Dial M for Murder Page #2

-Have any difficulty finding your way?.

-No. None at all.

Do sit down. How about a drink?.

I can't help thinking I've seen you

before somewhere.

It's funny you should mention that.

The moment I opened

the door, I--

Wait a minute. Lesgate?.

You're not Lesgate.

Swan. C.J. Swan.

-Or was it C.A.?.

-C.A.

Well, you've got a better

memory than I have.

Fisher.

When did we meet?.

-Weren't you at Cambridge?.

-Yes.

Must be 20 years ago.

You wouldn't remember me.

I only came your last year.

-Well, what a coincidence.

-Yes, this calls for a special drink.

I was planning to palm you off

with an indifferent port.

But let's see what we have here.

-How about this?.

-Perfect.

So how do you know

my car's for sale?.

Your garage told me.

Odd. I don't think

I mentioned it to them.

I got a fill-up and told them

I wanted an American car.

They gave me your phone number.

I say, it is for sale, isn't it?.

-Of course.

-Good, but I refuse to discuss the price...

-...until you've had three brandies.

-I warn you...

-...I drive a hard bargain, drunk or sober.

-So do I.

I think I must have seen you

somewhere since we left Cambridge.

Ever been to Wimbledon?.

That's it.

Wendice. Tony Wendice.

-What's all this about Fisher?.

-What's all this about Lesgate?.

Would you like a cigar?.

No, thanks. I'll just stick to my pipe.

That's one habit you've changed.

I remember, at college, you always used to

smoke rather expensive cigars.

Wait a minute, I think I have

a picture of you here somewhere.

Yes.

Yes. Here's one.

Taken at a reunion dinner.

There you are with the biggest cigar

in the business.

That's the first and last

reunion I ever went to.

-What a murderous thug I look.

-Yes, you do rather.

Of course, I always remember you

because of the college ball.

You were the treasurer, weren't you?.

Honorary treasurer.

I used to organize the beastly things.

Some of the ticket money

was stolen, wasn't it?.

That's right. Almost 100.

I'd left it in a cashbox in my study,

and in the morning, it had gone.

-It was the college porter, of course.

-Yes. Poor old Alfred.

He never could back a winner.

-They found the cashbox in his back garden.

-But not the money.

-Twenty years ago.

-What are you doing nowadays?.

I deal in property.

I don't follow tennis very closely.

-Do you still play?.

-No, I've given it up.

Rather, tennis gave me up.

One has to earn a living sometime.

And I had a pretty good run for my money.

Went round the world three times.

-What are you doing now?.

-I sell sports equipment.

It's not very lucrative,

but it gives me plenty of spare time.

I see you manage to run

a very comfortable little place.

My wife has some money of her own.

Otherwise, I should hardly feel

like blowing 1000 on your car.

Eleven hundred.

People with capital don't realize

how lucky they are.

I'm almost resigned to

living on what I can earn.

You can always marry for money.

Yes, I suppose some people

make a business out of that.

-I know I did.

-Why do you think she married you?.

Well, I was a tennis star.

Yes, but you've given up tennis.

She hasn't left you.

She nearly did.

After we were married,

I played in championships...

...and took Margot with me.

She didn't like it,

and when we got back...

...she tried to make me give up tennis

and play husband instead.

In the end, we compromised.

I went alone to America

for the grass-court season...

...and returned after

the national championships.

I soon realized a lot had happened

while I was away.

For one thing, she wasn't in love

with me anymore.

There were phone calls which would

end abruptly if I happened to walk in.

There was an old school friend

who used to visit from time to time.

One day, we had a row.

I wanted to play in a

covered-court tournament...

...and, as usual,

she didn't want me to go.

I was in the bedroom. The phone rang.

It all sounded pretty urgent.

After that, she seemed rather keen

that I play in the tournament.

So I packed my kit into

the car and drove off.

I parked the car two streets away,

walked back in my tracks.

Ten minutes later, she came out

of this house and took a taxi.

I took another.

Her old school friend

lived in a studio in Chelsea.

I could see them through the studio window

as he cooked spaghetti over a gas range.

They didn't say much.

They just looked very natural together.

You know, it's funny how you

can tell when people are in love.

I went for a walk.

I began to wonder what would happen

if she left me.

I'd have to find some way

of earning a living, to begin with.

I suddenly realized how much

I'd grown to depend on her.

All these expensive tastes

I'd acquired while I was at the top.

Now, big tennis

had finished with me...

...and so, apparently,

had my wife.

I can't ever remember

being so scared.

I dropped into a pub

and had a couple of drinks.

As I sat in the corner,

I thought of all sorts of things.

I thought of three different

ways of killing him.

I even thought of killing her.

That seemed a far more sensible idea.

And just as I was working out

how I could do it...

...I suddenly saw something

which completely changed my mind.

I didn't go to that tournament

after all.

When I got back, she was sitting

exactly where you are now.

I'd told her I decided to give up tennis

and look after her instead.

-Well?.

-Well, as things turned out...

...I needn't have got

so worked up after all.

Apparently, their spaghetti evening

had been a sort of a fond farewell.

The boyfriend had been

called back to New York.

-An American?.

-Yes.

There were long letters from there.

They usually arrived on Thursdays.

She burned them all except one.

That one she used to transfer

from handbag to handbag.

It was always with her.

That letter became

an obsession with me.

I had to find out what was in it.

Finally, I did.

That letter made very interesting reading.

-Do you mean you stole it?.

-Yes.

I even wrote her two anonymous notes

offering to sell it back.

-Why?.

-I was hoping it would make her...

...come and tell me all about him.

But it didn't,

so I kept the letter.

Why are you telling me all this?.

Because you're the only

person I can trust.

Anyway, that did it.

It must have put the fear of God

into them because the letters stopped.

And we lived happily ever after.

You know, it's funny to think

that just a year ago...

...I sat in that nice bridge pub

actually planning to murder her.

And I might have done it...

...if I hadn't seen something

that changed my mind.

Well, what did you see?.

I saw you.

What was so odd about that?.

The coincidence.

Only a week before,

I'd been to a reunion dinner.

And the fellows

were talking about you.

How you had been court-martialed

during the war.

A year in prison.

That was news.

Mind you, at college, we'd all said

that Swan would end up in jail.

-That cashbox, I suppose.

-Well, what about it?.

My dear fellow, everybody knew

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