Top 150 Quotes From Constable George Crabtree

Constable: He's out cold, George.
Constable: He's gone cold, Henry. He's dead.

Constable: [to Inspector Brackenreid] Sir, I think Mrs. Brackenreid... I think your wife is seeing a gigolo.

Constable: There is one good bit of news for Detective Murdoch.
Constable: What's that?
Constable: It's easier for him to marry a widow than a divorcee.
Constable: Henry! That's not funny.

Constable: When I was at the medical exposition, sir, I saw a prosthetic hand that ran on electricity.
Detective: Fully functional?
Constable: Yes, sir.
Detective: It must be the work of a great scientific mind.
Constable: Sir, it was uncanny. I wonder if the future will allow for electronic body parts to replace our hands or... hair.
Detective: Hair?
Constable: Well, yes, sir, a toupee of sorts, but if you're frightened, an electric charge will cause it to stand on end.

Inspector: D'you mean Murdoch has to work with you every day?
Constable: Gets to work with me.

[Crabtree has just tackled the Prince]
Prince: You know I could have you beheaded for this.
Constable: Right now that would only be too merciful, Sir.

Constable: [on his way out of his shift at the police station, sees Murdoch coming in] Oh, sir. Is there anything else you'll be needing this evening?
Detective: I believe that's all. Thank you, George.
Constable: Okay. Well, I'll see you tomorrow.
[turns]
Detective: [sniffs after Crabtree] G-George. Is that lavender I smell?
Constable: [smiles, stretches out his arms] Cleanliness, sir. Next to godliness.
[walks away]
Detective: I'll remember that.

Inspector: Werewolves, Martians, ghosts, now vampires. What next, Crabtree? Abominable snowmen?
Constable: Sir, that's a fictitious creature, dreamed up probably by someone who has seen a sasquatch.

[first lines]
Constable: Police! Stop!

Constable: [looking through the fingerprint book] I hate fingermark duty.
Constable: Detective work isn't always about investigating, Henry. Sometimes it involves mind-numbing tedium.

Constable: Thank you for the sandwich.
Edna: I won't use butter next time. You're even fussier than Simon is.
Constable: Well, butter has its place in many things, Edna, but a friend of the sandwich it is not.

Constable: [referring to suspect Liam Cuddy] As a Catholic, is he not supposed to confess his sins before he dies?
Detective: Crabtree, has it ever occurred to you that a murderer can also be a liar... even to the great almighty?

[first lines]
Constable: What a way to die. Mauled to death.
Constable: Henry... you don't know that's what happened.
Constable: You didn't see it, George. Those terrible scratches on his face alone would let you know if you did.
Constable: Sir.
Detective: What have you, George?
Constable: Sir, the man who discovered him was checking his snares this morning. He seemed... surprised, a-a-almost disappointed to find that he'd snagged a human. Suppose he was expecting his dinner.

Inspector: Mr. Newsome, you're under arrest. Cuff him and take him away, Crabtree.
Roger: Wha-wha-what is this about? How dare you manhandle me like some cretin. I am a man of reason and intellect.
Constable: Well, I promise I will manhandle you reasonably.

Constable: Imagine one day they will make a telephone so small that you could carry it around with you.
Constable: It would never work. You'd be dragging wires all over town and trip the horses.

[first lines]
Detective: Now, Henry!
Constable: Sir, I...
Detective: It's all right; don't be afraid1
[laughs triumphantly as bulbs light up]
Constable: What's that, sir?
Detective: Something I've been experimenting with. It's, uh, an induction balance machine.
Constable: OK, sir. And it turns on lights, does it? 'cause we have switches for that.
Detective: It's capable of far more than that.
Constable: [enters] Sir, it seems there's been...
[his whistle flies out horizontally on its chain]
Constable: Sweet Mother of...
Detective: You see, it can detect metal. Could be very useful in gathering evidence.
Constable: Yes, sir. Make it stop please.

Detective: Shoot. The blood is draining from the pig's flanks.
Constable: [Hesitates] It's staring at me, sir.
Detective: George, the animal is dead. There's no spirit left in the body.
Constable: Do pigs have a soul, then, sir?
Detective: Now, George!

Constable: He criticized her for writing about things she couldn't possibly know about. Like clouds. Which I think is unfair. I've never seen God, but I know what he looks like.
Detective: [Taken aback] Really?
Constable: Of course. Big white beard. Heavy eyebrows. Never smiles.
Constable: Bald?
Constable: Bald? Well, I wouldn't think so. If you were the supreme being of the universe, would you choose to walk around with a naked pate?

Constable: Hey, wake up! Sir, I think we have a problem with this one.
Inspector: What is it?
Constable: He's dead.

[last lines]
Mark: Constable Crabtree, you strike me as a man with a nimble mind.
Constable: Well, thank you, sir.
Mark: [holding book 'The Curse of the Pharoah'] This work of yours shows some, some promise.
Constable: You read it?
Mark: I started it. Got any more in you?
Constable: I don't know; I haven't much felt like writing lately.
Mark: Ohhh, spent some time in the penitentiary, lost a, a fiancée.
Constable: Indeed.
Mark: Take it from me, son, reality can be beaten with enough imagination. Go to it.
Constable: Thank you, Mr. Twain.

Constable: [seeing the temple for the first time] Sir, it really does look like the Taj Mahal, doesn't it?
Detective: Actually, George, it-it's more like the Hagia Sophia.
Constable: Ah, yes, the church built by Emperor Justinian in the sixth century. The greatest in all of Christendom for over a thousand years.
[Murdoch stares at him]
Constable: Sir, I've been researching early Christianity for my new novel.

Constable: Share the costs, sir. There must be dozens of Yorkies in Toronto who'd be willing to pay for real-time results. H- have Jackson call them out as they come in. Play by... play. All coming from a game five thousand miles away.
Inspector: You know, Crabtree, you have some daft ideas, but this one is bloody brilliant.
Constable: Agreed.

