Original subtitles

Why did you stop me? Why?

It's all right, Jean. Everything is all right.

Elliott, why didn't you let me go?

I can't face it.

Like a thousand eyes.

Watching.

The stars?

Oh, Elliott, I'm so frightened!

I'm so frightened!

Thank you.

You're just upset about your father.

It's more than that. It's... It's...

Darling, the stars can't hurt you.

They keep watching.

I said nothing is going to hurt you.

How did you know where I was?

Well...

for one thing, your car.

I didn't tell anyone where I was going.

I was driving around, and they kept looking down,

and suddenly I couldn't stand it any longer.

Elliott, how did you know?

I'll tell you all about it. First, let's have some coffee.

When did you last eat?

Breakfast, I think.

Then it'll be coffee and an omelet.

Oh, here's your handbag.

And your watch.

At least that made it stop.

They kept right on.

- Could we have the top up? - Of course.

Good evening.

- That's how you know. - Would you sit down?

I'll order some coffee and an omelet. Waiter!

- You needn't bother. - Why not?

Omelet for missy.

I think you have quite a bit of explaining to do, Mr. Triton.

Yes, I know.

- To the police. - If you like.

Elliott, you don't know what you're talking about.

I know a confidence racket when I see one.

But Mr. Triton's been trying to help me.

By scaring you into suicide?

Jean, I've been away, but don't forget I saw all this start.

I don't blame you for being suspicious, Mr. Carson.

The facts...

well, they're incredible if they are facts.

I don't know myself.

But I would like to convince you

that I have no desire to hurt Miss Courtland,

And what have you been doing to her?

He told me I was to die soon.

At night.

Under the stars.

And you believed that?

How did you happen to go to the switchyard tonight?

He sent me, naturally.

How did he know, when I didn't myself?

Well, I suppose hypnotism,

suggestion, some kind of a trick.

- I believe you are an oil geologist. - I am.

Would you be willing to listen

with the open mind of a scientist

given so doing you might help Miss Courtland?

Provided I'm free to go to the police afterwards...

There are no strings attached.

I'm listening.

I, um...

I suppose most people are looking back

and see the exact point

their lives were touched by destiny.

A new job, unexpected inheritance,

a quick decision.

But I can't.

My destiny came upon me imperceptibly...

like the first thin drops of rain

are noticed on a window pane.

It wasn't until the third, or fourth,

or fifth drop

that I became aware of this rain

that was to engulf my life.

I remember the date.

August 3rd, 1928.

We were playing a one-night stand

in a small town in Louisiana.

Glenberry.

Triton, the Mental Wizard and Company.

Three 12-minute shows a day, sandwiched between.

Toto and his Stumbling Dogs, and a troupe of acrobats.

The act deserved better billing.

It was a phony, of course, like most mind-reading acts,

but it was a first-class phony,

if I do say so myself.

Nobody knew how we did it.

It was the late show, 11:37.

Jenny was collecting the envelopes

with the usual familiar questions.

"Will I take a trip?"” “Is my husband unfaithful?"

"Should I marry my boyfriend?"

I was winding up my spiel.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. All through the ages,

there have been men with mysterious gifts,

men with inner eyes who have been able to pierce the veils

that hide the tomorrows of ordinary mortals.

What is this gift? Frankly, I don't know.

Yet the visions come,

sometimes cloudy,

sometimes clear.

Strange visions.

- Have you the questions, Jenny? - Yes, sir.

Would you check the envelopes, please?

You'll notice, ladies and gentlemen

that the envelopes are never touched

from the time that you sealed them

until they are placed inside the globe.

I won't touch them myself.

Yet from where I stand, I shall endeavor

to read the contents of each envelope

and identify the person who wrote it.

When I call the name,

will that person please raise his or her hand?

This will enable me to strengthen the contact.

And I'd like for everyone to refrain from thinking

of anything that could possibly disrupt me.

Try and keep your minds blank.

Now, if I might have a little quiet music.

I sense a name.

A lady's name.

It's Bryant.

No, uh... Byers.

Spelled B-Y-E-R-S.

She lives on Revere Street.

Number 1-4-7.

Why, that's me!

You, uh, give your maiden name

inside the envelope which remains unopened

and untouched in the globe.

Your maiden name was... Grayson.

You are very pretty, Miss Grayson,

and you came to the city from Virginia.

Also you ask a question. You, uh...

You ask...

"When will my mother-in-law go home?"

Well, Madam, I rarely prognosticate in domestic affairs,

but I believe that I can safely say

that she will leave very soon.

And I'm concentrating on another envelope.

A man's handwriting,

bold and angular.

The name is Scottish...

It's... Angus.

MacDougal!

Angus MacDougal, Aberdeen, Scotland!

No, no. Don't tell me. Just concentrate in silence.

You ask a question, a business question.

Aye.

You own a store.

It's on South Street.

I can't quite make it out.

I have it! It's a woolen store!

And your question is about the store.

Will it prosper?

Well, I will try to answer that question, sir.

I feel that...

There are disruptive thoughts connected with someone here tonight.

Someone in a white hat with daisies.

That's you.

Madam, go home! Your little boy is in trouble, in danger.

You must go home at once!

Oh, I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen.

Where was I?

Oh, yes... uh...

MacDougal, prosperity, sir.

You will own another woolen store in a neighboring city,

and they'll both do well.

And now, I...

I have a question of a rather intimate nature.

You almost threw me on the Scotch one.

I got the Scotch part, all right,

but how's I'd know that he had a woolen store?

I played "Mary Had A Little Lamb."

Sure, sure, and I almost said that he was a butcher.

Good thing I'm a first-class guesser.

- That's what you were doing with that woman? - What woman?

The one you scared the daylights out of.

- Oh, her. - What made you do that, Johnny?

I don't know. Something just popped into my head.

- Ready, baby? - All ready.

