"Quiet, please." "Good evening, fellow necromaniacs." "I'm glad so many of you could come." "I should explain that the word has nothing to do with necking." "I'm awfully sorry I haven't time to explain it now." "You'll just have to look it up in the dictionary." "As you know... we are not allowed to present our play unless we have a quorum." "Tonight, we're concerned with those three little words:" "Who Done It." "When our story opens... the more sordid details are safely out of the way." "For the hero of tonight's Grand Guignol... is already quite dead." "Mr. Alexander Penn Arlington has arrived." "Thank you, my dear." "Mr. Arlington, we are very happy to have you with us." "Thank you." "Goodbye, Alexander." "Goodbye and thank you." "Thanks." "Alexander." "My name is Wilfrid." "We use only first names here." "I am your recording angel." "Rather a lot of us, aren't there?" "Of Arlingtons, you mean?" "No, I meant people." "Are all these Arlingtons?" "These are the Arlingtons from Alexander to Arabella." "Good heavens..." "Gracious!" "Here we are." "Is there anything wrong?" "Must I..." "Am I required to sit on this?" "With this?" "Indeed not." "Not at all." "Get down, if you wish." "Thank you." "It's standard equipment, you know." "So many expect it." "I neglected to prepare myself on the harp." "Why, that was music." "We don't get many accomplished musicians here." "And with so many people expecting to play the harp, well... think what it would be like." "Yes, wouldn't it?" "Won't you sit down?" "Now then, let's see." "Alexander Penn, New York, United States, Earth." "Married." "You'll find those very helpful when you first begin to fly." "Later, you won't need them." "I see you were a mystery writer." "Yes." "Rather a well-known one, as a matter of fact." "Yes, I see." "Age at time of death, 52." "Cause of death, murder." "Murder?" "I beg your pardon." "But you said murder?" "Why, yes." "Didn't you know?" "But that's impossible." "I died of a heart attack." "I think." "Yes." "I was asleep... and a stabbing pain woke me." "Yes, that would follow." "You were stabbed in the back, while asleep at your desk." "With an ivory-handled dagger." "With an ivory..." "Why that's my letter opener." "But who?" "Who did it?" "That information isn't included here." "You see, this is only your life." "But I must know." "I can't go flying around not knowing who killed me." "Don't worry, we'll find out." "It'll be in your murderer's record later on." "But there must be other ways of finding out, somebody who knows." "Yes, but we can't go that high with details of this sort." "I don't see why not." "There, now." "Don't let it make you unhappy." "Unhappy!" "Don't you realize that, as Slade Saunders, I wrote over 75 mystery novels?" "Printed in a dozen languages, made into pictures, plays, everything." "And now I'm murdered and I don't even know who did it." "It's preposterous." "How could I possibly be happy?" "But you must be." "Happiness here is, well, it's obligatory." "I'm miserable." "But don't you see, Alexander?" "This is contrary to the...spirit of the whole occasion." "Nevertheless, I'm miserable." "Dear, this won't do at all." "I can't bother..." "Alexander?" "Yes." "This is rather irregular, but... given the last day of your life to live over again... do you think you could uncover your murderer?" "Unquestionably." "But is that possible?" "As an archangel I have authority to make certain adjustments in time." "Time is quite flexible, you understand, not like your earthly experience with it." "We would simply repeat one segment." "As I say, it's most irregular, but if it would make you happy." "Of course, it's most thoughtful of you, but... would it be repeated exactly?" "As for the final result, yes." "Details would vary." "Would others be aware of this repetition?" "Oh, no." "It won't even seem familiar to you." "You'll merely know that you're going to be killed at midnight." "Of course, you could go through with the murder again, but remain awake this time." "That should surely reveal the" "No, that won't be necessary, I assure you." "It would probably be most uncomfortable." "Up to within half an hour of the foul deed will be quite sufficient." "Thank you." "Shall we make it five minutes, just to be on the safe side?" "Very well." "But I shall have the solution long before that, of course." "After