Detective: Dr. Ogden and I were walking one block south along Duke Street when we felt the rumblings. I wonder where the digging machine was headed to.
Constable: Sir, I hesitate to even suggest this, but I've recently been informed of the most unusual theory. What if our thief was headed down?
Detective: Down?
Constable: Sir, many people believe that a race of beings live inside the hollows of the earth.
Detective: I don't know what to say to that, George.
Constable: Well, sir, Dr. Ogden and Dr. Grace just attended a lecture on the subject. It could explain our thefts.
Detective: How?
Constable: Well, perhaps the inner-earthers are tunneling up to steal our diamonds and then tunneling back down to return to their own world.
Detective: I don't know what to say to that either, George.
Constable: Well, sir, I can't speak with authority on the subject; I'm no expert.
Detective: Clearly.

Detective: George, are you all right?
Constable: [clearly shaken] No, sir. When he took my trousers, he took my dignity.

Constable: It seems unlikely to me. I mean, two men meet for the first time and make an agreement to kill each other's wives? What's the opening line in *that* conversation?

Inspector: Take Crabtree with you.
Detective: I don't need a minder.
Inspector: I was thinking more of a shield.
Constable: Inspector!
Inspector: It's a bloody joke, Crabtree.
Constable: Ha, bloody, ha.

Constable: Sir, can I ask you a personal question?
Detective: Yes?
Constable: Well, how is it that you don't feel the heat?
Detective: I assure you, George, I am quite uncomfortable.
Constable: But sir, it's just that I'm fairly soaked through with sweat here, and you've nary a hair out of place.
Detective: I believe in propriety, George, no matter the temperature.

Detective: [Analyzing] Standard crossbow arrows. Robbery likely wasn't the motive.
Constable: What does it all mean, sir?
Detective: I don't know. It seems though the killer hunted his victim like an animal.
Constable: I mean so elaborate... with arrows and all!
Detective: Arrows are silent and less likely to draw attention, or maybe the killer was making a statement. The use of arrows would suggest the killer had a flair for the dramatic.

Constable: [as the ferret is searching for the blood trail, he runs up Murdoch's trouser leg] Hey, careful. sir! They're known to bite!
Detective: Huh? What?
Constable: Cut off access to your sensitive bits.

Constable: [as Murdoch enters the station house] Ah, sir, Dr. Ogden is waiting for you in your office.
Constable: [Hinting of his knowledge of their workplace romance as the other constables smirk to murdoch's embarrassment] I'll let the men know that you are not to be disturbed.

Constable: Perhaps the future will allow for every home to have a potato cooking room.

Dr. Julia Ogden: The woman is absolutely fascinating.She makes no effort whatsoever to hide her lack of feeling about five dead husbands.
Constable: She puts me in mind of that insect species, where the female consumes the male right when they're in the middle of... procreating?
Dr. Julia Ogden: Yes, the female preying mantis is known to devour her mate during the sex act, as is the widow spider.
Constable: That's the perfect name for her: the black... praying mantis, only change the 'a' in 'praying' to an 'e' because she preys upon her husb...
Detective: Thank you, George.

Constable: This idea of a store that sells everything you need under one roof is quite clever, isn't it, sir? I mean, you could buy a ham, a hammock, and a hammer all without getting wet... if it was raining, I suppose. Although if it were raining, you would probably be disinclined to buy a hammock.

Constable: Sir, do you notice that?
Detective: What?
Constable: Peace and quiet. It's like... a blast of silence.

[first lines]
Constable: Enough already!
Constable: Let's have Bert Grady!
Constable: Yeah. Booooo!
Constable: Oh, come on, Higgins.

Winifred: So, is this what you do all day? Sit in your office and let your constables do you work for you?
Detective: One of the benefits of my position.
Constable: [Crabtree enters] Sir.
Winifred: There you go.

[last lines]
Constable: Emily, you were about to win.
Dr. Emily Grace: Of course I was.
Constable: So, what? You threw away Paris for me?
Dr. Emily Grace: Don't go getting a swelled head over it, George Crabtree.
Constable: Good crack.

Constable: [to Detective William Murdoch] Dr. Dempsey has all these cut up brains in jars, which of course are very eerie, but also can't help remind me of my Aunt Rosa's pickled cauliflower.

Chief: You're not a policeman any more, so stop behaving like one.
Constable: That man who was killed: he's somehow connected to a woman by the name of Edna Brooks.
Chief: Yes, I know who she is.
Constable: You do?
Chief: She's the reason you're in here, is she not? She killed her husband and you took responsibility for it.
Constable: What makes you think *I* didn't kill him?
Chief: If you'd been guilty you would have pled guilty. If you were both innocent, you would have pled not guilty. Instead you pled nolo contendere, no contest; the only plea that would close the case without forcing you to confess to a crime you didn't commit. You're either the most noble man I've ever met, or the stupidest. I can't quite decide which. Good luck to you.

Detective: [speaking of the murder weapon] You need to test it for finger marks.
Constable: Sir, what if I find...?
Detective: We need to know.
Constable: And if I get the wrong answer?
Detective: There's no right or wrong answer in this, George; only the truth.

Violet: Detective.
Detective: What have you, Mrs. Hart?
Violet: Nothing to identify the man, and no signs of physical trauma to the body. It may be poison.
Constable: Potato poisoning.
Detective: What?
Constable: Sir, one time one of my aunt's, umm..."friends," let's say, well, his wife was very upset with him, I won't get into why, but sir, he hid from her in the basement of the rectory among scads of potatoes, very nearly died.
Detective: From the potatoes?
Constable: Yeah, sir, I'm telling you, the improperly stored potato, nothing short of a menace.
[covers mouth and nose with cloth]
Detective: I eagerly await your report, Mrs. Hart.

Detective: You boys work here at the factory?... A man was murdered here last night... Did any of you see anything?... Go near the body maybe?
Constable: Anything you could tell us would be helpful, lads.
Charlie: We weren't there, SIR!
Detective: [the boy laugh derisively] That's interesting beause we have proof your shoes were. How do you suppose they got here without you in them?

[last lines]
Dr. Emily Grace: So, I suppose this is it.
Constable: Suppose it is.
[he tips a porter to take Emily's suitcase]
Constable: Thank you.
[Emily and Crabtree hug]
Constable: You have to let go, Emily.
Dr. Emily Grace: But what if I don't want to, George? What if... what if this is a mistake?
Constable: Then that's what you need to find out. Right?
Dr. Emily Grace: Good-bye, George Crabtree.
Constable: Good-bye, Emily Grace.

