Original subtitles

Ye gods of song and dance must I suffer?

Mr. Raymond I'm doing my best.

Yes, I know.

That's what makes it so pitiful.

Now, Mr. Raymond it's nearly 8:00 in the morning.

The girl is tired.

Aren't I tired?

Have I been in bed all night?

She can't sing, she can't dance.

Take her away.

Tell Mr. Raymond you're sorry.

Mr. Raymond--

You dare?

One pout and you're out.

But Mr. Raymond--

You're out.

You're all out.

We don't open, the show's off.

But, Mr. Raymond--

Yes, you can tell the backers this production is cancelled.

Yes, Mr. Raymond.

I'll have them telephony your flat.

They can save their breath.

I'll never set foot in a theatre again.

I'm going home, to bed.

But, Mr. Raymond--

All right, everybody back at 11:00.

There's no point.

I was my hands of all of you.

I wash my hands of the theatre.

I hate the people.

What am I going to do?

I'll tell you what I'm going to do.

I'm going to enter the monastery.

I shall be a holy man, I shall achieve serenity.

I said serenity.

No, I won't spell it.

No, I don't know which monastery,

just that it will be on a rock.

And after the course of many years,

I shall try to forget the vile yowlings

of these fat cats and sopranos.

And those dancers.

Grinning, leaping elephants, that's what they are.

And the actors, if I see one of them on that rock

I'll it at him, holy men or not.

There's a young lady to see you, sir.

Tell her I'm out.

She's here, sir.

I've got an appointment.

I'm Elaine Bradford.

Who says so?

Your office.

I haven't got an office.

I just renounced them.

I don't blame you.

I had trouble with them, too.

They made me wait months for my audition.

Audition?

But I can sing and dance, Mr. Raymond.

At least I think I can.

And I want you to think I can, too.

Just one song and dance.

Please.

İf you insist.

Thank you, Mr. Raymond.

Don't interrupt.

I said if you insist on singing, go out of that door

and shout Woolf.

Shout-- wolf?

Wolf.

Did you call me?

So you're Woolf.

What do you want?

I don't know.

Except that I'm supposed to sing.

I think.

Not loud, I hope.

I got a headache.

You play.

Why not?

I took lessons .

I hope you took lessons.

Dancing lessons.

That's fine.

Let's sing.

- Dear, I do hope Mr. Raymond isn't asleep.

That's alright.

You won't wake him.

Archie, my pet.

Darling, of all people, what luck.

Who's Darling?

Don't you know Francine de Nobles?

She used to be Raymond's star before she started

dodging mother parts in Hollywood.

How's Hollywood?

Hollywood?

Ew.

So everyone says.

You couldn't have come at a better time .

You've saved my life.

I was about to enter the convent.

Or a monastery.

But now that you are back, I'm unfrocked.

You shall go into my new review.

No more of these brat youngsters.

At last a real actress.

What's she got that I haven't?

Hardening of the arteries.

Remember, Francie, that time you

sang in our first great success?

Remember?

Remember?

Remember, my dear, I shall never forget.

Let's have it again.

Sorry.

That's alright.

But it's definitely your round.

Nimble foot work, that.

Looking for this?

No, not at all.

That's quite alright.

I know exactly how you feel.

I save strings.

Besides, I've got one of my own.

You're a friend of Archie's?

Certainly not.

You think I'd do this to a friend?

Thank you.

Let me have a crack at it.

Mind your fingers, now.

Here.

They're very nice fingers.

In fact, they're very nice hands.

A queer duck, Archie.

Awful.

Very neatly put.

He is awful.

He's got to carry along without his doorknob.

I can't work it.

İt serves him right.

He actually objects to my tap dancing, says it's noisy.

No soul.

Not a shred.

So you dance?

Like a gazelle.

And I called myself a gazelle.

Refreshments.

Right wheel.

Halt.

We been dancing, Boys.

Do you dance, Boys?

Not as a rule, sir.

But on one occasion, with the aid of six very old

fashioned cocktails, and your uncle,

I executed, if you would pardon me

sir, a Shuffle Off to Buffalo.

Look, won't you come inside and be more comfortable?

I'd like to, really, but I must get on.

