Michael Shayne

[Shane is called into a meeting]

Michael Shayne:
Be back in a few minutes. Circulate around and try to make yourself conspicuous, Tim... as if you could avoid it.

[Tim and Lucy are visiting a casino]

Tim Rourke:
Come on, Lucy, I want you to meet a friend of mine.

Lucy Hamilton:
Who's that?

Tim Rourke:
Well, he's got three holes in his head and he swallows quarters.

Lucy Hamilton:
He sounds like he needs a doctor!

Tim Rourke:
Oh, I don't know. He's done pretty well with only one arm.

[Shane has tricked Barbizon into giving him an IOU belonging to a client]

Joe Barbizon:
Shane, I think you have something of mine.

Michael Shayne:
If you want it, Joe, you'll have to take it. That might cause a little commotion. Your customers might not like a floor show.

Tim Rourke:
Come on, Mike. Give.

Michael Shayne:
Patience is a virtue, Tim.

Tim Rourke:
In my book, so is curiousity.

Joe Barbizon:
Who invited you, Shayne?

Michael Shayne:
The door was open.

Joe Barbizon:
An oversight I'll have to correct.

Lucy Hamilton:
He had us tied and gagged in the other room. We heard Michael come in, but there was nothing we could do about it.

Janet Brice:
I thought Dr. Thompson was Mr. Shayne since he impersonated him on the boat and then, well, as soon as he put me in the car, he threatened Miss Hamilton and me with a gun.

[last lines]

Lucy Hamilton:
Are you *absolutely sure* that you don't remember anything that happened between you and that girl?

Michael Shayne:
Angel, do you know what I think would be nice?

Lucy Hamilton:
No. What?

Michael Shayne:
A little cruise on the Caribbean... moonlight on the water, soft music...

[Mike leads Lucy from the room]

Dick Hamilton:
You know, I think my sister is just a little gullible.

Tim Rourke:
Deadly.

Dick Hamilton:
Mike, you wait and see. Miss Neptune will be either Gay Dennis or Sally Dean.

Birdie Summers:
Well, Mike darling, do you consider my client's body worth guarding?

Michael Shayne:
Sorry, Birdie. I gave up bodyguard work when I gave up bubblegum.

Dick Hamilton:
That's right, Mr. Gentry. Stabbed in the back with a pair of scissors. Yeah, but don't worry, Mike's got it all under control.

Police Lt. Gentry:
We'll be right there.

Police Lt. Gentry:
[to himself] Mike? What the devil's he doing in a beauty contest?

Birdie Summers:
Oh, wait a minute, precious. You don't think Gay performed that little dagger dance?

Michael Shayne:
You said the Dean girl threatened your client. Now was that the truth or more bait for a headline?

Birdie Summers:
Mike, darling, I would gladly sacrifice my second and my third husband to science for the sake of publicity, but I do draw the line somewhere.

Michael Shayne:
Did Kayle threaten Gay?

Birdie Summers:
Sally did and so did Benny Weems.

Michael Shayne:
Who's Benny Weems?

Birdie Summers:
Oh, a little cherub with cauliflower ears and brass knuckles. Mort Kayle apparently assigned him to see to Sally's welfare.

Michael Shayne:
He killed Sally?

Birdie Summers:
It's possible.

Michael Shayne:
What reason would he have? You said he was supposed to be guarding Sally not kill her.

Birdie Summers:
Maybe she was two-timing Kayle. Maybe Weems was ordered.

Michael Shayne:
A professional torpedo using a pair of scissors? Nah, he'd be laughed out of the regiment.

Michael Shayne:
Look up the address of the Springtime Flower Shop. Stop by there and find out who sent one dozen long stemmed roses to a Miss Gay Dennis here at the Club Tropicale.

Lucy Hamilton:
Is this romance or trouble?

Michael Shayne:
Both! I turned down a job and turned up a murder.

[Gentry is investigating a murder at a beauty pageant]

Michael Shayne:
Hi, Will.

Police Lt. Gentry:
It's no use, Mike. With your legs, you'll never make the finals.

Michael Shayne:
I can dream, can't I?

[examining a lovely, but dead, competitor]

Police Lt. Gentry:
Tough way to lose a beauty contest.

Mort Kayle:
Who done this? Tell me how it happened.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Suppose you tell us.

Mort Kayle:
You think I done this? You think I'd pull the string on a girl like Sally?

Police Lt. Gentry:
You pulled lots of strings before.

Mort Kayle:
That was years ago. I run a good, clean investment business now.

Michael Shayne:
You still got a few enemies left, Kayle. Would any of them try to get to you through Sally?

Mort Kayle:
My enemies, like you call 'em, there'll all legit now. Some of them, they're even me clients. They wear blue suits with white shirts without shoulder holsters.

Michael Shayne:
You didn't find those scissors here; you put them here to frame Gay.

Ellen:
That's a pure-blooded lie!

Michael Shayne:
Gay's been in police custody, Ellen. She hasn't had time to steal the scissors.

Ellen:
And I suppose I knocked myself on the head and knocked me unconscious, too.

Birdie Summers:
[sarcastically] Ellen, dear, how versatile you are!

Birdie Summers:
[referring to Ellen] Did someone really slug that southern-fried chicken?

[reading a card that came with a box of roses]

Birdie Summers:
"Be beautiful for me." Oh, that's a touching sentiment, Mike. Are you writing your own dialogue these days?

Michael Shayne:
It was sent to Gay Dennis. Any idea who her suitors are?

Birdie Summers:
Only every American male over the age of twelve.

Michael Shayne:
This card came in this box of roses...

Birdie Summers:
What roses?

