All language subtitles for Murder.by.Death.1976.720p.BluRay.x264.[YTS.MX]-English

- Do you think they'll come, sir?
- Oh, they'll come, all right.

Here. Stamp those and mail them.

It's ringing.

Would you walk Myron the other way?
My leg looks like a tree in this fog.

Come on.

What a godforsaken spot to get lost.

It's true. I saw a much better spot
a few miles back.

Oh, good.
Tell them we're lost.

- Nobody answered. The phone went dead.
- Then why did you say "hello"'?

- I could've sworn...
- What, Dickie?

It sounded as though
somebody snipped the wire.

Really? What did it sound like?

Snip.

- Some fog, eh, Pop?
- I've already heard the weather report.

Drive, please.

It's as thick as pea soup.

Not a soul around for miles.

Know what I think?
Perfect place for a murder.

Conversation like television set
on honeymoon...

unnecessary.

Where are we going, anyway, Pop?

Who is this Mr. Twain
who invited you for the weekend?

What did he mean
by "dinner and a murder"?

Questions like athlete's foot...

after while, very irritating.

To stop car, please.

- What's wrong?
- Stop car, please.

To shut engine off, please.

Listen.

I don't hear nothin'.
What do you hear?

- Double negative and dog.
- So it's a dog. So what?

If not mistaken...

dog belong to Mr. Dick Charleston.

- Who's Dick Charleston?
- I am, thank you.

You don’t happen to have seen
a little white... Wang!

A white Wang?

Good heavens! Sidney Wang! What are
you doing in this godforsaken spot?

No doubt, same as you.

Looking for bridge that lead
to home of host, Mr. Lionel Twain.

You, too, huh?

Must be important, to invite
two such eminent detectives.

Excuse, please, to introduce
Japanese son Willie.

Japanese?
But I thought surely you...

Mrs. Wang and I
could never have children.

Willie... adopted number three son.

My pleasure. Be careful on this road.
It's treacherous.

Treacherous road like fresh mushroom.
Must always...

Idiot! Not finish mushroom story.

You're idiot!

Well, I'm sorry, Monsieur Perrier,
but I can see nothing.

This fog is as thick
as bouillabaisse.

- Nuts!
- I beg your pardon?

Nuts, nuts! There are
no nuts in my chocolate!

You let that imbecile in the shop
give you raisins when I asked for nuts.

He didn't have any nuts.

- The man in the shop?
- That's the reason I took the raisins.

Never mind.

We will soon be there for dinner.
Hot soup.

Still, monsieur, something
is not right in all of this, huh?

I can feel it in my "buns."

- In your what?
- In my buns.

Buns? You have buns?

You bought buns,
and you didn't tell me?

- Where are the buns?
- Oh, no, monsieur.

The bones in my body.

You should not speak with an accent
when you know I'm so hungry.

If you ask me, Sam,
this is a wild goose chase.

- Nobody asked you, baby.
- Yes, they did.

You asked me back there
if I thought...

That was then. This is now.

And nobody knows
what tomorrow will be.

That's the way things are,
whether we like it or not.

Sam, I really worry
about you sometimes.

All right. Cut the malarkey.
This trip is strictly business with me.

What do you got on this Twain?

He was born
in San Francisco in 1906.

His mother was a Roman Catholic.
His father was an orthodox Jew.

They were separated
two hours after the marriage.

- Any children?
- Yeah, one daughter, 32.

Her name's Irene,
but she calls herself Rita.

Just like a dame.

Don't stop, angel.
You're doing fine.

He was arrested in 1932 in Chicago
for selling pornographic Bibles.

The D.A. couldn't make
the charge stick...

when the church refused
to turn over the Bibles.

There's nothing on him until '46...

when he was picked up
in El Paso, Texas...

for trying to smuggle
a truckload of rich white Americans...

across the border into Mexico
to pick melons.

He was sent to the Dallas State
Hospital for mental observation.

I think we picked ourselves
a queer bird, angel.

Anything else?

Yeah. Get this, Sam.

Lionel Twain has one interesting
physical characteristic.

He has no pinkies.

No pinkies?

Twain has only got eight fingers?

No, no. He's got ten.

He just doesn’t have any pinkies.

- You did your homework good, angel.
- Thanks, Sam.

- Where'd you dig up all that stuff?
- I wrote to Twain and asked him.

Good thinkin'.

- What's the matter?
- Wouldn't you know, out of gas.

I saw a station
about five miles back, Sam.

I want you to know
I'm going to be waiting for you.

Here's the bridge, Pop.
Doesn't look safe to me.

One way to find out.
Drive across.

Aren't you going to come with me?

Weight of two men
may be too much for bridge.

Then why do I get to drive the car?

'Cause I smart enough
to get out first.

I don't think I'm going to make it.
It's going to collapse.

Not worry.
Father find other way to house.

I made it, Pop!
I made it!

Good! Good!

Now come back and get adopted father.

Look at invitation.
What number of house?

- 2-2...
- Correct.

22 Twain's house.

Continue.

- Did you see that?
- No.

Neither did I.

Stop! Do not move.

Something wrong here.

- What is it, Pop?
- Do not ask questions. Do as I say.

When I tell you jump, you jump.

One, two, three...

jump!

Holy Shanghai!

Nice counting, Pop.
But how'd you know?

Look on ground.

Even had correct shoe size.

Someone gone great trouble...

to make welcome guests
not so welcome.

Ring bell, please?

Are you nuts?
Someone's trying to kill us.

Yes. Should make exciting weekend.
Ring, please.

I wish it was Monday morning.

Well, here goes.

Holy cow!
They're killing someone in there!

- Calm yourself.
- Didn't you hear her scream?

No. You heard scream.

More experienced ear heard doorbell.

Listen again.

Mr. Twain has
macabre sense of humor, yeah?

Good evening.
We have been expecting you.

But in what condition?

Roof in need of repair.

Indeed. I'm afraid
the house is falling apart.

- May we come in, please?
- I'm sorry. I thought you were in.

You are Mr. And Mrs. Charleston?

Not quite.

I am Inspector Wang
of Catalina, please.

This adopted son Willie.

I trust you had a pleasant journey
despite the storm?

Strange weather.

Storm only outside when inside.

Oh, that. That’s just one
of Mr. Twain's little toys.

An electronic device.

Mr. Twain,
as you will soon discover...

prefers his atmosphere murky.

- May I have your bags, sir?
- No, no.

Son will get bags.
That is why I adopted him.

Very good, sir.

One moment, please,
while I close the door.

Now, if you will follow me...

I will show you to your room.

Very large house.
No other servants?

I'm not sure.
I've never seen anyone.

Mr. Twain asked me to see
that you're made most comfortable...

and to say that he will be
joining you after dinner.

After dinner?
Host not have dinner with guests?

No. Mr. Twain prefers to eat out.