Peter: Henry takes me to work some mornings. Less expensive than a hansom, and the conversation is better.
Constable: With Higgins?

[first lines]
Inspector: Listen up, everyone. I'd like to introduce my nephew, Charlie Brackenreid. He's just arrived from London and has passed his training day with flying colours. Make him feel at home but don't go too easy on him.
Constable: Always good to have another man on the blue team. George Crabtree.
Charlie: Pleased to meet you, Crabtree.
Detective: Detective William Murdoch. Welcome to Station House Number 4. I hope our fair city won't disappoint.
Charlie: Thank you, sir. Very happy to be here.

Ned: Razor intends on finishing me tonight, and anyone who stands in his way, I imagine.
Constable: Well, he would have to make it through two highly trained officers of the law to do that.
Ned: [derisively to Crabtree and Brackenreid] You two? Roly and Poly? Know why they call him "The Razor?" Not for the means which he dispatches his victims, but because he's in possession of an extremely sharp mind. Doubt you two are a natch.

Constable: Why is he marrying her?
Constable: Why is who marrying whom?
Constable: Herbert Wilson and Ruth Newsome.
Constable: What do you care? I
Constable: t just seems an odd pairing.
Constable: [Shrugs] She's rich. He's rich.
Constable: Exactly! What's in it for him?

Constable: I'm terribly sorry, sir; he got away.
Detective: Are you all right?
Constable: [rubbing his head] He got me in my least vulnerable part, sir.

[last lines]
Constable: I fear our outing has ended rather quickly now.
Edna: Well, why don't we take a walk down to the arcade?
Constable: i thought you wanted to go for a drive.
Edna: I did, but I could fancy a stroll.
Constable: Is this a date, Edna Brooks?
Edna: I suppose it is, George Crabtree.
Constable: Well, good.

[last lines]
Inspector: You're damn lucky that branch hung you up, Murdoch. You were unconscious when we found you.
Dr. Julia Ogden: Why did you jump?
Detective: He was getting away. What would you have done?
[to Crabtree]
Detective: Any sign of him?
Constable: Sir, the river gets fast and deep down there; if he was still handcuffed, there's no way...
Detective: You didn't see him?
Constable: No, sir.
Detective: George!
Constable: Sir, we'll keep looking. We'll keep looking, and we'll find him.
Dr. Julia Ogden: William, let's get you back and warmed up. It's over, William. We have to believe that.

Constable: We located a patron who last checked out a book the night Miss Messing disappeared.
Detective: Ah, did you get a name?
Constable: Yes, sir. "Little Friends With Feathers".
Detective: [sighs] The patron, George.

Constable: I just don't think it's possible that Miss Bloom would be involved in something this *dastardly*.
Detective: If you are uncomfortable, you may excuse yourself from this case.
Constable: I think I'll stay, sir. It's quite rare to see you make a mistake.

Constable: Everything seems to be quite the same. The chloroform, the newspapers, the victim's... vintage, roughly
[pointing at the old victim]
Constable: .

Constable: George, I've heard of wireless telegraphy.
Constable: Well, Henry, how can you be so completely lacking in awe? We're no longer constrained by wires now. We can send messages over electromagnetic waves that... that spread in all directions!
Constable: So doesn't that mean that everybody can receive everyone else's messages?
Constable: Well, perhaps that's true, but that might be a good thing. I might have something to say that I want the whole world to hear.
Constable: Yes, yes, you and everyone else, George. Just think of all the birds outside your window tweeting at once.
Constable: I think the word is twittering, Henry - but you might be right. This doesn't portend well.

Constable: [realizing Julia is staring at him in the nude and covering his erect penis] I've been swimming in the cold river.
Dr. Julia Ogden: Oh.

Detective: Where is my bolograph?
Terrence: Your what?
Detective: It converts heat radiation into a graphic array.
Inspector: You can see people in the dark.
Detective: Well, actually, sir, you can see the heat radiating off of their bodies, but... George!
Constable: Sir, I found it!
Detective: Where was it?
Constable: Sir, McNabb had taken it to help him shoot raccoons.
Inspector: Bloody McNabb. Big dozy git.
Detective: [to Crabtree] Thank you.

Constable: Besides, I don't need to buy your affections.
Nina: Is that so?
Constable: I reckon most nights you could hardly wait to give them to me.

[last lines]
Simon: Here.
[hands Crabtree the hammer]
Constable: Oh, I don't know. I've got a-a-a sore elbow, you see. I don't...
[he rings the bell]
Simon: Oh-ho!
Constable: Ohh, who knew!
Simon: I can't believe it.
Edna: Well.

Detective: [Looking at Lillie's diary] There doesn't seem to be a mention of a suitor or even gentlemen friends. However, she does mention a flea infestation.
Constable: Well, that would explain the insect repellent... Sir, in my personal experience a boring diary was an excellet way to keep a nosy mother in the dark...
Detective: ...while keeping your true secrets hidden elsewhere.

Constable: Lying and stealing, sir, that's not normal for a boy his age.
Detective: George, lying and stealing is *exactly* normal for a boy his age.

Detective: George, what country of origin would you say begins with the letters SW?
Constable: Oh there's several I can think of, sir. Swansea - that's in England, I believe. Um, Sweden. Swaziland, I think, is a real place.
Detective: Switzerland, George. And what are the Swiss famous for?
Constable: Chocolate. Cheese. Cheese with holes.
Detective: Clocks.

[last lines]
Constable: Sir! Still looking for your travel journal?
Historian: Well, the trail has gone cold. But I am not one to give up.
[Crabtree pulls a drawing from a garbage can]
Historian: The C.N. Tower!
Constable: It looks like a space-ship on a stick.
Historian: Once the world's tallest free-standing structure, built right here at Front and John.
Constable: You, my friend, have a vivid imagination.
Historian: I didn't dream this stuff up. And now I must stay the course. Canada's turning a hundred and fifty and I am not going to miss the party.
[He walks away whistling]
Constable: Did he say Canada's turning a hundred and fifty?
Constable: He did.