No, don't, please.

Tomorrow, then?

We could lunch?

We should dine.

And we must dance.

That's very sweet of you.

And please don't think I'm standing on ceremony.

In my text, a doorknob is always an introduction.

One day, perhaps.

Just one day?

Soon.

And now, thanks for the drink and the gazelle dance.

You simply can't run off this way.

In the first place, I'll be terrible lonely.

And besides, you're extremely lovely.

I beg your pardon?

Not you.

Yes of course, you.

Your're lovely, too.

Goodbye.

Goodbye?

What's your name?

Where do you live?

Here, let me pass.

Here, now, what's up?

I'm up and I want to get down.

Stop that girl.

What's the name of the young man in Number 67.

Mr. Peter Carlton.

Carlton.

C-A-R-L-T-O-N.

Boys, were you ever in love?

Once, sir, but nothing came of it.

I wasn't firm enough.

Just tell them Freddy Rathburn's arrived.

My hat.

My scarf.

Your card, sir?

Lady Horton is entertaining tonight.

Lady Horton is very entertaining any night.

Your invitation, if you please, sir.

I'll just slip in and mill around a bit.

Lady Horton's drawbridge is always lowered for a Rathburn.

I won't sign another autograph.

Don't be an ass.

You're a celebrity, you've got to.

I'm tired of being a celebrity.

I want to go home.

Well you can't.

Hello, Montague.

Who's here?

Meet C. Rutherford Scarsdale.

Paints ceilings, federal ceilings.

What for?

Well, you're lying in bed, there's

nothing to do than look at the ceiling.

Ha ha.

Now, when you start painting these ceilings--

Hey, what's the idea?

Just a few details for the Daily Record.

You keep out, he's mine.

I work for the Tribune, so he belongs to the Tribune.

Alright.

Where are you going?

I want to put that girl on my bedroom ceiling.

Well, be careful she isn't a journalist.

Here, why should you have exclusive rights?

Because he's mine.

I made him.

Who was he before he appeared in my column?

Nobody.

Nobody.

You go find a celebrity of your own.

But how?

I don't know.

Why not try the way I do-- make one.

Then your permanently in on the ground floor.

That's what I do, Freddie my boy.

That's why my stuff sells and your stuff's rotten.

Come on let's have another drink.

The Record been fools enough to give you your job back?

No.

A friend of mine's got it-- Peter Carlton.

But I help him.

You help him?

Then he's as good as sacked.

Come on, let's go somewhere else and have another drink.

Nice parties Lady Horton gives.

I thought you were going for tidbits.

Well, come along with the story.

Who was there?

All the usual people.

Go to bed.

You've got to write that column.

The boss will be furious.

Alright, mastermind, tell me whom to write about.

Tell me whom to write about.

Bicarbonate of soda.

Now let's think of someone.

Echo answers, Who?

What we want to find is a celebrity

who will be exclusively ours and get in on the ground floor

permanently.

A great publicity personality who

no one can get at but ourselves.

In other words, a scoop.

Better still-- Peter, this great brain

has conceived of great thought.

We must invent a celebrity of our own,

a child of my imagination, someone who no one can get

any news from because there ain't no such person.

Now, who can we invent?

Echo answers,.

Did you hear what I said?

Let's invent-- who was the man who went through Asia

with an umbrella, riding a mock turtle?

That's the kind of man we want.

Better still, a woman.

Are you taking all this down?

What's a yashmak?

That's the thing oriental ladies wear

over their what-do-you-call-its.

This fascinating lady pilots her own airplane

from India, Persia, and Arabia to London, and vice versa.

A great huntress, thinks nothing of bagging

a tiger or two before breakfast.

And what a woman, alluring, mysterious.

Men would go mad over her.

Women would swoon with envy.

But no one sees this white treasure except her prince

lover, the Maharajah of, um-- The Maharajah of what, Freddie?

What Freddie?

The Maharajah.

The Maharajah.

Will there be anything else, sir?

Yes, Boys.

Hang on to India for me.

There.

I'll soon find a home for your Maharajah.

Now, then, tell me where I hit, boys.

Ooh!

Where was it?

My tummy, sir.

There.

