Le paltoquet (1986) - full transcript

LE PALTOQUET
(THE NONENTITY)

Based on "On a tué pendant L'escale",
By Franz Rudolf Falk.

Would you like a drink, Professor?

Later.

Very well.

At your service.

Go to hell.

- I'm with the Professor.
- And I'm with the Doctor.

I had a strange and vivid dream.

Conchito!

- Time for my syrup.
- And my cirrhosis.



I'll get onto it right away, my lords.

Shut up and move your bloody arse.

Ah, no! It's really to be deplored.

Deplored, my lord.

- Smoking again.
- Exclamation mark.

- This excuse...
- Still not found your lighter?

...that you're in the majority...

- I've stopped smoking.
- Since when?

Question mark.

I call that very rude
and that's an end to it.

- All change.
- From now on, it's no smoking.

We shall crush our partners tonight.

If you want to smoke, go outside,
in your room, or in the toilets.

What did you dream?



- Take it or leave it.
- It was...

...during the horror
of one dark night.

- That's true...
- When the lions go to drink.

- Not any more.
- Is it coming, idiot?

- Hot off the press.
- Don't talk rubbish.

Here it is! Nice and cool!

Hearts.

- Your call, Honorable Tradesman.
- Pass.

Since no one listens to me...

Spades. What time did the boat arrive?

Three clubs.

- Three diamonds, three o'clock. Why?
- Pass.

- No reason.
- Pass.

- Interesting people?
- Three baldies, as usual.

Pass.

Pass. Not shaved?

- We'll crush them.
- You said that already.

You to start. Good health.

He said clubs.

That's right.

- But you can't play.
- Nor can you.

It's agreed.
From tomorrow, we shan't smoke.

It's certainly old hat.

You make me laugh.

I should've doubled... Bloody fool.

You should always double.

I'd have over-doubled,
and you'd have been screwed.

- Four hearts won't get far.
- Idiot.

- Sorry?
- At your service.

Stop annoying me, you little runt!
Shove off!

Hearts.

- Trumps?
- Yes.

Lost your tongue, Nonentity?

Go away.

Give me room to breathe.

How's life, Lotte?

Nonentity?

Shove off, Nonentity.

What an arsehole he is.

Professor...

I withdraw arsehole,
it's too insulting to arseholes.

You wouldn't disagree with me,
would you?

My eminent practitioner.

What's he talking about?

Who has not tasted, savored,
licked the lips of a pretty arsehole?

Dummy hand.
A man's or a woman's?

I'm afraid
I'm only familiar with women's.

For the rest, you should ask the manager.

- Speaking!
- We'll call you back.

So when delicately,
with the tip of your tongue...

Pass.

In other words, dear sir,
you are very far from being an arsehole.

Journalist, keep your mind on the game
instead of other things.

Whose turn?

To hell with them.

I'll show them.

Bastards!

Everything all right?
Do they want anything?

- Like oil on troubled waters, boss.
- Not oil!

Shut up, you're disgusting.

Where's she come from, that tart?

Diamonds.

Damn them. I'll show them.

Dummy.

Where's he off to?

I will discard.

Discard, Professor.

- Still bored?
- Yes.

What a life.

I love you.

Platitudes already?

- Are you married?
- How ghastly.

- Why?
- Why am I not married?

- No, why ghastly?
- Are you married?

- No, how ghastly.
- Why?

- Why ghastly?
- Why aren't you married?

- I was waiting for you.
- How ghastly.

Never mind, I'll come back.

That's right.

That's right, piss off.
Bloody journalist. I'll show them.

Four of hearts.
Our dear Professor has unfortunately...

Well, well, well. The Inspector.

- Evening, gentlemen.
- Come in!

Everyone's welcome.

Nothing to hide, have we, my sweet?

Sure, boss.

What brings you here, Inspector?

An ill wind, Doctor. I need you.

How's our journalist paid by the page?

Or by the line?
The page or the line?

- The page.
- And monthly.

But not very much.

- Damn it.
- At your service.

What's happened, Inspector?
Silly question, I withdraw it.

- A death, of course?
- Not quite yet.

- In a room...
- Did I say hello, Inspector?

Yes, Miss. My respects.

...in a lodging...
Everything's fine.

...house in the slum quarter.

Let's go.

I'll come with you.

Our very subtle special correspondent.

Occupational hazard? What is it?

- Force of habit.
- Ethics.

Thank you.
Force of habit, that's it.

You're all welcome. It will amuse you.

Thank you, no. I'll pass.

Don't be so craven, my dear fellow.

Craven and shaven.

What's craven?

Pardon?

I'll come. Wait for me.

There you are, Doctor. Over to you.

Foul play.

He's no trumps left.

Her room.
At least, this is where she works.

The hetero.

The Hetaera.

- She discovered the...
- Corpse. He's dead.

I thought so.

- We mustn't make God a sitting duck.
- Wild duck.

Wild, thank you,
Mr. Brilliant International Reporter.

Help me, Doctor.

- Would someone give me a cigarette?
- Now is perhaps not the time.

I don't think the smoke will bother him.

A match.

Please.

Stabbed with a knife.
Sharp blades are common around here.

Or a scalpel.

- For example.
- For example.

- Nothing in his pockets.
- Nothing.

