Francie:
If you really want to see fireworks, it's better with the lights out. [She turns off the lamps in the room one by one] I have a feeling that tonight, you're going to see one of the Riviera's most fascinating sights... I was talking about the fireworks.
Robie:
I never doubted it.
Francie:
The way you looked at my necklace, I didn't know. You've been dying to say something about it all evening. Go ahead.
Robie:
Why, have I been staring at it?
Francie:
No, you've been trying to avoid it.
Robie:
May I have a brandy?
Francie:
Please.
Robie:
Do you care for one?
Francie:
No. Thank you. Some nights a person doesn't need to drink. Doesn't it make you nervous to be in the same room with thousands of dollars' worth of diamonds and unable to touch them?
Robie:
No.
Francie:
Like an alcoholic outside of a bar on election day.
Robie:
[laughs] Wouldn't know the feeling.
Francie:
All right. You've studied the layout, drawn your plans, worked out your timetable, put on your dark clothes with your crepe-soled shoes and your rope. Maybe your face blackened. And you're over the roofs in the darkness, down the side wall to the right apartment, and the window's locked. All that elation turned into frustration. What would you do?
Robie:
I'd go home, get a good night's sleep.
Francie:
Oh, what would you do? [She steps into the darkness that hides only her face] The thrill is right there in front of you, but you can't quite get it - and the gems glistening on the other side of the window, and someone asleep, breathing heavily.
Robie:
I'd go home, get a good night's sleep.
Francie:
Wouldn't you use a glass cutter, a brick, your fist - anything to get what you wanted? Knowing it was just there waiting for you?
Robie:
[sips his brandy] Oh, forget it.
Francie:
Drinking dulls your senses.
Robie:
Yeah, and if I'm lucky, some of my hearing.
Francie:
[fondles her necklace] Blue-white with just hairlike touches of platinum.
Robie:
You know, I have about the same interest in jewelry that I have in politics, horseracing, modern poetry, or women who need weird excitement: none.
Francie:
Hold this necklace in your hand and tell me you're not John Robie, 'the Cat.' John, tell me something. You're going to rob that villa we cased this afternoon, aren't you? Oh, I suppose 'rob' is archaic. You'd say, 'knock over'?
Robie:
[pained] Oh -
Francie:
Don't worry, I'm very good at secrets.
Robie:
Tell me, have you ever been on a psychiatrist's couch?
Francie:
Don't change the subject. I know the perfect time to do it: Next week, the Sanfords are holding their annual gala. Everyone who counts will be there. I'll get you an invitation. It's an 18th-century costume affair. There will be thousands upon thousands of dollars' worth of the world's most elegant jewelry. Some of the guests will be staying for the weekend. We'll get all the information, and we'll do it together. What do you say?
Robie:
My only comment would be highly censorable.
Francie:
[sits alluringly on the couch, displaying both her necklace and bare decolletage] Give up, John. Admit who you are. Even in this light, I can tell where your eyes are looking. [He sits down] Look, John. Hold them. Diamonds. Only thing in the world you can't resist. Then tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. [She kisses his fingers, one by one, then puts her necklace in the palm of his hand] Ever had a better offer in your whole life? One with everything?
Robie:
I've never had a crazier one.
Francie:
Just as long as you're satisfied.
Robie:
You know as well as I do this necklace is imitation.
Francie:
Well, I'm not. [They kiss]
