I wanted to see Polly, but I didn’t want to butt in if she was busy.”

Dancer links an arm through Phil’s and starts leading him away from the door toward the stairs, saying, “She’s busy. She’ll be busy all evening.”

Phil hangs back, saying: “I got to see her for a minute.”

Dancer jerks him along, says, still casually, “Not this evening. You shake her down for too much dough, Phil, even if she is your sister. Lay off her a while.”

Phil pulls his arm free, says, “That’s no skin off your face. If she wants to help me out a little, that’s her business. Why shouldn’t she? I know things that are going on around here that—”

Dancer reaches out, grabs him by the necktie, and pulls him close, saying softly, “Smart boy. You know things. When are you going to start shaking me down?”

Phil: “When I want to shake you down, I’ll—”

Dancer stops him this time by slapping his face once, not especially hard. Dancer: “I don’t like you, but I’ve put up with having you around because you’re Polly’s brother, and she’s a nice kid, but don’t think you can ride too far on that ticket.” He puts his open hand over Phil’s face, and pushes him backwards down the stairs, saying, “Now stay away for a couple of days.”

Phil tumbles backwards into the arms of Nick, who, with Nora, is coming up the stairs. Nick says, “Mmmm! Big confetti they throw here.”

Dancer exclaims, “Ah, Mr. Charles! I’m sorry!” and starts down the stairs.

Phil snarls at Nick: “Why don’t you look where you’re going, you big clown?” He twists himself out of Nick’s arms and goes downstairs out of the place.

Dancer is apologizing again.

Nick: “Hello, Dancer. This your place? A neat way you have of getting rid of the customers.”

Dancer smiles professionally: “Just a kid that hangs around because his sister works here. I get tired of him sponging on Polly sometimes.”

Nick: “I felt a gun under his arm when I caught him.”

Dancer, contemptuously: “Just breaking it in for a friend, I guess.” He ushers them upstairs.

Outside the Lichee, Phil finds a dark doorway from which the club can be watched and plants himself there. Nick’s car is parked near the doorway. Both Harold and a taxi driver who is talking to him see Phil, but neither pays much attention to the boy. Harold is chewing gum and listening with a bored air to the taxi driver, who is telling him.

“And I said to him, ‘You ain’t going to give me a ticket, you big flatfoot, and you know it,’ I said. I said, ‘I got a right to turn there, and you know it,’ I said, ‘and I ain’t got all night to be sitting here gassing, so go polish your buttons and leave me be on my way, you fat palooka,’ I said.”

Harold, wearily: “I know, and then you busted out crying.”

Upstairs in the Lichee, Nick is checking his hat and coat while Nora looks interestedly around the place. Suddenly she grabs Nick’s arm, says, “There’s Robert!”

Robert and Polly are going into the restaurant.

Nick: “The night’s bulging with your family.”

Nora starts to pull him toward Robert: “Come on.”

Dancer to Nick: “Is Mr. Landis a friend of yours?”

Nick, as Nora drags him off: “On the contrary, a relation.”

Dancer stares thoughtfully after them.

By the time Nick and Nora reach Robert, he and Polly are sitting at a small table near the orchestra. Nora holds out a hand to Robert, saying, “Hello, Robert,” with a great show of cordiality. He rises drunkenly, mumbling, “Hello, Nora; hello, Nick,” and shakes their hands. Then he introduces Polly: “Miss Byrnes, Mr. and Mrs. Charles.” Nick immediately sits down and begins to talk to Polly, giving Nora a chance to speak aside to Robert.

Nick: “Anything for a laugh.”

Nora, in a low voice to Robert: “You oughtn’t to stay away like this.”

Robert: “I know, but Selma’s not easy to get along with, and sometimes I simply have to break loose.”

Nora: “But you should let her know that you’re all right.”

Robert: “You’re right, of course. But sit down. You can talk in front of Polly. She knows about Selma.”

Polly, aside to Nick: “Tell Mrs. Charles not to worry about him. I’ll see that he gets home tonight.” She moves her foot under the table and touches Robert’s. He starts to laugh, then covers his mouth with his hand. He asks, “Is — is Selma all right?”

Nora, indignantly: “You know she’s not, and now with the police bothering her—”

Robert: “The police?” He and Polly both look alarmed.

Nora: “Yes, the idiots. A gardener we used to have was killed. Remember Pedro Dominges?”

Before Robert can reply, Polly exclaims: “Killed? Why, he’s—” She breaks off with a hand to her mouth.

Nick prompts her: “He’s what?”

Polly, to Nora: “What was his name?”

Nora: “Pedro Dominges.”

Polly: “Oh! I thought you said Peter Dominger — a fellow I used to know.”

Nick looks at her skeptically.

Robert: “What’s that got to do with Selma?”

Nick: “Ask the police. They don’t know. I wonder if our table’s ready.” He stands up.

Polly whispers, “I’ll see he gets home all right.”

Nick: “Thanks. Pleased to have metten up with you.” He and Nora move off to where Dancer is beckoning them.

Polly leans over to Robert, speaking swiftly: “Honey, could you get hold of that guy Graham and see if you can get the money right away?”

Robert: “Maybe. Why?”

Polly: “I was thinking there’s no sense in waiting until tomorrow. I’ll tell Dancer I don’t feel well and get the night off and we’ll blow town right away. Would you like that?”

