Original subtitles

Thank you.

I saw a city of many faces, one a queen's

of courtly graces, one a clown is

tearful grim, one a child and one for sin.

I've been inside these hidden places and seen behind these

many. faces but what was behind this face this mask this

idiot expression made by the thousands to be sold to small children i saw it

and i was participating in a witch's sabbath in the refined heart of a quiet

london bank now it lies this strange object amongst others

equally strange Each an eerie reminder of a crime so fantastically

bizarre, so unbelievable, so frankly impossible, as to belong nowhere in the

cool, logical confines of Scotland Yard, except in its own most unlikely

department. D3, known to some as the Department of Queer Complaints.

And Colonel March, at your service.

Make a move and he's dead.

So, Mr. Parrish... Okay,

you'll get your cut.

law and philosophy, madam.

This man needs help.

From the doctor of divinity, I'm afraid.

Oh, stand back, please.

Stand back, please.

Stand back.

I'm sorry, sir.

You'll have to stand back.

Oh, I'm sorry, sir.

I didn't expect to find you here. It is rather extraordinary, isn't it? I

suggest you call the yard immediately.

Okay, Patrick.

Now, the first time you saw this man in the rubber mask, Was here at this

counter, eh? Yes.

Excuse me.

Colonel Marchwell.

Oh, look here, Inspector Ames. I was on my way back to Scotland Yard when I was

apprehended by one of your bloodhounds, and here I am in the back again.

There are one or two questions I have to ask you. What can you possibly want to

ask me? About what happened here 15 minutes ago. Oh, never did get that

check cashed.

As a police officer, it was your duty to have stayed here.

I'm D3 Ames, Department of Queer Complaints.

Now, if that fellow had rubbed a magic lamp to disappear in a puff of smoke,

that would be my department.

But he robbed the bank, killed the commissioner, and just ran out.

That's your department.

Follow him, my boy. Put the hounds on.

The hounds are on all right.

But still, you might be able to help. What did he look like? Like a Freudian

dream. He was wearing a rubber mask, gangster style.

Ah. Where did you find him?

He tossed away in the street when he was being followed by the clerk, John

Parrish. Who, incidentally, has not come back.

I presume you heard what the robber said to him? Yes, I did.

Oh, that would indicate that he was in on it. On the contrary, it would

indicate that he was not.

And why did he run away?

He was thinking of all the questions you'd ask him.

Just as you're asking me.

Questions he couldn't conceivably answer. He was frightened, so he ran.

The clerk is innocent.

We can determine that when we catch him. If you don't find him soon, he may catch

up with the man who wore the rubber face.

In that case, poor John Parrish will be dead.

Yes? Did someone come in here just now?

No.

But somebody did. I just saw that door close behind him. I don't think I know

who you are. What? Naturally. Who came in just now?

No one. The only one who came in was Mr. Boulder. Yes, and he's just gone... He's

just come back from the law court, as he always does at this hour. Do you have an

appointment? No.

Well, then I'm afraid you can't see Mr. Boulder. He said he didn't want to be

disturbed. Was he carrying anything?

I think I should call the police.

Tell me, was he carrying a bag?

A briefcase with law books.

You're right.

Absolutely right.

Call the police.

Wait. Is there another exit from that room?

I think I should call the police or a mental hospital.

Can he get out of that room without coming through this door? No, unless he

can fly.

I know he can't do that.

I'll call the police myself.

999, Scotland Yard.

There's no need to disturb, Mr. Boulder.

I'm only a bank robber who's decided to give himself up.

It may even be murder.

Hello? Scotland Yard?

I want to report a crime.

Yes, I'm the criminal, of course.

What is it?

And who's he?

A bank robber.

Really?

And what's a bank robber doing here using our telephone?

This is a law office, not a bank.

I'm giving myself up.

Well, I must say I appreciate your public spirit.

But couldn't you manage to give yourself up somewhere else and with a little less

noise?

Or do you require my services?

Yes.

I do.

Hello?

17 Victoria Street.

Victoria 0732.

I'll be waiting with my solicitor.

Mr. Boulder.

If you'll take the case.

Miss Dawson, that's probably Scotland Yard checking on this gentleman's call.

Tell them the young man is here, but he is not yet my client.

And call me when the police arrive.

But it's the truth. The plain truth.

He's the man.

He never left my side for an instant. I saw him throw the mask away. He ran with

the suitcase and got off in a car.

I followed in a taxi.

And you never let him out of your sight?

Positively. The taxi driver wasn't that certain, Inspector.

