The Thin Man Goes Home Page #3

Oh, he'd be furious.

But if some crime did break,

it would be a wonderful chance for him...

...to show his father

what a great detective he is.

Studying hard, junior?

Oh, hi.

Guess I must have dropped off.

- Would you like to lie here?

- No, no, stay where you are.

I don't want to disturb you while

you're working on your lessons.

I'll pull up one of these chairs.

- Can't I help you?

- No. You've made enough effort.

I was just thinking about a little gal

by the name of Alice Brody.

We used to come out here on

hot summer nights and play on her banjo.

The boys used to write their names on it.

She married a brewer from Milwaukee.

What did he play, the bull fiddle?

No, she was very fond of beer.

- You sure I can't help you with that?

- No.

No, you might get all sweaty and die.

Well, hello there.

Nick, you old son of a gun.

Why didn't you let me know

you were in town?

- Oh, hello, Bruce.

- Hello, Nick.

Well, looks like the old days.

Yeah. Darling, meet an old schoolmate.

Bruce Clayworth. Mrs. Charles.

- How do you do?

- How do you do, Mrs. Char...?

Well, I'm certainly glad to meet you.

- Now I know the secret of Nick's success.

- Yes. If it weren't for her money...

...I probably would've had to go

to work like you, Bruce.

What do you do, Mr. Clayworth?

I'm a small-town doctor.

Always will be, I guess.

Nick had the right idea. "Get where

the money is, and it'll come to you."

- That's what he said.

- Did I say that?

Well, he was always the smart

one anyway, Mrs. Charles.

What are you doing now?

You here on a case?

No. No. We're just visiting the folks.

Now, let's see something of you

while you're in town.

- I've gotta run. I'm gonna have a baby.

- Drink milk.

Oh, not me. Down at the hosp...

He was always a clown, Mrs. Charles.

He used to put us in stitches.

- Goodbye.

- Goodbye.

Goodbye.

How would you like to put me in

stitches, papa?

Well, if it isn't little Nicholas Charles.

Old home week.

It's Mrs. Peavy, isn't it?

- Well, hello.

- You've grown.

Yes, in all directions.

You remember my nephew,

Willoughby?

- Oh, yes, of course. How are you?

- How do you do?

He seems to have grown too.

- And I suppose this is Mrs. Charles.

- Yes. I'm Mrs. Charles.

I'm so sorry. This is my old schoolteacher,

Miss Peavy. And Willoughby Peavy.

- How do you do?

- How do you do?

Willoughby is working

out at the plant now.

Are you in town on a case, Nicholas?

No, I'm just trying to get a little rest.

I daresay there's plenty of evil

in Sycamore Springs.

And it's your duty to ferret it out.

Well, I daresay.

Hew to the line. Let the chips

fall where they may.

Asta. Asta. Asta, no.

What a nasty little dog.

- Come along, Willoughby.

- Oh, don't hurry away.

I hope I see you again, Mrs. Charles.

Without your dog.

Darling, is that why you burned

the schoolhouse down?

Why did you shoot your mouth

off about me for?

Hush up. I just told them you

work at the plant.

I didn't tell them what you were doing.

Having trouble with that?

Very funny, I'm sure.

Children!

Hello, Mother.

I saw all those people stopping, Nicky.

You're getting to be

quite a public character.

Yes, I feel like a public something.

It's funny, they all assume

he's working on a case.

- Mind if I come in?

- Not at all, Laurabelle, come along.

- Don't be long.

- No.

- Who's this?

- It's Laurabelle Ronson.

She's the daughter of that typhoon

I was telling you about.

- You're Mrs. Charles, aren't you?

- Yes.

Oh, I knew it. I knew it when I saw you

from the car. I felt it here, inside.

- Laurabelle goes to dramatic school.

- Oh, I see.

- And this is your famous husband.

- Yes.

He looks all right when you get

him dressed up.

You're here on a mystery. A deep,

deep mystery in Sycamore Springs.

I feel it here, inside.

Well, I'm sorry to disagree

with your insides, Miss...?

Just call me Laurabelle.

But I'm really just here

for a little rest.

You must pardon Nick, Laurabelle. He's

been working hard in the city. He's tired.

Oh, yes, I know how these geniuses are.

All nerves.

But I realize you can't talk about it,

even if he is here on a case.

- No. No. We mustn't talk about it.

- In fact, we don't have to.

Everything is so frightfully

hush-hush these days. But I know.

And I think it's wonderful.

Good gracious.

Who's making that racket?

That's Tom Clayworth. I promised to drive

him to the train. He's leaving for Boston.

Has he got his discharge

from the Army yet?

Yes. Since he came back from the South

Seas, he's been as nervous as a cat.

- Poor boy.

- And so jealous.

Why, he won't even let

another man talk to me.

- I haven't said anything.

- I must take my leave now.

But we're going to see a lot

of each other. I'm sure. I feel it here.

- Inside?

- Yes.

And don't forget, Laurabelle,

we mustn't talk about it.

Oh, I understand, Mrs. Charles. And

your secret couldn't be in better hands.

It's all over town, Mrs. Charles,

that Mr. Charles is here on a case.

- Lf you could give me a little statement.

- I never discuss Mr. Charles' activities.

He happens to be out now.

But Mr. Charles is in town,

Mr. Charles is a detective...

...and you can draw

your own conclusions.

Thank you.

"In an interview with Mrs. Charles

by the Sycamore Springs Evening News...

...she raised an eyebrow and said,

'I never discuss Mr. Charles' activities...

...but you can draw

your own conclusions.'"

Now that's a lot of malarkey.

Why, I've known Nick Charles for years.

If there was anything going on in this

town, he'd be the first to let me know.

Look at that. Nick Charles is in town.

Paper says he's here on an investigation.

He's after us. We gotta get that painting

and get out of here.

The painting hasn't come in yet.

I was at Crumps this morning.

I can't understand that. Are you sure

you asked for the painting of the windmill?

Of course I'm sure.

- Well, then why...?

- Now, Edgar, calm down. We'll get it.

Well, I don't like that flatfoot

snooping around town.

- We'll go down there now.

- All right, all right.

Mister.

Oh, how do you do?

- How much is this?

- This?

Oh, you don't want this.

Oh, gracious me, no.

- But I do want it.

- No, no, I can't sell that.

That's by one of our local boys.

It just came in.

I have a standing offer

for all of his work.

- Some crazy woman thinks he's a genius.

- But I happen to like it.

That old windmill has a certain

sentimental association for my husband.

And I'd like to give it to him

for his birthday tomorrow.

How much does

the other woman pay you?

Fifty dollars. She buys all of his work.

- I'll give you 60.

- I beg your pardon?

I said, I'd give you $60 for it.

But you'll never make money paying

$60 for a $50 painting.

But I don't want to make any money.

My husband spent his whole youth

in that windmill.

And he's sentimental about it.

Tomorrow is his birthday.

- Can't you understand that?

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