All language subtitles for The.Honey.Pot.1967.720p.BluRay.x264.[YTS.AG]

There was a Venice...

and that was a century of Time,
the 17th.

My century, my time.

Mosca.

Go, straight give out about
the streets you two, that I am dead.

Do it with constancy.

-Sadly, do you hear?
-What do you mean, sir?

Mosca, I shall have instantly
my vulture, raven, crow...

come flying hither
on the news...

to peck for carrion, and all greedy
and full of expectation.

And then, to have it ravished
from their mouths!

'Tis true.
I will have thee...

take upon thee as though
thou were mine heir.

Show them a will.
Open the chests...

and reach forth one of those
that has the blanks.

-I'll straight put in thy name.
-It will be rare, sir.

And when they gape
and find themselves deluded...

and thou use them, scurvily.

But what sir,
if they ask after the body?

Say...

-it was corrupted.
-I'll say it stunk, sir.

And was fain to have it coffined up
instantly and sent away.

Anything, what thou wilt.
There's my will.

That will be enough, thank you.

We've barely started
the last act.

I've no objection to you finishing by
yourselves, if it gives you pleasure.

But you paid for the whole
performance, why not see it through?

I know it well.
Good night and...

bravo.

Signor McFly?

S�.

McFly? An unlikely name,
what does he want?

You must know your butler
speaks no English.

You sent for me, Mr. Fox, in
answer to my letter of application.

Ah, yes, that McFly.

Your letter began by admitting you
know no shorthand and type badly.

What made you think
I didn't want a proper secretary?

A starting salary of
$200 a week.

I'd bet you threw every legitimate
application in the wastebasket.

You'd win.
Sit down, won't you?

I'm not sure yet
I can earn that 200.

You described yourself
as an actor.

I'd bet acting wasn't
your last source of income.

You'd win.

Do sit down, I don't enjoy
looking up at people.

How did you happen
to be in Rome?

For the actor,
Rome is the elephant's graveyard...

when you can't make it
in New York, Hollywood or London.

You don't strike me as deeply
committed to an artistic need.

If I were youngish,
good-looking and broke...

Mr. Fox, everything you wanted
to know is in that letter.

We've established that
you're a fabulously wealthy...

Nut, possibly.

And I'm an actor who, between
engagements, does odd jobs.

How odd is this job you've got?
And what is it?

Fabulously wealthy, you say.

In your wildest fantasies of money,
how much do you dream of?

I write my little scripts, like
everybody, till life louses them up.

How much?

Enough.

There's never enough.

That's a conclusion a man
likes to reach for himself.

Take my word for it.

And refrain from reminding me
that money can't buy a sunrise...

or a baby's smile.
Come and have a drink.

Still, they do say
some things are not for sale.

The souls of men and other
intangibles I can't think of.

Still saying that, are they?

Three parts of whisky
to one water.

"Fox's comfort", it's a new one
on me. Is that a coincidence?

Hardly, that's my face
on the label.

A little distillery
I own in Tennessee.

Your position here, to describe it
in terms of your qualifications...

will be that of, roughly speaking,
my stage manager.

Stage manager?
Is there a script?

I have one in mind.

And a theatre?

Right here.

Every actor's dream,
to play the Palazzo.

You'll have to explain
that to me.

Mr. Fox, if what you had in mind
was amateur theatricals...

I'm sure I never said anything
about amateur theatricals.

Then what do I stage manage?

A rather intricate joke I want
to play on a few old friends.

What kind of a joke?

It's more of a charade, actually,
an improvisation...

in which you may be called upon
to face many unexpected situations.

Your letter referred to a period of
employment in Las Vegas, Nevada.

"Between pictures",
I dealt blackjack.

A pastime for money grubbers.
You play poker, or course?

Of course.

Good.

Wouldn't you say that "making it"
in both Las Vegas and Hollywood...

had much in common
as gambling ventures?

There's a difference in the odds.
Those against hitting a jackpot...

and those against a fantasy
coming true in Hollywood.

Isn't it the same
in the size of the jackpot?

Some of the luckier players receive
several hundred thousand per film.

Some are worth it.

And a few, in time, acquire fortunes
of several millions.

Fewer than you think.

Merle McGill, for example.

McGill, definitely.

She's an old friend of mine.

Merle McGill?

When we met, Myrtle McGillicuddy,
not more than 15 or 16...

but already acclaimed as that year's
Miss Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

One night in New York, we were
introduced in a pub called El Monaco.

El Morocco.

Very likely. I changed her name,
straightened her teeth and hair...

had her adenoids removed and arranged
for her first Hollywood contract.

Just by picking up a telephone.
I always wanted to meet one of you.

Somehow I acquired a sizeable amount
of stock in a major film company.

Sure you wouldn't
prefer a cigar?

No. No, thanks.

She owes you a tremendous debt.

True.

You referred to certain intangibles
that were not for sale.

Would you consider an actor's
gratitude an intangible?

An actor's gratitude is,
at best, a mirage.

You think it unlikely that
a fabulous and wealthy film star...

could be persuaded by merely
the prospect of more money...

to demonstrate her gratitude
to me?

I know actors, Mr. Fox.
Not a chance. She's got enough.

I know money, McFly.
There's never enough.

"A memory, dear Merle,
that fills my mind increasingly...

is that of the generous gratitude
with which you rewarded the little...

I was privileged
to do for you."

"Strangely enough,
dear Dominique...

during these last, necessarily
contemplative hours...

I've conjured up very little
for which I feel even regret...

much less shame,
except once, except for you.

My wealth,
as an object of contemplation...

is now no more pleasurable
than my navel.

I can no longer indulge myself
in spending.

I am faced with deciding to whom
I must grudgingly bequeath it."

We're short of props.

We still haven't created that
atmosphere of death and dying.

Doesn't this fill you
with a sense of doom?

No. It might, however,
have that effect on a plumber.

It's time for your daily poker
lesson. Come and sit down.

By some weird coincidence all four
aces have gravy spots on them.

All four aces?

Almost invisible, unless you were
looking for them. Which I was.

Very sporting of you
to point it out.

Let's rehearse this once more
and run the story again.

Were you always this nervous
before a performance?

A good actor prepares.
Unbutton, please.

It's unlikely a dying man would be
under the care of his secretary.

You can always say the doctors
taught me what to do.

You suffered this massive
heart attack, when?

Three weeks ago yesterday.

Why didn't you send for
the best doctors in Venice?

Need for secrecy. News of my
condition could cause economic chaos.

No way of keeping it quiet here
and so forth.

So we sent for...

Two great specialists
from Vienna.

Strauss.

Both. One Johan, the other, Richard.
Not related. I like that.

Prognosis?

After examination, hopeless.
My noble heart damaged beyond repair.

Treatment?

To wait, as comfortably
as possible, for the end.

And to hope for a miracle.

Nothing.
You may not have a heart.

You won't find it
in my armpit.

Put that away and sit down.
We're wasting time.

My deal.

My deal. You've been shuffling
those cards all day.

It's your privilege to cut.

I won't touch that deck.
It could cut me.

I will have no more of your
guttersnipe insinuations.

It was not I who built slow-witted
farmers in Las Vegas.

New deck?

New deck.

Deck.

Well. Miss Gratitude and Princess
Forgiveness have accepted...

and will be here
on the day.

I understand Merle McGill.
She must figure it's more money...

than even she could get
for one performance.

But not the princess. You sure
reach high for your grapes.

The sweetest, they say,
hang beyond ordinary reach.

Appeal number 3, to Madam Loyalty,
went out this morning.

Will you have time?

She hasn't far to come. Mrs. Sheridan
is in Germany, at Baden-Baden.

What's she doing at Baden-Baden?

Taking the baths, I presume.

Or giving them. I never can tell
with Lone-Star.

Lone-Star? Cut.

Mrs. Sheridan's maiden name,
if indeed she ever was...

was Lone-Star Crockett...

native daughter of your
great South-West. Deal.

Not until you ante... Why were you
in my great South-West?

Change a note. I had interests
that kept me there some time.

Acquiring large amounts of a metal
deposit which was little known...

You've given me one too few.

Glad you caught it.

Uranium? Your queen bets.

Exactly.
Queen bets two.

Once. How did you find Lone-Star?
A uranium by-product?

She found me, actually.
Too soon, Majesty.

By stowing away on my private
railroad car. Two more.

Yours.

Three queens.
Legitimately.

And on my deal, too.

Tell me about Miss Crockett. What
made her think she could get to you?

Her ambition, her guts...

and, above all, her greed.
True pioneer spirit.

Lone-Star was insatiable.
A beautiful bottomless pit.