Odd.

Or unremarkable.

And the buttocks?

I'm not joking, Doctor.
Look between the buttocks.

Please, Professor, be my guest.

While they're still hot.

Take him away.

Good news, Professor.

We've found your lighter.

Right, I'm going to bed.
It'll be daylight tomorrow.

Are you sleeping, you two?

And once again, bravo.

Professor, would you mind
coming to my office tomorrow morning?

Late morning.
Half twelve rather than half eleven.

And you, come with me.

See you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow.

Have you had a nice day, dear Lotte?

Exhausting.

I washed my hair
and killed a cockroach.

One wonders whether this is the right sort
of place for a decent woman.

What is a decent woman?

After all, if I were a decent woman,

I wouldn't be here
with you this evening.

- A decent woman...
- Is a woman who...

- Good evening, Doctor.
- Thank you, dear friend.

- Well, really!
- Good evening, Honorable Tradesman.

Thank you, Doctor.

Booze.

News.

Hello.

Hello.

I almost got soaked.

Not him.

"The Brothel Murder."

"Distinguished college professor
soon to face charges."

If I was a musician,
I'd slip in a few notes.

Shit.

Ridiculous. The Inspector is a halfwit.

Or the author of the article
in your newspaper is a halfwit.

Right, let's play. It's my turn to deal.

Everyone knew I'd lost my lighter.
Ridiculous.

"Alerted this morning
by an anonymous letter...

...the police discovered..."
I see better without glasses.

"...that the Professor
was seen in the street of tragedy

at the time of the... See page seven."

Time of the? Time of the?

- Time of the?
...the shepherd.

No, that's an article about sheep.

...crime!
"At the time of the crime."

Really?

Over to the Professor.

Professor, over to you.

We're rolling.

You make me howl with laughter.
Whose turn is it? Are we playing?

Have you noticed?

People who always say,
very, very seriously...

..."It makes me howl with laughter."

Make me howl with laughter.

It's my turn. I pass.

- What he said was very interesting.
- No trumps.

- Pass.
- Pass.

- Pass.
- No trumps.

- Whose turn is it?
- Yours.

Unless... Clubs.

Please Professor,
stop wiping your hands.

No. Carry on. It makes you sexy.

Your turn.

I like the Professor wiping his hands.

I like it too.

It excites me.

Diamonds.

Stop going round in circles.
You're giving me palpitations.

Here, look.

Still diamonds.

But... Are you mad, you nonentity?

Nonentity, come and look!

Nonentity yourself, rat face.

I'm the dealer.

Look at my glass. Odd, isn't it?

Taste it. Taste!

Taste it, please.

- I'll change it.
- What?

I want you to taste this one.

- I'll get another.
- What is it?

Do me the favor of tasting it.

It's not normal.

Stop being silly.

It's perfectly normal.
Taste it, you stubborn fool!

No.

Please.

Please.

Taste it.

- No.
- It's normal.

No.

It's not normal?

It's not normal.

See if it's not normal, you blockhead.

I tricked him!

- I tricked him all right.
- So what did you think?

I'm howling with laughter.
When will they arrest you?

That was just laughter, not howling.
I have an alibi. Whose turn?

The Doctor. His hand.

No, I'm a man.

Asked if I was a café.

- What is your alibi. Exactly?
- Let's hear it.

- Dummy.
- What is your alibi, exactly?

Will you shut your big mouth
or shall I help you?

Don't worry, I'll manage.
Knobhead.

Everything's fine, carry on.
The customer is king.

- Whose turn is it?
- What about this alibi?

Leave him alone.
It's obvious he has no alibi.

Alibis are a rare commodity nowadays.

- Blockade.
- Blockhead.

- Enough said.
- Knuckle head.

This vulgarity is quite unbearable.

I'd rather close my ears.

Dunderhead.

I was rather unkind earlier.

Take that down immediately.

You're not at home now.

There's nothing more to see.
Go on, play.

You have to tell them everything.

- So, Professor, you have an alibi?
- Correct.

The barber next to the station.

A customs officer at the port,

sheltering from the rain
at five in the afternoon.

In other words, the time of the crime.
My alibi is unassailable.

- And I think I can say...
- The Inspector agreed?

Exactly, Doc.

The Inspector is coming later.

Do you know why
our dear Inspector is coming later?

To tell us about his night
with the whore from the crime scene?

Of course.

And to tell us who the dead man is.
Interesting, don't you think?

The Inspector usually
keeps his cards to himself.

Keep yours to yourself, Professor.

Oh, I forgot.

To tell us whose fingerprints
they found on my lighter.

An associate, it seems.

And who are my associates,
my little darlings?

- If I'm not mistaken...
- It's possible.

...the bastard's saying
one of us three is the murderer.

No! I turn to Miss Lotte

and undaunted, I say one of you four.

It's nice of you not to forget me.

Why not butter me up, you swine?

Butter in this heat?
Shut up, now.

One over.

Sorry, Doc...

"Following your request for information,

the body is that of
Robert Simon Perceval,

who went missing yesterday when the
vessel Prince André called into port."

"Resident in Geneva,
such and such a street,

destination: Singapore,
occupation: Broker."

"No other information obtained."

"Signed, the Captain.
Date, time, et cetera."

