 Walk softly, Peter Troy. And now, Peter Troy investigates the repentant redhead. This girl, Julia, met a moment ago. She's what script writers call my girl Friday. You'll meet her again in a little while, but right now there's another redhead you should meet. Her name is Janine. Ah, Janine. There is tranquility for you. I think of her and I see a serene picture of complete peace and tranquility. If you see what I mean. I hate you. Now, Janine. And I don't want to see you again. Now, darling. And don't darling me, Steve Renick. But you don't... What's her name, you other girls? There's no one but you, beautiful. And go easy on the glass. Where will you? She was here a not so long ago. I can still smell a perfume. Well... I could kill you. Oh, my public would hate you for that. Steve Renick, the poor man Steinbeck. You're as corny and false as the hero of your own books. Now, honey, let's have a little respect. I don't know why I'm so crazy about you. Then, sure. Kill you, Steve. Maybe one day I will. Honey buns and homicide don't make. Go put some powder on your nose and I'll take you out to dinner. Steve. Go on now. I'll turn to a reservation's auto-needers. Pink champagne and your sort of music. Do you? Uh-huh. He just twists me around his little finger. On the floor. Janine. I'll get a doctorate. Too late. Honey buns and homicide, baby. Honey buns and... Mr. Renick, are you all right? Hey, what happened? What have you done? Nothing. Mr. Renick's fallen ill again. You're holding the gun and you say you've done nothing? Peter Cheney was Earl Stanley Garner and the late unlamended Steve Renick. They were the aristocracy of the prime writers, I guess. But now Steve Renick was the central character in a real live murder story. A single mundane bullet had ended his career. And the primary suspect? Ooh, she was slick all right. Janine Lee, a very repentant redhead who urgently needed the services of Peter Troy. I didn't do it, Mr. Troy. I swear I didn't do it. When the jitter broke in, you were in the apartment alone with him and you were holding the gun that killed him, Miss Lee. And you want Mr. Troy to believe you didn't do it? Now take it easy, Julie. Oh, Pete, you can't afford to take this case. The way things are, I can't afford not to. I'm offering you a sizable piece of money, Mr. Troy, to find out who really did kill Steve Renick. Okay, make with a pencil, Julie. Get all this in paper. Now, Miss Lee, that gun... It belonged to Steve. He kept it in his bureau drawer. Uh-huh. How long were you in that other room? A minute. No more. And someone could have been hiding in the apartment all the time. Well, I suppose so. The closet, kitchen, anywhere. The neighbors said they heard a bit of a din coming from the place. Yes. Well, Steve and I... I was having an argument with him with milk blast bars. Well, I get carried away. What was the argument about? Women. So? Steve was my man. But he played around. Yes. Names? I don't know. Now, come on, Miss Lee. You want some help? Okay, cooperate. Don't forget your pride. Well, I was his... Well, we were sort of engaged, you understand? The others, they... There was a model, dark, Italian-y sort of woman. Her name was Francesca de Milatory. She worked for one of the big Italian fashion houses. Yes, Connie? Yes. Then there was Paula Steven. Oh, is that sure? Yes. Keep going. Oh, I don't know any of the others by name. He only saw them occasionally. But he saw one of them yesterday. Yes, I could still smell a perfume in the place. Sick and heavy. And there was a glass with lipstick on it. She must have left just before I got in. Okay. Oh, anything else? Just a... I didn't kill him. I'm sorry, Miss Lee. Your time's up. Oh, please, Inspector Melonby. I have to talk. Look, I don't know how you took me into letting you see Troy in the first place. Oh, come now, Inspector. It'll be enough from you, Julie. Only another five minutes. No. Any more interviews with your client, Troy, will have to be made in the cells. And you'll get written permission from her lawyer. Sergeant, take Miss Lee away, please. That's right, Miss Lee. Mr. Troy, I didn't kill Steve Reddick. What? Julie, my angel, I love you dearly, but there are times when I... Troy, you don't honestly think she's innocent, do you? Well, no, I don't know. Oh, come off it. Inspector, she is a redhead. Her vital statistics are 36, 23, 36. She has big blue eyes and long lust for slashes. All of which means, as far as Peter's concerned, she's innocent. Have you booked her here, Inspector? Of course. It's an open and shut case. Don't you know about Renick? Yeah, best-selling crime author, likes the ladies. Eh, and a great A Heel. According to my information, he was one of the most unpopular men in London. So? So he had this coming to him. Seems he's double-crossed just about everyone around the place. He just violated a contract with his