Original subtitles

- Do you think they'll come, sir? - Oh, they'll come, all right.

Here. Stamp those and mail them.

It's ringing.

Would you walk Myron the other way? My leg looks like a tree in this fog.

Come on.

What a godforsaken spot to get lost.

It's true. I saw a much better spot a few miles back.

Oh, good. Tell them we're lost.

- Nobody answered. The phone went dead. - Then why did you say "hello"'?

- I could've sworn... - What, Dickie?

It sounded as though somebody snipped the wire.

Really? What did it sound like?

Snip.

- Some fog, eh, Pop? - I've already heard the weather report.

Drive, please.

It's as thick as pea soup.

Not a soul around for miles.

Know what I think? Perfect place for a murder.

Conversation like television set on honeymoon...

unnecessary.

Where are we going, anyway, Pop?

Who is this Mr. Twain who invited you for the weekend?

What did he mean by "dinner and a murder"?

Questions like athlete's foot...

after while, very irritating.

To stop car, please.

- What's wrong? - Stop car, please.

To shut engine off, please.

Listen.

I don't hear nothin'. What do you hear?

- Double negative and dog. - So it's a dog. So what?

If not mistaken...

dog belong to Mr. Dick Charleston.

- Who's Dick Charleston? - I am, thank you.

You don’t happen to have seen a little white... Wang!

A white Wang?

Good heavens! Sidney Wang! What are you doing in this godforsaken spot?

No doubt, same as you.

Looking for bridge that lead to home of host, Mr. Lionel Twain.

You, too, huh?

Must be important, to invite two such eminent detectives.

Excuse, please, to introduce Japanese son Willie.

Japanese? But I thought surely you...

Mrs. Wang and I could never have children.

Willie... adopted number three son.

My pleasure. Be careful on this road. It's treacherous.

Treacherous road like fresh mushroom. Must always...

Idiot! Not finish mushroom story.

You're idiot!

Well, I'm sorry, Monsieur Perrier, but I can see nothing.

This fog is as thick as bouillabaisse.

- Nuts! - I beg your pardon?

Nuts, nuts! There are no nuts in my chocolate!

You let that imbecile in the shop give you raisins when I asked for nuts.

He didn't have any nuts.

- The man in the shop? - That's the reason I took the raisins.

Never mind.

We will soon be there for dinner. Hot soup.

Still, monsieur, something is not right in all of this, huh?

I can feel it in my "buns."

- In your what? - In my buns.

Buns? You have buns?

You bought buns, and you didn't tell me?

- Where are the buns? - Oh, no, monsieur.

The bones in my body.

You should not speak with an accent when you know I'm so hungry.

If you ask me, Sam, this is a wild goose chase.

- Nobody asked you, baby. - Yes, they did.

You asked me back there if I thought...

That was then. This is now.

And nobody knows what tomorrow will be.

That's the way things are, whether we like it or not.

Sam, I really worry about you sometimes.

All right. Cut the malarkey. This trip is strictly business with me.

What do you got on this Twain?

He was born in San Francisco in 1906.

His mother was a Roman Catholic. His father was an orthodox Jew.

They were separated two hours after the marriage.

- Any children? - Yeah, one daughter, 32.

Her name's Irene, but she calls herself Rita.

Just like a dame.

Don't stop, angel. You're doing fine.

He was arrested in 1932 in Chicago for selling pornographic Bibles.

The D.A. couldn't make the charge stick...

when the church refused to turn over the Bibles.

There's nothing on him until '46...

when he was picked up in El Paso, Texas...

for trying to smuggle a truckload of rich white Americans...

across the border into Mexico to pick melons.

He was sent to the Dallas State Hospital for mental observation.

I think we picked ourselves a queer bird, angel.

Anything else?

Yeah. Get this, Sam.

Lionel Twain has one interesting physical characteristic.

He has no pinkies.

No pinkies?

Twain has only got eight fingers?

No, no. He's got ten.

He just doesn’t have any pinkies.

- You did your homework good, angel. - Thanks, Sam.

- Where'd you dig up all that stuff? - I wrote to Twain and asked him.

Good thinkin'.

- What's the matter? - Wouldn't you know, out of gas.

I saw a station about five miles back, Sam.

I want you to know I'm going to be waiting for you.

Here's the bridge, Pop. Doesn't look safe to me.

One way to find out. Drive across.

Aren't you going to come with me?

Weight of two men may be too much for bridge.

Then why do I get to drive the car?

'Cause I smart enough to get out first.

I don't think I'm going to make it. It's going to collapse.

Not worry. Father find other way to house.

I made it, Pop! I made it!

Good! Good!

Now come back and get adopted father.

Look at invitation. What number of house?

- 2-2... - Correct.

22 Twain's house.

Continue.

- Did you see that? - No.

Neither did I.

Stop! Do not move.

Something wrong here.

- What is it, Pop? - Do not ask questions. Do as I say.

When I tell you jump, you jump.

One, two, three...

jump!

Holy Shanghai!

Nice counting, Pop. But how'd you know?

Look on ground.

Even had correct shoe size.

Someone gone great trouble...

to make welcome guests not so welcome.

Ring bell, please?

Are you nuts? Someone's trying to kill us.

Yes. Should make exciting weekend. Ring, please.

I wish it was Monday morning.

Well, here goes.

Holy cow! They're killing someone in there!

- Calm yourself. - Didn't you hear her scream?

No. You heard scream.

More experienced ear heard doorbell.

Listen again.

Mr. Twain has macabre sense of humor, yeah?

Good evening. We have been expecting you.

But in what condition?

Roof in need of repair.

Indeed. I'm afraid the house is falling apart.

- May we come in, please? - I'm sorry. I thought you were in.

You are Mr. And Mrs. Charleston?

Not quite.

I am Inspector Wang of Catalina, please.

This adopted son Willie.

I trust you had a pleasant journey despite the storm?

Strange weather.

Storm only outside when inside.

Oh, that. That’s just one of Mr. Twain's little toys.

An electronic device.

Mr. Twain, as you will soon discover...

prefers his atmosphere murky.

- May I have your bags, sir? - No, no.

Son will get bags. That is why I adopted him.

Very good, sir.

One moment, please, while I close the door.

Now, if you will follow me...

I will show you to your room.

Very large house. No other servants?

I'm not sure. I've never seen anyone.

Mr. Twain asked me to see that you're made most comfortable...

and to say that he will be joining you after dinner.

After dinner? Host not have dinner with guests?

No. Mr. Twain prefers to eat out.

Wait, please. What that?

