The Thin Man Goes Home Page #8

Give them to the boys.

- Good evening, Mr. Charles.

- Oh, hello.

I bet you think I'm a silly girl

for behaving the way I did.

- You were right to be angry with me.

- I'm not angry with you.

- Aren't you, really?

- No. Here, I'll prove it to you.

- I'll take all your tickets. There.

- You can prove it even better...

...by dancing with me.

- All right, put me down for a dance.

- Do you jitterbug?

- No, put me down for a slow polka.

Was that necessary? Do you have

to shine up to him like that?

Oh, Tom, you're impossible.

Nicky, it's gone.

- What's gone?

- The painting I gave you.

- The painting you gave me?

- I mean, the painting I didn't give you.

- Come again?

- For your birthday.

The painting that you gave me

but you didn't give me for...

I beg your pardon? I didn't understand.

- Gracious me, what are you doing in here?

- Remember me?

- I'm looking for the windmill painting.

- Windmill.

Everybody's looking for

the painting of the windmill.

Now you get out of here.

Goodness gracious!

All a painter has to do nowadays

is to get killed, and he becomes a genius.

- What? Did you say the painter was killed?

- Yes. Peter Berton.

- All higgledy-piggledy.

- Was that painting by Peter Berton?

Gracious me, yes.

Everybody's been after that painting.

First the blond, then Sam Ronson,

and now you.

- Sam Ronson?

- Yes.

- Where is it?

- I sold it to the blond.

Well, Mr. Crump,

what was the blond's name?

Mrs. Edgar Draque.

She lives here in the hotel.

Draque. Why, that's the name

of the man who offered me the $500.

- Wait here.

- Where are you going?

- To do business with the blond.

- You think she'll give it to you?

I can try, darling. Anything for art.

I'll be right back.

- No. I think I'll go along and chaperone.

- Well...

Oh, hello, sailor.

- Why aren't you dancing?

- I haven't got any tickets.

- Here.

- No dance tickets? Of course you have.

- There you are. And here's your partner.

- Gee, thanks!

Nicky!

Nicky!

What's the number

of Mr. Draque's room?

- 124.

- 124. Thanks.

- Good evening.

- Evening. Willoughby.

- Hello.

- I see you've decided to stay in town.

I never had any intention of leaving.

- By the way, Tatum.

- Yeah?

When the hospital's built, you must come

in and have my father treat your nose.

- There's nothing wrong with my nose.

- There will be.

Oh, pardon me.

Come in, come in, dear. It's Mrs. Draque.

How do you do, Mrs. Draque?

Well, you certainly got

right down to business.

I found her on the floor.

She was out cold. Somebody had

conked her before I got here.

- What about the painting?

- It's gone.

- We're going after it.

- Glad to have met you, Mrs. Draque.

- Clerk.

- Yes, sir?

- You better have someone go up to 124.

- What's wrong?

- Mrs. Draque is indisposed.

- Oh, my.

Now, let me think. Let's see.

Peter Berton painted it.

Everybody wanted it.

Draque offered 500. Mrs. Draque got it.

She got conked.

Let's see, now, who else wanted it?

Crazy Mary said she knew somebody

who would get it for her.

That might be it.

There's Ronson.

Ronson. Ronson said

he wanted it too.

Yes.

There's the doc.

- I'd love to.

- As soon as I check...

- Bruce, excuse me. Are you busy?

- We're gonna have a dance.

How'd you like to take me

for another ride?

- Well, I'd like to, but...

- That's fine. Come on, let's go.

- Where are we going?

- To Crazy Mary's.

- That's where we belong.

- Come on, Asta.

Dr. Clayworth's going to miss

all the dances.

Don't worry about me.

I'm not much of a dancer anyway.

Nick was the one the girls

always wanted to dance with.

I hear he also played the banjo.

- She's dead.

- Nicky.

Nicky, look.

Shot with her own gun.

Hey, that's one way

of destroying fingerprints, huh?

- Certainly is. Yes.

- We'd better call MacGregor.

Asta. Asta, what is it?

That's it. Your birthday present.

Asta, you'll get an extra bone for this.

Nicky!

- Hey, what are you doing up at this hour?

- I came down to ask you that.

Well, I was just concentrating

on this little gem.

Funny thing to concentrate

on at this hour of night.

Why don't you tackle it in the morning

when you're fresher?

Say, you're pretty fresh right now.

You know, this has to be

solved by morning.

- We're in the home stretch.

- How's it look for the finish?

Well, I'm not passing out

any tips just yet.

Secret.

Worried?

Say, you are worried, aren't you?

Oh, I've handled trickier shows

than this.

But your old man wasn't

in the audience watching you.

That's it, isn't it? Or part of it anyway.

You'll get it.

You may not be any great shakes

as a detective, but you're lucky.

You'll solve it.

And your father will be proud of you.

He'd better be. Unless he wants to hear

that Stinky Davis story again.

No, no, no.

Not that, dear. Not that.

- I'll be waiting for you, darling. Good luck.

- I'll need it, sister.

And don't call me sister.

Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.

I demand to know

why we were brought here.

- Nick Charles' orders.

- I demand to see Nick Charles.

- Where is he?

- Search me.

I demand to know what those people

are doing in my laboratory.

- I don't know.

- Where's Nick Charles?

- I don't know.

- You don't know much, do you?

No, but I don't have to.

Mrs. Green's little boy's

just swallowed 50 cents.

I'll get it, Hilda.

Hello, sister. Nick Charles here?

- Who wants him?

- Yeah, who wants him?

- Is your name "sister"?

- Where's Nick Charles?

- He's a friend of ours.

- What do you want?

- Pull in your ears, pop.

- Listen, you. You behave...

- You leave him alone.

- Look, bub, he sent for us.

- What's your name?

- My name's Slugs Lannigan.

- His is Finnigan. Mickey to you.

- Yeah.

Well, why didn't you say so?

Go on in there and sit down.

And keep quiet.

- Is it always like this, Nora?

- Always.

You have my deepest sympathy.

- Mrs. Charles, where is your husband?

- I don't know.

Why don't you sit down and take it easy.

I'll just make some cocoa

to quiet their nerves.

Cocoa? What a break.

Why is it necessary to herd us all

into a room like this?

For a very simple reason.

This is the way he always works.

And this time he has

a very special reason.

Whatever he does,

no matter how idiotic it may seem...

...nobody ever outguesses him for long.

Just wait, you're going

to be mighty proud of him.

I've seen him work on situations

like this that looked hopeless...

...when suddenly the guilty party cracks

up and starts trying to shoot his way out.

He's not going to turn this place

into a shooting gallery.

That's the way these things usually

wind up. It's called the payoff.

I usually duck under the sofa

when it starts.

It's outrageous. Treating people

in this high-handed fashion.

Where is he?

Oh, he's probably arranging

a few surprises for us.

Right now it may be part of a strategy

of nerves to keep us all on edge.

But when the stage is set,

he'll make a dramatic entrance.

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