“The what?” Brubitsch said. “I shot people? Never.”
“Oh, sure you did,” Boyd said. “The others say you did.”
Brubitsch’s head seemed to sink into his neck. “Borbitsch and Garbitsch, they tell you about a murder? It is not true. Is a lie.”
“Really?” Malone said. “We think it’s true.”
“Is a lie,” Brubitsch said, his little eyes peering anxiously from side to side. “Is not true,” he went on hopefully. “I have alibi.”
“You do?” Boyd said. “For what time?”
“For time when murder happened,” Brubitsch said. “I was someplace else.”
“Well, then,” Malone said, “how do you know when the murders were done? They were kept out of the newspapers.” That, he reflected, was quite true, since the murders had never happened. But he watched Brubitsch with a wary eye.
“I know nothing about time,” Brubitsch said, jerking at his collar. “I don’t know when they happened.”
“Then how can you have an alibi?” Boyd snapped.