We rejoin Laura arriving to see Gordon Hunter at the scene of his triumph (?)
… but it seems the gala is over!
“Welcome to the party,” a morose Hunter tells Laura.
She informs him there may be an attempt to steal the gems – tonight!
Gordon doesn’t seem to care … he’s got bigger problems.
“I completely retooled an abandoned tire factory in Toledo, hired 800 people to turn out a car nobody wants.”
“Dreams aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, Miss Holt.”
She can relate! (It must surely be a measure of how off-kilter the evening has been for Laura that she’s drinking out of this guy’s glass. Ew. But I suppose once you’ve found a body hanging in a closet, one doesn’t worry so much about kooties.)
Meanwhile, somewhere else, we see someone studying architectural drawings and taking notes.
Who can it be?
Why, it’s Douglas Quintain-Michael-O’Leary-John-Morrell-Paul-Fabrini-Richard Blaine, that’s who! Uh, oh! Someone’s at the door! DQMOJMPFRB (whew!) gathers up his papers and dashes into the bedroom.
He stashes the paperwork under the bed. I wonder who is at the door?
Someone with a long, slender arm, it seems. Murphy?
Nope. It’s Laura. He wants to know how she found him here.
“Since you seem to have developed a taste for masquerading as Remington Steele, it was a logical place to look.”
Laura brings up his brother, the dead courier.
“Devastating loss,” he says with surprising cheerfulness.
“He was 63 years old,” she informs him.
“My older brother,” he explains, apparently hoping she doesn’t remember that he previously described him as younger. Just when this banter is beginning to get sexy, there’s an interruption.
It’s good ol’ Murph, striking a macho pose. “Laura, just get it over with and turn him in,” Murphy tells his boss.
No need for that, the con man says. He’s ready to confess! (Is it me, or does Laura look a little peeved that Murphy interrupted their tete-a-tete?)
Con man tells the real detective, Miss Holt, that her intuition was right: He is here for the gems. But not for himself! No!
Cut-Rate-Con-Man Selfless Do-gooder only wants to return them to their rightful owner, the South African government!
Laura ain’t buyin’ it. “You’re a thief!” she declares.
Au contraire! “Kessler and Neef (back to Neef? What happened to Neff?) are thieves. I am an artist!”
Murphy ain’t buyin’ it.
“You’re a murderer!” Murphy snarls, giving Selfless Do-gooder a sharp rap on the shoulder with his symbolic rod! He means business, pal! Murphy tells Selfless Do-gooder what he should already know: “The real agent Ben Pearson is hanging from a coat hook in your room!”
Selfless Do-gooder seems genuinely surprised!
“Ah, those filthy …” he mutters.
“Who?” Laura prods.
Selfless Do-gooder is happy to name the real culprits:
“Kessler and his ape, Neef!”
He recites the modus operandi of the killers: Pearson was killed with a knife, a 6-inch blade, incision and thrust upward just below the third vertebrae.
“Helluvan accurate description for an innocent man,” Murphy notes. Selfless Do-gooder explains he’s been chasing these two men halfway across Europe (Huh? I thought they were chasing him!); he knows their methods.
He tells Laura and Murphy that they’ll have to move fast to catch them – they’ll go for the gems tonight.
“What makes you so certain?” Laura wants to know (while Murphy glowers beside her).
“I would,” he concedes.
Laura wants to know if he still intends to.
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Then I’d have to stop you.”
“If you could.”
“Easy. I’d call the police.”
“Why haven’t you already? Why aren’t they here now? Because you don’t believe I killed Ben Pearson.”
“I do,” says Murphy, who has retreated to the far side of the room, leaving his boss to deal with the suspected, and presumably armed and dangerous, murderer.
“You don’t count.” (Has he seen your tiny rod, Murph?)
He asks Laura what Remington Steele would do in this situation.
“Call the police!” snarls
Murphy Michaels Not-Even-Remotely-Remington-Steele.
Not-Even-Remotely-Steele heads for the phone …
While Selfless Do-gooder seemingly tries to distract him by launching into a chicken dance!