publisher. He crossed up his agent on one occasion. Ah-ha, nothing. They weren't at his place when he was killed. Well, you know, take a tip, Troy. Keep out of this one. The case is closed. It's not closed. Not until that girl's tried and a verdict pronounced. Can I help you? I'd like to speak to Mr. Troy for you. My name's Melissa Morgan. I'm the director of the Morgan Publishing Company. Oh. Don't look so startled. I'm sorry, Miss Morgan. It's just that... Well, frankly, I can't visualize you sitting behind a company director's desk. That's unfortunate. But may I see Mr. Troy? It's about the Renwick case. We were his publishers. Oh. Yes, of course. Excuse me, ma'am. There's a Miss Morgan here to see you, a director of the Morgan Publishing Company. Oh, that's nice. Send her in. You may go in now, Miss Morgan. Thank you. Good morning, Mr. Troy. Good morning, Miss Morgan. Well, please sit down. Thank you. No, my secretary said... I'm here to discuss the Steve Renwick case, Mr. Troy. Oh. We published his novels, you know. Ah. We're all very sorry to hear of his desk. I don't bet you were. I beg your pardon. Oh, forgive me, Miss Morgan. I've been a private investigator a long time. It makes you cynical, you know. I don't understand. Well, I'm investigating the case on behalf of Miss Janine Lee. Yes, I know that. I've been making a lot of inquiries. And? I heard that Steve Renwick was about to drop the Morgan Publishing Company. So? Which means you'd have lost the residual rights to his novels. That would have meant a loss of about a quarter of a million pounds to the Morgan Publishing Company over the years. When my father founded this company, Mr. Troy... It was nothing. It still is nothing without Steve Renwick's novels. Quarter of a million pounds, Miss Morgan. Makes you think, doesn't it? Of what? Of motive for murder. Janine Lee killed Steve. No, I'm not saying he didn't deserve to die, and I'm not saying she didn't have a motive. And what are you saying? Steve's dead and she killed him. Get the matter rest there. Don't go digging around for any other motives, Mr. Troy. None exist. Well, now I'd like proof of that. The police are satisfied. You should be too. And if I'm not? Do you take a delight in courting trouble, Mr. Troy? Oh. Now that sounds like a veiled threat to me. Well, I'll unveil it. Forget about Steve Renwick's death, Mr. Troy. Forget your investigations. There's 300 pounds here in my bag for you. If you do, just that. And if I don't? There's trouble. Now, about that 300 pounds. Lady, please, just one client at a time, huh? You're going to be sorry. So very sorry. Shame. Attractive men like you don't grow on trees. You say the sweetest things in between threats. Don's sure this fire escape is insane. Now, just hold tight, Julie. I'll have this window open in a minute. There's a law against this, you know. It's called breaking an entrance. So there's a law. And I have to get inside Renwick's apartment. Why? Got it. Come on, honey, run inside. Oh. Oh. If you'd warned me about this, I wouldn't have worn a tight skirt. Well, I like tight skirts. There is a front door, you know. There's also a couple of big gendarmes watching it. That, I find, is significant. A torch? In a time while, isn't it? A real wolf's lair, if I ever saw one. Somewhere here, there's the answer. May I remind you that the police think they've already got this? So impress me. And they're bound to search this place. Yeah. What would they have been searching for? Just something else to tie Janine Leigh in with Renwick's murder. I'm looking at it from another angle. I'm looking for another suspect. I don't think you'll find one. Oh, let's see. I'm not sure after this next novel. Half of it anyway. It hasn't finished yet. Oh. I mean, look at the title. Honey Buns and Homicide. There's only up to page 148 here. 149's here on the typewriter. This manuscript smells of perfume. It has such a meaning, indeed. It's thick and heavy. Oh, that's interesting. It wasn't Melissa's either. That's exactly how many women are there mixed up in this case. Now, Renwick must have collected them like other men collect stairs. Yeah, look at this typing. What's the matter with it? Look at the line I just typed. And look at the typing on the rest of the page. It's a bit different. The manuscript isn't being typed on this machine at all. Surely, my girl, you've earned a bonus. Now, settle for last week's salary. Visitors. That's the torture. Someone's at the window coming in on the fire escape. We must have started somehow. You see who it is? Not a darn thing. Keep down. They're spraying around. OK, I think it's time. And they're getting away, too. Oh, the front door. Come on. Torch. Oh, I jumped in. Well, this way. The front door's over here. Police have sealed off the apartment. We'll be certain of one thing. This definitely wasn't behind the Peter Troy week. Maybe