[Mike turns around and discovers the box of roses has been stolen from Gay's dressing room]

Michael Shayne:
Yeah. What roses?

Mort Kayle:
I hope you got an angle, Shayne. That five grand's getting' cold.

Birdie Summers:
Snap to it, Michael. When Mort Kayle orders a miracle, he wants immediate delivery.

Mort Kayle:
You shut up.

Birdie Summers:
Point that cigar the other way, lover. It might go off.

Ellen:
I do declare, you two fuss and fume like old married folk.

[answering phone]

Police Lt. Gentry:
Homicide, Gentry. Yep, he's here Lucy.

[Gentry hands Mike the phone]

Police Lt. Gentry:
Try to remember I'm a public servant, not yours.

Michael Shayne:
I'm trying. I may hire you yet.

Michael Shayne:
And when he heard Ellen coming, he hid and slugged her as soon as her back was turned.

Lucy Hamilton:
I don't know. It takes a special kind of guy to be that cheap... and that brutal.

Michael Shayne:
Know any?

Lucy Hamilton:
No, thanks!

Michael Shayne:
Who sent her those roses?

Birdie Summers:
She grew them herself.

Lucy Hamilton:
We happen to think it was Mort Kayle.

Birdie Summers:
[chuckling] Mort Kayle? Mort Kayle and Gay? That's the most amusing thing I've heard in years! Lucy, sweet you are, charming - but Mort Kayle and Gay? [breaks into peals of laughter]

Lucy Hamilton:
One more giggle and I'm going to poke her right in the nose.

Michael Shayne:
Kayle didn't seem to think it was quite so funny.

Birdie Summers:
Oh, Kayle didn't tell you that.

Michael Shayne:
He's a client of mine. He's trying to level with me about everything.

Birdie Summers:
Mort Kayle is about as level as a cobblestone street.

Michael Shayne:
Mort... Vinnie Weems. Where does he fit in?

Mort Kayle:
I already told you once. He was her escort, her bodyguard... her man Friday.

Michael Shayne:
Also Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday?

Michael Shayne:
[to Kayle] I put my reputation on the hook when I took you as a client. Now you level with me or I'll hang you on the hook with it!

Michael Shayne:
According to Kayle, Sally Dean was going to be the next Miss Neptune - positively for sure. Those were his own words.

Tim Rourke:
Was he talking like a fixer or a man in love?

Michael Shayne:
He's a lot more capable of a true fix than a true love - but how?

Tim Rourke:
Bribe the judges maybe?

Michael Shayne:
That's practically impossible - three of the top people in their field.

Tim Rourke:
Oh, I don't know, Mike. Hilda Lord used to be a top designer, but she's over the hill now. Rudy Bordeaux - he's a good commercial artist, but he'd draw anything from flies to a beer for a quick buck. And Bruce Godfrey - he's produced three commercial flops in a row.

Mort Kayle:
Hey, Shayne - you really believe I'm innocent, don't you?

Michael Shayne:
Yeah. It surprises me, too.

[a cop grabs Kayle by the arm to lead him back to his cell]

Mort Kayle:
Easy, buster! You're dealin' with an innocent man.

Michael Shayne:
Those old scorecards the judges use... Wonder what happens to them when they're through with them?

Lucy Hamilton:
Oh, they probably throw them away.

Michael Shayne:
Let's go for a little walk.

Lucy Hamilton:
Mr. Shayne walking out on a stage of beautiful girls? You're getting older than you think.

[Mike and Lucy start rummaging through the nightclub's trash cans]

Lucy Hamilton:
Mike, what am I looking for?

Michael Shayne:
Old scorecards.

Lucy Hamilton:
Huh. Well, it's always nice to have a hobby.

[last lines]

Lucy Hamilton:
And you spent my twenty bucks on the wrong girl.

Dick Hamilton:
Sis, ah, do you have another twenty bucks?

Lucy Hamilton:
What for?

Dick Hamilton:
I got a date with the new Miss Neptune right after the pageant.

Lucy Hamilton:
Oh, no!

Michael Shayne:
Richard, my boy, I've been underestimating you. Here.

[Mike hands Dick a twenty-dollar bill]

Michael Shayne:
Now if you get a chance, put in a good word for me, huh?

Dick Hamilton:
Yes, sir!

Trina De Witt:
Sorry, Wally, but you're one luxury I can't afford.

Trina De Witt:
You can afford anything you want!

Trina De Witt:
Right! And I don't want you.

[Trina, a best-selling mystery novelist, claims her husband was killed by falling on an ice pick - but the man's body has disappeared before the police arrived]

Trina De Witt:
He was right there... and he was dead! The ice pick was right here.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Ice pick, Miss DeWitt?

Trina De Witt:
Yes, an ice pick. He slapped me. I grabbed it just to scare him away Well, he took it from me. I ran for the door, then I heard this crash...

Hughes:
Bathroom's empty; so's the bedroom.

Police Lt. Gentry:
No reporters, no photographers... no press agents?

Hughes:
No corpse, either.

Police Lt. Gentry:
No sign of a struggle, no blood on the floor ? and no ice pick.

Police Lt. Gentry:
When she comes to, send her home. Better yet - to a good psychiatrist.

Tim Rourke:
All right, Cupid, what gives?

Michael Shayne:
Can you keep her occupied for a few hours?

Tim Rourke:
Well, I can give it a try.

Michael Shayne:
I mean as long as possible. And if you have to leave her, drop her off at Lucy's apartment.

Lucy Hamilton:
I live in a respectable building.

Michael Shayne:
All right, so you sneak her up the back way.

Lucy Hamilton:
What do we talk about?

Michael Shayne:
Girl talk. Now somewhere in GoGo's air-conditioned brain, she may have the answers that I'm looking for.