The Maharajah of Matummyta.

Good old Indian name, that.

Don't be silly, you hit Boys.

I'm sorry, Boys.

Just a slip of the lance.

What's next to your tummy?

Miroshar, sir.

The Maharajah of Miroshar.

Now, let's see, what's her name?

I've got to make an honest woman of her.

Nothing like calling a girl Smith.

Much-traveled family with her, get

into all the best hotels, too.

Smythe.

Smythe?

Alright, Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Freddie, we're the proud parents of a beautiful lady.

Are we?

I knew I wasn't feeling well.

I'm going to bed before we have twins.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Like old times, having a death in the Society Column.

Thanks be for Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

She is a one, though.

Just caught her twentieth tiger.

Though how she has time for that,

what with the Maharajah in India, the Prince in Persia,

a sheik in Arabia--

Endless society reporters in London.

Don't you worry, dearie, your boyfriend's safe enough.

He's not my boyfriend.

I haven't even heard from him.

But he doesn't know where you live.

-Who knows where Mrs. Smythe-Smythe lives.

But he finds her when nobody else can.

Nobody except that Maharajah of Miroshar.

I wonder if your Mr. Carlton ever peeks under her yashmak.

Why not?

Newspaper men have to go everywhere.

Fancy sitting in a harem all day,

with a lace curtain over your face

and be waited on hand and foot.

Not me.

I'd be gadding around to smart hotels and parties

and getting me picture in the paper.

So would I. What a chance wasted.

That's what it is, sheer waste.

What I couldn't do with her publicity.

I wonder if I dare.

It's a brainwave!

Brixton 2-3-4.

Yeah?

Hello.

This is Elaine speaking.

Listen.

This may sound absolutely mad, but you've got to do it for me.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Now wait a minute, wait a minute,

let me get this straight.

Imperial Palace, tonight at 10:00?

Right.

But don't you forget to give me the cue.

It's as bad as that?

What did you expect, a decoration

from the old man for letting The Record steal on us?

I told him I was pulling every string.

What did he say?

He said the only string that he was

interested in was the one that Carlton pulls.

I'd stop at nothing to get some of exclusive Smythe-Smythe news

for the Tribune.

Now where the blazes--

Now don't you start any of your old tricks.

If you think I'm going to let Carlton take

my daily bread out of your mouth--

Hello.

Bill on the wire.

Him.

He hasn't given me a good tip yet.

There's something phony about this Smythe-Smythe woman.

I wonder if you're right.

You've never known me wrong.

Hello, yes.

That's fine.

Thanks for the tip.

Horse run?

Dinner at the Imperial Palace.

Who's there?

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe and Earl Craig.

Madame Smythe-Smythe, she's arrived.

Why are you fidget, Francois?

Why is everyone fidget?

Have not I, not received kings, princes,

nobles, American gangsters, even American film stars?

Bon.

Young man, why were you not at the Imperial Palace last night?

General Montague was and he got an interview

with Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

What?

That's impossible.

Impossible?

If you read The Tribune you'd see how impossible it is.

Did you know that she lives on llama

broth and curried dolphin?

This beautiful woman, who trapped twenty tigers,

did the rumba, had the whole of the Imperial Palace

in a frenzy of excitement.

It was her first appearance in public.

And you of all people were scooped.

Why, it's preposterous.

She couldn't have been there because--

Well, she was.

What are you going to do about it?

Find out who's crazy.

Me or Montague or--

Boys, we've been outraged.

Your master and I have been robbed while we slept.

Indeed, sir?

I didn't hear anyone in the night, sir.

Not here, you fool, at the Imperial Palace.

What's Mr. Carlton going to say when he hears

that Smythe-Smythe is no longer the bird of flight?

Boys, the lady has lit somewhere and laid us an egg.

- Mrs. Smythe-Smythe was

at the Imperial Palace last night.

Peter, this imposter must be un-yashmaked.

There's no such word.

But there's a person.

How do you know?

What do you mean, how do I know?

Aren't we the father and the--

And the fath--.

I see what you mean.

Maybe there is such a lady.

Yes, and then what?

Peter, you are to go to the Imperial Palace

and face her, even if she's shot forty tigers.

