Nora: “Nick . . . my purse. It’s gone!”
But Nick takes it very easily.
Nick: “Oh, that’s a shame.”
He turns to Fingers: “Nora, I want you to meet Fingers.”
Then, to Fingers: “This is the wife.”
Fingers looks abashed and embarrassed. Nora, her mind on her lost purse, acknowledges the introduction a little distractedly.
Fingers: “Your wife. Well, gee! I’m sorry about your purse, Mrs. Charles.”
Nora: “What’ll I do, Nick? I know I had it with me.”
Nick: “It’ll turn up . . . won’t it, Fingers?”
Fingers: “I certainly hope so.”
He shakes hands with Nick, patting him affectionately with the other hand. Fingers: “Well, so long, Nick. Glad I bumped into you. Goodbye, Mrs. Charles. Happy New Year to you.”
He goes off. Nick starts to walk Nora toward their car.
Nick, to Nora: “Come on.”
But she is pulling back, wanting to go look for her purse.
Nora: “I can’t just go off and . . .”
Nick, soothingly: “Come on. Come on. You don’t want to embarrass him.
Nora: “What do you mean?”
Nick: “He’s a purse snatcher. Think of his feelings.”
He begins to feel in his pocket, on the side where Fingers gave him an affectionate pat.
Nora: “A purse snatcher! He must have taken it!”
She tries to turn back, but Nick holds her firmly. Nick’s fingers have found something in his pocket. He turns and waves a genial goodbye and “all’s well” to Fingers.
Nick: “So long, Fingers.”
He pulls the purse out of his pocket and hands it to Nora: “He said it would turn up.”
Nora: “You do know the nicest people!”
The car comes to a stop in front of the Charleses’ house. Nick gets out of the car, pulled by Asta. The dog is straining at his leash, frantically excited at being home again. Nick bends down, trying to undo the leash.
Nick: “Just a minute, Asta. There you are.”
He lets Asta loose and the dog starts to tear in and out around the trees, rushing back and forth . . . rolling on the ground, delighted to be home again. Suddenly he stops and looks off toward the backyard, then goes scurrying around the corner of the house.
There is a dog run and a little kennel in it, in the foreground. Asta comes tearing around the corner of the house, and pulls up short in front of the dog run.
A wirehaired female, just like Asta, is lying surrounded by about five puppies, all like her. She is looking up at Asta, and gently wagging her tail.
He barks delightedly at his wife. His tail seems to be wagging his whole body.
As Asta’s excited bark continues, a little black Scottie puppy, of the same age as the others, comes waddling out of the kennel and makes his way to Mrs. Asta. Asta’s bark suddenly stops.
As he looks at this black intruder, his high spirits suddenly evaporate. Asta turns toward the sound of a short bark.
The black Scottie is halfway through a hole he has dug under the fence separating the next-door yard from the Charleses’. He is very evidently the father of the little black puppy with Mrs. Asta. He is looking belligerently over at Asta. Asta bounds into the yard. The Scottie immediately drops his belligerent attitude, and backs hurriedly through the hole into his own backyard, and flees ignominiously. Asta bristles for a second, then turns his back and starts to dig furiously, filling up the tunnel underneath the fence.
Nick and Nora are standing at the front door of their house. Nick has his hand on the doorbell.
Nora: “All I want is a hot bath.”
Nick: “I’ll take a hot bath and a cold drink.”
The door is flung open, letting out a blare of sound.
A man in the doorway is slightly drunk and very good-naturedly hospitable. He evidently has not the slightest idea of who Nick and Nora are. He is acting the part of the genial host. From behind him comes a din . . . a piano playing, voices shrieking with laughter, a girl’s voice singing, a trap drum being played with more enthusiasm than skill.
The Man: “Come in! Come in! Make yourself at home!”
He steps back into the house, holding the door open.
Nick and Nora are looking amazed at the man. Nick steps back and looks at the number of the house.
Nick: “It’s our house all right!”
Nora: “Let’s go in. He says it’s all right.”
They start into the house.
The din is worse inside. Nick and Nora come slowly in. They look around them. Through different doorways we see crowds of people at the bar . . . and in the living room, surrounding the piano. A crap game is going on in another room.
The Man: “There’s the bar right in there. Help yourself.”
Nick: “Thanks.”
The Man: “Okay.”
Nora: “What’s the celebration?”
The Man: “We’re giving a surprise party to Nick and Nora.”
Nick: “Nick and Nora?”
The Man: “Don’t you know Nick and Nora?”
Nora: “No.”
The Man: “Neither do I. But that’s not going to spoil my fun. It’s New Year’s . . . so what’s the odds? Go on in. Fake it. It’s a cinch.”
Nick: “Thanks for the tip.”
The Man: “Get in there . . . and get some of that Napoleon brandy before it’s all gone. See you later.”