A waiter comes up with fresh drinks as Robert says, “I’ll try him on the phone now.”

[Dancer shows Nick and Nora to their own table on the other side of the room, and there are comic encounters with New Year's Eve revelers. Polly sings on stage.]

After her performance, Dancer goes to the table where Polly is now sitting alone and asks, “What’s the setup?”

Polly: “They’re Bobbie’s cousins by marriage and think he ought to go home to his wife.”

Dancer purses his lips thoughtfully for a moment then says, “It’s all to the good, them seeing him here plastered, but I guess we can’t take a chance on them tipping off the wife and having her bang in. Give the customers one song and knock off for the night. Take him up to your place.”

Polly: “I’m getting kind of tired of him.”

Dancer: “It’s only till tomorrow night. You can turn him loose then. Put a pill in his drink when you get him home so he’ll be sure to stay safe asleep while you run out to do that little errand in the morning.” He pats her shoulder.

Polly, without enthusiasm: “All right.” She gets up to sing.

Robert, at the telephone talking to David: “That money you promised me tomorrow. Give it to me tonight and I’ll be half across the country by daylight.”

David: “I told you I couldn’t raise it till tomorrow.”

Robert, snarling: “How’d you like it if I changed my mind between now and tomorrow?”

David: “But, Robert, I—” He breaks off as he thinks of something, then says, “I’ve got the bonds I was going to raise the money on — if you’ll take them.”

Robert: “They’re negotiable? There’s no foolishness about them?”

David: “Certainly they’re negotiable! Do you think I’d—?”

Robert: “I don’t think anything about you. How soon can you turn them over?”

David: “As soon as you can get here.”

Robert: “I won’t come there for them.”

David: “All right. Where are you?”

Robert: “At the Lichee.”

David: “Then I can meet you at the corner of… and… in ten minutes.”

Robert: “OK, but don’t keep me waiting, or I might change my mind.”

David: “And you’ll give me your word you’ll—”

Robert: “I’ve got to go home and pack a bag, but I won’t bother your sainted Selma. I won’t even see her if I can get out of it.” He slams the receiver on the hook, says “Boy Scout!” at it, and returns to his table. (Throughout this scene, waiters, etc. have been passing and repassing Robert at the phone, but none seems to have paid any attention to his conversation.)

Nick and Nora are at their table listening to Polly singing. Dancer, intent now on keeping them comfortable until Polly and Robert are safely away, comes to the table and asks, “Everything all right, Mr. Charles?”

Nick, shuddering at his first taste of his drink and frowning at the glass: “It’s all something.”

Dancer laughs with professional heartiness and addresses the waiter: “Ling, no check for this table. Anything they want is on the house.”

Nick: “I can't let you do that.”

Dancer: “But I insist. You must be my guest.”

Nick, at this point seeing the approach of a group of thugs and realizing that somebody’s going to be stuck for a lot of drinks, says quickly, “We accept with thanks. That’s mighty good of you, Dancer.” He shakes Dancer’s hand as the thugs arrive and says, “Meet the rest of my party.”

Eddie: “We don’t want to meet him. He’s a crumb.”

Nick: “But he’s giving the party. It’s all on the house.”

Eddie: “Well, I’ll — well, well!” He turns to his companions, saying enthusiastically, “Boys! Champagne!”

Nick: “Certainly champagne.”

Dancer tries to smile as if he likes it. The others crowd him back out of the way as they make room for themselves around the table.

[There are comic scenes at Nick’s table when he introduces Nora to his unsavory friends, who are celebrating Willie’s release from prison. Everybody orders champagne except Eddie, who wants Scotch with a champagne chaser. When Willie orders his drinks, Nora says she’ll have the same.]

Polly, nearing the end of her song, looks questioningly at Robert, who nods and points to his watch and the door to indicate that she should hurry. Lum Kee is watching them. He goes over to Dancer, who has left Nick’s table.

Lum Kee: “No trouble, Dancer. I ask you, please.”

Dancer, putting a hand on his partner’s arm: “Stop worrying, Lum. Everything’s OK.”

Lum Kee: “All the time you say everything OK. All the time trouble-trouble.”

Dancer: “We always get out of it, don’t we?”

Lum Kee: “You bet you, but too much money. Pretty soon money not fix something. Then no more Lichee.”

Dancer slaps Lum Kee on the back and says, “If it’s Landis you’re worrying about, I’ll tell him to stay away. I don’t like the guy much either. But you’ll find something else to squawk about.”

Lum Kee, cheerfully: “You bet you.”

Polly, having finished her song, tells the orchestra to play a dance number instead of an encore and goes toward her dressing room. She gives Nora a reassuring nod as she passes. Robert is getting his hat and coat. Dancer crosses to meet Polly at the door and says, “Just keep him in your apartment till evening, and we’ll both be cutting ourselves a nice piece of gravy.”

Polly, without enthusiasm: “I hope so. Has Phil been in tonight?”

Dancer: “For a minute. He went off like he had a date. Go ahead, kid.” He pats her back, urging her toward the door. She goes out.

At Nick’s table, his guests are still applauding Polly deafeningly, pounding the table with bottles, etc. Nora seems to be talking to Nick, but nothing can be heard. He yells back, “Can’t hear you.” The words are barely audible. She puts her mouth to his ear and screams, “Do you think that girl will really see that he gets home?”