Detective: The City of Love with a beautiful woman. You'd be a fool to say no.
Constable: I thought you said it was the City of Light.
Detective: Light, love. Are they not one and the same?
Constable: I prefer to love with the lights off, sir. I fear I'm bashful.

Constable: Plenty of fish in the sea, George.
Constable: It's a shame I'm not packing Leslie Garland's bait.

Constable: [Coming in out of the rain] Rotten old night out there. The rain's got the sewers backed up. There are rats as big as pumpkins roaming the streets.

[first lines]
Constable: Terribly exciting isn't it, sir.
Detective: Why is that, George?
Constable: Well, one of these young ladies, sir, is planning to become Mrs. Rodney Strong, now that his family have deemed it time that he settle down and marry. That's him there, sir.
Detective: Oh.
Constable: Although rumor has it that he's been peculiarly uninterested in entertaining the company of young ladies up to this point.
Detective: Oh. Is he...?
Constable: Shy, sir, extremely shy. An unusual trait given that he's widely considered the most eligible bachelor in the entire City of Toronto. The whole country, I bet.

Detective: George, how are things with the puppet?
Constable: It stares at me, sir, like it knows what I'm thinking. And it's always grinning this grin...
Detective: Basswood and wires, Constable.

[last lines]
Constable: You know, if I was going to do something like this, I would set up shop out in the middle of the desert somewhere.
Dr. Julia Ogden: Some place like California.
Constable: Exactly.
Detective: The Territory of New Mexico, that'd be my pick.
Dr. Julia Ogden: Oh yes, William, that's a splendid choice.
Inspector: Ah, you're all crackers. Wales! Now no-one in their right mind would go there.
[laughs]

Constable: I think it would be a good idea if your pen name was to include all three of your names, like some of the greats: Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Conan Doyle, H. G. Wells.
Lucy: Louisa May Alcott.
Constable: Exactly.
Lucy: Oh, what a wonderful thought, George. I do like the sound of it. Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Dr. Julia Ogden: There's one more very important fact you're going to need to know.
[Pulls back sheet to reveal body on examining table]
Inspector: Is that... ?
Constable: Are those... ?
Inspector: You mean to tell me that...
Dr. Julia Ogden: Gentlemen, Victor Bernard was a woman.

Constable: [approaching a nondescript solitary building] Are you sure this is the address Mr. Wilson gave the inspector?
Constable: I don't know, Henry. All I know is this is the address the inspector gave me.
Constable: This doesn't seem right to me. Shouldn't we be investigating some sort of medical facility.
Constable: Who knows what goes on behind closed doors? Who knows?

Detective: George, I need you to run out and purchase a dress.
Constable: Oh, we've already got one for Mrs. Robinson.
Detective: No, it's - it's for me.
Constable: [Sarcastically] Tired of the old jacket and trousers.

Detective: George, this is not a murder. This is canicide.
Constable: Exactly, sir. Like homicide or suicide. An unlawful killing.
Detective: But there's no law against the killing of an animal. You know that. Now stay with her and help her bury the dog.
Edith: Bury him? Without a funeral?

Constable: [after discovering the murdered girls love letters and diary and sniffing them] The secret life of teenage girls!
[Murdoch pulls the letters away from him/]

[first lines]
Constable: And you say there's nothing wrong with it at all?
Mrs. Haan: Uh, how should I know? I've never driven the thing.
Constable: It's a fine automobile, George. And the price...
[chuckles]
Constable: What do you think, Jackson?
Constable: You know what I think; I already gave you my share, George.
Constable: We could own a motorcar, George, and for only fifty dollars.
Constable: The price does actually seem rather low, Ma'am.
Mrs. Haan: Well, you can pay more if you like; makes no difference to me.
Constable: Are these yours?
Constable: George, why would a woman need driving gloves?
[chuckles]
Mrs. Haan: I don't know whose those are, but you can have them if you take the automobile. Do we have a deal?
[George sighs, ponders, then takes the For Sale sign off the car]

Lydia: Look at you, big city policeman. An important man.
Constable: [Smiles shyly] *Important*, I don't-...
Detective: [Enters] George, I need you to get me six melons!

Constable: Holy heart of Mary! Uh sir, there's a family of raccoons in there!
Detective: Would you prefer if I searched that area, George?
Constable: Sir, I - I don't like raccoons. I don't like their little feet. I don't trust anything that has hands for feet.

Chief: [explaining what is common to all prisoners] Stupidity, Crabtree, thought-stunting, bat blind stupidity is the sine qua non of incarceration.
Constable: Wouldn't that include us?
Chief: Indeed! But stupidity is relative; some have it in abundance, and others have comparatively little. As members of the latter category we have an advantage, and I suggest we use it.

Jean: Constable Crabtree.
Constable: Ah, Miss Hamilton, what a... surprise. Can I help you?
Jean: I certainly hope so. The constabulary must shut that place down immediately.
Constable: What place is this?
Jean: They call it "The Blind Pig," but a den of iniquity is what it is. They play the devil's music, and couples dance in a most unseemly manner.
Constable: Unseemly?
Jean: I haven't seen it with my own eyes, thank the Lord. But I have it on good report that men and women are... touching - in public!
Constable: Well, Miss Hamilton, it's dancing; there's going to be some degree...
Jean: [interrupting him] But it's the way they do it.
Constable: I see.
Jean: I hardly dare imagine what else goes on in that place. Licentious music breeds all manner of vice. It must be stopped before the whole city is infected.

Constable: I took the liberty of looking into Mr. Johnson's past. At the risk of repeating myself, he was dead.

[last lines]
Dr. Julia Ogden: Welcome.
Constable: Thank you for the kind invitation, Dr. Ogden.
Dr. Julia Ogden: Pleased to have you, George.
Constable: Uh, hope you don't mind; I brought a guest.
Nina: So delighted to have been included in your little soiree.
Inspector: Crabtree.
Margaret: Thomas.
Hermione: Not again.
Constable: Everyone, meet my new sweetheart, Miss Nina Bloom.

Constable: You still haven't told me why you think Mrs. Robinson is innocent.
Detective: Newton's third law of motion, George.

