All language subtitles for The.Thin.Man.Goes.Home.1944.1080p.BluRay.x265-RARBG_English

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.