That? It's nothing, sir. Just the cat.

That cat?

You feed cat dog food?

I'm afraid he's a very angry cat, sir.

Mr. Twain had him fixed, and he didn’t want to be.

Big house, huh, Pop?

Big house like man married to fat woman...

hard to get around.

Ah, here we are.

I'm sure you'll find this suitable.

- It's a cold house. - I've taken care of that.

You'll find a nice, cozy fire in your room.

It's a bit smoky, sir.

I’m afraid that old fireplace hasn’t been used in years.

At least the bed will be warm.

If you wish anything, sir, please ring.

- Where buzzer? - It's behind the bed, sir, there.

Dinner will be at 9:00...

and Mr. Twain likes his guests to dress.

The doorbell. Excuse me.

Wow! What a creepy guy.

Why would anyone want to hire a blind butler?

For one thing, very cheap.

How butler know how much he get paid?

Drink this, darling. You'll feel better.

If Myron hadn't barked, we never would have seen that statue falling.

I don't think that statue was meant to kill us. I think it was a warning.

Somebody's trying to frighten us, but why?

Whatever his reason is, he's doing a wonderful job.

Why the devil hasn't anybody answered this door?

Don't ring it again! Knock, don't ring.

I won't, I promise.

- What is it now, Myron? - Up there, Dora. Look.

- A blind butler. - Don't let him park the car, Dickie.

Good evening. We have been expecting you.

We let ourselves in, thank you. Dick and Dora Charleston.

Good evening. We have been expecting you.

Your room is ready, if you'll follow me, please.

Don't mind him, ma'am. It's just the cat.

We left our luggage in the trunk.

I'll get it later, ma'am, when I park the car.

Was that Mr. Wang's car I noticed out front?

Yes. They're resting now in their room.

I have taken the liberty of putting you in the same wing as Mr. Wang.

Isn't that nice, darling? We're in Wang's wing.

Not many people come to the manor these days.

It's nice to hear guests again.

- Thank you. You are? - Benson, ma'am.

Thank you, Benson.

Bensonmum. My name is Bensonmum.

- Bensonmum? - Yes, sir. Jamessir Bensonmum.

- Jamessir? - Yes, sir.

- Jamessir Bensonmum? - Yes, sir.

- How odd. - My father's name, sir.

- What was your father's name? - Howard.

- Howard. Howard Bensonmum. - Your father was Howard Bensonmum?

Leave it be. I've had enough.

Here we are. The late Mrs. Twain's room.

She died in here.

- Oh, dear. - Died of what?

She murdered herself in her sleep, sir.

- You mean suicide? - Oh, no.

It was murder, all right.

Mrs. Twain hated herself.

We keep this room locked.

- Why is that? - Mr. Twain loved her very much.

He's kept her room just as it was the night she choked herself...

nine years ago.

Madam loved it here.

She said it was the cheeriest room in the house.

- Ah, the doorbell. - That was Mrs. Charleston.

- I thought she was here with us. - I am.

I will not stay in this horribly filthy room overnight.

Filthy? Very well, madam. I'll attend to it during dinner.

- Thank you, Benson, sir. - Mum!

- What? - Bensonmum. Ma'am.

Baking flour.

- What? - This dust is baking flour.

And these cobwebs... candied sugar.

All placed here recently for the sole purpose of frightening us.

And that mouse... obviously a mechanical toy.

- Silly. - What is?

I am. It's real.

Stop the car. We are here.

I know we are here. That's why I stopped the car.

- Open my door. - You have chocolate on your face.

- What? - The candy bar is all over your face.

- Imbecile, that's my mustache! - Lick it and see.

Wipe it off. My hands are sticky.

Hold still, please.

Sloppy.

All in good time.

Yes?

Who's there?

Who's there, I say?

Filthy neighborhood.

Didn't I say "jump"?

"Un, deux, trois, jump," I say. Why don't you listen to me?

- Oh, leave me alone. - Sloppy.

Who are you?

You must be the new kitchen maid. I hope you can cook.

Hmm? Answer me. Speak up.

What's that? I can't hear you.

A little shy, are you? Never mind.

There will be ten for dinner.

Here is the menu.

Is that understood? And dinner will be at 9:00.

When I want you, that bell on the wall will ring three times.

All right. Get to work.

Operator. I am saying, "Hello, hello."

- It's dead, sir. - What?

Who is? Who are you?

The butler, sir.

The butler, eh? I thought as much.

That phone has been out of order for the past week, sir.

Is that a fact?

And I put it to you that this wire has been snipped not one hour ago...

as you can plainly see.

What is your name?

Your little jest escapes me.

I am Monsieur Milo Perrier.

My chauffeur was injured by a falling gargoyle...

while standing outside in Chinese footprints.

We rang the bell, a woman screamed...

a mouse ran by us through the door.

As you can plainly see, I miss nothing.

Since we cannot call for a doctor...

I will need a cold compress for my chauffeur...

and a cup of hot chocolate for me, n'est-ce pas?

I don't think we have n'est-ce pas, sir. Just Hershey's.

I'll call the maid.

I'll fetch it for you myself, sir.

In the meantime, if you'll be good enough to follow me to your room.

Get up. Get up.

There is something about this butler I do not trust.

Notice how his eyes never look at you.

He's blind, monsieur.

Nonsense.

There's the house now.

- What's the matter? - My feet are killing me.

Why didn't you tell me we needed oil before I went back for the gas?

Because I gave you $50, and the gas was only five bucks.

Maybe you'd come back. Maybe you wouldn't.

I couldn't take that chance.

- Don't you trust me, Sam? - Trust you?

The last time that I trusted a dame was in Paris in 1940.

She said she was going out to get a bottle of wine.

Two hours later, the Germans marched into France.

Oh, I'm sorry, Sam.

Sorry nothing. Give me my change.

Dinner will be at 9:00, sir.

I'll have the maid bring up your chocolate.

- One moment, my good man. - Sir?

Thank you. That will be all.

He’s blind, all right. Those were my funniest faces.

It's not exactly the Copacabana, is it?

I don't feel good about this.

Maybe tonight's the night your luck runs out.

Maybe so. There's a number on the wall for all of us.

If tonight's the night they pick mine, so be it.

After you, sweetheart.

- First, kiss me, Sam. - I don't kiss.

Just this once, Sam.

I don't like kissing. Now leave me alone.

My God!

- He’s dead! - I beg your pardon?

Sam Diamond, the man I work for, is lying out there.

He's been crushed to death.

I'm going to faint. You catch me.

Madam. Madam, where are you?