Never enough of anything, money,
possessions, food, sex...

I thought I had an exorbitant
appetite for that pastime...

but Lone-Star...

Imagine, if you can...

a 17 year old combined
Venus and giant squid.

I'm trying very hard.

Four fantastic years it lasted,
it wore me out.

One day, I realised
I had to choose.

Lone-Star and an early end,
or freedom and a long life.

I ran away, leaving a short note
and a fortune in securities.

That was some
twenty years ago.

Why such generosity?

Lone-Star was very young. We'd
crossed a few state lines together.

For a man in my position,
certain legal unpleasantries.

That needn't have bothered you,
once out of the U.S.

I'd become an American. Still am,
but legally resident in Switzerland.

Cut.

Could you fill me in on that?

Think boy. There was a war on.
What was I to do?

As an American, my uranium and I
found peace in Switzerland...

throughout the hostilities.
And ever since.

Your ten bets.

It's going to be a pleasure
working for you, Mr. Fox.

Not only the fun of trying to
convince three wealthy women...

that each will inherit your wealth,
but because you're so attractive.

Ten bets two.

My deuce calls.

You spend more time in the john...
What do you do in there?

I've been gone only a few minutes
Mrs. Sheridan.

I told you always to get a room
in the middle of the car.

We're right over the wheels
and they're square.

We were lucky to get this one
at such short notice.

Lord almighty.

When I think back to that
Santa Fe road-bed...

Sarah, I don't suppose you
ever rode the Santa Fe.

I've never been to America.

Your own private car. That's
something you never forget.

I'm sure I wouldn't.

Where's my bottle of pills
in case I wake up?

As always, right beside you.
The water, the glass and the pills.

And don't forget,
exactly at three.

As always, exactly
at 3 a.m.

Maybe on the train,
the way you sleep anyhow...

My alarm is set,
it's right beside my pillow.

I must have my second pill, I can't
get through the night without it.

You'll have it, you always do.
That's what I'm here for.

Oh my...
That old Santa Fe...

and now, he's dying...

We watched the desert
that day, by night...

Something's always dying
on the desert.

Now, he wants me.

Now...

he's dying.

7000 lira, per favore.

Mrs. Sheridan.

7000 lira.

Eleven dollars and twenty cents.

Four dollars, amigo.

And a four bit tip,
because I'm a money-mad American.

Where's our luggage? Where did
that thief go with our bags?

Young man, we came through that door
with seven pieces of baggage.

All of which are safely in your room.
Mrs. Sheridan, I believe.

Who are you?

William McFly, Mr. Fox's
administrative assistant.

Take me to him.

I'm afraid he's unavailable
at the moment. He's resting.

Either you take me to Cecil Fox
or I'll find him myself.

Mr. Fox is a dying man...

do you want him to wake
from a health-giving sleep?

You yourself
are far from well.

Travelling under the care
of a registered nurse.

More of a companion, really.

She has a name?

Sarah Watkins.

How do you do? At last.
May I show you to your rooms?

Excuse me.

Mr. Fox will be happy you're here.
As when the other two ladies arrived.

Other two?
What other two ladies?

They arrived together, did they?

No, today... Excuse me.

Today, but on separate planes
and at separate times.

Actually, Her Highness and
Miss McGill have never met.

Now, Mrs. Sheridan,
this is your room.

And the room adjoining
can be for Miss Watkins.

Mine is down the corridor. If there's
anything you need, let me know.

McFly, I can tell you right now,
whatever I might need...

you haven't got.

Mr. McFly.

Your Highness?

You gave me every assurance I would
see Mr. Fox today, before dinner.

And so you shall, Your Highness.

Thank you.

Hey, Mac.

I couldn't help hearing what
was going on out here.

Somebody must've left
your door open.

So I heard you tell the queen that
she could see Mr. Fox before dinner.

Right after his nap.

You told me I couldn't see him
until after dinner.

After his after-dinner nap.

Not that I'm complaining about
billing or anything...

but, why does he want
to see her first?

Mr. Fox has nothing to do with it.
I decide who he sees and when.

Since Her Majesty arrived first,
I booked you in order of appearance.

You talk like you've been
in show-business.

A little, around the edges.

What I mean is I might
need your help here.

Anything you could do for me
I'd certainly appreciate.

I'll be sure to keep it in mind,
Miss McGill.

Make it Merle.

Or even Myrtle.

And that Verna, Vana, Twirl, Shirl...
They all sound like detergents.

Merle McGill?

She didn't come all this way just
to give Cecil Fox her autograph.

Isn't it possible
that she and the princess...?

Excuse me, but...

now that he's dying,
well...

perhaps there were other women.

Other women?

You want me to tell you what
other women were to Cecil Fox?

Women sized sleeping pills,
to put him to sleep.

Take one before retiring.

It's the dampness. All that water
in these damn creeks...

I won't be a minute.

Sarah!

103.6.

We'll make the props believable,
even if nothing else is.

Still suffering from stage fright,
McBarrymore?

Slip ups like this.
You're not ready.

I might be getting the whisky
intravenously...

You're a sloppy performer,
Mr. Fox.

Having met your lady playmates
in this charade...

let me tell you one thing
they have in common.

They're sharp.
Especially that Mrs. Sheridan.

As a proverbial tack.
Always was.

Who's that bouncy little Florence
Nightingale she brought along?

I caught a glimpse in the garden
as they arrived.

A registered nurse.

She must be kept out of here.

I'm sure she's set
her nurse's cap at you.

And you still haven't taken
a night off.

I wouldn't describe her
as bouncy.

What other characteristic would you
say the three ladies share?

What do you suggest I look for?

One, greed.
It's never enough, remember?

Not ready, am I?,
A sloppy performer?

My dear McFly, they want
to believe I'm dying.

I could run a four-minute mile and
they'd still believe I was dying.

Curtain going up. Shouldn't you
be knocking on dressing room doors?

My first audience
is to Her Highness, is it not?

In just about an hour.

Followed after dinner by the
re-coronation of Miss Green Point".

And then, the show-down with the
lady sheriff of Loyalty Gulch.

Lone-Star.
I'd forgotten.

If there ever was a gunfighter
with an itchy finger...

fastest draw
on the Grand Canal.

McFly.

Yeah?

You must think of some way of
putting her off for tonight.

It's all I can do to get her
unpacked first, but I'll try.

By the way, since it's unlikely
you'll need me...

may I take the night off?

Of course, dear boy.

Bouncy Miss Nightingale, I take it,
is to be the lucky girl.

Could be.

In that event, Lone-Star might choose
to go snooping round the palazzo...

so I want you to lock me in.

The door to the landing, the lift,
and take the keys.

What are you trying
to prove?

Why must everything prove
something?

There must be more to it
than just fun and games.

You must admit it's quite a game.
And the fun's only just starting.

Strange, almost displaced
kind of fun...

out of another time,
another world.

There's been no other time,
no other world.

We've simply forgotten
the pleasure of living in them.

In the 17th century, let's say
Elizabethan London...

when torturing lunatics and animals,
bear baiting, was great fun.

For the witless and the undemanding,
not unlike today's television.

The Elizabethan elite, for their
more exclusive entertainment...

baited each other,
people baiting.

Come and sit down,
we'll cut for deal.

Princess baiting starts soon
and we haven't set the stage.

We've got an hour. I will not
have time lying about empty.

Granted three greedy women think you
are dying, they swallowed your bait.

At what point do you yell
April Fool?

At the moment I've no finish
in mind. Have you?

It's your script, Mr. Fox.

I have brought you a gift.

An hour-glass, with the sands
running out. Most appropriate.

My husband wanted you
to have it.

One of his family treasures.

The sand, you see, is not sand,
but the dust of pure gold.

He thought it would amuse you.

So, to ease my dying
you bring me more gold.

I'm saddened by your
appraisal of me...

but I do appreciate
your great sacrifice.

Sacrifice?

Not at all.

Just a token, really.

You see, I know. I have ways
of knowing these things.

You and Karl are penniless.

And, surely, you and Karl
must know that...

everything I have must go
to somebody.

Is that why, as you wrote, my
forgiveness is so important to you?

Because, of all women,
my experience with you...

is the one that I regret
the most.

Perhaps the only one
I regret at all.

I have forgiven you.

At the time, it was impossible for me
to concede, with my many millions...

that there was anything or anyone
I could not have.

I promise you,
you are forgiven.

And because now,
with even more millions...

I know damn well there isn't
anything or anyone.

Isn't that so, Your Highness?

Don't let your breeding betray you
this time, Dominique.

You might never
forgive yourself.

Karl's fabulous hourglass.

