Murders in the Rue Morgue

The macaroni’s ready.
And the coffee’s getting cold.
Aren’t you going
to eat your lunch?

You give five francs
to that old ghoul
down at the morgue

and... and I have to
turn magician and pull

a loaf of bread out of my nose
so we can eat.

Dupin, you might
at least have the decency

to come to the table.
Why don’t you go down
to the morgue and live there,

instead of making a morgue
out of our home.

Body snatcher.
Say something.
Come in.
Speak of the devil.
Good morning, monsieur.
You’ve got it, eh?
Yes, monsieur, I’ve got it.
But who knows,
at the price of my job,

I am a married man, monsieur.
I have children.
And if the police
should even suspect

that I was holding anything
back from them,

I should be put behind bars.
No use, no use,
we haven’t a centime.

Yes, monsieur.
I must owe you the money.

The morgue
must give us credit.

Then, I will trust you.
Monsieur, the Morgue Keeper,
perhaps you have an extra slab
for my friend here.

Why not take him in?
He eats nothing,
he doesn’t talk.

He never changes
his position.