Selfless Do-gooder asks Murphy if he’s squeamish; the private dick sidekick (sidedick?) retorts that he isn’t around HIM.
“Then you won’t mind bringing Pearson’s body up here.” Hm. Surely Selfless Do-gooder isn’t suggesting tampering with a crime scene? That would be wrong!
Side note: I didn’t get the impression that the room where con man was staying before movin’ on up to Steele’s penthouse in the sky was at the Huntington Sheraton. So Murphy is going to have to return to that hotel, bundle up the corpse, sneak it out of the hostelry, tote it to the Huntington Sheraton and smuggle it up to the penthouse. Well, that sounds … erm … plausible.
Selfless Do-gooder departs to do battle with his foes, while Murphy makes a call.
Too many digits for 9-1-1. Is Murph calling out for pizza?
We segue into our con man in the lobby.
He’s also making a call. He wants somebody paged in the lobby. I wonder who?
Well, hello, Rockette! Still looking for Remington Steele, I see.
Selfless Do-gooder Claims-To-Be-Steele presents himself to Rockette, who shows him to the house phone. But wait! Who is that lurking behind that newspaper? It almost looks like Mustache … but it can’t be. No hat!
Good heavens! It IS Mustache … and that fellow next to him must be Switchblade! These two are cunning, all right. They’re almost unrecognizable without their fedoras.
Sound the alarm!
They-Know-He’s-Not-Steele suggests that Mustache and Switchblade accompany him upstairs to Steele’s suite to retrieve the specifications. Apparently that large bundle of drawings he was perusing upstairs were those specs. What kind of a safe is that, anyway?
Must be one of those new-fangled Rube Goldberg models!
Mustache wants to know where the specifications are. They-Know-He’s-Not-Steele points them toward the closet.
“Holy–“ Switchblade’s tool springs erect at the sight of dead Pearson. A Nogoodnik AND a pervert, Switchblade? You bounder!
“We left ‘im in ‘is room!” Switchblade exclaims Cockneyingly. Before he can follow up by asking Professor ‘iggins for lessons on how to “walk and talk and dress like a regular Lie-dee!” the Man-Who-Could-Be-Steele fingers his suspects!
“So you did, gentlemen!”
Here come the coppers!
The Nogoodniks are quickly taken into custody. The-Man-Who-Could-Be-Steele hands over Switchblade’s knife, suggesting the fuzz have it examined in their “la-BORE-a-tory.”
“Who ARE you?” Mustache gasps.
Random police detective has the answer: “Are you kidding? He’s Remington Steele!”
You’re as good as they say you are!”
“The Remington Steele Agency is far more than one man, officer. On their behalf, I thank you.”
Laura seems … impressed?
Murphy follows the cops out, pausing to give The-Man-Who-Could-Be-Steele the evil eye.
“Will you be all right?” he asks Laura.
Laura nods her assent.
The-Unlikely-Hero poses alluringly in the doorway.
Laura likes what she sees!
The feeling is mutual!
Somewhat sadly, Unlikely Hero says it’s time he leaves her lovely city.
“Where will you go?”
Inexplicably, Unlikely Hero pauses to silently wish Carol Burnett’s grandmother goodnight before continuing.
“Wherever the gems travel next.” San Francisco, he believes. But Laura needn’t worry.
He gives her his word: “I won’t try to liberate the gems until they’re safely out of your jurisdiction.”
Laura seems to have forgotten she’s mad at him. “All things considered, you made a delightful Remington Steele.”
I think she’s going to miss him, don’t you?
He also seems regretful. “If the press of other commitments wasn’t so severe, I might relish the role on a permanent basis.”
“After all … I’m a man who enjoys impossible challenges.”
And then …
… he’s gone.
On that melancholy note, I’ll stop. Do you think our con man was genuinely tempted to stay? If so, why? What is Laura feeling as she watches him walk out that door? And will Mustache and Switchblade ever get their hats back? Share your thoughts!