Constable: We could at least say I was injured catching a criminal.
Constable: You catching a criminal? Henry, we want to keep it believable.

Constable: Sir, I've been doing some reading, and as it turns out, even the president of the United States believes in the hollow earth.
Detective: Really?
Constable: Well, not the current president, sir, but John Quincy Adams was in the process of sending an expedition to the North Pole to look for the entrance, before his plans were quashed by Congress.
Detective: John Quincy Adams kept a pet alligator in the White House bathroom.
Constable: Sir, I'm not one of these people that believe there's a second sun down there. In fact, I'm quite convinced it's pitch black, and the hollow earthers have pale, almost translucent skin, and they have snout noses, sir. They are these snouted beasts who navigate by their sense of smell... No, sir, by sound, of course! They're like bats. They make this high-pitched "nih!" "nih!" And it bounces through the tunnels, and...
Detective: [interrupting him] George, why have we not seen one of these snouted beasts then?
Constable: They're allergic to sunlight.
Detective: Ah.
Constable: Like vampires. And sir, I know there are no vampires...
Detective: No.
Constable: ...in North America.

Constable: [Looking through fingerprint cards] I can't think of one instance that we've discovered someone's identity by going through these files.
Constable: We do it all the time.
Constable: Do we? Because it's my recollection that we do this until our eyes fall out, and then Detective Murdoch comes waltzing in here and says, "Check on so-and-so." And lo and behold, he's our man.
Constable: Detective Murdoch doesn't waltz, Henry. Believe me, I've seen him try.

Cecily: [loudly] No danger! He's stuck atop a pole with a bomb strapped to him.
Detective: Ma'am, please keep your voice down; you wouldn't want to be the one to set it off, now would you?
Constable: [Murdoch and Crabtree walk away] Hold on, sir; I doubt if her voice is loud enough...
Detective: Yes, George, I know that. You know that. We don't need her to know that.

Inspector: Where's the knives and forks?
Constable: Oh, sir, I believe we're supposed to use these: chopsticks.
Inspector: Chopsticks? What can you chop with these?

Constable: What are you doing, sir?
Detective: Making elastic bands, George.
Constable: Easily purchased, sir.
Detective: Why spend hard-earned money on something you can easily make yourself?

Inspector: [Looking at te provocative photos of the murdered girl] Let me see these. Hmmmm...
Inspector: [Holding one up o see it better] Nice!
Detective: [Amused but critical of what he perceives is the Inspector's lacivious reaction] Inspector... really!
Inspector: I was referring to the quality of the work. The composition is professional, and the paper stock is... oh, wel, the paper stock is top-notch.
Constable: [Chirping in] The paper stock, sir - first thing I noticed.

Inspector: You should sign up for the military, Crabtree. War tests the measure of a man.
Constable: Sir, I'm not sure I want to be measured.

[last lines]
Constable: Sirs, you called for me?
Inspector: Ah, Crabtree. We wanted to compliment you on a fine piece of work.
Detective: Yes.
Inspector: Even if your diligence did uncover that professional wrestling is a sham.
Detective: Yes, I doubt fans will continue to follow it so feverishly once the truth reaches them.
Inspector: Nevertheless, I think it's about time you got measured for a new suit.
Constable: Sir?
Detective: Yes, George, you've been serving in a constable's tunic long enough.
Constable: Sirs, uh...
Inspector: Don't be thick, bugalugs. There's an opening at Station House Number 3 for a new detective. I've put you forward.
Detective: They'll be lucky to have you, George.

Nina: Bonjour, mon amour!
Constable: Ah... ..
[both kisses on the cheeks twice]
Constable: You two do realise that you are still Canadians?

Constable: So, Fremont just walks away?
Inspector: It's all part of a larger plan.
Constable: [slightly bewildered] A plan, sir?
Inspector: Crabtree, Murdoch isn't the only one around here who can think like Murdoch, eh?
Constable: If you say so, sir.

[first lines]
Inspector: I thought we were supposed to bring our wives.
Margaret: Well, I certainly didn't want to come. I hear they eat duck's feet, and eyeballs.
Constable: Mrs. Brackenreid, I've actually eaten Chinese food *twice*. It's very good.
Inspector: I thought we were supposed to bring our wives.

Detective: George, what do you think of this painting?
Constable: Oh, sir. I couldn't possibly say. I don't consider myself bright enough to understand art.

Constable: It appears to be a pig-like creature!
Detective: Pig-like?
Constable: Sir, I don't think we should assume the entity is of this planet.

[last lines]
Detective: Sir, get them.
Constable: Inspector!
Inspector: Crabtree! Come see to Murdoch.
Constable: Where are you going?
Inspector: To end this.
Constable: Sir!
Inspector: The O'Sheas are mine.

Constable: [Looking at the recently unearthed mummified bodies] Cyanide is often used in suicides. Perhaps they killed themselves.
Detective: How did they then bury themselves, George?
Constable: [Sheepishly] Point taken, sir.

[last lines]
Constable: [about the killer's fate] So, he's alive?
Detective: I think it's safe to assume that he's... I don't know.

Constable: I suppose I'm not such a terrific chef after all.
Inspector: Few men are.
Constable: Well, there's an idea, Sir. What if bachelors like myself didn't have to cook? What if you could just purchase a prepared meal?
Inspector: What for?
Constable: Well, for convenience. It would be ready to eat, ready to eat. That would be the slogan. And I would call it "Tasty Vittles Dinner."
Inspector: Bit of a mouthful.
Constable: Well, I suppose I could shorten it. TV dinner. And you could eat it whenever you are watching whatever can see out your window, I suppose. I mean the news of the day, some copper solving a case, perhaps a cooking competition.
Inspector: That sounds ridiculous. Why wouldn't you just get yourself a wife?

[first lines]
Constable: Sir. These lads were on a training run when they discovered the body.
Detective: Training?
Constable: Yes, sir, for the upcoming Olympics in Paris, apparently.
Ralph: Well, even though the club isn't sponsoring any track athletes. Apparently they don't think we can beat the famous George Orton.
Dr. Emily Grace: Excuse me.
Ralph: Emily Grace. Fancy meeting you here.
Dr. Emily Grace: Ralph?
Ralph: It's been a long time. I haven't seen you since you...
Dr. Emily Grace: I called off my engagement, yes.
Detective: Doctor Grace!
Ralph: We miss you at the club.
Dr. Emily Grace: I must go.