All right. Hold it right there. Freeze, Blinky!

Get your hands up. Turn your face to the wall.

All right, angel. You can get up now.

Turn around, Jeeves.

Your concrete Christmas present arrived about two seconds early...

no thanks to you.

I apologize for any unfortunate mishap, sir.

- May I put my hands down? - Don't test your luck, Shakespeare.

I got your little invitation to dinner...

but I didn’t realize I was gonna be the main course.

I had a kid brother who got it the same way...

working on a case just like this two years ago.

That boy would've been 63 on Tuesday.

- For two cents, I'd like to take this... - Sam, don't!

Get him away from me! Get him away.

Get him away before I stuff him like one of them tiger trophies...

that his limey pals like to hang up on saloon walls.

Please.

He has a dreadful temper, hasn't he?

9:00, time for dinner.

Is everything ready? Hmm?

I don't smell anything.

Very light on the seasoning, are you?

Put the soup in the tureen, and keep the squabs on a low flame.

I'll serve cocktails.

When you hear the bell...

bring out the chilled asparagus...

and turn up the flame on the squabs.

Have you got that?

You didn't tell me how I look.

No different than you always look... absolutely ravishing.

- Do you love me and adore me? - I love you and adore you.

You still have the best tush in high society.

Years of horseback riding, darling.

Getting to bottom of things, Charleston?

- Ah, Wang! Darling, you remember... - Of course.

- Nice to see you, Ah Wang. - Always a pleasure, Mrs. Charleston.

What a beautiful gown. You must tell me where you got it.

This? Oh, this an old dress. Had it for years.

Please to meet adopted son Willie.

Ah! East meets West in a most bizarre setting.

I didn’t know you were invited. You know Wang.

Yes. I had the pleasure of dining in Shanghai...

many years ago with Inspector Wang.

Oh, you remember. Yes.

You had "hong ching chu"...

and I had "kow dung woo fong."'

My wife Dora. Inspector Perrier.

I'm sorry. Our room is so dusty.

My fault. I should have blown first.

May I present my secretaire and chauffeur Marcel Cassette.

Recovered from your accident, Marcel?

But how did you know?

From the way you bend.

The right side of your body smashed in by a Citroen, I imagine.

I also thought I detected a slight metallic sound...

which leads me to believe you've had an artificial hip put in.

- Steel? - Aluminum.

You're as quick as ever, Charleston.

And you, Mr. Charleston...

did not approve of Mrs. Charleston dying hair blonde?

I beg your pardon?

Mrs. Charleston hair red.

You have blonde hairs on shoulder.

That means she has dyed red hair to blonde...

then back again to red.

Or else you have been...

So sorry. Wang is wrong.

Shall we go to dinner, please?

- Boy, Pop, you sure put your... - Shut Japanese mouth.

It must be simply ghastly to have a hip removed.

- Does it hurt? - It only hurts in damp weather.

- Are you all right? - Pay no attention.

You'll only spoil him.

Get up. Get up.

- As I was saying, Mr. Charleston... - Hey, Pop.

A treacherous road like fresh mushrooms...

I know. Dog stick tongue out of picture.

Treacherous road like fresh mushrooms.

He's a charming fellow.

African death mask. Died in some tribal ritual, I should think.

Wonder where others are.

Others?

What others?

Invitation to dinner and murder finally clear to Wang...

with appearance of Monsieur Perrier.

It is obvious that only the world's greatest living detectives...

are on the guest list.

Five of us, to be exact, darling. Three are already here.

Two have not yet arrived.

- Miss Jessie Marbles of England. - And Mr...

Sam Diamond of San Francisco.

I know who you all are.

The lady here in the rented dress is my secretary and mistress...

Miss Tess Skeffington.

- Sam, don't. - I'm sorry, sweetheart.

Miss Skeffington doesn't like it when I'm so brutally honest.

But then again, we're all in a brutal business, aren't we?

Never consider murder to be business, Mr. Diamond.

Is that right, Mr. Wang?

Maybe not for you, seeing as how you put all your money into vegetables...

back in the late '30s.

Maybe our friends here don't know that you own over 50 percent...

of the bean sprouts and the bamboo shoots grown on the Chinese mainland.

So you folks can imagine how much chicken chow mein...

goes into Mr. Wang's pot each year.

- Am I getting those figures right? - Right, Sam.

I don't see what this has to do with anything.

Or you, Mr. Perrier.

You work both sides of the big drink.

Pretty good pickin's over there, solving crimes for them barons and earls...

and puttin' your fancy fees into private Swiss banks.

Three trips a year buys a lot of hot chocolate, don't it, Frenchy?

Now see here, Diamond...

You see here, Mr. Charleston of New York, Palm Beach and Beverly Hills.

Crime is just a hobby to you, isn't it?

It's just a little game to while away the time...

while you're waiting for room service in some fancy hotel...

while your wife's family dough buys your gin martinis...

and your $300 suits.

That's a nice arrangement when all you gotta do is...

give your wife a grab now and then and take the dog for a leak twice a day.

Sorry if I'm shocking you, ma'am, but I never had time for finishing school.

My school is the streets...

and looking down the barrel of a revolver is my teacher.

I get $50 a day in expenses when I can get 'em, gentlemen.

And I owe Miss Skeffington three years and two months back pay.

Isn't that right, angel?

- I don't care about the money. - Neither do I.

Now, if one of you gentlemen would be so kind as to give my lady friend...

a glass of cheap white wine...

I'm going down the hall to find the can.

I talk so much sometimes, I forget to go.

Please excuse Sam. He was shot in the head last week.

He shouldn't even be out of the hospital.

If you ask me, I think the fellow's pretty damned honest.

- Dickie, language. - Miss Jessica Marbles and nurse.

Ah, Miss Marbles.

So we finally meet.

I've admire you ever since I was tiny little detective.

Thank you, Mr. Wang.

I am Jessica Marbles.

This is Miss Withers, my nurse.

She's been with me 52 years.

I have to take care of the poor dear now.

Are you all right, Miss Withers?

Do you want your medicine now?

She's off. I could use a good, stiff shot, Mr. Charleston.

I believe that booze, as you call it, is your department.

My pleasure, madam.

Who's the old geezer?

Jessie, baby!

Mr. Diamond, you have a bullet hole in your back.

You should see the other guy.

Quiet, please.

Observe strange sound.

My God, it's the face. It's coming from the face.

Actually, he's going through his final moments of death.

- What could it mean? - It means dinner, sir.

We have no gong.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to make a toast.

Our host, Mr. Lionel Twain, is indeed a most unique man.

