Original subtitles

Barnaby Jones, starring Buddy Ebsen, also starring Lee

Merriweather, with guest stars Andrew Duggan, Rennie

Santoni, Victor Holchak, George

DiCenzo. Tonight's episode, Foul Play.

A friend of mine behind me. Let him come through.

Nice to have made it big.

Tony?

They still working out?

I think they're almost finished, Mr. Sanderson.

Coach Gorman asked me to get his briefcase from his car.

Well, when Frankie's through on the court, tell him I want to see him in my

office. Got it?

Yes, sir.

Big Bill wants to see you, Frankie.

Maybe it's important.

Thanks, Danny.

That old Santa's touch.

Come in, Frankie.

Mr. Sanderson?

Close the door.

Frankie, I'm a man that levels with his players, and I expect to be treated the

same way.

Sure, Mr. Sanderson. Your last year at Western Pacific, you led your teammates

to an unbroken string of victories leading to the championship game. You

won that game, though not by the margin people expected.

Did you deliberately shave points?

Did you, Frankie?

Did you try just a little bit less in that fourth quarter?

Mr. Sanderson, I... I won't use such information against you, but I have to

the truth.

My sister... She practically put me through school, Mr. Sanderson.

And when Alan... It's my brother -in -law, Alan Bailey.

Made this really stupid bet.

I don't want to hear it anymore.

As far as I'm concerned, the subject is closed, never to be opened again. I

don't want to hear it.

You keep your mind on the playoffs and nothing else.

Go on.

Baby brother never could lie. Name what you want and hear me clear, you cheap

punk. If ever I see... Mr.

Sanderson, you got it wrong.

Cash isn't doing me any good. You told me you had information that could

my star athlete. Well, I agree you have that information. Now, how much do you

want?

It's not cash, Mr. Sanderson.

I got in so deep, I made promises.

They asked if I could deliver Frankie.

I said yes.

You said you could deliver your own brother -in -law to throw one of my

I was ready to say anything.

My skin unaligned.

Now I know I never could talk to Frankie again about shaving points.

I figured talking to you would get the same job done.

You're a heavy favorite to sweep the playoffs.

So sweep, but give the crowd a run for their money.

You get a little ahead, yank Frankie from the game.

Tell your coach you want him saved as much as possible.

Get out of here.

A phone call from me to the commissioner.

And Frankie'd be suspended.

Out of the playoffs.

What about your franchise?

What about it?

All I have to do is say I reported a player's past misconduct to you.

You're keeping it quiet.

You'd lose your franchise.

Hey, Tony.

Mr. Sanderson's on the phone for you.

Hello, Mr. Sanderson.

Tony, when you get through in the locker room, go out and grab a bite, and then

come back here at, well,

and make it 8 o 'clock.

I need to have something.

Well, I can come over there now, Mr. Kyle. I don't need you now.

You go have your dinner and be back here exactly at 8 o 'clock.

Boy. Must have cleaned out your whole office, Mr. Sanderson. No, just some

I've collected over the years.

Tony, I need a favor. I hate to ask it.

Hey, Mr.

Sanderson, come on.

Take me a hundred years to pay back the favors I owe you.

You know where North Valley Canyon is?

About two miles this side of my place.

Oh, yeah, sure, I know.

Well, I want you to take that car there.

Drive it into the brush and lose it. Must be dozens of cars rusting away

You think you can handle it?

Oh, it doesn't look that old, Mr. Sanderson.

Was involved in a hit and run.

Oh, no injuries.

Just a scraped fender.

But my nephew, age 16, with just about that many traffic violations, well, if

the police found that car, he'd be up the creek.

Uh,

it's kids.

Take the far gate so the guard won't recognize you.

And wipe all the fingerprints off after you've ditched it.

And get rid of the plates.

Yes, sir.

The police asked if Alan ever disappeared from home before.

And I had to admit he did.

Those times you took off for Las Vegas?

He'd be gone for days at a time.

But he would always call me.

Now it's three days and no phone calls for him.

Any name given with the code?

None. And last night I'm positive that that car driving past this house was

watching.

Oh, my.

You're not doing well at all, are you?

You know, you remind me of a teacher I once had.

She had a theory that if you took two identical plants and you fed them and

watered them both the same and you whispered sweet nothings to one of them,

would do better than the other.

Oh, I also believe in plants being living, feeling things.

Don't you, Mr. Jones?

Well, I'm kind of afraid to.

If I did that, I could never walk on the grass again.

Hi, sis.

