All language subtitles for Charade

Oh, la!

Don't tell me:
Ya didn't know it was loaded.

- Sylvie!
- Oh.

Can't he do something constructive,
like start an avalanche or something?

Vas jouer, mon chéri.

When you start to eat like this,
something is the matter.

Sylvie,
I'm getting a divorce.

- What? From Charles?
- He's the only husband I have.

- I've tried to make it work,
really I have, but...
- But what?

Oh, I can't explain. I'm too miserable
to go on any longer like this.

It is infuriating that
your unhappiness does not turn to fat.

But I don't understand.
Why do you want a divorce?

Because I don't love him.
And he obviously doesn't love me.

That's no reason to get a divorce.

With a rich husband
and this year's clothes,

you won't find it difficult
to make some new friends.

I admit I came to Paris
to escape American provincial,

but that doesn't mean I'm ready
for French traditional.

I loathe the whole idea
of divorce, Sylvie.

But if only Charles had
been honest with me.

That's all I ask of anybody:
The simple truth.

But with Charles,
everything is secrecy and lies.

He's hiding something
from me, Sylvie...

something terrible...
and it frightens me.

Does he belong to you?

It's hers. Where'd you find him?
Robbing a bank?

He was throwing snowballs
at Baron Rothschild.

- Oh, thank you.
- Do we know each other?

- Do you think we're going to?
- How would I know?

Because I already know
an awful lot of people.

Until one of them dies
I couldn't possibly meet anyone else.

Hmm. Well, if anyone goes
on the critical list let me know.

- Quitter.
- Beg pardon?

You give up
awfully easily, don't you?

Jean-Louis, let us walk.
I've never seen a Rothschild before.

Clever fellow. Almost missed me.

Thank you.

- You're blocking my view.
- Oh.

- Which view would you prefer?
- The one you're blocking.

It's my last chance.
I'm flying back to Paris this afternoon.

- What's your name?
- Peter Joshua.

- Mine's Regina Lampert.
- Is there a Mr. Lampert?

- Yes.
- Good for you.

No. I'm getting a divorce.

- Please, not on my account.
- No. I don't really love him.

- At least you're honest.
- Hmm. Is there a Mrs. Joshua?

Yes, but we're divorced.

That wasn't a proposal.
I'm just curious.

Is your husband with you?

Oh, no, Charles is never with me.
What do people call you? Pete?

Mr. Joshua.

- I've enjoyed talking with you.
- Now you're angry.

No, I just have a lot of packing to do.
I'm going back to Paris too.

Wasn't it Shakespeare who said
when strangers meet in far off lands...

they should ere long
see each other again?

- Shakespeare never said that.
- How do you know?

It's terrible.
You just made it up.

Well, it sounds right.
You going to call me?

- Are you in the book?
- Charles is.

- Is there only one Charles Lampert?
- Mmm.

Lord, I hope so.

Good-bye, Sylvie, and thanks.

When you get your divorce
are you going back to America?

- Don't you want me to stay?
- Of course, but if you went
back and wrote me a letter...

You could have the stamps.
I'll get you some here, okay?

- Okay.
- Good-bye.

Merci.

Honorine?

Honorine!

Aaaah!

- Madame Charles Lampert?
- Yes.

I'm Inspector Edouard Grandpierre
of the police judiciaire.

Would you be so kind
as to come with me, please?

Well, madame?

You are positive?

You loved him?

I'm very cold.

We discovered your husband's body...

lying next to the tracks
of the Paris-Bordeaux railroad line.

He was dressed
only in his pyjamas.

Do you know any reason he might
have wanted to leave France?

Leave? No.

Your husband possessed a ticket
of passage on the Maranguape.

It sailed for Venezuela
this morning at 7:00.

I'm very confused.

- He was American, your husband?
- Swiss.

Ah, Swiss. His profession?

- He didn't have one.
- He was a wealthy man?

I suppose so. I don't know.

- About how wealthy, would you say?
- I don't know.

Where did he keep his money?

I don't know.

Besides yourself,
who is his nearest relative?

I don't know.

That's absurd, madame!
Totalement absurde.

I know. I'm sorry.

- It is all right?
- I wish you wouldn't.

- Les effets Lampert.
- D'accord.

Wednesday last your husband sold
the contents of the apartment
at public auction.

Everything.

The gallery paid him
1,250,000 new francs...

in dollars,
a quarter of a million.

The authorities in Bordeaux
searched his compartment on the train.

They searched it thoroughly.

They did not find $250000.

These few things are all that was found
in the train compartment.

There was no other baggage. Your husband
must have been in a great hurry.

One wallet containing 4,000 francs.

One agenda. His last notation
was made yesterday, Thursday...

5:00 p.m.,
Jardin de Champs Elysées.

- Why there?
- I don't know.

- Perhaps he met somebody.
- Obviously.

One ticket of passage
to South America.

One letter, stamped but unsealed,
addressed to you.

May I see it, please?

"My dear Regina, I hope you
are enjoying your holiday.

Megeve can be so lovely
at this time of year.

The days pass very slowly
and I hope to see you soon.

As always, Charles.

P.S. Your dentist called yesterday.
Your appointment has been changed."

Not much, is it?

We took the liberty
of calling your dentist.

We thought perhaps
we would learn something.

- Did you?
- Yes.

Your appointment has been changed.

One key to your apartment.

One comb.

One fountain pen.

One toothbrush.

One tin of tooth powder.
That is all.

If you will sign this list,
you may take the things with you.

Is that all?
May I leave now?

One more question.

Is this your husband's passport?

Yes.

And this?

I don't understand.

And this?

And this?

Oh, I telephoned but nobody answered.

- Hello.
- Hello.

I wanted to tell you how sorry I am
and see if there's anything I can do.

How did you find out?

It's in the afternoon papers.

- I'm very sorry.
- Thank you.

I pressed the bell
but it isn't ringing, I guess.

I know.
There's no electricity.

Well, where did everything go?

Charles sold it at auction.
This is all I have left.

I love this room, but Charles
never saw it... only the things in it.

I think I prefer it this way.

What are you going to do?

Try and get my job back
at E.U.R.E.S.C.O., I suppose.

- Doing what?
- I'm a simultaneous
translator, like Sylvie.

Only she's English into French
and I'm French into English.

That's what I was doing
before I married Charles.

The police probably think
I killed him.

"Instant divorce," you mean?

Something like that.

It's terrible to end it
this way, though...

tossed off a train
like a sack of third class mail.

- Well, come on. You can't stay here.
- I don't know where to go.

We'll find you a hotel.

Nothing too expensive.

I'm not a lady of leisure
anymore, you know.

Something clean and modest and
near enough to E.U.R.E.S.C. O...

so you can take a cab
when it rains.

- Okay?
- Okay.

Not a very large turnout, is it?

Didn't Charles have any friends?

Don't ask me.
I'm only the widow.

If Charles had died in bed,
we wouldn't even have him.

At least he knows
how to behave at funerals.

Have you no idea
who could have done it?

Until two days ago the only thing I
really knew about Charles was his name.

Now it seems I didn't
even know that.

- He must have known Charles pretty well.
- How can you tell?

He's allergic to him.

Bless you.

- Do you know him?
- Never seen him before.

"Arrivederci," Charlie.

Miz Lampert, ma'am...

Uh, Miz Lampert, ma'am,

Charlie had no call
of doin' it that-a-way.

No siree.

What next?

