Original subtitles

- Walter Craig. - How do you do?

- You're Eliot Foley. - That's right.

So glad you were able to come. Let's have your bag.

And put the car away afterwards.

It struck me, after I'd telephoned you, rather cheek on my part,

asking a busy architect like yourself

to come down and spend the weekend with a set of complete strangers.

Not a bit.

We're pretty cramped for space here. We need at least two more bedrooms.

- And with only one living room. - Yes, only one living room.

However, we'll go into all that in the morning, shall we?

- Know this part of the world at all? - No.

I've never been here before.

- No, not actually. - Well, let me take your things.

Fancy you spotting that.

Trained professional eye?

Yes, of course.

Well, we've got several other guests, so I put you in the barn.

But don't get worried. It has central heating and every modern convenience.

The very words I was going to use.

- This way. I expect they've started tea. - Yes.

Yes, they have.

Mother, this is Mr. Craig.

I'm so glad you're here.

How do you do?

Well, come along in.

Let me introduce you to the others.

- Mrs. Cortland. - How do you do?

- Dr. Van Straaten. - How do you do?

I'm very pleased to meet you.

- And Mr. Grainger. - How do you do?

And this is Sally O'Hara.

How do you do?

You must be tired after your drive. Come and sit over here by the fire.

I can't tell you how delighted I am you were able to accept my son's invitation.

You see, we're both such admirers of your work.

You'd like some tea, wouldn't you?

Do you take milk and sugar?

Milk and sugar, Mr. Craig?

Milk and sugar, Mr. Craig?

You're still there.

- So it isn't a dream this time. - I beg your pardon?

Yes, it isn't a dream this time. I must be going out of my mind.

Really.

Of course. Dr. Van Straaten.

You're a psychiatrist.

You always treat me.

You'll treat me now, won't you?

You must forgive me. I don't quite understand the joke.

It isn't a joke. I only wish it were.

I've seen you in my dreams.

Sounds like a sentimental song, doesn't it?

I've dreamt about you over and over again, Doctor.

That hardly turns you into a mental case.

After all, recurring dreams are quite common.

But how did I come to dream about you?

I've never set eyes on you in my life.

It's very likely you've seen my photograph in the papers.

That's why my face seems familiar to you.

I don't think so.

And even if it were, is that any reason why I should keep on dreaming about you?

- No. - After all, you don't mean anything to me.

Well, maybe an association of ideas.

I may be linked with something that means a great deal to you.

Such as?

I should have to psychoanalyze you to find that out.

But it doesn't end there.

You see, everybody in this room is part of my dream.

- Everybody. - Gosh.

- Good lord, really? - Very extraordinary.

- You're kidding? - Not all of us?

I can only tell you that when I came into this room,

I recognized you all instantly.

Having seen all our photographs in the newspaper,

if I take it, Dr. Van Straaten.

Of course, you may have seen me on the sports page. Motor racing's my line.

And there was one of me once, in the Kentish Mercury,

when I was a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding.

You remember.

Oh, but I shouldn't think you'd come across that.

- Well, I've never had my photograph taken. - Oh, yes, you did, dear, once.

You know the one. Naked on a white fur rug.

You were six months old.

Good lord, that's right.

I don't think he'd recognize me. I was much fatter.

Surely, Mr. Craig, you might have seen any of us sometime or another.

- In the street or anywhere. - Yes.

But why should I always dream about meeting you all together,

here, in this room,

that I've never been in in my life until today?

Mr. Craig, can you describe what happens in your dream?

Well, not in detail.

But it always starts exactly the same as when I arrived just now.

I turn off the main road into the lane.

At the bend in the lane, the house comes into view,

and I stop as I recognize it.

Then I drive on again.

And Foley meets me at the front door.

I recognize him too.

And then, when I'm taking off my coat,

I have the most extraordinary feeling.

I nearly turn and run for it...

because I know I'm going to come face-to-face with the six of you.

Well, you've only come face-to-face with five of us so far,

not counting Eliot.

That's right, five of you.

There is a sixth person who comes in later.

Can you describe this late arrival?

It's an attractive girl with dark hair.

Is that all you can tell us about her?

She comes in, quite unexpectedly,

and says something about not having any money.

A penniless brunette, eh?

How romantic. Do you fall madly in love with her, Mr. Craig?

Have you ever told anyone about your dream?

No, I don't think so. Not even my wife.

Now I come to think of it,

after I wake it never stays in my memory for more than a few seconds.

And none of it ever comes back to me until the next time it starts.

In fact, there's no evidence that you ever dreamed this dream at all, is there?

None whatever. I haven't a scrap of proof.

Personally, I don't need any. I believe what you say, Mr. Craig.

I believe you really have dreamt about us all.

So do I.

- And so do I. - Me too.

I think I do too.

I don't question that you have been subject to a recurring dream,

and no doubt it has a background vaguely similar to this.

That would be quite enough to account for your feeling

that you have been here before.

It's quite a common experience.

- And that's all there is to it? - That's all there is to it.

Well, I must say it's very disappointing

not to be one of the leading characters in a sort of supernatural drama after all.

- Cigarette, anyone? - You never know.

Perhaps it's like the Red King's dream in Alice Through the Looking Glass.

None of us exist at all.

We're nothing but characters in Mr. Craig's dream.

That's right. And when he wakes up, we shall all vanish into thin air.

Dear me, what a morbid notion.

Let's get this straight, Doctor.

You won't for a moment admit the possibility of foreseeing the future?

Not for a moment.

Well, you'd say I was a pretty ordinary,

down-to-earth sort of person, wouldn't you?

I refuse to commit myself. Why?

Well, when it comes to foreseeing the future,

something once happened to me that knocks your theories into a cocked hat.

Something I'll not forget to my dying day.

As a matter of fact, it very nearly was my dying day.

Now's my chance.

I can't make it.

I can't make it.

Yes, I can.

This is it.

How long is it since the crash, Nurse? Six days?

No, seven, Doctor.

There's no injury to the brain. I'm certain of that.

His mind cleared completely this morning.

He asked about the other driver. I told him he was unhurt.

He slept quite peacefully for the next two hours.

It's the temperature that worries me.

Let me know at once if it goes up again. I shall be in number 18.

You're here, Peggy?

All the way from Scotland?

All the way from Scotland.

But you're not Peggy, are you?

No, I'm awfully sorry. You've been calling me Peggy for days.

My name's Joyce.

Something's sort of soothing about you.

You'll not go away and leave me, will you?

- I won't. - Promise?

Yes. If you'll promise to try and go quietly to sleep.

I'll do anything you say.

From then on, my temperature began to slide back to normal.

It was a grand job of nursing on Joyce's part.

Tell me frankly, darling, am I out of the wood yet?

Well, you've stopped being delirious.

At least I think so. It's hard to tell. You talk such nonsense.

I still have awful bad nightmares.

Nightmares? I thought you said you always dreamt about me.

So I do. I dream you turn me down to get married to Dr. Albury instead.

You needn't worry. He has a wife and three children.

Oh, good for him.

It's a lovely night.

Quarter to ten. Long past your bedtime.

Listen, darling, I'll put it to you.

There's only one way to cure me permanently and that's to marry me.

- It's your professional duty. - You've got a hope.

- Good night. - Good night, darling.

You

Why do you pass me by?

How can you treat me so

When you know

All that you mean to me?

You said in days gone by

Just room for one inside, sir.

My dreams

Like all your promises, are broken

But not a single word was spoken

Not even good-bye

The love ends

You...

It couldn't have been a dream. I hadn't had time to fall asleep.

Nurse had only just left me.

Yes, you checked the time. It was no more than five minutes.

Does that mean I'm going crackers?

My dear chap, of course not.

In the split second before your car crashed,

you were firmly convinced you were gonna be killed, weren't you?

Let me think.

Yes. Yes, I was.