Of course, no one saw this... Perceval.

- A ghost town full of blind men.
- Mutes.

Or mutes. Always a flair for words,
our trenchant columnist.

Anyway...

"Note to the Inspector."

"The fingerprints found on the lighter,
item number etc,

correspond to those on file M 117228,

and file M 132756."

Also on the lighter
are the prints of the dead man

which do not appear on our records."

"I can tell you that file M 117228
is that of the Professor."

Naturally, it's his lighter.

"And file M 132756
is that of the Doctor."

I repeat... the Doctor.

- I don't understand...
- I don't understand...

...why all of our prints
are not on the lighter.

- I don't understand either.
- I do.

The Professor gives us a light,
not his lighter.

- A mere detail.
- I notice such things.

- You don't smoke, Doctor.
- Not any more.

Also a detail.

I don't understand how you identified
the prints of the Doctor and the Professor.

When I say I don't understand,
I mean that I'm afraid to.

- Me too.
- Yes, you too.

We all have to take precautions.

And you too.

You too, Miss.

We couldn't do without your lovely
fingerprints in our archives.

Inspector,

the day I decide to kill someone,
you for example,

believe me, if I felt like smoking
after I'd killed you,

I'd keep my gloves on.

And if I then left my lighter,
or someone else's, in your hand,

it would only bear the prints
of your greasy little fingers.

OK, you two know the drill.
I'm evacuating the room.

Got a warrant?

Doctor, am I to understand
that you've never seen this Perceval?

Never.

And you didn't go into town,
between five and six o'clock yesterday,

to a dirty hotel
to kill someone you didn't know?

No.

To hell with the police.

I could arrest you, Doctor.

First your fingerprints,
then the weapon...

Why not a scalpel, indeed?

I could arrest you because
at the time Perceval was murdered,

you were in the slum quarter.

Visiting a patient,
a female patient to be precise,

whom you visit often,
let's say several times a week.

I could arrest you because the place where
you take such good care of your patient,

is the hotel
in which Perceval was murdered.

If I was a musician...

The Doctor's theme.

- Nice work.
- Get lost!

Finally, I should arrest you
because you lied

when you said
you didn't know the dead man.

I'll prove it to you.

But first, I'll tell you why
I'm not arresting you immediately.

Because I would have to arrest
the Professor along with you.

At your service.

The alibi, the barber, the rain,
the customs officer, it's not bad.

Really, it's not bad.

But it's not concrete.

I mean, concrete rots here.

Your health.

I'd also have to arrest
our discerning social diarist,

your friend the Journalist,

whose mistake is to be
one of your friends.

And also the Honorable
[sic] Tradesman.

Your health.

Why didn't he come with us last night
to the scene of the crime?

Perhaps because he already knew
the scene of the crime.

And I should also arrest Miss Lotte.

I'm sure Miss Lotte
didn't know the dead man either.

And yet,

you will recognize Miss Lotte,

our good Doctor,

the dead man.

At your service.

- I've seen worse.
- But they didn't have any.

Miss Lotte. She's the first today.

Maybe not. Here's Mr. Pen-pusher.

- Pen-what?
- The hack.

Shit! Come and see.

You can see that I can't. Tell me.

- Well...
- Well?

No, it's too quick.

- They killed Miss Lotte.
- No! Who?

- No, she's not dead.
- Talking nonsense, as usual.

- Now the others.
- Speak up!

The Professor, the Doctor.

I can't see, too many people.
The Inspector, too.

I'll just finish this.
I haven't been out for ages.

- How do I look?
- Like shit.

- What, dear?
- Too late, they're here.

Damn, it's not dry.

What happened?

Make sure the chair
doesn't get messed up.

Starting with the Doctor.

Well, Doctor?

I hardly saw a thing.
I arrived at the quayside,

I heard shots, I started running.

Nothing serious, my lovely.

- A bandage and it will be all over.
- Look at her, half-dressed.

And then?

In front of me,
slightly to the left,

I saw the Professor,

running towards Miss Lotte,
who was lying on the quay.

And our friend,
who was bending over her.

That's all.

OK.

You have an idea
of where the shot came from?

Absolutely not.

And you, Professor?

I have nothing to add
to what the Doctor said.

Perhaps I could situate

the direction of the shot
more precisely.

It must have been from behind me,
slightly to my right.

But all of that is approximate.

Are you all right?
Not thirsty, in this heat?

In other words,
and approximately speaking,

the shot was fired
from where the Doctor was.

- Thank you, Professor.
- At your service.

- I suspected as much.
- You should have said so earlier.

It's as easy as two and two make two.

One, you, two, Perceval.

For X reason,
which you can explain later,

you decide to kill him
while the boat was in the port.

You lure him to the hotel,
which you know well. Easy.

You tell the young girl to go away.
So easy.

The weapon is a regular knife.
Unremarkable.

Or your scalpel. Which is free.

You get rid of everything
that could identify the corpse. Classic.

To spread suspicion,
you leave the Professor's lighter

in the corpse's hand. Original.

But dangerous. Risky, in any case.

And then I come across a photograph.

It tells me that Miss Lotte
also knows the dead man

and therefore knows things about you.
Catastrophe.

She mustn't talk
and therefore she must disappear.

Logical. But clumsy.