The noise dies suddenly just as she starts, and everybody in the place looks at her; her scream could be heard a block away. Willie, who has been banging on the table with two bottles, nudges the thug beside him and says, “I don’t care whose wife she is, I don’t like a dame that gets noisy when she’s had a few snifters.”

Nick is trying to recover his hearing in the ear Nora screamed in. She asks again, but in a lower voice, “Do you?”

Nick: “She’ll see that he gets to somebody’s home. You can phone if you want, when he’s had time to get there.”

Outside, the fog is thicker. Polly starts for a taxi, but Robert says, “It’s only three blocks.” They turn down the street. Phil comes out of his doorway and follows them. Harold is slumped down in the seat of Nick’s car, asleep, though his jaws still move a little with his gum. The taxi driver is saying, “And I said to this truck driver, ‘All right, tough guy, if you don’t like me cutting in on you, how would you like to climb down off that hearse and get bopped in the nose?’ I said.”

At a corner three blocks from the Lichee, Robert points to David, waiting in his car, and says, “There’s our honeymoon money!” Polly holds back as he goes toward the car, but he takes her arm, saying, “Come on. I want him to see how much better I’m doing.” They go up to the car.

Robert: “Have you got the bonds?”

David slowly looks from one to the other of them as he takes a thick sheaf of bonds from his pocket. He hands them to Robert, who eagerly examines them then says, “Thanks, Sir Galahad,” as he puts them into his pocket.

David: “You’ll keep your promise?”

Robert: “Don’t worry about that. And I wish you as much luck with your bargain as I got with mine.” He pulls Polly toward him and kisses her on the mouth. David turns his head away in disgust. Robert laughs at him, says, “There’s only one thing. I’m going home to pack a bag. Stay away till I’ve cleared out. Fifteen minutes oughtn’t to mean anything to a man who's waited as long as you have. Ta-ta!” He and Polly turn away. David looks after them for a moment, then sighs as if with relief and slowly starts his car.

At Nick’s table in the Lichee, Eddie is complaining: “Where’s Polly? I want to hear Polly sing. We come up here and spend all this dough” (indicating the champagne bottles) “and what does she do? She sings one song and quits.”

Joe, earnestly: “You can’t say anything against Polly. She’s all to the good.”

Another thug, very drunk, his eyes almost shut: “She still live in that place on White Street with the ghosts running up and down the halls?”

Nora, very interested: “A haunted house?”

The drunk, opening his eyes: “Did I say ghosts? I’m drunk, lady. I meant goats.” He puts fingers up to his head to imitate horns and says, “Ba-a-a!”

Nora: “Well, that’s almost as good.”

Nick, as if not very interested: “What part of White Street?”

The drunk: “346.I can always remember that number because my old man used to have a livery stable there.”

At the mention of the number Nora puts her hand quickly on Nick’s and looks at him with a frightened face. Nick pats her hand without taking his attention from the drunk and asks: “In the place with the goats?”

The drunk, who is going back to sleep, shakes his head and says, “No, that was back in Baraboo, Wisconsin.”

Nick: “You know the fellow who owns the house?”

The drunk: “In Baraboo?”

Nick: “The one Polly lives in.”

The drunk shakes his head again: “Nope, but he ought to keep the front door shut so the goats can’t get in.”

Nick: “He was killed today.”

The drunk: “It don’t surprise me. Stands to reason no tenants weren’t going to put up with those goats forever.” The other thugs exchange glances, then begin to regard Nick with suspicion.

Nora: “Nick, I’m going to phone.”

Nick: “He’s had time enough to get home.” He holds out a handful of change.

Dancer, not far away, sees Nora take the nickel (if necessary, he can have overheard some of the conversation), and he goes quickly to one of the hatcheck girls and says, “Get on the phone and stay there.” She goes to the phone, drops in a coin, and when Nora arrives the girl is in the middle of a long description of a dress (that can be written much more accurately by Miss Goodrich than by Mr. Hammett). Nora waits impatiently.

At Nick’s table, his guests are no longer having a good time; his questioning the drunk looks too much as if he were working on a murder job. Eddie clears his throat, says, “Well, boys, I guess we better be trucking along.”

Willie: “I guess we better.” Only the drunk seems comfortable.

Nick: “What’s the matter? It’s early. Don’t you like the party?”

Eddie: “Sure we like it. It’s swell. But, well, we got to get up early in the morning.”

Nick: “Surely you haven’t become an early riser in your old age, Eddie.”

Eddie squirms: “Well, no, but—” He gets a bright idea: “You see, we’re giving Willie a picnic. He’s nuts about picnics and he’s been locked up a long time, so we thought we’d take him out in the country early tomorrow morning and throw a picnic for him. Ain't that right, Willie?”

Willie: “I’m sure nuts about picnics!”

The drunk has opened his eyes and is staring at the others in surprise. He says, “What’s the matter with you dopes? What can you lift out in the country?” Then more indignantly, “I ain’t gonna ride in the back seat with no cow!"

Eddie laughs, says to Nick, “Ain’t he a card!” and with Willie’s help begins to haul the drunk to his feet.

Dancer, going into his apartment, says to a passing waiter, “Bring me a glass of milk.” In his apartment, he goes to the telephone and calls Polly’s number. Lum Kee is lying on a sofa reading a book. Dancer waits patiently at the phone until the waiter comes in with his milk, then he puts down the phone and says, “That bum! I told her to take him straight to her place.”

