All language subtitles for Nero Wolfe S01E09 Christmas Party.DVDRip.NonHI.en.cc.AE

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If you don't stop
staring at her,

I'm going to stop dancing

and you'll fall on your face

in front of all these people.

A mere bauble, pet.

A charity case.

Somebody that
Wolfe and I got to know

after we discovered
some tapestries

that belonged to her
boss, Kurt Bottweill.

The interior designer?

The gold-leaf man?

Yes, same one.

May I cut in?

Uh...

Of course.

For charity's sake.

Archie's such a good partner.

Are you his Monday
night partner?

I'm only allowed Wednesdays.

Ah, yes, Monday night.

Regular as pot roast in a diner.

Of course, you know
what the rules are:

If you take him over now,
you have to see him home.

My pleasure.

Strike two, you're out.

I thought you're
allowed three strikes.

Not in my game.

I guess I'm yours.

Hopefully forever, my darling.

Have you considered my proposal?

Ah, yes.

Friday, I need you
to drive Andy and me

out to Long Island
to Mr. Hewitt's house.

He's having Mr. Thompson
over for the afternoon.

I told you yesterday

that I have a date
for Friday afternoon.

Mr. Thompson is
the best hybridizer

in England.

We'll be leaving
at 12:30, Archie.

His taking it for granted
like that was too much.

I didn't try to sound sorry.

I really am very sorry,

but I cannot break
my date for Friday.

See, Margot Dickie asked me
to a party, a Christmas party.

We never have a Christmas
party around here, hmm.

Christmas, as celebrated,

is merely an excuse
for wretched excess,

aptly symbolized by
a... an elephantine elf

who delivers gifts to the
whole world in one night.

Here's a thought:
Andy can drive.

Your idea that a
car is a deathtrap

unless I'm the one
driving it is unsound.

If my feeling that you
alone are to be trusted

at the wheel of a car is
an aberration, I have it.

We'll be leaving at
12:30 for Hewitt's.

So there we were.

He needed a lesson and
I had in my possession

a document that
would make it good.

I didn't intend to spring
this on you until tomorrow,

but... today will have to do.

Marriage license between...

for Archie Goodwin
and Margot Dickie.

Phooey.

What kind of flummery is that?

Oh, it's not flummery at all.

Nope.

All I can say is
I'm finally hooked

and it took an
expert to hook me.

Yes, sir, Miss Dickie intends to
spread the tidings at the party.

And when you're going to
announce you've caught a fish,

well, it helps to
have the fish present.

The effect was all
I could have asked.

You're deranged.

Yes, yes, quite possibly.

It might be a form of madness.

As Margot was reading
to me the other night,

it was some poet, some Greek.

It was, uh... it was...

"Oh, love!"

Do shut up and
sit down! Sit down!

Yes, sir!

You know, I was inspired
by your offer to Andy...

and his late lamented fiancée.

But now that it's permanent,

well, you may decide that you
don't want me here anymore.

I like the pay,
especially if I get a raise

by the first of the year.

I like working

for the greatest
living private detective

in the free world.

Sit down!

I appreciate Fritz's cooking.

I like the billiard
table in the basement.

I even like the color
yellow; that's a lot to ask.

I told Margot all about it, see?

Yeah, I told her you
were allergic to women,

and we decided... Well,
we didn't decide yet...

But we thought that we might
want to give it a try, you see,

after the... well, after the
honeymoon, you know.

Go on the honeymoon
and then we'll decide.

I don't believe you.

Why not?

What of Miss Rowan?

Oh, well, she met
Miss Dickie last night

and she'll probably
never speak to me again.

What of the thousands
of others you dally with?

Oh, not thousands...
Not even a thousand.

Dally. I want to
look up "dally."

Now, just sit down!

Yes, okay, yes, sir.

No, sir, I won't sit down.

Look, I know we're going to
have to discuss this and everything,

but right now you're
a little unsettled,

so it might take a day or two.

I think that'll be better
for you to come around.

You know, get used to the idea.

I hope you do come around, too.

Kurt Bottweill's
studio; good morning.