Hi, Sam.

Every time I'd see you, these plants looked better.

Right here, I'm Barnaby Jones.

Jones? I hope you don't mind the Frankie, but it feels kind of natural

following your career for so long. Well, I'm always flattered when somebody uses

my first name, Mr. Jones.

Mr. Jones is the private investigator I told you about, Frankie.

Oh, Alan's going to turn up, sis. He always turns up.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Bailey. I think that's all the information I need

right now.

Good luck on the playoffs, Frankie. Thank you, Mr. Jones.

Stay here for dinner, hon?

No, there's no time.

So, is Alan been getting in deep again?

I mean, he is bringing his paycheck home.

Let's just say I've been managing to pay the bills.

Well, I got some things I gotta do.

As soon as the playoffs are over, we'll spend some more time together.

Okay?

Okay, take care.

You can go right around to the patio, Frankie.

He's only on the phone with reporters.

Okay, thanks, Tony. I'll just be a couple of seconds.

Of course you can quote me. There's not a single injury on the team. Not among

the starters, anyway.

Yeah?

Yeah?

No, no rumors, Bob, on that Miami news service.

I'm having a late breakfast. Help yourself.

You know how they like to stir things up down Magnolia Way.

Yeah, you do the same.

Fourth call I've gotten, wondering whether we're using our regular lineup.

You look tired.

Well, I haven't slept too much, Mr. Sanderson, since we talked about that

college game. I told you to forget it.

Well, something started bothering me, sir. You see, last Sunday, my brother

-law disappeared.

That the lame brain that talked you into shaving those points?

Yeah, yeah, my sister's even hired a private detective, a man named Jones, to

look for him.

Anyway, the thing that bothers me is the fact... You're wondering how I got this

story, is that it?

It did seem like such a coincidence.

Listen, kid.

I never met your stupid brother -in -law.

I've been meaning to talk to you about that college game for a long time.

I'm probably making a big deal out of nothing here, I know that.

That's Anderson.

Oh, hello, Dave.

This is Chadwick, Omaha Post. I'm going to be quite a while.

Who said the franchise is for sale?

Where'd you get that fairy tale?

No, I'm not saying I didn't get an offer. I'm just saying the Wildcats are

for sale.

You're attending bar, you got a rap for selling to minors. Doing any better?

Listen, Mr. Jones, don't remind me of that ripoff.

How can you tell age today?

He's six feet two, she's wearing a D -cup.

Your stories always touch me, Leon.

Lot manager says last Sunday at four o 'clock was the last time he saw anything

of Alan Bailey.

He's lucky to see him on Sunday. But with Bailey picking up a paycheck on

Saturday,

the police aren't running locally, he's... Probably up in Las Vegas,

over some crap table.

Some people are looking for him. Las Vegas isn't exactly a town that affords

privacy.

Any information on Bailey will be appreciated.

Not enough?

Figured maybe I'd earn it now.

You see that convertible sitting at the curb? Look, but don't let him see you.

One of Cy Landau's boys stopped in here Monday looking for Alan Bailey. He's

been wanting that curb ever since.

Cy Landau.

Why is a big -time gambler looking for Penny Andy Alan Bailey?

Bailey's maybe tin horn, but he is the brother -in -law of the Wildcat star

player. You know, I don't know. Maybe it means nothing, but I figure that earns

me the 20.

Beautiful day, huh?

Kind of reminds me of Central Park.

I used to be on the track team, PS something or other.

Every morning for one hour, jogging.

Who are you? Cy Landau.

That's unimportant, Frankie.

Hey, listen, did your brother -in -law talk to you?

I haven't seen him.

Yeah, yeah, that's the word around town he skipped.

Well, it doesn't change things, Frankie.

You see, he said he had you in his pocket, so we invested accordingly.

Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I got another two miles to run

here. Kid, I don't like debates.

They give you nothing but a sore throat.

It's in your lap.

Your brother -in -law spoke for you.

He said he had you all tied up with a nice pink ribbon.

Now look, fella. No, you look.

And you listen.

You're gonna bring this first game in under six points, Frankie.

You're just a guy who can do it.

You proved it in your last year college game, according to Alan Bailey.

Could do well.

Under six points, Frankie.

Be a hero. Win the game.

But over six?

Break a leg, kid.

That's an old show business expression. It means good luck.

Tony Santos?

I'm Barnaby Jones.

You don't know me, but I was sitting right about here one night six years ago

when you broke the year's record for rebound.

I got hurt after that.

