Original subtitles

Barnaby Jones, a Quinn Martin production.

Starring Buddy Ebsen.

Also starring Lee Merriweather.

With guest stars Donna Mills, Neva Patterson,

Shelley Novak, Kurt Kasner.

Special guest star Alan Feinstein.

Tonight's episode.

Portrait of Evil.

Well, what do you think?

Fantastic. I can't tell any difference between them.

See what I mean?

It's going to work.

Yeah.

But a miniature like that is one thing.

Getting away with a copy of something this big.

Look.

I'll have the Degas finished tonight.

Come to my place and you be the judge. Tony, I'm not the one we're going to

to fool.

Guthrie's the expert.

If we make the switch and he spots it as a forgery, we won't be out of the

country before he has the police on us.

All right, forget it.

Forget the whole thing. Stay married to that old miserly... Hang on.

I know what I want.

I just think it'd be safer to...

Get a divorce.

We can still go to Europe like we planned.

Baby, we've been through all this.

I'm broke.

When you leave him, you get nothing.

Reinhardt saw to that before he married you when he tied up all his millions in

his museum foundation.

We still have each other.

I'm used to starving alone.

Not with a wife and maybe a few kids.

Don't you see?

I'd have to give up my painting.

I wouldn't let you do that.

Then let's finish what we've started.

In four days, the Degas will be dry enough to make the switch.

We take off for Europe with the two originals. We sell them for 300 ,000,

more. And pray that Guthrie doesn't discover the forgeries until later. Even

he does, he'd have a hard time convincing the police he hadn't bought

the first place.

That'd serve the old typewad right.

Guthrie, I thought... You thought I'd be miles away by now.

Unfortunately, I had to come back for some papers I'd forgotten.

Mr. Reinhardt, it's not Abby's fault. It's all mine.

Mr. Barrow, you dirty, filthy scum.

I never want to see you in my house again. Get out!

Get out!

Abby,

my room.

Go home.

It hurt.

Reinhardt!

Reinhardt!

Reinhardt! There's some pills in his room.

You can't be.

You can't be.

Reinhardt! Reinhardt, you can't do this to me.

You can't be. You can't be. You can't be.

You can't be. Tony, stop it! Tony, stop it!

Oh, my God, what do we do now?

Doctor warned him about his heart.

We've blown it.

The lawyers will have the entire state locked up in probate, the paintings,

everything. I'd better call the doctor.

Until the copy's ready for the switch.

Then we let him know he's dead.

Tony, we can't do that.

Why not?

Nobody knows about it but us.

But we can't just... Hide him, why not?

I know just the place.

Barnaby!

Walter, I'm sorry I'm late.

Ran into a little traffic coming out of Los Angeles.

I sure am glad you could come.

I love that drive up the coast.

Santa Barbara brings back memories.

We're out back by the patio.

Harry, Barnaby Jones, Mrs. Reinhardt. Hello. Still no word, huh? No.

Mr. Morgan, I know how anxious you are to talk to Guthrie, but as I keep

you, I... Yesterday I was anxious.

Today I'm beginning to panic. I really don't expect to hear from him before he

gets back from his trip.

But you said a week, maybe longer.

Barnaby, I'm going to be ruined unless I find Reinhardt before Monday.

Now, Walter, take it easy.

Miss Reinhardt, I hope you don't mind my getting into this, but Walter asked me

to help find your husband.

Barnaby's a private investigator.

He's the best.

A detective?

I told you.

Guthrie is on an art -buying trip.

He's not a missing person.

Well, until somebody knows how to get a hold of him, he's missing as far as I'm

concerned. Walter.

Just thrashing around on the water is not going to get you across the lake.

Now, Walter told me that your husband had an appointment a couple of nights

to meet some attorneys, sign some papers, something about a merger.

And I stand to lose one half a million dollars in commissions because Reinhardt

disappeared. Mr. Morgan, has it ever occurred to you that maybe Guthrie

his mind about your deal?