- And that fear has remained with you. - I wasn't conscious of it.

You mean in my subconscious mind?

You'd already passed the purely physical crisis.

That apparition of death is what we call the psychological crisis.

Yes, maybe. But suppose I go on seeing things?

You won't.

In fact, I'll lay two-to-one in pounds we have you out of here in a week.

- It's a bet. If I lose, I win. - All right.

As a matter of fact, I won. That is, I lost, if you see what I mean.

Albury was right.

I made marvelous headway

and was able to leave the nursing home before the week was over.

Excuse me. Can you tell me the time?

- Yes, it's quarter past 4:00. - Thanks.

Just room for one inside, sir.

So you see, if I hadn't seen that man driving the hearse,

I wouldn't be alive to tell the tale.

A bit thick for the passengers on the bus, wasn't it?

Yes. The hearse driver might have tipped them off too.

Perhaps he did, dear.

But perhaps they were all doubting Thomases like Dr. Van Straaten.

This time you have got your evidence, Doctor.

Mr. Grainger told the specialist about the hearse

before he went to catch the bus.

I'm afraid that does not prove that the bus conductor

had the features of the hearse driver or that he said,

"Just room for one inside."

But he had, and he did.

Nothing will ever shake me.

That hearse driver was sent to me as a warning.

I agree. Otherwise, why didn't he board the bus?

Exactly.

Because he hadn't recovered completely yet.

You were still obsessed by your crash.

It made you reluctant to board any kind of vehicle, didn't it?

Sorry, Doctor, I'll not buy that one.

Well, maybe as well.

You cling to your belief, my boy,

that providence is specially concerned about your survival.

No use, Grainger.

We're both in the same boat. We'll never convince him.

What Dr. Van Straaten wants is genuine firsthand evidence,

the kind that would satisfy judge and jury.

And neither of us has been able to produce that... yet.

Darling, where on earth did you spring from?

Brenda suddenly changed her mind about staying up in town.

Would you pay the taxi, darling? I spent my last penny on the train fare.

- Hello, Eliot. - Hello, Joyce.

My dear, I am glad you...

Your penniless brunette. All right, I'll pay the taxi.

I made a dash for Charing Cross and just caught the 3:15.

A delightful surprise, my dear.

Though no surprise to Mr. Craig. Let me introduce you.

Mr. Craig, Mrs. Grainger, your dream come true.

Yes. She's the sixth person.

Sixth person? Are you playing some sort of a game?

Well, not exactly a game, my dear.

Mr. Craig has been dreaming about you for years.

- What? - Not only you, darling, all of us.

Come upstairs and take your things off. It's all perfectly simple, really.

It's just like your husband's hearse. Oh, I don't mean his hearse.

I mean the one he saw when he was in your nursing home,

or rather the one Dr. Van Straaten says he didn't see.

Oh, dear, I think I'd better start again.

You see, Mr. Craig has been having the most frightful dream.

Penniless brunette laid on according to plan.

How's that for evidence, Doctor?

Naturally you'll say it's a pure coincidence.

Oh, you can't say that, Doctor.

With the odds a million to one against?

You know, I am a little indignant.

I am driven to the conclusion it's all part of a very carefully prearranged plan,

an extraordinarily elaborate practical joke at my expense.

Oh, really?

Are you serious to think we cooked the whole thing up between us?

Well, as an explanation, it's not any more far-fetched than Mr. Craig's.

Then the joke's on me too, for I didn't know anything about it.

A funny sort of practical joke. It isn't funny.

What conceivable motive do you think we possibly could have had?

No doubt you thought it would be very amusing

to watch my cherished disbeliefs being shattered.

Very clever of us, I must say.

I wonder if we have any more surprises up our sleeves.

That's it! Your glasses.

What about my glasses?

It's later on. We're having drinks.

You break those glasses of yours.

And then, quite suddenly, the room goes dark.

Then, Foley, you say something,

something about the death of a man I've never heard of.

And that's where my dream becomes a nightmare,

a nightmare of horror.

Horror? What sort of horror?

I feel my willpower draining away.

I feel I'm in a grip of a force

that's driving me towards something unspeakably evil.

It shows that you have some heavy weight on your conscience.

- Now, in my opinion-- - I'm no longer interested in your opinion.

You shook me at first with your ingenious theories.

I thought perhaps the whole thing was a delusion.

But Mrs. Grainger's arrival has altered all that.

I have been here before in my dreams.

For some reason, I was given foreknowledge of the future.

Why? I don't know.

I want to know. I must know.

Sally, dear. I think perhaps it's time you were going off home now.

Mother means she doesn't want your infant mind warped, my pretty.

I'm sorry, Sally.

I didn't mean my fear to frighten you.

It's all right, Mr. Craig. It didn't.

All the same, I'll go if you like.

But it seems rather silly to me, considering I've had some myself.

- Some what? - Subconscious thingamajigs.

Or whatever Dr. Van Straaten makes out they are.

I had an absolutely staggering one last year.

Save it for the school magazine, old girl, and run along home.

Thank you my nice tea, Eliot, and for calling me a liar.

- Good afternoon. - Please let her stay, Mrs. Foley.

I should like to hear about your subconscious thingamajigs.

- You would? - Yes.

Not that it'll cut any ice with you.

Well, we were spending Christmas down in Somerset.

I'd been asked over to a party

by an old school friend of my mother's, poor Mrs. Watson.

There were a lot of other kids there,

mostly younger than Jimmy Watson and myself,

so we let them choose the games.

Nobody else could have such a silly nose. It's Jimmy.

Wow, you should talk.

What should we play now?

Musical chairs!

- Sardines! - Oh, yes! Sardines!

All right. Sardines it is.

Sardines?

Don't you know about sardines? It's a sort of hide-and-seek.

Who's to hide?

- Sally! - All right.

Anywhere in the house, bar the kitchen. Cook's in a state.

But I don't know my way about the house.

So much the worse for you.

Now, I'll count 30. Turn your backs, everyone.

One, two, three, four, five,

six, seven, eight, nine,

ten, 11, 12, 13, 14,

15, 16, 17, 18,

19, 20, 21, 22,

23, 24, 25, 26,

27, 28, 29, 30!

Off you go. Come on, quickly!

- Got you! - It's all right. I'll go quietly.

Now, I'll stop here with you.

When somebody else finds us, they pack in too, like sardines.

It's cold in here.

Cold, eh?

That better?

It's no mortal cold, Sally.

It's a cold from beyond the grave.

What are you talking about?

Believe it or not, this house is haunted.

I don't believe it.

Well, everybody around this part of the world says it is.

I'll bite. Tell me.

They're bound to find us here.

I know a much better place. Come on.

Go on about your precious ghost.

Well, there was a murder committed here in 1860, I think it was.

Come on.

The girl who did it must have been crackers, I suppose, really.

Strangled him, then half cut his head off. How revolting.

Of course, there's lots more, but you're too young.

And where does the ghost come in?

Well, I don't know, really.

Nobody's ever heard or seen anything, actually.

And we've been here six months.

I expect it's the girl going around in a long, white nightgown.

Whistling winds.

Clanking chains!

Bloodcurdling screams.

I suppose she's seeking forgiveness for her crime.

Search me. I say, give us a kiss, Sal.

Don't kid me that's part of the rules for sardines.

Hey, Sally!

Sally, wait for me!

Who's that?

What is it, darling? Come on, now. Stop crying.

Did you get separated from the others?

Let's go downstairs where it's nice and warm.

No.

Stay with me. It's better now that you've come.

Isn't it silly of me?

I don't remember noticing you downstairs.

Are you one of the Headingly children?

My name is Francis. Francis Kent.

This is my bedroom. Mine and Constance's.

- Constance? - She's my half sister.

She's grown-up like you.

I didn't notice her either.

All the other girls seem much younger than me.

I wish you were my sister.

You're so kind and nice.