Lum Kee, not looking up from his book: “Mr. Landis?”

Dancer: “Uh-huh. I wanted her to get him in shape so he could go home.”

Waiter: “Mr. Landis on phone I hearum say go home pack bag.”

Dancer’s eyes narrow, then he says, “Oh, sure, that’s right. I had forgotten.”

The waiter goes out. Dancer stands idly spinning an ashtray on a table for a moment, then yawns and says, “I think I’ll go out for a couple of minutes and get a little air in one of my lungs.” Lum Kee nods without looking up. Dancer takes his hat and coat from a closet, says, “That last batch of Scotch we got from Monty’s pretty bad.”

Lum Kee: “I tell him.”

Dancer goes out. Lum Kee puts his book down, takes his hat from the closet, and goes out.

The girl at the telephone is now talking about hats, while Nora fidgets with increasing impatience.

In his room, Robert is finishing packing a bag, with occasional glances at the bathroom that connects his room with Selma’s. He does not make much noise but is still too drunk to be completely silent. He has changed his clothes.

Selma turns in bed and makes a faint moaning noise, but does not open her eyes.

In another room a bedside light goes on, and Aunt Katherine sits up in bed, listening. Grim-faced, she unhurriedly gets out of bed and reaches for her slippers.

His bag packed, Robert puts it out in the hall, then turns out the lights and tiptoes through the connecting bathroom into Selma’s room, going to a dressing table, pulling a drawer open, and taking out a jewel case. He has transferred part of its contents to his pocket when Selma suddenly sits up in bed and screams, “Robert!” He turns, pushing the case back into the drawer as she snaps on the light.

Robert, with taunting mildness: “Hello, Selma, how are you?”

She runs toward him, crying: “Oh, where have you been? Oh, why do you do these things?”

He takes her in his arms: “There, there, darling.”

For a moment she relaxes in his arms, then she puts her hands on his chest, pushes herself free, and cries, “No, I won’t this time. I won’t forgive you. I won’t let you make a fool of me again.”

Robert, as if to an unreasonable child: “All right, all right, darling. As a matter of fact, I only stopped in for a minute, anyhow, to change my clothes.”

Selma: “Where are you going?”

Robert: “A trip, a little trip.”

Selma: “You’re not. I won’t have it. I won’t.”

Robert, smiling: “Oh, won’t you?” He takes a step toward the door, then stops to ask, “Want to kiss me good-bye?” She flies at him in insane rage. He catches her wrists, kisses her lightly on the mouth, says, “Thanks, darling,” releases her wrists, and goes out. She stands staring after him with wild eyes, scrubbing her lips with the back of one hand, then runs into his room and pulls a table drawer open.

FLASHES:

Robert, smiling, bag in hand, going out the front door into the foggy street.

Polly, standing in a small store doorway, straining her eyes trying to see through the fog.

Phil, at the entrance of a narrow alley, his collar up, his right hand under his coat near his left armpit.

Dancer, at the wheel of a black coupe, his eyes searching the street.

Lum Kee in a car driven by a Chinese chauffeur.

On a street comer, a policeman is hunkered down on his heels scratching the back of a gaunt alley cat. He hears a pistol shot (not too loud), straightens up, and starts across the street.

Robert lies on his back on the sidewalk, his head and one shoulder propped up a little by the wall he has fallen against — dead. Selma stands looking down at him. Her face is a blank, dazed mask. In her right hand, hanging down at her side, is a pistol. Brakes scream, and a car comes to a jarring halt at the curb. She does not move. David jumps out of the car and runs over to her, exclaiming, “Selma!” She does not move until he turns her to face him, and even then her face does not change. He shakes her, cries, “Selma! What—” He sees the pistol then and takes it from her, stepping back a little. As he does so, her eyes lose their blankness, and she looks at the pistol.

In a monotone she says, “He was going away. I took that from his room, to try to stop him.” She begins to tremble, and her face works convulsively; she is about to go to pieces.

David has put the pistol in his pocket. He glances quickly up and down the foggy street, then takes her by the shoulders and shakes her again, putting his face close to hers, speaking very clearly, as if to one who understood English poorly, “Listen, Selma. You're going back in the house. You never had a pistol. Hear me? You haven’t been out of the house. Understand? You know nothing about this. Understand?” She nods woodenly. With an arm around her, he leads her quickly to the comer, only a few steps away. There he says, “Now hurry! Back in the house. Up to your room. You know nothing about this. Run!” Automatically obeying his command, she runs blindly back toward her front door. David dashes back to his car, jumps in, and drives off with reckless speed.

In the Lichee, the girl at the telephone is now talking about shoes. Besides Nora, half-a-dozen other people are waiting to use the phone. Nora goes up to the girl and says, “Please, it’s awfully important that I—”

The girl, dropping another nickel into the slot: “I can’t help it if there’s only one phone here. Why don’t you carry around one of them portable shortwave sets if you got so many important things to call people about.” She goes on with her phone conversation.

Nora goes back to Nick, who is engaged in rearing on his table one of those old-fashioned towers of bottles, salt shakers, oranges, forks, etc., all carefully balanced atop each other. Waiters and customers stand around with bated breath, watching him admiringly. He is getting along fine until Nora comes up and says, “Nick!” Then the whole pile comes crashing down on the table. The audience applauds.

