D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Rule number... where are we up to now?
Nico: Uh, seven, sir.
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Rule number seven. Never use the indicator. Keeps the other drivers on their toes. Is that right, Troy?
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Nice lad, but get a load of this - he's gonna get paid more for playing me than I am for being me.
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Ghost! What's the world coming to, Joyce? Half a paragraph on the crime, and a whole page on something that doesn't exist.
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Your average villain's gone soft, carving up paintings. They'll be breaking the speed limit next or dropping litter.
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Why choose that picture? Why not one of the others? And having broken in, why not nick something?
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Have you got something against us having a quiet day, sir?
Alan Bradford: The museum is closed and you can't go in.
Eleanor Bunsall: Alan, dear, don't be peevish. What would you mother say?
Alan Bradford: She'd say, "Leave me alone. I've been dead for 10 years."
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: [to a dog] You are sitting in my chair. And you're probably wearing my socks, aren't you, eh?
Marcus Lowrie: I am Marcus Lowrie, Jonathan's great great great great great great great great great grandson.
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Close were you?
Alan Bradford: By 3:30 that afternoon, August the 1st, 1644, the fighting was over.
Dr. Catherine Bullard: [In Dr. Bullard's office] No real damage, Tom. You'll have a nasty bruise, though.
Dr. Catherine Bullard: A spade you say? I didn't know gardening could be so dangerous.
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: This was ghost busting, Cathy.
Sgt. Gavin Troy: [enters office with nurse] Thanks a lot, Tracy. I'll call you next week, OK?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Old friend?
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Uh... new friend.
Dr. Catherine Bullard: Right. Well, give my love to Joyce and Cully, won't you?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Cathy, I wouldn't ask this unless it were important, and I know you've got a waiting room full of people out there, but if I wanted to drive someone over the edge, could I do it?
Sgt. Gavin Troy: I'm living proof of that, sir.
Cully Barnaby: Suppose a nice juicy murder is too much to hope for, then?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: The best I can offer is a vandalized painting at Aspen Tallow Museum. But so far your detective sergeant is absolutely believable.
Nico: Terrific. Why?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: You observed rule number one, always keep the Governor waiting.
Alan Bradford: Jonathan Lowrie, royalist, philanthropist, classical scholar, all around excellent egg.
Nico: Yes, 1591 to 1644.
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: How do you know?
Nico: It says so over there where he's buried.
Charles MacKillop: Why did you let old Miss Bunsall loose in the museum, Inspector?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Professional curiosity, I suppose. See, I don't believe in ghosts, just people with dark motives.
Alan Bradford: Can I ask something? How did old Bunsall know it was Jim in that grave?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: The power of extended logic, ultra common sense, if you like. We've all got it, but she uses it.
Anne Quarritch: You mean it's not a special gift like she'd have us believe?
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: No, of course not.
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Not like she'd be the one to tell us, huh?
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Spare me from little old ladies! She's a cantankerous old bag, and daft as a bloody brush.
D.C.I. Tom Barnaby: Oh, I don't know, Troy. I rather like her.
Sgt. Gavin Troy: What for, Mr. McKillop? So you can flog it with Miss Needle Features here?
Linda Marquis: I resent that!
Eleanor Bunsall: Any more questions? Sensible ones?
Eleanor Bunsall: Yes?
Sgt. Gavin Troy: Does nothing die in your world, Miss Bunsall? You know, people, plants, animals?
Eleanor Bunsall: You are smarter than you look, young man. We are all part of an endless saga. We fade, yes, but only to reappear in ever brighter colors.
Sgt. Gavin Troy: So you can talk to Jonathan Lowrie, the dickie birds, or even a Christmas tree just as easily as you can talk to us.
Eleanor Bunsall: More so, because they appreciate what I say.