Abby, it's not my deal.

It's his deal.

And unless something has happened to him, he wouldn't miss closing this deal

all the art in Rome.

Didn't you say that you had an appointment with the lawyers to talk

extension? Yeah.

You're right, you're right, you're right. That's a good idea.

You sure you don't need my help here anymore?

I'll manage.

All right.

Goodbye. Now, Abby, anything you can think of, please.

Actually, I, uh...

I have an appointment myself.

Yes, I just have a question or two. Didn't your husband mention anything

where he was going?

To anyone who doesn't know him, it may sound a little strange, but my husband

a very eccentric collector.

So I've read.

What you probably haven't read, though, is how paranoiac he's become about the

art dealers jacking up the prices every time they hear Guthrie Reinhardt is

making a new acquisition.

So he keeps his trips secret now.

Just takes off in the car and doesn't tell anyone.

Not even his wife?

All I know is he said he was going on a buying trip. He could be anywhere.

London, New York, Paris. I just don't know.

Well, if he took his car, the probability is he didn't go that far.

Unless he left his car at the airport.

True.

I really have to go.

Yes, if I need any more information, I'll call you.

Well, guess I fixed all this for nothing.

Oh, I wouldn't say that.

I never turned down a cherry tart in a month with or without an hour in it.

Mmm.

Delicious.

Flattery will get you everywhere.

I'm Liza.

Barnaby Jones.

I heard from the window.

Look, I don't like sticking my nose into other people's business.

But if I was looking for Mr.

Reinhardt, I'd try Los Angeles.

Why Los Angeles?

Because that's where the towels mostly come from.

Towels? Hotel towels.

Seems every time he takes his car to go on one of his art buying trips, it's

driving to Los Angeles.

Then when he comes back, his bags always have some hotel towels in them.

Any particular hotel he seemed to favor?

No. Different ones all the time.

I guess that's how he keeps his whereabouts a secret.

Won't you have another one? No, thank you.

One's my limit.

When I'm driving.

Tell me something.

Do you like dancing?

There's a real fine dance ballroom down.

I'll give it some thought.

Abby, what are you doing here? We agreed it wasn't wise to be seen together

until this thing was over. Something's happened.

Walter Morgan came by again looking for Guthrie. Only this time he brought

Barnaby Jones with him, a private detective.

What?

Does Morgan suspect anything?

No. He's just so frantic about this business deal of theirs that he brought

Jones in to help him find Guthrie.

We need two more days. The painting will be dry by then.

What if Jones comes back? What do I tell him? You just stick with your story,

okay? You don't know anything, you understand?

All right.

All right, you better go now.

Not seeing you all this time, I missed you.

Oh, I missed you too.

In a few days, we'll have all the time in the world together.

Hey, can I see the painting?

Perfect, if I say so myself.

Voila.

You really are a wonderful artist.

A few years, people start trying to forge my masterpieces.

I love you.

Ralph.

This is the umpteenth time you drag me out to this nowhere beach and all you

ever do is take crummy pictures.

What are you shooting now?

A masterpiece, Cindy.

A million dollar masterpiece.

Ask a silly question.

Fantastic, isn't it, Barnaby? It looks like somebody dropped a crate of eggs on

the kitchen floor.

Oh, Barnaby, you still don't know how to look at modern paintings.

I've looked at them every way, including standing on my head.

But right now, I'm more interested in talking about Guthrie Reinhardt.

What do you want with that old skin, Flint?

Oh, I'm looking for him for a client of mine. He's supposed to be holed up

somewhere here in Los Angeles.

Oh, so tell me.

Not another one of his art raids. Is that what they call them, art raids?

Well, what else?

He comes skulking in like a vulture, has his stooges buy up all the talented new

artists, and then forces the prices to go up by hoarding their paintings.

You know what the worst of it is?

Reinhardt doesn't even like art.

He's just in it for the money.

How do I contact one of these stooges?