[Lucy has found the lipstick to match the shade Mike found on a cigarette]

Lucy Hamilton:
Do you like it?

Michael Shayne:
Like what?

Lucy Hamilton:
The lipstick, silly - "Tickle Pink"

Michael Shayne:
It looks expensive.

Lucy Hamilton:
It is - kiss proof, smear proof, scented with rare and exotic perfumes, French import and ten bucks a copy.

Michael Shayne:
Yeah, it looks better on you then it does on the cigarette.

Murray Holt:
Sometimes I wonder why I ever got into this rat race.

Michael Shayne:
Rat race is right and you're way out in front.

[Tim leaves Mike's office with a stripper to continue his research]

Tim Rourke:
We're doing a Sunday feature.

Michael Shayne:
[to Lucy] It may never get into print, but it should make quite a story.

Marty Maxwell:
You know, of course, that I've been married four times.

Michael Shayne:
Ah, I've heard rumors.

Marty Maxwell:
Exactly. Well, I'm going to try it again.

Michael Shayne:
Do I offer congratulations or condolences?

Lucy Hamilton:
Mr. Shayne?

Michael Shayne:
That's right.

Lucy Hamilton:
The employment agency sent me. My, we do need help.

Michael Shayne:
Well, sit down, Miss...

Lucy Hamilton:
Lucy. Lucy Carr.

Michael Shayne:
Lucy, huh.

Lucy Hamilton:
I do hope the job isn't taken.

Michael Shayne:
Well, as a matter of fact, it isn't. You, ah, take shorthand, I suppose.

Lucy Hamilton:
A hundred and twenty words a minute.

Michael Shayne:
Well now, that's refreshing. And typing?

Lucy Hamilton:
Eighty five words a minute. I typed my thesis at the university. It's titled, "The Criminal Potential in Our Complex Age". I have it right here.

Michael Shayne:
Oh, I'll take your word for it, Lucy.

Lucy Hamilton:
I'm really very interested in crime and all its aspects, Mr. Shayne.

Michael Shayne:
Well, I'm sure you are, Lucy, but, ah, you see in this business, we sometimes see, well, the seamy side of life. Some of the people we bump into aren't, ah, well, they're not always quite so... nice.

Lucy Hamilton:
I know what you're thinking, Mr. Shayne. You're thinking I'm very young. I'm really not. I know people, Mr. Shayne. I studied sociology and I read the Kinsey Report!

Michael Shayne:
Well, Lucy, with a background like that, how could I say, "No".

Marty Maxwell:
Ginny, I'd like you to meet Mr. Shayne. He's a private investigator.

Ginny:
Really?

Michael Shayne:
But I'm not in uniform tonight.

Marty Maxwell:
I want the gentlemen to meet some of our other guests.

Ginny:
[referring to Maxwell's other ex-wives] Speaking of our other guests, we oughta to form a union.

Marty Maxwell:
Well, it would be the nicest picket line in the world.

[at a party, Maxwell sits down with his four ex-wives]

Marty Maxwell:
And now, I think we should call our little meeting to order. By the way, we'll dispense with the minutes and go directly to new business.

Sylvia:
Why, Marty, when did you find time to learn Parliamentary procedure?

Sylvia:
You see what I mean? She doesn't know any two-syllable words.

[Mike's client has been murdered]

Michael Shayne:
I'll do some checking myself. If I find anything, I'll let you know.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Now wait a minute. Since when do you do work without a client?

Michael Shayne:
I was hired yesterday, remember? Marty hired me to protect his life.

Police Lt. Gentry:
He's dead. What can you do?

Michael Shayne:
Cash his check and find his killer.

Greta:
I take it you don't ageee with the police that, how shall I say, Ginny's death wasn't an accident?

Sylvia:
You take it correctly.

Cathy:
I was told she'd been drinking. She could have fallen.

Sylvia:
Oh, come now. If Ginny had fallen every time she'd taken a drink, she couldn't have been able to move... and she had good legs - both of them hollow - but good legs.

Lawyer:
Can't you understand, Greta, that I only did it for you!

Greta:
Oh, how sweet. Nobody does anything for themselves any more. They always do it for somebody else.

[after Greta slaps the lawyer, the lawyer smacks her in return]

Greta:
My mistake. Only slap gentlemen - the other kind slaps back.

Fred Palmer:
I didn't tell Nan I called you. It would only make her more upset.

Michael Shayne:
Did you find out what caused her to faint last night?

Fred Palmer:
She said she saw someone in the house - a man.

Michael Shayne:
Do you believe her?

Fred Palmer:
I don't really know what to believe. I'd like to think she's just imagining things... but someone did open that trunk. I didn't tell Nan this, but the fuse wasn't burned out. Someone had pulled the master switch.

Michael Shayne:
You'd like me to find out who he is.

Fred Palmer:
I want you to find out who he is, what he wants, who emptied that trunk and why.

Michael Shayne:
Well, if I were you, I think I'd call the police. Their rates are a lot cheaper than mine.

Taffy Tobias:
I simply don't understand married women. Do you?

Michael Shayne:
I don't have to.

Taffy Tobias:
They're so possessive don't you think?

Michael Shayne:
Married women or women in general?

Taffy Tobias:
All women... except me.

[Taffy wraps her arms around Mike's neck]

Michael Shayne:
Ever try a telescope?

Fred Palmer:
Oh, I'd better get dressed for our dinner date. Do I dare leave you here alone with Taffy?

Michael Shayne:
Taffy's leaving, too.

Taffy Tobias:
Coward!

Taffy Tobias:
The only person who was popular with Mr. Moon was Mrs. Moon. He worshiped the ground she walked on.

