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What about Asta?

He'll have to go in the baggage car, won't he?

Why should he have any special privileges?

He'll ride with us in the day coach and like it.

But those are the rules, aren't they?

Well... we'll camouflage him under your coat.

Out of sight, out of mind. It's a cinch.

Uh, two to Sycamore Springs, please.

Oh! Nick! Asta! Catch him!

Here. You get them.

Asta!

Asta?

Asta!

Asta?

Alright, come on.

Here, here. What's going on?

Nick Charles.

Hiya, Clancey.

Nick, I'm surprised at you.

I thought you could handle a stout.

I tripped. I was chasing my dog.

Oh, sure.

Clancey, I've had nothing but a swig of cider all day.

Nicky, are you hurt?

I think he hurt his head, Mrs. Charles.

He's been saying something about

not drinking nothing but cider.

And it's true.

He's going down to visit his folks,

and they don't like drinking.

Let's get down to the train and get comfortable.

Ha! Camouflage, you know.

Oh, yes.

Thanks, Clancey.

Pardon me.

It's cozy, isn't it?

C'est la guerre, madam. C'est la guerre.

That's French for "bottoms up.”

Tickets, please.

Nicky, you really like cider?

Like it? I love it.

Why, just the pure, natural juice of the apple.

What could be better, for instance?

A dry martini, for instance.

That horrible stuff?

Almost took the lining off my stomach.

Why do you care? It didn't show.

Good gracious!

Nicky!

Blockbuster.

Ooh. Yes.

Uh!

Upsy-daisy.

Oh!

Tickets, please.

You know, mammy, I don't think

you're taking this reform movement

of mine very seriously.

Not very.

Well, you just wait.

A couple of weeks on this cider,

and I'll be a new man.

I sort of liked the old one.

Why, darling,

that's the nicest thing you said to me

since the time I got my head caught

in that cuspidor at the Waldorf.

That wasn't the Waldorf. That was the Astor.

Astor?

Astor.

All animals must go in the baggage car.

Oh, that's not an animal.

That's my fur coat.

If it can wag its tail, it goes in the baggage car.

So, it was going to be a cinch, eh?

Very well.

Credit me with an error.

Hey. Hey, mister.

When you pass the kitchen,

will you ask the chef to warm this up?

I don't dance, bub.

Body temperature.

Good grief! Are you on milk now?

I'm warming this up for a friend.

Oh!

Oh, I beg your pardon.

Why, if it isn't Nick Charles.

Where did you drop in from?

You sure are a sight for sore eyes.

Hiya, Brogan.

Well, cut off my legs and call me shorty.

It's a small world, ain't it?

Ain't it?

Where are you going?

We're off on a little vacation,

Sycamore Springs.

I get it. I get it. I'll play dummy.

Oh, you're on the wrong horse, Brogan.

This is Mrs. Charles.

Oh, sure, sure.

How do you do, Mrs. Charles?

So, uh, what are you doing these days?

Traveling in postcards.

Pardon?

Postcards. Postcards. Seasonal greetings.

Say, I cover Sycamore Springs.

I'll look you up on the way back.

That will be nice.

Well, so long.

So long.

Nick, how am I doing?

Oh, swell.

Stick close to me in Sycamore Springs.

Right. How's my postcard chatter?

Alright, but look,

don't those greeting cards

have some poems or mottos?

I think so.

Yeah. Well, memorize a few.

You mean like,

"Roses are red violets are blue

a happy birthday is what I'm wishing you?"

Yes, that's it... roughly.

I get it.

"Willa Wanna, Desdemona,

"Minnetonka, Nippewana."

How far is that baggage car, anyway?

Oh, I imagine it's somewhere

between Pocahontas and Sitting Bull.

Well.

Any suggestions?

Make like an eel, mama.

Woman: More people.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Oh, my cigar.

And that was my last one, too.

Excuse me.

Would you please let me pass?

Why should 1?

Oh!

Well!

How'd you like to be married to that type?

Oh, excuse me.

Oh, my word.

I'm so sorry.

Why don't you look where you're going?

Darling, are you sure

you're rubbing these people the right way?

Uh-oh.

The blockbuster.

Woman: Isn't that terrible?

Ow! My foot!

My foot!

Will you please let us through?

Well!

Oh, certainly.

Make way for this lady and her baby.

Make way. She wants to get to the dining car.

Make way for the mother. Follow me.

Ha ha! Bad strategy, Asta.

You forgot to protect your rear flank.

Nicky?

Hmm?

I still don't understand

what gave you this sudden desire

to go back to Sycamore Springs after all these years.

Well, it'll make a nice vacation, won't it?

A chance to see mother and dad.

I'll bet they're anxious to see you,

and not just the family.

The whole town will probably turn out.

After all, you are the local boy who made good.

Oh, now, darling, come, come.

Oh, don't be so modest, Nicky.

Won't it feel good to get

a pat on the back from your old man?

A pat on the back? What would I do with it?

Ah, don't kid me. If your father

ever gave you a pat on the back,

you'd pop your vest buttons all over the parlor rug.

You just don't know my vest buttons.

Look!

Darling, see it? The old windmill.

It's still there.

You know, when I was a little punk,

that was my secret hideaway.

Good heavens. What secrets

were you hiding in those days?

Oh, corn silk, detective stories.

And look, right there was the little old schoolhouse.

Ha ha. You know, once on Halloween,

I burned it down... slightly.

That must have handed your father a big laugh.

Yes. He just roared...

all the way to the woodshed with me.

Nicky, you never got along,

you and your father, did you?

Never got along?

I wonder what ever gave you that impression.

Oh, he's never come to see us in New York.

Well, he's pretty busy, you know.

Of course, there is one other little thing.

He, uh... he thinks I play too hard.

Indeed?

And drink too hard.

Wonder what ever gave him that impression.

Sycamore Springs. This is you, folks.

Well, we're very much obliged to you.

Buy yourself a little smoke.

Thanks, but...

Compliments of the pup.

Spitz?

No, just growls.

Ha ha. That's funny.

I wonder if they got my letter.

Of course they did.

There's your reception committee.

Oh. It's Crazy Mary.

She's a town character.

Hello, Mary. Remember me?

Yeah. Nick Charles.

Yes, that's right. Darling, this is Mary.

- Hello, Mary. - My wife.

Poor woman. Where's the baby?

I heard you had a baby.

Baby. Oh... baby. Baby.

What's he going to do now?

I don't know.

Desdemona!

That's crazy Nick.

He was always like that.

Asta, no.

Let's surprise them, huh, sweet?

- Uh! - Shh.

It's a surprise.

The doctor isn't in.

No?

But you can go to Dr. Clayworth.

He's just down the street.

Is Mrs. Charles in?

She's in the kitchen.

Shh.

Shh.

What's cooking, ma?

Oh, just making a little tea.

Nick! Nick, my darling!

Oh!

Hiya, ma.

How wonderful that you could

get here for your birthday.

Wasn't it?

Nora!

Hello, dear.

What a lovely suit.

Why didn't you tell me you were coming?

Didn't dad get my letter?

Why, no. He didn't say anything to me about it.

Wait a moment. That's what he must have meant

when he said there would be two extra for dinner.

Oh, your father. Where's junior?

Oh, we didn't want to take him out of school.

He's going to kindergarten now and loves it.

Oh, he must be simply huge by now.

Hello, Asta. Oh, I'm so excited.

Come along. I'll get you two settled.

You know something?

I believe the plan is going through.

For the hospital?

Yes. Isn't it wonderful?

You know, Nora, they're going to build

a hospital for the doctor

with a laboratory for his research work.

It's something he's dreamed of all his life.

Why, good heavens, Hilda. What are you doing there?

Take the bags upstairs.

Are you alright?

Why, of course I'm alright.

This is my son, the famous detective.

Oh!

What is the matter with you, Hilda?

Detective?

Now, this is all your fault.

Mine?

Yes. It only behaves like this

when there's excitement in the house.

Do you mean to tell me

that this table hasn't been fixed yet?

Well, if you want to make yourself useful,

you can fix it.

There's a screwdriver in the kitchen.

I don't need a screwdriver.

I've got a little gadget right here in my pocket

that will do anything, from manicuring to safecracking.

Safecracking. Nicky.

Now, how did this get in here?

Come along. Come along and help me with the tea.

And take off your pretty hat.

Oh.

Just a little elbow grease.

Here we are.

Now, that's the last time that'll ever come down.

Uh-oh.

Nora: Oh, doctor.

Oh, Nora, dear. I'm so sorry

I missed you at the station.

Oh, that's alright. I managed to get him here.

Yes, so I see.

Hiya, pop.

Hello, son. Well...

let's get him on his feet.

Come on. Up you come.

You know, I was just fixing this table...

Yes, I know,

and I suppose that's furniture polish?

That, dad, is cider.

- Uh-huh. - Taste it.