I was so afraid he might sell it
secretly in South America...

as he did the rest of his treasures,
one by one, every few months.

This is the last, isn't it?

What guarantee will you give me
that I will be the one?

None.

No, leave the light as it is.

Come here and sit down.

It isn't easy for a man when a woman
needs him more than he needs her.

Forgive me.
I listened before I knocked.

I heard nothing,
I assumed you were alone, Mr. Fox.

An unwarranted assumption.

I do hope you'll forgive me.

You are forgiven, Mr. McFly.

We'll pick up tomorrow
where we left off today, shall we?

I'll look forward to it.

I'm not surprised
you failed as an actor.

Your timing has all the sensitivity
of a stampeding buffalo.

You're the only one with a script.

If I have to improvise, occasionally
I'm bound to louse up the plot.

I have two reports.
First, success with Mrs. Sheridan.

She's willing to wait until
tomorrow morning to see you.

But as a huckster,
you are touched with genius.

I told her you had some kind
of muscle spasm, nothing fatal.

You've been having them
off and on.

Very plausible.
And your second report?

Another wee giftie.

Meet an old friend.

Lone-Star and I bought this clock
for a great deal of money in Texas.

The day Lone-Star number one blew oil
half way to down town Galveston.

Bringing expensive gifts
to a dying man...

is that some new fashion
among the elite?

Not at all new.

Only in our time are the dying
expected to pass on ecstatically...

after one last sniff at no more
than a bunch of flowers.

1 p.m. New York,
Tokyo, 3am...

London, Paris...

Bangkok...

7 p.m. in Rome.
No, Venice, I guess.

Fabulous hourglass,
fabulous clock.

By some strange coincidence, both
ladies have time on their minds.

So have you and I.
So has everyone.

It's the one obsession
common to all mankind.

In the beginning,
there was time...

and after mankind is over, whether
we blow ourselves up or just end...

there will still be time.
Have respect for it, McFly.

What will you drink, ladies?

Root beer.

I'm afraid we haven't...

Of course not.

Billions of dollars exporting
the American way of life...

and most of the world still
never heard of root beer.

Whisky and water, please.

I wouldn't have thought so.

I'm sure you meant that
as a compliment, thank you.

"Fox's comfort"?

That's real whisky,
I'll say that...

but no ice, they make it
out of canal water.

It's your drink, Miss Watkins.

No ice, thank you.

Are you sure Cecil sent
for these two crows?

They haven't come
on their own?

Both were invited, just as you were.
I posted the letters myself.

You don't really believe
the ice is made out of canal water?

Thank you.

What did he say
in their letters?

I'm not at liberty to tell you.

Sit down, Sarah.

Your Highness, Miss McGill,
you've met, I see.

At the elevator.
We ran into each other.

May I present Mrs. Sheridan,
Miss Watkins.

Princess Dominique
and Miss Merle McGill.

How do you do.

How do you do.

What may I offer you to drink?

Is it alright if I
just do it myself?

Of course.

Carpano, please.

Just as you ladies joined us,
Mrs. Sheridan was suggesting...

I disclose to her what Mr. Fox
wrote in his letters to you.

Naturally, I rejected
her suggestion.

However, if either, or both of you,
wish to disclose the contents...

of your private correspondence...

Thank you.

It can wait till tomorrow morning.
I'd rather hear it from Ceece anyway.

When's supper, McFly?

The mildew through these walls,
the damp through the window...

Sarah, put a match
to that fire.

I am neither mildewed nor damp.
I don't want a fire.

I'm real cosy.

Sorry. The democratic
process, it seems.

Go get me a wrap, Sarah.

Never mind.

Forget the wrap.

I think I'll just turn on
a little heat of my own.

I gave Cecil Fox
his first drink of that.

When it was called
"Crockett's comfort".

My daddy made it in the cellar.

Now, you two.

First thing in the morning,
out.

If you're still here at ten o'clock,
your bags get dropped in the canal.

When it comes to the canal,
care to join me at an open window?

How about this one right now?

Please. I'm sorry, but the man
you've all come to see is dying.

He is a human being, after all.

Miss Watkins has a point
of course.

I have a growing concern
about our safety.

This woman is obviously a lunatic.
I suggest we call the police.

Let's call the newspapers.

Some of those darling Italian
photographers with their cameras.

What could you tell the press,
that we don't already know?

Are you ready?

Hang on to your crown, Highness.
And your bottle, lowness.

I could tell them first, I'm the only
one with any right to be here.

Second, I'm the only one who could
possibly inherit Cecil's fortune...

because third,
and here it comes...

I happen to be Cecil Fox's
common law wife.

Then how come your name
is Sheridan?

Because his full name
is Cecil Sheridan Fox.

I took the middle one for my own
after he deserted me.

How long did you share
a common domicile?

More than long enough.

In what state?

Colorado, where common law marriage
is still recognised.

You were known to be living together
as man and wife?

Charge accounts, joint bank accounts,
hotel registers, official documents.

I've got a vault full,
including legal opinions.

Rest your case, McFly.

If what she says is true, and it
would be absurd for her to lie...

I must say she has a very strong
legal claim to the estate...

of Cecil Fox.

Well now, you sure you girls
don't feel damp?

Maybe even a little mildewed?

Signori, il pranzo � servito.

Grazie.

That clock's five minutes fast.

We're way up the creek,
know what that means?

Take my word for it.

We've got to come up
with a paddle real quick.

Is it personal compassion for
the man at whose deathbed...

this bloody battle was fought?

I've never met him, but,
poor Mr. Fox...

I should've known.

One of the characters was bound
to be the voice for morality.

Sarah, have you got my B complex,
C and iron?

Yes, Mrs. Sheridan.

Don't just stand there.
Bring it in here.

Nothing very moral about
public humiliation...

especially when you're being
paid to take it.

If you want to know what time it is
in Venice, it's the same as Rome.

They finally worked that out,
did they?

That one looks like the old days,
we used to wind clocks by hand.

At one time, it belonged
to Lucrecia Borgia.

Did she give it to you?

I bought it from her father,
the Pope. Did you know him?

Just to say hello to.

There's something on your mind,
Bunny. Won't you tell me?

Well.

What's all this about Mrs. Sheridan
being your common law wife?

McFly told me about her incredible
behaviour before dinner.

He seemed to think she had
a good legal case.

Only in the event that I die
intestate.

I thought you had
a heart attack.

Intestate
means without a will.

But you've already made
your will, right?

All filled out and legally
witnessed...

with only the name of my heir
left blank.

You can't be comfortable, bent over
like this, with all these clothes on.

Another thing.
Dominique, the queen...

Royalty. Not like us,
not like you and me...

proud of our basic
animal emotions.

Where we feel,
they pretend.

God, you're basic.

You even smell basic.
What's that perfume?

It comes from the jungle,
the natives dip their arrows in it.

Remember the game we used to play,
"Baby Fox and Mummy Bunny"?

How could I forget such
a fine basic game?

Mr. Fox.

Both of those broads are
basically after your dough.

And you, Bunny?

You know money never meant
anything to me.

Cops!

This is not a motel in the suburbs
of Los Angeles.

This is my palazzo
in Venice, Italy.

There's some kind
of police boat down there.

Selling tickets for their regatta,
no doubt, McFly will handle it.

Mummy Bunny,
come back to the nest.

I'm too scared.

After all,
who am I to complain?

Others have died without knowing
true gratitude.

Others like me, Gengis Khan,
Attila the Hun, Hitler...

Silly boy. I wouldn't look
twice at Hitler.

Handle him easy, boys.

What are you doing
in his room?

Mr. Fox invited me.

A likely story.

Get out of here,
but don't leave the house.

I might want to search
your luggage.

You're not giving any orders yet,
Mr. Fox isn't dead yet.

He looks stiff as a mackerel
to me.

Sarah, go see if there
are any signs of life left.

Come on boys, snap it up.

Mrs. Sheridan, this is outrageous.
What are you doing here?

High time somebody did something
around this place.

A man laying there about to...
Or just did... die.

These two harpies running in and out
like mice...

I've sent for an ambulance...

His doctors say Mr. Fox
is not to be moved.

I asked about those doctors,
Strauss and Strauss.

Nobody at Venice hospital
ever heard of them.

Is he still with us, Sarah?

He seems to have a very good pulse,
but it's terribly fast.

Running lickety-split to
Judgement Day, that's why.

OK, boys, take him out.

Halt. Rimettetelo.

Are you still trying to make
trouble?

Only if you force me to. I've had
three years of law school.

If you move Mr. Fox against
the orders of his physicians...

and if, as a result of your meddling,
his death is hastened by 5 minutes...

