Original subtitles

Good morning. Good morning.

Have you the body?

I've got 27 bodies. No, the body of the girl that was found in my sector an hour

ago. Oh, her, yes.

By whose order was the corpse removed?

Well, I don't know.

I just take what anyone says.

Yes, but... Of course, it's his district.

Glass.

Hello. I didn't know they'd got you out of bed. But there's been a murder in my

sector. Yeah.

My staff have orders on these occasions to inform me instantly.

So that I can view the crime in situ.

My apologies for interfering. No, no, no, it was your right. No more than your

right. Well, it gives the district a bad name to have corpses lying about too

long. No, there's no need for explanations, Chief Inspector.

We're accustomed to headquarters taking over our more complex cases. No, no, no,

Lorne, you're nothing like that. We can work on this case together.

Now, these are things?

Everything, yes.

What can you tell us?

Age between 19 and 22.

She was in good health but somewhat undernourished.

She had a fractured skull. A fall from the car.

No, I should say she'd been struck on the head by something hard. A spanner,

hammer, by doing anything.

She'd also been hit two or three times in the face by a man's fist.

Are we sure of that?

One learns to recognize these things. Good health.

What sort of a picture do you get here?

there were some scraps of cloth under the nails for the man's suit I should

say so I can see her there kneeling before him pleading with him he wants to

get away but he can't so he hits her once twice and again but he's desperate

he wants to get away still she's clinging so he grabs a weapon hits her

really hard she's dead perhaps you can give us her name and who killed her oh

no I leave that to you or you no handbag

Well, it looks as though she was dead when they pushed her out of the car.

Possibly.

Anything else? She wasn't a manual worker.

Probably what they call a hostess at a cabaret.

She was a virgin.

Was she?

All the same, might be a good idea to get someone to do a quick round of the

cabarets before they close.

See if anyone's missed a blonde in a blue dress.

I'll go myself.

There's a tag here on the dress. Her name?

No, the manufacturer's. I think Mademoiselle...

We'll call on her in the morning.

Pick her up to your flat at 9 o'clock.

But I shall be at the station by then.

But don't you want to see her?

There's no time to waste.

The photographs won't be ready. I'll have to describe her.

Blonde in a blue dress.

What more can I say?

I'll make my report in the morning.

L'Oignon's always so anxious to solve the crime.

forgets what it's all about.

Death of a girl.

You ought to be hardened by now.

Ah, she looks... What?

Young.

Lonely, Luca.

That's what she looks.

Why should we be hardened?

Oh, by the way...

I forgot to tell you she must have been three-quarters drunk when she died.

Just what I wanted.

Right, this one for the press.

Tell the photographers I love them.

Right.

Fine day after all that rain.

Still a cold wind outside.

Yeah, still.

We were going to pick you up this morning, weren't we?

I'm sorry, I overslept. I thought perhaps you must have.

Got a cold?

It was raining heavily between 5 and 7.30 this morning.

5 and 7? Where were you?

Inquiring at the cabarets in the Pigalle area, as instructed.

Ah, yeah. Has anyone missed it?

Nobody.

Right, we'll start again with these.

What?

Now?

No. first of all so to investigate the only clue we have mademoiselle irene in

the uh

That looks like it right now.

Not open.

Oh God.

They're not open yet. Police!

Come in.

Is Irene a trade name?

Yes. My name's Elizabeth Comer.

Do you recognize this?

Yeah.

When did you sell it? I didn't. Your label?

I hired it out.

When?

Last evening, about nine o'clock. To a girl?

No, to a one-legged fireman.

What does that mean?

Well, don't ask silly questions.

This is a murder case.

Has she been murdered? Yes, she has. Is that her?

Yes.

Mind you, I didn't know her very well. She only came here once before.

What was her name?

Um, wait a moment. Come on, mademoiselle, don't you keep a list of

clients' names, hmm?

Yes, but I can't remember where I put them.

And her address, too.

Louise, that's it.

And there was another L.

I'll get it in a moment.

Ask me another question.

Did she change here?

Yes, and she left her clothes.

I don't ask for any deposit, then.

I'll get them.

She's a pretty tough one.

Oh, we've had her inside.

What for?

Receiving. Most of these second-hand places are just the same.