Michael Shayne:
And he probably buried her under it.

[Mike is trying to pick a lock on a large trunk]

Michael Shayne:
Come on, Taffy. Let's get this closer to the light. C'mon, shove.

Taffy Tobias:
[grunts] I'm the seductive type. You're forcing me to step out of character.

Michael Shayne:
Shove!

[discussing Moon's dead wife]

Michael Shayne:
You must have loved her very much.

Dana Moon:
She was the most beautiful thing I ever owned.

Michael Shayne:
You'll have to be my hostage.

Dana Moon:
Sorry, I have other plans.

Dana Moon:
I'm not a killer!

Michael Shayne:
That gun doesn't make you look like a boy scout.

[Taffy saves Mike's life by pistol-whipping his assailant]

Michael Shayne:
Big help you were giving me an unloaded gun.

Taffy Tobias:
Silly, you were using the wrong end.

[last lines]

[rummaging through the day's mail]

Michael Shayne:
The gas bill... electric... Harry's Bar and Grill... Pete's Tavern... a letter from Fred and Nan Palmer!

Lucy Carr:
Do they send bills, too?

Michael Shayne:
I hope not. Ah, they sold that old hard luck house for a good price, put the profits in the bank and moved in with mother.

Lucy Carr:
I thought he couldn't stand her mother?

Michael Shayne:
This is *his* mother.

[grabbing Shayne by the shirt]

Vinnie Pico:
You gotta take this job!

Michael Shayne:
Careful, Junior. You're wrinkling my skin.

[after Mike slugs Pico, Lucy knocks him out by hitting him with one of her high-heeled shoes]

McCord:
Good thing you don't wear snowshoes. He'd never get up again.

Lucy Hamilton:
Oh, I had a little bit of help.

[although Shayne alibis for him, McCord arrests Pico anyway]

McCord:
Alright, lets go.

Vinnie Pico:
What for?

McCord:
We'll start with double parking and work our way up.

Michael Shayne:
You can forget Vinnie's confession, Will. I've got a better one.

Will Gentry:
Hmm?

Michael Shayne:
We've got a better one.

Connie Pico:
Not better - just a little more truthful.

[last lines]

Tim Rourke:
Hey, Mike. What tipped you to the shoe bit?

Michael Shayne:
Lucy. When she started waving her shoe like a shillelagh, the light bulb went on.

Joe Demarest:
I still don't dig it.

Michael Shayne:
When Connie showed up after the murder, she was wearing a blue dress with blue shoes.

Tim Rourke:
Great. Now he's a couturier.

Michael Shayne:
Oh now, Tim. Don't use that kind of language around Lucy.

Lucy Hamilton:
What Mike means is she was wearing a blue dress with shoes to match.

Michael Shayne:
That's right. And when I saw her up in her room, she'd changed shows to a pair that didn't match.

Lucy Hamilton:
Nobody who's anybody would be found dead in shoes that didn't match an outfit.

Joe Demarest:
Say, Tim. I got a plaid jacket at home that I wear with suede shoes.

Tim Rourke:
Burn it, kid.

[Mike has been accidentally shot in his posterior with a spear gun]

Tim Rourke:
Headline: "Famous Detective Meets Sad End".

Nurse:
Are you coming to see Mr. Shayne?

Tim Rourke:
Well, that was my original intention, but I could be sidetracked very easily.

Nurse:
Sorry, sir. Sidetracking isn't one of my duties. Are you a doctor?

Tim Rourke:
Well, in a way, in a way. Let me put it like this - I specialize in eye, ear, nose and throat and you have a combination they forgot to tell us about in med school.

Nurse:
Maybe you didn't study hard enough.

Tim Rourke:
Well, in that case, how's my patient doing?

Nurse:
Much better than you are.

[first lines]

Dusa:
Adam, please!

Adam Quick:
Go home.

Dusa:
Adam, listen. If you just want to hit somebody, hit me!

Adam Quick:
Later.

Dusa:
Adam, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have sold the painting.

Adam Quick:
That's right.

Adam Quick:
Graves, you sold my painting to be used as an advertisement.

Paul Graves:
Adam, when I buy a painting, I dispose of it as I see fit. It just so happened that I knew they were looking for something that represented stomach distress.

Adam Quick:
Thanks a lot, Mike, for paying my fine, but I am not budging.

Tim Rourke:
Adam, be reasonable for a change.

Adam Quick:
I am going into that courtroom, I'm going to have a jury trial and I'm going to let the whole world know what that chiselin' Graves did to me. If they don't give me a good conduct medal for workin' him over, I'm takin' it to the Supreme Court.

Michael Shayne:
All right, we don't blame you for being sore.

Tim Rourke:
But staying in jail is no good for you. It's no good for Dusa.

Adam Quick:
It's the principal of the thing! Has an artist got any rights or hasn't he? Thoreau went to jail for what he believe in. Mahatma Gandhi went to jail for what he believed in, didn't he? Okay, what's good enough for them is good enough for me.

Tim Rourke:
I gather he doesn't share his father's enthusiasm for art.

Claire:
His enthusiasms wouldn't interest you, Mr. Rourke. They're unprintable.

Vincent Rinker:
Well, if Adam Quick is so good, why isn't he represented by a gallery?

Tim Rourke:
Well, Adam isn't the easiest man in the world to get along with, sir.

Vincent Rinker:
That gives us one thing in common.

Michael Shayne:
[to Lt. Gentry] You know, I learned something from Adam. What you see in a picture depends on the guy who's looking at it.

Michael Shayne:
What about Joe Demerest? How are his scruples?

Tim Rourke:
Adjustable.

Michael Shayne:
Tell him I want to see him right away.