Mi pardon, madame.

- Merci.
- Pardon. Pardon.

Pardon. Pardon.

- Who's it from?
- The American Embassy.

I bluffed the old man out of
the last pot with a pair of deuces.

What's so depressing
about that?

Well, if I can do it,
what are the Russians doing to him?

Hello?

Hello?

Is there anything wrong,
Miss Tompkins?

Uh, Miss Tompkins isn't here.

Oh, I'm sorry. My secretary
must have gone to lunch.

- Uh, you are...
- Mrs. Charles Lampert.

Oh, yes. Please, uh,
come in, Mrs. Lampert.

Excuse me for a moment,
Mrs. Lampert.

It's a stubborn little devil.

Dry cleaning-wise,
things are all fouled up.

I had a really excellent man
on the Rue Ponthieu,

but H.Q. Asked us to use
the plant here in the building...

to ease the gold outflow.

Mr. Bartholomew, are you
quite sure you know who I am?

You're Charles Lampert's
widow, yes?

I'm very sorry.

Last time I sent out a tie,
only the spot came back.

Voila, as they say.

Won't you sit down,
Mrs. Lampert?

I've got something here.

I've got liverwurst, liverwurst,
chicken and liverwurst.

No, thank you.

Mrs. Lampert, do you know
what C.I.A. is?

I don't suppose it's
an airline, is it?

Central Intelligence Agency.
C.I.A.

You mean spies and all of that?

- Only we call them agents.
- "We"? You mean you...

Someone has to do it,
Mrs. Lampert.

I didn't think people like you
were supposed to admit...

Oh, I'm not an agent.
I'm an administrator, a desk jockey...

trying to run a bureau of overworked men
with underallocated...

- Funds.

Congress seems to think
that all a spy needs...

- Agent.
- Yes.

That all he needs is a code book,
a cyanide pill and he's in business.

What's all this got to do
with me, Mr. Bartholomew?

Your husband was wanted
by the United States government.

May I have a sandwich, please?

- Chicken or liverwurst?
- Chicken.

To be more specific, your husband
was wanted by this agency.

- So that was it.
- Yes.

We, of course, knew him
by his real name...

Voss. Charles Voss.

All right, Mrs. Voss.

I'd like you to look at this photograph
for a moment, please.

Tell us if you recogni...
Oh.

By the way, have you seen this one?

Scott, Cathy and Ham Jr.

- Very sweet.
- Aren't they?

- All right, Mrs. Voss...
- Please stop calling me that.

- Lampert's the name
on the marriage license.
- I'm terribly sorry.

Mrs. Lampert, would you look at that
and tell me if you recognize anyone?

Just a moment.
Have a good look.

- It's Charles.
- Very good.

He looks so young.
When was this taken?

1944. Next, please.

The man who was
at the funeral yesterday.

A tall man in a corduroy suit.

Does the name Tex Penthollow
mean anything to you?

No.

- You like some wine?
- No, thank you.

Next, please.

He was there too. A little less hair,
but it's the same one.

Do you know him, Mrs. Lampert?
Leopold W. Gideon?

- No.
- The last one, please.

That's a face
you don't forget.

- He was there too.
- Herman Scobie.

- You've never seen him before either?
- No, thank heaven.

Mrs. Lampert, I'm afraid you are
in a great deal of danger.

Why should I be in any danger?

You're Charles Voss' wife.

Now that he's dead
you're their only lead.

Mr. Bartholomew,
if you're trying to frighten me...

you're doing a first-rate job.

Please do what we ask, Mrs. Lampert.
It's your only chance.

Gladly. But I don't know what you want.
You haven't told me.

Oh? I haven't?

Well, it's the money,
Mrs. Lampert, the money.

The $250,000 Charles Voss
received from the auction.

Those three men want it too.
They want it very badly.

But that's Charles' money,
not theirs.

Oh, Mrs. Lampert, I'd love to see you
try and convince them of that.

- Oh, boy.
- But then whose is it? His or theirs?

Ours.

Oh.

Charles Voss stole $250,000
from the United States government.

- I'm afraid we want it back.
- But I don't have it.

That's impossible, Mrs. Lampert.

You're the only one
who could have it.

Mr. Bartholomew, if I had
a quarter of a million dollars,

believe me, I'd know it.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Lampert,
you've got it.

You mean it's just lying around
somewhere, all that cash?

Or a certified check,
safe deposit key, baggage claim.

- You look for it, Mrs. Lampert.
I'm quite sure you'll find it.
- But...

Look for it. Look just as hard
and as fast as you can.

You may not have
a great deal of time.

Those three men know you've got
the money just as surely as we do.

You won't be safe until
the money's in our hands.

Is that clear?

Here's where you're
to call me, day or night.

It's a direct line
to both my office...

And my apartment.

And please don't tell anyone
about coming to see us today.

It could prove fatal
for them as well as yourself.

As I said, Mrs. Lampert, I'm afraid
you're in a great deal of danger.

I regret very much
having to say this, but...

please remember
what happened to your husband.

- Hello.
- Hello, Peter.

Didn't you telephone me to meet you
on that corner over there?

I'm sorry.
I heard the children laughing.

- Do you understand French?
- Not a word.

I'm still having trouble
with English.

The man and the woman
are married.

Oh, I can see that. They're batting
each other over the head.

Ay, ay, ay!

- Ooh, la, la, la!
Qu'est-ce qu'il se passe?

- Who's that with the hat?
- That's the policeman.

He wants to arrest Judy
for killing Punch.

- What's she saying now?
- That she's innocent.

She didn't do it.

- Oh, she did it, all right.
- I believe her.

- Well, who was that?
- That's Punch, of course.

"Punch, of course"?
I thought he was dead.

He's only pretending,
to teach her a lesson.

Only he is dead, Peter.
I saw him. He's not pretending.

Somebody threw him off a train.

Charles was mixed up in something
terrible. What am I going to do?

I wish you'd let me help you.

It doesn't sound like the sort of thing
a young woman can handle by herself.

How 'bout making me vice president
in charge of cheering you up?

Starting tonight?

Bonsoir, messieurs, dames,
ladies and gentlemen,
buona sera, signore e signori.

Ce soir, comme tous les autres
soirs d'ailleurs, vous savez bien...

qui ici au Black Sheep Club,
l'attraction, c'est vous!

- Alors, approchez-vous,
messieurs, dames,

venez ici, step right up,
ladies and gentlemen,

- What's going on?
- Fun and games.

- Evidently we're
the floor show. Come on.
- You and me?

Everyone.

Avanti, avanti, signore e signori.

Ecoutez-moi bien.

Ah, écoutez-moi.
Alors, il y a deux équipes.

There are two teams, et pour
chaque équipe, il y a une orange.

For every team there is one orange.
Una aranja.

Vous mettez l'orange
sur le menton comme ça...

put the orange in like so.

Vous passez l'orange à la
personne derrière vous...

You pass the orange
to the person behind you,

mais sans utilisez les mains.

Without the use of your hands.
Are you ready?

Uno, due, tre...

- Mrs. Lampert,
- Who are you?

- Didn't Charles tell you, Mrs. Lampert?
- Tell me what?

It doesn't belong to you.
You do know that, don't you?

- I don't know anyth...
- Mrs. Lampert!

Any morning now you could
wake up dead, Mrs. Lampert.

- Leave me alone!
- Dead, Mrs. Lampert.
Like Charles, Mrs. Lampert.