Go on up Breakwater, if you care. See if they have anything there. Fine.

I don't amount to much.

There's a coat off the peg.

Made the dress herself with a little bit of shoes worn down.

Is that her bag?

Yes, I gave her an evening one.

It was like this, only silver brocade.

You wind the chain round your wrist.

This one's empty.

She transferred all her stuff.

Did you see what?

Make-up, handkerchief, not much money and identity card.

Key? Didn't see it.

And her second name?

No, not yet.

I'll ring you, shall I?

Yes, you do that.

Katie's all faithful.

Or locally, to Inspector Lonyell.

I know him.

Are you keeping the evening dress? Yes, we'll have it back when we're finished.

It's a terrible thing, really.

You don't seem very distressed.

It wasn't me that was murdered.

No.

What did you think of her?

Think?

What sort of impression did she make on you?

None. She came here twice, hired a dress and went.

Now she's dead.

That's all I know about her.

You're drinking rum.

It's a funny thing to do. Well, some people like it.

Yeah, but... I don't know.

Now, what have we got?

Well, her name was Louise someone.

She hired a dress last night, an evening dress, nine o'clock.

She hadn't much money, but she had had several drinks.

Of rum.

Of rum.

She'd been missing for 12 hours.

So far, nobody's missed her.

Come in.

Here's the picture, Pat.

Ah.

Not bad. How long's he been out? About an hour.

Perhaps Kumar was lying.

I should say.

Ah, well, it's our job to find out. Well, our job will be much better done

if we all go and get some sleep.

I'm perfectly all right, thank you.

Yeah, but you need a rest. I'll give you a lift in the car. Oh, no, no, no, I

could easily go by the metro.

Well, make sure you get some sleep.

Is that what you're going to do? Yes, yes, that new car we're all going to

take to our beds.

I'll call you as soon as something happens.

I don't know what else you thought we were going to do. Oh, I have an expenses

form for you to sign, all right? All right. Bring it in.

There's, uh, someone to see you.

Oh. Yeah, it's a woman.

All right.

Will you come this way, madame, please?

Are you to do with her?

Yes, madame. Are you? Unfortunately.

She was staying in my flat until yesterday.

It's been a terrible shock.

Where's she now, ma'am?

Leave in catalogue, madame.

Now, first, ma'am, your name.

Mathilde Cremier.

Mathilde Cremier.

I'm a widow.

And the address?

113B, Rue de Clichy.

Who is she?

And her... Her name?

Louise Labouin.

Louise Labouin.

When I saw her face looking at me from the paper, I stood quite still.

I couldn't move.

Was she a relation?

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, certainly not. No, she just had a room in my flat.

A lodger?

More of a guest.

But she paid you?

Well, I didn't like to be all alone at night.

Did she pay you rent?

I didn't think of it as rent.

You've got nothing to worry about, madam. This is criminal justice, not

taxation.

So, she paid you rent?

Yes. And how long has she been staying with you?

About two months.

I advertised and she telephoned. She seemed a nice, quiet girl.

Quiet indeed.

Never a word out of her.

Every day when she'd come back from work, I'd be sitting where I could see

her and I'd try to talk to her.

But all she'd ever say was good evening or good morning.

As if I were the concierge.

Where did she work?

As if she'd tell me.

Some office.

I did happen to see a letter.

But I can't remember the name.

Anyhow, she got the sack three weeks ago. That I do know.

I didn't know. She had no money.

And for the past three weeks?

Well she'd go out in the morning looking for work I suppose and come back in the

evening. Not that she looked very hard.

I used to see her sitting on a bench in the Place de la Trinité.

Where did she eat? I don't know. Not with me. That wasn't part of our

agreement.

It wouldn't surprise me if she'd cooked in her room from time to time.

I found an electric iron among her things which I'd expressly forbidden.

Are those her things?

Yes.

I thought I'd better bring them.

Didn't want the police poking about.

Oh, you were quite correct.

She didn't have much.

Pawned it all.

Do you recognize that?

Yes, it's her bag.

What was in it? How should I know?

Because you looked in it.

What a suggestion.

What was in it besides porn tickets?

Lipstick, money, key of the flat.

Identity card? I never saw it.

There was a photograph.

Of a man?

Yes.

Describe him.

good-looking in his forties.

he could have been her father.