Lucy Carr:
And they really did get married?

Michael Shayne:
So now Claire's not a cultural adviser, she's a wife. She doesn't advise, she commands.

[last lines]

[Adam has painted Mike's portrait using abstract art techniques]

Dusa:
It's the way Adam sees you.

Michael Shayne:
That's what frightens me.

[Shayne has been hired to investigate a murder]

Dick Hamilton:
All right, where are we going now.

Michael Shayne:
Back to the theater.

Dick Hamilton:
Good.

Michael Shayne:
After I drop you off.

Dick Hamilton:
Why? I'm not tired!

Michael Shayne:
You know what they say about early to bed and early to rise.

Dick Hamilton:
It makes a good milkman.

Tim Rourke:
I hope you don't mind me turning your couch into a bed. I'm so tired, the sheep where counting me.

[bringing coffee to Mike and Tim]

Lucy Hamilton:
Room service.

Michael Shayne:
Thanks, Angel.

Lucy Hamilton:
I brought some for you, too, Tim.

Tim Rourke:
Aw, let's elope!

Lucy Hamilton:
Well, you better taste it before we start making plans.

Michael Shayne:
Hello, Webster.

Webster:
Just put up the 'Closing' notice. Ohh, the saddest thing in the world, shutting down a theater. You know, in the old days, their were touring companies, Shakespeare... My father and I used to have this place booked solid every night.

Michael Shayne:
And now?

Webster:
I'm lucky to get a houseful of termites.

Michael Shayne:
You know, Emily Tallen hung around the show a lot. Do you think she was interested in Gus Hartman?

Webster:
Gus? Never! No, Emily Tallen's so snooty she doesn't even like herself. The Tallens only talk to the Poindexters and the Poindexters talk only to themselves.

[discussing Emily Tallen]

Webster:
Look, friend, you want to ask any more questions, you come back at two o'clock, because, um, I gotta head down to the bank; pay off the lady athlete.

Michael Shayne:
Give her my regards.

Webster:
She'd rather have money.

[Gentry's timely entrance allows Mike to disarm the killer]

Michael Shayne:
Glad you got here.

Police Lt. Gentry:
I've been in the wings since you started talking.

Michael Shayne:
Why'd you wait so long?

Police Lt. Gentry:
For dramatic effect. We're in a theater, remember?

Police Lt. Gentry:
Oh, by the way - we haven't found the murder bullet yet.

Michael Shayne:
I knew it, but Miss Tallen didn't. One of the secrets of magic, Will - never tell the audience the truth.

[last lines]

Tim Rourke:
Well, I guess that's it. You sure wrapped up this case like... *magic*.

[Dick enters Mike's office wearing an enormous black cape]

Dick Hamilton:
Someone mention magic?

Tim Rourke:
I don't believe it.

Dick Hamilton:
Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen. The great Hamil-tone is about to perform one of the most amazing feats of prestidigitation. Now watch carefully!

[Dick spreads his cape wide]

Dick Hamilton:
Watch carefully, gentlemen! And now...

[Snapping his cape aside, the lovely Georgia appears beside him]

Georgia:
Hello, Mr. Shayne.

Dick Hamilton:
How do you like that?

Michael Shayne:
It's a very cute trick.

Tim Rourke:
Hey, Dick, how much do you want for the cape?

Michael Shayne:
That's all I need - a late date with Gentry.

Lucy Hamilton:
Well, I'll keep the percolator burning in the window.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Is this man registered here?

Motel Manager:
That's right.

Police Lt. Gentry:
What name?

Motel Manager:
Smith! He gave me a ten-dollar bill.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Your rooms worth that much?

Motel Manager:
Nooo, the room's only worth six dollars, but for four extra bucks, even you can call yourself "Smith".

[discussing a murdered man with only one clue to his identity - a matchbook with Mike Shayne's name and phone number written inside]

Michael Shayne:
So it won't be a total loss, I do know one thing...

Police Lt. Gentry:
What?

Michael Shayne:
Who writes on matchbooks?

Police Lt. Gentry:
Who?

Michael Shayne:
Somebody in a big hurry or on the run.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Too bad he couldn't have run little faster - a .32 slug caught up with him.

Elaine Barstow:
Have you ever heard of the Palmetto Health Farm?

Michael Shayne:
Yes I have. You have to be wealthy to get healthy there.

Mrs. Carson:
Don't you know what time it is?

Michael Shayne:
Yes and I also know what the score is. Two husbands, Belle. Add 'em up.

Mrs. Carson:
What are you talking about?

Michael Shayne:
That guy who slugged me - it was Watson wasn't it? Your first husband. I looked up the marriage license. No divorces and no previous condition of widowhood.

Mrs. Carson:
That's crazy!

Michael Shayne:
No. No, that's bigamy!

[while visiting a spa, Mike is nearly shot]

Michael Shayne:
For a health farm, this place isn't very healthy!

[Gentry, with Mike's help, has just solved two murders and a kidnapping]

Police Lt. Gentry:
Well, one thing about this business - you meet such nice people.

[Holly and Diane are at the bar of a private investigators' convention]

Diane Ritterbush:
Are you competition or a private eye?

Holly Marshall:
I'm both, honey.

[Floyd is rumored to have recovered $200,000 from a robbery and kept the money for himself]

Holly Marshall:
You know whoever did this doesn't know you very well, Floyd. If you had the money, you wouldn't be dumb enough to leave it in your hotel room, would you?

[Gentry is annoyed by all the "help" he's receiving while trying to solve a murder at a private investigator's convention]

Will Gentry:
Now look, why don't you all go to sleep and just *dream* that you're solving this murder?