I know that, Mr. Boulder.

Look, I don't mind being accused of robbing a bank. Perhaps that shows a

certain daring.

But I do mind this hysterical young man, who is obviously not very bright,

passing himself off as my accomplice.

I'm not your accomplice.

Look, don't you see? Steady, my boy, steady.

Look, he said he'd cut me in to throw suspicion on me. He'd have said it to

anyone, but I followed him.

Wouldn't I be insane to run out of the bank, pick on an office at random when I

happen to see a man enter, a man I don't even know, and make this wild

accusation? That'd make me crazy. I'm a crazy man.

It would.

And it does.

I suggest a psychiatrist, Inspector.

I can prove it.

Proof? Well, that's another thing.

Go on.

Prove it.

Look, Miss.

Didn't he come into this office just before I did?

He did.

And he never left his office for an instant?

You know he didn't.

He took a briefcase full of money into that office. The money has to be there.

Search it.

Look, he had a briefcase inside this suitcase for the money.

He threw this out of the car just as it started.

Why did you not call a policeman?

I didn't want to lose sight of him. He'd already shot someone.

The money has to be there. Why don't you search it?

I have no warrant, Mr. Baldo.

You need none, Inspector.

Search.

A briefcase full, he says, Inspector.

Thousands and thousands of pounds.

That's not a pin you're looking for, is it? But if it were, we'd find that too.

Now there's the briefcase to which the money was supposed to have been

transferred.

Law books.

The money has to be here. But it's not.

I've never seen a room more thoroughly taken apart, Inspector.

I suppose they can put it together again.

Why, with apologies.

And I can state absolutely that there's no money here.

I don't like to top you any further, Mr. Balder, but would you come down to the

yard with us?

I'm afraid you'll have to make a statement.

Certainly.

Poor boy.

Must have been quite a lot of money.

It's not just a question of money.

A man is dead.

It's a question of hanging.

The way I see it, Colonel March, is this.

Either the bank clerk's story is impossible, or the money is in that

office. The money is not in that office, therefore the story is impossible. That

makes it all the more interesting.

How about Boulder? Oh, he's just one or two shady clients. He's not exactly a

pillar of the profession.

But he's no sinkhole either.

Where are you going?

Pay a call on the man who wore this.

And who was that?

A man who owns the most unusual piece of furniture.

Which makes this the case for the Department of Queer Complaints.

Mr. Parrish?

Now, sit down, won't you?

There's no need to look so glum. You've got nothing to fear.

It's a truthful and most logical story you have to tell. There's not a hole in

it.

I understand your police logic.

That bank's been robbed, so somebody must be punished for it.

Mother besides, Mr. Parrish.

Then an eye for an eye.

Except you don't care whose eye.

Just so long as your records are as neat as a bookkeeping ledger.

And your own bookkeeping?

What do you mean?

A bit too fond of backing horses, weren't you?

You were in pretty steep.

All right.

It's our old money.

But who doesn't these days?

It's not the horses it's to pay for your great aunt's funeral.

You're a clever lad, aren't you?

I should just like to test your memory.

Who were your employers before you took this job at the bank?

The Nelson Construction Company.

And how long did you work for them?

About three years.

Now, about this office you were arrested in yesterday, do you remember what you

said about that?

Not exactly, but... Well, I've got it here exactly.

Parrish, wouldn't I be insane to run out of the bank and pick an office at random

where I happen to see a man enter?

Yes, I said that, and I'd say it again.

Will you?

Even if I inform you, Mr. Parrish, that the Nelson Construction Company did some

work in that building, And that you were implied on that job.

Yes, but I didn't remember that.

Not when I went in there.

I must have worked in a hundred buildings for the Nelson Company.

Aye. Including the one where Mr. Boulder happened to have his office.

So perhaps, Mr. Parrish, it wasn't such a random selection that brought you to

it. It was just a fantastic coincidence.

I suppose it was also a fantastic coincidence that made you accuse Mr.

Boulder of hiding the money.

Wouldn't it be more likely that you took the money into the building yourself to

hide it?

Wouldn't you, as a former employer of the Nelson Company, know the proper

place to hide it?

Inspector Haynes?

Yes? This phone message just came through from Colonel March.

Thank you.

Take him away.

Yes. Is Mr. Boulder in?

Yes.

Shall I... Please.

He left something in my office.

Mr. Boulder!

I thought you were going home. Yes, I was, but... Thank you. Good night. But,

Mr. Boulder, there's someone... Can I have a moment's peace in here at all? If

it isn't the nosy police, then it's... Excuse me. Why not?