I think it was taken in Nice on the promenade des Anglais.

I remembered it from my honeymoon.

no name on the back? nothing.

are you sure that you packed everything she possessed?

I didn't pack.

she did.

when? yesterday before she went away.

was she leaving you? I told her to.

she was three weeks behind with her rent.

You can't wait forever.

Can you?

Did she say where she was going? I don't think she knew.

She just started to cry when I told her.

Still, you'll have to harden your heart.

Otherwise, you couldn't live at all.

Could you?

No. Couldn't live at all.

Thank you, madame.

She's given us some very useful information.

One does one's duty.

No sign of Lognon.

The girl's name was Louise Labouin.

Labouin? She has a mother living in Nice.

I want you to find her and talk to her.

What, in Nice?

Oh, good. What do you want to know? Everything.

When she was born, where she lived, why she left Nice.

Who her father was.

I want her whole life.

Have you traced the mother yet, Luca?

Yes. She spends most of her time over at the casino in Monte Carlo.

I'm going over there now to see her. Good. Let me know as soon as you have.

Either here or at my home.

Right? Right.

Expect L'Oignon to see you, Patron. Good.

Good morning.

Good morning, L'Oignon.

Good morning.

I think I've had a most profitable night.

I've traced most of the movements of the deceased immediately prior to her death.

Good. Let's have her.

At 10.30 p.m. on Monday night, she entered the Café de la Boute, Rue

Fontaine. Now, here is a statement by the waiter.

She seemed very cold, as you might expect, as she was only wearing an

evening dress.

I suggested a hot grog, and she agreed.

She asked for a jeton and went to the telephone.

Ten times she tried to get a call, and the last time she got through. What did

she say?

The waiter said he couldn't hear what she said.

She had three drinks altogether and stayed about an hour and then went away.

No, it only made her sadder. I talked to her and tried to cheer her up, but she

always seemed as if she was going to burst into tears and

said nothing.

Did anyone else talk to her?

No, the cafe was empty.

So then I resumed my interrogation of the taxi drivers and the doormen in the

vicinity, but without any success.

until four minutes past three in the morning when I interviewed Leon Cirque.

He recognized a photograph as that of a girl he'd seen on Monday night coming

out of a cabaret called Romeo in the Rue...

It's a smart place.

At approximately midnight she came out of the cabaret and made her way across

the road into the direction of the boulevards.

Alone? Alone.

Well it seems as though she might have been a cabaret hostess after all. Oh no

it doesn't because I then found out that the Romeo was closed on the night in

question. It had been let for a wedding party.

Which she attended.

Yes the wedding was between a certain Marco Santoni and a Jeannine Arménier of

Paris. Have you talked to them?

They're in Italy on their honeymoon.

Address unknown.

I learned this from Santoni's manservant in the Rue de Berry.

Where?

About 3.57 this morning.

He told me that Santoni was a wealthy playboy who, before his marriage, had

kept Jeannine Arméni for five months at the Washington Hotel.

Yeah? Well, did he recognize the photograph of the dead girl? No, he

didn't. But he provided me with this photograph of Santoni.

Good.

And this one of Jeannine Arméni.

Now, may I telephone into Paul and ask them to trace the Santonis? Yes,

that's all we can do at the moment.

That's fine.

You know what I'm going to do next?

What?

Check up on the wedding details and then go to the Hotel Washington and find out

the previous address of Jeannine Arméni.

And then continue my inquiries from there.

Unless, of course, you wish me to hand over the case to you. No, no, no. All I

want is to find out who killed this girl.

Good luck.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

Monsieur?

I'm looking for a Madame Le Bois. Do you know her?

Yes, monsieur, very well.

Is she here tonight?

Every night.

Can you point her out to me?

She's the lady facing you in the furs.

Right. Thank you.

Madame. Go away.

I'm a police officer from Paris.

It's about your daughter, Madame.

Madame, she's dead.

now I can talk to you.

what was it about Louise?

she's dead madame.

oh yes yes. I have to concentrate on the play you know. you see I have to win a

little every day.

Was it an accident?

She was murdered.

Surely not. No one would murder Louise.

I should like to ask you one or two questions. May I offer you a drink?

Certainly you may.