George Woolery:
If the money Landers stole isn't found, my son will never be cleared.

Michael Shayne:
What makes you so sure he stole it?

George Woolery:
I know he did. If you can locate that money; prove Landers was the thief, I'd give you the $35,000.

Michael Shayne:
My fees aren't quite that high.

Bliss Joy:
You know, it's a shame to let those two airline tickets go to waste.

Michael Shayne:
You're interest in me is purely spiritual, I'm sure.

Bliss Joy:
The minute I saw you, there was something. We must have known each other before in another life.

Michael Shayne:
I'm sure I would have remembered.

Bliss Joy:
Do you have to go?

Michael Shayne:
Oh, I'll be back. In the meantime, you just sit tight and don't talk to strangers. You see, other people may be looking for that money... and they won't all be as spiritual as I am.

Joel Moss:
Tell me, Shayne, why did he call you tonight?

Michael Shayne:
He didn't say. He had a bullet in him.

Joel Moss:
He was carrying a briefcase with him. What was in it?

Michael Shayne:
Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Moss, but I don't know. Why don't you ask Will Gentry?

Joel Moss:
[puts at a burly thung] Shayne, do you want him to do the questioning?

Michael Shayne:
He'll get the same answers... when he wakes up.

[quoting from a poem found in "Through the Looking Glass"]

Michael Shayne:
"Twas bryllyg, and ye slythy toves / Did gyre and gymble in ye wabe."

Lucy Hamilton:
Come again?

Michael Shayne:
Just a little "Jabberwocky", Angel. It takes me back to my youth.

Lucy Hamilton:
Is that what the papers are printing these days?

Michael Shayne:
Mmm... Will Gentry and Alice in Wonderland.

Lucy Hamilton:
Oh. Are they dating?

Michael Shayne:
Looks that way.

Lt. Wallace:
He'll see you in a minute, Mr. Shayne. He's in there talking to Joel Moss and his lawyer.

Michael Shayne:
Moss have anything to say?

Lt. Wallace:
Not much. Men in his business keep their mouths shut. It's a tribal custom.

[to Lucy, his bound and gagged captive]

Rice:
I bet you haven't kept quiet so long in your whole life.

Michael Shayne:
All right, Lucy, what's the gag?

Lucy Carr:
Gag? Gag? You're supposed to be dead!

Michael Shayne:
Yeah, so I gathered.

Lucy Carr:
Oh, Mike, I'm so glad you're alive.

Michael Shayne:
Well, so am I. You know, a three-day fishing trip is seldom fatal for anyone except the fish.

Lucy Carr:
You were killed in a plane crash!

Michael Shayne:
I was?

Michael Shayne:
Now why would anyone charter a plane in my name?

Lucy Carr:
I thought you had plans in Key West - you know, something you didn't want me to know about.

Michael Shayne:
No. No, the last time I had plans in Key West she turned out to be married to a judo expert.

Joe Demerest:
What's everyone so joyous about?

[Mike points to a funeral wreath with the message, "Farewell Mike" written on a ribbon]

Joe Demerest:
"Farewell Mike". Mike Who?

Michael Shayne:
Shayne.

Joe Demerest:
Gee, that's too... What you talkin' about?

Michael Shayne:
Here, read it. You see, if you hadn't gone fishing, you could have written my obitutary.

Michael Shayne:
Lucy, as far as you know - and you too, Joe - I'm still dead.

Lucy Carr:
Wait a minute, Mike. What about the funeral service? It's scheduled for tomorrow morning.

Michael Shayne:
Just don't cancel it. I don't want to disappoint anybody.

Joe Demerest:
Three days on a fishing boat with a dead man. No wonder I got seasick.

Lucy Carr:
Are you still playing dead?

Michael Shayne:
Yeah, for a little while. I'm trying to find out a little more about that imposter.

Lucy Carr:
Only important people have imposters, Mike. I'd feel flattered if I were you.

Michael Shayne:
I do, I do. According to the airline, Mike Shayne is a fat little slob...

[Mike spots another large funeral wreath]

Michael Shayne:
Oh, another one, huh?

Lucy Carr:
Yes.

Michael Shayne:
...With shifty little eyes, grease stains on his hat and dirty finger nails.

Lucy Carr:
They just don't appreciate the real you.

Lucy Carr:
For heaven's sake, Mike, you can't write a check for your own funeral.

Michael Shayne:
All right, so write it yourself. But, uh, just be sure to bury me in the style to which I am accustomed.

Lucy Carr:
[to Joe about Mike] You know something? He's more difficult to live with dead than alive.

[Mike is attending his own funeral]

Bradford:
Were you a close friend of the deceased?

Michael Shayne:
Oh, yes. Yes, very.

Lucy Carr:
His most ardent admirer.

[Mike and Lucy are discussing the arrangements for Mike's funeral with the mortuary's owner]

Bradford:
Sir, you do approve of the flower arrangements, don't you?

Lucy Carr:
Oh, yes. Yes, they're lovely.

Bradford:
It's such a disadvantage not having a coffin as a centerpiece, but I've tried desperately to capture the essence - the spirit - of Mr. Shayne's personality.

Michael Shayne:
Oh, I think you've just done fine. As a matter of fact, I can almost feel his presence right here in this room.

[the funeral director discusses the flower arrangements for Mike's funeral]

Bradford:
Yes. Yes, you do feel him in the gladiolas, don't you?

Michael Shayne:
Oh, well actually, I'd say he's more the crabgrass type.

Sergeant McCord:
You came all the way back from a nice warm grave to tell me that?

Michael Shayne:
Now listen, Mac, you've got to find her and pick her up! She's got been hired to hang a target on my back.