I'll show her she stampede Freddie Rathburn.

The gentleman may approach.

Thank you.

It is the hour for medication.

The screen, if you please.

Madame.

You are very kind, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

You are very impetuous, Mr. Peter Carlton.

How did you know my name?

Why shouldn't I?

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe stops here.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe stops there.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

All by Mr. Peter Carlton.

I suppose explanations are expected.

But what about an explanation from you?

Well, here's one.

Are you sure?

This is marvelous seeing you again.

What's the idea?

Merely a great one.

You're printing reams about the real Smythe-Smythe

and she didn't seem to give a hang.

But I did.

I wanted.

Why?

I wanted to create a stir, and then expose myself.

Just before going quietly with the police.

No, just quite going noisily with a show.

After I'm discovered, I hope some manager would

take advantage of the publicity and give

me a job under my own name.

After all, you are the only person in London

who knows the real Mrs. Smythe-Smythe, aren't you?

If anything happens, I'll take full responsibility.

What do you say?

Hazel-brown.

I beg your pardon?

Your eyes-- hazel-brown.

They're beautiful.

I wonder about them.

I remembered your face and your hair, and everything else.

But why you ever thought of covering that lovely face

with this ridiculous thing, I'll never know.

Then you will let me go on being Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

Well--

Then you will?

Thank you.

What's your name?

Elaine Bradford.

Well?

What about Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

She is Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Who?

Elaine Bradford.

The girl in the hall.

What are you talking about?

She has the most beautiful hazel-brown eyes.

Fine.

I send you to stamp out a menace and you

come back here mooning about eyes.

Don't you like the job?

I love her.

And all she wants is chance to get out of the dancers.

Tomorrow, London will learn that Mrs. Smythe-Smythe is

an accomplished dancer, a world-renowned expert

in the temple dances of the Far East.

That should help put her on her feet, Freddie.

Peter, there are four million women in London.

Why must you fall in love with a lady who wears a yashmak

and has two big sticks of dynamite

clutched in her hot little hands?

But Freddie, her--

I know her hazel-brown eyes.

How many has she got?

Two at the most.

Alright, you gain two eyes and lose your job,

- invite exposure, face J. - Edgar at his

and start dodging creditors again.

But think, Freddie--

Think!

You ask Freddie Rathburn to think.

I am thinking of those horrible things, of love and jail.

Goodbye, Romeo.

When Mrs. Smythe-Smythe arrives for lunch,

I want the manager to give her this card,

and bring her up to my suite.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

The Maharajah of Miroshar salutes you.

Yes, of course.

I have been reading the newspapers.

How nice.

Our names have been coupled.

Is that nice?

That was a mistake.

They meant the Maharajah of--

Well?

The Maharajah of Urcha.

The Maharajah of Urcha?

Surely a lotus blossom would not defile her beauty

with the slimy touch of a bullfrog.

İt was nothing like that.

There was no love in your heart?

I love nobody.

Gods of my ancestors, place the heart

of heart of this fair lotus blossom in these hands of mine.

I'd better be going.

Those little hands, like fluttering birds,

caught in a hunter's snare.

I've got to have my hair done at 4.

Those eyes, deeper than the Shalimar,

with ever changing light, like wind across the jungle grasses.

And a fitting at the dressmakers.

Show me, show me that face and open up the gates of heaven.

I'm afraid that can wait.

Show me thy naked face.

Or as the great poet Taj Mahal has said,

How beautiful.

You speak Hindustani.

Only in India.

Let me have one more look of thy divine face.

One more?

We've met?

At the Boulevard, don't you remember?

Was I there?

You favored me with a glimpse beneath your yashmak.

Did I?

Goodbye.

they slave, thy slave.

One look, one look.

You might find me changed.

Changed?

That eternal face could never change.

You are not Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Quick, a whiskey and soda.

What is it, Boys?

A potentate sir.

He wants a whiskey and soda.

Well, give him one.

A sandwich, too, poor devil.

Did you say a potentate?

Sort of a Maharajah, sir.

What?

Not old Miroshar himself?

The thought had occurred to me, sir.

Don't let him in.

Tell him-- tell him I'm out.

Look out!

Hey!