I haven't seen her for some time you know. She ran away.

When? About two years ago was it? Yes.

It was quite a shock.

I went into the kitchen one morning and found a note from her saying she was

never going to come back and she never did.

and now she's dead.

sad.

yes isn't it?

what would you like to drink? oh cognac please. I never drink anything else.

two cognacs.

did she write to you? not a word but I did have some news though.

a mademoiselle Poire wrote me from Paris saying that I should keep an eye on her

and not leave her alone in Paris.

that must have been two months after she left.

not a nice letter. did you take any action?

of course not. I couldn't leave here.

Thank you.

Mademoiselle Port, P-O-R-E?

That's right.

Rue de Chemin Vert.

Number 16.

16, Rue de Chemin Vert.

You're sure, then?

Oh, yes, I played it that night.

It didn't come up.

Madame.

You're quite sure it was her, Mademoiselle Port? I've told you, that

was the girl, quite definitely.

Then you would swear to it? I have sworn to it.

And you really have no idea where Madame Santoni is?

Oh, don't keep calling her that. It muddles me. Well, Jeannine Armenia who

married Santoni. Anyway, where are they? Did you tell anyone where you were going

on your honeymoon?

Yes, my inspector.

Now who?

Mademoiselle Poe? Yes?

The Chief Inspector, my great.

May I speak to you, please, about Louise Lavoine?

Oh, very well.

But I really don't see why it needs too much to question a woman about a girl

like Louise, even if she has been murdered.

Non, non.

Ahead of me.

The Hotel Washington gave me the address.

Oh, look, I had to go all the way to Nice for it.

So, you knew Louise Laboyne. I have a statement.

I just told him all about it when you came.

You see, Jeannine... The girl who married Santoli. Yes, that's right. You

see, Jeannine is my niece.

Her father, my brother-in-law, lives in Lyon. In silk, you know. But he's never

been the same since my poor sister died.

Jeannine lived here, too?

May I see the rooms you have? Of course, if you're going to take a second

statement, I may as well continue with my investigations.

Well, keep in touch.

In what?

Touch.

Oh, of course, of course.

Now, may I see the room?

Are you senior to him?

We work together.

More polite, I must say.

Will, where was I?

Your brother-in-law in Lyon.

Oh, yes.

Well, he asked me to have Janine here to live, and I said yes. Two years ago,

this was.

She was tired of Lyon and wanted to see the world.

Of course, what she really wanted was to marry a millionaire.

Silly girl.

But she couldn't do that straight away, so she got a job as a shop assistant.

Oh, well, anyway, to cut a long story short, here we were, the two of us, or

so I thought.

But... Oh, no, please don't interrupt.

You put me off.

Months went by, and at first I didn't notice anything odd. But then I did.

Food was disappearing from the larder. Bread, butter, meat, everything.

I tackled Janine.

Where did the rest of the pork go, I asked.

I was peckish in the night, Auntie.

Bold as brass.

And like a fool, I believed her. Until one day, I was in here tidying up after

her, and I dropped a cotton wheel there.

I bent down to pick it up, and I saw a face under there.

Yes.

Was this the face?

That very face.

And now she's got herself murdered.

That just shows the sort of person she was.

You know, all the time Janine had been here, this girl had shared this room

with her at my expense.

Where had Janine met Louise?

On the train coming to Paris.

This Louise was coming up from Nice, but she hadn't enough to keep herself for

more than a few days, and Janine invited her to my flat and smuggled her in while

I was out at work. Just think of it. Those drawers are all quite empty, by

the way.

So what did you do about Louise?

I showed her the door. What else?

And Janine?

I told her off good and proper and she said she was sorry for the girl and went

with her.

However they didn't stay long together after that because Janine went to live

with that dreadful Italian.

Santoni yes.

So Louise was left alone.

I believe you wrote to her mother in Nice.

I did to warn her of what her daughter had become.

What had she become?

Well nothing more nor less than a common criminal.

So...

Jeannine takes up with Santoni and

Louise is left alone but she still knows Jeannine well enough to

bring her up go along to her wedding party and a few hours later she's dead.

Why?

Why?

Didn't have any friends.

How could she have any enemies?

Someone may have thought she had some money.

Then after the Folly Berger I travelled, far and wide I went. It was a very

artistic act.