Oh, I don't have to. I believe you.

Come on, just one little swallow.

If you say it's cider, it's cider.

Please, Dr. Charles.

Oh, well.

Why, Nick, this is cider.

Oh, what a dinner. What a dinner.

Mmm! Ha ha!

Oh, ma, I'm glad to see that you still have

that same old magic touch with the skillet.

Nora: It was delicious, mother.

Oh, it was just sort of thrown together.

Sure. Just thrown together.

She's been over that stove for hours.

Now, don't pay any attention to him, Nick.

Hilda, bring the coffee in here.

Well, dad, that certainly is

fine news about the hospital.

Yes. Sam Ronson's going to make a recommendation

at the next meeting of the board,

and a recommendation from him

is as good as an order.

Nora: Who's Sam Ronson?

He's the town banker.

He has a hand in everything that goes on here.

I suppose he's what you'd call a typhoon.

Don't you mean tycoon, mother?

Typhoon is a sort of a big wind.

Well, that's Sam Ronson.

Nick, tell us something about your work

in New York.

Nora: Yes, Nick, do.

Have you gone to work?

What are you doing?

Oh, same old thing.

Oh, so you're still a policeman?

Well, I'd hardly put it that way.

No. How would you put it?

I'd say that Nick was more of a genius.

My Nick?

You see,

Nick doesn't actually work with the police.

In fact, people call on him

who think he's better than the police.

He's paid very large fees

because his work is important,

extremely important.

My dear Nora, I didn't say it wasn't important.

You implied that you didn't think

it was very important.

You gave the impression that you thought

that Nick walked up and down the street

swinging a club.

Oh, well, if I gave that impression,

I'm heartily sorry.

Oh, sure.

A very handsome apology.

If Nick thinks it's important to be a policeman,

that's all that matters... I suppose.

But you don't know what he does...

Darling, why don't you pop out to the kitchen

and speed up the coffee, hmm?

Some of the cases Nick has solved

were considered absolutely impossible.

Darling, let me show you

the view from the front porch.

Oh, it's beautiful in the moonlight.

What about the Wynant murder

or the fingers O'Toole case

or the slaughterhouse mystery?

Or take Stinky Davis.

Who's Stinky Davis?

Stinky Davis?

The Stinky Davis case illustrates

what I mean about Nick.

Yes, I'm sure it does, Nora.

Do you still take two lumps

in your stinky... I mean, in your coffee?

Just imagine...

four murders, all strangulation,

no fingerprints, no clues.

The police were baffled.

Yes, of course.

All they had were four bodies.

So, what did they do?

They dumped the whole thing in Nick's lap.

I see.

Nobody suspected Stinky

because he'd been a cripple

ever since some nitro went off

while he was cracking a canister in Salt Lake.

Everybody thought it was Rainbow Benny,

but Nick knew that Rainbow

was an expert with the shiv.

Strangling was out of his line.

Oh. Smart Nick.

Then they turned the heat on Slasher Martin,

who ran a dice joint down in Chinatown,

but Slasher had an alibi

with Squinty Burke and Studsy Greene,

so that took care of him.

But all the time, Nick was certain

that Stinky Davis was the killer.

Why? Because he had him pegged right away

for a two-timing, double-crossing rat.

Nora: Would the police listen to Nick?

No. They told him it was a Hophead theory,

wild as loco buttons,

because Stinky was a cripple

and couldn't navigate.

So, Nick got the brush-off from the police.

They cold-shouldered him right out,

but did that stop him?

Nora: No, sir. He knew the case was hot,

and he was all set

to start cooking on the front burner.

He said, "Stinky,

"you're the two-timing, double-crossing rat

"who strangled Knobs McLure and Greasy Joe

and Horsefaced Dan and Denver Mike."

And then he turned his back on him,

and the trick worked,

because Stinky got up out of his wheelchair

and tried to strangle Nick with a piece of wire

he had hidden in his mouth,

but just in time, Nick turned around,

gave him the old one-two,

and knocked Stinky colder than an ice flounder.

Whew.

Stinky wasn't a cripple at all.

He was just using it to cover up his crimes.

Now, what do you think of that?

Well, if Nick suspected

that Stinky wasn't a cripple,

why didn't he have him examined by a doctor?

The whole thing's so silly.

Dr. Charles...

you are impossible.

Now, you see?

You've upset her.

Spirited little thing, isn't she?

Mm-hmm. Well, you know how women are.

No. How are they?

Mother, come here.

Nora: Isn't he beautiful?

Mother, what's wrong

between Nick and his father?

Well, hasn't Nick ever told you?

No. He's very seldom talked about it.

Well, it seems rather silly,

but the doctor had his heart set

upon Nick becoming a doctor, too,

so that they could work together.

That's how the whole idea

for the hospital first started,

but Nick had a mind of his own.

And became a policeman.

Yes. That's about it.

I wish he could do something

to impress his father while he's here.

I don't suppose there's any crime in Sycamore Springs?

Gracious, no.

The only excitement we ever had

was a runaway horse last Christmas.

There's nothing in the world Nick wants more

than a pat on the back from his father.

If he got that, I think he'd pop a vest button.

Did he admit that?

No. You know Nicky.

We were married three years

before he told me he loved me.

Well, all I can say is,

if you're looking for crime in Sycamore Springs,

you'll have to commit it yourself.

I wonder... Nicky always says

that there's a skeleton in nearly every closet,

and if you rattle it hard enough,

something always happens.

But would Nick like it

if you went around rattling people's skeletons?

Oh, he'd be furious,

but if some crime did break,

it would be a wonderful chance

for him to show his father

what a great detective he is.

Hmm.

Studying hard, Junior?

Hmm?

Hmm?

Ha ha. Oh, hi.

Ahh.

Guess I must have dropped off.

Would you like to lie here?

No, no. Stay where you are.

I don't want to disturb you

while you're working on your lessons.

I'll pull up one of these chairs.

Can't I help you?

No. You've made enough effort.

Hmm.

I was just thinking about a little gal

by the name of Alice Brody.

We used to come out here on hot summer nights

and play on her banjo.

Oh?

The boys used to write their names on it.

She married a brewer from Milwaukee.

What did he play, the bull fiddle?

Nick: Oh. No, she was very fond of beer.

Are you sure I can't help you with that?

No. No. You might get all sweaty and die.

Man: Well, hello there.

Hmm?

Nick, you old son of a gun.

Why didn't you let me know you were in town?

Oh, hello, Bruce.

Hello, Nick. Well, it looks like the old days.

Yeah. Ha ha!

Oh, uh, darling, meet an old schoolmate...

Bruce Clayworth. Mrs. Charles.

How do you do, Mr. Clayworth?

How do you do, Mrs. Charles?

Well, I'm certainly glad to meet you.

Now I know the secret of Nick's success.

Yes, if it weren't for her money,

I probably would have had to go to work, like you, Bruce.

What do you do, Mr. Clayworth?

Oh, I'm just a small-town doctor.

Always will be, I guess.

Nick had the right idea...

get out where the money is, and it'll come to you.

- That's what he always said. - Did I say that?

Well, he was always the smart one anyway, Mrs. Charles.

What are you doing now, Nick? You here on a case?

No, no, no. We're just visiting the folks.

Let's see something of you while you're in town, huh?

I got to run along. I'm going to have a baby.

Drink plenty of milk.

Oh, not me. Down at the hospit...

he was always a clown, Mrs. Charles.

He used to put us in stitches. Good-bye.

- Good-bye. - Good-bye.

How would you like to put me in stitches, papa?

Hmm.

Ahh...

Woman: Well, if it isn't little Nicholas Charles.

Nick: Huh?

Old home week.

Oh, it's Mrs. Peavy, isn't it?

Hmm...

Nick: Well, hello.

You've grown.

Yes. In all directions.

You remember my young nephew, Willoughby.

Oh, yes, of course. How are you?

How do you do?

He seems to have grown, too.

And I suppose this is Mrs. Charles.

Yes. I'm Mrs. Charles.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

This is my old schoolteacher Miss Peavy

and Willoughby Peavy.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

Willoughby is working out at the plant now.

Are you in town on a case, Nicholas?

No. I'm just trying to get a little rest.

I daresay there's plenty of evil

in Sycamore Springs,

and it's your duty to ferret it out.

Oh, ha ha. Well, I daresay.

Hew to the line.

Let the chips fall where they may.

Asta. Asta. Asta, no.

What a nasty little dog.

Come along, Willoughby.

Oh, don't hurry away.

I hope I see you again, Mrs. Charles...

without your dog.

Darling, is that why you burned

the schoolhouse down?

What did you want to shoot your mouth off

about me for?

Oh, hush up. I just told them

you were working at the plant.

I didn't tell them what you were doing.

Having trouble with that?

Very funny, I'm sure.

Oh!

Mother: Children.