Why? Is she unkind to you, darling?

She hates me. She said she'd like to kill me.

Oh, don't. You poor little thing.

But I'll be quite different now, now I've met you.

I'll be able to sleep.

Poor Francis.

Come along. I'll help you.

Has anybody tried the playroom?

Nanny insisted on locking it, and she's got the key.

Gosh!

We've forgotten the linen cupboard!

Come on!

Smiles await you

When you rise

Sleep, pretty darling

Do not cry

And I will

Sing a lullaby

- Good night. - Good-bye.

Sally! Sally, where are you?

We give up.

I can't find her anywhere.

Sally!

Sally! Sally!

It's all right. Here I am.

Oh, there you are. I was wondering where on earth you'd gotten to.

I found another door behind a wardrobe,

then along a corridor, and then to the room at the end.

Oh, there. But that's where the whole thing happened.

Hey, Sally!

- So there you are, Sally. - Meet your new nanny, Mrs. Watson.

- What do you mean, dear? - I found myself in a sort of nursery.

I didn't know any of the children were staying the night.

- Staying the night? - Why, yes.

This little boy said he was sharing a room with his sister.

Which little boy?

He told me his name was...

Francis Kent.

Francis Kent?

Come off it, Sally.

- So you knew all the time. - Knew what?

About Constance Kent murdering her brother Francis, of course.

I didn't know.

So that-- that little boy, it was...

I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened.

Oh, please hold me tight. Hold me tight.

Mother said I must be sickening for something

and made me stay in bed with three hot water bottles.

She didn't believe a word of it any more than Dr. Van Straaten does.

In the past, of course,

that type of experience was very frequent among saints.

Saint Joan, for example, and Saint Theresa

record some visitations of an exceedingly tangible character.

- I'm in jolly good company then. - Not at all, my dear.

I decline to believe that you are on such an exalted spiritual plane.

I think you're all being ridiculously weak-minded,

letting Dr. Van Straaten lay down the law.

When I was a nurse, I came across a lot of things

that doctors didn't just dismiss in an airy fashion.

I believe in Sally's story and in Mr. Craig's dream.

Good for you, darling.

So we're all powerless in the grip of Craig's dream.

- That's a solemn thought. - I think it's awfully exciting.

Well, if I'm a puppet and Mr. Craig's pulling the strings,

the least he can do is to tell me a little bit more

about the part he is giving me to play.

I wish it were as easy as that.

But trying to remember a dream is like--

How shall I put it?

Being out at night in a thunderstorm.

There's a flash of lightning.

And for one brief moment everything stands out vivid and startling.

And what have the lightning flashes illuminated so far?

One thing is very vivid and very horrible.

I hit Sally savagely, viciously.

Oh, no, you won't. I shall stick close to Mr. Grainger. He's bigger than you.

Well, anyway, it isn't consistent.

I shan't have a chance to

because you leave here quite soon, quite suddenly.

- You're certain of that? - Absolutely certain.

Splendid! Then I suggest Sally stays to dinner.

- That'll break the spell. - An admirable suggestion.

It's absolutely thrilling. I'll ring Mother and get her okay.

Tell her Eliot will run you back in the car.

- Mother! - Really, Sally, this is too bad.

Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Foley. Do please forgive this invasion.

You know quite well it's your uncle Edwin's birthday.

Well, actually, he's her godfather,

but she always calls him uncle, you understand.

And not to leave a message or anything. But of course I guessed you would be here.

She must be a thorough nuisance. Now come along. We're simply hours late.

But, Mother, I can't.

You see, this is Mr. Craig, and I'm one of the characters in his dream.

Oh, how do you do? Such fun, charades. So you do understand, don't you?

And poor Edwin, so terribly sensitive. Now come along, dear.

Mother, you must listen. You see, Mr. Craig is going to hit me savagely.

Oh, well, I'm sure he can hit somebody else instead.

Come along, dear. Don't forget, you're dining with us on Tuesday, Mrs. Foley.

That'll teach you to mess about with Mr. Craig's dream, Ma.

Well, really, I don't know what to say.

I am surprised Mr. Craig didn't remember Sally's mother.

She seems to me most memorable.

Now look, Doctor,

if Craig had told you she was coming, and exactly what she'd be wearing,

and the very words she'd say,

you'd still have thought the dream was all baloney.

- Good for you, darling. - I'm becoming quite alarmed.

By the end of this evening, I shall be just as credulous as any of you.

Mr. Craig, I can only say

the more incredulous the doctor becomes, the more I believe you.

Thank you.

Doctor, I had hoped that you'd be able to explain to me

a happening which, to put it mildly, has always puzzled me.

I shall try.

It started a few weeks after we'd become engaged.

It was April the 9th, to be exact.

I remember the date because it was Peter's birthday.

You know how difficult it is choosing presents for a man.

They always seem to have everything they want.

- Oh, hello, darling. - Hello, sweet.

Take it through, will you, though?

- What on earth's that? - Just a little birthday present.

Put it on the couch, will you?

- What is it, a kite? - Well, why don't you open it and see?

Right. Suppose you fix us a drink.

You haven't gone and had your portrait painted, have you?

No. I thought you'd like to look at yourself.

Darling, it's a beauty.

- Do you really like it? - Love it.

Well, it's certainly an improvement on that barbola thing your aunt gave you.

Yes, that is pretty grim.

I always felt as if I was looking a gift horse in the mouth.

This is a honey. Where did you find it?

Chichester. Very expensive.

Happy birthday, darling.

What sort of journey did you have?

Came by road. Got a lift.

Don't tell me. Let me guess.

- Not old faithful? - The same.

Poor old Guy. What will he do when we get married?

- Hardly the big game shooting type, is he? - Hardly.

He nearly put us into a ditch coming up trying to avoid a rabbit.

Fellow feeling, obviously.

You be careful. I'm very fond of Guy.

Meaning that it pleases your disgusting feminine vanity to have him on a string.

A Spaniel would do just as well.

But Spaniels don't have nice, comfortable Bentleys, do they?

Perhaps you've got something there.

How's that?

Most professional.

I'm glad to see you're going to be useful about the house.

Handsome couple.

What's the matter?

Nothing. Thought I saw something.

- What sort of something? - Don't know, quite.

What, a little man about so high in a bowler hat?

- What have you been drinking for lunch? - One pint of bitter.

You know, I think I've been very generous.

So do I. Nicest present I've ever had.

What should we do tonight?

- Dress up? Spend a lot of money? - Why not?

- Should have worn our grass skirts. - Well, we've danced enough, anyway.

Darling, is anything the matter?

No. Why?

I don't know. You seem to have been a bit broody all evening.

A bit limp with the heat, I expect.

- Sure there's nothing the matter? - No, nothing, really.

That usually means there is something, really. What is it?

- It sounds so damn silly. - Never mind. Tell me.

Well, you know that mirror you gave me?

You didn't get it at one of those joke shops, by any chance?

No, of course not. Why?

Well, when I was dressing this evening, just as I was tying my tie,

I suddenly realized that the reflection was all wrong.

What do you mean, wrong?

Well, it wasn't my room I was seeing. It was some other room.

- Darling. - Well, I told you it sounded silly.

It only lasted for a moment, but I could have sworn I saw it.

Some sort of optical illusion, I suppose.

All done with mirrors, in fact.

The next few weeks we were pretty busy house hunting.

In the end we found quite a pleasant house in Chelsea.

And of course I had all the usual chaos getting ready for the wedding.

I noticed that Peter seemed preoccupied and a bit jumpy and irritable.

But I thought it was just eve-of-wedding nerves.

Anyhow, I was so busy, I didn't have time to think much about it.

Whew. What a day.

Helen's got measles, blast her,

so I'll have to try and find another bridesmaid somewhere.

The cake's under control. And I've had a lot more answers.

The Laughtons can't come, thank heaven.