I went to Cairo and Alexandria,

Addis Ababa. That's in Ethiopia. They liked me there. I'm sure they did,

madame. When did you give up dancing?

Oh, years ago, dear, when I married. My husband thought I should. Tell me about

him. Oh, he was a lovely man.

He was in Istanbul.

He came three nights running to see the act. What was his name?

Julius Van Cram, Dutch, you know, very cosmopolitan.

Spoke a dozen languages and always stayed in the best hotels. The other

girls would dream of Henry.

Mind you, I don't say I would have married him if I hadn't got caught.

Caught? Louise, you know.

After all those years, me, I was mortified.

Still, he did marry me. In a judge?

Oh, no, dear, in an office.

We swore an oath and signed some papers and there we were.

Two days later, we sailed for Nice.

Couple of months after that, Louise was born.

She was a pretty little thing.

How sad.

And your husband?

Well, two months after Louise was born, he went out to get some cigarettes and

never came back. Such a pity. He was a lovely man.

Haven't you heard from him since?

Oh, heard, yes.

Letters from all over the world, usually with a little money and asking questions

about Louise.

I've often wished I'd collected stamps.

When did you last hear?

About a year ago, from America.

A usual nice little cheque and the usual questions about Louise.

Of course, I couldn't answer them. I hadn't got her address.

What was his?

Postrestant, Detroit.

Oh, you won't catch him like that. He's far too clever.

That's why my name's Lebois, not Van Cram.

Madame?

Well, when I went to renew my identity card, they wanted to see my marriage

certificate. Well, of course, it was all in Turkish.

And when they translated it, they discovered it wasn't a marriage

certificate at all, but a license to import a parrot.

Well, what a surprise!

But I couldn't help laughing. He was a lovely man.

Sante, madame.

Well done, Luca.

Catch the next plane back.

Yes, it's still raining here.

The mimosa is out. Let's get posted to the south.

Appoint?

Get all that?

Yes, patron. I've got it. Good.

I want you to send this cable to Washington, D.C. for me.

Request information.

Julius Van Cram.

Possibly unconvicted confidence man.

Dutch-born.

Address, post-restaurant, Detroit.

Right. Oh, wait a minute.

Get all the Priolaine records.

Blast the hide off him.

He promised to send me the address of Jeannine Harmonieux between leaving her

aunt and going off to live in sin at the Hotel Washington.

Hmm?

All right, I'll wait. Will you be in till lunch?

Yeah. See why not.

this case isn't gonna be solved by dashing about whatever Lagnon thinks.

hmm?

inspector Priolet's compliments but he didn't know you still wanted it as

inspector Lagnon had consulted the files personally yesterday.

Blast Priolet!

yes patron.

well it's 12 rue Pontieu.

when was this other inspector here?

yesterday. he did have a terrible cold.

ought to be in bed.

he ought.

Well, I'm probably going to ask you all the same things that he did. Oh, about

Janine and Louise.

As long as you don't mind my working.

My Jacques works at Biancor.

He doesn't get much time for lunch.

Did you know them well, the two girls?

Janine, I did.

She was always dropping in for a gossip.

About her boyfriends.

But Louise, you couldn't get to know.

She was shy.

She hadn't a word to say for herself.

What did she do in the evening?

Stayed in mostly.

When she did go out, she didn't go far.

She seemed frightened of Paris.

Like a child.

Got on Janine's nerves in the end.

To have her off to live at the Hotel Washington.

She didn't need much driving.

Though I dare say it helped.

No.

Of course, she's married to Monsieur Santoni now.

Much better, I think.

Did Louise stay on here alone?

For three days until the lease ran out.

Then she left.

Oh, I was sorry for her.

She seemed so alone.

Didn't even know where she was going.

I know where she went in the end.

And I'm Cremier.

I wish I'd known that address when the man called.

What man?

Oh, funny little chap.

An American, I think.

Yeah? What do you want?

Oh, he brought Louise a letter.

He left it here in case she came back. She didn't. Where's the letter now?

I gave it to Janine.

Why? Well, Janine dropped in to tell me about the wedding. She said that Louise

would be sure to get in touch with her when she saw the announcement.

I don't know if she did.

You did.

No, monsieur.

Señor, please don't hang up. Look, this is most vital.