Oh, they never announce who they're fronting for.

Just different people he sends in to poor -mouth the galleries into selling

cheap. Wouldn't you think a man as important as Reinhardt would have a

professional agent riding herd on his art acquisitions?

Well, you might try George Andre.

The art critic?

Mm -hmm.

There are some people who say that he's the artistic eyes and ears behind

Reinhardt's throne.

Thank you, Charlotte.

Oh, and the next time you run across a Grandma Moses primitive, give me a call.

Get out of here, Barnaby.

The fridge is locked.

How am I supposed to make dinner?

Everything's upstairs in the kitchen refrigerator.

My husband moved it. He did? What for?

To make room for some wines and champagne that he wanted chilled.

Oh, he locked it up.

Doesn't trust anybody anymore.

Done? Perfect.

You're looking great as ever, Abby.

Thank you.

You know, it's been lonely around him without you.

Couldn't stay away so long.

There's lots of things I shouldn't have done.

Introduce you to my uncle, for one.

Come on.

Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. We were never that serious about each

other. Well, Uncle Guthrie didn't think so when he told me to get out and stay

out. Now, that's a pretty price to pay, since my only talent is to live off his

money.

It was always your problem, selling yourself short.

All right, I guess I do have another talent.

An amateur's knack of photography, you might say.

Here, take a look at this.

Blackmail?

Nothing personal, Abby. I mean, you're aces as far as I'm concerned.

And knowing old Guthrie, I don't blame you looking elsewhere for some

I know I shouldn't be shocked by what you're trying to do, but I am.

I want $25 ,000.

I don't have any money. You know that.

Abby, these pictures are all that stand between me and some crummy $2 an hour

job.

Now, I'm sure you're going to figure out a way to get it.

Ralph, be reasonable.

The only cash I ever see is a small household allowance.

Would you rather me go to my uncle for it?

He's a miser, but he does have pride.

And I don't think he'll mind selling out $25 ,000 just to keep these pictures

out of circulation.

I'll be back tomorrow. You see what you can do.

I was hoping to talk with you about Guthrie Reinhardt.

Well, regarding my bread and butter, please.

Thank you.

I understand that you're Mr. Reinhardt's eyes and ears in the world of art.

Also his taste, his perception, and his discernment.

Beautiful thing with you.

My secretary.

Over here. Please, do join us.

Mr. Andre, she's my daughter -in -law, Betty Jones.

Enchante, mademoiselle.

We'll join you, won't you?

Any

luck,

Betty?

Oh, no.

I'm afraid not. No one even resembling Guthrie Reinhardt checked into any of

better hotels.

Mr. Andre, I gather that if anyone knows the whereabouts of Mr.

Reinhardt, that's you.

Is he presently buying art here in Los Angeles?

Of course not.

If he were here or anywhere in the world making acquisitions, I would be at his

side. You're positive because it's very important that we find Mr. Reinhardt.

I assure you, Mr. Jones.

In fact, I spoke to Mr. Reinhardt only two days ago.

An important young muralist has come into market. I thought we could steal.

I mean, make a buy at a good price.

He wasn't interested.

Certainly he was, but he couldn't come.

Something about an important business merger.

I guess that answers that question.

Thank you very much, Mr. Andre.

Not leaving already.

I'm sorry.

Life is full of bad goodbyes.

Bon appétit.

I don't think I'm going to wait. Abby to come home, Liza. So why don't you just

give her this sort of a gift?

Tell her I couldn't go through with it.

She'll understand.

Hello, Mr. Jones.

Hi. This is Ralph Forrester, Mr. Reinhardt's nephew.

How do you do, sir? How do you do?

Mr. Jones has been looking for your uncle. He's a private detective.

Looking for him, why? Is there something wrong?

I don't want to sound sinister, but your uncle hasn't been seen since Tuesday

night. Tuesday, what's that? Three days. That's not too long, especially if he's

been on one of those silly art buying trips.