Yes, hello, Cherry.

This is Archie Goodwin speaking.

Could I please speak to Margot?

Archie?

Yes, I've got it, it's mine.

I knew you could.

Where are you?

I'm at Wolfe's office.

I just broke the news.

What are you doing?

Sorry about that.

Say, what about meeting me

at the Tulip Bar at
the Churchill Hotel?

I'd like to buy you a drink.

I'd like to buy you a drink.

Oh, love.

I'm going to miss this place.

For the rest of that night
and all the next morning,

the atmosphere around
Wolfe's was... not very seasonal.

Neither of us mentioned

the state of bliss
I was headed for

or the adjustments that
would have to be made.

Where did you get that hat?

Thank you, Fritz.

Take it off!

Not in my house!

And so it was on that Friday,

Wolfe went out for the
second time in one week.

Fritz and I heard
the front doorbell ring,

and as we turned
the hallway corner,

what to our wondering
eyes should appear

but Nero Wolfe...
In full winter gear.

It was a day for
breaking all precedents.

He even answered
the door himself.

It's 12:30 precisely.

How did he arrange it?

I don't know.

I admit I was relieved.

He had needed a lesson,

but if he had passed up a
chance for an orchid pow-wow

with the best
hybridizer in England,

I would never have
heard the last of it.

As it was, I would never
hear the last of it from Lily.

I headed for my room to change.

At 4:00, I was in
Bottweill's elevator,

rising to the occasion.

Bottweill's studio would
have made a fine den

for a blind billionaire.

The only difference I could see

between chrome modern
and Bottweill's gold-leaf modern

was the color.

Archie!

Come help us sample.

Three brands.

No monotony for Kurt.

And he got Santa
Claus to tend the bar.

Very modern.

Aren't you supposed
to be making lists?

Thank you, Miss Dickie.

Mm-hmm.

Ah.

Well, to drink champagne
with a blonde at one elbow

and a brunette at the other

gives a man a great
sense of well-being.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.

Cherry?

It might be a
client, handy girl.

Don't call me that.

Kurt does.

Yes...

Kurt does.

"Handy girl."

Yes, I remember.

Bottweill has given all
of you a funny name.

What does he call you?

"Contact woman"!

Oh, yes.

Very appropriate.

I thought this was
a family gathering.

Nobody told me
others were invited.

I invited him.

Well, if you hadn't,
I would have.

I didn't like you much when
you was hunting tapestries,

but you seem all
right tonight, though.

You're Irish.

This is a Christmas party.

You like everybody.

That's right!

Kiernan's name was "paper boy."

He made sure the client
signed on the dotted line.

Oh, do you mind if I...

Bottweill called Emil
Hatch the "pet wizard"...

And he looked the part;

he had a sour face, a
sour voice and a sour taste.

Ah, Archie Goodwin,

may I present Leo Jerome.

Oh, yes, I'm acquainted
with your mother,

Mrs. Perry Porter Jerome.

A pleasure.

Leo's manners
were just like Mom's.

Ah, look at all
the pretty colors.

None as pretty
as you, of course.

Yes, if only that
license were real.

You know, I can get
one for two dollars.

What do you say?

You...

You wouldn't marry Miss Universe

if she came on her knees

with a billion dollars.

Did it work?

Perfect. Simply perfect.

Mmm, so you're
ditching me for Bottweill?

Yes, Archie darling.

But I'll always
be a sister to you.

I don't need a sister; I
need that license back

before they hook me for forgery.

Uh-uh, he tore it up.

Where'd he put the pieces?

I don't know... In
the wastebasket?

Will you come to the wedding?

I will not; my
heart is bleeding.

Oh...

There he is!

Kurt!

Merry, merry, merry!

Let the darkest corner
be touched with light.

Goodwin! You here? Good!

Edith, your pet sleuth.

I still hadn't
labeled Bottweill.

He could talk
baseball stats with me

and archaeology with Wolfe.

He wasn't much to look
at, but he had something.

There are times

when love takes over.

Here it comes, once my own.

No, not yet.

You don't like this stuff.

Oh, I can stand a sip, Al.

