After the Doorman has left, White and Green discuss their suspicions about him.

Mrs. White: I don�t trust that doorman guy. Too many things just add up with him. I�d say he�s my top suspect. Maybe we should find James Randall and have him listen to the doorman some more to see if he can make a positive ID that it�s the voice he heard.

Mr. Green: If he hasn�t succumbed to HILARIOUS brain cancer yet. Besides, the Doorman is as innocent as innocent gets, like OJ Simpson.

Mrs. White: Really? You got a better suspect?

Mr. Green: Sure. What about that mystery police officer guy who was suspiciously wandering around?

Law raises an eyebrow and flips back through his cards for reference.

Mrs. White: Oh right. Well he was probably just doing his job. I mean police are supposed to be around this house. But then again� hrm� wait�

Law thinks back to a conversation he had earlier, after the police showed up.

Mrs. White: I was talking to Striker earlier. Remember how the police showed up really quick? We kind of joked about how they show up fast when rich people have a problem � but take forever to help out poor people. Maybe it wasn�t that at all. Maybe they got here a little too quickly.

Mr. Green: HA! Insane Man 1, Law Martin 0.

Mrs. White: Look, I�m not agreeing with you. I�m just saying it�s a possibility. I mean � who was it who initially found the body? That person could be a suspect too.

Mr. Green: I dunno. When Fatty McDoorman announced it to everyone, I remember he said �Mr. Boddy was found dead,� implying that he wasn�t the man who found him.

Mrs. White: What if it was the French Maid? She was the one who found the butler dead. If she�s the one who finds all the bodies, then it could be that the screaming and passing out was all for show.

Mr. Green: I will have to interrogate her myself, in a similar fashion of interrogation that I used in the hottub.

Mrs. White: What we need is evidence. Let�s get back to work and keep searching, this room has to have something in it, I just know it!

And back to work they go. Filing through dresser drawers, looking under seat cushions, opening closets.

Mr. Green: Man, rich people sure do own tons of stuff.

Mrs. White: Apparently so. But none of this looks like it has anything to do with-

As he speaks, his foot knocks into an iron poker by the fireplace.

Mrs. White: Hrm. What do we have here? You know� fireplace pokers are often the weapon of choice in murder mysteries.

Mr. Green: Too clich�. Any blood?

Mrs. White: Nope, but then again, if it was used to toss around some cinders right after the murder, that would have burned the blood away, right? I mean it�s ashy at the top.

Dr. Abortion shrugs, he doesn�t know about �sciencey� stuff like that. I mean, it�s not like he�s a very good doctor.

Mrs. White: Wait! Forget the poker, look here.

Law grabs the tongs by the fireside and pulls something out that escaped being scorched. It�s the corner of a piece of paper.

Mr. Green: So?

Mrs. White: What if Mr. Boddy DID complete that new version of the will after all? What if the other pages were thrown in the fire!

Mr. Green: I say Mr. Boddy was just throwing paper airplanes into the fireplace before he was murdered. It�s fun! All the kids are doing it these days. Isn�t that what you were doing Mr. Boddy?

Dr. Abortion walks over to an austere painting of Mr. Boddy that hangs by the fireplace and starts flapping his hand over the mouth of the painting to imply speech.

�Mr. Boddy:� Oh yes, that�s totally what I was doing, Dr. Abortion. Throwing paper airplanes into the fire is what losers like me do. We can�t all be ruggedly handsome like you, constantly making out with the girlies.

Mrs. White: Cut that out. The poor guy is dead.

Mr. Green: Yes, stop making a mockery of yourself, Mr. Boddy.

�Mr. Boddy:� Blow me, Mr. Green!

Mr. Green: What�s that?

�Mr. Boddy:� You heard me. What are you doing to do about it? Kill me again?

Mr. Green: Why you little!

Mrs. White: Stop arguing with the painting, idiot!

But it�s too late, Dr. A winds back and punches the painting right in its stupid painting face. His fist goes right through the hollow wall behind the painting and he�s shoulder deep into it.

Mr. Green: Uhm. Ow.