Lady in the Lake Page #2

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When I made a quick $300|by keeping quiet?

We have a nasty little motto around here:

"Every man has his price."

Let us say we paid $200 for your story...

and the $300 you just made...

is a down payment|on your helping me find Mrs. Kingsby.

You don't need any help there, "darling."|Not you.

No?

Your lipstick's on crooked.

Vain female, aren't you?

Please don't be so difficult|to get along with. I need help.

Like I need four thumbs.

I wonder how it would be|to discuss this over a couple of ice cubes.

Would you care to try?

lmagine you needing ice cubes.

My, my, cozy little place you've got here.

Make yourself comfortable|while I crack some ice.

I won't be more than a minute.

- How do you like yours?|- Two lumps and cream and make it strong.

Sit down.

Thanks.

If you're going to take this case,|Mr. Marlowe...

the first person you should see|is Chris Lavery.

Who's he?

The handsome brute that Chrystal Kingsby|ran away with a month ago...

- or so we thought.|- A month?

Take him that long to get to El Paso?

Who said anything about El Paso?

Why didn't you tie it on my ear?|I'd have found it quicker.

- Why, I didn't even know that...|- You're working overtime.

I don't get it.

What's the mystery|if Kingsby's wife is in Mexico?

The mystery is that|I ran into Chris Lavery last week...

and he said he hadn't seen|Chrystal Kingsby for two months.

He's home and she isn't. No one's|seen her. She's missing. Vanished.

Wire is a phony.|Anybody could have sent it.

Why, even I could call up and clear a wire|out of El Paso if I wanted to.

- Maybe you did.|- You're very funny.

If she's really missing,|why isn't Kingsby looking for her?

I don't know.|Maybe he thinks she's off on a toot.

But a Mexican divorce,|with no property settlement...

not Chrystal Kingsby.|She'd do it right here in California.

Besides that...

Chrystal Kingsby isn't a big enough fool|to marry Chris Lavery.

Why not?

You don't marry the Chris Laverys|of this world.

You just pay their bills,|lend them all the money they need...

- then forget to ask for it back.|- You seem to know all about him.

What's that got to do with it?

Nothing. It has to do with you.|You know him well?

What do you mean?

Why are you looking at me like that?

Mr. Marlowe, if you don't think|there's a case or a mystery here...

then I've been wasting your time.|Please don't let me waste any more of it.

Perhaps you'd better go home|and play with your fingerprint collections.

Where does Chris Lavery live?

Bay City.

- Address?|- 676 Altair Street.

- At the edge of the canyon.|- And you hope he throws me into it.

One more question.

What would happen if I kissed you?

Why don't you try and see?

Do you always close your eyes when|you think somebody's going to kiss you?

What stopped you?

What's Chris Lavery like?|Broad shoulders?

- Why?|- Did you close your eyes for him, too?

Get out.

You want to marry Kingsby|because Lavery jilted you, eh?

That's not true. Get out.

Now, I'll go see the guy.

But don't try to be cute anymore.|I know you.

We'll skip the drinks.

You better get to work|and edit my manuscript.

Yes. I plan to slash the emotion|right out of it.

That's the manuscript. This is me.

Good night, sweetheart.|I'll let you know what Lavery says.

- Chris Lavery?|- Yes, sir. That's me.

I like your tan. That's very Christmassy.

Thank you, sir. That's very kind of you.

Private detective.

Well, I declare.|You fellows going from door to door now?

It's a shame business is so bad.

But I don't think|I can use a private detective.

Look, Uncle Tom, I don't need a job.|I've got one, you're a part of it.

Now that's downright interesting.

May I presume to ask you, sir,|who sent you over here?

- What is it you want?|- I'm working for Derace Kingsby.

Kingsby? Don't tell me he's down|to hiring private detectives.

- I just wouldn't believe it.|- That's pretty far down, isn't it?

- I didn't mean to insult your profession...|- We're getting along just fine.

How about going inside, or doesn't|Southern hospitality extend that far?

Well, pardon me, sir.

You come right on in.

My, my, cozy little place you've got here.

Why don't you tell me where Mrs. Kingsby|is? That way I won't be bothering you.

Mrs. Kingsby? Chrystal? Why,|I haven't seen her in a month of Sundays.

And I've never been to El Paso in my life...

if that's what|you were going to ask me next.

- You know about the telegram?|- Yes, sir, Miss Adrienne told me.

Miss Adrienne did, did she?

I'm afraid I must warn you, Mr. Marlowe,|Miss Adrienne likes to romanticize.

Anything she may have told you about me,|you must take with a grain of salt.

Chrystal Kingsby has been gone a month.

That telegram's the only trace,|and if it doesn't mean anything...

- Not as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't.|- There's nothing to do but go to the cops.

For some reason,|I don't think Mr. Kingsby would do that.

He might have to, to protect himself|in case anything's happened to his wife.

I'd like to know, what kind of a thing|do you think could have happened to her?

Chrystal Kingsby has money.

Once in a while, boys like you|have to make it the hard way.

You offend me, sir. I'm truly shocked.

Why not loosen up|and save yourself a lot of trouble?

You know plenty about Chrystal Kingsby.

A gentleman never speaks disrespectfully|of a lady.

Not even one|as lovely as Mrs. Kingsby was.

- Did you say "was"?|- Sir?

It must have been a slip of my tongue.

But to the point, lovely as Mrs. Kingsby is,|gracious as she is, charming as she is...

I don't hanker for any part of her.|Not for all the money in the world.

And if my humble opinion|is of any value to you...

the little lady may have sent that wire|for just that reason.

- To embrangle me as badly as she could.|- Embrangle you? What does that mean?

Oh, yes, I forgot.

You're a Yankee.|You wouldn't understand.

I don't think|her little scheme is going to work.

Pardon me, Mr. Marlowe,|do you have the time?

What's the matter?|Doesn't your clock work either?

All right, Marlowe.

Oh, brother,|that's a beautiful eye you've got.

Now, come on,|Lt. DeGarmot ain't gonna wait all day.

Put out that cigarette.

Tough guy, huh?

Okay, the next time we get you in here|we'll teach you some manners.

Come on, get moving.

Did you have any fun yesterday,|Lieutenant?

Tossed a private dick in the can,|if you call that fun.

Yeah, a guy named Marlowe.|They're bringing him down now.

- What did he pull?|- He got drunk in his car and passed out.

Is that him?|Looks like he ran into a brick wall.

Go on, get your stuff|from the property clerk.

- Name?|- Phillip Marlowe.

You like our jail?

Fine.

You came out of your blackout|and started slugging...

so I had to put you to sleep again.

- Fine.|- Did you sleep nice?

- Fine.|- Do you remember me at all?

Fine.

Don't you know any other words|but "fine"?

The teeth I've got, I'd like to keep.

All right, Marlowe, sign here.

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