Nick bows, then turns to Nora and says, “The divorce is Wednesday.” She doesn’t laugh.

Nora: “Nick, I can’t get to the phone. One of the hatcheck girls has been talking for hours.”

Nick: “You’ve come to the right place. Old Find-a-phone Nick, the boys around the drugstore used to call me.” He offers her his arm, and they go across the floor and out of the restaurant. As they pass the pay phone, where the hatcheck girl is now talking about underwear and a dozen customers are angrily waiting, Nick says loftily, “Mere amateur phone-finding!” He opens a door, shakes his head, and shuts it. He starts to open the next door, but stops when he sees it is labeled “Ladies.” The third door opens into Dancer’s apartment. He bows Nora in, ushers her to the sofa, hands her the book Lum Kee had been reading, goes to the phone, and calls Selma’s number.

The door opens and Dancer, in hat and coat, comes in.

Nick: “Hello, Dancer. Nice men’s room you have.” He waves a hand to indicate the room and the rather elaborate bath that can be seen through an open door, then suddenly frowns at Nora and asks, “What are you doing in here?”

Dancer stands inside the open door, looking at Nick with cold eyes, and when he speaks his voice is cold and level, “Once a gumheel always a gumheel, huh? I don’t like gumheels, but I thought you’d quit it when you married a pot of money and—”

Nora, indignantly: “Did he call me a pot?”

Nick pays no attention to either of them; Aunt Katherine is on the other end of the wire. She says, “You’d better come over, Nicholas. Robert has been killed.”

Nick’s expression does not change as he says, “I will,” and slowly hangs up.

Dancer, jerking a thumb at the open door behind him: “Well, now, if you’re through in here.”

Nick, leaning back comfortably in his chair: “Still foggy out?”

Dancer, very deliberately: “Have you ever been thrown out of a place, Mr. Charles?”

Nick, to Nora: “How many places was it up to yesterday, Mrs. Charles?”

Nora: “How many places have you been in, Mr. Charles?”

Dancer: “Look here!”

Nick, raising a hand: “Wait, wait! As I was about to say, it’s not for me to tell any man how to run his business — though I could give you a few hints — but just the same it doesn’t look right for you and your partner and your chief entertainer and one of your best customers all to go out at about the same time. It gives the place a — a — a quite vacant look. Did you notice it, Mrs. Charles?”

Nora: “Oh, decidedly, Mr. Charles. Quite barn-like.”

Nick: “Thank you, Mrs. Charles. Now there’s another thing. If Mr. Robert Landis came here with a lady who left a cigarette case, you shouldn’t have sent it to his wife. You know what a fellow Mr. Landis was.”

Dancer: “That wasn’t me. Lum didn’t know.”

Nora leans towards Nick, her face strained: “Did you say was?” Nick nods slowly, his face serious now.

Nora, softly: “Poor Selma.”

Dancer, angrily: “I’ve had enough of this. I—” He breaks off as through the open door comes the sound of Polly’s singing.

Nick: “Ah! Another of our travelers has returned. Now if only — No sooner said than done,” he says as Lum Kee comes in. Nick looks from one to the other of them and says thoughtfully, “I wonder which of you would be most frightened if Robert Landis walked in now.” Neither man says anything. Nick: “But you know there’s no chance of that, don’t you, Dancer?”

Dancer: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care.” He advances threateningly. “Get out!”

Nick smiles, shakes his head: “You said that before, and it’s foolish. We’re not going to get out. We’re going to have more people come in.” He picks up the phone.

Dancer, grabbing at the phone: “Give me that phone!”

Nick: “Certainly.”

He raps Dancer on the jaw with it. Dancer staggers back, holding his jaw.

Nora, proud of Nick, says to Dancer: “See?”

Nick dials a number, says: “Nick Charles speaking. I want to get hold of Lieutenant Abrams of the homicide detail. If he’s not on duty, will you give me his residence number?”

Lum Kee crosses to the closet and carefully puts his hat away.

On a dark and seemingly deserted part of the waterfront, David gets out of his car, walks to the edge of a small pier, and throws Selma’s pistol as far out into the water as he can.

Through the fog comes a man’s voice shouting, “Hey, what are you doing there?” followed by the sound of feet running toward David. David races back to his car and drives off.

In Dancer’s apartment, Nick is saying into the phone, “Sure, I’ll wait for you, Abrams… Well, I’ll ask them to wait, but sometimes I think they don’t like me well enough to do me favors… Yes. I’ll tell them.” He puts down the phone and tells Lum Kee and Dancer, “The Lieutenant said something about boiling you in oil if you budged before he gets here. The fellow probably exaggerates.”

Polly has finished her song. The sound of applause comes through the door. Dancer turns on his heel and goes out.

A still larger and angrier group of customers is waiting to use the phone. The hatcheck girl is talking about pajamas. Dancer takes the receiver roughly from her and slams it on the hook, snarling, “Get back to work. What are you going to do? Spend the whole night here?” He goes on toward the restaurant.

In Dancer’s apartment, Lum Kee says, “Dancer not mean anything, please, Mr. Charles. Good man — only excited. Sometime make a little trouble, not mean anything.” He smiles cheerfully at Nick and Nora as if he had explained everything and says, “Now we have little drink, you bet you.”