All right, Miss Dawson, you can go home.

Yes, sir.

Did you want to see me, Colonel Marsh? If you can spare me a moment.

Yes, of course.

Come in. Thank you.

It's still a bit messy in here.

Everything's in place.

But it's all in the wrong place.

What did you want to see me about?

I now propose to find the money.

All right.

To continue.

When a man fakes an explanation, he naturally offers what is most credible.

But the story John Parrish told was obviously impossible, therefore I

believe that he was telling the truth, and therefore again, forgive me, that

you were lying.

Colonel March!

Don't interrupt Ames!

I'm not forcing a confession.

I had to defend myself.

Hold him out there.

Where, then, is the money?

Aye, where?

Right where it's been ever since John Parrish chased Bowler in here.

Concealed in the one piece of furniture that you didn't notice.

You mean it's hidden?

It may be right here under our very eyes, but few people ever see it.

Now you're trying to tell me that there's such a thing as a bit of

invisible furniture. One that is mentally invisible.

I happen to know that you have one in your own flat, my boy. Yet if you listed

every piece of furniture that you possess right down to the smallest

ashtray, I'd be willing to bet that you'd overlook this wacky... What size

and what color?

They vary.

In this case, it's three feet long, two and a half feet wide, four inches deep,

and it's also stuffed with banknotes. And we took out all these... Oh, cold.

We looked in there. Getting warmer.

Boiling hot.

No. Yes.

The radiator?

Of course.

But you can't open a radiator boiling hot seam and stuff it full of banknose.

Yes, you can if it's half radiator, half dummy. Look.

You see?

Each pipe is a perfect hiding place.

If it looks like a radiator, gives off steam, made of iron and is clamped to

the floor.

The radiator.

Now, why didn't I think of that?

My dear, Haynes. Now, please don't embarrass us both by forcing me to

answer that question.

Two objects tell this story.

One, the ancient blade of a ceremonial knife, stained with the blood of

primitive ritual.

The other, the card.

A very modern, very civilized printed card.

The card begins the story.

The knife ends it.

Cheers!

Colonel March?

Oh, Cabot, how are you? You know the Rockinghams, of course.

I wondered if I could drag you away for a chat.

Delighted. Would you excuse me, please?

Caught any queer fish lately, Colonel?

How's the nightclub business?

Sir.

Oh, do sit down, Colonel.

Sorry about that, Colonel.

Actually, I asked you here to see Francine Rapport. She has a new dance to

rap. Javanese, I understand.

Is there any dancing I'm interested in? Any culture, for that matter? I thought

you might be interested. I am. It's very good of you to ask. It's very good of

you to come. Would you like a drink? Thank you, Martinez.

Thank you. To Martinez.

Oh, I'm so sorry. You often have affairs of this kind. I try to discourage them

even when they take the club for the evening. I've no idea what a respectable

businessman is capable of once he gets into evening shows.

It becomes a form of camouflage.

I'm told the Koi sect of India have a ritual in which the dancer thinks he's

invisible. Japanese.

I beg your pardon?

The dance you're talking about, it isn't Indian, it's Indonesian.

Are you sure of that? I'm quite sure it's my hobby.

Well...

I'm not usually a betting man, but ten pounds.

You know, if university life were not so boring, I should be teaching oriental

folklore somewhere.

No, no, I'd be taking advantage of you. Five pounds. Would you be offended if I

refused? Terribly.

I need the money.

All right, then. It's a wage of five pounds.

One time.

Pardon me, sir.

Where is she?

I can't see. I'm busy.

Out to the dance.

Really, these girls will come for jobs in the middle of a busy evening.

The girl is frightened.

Excuse me, Captain.

Where does that door lead to? I fancy it's dressing room.

That girl has just gone through it. Oh, no.

I shall have to go after her. Fancy gets furious if she's disturbed before a

dance to excuse me.

It's no use your waiting. I can't discuss it now. But I'm not here to

discuss it. I want the... All right, now.

Now, what's all the trouble about?

I want the letters.

What letters?

The letters you Rockwell wrote to her. I've got the thousand pounds. She wants

it here.

A thousand pounds?

That's a lot of money. What does all this mean, Francine?

You tell me.

Could you know this chap, Hugh Rockwell? I might. She does.

Hugh, shut up.

Have you got any letters of his?

I might have. She has them. I know she has.

She told Hugh she'd sell them back to him for a thousand pounds.