Wait, please. What that?

That? It's nothing, sir.
Just the cat.

That cat?

You feed cat dog food?

I'm afraid he's
a very angry cat, sir.

Mr. Twain had him fixed,
and he didn’t want to be.

Big house, huh, Pop?

Big house like man
married to fat woman...

hard to get around.

Ah, here we are.

I'm sure you'll find this suitable.

- It's a cold house.
- I've taken care of that.

You'll find a nice, cozy fire
in your room.

It's a bit smoky, sir.

I’m afraid that old fireplace
hasn’t been used in years.

At least the bed will be warm.

If you wish anything, sir,
please ring.

- Where buzzer?
- It's behind the bed, sir, there.

Dinner will be at 9:00...

and Mr. Twain
likes his guests to dress.

The doorbell. Excuse me.

Wow! What a creepy guy.

Why would anyone want to hire
a blind butler?

For one thing, very cheap.

How butler know
how much he get paid?

Drink this, darling.
You'll feel better.

If Myron hadn't barked, we never would
have seen that statue falling.

I don't think that statue was meant
to kill us. I think it was a warning.

Somebody's trying
to frighten us, but why?

Whatever his reason is,
he's doing a wonderful job.

Why the devil hasn't
anybody answered this door?

Don't ring it again!
Knock, don't ring.

I won't, I promise.

- What is it now, Myron?
- Up there, Dora. Look.

- A blind butler.
- Don't let him park the car, Dickie.

Good evening.
We have been expecting you.

We let ourselves in, thank you.
Dick and Dora Charleston.

Good evening.
We have been expecting you.

Your room is ready,
if you'll follow me, please.

Don't mind him, ma'am.
It's just the cat.

We left our luggage in the trunk.

I'll get it later, ma'am,
when I park the car.

Was that Mr. Wang's car
I noticed out front?

Yes. They're resting now
in their room.

I have taken the liberty of putting you
in the same wing as Mr. Wang.

Isn't that nice, darling?
We're in Wang's wing.

Not many people come
to the manor these days.

It's nice to hear guests again.

- Thank you. You are?
- Benson, ma'am.

Thank you, Benson.

Bensonmum.
My name is Bensonmum.

- Bensonmum?
- Yes, sir. Jamessir Bensonmum.

- Jamessir?
- Yes, sir.

- Jamessir Bensonmum?
- Yes, sir.

- How odd.
- My father's name, sir.

- What was your father's name?
- Howard.

- Howard. Howard Bensonmum.
- Your father was Howard Bensonmum?

Leave it be.
I've had enough.

Here we are.
The late Mrs. Twain's room.

She died in here.

- Oh, dear.
- Died of what?

She murdered herself
in her sleep, sir.

- You mean suicide?
- Oh, no.

It was murder, all right.

Mrs. Twain hated herself.

We keep this room locked.

- Why is that?
- Mr. Twain loved her very much.

He's kept her room just as it was
the night she choked herself...

nine years ago.

Madam loved it here.

She said it was
the cheeriest room in the house.

- Ah, the doorbell.
- That was Mrs. Charleston.

- I thought she was here with us.
- I am.

I will not stay
in this horribly filthy room overnight.

Filthy? Very well, madam.
I'll attend to it during dinner.

- Thank you, Benson, sir.
- Mum!

- What?
- Bensonmum. Ma'am.

Baking flour.

- What?
- This dust is baking flour.

And these cobwebs... candied sugar.

All placed here recently
for the sole purpose of frightening us.

And that mouse...
obviously a mechanical toy.

- Silly.
- What is?

I am. It's real.

Stop the car. We are here.

I know we are here.
That's why I stopped the car.

- Open my door.
- You have chocolate on your face.

- What?
- The candy bar is all over your face.

- Imbecile, that's my mustache!
- Lick it and see.

Wipe it off.
My hands are sticky.

Hold still, please.

Sloppy.

All in good time.

Yes?

Who's there?

Who's there, I say?

Filthy neighborhood.

Didn't I say "jump"?

"Un, deux, trois, jump," I say.
Why don't you listen to me?

- Oh, leave me alone.
- Sloppy.

Who are you?

You must be the new kitchen maid.
I hope you can cook.

Hmm? Answer me. Speak up.

What's that?
I can't hear you.

A little shy, are you?
Never mind.

There will be ten for dinner.

Here is the menu.

Is that understood?
And dinner will be at 9:00.

When I want you, that bell on the wall
will ring three times.

All right. Get to work.

Operator.
I am saying, "Hello, hello."

- It's dead, sir.
- What?

Who is? Who are you?

The butler, sir.

The butler, eh?
I thought as much.

That phone has been out of order
for the past week, sir.

Is that a fact?

And I put it to you that this wire
has been snipped not one hour ago...

as you can plainly see.

What is your name?

Your little jest escapes me.

I am Monsieur Milo Perrier.

My chauffeur was injured
by a falling gargoyle...

while standing outside
in Chinese footprints.

We rang the bell,
a woman screamed...

a mouse ran by us through the door.

As you can plainly see,
I miss nothing.

Since we cannot call for a doctor...

I will need a cold compress
for my chauffeur...

and a cup of hot chocolate
for me, n'est-ce pas?

I don't think we have
n'est-ce pas, sir. Just Hershey's.

I'll call the maid.

I'll fetch it for you myself, sir.

In the meantime, if you'll be
good enough to follow me to your room.

Get up. Get up.

There is something about this butler
I do not trust.

Notice how his eyes
never look at you.

He's blind, monsieur.

Nonsense.

There's the house now.

- What's the matter?
- My feet are killing me.

Why didn't you tell me we needed oil
before I went back for the gas?

Because I gave you $50,
and the gas was only five bucks.

Maybe you'd come back.
Maybe you wouldn't.

I couldn't take that chance.

- Don't you trust me, Sam?
- Trust you?

The last time that I trusted a dame
was in Paris in 1940.

She said she was going out
to get a bottle of wine.

Two hours later,
the Germans marched into France.

Oh, I'm sorry, Sam.

Sorry nothing.
Give me my change.

Dinner will be at 9:00, sir.

I'll have the maid
bring up your chocolate.

- One moment, my good man.
- Sir?

Thank you. That will be all.

He’s blind, all right.
Those were my funniest faces.

It's not exactly
the Copacabana, is it?

I don't feel good about this.

Maybe tonight's the night
your luck runs out.

Maybe so. There's a number
on the wall for all of us.

If tonight's the night
they pick mine, so be it.

After you, sweetheart.

- First, kiss me, Sam.
- I don't kiss.

Just this once, Sam.

I don't like kissing.
Now leave me alone.

My God!

- He’s dead!
- I beg your pardon?

Sam Diamond, the man I work for,
is lying out there.

He's been crushed to death.

I'm going to faint.
You catch me.