Nora rises, saying to Nick, “I ought to go to Selma’s. She’ll need somebody.”

Nick: “Right. I’ll put you in the car.” To Lum Kee: “Hold everything.” Nick and Nora go downstairs.

Harold is sound asleep now. The taxi driver is saying, “So I said to these two gobs, I said, ‘Maybe you boys are tough stuff back on Uncle Sam’s battle-wagon, but you ain’t there now,’ I said. ‘You’re on land,’ I said, ‘and you’re either gonna pay that fare or I'm going to take it out of your—’ ” He breaks off as Nick and Nora come to the car and opens the door for them. Harold wakes up.

As Nora gets in, Nick asks Harold: “Did you see Robert Landis leave?”

Harold: “No, I would’ve only—” He breaks off, leans past Nick to push the taxi driver violently with one hand, saying angrily to him, “Putting me to sleep with them yams about where you told everybody to get off at! I ought to—” He jerks his cap off and turns to Nora, saying earnestly, “Aw, gee, I’m sorry, Mrs. Charles!”

Nick: “Did you see anybody you knew?”

Harold: “Nope, I didn’t notice nobody coming out particular, except there was a kid come out right after you went in, and I only noticed him because he was kind of hanging around” (he indicates the doorway Phil stood in) “for a little while. Why? Something up?”

Nick: “What did the kid look like?”

Harold gives a rough description of Phil, adding, “Why?”

Nick: “What happened to him?”

Harold: “I don’t know.” He calls to the taxi driver, who is standing back against a wall, looking resentfully at them: “Hey, Screwy! What happened to the kid that was hanging around here?”

The taxi driver: “I don’t know. I guess he went down the street half hour ago.”

Harold warns Nick: “Maybe he never even seen him. What’s up, Nick?”

Nick: “Plenty. Drive Mrs. Charles back to her Aunt’s.” Then to Nora: “Going to stay all night?”

Nora: “I think I ought to.”

He nods: “I’ll stop over in the morning.” He stands at the curb, staring thoughtfully after the car as it drives away.

Upstairs in the Lichee, Dancer meets Polly as she leaves the floor and asks her, “What are you doing back here?”

Polly: “It wasn’t my fault, Dancer. You know how drunks are. We got outside and he insisted on going home — his home — and I couldn’t talk him out of it. I couldn’t strong-arm him, could I? So I thought I’d better come back and tell you. I couldn’t stop him.”

Dancer: “OK, sister, dress your dolls the way you want to.”

Polly: “I don’t understand what you mean, Dancer.”

Dancer: “A cluck, huh? All right. I’ll tell you so you can understand. Somebody cooled off Landis tonight, and the heat’s on plenty, right here. You’re in it with me, and you’re going to be in it with me, because the first time you step out of line — Get the idea?”

Polly: “You don’t have to try to scare me.” (But she is scared.) “I’m shooting square with you.”

Dancer, sneering: “You mean starting now? That’ll help some. Where’s the paper?”

Polly: “In my bag. Shall I tear it up?”

Dancer: “Maybe you are as dumb as you act sometimes. Listen. Try to understand what I’m telling you. Landis is killed — dead. Maybe we’re going to need that paper bad. So you don’t let anything happen to it. Be sure you don’t.”

Polly: “All right, but I still don’t get it. I don’t know what you…”

Dancer: “Shut up and do what you're told.”

At this point, as they move toward Dancer’s apartment, they pass the head of the stairs and are joined by Nick, returning from the street.

Nick: “Now let’s have that little drink Lum Kee was talking about.”

Dancer: “Swell! And, Mr. Charles, I want to apologize for losing my temper like that.”

Nick, linking arms with them: “Don’t give it a second thought. Some people lose one thing, some lose another, but they all like a drink afterwards.”

To Polly, sympathetically: “Tough you couldn’t do a better job of seeing Landis got home all right.”

Polly, sullenly: “It wasn’t my fault. I did the best I could.”

Nick, as they go into Dancer’s apartment: “I’m sure you did.”

Lum Kee is at the telephone, saying, “Better you come right away. You bet you.” He hangs up, explaining blandly to Nick, “Mr. Caspar. He our lawyer. Sometimes good thing when you have trouble.”

Nick: “You bet you.”

Dancer: “Maybe, but I think you’re going to a lot of trouble over nothing. It’s a cinch none of us shot Landis, so what do we need a lawyer for?”

Nick: “Maybe to help you explain how you know he was shot.”

Dancer: “Well, whatever way he was killed, it’s still a cinch we didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Nick yawns, says, “A cinch is no defense in the eyes of the law,” and makes himself comfortable on the sofa.

Dancer smiles ingratiatingly at Nick and says, “I don’t blame you for thinking maybe we’re tied up in this somehow. It’s our own fault for starting off with you on the wrong foot, but… let’s have that drink first and talk things over. We can show you we’re in the clear.” He pushes a button for a waiter.

Nick, indifferently, lying back and looking at the ceiling: “Don’t worry about me. Talk it over with the police.”

Dancer catches Polly’s eye and jerks his head a little toward Nick. She nods and moves as if aimlessly over to the sofa. Lum Kee looks from Dancer to Polly, then goes over and sits on a chair not far from the sofa, but behind Nick.

Dancer calls, “Come in,” as the waiter knocks and moves over so that he is between Nick and the door. (None of these movements should be definitely threatening, though it should seem to the audience that Nick is being surrounded.)