I'll hold you fully accountable.

I'm doing what I think is right.

Even if it's wrong?

Being a common law wife does not
entail a right to commit murder.

You complained
of the cold and damp.

For your information, the jails
in Venice are under water.

OK.

If ever I needed a good night's
sleep, it's tonight...

because, in the morning,
out you go, all of you.

Come on, Sarah.

I haven't seen anything like you
since the last appearance of Houdini.

For a while there
you were out of a job.

I just couldn't find
a cue to pick up.

Inspiration struck. There's a fat
bonus awaiting you, my boy.

Get me a cigar, will you?

I find you a young man of infinite
resource, McFly.

That's what you advertised for,
remember?

I do hope Lone-Star sleeps well,
as I intend to.

So that when we meet
in the morning...

There's been nothing like it
since Waterloo.

As I see it, we're
in the middle of Act III.

Any particular play?

A 17th century classic
by Ben Jonson, no less.

Volpone, by Act III, has promised his
fortune to two greedy old friends.

Check. He looks forward to
bamboozling a third. Check.

They've all bought him expensive
gifts. Check.

He's wheedled additional dough
out of one or more.

Check. Probably.

For an actor, you're bright.

It doesn't take a bright one
to recognise "Volpone".

Even stupid actors dream of playing
Mosca, his loyal servant.

Volpone is the better part.

Not in the play.

In my version, it is.

I can't wait to hear your finish.

In the play they both wound up
in jail.

With one of these in your fist it's
like hitting a man with a hammer.

OK. Put it back.

I hit Ceece once.

Not like that, with a four-pound
T-bone steak.

He half killed me.

Then we made love.

Living with him...

Lawd-a-mighty,
the way he went at life.

Like he wanted to live it,
minute by minute.

There was this...

secret ambition he had.

You'd never guess.

Nobody would.

Nobody ever knew except me.

What Cecil Fox really wanted...

more than anything
in the whole world...

was to dance.

Really dance.

Poor Cecil,
he wanted to so much...

What was that thing
he practised to...

day after day,
hour after hour?

You know what would be
wonderful?

If life was like
a movie script.

Even they have so few
happy endings these days.

You want... dissolves...
you got.

You can't say the world
wouldn't be better.

Without Mrs. Sheridan,
it would be better.

See what I mean?

Wouldn't it be nice if
dissolve...

and Mrs. Sheridan was dead?

The strange things
that come into your mind.

In this movie I did once, there was
this old bag with all this money...

and there were these two nephews.
And one night...

this old bag was found dead,
with a broken neck.

If it wasn't accidental,
one of the nephews must've done it.

Did one of them do it?

Nobody ever found out.
That was the gimmick.

Because both nephews swore they were
together all night playing gin rummy.

That is a strange thing
to come to your mind.

These two nephews must've trusted
each other completely.

It was the only way
either one could win.

Otherwise, they'd both lose.

In the last seven months,
with Mrs. Sheridan...

I've travelled to 31 cities,
all beautiful.

31 hotel rooms,
31 hotel restaurants.

And I have this
to tell them apart.

A charm for every city we've visited
from Paris to Marrakech.

What does that little key open,
the Bastille?

Or a miniature chastity belt?

Mrs. Sheridan's medicine case.
I wear it on my bracelet for safety.

Safety?

It's the sleeping capsules I'm
concerned about mostly.

Yes, I've hear tell,
her anxiety about sleep.

Tonight, of course,
it was particularly difficult.

I can imagine.
How did you manage?

It's rather involved.

I give her a sleeping capsule
and a massage until she drops off.

There's always a bottle of capsules
beside her bed.

And at precisely 3 a.m.
I give her another.

Why doesn't she help herself?

That's not a good idea.
She's never quite awake, confused.

She wouldn't realise
how many she was taking.

Actually, the capsules
in that bottle...

What about them?

Nothing,
I just prefer to be there.

Another brandy?

And when they died,
I was ten.

My grandmother took me in.

She let the maid go. I took over
her room and her job.

I became
what you could call...

a specialist
in complaining women.

It seemed only logical I should
make it my profession.

What happened along the way
to your own life?

It seems to me it stayed just
as it had been at age ten.

Unchanged really.

Never a man?

You'll find this hard
to believe, but...

truthfully, there isn't a man
whose face I can remember.

It's been a long day.
I've got to get up at 3.

Sarah.

Will you stay here a few minutes?
I've an important call to make.

Certainly.

Thank you.

Sarah, the world
is so much safer...

from motel windows.

You talk too much.

You tell me your dreams
and I'll tell you mine.

How stupid to go off like that.
Have you been back long?

No, not long.

There was a delay before
my call went through.

Isn't it rather late
to be telephoning people?

There was no other time.

Thank you for sending me this.

Sitting alone at a table,
it can be a handy prop.

Actors talk. What about the law?
Couldn't you be a lawyer?

It's risky, practising without a
licence. I quit before my last year.

Too difficult?

I was among the top 5.
Number 3.

Then why did you stop?

Truthfully? The number of lawyers who
make a lot of money is very small...

and it's a long wait before you know
if you're in the big game.

And if you're not,
it's too late.

If all you want is to make
a lot of money out of law.

Even the voice of morality could
sound less pompous than that.

Law's a profession,
not a calling.

Why are you so irritable?
Did the call upset you?

On the contrary. Something that was
upsetting me is no longer a problem.

Then you're being much too touchy
for a man with one less problem.

It's after 12,
I'd no idea.

It was barely 11
when you made your call.

I don't remember.

I wonder,
will you remember my face?

I don't understand you.

Do you always turn away from
what you don't understand?

Of course not.

Just what might be frightening.

Men, maybe?
Maybe me?

I just don't want
to be helpless.

But you do. That's exactly
how you want to be.

I've never known a woman
so much like an open city.

I don't trust you.

Then don't tell me.

Never say what you feel,
especially to men about men.

Your grandmother should
have taught you that.

Here we are.

The coroner has left
with her body.

Just when everything was going so
well, now all the fun's gone.

There's a cop on the premises.

The laws of Venice must've changed
since the 17th century.

I doubt it.

What was jolly people baiting
yesterday...

might strike him as uncomical
extortion today.

Nonsense.

Even if he found out, as a Venetian,
he'd be enchanted with our prank.

Comisario Rizzi? I have the honour
to present Signor Fox.

The honour is to me.

I have known the name of Signor Fox
for many years.

Such a benefactor
to our beloved Venice.

Patria m�a.

What a pity that the occasion
should be so unhappy.

She was a fine, noble lady.

Excuse me. The unhappiness
I refer to is your condition...

to find you so indisposed...

so... one is told...

near the end?

If you find it bearable,
could you answer a few questions?

To my last breath,
the least I could do.

Che coraggio.

Tell me then, Mrs. Sheridan...

who you knew
for so many years...

could she be suddenly sad
for some reason?

Suddenly depressed?

I understand your implication,
Inspector Rizzi...

but I must reject
any suggestions...

that this happy woman
might take her own life.

How could she,
with everything to live for?

Well, there's this large,
empty bottle...

which contained
her sleeping pills.

It was beside her bed
and full...

when Nurse Watkins went out
last night with Mr. McFly.

Sleeping pills still,
after all these years.

Just to recall last night,
very quickly.

You and Nurse Watkins
returned at what time?

About a quarter to one.

D'accordo. She then discovered
the body about three.

How and when were you made aware
of Mrs. Sheridan's death?

Around 5. The cook called me, he'd
found Miss Watkins in the kitchen.

She'd told him.

What was she doing in the kitchen?

Drinking tea.

Drinking tea in the kitchen, leaving
Mrs. Sheridan dead and all alone?

At that point, what harm
could happen to Mrs. Sheridan?

If only I'd seen her yesterday,
as I did the others...

I must've upset her,
made her feel...

Please, Mr. Fox,
you must not punish yourself.

You too have much to live for,
even for a little while.

You have a deep understanding
for humanity, inspector.

In my work, one is thrown up
against so much of it...

Did I understand you to say that
this door was locked last night?

Yes, by me, from the inside. I also
locked the bedroom and garden door...

to be sure Mr. Fox remained
undisturbed during the night.

Do you understand?

Most certainly.

In my own home,
with my wife and daughters...

I do not possess a key
even for the bathroom.

That oaf must imagine himself the
son of Charlie Chan and Jerry Mason.

Perry Mason.

Really? Are you sure?

It's cold.

One of our characters
begins to puzzle me.

We've never met,
I know little about her.

Sarah?

The nurse Watkins,
as Salvador Holmes calls her.