Constable: 'The Filmed Adventures of Detective William Murdoch' hardly trips off the tongue, and it would make for a very long marquee.
Detective: That's true.
James: What do you suggest?
Constable: Just 'The Murdoch Mysteries'.
James: I like it.

Constable: Look here. See these flowers? They're the only ones of their kind in this area. The soil here is richer, possibly fertilized by organic matter.
Anne: Like a rotting corpse?
Constable: You're a quick study, Miss Baxter.

Constable: [sees Murdoch returning from a crime scene in the wilderness] Eh, sir. The woods didn't treat you well?
[Murdoch walks away, speechless]
Constable: I can't blame him for returning. The wilderness is an awful place.
Detective: Oh, on the contrary, I favour Muir's observation. In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.
Constable: You mean gets more than he bargained for, and it's always bad.

Constable: ...you and I are thinking along the same lines.
Inspector: [sighs] That's a chilling thought, Crabtee!

Constable: Murderers never dig deep. They're in a hurry to be rid of the body.
Constable: Or can't be bothered to dig any further. Let's try by the river.
Constable: Why?
Constable: Just seems a restful place.
Constable: Higgins, we're looking for a burial site not a picnic spot, man!

Constable: [Referring to Rowena] Sir, you're not going to let her leave?
Detective: She's not leaving us, George. She's leading us.

Constable: [puts his bread back onto his plate] I can't do it.
Constable: What's that?
Constable: The bread! I can't do it. It's soft, it's tasteless.
Constable: Let me guess. The food was better in Paris.
Constable: You are right about that, Higgins. Let me tell you, every meal was a feast. Even bread... a long crisp French baguette, oh, a work of art!
Constable: You don't say.

[first lines]
Constable: Oh, all right, it's not going anywhere. Uh. Go ahead.

Detective: Might I suggest you stop by the Eaton's department store on your way home.
Constable: Eaton's, sir?
Detective: Yes. You'll find they boast the best that modern technology has to offer in their selection of alarm clocks.

Constable: The only constant in this investigation is that each wrestler is proved a fraud.
Detective: True. The Cossack isn't Russian, and the chief rivals were actually friends.
Constable: A-a-and in our championship match the other night, i-it involved a fake manoeuvre and a prearranged outcome.
Inspector: So? What of it?
Constable: Well, sir, as much as it pains me to say, it's quite possible the entire sport is fake.
Inspector: Outlandish! Wrestling is a sport of honor and integrity.

Detective: George, there is absolutely no scientific basis for the existence of ghosts.
Constable: Yes sir, but you yourself have said the absence of evidence is not necessarily the evidence of absence.

[first lines]
Constable: I've got seven point two.
Constable: I've got six point six.
Constable: Well, I'm closer, Henry. Come towards me.
Constable: I have seven point two.
Constable: I've got seven point eight. We're getting closer, Henry.
Constable: I just got eight.
Constable: Well, Higgins, I do believe we have located our quarry.
Detective: More accurate to say that I've located you.
Constable: Well, sir, given that we started four blocks apart...
Detective: Then I'd say that this has been a success, gentlemen. Well done.

Inspector: I find it hard to believe that such a precise model was built by an imbecile!
Constable: [Trying to be politically correct] Ooooh-sir, uh, I believe such people as Lydia are no longer referred to as imbecile. It's felt to be demeaning. The correct term nowadays is moron.

[George's aunts obviously run a brothel]
Detective: George, what kind of place is this?
Constable: It's a rectory, sir. The reverend wasn't using it, so he rented it to my aunts for the business.
Detective: What kind of business?
Constable: Sir, if you don't know, I'm not sure I should say.
Detective: I might have guessed, George.
Constable: Ah, that's good sir; it would have made for an awkward explanation.
Detective: George, was the reverend aware of all of this?
Constable: Oh, yes, sir. It was his idea.

Edna: [speaking of her son Simon] That boy is trouble.
Constable: All boys are trouble.

Constable: This is the Earth and Dragon Society.
Detective: And its purpose?
Constable: [reading his notes] "To further appreciate the mysteries of China," apparently.
Detective: In other words, to smoke opium.

Sargeant: Based on rigor mortis, he was dead even before he found himself on those train tracks.
Detective: There's nothing like that in this report.
Sargeant: I base that assumption on my personal examination of Mr. Doakes' left arm at the crime scene.
Constable: His left arm? Sergeant, why his left arm?
Sargeant: Because it was the largest part of Doakes still imtact.

Detective: [Examining the mcast of the supposed martian's foot] Scales?
Constable: Yes, it's my belief that the Martians are covered in scales, so, while they might be smarter than us, I have a feeling they may be a good deal uglier.

Edna: [opens her door to a slightly nervous Crabtree and is not happy to see him] Does your detective wish to interrogate me further?
Constable: Actually, miss, my interests here are strictly personal.
[reveals the small pot of African violets he has been hiding behind his back]
Edna: I'm afraid my own interests in that regard have waned.
Constable: [pauses, looks down the hallway, then back at her] Miss, I'm well aware that the ship between us has sailed.
[looks at the flowers]
Constable: In fact, these flowers were not meant for you.
Edna: They're not?
Constable: No.
[gives a nervous laugh]
Constable: This is very awkward now, but I was hoping to make the acquaintance of your dog.
[pauses]
Constable: Does she like violets?
Edna: You've come to call on my... dog?
Constable: Yes. I was hoping she would walk with me. In fact, I'd be very obliged if you could join us, maybe as chaperone.
Edna: [takes the violets from Crabtree, smiles slightly] Will you wait downstairs?

Constable: You know, Hannah, I almost didn't recognize you with clothes on.
Hannah: To tell the truth, I can hardly keep myself from ripping them off right here.
Constable: I couldn't bring myself to put on my underclothes.
Hannah: Me neither.
Jean: Heathens! Reprobates! Miscreants, degenerates! This city is doomed with moral guardians like you!