Did you?

Do you think I'd do a thing like that, Arthur?

Did Hugh Rockwell tell you this?

No, I... Well, I overheard the conversation on the phone.

I picked up the extension by mistake, and then I couldn't put it down again.

And what did she say on the telephone?

To bring the money in an envelope with her name on it, but to give it to you,

and you would give it to her.

I would.

And what if the money weren't brought?

She would send the letters to Hugh's mother and to the newspapers.

That would be so very terrible.

Yes, we're going to be married next month. It would be awful.

You know, I sometimes wonder why they teach our young men to write at all.

Would you mind waiting outside, please?

But the letters... You'll get the letters all right, Miss... Only I'm so

sorry, I didn't quite catch your name. Jane Forsyth. Miss Forsyth.

You know, blackmail is not part of the entertainment of this club.

Even though the audience does consist mainly of blackguards.

You won't want that, will you?

Oh, Miss Forsyth.

You've forgotten this.

Now, why not sit down at the table and have a drink?

I'll see you immediately after the show.

All right, Francine, you can stop smiling.

Ladies and gentlemen, we present for your entertainment a young lady who is

known throughout the world for her interpretation of oriental dances.

Tonight she will perform for you the Javanese ritual dance Serimpi.

Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Francine Rapport.

She really is excellent.

She's authentic. That's the beauty of it.

You know how the Javanese dance is. Every movement means something.

Only these fools could understand what they're looking at.

The even-tempered, smiling suppression of pain.

It's a torture dance, isn't it?

Where did you learn it?

For me, you're a good teacher. I told you I should have been in the

university.

He's calling for help. What do you mean?

By that last movement there.

It's a call for help.

How strange.

It's part of the dance.

Is it not?

Isn't she going to take any bows? She's in a mood. We had a quarrel tonight just

before she went on. Not serious, I hope.

Francine, everything is serious.

Well, how do you like her?

Remarkable. Remarkable.

Especially that one movement.

You must have been deceived by the light, you know. There's no call for

help in a torture dance.

That's what makes it so remarkable.

Can you know that young woman who was looking for me? I think perhaps I will

go and see her Excuse me.

I'll be right back

I

wonder if you'd like to sit down

No, I'm all right, but I must get outside.

Perhaps I can help.

I'm a police officer, if that would do any good.

No.

Why should I need a policeman?

Please, please let me go. I'll be all right, please. There you are. I've been

looking all over the place for you.

Is anything wrong?

Is anything the matter?

No, I...

Perhaps we know that element.

It really was a call for help after all.

I have Mr. Forsyth's statement here.

Now, about this blackmail business.

You say that you knew nothing about it when it was going on? Nothing at all.

Did you?

Did you?

How long had you known Mr. Rapport?

Nearly three years.

And was your association close?

I was in love with her.

Oh. Well, you can tell them they can take her away now.

Colonel March, what are you doing?

You might call it a last farewell to the dead.

Although the Maoris of New Zealand use it as a form of greeting.

Goodbye. I hope we meet again under happier circumstances.

This is the young lady you saw in the dead woman's dressing room before the

show? That's right. And you saw her coming out of the corridor after the

dance was completed?

But I told you why I went there.

I didn't believe Mr. Cabot, and I wanted to see her alone, have it out with her.

And when you got there?

She was dead.

Where was the maid?

I don't know.

She went in after you did.

Mr. Cabot was sitting with Colonel Marsh.

No one went in there after the dance but you, Miss Forsyth. You were the only

one. No.

It can't be true. It can't be true. Well, perhaps not, but that's for a jury

to decide.

Now, I must warn you, Miss Forsyth, that anything you say from now on will be

taken down in writing and may be used in evidence.

Will you come along with me, please?

Colonel Barton. Inspector A. What's the idea?

Well, there's a theory that crime is a reflex action, not a social one, and

even animals can be driven to crime. That's not what I'm asking. Well, the

theory's wrong, but somebody has to prove it.

Why did you refuse to testify against that girl? I didn't refuse.

But you said that you weren't sure that you saw her coming out of the dressing

room after the murder.

That's correct.

But why? You told me yourself that you saw her come out of the corridor.

My dear Ames, what one sees is not always the exact truth.

Do you mean that you didn't see her?

Oh, I saw her, all right.

Do you know that because you weren't sure, they had to let that girl go?

I will not make a statement unless I know that it is true. But... I'll be at

the British Museum if you want me this afternoon.

On business?

Not exactly.

I made a bet last night I'd rather hate to lose.

