The talk turns to horse-racing and who’s in the saddle, and it is as dirty as we choose to hear it. Bacall looks like someone breathless from lapping up cream, and Bogart has the jaunty air of a flattered sultan. Then he snaps shut on her and wonders why she’s trying to sugar him so, and why all this sultry chat to shake him free of the case. The case! As if anyone at this point could give a coherent explanation of what that is, or must a conscientious concern.