Murder by Death (1976) - full transcript

Despite not knowing him, the world's most famous detectives can't pass up the offer of a "dinner and murder" invitation from wealthy Lionel Twain. Each has no idea until their arrival at Two Two Twain who else will be in attendance. Those detectives are: amateur sleuths and New York socialites Dick and Dora Charleston, accompanied by their pet terrier, Myron; Belgian detective Monsieur Milo Perrier, accompanied by his chauffeur, Marcel; Shanghainese Inspector Sidney Wang, accompanied by his Japanese adopted son, Willie Wang; frumpish Brit Miss Jessica Marbles, accompanied by her invalid nurse, Miss Withers; and San Francisco gumshoe Sam Diamond, accompanied by his femme fatale sidekick, Tess Skeffington. The dinner part of the invitation runs into problems due to the non-communication between Twain's blind butler, Jamesir Bensonmum, and Twain's new deaf-mute and non-Anglophone cook, Yetta. On the murder side, the guests initially believe Twain will try to kill each of them. However, Twain eventually announces his rationale for the gathering: that one of the people at the dinner table will be murdered before midnight, and that Twain will consider himself the greatest detective if his guests, who are now trapped in the house until dawn, cannot figure out who committed the murder, that person also at the dinner table. If one does figure out who committed the crime, he/she will be the recipient of $1 million and the exclusive rights to the story. So the guests anxiously await the stroke of midnight, with those still alive after that time trying to figure out both motive and the opportunity to murder before the rise of dawn and before the murderer has the opportunity to strike again on one or all of them. - stop by if you're interested in the nutritional composition of food
- Do you think they'll come, sir?

- Oh, they'll come,
they'll come all right.

Here, stamp those and mail them.

- It's ringing.

Dear, would you walk Myron the other way.

My leg tends to look
like a tree in this fog.

- What a God forsaken spot to get lost.

- True, I saw a much better
spot a few miles back.



- Good.
- Hello?

- Tell them we're lost.

- Nobody answered, the phone went dead.

- Then why did you say hello?

- Funny, I could have sworn...

- What, Dicky?

- Sounded as though
somebody snipped the wire.

- Really, what did it sound like?

- Snip-

- Some bog, eh, Pop?

- I've already
heard the weather report,

and drive please.

- Boy, it's as thick as pea soup.

Not a soul around for miles.

Know what I think, Pop?

Perfect place for a murder.

- Conversation like
television set on honeymoon.


- Hey, where
we going anyway, Pop?

And who is this Mr. Twain who invited

you for the weekend?

And what did he mean
by dinner and a murder?

- Questions are like athlete's foot.

After a while, very irritating.

To stop car, please.

- What's wrong?

- Stop car please.

To shut engine off, please.


- I don't hear
nothing, what do you hear?

- Double negative and dog.

- So it's a dog, so what?

- If I'm not mistaken, dog belong

to Mr. Dick Charleston.

- Who's Dick Charleston?

- I am, thank you.

I say, you don't happen to have seen

a little white...


- 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, Wai.

- Hi.

- Japanese, but I thought surely you...

- Mrs. Wang and I could
never have children.

We adopted number three son.

- My pleasure,
be careful on this road,

it's treacherous.

- Treacherous road like fresh mushroom.

Must always.


Not finished mushroom story.

You are idiot.

- Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Perrier,

but I can see nothing.

This fog is as thick as bouillabaisse.

- Nuts.

- Beg your pardon?

- Nuts, nuts.

There are no nuts in my chocolate.

That stupid imbecile in the shop,

give you raisins when I
asked you to get me nuts.

- He didn't have any nuts.

- The man in the shop?

- That's the reason I took the raisins.

- Oh, nevermind.

We will soon be there for dinner.

Hot soup.

- Oui, monsieur.

Something is not right
in all of this, huh?

I can feel it in my bones.

- In your what?

- In my bones.

- Buns.

You have buns.

You bought buns and you didn't tell me?

Where are they, where are the buns?