Ah, but you won't enjoy it.

Wait. Wait.

Sandy, get another glass.

Goodwin, you must tell Wolfe

I'd like to dine with
him again soon.

We haven't finished
on the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Here we go!

Now it's unanimous.

My secret public vice.

I repeat, there are times
when love takes over.

There are times

when all the little demons

disappear down their rat holes,

and the trumpet call of
good cheer and goodwill

drowns out the babble
of mean little noises.

This is such a time.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

Merry, merry, merry.

That was lovely.

I must have it written
down and printed.

That bit

about the trumpet call.

Kurt?

What is it?!

Kurt!

Erry...

Get back, get back.

Everyone get back!

There was nothing
to do, and I knew it.

I got a whiff of his breath,
and I know that smell.

It takes a big dose of cyanide
to hit that quick and hard.

I'll try another one!

Even if a doctor came
within three minutes

and washed out his
stomach with chemicals

he probably didn't have,

I don't think it would
do much good...

One in a thousand.

But as it is...

Would you do something?!

Not for him.

His heart has stopped.

Now, until the police come...

The police!

No one is to touch anything,

especially that
bottle of Pernod.

Everyone must stay right here...

Where did Santa go?

Anyone see where Santa went?

He couldn't have
taken the elevator.

We would have heard it.

All right, everyone
stay right here.

Kiernan, you call the police...

Lloyd 5-3100.

Right.

Santa had molted.

I didn't check to
see if it was all there,

because I had another
errand and not much time for it.

It was now 20 minutes to 7:00.

Some two dozen city employees

had furnished the
on-the-scene routine.

Inspector Cramer had departed

to organize the
hunt for Santa Claus.

Sergeant Purley
Stebbins stayed behind

to make sure everything
was understood.

Did you mean

that no one knows
anything at all

about the man who
acted as Santa Claus?

Bottweill himself
arranged for him.

He ordered the
costume from Burleson's.

Miss Quon here admits
to receiving the package

and taking it in to
Bottweill in his office.

We're also covering any agencies

that might have supplied
a man to act Santa Claus.

If he was just
hired to do a job,

he'd be a damn
fool to sneak out.

Maybe he was
too scared to think.

Maybe he had a record.

But if that was it...

If he was just a guy
that Bottweill hired...

He wouldn't have had
any reason to kill him.

The killer knew
about the Pernod.

You're wasting your
time with agencies.

We waste most of
our time, Mr. Hatch.

I just want yous to understand

that if that's where
Bottweill got him,

it's going to be hard to believe

that Santy Claus put
the poison in that bottle.

Does that mean that we are...

that I and my son
are under suspicion?

I'm saying first we find
Santy Claus, then we'll see.

Of course, there is the fact
that the medical examiner said

that the poison was cyanide.

Hey, there's a large jar
of that in the workshop.

I use it all the
time... to gild things.

Anyone who knew that

and who knew that Bottweill kept

an open bottle of
Pernod in his desk,

couldn't have asked
for a better setup.

Four of yous admit to
knowing both of those things.

Mrs. Jerome, Mr. Jerome,
Mr. Archie Goodwin here,

admit to knowing
about the Pernod

but not the cyanide.

That will be enough for the...

That's not true!

She knew about it!

How dare you, you slut!

Sit down.

Sit down!

Now, come on, take it easy!

Geez...

Miss Quon?

In the workshop one day,

I heard Mr. Hatch telling her

how careful he
had to be with it.

Mr. Hatch...

do you verify
what she just said?

Nonsense!

What if he did?!

I won't tolerate this abuse!

Now, you listen to
me, Mrs. Jerome.

As far as I know right now,

only one of yous
has lied to me... you.

Now I'm telling you,
I'm telling all of yous,

lies is only going to
make it harder for you.

But sometimes...

sometimes they
make it easier for us.

Now, that put me in a
class with Mrs. Jerome,

since I had left out my
little talk with Margot.

And I want to know about
their family's families,

anything you can dig up.

Put the whole squad
on it if you want to.

But get that
information to me as...

The party was
now officially over.

