Puzzle of the Happy Hooligan by Stuart Palmer Page A

this business to make trouble. Such as”—here Wagman’s voice dropped—“such as going around talking about murder and so on. You were hired for a different job, you know.” His tone was friendly enough, but there was somewhere a subtle threat.
    “Thank you,” said Miss Withers gently, and hung up. Then she took up the sheaf of screen play which Nincom had sent her. She opened it, looked at the title, Miss Lizzie Borden, and at the long list of writers whose names had been set down as contributors. She read:
    SEQUENCE “A”
    Fade in:
    Exterior Borden mansion — Full shot (Day)
    A-1 A big white mansion with white pillars, many porticoes, etc. In the b.g. is the Sound, with the masts of seven or eight of the Borden whaling fleet showing above the house. On the lawn are twelve or fifteen young people, all dressed in the costume of the Gay Nineties, playing a fast game of croquet. Foremost among them is LIZZIE BORDEN, young and lovely, the belle of the town. She suddenly turns and runs toward camera, laughing and following the ball. JOHN ELLIS follows her.
    A-2 Closer shot — LIZZIE and ELLIS
    He is a tall, gay young blade. (Gary Cooper type)
    He raises his mallet to hit the ball.
    LIZZIE (Frightened)
    Oh no! Stop!
    Camera pans down to close shot as Lizzie carefully brushes big blue butterfly from ball.
    LIZZIE
    (Reproachfully)
    Ellis, you might have crushed it!
    (To butterfly)
    Go on, you lovely thing….
    Miss Withers pushed the script away. “Go on yourself,” she muttered, remembering the town of Fall River as she knew it, remembering that narrow, proper little street on which stood the boxlike Borden house. Then there were the photographs of Lizzie herself, that tight-lipped, cold-blooded president of the Christian Endeavor Society. Belle of the town, indeed!
    Miss Withers looked up suddenly to see that her door was being softly opened. Lillian entered on tiptoe, looking more lush and sultry than ever. Something had impelled her to wear black today, evidently out of respect for the dead, but the dress she had chosen was of the slinky cocktail variety, giving an extremely gala effect.
    “I only have a minute,” Lillian said. “Gertrude’s gone to lunch, and I asked to spell her at the board again today. Just so I could copy this list off for you. She was lying when she said she didn’t have it.”
    And she handed Miss Withers a hastily scrawled record of the comings and goings of the floor for yesterday afternoon. The schoolteacher brightened considerably. “And nobody comes in or out of the hall without being checked?”
    “Nobody,” Lillian said.
    “Then if Stafford was murdered the murderer’s name should be on this list.”
    “I—I guess so.” Lillian was in a hurry to get away.
    Once alone, Miss Hildegarde Withers bent over the list. It didn’t matter what went on here before about three yesterday because that was the time when she had seen Stafford alive and reasonably well. That left approximately two hours.
    Sometime in that hundred and twenty minutes Saul Stafford had died. According to the record, at three yesterday most of the writers of the floor had been in their offices. The only exceptions were Mr Virgil Dobie who was supposed to be out on the set watching the shooting of his latest picture and Mr Wilfred Josef who was supposed to be in Good Samaritan Hospital. She read:
    P.M.
    3:10 — Mr Firsk in
    3:18 — Clara in for Mr Abend
    3:40 — Miss Withers phoned Mr Nincom
    3:48 — Mrs Firsk phoned in to Mr Josef (no message)
    3:50 — Mr Parlay Jones phoned Mr Dobie (call transf. Stage 4)
    4:05 — Mr Pape for Mr Abend
    4:07 — Mr August out (to hamburger stand)
    4:12 — Lillian in (to Mr Dobie’s office)
    4:15 — Mr Wagman in for Mr Firsk
    4.17 — Clara out
    4:20 — Clara in
    4:25 — Mr Wagman out
    4:27 — Mr August in
    4:34 — Lillian out
    4:35 — Mr Pape out
    4:38 — Buster in (package for Miss W)
    4:45 — Buster out
    4:57 — Miss Withers called police (call trans. to