Hello, mother.

I saw all those people stopping, Nicky.

You're getting to be quite a public character.

Yes. I feel like a public something.

It's funny. They all assume

he's working on a case.

Woman: Mind if I come in?

Not at all, Laurabel. Come along.

- Don't be long. - No.

Who's this?

It's Laurabel Ronson.

She's the daughter of that typhoon

I was telling you about.

You're Mrs. Charles, aren't you?

Yes.

Oh, I knew it. I knew it

when I saw you from the car.

I felt it here, inside.

Laurabel goes to dramatic school.

Oh, I see.

And this is your famous husband.

Nora: Yes. He looks alright

when you get him dressed up.

You're here on a mystery,

a deep, deep mystery in Sycamore Springs.

I feel it here, inside.

Well, I'm sorry to disagree

with your insides, miss, uh...

Just call me Laurabel.

But I'm really just here for a little rest.

Mother: You must pardon Nick, Laurabel.

He's been working very hard in the city,

and he's tired.

Oh, yes, I know how these geniuses are...

all nerves.

But I realize you can't talk about it,

even if he is here on a case.

No. We mustn't talk about it.

In fact, we don't have to.

Everything is so frightfully hush-hush these days,

but I know, and I think it's wonderful.

Good gracious. Who's making all that racket?

Oh, that's Tom Clayworth.

I promised to drive him to the train.

He's leaving for Boston.

Oh. Has he got his discharge from the army yet?

Yes, but ever since he came back

from the south seas,

he's been as nervous as a cat.

Mother: Poor boy.

And so jealous.

Why, he won't even let another man talk to me.

I haven't said anything.

I must take my leave now,

but we're going to see a lot of each other.

I'm sure. I feel it here...

Inside?

Yes.

And don't forget, Laurabel,

we mustn't talk about it.

Oh, I understand, Mrs. Charles,

and your secret couldn't be in better hands.

But it's all over town, Mrs. Charles,

that Mr. Charles is here on a case.

If you can only give me a little statement.

I never discuss Mr. Charles' activities.

He happens to be out now,

but Mr. Charles is in town,

Mr. Charles is a detective,

and you can draw your own conclusions.

Thank you!

"In an exclusive interview with Mrs. Charles

"by the Sycamore Springs "Evening News,"

"she raised an eyebrow and said,

"I never discuss Mr. Charles' activities

but you can draw your own conclusions.”

Now, that's a lot of malarkey.

Why, I've known Nick Charles for years.

If there was anything going on in this town,

he'd be the first to let me know.

Look at that. Nick Charles is in town.

The paper says he's here on some investigation.

That means he's after us.

We got to get that painting

and get out of here.

But the painting hasn't come in yet.

I was at Crump's this morning.

I can't understand that.

Are you sure you asked Crump

for the painting of the windmill?

Of course I'm sure.

Well, then, why...

Now, Edgar, calm down. We'll get it.

I don't like that flatfoot

snooping around town.

We'll go down there now.

Alright, alright, alright.

Mister?

Huh? Oh, how do you do?

How much is this?

This? Oh, you don't want this.

Oh, gracious me, no.

But I do want it.

No, no. I can't sell that.

That's by one of our local boys.

It just came in.

I have a standing offer for all of his work.

Some crazy woman thinks he's a genius.

But I happen to like it.

That old windmill has a certain

sentimental association for my husband,

and I'd like to give it to him

for his birthday tomorrow.

How much did the other woman pay you?

$50. She buys all of his work.

I'll give you 60.

I beg your... pardon?

I said I'd give you $60.

But you'll never make any money

paying $60 for a $50 painting.

But I don't want to make any money.

My husband spent his whole youth

in that windmill,

and he's sentimental about it.

Tomorrow is his birthday.

Can't you understand that?

Yes, but I promised her.

She'd be awfully mad at me.

Oh, don't worry about that.

Yes, but I like to keep my promises...

if I can.

10, 50...

I wish I'd gone into some other business.

60. There you are.

Oh, don't worry about that.

Thank you. Good day.

Good day. And happy birthday.

Has it come in yet?

Yes? Has what come in yet?

The painting.

Painting? Oh, I have a lot of paintings.

There's the "Barefoot Boy," "The Stag at Dawn,"

and "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee,"

and all of them bad.

No, no, no. Don't you remember me?

I'm the woman who collects Bertons.

You were expecting another one in today.

Oh, that. Well, I just sold it.

Sold it?

To whom?

That woman who was just in here with a birthday.

Oh!

You... you old fool!

I knew she'd be mad at me.

There goes your painting.

Well, somebody's going to pay plenty

for that picture before we're through,

and it isn't going to be me.

Oh, good evening, Willoughby.

Mr. Charles.

You, uh, looking for clues?

Oh. No, I'm not,

but my pup seems to have found something.

Yeah.

Well...

Come on, Asta.

You've had enough botany for one night.

"I never discuss Mr. Charles' activities.

You can draw your own conclusions.”

Hmm...

Oh, there you are.

I thought you were never coming.

Something happened?

Nothing.

I'm just glad to see you. That's all.

Oh, well, has papa's little hunchy-punchy-bunchy

been having a busy time?

Well, I...

We mustn't tire ourselves out, must we?

What have you got behind your back?

Hmm?

Oh, the paper.

I couldn't find it.

Father, does the old woodshed still stand

in its sheltered nook amongst the trees?

Father: Yes, Nick.

Mm-hmm. And does the trusty razor strop

still hang behind the door?

No. I'll use an electric razor now.

Oh, oh.

Well, necessity is the mother of invention.

Now you're going to get it.

You're going to get it where Nellie wore the beads.

No, Nick!

Not here in front of your parents!

Oh, stop it!

But you can draw your own conclusions.

Nick: This will teach you the power of the press.

A fine son you brought up!

A wife beater!

A brave boy.

I wanted to do that

to mother for 40 years.

I dare you.

Who can that be?

Well, one way to find out.

Are you Mr. Nick Charles?

Yes.

I wonder if I could talk to you for a few minutes.

You see, there's something I've got to get off my mind.

Uh!

He's dead, Nick.

Don't move him, dad.

Man: Is that you, Nick?

- Brogan? Brogan: Yeah.

- Where are you? Brogan: Here in the bushes.

- Did you hear a shot? - No.

That's funny. Neither did I.

Why? Something happen?

Nora: Nicky, what is it?

Oh, darling, it's Mr. Brogan. Do you remember?

Nick: He was just coming to call on us.

What's he doing in the bushes?

Why, I... I... I...

He was lighting a cigarette.

Will you come up to the house with us?

A man's just been shot.

Oh.

Nick: The bell rang,

I opened the door, he keeled over.

Oh, mother, dad, this is an old friend of mine Mr. Brogan.

How do you do, Mrs. Charles?

How do you do, doctor?

How do you do, sir?

Time and tide wait for no man.

Tsk tsk tsk tsk.

Nick, you better phone Bruce Clayworth.

He's the official coroner in this town.

He lives just down the street.

Yes. What's his number?

148.

You know, doctor, this is just typical of Nick.

Wherever he goes, you always find bodies.

It's just typical.

Is Dr. Clayworth there?

Just a moment.

Dr. Clayworth?

Man: Yes?

Phone for you.

Man: Alright.

Thank you, Miss Harling.

- Hello. - Hello, Bruce.

This is Nick Charles.

A man's just been shot over here.

What? Well, who is it?

I don't know.

Would you notify the police?

Sure, I will, Nick,

and I'll come right over, too.

I'll be through here in just a minute.

Now, Nick, I don't want to seem too personal,

but if you're going to tell me

you don't know anything about this thing,

all I can say is baloney.

Mac, it happened just as I said.

The bell rang. I went to the door.

The boy started to say something and was shot.

- Did you ever see him before? - No.

The name's Peter Berton.

Yes, I know. I know that, Dr. Charles.

Well, I was just telling you.

He lives at Tom's Auto Court.

I know that, too.

Just because you've gotten used to me, Dr. Charles,

doesn't mean I haven't got any brain.

I can handle more than traffic problems, you know.

Then handle it, and let's get it over with.

I'm not used to policemen in my living room

or people messing around in my laboratory.

I like peace and quiet.

Brogan: Good for you, Dr. Charles.

Tennyson says, "Peace shall pipe

on her pastoral hill a languid note

and watch her harvest ripen.”

"Thanksgiving."

MacGregor: Nick, did it ever occur to you

that somebody might have been trying

to take a potshot at you

and hit the boy instead?

Well, that's an angle.

You know, he might have taken

a shot at you and missed.

And a miss is as good as a mile.

Mr. Brogan, if it isn't too much trouble,

would you mind telling me where you came from?

Why, I'm a friend of Nick's. Get it?

And I was just passing by. Get it?

So I thought I'd just stop in.

Nora: Get it?

Do you usually drop in the bushes?

