Love Happy Page #4

Puh!

She's giving him the whammy.

I am Madame Egelichi.

I have been looking for you for a long time.

Because I think

you may have something for me.

Alphonse, Hannibal, search him.

Alphonse, Hannibal!

You will wait in the other room.

I think we'll be more comfortable alone.

Don't you?

I like you.

I like you very much.

I don't want you to be lonesome

and miserable.

I want to ask you a few questions.

A few personal questions.

But you mustn't lie to me.

I do not like it when people lie to me.

I get offended.

Alphonse, Hannibal!

This creature won't talk.

- There are ways of making him talk.

- I give the orders here!

- Wind of the devil...

- Stop that!

What did you do with the sardine cans?

Answer me.

Oh, take him away.

Give him everything.

But she was doomed to failure.

For right now the sardines are on a table

in Maggie's dressing room.

For three days

Maggie ate Harpo's presents -

smoked chicken, canned turkey, tuna fish.

If only she'd developed a taste for

sardines. The show would've been saved.

Meanwhile the cast went on with dress

rehearsal, unaware of the troubles ahead.

All right, let's get set

for the Sadie Thompson number.

Hey, bobo. Toodle-a-bop-bop...

That was fine, Maggie.

Now go change into your ballet costume.

Madame Egelichi, wearing

the pants of the dreaded cat woman,

was desperately trying to make Harpo talk.

First came the Hungarian rope torture.

For six hours, Harpo sat in the chair

smoking rope.

And four hours on the hideous rack.

An original from the workshop of

Ferdinand von Krackowitz of Monte Carlo.

Place your bets, place your bets!

When Harpo wouldn't talk, Madame

Egelichitook things into her own hands.

That meant only one thing,

her own specialty -

the insidious food and water torture.

- Has he spoken yet?

- Not a word.

- Has he slept? Eaten?

- Not a wink, not a bite.

Three days without breaking.

It's rather unusual.

After I've finished eating, bring him in,

and we shall give him the apple test.

You have refused to speak.

We shall keep on firing until you tell me

about a certain can of Portuguese sardines.

Fire.

Put that apple back on your head!

Ooh!

Nothing must happen to him. He is the only

person who can lead us to the sardine can.

- The gun isn't loaded, is it, Alphonse?

- No, madame, it's empty.

- There were only four bullets in it?

- That's right.

Grab him. The gun is empty.

We have been fooled. He can speak.

- I'll stop him.

- No, no, let him talk.

I'll listen in.

You, you got-a no heart.

They wanna sing and dance, but what

do you say? You say no, stop-a the music.

Who's-a you? Toscanini?

Harpo!

Some sort of code.

Mr Lyons, stop-a the noise,

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