Tell me, faithful McMosca, do we
underestimate bouncy little Sarah?

I wouldn't worry about her.

She was never really
part of the plot.

At most, someone for Lone-Star
to talk to.

Now, for a few jousts
at poker, my boy...

get our blood abubble...

make ready to face the day.

Hasn't there been a change of mood?
A while ago, all the fun had gone.

It's all going too well
to stop.

I may sound heartless, but damn it,
Lone-Star would've approved.

She'd want me to carry on
till the finish.

My finish.

Shall we run it once more
as I wrote it?

What?

Oh, yes, master, the finish.

You will have pretended
to die.

You'll be lying on your bed and
I will have summoned the three...

now two, grieving ladies to hear me
read your last will and testament.

I'll read it slowly and loudly
to be heard above the sobbing...

Iooking at each significantly...

hinting that she
is the lucky one.

At the suspenseful moment, I'll wait,
holding it as long as possible...

torturing them with it,
before I read the name...

of your sole heir.

William McFly.
Great shock. Commotion.

You suddenly come back to life!
Screams, thrills, laughter...

End of play. End of part.
End of job.

Let me see that will.

Just the way you gave it to me,
blank.

I won't fill in my name
until the very last minute.

Sit down and cut.

Just a few hands.

I don't like Rizzi
running around loose.

You can lock yourself in,
I'll use the garden stairs.

Your bet, or did your lavish
wooing of Nurse Watkins...

leave you penniless,
silly romantic boy?

Always got enough.

The passport and money
I'm required to take with me.

Mrs. Sheridan's family,
her next of...

How do you say it? Kind?

Kin.

I don't believe she had any.

And, among her papers,
do you know if there's a will?

I've no idea.

In any case, this is a matter for
the American Consul and for lawyers.

Come in.

Miss McGill, I understand,
of course...

the necessity for you to arrive
in Venice incognito.

I wouldn't go anywhere uninvited.

I must've used the wrong word,
my English is...

I guess is must be hard for you
to imagine...

a man like Cecil Fox
and I...

Not hard at all.

But how can I say it?

He was my first... man.

Somehow, you just never forget
your first man.

I remember mine, vividly.

He also got away.

OK, Seamus,
so what's on your mind?

Or to be exact,
on both your minds.

Seamus. You use too many
American idioms I do not know.

If you swallow the bushwah given off
by that royal deep freeze...

you could wind up the biggest jerk
cop that ever swam a beat in Venice.

Hopeless.

Maybe you agree
with Her Highness...

that it's a good idea
if I knocked off Mrs. Sheridan.

Maybe you got a piece
of her action!

"Knocked off',
this I recognise.

I didn't, and she did.

Miss McGill,
I have accused nobody of anything.

As for "la principessa",
Her Highness...

I have not yet seen her...

much less, spoken with her.

Well, I am sorry, Inspector.

I don't know why
I blew my stack like that.

I guess it's this whole situation.

After all, honesty
is the best policy, right?

Debatable, but at the moment
I'd appreciate it.

When you talk to Princess Dominique,
you know what she'll tell you?

If I had such a capability,
I'd never get out of bed.

She'll say she and I were here,
in my room...

all night,
playing gin rummy together.

That'll be a lie.

For one thing,
she can't even play gin rummy.

Fascinating.

Why would she choose a game
she could not play?

It was stupid of her,
but the game isn't important.

The point is, it's lucky for me
it turned out the way it did.

You too, huh, Inspector?

For me?

I know you'd have solved the murder
anyway, but maybe not so soon.

If indeed there was a murder.

What else?
Talk about motive!

Did you know that Mrs. Sheridan
was Cecil Fox's common law wife?

With her alive, Princess Dominique
wouldn't stand a chance.

Then neither would you.

However,
with Mrs. Sheridan dead...

and the Princess arrested
for murder...

that would leave only you,
Miss Merle McGill.

Non � vero?

Avanti.

An unfortunate accident,
let us say.

How long have you worked
in your profession, Inspector?

How long?

Sometimes, I think, before
there were canals in Venice.

Surely even an amateur, investigating
a death so sudden and mysterious...

would examine the activities of
everyone in this house last night.

Even I have.

I've learned that you
played gin rummy all night...

with Miss McGill,
in her room.

For your further information,
I've never been in her room.

I cannot play gin rummy.
I know nothing about it.

It seems you were fooled, Rizzi.

Altezza.

You must understand I cannot
accept either your testimony...

or that of Miss McGill
as trustworthy.

Because, quite simply, you each
have too much to gain by it.

I have no need
for Mr. Fox's money.

That is what truly baffles me.

This incredible wealth that
nobody needs and everybody wants.

Have you changed your room,
Nurse Watkins?

Very understandable.
Unpleasant associations.

No, I haven't.

Then, whose room have you
just come out of?

It would be senseless not to tell me.
Any servant...

Mr. McFly's room.

Was Mr. McFly in it?

Were you looking for someone?
Some thing?

Is it idiotic of me
to go on asking questions...

since you obviously do not
intend to answer.

I'm afraid so, Inspector.

Legally, I can insist
that you tell me this much.

Do you wish to change your opinion
that Mrs. Sheridan's death...

was accidental?

No, I do not wish
to change it.

So.

Nurse Watkins, if at any time,
for whatever reason...

you should feel otherwise, it is most
important that you call me at once.

Will you?

Yes.

Mr. Fox?

Whom did you expect,
the fairy queen?

You probably think
that's a vulgar remark.

Edmund Spencer, I believe.

Quite the egghead.

What are you gaping at? Have you
never seen a man in a garden?

Not a dying one, dancing.

That's your loss.

Actually, I do have these
short periods of well-being.

Tell me,
how does my garden strike you?

It's almost overwhelming.

I think I like best this
simple spot right here.

The potting shed, nothing to do
with the garden at all.

You feel more at home here?
Your profession suits you well.

You have a bedpan's eye view
of life and nature.

Now, that was a vulgar remark.

Spare me the modesty of your desires.
Piffle. "I like simple things"...

means "I can't afford
what I want".

You couldn't give me your precious
garden. It's not really alive.

It's as if it were embalmed
hundreds of years ago.

Now who's being vulgar? Speaking
to a dying man about embalming...

You goaded me into it.

Of course I did.
And you bounced right back.

You are a bouncy thing, I sensed it
the moment I spotted you.

How would you like to be
my nurse?

Not very much, thank you.

Snap judgement,
but I won't hold you to it.

There'll be plenty of time to talk
it over after the others have gone.

Gone?

They can't hang about indefinitely
if I'm improving like this.

Or did you think I meant "gone"
in the sense that Lone-Star went?

I wasn't sure.

No, one like that
is quite enough.

Come, walk with me
in my Elizabethan garden.

Take off your low heel prejudices.
Let it grow around you.

I can't get over
how well you seem.

Mr. McFly's reports
have been so gloomy.

He seems to feel
you're sinking fast.

Does he? I imagine he thinks
it's best not to raise false hopes.

Rather thoughtful,
don't you agree?

Sarah, you don't agree at all.

You think it very strange that McFly
should want everyone to think...

Mr. Fox is worse,
when he's really better.

McFly kept our little game
a secret from you, did he?

Game?

More of a joke really,
a pleasantry.

I still don't understand.

I haven't had a heart,
or any other kind of attack.

I've never been healthier
in my life.

But your letter to Mrs. Sheridan
and the other two...?

All part of it.

I've been important to each
at some time in their lives...

and one humdrum day I found myself
wondering how important I'd remained.

It seemed an amusing experiment.

And was Mr. McFly
part of this game?

Part of it? McFly was not only
my stage manager...

but one of the chief players.

But then,
Mrs. Sheridan was...?

She died during what was really
just a practical joke?

That was hardly foreseeable,
after all.

But then, with Mr. Fox perfectly
healthy and McFly knowing it...

murdering Mrs. Sheridan
made no sense at all.

Do you know what marked the hours
on this sundial originally?

17 forty carat sapphires...

each set in a circle of pear-shaped
diamonds to catch the light.

Tell me...

what if there was one remaining
sapphire surrounded by diamonds...

and I wanted you to have it,
would you accept it?

Certainly not.

Do you know how much of what
you call living it would pay for?

That bed-sitting room
would be yours in perpetuity.

Hundreds of burglar-proof girdles,
thousands of watercress sandwiches.

I loathe watercress, I don't wear a
girdle, and that isn't the point.

What is?

What you'd expect in return.

You'd want the diamond studded
sapphire for nothing?

What makes you so sure
I would want it at all?

Have you your notebook ready?
Our topic is larceny.

I seem to have accidentally
blundered into the wrong classroom.