And we've got some perfectly frightful presents.

You know, I really think we'll have to turn that spare room of ours

into a chamber of horrors.

Which reminds me. When are the men coming to lay the carpets?

- I don't know. I forgot to ring up. - Really, darling.

Here I am getting fallen arches chasing around, getting things done,

and you can't even remember a simple little telephone call.

For heaven's sake, don't nag.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.

Peter, what's the matter with you?

- You've been edgy for days. - Yes, I know.

I haven't been sleeping too well.

I really am sorry, darling.

It doesn't matter.

Forget it.

Listen, darling, I know you fairly well by now.

You're keeping something from me. What is it?

Well, if you must know, it's that mirror.

You remember me telling you that first evening?

Well, it's got worse. Much worse.

Every time I look in it now, I see that room.

It's getting me down.

I'd really rather not talk about it.

You'll feel much better if you do.

It's no good bottling things up, you know.

Well...

at first,

if I made an enormous effort of will,

the reflection used to change back to what it ought to be.

But lately,

however hard I try,

it doesn't change anymore.

The only thing to do is to try not to look in it at all.

But in a queer sort of way it fascinates me.

I feel as if that room, the one in the mirror,

were trying to...

to claim me...

to draw me into it.

It almost becomes the real room...

and my own bedroom imaginary.

And I know that there's something waiting for me

on the other side of the mirror...

something evil, monstrously evil...

and that if I cross that dividing line...

something awful will happen.

Well, let's get rid of the beastly thing.

You know, you don't have to keep it just because I've given it to you.

I can take it back and they'll change it.

But the trouble's not in the mirror. It's in my mind.

It must be.

A mirror's just wood and glass.

Peter, I don't know what to say.

Perhaps you're overworked. Why don't you see a doctor?

I have. Couldn't find anything wrong with me.

I think I shall have to go and see a mental specialist.

- Nonsense. You're as sane as I am. - Obviously I can't be.

Listen.

I've been putting off saying this,

but I think we ought to postpone the wedding.

That's a bit drastic, isn't it?

I don't know. Suppose I am going mad.

Wouldn't be much fun for you, would it?

Take you five years to get a divorce.

Really, darling. You're going a little bit too fast for me.

Let's get the wedding over,

and then we can start making divorce arrangements afterwards.

Peter, come with me, will you?

Look in the mirror.

Look in the mirror.

What is it, darling?

It's worse than ever.

- You're not there. - But of course I'm there.

I tell you, you're not.

In the other room, I'm alone.

Look in the mirror and tell me exactly what you see.

It's just as it always is.

Instead of my bed, there's the other bed.

I can see it quite clearly.

The posts have vine leaves twisted round them

with bunches of grapes at the top.

The hangings are dark red silk.

The walls are paneled.

There's a log fire burning in the grate.

It's no use, I tell you. I am going mad.

Now I'll tell you what I see.

No four-poster, no paneling, and no log fires.

Just your ordinary room with you and me in it.

Listen to me.

You're going to look in this mirror again.

You're going to see exactly the same as I do.

Come here. Come here.

- Can you see your own room? - No.

- Or me? - No.

But you must.

- Make yourself. - I can't.

You can, darling, if you try.

- It's no good. - You can.

Look, here I am,

standing by you.

Yes.

Yes, there you are.

I can see you now.

You see? I told you so.

I can't make it out.

Come on, let's get out of here and have a drink.

So that seemed to be that.

And a fortnight later we got married and moved into the new house.

In a way, I'd have been happier to get rid of the mirror.

But Peter seemed to have completely lost his fear of it,

so I decided to let things be.

Mother says can we come down the weekend after next?

It's her birthday.

I'm afraid I shan't be able to make it. We'll be rushing that big audit through.

Well, never mind. She'll be disappointed, but we can go some other time.

Well, you can go, sweet, anyhow, even if I can't.

- I don't want to go without you. - I don't want you to.

But your mother would rather have you alone.

You know, getting her precious daughter back for a few days.

Don't be an idiot.

She doesn't feel she's lost a daughter. She's gained a son.

What a gift for a phrase you have.

Think it over, anyhow.

- Hello? - Hello, Peter.

Hello, darling. Have a good journey?

Yes. I wish you could've come.

So do I. Still, it can't be helped.

Do you miss me?

Of course I do. Do you miss me?

Yes. Gone to bed yet?

No, I'm going to do another half an hour's work first.

- Well, good night, darling. - Good night, darling. See you Monday.

- Give my love to your mother. - Yes. Good night, darling.

Good night, darling.

- Toll number, please. - Flaxman 6061.

Get me Chichester 2352.

Thank you.

What is it, dear?

Nothing.

Mother, I want to speak to Mr. Rutherford.

Would you go on to the library, then walk back this way?

Very well, dear.

- Good morning, Mr. Rutherford. - Good morning, Miss Walsh.

I beg your pardon. Mrs. Cortland.

Do you remember that Chippendale mirror I bought here about three months ago?

Indeed, I do. I hope your husband was satisfied with it.

Yes, very. Tell me.

That bed, the four-poster.

How odd you should mention it.

Why, it so happens I bought it at the same sale that I bought your mirror.

There's a curious history attaching to them both.

- Curious? - Well, tragic, perhaps I should say.

I trust, by the way, you're not superstitious.

No.

- No, I don't think so. - Won't you sit down?

Some people retain a positively medieval attitude of mind

with regard to these matters.

Please, Mr. Rutherford, will you tell me the story? I'm very interested.

By all means.

The bed and the mirror form part of the contents

of the private apartments of a Mr. Francis Etherington,

who died at Marsden-Lacey in 1836.

The apartments had remained unused and locked

from that time to the sale.

That is his portrait, by the way.

He was a man of dominating character.

Arrogant, reckless, handsome,

and often of violent temper.

He married a very beautiful heiress, a Miss Perry.

The couple retired to Marsden-Lacey where they lived contentedly for a time.

Then, suddenly, disaster overtook them.

Out hunting one day,

Etherington was thrown by his horse, which then rolled on him.

His spine was injured, and he was never again able

to do more than drag himself a few paces from this bed.

- How dreadful. - Yes.

Unfortunately, the effects of such constraint

on a man of his enormous energy

was more than his mind could endure.

He became morose, embittered, suspicious, above all, of his wife.

Quite without reason, he began accusing the poor lady of betraying him

with his friends...

with strangers, with his servants.

Had she not been so devoted to him, she certainly would have left him.

And indeed, it would have been better for her had she done so.

For one day,

in an excess of jealous rage...

he strangled her,

and then sat down in front of the mirror...

your mirror...

and cut his throat.

What a horrible story.

And the mirror...

hasn't been used again until Peter...

until I bought it for my husband.

Precisely.

Peter!

Peter!

Peter, darling!

Oh, there you are.

Something gone wrong with your plans for a weekend?

- Darling, what do you mean? - You know what I mean.

I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.

Of course you haven't.

Of course you didn't think I suspected anything

when you were so eager to go away without me.

Well, I'm not a fool. I knew what your game was.

Darling, stop, please!

- Sit down and listen to me. - I will not sit down.

I know you'd like to have me chained to this chair

as you have me chained to this room.

But I won't stand it, not while I have strength to move at all.

Darling, sit down and listen to me. You're not well.

And a good thing for you and your precious lover that I'm not.

If I could move out of this room, I'd break him in pieces.

Peter, it's the mirror. I found out what's wrong with the mirror.

There's nothing wrong with the mirror.

I look in it often.

I sit here and look at these four walls.

And then for a change, I look at them in the mirror.

You don't know what you're saying.

This isn't Marsden-Lacey. Your name isn't Etherington.

It's Cortland, Peter Cortland, and I'm your wife!

Exactly. You're my wife.

But you sometimes choose to forget it.

Well, what's the matter? Why have you come back?

No, let me guess.

