Murder by Death

- 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.

Hello?

Hello?

- 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.

Unnecessary.

- 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.

(suspenseful music)

To shut engine off, please.

Listen.

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

- Double negative and dog.

- 50 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...

Wang.

A white wang?

Good heavens, Sidney Wang.

What are you doing in this godforsaken spot.

No doubt, same as you.

Looking for bridge that lead to home of host,

Mr. Lionel Twain.

You, too, huh?

Must be important to invite two such eminent detectives?

- Excuse please, to introduce Japanese son, 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.

Idiot.

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.

Ah.

Even had correct shoe size.

Someone 90 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.