Dancer, to Nick: “What’ll you have?”

Nick: “Scotch.”

Polly and Lum Kee: “Same.”

Dancer: “And a glass of milk.”

The waiter goes out. Polly sits down on the sofa beside Nick and says, “Do you suppose that David Graham could have killed Robert?”

Nick blinks in surprise, then says: “I’m no good at supposing. What do you know about David Graham?”

Dancer is regarding the girl with a puzzled look.

Polly: “Only what Robert told me, that he was in love with his wife.”

Abrams, stolidly: “Good evening, Mrs. Charles, or I guess it’s good morning. Did you see him there? I mean Robert Landis.”

Nora: “Yes.”

Abrams: “What happened?”

Nora: “Nick knows. Go down there. He can tell you everything.”

Abrams, not very hopefully: “I hope somebody can tell me something. These people!” He looks gloomily at Aunt Katherine and Kammer and shakes his head, then continues: “Anyhow, I got to ask a couple more questions. Dr. Kammer, do you often have to give Mrs. Landis things to quiet her?” Kammer stares at him. Abrams turns to Nora for sympathy, saying, “You see? That’s the way it’s been going.”

Nora: “But surely you don't think Mrs. Landis…” She breaks off, looking from one to the other in amazement.

Abrams, patiently: “How do I know what to think if nobody'll tell me anything. Well, Dr. Kammer, let’s put it plain: does she take dope?”

Aunt Katherine: “Mr. Abraham, you're insulting.”

Kammer: “Certainly not.”

Abrams, paying no attention to Aunt Katherine: “OK. Check that off. Then is she crazy?”

Kammer: “My dear sir, why should you think that?”

Abrams: “Easiest thing in the world. I’ve seen you three times in my life before this, and all three times you were on the witness stand testifying that somebody was nuts.” He begins to count on his fingers. “First it was that guy Walter Dabney that killed a guy in a fight; then it was that Harrigan woman.” He opens his eyes a little wider. “By golly, she shot her husband, too; and then it was…”

Nora goes up to Abrams as if she were about to smack him and says angrily, “Too! What right have you to say a thing like that?”

Dr. Kammer bows to Aunt {Catherine and says, “Miss Forrest, in view of this definite accusation by the gentleman” (He bows to Abrams) “I think you would be justified in insisting that your attorney be present at any further interviews members of your family may have with the police.”

Aunt Katherine continues to regard Abrams in stony silence, as she has throughout this scene except for her one speech.

Abrams groans wearily and says, though not apologetically, “Anybody’s tongue’s liable to slip.” Nobody says anything. He addresses Nora as if he were disappointed in her: “It’s what you’d expect out of them, but you ought to know better.” When she does not reply, he shrugs his shoulders and goes out.

Nora wheels to face Aunt Katherine and Kammer, asking, “Where’s Selma?”

Aunt Katherine: “She’s sleeping, my dear,” adding quickly as Nora starts toward the door, “Don’t disturb her. Dr. Kammer says she must not be disturbed.”

Nora looks at them for a moment, then says very deliberately, “I won’t disturb her, but I am going to be with her until she wakes up,” brushes past them, and goes out of the room.

Aunt Katherine puts a hand on Rammer's arm and in almost a whisper asks, “Well?”

Kammer: “I think there is as yet no reason for alarm.”

Nora goes into Selma’s bedroom, where a dim nightlight is burning, and stands for a moment by the bed, looking down at Selma. When she turns away to take off her coat, one of Selma’s eyes opens cautiously. Then she sits up in bed and whispers, “Nora!”

Nora runs to her, exclaiming, “But they told me you were…”

Selma: “I know.” She unwads a handkerchief while she speaks, showing Nora two white tablets. “They gave me those to put me to sleep, but I didn’t take them. I wanted to see you. I knew you’d come.” Selma and Nora go into a clinch. Then Selma asks, “Has David come back yet?”

Nora: “I don’t think so. He’s not here now.”

Selma: “Will you phone him for me, see if he’s home?”

Nora: “Of course.” She puts out a hand toward the bedside phone.

Selma, catching her arm: “No, not here. That's why I was afraid to phone. The police might be listening in. Go to a drugstore or something. Or, better, go to his apartment; it’s only a few blocks.”

Nora, puzzled: “But I don’t understand.”

Selma: “He took the pistol and told me to come back and not say anything, and I want to know if he’s all right.”

Nora: “The pistol!”

Selma, rapidly, unconscious of the effect her words have had on Nora: “Yes. I took it and ran out after Robert when he said he was going away — you know, to scare him into not going — and he’d insulted me so terribly. And he turned the comer before I could catch up with him, and then there was a shot, and then when I turned the comer, there he was dead, and after a while David came and took the pistol and told me to come back home and not say anything to anybody. And now I don’t know whether he’s all right or…”

Nora: “Then you didn’t shoot Robert?”

Selma, amazed: “Shoot Robert? Nora!”

Nora puts her arms around Selma: “Of course you didn’t, darling. That was stupid of me.”

Selma: “And you’ll go find out about David? I was in such a daze or I wouldn’t have let him do it; and I’m so afraid he may have got into trouble.”

Nora: “I’ll go right away.”

Selma: “And you’ll hurry back to tell me?”

Nora: “Yes, but do try to get some sleep.”