Well, can't a fella stop to light a cigarette?

If Mr. Charles can be

of any help to you, Mr. MacGregor,

I'm sure he'd be only too glad.

Oh, I'm on a vacation.

Besides, you can't just barge in

on another man's case.

You could be called in as a specialist.

- Couldn't he, father? - Well, I'm not so sure.

Mother: Of course a man could be called in as a specialist.

You told me so yourself.

Well, if I need any help, I'll ask for it.

That's the right spirit.

And the safety of this community

couldn't be in better hands.

Who'd like some cider?

Nick? Oh, Nick. Here's the bullet.

I don't know much about such things,

but I imagine that was fired from a .45

or something in that general field.

Hmm... well, give it to Mac.

It's his show.

Thanks. I'll send this

to a good ballistics expert.

Nora: Nick's a good ballistics expert.

I'm a ballistics expert who's on a vacation.

Who'll have cider?

Very little water in mine.

Is the cider in here?

Yes, sir.

- Hilda. - Yes, sir?

How about some glasses?

Umm...

- Hilda. - Yes, sir?

Suppose you do the honors.

Yes, sir.

Man: Oh, thank you, sir. - Yes, sir.

What's the idea?

We ain't had a vacancy in two months.

You have now.

Peter Berton's just been shot.

Peter Berton's been shot?!

It's number 19 with a bath and shower.

I want to ask you a few questions about him.

Know nothing about him.

The less you notice in this business,

the better it is.

Mum's the word around here.

Mum's the word.

Well, I always said

something would happen to that boy.

Yes? Why?

Bad-tempered and ornery.

He had a fight the other night.

A fight, huh? With whom?

Don't know the name. The other fella ended up

with two black eyes, like a raccoon.

What was the fight about?

Can't say for sure, but like as not,

it was over that Laurabel Ronson.

She was traipsing over here all the time.

I said mum's the word.

Mum's what word?

Yep.

Yep.

Nope.

- Was that MacGregor? - Yep.

- Is he on his way? - Yep.

Okay, because when he comes,

- I'll be in number 19. - Oh.

I hope you haven't touched anything in there.

Nope.

We clean once a day in the morning.

You two had better stay here.

Woman: Yes, sir.

And remember, mum's the word.

Nick: "Cubana Perfecto."

Nick: "Boston Children's Home."

Hmm...

Why don't you girls go to bed?

I'm worried, Bertram.

Something might have happened to him.

Nonsense. Nick's old enough to take care of himself.

To think that I fell for that cider routine.

He's probably got the case half solved by now.

But where can he be?

He's probably turning that auto camp upside-down.

Don't you think it's possible

he might be turning a drink upside-down?

Not on your tin time.

When Nick puts his mind on a thing,

he never makes a false step.

That's my boy.

Well, let's see, Asta.

Where shall we put it?

I really shouldn't give him a birthday present at all,

sneaking off like that and getting drunk...

without me.

Hmm... running into an old sweetheart.

If all his old sweethearts were laid end to end,

I could use them as a sidewalk.

But he's a pretty good guy.

He keeps us in dog biscuits.

I hope he likes it.

"Ah. Nora, darling, what a lovely surprise.”

Nick: Darling,

what time is it?

Uh, it's almost 11:00.

Whoo!

Oh, boy, I am late.

I've got a date.

♪ Deep in the heart of Texas ♪

♪ Deep in the heart of Texas ♪

Darling, where's my belt with the gold buckle?

Buckle, buckle. Who's got the buckle?

There it is, right in front of you.

Hmm?

♪ Deep in the heart of Texas ♪

Some detective.

Nicky, what is this sudden epidemic of kisses for?

For my birthday. Remember?

♪ Deep in the heart of... ♪

Uh-oh.

You know what that is?

Remember that old mill I pointed out to you

from the baggage car? Well, that's it.

Ooh, what a pain in the neck that turned out to be.

Full of snakes, skunks, poison ivy,

and a truant officer.

Gives me the shudders just to look at it.

Hilda, take this out and burn it.

- Don't you like it? - No.

Can't say I blame you.

Why, Hilda, what are you doing with that picture?

Mrs. Charles told me to burn it.

Oh, let me see.

Why, I think it's very pretty.

It's just the thing to give

to the bazaar at the hotel.

It's alright with me.

I'll tell miss Laurabel you're here.

Thank you.

Maid: Miss Laurabel.

Miss Laurabel.

I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Ronson.

No. It's alright.

You came to talk to me about Peter Berton, didn't you?

Yes. And you're very brave to see me

at a time like this.

Oh, it doesn't matter.

People are born. People die.

Life goes on.

Poor Peter.

"At least he's outsoared the shadow of our night.

Envy, pain, and hate can touch him not."

That's Shelley.

I always turn to the poets

for comfort in all my sorrow.

Yeah. Me, too.

Now, about Peter...

I just wanted to ask you a few things

about his friends, his family.

He was alone. He had only me.

Oh. Well, uh...

he must have talked about his family, though,

his childhood.

He talked of nothing.

Our souls and spirits communed.

Words would have been empty, meaningless.

Yes, I can understand that.

Cigarette, Mr. Charles?

Oh, thank you, no.

A cigar?

I rather lost interest in cigars.

Oh, father has some very good ones...

a special brand he keeps all for himself.

Oh, a special brand.

Yes. Won't you try one?

Nick: "Cubana perfecto." Hmm...

Well, yes, yes.

This does interest me.

Thank you.

You and Peter saw quite a good deal

of each other, huh?

Yes. Fellow artists, you know.

That fight he got into recently must have been

rather distressing to you, wasn't it?

- Fight? - Yes.

He gave somebody a pair of black eyes.

I know absolutely nothing about that.

Is that so? Hmm...

Your father didn't approve of Peter, did he?

Poor dad.

So provincial, you know.

He just didn't understand.

Oh, I tried again and again to explain to him

how platonic and beautiful it was,

but he just made scenes.

I thought he was going to have

a stroke or something. Oh, it was awful.

Nick: You poor child.

Oh, and it wasn't only dad.

No one understood what Peter and I meant to each other.

Why, Tom Clayworth made such a fuss if I even...

Oh, well, you wouldn't be interested in all that.

On the contrary. What about Tom?

Well, you know what an emotional type Tom is,

and so jealous.

Why, if he heard I even spoke to Peter,

he'd hit the ceiling.

Did he ever hit Peter?

Oh, no.

Were you afraid he might?

Well, you see... Oh, Mr. Charles.

Tom had nothing to do with Peter's death.

I know that.

Mm-hmm. But the last time you went out to see Peter,

wasn't it to warn him that Tom was jealous,

perhaps made threats?

You're quite wrong, Mr. Charles.

Was it to warn him against your father?

My father?

Yes. He didn't want you to see Peter.

He made violent scenes about it.

You told me so.

You... you tricked me into telling you that.

Tricked you?

Say, what do you think this is, Miss Ronson,

a parlor game?

A man has been murdered.

Your father threatened Peter, didn't he?

No, that isn't true.

You must believe me! I swear it!

- I believe you. - No, you don't.

You're just trying to trick me into telling you more.

Well, I won't!

And I won't listen to your accusations!

Get out! Go on! Get out!

Oh!

I'm sorry if I upset her, Mr. Ronson.

What do you want here?

I wanted to talk to Laurabel about Peter Berton.

What about Peter Berton?

Well, for one thing, he's dead.

And you think my daughter killed him?

Well, no, but, uh...

I wanted to ask her a few things about him...

who his friends were and who his enemies were.

Why did you object to him seeing your daughter, Mr. Ronson?

- Who says I objected? - Your daughter.

I'm not responsible for what Laurabel says.

She's a girl with a very vivid imagination.

Why should I object to him?

That's what I would like to know.

Now, look here, Charles. I'm just as interested

in seeing justice done as you are,

but I think you ought to be careful.

I know that you don't want to hurt innocent people.

You don't want to damage good reputations needlessly.

That might be harmful to the whole community.

Your own family, your own father

might have ambitions and plans

that could be ruined.

You mean my father's ambition for a hospital

might be blocked?

Just think that over, Charles.

Yes.

I will think it over, Mr. Ronson.

I will, indeed.

And I'll also think over

what you were doing in Peter Berton's cabin

the day he was Killed. Good day.

Well, how are you, Mac? Right on the job, I see.

Say, that was a dirty trick, changing those numbers.

I didn't find out I was in the wrong cabin

till this morning.

That was just the Halloween in me.

Well, this isn't Halloween.

Say, I thought you were on a vacation.

Oh, I just thought I'd help a bit.

Well, you didn't happen to run into anything, did you?

Are you keeping an eye on Crazy Mary?

Why Crazy Mary?

Well, as I remember, she used to go

on the warpath at times, didn't she?

Say, how does anybody

ever get into her shack to talk with her?