Madam. Madam, where are you?

All right. Hold it right there.
Freeze, Blinky!

Get your hands up.
Turn your face to the wall.

All right, angel.
You can get up now.

Turn around, Jeeves.

Your concrete Christmas present
arrived about two seconds early...

no thanks to you.

I apologize for
any unfortunate mishap, sir.

- May I put my hands down?
- Don't test your luck, Shakespeare.

I got your little
invitation to dinner...

but I didn’t realize
I was gonna be the main course.

I had a kid brother
who got it the same way...

working on a case just like this
two years ago.

That boy would've been 63
on Tuesday.

- For two cents, I'd like to take this...
- Sam, don't!

Get him away from me!
Get him away.

Get him away before I stuff him
like one of them tiger trophies...

that his limey pals
like to hang up on saloon walls.

Please.

He has a dreadful temper,
hasn't he?

9:00, time for dinner.

Is everything ready? Hmm?

I don't smell anything.

Very light on the seasoning,
are you?

Put the soup in the tureen,
and keep the squabs on a low flame.

I'll serve cocktails.

When you hear the bell...

bring out the chilled asparagus...

and turn up the flame on the squabs.

Have you got that?

You didn't tell me how I look.

No different than you always look...
absolutely ravishing.

- Do you love me and adore me?
- I love you and adore you.

You still have the best tush
in high society.

Years of horseback riding, darling.

Getting to bottom of things,
Charleston?

- Ah, Wang! Darling, you remember...
- Of course.

- Nice to see you, Ah Wang.
- Always a pleasure, Mrs. Charleston.

What a beautiful gown.
You must tell me where you got it.

This? Oh, this an old dress.
Had it for years.

Please to meet adopted son Willie.

Ah! East meets West
in a most bizarre setting.

I didn’t know you were invited.
You know Wang.

Yes. I had the pleasure
of dining in Shanghai...

many years ago with Inspector Wang.

Oh, you remember. Yes.

You had "hong ching chu"...

and I had "kow dung woo fong."'

My wife Dora. Inspector Perrier.

I'm sorry. Our room is so dusty.

My fault.
I should have blown first.

May I present my secretaire
and chauffeur Marcel Cassette.

Recovered from
your accident, Marcel?

But how did you know?

From the way you bend.

The right side of your body
smashed in by a Citroen, I imagine.

I also thought I detected
a slight metallic sound...

which leads me to believe
you've had an artificial hip put in.

- Steel?
- Aluminum.

You're as quick as ever,
Charleston.

And you, Mr. Charleston...

did not approve of
Mrs. Charleston dying hair blonde?

I beg your pardon?

Mrs. Charleston hair red.

You have blonde hairs on shoulder.

That means she has dyed
red hair to blonde...

then back again to red.

Or else you have been...

So sorry. Wang is wrong.

Shall we go to dinner, please?

- Boy, Pop, you sure put your...
- Shut Japanese mouth.

It must be simply ghastly
to have a hip removed.

- Does it hurt?
- It only hurts in damp weather.

- Are you all right?
- Pay no attention.

You'll only spoil him.

Get up. Get up.

- As I was saying, Mr. Charleston...
- Hey, Pop.

A treacherous road
like fresh mushrooms...

I know. Dog stick tongue
out of picture.

Treacherous road
like fresh mushrooms.

He's a charming fellow.

African death mask. Died in
some tribal ritual, I should think.

Wonder where others are.

Others?

What others?

Invitation to dinner and murder
finally clear to Wang...

with appearance
of Monsieur Perrier.

It is obvious that only the world's
greatest living detectives...

are on the guest list.

Five of us, to be exact, darling.
Three are already here.

Two have not yet arrived.

- Miss Jessie Marbles of England.
- And Mr...

Sam Diamond of San Francisco.

I know who you all are.

The lady here in the rented dress
is my secretary and mistress...

Miss Tess Skeffington.

- Sam, don't.
- I'm sorry, sweetheart.

Miss Skeffington doesn't like it
when I'm so brutally honest.

But then again, we're all
in a brutal business, aren't we?

Never consider murder
to be business, Mr. Diamond.

Is that right, Mr. Wang?

Maybe not for you, seeing as how you
put all your money into vegetables...

back in the late '30s.

Maybe our friends here don't know
that you own over 50 percent...

of the bean sprouts and the bamboo
shoots grown on the Chinese mainland.

So you folks can imagine
how much chicken chow mein...

goes into Mr. Wang's pot each year.

- Am I getting those figures right?
- Right, Sam.

I don't see what this
has to do with anything.

Or you, Mr. Perrier.

You work both sides
of the big drink.

Pretty good pickin's over there, solving
crimes for them barons and earls...

and puttin' your fancy fees
into private Swiss banks.

Three trips a year buys a lot of
hot chocolate, don't it, Frenchy?

Now see here, Diamond...

You see here, Mr. Charleston of
New York, Palm Beach and Beverly Hills.

Crime is just a hobby to you,
isn't it?

It's just a little game
to while away the time...

while you're waiting for room service
in some fancy hotel...

while your wife's family dough
buys your gin martinis...

and your $300 suits.

That's a nice arrangement
when all you gotta do is...

give your wife a grab now and then
and take the dog for a leak twice a day.

Sorry if I'm shocking you, ma'am, but
I never had time for finishing school.

My school is the streets...

and looking down the barrel
of a revolver is my teacher.

I get $50 a day in expenses
when I can get 'em, gentlemen.

And I owe Miss Skeffington
three years and two months back pay.

Isn't that right, angel?

- I don't care about the money.
- Neither do I.

Now, if one of you gentlemen would be
so kind as to give my lady friend...

a glass of cheap white wine...

I'm going down the hall
to find the can.

I talk so much sometimes,
I forget to go.

Please excuse Sam.
He was shot in the head last week.

He shouldn't even be
out of the hospital.

If you ask me, I think
the fellow's pretty damned honest.

- Dickie, language.
- Miss Jessica Marbles and nurse.

Ah, Miss Marbles.

So we finally meet.

I've admire you ever since
I was tiny little detective.

Thank you, Mr. Wang.

I am Jessica Marbles.

This is Miss Withers, my nurse.

She's been with me 52 years.

I have to take care
of the poor dear now.

Are you all right, Miss Withers?

Do you want your medicine now?

She's off. I could use
a good, stiff shot, Mr. Charleston.

I believe that booze, as you call it,
is your department.

My pleasure, madam.

Who's the old geezer?

Jessie, baby!

Mr. Diamond, you have
a bullet hole in your back.

You should see the other guy.

Quiet, please.

Observe strange sound.

My God, it's the face.
It's coming from the face.

Actually, he's going through
his final moments of death.

- What could it mean?
- It means dinner, sir.

We have no gong.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I would like to make a toast.

Our host, Mr. Lionel Twain,
is indeed a most unique man.