all, it's my profession." "All right." "We make a small erasure here." "Good morning, Horace." "Good morning, boss." "What time is it?" "Twelve o'clock." "Same old time." "Mrs. Arlington around?" "No." "She go riding." "Alone?" "No." "With Mr. Benson." "Had the strangest dream." "So clear." "Hello." "It was no dream, Alexander." "Who's this?" "Wilfrid." "But where are you calling from?" "Isn't that rather a silly question?" "Yes, I suppose it was, but..." "Hello?" "Anything else, boss?" "No, I..." "No, not now." "Come in." "Good morning, sir." "Morning, Talbot." "This is from your publishers." "I thought you'd want to see it right away." "Well, read it." ""Dear Alex..." ""We have all read Murder of a Mannequin..." ""and to be candid, we're all disappointed." ""I'll be out tomorrow to talk this over with you..." ""but frankly we wonder if you haven't been working too hard, old boy." ""Could the well be running dry?" ""Maybe if you took a long rest to let it fill up again..." ""this yarn could be reworked."" "Of all the idiotic drivel." ""Let the well fill up."" "Never mind, don't read anymore." "What are you going to do?" "Do?" "Nothing." "Fenton doesn't know what he's talking about." "Never has." "You know that." "I'm not so sure." "You think I'm "slipping" too, Talbot?" "Well, yes, sir." "Rather badly, in fact." "But you needn't worry about it." "I have a plan." "You do, indeed?" "And what is that, pray?" "You can go ahead and take the rest as they suggest, you know... without stopping the Slade Saunders books." "I could do them." "You could?" "You could write my books in my style?" "That is quite the most egotistical and preposterous statement of my experience." "Why I continue to employ such an idiot is beyond me." "Run along now, Talbot, while my better nature still has the upper hand." "It's really not so very preposterous... when you stop to think how much I've contributed to the last four or five." "Not only plot, you know, but an awful lot of rewriting." "Have you really?" "That's obviously what's wrong with them." "We shall correct that here and now." "You're fired, Talbot." "Calculate your salary to include today." "Fetch me the check to sign and get out." "And I mean move out of the house today, too." "Is that clear?" "Yes, that is perfectly clear." "Wait a minute." "Tell me, Talbot, when Fenton comes down tomorrow... if something happened to me in the meantime, a fatal accident, say... do you think he'd let you continue with the Slade Saunders books?" "Certainly." "He'd be a fool if he didn't." "Well, I tabbed you quickly enough, I must say." "But let me tell you, Talbot, it'll do you no good." "You can never swing it." "The books, I mean." "What are you talking about?" "Never mind." "Goodbye, Talbot." "Goodbye, Arlington." "Well, that's that." "I told him it wouldn't take long." "Of course, I shan't want that anymore." "Hello, Uncle Alex." "Well, Vincent?" "I wanted to see you, Uncle Alex... but I didn't want to interrupt once you'd got started writing." "Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure." "How's your financial situation, Uncle Alex?" "Much as usual, I should say." "I'm in a pretty bad spot myself." "Much as usual, I should say." "I need 500." "If you recall what I said on the last occasion of this sort... consider it repeated." "Supplying you with bed and board strikes me as quite sufficient." "But this is different, Uncle Alex." "This is serious." "These people won't wait." "Poses you quite a problem, doesn't it?" "You won't let me have it, then?" "Exactly." "I don't see why." "I'm in your will." "I don't see why I shouldn't have some of it now." "Why should I have to wait until you kick off?" "I find your impatience rather unseemly, Vincent." "Indeed, I'm beginning to wonder why I left you in my will at all." "Simply that you're my only blood relative, I suppose." "I guess you'll take me out now." "No." "It's a little late for that." "Well, okay." "I wasn't kidding when I said I was serious about this, Uncle Alex." "If I don't get the money tonight..." "I don't even dare leave the house." "I may have to do something drastic." "Oh?" "How drastic?" "I don't know." "But whatever happens, it won't be my fault." "Hello, dear." "Bye." "I'll see you tonight." "Right, goodbye." "Hello, dear." "I think I'd rather have you tell me goodbye." "Alex, don't be