that intruder knew we were there. Maybe he didn't. Either way, it didn't make much difference. Steve Renwick's apartment had to be destroyed. And whether a petrol fire is a good way of destroying anything, including yours truly, plus private secretary. In just two minutes, that whole place was a raging inferno. The flames cut off our retreat to the window and fire escape. On top of that, Inspector Melamedy's boys had put a police seal on the front door. And life was just a little more than tedious just then. And I was in no mood for any jokes about barbecued, private eyes. I thought you said there was a reason about it. Oh, the word. The idiots must be asleep. OK, Julie, stand back. They issued me with a permit for this thing. I guess it's time I used it. Plenty. What do they always have fires around here? You OK, Julie? Yes, I think so. A fire and I didn't start it. Call the fire brigade, John. I just knew you were getting into some sort of trouble, Mr. Troy. Knew it or organized it, Miss Morgan? There was a police seal on that door. Look, I can explain, but nobody's gonna believe me. However, I would like to know how Miss Morgan got into the act. She got onto the scene very quickly, didn't she? Too quickly. For the time being, we'll all concentrate on trying to put out this fire until the fire brigade arrives. After that, you've got some questions to answer, Troy. You expect me to believe a copper and bull story like that, Troy? Yes. It happens to be the truth. This intruder of yours was a male or female. I couldn't tell. The room was in darkness. Anyway, they didn't actually come into the room, Inspector. Just shoved up the window and poured petrol over the carpet. Well, I don't think there was any intruder. I think this is all a figment of their very fertile imagination. Now, don't you start. I'd still like to know what you were doing on the scene, Miss Morgan. She was with me, Troy. She'd requested permission to get Rennick's half-finished manuscript. Honey buns and homicide. What's that? Well, that was the title of it. Just a minute. Oh, something wrong? I don't know. Just a minute. Yes, listen to this. This is a copy of Jeanine Lee's statement after we arrested her. Steve Rennick's last words were, Too late, honey buns and homicide, baby. Honey buns and homicide. We must have been so negative to mention the name of his book and his dying bread. Miss Morgan, what do you intend to do with the manuscript? Half a book isn't much use to anyone, is it? We'll have one of our staff writers finish it. Staff writers? Oh, you employ staff writers? Well, there are a couple of people we can call on. You haven't worked for Steve Rennick before? Yes, one of the proof readers. A girl? Troy, I just... Just a minute, Inspector. There's a reason for this, believe me. One of them is a girl, eh, Miss Morgan? Yes. Name? Well, Miss Morgan. Helen Fremont. He used to do a lot of secretarial work for Steve too. Inspector, I suggest we go talk to the lady. May I remind you that you're under arrest? Okay, but I've got a hunch. I don't give a hoot about your hunch. Oh, come now, Inspector. You know about teasing his hunches. There have been a couple of times in the past when they've helped you quite a lot. That'll be enough from you. Now, where do we find Helen Fremont, Miss Morgan? Her brother owns a cellar club in Soho, the Carlisle. She spends a lot of time there. I'm sorry, Mr. Troy, we don't live until six. I'm not a customer, Mr. Fremont. I just wanted to have a chat with your sister. Helen is here, isn't she? Who wants to know? Peter Troy. Just tell her it's about Jeanine Lee and Steve Rennick. She'll understand. Now, look. Call her. I'll be watching you, Troy. You do that. Do you want to see me, Mr. Troy? Yeah, if you're Helen Fremont. I am. You know what I like about this case? It's just oozing with pulpitude. You know what pulpitude means? It means feminine glamour. Then, of course, you know what the word means. After all, you're a writer, aren't you? Hardly. Oh, but I hear different. What do you want? The truth. I found it's an illusive thing. Much more illusive than that perfume you're wearing. What are you guarding at, Mr. Troy? Didn't anyone ever tell you about that perfume, Helen? It doesn't become you at all. It's too, uh, thick and heavy. And it's like a trademark. What do you mean? Rennick's apartment reeked of it the night he was killed. The manuscript of his half-finished novel reeks of it, too. What are you talking about? Honeybuns and homicide. And I don't mean the title of his book either. Hardly? Trouble? I think there's going to be. You'd better tell her to let her keep away from me. I know like her face. I'm liable to want to change the shape of it. Oh, you... If you see what I mean... You won't get away with it. No, honey, we don't want any trouble. You have a... What do you want with me, Troy? Confession. This