All language subtitles for Nero.Wolfe.S1.E010 - Christmas Party

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?

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 fianc�e.

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 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.

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'll 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.

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, thou.

You're Irish.

This is a Christmas party.

You like everybody.

That's right!

Kiernan's name was as "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.

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!

Calla doctor! Call a doctor.

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...

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?

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 � I'orange.

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 woul 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 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

went to the 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.

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 someting 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'w anything about it.

That is, until Miss Dickie came up

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

it created srather 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 avery 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.

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 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 stron 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 Dikie killed 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 who 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

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 t 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.

Subtitles by Brainquake.