Three bullets for a scratch.
Tiresome.

Tiresome because Miss Lotte
now knows that you want to kill her.

You won't succeed in frightening me,
Inspector.

I didn't know Perceval.

- They've hoisted the red flag.
- Explosives. Flammable.

- The yellow flag too.
- Epidemic on board.

- And you? You haven't said anything.
- Me too.

- Me too what?
- To hell with the police.

You're embarrassing me.

You're embarrassing me.

You're embracing me.

- You own up?
- I never own up.

Complain to the Inspector.

If I'm in your way, my lovebirds,
just say so. Don't hold back.

- I've decided.
- It's true, this is my place.

In a sense, it's your place too.
The customer is king, so...

So you keep quiet, Madame.

The paying customer, that is.

Haven't you always said that,
my rabbit, my randy rabbit?

I was just saying that I've decided.
I'm going to arrest you, Doctor.

Although I'm wondering about
a couple of things.

This affair is odd
but there's something which is odder,

and which is perfectly obvious.

This evening, no doubt
for the first time in a long time,

your fourth companion is not here.

The companion you call
the Honorable Tradesman.

I will remind you that the windows
of his office look onto the quayside.

There's no better place from which
to fire at Miss Lotte as she walks by.

Our little darlings are late.

If we lose them,
we'll have to shut up shop.

- They must be held up by the rain.
- Or detained by the Inspector.

He's questioning everyone
this afternoon.

Here they are.

Action! Music!

You didn't come yesterday.

- I was ill. I stayed in bed.
- So you say.

- And the hick?
- The hick?

- The hack!
- There's not much difference.

- So?
- So he went to the paper.

And the Doc?

- In the clink?
- In custody.

Come and see.

Why did he miss me?

This nitwit found it in the loo.

- I checked. Three bullets missing.
- It's the Doctor's revolver.

- Damn.
- What shall we do?

- Give it to the Inspector.
- Certainly not.

- The customer is king.
- The Inspector's a customer.

Not such a good customer.
Bow to my judgment.

Less of your fawning, flunkey.

Heel. Sit.

Why does she talk to you like that?

Do you love her?

Did you love her?

That bloody Inspector never pays.
I call that a rocket.

- A racket.
- A what?

- At your service, boss.
- Sit.

Since I'm not playing cards for once,
I'd like to make a confession.

I hate cards.
Cretin! No, it's not that.

No, my confession is this:

What I like is women like you.

There are no women like you.

Only you. So it's you I love.

Oh, the lovely baby.

Isn't he sweet?

Do you like babies, my baby?

I don't, so I refute you.

Look, sit here.

Sit down, baby.

There's something else.

What's wrong with those two?

It's a handover, boss.

- Oh, well. You're modern.
- I refute you.

What does it mean, I refute you?

It means you've been refuted,
and outwitted.

There, there, beautiful baby.

I adore babies.

He's so funny and intelligent.
He's looking at everything already.

What pretty little hands.
How many fingers has he got?

He's big for his age. How old is he?

What's he got on the back of his head?

A little bump, it's nothing,
it'll go away.

Why is he peeling?
You can't see his nose.

He's squinting.
He's so sweet with his crossed eyes.

But that's not important in babies.
Or sticking out ears.

Look out!
One of them's going to fall off!

And baby's going to fall too!

He was all slimy, I'm sorry, he slipped.

- What's new, my friend?
- Now I've got sore knees, too.

- Who's going to reimburse me?
- It's not his day.

Have you seen your horoscope?

- Are you sleeping, egg-head?
- I'll get onto it right away.

Move it.

Listen to this. "Brothel Murder."

"Have police arrested the guilty man?"

A newspaperman reading a newspaper.

A criminal committing a crime.

A woman behaving like a child.

Newspaperman continuing to read,
thank you.

"One of the city's well-known exporters",
congratulations,

"was spotted by two witnesses",
anonymous witnesses of course,

"near the scene of the crime at the time
at which Mr. RS Perceval was murdered."

So what? So was the doctor. And you.

- Excuse me. Alibi.
- Let me give you the rest.

"The dead man, a broker..."
What kind of broker?

Postage stamps. You're an avid
collector of postage stamps.

The dead man lived in Geneva.

You bank in Geneva,
which you recently visited.

- Is that it?
- Yes.

The author of this article
is a friend of yours.

Yes, she's here.

Someone asking if you were here.

Don't tell the Doctor
I removed my bandage.

Bandages aren't pretty.

But look at my wound.

Pretty, isn't it?

- My heart is beating.
- Show me.

He's obsessed.

If I put my hand there,
what would you say?

You can't feel it very well
through the cloth.

That's right.
You can't feel it very well.

In fact, you feel nothing at all.

I knew a woman, a few years ago.

At three in the morning,
she gave us a strip-tease, the slut.

Slowly, she began by removing

her contact lenses...

All right? Just dropped in to say hello.

Your friend the exporter isn't here?

Good, I wanted to tell you something
which is bound to amuse you.

The day before yesterday,
your Honorable Tradesman

bought a great big revolver
from the gunsmith on the square.

If I was you, one of you three,

I'd keep my eyes open.

A stray bullet sometimes finds a home.

I'm going to bed now.

So, to hell with the police.