Nobody ever does, except Doc Clayworth.

Last time I was out there,

I got conked in the head with a coffeepot.

- No? - Say, talking of the devil.

Bruce: Hello, Nick. - Hiya, Bruce.

- Hello, Mac. - How are you, doc?

I was just telling Nick you're about the only one

could get him in to talk to Crazy Mary.

Oh, sure. Anytime, Nick.

Thanks. How did the autopsy come out?

We found that that bullet entered the boy's back

through the large rhomboid on the left

and was stopped

by his sternocostal joint on the right.

Hmm...

That tells us a lot, doesn't it?

Yeah. Does it?

Well, Mac, keep pitching.

Bad ones. Always gave me his bad pictures to sell,

never his good ones.

Just... higgledy-piggledy, that's what he was, yes.

You know, artists are all like that.

They keep their good pictures and sell their bad ones.

It seems a good artist

is just naturally... higgledy-piggledy.

Maybe that's why he's a good artist.

Or maybe it's reversed.

How much did you usually get for his paintings?

Whose paintings?

Well, the boy we're talking about...

higgledy-piggledy.

Oh, yes. That one. $50 a picture.

Could you have gotten more for his better ones?

Oh, gracious me, yes.

Twice as much. Three times.

I guess the boy was loaded, huh?

He was what?

He had no economic problems, hmm?

Or else maybe he was just, you know...

Uh...

Yes.

Higgledy-piggledy, huh?

Yes, I'm sure he must have been.

Well, thank you very much.

Good-bye now.

Beg your pardon?

I said good-bye now.

"Good-bye now?"

There's no sense to that.

Obviously it's now.

I mean, you wouldn't say,

"Good-bye tomorrow" or "Good-bye two hours ago.”

You've got hold of something there, brother.

I've got hold of something...

I haven't got hold of anything.

And I'm not your brother!

If he's here on official business,

why doesn't he let somebody know about it?

Why the mystery?

Besides, we have a perfectly good

police department of our own.

Well, what do you want me to do?

I just want to give you a word of advice.

I have reason to believe

that Mr. Ronson is not at all pleased

with his interfering in people's lives.

It's upsetting the town.

It might be better if you asked him to leave.

Leave? But he's my son.

He's just a meddling fool.

That's what he is.

Did Ronson say that?

No, no, no. That's my opinion.

Have you talked with Ronson about this?

No, but I have reason to believe...

What you believe doesn't interest me.

I think I'll be leaving.

I think you're making a great mistake, doctor.

You've been working on

that hospital project of yours for years.

I know your heart's set on it,

and it's practically a reality now.

It would be a shame

if, at the last minute, it fell through.

Tatum, I think you're a stinker.

I think Tatum is a two-timing, double-crossing rat.

Now, now, now, mother. Mother.

We mustn't spoil Nick's birthday.

Now, you must smile. Now, smile.

No, no, no. Nice, pretty smile.

That's right.

Oh! That's beautiful, ma.

Thanks, dad.

Oh, that's lovely, mother.

One, two, three, four...

Ah. Don't be a cad.

Why, this makes me feel

as if I were in short pants again.

That I want to see.

Here goes.

Oh, make a wish.

Oh, yes. Alright.

Here's luck to dad's hospital.

You shouldn't tell your wish.

It may not come true.

Well, this one will.

Hang onto your hats.

A man! There was a man!

- Where? - In your room!

Who was it, Hilda?

Hilda: It was dark! I couldn't see!

I walked in, and there he was!

Oh...

Oh!

What happened?

It was the table you fixed. It's fainted again.

Come out of there.

It's me, Nick.

For the love of...

Did you see anyone?

No. I just stepped into the bushes for a minute.

- Why, Brogan... - Why? What's up?

Somebody's been casing my room.

Gee, I must have missed him.

You certainly did.

I'm sorry, Nick,

but I got the dope from Boston.

You were right about the kid.

I got it all written out here.

Nora: Nick.

Nick: Oh, it's Mr. Brogan, dear.

I can let you have this lot at a dollar a dozen.

Good evening, Mrs. Charles.

Lighting a cigarette again?

Well, no, no. I was just going to

ask him to have some cake with us.

Of course. He can't stay

out here in the bushes.

Well, there's tricks to every trade,

as the saying goes.

I had 3,000 maternity cards

announcing the birth of a baby girl.

All of a sudden, everybody starts having boys.

Here I am, stuck with a lot of cards.

It was practically impossible to sell boys' cards

for girls' cards, especially when the picture

was of a stork wearing a high hat

with a diaper in his mouth.

The diaper was what we call a breakaway. Get it?

Nicky, how long have you known Brogan?

Darling, did I tell you

how pretty you look for my birthday dinner?

No, you didn't.

Nicky, has Brogan got a police record?

Well, I meant to tell you.

Honey, your hair is tinged

with the russet shades of beautiful autumn.

Look, you're holding something back about Brogan.

He's a definite criminal type.

I can tell by the shape of his head.

Well, yes, there was a little something

about an old lady who was found in a trunk once.

Uh-huh!

And your ears are like

the twin petals of a budding rose.

Later, darling. Now, look.

I've got this all figured out.

Brogan was in the bushes

the night the murder was committed.

Check?

He was in the bushes again tonight

when our room was ransacked.

Double check.

Nicky, he's our man,

and something's got to be done.

And that's not it.

Not even on my birthday?

Oh, well.

Oh, darling, don't you see?

He'll get away if you don't get busy.

I'm on my vacation.

Oh, Nicky, you're driving me crazy.

This case is serious,

and all you do is fuddle around and guzzle cider.

I'll switch to prune juice.

Alright. If you're going to neglect your duty,

I'm not.

Brogan is mixed up in this,

and I'm going to find out how and why.

Bertram: Mr. Brogan, have you any greeting cards

for a man going to bed?

No, but...

Well, you better start working on them,

because that's where I'm going.

I guess I'd better mosey along, too.

Excuse me.

Must you go, Mr. Brogan?

There's still some cake left.

Thank you, Mrs. Charles,

but you know the old saying...

a man's eyes are often bigger than his belly.

Good night.

Good night. What a nice man.

I didn't mean to talk business at your party, Nick.

But you know there's many a slip

twixt the cup and the lip.

Nora knows who committed the murder.

- Yeah? Who? - You.

Me?

Boy, that is interesting.

Look, I think she's going to trail you, see?

So, give her a little exercise.

Take her for a nice, long walk.

I've got something I want to do.

I get it.

Nicky, I think I'll go for a little walk.

Want me to go with you?

No, no. I'm just going to the drugstore.

Good night, Nicky.

Oh, good night, darling.

Now, try to get to bed early.

You know me.

Hello, Bruce? Nick Charles.

Uh, busy?

How'd you like to take me out to Crazy Mary's?

Nick, remember when we used to come up here fishing?

Yeah.

Boy, you sure caught the big ones.

It's all in the flick of the wrist.

I guess I never did flick right.

You better stay in the car till I call her.

You're liable to get conked on the head.

Oh, Mary.

Yoo-hoo. Mary.

It's me, Dr. Clayworth.

Hello, Mary. I just want to

talk to you for a minute, huh?

Get out of here. Get out!

Now, now, Mary. Nobody's going to hurt you.

I don't want him around here.

Why didn't you tell me he was with you?

Get him out.

Now, he just wants to ask you a few questions.

I'm not answering any questions.

You leave me alone. Do you hear?

You leave me alone.

I don't want to answer any questions.

Now get out.

I want to talk to you about Eleanor Morgan.

Eleanor Morgan?

I have a lot of information, Mary,

from Boston.

You know about Eleanor Morgan?

Yes.

Nobody knows about Eleanor Morgan.

I do, Mary.

Peter know you were his mother, Mary?

Mary: No.

But I watched over him best I could.

Sure, you did.

Who do you think killed him?

How should I know?

He had a fight with somebody out at the auto camp,

gave him a couple of black eyes.

Who was that?

Bill Burns out at the plant.

What was the fight about?

I ain't gonna tell you nothing. Now get out of here.

I'm trying to help you, Mary.

Nobody's trying to help me. They're all against me.

I know what they're after, and they're not going to get it.

I'll get it first

because I know somebody that'll get it for me.

If anybody else comes nosing around,

they're going to get something they don't like!

Now get out!

Now, now. Alright, Mary.

Alright, we're going. We're going.

Holy smoke. Peter Berton's mother?

Mm-hmm.

Where does the Eleanor Morgan come in?

That's the name she used

at the hospital in Boston where he was born.

And later, when she turned him over

to the children's home, she used Berton.

Oh.

Hiya, Mac.

What delayed you?

For a guy who's on his vacation,

you certainly buzz around a lot.

I was looking for you, Bruce.

I wanted you to come out here with me.

Nick tried, but he couldn't get anything.

Oh, yeah? Well, I'll get something out of her.