Nick, turning formally to Nora: “May I have this dance?”
Nora goes into his arms, smiling, and starts dancing toward the living room. A nice group of young people are crowded around the piano, most of them Nora’s age, friends of hers when she was a debutante, men with whom she played around, before she married Nick. Some of them are in evening clothes, ready to go on to other parties; the rest are in street clothes. A man is sitting playing the piano, and beside him, a girl is trying to play a trap drum. Several couples are dancing. Nick and Nora dance in from the hallway. The guests are so absorbed that they don’t pay any attention to them. There is a hum of conversation. The inevitable girl who knows all the words of the songs wants to sing, and couples call to the girl at the trap drum to keep better time. One couple is doing very complicated steps, and the rest are watching them, cheering them on.
About six men and girls are clustered around one man in a corner. He is talking earnestly, if a little drunkenly, to them.
The Man: “Listen, boys and girls. This is supposed to be a surprise party. So when they come in the door, we want to hide. Don’t let them know there’s a soul here.”
One Girl: “That’s a great idea!”
Another Girl: “You’d better tell the rest of them, Jerry.”
Jerry: “You’re right.”
He steps out of the huddled group.
Nick and Nora are looking around, amused at their not being recognized.
Jerry: “Listen, everybody. This is supposed to be a surprise party. Let’s get together on this.”
A Girl: “Well, I’m acting surprised.”
Nick gently steers Nora into the dining room.
A couple is dancing in the dining room.
The man is the one who greeted Nick and Nora at the door. He is dancing with a very lovely girl. Nick and Nora come in, still dancing. For a minute, the man and girl sway in position, as the man speaks to Nick. The girl’s back is toward Nick and Nora.
The Man, indicating the girl with him: “Not bad, eh?”
Nick: “Not a-tall bad.”
The Man: “How are you doing? Anyone wise to you yet?”
Nora, amused: “No.”
The Man: “What’d I tell you?”
He dances awa
y with his girl. Nick and Nora laugh, and make a sudden dash for the pantry door.
There is bedlam in the kitchen behind the scenes. The fat cook, Rose, is trying to make sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres for the unexpected guests. She is, at any other time, a good-natured individual . . . a heritage from Nora’s mother. She is being helped by a pretty young maid, Ethel. The butler is getting in the way, trying to get some ice cubes out of a tray. They are all absorbed in their various occupations. Nick and Nora come in through the pantry, but the three servants are too busy to notice them.
Nick, softly, so that he will not be heard by the party inside: “Hey, there!”
Rose, thinking it is some hungry guest: “Coming! Coming!”
She turns with a plate of hors d’oeuvres in her hand, and suddenly sees that it is Nick and Nora. Her attitude changes immediately. She is delighted to see them: “Miss Nora! And Mr. Charles!”
The other two servants turn and eagerly smile at them.
Ethel: “Happy New Year, ma’am.”
Nick, in a whisper: “Shush! Don’t spoil their fun. They haven’t surprised us yet.”
Nora, in a whisper: “How are you, Rose?”
Then to the maid and butler: “Hello, Ethel . . . Peters.”
The maid and the butler smile at them and whisper.
Ethel: “Nice to see you, ma’am.”
Rose, also in a whisper: “We missed you something fierce.”
From this time on they all speak in whispers.
Nora: “We missed you something fierce.”
Nora sees the sandwiches and picks up one of them. She is about to eat it, when Nick takes it from her.
Nick: “You can’t have that. It’s for the guests.”
He puts the whole sandwich into his mouth. Nora gives him a look, and then goes snooping over toward the stove. The butler starts into the dining room with a bucket of ice cubes.
Nora: “What’re we going to have for dinner, Rose? I’m hungry.”
Rose: “Your aunt telephoned, Miss Nora. She expects you there.”
Nora looks at Nick, appalled. This is evidently the last place she wants to go.
Nora: “My aunt!”
But she gets no help from Nick. He leans over and kisses her.
Nick: “Goodbye, darling. See you next year.”
Rose: “She expects you, too, Mr. Charles.”
Nick looks around at Rose, unable to believe his ears.
Nick: “Me?”
Rose: “Yes, sir.”
Nick, turning back to Nora: “What have your family got against me?”
Nora: “It’s that annual family dinner.”
Nick, picking up another sandwich: “Remind me not to go.”
There is the sound of a doorbell. Nora: “What excuse’ll I make?”
Nick: “Tell her I left a collar button in New York, and we have to go back for it.”
Three pistol reports from the front door are followed by the sound of a door crashing back against a 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 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 says: “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, says: “How do you do, Mr. Charles? Glad to see you back,” then sees the dead man and goggles at him.
Nick says: “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 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 big-boned and powerful, with a grim, iron-jawed face. She, too, is in hat and street clothes and 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, returning 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—”