To hell with loose women.

To hell with your laughter,
as he who laughs last...

Police.

If you don't mind,
I'll wait here for the rain to stop.

- I like my job.
- I like mine better.

- You're wrong. It's worse.
- That's why.

Takes all sorts to make a world.

Soon there will be
nothing but guilty people.

The Professor, the Doctor, the Exporter.
It can't be.

You need innocents as well as
guilty people to make a world.

And you? Let's talk about you.

You were better placed than the others
to shoot at Miss Lotte.

Yes.

But I was coming towards her.

Yes, there's the catch.
She would have seen you fire.

That doesn't mean
she would have betrayed you.

She's kept quiet about the Doctor
and that photo of them together.

And those nasty little jibes
against the exporter in your newspaper?

- Which tell me that...
- Me?

A social diarist paid by the line?

The page.

And Miss Lotte? Do you know her well?

Neither less nor more than you.
Rather less.

True. I did a little digging.

I like digging in the dirt.
That's what we have in common.

To move on from here,
we need a new fact to come to light.

I can bring it to light if need be.

Are you going to the bar?
I'll come with you.

Did you notice?
My cop's feet went slap in the slop.

Miss Lotte.

It's the third time she's been
to this sinister hotel since the murder.

And so...

She keeps very disturbing company,
Miss Lotte.

Yes. She has another rendezvous now.

Stop loafing and get the bottles.

I'm finishing my chapter.

- Can you repeat that? I didn't hear.
- OK, boss, it's finished.

- Look out, reflection.
- I've just seen the Inspector.

- And?
- In my view, he's swimming.

Treading water.
Going slap in the slop.

So he's flipped.

You're beautiful in that dress.

I know. Thank you.

I want you...

Well?

Out of the question.

Stupid tart.

- Have you read this?
- Get lost.

- I never read other people's articles.
- Pity.

A third anonymous letter.

I love anonymous letters.
What does it say?

It advises the police
to look for the Doctor's revolver

at a certain bar down by the port.

Hey porker, do you remember?

What's so funny?
Speak up, let us all enjoy the joke.

He was writing his rough draft
last night. It's obvious.

Something else is obvious.
Our dear Honorable Tradesman is afraid.

We must be wary of him.
Fear makes people mess up.

Sorry, I was going to say screw up.

Don't screw up,
dear Honorable Tradesman.

I saw you leaving the hotel.

I was with the Inspector.

- Beware, my lovely.
- I know, but don't worry.

And you, Nonentity?
What do you think of all this?

- Me, my good lady?
- Come now.

We all think something.
Even nonentities.

I think that everyone
in this affair is guilty.

That's what the Inspector says.

- But you?
- Me?

Since you ask,
I think that instead of the guilty,

we should seek out the innocent.

When we've found them all,
the very last one...

That's very well thought out
for a nonentity.

Why were you crying
last night in your room?

- How do you know?
- I dreamt it.

My dolls had decided to leave me.

Why?

They can't stand this place any more,
this climate.

But you're mistaken, I never cry.

You're lucky, you two, that I'm busy.

...end of the world...
- Make hay, my lambs!

- But don't push me too far.
...putrefaction, rats...

Venice eaten away by water.

Suddenly, in the midst of this disaster,
someone climbs on a chair and cries,

"The sea, my love,
see how beautiful it is tonight."

- Do you like him?
- Is it your cat?

- Yes.
- What's his name?

He doesn't have a name?

May I keep the photograph?

That way I would have one.

Tell me, darling,

what were you doing dancing around
that half-dressed beanpole?

Hang on a minute,
she was the one dancing around me.

- Hang on a minute, it's...
- It's?

It's not fair. Just a minute.

Explain it then, Mr. Minute.
Turn and face me. Don't I look nice today?

Mind you, what you said
wasn't at all stupid.

Find the innocent instead of the guilty.

Let's start looking. I'll begin.

I would rule out the little woman.
She's too...

Therefore innocent.

The Professor, as above.
Incapable of killing.

I can tell. He uses only his head.

To kill, you use your hands.

The Tradesman? No, not him.

No balls, no know-how. Innocent.

- No what?
- Know-how.

To have the know-how.

You really don't know anything,
you poor old wreck.

Never mind.

What do you want? Get out!
We're not open, we're closed!

- Can't you read?
- There's no sign.

Exactly. Get out, I tell you!

Shove off! There's nothing to see.

Where did he come from?

Let's carry on. The Doctor.

Well, in his case,
there's the photograph,

fingerprints on the lighter, and...

- Miss Lotte was in the photo too.
- Don't muddle me.

And the shots fired at your tart.

The revolver is really his, isn't it?

It's the Doctor, I tell you.
I'll take bets. Ten to one.

That would be great. They haven't
caught him yet, he's too clever.

- He's so clever.
- Bullshit, old girl.

Wait, I must have forgotten someone.

Oh, yes, the Journalist.
I always forget him.

Always fiddling
in that old tart's skirts.

One man is already guilty,
so the Journalist is innocent.

What are you looking at?

The Journalist is crossing the road,
looking right, look...

He's not looking...

I knew I would bring
a new fact to light.

Are you feeling better, Mr. Brilliant
analyst of our cultural life?

- What happened to me?
- A car.

When?