Point one: He has succeeded in gathering...

the world’s five greatest detectives...

to investigate a crime that has not yet been committed.

Point two: He has set traps for us...

a bridge that almost collapses, falling statues.

Does he mean to kill us?

Certainly not yet. He could've done that at any time.

He is merely trying to whet our appetites...

for the game that is to follow.

Point three: Why five detectives instead of one?

Because he intends to take us all on, ladies and gentlemen...

a feat that no criminal mind has heretofore attempted.

Therefore, before this hellish weekend begins...

I propose that we raise our wine glasses in a toast...

to either a most beguiling and charming man...

or to an insidious, fiendish madman.

- Bottoms up. - One moment, please.

Point four: Wine poisoned.

An ancient, tasteless, colorless and odorless Oriental herb...

that kills instantly.

Observe, please.

Great scot, Mr. Wang. You saved our lives.

Not quite, Mrs. Charleston.

Bon appetit.

Since Wang was the only one who could detect poison, he was the only tested.

Point five:

Mr. Twain is both beguiling and fiendish.

- Get a doctor, quick. - No, no.

It's all right. My wine is not poisoned.

It was just a bad year.

Good work, Mr. Wang.

We must all be on our guard through every course of the meal.

You’re all forgetting one thing.

This makes the butler pretty suspicious, since he’s the one who poured the wine.

Except for the fact that he is blind.

How would he know which one to serve the poisoned glass to?

That’s very simple.

Blind people have a very keen sense of smell.

Since we’re all Anglo-Saxon and Mr. Wang's son is Japanese...

it wouldn't be hard to sniff out the Chinaman.

See here, Diamond. That's a pretty tacky thing to say.

It’s a pretty tacky world, Mr. Charleston.

- Isn't that right, angel? - That's right, Sam.

Quiet, please. Butler approaches.

I apologize for the delay.

I seem to be having some communication problems with the cook.

Who poured the wine?

Mr. Twain, sir.

It was left for me on a tray in the refrigerator.

I was told to give Mr. Wang the glass with the sticky stem.

And you didn't bother to ask why?

I was lucky to find the refrigerator, sir.

- If I may serve the soup now? - By all means.

Yes, I'm famished.

One moment.

- Where is the soup? - In your dish, sir.

There is nothing in my dish but my dish.

- I don't understand, sir. - Here, take the spoon.

Taste it for yourself.

I see what you mean, sir.

If you'll excuse me, I'd better have a little talk with the cook.

Murder by starvation.

Maybe that's his game, hmm?

- What do you think, Sam? - I don't know.

Why don't you ask the moose on the wall? He's been watchin' us since we came in.

Ten people for dinner, and I'm serving them hot nothing!

You can’t get good help today.

You're fired, you understand? Fired!

I want you out, do you hear? Out!

And stay out.

Something just occurred to me.

- The seating's all wrong. - How so, Mr. Charleston?

- I'm sitting next to Dora. - What's wrong with that?

- She’s your wife, isn't she? - Exactly.

But at a proper dinner party, the husband’s never seated next to the wife.

I should be on the opposite side of the table. Mr. Wang, will you trade places?

- Now, Mr. Charleston? - Now, Mr. Wang.

Just as I thought. Another test that could have cost us our lives.

Saved only by the fact that I am enormously well-bred.

Lucky it wasn't me. I'd have been chopped liver by now.

Silence, please. Do not panic.

No person move from place.

Someone just came into the room. I hear footsteps.

Wait! Quiet, everyone!

- I smell something. - What is it?

Good God! Franks and beans!

I’m afraid that's all we have, sir.

Dickie, don't. You know how I get when you touch me there.

It's not me. I've got my hands in my pockets.

- I'm afraid they’re my pockets. - Sorry about that.

Dickie, behave yourself.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

I’m your host, Lionel Twain.

Good God, what an entrance!

Oh, a bit theatrical, Miss Marbles, but I do so love illusion.

Please forgive my hat. I’m losing my hair.

I thought Twain was an older man, say 72, 73.

Seventy-six to be exact, Mr. Diamond.

How do I look so young? Quite simple.

A complete vegetable diet, 12 hours sleep a night...

and lots and lots of makeup.

I trust you've all been made comfortable.

Comfortable, Mr. Twain?

Do you call poisoned wine and near decapitation comfortable?

No. I call it inspiration.

You still have not explained the various mechanical...

and culinary attempts on our lives, Monsieur Twain.

Merely games, Monsieur Perrier.

Pitting wits with you, so to speak.

You pit your wits with me, little man, and you won't have wits to pit with.

Sam, you're spitting on the nurse.

Sorry, old lady. Crazy broad should be in bed.

Monsieur Twain, we have been here nearly four hours...

and there has not been a hint of a hot dinner or a cold corpse.

- I must therefore bid you adieu. - I bid one adieu as well.

No one is leaving this house.

What meaning of this, Mr. Twain?

I will tell you, Mr. Wang, if you can tell me...

why a man who possesses one of the most brilliant minds of this century...

can't say his prepositions or articles.

"The," Mr. Wang. "What is the meaning of this?"

That what I said. What meaning of this?

The meaning of this is...

that I have decided to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt...

that the greatest living criminologist in the world is sitting at this table...

and you are all looking at him.

No, don't look at each other!

Look at me! I'm the greatest! I'm number one!

To me you look like number two. Know what I mean?

What does he mean, Miss Skeffington?

I'll tell you later. It's disgusting.

In all your various adventures, monsieurs and mesdames...

not one of you has ever had an unsolved murder.

Your reputations exist on this single fact.

But what would the world say...

if the five greatest living detectives...

found themselves trapped in a country house for a weekend...

shut off from the outside world...

only to discover a dead body on the floor...

stabbed 12 times in the back with a butcher's knife...

and...

not one of you able to solve the crime?

- You mean murder? - Dora, we’re talking shop.

Yes, murder, Mrs. Charleston!

On the stroke of midnight...

someone in this house is going to be viciously murdered.

Left out one small detail, Mr. Twain.

Who victim?

"Is the." "Is the."

"Who Is the victim?" That drives me crazy!

- Sounds like a short ride to me. - Does it, Mr. Diamond?

Well, we shall see who is sane and who is crazy around here.

Mr. Wang...

the victim is here at this very table at this very moment...

and so too, ladies and gentlemen, is the murderer.

- Murder-poo? - Yes, dear.

We're going to have a lovely murder-poo.

Why don't you push her wheelchair down the driveway? We got business here.

- You say you know who's gonna get it? - Intimately.