I know you're a friend of Frankie's, and I thought maybe you could help me

answer a couple of questions. I'm looking for his brother -in -law, Alan

I'm not sure I ever met him.

Well, maybe this would help you refresh your memory.

Oh, sure.

But I didn't know he was Frankie's brother -in -law.

I saw him with Mr. Sanderson last, I think it was Sunday.

That's it, Sunday.

About what Sunday?

Well, practice.

Brakes at five. It was five o 'clock.

Tony, when you get the time, would you take my car over to a station and have

the starter checked out?

Sure, I can do that right now, Mr. Sanderson.

Oh, it was nice meeting you, Mr... Jones. It was my pleasure, Tony.

Bill Sanderson, Mr. Jones.

Oh, howdy.

I heard Frankie mention that his sister had hired you to locate Al Bailey.

Any luck?

Well, the manager of the car lot where Bailey's been working said he hadn't

him since 4 o 'clock on Sunday, but I just heard that you'd seen him since

Yeah, about 5 o 'clock.

He spent quite a few minutes in my office trying to convince me that it

the smart thing for me to go in with him by the car lot he works for.

Quite an operator, though, Mr. Bailey.

Well, then, I guess we can assume that Bailey left here a little after 5.

He might have hung around after that, but I wouldn't know about that.

It's like Frankie's having an off day.

It happens.

Anything else I can do for you?

No, not a thing.

Good luck on the playoffs.

Thank you.

The more this guy Landau sells, the more scared I get.

The thing I can't get over is I don't want to kill a guy like Landau. He's got

me in his pocket. Brother -in -law's a jerk.

He knew he couldn't produce you to square off things with Landau. That's

he's hiding out someplace.

There's something you should know.

I did get the information about your last college game from your brother -in

-law. Al Bailey was in my office for about five minutes last Sunday, using

knowledge he had against you to blackmail me.

So I paid him off.

Mr. Sanderson, you shouldn't have done that.

Sir, I would have rather gone to the commissioner myself and finished this

thing once and for all. But your teammates would also suffer. They

whole year to get into the playoffs, and then you suspended?

I just wish I could come clean about all this without hurting anybody.

This Barnaby Jones your sister hired, he knows I saw your brother -in -law that

Sunday.

I told him Bailey was interested in a business proposition, so if Jones asked

you, you might say you knew that was on his mind.

I can't keep track of the number of things on Alan Bailey's mind, Mr.

You leave Landon to me.

He's bluffing.

He wouldn't dare manhandle an athlete in the public eye.

Mr. Jones.

Mind if I join you?

No, sit down.

It is a nice place.

Bet they got a picture of you somewhere on the wall.

Well, it's right over the bar.

They put it up my rookie year.

Tony, the mystery deepens, as they say, about the disappearance of Alan Bailey.

Seems he left the stadium about 8 o 'clock Sunday night.

That's according to the guard who was on duty who saw his car leave then.

That's three hours after he left Mr.

Sanders' office. I was just wondering whether you might not have seen him

somewhere around the stadium, walking, talking to somebody during that time?

No, I don't remember.

What time did you leave the stadium?

It was after 8 o 'clock.

I remember because I had to help.

Mr. Sanderson moved his locker.

His locker?

Yeah, it was full of books and things.

He gave the locker to me.

I have a room by the garage at his house.

You know, I just can't understand why nobody would have seen Bailey during

three hours around the stadium.

Well, maybe he wasn't in the stadium.

Maybe he just left his car while he was having dinner.

I do that sometimes.

Go out to Walkgate, have dinner, come back from my car.

Because that way it saves time trying to find parking space over here.

You know what, Tony? I never thought of that.

Well, don't tell too many people.

I just wish I could come up with as good an explanation of why he abandoned his

car in North Valley Canyon.

North Valley Canyon?

Yeah, I just came from there. The police found it this afternoon. They were

going over it for fingerprints.

The police aren't sure of the town building's car, though, right?

Oh, yeah, they're pretty sure of that, all right. It's the same car he's been

driving off that car lot where he works.

A yellow Mustang.

Something wrong, Tony?

No.

Can I say something to upset you?

Please, just leave me alone.

You said it was your nephew's car.

Mr. Jones said it was Alan Bailey's car.

What else did Mr. Jones say?

Just it was Bailey's car.

They found it in North Valley Canyon.

Is that right?

The locker, Mr.

Sanderson.

I keep thinking how heavy it was when we moved it from your office.

Of course it was heavy. It was full of books.