Selma: “I will.”

They kiss, and Nora goes out.

Nora goes softly downstairs and out of the house without seeing anybody, but as she hurries up the foggy street a man comes out of a dark doorway and follows her.

Aunt Katherine and Dr. Kammer are sitting in silence, as if waiting for something, when they hear the street door close behind Nora. In unison, they look at each other, then in the direction of Selma’s room. Neither speaks. They rise together, and slowly — he dragging his lame leg, she leaning on her cane — they go to Selma’s room. Selma lies as if sleeping. Kammer feels her pulse, then picks up her handkerchief and finds the tablets. He does not seem surprised. He pours a glass of water and says, not unkindly, “Come, why must you be so childish? Take these now.” Selma, very sheepishly, sits up in bed and takes the tablets and water.

In David’s apartment, he is distractedly walking up and down. He looks at his watch, goes to the telephone, but puts it down without calling a number. He lights a cigarette, puts it out immediately, goes to the window, then repeats his performance with watch and telephone. He is wiping his face with a handkerchief when the phone rings. He picks it up quickly. Nora, on the other end of the wire, says, “David, this is Nora. I’m downstairs. I want to—”

David: “Come up! Come up!” He goes to the door and waits impatiently for her.

As soon as Nora appears, David asks, “Have you come from her?”

Nora: “Yes. She—”

David, excitedly: “Where’s Nick? What’ll I do, Nora? It’s my fault. I’m all to blame. If I hadn’t given Robert those bonds, he wouldn’t have been going away, and she wouldn’t have” — his voice breaks and he almost whispers the last words — “shot him.”

Nora: “But she didn’t, David!”

David: “What? She told me.”

Nora: “She told you what?”

David: “That she took the gun and ran out after him to try to keep him from going away and…”

Nora: “But she didn’t shoot him. She hadn’t turned the corner when she heard the shot, and when she got there he was already dead. She told me herself, and she was perfectly calm when she told me.”

David sinks back into a chair, his eyes wide and horrified. He tries to speak twice before the words will come out, and when they do his voice is hoarse with anguish. “I’ve killed her, Nora! I’ve sent her to the gallows! I thought she shot him. I took the gun and threw it in the bay. I’m a fool, and I’ve killed her.”

Nora, frightened, but trying to soothe him: “Perhaps it’s not that bad, David. We’ll see what Nick says. He’ll know how to…

David: “But don’t you see? If I hadn’t thrown the gun away, the fact that it hadn’t been fired — and the police could’ve fired a bullet from it and seen that it didn’t match the one he was killed with — don’t you see? — it would have been absolute proof that she didn’t do it. But now…” He breaks off and grabs one of Nora’s hands, asking, “How is she? Do the police — do they think she…? He seems unable to finish the question.

Nora: “Selma’s all right. She’s lying down. The police haven’t talked to her yet. Dr. Kammer wouldn’t let them.”

David, a little sharply: “Kammer! Is he there?” Nora nods. David, frowning: “I wish he’d stay away from her.” He shrugs off his thoughts about Kammer and asks, “Do the police suspect her?”

Nora: “I’m afraid they suspect everybody.”

David: “But her especially. Do they?”

Nora, hesitantly: “I’m afraid they do — a little.” Then, more cheerfully: “But they didn’t know about the Lichee Club and those people then. We were there tonight and saw Robert, and Nick found out a lot of things about Robert’s running around with a girl who lives in the same house as Pedro Dominges, oh! a lot of things, and I’m sure by this time he knows who killed Robert. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

David, not sharing her cheerfulness: “I hope so. I’ll kill myself if…”

Nora, sharply: “Don’t talk like that, David. They’ll find out who killed Robert; Nick’ll find out.”

David: “Tell me the truth, Nora. Does Nick think she, Selma, killed him?”

Nora: “Oh, he knows she didn’t. He knows… She breaks off, staring with frightened face past David and pointing at the window. David turns in time to catch a glimpse of Phil’s face outside the window. He rushes to the window but has some trouble with the fastening, so that by the time he gets it open, the fire escape is empty. As he turns back to Nora, she says in a surprised voice, “Why, that was…”

There is a sharp, triple knock on the door. David goes to the door and opens it. The man who shadowed Nora from Selma’s house is there. He asks, “Mr. Graham?”

David: “Yes.”

The man takes a badge in a leather case from his left pants pocket and shows it to him briefly, saying, “Police.”

Nora: “There was a man on the fire escape! The brother of that girl at the Lichee.”

The policeman: “Yeah?” as if not believing her. He goes to the window and looks out for a moment, then turns back: “He’s gone.” Then he scowls at Nora and asks, “What girl at the Lichee?”

Nora: “Polly Byrnes, the girl Robert Landis went out with just before he was killed.”

The policeman: “Say, you know a lot, don’t you, sister? What does all this make you out to be?”

Nora, with great dignity: “I’m Mrs. Nick Charles!”

The policeman, apologetically: “I didn’t know. I guess then maybe there was somebody on the fire escape.”

Nora, indignantly: “Well, what are you going to do? Stand here and wait for them to come back?”

The policeman: “No, I reckon not.” He goes to the phone.

David takes Nora out of the policeman’s hearing and asks in a low voice, “Should I tell him about the gun, about Selma?”

Nora: “No, don’t tell anybody until we see Nick.”

[To be continued in NBM6.]