Constable: [looks at the assembled bachelorettes] Higgins, they're the cream of society. I hardly think you stand a chance.
Constable: Well, then introduce me to one of the girls who dance with Miss Bloom at The Star Room, George. Probably have better luck there.
Constable: Like who?
Constable: Doesn't matter to me.
Constable: See, that could be your problem. You don't care what kind of woman you're with, as long as you're with one. Women notice something like that, you know.

Constable: I think the idea of Henderson giving up his companionship in a fake manoeuvre difficult to believe.
The: I'm telling the truth. I couldn'ta killed him.
Constable: All right. Lying is one thing; attacking the integrity of the great sport of wrestling, that is quite another.

Constable: It bears repeating that I think your novel has true greatness in it. I just think that you ought to... do away with some of the dull bits and flesh out the parts that are more arousing.
Lucy: Now, that is sound advice.
Constable: And have you reconsidered making it *Dan* of Green Gables?
Lucy: Absolutely not. Why should I? Half the world is made up of women; I suspect there should be a large readership for a novel with a female protagonist.
Constable: You make a good case.

[first lines]
Constable: [showing betting slip] Sir, fifty cents on William Murdoch.
Detective: Oh, George, I'm afraid your money would be best spent elsewhere. I'm competing against professionals.
Constable: Well, sir, I thought about that, and I brought you this. It's a caffeine drink, so it should level the playing field. Strength of a bull in a bottle there, sir.
Detective: That's all right, George. I've created my own advantage. Sprockets.
Constable: Sprockets, sir?
Detective: Yes, yes. They allow me to change gears, offsetting pedaling resistance against gradient in the course.
Constable: Sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news; I've just read about this very invention in 'Cycler News'.
Detective: Indeed, indeed. The difference, however, is I've created a system of rods, allowing me to change gears without dismounting.
Constable: Sir, that's brilliant.
Detective: Yes, yes!

[first lines]
Inspector: [on phone] I will do immediately. Thank you.
[hangs up]
Inspector: Crabtree! In here!
Constable: Sirs?
Inspector: Pack up your desk.
Constable: Excuse me?
Inspector: And buy a suit. Davis's Station House Number 3 wants you as his detective. You start in two weeks.
Constable: Sir! Truly?
Detective: Detective Crabtree. Congratulations.
Constable: [laughing] Detective Crabtree. I like the sound of that.
Inspector: No time to celebrate; we've got to get to the polls. Margaret's waiting.
Detective: Oh, sir, I already voted. In the advance polls, in case I was detained on an investigation.

[first lines]
Detective: Doctor?
Dr. Emily Grace: Given the position of the body, drowning appears most likely. Of course I will have to complete my examination for certainty.
Detective: And what have you, George?
[Crabtree just gazes at Emily]
Detective: George?
Constable: Sir, uh, this was lying next to the unfortunate lady's body.
[hands Murdoch a piece of paper]
Detective: [reads] Mrs. Harriet Fuller, three-oh-one A River Street.
Constable: River Street is just beyond that ridge of trees.
Detective: Right. We'll leave you to it, doctor.

[last lines]
Edna: Thank you for meeting me, George.
Constable: How's Simon?
Edna: He's happy. His father's back.
Constable: How are you?
Edna: They told me he was dead, George.
Constable: Edna...
Edna: I mean, one minute I'm to be Mrs. George Crabtree and the next minute I'm back to being Mrs. Archibald Brooks, and... I don't know what to do, George.
Constable: There's not anything you can do, Edna. Your husband's come back to you; Simon's father's returned to him. Your family's whole again.
Edna: George, I...
Constable: Edna, go back to your life and be happy. I want you to be happy.
Edna: Good-bye, George.

Detective: [to Dr. Ogden] Your Miss James is an able surgeon.
Constable: She saved my life.

Inspector: Lads, you wouldn't believe it if you'd seen it yourselves: a great, long creature, scales, sharp teeth, huge, saucer-like eyes, red-rimmed and full of lust for blood. Crabtree, what do you know about this demon in the lake?
Constable: I'm not entirely convinced, sir.
Inspector: You don't believe in sea monsters?
Constable: Well, obviously, there are monsters in the sea, sir; that's why they call them sea monsters. But I've never heard of any lake monsters. I just can't imagine anything so dastardly living in fresh water.
Inspector: Crabtree, wait a minute. You're telling me that you believe in zombies, werewolves, vampires, Martians, Venusians, curses, voodoo, ghosts, and, apparently, sea monsters. But a creature in Lake Ontario that both I and Detective Murdoch have witnessed is beyond the scope of your otherwise vivid imagination. You're telling me that?
Constable: Sir, I can't attest to what you witnessed. I'm afraid I remain a skeptic.

Constable: What? Higgins, you have only been courting her a short while. I've worn the same pair of socks longer.

Constable: Dr. Ogden, is there anything else I can get for you in the meantime?
Dr. Julia Ogden: Pillow?
Constable: Now, Doctor, you're being highly unreasonable.
[Julia chuckles]
Constable: I'll see what I can do.

Constable: You should try a trip to Paris, Henry. In fact it would be an excellent place for a honeymoon.
Constable: There is nothing wrong with Niagara Falls.

Detective: He was a clockmaker?
Constable: No, lawyer, in fact. This seems to be something of a hobby of his. Some impressive work though.
Detective: Really?
Constable: Yes, for some of the pieces on the mantel here are particularly sophisticated. Do you know, sir, that I am a bit of a horologist myself? I made this pocket watch I am carrying?
[gets out his pocket watch to show Murdoch]
Detective: You made this, George?
[holding the pocket watch, surprised]
Constable: Yes, sir.
Detective: Does it work?
Constable: Yes. Well... at least twice a day.

Constable: The Rat Portage Thistles have this smooth-skating cover point, Hod Stewart. If the Ottawa Hockey Club can sign him next year, they'll win the Stanley Cup.
Armstrong: Not possible, Crabtree. Too much infighting in Ottawa.
Constable: Armstrong, you clearly don't know the first thing about hockey. Sometimes I wonder why I even talk...
[sees Laurier]
Sir: I'm here to talk to Detective Murdoch.
Armstrong: And you would be?
Constable: For the love of Pete, Armstrong, it is the Prime Minister, man! Sir, right this way.
[slaps paper on desk]
Constable: That's called a newspaper, Armstrong. Try reading one.

