Laura

I shall never forget

the weekend Laura died.

A silver sun burned through the sky

like a huge magnifying glass.

It was the hottest Sunday

in my recollection.

I felt as if I were the only human being

left in New York.

For with Laura's

horrible death, I was alone.

I, Waldo Lydecker...

was the only one

who really knew her...

and I had just begun

to write Laura's story when...

another of those detectives

came to see me.

I had him wait.

I could watch him

through the half-open door.

I noted that his attention

was fixed upon my clock.

There was only one other

in existence...

and that was

in Laura's apartment...

in the very room

where she was murdered.

Careful there.

That stuff is priceless.

Come in here, please.

Mr. Lydecker?

Ah, you recognize me.

How splendid.

Sit down, please.

Nice little place

you have here, Mr. Lydecker.

It's lavish,

but I call it home.

I suppose you're here

about the Laura Hunt murder.

Yesterday morning,

after Laura's body was found...

I was questioned

by Sergeants McAvity and Schultz...

and I stated...

"On Friday night, Laura had a dinner

engagement with me...

"after which she was ostensibly

going out of town.

"She phoned and canceled

our engagement at exactly 7:00.

- After that I...''

- You "ate a lonely dinner...

then got into the tub to read.''

Why did you

write it down?

Afraid you'd forget it?

I am the most widely

misquoted man in America.

When my friends do it,

I resent it.

From Sergeants McAvity and Schultz,

I should find it intolerable.

Hand me that washcloth,

please, Mr....

Mr....

McPherson.

McPherson. McPherson.

Mark McPherson-

the siege of Babylon, Long Island.

The gangster with the machine gun.

Killed three policemen.

I told the story over the air

and wrote a column about it.

Are you the one

with the leg full of lead...

- the man who walked right in and got him?

- Yeah.

Well, well.

Hand me my robe, please.

You have a pretty good memory,

Mr. Lydecker.

I always liked that detective

with the silver shinbone.

Thanks. I hope you won't have any reason

to change your mind about me.

- Have you any more questions?

- Yeah, just one.

Two years ago,

in your October 17 column...

you started out

to write a book review...

but at the bottom of the column, you

switched over to the Harrington murder case.

Are the processes of the creative mind

now under the jurisdiction of the police?

You said Harrington was rubbed out with

a shotgun loaded with buckshot...

the way Laura Hunt was murdered

night before last.

- Did I?

- Yeah.

But he was really killed

with a sash weight.

How ordinary.

My version was obviously superior.

I never bother

with details, you know.

I do. Well, so long.

Mind if I go with you?

- What for?

- Murder is my favorite crime.

I write about it regularly...

and I know you'll have to visit everyone

on your list of suspects.

I'd like to study

their reactions.

- You're on the list yourself, you know.

- Good.

To have overlooked me

would have been a pointed insult.

You're not the sort of man

one would insult, Mr. Lydecker.

- Do you really suspect me?

- Yes.

McPherson, if you know anything

about faces, look at mine.

How singularly innocent

I look this morning.

Have you ever seen

such candid eyes?

Something you confiscated

in a raid on a kindergarten?

Takes a lot of control.

Would you like to try it?

No, thanks.

Were you in love

with Laura Hunt, Mr. Lydecker?

Was she in love with you?

Laura considered me

the wisest, the wittiest...

the most interesting man

she'd ever met.

I was in complete accord

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