Yesterday. A few inches closer
and you'd have had it.

What did it have against me?

If you don't know
what a car has against you

when it comes at you at full speed,

and which swerves into you
when you try to get out of its way,

then I wonder what you do know.

Someone wanted rid of you.
As simple as two and two make two.

It's all too simple.

Don't you want to know who?

Just as well. If I told you,
you wouldn't believe me.

In truth, I don't know.

Witnesses saw that
it wasn't an accident.

But in this country, where everyone
is cautious, nobody saw anything.

Who, I don't know. But listen to this.

There was no progress on the case.

So yesterday I had the Doctor released.

He left the jail about 45 minutes
before you were knocked down by a car.

To tell you the truth,
the investigation has stalled.

But I want it to move forward.

I don't give a damn
about the dead man, who I don't know,

or the murderer, who I will know soon.

Only one thing counts.

That no one in this affair
should think that they've fooled me.

And why?
Because I want to come out on top.

And to do that, I will stop at nothing.

If need be,
I'll let you all be killed.

One after the other, all of you.

You want to know everything?

I have a plan in which each of you,
whether you want to or not,

plays a part.

- Bravo.
- It's an old trick.

In a trap, you tether a goat or a deer,
a sweet little deer.

The wild beast gets caught like a fool.

He can't avoid being caught.

He has to eat. He's hungry.

I hadn't thought of you, though.

As the second piece of bait.

And now, who?
Who's coming out to eat?

I'll wait here for the rain to stop.

Come to the bar. Quickly. Miss Lotte
has been poisoned. She's dying.

He's coming.

- Pity.
- Yes.

Pity.

He's everywhere at the moment.

In any case, our friend has been saved.

- The murderer missed a second time.
- A third time.

Doctor, we didn't see you yesterday
after the accident

which befell the nimble narrator
of our everyday tales of woe,

as the good Inspector would say.

My dear Professor,

take your maggoty little insinuations,
roll them between your fingers,

and stick them under the table.

Are you all right?
You don't look all right.

I'm very well. Very well indeed.

That's what I like to hear.

- Do something for me.
- What?

Please, invent something.
But hurry, the Inspector's coming.

I said no foreigners.

She's under age. It doesn't count.

And I'm not your mother, stupid bastard.

We have the same fingers.

Yes.

No, yours are a bit dirtier.

Look, that one's yours. It's dirty too.

No, that one's yours.

Oh, yes, I can move it.

It's mine.

You're beautiful.

You smell good, but you're rather dirty.

Your music is driving us bloody crazy.

- So what's happening?
- We'd been here a few minutes...

- We? Who's we?
- All of us.

Including our jewel of the press?

- When?
- When I was called to the...

Phone!

I was on the phone for a minute or two.

When I returned to my friends.
The Nonentity was bringing our drinks.

- The what?
- The Nonentity.

- What's a nonentity?
- It's me.

I see.

And then?

Miss Lotte came over to us.

She took the Honorable
Tradesman's glass.

Right.

- Miss Lotte likes to play with glasses.
- Right.

The Honorable Tradesman does too.

Right.

After a few mouthfuls, Miss Lotte
complained of violent pains.

Right.

- She fainted and I looked after her.
- As usual. And then?

- After some thought, we told you.
- What thoughts?

Those one has before involving someone

in something
which is none of their business.

Doctor, I'm sorry to say that yesterday,
the day of your release,

the incomparable under-deputy-
editor-in-chief of our local gazette

was the victim
of a strange traffic accident.

I'm sorry to tell you
that the day after your release

that Miss Lotte fell victim,
in the place of someone else,

to a second murder attempt.

It'll be daylight tomorrow.

I don't know if I'll detain the Doctor,
so watch yourselves.

Be careful.

I can do nothing for you,
but I can warn you.

Less than two hours.

"Strangled less than two hours
after the Doctor's release."

- Who was strangled?
- The Honorable Tradesman. At 3pm.

- A strangler!
- Strangled by a strangler. Amazing.

Come here, Nontinity.

Imbecile. Sit down.

Where are the others?
If it goes on like this, it'll be a bad year.

- The Doctor's been arrested.
- For good, this time.

The Professor
is being questioned by police.

Have you been questioned?

- Yes.
- Fascinating.

- And Miss... Lotte.
- I don't know.

He doesn't know. Ask him tomorrow.
Have you been questioned Miss Lotte?

- Yes, this morning.
- How did it go?

Very well. The Inspector was perfect.

Quite delightful.
He knows how to entertain.

Flipping heck.

If you're interested,

I was questioned again
early this afternoon.

Yes, yes, we're interested.

- The Professor?
- He arrived at the station as I left.

And the Doctor?

The Doctor has come to join you
at the bar. How are you?

Are you better?
Did you take your temperature?

In your adorable little backside.

As fit as a fiddle. From now on,
I'll take a little poison every morning.

Three bullets before each meal.
He'll give you a prescription.

I came to your house this morning,
but I didn't dare go up.

I went up, but I didn't dare knock.

I knocked, but I didn't dare go in.

I went in, but you weren't there.

- I was there, but I didn't dare appear.
- Why?

Are you afraid of me?

I'm always afraid of attractive men.

- What are we doing here?
- I don't know.

