The girl, dropping another nickel into the slot: “I can’t help it if there’s only one phone here. Why don’t you carry around one of them portable shortwave sets if you got so many important things to call people about.” She goes on with her phone conversation.
Nora goes back to Nick, who is engaged in rearing on his table one of those old-fashioned towers of bottles, salt shakers, oranges, forks, etc., all carefully balanced atop each other. Waiters and customers stand around with bated breath, watching him admiringly. He is getting along fine until Nora comes up and says, “Nick!” Then the whole pile comes crashing down on the table. The audience applauds.
Nick bows, then turns to Nora and says, “The divorce is Wednesday.” She doesn’t laugh.
Nora: “Nick, I can’t get to the phone. One of the hatcheck girls has been talking for hours.”
Nick: “You’ve come to the right place. Old Find-a-phone Nick, the boys around the drugstore used to call me.” He offers her his arm, and they go across the floor and out of the restaurant. As they pass the pay phone, where the hatcheck girl is now talking about underwear and a dozen customers are angrily waiting, Nick says loftily, “Mere amateur phone-finding!” He opens a door, shakes his head, and shuts it. He starts to open the next door, but stops when he sees it is labeled “Ladies.” The third door opens into Dancer’s apartment. He bows Nora in, ushers her to the sofa, hands her the book Lum Kee had been reading, goes to the phone, and calls Selma’s number.
The door opens and Dancer, in hat and coat, comes in.
Nick: “Hello, Dancer. Nice men’s room you have.” He waves a hand to indicate the room and the rather elaborate bath that can be seen through an open door, then suddenly frowns at Nora and asks, “What are you doing in here?”
Dancer stands inside the open door, looking at Nick with cold eyes, and when he speaks his voice is cold and level, “Once a gumheel always a gumheel, huh? I don’t like gumheels, but I thought you’d quit it when you married a pot of money and—”
Nora, indignantly: “Did he call me a pot?”
Nick pays no attention to either of them; Aunt Katherine is on the other end of the wire. She says, “You’d better come over, Nicholas. Robert has been killed.”
Nick’s expression does not change as he says, “I will,” and slowly hangs up.
Dancer, jerking a thumb at the open door behind him: “Well, now, if you’re through in here.”
Nick, leaning back comfortably in his chair: “Still foggy out?”
Dancer, very deliberately: “Have you ever been thrown out of a place, Mr. Charles?”
Nick, to Nora: “How many places was it up to yesterday, Mrs. Charles?”
Nora: “How many places have you been in, Mr. Charles?”
Dancer: “Look here!”
Nick, raising a hand: “Wait, wait! As I was about to say, it’s not for me to tell any man how to run his business — though I could give you a few hints — but just the same it doesn’t look right for you and your partner and your chief entertainer and one of your best customers all to go out at about the same time. It gives the place a — a — a quite vacant look. Did you notice it, Mrs. Charles?”
Nora: “Oh, decidedly, Mr. Charles. Quite barn-like.”
Nick: “Thank you, Mrs. Charles. Now there’s another thing. If Mr. Robert Landis came here with a lady who left a cigarette case, you shouldn’t have sent it to his wife. You know what a fellow Mr. Landis was.”
Dancer: “That wasn’t me. Lum didn’t know.”
Nora leans towards Nick, her face strained: “Did you say was?” Nick nods slowly, his face serious now.
Nora, softly: “Poor Selma.”
Dancer, angrily: “I’ve had enough of this. I—” He breaks off as through the open door comes the sound of Polly’s singing.
Nick: “Ah! Another of our travelers has returned. Now if only — No sooner said than done,” he says as Lum Kee comes in. Nick looks from one to the other of them and says thoughtfully, “I wonder which of you would be most frightened if Robert Landis walked in now.” Neither man says anything. Nick: “But you know there’s no chance of that, don’t you, Dancer?”
Dancer: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care.” He advances threateningly. “Get out!”
Nick smiles, shakes his head: “You said that before, and it’s foolish. We’re not going to get out. We’re going to have more people come in.” He picks up the phone.
Dancer, grabbing at the phone: “Give me that phone!”
Nick: “Certainly.”
He raps Dancer on the jaw with it. Dancer staggers back, holding his jaw.
Nora, proud of Nick, says to Dancer: “See?”
Nick dials a number, says: “Nick Charles speaking. I want to get hold of Lieutenant Abrams of the homicide detail. If he’s not on duty, will you give me his residence number?”
Lum Kee crosses to the closet and carefully puts his hat away.
On a dark and seemingly deserted part of the waterfront, David gets out of his car, walks to the edge of a small pier, and throws Selma’s pistol as far out into the water as he can.
Through the fog comes a man’s voice shouting, “Hey, what are you doing there?” followed by the sound of feet running toward David. David races back to his car and drives off.
In Dancer’s apartment, Nick is saying into the phone, “Sure, I’ll wait for you, Abrams… Well, I’ll ask them to wait, but sometimes I think they don’t like me well enough to do me favors… Yes. I’ll tell them.” He puts down the phone and tells Lum Kee and Dancer, “The Lieutenant said something about boiling you in oil if you budged before he gets here. The fellow probably exaggerates.”
Polly has finished her song. The sound of applause comes through the door. Dancer turns on his heel and goes out.
A still larger and angrier group of customers is waiting to use the phone. The hatcheck girl is talking about pajamas. Dancer takes the receiver roughly from her and slams it on the hook, snarling, “Get back to work. What are you going to do? Spend the whole night here?” He goes on toward the restaurant.
In Dancer’s apartment, Lum Kee says, “Dancer not mean anything, please, Mr. Charles. Good man — only excited. Sometime make a little trouble, not mean anything.” He smiles cheerfully at Nick and Nora as if he had explained everything and says, “Now we have little drink, you bet you.”
Nora rises, saying to Nick, “I ought to go to Selma’s. She’ll need somebody.”
Nick: “Right. I’ll put you in the car.” To Lum Kee: “Hold everything.” Nick and Nora go downstairs.
Harold is sound asleep now. The taxi driver is saying, “So I said to these two gobs, I said, ‘Maybe you boys are tough stuff back on Uncle Sam’s battle-wagon, but you ain’t there now,’ I said. ‘You’re on land,’ I said, ‘and you’re either gonna pay that fare or I'm going to take it out of your—’ ” He breaks off as Nick and Nora come to the car and opens the door for them. Harold wakes up.
As Nora gets in, Nick asks Harold: “Did you see Robert Landis leave?”
Harold: “No, I would’ve only—” He breaks off, leans past Nick to push the taxi driver violently with one hand, saying angrily to him, “Putting me to sleep with them yams about where you told everybody to get off at! I ought to—” He jerks his cap off and turns to Nora, saying earnestly, “Aw, gee, I’m sorry, Mrs. Charles!”
Nick: “Did you see anybody you knew?”
Harold: “Nope, I didn’t notice nobody coming out particular, except there was a kid come out right after you went in, and I only noticed him because he was kind of hanging around” (he indicates the doorway Phil stood in) “for a little while. Why? Something up?”