- Oh, no, monsieur, the bones in my body.

- Oh.

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.

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 worry about you
sometimes, I really do.

- All right, cut the malarkey.

This trip is strictly business with me.

Now what do you got on this Twain guy??

- 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.

- Was arrested in 1932 in Chicago

for selling pornographic Bibles.

The DA couldn't make the charge stick

and the church refused
to turn over the Bibles.

There's nothing on 'em until '46,

when he was picked up in El Paso, Texas,

for trying to smuggle a truck load

of rich white Americans across the border

into Mexico to pick melons.

He was sent to the Dallas Day Hospital

for mental observation.

- I think we've picked
ourselves a queer bird, angel.

Anything else?

- Oh, yeah, get this, Sam.

Lionel Twain has one interesting
physical characteristic.

He has no pinkies.

- No pinkies?

You mean Twain has only got eight fingers?

- No, no, he's got 10.

He just doesn't have any pinkies.

- You did your homework good, angel.

- Thanks, Sam.

- Where'd you dig up all that stuff?

- Oh, I wrote to Twain and asked him.

- Good thinking.

- 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 gonna
be waiting for you, baby.

- Here's the bridge, Pop.

Doesn't look safe to me.

- One way to find out, drive across.

- Well, aren't you gonna come with me?

- Weight of two men maybe
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 gonna make it, Pop.

It's gonna collapse.

- Don't 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 the invitation,
what number of house?

- Two, two.
- Correct.

Two, two Twain's house, continue.

Did you see that?

- No.

- Neither did I.

Stop, do not move.

Something's 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 go great trouble
to make welcome guests

not so welcome.

Ring bell please.

- Are you nuts, Pop,
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?

- Oh, 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 so sorry, I thought you were in.

You are Mr. and Mrs. Charleston.

- Not quite, I am Inspector
Wang of Catalina Police.

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?

- Oh, 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.

- Oh, wait please.

What that?

- That, oh 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.

- Boy, it's a cold house.

- I've taken care of that, sir.

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

It's a bit smokey, 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 bathroom?

- It's behind the bed, sir, there.

Dinner will be at nine,

and Mr. Twain likes his guests to dress.

Ah, 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 when he did,

we never would have seen
that statue falling.

- Why, I don't think the statue

was meant to kill us, darling,

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, Dicky.

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, Dicky.

- 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
just follow me please.

Oh, 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.

- Oh, 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?

- Bensonmum, ma'am.

- Thank you, Benson.

- No, no, Bensonmum,

my name is Bensonmum.

- Bensonmum?

- Yes, sir, Jamesir, Bensonmum.

- Jamesir.

- Yes, sir.

- Jamesir Bensonmum.

- Yes, sir.

- How odd.

- My father's name, sir.

- What was your father's name?

- Howard, Howard Bensonmum.

- Your father was Howard Bensonmum?

- Leave it be, clear, I've had enough.

- Oh, 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.

Madame loved it here.

She said it was the
cheeriest room in the house.

Ah, the doorbell.

- That was Mrs. Charleston.

- I thought she was up here with us, sir?

- I am and I will not
stay in this horribly

filthy room overnight.

- Filthy, very well, madame.

I'll attend to it during dinner.

- Thank you, Bensonson.

- 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,

honestly, mechanical toy.


- 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, it is all over your face.

- Imbecile, that's my mustache.

- Lick it and see.

- Wipe it off, my hands are sticky.

- Hold still please.


- All in good time.


Who's there?

Who's there, I say.

Filthy neighborhood.

- Didn't I say jump, une, 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.


Answer me.

Speak up.

What's that?

I can't hear you.

A little shy, are you?


They will be 10 for dinner.

Here is the menu.

Is that understood?

Dinner will be at nine,

when I want you, that bell on the wall

will ring three times.

All right, get to work.

- Hello?

Hello, hello, 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?

- Bensonmum.

- 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.

- Oh.

- 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, Sam.

- Because I gave you a 50 dollar bill

and the gas was only five bucks.

