Please get down.
You'll walk back to the stables.
I'll ride.

Are you stayin' at an inn or have you
friends among the local gentry?

- You said you didn't trust horses.
- I don't, but they trust me.

Which brings us directly to our
relationship, Miss Edgar!

Is Edgar your real name?
And you're blonde.

You'll save time and make for better
feeling if you tell me the truth.

Is Edgar your real name?
Now, don't crowd me, lady!

I'm fighting a powerful impulse
to beat the hell out of you.

At last we communicate.
Now, for the third and last time,
is Edgar your real name?

And don't bother to lie to me.
I'll check you out in every detail.

- Yes. Margaret Edgar.
- Where are you from?

- Where in California?
- Los Angeles.

Where's the money?
Here! Some of it.
- Where 's the rest?
- Don't worry. It's safe.

Safe? At some pari-mutuel window?
Or gone on mother's operation?

Or perhaps you're putting
your kid brother through school?

I don't have a kid brother
or a mother. I don't have anybody.

Not even Mr Taylor?
I wouldn't be surprised to hear
the rest of the haul

is with your late husband, Mr Taylor.
Somewhere I expect to find him
happily reincarnated,

the pockets of his good blue burial
suit bulging with Rutland money.