The Talk of the Town Page #7

There's Grunstadt and Holmes,

Miss Bush, shot-put medals.

You ought to be able to

uncover some shred of evidence.

- Have you gone over everything?

- Day and night for a month.

Total profit to date is the

fire inspector's report six weeks ago.

At the end of the page,

in Bracken's own handwriting...

...he was the one killed...

...says, "Sprinkler system

slightly defective."

So was the whole joint. Worn out,

ready to go up in smoke...

...or deliberately burned by Holmes and

Bracken for insurance.

You know, this Bracken's

handwriting is moronic.

And Miss Bush's affection for him,

that's not sincere.

- I think she's putting on an act.

- She and Holmes are thick as fleas.

Quite possibly there are things

going on behind the scenes.

Quite possibly justice

is being hoodwinked, Sam.

You don't say.

Yet, if Dilg walked in right now...

Yes, I would. I'd have to.

I'd turn him in.

- Now, goodbye, Mr. Yates.

- Bye, Michael.

Mr. Lightcap.

Hello, Tilney.

No, sir. You can't do that. You can't.

There's work to do. It's in my way.

Oh, no. For 15 years, sir...

15 years. Beaver.

You have beautiful hands.

Scholarly.

Clyde had hands you could use

to knock in spikes with.

Who is Clyde?

"Who was Clyde?"

Would be more accurate.

I'm in mourning. It's a great hardship

because I like to get around.

- Thank you.

- You visiting for the summer?

Yes.

I wish he wasn't dead,

at least for one night.

I'd love to go dancing tonight.

Miss Bush, I wonder if

I might have the pleasure...

...of taking you dancing tonight?

The pleasure?

Well, say now,

that's really something.

It takes my breath away.

Why, you're real cute.

Listen, you blow your horn at 7

tonight right outside, sonny.

Will you stop walking around

and lie down for a while?

I can't figure it out.

Why can't 100 policemen

find one man with a bad ankle?

What the dickens is that to you?

Nothing. It's just killing me,

that's all.

- Tilney.

- Yes, sir.

I have a great regard

for your judgment.

In practical matters, I consider it

equal, if not superior, to my own.

Thank you, sir. But you worry me.

If you wanted to get some information

out of a woman, how would you do it?

I feared as much.

Now come on, help me.

Well, Mr. Lightcap, I've lived

a cloistered life, like you.

In fact, with you.

On a subject of that sort, why, we're

babes in the woods, both of us.

- But you were married once.

- That was the folly of youth, sir.

But you wooed and won her. How?

By the darndest series of lies

you ever heard.

I gave her a character and charms

she never possessed.

I played to the well-known weakness

of every woman alive...

...and perjured my soul

for a thousand years to come.

Very interesting.

- Maybe we'd better go back to Boston.

- No, no, Tilney. Hurry along.

- We must keep our appointment.

- Yes, sir.

Why, of course. I should've known.

What a dope.

Where do you think you're going?

If you're not out of the doorway by the

time I'm dressed, I'll mow you down.

You dance divinely, Miss Bush.

Your physical coordinations

are remarkable.

I thought I'd heard them all,

but your line is brand new.

You are definitely a superior person.

- Far too superior for this exhibition.

- You're cute.

If I was free,

I would take you seriously.

But you are free, aren't you?

Your gentlemen friend

is dead, isn't he?

That's the general impression.

What do you mean?

Little Regina is drinking too much.

It makes the tongue loose.

Dance, honey?

Your hands are beautiful.

Extraordinarily beautiful.

Would you like to kiss me?

Cultured. It's a cultured kiss.

You know, you are rare, Regina.

Your beauty makes my head swim.

Like music. Like music from a band.

- If I were only free...

- But you are free.

- You're only tormenting me.

- I'm not. I got a letter from him.

He wants me to meet him in Boston.

The moment I saw you, you seemed to

strike a rich, deep note inside of me.

Like an organ.

More.

All women after this

will seem different.

That moronic handwriting again.

"C. Barnard, Boston."

So that's where he is.

That's where who is?

Give that back.

- I feel like dancing.

- You heard me!

- But I hate...

- Give that back!

- Regina, darling.

- Don't "Regina, darling" me.

There's something fishy about you.

Help! Throw this guy out!

You dirty double-crosser.

Get him out of here!

Leopold.

Leopold.

Hello, Nora.

Leopold.

You idiot. I figured the attic's

just where you'd go.

Your ankle.

You couldn't go anyplace else.

Now, now. Nora Shelley, crying?

I've been out of my mind for 24 hours.

I thought you were dead.

Well, what an idea.

You know something?

Our friend, the professor,

lied to the police.

I knew it.

He did something else tonight:

Shaved off his beard.

But why?

Who can tell what a man

in love will do?

- In love? Who with?

- You.

And I know just how he feels.

The prettiest girl in Lochester.

Leopold, I've been

so miserable to you.

I never really knew you.

Leopold.

Stop saying "Leopold" like that,

tenderly.

It sounds funny with

a name like "Leopold."

Shut up.

Where's this going to end, anyway?

Here you are, back in the attic.

Now he's pulling tricks.

Where did he go without his beard?

- He'll be all right.

- He won't be all right. He's a child.

I know just how you feel.

Don't start that soupy stuff again.

You don't know

how I feel about anything.

Nora, you'd like that job

in Washington, wouldn't you?

Come on, tell me.

Who wouldn't want to

get out of this burg?

Certainly, and with him.

I've been sitting here wondering.

It's all wrong.

The whole thing's wrong.

What's all wrong?

Well, I've been wondering.

Suppose you two had met up here

and Leopold Dilg hadn't butted in.

- Now wait a minute.

- No. That isn't the whole thing.

That's quite a man, an important man.

And quite a career too.

Can't kick a career like that around.

Who said I was right about the law?

Leopold, what do you mean?

Nothing. I was just wondering,

that's all, Nora.

- What are you wondering about?

- Just wondering. Can't a man wonder?

- Nora, you'd better get going.

- Wait.

- You're taking chances.

- I'm going to get Yates.

- You stay here.

- Everything's going to be fine.

Remember what I said.

Don't go any place.

- Hurry, Tilney.

- Yes, sir.

Miss Shelley, I believe Clyde Bracken

is still alive. It seems that...

- If you find my face unpleasant...

- No.

- What are you doing here?

- I came to...

- Did you say "Bracken"?

- Yes. Alive.

- At last you know the truth.

- Not until I can prove it.

A stickler to the last.

- If you knew where he was...

- I would turn him in.

You just took that beard off your face.

Inside, you're as whiskered

as the Smith Brothers.

- Suppose you turn me in right now.

- Leopold!

That's too bad.

- It was a delightful beard.

- Leopold.

- What do you say?

- What's the matter with you?

I'm leaving for Boston

to find Bracken.

How about dropping you off

at the police station?

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