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

I couldn't take that chance, angel.

- 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 nine, sir.

I'll have the maid
bring up your chocolate.

- Oh, one moment, my good man.

' Sir?

- Thank you, that will be all.

He's blind all right.

Those were my funniest faces.

- Not exactly the Copacabana, is it?

- I don't feel good about this, Sam.

Maybe tonight's the
night your luck runs out.

- Maybe so.

There's a number on the
wall for all of us, angel,

and 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 worked for

is lying out there, he's
been crushed to death.

I'm gonna faint, you catch me.

- Madame?

Madame, where are you?

- All right, hold it right there,

freeze, Bf inky, get your hands up,

turn your face to the wall.

All right, angel, you can get up now.

Turn around please.

Your concrete Christmas present arrived

about two seconds early,

no thanks to you.

- I apologize for any
unfortunate mishaps, sir.

May I put my hands down?

- Don't test your luck, Shakespeare.

I got your little invitation for 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 have 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

his limey pals like to
hang up on saloon walls.

- Please.

- He has a dreadful temper, hasn't he?

Nine o'clock, time for dinner.

Is everything ready, hm?

I don't smell anything.

Very light on the seasoning are you?

Put the soup in the
tureen and keep the squabs

on the 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, Dicky.

- No different than you
always look, darling,

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.

- Perrier.
- Charleston.

- I didn't know you were invited.

You know Wang.

- Ah, yes, I had the pleasure

of dining in Shanghai many years ago

with Inspector Wang.

- Hong ching chu kow dung woo fong.

- Oh you remember, yes.

- Hong ching ch...

- Kow dung woo fong.

- My wife Dora, Inspector Perrier.

- Tres charmant.

- I'm sorry, our room is so dusty.

- My fault, I should have blown first.

- Recovered from your accident, Marcel?

- Oui, monsieur.

But how did you know?

- From the way you bend.

The right side of your body smashed in

by a (I'm-Ben, 1 imagine.

I also thought I detected
a slight metallic sound

which leads me to believe you 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 blond.

- I beg your pardon.

- Mrs. Charleston's hair red.

You have blond hairs on shoulder.

That means she has dyed
red hair to blonde,

and back again to red or else

you have been...

Oh, so sorry, Wang is wrong.

Shall we go to dinner, please?

- Boy, Pop, you sure put your--

- Shut Japanese mouth.

- 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.

- Treacherous road like fresh mushroom.
- Hey, Pop!

I know, clogs stick tongue out of picture.

Treacherous road like fresh mushroom.

- 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 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.

- Oh, Sam, don't.

- Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart.

Ms. Skeffington doesn't like it

when I'm so brutally honest,

but then again, we're
all in a brutal business,

aren't we gentlemen?

- Never consider murder to
be business, Mr. Diamond.

- Is that right, Mr. Wang?

Well, maybe not for you,

seeing as how you put all your money

into vegetables back in the late 30's.

Maybe our friends here don't know

that you own over 50% of the beansprouts

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, angel?

- Right, Sam.

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

- For you, Mr. Perrier,

you work both sides of the big drink.

Pretty good pickings over there,

solving crimes for them barons and earls

and putting your fancy fees
into private Swiss banks.

Three trips a years buys
a lot of hot chocolate,

don't it, Frenchie?

- Now, see here, Diamond.

- No, 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 her gin martinis and your $300 suits.

That's a pretty nice arrangement

when all you gotta do is give your wife

a little grab every 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 to
go to finishing school.

My school is the streets

and looking down the
barrel of a pointed revolver

is my teacher.

I get $50 a day in expenses

when I can get 'em, gentlemen,

and I owe Ms. Skeffington here

three years and two months back pay,

isn't that right, angel?

- I don't care about the money, Sam.

- Neither do I.

Now if one of you gentlemen

would be so kind as to
give my lady friend here

a glass of cheap white wine,

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

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.

- Well, if you ask me,

I think the fellow's pretty damned honest.

- Dicky, language.