I want to talk to you, Goodwin.

If I'm invited
downtown, I'm willing,

but I'm going to go get
something to eat first, okay?

Because last time I was
there, I nearly starved to...

What were you doing here today?

Oh, I was having
a very nice time,

as you can see.

Miss Dickie invited me.

Why? You're nothing to her.

She was going
to marry Bottweill.

Well, then it must be

the three different
kinds of champagne.

I ask again, why...

And I tell you
again, she asked me!

Why don't you ask her? I did.

She says no particular reason.

But she stuttered
around about it.

Any comment?

Good girl.

I'd rather have to eat all the
snow that had fallen since noon

than explain the wedding
license to Stebbins and Cramer.

That was why I had gone
through the wastebasket.

I know you, Goodwin, I know you.

Yeah, I know.

You even called me "Archie,"

And it's a memory I
will treasure forever.

You're telling me

you let Santy walk out of
here and didn't see him?

Nuts, I was kneeling on the
ground, watching a man die.

Then you're slipping.

Know what everybody mentions?

Uh-uh.

Santy wore gloves.

What for if not to
leave no prints?

You know who he is, don't you?

No.

I ain't saying
he's the murderer.

But if you know who he is

and you don't want him involved

and we break our
ankles looking him,

what about that?

Oh, that would be bad,

that would be real bad.

If I asked my advice,
I'd be against it.

Goddamn it...

You're gonna want to see me
downtown tomorrow morning.

Just... don't make it too early.

I'll be kind of tuckered out.

Have a little breakfast first.

And I'll come there,
uh, I'll let you know.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

You bum.

By the time I got home,

Wolfe was already
in his oversized chair

at the end of the table.

He told me good evening,
not snapping or barking.

I returned it and
apologized for being late.

Fritz...

what do we have?

Ah, something you
like, duck à l'orange.

Mmm...

You know, I approve of your rule

never to discuss business
during dinner, but...

The death of Mr. Bottweill was
reported on the radio at 7:00.

You were there.

Yes, I was.

I'm sure as soon as they find
Santa Claus, that may settle it.

What I want to report is what
happened before Bottweill died.

That marriage
license I showed you?

Oh... yes.

It's for the birds.

Miss Dickie called it off,
and I'm out two bucks.

Indeed.

She said she wanted
to marry Bottweill.

Then ten minutes later, he died.

Where does that leave me?

Well, for me, of course,
this is satisfactory.

There's a, uh, a book
that I want to look at.

It's up in your room...

Here and Now, by Herbert Block.

Will you bring it
down for me, please?

That meant climbing two
flights on a full stomach,

but I was glad to oblige.

I wanted to show
how I appreciated

how calmly he accepted
the announcement

of my shattered hopes.

Well, I... I don't
know what the hell...

Huh?

There was a traffic jam inside
my skull with horns blowing,

brakes squealing,
a head-on collision.

Why had he taken this method
of telling me he was Santa Claus?

Why didn't he just tell me?

Why?

Because he'd been desperate.

Now, the idea of a
woman living in his house...

Or the alternative, my
leaving that house...

Had made him
absolutely desperate.

So he came to see
me and Margot together.

He came to see for himself.

The point was this:

He had shown that
rather than lose me,

he would do something
that he wouldn't have done

for any fee anybody could name.

And he'd sent me to my room

so I would realize I was not to
mention that aspect of things.

You were right to
wear the gloves.

I would have
recognized your hands.

Where'd you get them?

Confound it,

I didn't know a man was
going to be murdered.

I know you didn't.

May I, uh, ask you
some questions?

I'll take that as "yes."

When did you arrange it?

2:30 yesterday afternoon.

Do you have any reason
to believe that Bottweill

would tell anyone about it?

He said he wouldn't.

When you left at 12:30,

did you go straight
to Bottweill's?

No.

No, I left at that hour

because you and
Fritz expected me to.

I stopped to buy the gloves...

and then I had lunch at
Rusterman's with Bottweill.

And we arrived at
his studio at 2:00,

took his private
elevator up to his office.

There's the package

and there's the dressing room.

I always have a
Pernod after lunch.