I think I'm dreaming
and I can't wake up.

Or I'm in someone else's dream.

We have to wait.

- Wait for what?
- The alarm.

You hear it?

A siren.

Perhaps my alarm clock,
but it's not loud enough to wake me.

- Or perhaps...
- Perhaps?

I'd like to enter another dream.
Leave this place.

- With me?
- That's right. Why not take my bed?

Will a napkin do?
50 francs a piece, minus the service.

Let's move on. Next!

Is it any good?

- Really?
- Hello, Inspector. How are you?

You'll understand nothing of this

unless you've read
at least one detective novel.

- The Professor isn't here.
- I think...

Reading detective novels,
not many, two or three.

The old-fashioned kind. A murder,
whodunnit, I liked those. I understood.

Bring that to me, right away.

People say "please" even to dogs.
Please, get the hell out of here.

Please, carry on. Have you understood?

In a crime, the one to whom
everything points is innocent.

Here you are, Professor.

Sorry, I started without you.
Have a seat.

Or stand.

As I was saying.
One crime, one guilty party.

Who is the most guilty in this case?
The one everything points to.

- The Doctor.
- So?

- So.
- The Doctor is innocent.

- You didn't say hello, Inspector.
- That's right. Innocent.

Question. Who is the murderer?
Which of you?

Answer.

Answer. I had to consult the dictionary.

Someone very twisted.
Not to say distorted.

Which is to say convoluted.

- Very well. And you?
- What's it to do with me?

Unless I'm being questioned,
in which case I demand a lawyer.

And why not?

It's very simple. Just before dinner,
poor Perceval is murdered.

The murderer slips a lighter
into his hand,

and he walks calmly to the quayside

to meet his friends here,
as he does each evening,

He shuffles the cards, deals them,

the game begins.

- One of us is really... rather disgusting.
- You said it.

The game begins

and overwhelming evidence piles up
against the poor Doctor.

Poor Doctor.

The Doctor.

Why him?

We mustn't forget to ask the murderer.

I'll write it down. "Do not forget."

I'm sorry, but I wasn't convinced.

Now listen to this.

The revolver is discovered.

Guess whose it is? The Doctor's.

And who, in a lovely anonymous letter,
I'm used to them,

makes this revelation?

Someone we know to be very cowardly,
and who is afraid.

Namely, the exporter.

The exporter, who you delightfully
call the Honorable Tradesman,

is strangled.

It's the ultimate proof
against the Doctor.

Knowing the game is up,
the Doctor takes revenge.

Or that's what I'm supposed to believe.

It's as easy as two and two...

All I have to do is arrest the Doctor,
half my work's been done for me.

In a few months,
the Doctor will be sentenced.

Thanks to Perceval, no more Doctor.
The perfect crime.

Half my work had been done for me,
but a mistake was made.

Because I'd read
a detective novel or two.

Lend them to me.

So I'd ruled out the guiltiest one.

There were only three of you left.

- And Miss Lotte.
- Finally.

Good evening, Miss Lotte.

Of those three,
the guiltiest was innocent.

Ruled out.

Of the two remaining, I was to disregard
the guiltiest and arrest the other.

Which is what I'm going to do.

You're beautiful.

- You think so?
- I believe everything I say.

- Sorry, where was I?
- You...

Please, do you mind?

The Doctor, therefore,

being the guiltiest, was excluded.

- Ruled out.
- Rejected, thrown out...

...discarded. You can't fool me.

Who's next?

- Miss Lotte.
- Staring you in the face.

Yes, the photograph.
The Doctor's accomplice.

Accomplice to an innocent man,
therefore innocent.

Can I take notes?

It's rather spurious, but...

Sniggering, I continue.

The Honorable Tradesman.
But here, I pause for a moment.

Go ahead. Don't mind me.

In a word, he is not dead.

He is not dead. Four.

I just called him on the phone.

Sit down. In place of the dummy.

A personal little mise en scéne.

Creation of a new fact.
It doesn't matter.

A new fact
aimed at troubling the murderer.

What's going on?

Psychological.

But on my list of guilty parties,
or innocents, as you wish,

where does the exporter stand?

Counting against him
is his attempt on Miss Lotte.

Remember his windows,
directly opposite.

Stamps, a collector's crime.

Possibly guilty, therefore innocent.

Next...

The Professor. He's rather suspect.

Also seen in the slum quarter
at the time of the crime,

and, after all, it was his lighter.

Too guilty not to be innocent.

Innocent, therefore.

And...

...everything considered...

- Everything considered...
- I'm the only one left?

The only one left was our well-informed
observer of juicy court cases.

You're not laughing so loud,
Mr. Fine Feathers.

Are you? I call that cynicism.
Don't you?

Allow me to explain.

Whenever something happened
in this case, he was nearby.

Not in the best place from which to act,
but in the second-best.

He was there,
he might have been elsewhere.

He was the most innocent of all of you.

So he was the murderer.

Didn't I say so earlier?
I've always said so.

He was not totally innocent, however.

He had no alibi
for the time of the crime.

The guilty party would have
made sure of an alibi.

So I'm sorry, it saddens me,

but the intrepid correspondent
of a few sorry pages is not guilty.

So who?

Which of you had an alibi?

None. Yes, one alone.

The Professor.