Stop it!

- What's the trouble?
- He stepped on my foot.

- Forgive me.
- Wait here. I won't be long.

It was quite unintentional,
I'm sure.

Mr. Bartholomew,
this is Regina Lampert.

I just saw one of those m...
Mr. Bartholomew, can you hear me?

Mr. Bartholomew,
this is Regina Lampert. I just...

- Howdy.
- What do you want?

- You must be kiddin'.
- No, I'm not.

Come on now, Miz Lampert.

You know what it is,
and you're gonna get it for me too.

'Cause you know
I ain't foolin' around here.

No siree Bob.

- Stop that, please!
- Now, don't make too much noise,
Miz Lampert.

It could get a whole lot worse,
you know.

- It belongs to me, Miz Lampert,
and you're gonna get it for me,

Or your life ain't gonna be worth
the paper it's printed on.

- You understand what I'm sayin' to you?
- Stop! Please stop!

- You go home and think it over
real careful like, you hear?
- You're absolutely insane!

- Aaaaah!

- What's the matter?

What are you doing in here?

I'm having a nervous breakdown.

Now hold it. I've waited long enough.
What happened back there?

I'm not sure if I'm supposed
to tell you or not.

- What does that mean?
- He said if I told anybody...

it could prove fatal for them
as well as me.

- Who said?
- That's what I'm not supposed to say.

Eh...

- Now stop that nonsense.
- Stop bullying me.

- Everybody's bullying me.
- I'm not bullying you.

Yes, you were.
You said it was nonsense.

Being murdered in cold blood
is not nonsense.

Why don't you try it sometime?

- Would you mind seeing me to the door?
- Of course not.

It's a good place
for making friends.

You said this afternoon your husband
was mixed up in something.

How do you shave in there?

What was it?

- What was what?
- What your husband was mixed up in.

Look, I know it's asking you to stretch
your imagination, but don't you think...

you could pretend just for a moment
that I'm a woman?

I could already be arrested
for transporting a minor
above the first floor.

- Here you are.
- Where?

- On the street where you live.
- How about once more around the park?

How about getting out of here?
Come on, child. Out.

- Won't you come in for a minute?
- No, I won't.

I don't bite, you know,
unless it's called for.

- How would you like a spanking?
- How'd you like a punch in the nose?

- Stop treating me like a child.
- Well, then stop behaving like one.

If you want to tell me
what's troubling you, fine.

If not, I'm tired, it's late
and I want to go home to bed.

Oh...

Do you know
what's wrong with you?

No. What?

Nothing.

Aaaah!

Where is it, lady?

I don't know.

I want it.

You give it to me.

- It's mine!
- Aaaaah!

Peter! Peter!

- A man tried to kill me!
- What?

Peter?

Peter?

Peter, are you all right?

- Oh, Peter. Are you hurt?

Mm-hmm.
I sprained my pride.

How are you?

- Scared.
- You'll be all right.

- Where did he go?
- Out the window, I guess.

Lock the door, and don't
let anyone in except me.

- And close these windows after me.
- Be careful.

You took the words
right out of my mouth.

Alistair!

- What is it now, Pamela?
- It happened again!

Another strange man peered
in the window at me but then went away.

Bad luck, Pamela.

- That was a dumb move, Herman.
- Oh, man. And then some.

If you'd let us know
you was goin' to her room...

we could have done
somethin' to keep him busy.

But sneakin' up
that-a-way by yourself.

What did you expect him to do?

Walk up and shake you
by that hand of yours?

Dumb move, Herman.

Yes, it was a dumb move, Herman.
What is the matter with you?

- You want some more?
- Never mind that. Did you get the money?

How could I with the three Marx Brothers
breathing down my neck?

I thought we had an agreement.

Now, the girl trusts me.

If she's got the money I'll find out
about it. But you just leave me alone.

We took all the chances.
The money belongs to us, not to him.

Now, don't be piggy, Herman.

A third of nothing is nothing.
Just think about that.

But make up your mind.
She's waiting for me.

I don't see how another 24 hours
could hurt anything.

Not after all these years.

Then he gets it out of your share.

Not mine.

Not mine!

- Either one of you got
the room next to her?

- Yeah, I have. Why?
- Get another room. I want to use it.

Hmm.

If you do find that money,

you ain't gonna forget to tell
your buddies about it, are you?

- Don't worry.
- Oh, I ain't worryin'.

You see this little fella here?

Oh, he worries.

And he's even meaner than I am.

- Who is it?
- It's me, Peter.

There was no trace of him.

Why don't you confide in me
and tell me what this is all about?

There are three men.
He's one of them.

They think I have a quarter of
a million dollars that belongs to them.

- Go on.
- That's all.

- No, it isn't. Where's the money?
- I don't know!

They killed Charles to get it,

but he must not have had it
with him on the train.

- So they think he left it with you.
- But he didn't.

I've looked everywhere, and if I don't
find it they're going to kill me.

No, they won't.
I won't let them.

Peter, help me.
You're the only one I can trust.

I'll help you.

I told you I would. Come on.

Oh, I'm so hungry I could faint.

And I've gotten your suit all wet.

- That's all right. It's a drip-dry.

- Wipe your eyes.

Promise me you'll never lie to me
the way Charles did.

Why do people have to tell lies?

Usually because they want something.
They're afraid the truth won't get it.

- Do you tell lies?

- Hello?
- Mrs. Lampert, it's me,

the man who was in your room
a few minutes ago.

- What do you want?
- Who is it?

It's the man
you had the fight with.

- Is Dyle with you?
- Who?

The man I had the fight with, lady.
Dyle. That's his name.

What's wrong?
Is he still there?

- Yes, that's right.
- What's he saying?

Don't trust him.
Don't tell him anything.

He's after the money.

What was all that about?

He...

- He said if I don't give him
the money he'll kill me.
- Oh, don't take it seriously.

He's just trying to frighten you.

- I believe what he said.
- No, no. It's just a lot of words.

Words can hurt.

I know.

Try to get some sleep.
You'll feel better.

Don't worry. I've arranged
to take the room next door to you.

So you'll be all right.

If you want anything,
just bang on the wall.

Better lock the door after me.

Good night.

I am calm, Mr. Bartholomew.

What I'm trying to say
is that there's someone else.

- What?
- Someone who wasn't in that photograph today.

He says his name is Peter Joshua,
but it isn't. It's Dyle.

- Are you still there, Mr. Bartholomew?
- Yes, yes, Mrs. Lampert.

I don't know
who this Mr. Dyle is,

but it's possible we were wrong
about who killed your husband.

You mean... he might have?

Mr. Bartholomew, I'm catching
the next plane out of here.

I'm not going to sit around for somebody
to make chopped liver out of me.

Now, take it easy,
Mrs. Lampert. Take it easy.

Where are you now?
Can you meet me at the market?

- At Les Halles?
- Yes. Opposite St. Eustace.

- I'll meet you there in 15 minutes.
- All right, I'll be there.

Allez vite, n'importe ou.
N'importe ou! Vite!

Suivez ce taxi.

- Were you followed?
- Yes, by Dyle. But I lost him.

I'm beginning to think women
make the best spies.

Agents.

- He has a gun, Mr. Bartholomew.
- No.

- But I saw it.
- No, that's not Carson Dyle.

- Carson?
- There's only one Dyle connected
with this affair, Mrs. Lampert.

That's Carson Dyle.