It's my secret public vice.

Do you care to join me?

He then poured a liberal portion

into a glass and
drank it in two gulps.

Returned the bottle
to his desk drawer.

Cops would love
to know about that.

Oh, yes, no doubt.

I then took the uniform

and went to a private dressing
room at the rear of his office

while he went to see
a client in his studio.

He had ordered the largest
size, but it was... a squeeze.

So it took a while...

A half hour... more.

You're mistaken.

Bottweill helped me with
the beard and the wig.

So no one saw you unmasked?

No.

Why didn't you leave
the gloves in the elevator

with the costume?

The gloves did not come with it.

The gloves weren't included?

No.

No, the gloves were separate.

I don't know why.

Anyway, Fritz didn't
expect me home

till 6:00 or later.

So I, uh...

walked to the Public Library

and spent some two hours there.

And, uh, took a cab home.

Over a mile... his longest and
hardest tramp since Montenegro.

Fighting his way
through a blizzard,

in terror of the
law on his tail.

Gee...

Oh, marry and be damned!

That was dangerous.

That could get
us onto the aspect

that he sent me to my
room to think over alone.

Uh, pardon me.

Something caught
in... in my throat.

Um, now would you like
to describe the situation

or should I?

I would like to hear you try.

Okay, you're sunk.

Now...

if you were to call Cramer
now... And I mean now...

And invite him over for
some beer and tell him,

uh, it would be a nuisance,
but, uh, it would be bearable.

No. Tell him you bet
me a hundred bucks

that you could be in
a room for ten minutes

and I wouldn't recognize you.

No!

Well, you know,
they're going to trace

the sale of the
gloves to the buyer,

and then they'll
get a description.

Now, if you sit
tight and you wait,

you won't dare tell him
that you saw Bottweill

take a drink from that
bottle shortly after 2:00

and he was fine...
It didn't hurt him...

Because if you wait until
he comes and he finds you

to tell him all that,

well, then he'll get you
for withholding evidence.

And he'll make it stick.

I can get Cramer right now.

I'm sure he's in his office.

No!

I will not confess that
performance to Mr. Cramer.

No, I will not.

I will not unfold
the morning paper

to a disclosure of this
outlandish masquerade, no.

So, you're going to sit and
read that book, Here and Now,

until they come with a warrant?

That would be fatuous.

No, I will...

find the murderer and
present him to Mr. Cramer.

There's nothing else!

Oh... oh, you're going
to find the murderer.

Yes.

Oh...

I see.

You're going to
find the murderer.

Well, why didn't you tell me?!

Instead of letting me
spout on and on and on.

Well, I just wanted to see, uh,

what your appraisal of
the, uh... of the situation was

and if it agreed with mine.

It does.

Good!

Great.

Well, then you also may know

that we have perhaps
two weeks or two minutes.

Yes, I do.

Well, in your intimate
association with Miss Dickie,

you must have found out
things about all these people.

What? What did you find out?

Let me explain something to you.

My association with Miss
Dickie... is not intimate.

Archie, uh, choose
your adjective.

I meant no innuendo.

No, no, no, no.

It's not a matter of adjectives.

You see, Miss Dickie
is a good dancer...

An exceptionally good dancer...

And I would go dancing with her

Wednesday nights
at the Flamingo.

Yes, the same establishment
that you dance with Miss Rowan.

Does she... does she not object?

She didn't know
anything about it.

That is, until Miss
Dickie came up

and introduced herself to Miss
Rowan on Monday night and...

uh... it created some rather
unfortunate consequences.

But anyway... Yes.

Margaret Dickie
asked me for a favor.

See, she was planning to
marry Bottweill for about a year,

and then she thought Cherry
Quon was making a play for Bottweill.

She didn't want
Cherry to take the rail,

so she asked me a favor.

She asked me if I could
get her a marriage license

and put my name
on it, her name on it

and then present it to Bottweill
and say it's now or never.

Well, I thought I was
doing a good deed.

And, uh, as I said,
she's a good dancer...

she's a very good dancer.

Well...

So you are not on intimate
terms with Miss Dickie?