Johnny, what made it pop into your head?

Oh, how do I know? Just came.

It won't hurt the dame to go home.

Oughtn't to be up so late anyway.

Now, look, what we all need is a big steak dinner

with maybe a bottle of wine and some beer.

Now, what do you say?

- Who's gonna pick up the tab? - What are you talking about?

- Bonsoir, mademoiselle. - Good night.

Maybe Jenny could put the bite on him.

No, no, no. I draw the line on eating with poodles.

What happened to the fifty we got tonight?

We had a 20-buck advance when hit town.

Bus fares to New Orleans, hotel bills,

breakfast, to mention a few items.

Well, looks as though Jenny has been elected cook again.

But I don't mind. It's good practice.

- How much have we got left? - $22.65.

Give me two bucks.

That's for the license, baby.

Our swing around the Middle West will pay for the ring.

There are rings in dime stores, Johnny.

No, no, no. My wife has gotta start off marriage in style.

Come on, let's be going.

- Mr. Triton? - Yeah?

There's a woman here to see you.

We are so grateful! He found some matches.

I can't imagine where. And the bed was on fire.

- He was pretty badly burned. - I'm sorry.

He's in the hospital He will be all right, won't he?

I don't know.

But I told you, Court, those things just pop into my head.

The first one that meant anything was tonight.

Listen, after the show in Akron,

I checked on the guy you warned not to drive home.

Yeah?

He was in the hospital with a broken collar bone.

His car slipped off a bridge.

You are as punch-drunk as I am.

Now, look, let's lay off this so-called occult stuff, will you,

and concentrate on the act.

Stand a little work.

You know? I've been thinking Jenny ought to have a routine.

Maybe a song just as I start to answer the questions.

Oh, that would be wonderful.

Yeah, they'll think you're tipping me off,

but when you finish, I go right on.

What do you think, Court?

I think a ten-spot on Ready Cash in the fifth at Green Meadows

would do us more good.

No.

No, not Ready Cash.

He'll fall and have to be destroyed.

Peer Gynt by two lengths.

Johnny, did that just pop in you head too?

No, no, no.

I was joking, just a gag.

- Are you sure? - Of course I'm sure.

Look, didn't I tell you to lay off?

- Now, what's the big idea? - I was just curious.

I called the hospital. The kid is gonna pull through.

- We called too. - I still think...

- Never mind. - Did you pay the bill?

- No, not yet. - Well, then pay it.

Then we'll grab some lunch. Jenny's hungry.

- I know that, but Johnny... - What?

I don't think we have any money. At least I don't think we have.

Haven't any money? What happened with the 207.

- Peer Gynt on the nose. - You bet it?

What do you know about that? Every cent we got in the world.

If that isn't the craziest, most harebrained stunt I ever heard of.

You're supposed to be a businessman.

Couldn't you've at least bet it to show?

I can make it up, Johnny.

Oh, sure, sure.

In the meantime, how do we get to New Orleans?

I can always pawn the earrings my mother left me.

No, no no. I wouldn't let you.

Oh, mister, can I see you a minute, please?

Would you mind taking it in fifties?

- Taking what? - The 200 bucks he just won.

Brother, can you pick horses! Peer Gynt, 10 to 1.

What have you got, second sight or something?

Seems odd my being frightened over a bet on a horse race

when I had all these other things to be frightened about.

I think it was because it had touched me this time.

Me and the two people I cared most about.

Look, this is interesting, but what has it got to do with Jean?

Well, the piano player was Whitney Courtland, Jean's father.

- And Jenny was... - My mother.

- You were engaged to Jean's mother? - I loved her very much.

- And you didn't know this? - Dad told me some of it.

Yes, but not everything, because he didn't know everything.

- Would you prefer I stopped? - No, please don't.

In the next month, during our swing around the West,

half a dozen of the hunches came through.

Another horse race, a flyer in wheat,

some quick stock deals.

Courtland handled the money. I never touched it.

I was becoming more frightened every day.

And I began to have a crazy feeling

that I was making the things come true,

like a voodoo sorcerer

who kills people by sticking pins in the doll.

I thought of the man with the broken collar bone,

the boy with the matches...

Would anything have happened to them

if I had kept quiet?

And then one day, it was a rainy afternoon in Wichita,

as I was leaving the theater for the hotel...

the answer came.

I'd been heckling the house electrician.

I wasn't quite satisfied with the way he worked the lights for the act,

and I was still wondering if he understood about the baby spot.

- Paper? - Yeah, sure.

Here.

Mr. Triton, I've seen your picture on the poster.

- Yeah? - Can I ask you something?

Yes, sure, but come in here, out of the rain.

What do you wanna know?

How is the Saint Louis Cards gonna make out this year?

Oh, they're gonna be right up on top,

provided their pitching holds out.

That's what I say. Can't you tell me anything else?

- That's the best I can do. - Oh, thanks anyway.

- Hey, son. - Yes, sir.

Be careful today. Don't cross.

Here.

Blow yourself with some tickets for the show tonight.

Gee! Thanks Mr. Triton. I go call my mom.

It had come again.

A hunch or vision or whatever it was.

This time I hadn't spoken. I kept it to myself.

- Telephone in there, mister? - Yes, sure. What happened?

Newsboy. Just been run over. I'm afraid he's done for.

Johnny, what on earth have you been doing?

Walking.

In this weather! Why didn't you take a cab?

I wanted to walk.

And catch your death of cold, I suppose.

Oh, silly, give me a kiss.

What you need is a nice hot cup of tea,

a hot bath and a change of clothes.

You'll be fine.

- Why were you walking, Johnny? - I don't know.

- Something is bothering you, isn't it? - Yeah, I suppose so.

You wanna tell me about it?

It's all kind of mixed up. Something just happened.

Johnny, look at this.

Five grand on the cotton deal and Western Carbide's up to 70.