Detective: A fire-fighting robot, George?
Constable: Yes sir. Er... imagine it, with heat sensing eyes, moving towards the fire wielding a hose. Can one build such a thing, sir?
Detective: I suppose. Have you considered the potential effect such a machine will have on human kind?
Constable: Well, yes. This one would put out fires.
Detective: Hmm, but if these robots can supplant a person's vocation, the very source of meaning in life, what will become of that?
Detective: In this case, it would take over a dangerous occupation, potentially saving lives.
Detective: And what happens when this automation spreads to other duties, like our own?
Constable: [laughing] A robot-constable, sir. Robo-copper.

Constable: You can have Hendrickson; he lives almost ten miles out of town
Constable: Oh, I'm aware of that.
Constable: Then why would you volunteer?
Constable: Because he lives right next to Mrs. Hempshire's Finishing School.
Constable: Mary Lawrence went there.
Constable: Did she?
Constable: For a time. She left; she said the women there were of easy virtue.
Constable: Oh, indeed? And if I recall correctly, today's laundry day. I remember once Jackson and I had to reprimand a couple of them for wandering around in their unmentionables.
Constable: Did you?
Constable: Yes, and they were from France. The, the unmentionables, Parisian undergarments.
Constable: Well, allow me to save you the trip.
Constable: Hmh?
Constable: I could use a brisk bicycle ride.
[Higgins leaves]
Mark: It's a shame... you don't have a fence that needs paintin'.
Constable: That was last summer, sir.

Constable: [opening lines to Murdoch] Quite unexpected as you could imagine, sir. The nuns were about to lay Sister St. Ignatius to her final resting place when they noticed that her spot was, uh, well, it was spoken for, you might say, sir.

Constable: You ever dream about joining the circus as a boy?
Detective: No, I didn't, George.
Constable: I did. It's because I'm an adventure seeker, which is why I became a cop apparently. At least that's what Lady Minervaa said.
Detective: Lady Minerva?
Constable: She's the gypsy fortune teller.
Detective: I highly doubt she's a true fortune teller, George.
Constable: Oh, sir, I believe she is. She knew I was a foundling, and she wasn't guessing. It was in the cards.
Detective: Did she have anything relevant to say about the case?
Constable: She believes the tiger is innocent.
Detective: All animals are innocent, George, humans excepted.

Constable: Miss Bloom, I'm here to speak... I'm, I'm actually hear to speak to Lydia Hall about Gerald Sloan.
Nina: Ah. All business I see. Well, she's not here yet.
[she sits on his lap]
Nina: Mm, you're at Station Number 4?
Constable: Yes.
Nina: Then that's where I'll telephone you.
[she gets up and starts to leave]
Constable: Ahem, When Miss Hall arrives?
Nina: Mm-hm. Then too.

Constable: [to Higgins] And you're wrong about Dr. Grace. She's a modern woman, and in the new century relationships will be defined by a meeting of the minds, and I, my friend, am a 20th Century man.

Detective: [looking through the clothes of the decomposed body and discovering a derringer] Hmm, interesting...
Detective: Perhaps he was expecting trouble.
Detective: Indeed.
Constable: [Murdoch finds a whiskey flask and then some chains] His pocket flask has held up well, and, sir, it appears those chains were wrapped around his entire body.
Detective: In that case, George, however he went into the water, I'd say it's same to assume someone didn't want him coming back.

Constable: I'm think I might introduce Effie to my family.
Constable: You don't have a family.
Constable: Yes, I do. Higgins, my aunts!
Constable: Aren't most of them on the lam?
Constable: Perhaps two of them. Or perhaps three of them. I think there's a warrant out for Fern... again.

Constable: I've been reading up on it in the library; you wouldn't believe it. There are-are several reported instances o-of dirty water causing fatal infections.
Rebecca: Every patient who looks up their symptoms at the library ends up thinking they're dying.

Constable: We have reason to believe that the victim died at a French restaurant shortly before he was killed.
Inspector: French? Didn't even know we had those.
Constable: Well, we do now... several apparently. Higgins has the adresses over here.
Inspector: Well, I don't really like them very much.
Constable: French restaurants?
Inspector: No, the French.

Detective: Well, gentlemen, it's been my experience that when a man chooses to diappear, he stays disappeared.
Inspector: [defensively] ... and your meaning, detective?
Detective: He's off on a bender.
Constable: Oh, sir, Detective Murdoch is a teetotaler. He practices teetotalism.
Detective: Well, then, it's a woman.
[He uses a flamboyant hand gesture to which Brackenreid reacts]
Inspector: You've got him all wrong. Detective Murdoch is probably the most buttoned-down man you'll ever meet.

Constable: "Twas twilly and the grumbly snifters burbled in their moonly sned, while the brilliutiful Noomava--" George, what does this mean?
Constable: It doesn't mean anything, Higgins. It's nonsense!
Constable: Oh. Like your novel?
Constable: [Offended] I'll have you know, I've finished Curse Of The Lost Pharaohs. It's so good, I'm sure to write another!
[Higgins smirks]
Constable: And when I do, there will be a character based on you, and he will be the village idiot!

Constable: [referring to the lights one witness thought came from a UFO] He thought they looked extra-terrestrial, sir.
Detective: [sarcastically] So, it's your feeling that this is the work of Martians, George?
Constable: No, no, no, sir... Venusians! Venusians, sir, have a motive for invasion.
Detective: And what would their motive be?
Constable: Well, sir, Venus is permanenly beclouded. Clearly they have somehow managed to sully their own atmosphere and now covet our clear, blue skies, such as they are.
Detective: [condescendingly] Now, George, why go to the trouble of killing Ivan Wallensky and faking his suicide when they could easily dispatch him with a death ray?

Detective: Something the matter, George?
Constable: Sir. That man, he knows my mother. I mean, he knew my mother. Nine months before I was born.
Detective: Oh... . Oh!

Detective: [after seeing some of Crabtree's fans mobbing him] George, are you quite all right? You look rather persecuted.
Constable: Price of fame, sir.