Operator, put this call through to Inspector Magre at Gronelle 4570. Leave

me in on this line, will you?

Quick as you can, please. It's from Italy.

Look, look, look. I don't want to speak to anybody.

Nobody. And you ring me up, and then there is nobody to speak to me. It's not

good enough.

Uh, my wife has nothing to do with it. No.

So why should she be pestered on our honeymoon, huh? Would you like it? No,

you would not. Neither do I. Hmm?

Oh, Pupina.

Amore.

Yes, and who are you?

Hmm?

Magre? Never heard of you.

Hmm?

Uh, why don't you ask the inspector a telephone just now, huh?

The one where they called.

He can tell you all about it.

I'm sorry, signor, but the inspector with a cold is not available.

And we need this information very urgently.

I suppose it's about that wretched note the concierge gave me for Louise.

Yes, and about how she came to be at your wedding party.

She came to borrow money. I lent her 50 francs. Did you give her the note?

No, of course not. Why should I take it to my wedding?

told her what was in it you read it yes marco made me open it he thought it was

to me from a lover didn't you darling

can you remember what it said

uh more or less it was from a man who said he had to leave france but that he

had an urgent message for her and that if she was to mention his name uh jimmy

At the Pickwick Bar in the Rue de l'Etoile, she would be given it.

Thank you very much, madame. Very much indeed.

I won't trouble you any longer.

La Pointe, did you get that?

Yes, patron.

Call up Lucas.

Tell him I'll pick him up on the way to the Pickwick Bar.

Whereabouts is this pickwick club?

It's just round the corner, the Rue de l'Etoile.

You can park here. We won't be long.

What now, Ben?

See who that was.

Harold Marcin, Corsican, sent out for golf, smuggly. Kicks it on with a

Bianchi girl.

Bianchi? Yeah.

Yeah, works for the Rue Lepic.

That's right. Good.

We're among professionals again.

What do we have?

Pastis? There you go.

Two pastis. Two pastis.

Not very busy.

We fill up later.

In the evening.

Yes.

I'll bear.

What time did Inspector Lanyon come here?

Half an hour ago, a bit more.

Do you know her?

Seen her?

In here, Monday night.

Why ask if you know?

Were there many people in here, then?

Quite a lot.

What did she do?

Took a stool.

Which one?

That one.

And then?

She ordered a gin and vermouth.

Did she have a handbag?

Yes, sort of silver with a chain to hold it by.

She asked for a letter?

Yes. Where was it?

There. So look at those.

People want to get in touch with customers whose addresses they don't

know, so they're right here.

He's doing foyers.

We'll forward it.

Anyhow, you gave Mademoiselle Le Bon her letter, hmm?

When I'd seen her identity card.

Why did you ask for that?

I was told to.

The American told me to.

Jimmy? Yes.

Jimmy what? Never asked.

Hmm. Did he tell you anything about himself?

That he'd been inside?

Nothing about a letter.

That it was important.

I see.

So, after you'd given the girl a letter, what did she do?

Went downstairs.

What's down there? The telephones.

Yeah. When she came up again?

She looked more cheerful.

Good. Came back to the bar.

Same stool?

Yes. And ordered another drink? No.

She was bought one.

Who by?

The other American.

The devil's he?

Man who took to coming in here.

Big fella with a scar on his cheek.

Friend of Jimmy's? No, in fact, Jimmy thought he was tailing him.

Why? He thought the FBI were after him, or that's what he said.

Did you believe him?

Oh, I believe everyone.

Hmm.

So this other American still came in here after Jimmy'd gone, eh? Every day.

I talked to the girl, the dead girl.

Offered her a drink.

Which she accepted.

And then?

They drank up and went out together.

They take a taxi? No, he had a car.

Did you tell all this to Inspector Lagnon?

Oh, yes.

He asked me if I had any idea where the American had gone.

I told him he was in on Tuesday evening, the day after the murder, and that he

asked me the best road to Brussels and whether I knew of a good hotel there.

I told him to go by Compiègne and stay at the Palace.

So what did Inspector Lagnon do then?

Phoned the station for train times to Brussels and left in a taxi for the Gare

du Nord.

Well, how much do we owe you?

Eight francs. No service.

Thank you.