You mean you've known
about him all along?

It's enough to make you
a vegetarian, isn't it?

It's just lucky I'm not hanging
next to one of those right now.

Why didn't you tell me
you knew about Dyle?

I didn't see any point.
Dyle's dead.

Mr. Bartholomew,
what is all this about?

In 1944, five members
of the O.S. S...

the military espionage unit...

were ordered
behind the German lines...

for the purpose of delivering
$250,000 in gold...

to the French underground.

The five men
were your husband Charles,

the three men
at his funeral yesterday...

- and Carson Dyle.
- Oh.

But instead of delivering
the gold, they stole it.

- How?
- By burying it,

then reporting
the Germans had captured it.

All they had to do was
come back after the war,

dig it up
and split it five ways.

Quarter of a million dollars
with no questions asked.

May I have a cigarette,
please?

I can't stand those things.

It's like drinking coffee
through a veil.

Everything went smoothly enough
until after the gold was buried.

Before they could get out
they were ambushed by a German patrol.

A machine gun separated
Scobie from his right hand...

and caught Carson Dyle
full in the stomach.

What was wrong with that one?

Nothing, I guess.
What happened then?

Have you any idea what
these things cost over here?

Please go on, Mr. Bartholomew.
What happened then?

Carson Dyle was dead,
but Scobie was able to travel. So...

- La soupe, c'est pour qui?
- Pour moi.

Where was I?

- Carson Dyle was dead.
- Yes.

The others finally got back to the base
and waited for the war to end,

only Charles couldn't wait
quite as long as the others.

He beat them back to the gold, took
everything for himself and disappeared.

It's taken Gideon, Tex and Scobie all
this time to catch up with him again.

But if they stole all that money,
why can't you arrest them?

Shh!

We know what happened from the bits
we were able to paste together,

but we still have no proof.

What's this got to do
with the C.I.O.?

C.I.A., Mrs. Lampert.

It's an extension
of the wartime O.S.S.

It's our money
and we want it back.

I'm sorry, Mr. Bartholomew, but nothing
you've said has changed my mind.

I'm leaving Paris tonight.

Wouldn't advise that,
Mrs. Lampert.

Better consider what happened
to your husband when he tried to leave.

Those men won't be very far away
no matter where you go.

In fact, I don't even see any point
in your changing hotels.

Now, please help us,
Mrs. Lampert.

Your government
is counting on you.

Well, if I'm going to die I might
as well do it for my country.

That's the spirit.
Here's what I want you to do.

We're anxious to know who this man is,
the one calling himself Dyle.

I want you to find out.

Why me?

You're in an ideal position.
He trusts you.

Besides, you yourself said
women make the best spies.

Agents.

Oh, pardon.

- Fraulein. Fraulein!
- What are you doing following me?

It's gonna look like a parade.
Stop it!

How are you? Nice to see you.
When did you arrive?

It's a lovely town. Are you having
a good time? So many things to see.

Fraulein! Fraulein!

If you don't stop following me
I'll call the police!

Taxi!

- Dyle, please. D-Y-L-E.
- Yes, Mr. Dyle. I remember.

- No, I'm sorry, Mr. Dyle. Nothing today.
- Thank you.

Mr. Dyle, please.
You're wanted on the telephone.

Mr. Dyle. Cabin four.

Mr. Dyle. Cabin four, please.

- Yes?
- Good morning, Mr. Dyle.

- Reggie?
- It's the only name I've got.
How 'bout you?

No cat and mouse. You've got me.
What do you want to know?

Why you lied to me!

I had to. For all I knew
you were in on the whole thing.

- I'm trying to find out who you are.
- You know my name. It's Dyle.

Carson Dyle is dead.

Yes, he is. He was my brother.

Your brother?

The army thinks he was
killed in action by the Germans,

but I think they did it...
Tex, Gideon, Scobie and your husband...

because my brother wouldn't go along
with their scheme to steal the gold.

I think he threatened to turn them in
and they killed him.

I'm trying to prove it. They think I'm
working with them, but I'm not, Reggie.

I'm on your side.
Just believe that.

How can I? You lied to me
just the way Charles did.

After promising you wouldn't.

Oh, I want to believe you,
Peter...

I can't call you that anymore,
can I?

Take me a while to get used to
your new name. What is it?

Hmm? Hello? Hello?

Do anything funny or try to talk
to anyone and I'll kill you, Dyle.

You'll wreck your raincoat.

Take the next car, please.

Look out. Didn't want you
to bump your head.

All right, get in there.

All right, turn around.

- Now sit down.

- Now what?
- We wait. With our mouth shut.

Oh, I'm sorry about that.

Okay. Up there.

- Do I knock or something?
- No, open it...

and keep right on goin'.

The view had better be worth it.

Very pretty. Now what?

I was afraid of that.

I'll give you a chance, Dyle,
which is more than you'd give me.

Where's the money?

Is that why you dragged me
all the way up here?

To ask me that?

- She has it.
- And I say maybe you both have it.

One more time, Dyle.
Where is it?

Supposing I had it...
which I don't...

do you really think I'd
just hand it over to you?

Step back.

Back where?

That's the idea.

Hmm. N-Now, just a minute.
Take it easy.

- Herman?
- What?

- How you doing?
- How do you think?

If you get bored,

try writing "Love thy neighbor"
100 times on the side of the building.

Monsieur, next time,
please, use the keyhole, hmm?

- Is that you?
- Yeah.

- You gonna open up?
- Sure. Wait a minute.

Don't you know it's impolite to leave
someone holding... the phone?

What happened?

Oh, I met a man with sharp nails.

- Scobie?
- Mm-hmm.

I left him hanging around
the American Express.

Come in. I've got something
that stings like crazy.

You're the kind of girl
that'd have something like that.

Sit down.

Uh, w-w-wait a minute.

- W-W-What is that stuff?
- Marvelous stuff.

- Gonna hurt you much more
than it's gonna hurt me.
- I'll bet...

Ohh! Did you hear
something rip?

- No.
- Oh. That's odd.

Listen, I-I only
came in for an estimate.

Sit still.
It's not too bad.

You won't be able to lie
on your back for a few days.

- But then, you can lie
from any position, can't you?
- Oh-ho-ho...

- Ooooh!
- Does it hurt?

- What?
- Does it hurt?

- Ohh! Are you kidding?

Have you got a bullet I could bite,
like they do in the movies?

Are you really
Carson Dyle's brother?

Would you like to see
my passport?

Passport?
What kind of a proof is that?

- Well, would you like
to see where I was tattooed?
- Yes.

All right,
we'll drive around that way.

You could at least tell me
what your first name is these days.

Alexander.

Okay, Alexander.

- You're done.
- Good.

You're a new man.

I'm sorry the old one
couldn't tell you the truth,

but I had to find out
your part in all this.

Is there a Mrs. Dyle?

Yes, but we're divorced.

I thought that was Peter Joshua.

I'm just as difficult
to live with as he was.

Alex, how can you tell
if anyone's lying or not?

- You can't.
- There must be some way.

There's an old riddle
about two tribes of Indians.

The Whitefeet always tell the truth
and the Blackfeet always lie.

One day you meet an Indian,
you say,

"Hey, Indian, what are you, a truthful
Whitefoot or a lying Blackfoot?"

He says, "I'm a truthful Whitefoot."
But which is he?

Why couldn't you just
look at his feet?

Because he's wearing moccasins.