Sergeant McCord:
I always suspected a funeral would slow a man down, but...

Michael Shayne:
It might have come off one of those heavy jangly braclets - you know, the kind a flamenco dancer wears. If I were you, Mac, I'd check that dance studio.

Sergeant McCord:
Been there. We know it's a front for the syndicate.

Michael Shayne:
And?

Sergeant McCord:
We grilled every one of those heel clickers. All we got was a lot of bullfight music.

[discussing Mike's funeral wreath]

Lucy Carr:
If I return it, I'll get my fifteen dollars back.

Michael Shayne:
Tell you what we'll do. Change the ribbon on it and send it to Eddie's funeral.

Lucy Carr:
Do you think he'll mind a second-hand wreath?

Michael Shayne:
Doubt he'll even notice.

[discussing the murder of his partner]

Kenneth Martin:
I lost my wife a few years ago, Mr. Shayne and now Harry. I read something once; something that applies to him. You don't lose a man like that by his death - only by your own.

[Shayne bursts into a room thinking a murder is about to occur only to discover a photographer is only shooting the cover for a lurid paperback]

Michael Shayne:
Say, is it always like this?

Bob Price:
Oh, you get used to it. You know, she's the third blonde we've killed today. Sometimes the covers sell more books than the writers.

Michael Shayne:
My name is Mike Shayne. I'm a private investigator.

Lois Fuller:
Who hired you? Lew?

Michael Shayne:
Who's Lew?

Lois Fuller:
The guy who did this!

[Lois shows Mike an ugly bruise]

Michael Shayne:
Husband or boyfriend?

Lois Fuller:
Husband. He likes to show his affection.

[last lines]

[while Mike patiently explained to Lucy and Tim how he cracked the case, Dick has been playing the bongos with a jazz combo]

Dick Hamilton:
Did you like it, Sis?

Lucy Hamilton:
Well... it was loud.

Michael Shayne:
Getting better.

Dick Hamilton:
Tim?

Tim Rourke:
Are you finished?

Dick Hamilton:
Yeah.

[Tim removes the cotton he had jammed in his ears]

Tim Rourke:
Well, now that I can hear again - Mike, there are a few questions I'd like to ask you about the Wheeler case.

Michael Shayne:
Oh, no!

[reading steamy love letters belonging to a murdered producer]

Dick Hamilton:
Beats "Lady Chatterley's Lover".

Michael Shayne:
How would you know?

Michael Shayne:
My name is Mike Shayne. I'd like to talk to you a minute.

Miss Dover:
People don't talk to me - they just dictate... and it costs them money.

Michael Shayne:
Oh, just a little information.

Miss Dover:
The public library is two blocks down and one block over.

Collier Davis:
You make the past sound like a dirty word, Howard, but I can tell you this. It was the era before the words "love, beauty and strength" became synonyms for sex... realism... violence. The flavor of your era, Mr. Howard - I want no part of it.

[referring to Collier Davis]

Markov:
Beautiful the way that man speaks, huh? And such a great director he was.

Hazel Courtney:
He still is!

Markov:
Not for today's market. Taste he has; talent he has - but not for what sells tickets at the box office.

Howard:
Dimitry, I'm doing this picture not because of the box office. It's because it's got something to say - it's got guts, it's got beauty, it's got artisty.

Markov:
Why don't you shut up! You take yourself so seriously. You fool yourself. You make this junk and you think it's art because a bunch of critics with big words and small circulations tell you it is. I know what it is. It's dirt - but I'm going to keep on making it because it's box office.

[Shayne thinks he knows where a missing shell casing can be found]

Police Lt. Gentry:
It's a 10,000 to one shot, Mike.

Michael Shayne:
When your behind, stay with the long shots.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Whoever shot him was a member of the Ravens.

Tim Rourke:
You seem pretty sure of that.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Sure enough to haul 'em down here. Some of 'em are cooling in the interrogation room right now.

Tim Rourke:
They admit anything?

Police Lt. Gentry:
No, but I'll get a confession or else.

Tim Rourke:
Why not try a rubber hose?

Police Lt. Gentry:
What's that crack supposed to mean?

Tim Rourke:
Nothin'... except a cop's dead, Will amd you're sore.

Police Lt. Gentry:
So?

Tim Rourke:
So don't let it get in your way.

Police Lt. Gentry:
You tryin' to tell me how to run this department!

Tim Rourke:
I'm just trying to give you some friendly advice.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Well, keep it! All you care about is a story. You don't care what happened to McQuestal! Aw, I'm sorry, Tim. That's hitting below the belt. It's just that this case has got me on edge.

Tim Rourke:
Oh, that's all right.

Police Lt. Gentry:
Well, maybe you'd better come along with me... just in case I raise my voice.

Joey Bell:
Zack?

Zack:
Yeah, Joey.

Joey Bell:
Give a cigarette, huh.

[Gentry grabs Joey's jacket and drags him off his chair]

Police Lt. Gentry:
I'm talking to you!

Joey Bell:
With your hands?

[Mike pulls a deer's head with an enormous rack of antlers out of a barrel]

Lucy:
What's that?

Michael Shayne:
It speaks for itself.

Lucy:
I hope not.

Michael Shayne:
The problem is where do I put it?

Lucy:
Back on the deer.

[Mike is meeting with the membership of The Ravens]

Michael Shayne:
Alright, I want to know everything about this neighborhood - the people, the gangs, their names, addresses, everything. Make me a native.

Sid, Fat Thug:
Shall I follow him, Mr. Rolston?

Sam Rolston:
No.

Sid, Fat Thug:
He was in there a long time.

Sam Rolston:
That's his business... but if he comes around here again, then it's my business.

