One Act Lines: M Cubed

Sherlock Both Robert Downey Jr AND Benedict Cumberbatch have portrayed my excellence! Nothing? Unbelievable.

( Before entering say something like: Robert Downey Jr?! Where!?) Bonjour? Is there a Mr. Schwartz?

Sherlock: You are Hercule Poirot? You are dressed like a child.

(frustrated) I come from vacation! (groaning) These cases always interrupt me on vacation.

Augie: Stuart! She's your sister.

Ah, and that is where I come to help. Allow me to enlighten you upon my theory. Maybe then you will see what I mean. (twirls mustache)

But they...

But they do not think clearly. They slip in strychnine, without realizing that the hearty meal eaten before bed and the tea would not make it an instant death.

Nancy: It doesn't feel like we're wrong.

But we are, dear child. We have failed in some ridiculous, sad way.

Suzanne: you stabbed me why would you stab me?!!! Nancy: - but alas, she is no match. Suzanne dies a miserable death.

But why? You cannot say that a crime is committed just because someone is evil.

He moves....

He moves in with his beloved only to find she has a beautiful and timid house maid, Augusta. They fall quickly in love with each other. Their affair lasts years, but Jonathan realizes this isn't enough for him. He must wed Augusta, must make her his wife.

Med ex: Mrs Schwartz was simply an old woman whose heart gave out. She didn't suffer.

Her heart didn't fail from poison?

Nancy: I agree.

Myself swell

Sherlock: I am, these amateurs are simply here to observe.

Sir -

This loveless...

This loveless marriage has trapped him. But - divorcing Suzanne leaves him penniless. So he and Augusta hatch a plan, a dastardly plan that has Augusta poisoning the chamomile tea Mrs. Schwartz drinks before bed each night!

Sherlock: Preposterous!

Absurd!

Stuart: Who are you? What do you want?

I am Hercule Poirot. I am a Belgian detective. My partner, Hastings, saw the headline of Mrs.Schwartz's death and requested I offer my assistance.

Stuart: Is this all necessary? I just want to know what killed the old lady.

I assure you sir, I am no amateur.

Nancy: You need to stop telling people what to do, Sherlock. Besides - sure I can, my imagination just ran away with itself. The core of the crime is still there. Stuart wanted to frame Jonathan because he hates him.

I do like your theory, mademoiselle, however, have you considered there may be another way? One with more.. Passion?

Nancy: We were wrong.

I suppose so.

Sherlock: Foolish little man.

If you will forgive me for being personal, I do not like your face.

Sherlock: If you spend all day coming up with theories like that, it certainly makes sense why you'd let such a disgusting caterpillar grow on your upper lip.

It is an art, the growing of a mustache. One you certainly would not understand.

Jonathan......

Jonathan Schwartz married a wealthy older woman, thirty years his senior. It was a profitable marriage, but not one made out of deep affection for one another.

Jonathan follows...

Jonathan follows Mrs. Schwartz and goes to bed shortly, surprised to find her very much alive. In an attempt to maintain his relationship with Augusta, Jonathan strangles his wife! He cannot let this attempt fail, he is anxious to see her be gone so he and Augusta can live together. The altercation breaks her nose as she desperately fights, leaving the blood on her chest, but ultimately Jonathan wins. Mrs. Schwartz dies with her husband watching her.

Sherlock: And ridiculous!

Mon ami, must you hate my theory?

(pause, then POIROT's pager goes off on his hip. He lifts it, eyes widening. SHERLOCK looks over his shoulder)

Mon amis! There's been a murder.

Sherlock: I hardly think relying on other things is thinking.

Monsieur! The grey cells are from my brain. Pay attention. I took a look at this case and I quickly saw how improbable it all is. An old lady died beside her husband, without him noticing anything. What could do that? What force can drive humans to violence? What prompts all our discussions and is the basis of much modern media? Love. Passionate, beautiful love.

Augie: What an odd looking man...

Oh, bravo! I was worried I did not find the correct place.

Nancy: Little grey cells?

Oui, little grey cells. They are the logic, they do the thinking.

Augie: Vacation?

Oui, madame. I just came back from the Nile.

Nancy: Murder!

She wrote?

Sherlock: A true detective never takes a vacation.

Well some of us happen to have a life.

Sherlock: What is that supposed to mean?

What do you think it's supposed to mean?

(Lights come up on three detectives after line)

When I first heard of the terrible case of an old woman dying in her bed, it reminded me of a case I worked on long ago. A case of love and passion, human desires affecting our very being until all logic is lost. The little grey cells in my head began to work, wondering what it could possibly be -

Nancy: Why, I'm Nancy Drew. Haven't you heard of me?

Yes, yes, Nancy Drew. Famous female detective. Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Drew.

Nancy: I like your theory, Mister Poirot, but I dare say it doesn't have any merit. You confuse Mr. Schwartz with the violent kind. He is far too kind. Must I remind you he was not the one who spoke crudely of the dead or treated us impolitely. Nay, that goes to his brother in law, Stuart.

You believe the brother in law to be guilty?