What is this?

Look here, sir.

Can't we talk this over, sir?

I should say not.

İt's you.

Of course it's me.

Are you crazy or am I?

We thought you were the Maharajah of Miroshar.

So I am.

I was.

I just come from the Imperial Palace.

So that's your trick.

I didn't hurt her.

I just sent her about her business in a nice way.

You're a fine pal.

I promised that girl I'd let her carry on.

All she wants is a chance.

Who are you phoning?

Elaine.

I'm going to beg her pardon.

That's great.

I borrow five pounds from a pal I've been saving up

for a rainy day, and go oriental for you--

Hello, Elaine?

This is Peter.

Look, I'm awfully-- Hello?

Hello!

Hello.

Sorry, old boy, I didn't know you had it that bad.

By the courtesy of Mr. Peter Carlton.

A fat lot of courtesy in that.

It was a dirty trick.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe has everything.

Probably never had to go without a thing in her life.

And I give her a chance to help someone-- Elaine Bradford.

Has Mrs. Smythe-Smythe ever sung herself hoarse,

sung till she's dropped to try and convince some idiot

that without breach of promise

and preferring to breakfast alone,

one might still have the makings of a fine star?

Well I have, for months and months and months.

Don't, please.

Please don't.

I've told you that's all Freddie's fault.

He calls himself a thinker.

And that's what he thought of.

That's all right.

It's off my chest.

But--

And tell your friend Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

I didn't disgrace her.

And I promise I won't use her name anymore.

Wait a minute.

That you, Carlton, old boy?

I should like you to do me a little favor.

Edgar.

I've got a few instructions for you, Carlton.

My wife is giving a party.

What's that?

I said, how nice.

It's to be a little, um, oriental party

with an Indian motif.

My wife is turning the house into an Eastern bazaar.

Now, do you think you manage to get--

Edgar.

These are your instructions.

Yes, sir?

You must get Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

as the guest of honor.

Guest of-- But that's impossible.

You see, she never goes out socially.

It would mean a great deal to me in the future.

It will mean your future job, young man.

I'm sacked.

Don't be silly.

You can get her there.

I can't.

She's in India.

You might get her here in time.

What date's the show?

She'd still be in India.

That sort of Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

to you.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe is dead.

Don't be funny.

She was never born.

What?

A child of my imagination.

And Freddie's the father.

Well, mother, you must settle down and have another family.

Wait.

We'll adopt you.

So there isn't a Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

And now that you need one to keep your job,

you come running to me.

Well, guess again.

Wait.

That wasn't nice.

I know.

I'm sorry.

But I'm not sorry.

Well, you should be.

After all, you know I'm in love with you.

Well, you haven't shown it yet.

There, that shows you.

Doesn't show a thing.

It doesn't?

I must be losing my drift.

No, thanks, I've just had one.

Look here, Elaine.

I'm not trying to do this for myself alone.

It's a cinch to help you along with your little scheme.

And after that, I thought we could

walk around or sit around or dance around.

So you were planning all that, were you?

Of course I was planning all that.

Didn't I tell you I love you?

Don't you think I want to sit around and dance around, too?

Then you do love me?

But all I'm being forced to be Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Then you don't love me?

No.

But Mrs. Smythe-Smythe will go to that party.

And don't blame me if anything awful happens.

See you in the papers.

Wait.

Wait!

Elaine!

Come in.

İt's terrific.

What a get-up.

I'm afraid you won't be seeing it much longer

because it's coming off.

I'm not going.

But you can't back out now.

I can't, can't I?

If you can spring surprises like this on me.

Colonel Bertram Edgerton of the Six Lances,

who has just returned from India,

is being entertained tonight by Mrs. J. Edgar Durland.

The occasion will mark the first meeting of the Colonel

and the fascinating Mrs. Smythe-Smythe,

who is the other guest of honor.

It is anticipated that these two authorities on the Far East

should find much in common.

You read very nicely.

Durland sprung it on me this morning.

I've been thinking about it all day.

I'm Freddie.

Freddie the Maharajah.

This is no time for grudges.

Let's be friends.

How can I be friends with people who think nothing

of showering Maharajahs and Colonels on me?