We are sitting on top of the world and the sky's the limit.

I got a new deal, a fellow I met in the lobby, an oil man.

He has an option on a big tract outside of Tulsa.

Comanche Hills, it's called.

He's willing to sell a half interest. What do you think?

Can you pull out another one of those hunches, Johnny?

Comanche Hills, Oklahoma.

We are all washed up of hunches, Court.

- Washed up! What do you mean washed up? - Just what I said.

Johnny, 23,000 in four weeks, and we've only started.

- I know, I know. - But why? What's got into you?

Well, I don't suppose I can explain, it's something I feel.

Bad luck for all us because...

Well, because we're fooling around with something that we oughtn't be.

- I'm not afraid. - Why you should be?

You aren't the one who was doing it.

Well, I mean on it and so is Jenny.

Have you thought about her?

Look Johnny, you wanna get married.

You want a home, money in the bank, security,

something you'll never get out of show business.

Court, I love Jenny and I like you.

We've been through a lot. Never lied, cheated or chiseled.

It's always been what's the best for the three of us.

No matter how it sounds, I'm still thinking that way.

I know what's the matter with you.

You've got the rainy day blues. Talk to him, Jenny.

I think Johnny is right.

I haven't had a good feeling about this either.

It's scary.

What's scary about making money?

I don't want money. I just want Johnny.

Hello.

Yes.

Keep your shirt on. We'll be right over.

Curtain in 20 minutes.

Curtain in 20 minutes.

I had no way of knowing it was my final curtain.

I am concentrating on a particular envelope.

Young lady's handwriting.

She's shy. She's only written her first name.

It's Agnes.

- Agnes, where art thou? - Agnes, he's speaking to you.

- Don't be afraid to speak up. - Here I am, Mr. Triton.

Oh, thank you. Was I right?

- Yes, sir. - Oh, that's splendid.

And now...

The young lady has a problem.

She asks,

"Shall I marry my boyfriend or should I get a job?"

I rarely meddle in affairs of the heart,

but in this case I should like to assure the young lady that

when the time comes...

when the time comes that she's really in love,

there will be no question as to which course to follow.

But until that time...

I am sorry, ladies and gentlemen,

but that's all for the present.

Ring down the curtain.

Ring down the curtain, I tell you!

Ring it down! Ring down the curtain!

Everything is all right, darling.

Court talked to the manager. He understands.

Why shouldn't he? Could happen to anybody.

I just felt dizzy. Couldn't think.

Probably caught cold

been in the rain all the afternoon.

- Johnny... - Where is Court?

He's on his way up.

It was something you saw, wasn't it?

No, it wasn't, not this time.

- Something you saw about me? - Oh, don't be silly.

I don't mind if you don't wanna tell me,

just so it doesn't make any difference about our loving each other.

For the heaven's sake, Jenny. I told you it wasn't anything.

My mind went blank. I couldn't think, that was all.

- Well, how are we feeling? - Fine.

Oh, that's good. I have an idea that'll complete cure.

A little relaxation in the Prairie Room downstairs.

Some dancing and a little supper.

That would be fun, wouldn't Johnny?

Yeah, I'm all for it. You deserve a break.

You haven't danced in months. Have a good time.

- But you're coming too? - Yes, I'll join you in a minute.

Now you order the best supper in the place

and be sure you get the best table of the joint.

That's the spirit.

And slip the orchestra something so they play good

when I Charleston into the room.

I'll save the first dance for you.

The first and the last.

Say, Johnny, I was talking to that man again.

What do you think? Comanche Hills in Oklahoma.

Be one of the biggest oil fields in the country, Court.

Oh, brother!

We'll see downstairs, Johnny. Come on, Jenny.

- Bye-bye, darling. - Bye-bye.

Somebody once wrote a poem,

something about each man killing the thing he loves.

They might have been writing about me.

What I'd seen looking at Jenny on the stage was her death,

a death through me, provided I remained with her.

If I stayed, we'd be married. There'd be a child.

The child would live, but Jenny wouldn't.

Maybe it was the wrong decision,

I don't even know now.

Jenny would be hurt, of course, bewildered,

but I knew Court would stand by.

I knew to save my sanity, I had to go.

I took the first train out. It happened to be westbound.

And as I sat on the dusty chair car,

I suddenly realized it wasn't just Court and Jenny I had to leave.

It was everybody.

I became a sort of a reverse zombie.

I was living in a world already dead,

and I alone knowing it.

So when the train reached Arizona, I got off.

I found a deserted gold mining camp.

Lived there for five years.

- What happened to Jenny? - She died when I was born.

Yeah, I read about it in Variety a week after it happened.

I'd failed.

I wanted to write Court and tell him how sorry I was,

but I realized that would only make more trouble.

I found a sort of peace on the desert.

But I was lonely.

And then, towards the end of the fifth year,

I picked up a California newspaper

and I read that Whitney Courtland, the oil man,

was establishing headquarters in Los Angeles.

I established headquarters there too,

though in a far less pretentious neighborhood.

I was drawn by a strange sort of compulsion to be near

the only friend I had on earth.

It was an odd part of the city, but I liked it.

It was a strictly "no-questions asked" area;

People minding their own business and letting you mind yours.

Even after 15 years, my social conversation

didn't exceed 25 words a day.

My work, well, it was solitary too.

Parlor magic, disappearing coins, marked cards.

False bottom water glasses,

things I've learned to make in my Vaudeville days,

all sold by mail.

It was a lonely life,

but it was pleasant to be near Court and his daughter.

I read about them in the papers

in my room where I ate, slept and worked.

I could go to the window and see the skyscraper he built,

the Comanche Building.

Only once in all that time did I risk fate

by going near either of you.

That was three months ago.

It was the night of your debut at the Mayfield Hotel.

I'd read about it in the papers.

A thousand guests,

two orchestras in the grand ballroom,

orchids brought all the way from South America.