Well, when I got back from the canyon that night, I found

it by my door.

There was just a few books in it.

I told you you could have the locker and the books.

Are you puzzled?

Well, I mean, carrying it from your office, it was heavier than just a few

books could be. Tony, of course it was. That's because I removed most of the

books to my library, and the books that were left were yours.

Come on. Relax. Be comfortable. Have your drink. Sit down.

Did you, uh... Did you tell Jones about driving a sports car into the canyon?

No.

I got so upset.

All sorts of things going through my mind.

Me hiding Bailey's car and everybody looking for him. I know, Tony.

It's confusing and... But you just have to trust me.

Was there anything else that was said between you and Mr. Jones?

That was all.

Except they were looking for fingerprints in the car.

You wiped off everything that you touched, just as we discussed.

Maybe.

What does maybe mean? I don't remember.

Maybe I forgot.

I'm sorry, Mr.

Sanderson.

I'm sorry too, Tony.

You've been so good to me, Mr. Sanderson.

I hate to make you mad at me.

I'm not mad at you, Tony.

I just wish there was a way out.

A way out?

I want you to think very carefully.

Is there any possibility that you did wipe the fingerprints from the car?

The more I think of it, the more I know I forgot.

Finish your drink.

Maybe we can have a game.

Well, his wallet's gone, wristwatch, not a penny in his pocket. They even took

his shoes.

Why would Tony Sandoz be walking around in this part of town?

I don't buy that mugging theory, Lieutenant.

Give me something better.

I've got to think better.

You found Tony's fingerprints on Bailey's car. That means he drove it

canyon brush.

Why?

That's what I'm going to try to find out.

Guess I'll need a few lessons.

Just a matter of keeping your eye on the ball.

Watch your forehand.

Mr. Sanderson?

I wonder if you'd mind if we had a little talk?

Fran, why don't you go up to the house and make yourself a cold drink, and I'll

be with you.

Make one for me. The usual? Yeah. Okay.

I didn't mean to break into your game.

Rang the front doorbell.

Well, I've given the help a few days off. What can I do for you?

Well, I figured you'd be the logical one to talk to about Tony Santos. He works

for you, lives here. I don't care to discuss Tony Santos.

I was shocked by his death, but doubly shocked by the fact the police are

to tie him to Al Bailey's disappearance.

Yes, that is a puzzler.

Mr. Sanderson, how do you account for the narrow point spread as quoted by the

papers for tonight's game?

Gambling doesn't interest me. Well, have you any idea why the local gamblers

would be betting that your team won't look up to par tonight?

Not a one.

Getting back to Alan Bailey.

Jones.

I don't care to get back to him.

But I think everything is just starting to fit together.

Bailey's disappearance, Santos' death.

Gamblers betting that your team won't do too well tonight?

Maybe they've heard that Frankie Hampton is not so sharp in the practice

sessions.

I do have a guest waiting.

Good luck in the game tonight.

Call it seven by game time.

Ask for eight, but you settle for a six -point spread.

Right.

And find out if Milwaukee wants to lay anything more off.

Yeah, go on then.

Hey, Bill, how are you? I was going to call you later in the day. Have a cigar.

Have you got to any of my players?

I didn't think any of them could be bought.

How can you be handling the flood of money coming to the city on the narrow

spread that you're quoting?

Because we're coming to an understanding.

You? Me.

You think I'd ever make any kind of deal with you?

Perhaps not.

I really couldn't care, Bill.

You see, I happen to be in that lovely position of having my cake and eating

too.

Join me?

No.

What's that supposed to mean?

Well, a certain somebody who happens to be very close to your star player.

A brother -in -law, in fact, can testify that our player did some point shaving

in his last college game.

You're reading me, I believe.

Oh, indeed, yes.

And how are you producing this, this brother -in -law, with such testimony?

Well, I don't think it... Well, I'll be damned.

Big Bill knows how to play rough.

You and your boys are going to take the biggest bath in the history of the

playoffs.

But if I catch you close to any of my players again, I'll show you how rough I

can play.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You're getting all excited over nothing. You

didn't let me finish.

I was about to say, I don't think producing Alan Bailey is really

This is just a copy, but the original's locked in my safe.

Take a look at it. It's fascinating stuff.

Complete sworn statement from Alan Bailey on the points shaved by Frankie

Hampton in that college game.

We encouraged Bailey to come up with some collateral on his IOU, so to speak.

Hampton can deny it.

I can have that report in the commissioner's hands by 2 o 'clock this

and I'll make you a friendly wager.