Point one:
He has succeeded in gathering...

the world’s
five greatest detectives...

to investigate a crime
that has not yet been committed.

Point two:
He has set traps for us...

a bridge that almost collapses,
falling statues.

Does he mean to kill us?

Certainly not yet.
He could've done that at any time.

He is merely trying
to whet our appetites...

for the game that is to follow.

Point three:
Why five detectives instead of one?

Because he intends to take us all on,
ladies and gentlemen...

a feat that no criminal mind
has heretofore attempted.

Therefore, before
this hellish weekend begins...

I propose that we raise
our wine glasses in a toast...

to either a most beguiling
and charming man...

or to an insidious, fiendish madman.

- Bottoms up.
- One moment, please.

Point four: Wine poisoned.

An ancient, tasteless, colorless
and odorless Oriental herb...

that kills instantly.

Observe, please.

Great scot, Mr. Wang.
You saved our lives.

Not quite, Mrs. Charleston.

Bon appetit.

Since Wang was the only one who could
detect poison, he was the only tested.

Point five:

Mr. Twain is both beguiling
and fiendish.

- Get a doctor, quick.
- No, no.

It's all right.
My wine is not poisoned.

It was just a bad year.

Good work, Mr. Wang.

We must all be on our guard
through every course of the meal.

You’re all forgetting one thing.

This makes the butler pretty suspicious,
since he’s the one who poured the wine.

Except for the fact
that he is blind.

How would he know which one
to serve the poisoned glass to?

That’s very simple.

Blind people have
a very keen sense of smell.

Since we’re all Anglo-Saxon
and Mr. Wang's son is Japanese...

it wouldn't be hard
to sniff out the Chinaman.

See here, Diamond.
That's a pretty tacky thing to say.

It’s a pretty tacky world,
Mr. Charleston.

- Isn't that right, angel?
- That's right, Sam.

Quiet, please.
Butler approaches.

I apologize for the delay.

I seem to be having some
communication problems with the cook.

Who poured the wine?

Mr. Twain, sir.

It was left for me
on a tray in the refrigerator.

I was told to give Mr. Wang
the glass with the sticky stem.

And you didn't bother to ask why?

I was lucky to find
the refrigerator, sir.

- If I may serve the soup now?
- By all means.

Yes, I'm famished.

One moment.

- Where is the soup?
- In your dish, sir.

There is nothing in my dish
but my dish.

- I don't understand, sir.
- Here, take the spoon.

Taste it for yourself.

I see what you mean, sir.

If you'll excuse me, I'd better
have a little talk with the cook.

Murder by starvation.

Maybe that's his game, hmm?

- What do you think, Sam?
- I don't know.

Why don't you ask the moose on the wall?
He's been watchin' us since we came in.

Ten people for dinner,
and I'm serving them hot nothing!

You can’t get good help today.

You're fired, you understand?
Fired!

I want you out,
do you hear? Out!

And stay out.

Something just occurred to me.

- The seating's all wrong.
- How so, Mr. Charleston?

- I'm sitting next to Dora.
- What's wrong with that?

- She’s your wife, isn't she?
- Exactly.

But at a proper dinner party, the
husband’s never seated next to the wife.

I should be on the opposite side of the
table. Mr. Wang, will you trade places?

- Now, Mr. Charleston?
- Now, Mr. Wang.

Just as I thought. Another test
that could have cost us our lives.

Saved only by the fact
that I am enormously well-bred.

Lucky it wasn't me.
I'd have been chopped liver by now.

Silence, please.
Do not panic.

No person move from place.

Someone just came into the room.
I hear footsteps.

Wait! Quiet, everyone!

- I smell something.
- What is it?

Good God!
Franks and beans!

I’m afraid
that's all we have, sir.

Dickie, don't. You know how I get
when you touch me there.

It's not me.
I've got my hands in my pockets.

- I'm afraid they’re my pockets.
- Sorry about that.

Dickie, behave yourself.

Good evening,
ladies and gentlemen.

I’m your host, Lionel Twain.

Good God, what an entrance!

Oh, a bit theatrical, Miss Marbles,
but I do so love illusion.

Please forgive my hat.
I’m losing my hair.

I thought Twain was
an older man, say 72, 73.

Seventy-six to be exact,
Mr. Diamond.

How do I look so young?
Quite simple.

A complete vegetable diet,
12 hours sleep a night...

and lots and lots of makeup.

I trust you've all
been made comfortable.

Comfortable, Mr. Twain?

Do you call poisoned wine
and near decapitation comfortable?

No. I call it inspiration.

You still have not explained
the various mechanical...

and culinary attempts
on our lives, Monsieur Twain.

Merely games, Monsieur Perrier.

Pitting wits with you,
so to speak.

You pit your wits with me, little man,
and you won't have wits to pit with.

Sam, you're spitting on the nurse.

Sorry, old lady.
Crazy broad should be in bed.

Monsieur Twain, we have
been here nearly four hours...

and there has not been a hint
of a hot dinner or a cold corpse.

- I must therefore bid you adieu.
- I bid one adieu as well.

No one is leaving this house.

What meaning of this, Mr. Twain?

I will tell you, Mr. Wang,
if you can tell me...

why a man who possesses one of the
most brilliant minds of this century...

can't say his prepositions
or articles.

"The," Mr. Wang.
"What is the meaning of this?"

That what I said.
What meaning of this?

The meaning of this is...

that I have decided to prove,
beyond a shadow of a doubt...

that the greatest living criminologist
in the world is sitting at this table...

and you are all looking at him.

No, don't look at each other!

Look at me! I'm the greatest!
I'm number one!

To me you look like number two.
Know what I mean?

What does he mean,
Miss Skeffington?

I'll tell you later.
It's disgusting.

In all your various adventures,
monsieurs and mesdames...

not one of you has ever had
an unsolved murder.

Your reputations exist
on this single fact.

But what would the world say...

if the five greatest
living detectives...

found themselves trapped
in a country house for a weekend...

shut off from the outside world...

only to discover
a dead body on the floor...

stabbed 12 times in the back
with a butcher's knife...

and...

not one of you able
to solve the crime?

- You mean murder?
- Dora, we’re talking shop.

Yes, murder, Mrs. Charleston!

On the stroke of midnight...

someone in this house
is going to be viciously murdered.

Left out one small detail,
Mr. Twain.

Who victim?

"Is the." "Is the."

"Who Is the victim?"
That drives me crazy!

- Sounds like a short ride to me.
- Does it, Mr. Diamond?

Well, we shall see who is sane
and who is crazy around here.

Mr. Wang...

the victim is here at this very table
at this very moment...

and so too, ladies and gentlemen,
is the murderer.

- Murder-poo?
- Yes, dear.

We're going to have
a lovely murder-poo.

Why don't you push her wheelchair
down the driveway? We got business here.

