Maggie tells the two men that she's making scrambled eggs, but when she sets down the platters the eggs are sunny-side-up.
When Maggie grabs the handles of the coffee pot and the skillet, she doesn't use anything to protect her from their supposed scalding heat.
Alfred Hitchcock: (Puts a bullet in a revolver, spins the barrel, cocks it, pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. Spins the barrel, cocks the hammer, pulls the trigger, again nothing.) That's precisely why I don't care for Russian roulette. I never seem to win. There are two revolvers such as this, which play a part in tonight's story. It is what you might call a Western, although there isn't a horse to be seen. We intended to get horses, but they couldn't remember the lines. So you'll be seeing people instead. The cast is a very small one and threatens to become smaller with every passing moment. You see, two of the characters have threatened to eliminate each other on sight. Now, I am sure there are some of you who don't want to see them do that. So I suggest instead that you listen to our sponsor's message.
Alfred Hitchcock: That was disappointing, wasn't it? Still, you will be happy to learn that both Del and Red did die eventually. That very day, in fact. Food poisoning. Maggie's heart was in the right place. She just wasn't a very good cook. And now, let us hear a word or two from our sponsor. A word or two, or three, or four, or five, or six, seven. (Fade to commercial.)
Alfred Hitchcock: Five hundred and eleven, five hundred and twelve, five hundred and thirteen. Thank you, sir.