The Professor is the only one
who could prove his innocence.

Which proved that he was guilty.

I suspected him almost immediately.
Let me explain.

The Professor gave himself away
by being too perfect.

Yes, it's annoying.
One can never think of everything.

And now, the why and the how.

First, the how.

He leaves the school at around 4.45.

Has a shave
at the barber's by the station.

Just before the rain starts,
he sets off for the scene of the crime.

Tell me if I'm wrong.

You're wrong.

I sheltered from the rain
with a customs officer.

A lie. That was later.

You go on your way, for half an hour.

You're not likely to see anyone
in the downpour.

At the entrance to the hotel,
you meet the anonymous passenger.

Anyone, just off the boat,

whom a young beggar
has lured there for you,

and abandoned as the rain starts.

It's Perceval.

You suggest going into the hotel,
you know the place,

you're a professor, he trusts you.
Tell me if I'm wrong.

From then on,
things happen very quickly.

You remove his papers
so the police have to tread water at first.

Unluckily for you, I like treading water.

You leave your lighter
in the dead man's hand.

Well done, the first suspect
is rarely the right one.

The neighbors are busy.

And then there's the rain, the thunder.

But don't dawdle,
the rain will soon stop.

You take off your damp clothes,
you even remembered a towel.

I'd be surprised
if you'd forgotten a towel.

Then, nice and dry
and as cool as a cucumber,

you greet the customs officer.

- You agree?
- No, I was on the right.

If you wish.

After the rain,
you accompany him to the port.

And that's it. I call that a fine alibi.

Then you play cards
with your friends here all night.

- Like every other night.
- Wrong.

You came to get me that night,
we all came along.

Yes, me too.

- Yes, me too.
- Shut up. Not me.

That's right.
End of story.

And the Professor
will soon be booked.

- What do you say, Professor?
- Just one question.

Be my guest. Be our guest.

When exactly
did you know it was me?

I didn't know. You've just confessed.

In poker we say, "I was bluffing."

- In bridge, too.
- I don't play bridge.

- It's true. I mean... A bluff.
- Yes, all right.

A drink!

Your health.

- At your service.
- All right.

Now, the why.

Yes, why?

Inspector, honestly,

the two henchman who follow you
everywhere, day and night,

just once, haven't you felt like killing
one of them just because they're there?

Yes, sometimes.
The one on the right.

I don't know why.
Not the one of the left.

Come now, no politics here.

When you play a game of bridge
every evening, every night,

with the same four characters,
the same six,

believe me, you also end up
wanting to commit murder.

That's the reason I'm giving you today.
There may well be others.

OK. So you decided to use Perceval
to get to the Doctor?

Nice work.

And why the Doctor?

Why the one on the right
and not the one on the left?

I don't know.

- He annoyed me.
- Annoyed me.

That's how it starts. Someone annoys you
and you end up killing them.

That's life.

Some mysteries still remain.

The photograph, for example.

- Not at all.
- Really?

A nice piece of fakery,
using a photo of Perceval,

found in his wallet, no doubt.

Everyone knows, we know.

We know the Professor likes photos,
erotic ones, not that one.

I find that one very erotic.

Miss Lotte's presence is always erotic.

And there's the Professor's talent, too.

And the attempt on Miss Lotte,
isn't that mysterious?

To implicate me further, the Professor
makes you believe that I shot her.

Taking care to miss me.
Pity, he wishes me no harm.

But the blasted bullet
ricocheted off a bollard.

I almost killed her properly.

And the poisoning of Miss Lotte?

To frighten me, frighten me to death.

I could have seen him shoot
from my window.

Did you see him?

Yes.

It was the Doctor's revolver, however.

The Professor borrowed it from me.

Did he also borrow the poison?

Yes.

Harmless. I was careful.

Child's play, then.

The Professor arranges for a phone call
at a certain time, on whatever pretext.

- The Nonentity pours the drinks...
- And before hanging up...

...the Nonentity turns his back.

- The Professor empties a powder...
- Into the Honorable Tradesman's glass.

If I may, a final little nicety
which you haven't mentioned...

The first anonymous letter,
your presence in the slum...

At the time of the crime.

- Was it you?
- It was me.

Of course, it's like the lighter.
Bringing suspicion onto yourself.

And between ourselves,
the false murder of...

I liked it. I felt less alone.

Good. My turn.

- And him?
- Who wanted to kill me?

That's right. The rottenly
self-indulgent artistic critic.

That's right.
But I'm the only one who knows this.

No one. Sadly,
no one wanted to kill you.

Just a piece of luck for me.

Some drunken lightweight's car, which
we found in a ditch just outside town.

And talking of lightweight...

Do I dare? I dare.

It's quite late.

Never mind.

It'll be daylight tomorrow.
Coming, Professor?

If you come by the prison,
bring the cards. We can play a game.

They could have told me they knew.
I was right. Not decent people.

And you?

I am what is commonly
referred to as a little wanker.

Sorry.

Stupid bastard.

Will you play, Lotte?

I don't know how.

We'll teach you.

Yes.

No. Thank you.

You took your time, my friend.

Forgive me, Solange.

I was sweeping up.

I can't leave that bitch of a factory.

Home, Lucien.

Very good, sir.

Lowlifes.

The End