You were enjoying a pleasant weekend with Guy,

but he was called away, so you had to come back to me.

Peter, I haven't even seen Guy.

Anyhow, you know we've always treated him as a joke.

Yes, I know we've always pretended to, but I knew what was going on all the time.

Nothing's been going on. You know that as well as I do.

I pretended not to notice.

Day after day, month after month,

while you were making a public laughingstock of me.

But this time I've had enough,

and I'm going to punish you as you deserve to be punished.

Peter, it's the mirror.

Mr. Rutherford told me about it. That's why I came back.

It belonged to a man who was crippled

who accused his wife just as you are now accusing me.

Peter, you must listen to me!

Peter. Peter, darling, are you all right?

- I seem to have cut myself. - Sit down. Let me have a look at it.

Look at the mirror. How did that happen?

Never mind now, darling.

- But, darling, we could get it mended. - No, we can't. Look.

It's old and worm-eaten and rotten.

It should have been burned ages ago.

You poor darling.

Well, I should think you could do with a drink after that.

I know I could.

Mother,

what did you do with that bottle of schnapps I got for Dr. Van Straaten?

It's in the cupboard in the hall.

Well, how's the great debunker going to debunk that?

Ever since Mr. Craig arrived, you've been asking me

to produce scientific explanations like rabbits out of a hat.

I'm not accustomed to solving complex problems

with the careless ease of your brains trust.

It sounds to me as though you're completely stumped this time.

Joan saw the room in the mirror as well as Peter.

The witness I couldn't supply you with.

Very well. You asked for it.

This was a case of cryptomnesia.

The transmissibility of an illusion by one person

to one or more other persons who are emotionally cohesive

is well-established.

Do I make myself clear?

I'm totally at sea.

You wouldn't like to start again, would you,

very slowly and in words of one syllable.

Hamlet was right, Doctor.

There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy.

And my recurring dream isn't just a meaningless trick of the mind.

It was sent to me as a warning,

a warning against the terror that's waiting for me in this house.

Well, I'm like Grainger. I'm going to act on the warning.

I'm going to leave here now, this instant.

Craig!

If you go now, you'll be making a profound mistake.

You'll be delivering yourself into the hands of your obsession.

I beg you to stay and see it through.

Whatever happens, if anything happens,

the reality can't possibly be as bad as your imagination has painted it.

Why not?

I tell you, Doctor, there's something horrible waiting for me here,

perhaps even death itself.

Craig.

An hour ago you asked me to help you. I think I can.

But only if you want me to, only if you do what I beg you to do.

Whilst every minute brings the horror closer?

No, Doctor. I'm not going to submit my will to yours.

I'm going to leave this place now, before it's too late.

What's your tipple, by the way? Scotch?

No, thanks. I'm going. I can't face it.

I'm sorry, my dear fellow. However, I don't blame you a bit.

Yes, you do. You despise me.

You think I'm a contemptible coward.

Nothing of the kind, honestly.

Still, I'm sorry because... Well, whatever's in the wind,

a fellow would like to rally round and lend a helping hand and that rot.

- Nobody can help me. - Tell you what, have one for the road.

- Well... - Matter of fact, I know just how you feel.

Jolly unpleasant when you come slap up against the supernatural.

I still get a shiver when I think of what happened to a couple of friends of mine.

Ghastly business.

It was when I was staying at my golf club at Windlesham.

The stars of the club were George Parratt and Larry Potter.

Nothing could keep them from their game.

They were both pretty good, and they were deadly rivals,

but only on the links.

In all other respects, they were the best of friends.

Until...

Mary seemed to look on them with equal favor.

And the result, of course,

was complete deadlock.

We can't go on like this, old man.

She's ruining my game.

Mine too.

Every time I take a stroke, I see her wretched face.

I keep on hearing her tiresome voice

just as I'm swinging.

- They'll be raising our handicap soon. - Yeah.

She must choose one of us.

But there's nothing to choose.

We're both as good as Bobby Jones.

Very nearly.

I wish you were dead, old man.

It would be just as good if you were.

George! I've got it.

- What? - We'll play for her.

Tomorrow morning, 18 holes.

- Match play. - The loser to vanish from the scene.

- Forever. - Put it there, old man.

Of course! Why didn't we think of it sooner?

It was a terrific game.

They halved the first four holes,

then Parratt sliced his drive and Potter took the lead.

But at the long 13th, Parratt got a wonderful four.

And after that, it was ding-dong all the way.

Parratt, Potter. Potter, Parratt.

When they reached the last hole, they were square once more.

This hole for Mary Lee.

How many, old man?

Three. And you?

Two.

- Two? - Yes.

Didn't you see my spoon shot?

Beautiful shot, wasn't it, Smithers?

Oh, a lovely shot, sir.

But nobody's ever reached this green in two before.

I don't believe it's possible.

Well, there it is.

No mistake, is there, Smithers?

No, sir. Quite right, sir. Only two strokes.

Seems as if I've got my work cut out then.

Jolly good putt, old man.

Well, this is for it.

Well, that's that.

Grand finish to a grand game.

An almost incredible finish.

With Mary in the bag,

Parratt realized it was time

to turn his mind once more to serious things.

He hadn't touched his clubs since the Potter tragedy,

and he needed practice.

I offered to give him a game.

I soon found, to my cost, that he was playing better than ever.

Life obviously seemed very good to him.

And then we reached the lake.

Good morning, George, old man.

Still cheating?

Oh, yes. It's me, all right.

I've returned from my watery grave...

to haunt you.

Cheat!

Cad! Twister! Worm!

Skunk! Rat!

Rabbit.

I'll teach you that crime doesn't pay.

Unconditional surrender, old man.

Those are my terms.

May the Lord have mercy on your handicap.

Ouch!

- I say, Eliot. - Yes, old man?

Do you believe in ghosts?

Ghosts?

Good lord, no.

Neither do I.

That was only the beginning.

For this poor, stricken shadow of a man,

there was only one relief.

Another whiskey, Fred,

a large one.

Make it two.

Good heavens. I thought you were dead.

So I am, old man, as dead as a stymie.

- Two large whiskeys, Fred. - You mean a quadruple, sir?

No, no, no. Separate glasses, of course.

One for him.

Fred can't see me or hear me.

Nobody else can either. It's only you I'm haunting.

Well, it's time you gave somebody else a turn. I've had it.

Not bad, am I, for a beginner.

George Parratt, handicap 18.

I think it's perfectly despicable.

Not nearly as despicable as cheating at golf.

- You haven't a vestige of proof. - Yes, I have. It's on the record.

- What record? - The recording angel's record.

- It shows that you took five for the 18th. - Five shillings, please, sir.

Recording angel. He can't count.

Listen, now, you're going too far. It was bad enough out on the links.

Don't expect me to stop there, old man.

All that invisible stuff is very elementary.

Any rabbit could do it.

A ghost must better himself.

Do you mean to say you're going to hang around me for the rest of my life?

I most certainly am.

- Unless, of course, you care to lay me. - How?

Well, first of all, you must give up Mary.

Give up Mary?

Certainly not.

I'm not going to have a fine young girl like that married to a cheat and a liar.

Yes, I suppose I've got it coming to me.

It'll break my heart, of course.

Listen. If you promise to let me alone, I'll step out of Mary's life.

Well, that's my first condition.

Second is...

you'll have to give up golf.

Give up golf?

- Never. - Don't you realize what you've done?

You've disgraced this club, besmirched the greatest of all games,

dragged the name of Saint Andrew in the dust.

Good heavens, man. You should be drummed out of the Royal and Ancient.

Oh, yes, yes, yes. I'll admit all this. I'm a cad, a rat, and a worm.

I agree with everything you've called me, but you can't punish me like this.

Listen, Larry, you're a golfer yourself.

You must realize what it means.

I shall have nothing left to live for. Nothing.

You can't be such a skunk.