Frankie Hampton will be the first to admit his guilt and gladly take the

suspension.

What do you want?

How much is your franchise worth, Bill?

Eight? Nine million dollars?

I happen to know most of that's on credit.

And I think some of your backers might call their notes if they felt the

franchise was slipping in value.

I said, what do you want?

Frankie's the key.

Now, you find ways to make him ineffectual tonight.

Everybody knows you called a game plan. That coach of yours is a figurehead.

So you tell him to press so he builds up the fouls. I mean, I could think of a

dozen ways to shave that game tonight.

There's going to be a problem.

I'd say you're a pretty good man at disposing of problems.

Take Alan Bailey for one example.

I need a flat -out answer, Bill.

All right.

But there's going to be a problem.

Mutual.

Detective named Jones.

Barnaby Jones.

It's like getting hit in the gut.

Hearing about Tony.

Did you talk to him that Sunday night he came in here for dinner?

Yeah, we always had a few words.

Like, what's new?

Like that.

Did he seem like his normal self?

Yeah, I guess.

Didn't seem worried like he was having to do something he didn't want to do?

No, no.

He was just killing time after he ate.

Only thing he had on his mind was doing something for Mr.

Sanderson.

Killing time.

He had to be in Mr. Sanders' office at exactly 8 o 'clock.

Did he use those words, exactly 8 o 'clock?

Sure.

I remember because he kept asking me for the time.

I'm sure you'll find all his things stored in the garage.

I saw them moving everything from his room this morning. But Mr. Sanderson can

give you more information.

He's at the sports pavilion.

First game's tonight.

I know where Mr. Sanderson is.

Should you be doing that? I mean, I'm just a guest here, but do you have

permission from Mr. Sanderson?

No, I don't have permission.

There are some people who might say I shouldn't be doing it.

Then why are you doing it?

Let's just say I lost something.

What'd you lose?

My temper.

Would I sound stupid if I asked what this is all about?

Oh, that's a perfectly logical question.

Ah.

My many years in this business.

Got a hunch it's something that belonged to a man I was looking for.

It's called blood.

Joe, making a last -minute change just doesn't make sense. If we do what you

say, we could blow the game in the first quarter. Trust my instincts, John.

We'll be upsetting their whole game plan.

Okay.

Well, that sounds good for openers.

I just took a sample of cement dust from that cement mixture in front of the

arena.

It doesn't look a thing like the sample I took out of the equipment locker.

Well, does that throw out your theory that Bill Thanderson is involved?

No. It just bolsters my theory that nothing comes easy in this business.

What does Bailey have to say?

Well, she hasn't received any more phone calls asking about her husband.

I think she's expecting the worst.

She's got every right to.

You going to the game?

She asked me to go with her. Frankie always sends her two tickets.

What about you?

Well, I think I'll pay a call on Mr.

Sanderson in that fancy office of his. Seems like a nice place to see the game,

and I might run into some interesting conversation.

Weltman's got a step on Hampton, and he lays it in.

Looks like the Wildcats are in for a tough night, the way Weltman's taking

Hampton apart.

Wildcats ball, inbound to Mills.

Garbage goes to Sloan. He fires 20.

It's good, too, for the Wildcats.

All right.

That's Lance's ball.

Inbound to Weldon.

Coming up across the 10 -second line.

Ball is stolen by Hampton.

Oh, Jones, come on in.

Not including?

Oh, not at all.

Nice to have company during the game.

Sit down.

Let's see who's charged with the foul.

It's Hampton.

That's two fouls already on Hampton.

and he makes it.

Wildcats down by seven.

We don't need the sound. We can see the close floor action on the set.

I see you're partial to wearing cowboy boots.

Yeah, I find them more comfortable than shoes.

Also, one has a sense of standing on one's own two feet.

Never thought of boots in exactly that way before.

Very fine leather.

Have any special way of cleaning them? Brush and polish.

Let's skip the trivia, Jones, and level.

The police suspect Tony of performing foul play on one Al Bailey, but I think

you suspect me.

You mind telling me why?

Oh, it's nice to get right to the point.

I have a theory. It has a few rough edges.

Well, maybe I can help you roughen it up a bit more.

Well, Bailey's car was seen leaving here about 8 o 'clock last Sunday night.

Only Bailey wasn't driving it. Tony was.

The guard said he saw Bailey leave at that time.

Oh, they saw the car leave, not Bailey. There's a difference.