No, sir.

Even so, uh...

she must have... spoken
of the establishment

and of those people.

One of them killed Bottweill.

Well, okay... Mrs. Jerome.

Now, Mrs. Jerome put
about a half a million bucks

into the enterprise.

She thinks she owns Bottweill.

She was his angel.

Right.

Was she jealous
of, uh... of Margot?

Margot and Cherry.

As for Leo, the kid,

if he thought that his mother
was dishing out his inheritance,

well, then he might have reason.

As for Mr. Kiernan,

well, the way he was looking
at Cherry Quon this afternoon,

if he thought Bottweill
was first in line...

He'd probably be tempted, too.

That's right.

What about Mr. Hatch?

Mr. Hatch, well...

I wouldn't be surprised

if Mr. Hatch wiped out
the whole bunch of them

on general principles.

He practically told
me this afternoon

that he created
the entire enterprise

and never got any credit for it.

As for Cherry Quon,

now, if I was going to
be poisoned by anyone,

I'd want it to be Cherry.

That's only five.

I got Margot a license to
marry, not a license to kill.

If she was lying when
she told me it worked,

then she's almost as good
a liar as she is a dancer.

If they had hit on
Santa Claus's trail

and it led to Nero Wolfe,

Cramer was much more
apt to come than to call.

Well, well...

Hello, Mr. Goodwin.

I'm here to see Nero Wolfe.

Is that so?

Well, please.

As I have said, Cherry
was highly decorative,

and I want to point out

she went fine with
the red leather chair.

I saw you this afternoon,

but it wasn't the same thing.

You could have been anybody

dressed in that... silly
Santa Claus costume.

I... am at a loss, Miss Quon.

You say you saw me today
in a Santa Claus costume?

Oh, I'm sorry.

You haven't told them?

Then it's a good thing I
haven't told them either.

My dear madam, if
you must talk in riddles,

talk to Mr. Goodwin...
He enjoys them.

I thought you were clever.

If I tell the police, even if
they don't like to believe me,

they will have to investigate.

Of course...

She weighed about 102.

I could carry her under one arm

with my other hand
clamped on her mouth

and lock her into the
cubbyhole in the basement.

Or, as an alternative,

I could get a gun from my
desk drawer and shoot her.

I think we understand
each other.

I only understand that, uh,
you want something, madam.

What?

I know who killed him.

You see, Margot and
Kurt were having an affair.

A few months ago,
Kurt began on me,

and it was hard because I
had a strong feeling for him.

I told him the first
man I slept with

would be my husband.

Madam...

But then last night
he phoned me.

He said he had broken
with Margot for good

and wanted to marry me.

That's when he
told me about you...

Your arranging
to be Santa Claus.

I have not yet
conceded that, but...

have we arrived at the point?

Did Miss Dickie
kill Mr. Bottweill?

Of course she did.

And you told the police that?

Yes, but they won't listen.

You have no evidence, then.

She was so clever,

being so nice at the party.

They could never prove it.

You are vulnerable to
an action for slander.

You understand that.

But what I was
thinking, Mr. Wolfe,

is that you are vulnerable, too.

And you want me to
provide the evidence?

That's what I want.

Did I say it so
you understand it?

Oh, yes... indeed,
you put it admirably.

His tone was dry
but not hostile.

But I could see a muscle
twitching beneath his right ear,

and she couldn't.

I suppose, Miss Quon,

that it would be futile to
advance the possibility

that one of the
others killed him.

I know she killed him.

I don't!

You will hear from me tomorrow.

I can't wait longer
than tomorrow morning

to go to the police.

Phooey!

You can and will!

The moment you disclose that,

you no longer have a
whip to dangle at me!

You'll hear from me tomorrow!

I hope it will be
early tomorrow.

At 4:30 the following afternoon,

Wolfe was in the plant room.

There was no note on my
desk, so I had no instructions.

But my desk ashtray contained

three stubs from
Pharaoh cigarettes.

Saul Panzer smokes Pharaohs.

I buzzed the plant room.

Yes, is it all right to
empty my ashtray?