- And how the crime is to be committed? - Definitely.

And exactly what time murder to take place?

"The" murder. Precisely.

I know it's none of my business, but doesn't that mean you're the murderer?

No wives. I refuse to discuss this with wives.

All fingers do seem to point to you. It's not much of a challenge, I'd say.

Shall I make it more interesting, Mr. Charleston?

One million dollars to the one who solves the crime.

Wagered against your reputations.

One million dollars in tax-free cash.

In addition, all the paperback rights and the film sale.

It's 11:00, amigos...

just one hour before death strikes someone in this room.

See you at midnight. Toodle-oo.

See here, Mr. Twain!

- He’s gone! - No, he's not. He's down there.

Fast little bunny rabbit, ain't you?

I've never moved, Mr. Diamond.

I'm still down there. A little stunt done with mirrors.

Is that so? Willin' to risk seven years' bad luck?

Try it, Mr. Diamond.

It's your funeral, butterball.

Wait.

Sometimes it doesn't work.

You've won this round, Mr. Diamond.

My turn comes at midnight.

I hope he knows how to stop that thing.

If you ask me, anybody that offers a million bucks...

to solve a crime that ain't been committed yet...

has lost a lot more upstairs than his hair.

What do we do now? Sit around and wait for one of us to be butchered?

And what has happened to the butler?

Why has he not returned... with our dinner?

- Go look for him. - No!

- No one to leave this room. - Why not, Pop?

Twain say victim at this table.

If we all stay together, crime cannot be committed without witnesses.

He's right. You're one smart Chinaman, Mr. Wang.

I suggest we all join hands. The chain is stronger if the links are unbroken.

Join hands, please.

Stop that.

- Stop it, I said. - What is it, Diamond?

The nurse is givin' my palm the finger, the dirty old broad.

Naughty, naughty, Miss Withers.

- Good God! - What?

Look!

- What is she doing? - I think she's screaming.

- What is it? What's happened? - Something wrong in kitchen.

- With our dinner! - Patience.

- Is someone in there? - Someone in the kitchen with dinner?

Cook cannot speak or hear.

"I think butler is dead.

My name is Yetta. I don't work Thursdays."

Ask her if she sleeps in, Dickie.

We must investigate this, Wang. Someone has to go.

Not alone. Mr. Charleston, Mr. Diamond, stay with others.

Miss Marble, Mr. Perrier and Wang, we'll investigate.

That’s right, just let it all out.

Here. Oh, dear.

Careful, Wang! Fingerprints.

Yours.

Here, take my handkerchief.

- Is he... - He look like...

Seems like...

Touch nothing! Fingerprints.

Quite so.

Pencil.

No pulse.

No heartbeat.

If condition does not change, this man is dead.

No signs of foul play.

Hold on!

What's this?

What do you make of this, Perrier?

Poison, n'est-ce pas?

Not n’est-ce pas. Cocoa.

So, at last we have our murder.

Not quite. Twain say murder victim sitting at our table.

Butler not at our table.

Butler only killed to divert us from real murder still to come.

Look!

One of the knives is missing. The butcher's knife, I'll wager.

- The others are still in danger. - What is exact time, please?

11:31 and 56 seconds.

57, 58...

Tell me when to stop. 59, 60...

28 minutes to main murder. Quickly, back to dining room.

Must all be together at midnight.

One moment!

Handkerchief.

- What is it? - A bill.

Everything here has been rented for tonight:

The butler, the cook, the food, the dining room chairs.

- You mean... - Yes.

This entire murder has been catered.

It's Twain's doing. The man is mad.

Mad, yes, but no fool. I only hope we are in time.

Door locked.

Sam Diamond probably locked it from the inside as a precaution.

Good thinking on Diamond head.

Diamond, it's Perrier. It's all right. Open up.

Diamond? Charleston? Are you in there?

Quickly, go back to kitchen, get dining room key from pocket of dead butler.

Don't say "dead butler."' It's bad enough I have to put my hand in his pocket.

Holy merde.

Miss Skeffington!

Miss Skeffington! Miss Withers!

- He’s gone. - Who?

The butler. His body is missing. Here’s the key.

- If butler gone, where you find key? - In his pocket.

- What pocket? - The butler's.

- Butler gone, but pocket still there? - Exactly.

Somebody has stolen his body but left his clothes there.

Quickly, open the door. Something is very wrong here.

Hello. Where is everyone?

Room filled with empty people.

I'll try the other door.

It's locked from the inside.

Strange. Both doors locked from inside, yet no way out.

I don't like it one bit.

I like it, but do not understand it.

Maybe other way out of room, secret passageway perhaps.

Wrong. There are no secret passageways, Mr. Wang.

- You spoke? - Not me.

I spoke.

Oh, there! Voice come from cow on wall!

Moose! Moose, you imbecile!

Where are they? What have you done with the others, you short madman?

Stumped already. Need some clues, Mr. Perrier?

I need no clues from you.

I find my own clues, you demented lollipop!

Calm yourself. Man who argue with cow on wall is like train without wheels.

- Very soon get nowhere. - I'm sick of your fortune cookies!

- Man who is sick of fortune cookie... - I just said I was sick of this!

- Quiet, gentlemen, please! - Cow talk again.

In need of a hint, Miss Marbles?

"You all mistake what you assume.

They never left the dining room.

Count the numbers one to ten. Turn the knob and try again."

What the devil does that mean? "They never left the dining room."

- Certainly they did. - Do not mistake what you assume.

- Quick, back out in hall. - What for?

We assume others not here, but cow say they are in dining room.

Let us look once more.

Please close door, Mr. Perrier.

- I cannot see what possible good... - Please, quiet.

Seven, eight, nine, ten.

Miss Marbles, be so kind as to open door, please.

Where were you, Wang? We was worried.

What do you mean? Where were you?

In here. Didn’t you say not to leave the dining room?

- You have not left this room since? - Certainly not.

Answer simple...

but question very hard.

- Where's the butler? - Butler completely murdered.

Poisoned. Yet one of the butcher's knives is missing.

We came back here to inform you, but the doors were locked.

I went back to get the key out of the butler's pocket.

His body was missing.

He had been stripped naked, and his clothes left in his place.

I don't understand. Why would anybody want to steal a dead, naked body?

Well, dear, there are people who...

Oh, that's tacky. That’s really tacky.

Then we returned here...

opened the door, but the room was empty.

You were all gone.

The moose had told us not to assume...

that you had ever left the dining room.

So we counted to ten and tried it again.

And here you were.