Accidentally?

Just wandered through a wall panel
up a private staircase...

into my garden,
by sheer coincidence?

As a matter of fact,
I was looking for...

A new route to India?

Larceny, in one meaning,
is theft of course...

but it has another more attractive
one. Larceny is also a talent.

Therefore, an instinct, like an
instinct for sound, colour, design.

One either has it,
or one hasn't.

Wherever individuals
of great talent...

or those who have otherwise
deviated from the normal meet...

there's an instant, instinctive
recognition.

So it is with us, the larcenous
at heart. Do you follow me?

That's utter nonsense.

You're being very persuasive, but
I know damn well what you're after.

You have the advantage on me, I don't
know just what you're after...

but I'm quite sure you are,
or will be, after something.

To begin with, assuming it's true
that you're playing this game...

what if I were to expose you?

In the first place,
the game's as good as over.

And secondly, you won't.

One doesn't, if one is you.

Later than I thought.
I must go and unlock some doors.

My mourners may think me already dead
and break them down.

McFly must also know the game
is over, or as good as.

Any questions?

Any answers?

You can find your way out?

But it isn't over
at all.

Mr. Fox thinks it is,
but the joke isn't his anymore.

It's on him.
And the game will go on.

It's perfectly clear that Mr. Fox
will simply be the next one to die.

Ben Jonson's "Volpone".

Mr. Fox's harmless, tasteless
charade...

plus one murder.

And soon, another, unless
you stop McFly.

Stop him then, Sarah.

Simply pick up the telephone,
and call...

as Inspector Rizzi
hoped you would.

We missed you at dinner.

You manage to come and go
so quietly?

Both ladies laughed at all my jokes,
thought I was most attractive.

I can imagine.

At college I skipped meals too
to read.

He has a first rate library.

I wouldn't know.

Seems to favour Elizabethans.

Shakespeare, of course,
Marlowe, Bacon...

You needn't strain your memory.
I know all about the little joke.

I hope you're not becoming
involved...

it is no longer little,
amusing or safe.

You know I am involved.

For 24 hours, forget everything
you've seen, heard and know.

As a favour.

Surely I've done enough already.

Already?

You murdered Mrs. Sheridan. I haven't
told Rizzi, or anybody else yet.

Isn't that quite enough?

It would seem so.

You knew, because I told you,
about her sleeping habits.

And about the bottle
beside her bed...

that was emptied to make her death
seem accidental or suicide.

What I didn't tell you...

was that the pills
were completely harmless.

You must've killed her with
sleeping pills you brought along.

You could've bought them,
no prescription is required in Italy.

That may be proof that
Mrs. Sheridan was murdered...

but not that I murdered her.

Isn't the phrase, more
legalistically, "proof positive"?

That's what I had to find
and I have found.

Will you tell me?

First, I want a favour
from you.

No, let's call it
an ultimatum.

From this minute it is you
who are to become uninvolved...

it is you who are to stop
playing this...

game, or joke, or script.

And if I don't or can't?

If you insist on finishing
the play in your version...

I'll call Inspector Rizzi.

And tell him what?

That there was one full and one
almost full of American quarters...

in Mrs. Sheridan's handbag
when we went out.

And that they were missing
when I found her dead.

Was it coincidence that you paid
the bill in the cafe with coins...

and that you paid the gondolier
with coins?

They could've been Italian,
French, German...

I thought they might.

I hoped they might, that's why
this morning I went into your room.

On your dresser I found
a whole pile of...

these.

Is that the only one you took?

It's all that will be needed.

You've got yourself
really involved.

I've no longer time to plead
with you. You're to do as I say.

I told Merle and Dominique
you had a severe headache.

They both had every reason for
wanting Mrs. Sheridan dead.

You seem to have thought
of everything.

It's my job, my part.

Stay in this room and keep
your mouth tight shut.

Do as I say
and you'll be safe.

Will you give me
that enormous amount of money...

you're so sure
everybody craves?

I can't promise.

You can promise me...

that Mr. Fox, who isn't dying,
is going to die.

Did you intend to kill
him soon?

Under no circumstances
are you to say that.

I promise you somehow
I will warn Cecil Fox.

One thing you must
not even attempt.

For your own good.
Believe me, Sarah.

Am I too being threatened?

In a way it's quite a relief,
I assure you.

That was a silly thing to try.

Not the silliest I've tried.

Can I help?

I'm rather good at packing.

Heavy luggage. It's a long swim
to the station.

One simply calls
for a water taxi.

Does one, simply?

If you'll excuse the expression,
dead.

All gone, up to and including
the cook.

How do I know? No room service,
so I went looking.

Surely I can get out
to the street?

Doors to the street
are all locked.

Fox is locked in with what sounds
like Leonard Bernstein gone ape.

Across the hall,
Tarzan is locked in with Jane.

No phones, no servants,
in this whole palace.

Just you and me,
we're loose.

How the hell did you get there?

I pulled myself up.

What?

I pulled myself up.

Well pull yourself down again.

I'm afraid to let go,
please, help me out.

Shinning up waiter shafts
to get at me. You can let go.

Bonny bit of leg,
what's the rest like?

You're perspiring,
aren't you afraid of catching cold?

This is not perspiration, this is
the healthy sweat of a male body.

I exercise strenuously.

Mrs. Sheridan told me. It's touching
you want to be a dancer.

A small boy's dream of glory.

I'll admit to you, a couple
of things money can't buy.

Talent, for one.

The other, the body
a ballet dancer must have.

Mr. Fox, the reason...

Yours, on the other hand,
is equal to any demand.

Mark you, I'm only guessing,
Shall we...

It is a very serious reason.

Sensitive spirit,
kind and thoughtful.

Let me tell you.

You're a speedy thing.
Wouldn't you like to lie down?

If I hadn't come to warn you,
you'd have been murdered.

An attempt will be made to kill you,
probably tonight.

Anyone I know?

I'd like to sit down.
Will you promise not to molest me?

Molest? You make it sound
like something in a public park.

Chocolate covered marzipan
with gold centres.

Instant relief for the oversexed,
such as you.

Now, about my
imminent assassination.

To begin with, I found the copy
of "Volpone" in your library...

I thought you would. You're bright.
And bouncy.

McFly doesn't like me
calling you bouncy.

McFly? His name is quite
a clue, isn't it?

The Italian word for fly
being "mosca".

That's quite a coincidence,
Mr. Volpone, Italian for fox.

His name got him his job.
Two others came close.

Herr Fledermaus, a German,
and an Algerian called Tsetse.

Mr. Fox...

McFly is much closer to being
Mosca than just his name.

An interesting discovery.
The gold centres lift right out.

In the play, you remember...

Mosca writes his own name
in Volpone's will...

and almost winds up
with everything.

Both Mosca and Volpone are sent
to jail, but the point is...

McFly should be tossed in the clink,
for cheating at cards.

Cards?
No, he wouldn't do that.

Wouldn't he? Do you know how often
he's lost at poker? Not once.

No matter how carefully I mark
the cards, he wins.

Don't tell me
he doesn't cheat.

Not at cards.

But if the game were worth the risk
I'm sure he'd commit murder.

Look. Suppose that man A...

has in his possession the will
of dying man B...

by which A could inherit
all of B's fortune.

Suddenly, a woman appears who
could claim the estate as B's wife.

A knows that B
is not dying.

So your conclusion, a motive for
killing the woman, makes no sense.

You forget A, McFly...

is the only person who knows
that B, you, are not dying.

You have written in letters
that you are.

Your servants will swear
to it.

Two famous women would corroborate
it in court, if necessary.

But it will never come
even be investigated.

The death of so distinguished a
patron of Venice as Cecil Fox.

After a fine funeral and
a proper show of grief...

McFly will have it all.

Actually, the way you tell it...

I can prove McFly
murdered Mrs. Sheridan.

If you can, I think you should.

Well...

when he took me out
last evening...

to get me away from the house...

Do you drink whisky?

With water, please.

He left me alone at the cafe...

to make a call, he said.

Instead, he came back here.

It's only a few minutes,
by motorboat.

He woke Mrs. Sheridan
with some excuse...

gave her enough pills
to make her groggy...

That would've been easy,
she would've insisted.

And then, enough to kill her.
Thank you.

As it turned out,
he could use me as an alibi.

I fell asleep
while he was gone.

I really couldn't say
how long he was away.

You described a possibility,
you haven't proved it.

Why must it have been McFly?
Merle could've done it, or Dominique.

Anyone here.
Even I could've done it.

I've known Lone-Star's sleeping
habits far longer than even you.

Then here's the proof positive,
as the lawyers say.