Yes, please do so.

Then what do I do?

I'll tell you at 6:00.

Possibly earlier.

I checked the lock
box in the safe.

Saul had not been
supplied with funds.

Nero Wolfe's...

Saul!

Glad to know you're
back home safe.

Tell Mr. Wolfe that
everything's all set, no snags.

Anything else?

Yes!

Yes.

Saul phoned to say
everything is all right... no snags.

Congratulations.

Now, listen, if I'm in the way,

I can call Miss
Rowan and go dancing.

Well, oddly enough, you're not.

Have chairs in place for the
visitors; ten should be enough.

Four or five will be
there shortly after 6:00;

I hope not more.

Others will come later.

Anything else for me?

Yes! Stop calling!

The first set arrived
between 6:15 and 6:20.

Please be seated.

Ah, no, not there.

Right there.

Mrs. Jerome copped
the red leather chair,

but I moved her, mink and
all, to one of the yellow ones.

Miss Quon?

Cherry might be headed for
a very different kind of chair...

Wired for power...

But even so, I thought
she rated that background

and Mrs. Jerome didn't.

This morning I sent each
of you an identical invitation

saying that Mr. Goodwin
has certain information

which he feels he
must give the police

not later than tonight.

Now, I have
persuaded Mr. Goodwin

to let me discuss
it with you first.

The difficulty is
that any of you,

including Miss Dickie
and Mr. Kiernan,

had the opportunity to
poison that bottle, did you not?

Nuts!

It... it was that guy
playing Santa Claus.

I was with Bottweill and
my mother the entire time.

Bottweill is dead and
your mother is your mother.

And she was being
milked by Bottweill

of your future fortune, sir.

Now, when did you
learn, Mrs. Jerome,

that Kurt intended to
marry Cherry Quon?

Kurt? Marry her?

That strumpet?

I thought he was
going to marry Margot.

Margot?!

Everybody knew that but you.

But if Kurt had
changed his mind,

Mrs. Jerome would have
gone for Cherry, not Kurt.

Now, Kiernan, on the other hand,

he would have murdered a
hundred Kurts to get to Cherry.

Well, perhaps, yes.

Now, Archie.

It looked as if
the time had come

to pass on the information

which I felt I must give
the police without delay...

Which was difficult,
because I didn't have any.

Luckily, the doorbell rang.

There's a couple of your
friends here, Goodwin.

What's all this?!

Miss Quon?

If... if you don't mind moving,

Mr. Cramer likes that chair.

You're under arrest, Panzer,

and you'll stay with Stebbins!

And you keep your mouth shut!

I'm running this!

You are not running
this, Mr. Cramer,

not in my house, no.

You should know
better than that.

If Mr. Panzer is
under arrest, take him!

Otherwise, sit down

while I tell you who
killed Kurt Bottweill.

Come on, it's your chair.

It's your chair.

Now, I assume that you know

for the past two months

that Mr. Goodwin has been
seeing something of Miss Dickie.

He says she dances well.

Oh, save that for later.

I want to know if you
sent Panzer into that...

I'm headed for that.

Archie, if you please.

Tell us what Miss
Dickie asked you to do

late last Tuesday evening.

Well, Bottweill promised
to marry her next week.

He'd made this promise,
uh, well over a year ago

and she wanted a showdown.

So I was supposed to
get a marriage license,

put her name on
it, my name on it

and she would
show it to Bottweill

and say, "It's
now or never, pal."

Yes.

And... and yesterday afternoon?

She told me the license
trick worked perfectly.

Did she tell you what had
happened to the license?

Well, yes.

He saw the license...
Bottweill, that is...

And he tore it up and threw
it in the wastepaper basket.

That was the night
before Thursday.

And what did you do
when you went to the office

after Bottweill had died?

Well, I, uh... I dumped
the wastebasket,

and then I picked the pieces
up and put them in one by one,

and there was no sign
of a marriage license.

You made sure of that?

Oh, yes.

Then Cherry took them.

What?

You took them, you little slut.

Miss Dickie, please.

I will not wait any
longer, Mr. Wolfe.

You said that...