Well, then,
he's a truthful Whitefoot, of course.

Why not a lying Blackfoot?

- Which one are you?
- A truthful Whitefoot.

Come in.

- Sit down.
- Why? Do you wanna look at my feet?

Yes.

- Uh...
- Ohh.

Hey, knock it off.
Come on, Reggie, listen to me.

Here it comes,
the fatherly talk.

- You forget I'm already a widow.
- So was Juliet, at 15.

- But I'm not 15.
- Well, that's your trouble...
you're too old for me.

- Can't you be serious?
- Oh! You just said an horrible word.

- What did I say?
- Serious.

When a man gets to be my age, that's
the last word he ever wants to hear.

I don't want to be serious,
and I especially don't want you to be.

Okay, we'll just sit around all day
being frivolous. How about that, hmm?

- Reggie, cut it out.

Okay.

- Now what are you doing?
- Cutting it out.

- Who told you to do that?
- You did.

I'm not through
complaining yet.

Oh.

- Now cut it out.
- Alex, I think I love you.

- Hey, the telephone's ringing.

- Never mind.

Whoever it is won't give up,
and neither will I.

Just a minute.
Go on, take it.

Hello.

I'm sorry, uh...
I was just, uh...

nibbling on something.

Say, I'd appreciate it
mighty highly...

if you'd, uh, wiggle on over to room 46
and chew the fat for a spell.

Give me one reason
why I should.

Yeah. A little one,
about six or seven.

Keeps callin' for Aunt Reggie.

Ain't that cute?

They've got Jean-Louis.

I'll be right there.

Hey, Tex, do somethin' with this kid,
will ya? My leg's goin' to sleep.

Upsy-daisy.

Are you a real cowboy?

Yeah, sure I am, kid.

So where's your gun?

Will you put that thing away!

Jean-Louis.

Howdy, Miz Lampert.

Who invited him?

Well, Herman,
I see you had a happy landing.

I must call Sylvie right away.

- I'm afraid that'll
have to wait, Mrs. Lampert.
- It's his mother.

She won't be anybody's mother
unless you answer some questions.

- This ain't no game, Miz Lampert.
- We want that money now.

Why don't you keep quiet
and stop threatening the child.

He hasn't got the money,
and neither has Mrs. Lampert.

Then who does?

I don't know, Herman.
Maybe you do.

Me?

- Or you.
- Ohh!

- Or him.
- Why, that's the most
ridiculous thing I ever...

- Listen to this man.
- Man's gone loco.

Now hold it. Suppose one of you
found Charles here in Paris.

Even bumped into him
by accident,

followed him when he tried to run out
again, cornered him on the train,

threw him out the window and,
without bothering to tell the other two,

took all the money for yourself.

If one of us did that,
he wouldn't hang around waiting
for the other two to figure it out.

But he'd have to. Don't you see?
If he left, he'd be admitting his guilt.

Whoever it is has to wait here
pretending to look for the money,

waiting for the rest of us
to give up and go home.

He's just tryin' to throw us off.
They got it, I tell ya.

Why don't we
search their rooms?

That's all right with us.

Then what are we wastin' time for?
Let's go.

- While we're waiting,
we'll search yours.
- Not my room!

Well, Herman.
You have something to hide?

Then there are no objections.

All right, here's my key.

- I'll take that.
- My room's open.

Everyone. Whoa. Come on.

Now, you two just
make yourselves to home here.

Well, let's get busy.

Come on, Jean-Louis.
Come on. Oh, that's fine.

- Who gets your vote?
- Scobie. He's the one who objected.

All right, I'll take
Tex's room here and Gideon's.

You take Jean-Louis with you,
and bolt the door from inside.

Come on, Jean-Louis.
We'll have a treasure hunt.

Tex?

Man, that's Charlie's stuff.

Looks like it.

- Think we ought to call Herman?
- What for?

If it's not here,
why bother him?

And if it is?

Why bother him?

Oh.

- What?
- Sure there's nothing missing here?

No, everything's here. The police
have kindly provided us with a list.

Sure ain't nothin' here worth
no quarter of a million dollars.

Not unless we're blind.

I keep telling myself we've
stolen a great deal of money,

but up to now I've yet
to see a penny of it.

You think maybe we're fishin'
up the wrong stream?

Meaning what?

Suppose one of us has it.
You know, like the man says.

Now, that'd be
mighty distasteful,

us bein' veterans
of the same war and all.

Well, you know I'd tell you
if I had it.

Naturally. Just like I'd
tell you if I had it.

Naturally.

And that goes for Herman too.

Naturally.

He's all right, Sylvie.
Honestly.

Just hurry over as soon
as you can. Okay. Good-bye.

Now, if you had a treasure,
where would you hide it?

I would bury it in the garden.

Swell, but this man
doesn't have a garden.

- Oh, neither do I.
- You don't?

Well, if you had to hide it
in this room, where would you put it?

- Up there.
- On top of that cupboard?

You know something?
You may be right.

Oh, I hope I don't find any hairy
little things living up here.

Hey, there is something.
And it's heavy.

I found it!
I found it! I found it!

If you think you're getting credit
for this, you're crazy.

We won! We won! We won!

We won! We won!
We won! We won!

We found it! We found it!

- Did you find it?
- No.

- What do you mean, no?
- The kid was yellin'.

Up there. It's up there.

Believe me,
there's nothing up there.

Yeah?

Oh!

Oh! Jumpin' frijoles.

It's Herman's spare.

- Where is he?
- He's over in my room.

You'd better take the boy
out in the hall.

Oh, now, who would've done
a mean thing like that?

I'm not quite sure.

Well, this ain't my room.

Mine neither.

Oh, the police aren't going to
like this a bit.

We could dry him off and take him
down the hall to his own room.

He really doesn't look too bad.

Oh, poor old Herman.

Seems like him and good luck
always was strangers.

Well, maybe now he'll meet up
with his other hand someplace.

A man drowned in his bed?

Impossible.

And in his pyjamas... the second one
in his pyjamas. C'est trop stupide.

Stop lying to me.

This nose tells me
when you are lying.

It is never mistaken,
not in 23 years.

This nose will make me
Commissaire of Police.

Mr. Dyle, or Mr. Joshua...
Which is it?

Dyle.

And yet you registered
in Megeve as Mr. Joshua.

Didn't you know it was against the law
to register under an assumed name?

- No, I didn't.
- It's done in America all the time.

None of you will be
permitted to leave Paris...

until this matter is cleared up.

Only I warn you,
I will be watching.

We use the guillotine
in this country.

I have always suspected
that the blade coming down...

causes no more than
a slight tickling sensation...

on the back of the neck.

It is only a guess, of course.

I hope none of you
ever finds out for certain.

Who do you think did it?

- Gideon?
- Possibly.

- Or Tex?
- Possibly.

- You're a fat lot of help.
- That's right.

- Can I have one of those?
- What?

- I think Tex did it.
- Oh.

- Vanille et chocolat, s'il vous plait.
- Why do you think Tex did it?

Because I really suspect Gideon,

and it's always the person
you don't suspect.

Do women think it feminine to be
so illogical, or can't they help it?

What's so illogical about that?

You just said it's always
the one you don't suspect.

If you suspect Gideon,
therefore it must be Tex.

On the other hand, if you suspect Tex
it must be the other fella, Gideon.

- I guess they just can't help it.
- Hmm?

- Who?
- Women.

Oh.