They've sworn to keep
the language of law unintelligible.

If only it weren't so positive.
That's what upsets me.

It's hard for me to believe
he'd be so stupid.

How stupid?

Childishly.

Mrs. Sheridan always had rolls
of American quarters in her handbag.

They were the only thing missing
when I came home to find her dead.

This morning, I sneaked into McFly's
room and found a whole pile of them.

Yes, that was stupid.
Incredibly stupid.

I wish...

I don't know what I wish. If only
he were more, or less stupid...

If he could understand everybody
can't want and have everything...

because then everything
would be worthless.

I don't want to sound
like a voice for morality.

It makes him angry
and you angry, but...

There are some things...

What things?

Not gold, perhaps,
but still precious...

not negotiable,
not even legal tender, just...

tender.

Love, for example.

You can't even say it, you poor man.
You make it sound like hate.

You believe in love like an act
of faith? I'm sorry for you.

And you don't.

Neither does he.

I wish that weren't so.

Tell me, Sarah...

why haven't you told all this
to Inspector Rizzi?

Or have you?

No, I wanted to protect McFly,
at least till I was sure.

Satisfied that it was morally proper
to lie to the law...

you did meet your moral
responsibility to confront McFly...

with all your suspicions?

I certainly did.

And all of your evidence?

Of course.

Of course.

You haven't the brains
of a moth.

Like all your sex, incapable
of minding your own business.

Unfit even to save your own neck.

My neck is safe, for now.

McFly doesn't know I'm here.

He said, when he locked me in my room
I'd be safe...

as long as I stayed there
and kept my mouth shut.

I felt I owed you...

Owed me? Why?

Why? You were in danger
of being killed.

No human can sit by while
another human...

It's the history of humanity.

Humans sitting by while
others are killed.

Who are you to rewrite it?

You'd no reason to help me,
I deny that.

Didn't it ever occur to that idiotic
goodness of heart...

you think all mankind has
in common with you, like spit...

that you might be forcing
the murderer into another?

That's the chance
one has to take.

No, one hasn't!

Those are my chocolates,
if you want one, ask.

Damn clocks.

The sun's coming up
in Bangkok.

It's getting late in Venice.

Bangkok too.

What makes you think sunrise
is only early, mothbrain?

It's damn late everywhere.

Nothing like gold to pass the time,
there never was.

Watch. See the colour of time.

Golden.

How little most people value
time. Little people.

Like everything, they choose
what's more, not what's better.

Even time.

They'll pray to live 100 long,
miserable years.

Feel cheated, if they only had
50 of the best.

Quantity, yes. Quality, no.

Venice is tiny and precious.
Los Angeles, gigantic and terrifying.

Who wants it?
Most people, that's who.

There's good time
and bad time.

Do clocks give a damn
what they measure?

No, but we do.
We special ones.

We slow down for the good, sip it
second by second, like good wine.

We speed up the bad.

Little people, chumps, swallow
time like hamburger.

100 years of well done hamburger,
they'll all settle for that.

If I were to tell you,
that for me...

the next 10 minutes of my life
will be fuller and richer...

than the next 10 years for any
chump in London, Paris...

Rome, New York, Bangkok...
Would you know what I meant?

Honestly, no.

Bouncy little mothbrain. I appreciate
what you tried to do for me.

Now, you must do what McFly says,
go to your room and stay there.

Will you be alright?
Sure?

Quite sure.
Nothing to worry about.

A chocolate for your voyage?

Thank you.

A farewell kiss?

Haven't been kissed like that
since I was seven.

In you get.

Legs like those
on a voice for morality...

as unrewarding as the lower half
of a mermaid.

Good night, Mr. Fox.

Good night, nurse.

Rome, London, New York,
Paris, Tokyo.

Bangkok.

I have gin, I think.

Are you sure you never
played this before?

Quite sure, why?

Just like this when Heifetz
first picked up the fiddle.

Gin, I think.

Porca miseria!

Come with me, please.

"And since my beloved Venice...

will undoubtedly bestow upon
her devoted son, Cecil Fox...

the tribute
of a state funeral...

it is my wish that this be conducted
as far as possible..."

McFly, can't we skip
all this jazz?

No. "According to the spirit
and custom of my own 17th century."

Surely you can read
this part later?

No, I can't.

A man's will is the last script
he writes.

You might have the decency
to hear it the way he wrote it.

Somebody's in that lift.

What's going on?
Who's in the elevator?

There's very little time left.

May I finish this last scene?
The last clause in his will?

"In the event my dying precedes
my naming an heir...

to all of my estates and effects,
both known to and unknown...

and the insertion of that name
in the presently blank space...

designating said heir...

the heir, designated and
written in by William McFly...

shall be my heir in fact and deed
as if designated by me...

and his or her name written in
by me in my hand."

Nurse Watkins. I guess she
discovered I unlocked her door.

Be a good fellow,
we will not question the legality.

Jump right to the name
of Fox's heir.

If you like...

"The name of the heir is..."

William McFly.

What do you expect?
Reactions?

No more reactions.

Ladies and gentlemen,
that concludes the performance.

The play is over.

Play? What play?
Where?

Here, Altezza.

An English classic.
"Volpone".

An interrupted version, however.

We found him where you said
we might. He has been removed.

Then Mr. Fox is dead?

Completely.

Now that the play is over,
we must face some realities.

Mr. McFly, please.

Well, reality number one.

Cecil Sheridan Fox died broke.
Busted.

Not a cent.

He had at least four mortgages
on this palazzo.

Two legitimate,
in New York and London...

two under the table
in Rome and Beirut.

One more, in Hong Kong.

I checked the locked rooms
yesterday, one by one.

Cobwebs and mice.

Every bit of furniture is rented
from movie studios in Munich...

and Rome.

Rental unpaid, so far.
Oddly enough, the books are his.

He must've really loved them.

My salary kept
slipping his mind.

He used his fake illness to keep
the unpaid servants away.

Told them all they'd inherit
fortunes.

But when they heard the phone
and electricity were to be cut off...

Cecil Fox attempted to use
the plot of "Volpone"...

to extract money
from three women.

So far, so clear.

But he was not dying,
and he's now dead.

Why? How?

Exactly.

The fact that Mr. Fox turned out
to be poor is unimportant.

What is important is you have
his murderer. True?

True.

Murdered?

Excuse me, Inspector,
I've got to make a call...

Later, Miss McGill.

First, we shall all go
to see Fox's chamber.

Altezza.

Same damn record,
day and night.

One thing I could never
understand.

It's not all you couldn't.

Can you explain it,
Nurse Watkins?

Yes, Mrs. Sheridan told me.

It was Mr. Fox's lifelong ambition
to become a ballet dancer.

I don't know why he chose
"The dance of the hours".

Maybe the title appealed to him.

A ballet dancer? And him,
built like a pogo stick.

One could surmise that Fox performed
quite a dance last night.

Or put up a struggle.

The clock from Miss McGill
smashed to bits.

And there, that of Mrs. Sheridan,
also pulverised.

Can we check the inventory later?
I'm starved. Who's for breakfast?

You'll have to make it yourself,
remember?

There is a box of wonderful
chocolate...

Chocolates? What do you know
about the chocolates, Nurse Watkins?

I must've heard.

He opened a brand new box
yesterday afternoon.

I don't know, I must've
been mistaken.

It was found in the garden,
at the sun dial...

with Mr. Fox, empty.

Empty?
A two pound box?

Nurse Watkins, tell us when you
last saw Fox, and why.

Last night. I'm not ashamed. I knew
he'd be killed, I had to warn him.

You had to do nothing.
You were told...

All sit down and be quiet.

Now. Regarding the murder
of Mrs. Sheridan...

Both of them?

I chose to ignore your mutual
accusations, of course.

But I was forced to respect
the suspicions of Mr. McFly.

Very clever, I must say.

Zitto!

We all know now
about the "Volpone" bit.

While we're listening,
couldn't we send for pizza?

No.

I was hired to play a part,
and I played it.

But I couldn't think it through.

What was Fox going to use for
a finish? That's what bugged me.

Like Volpone, he intended to be
alive, but he isn't, he's dead.

Don't be obvious.
Don't interrupt. Sit down.

Then, when Mrs. Sheridan
dropped the bombshell...

about being Fox's
common law wife, it hit me.

It was hard to believe but I had
to check it. I was on the spot.

Accessory after the fact, accomplice
to whatever Fox was up to.

There were too many ways
that Mosca could take the rap.

Taking you out that night
was his idea, not mine.

Thanks awfully.

While you were asleep, I did make
a phone call, to a friend in Rome.