stuffy." "Everybody kisses everybody today, you know that." "Goodbye or hello, it's only friendly." "Rather a warm friendship, I should say." "Alex, really." "You'd think I was having an affair with Wally." "Aren't you?" "Have you any idea how hateful you can be when you put your mind to it... which is all too often?" "Have you any idea how I might feel to find my wife in the arms of that... vacuous, impecunious young nincompoop?" "Just what do you expect, when I practically have to see you by appointment?" "Should I sit alone all day and embroider and sigh... and wait for you to toss me a word or a look as you pass?" "So I'm neglecting you now." "Is that it?" "Aren't you?" "Certainly not to the extent that I intend to share you with Benson, or anyone else." "Let that be understood, here and now, and let Benson also understand... that he is no longer persona grata in these precincts." "Is that clear?" "What absolute nonsense." "As it happens, he's taking me to the theater tonight." "If you want to declare this Victorian ultimatum, you go right ahead." "I certainly shan't." "Benson." "Money." "Love." "Everybody." "What a trusting soul I was, to be sure." "But wait... there was a situation like this in Murder of a Moneybags." "Yes." "No, that's no help." "Maybe Murder of..." "No." "How can one reconstruct something that hasn't happened?" "But wait." "It's going to happen." "Here in this room, at midnight." "That's definite." "So the murderer must be here, obviously." "Carol and Benson can't be back in time." "All I have to do is to wait and see if Talbot comes back." "If he doesn't, it's my dear nephew." "Of course, how simple." "Mr. Arlington?" "So it is Talbot." "He hasn't quite got his nerve up yet... but he'll be back." "Now what?" "Hello, darling." "We didn't think you'd be up." "Obviously." "You thought I'd be asleep at my desk, in the study, I suppose." "What?" "This is insufferable." "Absolutely outrageous." "Of all the inconsiderate..." "All right." "Everybody." "We'll have everybody." "Horace!" "You needn't think you can thwart me by swarming in at..." "Yes, sir." "Fetch my nephew." "Wake him if you have to, but get him down here right away." "Talbot, too." "He just went up." "Yes, sir." "Have them come to my study." "And hurry, Horace." "I'll get to the bottom of this." "Good." "Now sit down." "Thank you." "I have very little time, so please listen closely." "Now then... someone is going to murder me shortly... and I'm certain it's one of you." "The point is, I want to know which one." "And I intend to find out." "But since my time is very limited..." "I'll thank each one of you not to interrupt and to answer questions promptly." "Now then, you." "You looked quite promising earlier, my boy." "But you certainly seem to have been sound asleep, so I'm inclined to eliminate you now." "Sure, Uncle Alex." "What would I want to kill you for?" "For a third of my estate, naturally." "Well, sure, I could use the dough, Uncle A... but I wouldn't want to see you knocked off just for that." "If I could get it any other way." "You." "You're the one who interests me now." "Just what did you come back for tonight?" "I forgot something." "I see." "What was it?" "Let me see it!" "I couldn't find it." "Just as I thought." "The insane idea that you could write my books... has preyed upon your fuzzy little mind... until you believe it so strongly you're ready to kill for it, aren't you?" "Answer me!" "Aren't you?" "You must be out of your mind." "Alex, honestly." "What is this?" "Are you all right?" "I've been avoiding this, of course." "One hates to think his own wife might..." "But we must face facts now." "And the facts are that you have, for some unaccountable reason... become enamored of this outsize amoeba." "But you can't have him without losing me and my money... so murder would solve your problem very well, too, now, wouldn't it?" "Alex." "Of all the nonsense." "Really?" "You shouldn't have been home till one, you know... and yet here you are in plenty of time." "Why?" "Tell me that!" "Because the show was a crashing bore." "What else?" "Yes, it was terrible." "Really." "Yes." "Perhaps you've been overlooked." "After all, stabbing is hardly a woman's way, is it?" "And since you're penniless yourself and know you can't have Carol without money..." "I can hardly see her doing her own housekeeping, can