I watched you leave the limousine

and walk towards the doors holding tight to Court's arm.

And, for a moment, it was almost as though the 20 years had never been,

as though it was Court and Jenny going into the hotel.

And then, just as you disappeared, something happened.

I had a fleeting glimpse of wreckage,

the wreckage of an airplane.

It was a faint impression, blurred and hazy,

like a double-exposed negative.

I forgot about it entirely,

forgot about until one night, as I was working late,

the picture jumped into focus.

Now the 11:55 news,

brought to you by your Comanche Oil Reporter.

New York. Flying his converted Army bomber,

Whitney Courtland, multi-millionaire president of Comanche Oil,

took off from La Guardia field early today

in an attempt to smash the East-West trans-continental speed record.

He and his pilot, Captain Martinson, former Army ace,

expect to reach Los Angeles in time for breakfast,

if the favorable weather...

It was after midnight when I reached your house.

I suppose I was an odd looking figure.

At least the butler thought so.

I was afraid you wouldn't see me, so when he left to find you,

I followed him.

Your friends were dancing.

I looked for you but, not finding you there,

I went downstairs to the lower terrace.

It was a lazy, warm, summer night that

seemed as remote from tragedy as anything on earth.

- I told him to wait outside. - This is important.

Miss Courtland, I am an old friend of your father's.

And I have an urgent message for him.

I'm sorry, he's not here.

Yes, I know, but I must speak to him at once.

I'm afraid that's impossible. He's flying from New York.

- Non-stop? - One stop in Wichita for fuel.

Well, then, please call there.

Leave a message for him to halt the flight.

Halt the flight? He'd laugh at me.

Not if you say the message comes from John Triton.

John Triton? But dad told me John Triton was dead.

No, he's not dead.

- Who is John Triton? - He was dad's best friend.

I'd advise you to call there.

Why should Mr. Courtland stop his flight?

Because if he doesn't, the plane will crash!

And just how do you know that?

Does it matter? Is it too late to reach him?

- No, I suppose not. - Well, then, please call.

What do you think, Elliott?

I think it's a lot of nonsense.

But what can you lose

except three dollars on the phone bill?

All right.

Hello. I'd like the municipal airport

at Wichita, Kansas, please.

Do you make a practice of going around predicting airplane crashes?

- No, I don't. - Maybe just the planes of very rich men?

- No, not even those. - Then what is it?

A bet that he won't break the record?

The night manager, please.

Hello, this is Whitney Courtland's daughter.

I'd like a message delivered to my father when he lands.

Oh, he has?

No.

No, that's all right. Good-bye.

- He's already taken off. - Good! That means he's got the record.

Or a smashed up plane.

Don't be silly. Our friend here is just a harmless crank.

He's gone.

You see? He got while the getting was good.

Elliott, I remember something dad said about him,

something about his having visions.

I get them too. And I'll tell you what I see:

A shakedown that didn't come off.

You were impressed enough to let me call.

Impressed? Just wanted to see how far he'd go.

We'll have a good laugh when your father comes.

That night I couldn't sleep.

Thoughts whirled around my head like pinwheels.

Again the strange feeling that I was responsible

for the things I saw came to me.

I wondered if I should have remain quiet.

And then, I remembered the newsboy.

In the morning, it was announced over the radio that the plane was missing.

There it was again, after 20 years.

I made up my mind to leave before you found me,

to bury myself completely this time.

You recall I was packing the same battered suitcase

when you knocked on the door.

And you, Miss Courtland, asked me

if I knew what had happened to your father.

I couldn't tell you. All I'd seen was the wrecked plane.

I've thinking a lot about you, Mr. Triton.

Somebody telephoned or wired you about the plane.

- I assure you they didn't. - Then what did happen?

I had a forewarning,

an impression of the crash about three months ago.

- Three months ago! - How much did you see?

Nothing too clear, just an impression of the crash, that's all.

Look, if you saw all this three months ago, why did you wait...

Elliott, please. Where was the plane?

It seemed to have been somewhere in the mountains.

Your pal didn't send you very much information, did he?

No. There's no one else connected with it.

What's the matter?

You have a maid.

- A thin dark girl. - Yes, Edna.

Well, get rid of her before your brooch...

Your sapphire brooch...

Doesn't matter.

It won't make any difference.

Look, fella, I think it's about time somebody...

We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin.

Wreckage of the Comanche Angel, converted bomber

in which Whitney Courtland

and his pilot, Captain Martinson,

were attempting to smash the East-West record,

was discovered early today by forest rangers

near Gallup, New Mexico.

Both occupants of the plane are dead.

Jean!

For almost a week, I hardly left my room.

I busied myself. I tried not to think

of the decision I knew I had to make.

There had to be some way to prevent the tragedy that I had seen.

My running away, my not speaking hadn't saved Jenny.

Now I wondered if I should try the other course...

Challenge fate.

And then, the next morning you came back to see me.

- May I speak to you for a moment? - Yes, of course.

As a matter of fact, I was just starting for your house.

Then I suppose you've heard.

What?

About my sapphire brooch.

It's disappeared and so has my maid, Edna,

just as you said they would.

I'm sorry, but I imagine the brooch was insured.

I haven't bothered to find out.

You see, I remember you said

that it wouldn't make any difference.

You meant I was going to die, didn't you?

That's what I thought.

How soon is it going to be?

Quite soon.

Six months?

One month?

Sooner than that.

How soon... and where?

Within a few days...

before the end of the week...

at night... under the stars.

Perhaps it was a mistake, my telling her.

Not if you were trying to help her.

Oh, I was and am.

I do want to help. I want help myself.

It isn't easy to live with something like this,

something that has turned me into a half-crazy recluse...

robbed me of twenty years.

I've tried to understand it.

I've read books on the occult, on divination, on sorcery,

on abnormal psychology, but they haven't helped.