It was a long call. I had to wait
and call back...

but it was worth it, because
here's what I came up with.

You ran out of money
some time ago...

Fox couldn't count
on you for much.

Although you threw in
everything you had.

That fabulous hourglass. He shouldn't
have destroyed it, I'm sorry.

And there's a hot rumour
you've got money problems.

There's a hot rumour
Sofia Loren's a boy.

Oscar Ludwig is lining up
all the commitments he can...

waving percentages,
demanding big cash advances.

Oscar, on his toes
every minute.

You and I both know
what that means.

Ludwig and his big mouth.

Which leaves Mrs. Sheridan.

According to my informant,
a woman of truly fabulous wealth.

The kind you can't lie about.

In banks, stocks and bonds,
real properties...

We only have your word
about that phone call.

You were gone long enough to come
here and murder everybody.

Nurse Watkins, what kind of
an Anglo-Saxon woman are you?

Still insisting that your
handsome lover has committed a crime.

My lover?

Mr. McFly, avanti.

It seems we all forgot
one simple legal corollary.

To wit...

if Mrs. Sheridan was Fox's wife,
he was her common-law husband.

Maybe because it happens
so seldom...

it rarely occurs to women
that men can also inherit money.

Darling baby Fox...

are you sure he's dead?
Sure I didn't kill him?

I'll catch the last reel
next time around.

For me, right now,
it's coffee time. Dominique?

I don't want to miss a word.

I'll make a pot anyhow.

In case I don't see any of you
before I leave, good.

Allora,
the killing was easy.

Signor Fox could have
wakened Mrs. Sheridan...

convinced her he was
looking after her...

words she was hungry to hear
for so many years...

then stuffed her
with his sleeping pills.

A unique murder, designed
for one particular victim.

But, how to prove that Fox
indeed committed it?

That's where the missing coins
come in.

Forgive me, but which coins?

Sarah?

Why don't you tell them who
stole the coins from her handbag?

Then I will.
It was Fox who took them.

Not me, Sarah, Fox.
The stupid Fox.

You're not even in his class.

I'm happy to know that, but
how can you prove that he did?

He lost a fistful of them to me
the morning after the murder.

The same ones you found
in my room...

while you were spying on me.

Talk about money grubbers.
Aiming at millions, Cecil Fox...

couldn't pass up a couple of
crummy rolls of new quarters.

The perfect murder,
the perfect crime...

Ioused up by a two bit
poker game.

So, they have discovered,
inside of Signor Fox...

great quantities of the barbiturate
that killed Mrs. Sheridan.

Cecil Fox, a suicide?

Let us now go to the spot
where he chose to die.

While he obviously
danced out...

it is perhaps more respectful
if we walk.

I, for one,
would be happy to dance.

Coming?

I'm going to pack
and get out.

And go where?

Where there's the least chance
I'll see any of you again.

Mine in particular?

Any particular reason?

Thousands. You've made me out to be
stupid, childish, naive, stupid...

You're repeating yourself.
What of it?

Why didn't you tell me
it was Mr. Fox?

I wasn't sure, until
you told me about the coins.

It was late, I kept missing Rizzi
at his house, at his office.

I only thought of the danger
you were in.

I locked you in.

I outwitted you there.

That dumb waiter works both ways,
it's how Fox murdered Mrs. Sheridan.

I locked him in too,
at his own request.

Why didn't he kill me
when I told him about the coins?

You probably told him
you'd told me, right?

Killing you wouldn't have done any
good. He assumed I'd call Rizzi.

He knew he had little
precious time left.

You're very good
at working these things out.

Seriously, you are.

Criminal aspects of the law
always fascinated me.

It was torts and contracts
that did me in.

Pity you gave it up.

Who knows?

Well? Coming or going?

Obviously, this is not the finish
I had in mind...

but I would suggest
not reaching for your hats.

It's still my script
they're playing.

Revised, of course.

But the manner of my death
alone, for example...

I must say, most mysterious
and without purpose...

is the disappearance of the gold dust
that was in this hourglass.

What baffles me is what Fox did
with the two pounds of chocolates.

Well, for one thing,
he seems to have been playing...

a childish game of some kind.

See here.

Apparently,
he carefully removed...

the golden centres of the candies
and piled them up.

May I, Inspector?
Thank you.

Couldn't be anything else.

It's been tried in vain since
the beginning of time and money.

Only Cecil Fox has,
at long last, succeeded.

That greedy bastard
actually took it with him.

True, true.

Each little sleeping pill,
packed in 100 proof gold dust...

chocolate covered marzipan, washed
down with a swig of Fox's comfort.

My friends, I went,
as nobody ever went..

There's a finish for you.

Before I say goodbye,
may I clarify one point?

We would be most grateful.

Pretending is more common
than you might think.

We live in a time of simulated
flowers, diamonds...

legs, hearts...

all undetectable from
the original.

This original was to be used only
if the imitation was discovered.

What Mr. Fox took with him
was sand. Golden dirt.

Goodbye, McFly.

Adieu, commissaire.

Au revoir.

There was no reason for Dominique
to reveal the gold dust was fake.

It attributes nothing to the plot,
merely cheapens my finish.

Cheat.

Unless I'm mistaken, larceny
now rears her lovely head.

I've been walking around with
Fox's will. Won't you need it?

As far as I'm concerned, it's just
another dead prop.

I'll just leave it, then.

This would be quite a souvenir
of quite a time.

Keep it as a memento, if you like.
Alright with you, Rizzi?

It is you, after all,
who has been legally designated...

the guardian of Signor Fox's
testament.

I'd almost forgotten. I'll even write
in your name. How's that?

Would you?

Sure, if you really want it.

That way,
it would really be mine.

Nobody could say
I just found it.

According to Italian law,
could she be held responsible...

for debts the estate
couldn't pay?

I don't see how.
What is owed by the estate...

the creditors must recover
from the estate.

If they cannot, they do not.
Basta.

Seems safe enough.

May I borrow your pen,
Inspector?

Beautiful, bouncy,
beautiful.

Thank you.

Here?

There.

Initial it too, please,
just beside my name.

This is probably the most binding
document since the Magna Carta.

Thank you.

And your signature, Inspector,
as witness.

A great honour.

Genius, genius.

Thank you, Inspector.

And thank you, William.

Not at all. My pleasure.

I must say you're a most
generous man, Mr. McFly.

I always have been,
generous to a fault.

Since, as you know,
the estate of Signor Fox...

will inherit the estate
of Mrs. Sheridan.

And if the size
of her fortune...

is anything like the fantastic
amount we have been told...

Even after paying all of Mr. Fox's
tremendous debts, there'd still be...

An enormous amount of money
left over.

After all, isn't that exactly
what Fox had in mind...

when he murdered her?

I'm forced to admit this is almost
as good a finish as my own.

There have been mothers
who kill their young...

there was Judas
who betrayed with a kiss...

traitors have posed
as patriots...

whores, as virgins,
rat-finks as loyal friends...

Listen to me now...

but never, in the written and
unwritten annals of immorality...

heartless, hypocritical,
ruthless immorality...

You'll run out of adjectives.
You might as well listen.

There's nothing you can say to me,
ever.

Will you stop acting
just for a minute?

Now.

To begin with, as we're probably
going to be married...

Come now!

Married? I wouldn't so much
as touch you...

or breathe the air
you breathe.

Well said, McFly.

There's your way out, bouncy.
Off you go, hippety-hop..

First of all, you'll have to
finish law school.

No, mothbrain,
you're blowing your entire finish.

I have no intention
of keeping this money.

What?

It's yours, and you will have it
after we're married.

And after you are a lawyer.

And if I say no?

Say it, McFly, please.

If I were you, I'd think it over
carefully before I said anything.

Arrivederci, Inspector.
And thank you.

I salute you,
Nurse Watkins.

I salute the Anglo-Saxon woman.

What kind of a man
would I be?

What kind of a marriage
would it be?

You couldn't respect me.

And I sure as hell
couldn't respect you.

Sarah, come back here!

That's better. At least we're spared
that closing panorama of beauty...

where they walk together hand in hand
across St Mark's square...

into the dawn over Venice.

Perhaps too heavily symbolic,
but my basic concept is there...

of time being all there is,
therefore, life.

Actually...

What's happened?
I won't have it.

I will not have it!

Stop yelling so loud.

It's my story and I want it
to finish my way.

But it didn't.

Neither did mine, you know.

It's kind of nice for young people
to get together at the end.

Nice...

Ceece, let the folks
go home now.

Folks...

Do you know what would be nice,
Lone-Star?

lf, just once...

the bloody script turned out
the way we wrote it.