- You say you know who's gonna get it?
- Intimately.

- And how the crime is to be committed?
- Definitely.

And exactly what time
murder to take place?

"The" murder. Precisely.

I know it's none of my business, but
doesn't that mean you're the murderer?

No wives. I refuse to
discuss this with wives.

All fingers do seem to point to you.
It's not much of a challenge, I'd say.

Shall I make it more interesting,
Mr. Charleston?

One million dollars
to the one who solves the crime.

Wagered against your reputations.

One million dollars
in tax-free cash.

In addition, all the paperback rights
and the film sale.

It's 11:00, amigos...

just one hour before
death strikes someone in this room.

See you at midnight.
Toodle-oo.

See here, Mr. Twain!

- He’s gone!
- No, he's not. He's down there.

Fast little bunny rabbit,
ain't you?

I've never moved, Mr. Diamond.

I'm still down there.
A little stunt done with mirrors.

Is that so?
Willin' to risk seven years' bad luck?

Try it, Mr. Diamond.

It's your funeral, butterball.

Wait.

Sometimes it doesn't work.

You've won this round,
Mr. Diamond.

My turn comes at midnight.

I hope he knows
how to stop that thing.

If you ask me, anybody
that offers a million bucks...

to solve a crime that
ain't been committed yet...

has lost a lot more upstairs
than his hair.

What do we do now? Sit around and wait
for one of us to be butchered?

And what has happened
to the butler?

Why has he not returned...
with our dinner?

- Go look for him.
- No!

- No one to leave this room.
- Why not, Pop?

Twain say victim at this table.

If we all stay together, crime
cannot be committed without witnesses.

He's right.
You're one smart Chinaman, Mr. Wang.

I suggest we all join hands. The chain
is stronger if the links are unbroken.

Join hands, please.

Stop that.

- Stop it, I said.
- What is it, Diamond?

The nurse is givin' my palm the finger,
the dirty old broad.

Naughty, naughty, Miss Withers.

- Good God!
- What?

Look!

- What is she doing?
- I think she's screaming.

- What is it? What's happened?
- Something wrong in kitchen.

- With our dinner!
- Patience.

- Is someone in there?
- Someone in the kitchen with dinner?

Cook cannot speak or hear.

"I think butler is dead.

My name is Yetta.
I don't work Thursdays."

Ask her if she sleeps in, Dickie.

We must investigate this, Wang.
Someone has to go.

Not alone. Mr. Charleston,
Mr. Diamond, stay with others.

Miss Marble, Mr. Perrier and Wang,
we'll investigate.

That’s right,
just let it all out.

Here. Oh, dear.

Careful, Wang!
Fingerprints.

Yours.

Here, take my handkerchief.

- Is he...
- He look like...

Seems like...

Touch nothing!
Fingerprints.

Quite so.

Pencil.

No pulse.

No heartbeat.

If condition does not change,
this man is dead.

No signs of foul play.

Hold on!

What's this?

What do you make of this, Perrier?

Poison, n'est-ce pas?

Not n’est-ce pas. Cocoa.

So, at last we have our murder.

Not quite. Twain say murder victim
sitting at our table.

Butler not at our table.

Butler only killed to divert us
from real murder still to come.

Look!

One of the knives is missing.
The butcher's knife, I'll wager.

- The others are still in danger.
- What is exact time, please?

11:31 and 56 seconds.

57, 58...

Tell me when to stop. 59, 60...

28 minutes to main murder.
Quickly, back to dining room.

Must all be together at midnight.

One moment!

Handkerchief.

- What is it?
- A bill.

Everything here
has been rented for tonight:

The butler, the cook, the food,
the dining room chairs.

- You mean...
- Yes.

This entire murder
has been catered.

It's Twain's doing.
The man is mad.

Mad, yes, but no fool.
I only hope we are in time.

Door locked.

Sam Diamond probably locked it
from the inside as a precaution.

Good thinking on Diamond head.

Diamond, it's Perrier.
It's all right. Open up.

Diamond? Charleston?
Are you in there?

Quickly, go back to kitchen, get dining
room key from pocket of dead butler.

Don't say "dead butler."' It's bad enough
I have to put my hand in his pocket.

Holy merde.

Miss Skeffington!

Miss Skeffington!
Miss Withers!

- He’s gone.
- Who?

The butler. His body is missing.
Here’s the key.

- If butler gone, where you find key?
- In his pocket.

- What pocket?
- The butler's.

- Butler gone, but pocket still there?
- Exactly.

Somebody has stolen his body
but left his clothes there.

Quickly, open the door.
Something is very wrong here.

Hello. Where is everyone?

Room filled with empty people.

I'll try the other door.

It's locked from the inside.

Strange. Both doors locked
from inside, yet no way out.

I don't like it one bit.

I like it,
but do not understand it.

Maybe other way out of room,
secret passageway perhaps.

Wrong. There are no
secret passageways, Mr. Wang.

- You spoke?
- Not me.

I spoke.

Oh, there!
Voice come from cow on wall!

Moose! Moose, you imbecile!

Where are they? What have you done
with the others, you short madman?

Stumped already.
Need some clues, Mr. Perrier?

I need no clues from you.

I find my own clues,
you demented lollipop!

Calm yourself. Man who argue with cow
on wall is like train without wheels.

- Very soon get nowhere.
- I'm sick of your fortune cookies!

- Man who is sick of fortune cookie...
- I just said I was sick of this!

- Quiet, gentlemen, please!
- Cow talk again.

In need of a hint, Miss Marbles?

"You all mistake what you assume.

They never left the dining room.

Count the numbers one to ten.
Turn the knob and try again."

What the devil does that mean?
"They never left the dining room."

- Certainly they did.
- Do not mistake what you assume.

- Quick, back out in hall.
- What for?

We assume others not here,
but cow say they are in dining room.

Let us look once more.

Please close door, Mr. Perrier.

- I cannot see what possible good...
- Please, quiet.

Seven, eight, nine, ten.

Miss Marbles, be so kind
as to open door, please.

Where were you, Wang?
We was worried.

What do you mean?
Where were you?

In here. Didn’t you say
not to leave the dining room?

- You have not left this room since?
- Certainly not.

Answer simple...

but question very hard.

- Where's the butler?
- Butler completely murdered.

Poisoned. Yet one of
the butcher's knives is missing.

We came back here to inform you,
but the doors were locked.

I went back to get the key
out of the butler's pocket.

His body was missing.

He had been stripped naked,
and his clothes left in his place.

I don't understand. Why would anybody
want to steal a dead, naked body?

Well, dear,
there are people who...

Oh, that's tacky.
That’s really tacky.

Then we returned here...

opened the door,
but the room was empty.

You were all gone.

The moose had told us
not to assume...

that you had ever left
the dining room.

So we counted to ten
and tried it again.

And here you were.