You see, Ames, I saw the girl all right.

I'm sure about that.

What I'm not sure about is whether I saw her after the murder.

Nothing the matter.

On the contrary.

One doesn't laugh in here, you know.

Isn't it allowed?

Well, it's allowed.

It's just that it's never done.

I really must ask you again not to make so much noise. I'm sorry.

And books should not be mutilated.

You're very naughty, you know.

I'm not the only one.

Colonel March.

This is a very pleasant surprise.

I wish you told me you were coming, though. There's no floor show tonight.

Well, I take my entertainment as I find it.

That Forsyth girl was let go today.

I've been worrying she'd be after me now.

She won't.

I don't understand why they've let her go.

She's not guilty.

Then who is?

You know, Cabot, I'm on this case because it's a queer complaint.

A dancer on a nightclub floor calls for help, not with her voice, but with her

body. What could be more natural for a dancer, Bertie?

What could be queerer? I think you're imagining things.

Perhaps.

Perhaps I'm also imagining that you had Paula the maid call Hugh Rockwell for

money. And when Francine threatened to expose you as a blackmailer, you killed

her.

I was sitting here watching Francine dance with you until the time that we

discovered her together.

While who danced?

What's going on here? Why did you kill her, Cabot? You say you loved her.

Oh, don't be absurd.

What is going on here? Why the music and the lights? There's no floor show

tonight. How much did you love her?

The people you admire so much, the Javanese, they say love is eternal. Do

you think so?

Can you bring her back?

Bring her back from the dead?

Like this?

It's no use, Cabot. The whole place is covered. Put down that knife.

Knives are unlucky for you. I knew it was you when you tried to kill me this

afternoon at the museum.

Only an expert like you would have used a Javanese throwing knife.

Least you'll concede that I'm an expert.

On Java, my dear Cabot, not murder.

Now, why don't you come quiet?

I have no intention of coming at all.

Go ahead.

You're going to hang anyway.

And you're coming with me, Colonel Martin. Get out of the way!

That's better

Francine

wasn't killed after she danced. She never danced at all She was killed just

as soon as Joan Forsyte left the dressing room.

And then Paula, your new love, took her place.

That's right, isn't it, Paula?

And that call for help.

You were quite right about that.

It doesn't belong in the dance. It was a mistake. Your pupil made a mistake and

so you were caught.

Perhaps you should have taught in a university after all, even if it did

bore you. Should I take him now, Colonel? Yes. Wait.

I owe you an apology, Cabot.

Also five pounds.

You were quite right about that Coisec dance.

It is Javanese, not Indian.

Well, I'm glad I was right about one thing.

Oh, Colonel, there is one other thing about which I'm curious.

How did you know that it was Paula who danced and not Francine?

You remember?

I passed my hand over the dead woman's palm.

It was bone dry.

Then when I shook hands with Paula, her hand was wet with oil.

You and I both know that when women prepare for this dance, they oil their

bodies heavily.

I must remember that.

The next time.

You'll have to come along with us too, you know. So you better go and change

your clothes in case you catch a death of cold.

Thank you for your help, Paula.

You're not perfect, you know. You still lost your bet.

Who says I did? Well, you owe him the money.

You said that he... You mean you let him think that... Sometimes it's kinder to

be wrong. In little things, of course.

Check.

Move.

Mate.

Nothing quite like the moment when a puzzle is solved, is there? And for that

reason... I'm particularly glad to tell you this story, which is, in a manner of

speaking, a puzzle about puzzles.

There it is. You see?

Middle window on the right. The middle one?

Very room it happened in. And you say you were watching from here? Exactly.

More than an hour ago, thanks to our sceptical friend here.

Well, shall we go?

The world has its use for sceptics, Major. Now, at the risk of wasting just

one more precious minute, would you tell us exactly what you saw?

Well, sir, I was casually looking outside to observe the weather when my

eye was drawn to the window opposite. There was a man in the room, a wicked

-faced old man with a drooping moustache. I can only describe his

appearance as sinister, highly sinister.

Most of us would describe our neighbors that way. But he wasn't a neighbor.

Never seen him before in my life.

Matter of fact, the people who live there are quite young. Name of, um,

Hartley. I see.

Now, was this mustachioed gentleman alone at the time? As far as I could

see, yes.

Now, there was a table in the middle of the room. And on this table, I noticed a

pair of gloves and a gun.

When suddenly, the gloves got up and made a pot of tea.

No!

So you still think I'm mad, do you?

