Biff Baker, U.S.A.

[referring to an athletic Englishman]

Louise Baker:
Honey, you're just jealous you didn't win a letter in cricket, too.

Louise Baker:
Mr. Allen is a very distinguished author.

Tommy Allen:
Hey, take it easy! I'm just a free-lance magazine hack. I get by on quantity, not quality.

Tommy Allen:
A story is a story, Mr. Mueller. I don't think my stuff will make anyone hate Germans... only Nazis - be they past or present.

[singing in a hotel room]

Biff Baker:
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

Louise Baker:
You're a fine one to mumble - we've never had a home.

Louise Baker:
Don't you ever get tired of living out of a suitcase?

Biff Baker:
Well, sometimes, but we have big suitcases.

Biff Baker:
Honey, I caught up with a letter from the folks last week. They said that little white house up in Connecticut still had a "For Sale" sign on it.

Louise Baker:
Honey, I don't want a house - I want a home... and that takes two people.

Biff Baker:
I haven't given you much a home life... dragging you onto planes and trains, hauling you from one hotel to another all over the world. I've often wondered how you could take it so long.

Louise Baker:
Because I'm lucky. Just think, half the people of the world would jump at the chance to travel like we do!

Biff Baker:
Maybe, but being on a permanent Cook's tour isn't really living.

Louise Baker:
But being together is.

Biff Baker:
We didn't see you at dinner.

Senor Rodriguez:
I was not hungry... headache.

Louise Baker:
That makes us even. You got yours before dinner.

[discussing Senor Rodriguez]

Tommy Allen:
Kind of a queer duck, isn't he?

Biff Baker:
First importer I ever met that didn't want to talk shop.

Louise Baker:
Biff, there's something wrong with that man. He gives me the creeps.

Biff Baker:
Well, he's no beauty.

Louise Baker:
He has the face of a man that could commit murder.

Tommy Allen:
Hey, you two sound like a couple of mystery writers! Quit poaching - that's my racket.

Tommy Allen:
How about a game of three-handed cards.

Biff Baker:
Your deck I suppose?

Tommy Allen:
Well, naturally. You don't think I make a living writing, do you?

[first lines]

Major Morovik:
If you are not a spy, why were you flying over Czech territory?

Captain Barrow:
How many times do I have to tell you? I got off my course, ran out of fuel and had to crash-land.

Major Morovik:
A very convenient explanation.

Captain Barrow:
It wasn't very convenient for me.

Captain Barrow:
The only information I'll give you is my name, rank and serial number - and I insist you notify the United States Air Force.

Major Morovik:
I already have, Captain.

Captain Barrow:
Good. Then leave me alone.

Major Morovik:
Your headquarters has been officially advised that you were killed in the plane crash. You know longer exist, Captain Barrow. Shall we talk?

Major Morovik:
Your performance is not very convincing. Suppose you drop the act.

Biff Baker:
Then suppose you tell me where my wife is!

Major Morovik:
In Germany, of course. She crossed the border this morning with a man carrying your passport. You exchanged places with Captain...

Biff Baker:
Go on, Morovik. Captain who?

Major Morovik:
With a prisoner of my government.

Biff Baker:
You weren't going to say "Captain Barrow" were you? It must have been a slip of the tongue. You couldn't accuse me of changing places with a dead man, could you?

Major Morovik:
I'm afraid I will not be able to oblige you.

Biff Baker:
You better think it over.

Major Morovik:
I have thought it over. Our records show that Biff Baker and his wife left Czechoslovakia today.

Biff Baker:
Now wait a minute...

Major Morovik:
How could I possibly arrange for an exit visa when I don't even know who you are, Mister -Mister Whatever-your-name-is.

Tom Davenport:
I'll give you each a Marseilles. This cocktail is a special creation of mine. I call it that because, like the city, it has everything: warmth, intrigue, wickedness, coldness and, as you can see, beauty.

Tom Davenport:
Oh, you speak French?

Biff Baker:
Oui!

Louise Baker:
Oh, don't over do it, honey. After crepe suzette, boujour and Simone Simone, he's finished.

[discussing Davenport's mansion]

Biff Baker:
It must have sixteen rooms! How does he keep it clean?

Louise Baker:
You buy the house, I'll run the vacuum cleaner.

Anna, Joseph's Mother:
No, my son. If we have to wait another year, or even if we have to go back to Poland, we will do it. We are poor, but we are not thieves.

Joseph:
But I am a thief!

Louise Baker:
Wasn't a wonderful dinner, Biff?

Biff Baker:
Yeah! Swell floor show, too.

Louise Baker:
'Course, I wasn't always sure what we were ordering, but it turned out fine. What dish did you like best?

Biff Baker:
Well... Fifi, the third blonde from the end.

[Biff tries to help the Anna, whose diamond ring was stolen during a grey-market sale gone sour]

Joseph:
It's my fault! It's all my fault! But I'll get the ring back.

Anna, Joseph's Mother:
Yes! We go to the police!

Biff Baker:
Oh, I'm afraid you can't Mrs. Wyndless. You see, in a grey market deal, both the buyer and seller are outside the law.