He got something out of her.

There. Okay?

Whoa.

Hello.

- Hi. - How are you?

Hi, cutie.

Hiya, babe.

Hello, sister.

Gentlemen...

Man: Say, ain't you with that new burlesque show

down at The Grand?

There's my uncle. I've got to go now.

Good-bye, cutie.

Good-bye.

Man: Yes, sir?

Oh, let's see now. Where was I going?

Oh, yes. What time's the next train to New York?

10:14.

Thank you.

That man who was just here...

he was asking about a train, wasn't he?

Yes, ma'am. The 10:14 to New York.

Oh.

Give me a cup of coffee and two aspirins.

Hello, Mr. MacGregor.

I'm so glad you're here.

Always glad to see a member of the Charles family.

There's a man here. I want you to arrest him.

What for?

Does it have to be for something?

Oh, no. No.

You just pick out anybody at all,

and I put them in jail for life.

But this man's going to leave town.

Look, Mrs. Charles, I had a little business

with your husband a while ago,

and I got a big headache out of it.

I can't arrest anybody for you

unless they do something to get arrested.

Get that? They got to do something.

I think you're being very technical, Mr. MacGregor.

Make that four aspirin.

Jeez, lady, what's the idea?

Looking for somebody, sister?

Say, what have you got against me?

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Sorry, lady, but we don't allow

no unescorted females in here.

Isn't that an old-fashioned point of view?

I mean, after all, times have changed.

She's with me, bartender.

Two beers, and hurry it up.

I hope you don't mind my barging in like this.

Oh, that's quite alright.

Pool rooms are so informal.

Well, I wanted to talk to you.

You see, as a matter of fact,

I've been following you.

You've been following me?

Ever since you left the house.

It's silly. I know.

But my wife has got her heart set on a picture,

one you bought at the Crump Art Shop,

and I'd like to buy that painting from you.

Painting? Oh, the windmill.

Yes. Personally, I don't like it,

but my wife is keen about it,

so I'm prepared to pay you a good price.

A good price?

Say, $500.

$5007? Well, I only paid $60 for it.

You can't make any money paying $500 for a $60 painting.

Well, money doesn't matter when it comes

to making the little woman happy.

That's a fine quality in a husband, mister...

Draque. Edgar Draque.

Then it's a deal?

Well...

Fine. Can I get the painting now?

Not now. I'll get it for you later.

I'll bring it to you.

Well, I'd like to get it as soon as possible.

I'm stopping at the Sycamore Springs Hotel.

If you'd care to...

The Sycamore Springs Hotel...

That's where they're holding the Charity Bazaar.

That's right. I have to leave town tonight,

and I'd like to get the painting before I go.

You beast!

This man insulted me!

Break it up! Hold it, you guys!

Break it up there!

My, my.

Uh, get me the police department, please.

There's no use denying it.

You did have a fight with Peter Berton.

Yeah.

Hmm. Looks to me

as if you got more than your share.

All I'm asking is,

what was the fight about?

Well, Mr. Charles, it seems to me

that's nobody's business but Berton's and mine.

Now that he's dead, it's only mine.

Why didn't you like him?

Well, I like people

that are straightforward and honest.

I want to be able to peg them.

If I can't peg them, I don't like them.

I see.

Well, if that's all you're going to ask me,

I think I'll be going along.

The fact that the boy's dead

doesn't seem to have made very much impression on you.

Why should it?

Death hasn't endowed him

with any new virtues, has it?

Well, that's a little brutal, but, uh, honest.

Do you, uh...

do you know of anyone

who might have had cause to kill him?

The way he was cutting throats at the plant,

there might have been a number of people.

What about you?

Mr. Charles, when you've got anything on me,

you can serve your papers,

but until that time,

I figure my time is my own.

What did he want?

He just wanted to ask me a few questions.

Questions about what?

Come on, Asta.

Nicky, come on. Come on.

- Huh? - Don't stand there stargazing.

- We've got to hurry. - Hurry? Where to?

We're going to a dance.

He offered me $500 for it.

$500 for a dance?

And it was right there

under your nose all the time, too.

- Under my nose? - Nicky, we've got to hurry.

I had him thrown in jail, but he might get out,

and then he'd get the painting.

Jail? Painting?

Sycamore Springs Hotel.

I figured as long as I had one man arrested,

I might as well have him locked up, too.

Did you do all this on cider?

I thought you'd be proud of me,

killing two birds with one stone.

Two birds?

Yes. They're both in jail.

- Who's the other? - Brogan.

- Brogan's in jail? - Yes.

Nick: I'll split my business up among you...

a gift to the boys.

Good evening, Mr. Charles.

Hello.

I bet you think I'm a silly little girl

for behaving the way I did at the house.

You were perfectly right to be angry with me.

I'm not angry with you.

Oh, aren't you really?

No. Here. I'll prove it to you.

I'll take all your tickets.

You can prove it even better

by dancing with me.

Alright, put me down for a dance.

Oh, do you jitterbug?

No. Put me down for a slow polka.

Was that necessary?

Do you have to shine up to him like that?

Oh, Tom, you're impossible.

Nicky, it's gone.

Huh? What's gone?

The painting I gave you.

The painting you gave me?

I mean, the painting I didn't give you.

The paint... come again?

For your birthday.

The painting that you gave me but you didn't give me...

I beg your pardon. I didn't understand.

Gracious me! What are you doing in here?

Don't you remember me?

I'm looking for the painting of the windmill.

The windmill? Everybody's looking

for the painting of the windmill.

Now, you get out of here.

Goodness gracious!

All a painter has to do nowadays

is to get killed

and suddenly becomes a genius.

Did you say the painter was killed?

Yes. Peter Berton, all higgledy-piggledy.

Was that painting by Peter Berton?

Gracious me, yes.

Everybody's been after that painting.

First the blonde, then Sam Ronson, and now you.

- Sam Ronson? - Yes.

Well, where is it?

I sold it to the blonde.

Mr. Crump, what was the blonde's name?

Mrs. Edgar Draque.

Crump: She lives here in the hotel.

Draque. That's the name of the man

who offered me the $500.

- Uh... wait here. - Where are you going?

I want to do a little business with the blonde.

You think she'll give it to you?

I can try, darling.

Anything for art. I'll be right back.

No. I think I'll go along and chaperone.

Well, uh... Oh, hello, sailor.

Why aren't you dancing?

I haven't got any dance tickets.

No dance tickets? Well, of course you have.

There you are, and here's your partner.

Gee, thanks.

Nicky!

Nicky!

Uh, what's the number of Mr. Draque's room?

One-twenty-four.

One-twenty-four. Thanks.

- Good evening, Mr. Charles. - Good evening, Willoughby.

Hello.

I see you've decided to stay in town.

I never had any intention of leaving.

- By the way, Tatum... - Yeah?

When the hospital's built, you must come in

and have my father treat your nose.

There's nothing wrong with my nose.

There will be.

Oh, pardon me.

Come in. Come in, dear.

It's Mrs. Draque.

How do you do, Mrs. Draque?

Well, you certainly got right down to business.

I found her on the floor.

She was out cold.

Somebody had conked her before I got here.

What about the painting?

It's gone. We're going after it.

I'm glad to have met you, Mrs. Draque.

- Clerk. - Yes, sir?

You better have someone go up to 124.

What's wrong?

Mrs. Draque is... indisposed.

Alright.

Now, let me think. Ah, let's see.

Peter Berton painted it.

Everybody wanted it.

Draque offered 500. Mrs. Draque got it.

She got conked.

Hmm... let's see, now.

Who else wanted it?

Crazy Mary said she knew somebody

who would get it for her.

That might be it.

There's Ronson.

Ronson. Ronson said he wanted it, too.

Yes.

There's the doc.

Bruce. Excuse me. Are you busy?

Well, we're going to have a dance.

Say, how would you like to take me

for another little ride?

Well, I'd like to, but...

Oh, that's fine. Come on, let's go.

Where are we going?

Crazy Mary's.

That's where we belong.

Come on, Asta.

Nora: Dr. Clayworth is going to miss all the dances.

Don't worry about me.

I'm not much of a dancer anyway.

Nick was the one

the girls always wanted to dance with.

I hear he also played the banjo.

She's dead.

Nicky. Nicky, look.

Shot with her own gun.

Hey, that's one way

of destroying fingerprints, huh?

It certainly is, yes.

We'd better call MacGregor.

Asta.

Nora: Asta, what is it?

Nora: That's it!

Your birthday present.

Asta, you'll get an extra bone for this.

Nicky.

Hey, what are you doing up this hour?

I came down to ask you that.

Well, I was still concentrating on this little gem.

Funny thing to concentrate on at this hour of the night.

Why don't you tackle it in the morning when you're fresher?

Say, you're pretty fresh right now.

You know, this has to be solved by morning.

We're in the home stretch.