He's not buying art. I checked that out.

You think something's happened to him? It's beginning to look that way.

Passing up a multimillion -dollar merger deal doesn't sound like the Guthrie

-Reinhardt that I have been reading about.

No, no, it doesn't sound like my uncle at all, does it?

On second thought, I think I'll take the envelope.

No big deal.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.

I stopped by Mr.

Reinhardt's lawyer on my way over here.

Apparently the entire estate goes into the museum foundation.

How does that sit with Mrs.

Reinhardt and the nephew?

I generally keep my nose out of family matters.

What are you thinking?

I'm thinking what I usually think when I run into a dead end. I better go back

and start all over again. Any way I can help, Mr. Jones?

Who was the last person that Mr.

Reinhardt saw when he left her the other night?

Mrs., of course.

I had the night off.

Did a little dancing at the ballroom.

Was anyone else here?

Just Mr. Barrow. Tony Barrow. An artist of sorts Abby found in town. Got Mr.

Reinhardt to put him on to restore some of the antique furniture.

Where do I find him?

He should be down cellar finishing an antique chair, but he isn't. You might

his house down in Carpinteria. Come on, I'll get you the address.

Thank you.

You should have stalled Ralph off longer, told him to come back in a few

I didn't have a chance to.

Now he's probably at the house waiting for me. What am I going to say to him?

Anything.

Tell him you'll give him the $25 ,000 tomorrow. By then it won't matter, we'll

be gone.

What do you mean? Is it dry?

Well, it surfaces.

And that's all we have to worry about.

Then we don't have to wait.

Why don't we switch the paintings now and get out of here?

Now, hold on. We've got to take care of something first, remember?

Set it up for tomorrow.

Feel better?

I'll feel better when we're on the plane to Europe.

Oh, I can't wait.

Don't leave without me.

No chance.

Barnaby! Barnaby! However did you find me here?

By being the super detective you always hoped I'd be.

I made a telephone call to the Reinhardt residence, the housekeeper told me

where you were headed, and voila, I am here.

And what have you done for your proud and loving father -in -law lately?

I've done a great deal, but nothing's come of it. And I double -checked

everything. I even made phone calls to his business connections in Europe.

Guthrie Reinhardt isn't anywhere.

What about the car he was driving?

Well, the car isn't to be found in any railroad, bus, airline depot within a

-mile radius of Santa Barbara.

That's where Barnaby gets as though he's vanished off the face of the earth.

You know, I'm beginning to feel the same way, like I'm chasing a ghost.

Come on.

Hi. You Tony Barrow?

Yeah.

I'm R .B. Jones, private investigator.

This is my daughter -in -law, Betty Jones.

Well, what can I do for you?

It's about Guthrie Reinhardt.

May we come in?

Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure.

Come on in.

Ah.

Very attractive place you have here.

Thank you.

You'll have to excuse it. I was burning something in the fireplace.

Oh, it's very pungent.

It's like film.

Film, yeah.

Some old photographs that I want to get rid of.

They don't compare with a real thing, do they?

Real thing?

Mr. Jones!

You know how artists are. They don't like anyone to look at their work until

it's finished.

Oh, yes.

Sure. You'll have to forgive Barnaby. He's the reincarnated cat that curiosity

kills. Ah, about Mr. Reinhardt.

Oh, uh, yes.

I understand that you were over there last Tuesday night. I did some, uh,

restoration on an antique chair for him.

These creaking beach houses almost have a life of their own, don't they?

Uh, what's this all about? Something happened to Reinhardt?

I don't think that's exactly what I said.

Well, I called there to ask Mr. Reinhardt if there was anything more

could do, and his wife said that he hasn't been heard from since the night I

there and that you were looking for him. And you never went back?

Yeah, I finished what I was doing. No reason for me to go back.

Before Mr.

Reinhardt left, did he indicate to you that his trip was anything other than

another art hunt?