I'm not one to use hyperbole, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ll tell you this.

For the first time in my life, I had the ca-ca scared out of me.

I like her. I really like her.

- Gunshots, monsieur. - Gunshots, Pop.

- Gunshots, Dickie. - Jeez!

This time Charleston and I will go. Everybody else stay in the room.

Let’s go, Charleston.

What do you make of all of this, Wang?

Is confusing.

"Lt"! "it" is confusing! Say your goddamn pronouns!

Open the door.

- Good God! - What is it?

He's back.

And au naturel.

I don't get it. First they steal the body and leave the clothes.

Then they steal the clothes and bring the body back.

- Who would do a thing like that? - Possibly some deranged dry cleaner.

What about the gunshots?

Why shoot some poor slob when he's already been poisoned?

We heard the gunshots, but I don't see any bullet holes...

not on his head, his neck, his back or his chest.

- Look all over him. - All over his body?

Somebody’s gotta do it. I'm busy standin' guard.

Why don’t I stand guard? You look.

All right, we'll take turns.

You look over the first dead, naked body we find, and I’LL look over the second.

Hurry up. We only got eight minutes.

See anything?

No, I don't see a bullet hole anywhere.

- Hold it. I see something. - What is it?

Forget it. My mistake. Not a bullet hole.

If he wasn't plugged, what about the shots?

Divide and conquer.

- What? - Another diversion.

He gives us meaningless clues to confuse us, dangles red herrings before us...

bedazzles us with bizarre banalities, but all the time...

seconds are ticking away towards the truly terrible murder still to come.

You're good. You're not my kind of cop, but you're smart and you smell good.

You're not a pansy, but what the hell are you?

Classy, I suppose.

- Dames always fall for a guy like you. - I don't see what interest...

- Did you ever make it with a waitress? - I beg your pardon?

A waitress. Big, fat waitress.

I don't know what them society dames are like in the kip...

but you ain't never had it till you made it with a big, fat, blondie waitress.

If you're ever interested, you give me a call.

Bizarre little twit.

I'm still not sure about this guy.

- What are you doing? - I have to wash my hands after...

- Good. - I’LL be out in a minute.

I'll go ahead. I'll tell the others.

You're never gonna believe this, folks.

All right, where are you?

What the hell is goin' on here?

Charleston, wash up later. We got problems.

Locked from the inside.

That can only mean one thing...

and I don't know what it is.

You're never gonna believe...

I said I'd be out in a minute.

I don't remember closin' that door.

What happened?

What were the gunshots?

Did anybody leave this room since we were gone?

- So it happened to you too. - Where's my Dickie?

Sorry. Where's my husband?

Two minutes to midnight, in case anyone is interested.

It ain’t possible, I'm tellin" you.

Eight people in a dining room can't turn into an empty room unless...

- Unless what, Sam? - Unless it never happened.

I see your point, Diamond.

When is a dining room filled with people not a dining room filled with people?

- When it is two dining rooms. - Exactly!

Two dining rooms?

Two dining rooms, two of everything. Twain electronic genius.

He has devised a way to move this room...

quickly and silently in the flash of an eye...

to be replaced by an exact duplicate of this very room.

- I knew it all the time. - Oh, please.

I shall demonstrate. I shall walk out the door...

close it, knock three times, enter, and you will all be gone.

Observe.

I have it all figured out. There are two of everything.

Oh, Dickie, that's old news.

All right, everybody take their seats.

- I'm scared, Sam. Hold me. - Hold yourself. I'm busy.

Take the same seats you had before.

Forty seconds! I'm very worried about Mr. Perrier.

I'm going to look for him.

No. Sit, please. No one to leave room.

The other door.

It’s locked. I can't open it.

Hurry, man! We have 15 seconds!

Move your hand, chauffeur.

- Don't ask me. - Why are you wearing butler's uniform?

I said, don't ask me!

I don't know. It all happened too quickly.

The cook. Where's the cook?

- She's gone. - Never said a word.

Ten more seconds. Quickly, sit and join hands.

Impossible for murder to happen now without witnesses.

Three, two...

one!

It's over.

We're safe and sound.

That's probably the cook.

- Come in. - The poor woman is stone deaf.

I'm sorry. I forgot. Come in!

Not sound like cook to me.

Mr. Twain.

You appear to be wrong.

Nobody here murdered. Please to come in.

Is he dead?

With a thing like that in his back, in the long run he's better off.

- Touch nothing! - Will you stop saying that?

We're all experienced criminologists.

I find it insulting, debasing and redundant to tell us to "touch nothing."

- Be quiet, woman. - Up yours, fella.

Most amusing. Bickering detectives are like making giant lamb stew.

- Everything go to pot. - Why don't you be quiet!

Shut up, all of yous! Nobody move!

- Stay where you are! - What is it?

I have to go to the can again. I don't wanna miss nothin'.

I'm going too, Sam.

I'd rather do this alone, Tess. Thanks anyway.

The cook.

What, darling?

Well, it's obvious. The cook murdered him.

The butler's dead. All the rest of us were in this room except for her.

No one else could get in or out, so that only leaves the cook.

- Isn't that right? - Wrong.

What makes you certain of this, Diamond?

To drive a knife that far up a man's back, you need a powerful right arm.

And this arm don't look that strong to me.

- Is that the cook's arm? - It ain't the pussycat’s tail, lady.

Don't be alarmed, miss. It ain’t real.

For that matter, neither is the cook.

I found this before I got to the can.

Got a little surprise for you folks.

- Look! - A mannequin!

A dummy, perfect in every detail...

with the exception of not being able to make her hear or speak.

My hat's off to the man with the shiv in his back.

Except for the fact that he's dead, he was no dope.

Nice going, Sam.

I hope you all realize that someone in this room is a murderer.

For sake of ladies present...

may I suggest we all return to drawing room?

My son will cover up remains of Mr. Twain.

- Why do I do all the dirty work, Pop? - Because your mother not here to do it.

Come, please.

Excuse me.

I'm getting a headache.

Isn't there some way of turning off that ridiculous machine?

Maybe some gadget outside the window.

Sorry, darling. It's raining this time.

I suggest we get down to business and sort the facts.

It is now 12:30, Sunday morning.

The doors and windows will automatically open at dawn...

and one of us here will be one million dollars richer...

and one of us will be going to the gas chamber to be hung.

One, Monsieur Perrier? Why not two? We all have associates.

Why not four or six or eight? I don't trust any of yous.

Maybe I'm just a patsy being set up to take the fall...

but I’m not fallin' for any of yous.

Not even me, Sam?