- Miss Jessica Marbles and nurse.

- Oh, Ms. Marbles, so we finally meet.

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

- Thank you, Mr. Wang.

I am Jessica Marbles.

This is Ms. Withers, my nurse.

She has been with me 52 years.

I have to take care of the poor dear now.

Are you all right, Ms. Withers?

Do you want your medicine now?

- Well, well.

- Ooh, ooh.

- She's off.

I could use a good stiff
shot, Mr. Charleston.

I believe the booze, as you call it,

is your department.

- My pleasure, madame.

- Who is the old geezer?

- Sam.

- Jessie, baby.
- Sam Diamond.

- 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
have done that at any time.

He's 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 the most beguiling

and charming man or to an
insidious, fiendish madman.

Bottoms up.

- One moment, please.

Point four, wine poisoned.

- What?
- What does it mean?

- An ancient tasteless, colorless,

and odorless Oriental herb.

Kills instantly.

Observe, please.

- Oh.

Great Scott, Mr. Wang,
you saved our lives.

- Not quite, Mrs. Charleston.

Bon appetit.

- No, no.
- Oh Jesus.

- Since Monsieur Wang was the only one

who could detect such a poison,

he was the only one who was tested.

Point five, Monsieur Twain is
both beguiling and fiendish.


- Oh.

Oh, get a doctor quick.

- No, no-it's alright.
My wine is not poisoned.

It was just a bad year.

- Good work, Mr. Wang.

We must be all 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,
monsieur, 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 how, Diamond,
that's a pretty tacky thing

to say, isn't it?

- Well, it's a pretty
tacky world, Mr. Charleston.

Isn't that right, angel?

- 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.

Oh, yes, I am famished.

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.

What do you think, Sam?

- I don't know, Jess,

why don't you ask the moose on the wall?

He's been watching us since we came in.

- 10 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, 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.

- Well, what's wrong with that?

She's your wife, isn't she?

- Exactly, at a proper dinner party,

the husband is never
seated next to the wife.

Actually I should be on the
opposite side of the table.

Mr. Wang, will you change places with me.

- 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.

- Turn on the lights.
- Get back.

- Silence, please.

Do not panic.

No person move from place.

- Someone just came into the room.

I hear footsteps.

- Oh, God.
- Wait, quiet, everyone.

I smell something.

- What is it?

- Good god.

Franks and beans.

- I'm afraid that's all we have, sir.

- Dicky, don't.

You know how I get when
you touch me there.

- Not me, darling, I
got my hands in my pockets.

- Oh.
- I'm afraid they're my pockets.

- Oh, sorry about that.
- Dicky, behave yourself.

- Good evening,
ladies and gentlemen.

I am your host, Lionel Twain.

- Good god, what an entrance.

- Oh, a bit theatrical, Ms. 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.

- 76 to be exact, Mr. Diamond.

How do I look so young?

Quiet 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 your wits to pit with,

know what I mean?

- Sam, you're spitting on the nurse.

- Sorry, old lady.

Crazy broad should be in bed.

- Mr. 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's 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, Ms. Skeffington?

- I'll tell you later, it's disgusting.

- In all your various adventures,

monsieurs and madames, 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

at the 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, please, 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 a driveway, we got business here.

You say you know who's gonna get it?

- Intimately.

- And you know how the
crime is to be committed?

- Definitely.

- And exactly what time
murder to take place?

- The murder, precisely.

- Well, I know it's none of my business,

but doesn't that mean that
you're the murderer, Mr. Twain?

- No wives, I refuse to
discuss this with wives.

- Dora's quite right, all fingers do seem

to point to you, 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 o'clock, amigos,

just one hour before death
strikes someone in this room.

See ya at midnight, toodle ooh.

- See here, Mr. Twain.

- He's gone.

- No, he's not, he's down there.

- Oh.

- Fast little bunny rabbit, ain't you?

- I never moved, Mr. Diamond.

I'm still down there.

A little stunt done with mirrors.

- Is that so?