I'm not one to use hyperbole, ladies
and gentlemen, but I’ll tell you this.

For the first time in my life,
I had the ca-ca scared out of me.

I like her.
I really like her.

- Gunshots, monsieur.
- Gunshots, Pop.

- Gunshots, Dickie.
- Jeez!

This time Charleston and I will go.
Everybody else stay in the room.

Let’s go, Charleston.

What do you make
of all of this, Wang?

Is confusing.

"Lt"! "it" is confusing!
Say your goddamn pronouns!

Open the door.

- Good God!
- What is it?

He's back.

And au naturel.

I don't get it. First they steal
the body and leave the clothes.

Then they steal the clothes
and bring the body back.

- Who would do a thing like that?
- Possibly some deranged dry cleaner.

What about the gunshots?

Why shoot some poor slob
when he's already been poisoned?

We heard the gunshots,
but I don't see any bullet holes...

not on his head, his neck,
his back or his chest.

- Look all over him.
- All over his body?

Somebody’s gotta do it.
I'm busy standin' guard.

Why don’t I stand guard?
You look.

All right, we'll take turns.

You look over the first dead, naked body
we find, and I’LL look over the second.

Hurry up.
We only got eight minutes.

See anything?

No, I don't see
a bullet hole anywhere.

- Hold it. I see something.
- What is it?

Forget it. My mistake.
Not a bullet hole.

If he wasn't plugged,
what about the shots?

Divide and conquer.

- What?
- Another diversion.

He gives us meaningless clues to confuse
us, dangles red herrings before us...

bedazzles us with bizarre banalities,
but all the time...

seconds are ticking away towards
the truly terrible murder still to come.

You're good. You're not my kind of cop,
but you're smart and you smell good.

You're not a pansy,
but what the hell are you?

Classy, I suppose.

- Dames always fall for a guy like you.
- I don't see what interest...

- Did you ever make it with a waitress?
- I beg your pardon?

A waitress.
Big, fat waitress.

I don't know what them society dames
are like in the kip...

but you ain't never had it till you made
it with a big, fat, blondie waitress.

If you're ever interested,
you give me a call.

Bizarre little twit.

I'm still not sure about this guy.

- What are you doing?
- I have to wash my hands after...

- Good.
- I’LL be out in a minute.

I'll go ahead.
I'll tell the others.

You're never gonna
believe this, folks.

All right, where are you?

What the hell is goin' on here?

Charleston, wash up later.
We got problems.

Locked from the inside.

That can only mean one thing...

and I don't know what it is.

You're never gonna believe...

I said I'd be out in a minute.

I don't remember
closin' that door.

What happened?

What were the gunshots?

Did anybody leave this room
since we were gone?

- So it happened to you too.
- Where's my Dickie?

Sorry. Where's my husband?

Two minutes to midnight,
in case anyone is interested.

It ain’t possible,
I'm tellin" you.

Eight people in a dining room
can't turn into an empty room unless...

- Unless what, Sam?
- Unless it never happened.

I see your point, Diamond.

When is a dining room filled with people
not a dining room filled with people?

- When it is two dining rooms.
- Exactly!

Two dining rooms?

Two dining rooms, two of everything.
Twain electronic genius.

He has devised
a way to move this room...

quickly and silently
in the flash of an eye...

to be replaced by
an exact duplicate of this very room.

- I knew it all the time.
- Oh, please.

I shall demonstrate.
I shall walk out the door...

close it, knock three times, enter,
and you will all be gone.

Observe.

I have it all figured out.
There are two of everything.

Oh, Dickie, that's old news.

All right,
everybody take their seats.

- I'm scared, Sam. Hold me.
- Hold yourself. I'm busy.

Take the same seats
you had before.

Forty seconds!
I'm very worried about Mr. Perrier.

I'm going to look for him.

No. Sit, please.
No one to leave room.

The other door.

It’s locked. I can't open it.

Hurry, man!
We have 15 seconds!

Move your hand, chauffeur.

- Don't ask me.
- Why are you wearing butler's uniform?

I said, don't ask me!

I don't know.
It all happened too quickly.

The cook.
Where's the cook?

- She's gone.
- Never said a word.

Ten more seconds.
Quickly, sit and join hands.

Impossible for murder
to happen now without witnesses.

Three, two...

one!

It's over.

We're safe and sound.

That's probably the cook.

- Come in.
- The poor woman is stone deaf.

I'm sorry. I forgot.
Come in!

Not sound like cook to me.

Mr. Twain.

You appear to be wrong.

Nobody here murdered.
Please to come in.

Is he dead?

With a thing like that in his back,
in the long run he's better off.

- Touch nothing!
- Will you stop saying that?

We're all experienced
criminologists.

I find it insulting, debasing and
redundant to tell us to "touch nothing."

- Be quiet, woman.
- Up yours, fella.

Most amusing. Bickering detectives
are like making giant lamb stew.

- Everything go to pot.
- Why don't you be quiet!

Shut up, all of yous!
Nobody move!

- Stay where you are!
- What is it?

I have to go to the can again.
I don't wanna miss nothin'.

I'm going too, Sam.

I'd rather do this alone, Tess.
Thanks anyway.

The cook.

What, darling?

Well, it's obvious.
The cook murdered him.

The butler's dead. All the rest of us
were in this room except for her.

No one else could get in or out,
so that only leaves the cook.

- Isn't that right?
- Wrong.

What makes you
certain of this, Diamond?

To drive a knife that far up a man's
back, you need a powerful right arm.

And this arm don't look
that strong to me.

- Is that the cook's arm?
- It ain't the pussycat’s tail, lady.

Don't be alarmed, miss.
It ain’t real.

For that matter,
neither is the cook.

I found this
before I got to the can.

Got a little surprise
for you folks.

- Look!
- A mannequin!

A dummy,
perfect in every detail...

with the exception of not being
able to make her hear or speak.

My hat's off to the man
with the shiv in his back.

Except for the fact that he's dead,
he was no dope.

Nice going, Sam.

I hope you all realize that
someone in this room is a murderer.

For sake of ladies present...

may I suggest we all
return to drawing room?

My son will cover up
remains of Mr. Twain.

- Why do I do all the dirty work, Pop?
- Because your mother not here to do it.

Come, please.

Excuse me.

I'm getting a headache.

Isn't there some way of
turning off that ridiculous machine?

Maybe some gadget
outside the window.

Sorry, darling.
It's raining this time.

I suggest we get down to business
and sort the facts.

It is now 12:30, Sunday morning.

The doors and windows will
automatically open at dawn...

and one of us here will be
one million dollars richer...

and one of us will be going
to the gas chamber to be hung.

One, Monsieur Perrier? Why not two?
We all have associates.

Why not four or six or eight?
I don't trust any of yous.

Maybe I'm just a patsy
being set up to take the fall...

but I’m not fallin'
for any of yous.