What's next, a herd of elephants?

Don't you worry about that Colonel.

As soon as we find out where he's stopping

I'll put a spoke in his wheel.

We left Boys phoning every club and hotel in London.

It's no use.

I don't know what's going to happen to the Colonel,

but I do know what's going to happened to me.

I'll take it.

It's very likely Boys.

Yes?

Good work, Boys.

The Colonel's staying at the Dismounted Calvary Club.

I'm off.

And when you meet the Colonel, relax.

It'll be me.

There you are.

Everything under control.

What are you planning to do to the Colonel?

Add kidnapping to your other parlor tricks?

Leave that to Freddie.

What a Colonel he'll make.

You two will have a grand time together.

You know I wouldn't do anything to get you in a jam, Elaine.

You don't have to.

I do alright myself.

That'll have to stop.

I won't have you getting in jams.

You really think I'll be alright if I go?

You'll be just as save as you are right now.

That's just what I thought.

I don't know why I'm doing this.

But I'll take a chance on you and go.

Don't lock up yet.

You know you have a very nice face.

Do you think that very nice face would give me a kiss?

Time for just one before closing.

I'm looking for Colonel Edgerton.

How cab you tell them-- that is, would you tell me which is he?

Colonel Edgerton has left for the evening.

He hasn't started for Mrs. Durland's?

No, I believe he's going to make several calls on his way.

But I couldn't tell you where.

Mr. Peter Carlton.

Hello, Carlton, old boy.

How do you do, sir?

Awful, isn't it?

It is a bit startling.

Mr. Carlton, do tell me you think I've outdone myself I so

want Mrs. Smythe-Smythe to look at all this

and then turn round and say, India.

Yes, well, I certainly hope she thinks of it.

But when Mrs. Smythe-Smythe gets violently

homesick she says the strangest things.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Has the Colonel arrived yet?

Not yet.

I hope Mrs. Smythe-Smythe likes him.

Very nice fellow, I hear.

One of the best tiger shots in India,

outside of Mrs. Smythe-Smythe, of course.

If you please.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am going to ask Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

to honor us by demonstrating the rare temple dances of the East,

in which, you know, she is a world-renowned expert.

What kind of a dance did she say?

Temple.

Well, what's that?

I don't know.

But there's this one.

I know that one.

So does everyone else.

I was so sure you wouldn't mind.

But I-- I have no music.

Yes you have.

But I-- I don't think they would know the proper music

that I would have to have.

Yes they do.

They've been rehearsing all day.

But I-- I couldn't dance without--- without--

But I shouldn't want you to dance without.

I got a costume.

I thought of everything.

Colonel Edgerton.

Colonel Edgerton.

Mr. And Mrs. Hill-Mitchellton.

Mr. And Mrs. Hill-Mitchellton.

Colonel Edgerton.

Colonel Edgerton is just arrived.

My, there must be some mistake.

Thank you.

Mr. Freddie Rathburn.

Mr. Freddie Rathburn.

Colonel Edgerton.

Colonel Edgerton.

How do you do?

Allow me to present Colonel Edgerton of Six Lances.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Permit me, Madame.

I know you probably have a lot to say to one another,

but don't monopolize her, Colonel.

What a grand makeup.

What?

Well, I must say you look marvelous.

Jolly good of you.

You know, you look very nice yourself.

How much longer do you think we'll have to stay here?

Well, I thing something could be arrange.

No, thanks.

It's alright.

There's no one listening, you can speak freely.

I think we might find a quieter spot for this.

The quieter the better.

I like a woman who takes her straight.

Are you alright?

Relax.

There's no one looking.

I say, it's a bit public, what?

By gad, madame, you're a woman after me own heart.

By Jove, it's too bad I never ran across you in India.

Where did you spend most of your time when you were there?

Down near the bottom, where it comes to a point.

Now, I'm afraid I must say goodbye.

Not before I've kissed the hand that killed twenty cats.

Killed them?

Why, I love them.

I even have two sleeping at the foot of my bed.

You know, it's all very well for you to see it like that,

but you make my record of fourteen

tigers unworthy of the Six Lances.

Tigers?

You-- you mean tigers.

Yes, tigers.