You know, I can't help feeling
rather sorry for Scobie.

Wouldn't it be nice
if we were like that?

- What, like Scobie?
- No. Gene Kelly.

You remember when he danced down here
by the river in An American In Paris...

without a care in the world?

- Mmm.
- You know, this is good. Want some?

- Uh...
- Ohh!

No, thanks.

- I guess you don't either.
Here, give me that.

I'm sorry.

Alex, I'm scared.

Yes, I know.

I can't think of any reason
why he was killed.

Well, perhaps someone thought
that four shares were too many.

What makes you think that this someone
is going to be satisfied with three?

He wants it all.
That means we're in his way too.

That's right.

We've got to do something. I mean,
any minute now we could be assassinated.

Would you do anything like that?

What, assassinate someone?

No. Swing down from there on a rope
to save the woman you love.

Like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Uh... Huh?

- Who put that there?

Hurry up and change.
I'm starved.

Let me know what you want to eat
so I can pick out a suit that matches.

Ha ha ha ha.

Ah-ah-ah!
What do you want?

It's the house detective.
Why don't you have a girl in there?

God, you're a pest.

- Can I come in?
- No. I'm going to take a bath.

Wouldn't it be better
if you did it in here?

- What for?
- Well, I wouldn't want to use that tub.

Anyway, I don't want to be alone.
I'm afraid.

You're only next door.
If anything happens, holler.

Aaaah!

Reggie?

Got you. Ha ha.

Did you ever hear the story
of the boy who cried wolf?

The shower's in there.

- Oh, come on, open the door.
- This is a ludicrous situation.

I can think of a dozen men
who are just longing to use my shower.

- Why don't you call one of them?
- I dare you.

Oh, you're a nut.

- What are you doing?
- Taking off my shoes.

Did you ever hear of anyone taking
a shower with their shoes on?

I usually sing a medley of
old favorites when I'm in the shower.

- Any requests?
- Shut the door.

I'm afraid I don't know that one, miss.
Well...

- Shut the door!
- Why?

Come in and watch.

Drip-dry.

How often do you go through
this little ritual?

Oh, every day.
The manufacturer recommends it.

I don't believe it.

Oh, yes, it's...
Wait a minute.

- Read the label.

Look at the small print.

"Wearing this suit
during washing...

helps protect its shape."

Whoo! Ha ha!

Waterproof.

Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha.

Wait.

Acro-nylon.
Fibrous resistant.

- Plastic. Rustproof.
Fireproof. Proof-proof.

- You're the nut.
- Nut-proof!

- Yes?
- Mrs. Lampert? Bartholomew.

I spoke to Washington,
Mrs. Lampert.

Go ahead, Mr. Bartholomew.
I'm listening.

Well, I told them what you said about
this man being Carson Dyle's brother.

I asked them what they knew about it,
and they told me.

You're not gonna like this,
Mrs. Lampert.

Carson Dyle had no brother.

- Mrs. Lampert?
- Are you sure there's no mistake?

None whatsoever.
Please be careful, Mrs. Lampert.

Bye.

I left all my drip-dry dripping.
Is that all right?

What's the matter?
Is something wrong?

You're probably weak
from hunger.

You've only eaten
five times today.

I'll fix up my suit
and take you out to dinner.

Let's go somewhere crowded.
I feel like a lot of people.

Hey, you know,
this thing is still damp.

You haven't spoken a word
for 20 minutes.

I was thinking about Charles and Scobie
and who's going to be next.

Me?

I don't suppose you know
who the murderer is, do you?

No. Not yet.

Whoever's left alive at the end will
pretty much have sewn up the nomination.

What are you trying to say, that I
might have killed Charles and Scobie?

What do I have to do to satisfy you?
Become the next victim?

- It's a start, anyway.
- Oh.

I can't understand you at all.

One minute you're chasing me
around the shower room.

The next minute you're
accusing me of murder.

Carson Dyle had no brother.

Oh, I can explain that,
if you'll just listen.

Well, I can't very well leave
without a pair of water wings, can I?

- All right, get set
for the story of my life.
- Fiction or nonfiction?

- Eh... Why don't you shut up?
- Well!

- Are you going to listen?
- Go on.

All right.

Now, when I was a young man my father
expected me to go into his business.

Umbrella frames.
That's what he made.

A sensible business, I suppose,
but I didn't have the sense
in those days to be sensible.

I suppose all this
is leading somewhere.

Well, it led me away from
umbrella frames, for one thing.

But that left me without
any honest means of support.

What do you mean?

Well, in this highly
competitive world,

when a man has no profession
there isn't much choice,

so I began looking for people
who had more money than they needed,

including some they'd barely miss.

You mean, you're a thief?

Well, that's not exactly
the term I'd have chosen,

but it sort of captures
the spirit of the thing.

I don't believe it.

I can't really blame you now.

But I do believe it.
That's what I don't believe.

So it's good-bye, Alexander Dyle,
welcome home, Peter Joshua.

Sorry.
The name's Adam Canfield.

- Adam Canfield?
- Mm-hmm.

Wonderful. You've had three names
in the past two days.

I don't even know
who I'm talking to anymore.

- Well, the man's the same,
even if the name isn't.
- No, he isn't.

- Adam Canfield is a crook,
and I want to know why.
- Well, it's simple.

I like what I do.
I enjoy my work.

There aren't many men who love
their work as much as I do.

You look around sometime.

Is there a Mrs. Canfield?

- Yes, but we're divorced.
- "But we're divorced."

- That's right.
Now go and eat your dinner.
- Oh, I could eat a horse.

I think that's what you ordered.

Don't you dare be civil with me,
after leading me on like this.

- How did I lead you on?
- Oh, all that marvelous rejection.

You knew I couldn't resist it.

- Now it turns out all you're
interested in is the money.
- That's right.

- Ohh!
- Well, what would you like me to say?

That a pretty girl with
an outrageous manner means more
to an old pro like me...

than a quarter
of a million dollars?

- I don't suppose so.
- It's a toss-up, I can tell you that.

Mmm... What?

Hasn't it occurred to you
that I'm having a tough time
keeping my hands off you?

- Oh, you should see your face.
- What's the matter with it?

It's lovely.

Ohh.

Now what's the trouble?

I'm not hungry anymore.
Isn't it glorious?

- Adam!
- It's all right. Come and look.

For her Romeo came

And

It was closing night

The ending of

- You don't look so bad in this light.

Why do you think
I brought you here?

Maybe you wanted me
to see the kind of work...

the competition was turning out.

Pretty good, huh?

I taught them
everything they do.

Oh, did they do that kind of thing
way back in your day?

Sure. How do you think
I got here?

I hear it still

I always will

- Not allowed to kiss back, huh?
- Oh, no.

Doctor said it was bad
for my thermostat. Mm-hmm.

Charade

Well, when you come on
you come on, don't you?

Well, come on.

Yeah. Huh?

In the lobby?

Are you out of your mind?

It's 3:30 in the morning.

You mean it?

Ah-choo!

All right. All right, I'll
be right down. Wait a minute.

H... H-Hey,
turn on the lights!

Hey, how do you
stop this thing?

Ah-choo!

Ah-choo! Ah-choo!

Aaaaaah!

Three of them, all in their pyjamas?
C'est ridicule.

What is it,
some new American fad?

And now your friend who lives here,
uh, the one from Texas,

he has disappeared
into thin air.

- Where is he?
- I wish I knew.