That's why I told you the story.

Because I thought that you, with your training,

could help to explain some of these things

and together perhaps we could do something to avert what I've seen.

- Do what? - I don't know.

If I could only have seen something

beyond the vague picture of her lying under the stars,

if I could've seen the place, identify it,

then we could keep her from ever going there.

In the meantime, Jean, you need some rest.

You ought to be in bed right now.

You'll help?

Frankly, I am still pretty confused,

but of course, I'll do everything I can.

- You are not coming with us? - No, you don't need me.

You see, it's day again. The stars are gone.

Elliott, thank you for being so nice on the way home.

About what?

About not questioning me, not being angry.

I could never be angry with you.

But you certainly had me worried.

When my plane landed, I tried the house, but you weren't here.

I went to his place.

He seemed very excited. He said you were in trouble.

He knew exactly where your car was.

We got there, he sent me on alone,

told me to bring you back to the restaurant.

He'd probably seen you from his window,

or had you followed or something.

- But he didn't have time. - I'm not too sure about that.

There certainly wasn't in dad's case.

He warned us only a few minutes after the plane took off from Wichita.

Yeah, that's the angle I couldn't figure.

But now you believe. You told him you did.

I told him I'd help and that's all.

Are you ready to get some sleep?

Good night.

I mean good morning. See you later.

Sort of early, aren't you, Preston?

We were wondering about Miss Courtland, sir.

Operator, give me police headquarters, please.

Nobody tell us we gotta have two license!

We give a man what he asks! Twenty-five dollars!

Mr. Weston's been calling for you, Ruth.

Why he not tell us we gotta have two license!

The roulette wheels were concealed under the floor.

Six were uncovered along with a faro table and two birdcage games.

Yes, corporation papers. Triton Novelty Company.

I've given you the name twice, now.

Come in.

You bet. We'll ask for a blanket injunction

as soon as the D.A. gives us a green light.

Oh, maybe in the middle of the week. Good-bye.

Courtland reports, Mr. Weston.

- Oh, fine, where's Shawn? - He's on his way up.

Good.

"Mind reading, magic tricks by mail,

"watching by clairvoyance, thefts predicted,

"airplane crashed foreseen,

girls frightened to the point of suicide by autosuggestion.”

Well, it comes to quite

a bizarre little bundle, Mr. Carson.

Yes, sir, I know it does, but...

This morning, when the police transferred your call,

it sounded like one of the 156 we get from crackpots every day.

I wouldn't have bothered about it.

I would've forgotten it,

except that Miss Courtland happens to be an ideal target

for a confidence game.

She's young, she's wealthy, she's unprotected.

Come in. Oh, here we are.

Mr. Carson,

meet Lieutenant Shawn of the City Homicide Bureau.

How do you do, Lieutenant?

It was Mr. Carson who called

our attention to the Courtland matter.

Have you read his statement, Lieutenant?

I couldn't make head or tail of it.

I see you are not a follower of the occult.

Well, neither am I.

And I might as well tell you right now, Mr. Carson,

we've been pretty skeptical about this story of yours.

And about you.

I didn't expect you to believe anything. I don't myself.

Oddly enough, there's a substantial element of fact in what you told us.

- Match? - See, there was a man, back in the 20's

who billed himself as Triton, the Mental Wizard.

Whitney Courtland was a member of his act,

and the Courtland fortune comes from the Comanche Hills oil field.

On August 4th, 1928, the fifth race at Green Meadows

was won by a horse named Peer Gynt.

Only he got gypped. Track odds were 12 to 1.

- Then he was telling the truth. - To a certain degree.

Horse race results ain't hard to find.

What the Lieutenant means is that the basic facts

are probably straight, and I agree.

But facts are easily distorted to fit a purpose.

For instance, Miss Courtland's being in the railroad yards

and his knowing about it is supposed to be proof

for the validity of his visions?

Well, you offered the solution to that yourself.

Back porch.

It's possible to see the railroad yards from the back porch

and with a good eye to spot a parked convertible.

Then this prediction about Edna, the maid,

vanishing with the sapphire brooch...

It's all very baffling

until Shawn here made a discovery.

She used to live on Bunker Hill,

a couple of blocks from Triton.

It's pretty easy to be a prophet, Mr. Carson,

with a Confederate or two to help things along.

There's still one item, Mr. Weston.

How could he have known about the plane crash?

Tell him.

We were talking to the police of New Mexico.

The plane was wrecked in the mountains,

but it had not hit a peak, it fell.

- On account it threw a propeller. - That's not impossible.

No, no if somebody worked on the shaft with a file.

Which according to the investigators, is exactly what happened.

- Then, it's murder! - It ain't table tennis.

You know? I'm different from most cops.

Most cops feet hurt, but with me it's my back.

- Good evening, Lieutenant. - Hello, Gowan. Everything set?

Half a dozen men around the place and a couple inside.

It would take a miracle get through.

They've been known to happen. You and Bertelli come along.

Wouldn't it be simpler to arrest Triton?

For what? Warning people about airplane crashes?

Good evening, Mr. Carson.

What's this? The Magic Guy?

I just happen to be looking out of the window, sir.

- No law against that, I guess. - That's right, Lieutenant.

Wouldn't the evidence of the propeller shaft be enough to hold him?

Huh-uh, on account of he was in L.A.

Stick around here. I might need you.

- But he knew about it. - Yes, kind of looks that way.

What's this? A convention?

Some of Mr. Courtland's business associates.

Elliot! Excuse me, please.

Jean, this is Lieutenant Shawn.

Elliott's told me about you on the phone.

Hope my men haven't upset you, Miss Courtland.

No, they've been very polite and comforting.

Please come in.

These gentlemen were with Dad in the East completing an oil merger.

Lieutenant Shawn, Mr. Gilman, President of Mid-Tide Oil.

How are you. Lieutenant?