Incredible as it may seem, I then saw the gloves, disembodied, slowly rise

from the table. Then one hand, no, no, I swear it was only a glove, picked up the

gun, pointed at the man and fired.

Bang, bang.

And you ran straight to Scotland Yard.

Somewhat wildly, I confess, but under the circumstances, understandable,

Major.

Well, now you know the facts.

Shall we go and examine the body?

Not quite so fast, Major.

Ames, would you look out of the window again?

Oh, yes, sir.

The scene of the Major's amazing tale?

Now, look hard.

Very hard.

Are the gloves still on the table?

From this distance, you can't even see the table, let alone the gloves.

Thank you, Ames.

Your eyes are better than mine and certainly younger than yours, Major

Orton. How do you account for your amazing vision, this great eye for

detail in a shadowed room over a hundred feet away?

Well, uh, since you must know, I... I was using

these.

Binoculars. A very old pair, you know.

Memento, actually.

See, I was a scout in the Boer War, and you still find these handy for observing

the... What did you say? Oh, yes.

The weather.

Well, from the looks of it, I should say the weather is getting warmer.

I can assure you, gentlemen, there's nothing malicious in this at all.

I'm an old man. You know how it is. You find life walking past you and just

can't keep up with it anymore. Well, you just watch it through a pair of

binoculars.

There's a law against this sort of thing, you know, Major, and there's an

ugly name for it. Law?

You speak of the law?

The fact that a man has just been killed, that his body's lying within a

stone's throw, doesn't seem to interest you.

But catch someone passing the time of day with a pair of binoculars and you

stiff like a bloodhound.

Are we going to investigate this matter or not?

I think he has you there, Ames, on a technical point.

Don't regulations say that murder takes priority over a misdemeanor?

You'll pardon me. This is a police investigation, is it not? Not with you

bothering us, Novikov. Go away.

Baron Novikov, perhaps I can be of assistance.

Don't listen to him. Thinks he knows everything? Always prying into other

people's business?

My dear Major, you accuse me of prying? You, who sit at your window by the hour

with your spy glasses?

But it's true, sir. I do know much of what goes on in this fishbowl. Ah, then

perhaps you can tell me, Baron.

Approximately an hour ago... Did I hear two gunshots?

I did. You're certain they were gunshots?

Not the backfiring of a car?

I am the former rifle champion of Europe, sir. My ears could not mistake

the sound of gunshots.

I am also capable of shooting out the eyes of binoculars at 300 meters.

Why do you not report to the police that you had gunfire?

I consider bullets relatively harmless.

Unless someone foolishly gets in the way, eh, Baron?

Precisely.

Yes?

Well, what's the matter? What's the matter? I'll tell you. There's been a

murder done, madam, and in your front room.

What on earth are you talking about? I'm Colonel March, madam, of Scotland Yard.

I know this is highly irregular, but I wonder if you'd be kind enough to let us

in.

Yes, of course. Thank you.

May I ask what all this is about?

I'm told there's been some gunfire in your house.

Gunfire? In here?

Two shots, to be exact. That's right, right.

Well, now you mention it, I did hear something in the muse.

Well, as if a car was backfiring. Rubbish. One moment, Major.

If you'll kindly lead the way, Mrs. Hartley.

Of course.

Thank you.

I hope I'm not going to be too embarrassed.

Embarrassed by what, Mrs. Hartley? Well, if there's been a murder in my front

room, there should be a corpse lying around, shouldn't there?

I've always prided myself on being a tidy housekeeper.

There it is.

That's where it happens.

The gloves were here, Colonel.

Well, it's the right tense, Major. And the body?

Fell over here.

Blow me if the body hasn't floated away with the gloves.

Well, it must be somewhere.

Bloodstains!

I can only demand, Colonel, that the whole house be searched.

What's this about searching my house? Well, not without proper authority, you

won't. You or anybody else. No need to be alarmed, Mr. Hartley. Jim, this is

Colonel March of Scotland Yard.

Scotland Yard?

Well, what is this, anyway?

Oh, it's quite simple, darling. Everybody in the street knows there's

been a murder in our house in the last hour. But, of course, we don't know

anything about it. We've been in all afternoon.

Isn't that about the size of it, Colonel?

Approximately. Who's been spreading this nonsense?

You are facing him, young man.

Major Henry Rodman, retired.

Do you dare to give me permission to search every room in these premises?

Major, the house is yours.

But forgive the bedroom, will you? My wife and I were not expecting visitors.

Whereas the old boy's keeper is completely nuts, isn't he? The Shub

would be more generous and, say, eccentric.