Well, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe what about sights?

London or India.

Guns!

Do you prefer a globe or telescope sight?

Well, it all depends on which part of the animal

I'm shooting at.

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, I do

hope that Mrs. Smythe-Smythe and Colonel Edgerton, two

of the greatest marksmen of the Orient,

will show us how they bring down those big, bad cats.

I generally shoot better after a few.

And anybody who is gun-shy must shut their eyes

and hold their ears.

Well, madame, we're on Safari now.

We've started?

No, no.

Over here.

Ha ha, you've hit a.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

No, no, over here.

You've only ringed him.

Let's get her out of here before they

ask her to do the Indian Rope Trick.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

It's been a charming evening.

I'm going home.

Not yet.

I'm tired.

Come on up to my place and sit down.

No.

Well, then we'll go somewhere else.

You can't go home yet.

Can't I?

Well, in the first place, there's some more columns.

Now, tell me-- Elaine, why won't you let me kiss you?

So you can put that in tomorrow's column?

What do you mean by letting that old murder

frighten me to death?

He nearly shot me.

You nearly shot me.

Too bad I didn't.

If you'd wounded me just a little,

would you have nursed me back to health?

No, I'd have brushed up on my shooting.

No, you wouldn't.

You'd have sat down and cried your eyes out.

Well, at least I'd have been sitting down.

I have a country seat near here.

Take me to it.

Like a shot.

What a night.

We might be miles away in a jungle.

Don't say jungle.

I'm sorry.

I'm merely begun--

No gun, or tiger or India.

Or anything to do with that beastly woman.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

My Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

Your Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

She's all yours now.

I've finished with her.

My feet.

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar.

That's pretty.

What's it from?

Indian love lyrics.

Now, look--

She's smiling now.

Now she's frowning.

He's shaking his finger at her.

She's snapped at it.

She's got up and moved away.

He's pulling her back.

She's up again.

She's down.

She's up again.

He's down.

Saved by the bell.

That boy needs help in the next round.

A nice time to blow in.

It's a terrible time.

I'm going to bed.

Goodnight.

Here, wait a minute.

You can't go to bed.

Listen, my boy, I'll put out the light

and be in bed before the room gets dark.

No, you don't.

Henceforth, you'll be known as lucky Raymond, the man who

was born with a horseshoe in his mouth.

You have a new star.

Have I?

She can sing like an angel, dance like a fairy.

And you ought to see her legs.

Ought I?

And I found her.

Is she engaged?

Has she got a name?

Name?

Have you ever heard of Mrs. Smythe-Smythe?

Alright, dear, if you say so.

From now on, I'm going to be me.

Then will send Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

back to-- where she came from.

If I'm going to be a sensation, I'll do it as Elaine Bradford.

Tried that before.

Well, I can try it again.

You'll make good, too.

Who knows, maybe some day you'll be able to dance as well as me.

You know, Peter, I do believe I'm beginning to like you.

Thank you, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Who?

Sorry.

Miss Elaine Bradford.

Now and forever.

Hold it.

Look who's here.

Woman, do your stuff.

Mr. Raymond, you really want me to sing for you?

I would be charmed.

And if you think I'm good, will you give me a chance?

My girl--

Don't say it yet.

Sit down.

Well, what did I say?

You've got it all.

Didn't I tell you?

Looks, talent, and a name.

And you're going to see that name spread across the front

of my theatre, in letters that high.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Why should The Record have exclusive news of you.

The readers of The Tribune are theatre-goers, you know.

It might be bad for business if the got the wrong impression.

I'm sure Mrs. Smythe-Smythe will treat all you gentlemen

of the press on an equal footing.

Shall we say tomorrow?

How about a little drink, gentlmen?

Our pal Montague.

What, again?

Do you realize you'll be in

again unless we can choke off this competition.

You're telling me?

He wouldn't even print a line about the end of the world

if he didn't have an exclusive.

Turn that mob loose on me and Mrs. Smythe-Smythe

will be about as exclusive as a Hollywood party.

I've got it.

Write tomorrow's news yesterday and make it come through today.

What?

It's quite simple.

I think out what you do, Peter writes it.

Then you do it.