Mr. Myers, attorney for the estate,

and Peter Vinson, Dad's secretary.

How do you do, Lieutenant?

Hello, Carson, how is the celebrated geologist?

- Fine. - These folks are living here?

Why, yes, they've been going over Dad's papers.

Some of the merger details were lost.

- The estate needs settling too. - You know about this psychic business?

Yes, Miss Courtland told us something about it, and we would like to help.

However, if you'd rather, we'll leave.

- I wouldn't think of it. - Nonsensical business anyway.

Maybe... maybe not.

Don't think your staying will make much difference,

provided you're willing to cooperate.

Oh, you can count on us, Lieutenant.

Jean knows the way I feel.

What do you plan to do, Lieutenant?

Hang around until the end of the week.

- Two more days. - Don't you worry, miss.

No, I won't. Not with all of you here, and Mr. Triton too.

- You got him in the house? - Yes, Lieutenant, I am here.

How do you like that?

Your attitude is natural enough.

I suppose you've been breaking down my story,

- finding possible explanations. - We ran on a couple.

Yes, but there are some things that are beyond explanation.

Otherwise, I'd be under arrest.

Not a bad idea.

I asked him to come, Lieutenant, to be with me.

Yes, you see, I think I may be of help.

Not in my book, you can't.

I'm hoping, perhaps if I...

I may see things more detailed what will happen.

Come now, Mr. Triton, we're adults.

You can't sell us on visions.

Let him speak his piece.

Mr. Carson and I have already discussed it.

If I see things clearly,

it may be possible to take precautions.

Wouldn't that be my job?

Yes, of course, that's why I was pleased when Mr. Carson called you in.

But your powers are limited.

Yeah, I never had much luck with tea leaves.

Which brings us to a point I'm very curious about.

How do you account for these alleged visions, Mr. Triton?

I... I doubt if I can explain it.

I wouldn't mind hearing you try.

Well, I've, uh...

I've thought and read a great deal on prevision,

and somewhere I've come across an illustration that very nearly covers it.

Suppose you're on a train.

You look out the window, and you see a white farmhouse.

In a minute it's gone, then you're watching cattle in a field.

And just ahead, even though you can't see it yet,

is a clump of maple trees.

Past, present and future.

But to the man on top of the train, they're all one.

At one glance, he can see farmhouse, cattle and trees.

Well...

occasionally, I'm like that man on top of the train,

even though I may be sitting inside it.

How do you get on top when you're sitting inside?

You've been there.

All of you.

You've had experiences.

Telegrams that you knew the contents of before you opened them.

Places that seem familiar,

though you've never been in them before.

And under the emotional stress of tragedy,

have you noticed how everything becomes distorted and unreal

as the mind tries to escape into time.

And in dreams, it escapes too.

Not always into fantasy.

Sometimes the dreams come true.

Your visions always do.

Yes, they always have in the past.

And not of my asking. I've no control over them.

They come when they come.

Where's his room?

In the tower, over the terrace.

He wanted to be away from everyone.

It's 10:00, and according to your theory, Miss Courtland's in danger

only at night, when the stars are out.

All right, I'll make a deal.

You can stay, provided you stick in you room until daylight.

- Would you like me to go now? - Yes, I would.

Mr. Triton, you don't have to...

It's all right. I prefer it. I feel uneasy with people

after 20 years.

There's your pigeon, boys. He got a loft up there.

See that he don't leave.

Are you sure you wanna go into the garden?

I always do when I'm upset.

It's a sort of hideaway from trouble.

Besides, if it's to be, there's nothing we can do about it.

Jean, it's not inevitable. It's not even likely.

- He saw it. - He said he saw it.

I hate this, this terrible resignation,

as though you were half-dead already.

You're like an automaton playing a part.

An automaton locked down for 48 hours.

That's exactly what I'm talking about.

Elliot!

- Just checking up, folks. - That's right.

This is Miss Courtland. I guess it's all right for her to be down here.

Excuse me. Come on, Joe.

I wish I could tell you what the police have found out.

- Why can't you? - I promised.

They think that...

- Well, they think you'd go to Triton. - I would.

I can tell you this much, and you can tell Triton.

There's a logical and very unpleasant explanation

for the whole business.

For the newsboy? For my mother?

He has taken a group of half-truths and woven them into an overall lie.

You're forgetting one thing. Dad's told me stories about him.

I've been remembering. I remember Comanche Hills

and how Dad once said the field really belonged to Mr. Triton.

Are you sure you remembered it?

Or is it something Triton remembered for you?

- At least give me credit for... - Hey there!

Don't think I'm going along with this fortune-telling gag,

but I'd look pretty silly and so would both of you if anything happened

with all them stars up there.

Why don't you go to bed like him and the rest of them have?

The windows are all locked, Miss Courtland.

Thank you.

Would you like me to sleep in your dressing room?

No, I don't think so.

I'm not afraid. At least I don't think I am.

You go to bed and get a good night sleep.

Yes, Miss Courtland.

- All right to go in? - Sure, as long as he don't come out.

Is what they say true, that he's kind of strange?

It's pretty close.

Come in.

Oh, I was hoping you'd come, Mr. Carson.

Why?

A moment ago, the veil lifted again.

I saw many things, about Jean, about myself,

strange and obscure things that I don't understand.

Perhaps as a scientist, you can help to interpret...

Scientists don't believe in visions,

and I don't wanna hear about them.

Wouldn't it be sensible even doubting me

to keep an open mind?

You'd never forgive yourself if I was right

and you hadn't helped.

What did you see?

It was different this time.

A series of cloudy flashes,

and then the central vision.

I made notes to make sure I remember the order.

I saw a flower crushed under a heel,

a sudden hot wind that shook the windows,

a vase shattered on the floor.

And I heard a voice saying, "There's no danger now.”

And then I saw her again lying under the stars and...

by her...

something I don't understand at all,

something that looked like the feet of a lion.

Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous but I saw them clearly.

Big front paws with curved talons almost touching her head.

- It doesn't make much sense. - Yes, I know.

And you say you saw something about yourself too?

Yes, I saw...

Uh, it's not important.

Did you see when the moment was?

Tomorrow night, as the clock strikes 11.

- I've been talking with him. - Yeah, I heard.

He's convincing.

I went up there to break him down,

and instead he... Well, he shook me.

More visions?

A whole series of them,

including one setting the time.

- Tomorrow night at 11. - Well, fine.

Now we can all go to bed. What else did he have?

A chain of small events leading up to the moment.

The first was a flower, crushed under somebody's foot.

Then, by Jean's head, he saw the feet of a lion.

The feet of a what?

- Jean, are you all right? - Are you all right, Miss Courtland?

- What happened? - I don't know.

Something over my face. I couldn't breathe.

You had a nightmare.

No, I don't think so. I've never had one before.

The poor child! What happened to her?

Do you need any help?

- Miss Jean... - Get some water.

What's this doing here? It belongs on the daybed.

Someone or something's been here,

but nothing human could've been.

The windows were locked. I locked them myself.

Maybe so.

But they didn't stay that way. Not in that dressing room.

- Where are you going? - Downstairs. There's something wrong.

Yeah, but we've got orders to keep you up here.

- I'll only be a minute. - One more step and I'll wing you.

We're not kidding.

Don't forget I warned you.

First time in 20 years.

Yeah, it's him.

I sensed you were in some kind of trouble.

Sensed it, my eye. You're the trouble.

What was going on out there?

- How did you get in here? - I walked.

It's a wonder you don't tell me you flew.

- What's the shooting about? - All right, take it easy.

Who was doing the shooting?

- You tell him. - Me.

- At what? - Kind of at the ground.

At the ground?

Well, first at him, but my gun wouldn't fire.

Then it did, only he was gone.

He jinxed it.

You see, Lieutenant, it isn't my time.

Well, it isn't now. That's why nothing can touch me.

That's just dandy.

I can hardly wait to tell the D.A.

we can't touch you because it isn't your time.

You can trick a couple of dumb detectives

and hand us a line about crushed flowers,

broken vases and lions feet.

You can try and throw us off guard by claiming

there's no danger until tomorrow night,

and you can shinny down from your window

and do your best to knock off Miss Courtland.

But we can't touch him.

It isn't your time. Show him.

You are making a serious mistake.

My fate is linked to Miss Courtland's.

Because of that, I'm the only one who might save her.

Your fate is linked to a pair a handcuffs.

Now, ride him downtown.

Well, it's just a waste of time.

I'll be back tomorrow night before 11.

Throw the book at him.

I'd agree with you if he wasn't so normal otherwise.

I got a couple of psychologists from the University

coming in to see him this evening.

Mm-hmm. About 10:00.

I'll keep in touch with you.

- One hour left to go. - Oh, it's you, Mr. Myers.

I don't know how I'm gonna live through this.

I'm scared half to death already.

And that window. The police have been after me all day.

Do you think it could've been him somehow from the outside?

There's a simpler explanation. You left the window open.

I could have, of course, but I can't believe that I'd...

- Where is the Lieutenant? - I don't know.

He told us to be here at ten.

That's to keep us from doing any work.

You don't think this is important, Mr. Myers?

I think it's all poppycock.

Especially with our Nostradamus in jail.

Instead of searching for a packet of stock options

that will be worthless in 36 hours,

we fiddle-faddle with a lot of ghost stories.

You're sure you can't remember where your father put the papers?

No, I've been trying to, but with all this...

How you expect the poor child to remember anything?

What about your father's secretary?

No, Peter doesn't know either.

- Doesn't know what? - They're looking for some papers.

Options necessary for the Mid-Tide merger.

I suggest we forget business for 58 minutes

and concentrate on the so-called prophecy.

Isn't it obvious he's missed the boat with his chain of events?

A flower crushed underfoot,

a sudden wind, a vase shattered,

a voice saying, "There's no danger now."

And he's fresh out of lions too.

We got rid of every piece of junk in the house with a lion on it...

Bookends, lamps, andirons,

even those stone ones at the entrance.

- Where have you been? - Checking the defenses.

I must say it's a very good show; Policemen everywhere.

- Not a prowler in sight. - And there ain't gonna be.

At half past ten, we all got places to be.

And we're gonna stay in 'em until 11.

And then, if nothing happens, I'll go down to my hideaway in the garden.

- What for? - To show the stars they were wrong.

You know, Lieutenant? I've been thinking.

Since you're operating on the assumption.

Mr. Triton could be right,

wouldn't it be a good idea to remove the flowers,

eliminate the possibility of one being crushed underfoot?

- Nonsense. - Can't do no harm.

Gowan...

- I'll take them. - I'll handle this, sister.

Ah, no. Oh, my goodness!

Hold it! Don't anybody move!

Not a one stepped on. Take 'em out and dump 'em.

For a minute, I almost believed.

Gave me a real feeling of...

- What's that? - What?

Under your foot.

Well...

Quite a guesser, our Mr. Triton.

Eight solid hours reading literature on the subject...

Dust covered volumes on soothsaying,

vaticination, augury, prophecy,

and I'm more confused than when I started.

Walters ought to be able to help you. It's right up his alley.

Well, not completely.

We have made extrasensory tests at the University.

The usual ones... selecting cards from a concealed deck.

- And rolling dice. - With some rather astonishing variations

among our controls.

But it would take weeks to examine this man.

First, we'd have to make sure there was absolutely no chance of trickery,

and then, well, the mathematical computations

for each single test are staggering.

And generally controversial.

Well, at least, you can give me an off-the-record opinion

as to whether he's a faker or a madman.

We can talk to him.

- Is Triton here yet? - Yes, sir.