Madame?

Tell me, Mr. Dyle.
Where were you at 3:30 a.m.?

In my room, asleep.

- And you, Mrs. Lampert?
- I was too.

In Mr. Dyle's room?

No, in my room.

Obviously
you're telling the truth,

for why would you invent
such a ridiculous story?

And if I were you,
I wouldn't stay in my pyjamas.

Good night.

Well, that wraps it up.
Tex has the money.

- I'll let you know when I've found him.
- You're gonna go looking for him now?

If the police find him first,
they're not going to turn over
that quarter of a million to us.

- Oh, Adam...
- Go to bed and bolt your door.

- Yeah?
- Now you listen to me, Dyle.

I know who's got that money, man,
and I want my share.

Seems to be growin' every day.

Well, I ain't disappearin'
till I get it.

- Where are you, Tex?
- Come on, man.

Look, my mama didn't raise
no stupid children.

I'll tell you what.

You wanna find me,

you just look over your shoulder,

'cause from now on
I'm gonna be right behind you.

Open up.

- I think I was wrong
about Tex having the money.
- Why?

I just heard from him.
He's still hungry.

That means killing Gideon
didn't get it for him.

So he's narrowed it down to us.
You've got it.

But I've looked everywhere.
You know I have.

Where's the airlines bag?

- In the wardrobe.
- Get it.

Lord, you're obstinate.

Charles must have had it with him
on the train when Tex killed him.

Thanks.

Everybody and his Aunt Lillian's
been through that bag,

including me.

- Okay, we'll do it again.
- I've been into it at least once a day.

Somebody would have seen it.

It's there, Reggie.
We're looking at it right now.

Something on that bed is worth
a quarter of a million dollars.

- But what?
- I don't know. I don't know.

Four passports. No.

Steamship ticket.

- Anything in there?
- Nothing.

Wallet.

Comb? No.

A fountain pen.

What about that key?

To the apartment.
Matches mine exactly.

Well...

I bet you don't
really need those.

You need them.

This still doesn't make sense,

but it isn't worth a quarter
of a million dollars either.

- Wait a minute.
- What?

- The tooth powder.
- What about it?

Could you recognize heroin
just by the taste of it?

Heroin.

- Peppermint-flavored heroin.
- Mmm.

Well, I guess that's it.

Dead end.

Well, go to bed. You've gotta
go to work in the morning.

There's nothing more
we can do tonight.

I love you, Adam.

Yes, you told me.

No. The last time I said,
"I love you, Alex."

Oh.

Oh.

- Hold it. They're
recognizing Great Britain.
- Ooh, la vache.

Mr. Chairman,
fellow delegates...

and my distinguished
colleague from Italy.

Her Majesty's delegation has
listened with great patience
to the Southern European...

- Oh, are you on?
- No, it's all right.
What's wrong, Adam?

Nothing.
I think I've found something.

I was snooping around Tex's room
and came across this in the wastebasket.

I stuck it together again.

That's the receipt Grandpierre
gave me for Charles' things.

- I don't see how that's going to...
- No, you're not looking.

When we went through the airlines bag,
something was missing... an agenda.

That's an appointment book,
isn't it? It wasn't there.

That's right.

I remember Grandpierre
looking through it,

but there was nothing in it the police
thought was very important.

Can you remember anything in it?

Well, it did say something
about Charles' last appointment.

With who? Where?

- I think it only said where.
- Come on, Reggie, think.

This may be
what we're looking for.

Adam, that money
doesn't belong to us.

- If we keep it,
we'll be breaking the law.
- Nonsense. We didn't steal it.

- There's no law against
stealing stolen money.
- Of course there is!

There is? When did they pass
such a silly law? Now think, Reggie.

What was in
that appointment book?

A place or street corner
or something.

Watch it. I'm on.

...of, of the Western
hemisphere conference...

...of the Western
hemisphere conference...

held on March 22...

No, wait!
It was last Thursday, 5:00.

Jardin des Champs Elysees.

That's it, Adam! The garden!

Well, it's Thursday today,
and it's almost 5:00, so come on.

It's all right, gentlemen.
Carry on.

Now what?

5:00, Thursday, the gardens.

Must be something around here.

Charles' appointment
was last week.

- Yes, I know, but this
is all we've got left.
- You're not kidding.

Ten minutes ago I had a job.

Now you've got another job,
so stop grumbling and start looking.

I'll take that side.
You poke around over here.

It's hopeless. I don't even know
what we're looking for.

I don't think Tex does either.

- Tex? Is he here?
- Look.

I'm going to see what he's up to.
You stay here.

Be careful, Adam.
He's already killed three men.

Wait! Wait!

Taxi!

Back up.

All right, where's the letter?

The letter, huh?
It ain't worth nothin'.

You know what I mean.
The envelope with the stamps on it.

I want it.

You greenhorn.

Why, you thick-skulled,
harebrained, half-witted greenhorn.

And they was both
too smart for us.

- What are you talking about?
- First her husband, now her?

She batted all of them
big eyes at you...

and you fell for it
like an egg from a tall chicken.

You want the envelope?

There. You take it.
It's all yours.

You killed all three of 'em
for nothin'!

You greenhorn!

You blockheaded jackass!

You are a nincompoop!

Sylvie!
What are you doing here?

I'm waiting for Jean-Louis.

Oh. What's he up to?

He was so excited when he got
the stamps you gave him this morning.

- He said he'd never seen any like them.
- I'm glad.

- What's all this?
- The stamp market.

It's there
every Thursday afternoon.

That's where Jean-Louis
trades his stamps.

- Good Lord, where is he?
- What's the matter, cherie?

The stamps!
They're worth a fortune!

- What?
- A fortune! Come on!

- Oh, I don't see him anywhere.
- We'll separate.

- You look over there.
- Okay.

Jean-Louis!

Jean-Louis!

- Jean-Louis!

Jean-Louis!

Jean-Louis.

Reggie! Reggie!

Jean-Louis, thank heaven.
Do you have the...

- What's this?
- A man gave me all those for only three.

A man? Oh, no, Jean-Louis.
Who? Where?

Vite, mon cheri. Vite.

- La-bas.
- Come on!

- Oh, but he's gone.
- I don't blame him.

- Entrez.

- Monsieur Felix?
- Oui.

I was expecting you.
I knew you would come.

Look at them, madame.

Have you ever, in your entire life,
seen anything so beautiful?

I'm sorry. I don't know
anything about stamps.

I know them as one knows his own face,
though I had never seen them.

This one,
a Swedish four shilling...

called
Da Gula Fyraskillingen,

printed in 1854.

- What is it worth?
- Oh, the money is unimportant.

I'm afraid it's very important.

Well, in your money,
perhaps $85,000.

- May I sit down?
- Yes.

- And the blue one?
- Oh, it's called The Hawaiian Blue.

In 1894 the owner was murdered
by a rival collector...

who was obsessed to own it.

And what is its value today?

Sixty-five thousand.

- And the last one.
- Ah, the best for last.

Le chef d'oeuvre de la collection.
The masterpiece.

The most valuable stamp
in the world.

It's called the Gazette Maldave.

It was printed by hand
on colored paper...

and marked with the initials
of the printer.

Today it has a value of $100000.

I'm not a thief, madame.

I knew there was some mistake.

You gave the boy
a great many stamps in return.

- Are they for sale now?
- Let me see.

