Chief Inspector Oxford: Mr. Rusk, you're not wearing your tie.
[Robert Rusk is speechless for a moment]
Robert Rusk: I...
[he drops the trunk that he has just dragged into the room]
Richard Blaney: Do I look like a sex murderer to you? Can you imagine me creeping around London, strangling all those women with ties? That's ridiculous... For a start, I only own two.
[a politician, being pulled away after the discovery of a woman's body with a necktie around her throat]
Sir George: I say, that's not my club tie, is it?
Solicitor in Pub: We were just talking about the tie murderer, Maisie. You'd better watch out.
Maisie - Barmaid: [salaciously] He *rapes* them first, doesn't he?
Solicitor in Pub: Yes, I believe he does.
Doctor in Pub: Well, I suppose it's nice to know that every cloud has a silver lining.
Richard Blaney: [entering hotel room with Babs] The "Cupid Room", I think she called it.
Hotel Porter: Mmm, love's little arrows have struck quite a few hearts in there, sir, I can tell you.
Richard Blaney: Oh yeah?
Hotel Porter: [confidentially] Can I get you anything from the pharmacy, sir?
Richard Blaney: No thank you.
Robert Rusk: You can stay at my place 'til you get something sorted out, if you want. I won't be in your way; I'm going up north for a few days.
Babs Milligan: No strings?
Robert Rusk: Now, do I look like that sort of a bloke?
Babs Milligan: All blokes are that sort of bloke.
Hotel Porter: Just thinking about the lusts of men makes me want to heave.
Robert Rusk: I don't know if you know it, Babs, but you're my type of woman.
Richard Blaney: [announcing himself to his wife's receptionist] You can inform Mrs. Blaney that one of her less successful exercises in matrimony has come to see her.
Monica Barling: And who shall I say is calling?
Richard Blaney: Mr. Blaney.
[to publican Felix Forsythe]
Chief Inspector Oxford: I expect she'll turn up sooner or later. These days, ladies abandon their honor far more readily than their clothes.
[discussing the tie murders]
Solicitor in Pub: Let's hope he slips up soon.
Doctor in Pub: In one way I rather hope he doesn't. We haven't had a good juicy series of sex murders since Christie. And they're so good for the tourist trade. Foreigners somehow expect the squares of London to be fog-wreathed, full of hansom cabs and *littered* with ripped whores, don't you think?
Robert Rusk: Hey, Dick! What about "Coming Up" then?
Richard Blaney: No, I'm afraid I haven't any time. Thanks all the same.
Robert Rusk: No, "Coming Up", the horse. He won by a mile. Twenty to one. What did I tell you?
Richard Blaney: If you can't make love, sell it. The respectable kind, of course. The married kind.
Richard Blaney: [handing his clothes to the bellboy] Tell them I want them sprayed.
Hotel Porter: Sprayed, sir? With what?
Richard Blaney: With DDT, my good man, what else?
Hotel Porter: Sir?
Richard Blaney: Death to the lurking roach, porter, confusion to the insidious louse! Get them cleaned and pressed, eh?
Monica Barling: Men like this leave no stone unturned in their search for their disgusting gratifications.
Mrs. Oxford: Woman's intuition is worth more than all those laboratories. I can't think why you don't teach it in police colleges.
Babs Milligan: If Brenda gave you money at dinner, why'd you sleep in the duff house? You could've afforded a hotel!
Richard Blaney: I didn't realize I had it! She slipped it into the pocket of my raincoat.
Babs Milligan: Oh, go on, Dick! Why don't you pull the other one? It's got bells on it!
[to his wife]
Chief Inspector Oxford: No, discretion is not traditionally the strong suit of the psychopath, dear. Believe me, that's what we're dealing with. You ought to read his wife's divorce petition.
Robert Rusk: [addressing Brenda, a marriage broker] If you can fix up a lot of idiots, why not me?
Brenda Blaney: My God, the tie!
Brenda Blaney: [as Robert Rusk wraps the tie around her throat] Dear Jesus, help me. Help me!
Richard Blaney: [having missed betting on a horse that won at 20-to-1 odds] Twenty-to-one. Twenty-to-bloody-one! Christ, damn it to hell!
[throws down a box of grapes and stomps on them]
Neville Salt: [about his fiancée's deceased spouse] Oh, a neat man was he, then?
Mrs. Davison: He liked a tidy place. So do I, come to that.
[hits his shoulder with a glove]
Mrs. Davison: Dandruff. We'll have to get you something for that.
Richard Blaney: You've got to believe me. I haven't murdered anyone. This whole business is insane. I mean, you know me. I wouldn't get involved in anything like this!
Robert Rusk: Of course you wouldn't, Dick. No, the police - as usual - have got the whole thing ass about face. I mean these sort of killings always boggle the mind. That man must be a sexual maniac. Mind you, there are some women who ask for everything they get. But you? Don't make me laugh. You're not the type. Now don't worry, you've done the right thing coming to your Uncle Bob.