Miss Quon!

I am doing this!

Now another fact.

Yesterday I had lunch
with Kurt Bottweill.

He called before to say he
needed some white cotton gloves,

and would I stop and get them.

It struck me as peculiar.

But then again, he was
a rather peculiar man.

Cramer wasn't
buying any part of it,

which was unjustified,
since some of it was true.

Vaguely that he'd
taken pity on a vagabond

and had hired him to serve
drinks costumed as Santa Claus.

However, the only way to
make his hands presentable

and acceptable to the public

would be to have
him wear gloves.

You would have reported that.

I decided that rather
than suffer your rebuke

for not reporting it earlier,
I would solve the case.

I needed first to talk with
one of Bottweill's employees

and I did... With Miss
Quon, last evening.

He looked at Cherry, of
course, for any signs of danger.

She had started to blurt it
out once and might again.

But she didn't move a muscle.

This morning,

I had Mr. Saul
Panzer do two errands.

The first was the delivery
of some messages,

the text of which
ran as follows:

"When I was there Thursday
putting on my costume,

"I saw what you did.

"Be at the newspaper stand
at the corner of 10th Avenue

"and 45th Street
at 6:30 p.m. today.

I'll come up to you
and say, Saint Nick."

And the messages were
signed "Santa Claus."

Oh, God!

You admit it!

I proclaim it.

If the murderer believed
he had been observed,

he would be
irresistibly impelled

to meet the writer of the
message, don't you think?

Now, have you...

any questions?

Anyone?

About anything?

Saul, you may report now.

You were in the vicinity of the
newspaper stand shortly before 6:30?

Yes, sir, at 6:20.

Within three minutes,

I had recognized
three homicide men

that were scattered
around different spots.

I don't know if any of
them recognized me.

Then at 6:28, I saw Alfred
Kiernan standing around.

Then I saw Margot
Dickie come out of the alley

and I followed
your instructions.

Saint Nick?

Who are you and
what do you want?

Excuse me a moment, madam.

I'll be right with you.

Saint Nick!

Hey, Panzer!

Panzer!

Get back here, ma'am!

Panzer! Get him!

Keep ahold of her!

Come on, you're coming with us.

Anything else, sir?

No, that's... satisfactory.

I assume Mr. Kiernan
gave your men a signal.

Yes.

He brought us the message,
along with Mrs. Jerome,

her son and Hatch, and
we set up a surveillance.

But not Miss Dickie?

No.

Neither did Miss Quon.

Well, let us ask:

Why did Miss Dickie
tell Mr. Goodwin

that Bottweill was going to
marry her if it wasn't true?

Surely a stupid thing to do,

since he would
inevitably learn the truth.

But it wasn't so stupid

if she had already put
the poison in the bottle.

It would purge her of
motive, or at least help.

Any comment, Miss Dickie?

Cherry did it!

She killed him!

Don't answer him!

I'm running this now.

It was her!

She's jealous!

She's jealous because
he wants to marry me!

He loved me!

Yeah, but she didn't go
meet the blackmailer...

And you did.

Archie, please.

Purley.

That seemed unnecessary.

I was sitting right
across from her

and might have been
trusted to grab her,

but Purley's never
very considerate

of other people's
feelings, especially mine.

Please, Archie, help me!

What was Saul's second errand?

Saul interviewed

the cleaning
woman at Bottweill's.

The wastebasket in his office

had been emptied
Thursday afternoon.

Before Margot had her
conference with Kurt.

Yes.

Since there was no reason

for anyone to remove
only those pieces,

presumably Miss Dickie lied;

and if she lied
about the license,

the rest of what she
said was under suspicion.

Where are you going?

Out.

To attend to your
thousands, I suppose.

I looked up the word "dally."

It means to act playfully,
especially amorously;

to linger, to waste time.

I intend to dally.

Lock the door as you leave.

It's not Monday.

That, uh, charity case
you're so jealous of,

well, she's on her way to jail.

I'm not jealous.

Ah. She murdered
the man she loved.

She had the right idea.

I thought we would
stay home tonight

and do a little dancing.

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