Willing to risk seven years bad luck?

- Try it, Mr. Diamond.

- It's your funeral, butterball.

- Wait, 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,

there's a lot more upstairs than his hair.

- What do we all do now?

Just 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.
- Oui, monsieur.

- No, no one to leave this room.

- Why not, Pa?

- 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 giving my palm the finger,

the dirty, old broad.

- Naughty, naughty Ms. Withers.

- Good God.

- What is it?
- Look.

- What is she doing?

- I think she's screaming.

- What is it?

What's happened?

- Something wrong in kitchen.

- With our dinner.

- No, patience, 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, Dicky.

- We must investigate this, Wang.

Someone has to go.

- Not alone.

Mr. Charleston, Mr.
Diamond, stay with others,

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

- Oh.

Oh, that's right.

Just let it all out.


Oh dear.

- Careful Wang.


- Ah.


- Here, take my handkerchief.

- Is he?

- He looks 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?

- Poisoned.

West-ca pas?
- Non, n'est-ce pas. Cocoa.

- 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.


- Ah.

- One of the knives is missing.

The butcher's knife, I'll wager.

- That means the others
are still in danger.

- What is exact time, please?

- Yes, yes.

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.

- Wait a minute.

- Hankerchief.

- What is it?

- A bill.

Everything he has been
arranging for tonight,

the butler, the cook, the food,

the dining room chairs, everything.

- You mean?
- Yes.

This entire murder has been catered.

- Wow.

- It's Twain's doing, the man is 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.

- You didn't have to say dead butler.

It's bad enough I have to
put my hand in his pocket.

Holy merde.

- Ms. Skeffington,
Ms. Skeffington, Ms. Withers.

- He's gone.

- Who's gone?

- The butler, his body is missing.

Here is the key.

- If butler gone,

where you find key?

- In his pocket.
- What pocket?

- The butler's pocket.

- 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.

- Ah.

- 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, I
don't like it one bit.

- I like it but do not understand it.

Maybe other way out of
room, secret passageway.

- Wrong, there are no
secret passageways, Mr. Wang.

- You spoke?

- No.
- Not me.

- I spoke.

- Ah, there.

Voice come from cow on wall.

- Moose, moose, you imbecile!

- Where are they?

What have you done with the
others, you short madman?!

- Ah-ha, stumped already.

Need some clues, Monsieur Perrier?

- Clues, 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.

- Oh, be quiet, I'm sick
of your fortune cookies.

- Oh, man who is sick of fortune cookies--

- Did you hear what I just said?

- Is like so many Chinese restaurant.

- I just said I was
sick of fortune cookies.

- He gets sick of--

- Quiet, quiet, just, please.

- Cow talk again.

- In need of a hint, Ms. Marbles?

You all mistake what you assume,

they never left the dining room.

Count the numbers one to 10,

turn the knob and try

- What the devil does that mean?

They never left the dining room.

Certainly they did.

- Do not mistake what you assume just now,

quick, counting wrong.

- 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 possibly--

- Please, quiet,

seven, eight, nine, 10.

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

- Where were you, Wang?

We was worried.

- What do you mean where were we?

Where were you?
- We were here.

- Didn't you say not to
leave the dining room?

- And you have not left this room

since we were gone?

- Certainly not.
- No, monsieur.

- 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'd 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.

Oh, the moose head told us not to assume

that you had ever left the dining room,

so we counted to 10 and tried it again.

And here you were.

I'm not one to use hyperbole,
ladies and gentlemen,

but I'll tell you this,

the first time in my life,

I had the caca scared out of me.

- I like her.

I really like her.

- Gunshots, monsieur.
- Gunshots, Pop.

- Gunshots, Sam.
- Gunshots, Dicky.

- Huge.

- All right, 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.

- It, it is confusing.

Say your goddamn pronouns.

- Oh.

- 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?

- True, 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 standing guard.

- Why don't I stand guard,
you look all over the body.

- All right, we'll take turns.

You look over the first dead, naked body

that we find and I'll
look over the second.