Perhaps you're right, old man.

I mustn't lower myself to your level.

Dear old Larry. I knew you'd see it the right way.

But you've got to break with Mary.

And if I do, you'll never haunt me again?

I'll disappear here and now, forever.

It's a deal.

Well, one for the sky.

No, thanks. I've got a date with Saint Andrew at four o'clock.

Well, good-bye, old boy. Good luck. I hope you win.

Thanks, George. Good-bye.

What's the matter?

I've got the passes wrong.

Better try again.

- George? - Yes?

I've forgotten how to vanish.

Look here, old man.

This is shocking.

I can get as far as this.

- Then I can't remember what I do next. - You must remember.

Don't forget you've been well and truly laid.

I know I've got to hold my breath and do this.

- Then I get stuck. - Well, what about that?

No good? Well, try this.

No good, no good.

- I am sorry. - Well, it is a bit thick.

A ghost shouldn't be allowed to go haunting until he's properly qualified.

It's all my fault, I'm afraid.

I should have spent longer on the materialization course.

But you would insist on getting married on Saturday.

And I still intend to get married on Saturday.

But you promised.

Well, if you can't keep your side of the bargain,

why should you expect me to keep mine?

I see your point.

- You realize what it will mean, though. - What?

Well, I shall have to stick to you... everywhere.

- Everywhere? - Yes.

Always remain within six foot of you. That's the official ruling.

Because a chap becomes a ghost,

it surely doesn't mean that he ceases to be a gentleman.

Don't worry, old chap.

It's sure to come back to me before Saturday.

It was unbelievable.

I was on the green in two, down in three. That's how I collected that one.

- Well, fancy that. - Now then, this is the Walkerbath Cup.

- Yes, dear? - Yes.

I beat poor old Larry Potter seven and five.

Two and one. Flukiest game you ever played.

Seven and five.

I beg your pardon. Now, this one. This is a long story.

Yes, darling, you can tell me all about that tomorrow.

Kiss me.

- George! - Yes, my pet?

You haven't give me one real kiss since we left the church.

Yes, I know, darling, I know.

We've been very busy.

Get on with it. Get on with it, you mug.

That's what you're here for.

Well, we're not busy now, are we?

Gracious, 10:00 already?

Is it, darling? I didn't count.

Well, I think I'll be turning in, darling.

Yes. I think I'll turn in too.

I'm feeling rather tired.

Well, so am I.

- Six feet, old man. - Six feet!

I don't wonder. I'll just go and count the cups.

- Count the cups? - Yes, darling, count the cups.

I always count the cups before I go to bed.

Look here. This is intolerable.

Yes, I quite agree. But what can I do? Everything's failed.

Have another go. Try as you've never tried before.

All right, for what it's worth.

Shut your eyes. It'll help you to concentrate.

Okay, here goes.

Of all the caddish tricks! I can't think what's come over you.

It's entirely your fault. You can't cheat a ghost.

What the devil are we going to do now?

I shall have to go on trying, that's all.

Yes, but don't you see, you blithering idiot?

There may be millions of other combinations, and all you can do is this.

What comes next?

What are we going to do? What are we going to do?

Good heavens, he's gone.

And I wasn't looking.

What's gonna happen now?

Darling?

Oh, darling.

Do I make passes?

Or do I make passes?

Really, Eliot, that story is totally incredible

and decidedly improper.

Sorry, I had to tell it. I couldn't bear to be left out in the cold.

That wasn't why you told the story. You did it to try and help me, didn't you?

You succeeded where I failed, Eliot, and in a double sense.

Craig, you said that the horror started

when Eliot told about the death of a man you'd never heard of.

- Didn't you? - That's right.

Well...

Eliot just described how his friend Potter committed suicide.

You'd never heard of Potter before, had you?

No. No, I hadn't.

Yet the horror hasn't started, has it?

No, it hasn't.

There you are. You see?

I'm so glad. The spell has been broken at last.

Now I can go and see about dinner with an easy mind.

I'll lend a hand, if I may.

Thank you, my dear. That's very kind of you.

Mr. Craig, now that you've met us,

I'm sure you wouldn't dream of dreaming about us again.

Come along, my dear.

Apart from my bit of nonsense,

the curious thing is that all of you, even Sally,

seems to have had one of these extraordinary experiences.

Perhaps they aren't so extraordinary. Perhaps they happen to most people.

Oh. You mean there's a ghost as well as a skeleton in everyone's cupboard.

That's a pretty thought.

And what's the ghost in your cupboard, Doctor?

Well...

there was one occasion in my professional career

that made me wonder.

Made me wonder quite a lot.

You may remember the case.

Maxwell Frere, the ventriloquist,

was charged with the attempted murder of a man in the same line of business,

Sylvester Kee, an American.

My friend Maurice Olcott, who was defending the case,

wanted my opinion on the state of his mind.

Oh, Frere.

This is Dr. Van Straaten.

He's gonna help us with the case.

How do you do, Mr. Frere?

I had the pleasure of seeing your performance last year at The Hague.

- It was most-- - A doctor, eh?

- A brain specialist? - Psychiatrist.

I thought as much.

You want to psychoanalyze me, don't you?

You want to look inside my brain and see how the wheels go round.

- Now, wait a moment, Frere-- - Dissect me like a guinea pig.

Then show me off to your distinguished colleagues

as an interesting case.

- Well, that's it, isn't it? - Hardly.

But it's possible that I may be able to help you

if you are prepared to help me.

Now, I'd like to ask you a few questions.

You're wasting your time, Doctor.

I'm not mad.

I don't want your help, or yours either.

- Hugo's the only one can help me. - The dummy?

Yes, the police are holding it as evidence.

Hugo should be here with me.

You see...

he's more to blame for all this than I am.

What exactly do you mean by that?

Yes, you'd like to know, wouldn't you?

Well, get Hugo back and perhaps you will.

Perhaps you'll have a case history that'll make your complexes stand on end.

Then you can write a big, fat book all about it, eh?

Does that tempt you, Doctor?

Very well, then. Get Hugo back!

Now you see what I'm up against.

Very interesting.

I'd like to have a talk with that other fellow-- Kee.

I'm afraid that's out of the question. He's a witness for the prosecution.

Have a look at his statement. I'd like to know what you think of it.

Seems more like your job than mine.

I knew Maxwell Frere by reputation as an artiste of the highest standing

in his and my profession.

I first made his acquaintance about a year ago,

when he was performing at the Chez Beulah Nightclub in Paris.

Ladies and gentlemen, is there a Frenchman in the house?

I'm told one or two can be seen in Paris lately.

- Sylvester Kee! - Why, hello, Beulah.

Boy, I haven't seen you for years. Where have you been?

Oh, back in the States.

I just hit town.

Well, how's business?

Mighty fine, honey child. Mighty fine.

You old warhorse. You look terrific.

Just like the lights of Broadway on a dark night.

Say, Beulah.

This guy Frere, they tell me he's pretty good.

I'll say he is.

Yeah, well, what's he got that I haven't got?

His dummy.

- Don't say you haven't seen him. - No.

Well, what are we waiting for? Come on, let's go in.

If we had to do this routine in the Colosseum,

the act would be in ruins.

Colosseum! Ruins!

I kill myself sometimes.

Hey, Maxwell.

Not this one. Not this one!

Well, don't be shy, Hugo. The lady won't bite you.

No, but you know me. I might bite the lady.

Tell me, my little lotus blossom, where have I been all your life?

Uh-oh, one of the natives.

Didn't I see you working your head off in the Folies Bergère?

I'm sure I saw her in the Folies Bergère.

The lady's face is familiar, is it?

What would I be doing in the Folies Bergère looking at faces?

Hey, Maxwell. We don't have to wake these two up.

Besides, I can read her thoughts.

Read her thoughts? Why, Hugo, that's clairvoyance.

Clairvoyance?

Good evening, Claire.