And your hat and coat?

What?

You're coming with us.

Oh, no, you can't pull that one. I've told you what I know.

Are you coming or do you want to be fetched?

I can't leave the bar.

Lock it up.

You won't be back.

Yes, an urgent priority call to the FBI in Washington.

Inspector Maygrave wants to talk to Inspector Clarke.

We'll put it through as quickly as we can, will you?

Thanks.

My cigarette pulled the end off.

International, I want you to get through to Belgian police for me.

A message for Inspector Lognon at the Brussels station.

Please return at once.

There is no other American, and there never was.

Was there?

Hmm?

Was there?

Call up the restaurant and cancel the supper. We shan't need it.

Notebook. What, so soon?

Now, let's have the truth.

All of it. From the time that she came into the bar.

She didn't have a drink, did she? No. She didn't go downstairs, did she?

No. No. But you gave her the letter. A letter. With a blank piece of paper in

it? When did you open it?

As soon as Jimmy left for the States.

We reckon anyone who'd go to all that trouble to find a girl must have

something important to say.

And what did he have to say? It wasn't from Jimmy at all. No.

But from her father, wasn't it?

Yes. He said by the time she got the letter, he'd be dead.

And he went on.

The only thing I can do for you, my girl, is to see that you're provided

for. As soon as you get this, you must arrange for a passport and an American

visa.

Go to New York, where at the address below, you'll find a Polish tailor

called... If you remember nothing else, you remember that.

Lukashek. Lukashek.

She was to show him her passport and she'd receive a sum of money in notes.

That was all that mattered. The rest was sentimental stuff.

And the address?

The tailor's address.

1214 37th Street, Brooklyn.

And who had you shown the letter to?

The boss.

Who had you shown it to?

Bianchi.

Willoughby. Take a squad car and pick him up. Right.

What? Washington.

It's quick.

Inspector clerk.

Hi, McGray. How's crime?

And how's Paris?

We got your cable and we traced this van cram for you.

He died in Sing Sing last month.

He was doing eight years for conning a Texas oil tycoon.

They should jail a man for that.

And your partner?

Yeah, called Jimmy O'Malley. He only got three years. Came out a couple of months

back. Yes, and then came... over to Paris.

Was the money recovered?

Only peanuts.

Van Cram and 100 grand stashed away somewhere.

I think you'll find the rest of the money at 1214 37th Street, Brooklyn.

In the hands of a Polish tailor called Lukaszek.

Au revoir.

Thanks a lot.

$100,000.

We didn't know how much it was.

You thought you'd steal her identity card, use it to get a visa, and then

send one of your girls over to the States to pick up the money. Yes, you

see, we never meant to kill her.

Are you convinced me of that?

She had her identity card in this evening bag she was carrying, and the

chain went round her wrist.

Go on.

Well, Bianchi was waiting outside in a car with Tatu, but you won't find him.

He's skipped.

Anyway, the girl went out, and they followed her along for a bit.

Mind you, I wasn't there.

This is what Bianchi said.

You say it again.

Go on.

When he saw a good moment, he hopped out and tried to snatch the bag, but she had

this chain round her wrist. He couldn't get it away.

She went down on her knees and opened her mouth to yell, so he hit her in the

face.

Then she caught hold of him, wouldn't let go.

He had a cosh in his pocket and he hit her with it.

Just a bit too hard, she was dead.

Then he bundled her into the car, dropped her well away from the pickwick.

That's right.

Mind you, we'd never meant to kill her, never.

You could call it bad luck, really.

Oh, you could.

Yes, you could.

They'll punish you, Albert. They'll punish you hard.

Not for the really miserable thing you did, stealing that letter.

She should have known that someone'd care.

Take him away.

But what put you on to it?

He did, Albert.

The whole story was wrong from the start.

Every single thing rang false from the moment he described her coming into the

bar.

She was a shy girl, Luca.

Shy? Yeah, desperately shy.

Standing there in that shabby blue dress, everyone looking at her.

She could never have sat in a bar stool and ordered a drink. As for taking one

from a stranger...

Wouldn't even have talked to him.

She was afraid of people.

Thank God she was right to be.

How long do you believe Dalbert's story?

He was only looking for the murderer. He didn't know the girl.

But neither did you.

I do now.