Jan Taylor:
I'm Jan Taylor. I'm with the Beach Street Settlement House.

Michael Shayne:
Social worker?

Jan Taylor:
We call ourselves Rehabilitation Counselors. It goes with the Masters Degree.

Michael Shayne:
I never argue with a social worker, er, rehabilitation counselor.

Lucy:
A new client?

Michael Shayne:
Old friend.

Lucy:
Uh-huh. How old?

Michael Shayne:
About three hours.

Doc Taylor:
Do you have any more questions?

Police Lt. Gentry:
No, just give my men the names and addresses where you left those prescriptions.

Doc Taylor:
You don't think that I had anything...

Police Lt. Gentry:
I won't know until I check, will I?

Police Lt. Gentry:
[to Mike] Where are you going?

Michael Shayne:
For a walk.

Police Lt. Gentry:
What do you expect to find?

Michael Shayne:
I won't know until I check, will I?

Amanda Wills:
Are you coming?

Joe Demarest:
'Fraid not. I wasn't born rich, or I'd toss up the job and see you to Grandma's boat just to keep the wolves away.

Amanda Wills:
Aw, some of my best friends are wolves!

Joe Demarest:
What's up your sleeve?

Michael Shayne:
Nothing yet, but I owe you one.

Joe Demarest:
I'll collect.

[Lucy's timely appearance enables Mike to subdue the murderer who was holding a gun on him]

Lucy Hamilton:
You were so long I got worried. I hope I didn't do wrong by knocking.

Michael Shayne:
Remind me to give you a raise. I'd toss in a vacation, too, but I don't think I could get along without you.

Danny Fleck:
You're in trouble, Monty - real trouble. The boys and I bought in... we assumed Hercules Troy went with the deal.

Monty Miller:
Danny, stop bugging me, huh. Sometimes these things happen.

Danny Fleck:
Not to me they don't. I paid for our bets in twenty cities.

Monty Miller:
All right, I'll find myself another one... build him just as big.

Danny Fleck:
Monty, you're a promoter, but don't promote me. I studied this business. You need Hercules Troy to bring the customers in. Lose him and we go broke. I won't tolerate that. Do I make myself clear, Monty?

[Lt. Gentry and Mike Shayne regain consciousness after being knocked out by Herb Troy, a gymnasium owner]

Michael Shayne:
You all right, Will?

Will Gentry:
I don't know yet. He slugged you too, huh?

Michael Shayne:
Yeah.

Will Gentry:
Well, maybe we ought to join a gym.

[last lines]

[Herb announces his plan to open a new gymnasium]

Michael Shayne:
Let's drink to it.

Herb Troy:
No, thanks. I'm in training... after this one.

Michael Shayne:
Here's to ya!

Michael Shayne:
What did you get from the other servants?

Police Lt. Gentry:
Zero, nothing, blank.

[first lines]

[answering the phone]

Lucy Hamilton:
Michael Shayne's office. No he hasn't, Miss Morton, I'm sorry. Well, I have tried to locate him, but... Well, just as soon as Mr. Shayne comes in, I'll have him...

Greta Morgan:
I have to talk to him. I need him. Why doesn't he call?

Lucy Hamilton:
Miss Morton, I can only repeat, that the reason Mr. Shayne hasn't called me is because he's on a very important case.

[Mike shambles into his office looking considerably the worse for wear]

Michael Shayne:
Hi, Angel.

Lucy Hamilton:
[looking at her watch] Other men come to work at 8:30 in the morning. Where have you been all day?

Michael Shayne:
Eh... fishing.

Lucy Hamilton:
Now he tells me. Any luck?

Michael Shayne:
Minnows - one.

Michael Shayne:
Any calls?

Lucy Hamilton:
Seven...

Michael Shayne:
Yeahhh!

Lucy Hamilton:
From the same person. Miss Great Morton, no less, called seven times... no less.

Michael Shayne:
Greta Morton the crime reporter?

Lucy Hamilton:
The same - fangs and all.

Michael Shayne:
What did she want?

Lucy Hamilton:
Oh, she wouldn't tell me. I think she's allergic to underlings.

[removing Bea's glasses]

Tim Rourke:
That's better. I never kiss a lady when she's wearing glasses.

Bea:
Oh, Mr. Rourke, please...

Tim Rourke:
You know, we've been together for nearly two hours and you're still being formal. My name's Tim. Timothy Patrick Xavier Rourke - take your pick but not Mister.

Bea:
I'm sorry.

Tim Rourke:
I except your apology on one condition - that you'll marry me.

Bea:
What's he like, Tim - Mr. Shayne, I mean. I've heard a lot about him.

Tim Rourke:
Well, if your boss lady's in trouble, he's the best man in the state. He picks his cases, though. Why all the interest?

Bea:
Because... I've never seen Miss Morton so upset.

Michael Shayne:
Close up shop, Lucy. I'll see you in the morning.

Lucy Hamilton:
Well, where are you going?

Michael Shayne:
Fishing.

Lucy Hamilton:
Huh?

Michael Shayne:
[waves a torn thousand dollar bill] For the other half of this bill.

Tim Rourke:
Are you sure you know what you're doing?

Michael Shayne:
If I did, I wouldn't be in this business.

[Shayne knocks on the back door of an illegal gambling hall]

Michael Shayne:
I want to see Leo.

Leo's Goon:
I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to come in through the regular entrance.

Michael Shayne:
Well, maybe I want to surprise him.

Leo's Goon:
Well, I'm here to see he doesn't get surprised.

Michael Shayne:
Well, start earning your money, friend.

[Shayne beats Leo's thug senseless]

Michael Shayne:
Do you realize how late it is?

Shady Harsh:
I've got a watch