Are you suggesting that I somehow conspired with Tony in killing Hal

Oh, no. No, I think Tony's too honest for that. He'd be incapable of

Are you suggesting, then, that I use Tony?

Wouldn't be too difficult.

My involvement.

You got a peg to hang that hat on?

That locker that you moved from this office, I took the liberty of examining

in your garage. And finding bloodstains and cement dust inside leads me to

believe that Mr. Bailey is reposing somewhere under the concrete that's

laid out by the parking lot.

And I put him there?

Scoreboard says you're nine points behind.

Is that where you, Mr. Sanderson?

Let me construct a case for you, Jones.

Supposing that Al Bailey was in my office right here at 5 o 'clock.

We had an argument, and in a fit of passion, I killed him. Although I'm hard

to explain what kind of passion Al Bailey could arouse in me, but I killed

Now, the first thing is to get rid of the body.

That's a stickler, but...

The

equipment locker.

The plot thickens, eh, Mr. Jones?

I couldn't do better myself.

So I wait until dark, and then Tony helps me carry the body and the locker

to my station wagon.

I tell Tony to drive Bailey's car off and dispose of it.

A little stickies there. Why would Tony drive his car away without first

questioning who it belonged to? We may never know that.

So, Tony leaves with Bailey's car, and I'm left with Bailey's body.

But not for long.

I drove the wagon over to the cement mixer.

I placed the body where concrete was being poured and do some more pouring.

Are we of one mind on this?

Frankie is loosening up.

Your team's only two points behind now.

Doesn't seem to make you happy, Mr. Sanderson.

Let's not continue this anymore, Jones.

If the body is buried here, there's only one conclusion that can be reached.

Tony sneaked back, on foot, probably after he saw me leave, and disposed of

body. Good theory, but I have a better one.

You know that it's almost impossible to get rid of cement dust from your shoes?

Meaning these boots, and I was wearing them that day, contained traces of

dust?

Jones, you fascinate me.

Well, I was hoping I would.

I'd be surprised if they didn't contain some small trace of cement dust, seeing

as how I was in the area a few days ago watching the men work.

Oh, that's enough to blow my whole case.

Congratulations, Mr.

Sanderson. Your team has just tied the score.

Jones, why don't you watch the rest of the game downstairs?

Tell Coach Gorman to give Frankie Hampton a rest. Play him in the next

Anything else I can do for you?

There's just one thing.

I spent an hour over at the National Cement Lab.

And the chemist over there tells me that the odds against two bags of cement

having identical contents are astronomical.

Jones, you really make a living doing this? The way the chemist explained it

me, bags of cement are like fingerprints.

A million hands all looking alike doing the same job, but each fingerprint is

just a little bit different.

Jones, you are boring me. If a police lab matched chemically the bits of

cement... in those boots with the cement that's cradling Bailey out by the

parking lot, that would prove that you were there last Sunday night working

that cement.

Am I still boring you, Mr. Sanders?

It may well be that you are walking around on the one piece of evidence that

would convict you of the murder.

Let's continue this conversation elsewhere.

You're an impulsive man, Mr. Sanderson.

Through that door.

Open it.

Get your hands up.

You know, you're shooting with dice belonging to the house, Sanderson.

Do I have a choice?

No. And now the police ought to have all access to your office coverage.

That's not even a good bluff.

You know, your biggest mistake was in not keeping that door up there locked.

Hold it.

You've run out of mistakes, Sanderson.

Your last one was forgetting to frisk me.

I'd be willing to bet that's a lot of nonsense.

Cement analysis.

It's surprising how often you've been wrong.

Come on.

I suppose I knew all along this would be the outcome.

Stay with her a while.

Of course.

I'm glad it's out in the open now, sis.

I've asked to talk to the commissioner, and I'll just take what counts.

It's going to be okay.

I want to thank you, Mr. Jones.

I feel a lot better now.

About my own situation.

I'm finally relaxed.

My mind's free.

I think the way it goes is an easy conscience is an easy mind.

Yes, sir.

Who's that by?

My mother.

She used to make up these things, tack them up over the fireplace, and we had

memorize them. If we didn't memorize them, we didn't get anything through.

Incidentally, Lieutenant, who won the ballgame?

The Wildcats by eight.

How do you win these bets, Barnaby? With a crystal ball?

This was an emotional bet.

I was rooting for Mr. Cy Landau to wind up on the losing side of his point

spread.

Follow your instincts when they are pure.

Another one of Mrs. Jones's over the fireplace.

Well, Lieutenant, what fancy restaurant are you going to take me to today?