How's it look for the finish?

Well, I'm not passing out any tips just yet.

A secret.

Mm-hmm.

Worried?

Say, you are worried, aren't you?

Oh, I've handled trickier shows than this.

But your old man wasn't in the audience watching you.

That's it, isn't it? Or a part of it, anyway.

Hmm.

Ah. You'll get it.

You may not be any great shakes as a detective,

but you're lucky. You'll solve it.

And your father will be proud of you.

Mm-hmm.

He'd better be, unless he wants to hear

that Stinky Davis story again.

Oh, no, no, no.

Not that, dear. Not that.

I'll be waiting for you, darling.

Good luck.

I'll need it, sister.

And don't call me sister.

Mother: Sit down.

Make yourself comfortable.

I demand to know why we were brought here.

Nick Charles' orders.

I demand to see Nick Charles. Where is he?

Search me.

I demand to know what those people

are doing in my laboratory.

I don't know.

- Where's Nick Charles? - I don't know.

You don't know much, do you?

No, but I don't have to.

Mrs. Green's little boy

has just swallowed 50 cents.

I'll get it, Hilda.

Hello, sister. Nick Charles here?

- Who wants him? - Yeah, who wants him?

Is your name sister?

Where's Nick Charles? He's a friend of ours.

What do you want?

Pull in your ears, pop.

Now, listen, you. You behave yourself.

You leave him alone.

Look, bub, he sent for us.

What's your names?

My name's Slugs Lonnegan.

His is Finnigan. Mickey to you.

Yeah.

Why didn't you say so?

Go on in there and sit down.

And keep quiet.

Is it always like this, Nora?

Always.

You have my deepest sympathy.

Mrs. Charles, where is your husband?

I don't know.

Why don't you sit down and take it easy, Mr. Ronson?

I'll just make some cocoa to quiet their nerves.

Cocoa? What a break.

Ronson: I'd like to know why it's necessary

to herd us all into a room like this.

For a very simple reason, Mr. Ronson.

This is the way he always works,

and this time, he has a very special reason.

Whatever he does, no matter how idiotic it may seem,

nobody ever outguesses him for long.

Just wait. You're going to be mighty proud of him.

I've seen him work on situations like this

that look completely hopeless,

when suddenly the guilty party cracks up

and starts trying to shoot his way out.

But he's not going to turn this place

into a shooting gallery?

That's the way these things usually wind up.

It's called the payoff.

I usually duck under the sofa when it starts.

It's outrageous,

treating people in this high-handed fashion.

Where is he?

Oh, he's probably arranging

a few surprises for us.

Right now, it may be part of a strategy of nerves

to keep us all on edge,

but when the stage is set,

he'll make a dramatic entrance.

I'm usually nervous, too, but this time I'm not.

You see, I know who it is.

You do?

Well, who is it?

Wouldn't you like to know?

Ah.

There he is.

And mighty beautiful timing, I'd say.

Hiya, Slugs, Mickey. Got them, huh?

All here.

Good. Suppose you unwrap them, huh?

Sure.

Sorry I had to keep you all waiting.

I just want to ask you a very few simple questions...

nothing really difficult or involved,

just some little things,

and I'm sure you will all want to help.

Mr. Draque, you like it?

A genuine Berton, Mrs. Draque.

By the way, how's your head?

That mean anything to you, Willoughby?

To me, no.

It will.

Mr. Ronson, does it mean anything to you?

No.

- Sure? - Of course I am.

Alright. I'm just asking.

Uh-oh. Ronson's cooked.

Mr. Crump, does that mean anything to you?

Gracious me, yes. Squidgey, isn't it?

Mmm, worse than that.

Precisely, yes, yes, yes.

Now I'm about to demonstrate something to you,

and in order to do it, the room will have to be dark.

I hope you don't mind my taking a few ordinary precautions,

but sometimes people have a habit

of carrying firearms. So, Mac, will you take over?

Everybody's going to be searched.

Frisk them.

He can't do that. There won't be any payoff.

Now, look here. This is going too far.

Nick, stop being absurd.

These people aren't criminals.

They're respectable citizens.

They don't walk around with guns.

MacGregor: Here's one.

As superintendent at the plant,

I handle the payrolls,

and I need it for protection.

This is a .45 army colt.

That's the same kind of a gun killed Peter Berton.

Let me out of here! I've got to get out of here!

Wait a minute. Take it easy.

You can't hold me. You've got nothing against me.

I've got a very important appointment.

Well, your appointment will have to wait.

It can't wait. Really, it can't.

With whom was your appointment?

I can't tell you.

Well, I'm afraid you'll have to stay, then.

I wonder if she's acting.

Hmm?

Where'd you get this?

That? I bought that at an auction.

It's just an antique. You can't fire it.

Just an antique, huh?

Here's another one.

Well, quite an arsenal for a peaceful community.

MacGregor: Well, what's your story?

Tatum: Why... I need it, working around the bank.

Well, we're not around the bank now, Mr. Tatum.

So I'm sure you can

spare it for a few minutes.

Charles, if you can't vindicate these actions,

I'll see that you go to jail.

I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Ronson.

Now, dad, I'm going to use your fluoroscope for a moment.

Alright.

Slugs, will you close those curtains, please?

And, Mickey, you might keep an eye

on the Draque family.

Now, if you'll all gather around the fluoroscope here,

I'll proceed to the demonstration.

Mr. Ronson, just move in here close, will you?

Yes, and you, too, Willoughby. And Bill Burns.

Alright, now if someone will just close those curtains.

Nick: All set?

- Anybody know what that is? - Golly!

Nora: I got a bargain... two pictures.

Nick: And I don't mean the windmill

or this little dog down here in the corner.

Look closely.

Willoughby, don't you recognize that?

Good heavens.

Holy smokes.

Alright, open the curtains.

Well, Willoughby...

Why, it's part of the plans for the propeller.

That's right. A foreign power

would pay a lot of money for that.

They couldn't be stolen.

Why not? This was.

We've protected ourselves against it.

The plans are divided into five different parts.

Nobody is allowed to see or to work

on more than one part.

Is that so?

Oh, slugs, let's have those other four paintings.

Here they are, Nick.

And, uh, tell them where you got them.

Why, where you told me...

in Anthony Croner's art gallery in New York.

Anthony Croner, known to his intimates as Tony.

Make a note of that, Mr. Draque.

Oh, Mr. Crump, you recognize these?

Oh, gracious me.

Yes. Well, those are the pictures

I sold to her.

Thank you.

Under these four innocent-looking paintings

are the designs

for the other parts of your propeller.

Surprised?

Yes, I am.

Bill, will you tell me now

why you fought with Peter Berton?

Well, he tried to push me out of my job,

always making trouble.

What kind of trouble?

Angling for somebody else's job.

He was always doing that.

He should have been fired.

Why wasn't he?

That's what I'd like to know.

He must have had a drag somewhere.

Willoughby would just switch him

from one department to another.

Nick: Hmm...

See what I mean? The finger's on him now.

But my money's on Brogan.

Thank you.

Oh, I'm sorry to be late, Nick.

I was up at Mrs. Stanton's.

You know, that baby's about due.

Oh. Well, I'm glad you came, Bruce.

I'm going to need you.

Shall we search him for weapons, too?

Sure. Everybody's doing it.

Well, I surrender.

- Uh-oh. - Here's something.

Is that loaded?

Just with blanks.

Bruce, we're trying to get all the facts

about Peter Berton...

how he lived and how he died.

By the way, when I phoned you

right after Berton was shot,

where were you in your house?

Well, let's see. Oh, sure, I remember.

I was working on my stamp collection

all that evening in my study.

Hmm. No one disturbed you during the evening?

No. Well, I had one patient.

Ah. But you didn't hear the shot?

- No, I didn't. - No.

Alright, Willoughby, maybe you'd like

to explain to us now about Berton.

Well, the boy just didn't seem to get along with people.

You could have discharged him, couldn't you?

Yes. But he seemed such a nice, honest chap.

Ah.

Well, he was a very good workman.

Why don't you tell the truth, Willoughby?

You were told to take care of him.

You had orders.

Orders from whom?

From someone higher up,

someone on the board of directors...

Mr. Ronson.

I gave no orders.

The boy was recommended to me,

and I asked Willoughby to look after him. That's all.

Come on, Willoughby. You better speak up.

I refuse to be held responsible for this.

I wanted to let him go. Mr. Ronson wouldn't let me.

That's a lie!

Oh, is it, Mr. Ronson?

I think we both know better than that.

Bruce, what time was it

when we got out to Crazy Mary's last night?

- You mean, the last time? - Yes.

About midnight.

And about how long would you say she'd been dead?

About half an hour.

Certainly not more than an hour.

Ah. How does that check with you, Mr. Ronson?

With me? What do I know about it?

You ought to know. You were in her shack last night.

I... in her shack?