Maxwell, we must be a riot.

The first of tomorrow night's audience just came in.

See who I mean? The dumb-looking one.

Why, Hugo.

He doesn't look any more dumb than I do.

Don't ask the impossible.

Hello, stranger.

One of our American friends. Strong, speechless type.

Well, Mr. Dumb Cluck, are you as dumb as you look,

or do you cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck?

Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Hey, did you mislay that egg?

Why, no, Hugo. I didn't do a thing.

But will someone please tell me what's going on around here?

Hugo, I think we better be moving along. He's a ventriloquist.

He doesn't look like a trick cyclist.

No, no. I said "ventriloquist."

What, you mean the chap who makes a voice come out of a stuffed dummy,

the way I do out of you?

That's about it.

Well, well, well.

- Is it true, what he said? - I guess so.

You interest me, my man.

You interest me quite a lot.

We too could make beautiful music together.

That's fine, Hugo, but...

how about making a little music with Frank, eh? Frank!

Maxwell, I don't think I feel like singing.

Come, come, Hugo. Mustn't disappoint your public.

Just a bird in a gilded cage, that's me.

Oh, to hell with it.

Oh, come on, now. You ready?

- One, two, three. - Four, five, six.

Let's sit this one out, shall we?

Hugo, everybody's waiting.

My, my. So they are.

Tell you what. You be the canary tonight.

I'm going to talk to the ventriloquist man.

Mind if I join you?

Sure. Come on over.

Come on, sourpuss.

Sit down.

Now, either of you gentlemen care for a glass of champagne?

What do you think I am, a battleship?

Do you know something? I like you.

- What's your name? - The name is Kee. Sylvester Kee.

Sylvester, you may call me Hugo.

Oh, thanks, Hugo.

- That is my assistant. - Glad to know you, Mr. Frere.

A very uncouth character, I'm afraid.

I say, Sylvester. How'd you like to work with me?

I'd like it fine, Hugo.

- But... - But what?

Well, how about Mr. Frere here?

You're sort of teamed up with him, aren't you?

Him?

My good man, think nothing of it.

I'm just about through with that cheap ham, anyway.

Temper, temper.

You'll be sorry for this later, you know.

Yes, I suppose I will.

Ladies and gentlemen...

Hugo and I are old friends.

Dear old pals, jolly old pals

Exactly. But every now and then we have our little disagreements.

You certainly disagree with me.

Would you believe that this guy thinks he carries the act.

Well, in one way, maybe he does.

- Come, come, Hugo. We must be going. - Sure, sure.

But there won't be much room in the dressing room.

Not much room in the dressing room? Why not?

I told the waiter to bring up a couple of sidecars,

and the fool brought the motorcycles as well.

Sidecars! Motorcycles!

Well, good night, ladies and gentlemen.

Say good night, Hugo.

Good night, sleep tight, wake up sober.

Hey, Sylvester.

- "The Hullalooba." - Sylvester.

I'll be waiting for you in my dressing room.

You and I have got to talk business.

In far lands

Where hazy mountains never end

Which is the way to Maxwell Frere's dressing room?

- That door, monsieur. - Thank you.

The hulla, hulla, hullalooba

Dreamy tune

The boys are riding And they croon

Love comes on like a falling star

It's hulla, hulla, hullalooba

Saddle your horse

And hullalooba, looba Come across

The hullalooba, looba way And sing

In hullalooba, looba swing

- Who is it? - It's Sylvester Kee.

Come in.

Glad to see you, Sylvester.

Mix yourself a drink, and let's get down to business, eh?

Well, thanks, brother. I will.

But suppose you tell me where I can find Mr. Frere.

I guess he can't be very far away.

So, you won't talk, eh?

Did you want to see me?

Well...

I rather thought I had an invite from our young friend here.

After all, Mr. Frere, I'm a ventriloquist myself, you know.

Hell, I'm soaking.

- There's a clean towel in here. - Thanks.

Sorry, but I can't bear anyone touching him.

That's all right. Forget it.

Say, I sure liked it how you pulled that gag.

What gag?

- I don't quite-- - Just now, before you came in.

You know, for a moment, I could have sworn it was the dummy speaking.

And me a pro.

- What did he say? - Don't let's start that all over again.

- Was it about you and him? - Why, yes.

But you know that.

You wouldn't...

You wouldn't ever do that, would you?

Do what?

- I don't get you. - Do what he was asking.

Say, are you nuts or something?

How in heck could I team up with Hugo? He's yours, isn't he?

Yes, that's right. He's-- He's mine.

What kind of a heel do you think I am that I'd try to steal another guy's act?

Now, please don't misunderstand me. I don't distrust you.

It's just that you don't know what Hugo is capable of.

I don't know about that. I've had a pretty good demonstration.

Say, who runs this act, anyway?

This fellow is almost human.

- Did you say almost? - That's right.

As if you got a mind of your own.

Maxwell, this fellow's as stupid as you are.

Perhaps I'd better explain the position.

No. No. No.

Kee, if you don't mind, I'm rather tired.

Why, sure. I understand.

Ignore him, Sylvester.

Just ignore him.

I'm the one who gives orders around here. He's only--

- Hugo, please. - Pipe down, you.

- Listen, my friend. - No, no!

Say, what kind of a routine is this, anyway?

Go away, will you?

Leave us alone.

Go away. Get out of here.

Okay, okay.

I'm going.

You ought to get your head examined. Good night.

Kee, my friend. Don't leave me.

Take me with you. Maxwell, let go of me!

Kee, get me out of here. Kee! Kee!

Kee!

Hey, that guy in there's nuts, huh?

But nuts!

Let go your rein

Ride for adventure once again

Let go your heart And, oh, Mama

Sing hullalooba

After what happened in the dressing room,

I was sure he was not quite right in the head.

I did not see Frere again until the night of February the 2nd.

I had just arrived in London

and was staying at the Imperial Palace Hotel.

Shortly before 11:00 p.m. I entered the hotel bar.

Frere was sitting at the bar.

Hello, there! How have you been?

Hello.

Say, I met Joe Green just now.

- He's mighty sore at you. - I expect he is.

- We walked out of his show. - Oh? How come?

He didn't like it.

And I don't want to talk about it. Jack. Same again.

Okay by me, brother.

Give me a scotch, please.

Come on, you two. We only got five minutes.

Evening, Jack. What are you gonna have, girls?

- Whiskey sour. - Me too.

- Three whiskey sours, Jack. - Oh, look.

There's Maxwell Frere, the ventriloquist.

I've never seen him.

- Is that his dummy? - Yes.

Hugo Fitch. Isn't it quaint?

Oh, I'd just love to pick him up.

You can't, Mitzi. The man's plastered.

You know very well I mean the dummy. You're awful.

Well, go ahead, then. Why don't you?

Go on, Mitzi. I dare you.

Go on, don't be shy.

- Go on. - Very well, then.

Oh, Mr. Frere, I hoped you wouldn't mind,

but he looks so cute.

On your way, sister. On your way.

Aren't you a little devil.

Come along now.

Take your hands off me, will you, or I'll punch your messy little face in.

Say, Maxwell. This cheap bit of skirt's getting after me.

You low, filthy drunk, you. I'll...

- Did you hear what this man called me? - Skip it. Have a drink.

Harry Parker, are you going to stand by and let this creature insult me?

All right.

Look here, old man, you better apologize to this lady.

- What did you say? - I said you've insulted this lady.

And I said you better apologize to her.

I assure you, I... haven't the slightest intention.

Lady? What lady.

Maxwell, I don't see no lady.

Look here, are you going to apologize like a gentleman,

or do I have to make you?

Who does this guy think he is? Will you kick his teeth in, Maxwell, or shall I?

You asked for it.

Now then, gentlemen. No fighting in here, please.

Cut it out.

Cut it out. The guy's stinking.