isn't a joke, Miss Fremont. You killed Steve Rennick. Did I? Tell me about it. First, I'll tell you this. Steve Rennick was no writer. In his whole life, he only wrote one book, the first one. He knew what the public's eye, and it was a bestseller. But he couldn't maintain the standard. No, his name was made, but he just didn't have the talent to write another novel. Then who wrote the others? You did. You were his ghost writer. Oh, don't deny it. Melissa Morgan spilled the beans down to Scotland Yard. All right, so I won't deny it. I wrote all Steve's books after that first one. But that doesn't mean I killed him. Doesn't? All right. Let's look at the facts for a minute. Now, it had to be someone who knew their way around Steve's apartment. Someone who knew where everything was kept. His garden, for instance. Just before you pulled that stunt with the petrol and matches, I was searching his apartment. Now, he kept his gun in his bureau drawer, and it was locked. So? So, apart from Steve, only one other person would have the key to that drawer. The girl who was not only his ghost writer, but his part-time secretary. You. That's not evident. Now, coming back to that fire, and the person who broke in through that window didn't even use a torch, and the room was pitch black. Therefore, the intruder knew her way around. You were every stick of furniture was. You. You were the one that fits. And then we come to the reason behind the fire. Oh, yes, the fire. Tell me about that, Mr. Troy. That manuscript beside Renwick's typewriter was written on another machine. Now, that's logical, isn't it? Of course. As I wrote the books, it's obvious that the manuscripts would be written on my own machine. Right. Page 149 was in the roller of his machine. He always kept the last page in his typewriter so that any visitor would assume he was working on it. Oh, that's so. But then again, on the sideboard next to the front door, we found the remains of some more of the manuscript. Yes, ma'am, pages 150 to 163. So. You dropped those pages into him the day before yesterday. Just a few seconds before you pulled the trigger and killed him. You're crazy. He couldn't do the usual routine of slipping the last page into his machine. Because he was dead. Improvable. Oh, I don't have to. Now, the police are going to look after that part of it. But I haven't finished yet, either. We still have to find a motive, don't we? Then can you? How does this fit? There was something else in that apartment which had to be destroyed. The original manuscript of Steve Renwick's very first novel. The one he wrote himself. And why did that have to be destroyed? Because he wrote a dedication on the front page, didn't he? It read, For Helen My Devoted Wife. And that's you, isn't it? No. You're making a mistake. That's why you tolerated him stealing all your glory. You have to do it. His publishers wanted it that way, didn't they? And they still wanted that way. Because by now, Steve Renwick's name sells his novels just as much as their plot lines. But you've had enough of them, haven't you? You don't know what it is like. No one could know. Janine Lee? That's why someone he was 40 in love with. The others didn't count. They were nothing. But Janine Lee. Yes, I killed Steve. And I'd do it again. Okay, Troy. So now you've got the story. I sure have, Buster. But you're not going to live to repeat any of what you just found out. Troy, don't be a fool. Put away that... Out of the way, Helen. Steve got everything he deserved. And now this news he's... Drop that gun, people! Why you! Please! Drop that gun! Oh, uh, I meant to tell you, Helen. The police came in here with me. But I had to. You see, I'm still under arrest for unlawful entry. Oh! Yeah. It's okay, Inspector. You only got him in the shoulder. Did you get all that? Yes, Sergeant got it all down in shorthand. All right, you'll have to come with us, Mrs. Renwick. You too, Freeman. Mrs. Renwick. No one's called me that in a long time. Just to tie up the ends for you, Helen wasn't Steve's apartment all the time. All the time Janine was there, anyway. She heard the rod and worded it. And that was the final straw. She'd already taken those guns or the thought of killing them wasn't a new one. Soon as Janine went into the other room to put her nose, Helen came on out of the closet, shot Renwick through the gun on the floor and lit out, leaving the repentant redhead to take the rep. As for the fire, well, it was the only way she could get rid of that evidence without attracting suspicion to herself. And that's for Melissa Morgan. But she wanted the secret kept, a company too much at stake. She wasn't at all keen on having me delving around looking for the truth. I was bound to find out about Helen Renwick being Steve's ghost. Well, well, with ghosts and gals and honey buttons and homicide, it was quite a case, wasn't it?