Why don't you fall in love with the Jap kid and get off my back?

Can we get back to case, please?

Time is late and my eyes are getting tired.

- I thought they always looked like that. - Knock it off, Sam!

I apologize. This case is gettin' on my nerves.

- I'm sorry, Slanty. - Thank you.

Now then, facts, please, facts.

Mr. Twain predicts murder. Also predicts victim to be at dining table, correct?

Correct.

I'm sorry, this is official. Correct.

Also predicts murder to take place at midnight...

and predicts number of stab wounds.

How can this be if he not in collaboration with murderer?

What if Twain did it himself?

Murdered himself?

For what possible reason? And how?

The motive is simple: Ego.

If we were not to solve this crime, he'd be named the world's foremost detective.

With an ego like his, the fact that he died for it is a small price to pay.

As to how, any man who can create this chamber of electronic marvels...

would certainly be able to devise a machine...

that would stab himself in the back 11 or 12 times.

That was wonderful, darling. I'm so proud of you.

- Let's go to bed, quickly. - One moment, please.

Very interesting theory, Mr. Charleston...

but you overlook one very important point.

- And that is? - It's stupid.

It's most stupid theory I ever heard!

- Do you have a better one? - Oh, yeah, much better one.

You see, I have been doing my homework, Mr. Charleston.

For example, I have information...

that your wife's portfolio of stocks...

were seriously depleted in latest financial crisis.

In short, you are flat broke, Mr. Charleston.

You have been borrowing money for over two years...

at 17% interest from Mr. Lionel Twain.

Broke? Is this true?

I didn't want to tell you now. I was saving it for your birthday.

One million dollars would buy...

great many tight suits, would it not, Mr. Charleston?

- See here, Wang... - Dead broke, Dickie?

Almost, darling. I have $1.17 and some stamps.

But I did not murder Lionel Twain. You do believe that, don't you, darling?

We'll talk. We'll see.

It could have been any one of you.

Each and every one of us was out of that dining room at one time or another...

giving ample opportunity to commit the crime.

As for motives, there's more than ego and cash involved.

For example, revenge.

Meaning what, Mr. Charleston?

Meaning that I'm not the only one here who's had a past experience with Twain.

Did you know that he was quite a ladies' man in his day?

Are you suggesting that someone here...

Was at one time in love with Lionel Twain.

As a matter of fact, he was engaged to and jilted...

Miss Jessica Marbles.

Jesus H. Christ!

Jilted 54 years ago at the altar.

Left her there in that same baggy tweed outfit.

- Is this true, Jessie? - I was not jilted.

I walked out on him.

He wanted to fool around before the wedding.

And being the lady you are, you refused.

Not completely.

But it got out of hand. He was horrid, but I didn't kill him.

That's good enough for me. What about you, Frenchy?

I'm not a Frenchy! I'm a Belgy!

And as for other motives, how about patricide?

The killing of one's own parent?

You mean that Lionel Twain was the father of someone in this room?

He wasn’t my father.

He was my uncle.

He was very good to me.

He would take me to the circus and give me candy.

We stopped going when I was about 26.

I'm sorry, Sam.

Twenty-six? What the hell kind of a circus was it?

Forgive me, but I was talking about patricide, not uncle-cide.

Monsieur Twain may have been your uncle, Miss Skeffington...

but he was the illegitimate father of...

Monsieur Sidney Wang!

It not true.

I was adopted. I have my papers.

That is why I have adopted all my children.

I was wondering.

Oh, he loved me very much...

but he was not very observant.

One day when I was 19, he called me to his study...

noticed for first time I was Oriental, and kicked me out of house.

- I could have... - Killed him, Monsieur Wang?

As easily as you, Monsieur Perrier.

Lionel Twain killed the only thing you ever loved:

Marie-Louise Cartier.

Your sweetheart?

My poodle.

He was a most cruel man.

Monsieur would come to France every season...

to hunt poodles.

The day they brought...

her bloodied sequined collar to me, I vowed one day I would...

- Knock him off? - Yes, gladly, if I had the chance.

But I did not.

Someone here beat me to it.

So there's more than one reason that we was invited here.

Not only was Twain testin' our skills as detectives...

but we all have legitimate motives for doin' the old man in.

Have not yet heard your motive, Mr. Diamond.

My motive is unimportant.

Let's just say that I hated him enough to kill him.

You are a closed man, Mr. Diamond.

You hide many things.

Could it be that Mr. Twain discover your secret?

I don't know what you're talkin' about.

We know different, do we not, Miss Skeffington?

Twain picked up Sam in a gay bar.

I was working on a case. Working.

Every night for six months?

I got 50 bucks a day and expenses. I hate them queeries.

Twain...

had Polaroid pictures of Sam in drag.

I was in disguise. Lots of dames go in those joints.

I never kissed nobody.

And I never did nothin" to a man that I wouldn't do to a woman.

And I didn't kill Twain.

You bitch.

Most interesting.

All had perfect motives for killing Twain.

Wonder which one was one who done it.

We still have the night to get through.

If anyone is going to solve this case, I say we all get a good night's sleep.

And I suggest we all lock our doors.

One of us is a mad killer...

and not to be trusted.

Who do you think is the murderer?

Must sleep on it.

Will know in morning when wake up.

What if you don't wake up?

Then you did it.

Go sleep, please.

- Good night, Dad. - Should have adopted pussycat.

Should I turn off the steam, Pop?

Not steam.

Someone just put deadly snake in room.

Wake me when it come near bed.

I want you to know, Dickie darling, that if you're the murderer...

I'll still love you.

I don’t think it would be right for us to make love, but I'd still love you.

No fear of that, my pet. Now let's see what we have here.

We have one missing, dead, naked butler...

one host with a butcher's knife in his back...

and one poisonous scorpion crawling up our sheets.

- Is that what that is? - Yes. They can kill instantly.

I suggest we don't move.

For how long?

Quite possibly for the rest of our lives.

Good heavens.

I know who the murderer is.

Solvey-poo?

Yes, Miss Withers. The murderer is...

Good God! Gas!

I'm sorry. I can't help it. I'm old.

No, no. The other kind of gas. The kind that kills.

Sometimes my gas...

It's seeping in through the vent!

It's locked from the outside.

Help!

Doesn't smell that bad to me.

Help!

Did I do right, Sam, telling them about the gay bar?

Perfect, sweetheart. They took the bait like a dumb halibut.

Let 'em think I’m a pansy.

While they're busy suspectin' me, one of them is gonna let his pants down.