In that way, we can always keep a jump

ahead of the other newspapers.

Well, Mr. Thinker, what do I do?

Daring exploit, that's what you do.

Even if I break my neck, I suppose.

Yes, I'm even prepared to risk that.

Joe, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe was riding on a camel in the road

this morning.

Yes, so Peter Carlton said in The Record.

But she only pulled the stunt 20 minutes ago.

I know what I'm talking about, I have a man tailing her.

Well, if The Record printed it first then someone's a witch.

No!

Temper, temper.

That settles it.

I'm going to look after this myself.

I'm going to stick by that woman's side day and night.

Yes, we'll see who's first home with the washing next time.

There.

Not half bad, but the next time--

There won't be any next time.

There wouldn't have been a this time

if I'd have know anything about it.

Then you didn't--

No, that--

So, you wrote the article.

Yes.

That was Mrs. Smythe-Smythe's last stunt.

But we've got a great write-up

already written for your next stunt.

The don't interest me.

But I know this one, Elaine.

It isn't dangerous.

No!

From now on the only public appearance of Mrs.

Smythe-Smythe will be behind the footlights.

For the rest of the time, I'm me.

But don't be silly, Elaine.

Miss Bradford to you.

It falls to The Tribune to expose the greatest hoax

practiced upon the public in recent years.

That's the lot.

I'll get it set up.

Give it to me.

Yes, that's pretty good.

Front page stuff.

And how.

Aren't you going to use it?

Yes.

I'm going to use it.

Congratulations, Elaine Bradford.

So that why you look like the cat who's eaten the canary.

Not eaten, just caught.

And now that you've got it, I suppose

you'd like to play with it a little.

Well, go ahead.

Well?

It's up to you whether this goes into tomorrow's paper.

What's the if?

Merely that Smythe-Smythe news comes first

to me and not to Peter Carlton.

Come and see me after the show.

I shall expect my first big Smythe-Smythe news

tonight, so think hard.

What does that bird of ill omen want?

Montague knows everything.

What?

If I don't give him the exclusive dope on Mrs.

Smythe-Smythe, he's going to publish an expose.

You mustn't do anything that will cost you your big chance.

I don't care about the show.

But I'm not going to let Peter down.

Peter doesn't really need Mrs. Smythe-Smythe anymore.

He's on his way to bigger things with journalism

that mere society reporting.

And he's going to keep on, if I know anything about it.

Yes, but, I don't think Peter would like

to hold down a job in those conditions.

How do you think I'd feel if he lost it?

Please, Freddie, for once in your life be a thinker.

Think what you like, but don't say anything.

Peter mustn't know anything about this.

Lady!

All the boys out front are thinking up

a new word for sensation.

Wait'll you see the papers.

Wait'll you see mine.

I don't want to see the papers.

I hate the papers.

What?

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe reaches a new high and she doesn't care?

I'm not even sure I want to be Mrs. Smythe-Smythe anymore.

Well, you certainly picked a dandy time to change your mind.

What's the idea?

I'm just fed up with the whole thing.

You can't spend your whole life at the fancy dress party.

There's a girl for you.

She wants to be, she is, and then she doesn't want to be.

Well, let me know if you change your mind.

Peter!

Freddie!

Fifteen minutes, the dancers are just finishing.

Now what?

Leave that to me.

There's just one thing to do.

And I'm afraid I'm going to do it.

The Record?

I'm speaking for Mr. Peter Carlton.

Something for the soft press.

The other papers haven't got it yet.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe has walked out

in the middle of her first night performance.

Mrs. Smythe-Smythe isn't in her dressing room, sir.

Anything happens to that girl, I'll

sock you for not telling me about Montague.

Well, let's find him.

By the time this reaches you I shall be well

on my way to a remote destination.

I have received a summons which I cannot

deny and my public life must end.

A thousand apologies.

Signed, Mrs. Smythe-Smythe.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret, but it

would be useless to continue with tonight's performance.

Your money will be refunded to you at the box office.

[ELAINE REPRISES "I NEARLY LET LOVE

GO SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS"]

Stop!

You're fine.

What's your name?

Elaine.

Elaine what?

Bradford.

C-A-R-L-T-O-N.