Three hundred and fifty European;
two hundred Asian;

a hundred and seventy-five American;
a hundred African;

and 12 Princess Grace
commemorative.

Which comes to ten francs.

And don't forget these.

Thank you.

- I'm sorry.
- Oh, no.

For a few minutes they were mine.
That is enough.

Adam? Adam?

- Hello?
- Mr. Bartholomew?

Yes.

Tex is dead. Smothered.

And Adam did it.
He killed them all.

- Are you sure?
- Yes, I'm sure.

Tex wrote the word "Dyle"
before he died.

He's the murderer,
I tell you.

Wait a minute, Mrs. Lampert.
You'd better give that to me again.

It was the stamps on the letter
Charles had with him on the train.

They were in plain view all the time,
but no one looked at the envelope.

Mrs. Lampert, listen to me. You're not
safe as long as you have these stamps.

Let's see. Do you know the center garden
at the Palais Royale?

- The colonnade?
- Yes, by the colonnade.

- As fast as you can get there.
Hurry, Mrs. Lampert.
- I'm leaving right away.

Reggie! The stamps!
Where are they? Reggie! Wait!

So you can kill me too? Tex is dead.
He wrote "Dyle" on the carpet.

- I'm not Dyle. You know that.
- But Tex didn't know it.
You're a murderer.

Reggie, I want those stamps!

- Palais Royale, vite.
- Mais je suis occupe.

- Mais c'est tres urgent.
- Occupe.

Whoa! Billet!

Ohh!

American Embassy.

American Embassy?

Uh, Mr. Bartholomew's office,
please.

- Would you speak
a little louder, please.
- I can't speak any louder.

Mr. Hamilton Bartholomew.

I'm sorry. Mr. Bartholomew
has left for the day.

But someone's
trying to kill me.

- What?
- Kill me!

You've got to get word
to him right away.

He's in the center garden
of the Palais Royale near the colonnade.

Tell him I'm trapped in a phone booth
right below him in the Metro station.

The name's Lampert.

- Hello?
- Hello. Mr. Bartholomew?

- Yes.
- There was a call for you
just now, Mr. Bartholomew.

It sounded quite urgent.
A Mrs. Lampert.

Lampert? I don't know
any Mrs. Lampert.

She says she's trapped
in a Metro station and
someone's trying to kill her.

Trying to kill her?
Who does she think I am, the C.I.A.?

All right, I guess you'd better
call the French police.

Mr. Bartholomew!
Mr. Bartholomew! Help me!

Reggie! Stop!

That man is Carson Dyle.

We all know Carson Dyle
is dead, Mrs. Lampert.

- I tell you, he's Carson Dyle.
- Now, you're not gonna believe him.

Bring those stamps over here.
He's trying to trick you again.

Tex recognized him.
That's why he wrote Dyle.

- If you take him those stamps,
he'll kill you too.
- Mrs. Lampert!

If I'm who he says I am,
what's preventing me from
killing you right now?

Because he'd have to come out to get the
stamps, and he knows he'd never make it.

Mrs. Lampert, he wants the money
for himself.

That's all he's ever wanted.

- He's with the C.I.A.
I saw him at the embassy.
- I tell you, he's Carson Dyle.

That's right, Mrs. Lampert.
That's right.

I'm a dead man. Look at me.

Oh, I don't know who anybody is.

Reggie, I beg you.

Just trust me once more.

Why should I?

I can't think of a reason
in the world why you should.

Stop, Mrs. Lampert,
or I'll kill you!

It won't get you the stamps, Dyle.

You'll still have to come out, and I'm
not likely to miss at this range.

Maybe not, but it takes
a lot of bullets to kill me.

They left me there with five
in my legs and my stomach.

They knew I was alive,
but they left me there.

I spent ten months in a German prison
camp with nothing to stop the pain.

They left me there.
They deserved to die.

- But I had nothing to do with it.
- You've got the money now.
It belongs to me.

Mrs. Lampert, they knew I was
still alive, but they left me there.

That's why I had to kill them,
all four of them.

Please believe me. I'll kill you too.
It won't make any difference.

It's no use.
You're running out of time.

I've come too far to turn back.
I swear, I'll kill you!

Make up your mind,
Mrs. Lampert. Now.

- Adam!

- All right.

I know you're in there,
Mrs. Lampert. Come on out.

Do you hear me? Come on out!

I don't want to kill you,
but I will.

Come on out.

The game is over, Mrs. Lampert.

Aaaaah!

You didn't have to
chase me so hard.

- That one's done. Do this one.
- Oh.

I'm sorry I thought
you were the murderer,

but how was I to know he was
as big a liar as you are?

Is that all the gratitude I get
for saving your hide?

Rub your own blinking foot.

The truth: Was it my hide,
or those stamps?

What a terrible thing to say.
How could you think that?

Then prove it to me.

Tell me to go to the embassy first thing
in the morning and turn in those stamps.

- I said, tell me to go
to the embassy first...
- I heard you, I heard you.

Then say it.

Now, Reggie, listen to me.
There's something I'd like to explain.

Never mind.
I'll go by myself.

What makes you think
they're even interested?

It's only a quarter million.
It'll cost more than that for
them to fix their bookkeeping.

Now, as a taxpayer...

Who's a taxpayer?
Crooks don't pay taxes.

- Excuse me, soldier...
- Marine, ma'am.

Forgive me. Who would I see regarding
the return of stolen government money?

You might try
the Treasury Department.

Room 217, second floor,
Mr. Cruikshank.

217. Thank you, marine.

Uh, do you mind if I don't
go in with you?

The sight of all that money being
given away might make me break out.

Mr. Cruikshank, please.
My name is Lampert.

Yes.

- Mr. Cruikshank? A Miss Lamp...
- Mrs.

Mrs. Lampert to see you.

- Yes, sir. Go right in.
- Thank you.

Of all the mean,

rotten,

contemptible, crooked...

Crooked? I should think you'd be glad
to find out I'm not crooked.

You can't even be honest
about being dishonest.

Why didn't you say something?

- We're not allowed to tell.
Come on, give me the stamps.
- Mm-mmm.

Wait. How did Dyle get
an office in this building?

- When did you meet him?
What time of day, I mean.
- About 1:00.

The lunch hour. Probably
worked it out in advance.

Found an office usually left open
and moved in for the time you were here.

Then how do I know
this is your office?

Mrs. Foster, take a memo to Bartholomew
in Security recommending...

Bartholomew!

Recommending that embassy offices
be kept locked during the lunch hour.

Mmm. Starting with his own.

- Give me the stamps. Come on.
- What's your first name today?

- Brian.
- Brian Cruikshank.

Serves me right
if I get stuck with that one.

- Who asked you to
get stuck with any of them?
- Is there a Mrs. Cruikshank?

- Yes.
- But we're divorced.

No.

Oh.

My mother.
She lives in Detroit.

You'd like her. She'd like you too.
Come on, give me those stamps.

Not until you prove to me
that you're really Brian Cruikshank.

Next week I'll put it on
a marriage license. How about that?

Quit stalling.
I want some identification now.

- I wouldn't lie on a license.
- You can't prove it.
You're still trying to...

"Marriage license"?

Did you say
"marriage license"?

Don't change the subject.
Just give me the stamps.

Oh, I love you, Adam, Alex, Peter,
Brian, whatever your name is.

Oh, I love you.

I hope we have a lot of boys.

We can name them all after you.

Well, before we start that,
may I have the stamps?