Sam, why do you keep all those naked muscle men magazines in your office?

Suspects. Always lookin' for suspects.

What's that tickin' sound I hear?

"That tickin' sound is a bomb in your room that will go off in 30 seconds.

- Signed, the murderer." - Quick, Sam, the door!

"P.S. The door is locked."

I'm sorry about this, Tess.

And me owin" you all that money, too.

That's all right, Sam. What are we gonna do?

I got an idea.

I don't know whether this is gonna work or not. Quick, turn around!

- I'm turned, Sam. - Whatever you do, don't turn back.

- If anything... - Do as I say, angel.

- I will, Sam. - Good.

'Cause I think I'm gonna cry.

- What are you doing in my bed? - There's no place else to sleep.

Sleep in the car, you chauffeur. Go!

You aren't fair. I will tell everyone that you wear a toupee.

- They already know. - Then why do you wear it?

I didn't know that you knew.

Certainly I know. It's a terrible toupee.

A bomb. Across the hall.

Quickly, the door!

It's locked from the outside.

You look taller to me. Why is that?

I don't understand, Monsieur. I'm not getting taller.

If you are not getting taller, there is only one alternative.

The room is getting shorter!

Mon dieu! The ceiling is coming down!

- What'll we do? - I don't know!

But this is exactly how they make goose liver pate.

Not so fast, please.

Do not cross out Wang name.

Cross out "snake" instead.

Nice shot, Pop.

Sure wish you weren't such a heavy sleeper.

And now...

if you please.

One million dollars...

Mr. Bensonmum.

Banzai, Pop!

Very clever of you, Mr. Wang.

Oh, yes. As you can see, I can see.

So I see.

Tell me, as the only survivor, how did you deduce it was me?

Went back to theory seldom used today:

Butler did it.

I hadn't thought of that.

But how do you account for my dead body in the kitchen?

Body made of plastic, same as plastic cook.

While we examine plastic butler...

you murder Lionel Twain.

You're a clever little laundry man, Mr. Wang.

But not quite clever enough!

I’LL take that one million dollars, Bensonmum...

alias Irving Goldman.

Irving Goldman?

Yes.

Irving Goldman was the attorney of the late Lionel Twain.

Lionel Twain died five years ago.

His body was recently discovered in Goldman's filing cabinet.

Am I correct, Mr. Goldman?

Yeah. Correct, Miss Marbles.

But how did you escape the poison gas?

Quite simple. I covered my mouth...

and let Miss Withers here breathe in all the gas.

- Sicky-poo. - Yes, dear, I know.

- The million dollars, please. - I wouldn't if I were you, Goldman.

Or is it Goldman?

Actually, it's Mr. Marvin Metzner.

Marvin Metzner?

Very good, Mr. Charleston.

But how did you know?

The bill in the dead butler's hand...

stating that the entire weekend had been catered.

Only an accountant would have held onto a thing like that.

- Dickie, get the money and let's go. - In a moment.

Goldman was killed last month while skiing.

He jumped 200 feet into a low-flying plane.

I can't wait much longer.

You've not lost your touch, Mr. Charleston.

But how did you elude the deadly scorpion?

We didn't. He stung Dora.

- We have 15 minutes to get to a doctor. - Could you explain later?

We'll make it. Never fear. The prize money, Mr. Metzner.

Belongs to me, Monsieur.

Marcel, being one of the world's strongest men...

stopped your ceiling from crushing us at four feet, five inches.

It may be months before we are able to straighten up again...

but a million dollars will buy a lot of back braces.

Eh, Miss Irene Twain?

Daughter of Lionel!

What?

I prefer to be called Rita.

But how did you know?

Never underestimate a Frenchman's nostrils, Miss Twain.

At dinner tonight...

I smelled your Chanel No. 5.

It was you who did away with all of them:

Metzner, Goldman and your father.

In fact, if you had your way...

you would do away with all men, would you not, Miss Twain?

Men who have made you ashamed and made you suffer...

because you were born with brains...

talent, money, everything but that which you most desired:

Beauty.

It is a statement of fact, Miss Twain...

that as a man you are barely passable, but as a woman...

you are a dog.

That's your opinion, big boy.

And now my money, please.

With luck, I can still make dinner at Maxim's.

If I were you, I'd just order a tuna fish sandwich...

because that dough belongs to me.

That’s right, I'm alive and kicking.

Miss Skeffington here dropped your bomb down the john.

It blew up just as she flushed. The seat missed her head by an inch.

I'm all right, J.J.

J.J.?

That's right, folks. He outsmarted us all.

Sitting behind that desk is the real Sam Diamond.

My name is Loomis.

J.J. Loomis. I'm an actor. I do impressions.

I did the Carson show six times last year.

Diamond hired me for the weekend.

Miss Skeffington here is actually Vilma Norman.

She's a cocktail waitress at the Water Bed Motel in Carmel.

Diamond hated all of you.

You were all getting big money, and he had that crummy office in San Francisco.

If he proved that he was number one, he would get all your rich clients.

But since I put all the pieces together...

I figure that money belongs to me.

Isn't that right, Mr. Diamond?

Wrong.

That would have been so obvious, a child could have guessed it.

No, my dear colleagues. What you all seem to overlook...

is the most simple and direct solution.

That I am indeed... Lionel Twain.

You've all been so clever for so long...

you've forgotten to be humble.

You've tricked and fooled your readers for years.

You’ve tortured us all with surprise endings that made no sense.

You've introduced characters in the last five pages...

that were never in the book before!

You've withheld clues and information...

that made it impossible for us to guess who did it.

But now the tables are turned.

Millions of angry mystery readers...

are now getting their revenge.

When the world learns I've outsmarted you...

they'll be selling your $1.95 books for 12 cents.

It's checkout time, ladies and gentlemen.

I have your bills ready.

Credit cards will be accepted.

Then even the scorpion was a fake?

Everything. The bridge, the maid.

- But you're sure about the scorpion? - Positive.

Even the fog. He made that with a dry ice machine. See for yourself.

How awfully unromantic.

Then if he really was Lionel Twain...

you must really be Sam Diamond.

That's right, baby.

I was in disguise, in disguise, in disguise.

You work hard for 50 bucks a day in this racket.

I guess that means we won’t be seeing each other again, Sam.

Well, that depends. I’LL be around if you need me.

All you gotta do is whistle.

And you know how to whistle, don't you, baby?

Certainly. What do you mean?

Never mind. Forget it. You ruined it.

I don't understand, Pop. Was there a murder or wasn't there?

Yes. Killed good weekend.

Drive, please.

}}