- Well, what's it got to do with you? - I said cut it out.

- Go on, scram. - All right, no need to get tough about it.

- You all right, Frere? - Hugo.

Come on, girls. Drink up and let's get out of here.

- Come on, please. It's past time. - All right, all right.

Here he is. There you go.

Well, it's my old friend Sylvester.

- That's better. - Good night, Jack.

- You shouldn't have done that. - Just one of those things.

- Are you staying in the hotel? - Room 791.

- We're all right. - Sure you are, sure you are.

I'm just going up to my room, and I'll see you home. 791.

I tell you, it can't go on much longer.

He's doing it deliberately. All this business with Joe Green.

- He's trying to ruin me. - Joe wouldn't do a thing like that.

- He's sore, but-- - Joe?

You thought I meant...

That's good.

That's really funny.

No, I didn't mean Joe.

I don't get it.

Don't you? No, I suppose you wouldn't.

You just think I'm drunk, don't you?

Well, you're not acting like you're on the water wagon.

Smug, aren't you?

Well, you'd drink too, if you were in my shoes.

I tell you...

it's enough to drive a man mad.

Why don't you grab yourself some sleep?

What do you care whether I sleep or not?

Well...

I'm not such a fool as you think, Sylvester Kee.

I remember what happened in Paris.

I know what you're after.

- You won't get away with it. - You're crazy.

Get out of this room.

Go on! Get out of this hotel

before I send for management, have you thrown out.

Now take it easy, pal. It happens that I'm living in the hotel.

- Thrown out! - Take it easy, take it easy.

You think you're mighty clever, don't you?

I'll get even with you.

I'll be ready for you.

Won't get away with it.

Young fellow, if my pal Fancy Pants got me down the way you do your boss,

well, I guess I'd wanna be rid of him.

Okay, okay.

Where is he?

Where's who? What are you talking about?

Where is he? You've stolen him.

If you're talking about the dummy, I left him on your bed.

Now will you please go away and let me sleep.

He's here.

I know he's here.

Hey, will you get the hell out of here, or do I have to throw you out?

No, no!

Wait!

Dirty, thieving swine.

You dirty, thieving swine!

What do you think of it?

Well, before I commit myself,

I must talk to Frere again.

You think you'll be able to get anything out of him?

- That, my friend, depends on you. - On me?

On your powers of persuasion with the police, I should say.

As a matter of fact, I don't expect to get what I want from Maxwell Frere.

Well, who do you expect to get it from?

If I am on the right lines, from Hugo Fitch.

Hugo Fitch?

I knew you wouldn't leave me, Hugo.

I knew you'd come back.

Not for long, my boy. Not for long.

You're going to stop in jail for years and years and years and years.

That wouldn't suit me.

But you'll tell them the truth.

You'll tell them it wasn't my fault.

What sort of dummy do you think I am? You shot him, didn't you?

Yes, but that was in self-defense.

- He was trying to rob me. - Tell that to the judge.

Poor Sylvester. Such a charming fellow.

They tell me he's recovering.

Be out of hospital soon.

And what's that to you?

Well, looks like I'll be needing a new partner.

Hugo.

You don't mean that. You're joking.

Like hell I am. I have my career to think of.

You wouldn't run out on me now. I don't believe it.

You wouldn't do that to me.

Oh, wouldn't I?

Wouldn't I?

Wouldn't I?

Hugo, I wouldn't let you.

Can't stop me, Maxwell.

You're finished.

Finished.

What if I tell them the truth? Suppose I tell them you made me do it.

Try it and see what happens.

They'll put you in the madhouse.

But not little Hugo. Oh, no.

I'm going to team up with Sylvester.

Maybe we'll come and visit you.

You know, private show for the loony.

Oh, Maxwell, now don't get excited.

I was only joking.

You know me.

Maxwell. Maxwell!

Maxwell! Take your hands off me!

- Stop, Frere! - Maxwell!

Frere, you fool!

Officer, quickly! Open this door!

Quickly.

Quick!

I hope we're doing the right thing.

You know what happened the last time we met.

Maybe he won't feel so good seeing me again.

It's our responsibility, Mr. Kee.

- He's in here. - Just a minute, Doc.

I guess I got the jitters.

It'll give him a hell of a jolt, won't it?

That's just it.

He needs a jolt to set his brain working again.

You're the jolt.

Of course it's risky, but it's our only hope.

- Well, I-- - We are ready to chance it if you are.

Okay.

- You're the doctors. - Thanks.

He's been like that all the time.

Frere...

there's someone to see you.

Hello, there. How you keeping?

Say, you remember me.

The name is Kee. Sylvester Kee.

Why, hello, Sylvester.

I've been waiting for you.

I've been waiting for you.

He's still there.

One of the most complete examples of dual identity

in the history of medical science.

You mean that half the time Frere was Frere,

and the other half he was his dummy?

Exactly.

And in the end, the dummy got the upper hand entirely.

Yes, but how did the dummy get from one room to another?

Under its own steam?

Without knowing what he was doing, Frere took it himself...

impelled by the dominating Hugo half of his mind.

That is the scientific explanation.

But no doubt you people would prefer a more colorful one,

that Hugo had become endowed with an existence of his own.

Drink?

Oh, I'm awfully sorry.

Blimey, Georgie's dying on us.

It's...

started.

It's all right. Nothing's started. No one's dying.

George isn't a man. It's the Foleys' power plant.

They make their own electricity.

There's nothing to be afraid of. We're your friends.

We want to help you.

None of you can help me.

I must be left alone with Dr. Van Straaten.

Please.

Perhaps that's best.

And, Grainger, would you be kind enough to fetch my spare glasses from my room?

- I'm lost without them. - Yes, okay, Doctor.

And now, Craig...

I accept your dream.

Now my task is to listen and yours to talk.

Just let your thoughts run on.

Speak them aloud.

Say everything that is in your mind.

If only I'd left here when I wanted to...

when I still had a will of my own.

You tried to stop me.

You wouldn't have done it if you'd known.

You have not told me yet what it is that you are compelled to do, Craig.

To kill someone...

someone who's never done me any harm...

and wishes me nothing but good.

A man without defense...

because he is lost in the dark.

Oh, Doctor.

Why did you have to break your glasses?

I've got to hide, to hide...

Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop

- Let's play another game! - Yes! Hide-and-seek.

- Who's to hide? - I'll hide! I'll hide!

Yes, Mr. Craig will hide! Mr. Craig will hide!

One, two, three,

four, five, six, seven,

eight, nine, ten, 11...

- Peter! - Has something gone wrong with your plans?

Please, Peter. Let me hide in the room in the mirror.

Room in the mirror?

...20, 30, 40, 50, 60,

70, 80, 90, 100!

I've got him, I've got--

Here he is!

Here he is, up in the lumber room!

Take a seat, sucker.

- What's biting you, sucker? - He looks kind of sick to me, Hugo.

- Well, why don't you see a doctor? - Maybe he has seen a doctor.

My, my, Hugo. We've never played to a murderer before, have we?

Why, no, Kee.

Is there a policeman in the house?

Just room for one more inside, sir.

No! No! No! No!

Wouldn't I?

Darling, whatever's the matter?

- Another nightmare. - You poor sweet.

Hello?

Just a minute. Darling.

Walter Craig speaking.

Darling, you're on my feet.

Bill put you on to me?

That's fine.

What name is it?

Eliot Foley.

F-O-L-E-Y.

Yes, and the place is Pilgrim's Farm.

- Right. - Who was it?

Friend of Bill's. Wants me to go down for the weekend.

A reconstruction job. An old farmhouse in Kent.

Eliot Foley.

Pilgrim's Farm.

I wonder why that sounds so familiar.

A weekend in the country? I should go.

I'll toss for it.

Heads I go, tails I don't.

- Heads. - I go.

That's just what you need, darling.

It'll help you get rid of those horrible nightmares.