Well, all I've heard so far is guns, a glove, and a falling body.

Tell us more, Colonel. It sounds fascinating.

The details are fantastic.

Not worth repeating.

They must be if they're worth taking up the time of Scotland Yard.

I endure a great many things, Mr.

Hartley, in the course of my particular job.

Of course. Of course, Colonel March, I've heard of you. You're that

department of, what's it called?

We're complaints, ma'am.

And the Major's tale was just wild and fantastic enough to tempt my palate.

Then you're taking this seriously.

Are there any more questions you'd like to ask us?

Oh, none, Mrs. Hartley.

Pray accept our apologies for this fool's errand and disturbing this most

handsome room.

You really like it.

I'm afraid we don't have the money to furnish it as we'd really like to.

My, what an interesting object.

Oh, I warn you, Colonel, I wouldn't get too interested in that if I were you.

Why not?

Well, it's not an ordinary ornament. Actually, it's a version of the Chinese

Shokha box trick.

Once you begin to try and solve its mystery, you may never finish it.

Really? Oh, I see.

You're just warning me against a wasted life, fiddling with magic boxes.

Are these things a hobby of yours?

Well, I did my share as a child. This one was given me recently by a friend.

Have you been able to make it work? I wish to heaven he had. I threatened to

divorce him unless he gets rid of it. It's such an eyesore.

Actually, in the original version, the Tibetan high priests would spin it, and

all of a sudden, it would fill up with a shower of gold coins.

Worth trying, don't you think?

Definitely.

I... I wish to apologize, sir.

Funny thing about growing old.

Legs grow weaker, imagination grows stronger.

My apologies to you, gentlemen.

Well, what's the matter? Are you all right?

That picture!

That is the man, Colonel. I knew it. Oh, I know what you're thinking.

Idiotic ravings of an old goat. But there is the proof.

That is the man I saw murdered. That's the man you saw murdered? You remember,

Colonel. Man with a drooping moustache. Sinister expression.

Well, Major, that man happens to be my uncle Nicholas Hartley, my favorite

uncle. And he died four years ago.

Four years.

Less than an hour ago... Holy Major, if you have any sense of reason left at

all, please let me appeal to it.

I have here a photograph of my Uncle Nicholas taken from a Melbourne

newspaper the day after he died.

He was rather well known there. Do you observe the date line?

inconvenience to too much.

Oh, it's funny.

It's terribly funny.

I shouldn't laugh, really. It's so pathetic.

Do you know what must have happened, Colonel? Oh, haven't you heard about the

Major's binoculars? Yes, I have.

Well, he's never been here before, so he must have seen that photograph through

the spy glasses of his.

He's always looking over here, so I suppose it somehow remained in his

subconscious or something. Well, you know what I mean.

What is this?

You mean the Major's been snooping on us through spy glasses?

Well, it's been going on ever since we moved in here. Oh, why didn't you tell

me? I'd have done something about it pretty quick. Oh, I didn't want to upset

you, Jim. Upset me? Well, what about you?

Do you like living under the eyes of a peeping Tom? Oh, stop being dramatic,

darling. Anyway, I hate having to pull the curtains all the time.

Besides, Miss Evans next door, she feels the same way as I do about it.

Anyway, he's perfectly harmless. Oh, I don't think so.

What's hard about the peace barging into your house because you happen to live

across the street from a mental case?

Well, can't you do something about it?

I don't consider him dangerous.

I do.

Oh, so you also qualify as a psychiatrist, Colonel March?

Hardly, but I was wondering if frightening him a little wouldn't

discourage his bad habit. If we taught him a lesson, so to speak.

Well, frighten him how?

Oh, by taking him into custody for a few days for observation and questioning.

Of course, Jim, let you do it.

Well, all right.

At least we get one day of privacy out of it.

Then you'll come down to Scotland Yard and lodge a formal complaint?

Oh, is that necessary?

Well, you see, we had an engagement this evening. Oh, it won't take very long.

I'm quite sure you'll be able to keep any engagement you might have.

Well, all right, we'll be right along. We'll take a taxi if that's all right.

Good.

I agree with your husband. You'll have one day of privacy.

You won't have to draw your curtains.

Not tonight, at least.

Gentlemen, my services are still at your command.

Well, you remember, Baron, if you see any gloves floating around the houses

here, don't you forget to report it. Floating gloves? If I see any, I'll be

happy to report them. You'll be returning soon, I hope.

I wouldn't be surprised.