Not even me, Sam?

Why don't you fall in love with
the Jap kid and get off my back?

Can we get back to case, please?

Time is late
and my eyes are getting tired.

- I thought they always looked like that.
- Knock it off, Sam!

I apologize. This case
is gettin' on my nerves.

- I'm sorry, Slanty.
- Thank you.

Now then,
facts, please, facts.

Mr. Twain predicts murder. Also predicts
victim to be at dining table, correct?

Correct.

I'm sorry, this is official.
Correct.

Also predicts murder
to take place at midnight...

and predicts
number of stab wounds.

How can this be if he not
in collaboration with murderer?

What if Twain did it himself?

Murdered himself?

For what possible reason?
And how?

The motive is simple: Ego.

If we were not to solve this crime, he'd
be named the world's foremost detective.

With an ego like his, the fact that
he died for it is a small price to pay.

As to how, any man who can create
this chamber of electronic marvels...

would certainly be able
to devise a machine...

that would stab himself
in the back 11 or 12 times.

That was wonderful, darling.
I'm so proud of you.

- Let's go to bed, quickly.
- One moment, please.

Very interesting theory,
Mr. Charleston...

but you overlook
one very important point.

- And that is?
- It's stupid.

It's most stupid theory
I ever heard!

- Do you have a better one?
- Oh, yeah, much better one.

You see, I have been doing
my homework, Mr. Charleston.

For example,
I have information...

that your wife's
portfolio of stocks...

were seriously depleted
in latest financial crisis.

In short, you are flat broke,
Mr. Charleston.

You have been borrowing money
for over two years...

at 17% interest
from Mr. Lionel Twain.

Broke? Is this true?

I didn't want to tell you now.
I was saving it for your birthday.

One million dollars would buy...

great many tight suits,
would it not, Mr. Charleston?

- See here, Wang...
- Dead broke, Dickie?

Almost, darling.
I have $1.17 and some stamps.

But I did not murder Lionel Twain.
You do believe that, don't you, darling?

We'll talk. We'll see.

It could have been
any one of you.

Each and every one of us was out of that
dining room at one time or another...

giving ample opportunity
to commit the crime.

As for motives,
there's more than ego and cash involved.

For example, revenge.

Meaning what, Mr. Charleston?

Meaning that I'm not the only one here
who's had a past experience with Twain.

Did you know that he was
quite a ladies' man in his day?

Are you suggesting
that someone here...

Was at one time in love
with Lionel Twain.

As a matter of fact,
he was engaged to and jilted...

Miss Jessica Marbles.

Jesus H. Christ!

Jilted 54 years ago at the altar.

Left her there
in that same baggy tweed outfit.

- Is this true, Jessie?
- I was not jilted.

I walked out on him.

He wanted to fool around
before the wedding.

And being the lady you are,
you refused.

Not completely.

But it got out of hand.
He was horrid, but I didn't kill him.

That's good enough for me.
What about you, Frenchy?

I'm not a Frenchy!
I'm a Belgy!

And as for other motives,
how about patricide?

The killing of one's own parent?

You mean that Lionel Twain was
the father of someone in this room?

He wasn’t my father.

He was my uncle.

He was very good to me.

He would take me to the circus
and give me candy.

We stopped going
when I was about 26.

I'm sorry, Sam.

Twenty-six? What the hell
kind of a circus was it?

Forgive me, but I was talking about
patricide, not uncle-cide.

Monsieur Twain may have been
your uncle, Miss Skeffington...

but he was the
illegitimate father of...

Monsieur Sidney Wang!

It not true.

I was adopted.
I have my papers.

That is why I have adopted
all my children.

I was wondering.

Oh, he loved me very much...

but he was not very observant.

One day when I was 19,
he called me to his study...

noticed for first time I was Oriental,
and kicked me out of house.

- I could have...
- Killed him, Monsieur Wang?

As easily as you,
Monsieur Perrier.

Lionel Twain killed
the only thing you ever loved:

Marie-Louise Cartier.

Your sweetheart?

My poodle.

He was a most cruel man.

Monsieur would come to France
every season...

to hunt poodles.

The day they brought...

her bloodied sequined collar to me,
I vowed one day I would...

- Knock him off?
- Yes, gladly, if I had the chance.

But I did not.

Someone here beat me to it.

So there's more than one reason
that we was invited here.

Not only was Twain testin'
our skills as detectives...

but we all have legitimate motives
for doin' the old man in.

Have not yet heard
your motive, Mr. Diamond.

My motive is unimportant.

Let's just say that
I hated him enough to kill him.

You are a closed man,
Mr. Diamond.

You hide many things.

Could it be that Mr. Twain
discover your secret?

I don't know what
you're talkin' about.

We know different,
do we not, Miss Skeffington?

Twain picked up Sam in a gay bar.

I was working on a case. Working.

Every night for six months?

I got 50 bucks a day and expenses.
I hate them queeries.

Twain...

had Polaroid pictures
of Sam in drag.

I was in disguise.
Lots of dames go in those joints.

I never kissed nobody.

And I never did nothin" to a man
that I wouldn't do to a woman.

And I didn't kill Twain.

You bitch.

Most interesting.

All had perfect motives
for killing Twain.

Wonder which one
was one who done it.

We still have
the night to get through.

If anyone is going to solve this case,
I say we all get a good night's sleep.

And I suggest
we all lock our doors.

One of us is a mad killer...

and not to be trusted.

Who do you think is the murderer?

Must sleep on it.

Will know in morning when wake up.

What if you don't wake up?

Then you did it.

Go sleep, please.

- Good night, Dad.
- Should have adopted pussycat.

Should I turn off the steam, Pop?

Not steam.

Someone just put
deadly snake in room.

Wake me when it come near bed.

I want you to know, Dickie darling,
that if you're the murderer...

I'll still love you.

I don’t think it would be right for us
to make love, but I'd still love you.

No fear of that, my pet.
Now let's see what we have here.

We have one missing, dead,
naked butler...

one host with
a butcher's knife in his back...

and one poisonous scorpion
crawling up our sheets.

- Is that what that is?
- Yes. They can kill instantly.

I suggest we don't move.

For how long?

Quite possibly
for the rest of our lives.

Good heavens.

I know who the murderer is.

Solvey-poo?

Yes, Miss Withers.
The murderer is...

Good God! Gas!

I'm sorry. I can't help it.
I'm old.

No, no. The other kind of gas.
The kind that kills.

Sometimes my gas...

It's seeping in through the vent!

It's locked from the outside.

Help!

Doesn't smell that bad to me.

Help!

Did I do right, Sam,
telling them about the gay bar?

Perfect, sweetheart.
They took the bait like a dumb halibut.

Let 'em think I’m a pansy.

While they're busy suspectin' me,
one of them is gonna let his pants down.

