advertisement Phyllis Brighton: With your nerve, I'd hate to have a tooth pulled. Michael Shayne: Hey, Steve, that brooch is as phony as a mother-in-law's kiss. Michael Shayne: What do I get paid off in? Larry Kincaid: Nice pictures of Washington and Lincoln with numbers on them - big numbers! Phyllis Brighton: [referring to her bad luck at the roulette table] All my rabbits have flat feet! Michael Shayne: [smelling one of Gordon's cigar] It's a good cigar. Hasn't got that awful smell of tobacco. Aunt Olivia: [when she notices Shayne is reluctant to take off his shirt and bare his chest in front of her] Go on, young man. I used to be an art student. Ponsby, Brightons' Butler: [in a courtly manner] The cops, Madam! Chief Painter: Well, it may be a case to you, but it's all goulash to me! Aunt Olivia: When I was young - I mean a little younger - in New York I played Madame Butterfly. Michael Shayne: You did? Aunt Olivia: Mmmm-hmmm. Michael Shayne: What race? Chief Painter: When are you gonna start talking straight? Michael Shayne: Not until my attorney gets out of law school! Chief Painter: [arriving to find Shayne at the murder scene] Shayne? What are you doing here? Michael Shayne: Ask me later. I haven't thought of an answer yet. Aunt Olivia: It was the great piano mystery. The body was found under the piano, his throat was strangled with piano wires, the soft pedal was found imbedded in his neck, and somebody had completely severed the head from the body. He was dead! Michael Shayne: [dryly] Oh, suicide, hmmm? Phyllis Brighton: [as Shayne returns to the mansion after being knocked unconscious] What happened to you? Michael Shayne: I tore my pants. Phyllis Brighton: Your head! What'd you do to it? Michael Shayne: It was open by mistake. Ponsby, Brightons' Butler: [admiring the large mansion] Quite a little nest you have here, Ponsby! Ponsby, Brightons' Butler: Yes, sir. We think it rather cozy. Michael Shayne: Cozy, heh! [laughs] Michael Shayne: I'll bet if you walk in your sleep, you need a bicycle.