Hurry up, we only got eight minutes.


You see anything?

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

Hold it, I see something.

- What is it?

- Oh, 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 our eyes,

bedazzles us with bizarre banalities,

while all the time precious seconds

are ticking away towards
the truly terrible

murder still to come.

- You're good, Charleston.

You're not my kind of cop,

but you're smart and you smell good.

You're not a pansy, I know that,

but what the hell are you?

- Classy, I suppose.

- Dames always fall for a
guy like you, don't they?

- I don't see what possible 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.

- Still not sure about this guy.

What are you doing?

- I had to wash my hands after...

- Good.

- I'll be out in a minute.

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

Well, you're never gonna
believe this, folks.

All right, where are you?

What the hell is going 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 closing that door.

- What happened?

- What were the gun shots?

- Did anybody leave this
room since we were gone?

- So it happened to you, too, Mr. Diamond?

- Where's my Dicky?

Sorry, where's my husband?

- Two minutes to midnight,

in case anyone is interested.

- It ain't possible, I'm telling 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 there's 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.

M-hm, m-hm, m-hm.

- I have it all figured out.

There are two of everything.

- Oh, Dicky, 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.

- 40 seconds.

I'm very worried about Monsieur Perrier.

- I'm going to look for him.

- No, sit please, no one to leave room.

- That's the other door.

- It's locked, I can't open it.

- Hurry man, we have 15 seconds.

- Move your hand, chauffeur.

- Don't ask.

- What are you doing in
the butler's uniform?

- I said don't ask me.

I don't know.

It all happened too quickly.

- The cook.

Where is the cook?

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

- 10 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.

- Oh, that's probably the cook, come in.

- Darling, the poor woman is stone deaf.

- I'm sorry, I forgot, come in.

- Not sound like cook to me.

Ah, 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, touch nothing.

We're all experienced criminologists.

I find it insulting,
debasing and redundant,

to keep telling us to touch nothing.

- Oh, be quiet, woman.

- Up yours, fellow.

- Most amusing, bickering detectives,

like making giant lamb stew,

everything goes to pot.

- Why don't you stop it.
- Be quiet.

- Please be quiet.
- I am.

I want you to know.

- Shut up, all of youse, nobody move.

Stay where you are, everybody.

- What is it?

- I have to go to the can again.

I don't wanna miss nothing.

- 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

are 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.

- Oh, what makes you certain of this, Sam?

- 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.

- Oh.

- Oh 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.

- The cook.
- A mannequin.

- No.

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 that 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.

- Give me the bottle, Sam.

- Excuse me.

- Been getting a headache, Dicky,

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 youse.

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

but I'm not falling for
any of you, you understand?

- 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 if off, Sam.

- I apologize, this case
is getting 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 darling, 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 would indeed be named the
world's foremost detective,

and with an ego like his,

the fact that he had to die for it

would be 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 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

was 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, Dicky, is this true?

- I didn't want to tell you now, darling,

I was saving it for your birthday.

- One million dollars would
buy great many tight suits,

would it not, Mr. Charleston?

- Now see here, Wang--

- What, dead broke, Dicky?

- Almost, darling.

I have $1.17 and some stamps,

but I did not murder Lionel Twain.

Now 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 Mr. Twain.

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

- 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 Ms. Jessica Marbles.

Mon dieu!

- 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, Frenchie?

- I'm not a Frenchie.

I'm a Belgie.

And as for other motives,

how about patricide?

- The killing of one's own parent?

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.

' 26?

What the hell kind of a circus was it?

- Forgive me, but I was
talking about patricide,

not unclecide.

Mr. Twain may have been
your uncle, Ms. Skeffington,

but he was the illegitimate father

of Monsieur Sidney Wang.

- It's 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, Mr. Perrier,

Lionel Twain killed the only thing

you ever loved, Mary Louise Cotille.

- Your sweetheart?

- My Doodle.

He was a most cruel man.

Monsieur Twain would come
to France every season,

to hunt poodles.

