The Case of the Happy Baby

The Case of the Happy Baby

“John Wilson doesn’t look much like a murderer,” said Sheriff Monahan as a young man emerged from the farmhouse carrying a naked baby boy.
The sheriff stopped the patrol car behind Wilson’s yellow sedan. He drew his pistol, whispered to Dr. Haledjian to wait, and called: “Raise your hands, John!”
Wilson halted, amazed. He sat his infant son carefully on the fender of his car and lifted his hands. “What’s it all about, Sheriff?”
“Murder. We have a witness who says you entered Moose Long’s bar last night after closing. Half an hour later Mrs. Long found Moose strangled to death with a yellow scarf.”
“That’s a lie. Why—”
“Look out!” cried Haledjian, as the baby scampered onto the yellow hood. Cooing happily, he attempted to stand. Haledjian just saved him from toppling to the ground.
“That witness is mistaken, Sheriff,” Wilson resumed calmly. “I’ve been in this car since eight o’clock last night driving down from Philadelphia. I just arrived five minutes ago.”
The sheriff looked at his watch. “Then drove the six hundred miles between Philly and here in a little over twelve hours,” he said dubiously.
“Can you prove I didn’t” snapped Wilson.
“Nothing could be easier,” declared Haledjian.