Sam, why do you keep all those naked
muscle men magazines in your office?

Suspects.
Always lookin' for suspects.

What's that tickin' sound I hear?

"That tickin' sound is a bomb in your
room that will go off in 30 seconds.

- Signed, the murderer."
- Quick, Sam, the door!

"P.S. The door is locked."

I'm sorry about this, Tess.

And me owin" you
all that money, too.

That's all right, Sam.
What are we gonna do?

I got an idea.

I don't know whether this is gonna
work or not. Quick, turn around!

- I'm turned, Sam.
- Whatever you do, don't turn back.

- If anything...
- Do as I say, angel.

- I will, Sam.
- Good.

'Cause I think I'm gonna cry.

- What are you doing in my bed?
- There's no place else to sleep.

Sleep in the car,
you chauffeur. Go!

You aren't fair. I will tell
everyone that you wear a toupee.

- They already know.
- Then why do you wear it?

I didn't know that you knew.

Certainly I know.
It's a terrible toupee.

A bomb. Across the hall.

Quickly, the door!

It's locked from the outside.

You look taller to me.
Why is that?

I don't understand, Monsieur.
I'm not getting taller.

If you are not getting taller,
there is only one alternative.

The room is getting shorter!

Mon dieu!
The ceiling is coming down!

- What'll we do?
- I don't know!

But this is exactly
how they make goose liver pate.

Not so fast, please.

Do not cross out Wang name.

Cross out "snake" instead.

Nice shot, Pop.

Sure wish you weren't
such a heavy sleeper.

And now...

if you please.

One million dollars...

Mr. Bensonmum.

Banzai, Pop!

Very clever of you, Mr. Wang.

Oh, yes.
As you can see, I can see.

So I see.

Tell me, as the only survivor,
how did you deduce it was me?

Went back to theory
seldom used today:

Butler did it.

I hadn't thought of that.

But how do you account for
my dead body in the kitchen?

Body made of plastic,
same as plastic cook.

While we examine plastic butler...

you murder Lionel Twain.

You're a clever little
laundry man, Mr. Wang.

But not quite clever enough!

I’LL take that one million dollars,
Bensonmum...

alias Irving Goldman.

Irving Goldman?

Yes.

Irving Goldman was the attorney
of the late Lionel Twain.

Lionel Twain died five years ago.

His body was recently discovered
in Goldman's filing cabinet.

Am I correct, Mr. Goldman?

Yeah. Correct, Miss Marbles.

But how did you escape
the poison gas?

Quite simple.
I covered my mouth...

and let Miss Withers here
breathe in all the gas.

- Sicky-poo.
- Yes, dear, I know.

- The million dollars, please.
- I wouldn't if I were you, Goldman.

Or is it Goldman?

Actually, it's Mr. Marvin Metzner.

Marvin Metzner?

Very good, Mr. Charleston.

But how did you know?

The bill in
the dead butler's hand...

stating that the entire weekend
had been catered.

Only an accountant would have
held onto a thing like that.

- Dickie, get the money and let's go.
- In a moment.

Goldman was killed
last month while skiing.

He jumped 200 feet
into a low-flying plane.

I can't wait much longer.

You've not lost your touch,
Mr. Charleston.

But how did you elude
the deadly scorpion?

We didn't.
He stung Dora.

- We have 15 minutes to get to a doctor.
- Could you explain later?

We'll make it. Never fear.
The prize money, Mr. Metzner.

Belongs to me, Monsieur.

Marcel, being one of
the world's strongest men...

stopped your ceiling from crushing us
at four feet, five inches.

It may be months before
we are able to straighten up again...

but a million dollars
will buy a lot of back braces.

Eh, Miss Irene Twain?

Daughter of Lionel!

What?

I prefer to be called Rita.

But how did you know?

Never underestimate
a Frenchman's nostrils, Miss Twain.

At dinner tonight...

I smelled your Chanel No. 5.

It was you who did away
with all of them:

Metzner, Goldman
and your father.

In fact, if you had your way...

you would do away with all men,
would you not, Miss Twain?

Men who have made you ashamed
and made you suffer...

because you were
born with brains...

talent, money, everything
but that which you most desired:

Beauty.

It is a statement of fact,
Miss Twain...

that as a man you are barely passable,
but as a woman...

you are a dog.

That's your opinion, big boy.

And now my money, please.

With luck, I can still
make dinner at Maxim's.

If I were you, I'd just order
a tuna fish sandwich...

because that dough belongs to me.

That’s right,
I'm alive and kicking.

Miss Skeffington here
dropped your bomb down the john.

It blew up just as she flushed.
The seat missed her head by an inch.

I'm all right, J.J.

J.J.?

That's right, folks.
He outsmarted us all.

Sitting behind that desk
is the real Sam Diamond.

My name is Loomis.

J.J. Loomis. I'm an actor.
I do impressions.

I did the Carson show
six times last year.

Diamond hired me for the weekend.

Miss Skeffington here
is actually Vilma Norman.

She's a cocktail waitress
at the Water Bed Motel in Carmel.

Diamond hated all of you.

You were all getting big money, and he
had that crummy office in San Francisco.

If he proved that he was number one,
he would get all your rich clients.

But since I put
all the pieces together...

I figure that money belongs to me.

Isn't that right, Mr. Diamond?

Wrong.

That would have been so obvious,
a child could have guessed it.

No, my dear colleagues.
What you all seem to overlook...

is the most simple
and direct solution.

That I am indeed...
Lionel Twain.

You've all been so clever
for so long...

you've forgotten to be humble.

You've tricked and fooled
your readers for years.

You’ve tortured us all with
surprise endings that made no sense.

You've introduced characters
in the last five pages...

that were never
in the book before!

You've withheld
clues and information...

that made it impossible for us
to guess who did it.

But now the tables are turned.

Millions of angry
mystery readers...

are now getting their revenge.

When the world learns
I've outsmarted you...

they'll be selling your $1.95 books
for 12 cents.

It's checkout time,
ladies and gentlemen.

I have your bills ready.

Credit cards will be accepted.

Then even the scorpion was a fake?

Everything.
The bridge, the maid.

- But you're sure about the scorpion?
- Positive.

Even the fog. He made that with
a dry ice machine. See for yourself.

How awfully unromantic.

Then if he really
was Lionel Twain...

you must really be Sam Diamond.

That's right, baby.

I was in disguise,
in disguise, in disguise.

You work hard for
50 bucks a day in this racket.

I guess that means we won’t
be seeing each other again, Sam.

Well, that depends.
I’LL be around if you need me.

All you gotta do is whistle.

And you know how to whistle,
don't you, baby?

Certainly. What do you mean?

Never mind. Forget it.
You ruined it.

I don't understand, Pop.
Was there a murder or wasn't there?

Yes. Killed good weekend.

Drive, please.

}}