madame charles lampert?
i am inspector edouard grandpierre of the police judiciaire. would you be so kind as to come with me, please?
you loved him?
we discovered your husband's body lying next to the tracks of the paris- bourdeaux railroad line. he was dressed only in his pajamas. do you know of any reason why he might have wished to leave france?
your husband possessed a ticket of passage on the 'maranguape.' it sailed from bordeaux for maracaibo this morning at seven.
he was american?
oh. swiss. his profession?
he was a wealthy man?
about how wealthy would you say?
where did he keep his money?
besides yourself, who is his nearest relation?
c'est absurde, madame. to-tale-ment absurde!
it is all right.
is it all right?
les effets de lampert.
on wednesday last your husband sold the entire contents of the apartment at public auction. furniture, clothing, kitchenware -- everything. the gallery, in complying with his wishes, paid him in cash. one million two hundred and fifty thousand new francs. in dollars, a quarter of a million. the authorities in bordeaux have searched his compartment on the train. they have searched it thoroughly. they did not find $250,000, madame.
these few things are all that was found in the train compartment. there was no other baggage. your husband must have been in a great hurry.
one wallet containing four thousand francs -- one agenda -- -- his last notation was made yesterday -- thursday -- "five p.m. -- jardin des champs- elyses" why there?
obviously. one ticket of passage to south america -- one letter, stamped but unsealed, addressed to you --
we took the liberty of calling your dentist -- we thought, perhaps, we would learn something.
yes. your appointment has been changed. one key to your apartment -- one comb -- one fountain pen -- one toothbrush -- one tin of tooth powder -- that is all.
if you will sign this list you may take the things with you.
one more question. is this your husband's passport?
and this?
and this? and this?
have you nothing to say, madame?
no! no! no! no!
a man drowned in his bed -- impossible! and in his pajamas -- the second one in his pajamas -- c'est trop bte! stop lying to me -- this nose tells me when you are lying -- it is never mistaken, not in twenty- three years -- this nose will make me commissaire of police. mr. dyle or mr. joshua -- which is it?
and yet you registered in megeve as mr. joshua. do you know it is against the law to register under an assumed name?
none of you will be permitted to leave paris -- until this matter is cleared up. only i warn you -- i will be watching. we use the guillotine in this country -- i have always suspected that the blade coming down causes no more than a slight tickling sensation on the back of the neck. it is only a guess, of course -- i hope none of you ever finds out for certain.
three of them -- all in their pajamas! c'est ridicule! what is it, some new american fad?
and now your friend -- the one from texas -- he has disappeared -- checked out -- pouf! into thin air! where is he?
madame?
tell me, mr. dyle -- where were you at three-thirty?
and you, mrs. lampert?
in mr. dyle's room?
it stands to reason you are telling the truth -- for why would you invent such a ridiculous story?
and if i were you, i would not stay in my pajamas. good night.
mr. dyle -- you are under arrest for the murders of charles lampert, herman scobie, joseph penthollow, leopold gideon, and whoever that is down there.