Certainly, after you bopped Mrs. Draque on the head.

Sit down, goldilocks.

You bopped her on the head, grabbed this painting,

and took it out to Crazy Mary's.

I never heard anything so absurd.

Look here, Nick.

You're making some rather serious accusations.

Sam Ronson wouldn't do a thing like that.

Dad, I know this is going to sound a little fantastic,

but I'm going to tell you a little fairy tale.

Once upon a time in this town,

oh, about 20-odd years ago,

a local playboy ran off to Boston

with a young housemaid to get married.

Unfortunately, the housemaid

wasn't quite right in the head.

Well, in Boston, the playboy

got into a barroom brawl and was killed,

leaving the housemaid in a very tough spot.

Seems a baby was on the way.

Now, the dead playboy had a big brother,

but brother wanted no part of it.

So, the housemaid had to go

to a county hospital in Boston to have her baby,

and the records show that later,

she placed him in a children's home there

under the name of Peter Berton.

Shall I go on, Mr. Ronson?

No. No, you win, Nick.

Perhaps you'd rather tell us about it yourself.

I tried to help her,

but she was so... so irrational.

The boy grew up in the orphanage.

When he was of age, I sent for him

and got him a job here in the plant.

He didn't seem quite well-balanced to me,

but Crazy Mary kept hounding me.

I didn't want any scandal, for my daughter's sake.

Well, everything went on alright

until Crazy Mary discovered that her boy

was mixed up in a racket

to copy some propeller designs.

She wanted to stop him, but she was helpless

without revealing to him that she was his mother.

However, when the boy up and got himself killed,

there was something she could do.

She could protect his good name.

So, she blackmailed Mr. Ronson

into removing the evidence against her boy...

this painting.

He took it to her last night

after he removed it from Mrs. Draque's room.

Is that true, Mr. Ronson?

Yes, but I didn't kill Crazy Mary.

No, but you slugged me!

Why, you small-town thug!

Ah!

Now, now, Mrs. Draque.

Just keep on doing what you've been doing.

I'll have the cocoa in a few minutes.

Well, now we know the technique

that was used to deliver these paintings.

Berton copied the plans, painted over them,

and placed the paintings for sale with Willy Crump.

Mrs. Draque bought them, and through her husband,

they were delivered at Tony Croner's in New York...

a nice, safe arrangement,

very little danger and lots of money

in it for everybody, thousands.

What?

Does that surprise you, Mrs. Draque?

Tell him nothing, honey.

You mean you haven't told your honey

just how many thousands Croner gave you

every time you delivered

one of these paintings to his gallery?

That's a lie.

Well, I just don't think

you should have been cheated, Mrs. Draque.

After all, you took a big risk,

and now you're involved in a murder.

Oh, no. I didn't have anything to do with that.

I only bought the paintings and turned them over to Edgar...

Shut up. You're blabbing just like he wants you to.

I don't care! I'm not getting mixed up in any murder!

You didn't tell me it was...

Someone's always hitting that poor Mrs. Draque.

Draque, you arranged the scheme to steal these plans

through someone here in Sycamore Springs,

someone who lives here

and is well regarded in the community.

When we find who that individual was...

Nick, look out!

Hilda: Gracious me!

Here you are, Nick.

It was exactly where you said.

There's one cartridge missing.

Ah, yeah.

Ladies and gentlemen,

this is a rifle called an Ambu.

It's used by Japanese snipers in the Southwest Pacific.

It has long range and great accuracy.

And this one's equipped with a silencer.

Many of them were brought back

by our boys as souvenirs.

My brother Tom brought that gun back.

Yes, that's right.

You're not trying to imply that he...

I'm not implying anything.

I just agree that it was his gun.

I think that's as good as implying it.

Bertram: I agree with Bruce, Nick.

These people are my friends.

A little while ago, you had us believing

Sam Ronson was guilty.

Ronson's just a red herring.

I don't care if he is a red herring.

I'll never believe Sam Ronson killed anybody.

He didn't kill Crazy Mary, dad.

When he arrived at her shack, she was already dead.

How do you know that?

Well, he took the painting to her.

That was the evidence she wanted.

Had she been alive,

she would have destroyed it immediately.

Apparently, she never got her hands on it.

Man: Let go of me.

You got no right to bring me here!

I haven't done anything!

Tom, I tried to get away. They wouldn't let me.

What's the big idea?

Come in, Tom, and join the party.

We're trying to catch a murderer.

Bruce, according to your autopsy report,

Peter Berton was shot with a .45 revolver,

the bullet entering the large left rhomboid,

puncturing the posterior lobe of the left lung

and the lower lobe of the right lung,

lacerating the parenchyma,

grazing the aorta,

and lodging against the 12th right costal rib.

That's your boy.

Nick: In other words,

it entered about here,

passed all the way through his body,

and ended up down there.

- Is that right? - That's right.

Well, that's very strange,

because for a .45 revolver

to get that amount of penetration,

it would have to be fired almost point-blank.

And for a bullet to have traveled

downward at such an angle,

the revolver would have to have been fired

from some little gremlin hanging from our porch roof.

Well, there was no little gremlin.

So he couldn't have been shot with a revolver.

No. The bullet that killed Peter Berton

was fired from a rifle

from a distance and at an elevation,

a rifle equipped with a silencer,

a rifle like yours, Tom,

which, by the way, has one bullet missing.

What are you driving at, Nick?

Simply this... Bruce, you switched

bullets on us at the autopsy.

It was a Japanese rifle bullet

you removed from Berton's body,

but it was a .45 revolver bullet

that you handed MacGregor.

What's the answer?

Well, I did that to protect Tom,

because everybody knew how jealous he was of Berton

on account of Laurabel.

You thought Tom might have killed Berton?

No, but what was I to think?

He had been raving around the house that night.

Oh, indeed?

Oh, uh, Mrs. Hobbi, on the night of the murder,

when I phoned Dr. Clayworth to come over,

where was he?

He was upstairs, sir.

You're quite sure of that?

Yes, sir.

I remember distinctly

of going to the stairs to call him.

Uh-huh. And how long before that

had Mr. Berton left the house?

Well, just a few minutes, sir.

That's all. Thank you.

So, I was right, Bruce.

Berton was at your house.

Well, I told you I had a patient, Nick.

Yes, but you withheld the fact

that the patient was Peter Berton.

It seems you were not downstairs

in your study all evening, as you said.

I might have, for a minute...

Are you trying to blame this on me?

Bruce, when we went out to visit

Crazy Mary the first time, you stood outside

and called to her. Remember?

What's the matter with that?

That's the only way you can get in to see her.

Exactly, but last night,

you didn't bother to call.

You just barged right in. Why was that?

I didn't just barge in. I...

Well, I was excited, I guess.

I don't know why I didn't.

I'll tell you why.

Because it would have been silly

to call to a dead woman,

and you knew she was dead because you'd killed her.

I think you're crazy.

What was your business with Draque?

I've never had any business with Draque.

You called on him frequently at his hotel.

I checked on that.

Oh, well, that is professional.

He was a patient of mine.

A patient? Is that right, Draque?

That's right.

It's true?

He's never been sick a day since I've known him.

Thank you.

Uh-uh.

The truth is that Draque gave you a chance

to pick up some important money,

and you talked that bumble-brained Berton kid

into carrying out the scheme.

When the news got out that I was here

on a mysterious investigation,

Berton got into a panic and decided

to come to me and make a clean breast of it.

That would have cooked your goose.

So, when Berton left your house and came over here,

you rushed up to your brother's room,

grabbed his rifle,

and just as Berton reached our door, you shot him.

You're a liar.

No, you're the liar, Bruce.

You lied about your association with Draque.

You lied about being downstairs when Berton was shot.

You knew Crazy Mary was dead when we went there.

You switched bullets at Berton's autopsy.

I told you I did that to protect Tom!

Miss Ronson, where was Tom

the night that Peter was murdered?

He was in Boston. I phoned him that night.

Nick: So, you weren't protecting Tom.

You were protecting yourself. Any other answers, Bruce?

Yeah. I... I've got one more.

Oh, you were always the smart boy, Nick.

You knew all the answers.

You caught the big fish.

You beat me at everything.

Now it's going to be different this time.

It's going to be a tie.

You've got me, but I've got you.

You haven't the nerve to pull the trigger.

Oh, haven't I, though?

No!

- Drop it, Bruce. - Leave me alone!

Take your hands off me!

I forgot to tell you.

Brogan removed the firing pin from that gun.

MacGregor: Get him out, men. - He can't beat me again!

Let me at him!

You can't beat me again!

Mr. Charles, I've been wanting to do this

ever since you got here.

May I have your autograph?

It's for my mother in Walla Walla.

Gee... Thanks.

That was wonderful, Nick.

Great work, my boy.

Well.

Nora: Why, Nicky, I do believe you popped a button.