Dick: And while I was contemplating that thong, I wondered... who is the person that we would least suspect of poisoning the Colonel?
Inspector Macaffery: Will you sit down? You're stealing my part. I get to do this.
Dick: How many more people have to die because of your incompetence?
Inspector Macaffery: I do the summation after brunch, every Sunday. Read the damn brochure!
Dick: No! The least likely suspect is the person who, herself, was poisoned, but poisoned only to the extent that she lay sick in her room, above suspicion, away from the crowd, the perfect dose. And who knows more about poisons than an anthropologist? A toxicologist? Yes. But forget I just said that. That leads nowhere. No! Mary Albright killed Jack Wallencott and then in a fever of vengefulness, she killed my dear friend, Colonel Pinkham.
Mary: What the-
Dick: Yes, Mary. I could tell immediately you were jealous. You never expected the Colonel and me to forge such a bond. And if you couldn't have me, no one else could.
Mary: You can't accuse me of murder, you can only accuse the actors.
Dick: And which "actors" would those be, Mary?
Colonel Pinkham: If you had hips the size of that blonde woman, would you be wearing that skirt?
Mrs. Wallencott: Oh, darling, please. I wouldn't even leave the house. Ooh.
Dick: Colonel. You're alive. And Mr. Wallencott, you... you can walk! Wait a minute, you only pretended to die. None of this is real. This is all a scam! No, wait! You're all actors. This... is the show, right? Well, you were all marvelous.
Inspector Macaffery: And you, sir, are the reason I want to leave acting, and return to my first passion... drink!