you?" "Mending her own clothes, dyeing her own hair." "Alex!" "But as my widow, she'd be quite well off, you know." "So I put it to you, Benson... that you'd very much like to see me gone." "Dead." "Wouldn't you?" "So you could have both Carol and my money." "Well, when you put it that way, Alex, you make it sound so attractive." "Yes." "I guess I would." "This is getting nowhere." "If only I'd agreed to go through with it." "I must know." "If only I could extend the time now." "Hello." "Alexander." "Is this?" "Yes." "This is Wilfrid." "Would you really like to extend the time?" "Actually go through with it again?" "Could I?" "Yes." "Would it come off right on time, just as before?" "The final event would be the same." "Well?" "You have only a few seconds." "Yes." "I want to do it." "Thank you." "Who was that?" "That was Wilfrid, my recording angel." "You see, I'm dead." "I mean I was..." "I was murdered once before, but I didn't know who did it... and Wilfrid has allowed me to come back to find out." "Very considerate of him, I think." "But I still don't know... and he's going to let me go through with it again." "Please don't ask me to explain, you wouldn't understand." "We certainly wouldn't." "The point is, in a few moments... someone is going to stab me in the back, with this." "But this time I'm going to be awake, and I'll know who it is." "So go on." "Clear out." "All of you." "Obviously, nobody will do it with the others here as witnesses." "Arlington, you'd better... get to a psychiatrist before it's too late." "Even if one of us were going to kill you... you don't think he'd come back and do it right away, do you?" "With the others inevitably watching for him?" "Possibly not, I don't know." "That's not my responsibility." "But go on." "Can't you all clear out?" "Can't you hurry?" "Alex, carrying this foolishness one step farther... there is one way it could happen, you know." "Right now." "If the murderer could kill you without any of the rest of us knowing which one he is... then he'd be safe, wouldn't he?" "Yes." "Of course." "But that's obviously impossible, so please" " No, it isn't." "Even Slade Saunders should think of that one, Alex." "All I have to do is..." "Benson!" "Turn on the lights!" "Benson, you underhanded" "Will somebody..." "Benson!" "And another small erasure here." "And that's that." "Do you mean to say that all I just been through took place while you were..." "Yes, as I told you, time on Earth... has no relation with time here, which is eternity." "Well, they did it again." "And you still don't know." "Benson put out the lights." "Somehow, it doesn't seem to matter so much this time." "That's good." "You see... nobody seemed at all upset at the idea of my being killed." "Now I'm beginning to wonder what sort of person I was." "Well, that would also involve the kind of people they were." "And after all, none of you were better than human." "I suppose not." "Of course, you do have one clue." "Whoever killed you would have to trust Benson implicitly." "Be sure he wouldn't turn on the lights again." "Of course." "They would have to be partners, who had already planned to kill me." "Carol." "So it was Carol." "Poor thing." "She'll get no good out of it." "She's certain to be caught." "She's not nearly clever enough." "Few are." "I say... you're really quite a detective yourself, you know." "Very good indeed." "I'm sorry." "I must sound dreadfully patronizing." "A habit left over from Earth, I suppose." "I must have been rather obnoxious, I fear." "In fact, under the circumstances... how did I get in here at all?" "All mystery writers go to heaven." "Didn't you know?" "They do?" "Whatever for?" "I really don't know." "I must remember to ask sometime." "Well... why they would go to heaven is certainly a mystery to me." "After she had assisted her husband... out of this veil of tears..." "Mrs. Arlington sought solace in a quick marriage to Mr. Benson." "And they lived happily ever after." "He in the state penitentiary... and she at the women's detention home... where she found a very nice job in the mailroom." "Vincent, of course, became filthy rich." "Which reminds me that we were to hear from the Committee on Ways and Means." "However, they were unable to attend." "They didn't have the money for the bus fare." "In which case, I declare this meeting adjourned."