[last lines] Inspector Oxford: Mr. Rusk, you're not wearing your tie. Bob Rusk: [speechless] Bob Rusk: I-...
[a politician, being pulled away after the discovery of a woman's body with a necktie around her throat] Sir George: I say, that's not my club tie, is it?
Richard Blaney: Do I look like a sex murderer to you? Can you imagine me creeping around London, strangling all those women with ties? That's ridiculous... For a start, I only own two.
Richard Blaney: [announcing himself to his wife's receptionist] You can inform Mrs. Blaney that one of her less successful exercises in matrimony has come to see her. Monica Barling: And who shall I say is calling? Richard Blaney: Mr. Blaney.
Monica Barling: Men like this leave no stone unturned in their search for their disgusting gratifications.
Bob Rusk: I don't know if you know it, Babs, but you're my type of woman.
Bob Rusk: Don't forget, Bob's your uncle.
[to publican Felix Forsythe] Chief Inspector Oxford: I expect she'll turn up sooner or later. These days, ladies abandon their honor far more readily than their clothes.
Solicitor in Pub: We were just talking about the tie murderer, Maisie. You'd better watch out. Maisie, Barmaid: [salaciously] He *rapes* them first, doesn't he? Solicitor in Pub: Yes, I believe he does. Doctor in Pub: Well I suppose it's nice to know...
[discussing the tie murders] Solicitor in Pub: Let's hope he slips up soon. Doctor in Pub: In one way I rather hope he doesn't. We haven't had a good juicy series of sex murders since Christie. And they're so good for the tourist trade. Foreigners so...
Bob Rusk: Hey, Dick! What about Coming Up then? Richard Blaney: No, I'm afraid I haven't any time. Thanks all the same. Bob Rusk: No, Coming Up, the horse. He won by a mile. Twenty to one. What did I tell you?
Richard Blaney: If you can't make love, sell it. The respectable kind, of course. The married kind.
Mrs. Oxford: Woman's intuition is worth more than all those laboratories. I can't think why you don't teach it in police colleges.
Hotel porter: Just thinking about the lusts of men makes me want to heave.
[to his wife] Chief Inspector Oxford: No, discretion is not traditionally the strong suit of the psychopath, dear. Believe me, that's what we're dealing with. You ought to read his wife's divorce petition.
Bob Rusk: [addressing Brenda, a marriage broker] If you can fix up a lot of idiots, why not me?
Brenda Margaret Blaney: My God, the tie! [screams] Brenda Margaret Blaney: [as Bob wraps the tie around her throat] Dear Jesus, help me. Help me!
Richard Blaney: [having missed betting on a horse that won at 20-to-1 odds] Twenty-to-one. Twenty-to-bloody-one! Christ, damn it to hell! [throws down a box of grapes and stomps on them]