Oh, this is the most interesting area.

We have many notable personalities living here. For instance, directly

behind the heart is here, separated by only a small garden, lives Sir Maxwell

Fairchild. He's away at present for the government.

A secret mission.

You've seen his art collection, of course.

Magnificent.

Unfortunately, I am not on speaking terms with Sir Maxwell. Like the others

in this district, I am only his tenant.

My dear Baron, you don't mean to tell me that you and Sir Maxwell have not

developed a very close social relationship?

Ah, but yes. Each month, Sir Maxwell and I have an extremely close relationship.

He charges me a very high rent, and to keep a roof over my head, I am forced to

pay him.

So, you're going to teach the old buzzard a lesson and get us both the

sack? He's up there screaming his head off and says he's going to take the

whole matter to the Prime Minister.

Don't worry, I'll talk with him.

But you can't, the man's a lunatic.

Oh, no, no, I mean the Prime Minister.

How about the Hartleys? Oh, they're still in there filing their complaint,

but they'll be gone in a few minutes.

Well, I want them detained here as long as possible. Have your men stall them.

But can you arrange that?

Oh, I suppose so, but... Then meet me at the Major's room in half an hour. You

will find I've left his door unlatched. At the old man's room?

Do you think he's up to some game on his own? Who knows, but I enjoy this kind of

game. You know how routine bores me. Oh, you can scoff at routine, but one day

you'll be lost, and you'll know nothing about it till my department reports it

to you.

What are you doing here?

I thought I had a shot.

I'm sure, however, it is only the backfire from a car. Oh, rifle champion!

Oh, Duke!

Oh, Marshal, Marshal.

Why not try the back door, Ames?

Thank you.

Why, Amos, what on earth are you doing? Our appointment was... But, Marge, I

found them, the floating gloves.

You found them floating?

No, I saw them. I mean, I saw them floating from across the street.

Ah, through the major's binoculars, no doubt.

Yes. Mm-hmm, the poor old goat who suffered from hallucinations.

Now, I know, don't tell me it was a trick in the binoculars. No, in the

table. What table? This table.

Now, just walk forward there. Just a few paces. Turn round and tell me exactly

what you see.

March, where are you?

March!

Here I am, Abe. Here, let me see that.

Oh. You're quite right, Abe.

It's done with mirrors.

You see, it reflects the side wall, but from the front it looks as though you

can see clear through to the back wall.

You and the Major were perfectly right. You did see floating glass, but they

were operated like this.

March.

You're a genius, and I'm a fool. Well, now, Ames, I don't think we have to

decide that right now.

I found the mirror in this closet here.

Oh, so it was you just now.

Well, yes.

And I began to wonder about Hartley when I found this piece of professional

apparatus in his possession.

Yes, but why? What's he doing it for? That's what we have to find out.

Now, Ames, you go back to Scotland Yard and dismiss the Hartleys. Then turn the

Major loose with a stern warning to enter his flat quietly and not turn on

his light. On pain of capital punishment, he's not to turn on his

light. What does this thing do?

That's the one thing I haven't been able to figure out. Oh, well, these tricks

are quite simple.

Yes, if you know how.

Pan or March?

What do you know?

Early Roman? Looks Greek to me.

Not Etruscan, then? No, Greek.

I admire your taste, but I admire your imagination even more.

You do?

Yes. If you hadn't used such extraordinary means to keep the snooping

major from seeing you load the van, the Department of Queer Complaints wouldn't

find itself in this rather awkward position. I don't like snoopers of any

kind. Won't Sir Maxwell miss his treasures?

I'm leaving a few pieces.

The inferior ones, I trust? I wouldn't turn round if I were you.

Better where you are.

You're planning to collect me, too?

Temporarily. Oh, you won't get a farthing for me.

Priceless.

Priceless. That's where you're wrong, Colonel.

They'll fetch a very fancy price, indeed.

They're so well known. Who would buy them? Sir Maxwell Fairchild himself.

He's spent a useless lifetime collecting them. He'll buy them back.

Look at this.

Beautiful workmanship.

Next stop will be in the river Thames.

Inspector Ames speaking.

Hmm?

Jim!

All right, this is the last. You go ahead.

Now, you just be a smart lad and stay where you are.

Colonel Marsh!

Oh, hey, are you all right? Oh, yes, I'll live.

Among the antiques, eh?

Oh, well, everything in its proper place.

And these other objects say this.

The story stranger, queerer still?

Yes, perhaps.

But shall we say, some other place, some other time.