No. He wouldn't talk to me about his comings and goings.

Is that all?

Yes. I hope we haven't bothered you. Are you kidding the father at all?

Well, thank you very much for your cooperation, Mr. Barrow.

Oh, that car up there on the hill.

Looks a lot like one that belongs to Mr.

Reinhardt's nephew, Ralph. Do you know him? No.

Well, it's probably just a coincidence.

He may be visiting one of the other houses along the way.

Anything else I can do for you, let me know.

Thank you very much.

What's the matter, Barney?

I don't know.

Lies of the housekeeper said that Tony hadn't finished his work over at

Reinhardt's, and he says he had.

Well, maybe she didn't know that he had.

Maybe.

Betty, when you get back into town, check out Ralph Forrester, see whether

has any friends that might have a beach house along here that he could have

dropped in on.

I'm sorry, Mr.

Jones, but Mrs.

Reinhardt says she has a headache.

But if it's important... No, no, don't bother.

There is one thing, though, that you could help me with.

A while ago, you said something about Tony Barrow doing some work on an

chair. Did he ever finish it?

No.

I don't think so.

If you're not positive, do you mind if I take a look?

This way.

Thank you. The workroom's down in the cellar.

There it is on the bench.

It was a long way from being finished.

And if it's not done by the time Mr. Reinhardt gets back, Tony will hear a

of loud and angry words, you can bet.

Why did he stop working on it? Oh, artist.

Said it was more important to first finish a picture he was painting.

A picture he was painting?

Locks everywhere.

Locks on the workroom. Locks in the greenhouse. Now there's even a lock on

refrigerator.

Locks on the refrigerator?

What have you got there?

Looks like a small piece of fabric.

Can you open it?

No.

The lock's new.

The boss didn't give me a key before he left.

Mind if I open it?

Go ahead.

I'd like to see what kind of wine the old miser thinks is so important he's

locked it up.

Kind of a handyman to have around.

Well, can you believe that?

It's been empty all the time.

I heard your message at the motel. What's going on?

Well, I thought you might want to talk to Tony again. It seems he wasn't

the truth about Ralph Forrester.

He knows him.

When I was checking Ralph's house out, I ran into his girlfriend, Cindy, who was

also looking for him. She said that Ralph introduced her to Tony in a

two weeks ago.

Did you say anything about Ralph taking her out here to Tony's other times, like

yesterday?

No. But she said that Ralph brought her out to the beach quite often. Seems he's

a camera bug.

Drove her crazy taking telephoto pictures of old houses along the beach.

Or maybe one particular house.

Tony's house.

Telephoto lenses that come in real handy taking pictures of people inside a

house. The photographs that Tony said he burned.

Just could be.

to come back later, Barnaby.

My tax man says that if I use these picks one more time, I can take a total

write -off on them.

The fire is gone.

The rug in the closet is gone.

The picture on the easel is gone.

And whatever he was burning is gone.

All moved.

Barnaby, come here.

Yeah.

Tony and a woman's hand.

Ever have the feeling you're on the right street, but it's so dark you can't

find the right house?

Well, now, if Ralph took those pictures, how did Tony get a hold of them and why

was he burning them?

Blackmail, do you think?

This is not exactly the kind of picture you get for it for a quarter on Santa

Monica Pier.

Well, if it is blackmail, what in the world does it have to do with

disappearance?

That's a good question to ask Ralph. You got his phone number?

No, the information should have it, though.

Liza, the housekeeper, might have it.

You want to talk to her?

Yeah.

evidence? All I do is Barnaby Jones.

Oh, Mr. Jones, it's terrible.

What's the matter?

It's Mr.

Reinhardt. They found him.

He's dead.

It's got three.

I'm sorry, Ms. Reinhardt.

He was here all the time, all the time we were looking for him. He was here in

his car, dead.

Bonneby, miss?

I'd like to go home now, please.

Of course.

Identical. Let's see if there are any other loose ends we can tie up.