The clay they brought her
bloodied sequin 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 testing
our skills as detectives,

but we all have legitimate motives

for doing the old man in.

- I've 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 closed man, Mr. Diamond.

You hide many things.

Could it be that Mr. Twain
discover your secret?

- I don't know what you're talking about.

- We know different, do
we not, Ms. Skeffington.

- Twain picked up Sam in a gay bar.

- I was working on a case.

- Every night for sixth months.

- I got 50 bucks a day in 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 nothing to a man

that I wouldn't do to a woman,

and I didn't kill Twain.


- 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,

not to be trusted.

- POP-

- Yeah?

- Who do you think is the murderer?

- Must sleep on it.

Will know in morning when wake up.

- But what if you don't wake up.

- Then you did it.

Go sleep, please.

- Goodnight, Dad.

- Shut up, adopted pussy cat.

- Should I turn off the steam, Pop?

- NO' steam .

Someone just put deadly snake in the room.

Wake me when it come near bed.

- I want you to know, Dicky, 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 butchers
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, Ms. 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.


- 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 them think I'm a pansy.

While they're busy suspecting me,

one of them is gonna let his pants down.

- Sam, why do you keep all those naked

muscleman magazines in your office?

- Suspects.

Always looking for suspects.

What's that ticking sound I hear?

That ticking sound you hear, Mr. Diamond,

is a bomb in your room

that will go off in 30 seconds,

signed the murderer.

- Quick, Sam, the door.

- PS, the door is locked.

I'm sorry about this, Tess.

And me owing you all that money, too.

- Well, 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, baby, don't turn back.

- But Sam, if anything--
- Do as I say, angel.

- I will, Sam.

- Good.

'Cause I think I'm gonna cry.

I knew this clay, I'm having a bad day.

- What are you doing in my bed?

- Well, there's no place
else to sleep, monsieur.

- Sleep in the car, you
chauffeur, you, go, go, go, go.

- Oh, you are unfair.

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, a terrible toupee.

- A bomb, across the hall.

Quickly, the door, 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.

- Oh mon dieu, the ceiling is coming down.

What will 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.

- Oh, I hadn't thought of that,

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

- Oh, body made of plastic.

Same as plastic cook.

While we examined 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?

- Oh yes.

Irving Goldman was the attorney
of the late Lionel Twain,

and Lionel Twain died five years ago,

his body was recently discovered

in Goldman's filing cabinet.

Am I correct, Mr. Goldman?

- Yeah, correct, Ms. Marbles,

but how did you escape the poison gas?

- Quite simple, I covered my mouth,

and let Ms. 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 Metzler.

- Marvin Metzler.

- 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

on to a thing like that.

- Dicky, get the money and let's go.

- In a moment, darling.

Goldman was killed last
month while skiing.

He jumped 200 feet into
a low flying plane.

- Dicky, I can't wait much longer.

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

but how did you elude the deadly scorpion.

- Oh we didn't, he stung Dora.

We have 15 minutes to get to the doctor.

- Could you explain later, Dicky?

Let's go now.
- We'll make it, darling.

Never fear.

The prize money, Mr. Metzler.

- 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 the 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,

Ms. Twain, at dinner tonight,

I smelled your Chanel Number Five.

It was you who did away with all of them,

Metzler, Goldman, and your father.

In fact, if you had your way,

you would do away with all men,

would you not, Ms. 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, Ms. 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 Maxine'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.

Ms. Skeffington here dropped your bomb

down the john and blew
up just as she flushed.

The seat missed her head by an inch.

- I'm all right, JJ.

- JJ?

- 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.

Ms. Skeffington here is
actually Vilma Norman.

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

- Hi.

- Hello.

- Hi.

- Diamond hated all of you.

You were all getting the big money

and he had that crummy little
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 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 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 check out time, ladies and gentlemen.

I have your bills ready.

- Oh.

- Credit cards will be accepted.

- Then even the scorpion was 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.

- 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'll 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?

- All right, 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.