Also identical.

Pretty tough way to find your man, huh, Barnaby?

Yeah. How do you read it, Cully?

Death by natural causes.

You know about Reinhardt's bad heart, don't you?

Yeah, his lawyer said something about that.

Well, there are no skid marks or other signs of anything out of the ordinary. I

figure the coroner's preliminary report will say he died of a heart attack,

either before he ran his car off the road or immediately after.

Kind of a lonely stretch of road.

Did you get an anonymous tip on where to find the car and the body?

Yeah. How'd you know?

Educated guess.

If I had to guess again, I'd say that the autopsy report would reveal that

occurred 10 to 12 hours ago.

Yeah, that's what I'd guess.

Yeah, I'll be right with you. Excuse me.

You hardly looked at the body. How do you know that it was dead for 10 or 12

hours?

I figured it would take that long for the body to lose all traces of having

in the refrigerator.

Refrigerator?

The empty refrigerator you told me about. Yes.

At 42 to 45 degrees Fahrenheit, refrigeration almost completely

stops the process of decomposition, making it appear that a body was dead a

shorter period.

In the case of Reinhardt, I would say four days shorter.

Are you going to let the sheriff in on this? As soon as I can prove it. See you

back at the motel.

Mr. Jones, come in.

I guess now that your job is finished here, you'll be going back to Los

No.

I don't think I'll be leaving right away.

At least not until we settle a few things between the sheriff, you, me,

and your boyfriend, Tony.

Am I supposed to understand what that means?

I think so.

Tony and... a woman, apparently.

So?

So the woman is wearing your bracelet.

Did Ralph try to blackmail you with this?

Blackmail?

That's ridiculous.

I couldn't pay it, even if it were true.

I don't get anything worth mentioning from Guthrie's estate. You can check

Mr. Phillips, the estate lawyer.

I already have. That's the reason I've been chasing my tail for the last three

days. I couldn't find out any way that you could profit from your husband's

death. If you killed him, then everything would just be tied up in

Of course.

Then I remembered something that I had seen over at Tony's beach house.

The colors on his painting palette are the same.

Pale magentas.

Same muted yellows, carrot yellows like those over there.

Same warm Italian pink.

Tony didn't let me look at one canvas.

That was a de Gaulle forgery, wasn't it?

We get deeper and deeper into this Alice's Wonderland, don't we?

Well, I think it would have required that type of imagination to rip off a

like your husband.

And then he died before you could switch the pictures.

So you had to keep them on ice until you did.

That's what happened, isn't it?

No.

Of course not. This isn't a forgery. This is real.

And the guy was a very talented man, and so was Tony.

He even did a pretty good job of drying it.

What are you doing?

Paint's not dry underneath.

That's because it takes a full four weeks to dry a freshly painted canvas

the way through.

Six or seven weeks sometimes.

Honey, get the car and bring it around back.

Oh, you're going to take me somewhere the way you took Ralph and got rid of

What happened to Ralph with an accident?

Shut up.

It was an accident, Mr. Jones.

Well, if that's true, you're going to have a tough time proving it if I turn

dead, too. Stay where you are, Mr. Jones.

Abby, move.

Tony, tell him I was only trying to help you. Please, tell him. Tony. I said get

the car.

Tony.

Hello,

operator.

There's an emergency. Get me the sheriff.

Well, I'm sorry about your client, Mr. Jones.

Because he's in the same boat as me, we both have to look for a new source of

money. Need a housekeeper?

Well, after you've talked to the estate lawyer, you may find that you don't have

to do any more housekeeping.

It seems Guthrie Reinhardt wasn't as tight -fisted as everyone thought he

at least as far as you're concerned.

Do you mean I mention in his will?

In big, round numbers.

And me with nobody to spend any of it on.

Well, I guess we ought to be moving along.

Are you in the book in case I ever get down your way? He sure is.

I'll be seeing you, Liza.

You bet your sweet patootie you will.

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