- Send him in. - Yes, sir.

I can tell you this. You will find him

about as convincing a customer as...

Mr. Triton, these two gentlemen are from the University.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

Yes, I have read some of Professor Walters' books on parapsychology.

I found your monograph on mental telepathy and intuition

particularly interesting, sir.

Oh, I'm flattered.

Mr. Triton, I've asked these gentlemen to...

To determine whether I'm a faker or a madman.

And you, sir, have been explaining the tests of an extrasensory nature

are lengthy and difficult due to the mathematical computations

and the possibilities of trickery.

- Send Wilson in here. - Yes, sir.

Wilson, how long were you standing out there?

- We just stepped out of the elevator. - That's all. Thank you.

Neat piece of deduction.

Of course, he knew we were talking about testing him

and we'd probably bring up the obvious objections,

but an excellent parlor magic.

I give you my word, gentlemen, this is not parlor magic.

Yes, I have indulged myself in a bit of theatrics but for a purpose.

I desperately need your help to persuade Mr. Weston to set me free.

As you know, Miss Courtland's life hangs in the balance.

If I'm allowed to go to the house to be near her,

there is a possibility that I may use this power of mine to save her.

- Very interesting. - And if he goes to the house

and the girl lives, as she will,

he can maintain that he was responsible

and ask for a substantial reward.

No.

No, I'll ask for no reward, sir.

In the first place, I haven't long to live.

Oh, I'm not appealing for sympathy.

I don't care what happens.

This gift, which I never asked for

and I don't understand,

has brought me only unhappiness.

Over a period of 20 years, at various times,

I've foreseen tragic occurrences.

And no matter what I did, I couldn't prevent them coming true.

I thought perhaps you could tell me something about it.

Why was this gift given to me?

And why was this other power withheld?

This power to turn evil into good.

You've gotta let me go.

This is my only chance, my last one.

There is a possibility that

this time I may disrupt this chain of events

that Mr. Weston has told you about.

Defy fate and save Miss Courtland!

He puts up a good show.

Of course, you realize we must have more concrete evidence

before a recommendation for release could be made.

Well, I hope I've given you enough.

A kind of hallucination,

probably not unknown to people in his line of work...

A crystal ball syndrome.

He apparently fastens on some tragic occurrence,

like Mr. Courtland's death,

convinces himself that he foresaw it.

From there, it's only a step for him to believe that...

Mr. Weston!

You have on your desk some papers

relating to a man convicted of murder, Amos Block.

You have very good eyes.

He's to be moved to San Quentin tomorrow.

He'll never make the trip.

I see him in his cell.

Suicide.

That's one you can check.

Quinn? It's Weston.

How's Block getting along? Oh, you did? Fine.

Oh, just checking up. Good night.

Well, your man is in a cell all right, playing solitaire.

When I turned on the radio, someone was talking

about a lion escaping from the zoo.

I heard it on the 9:00 broadcast,

a warning about something, but I'm not sure.

Well, folks, here's the setup.

Me and Mr. Carson are gonna stick in here with Miss Courtland.

Gowan will stay on the terrace.

Bertelli, you're to patrol the house.

And the rest of you will go to your rooms.

Lieutenant, I thought we were going to be permitted

to assist in guarding Miss Courtland.

Now, what?

Caught these two trying to sneak out, Lieutenant.

- Yeah? What's the big idea? - We are leaving.

When a person is fated, others go with him.

- That's ridiculous! - Ridiculous?

How about Mr. Courtland's pilot? He got it.

- Let them go, Lieutenant. - All right.

Ride them downtown. Turn them loose after 11.

- No, wait a minute... - You wanted to leave, didn't you?

- I'm sorry, Miss Courtland. - Never mind, sister.

- Come on, let's go. - Now suppose we all get moving.

I would like to add my protest to Gilman's.

Both of us, and Peter too, are perfectly capable of assisting,

and we resent being shut away like children.

Well, Mr. Myers, you got a point.

But, you see, this ain't exactly like you think it is.

It ain't just a wholesale ghost hunt.

We've got reason to believe

that somebody tampered with Mr. Courtland's plane.

- Then, it wasn't an accident? - Huh-uh.

And we think maybe that same somebody tried for Miss Courtland last night,

if it was a try.

Would he be fool enough to come tonight?

Oh, he might, at 11,

hoping everybody would think it was a supernatural deal.

Just where does Triton fit in?

He's the smoke screen. And all his stuff about lions

and crushed flowers, and broken vases is so much malarkey.

- Window dressing to hide... - Hey, listen.

Keep doors and windows locked.

Warning to residents of Westwood Village.

Stay inside your houses.

Keep doors and windows locked.

The lion which escaped from an overturned van

at Wilshire and Sepulveda earlier this evening

is still at large.

I repeat for the third time:

Warning to residents of Westwood Village.

Stay inside your houses. Keep doors and windows...

- Turn that off! - That's what I thought I heard

- at 9:00, only I wasn't sure. - Never mind.

Get out of here. All of you, except you and Miss Courtland.

Go on to your rooms.

- Hey, Bertelli! - Yes, Lieutenant.

Get a half a dozen riot guns out of the squad cars

- and pass 'em around. - Right.

Tell everybody to keep their eyes peeled.

Jean...

- I'm all right. - Sure you are.

There's just one thing.

Is it true what he said about the plane?

I'm afraid so. They found file marks on the propeller shaft.

- I don't think Mr. Triton knew about it. - I think he must have.

Elliott, I believe in him. I wish...

I wish he were here now.

I'm afraid that's impossible.

Now, we got the big game hunters out on safari.

I got everything as tight as a drum.

If anything happens around here tonight,

my name ain't Shawn.

Better check the time.

Twenty one minutes, if that's right.

Got a watch?

I make it 10:36 and a half.

My old turnip's usually pretty close.

Let's make sure.

At the tone, the time will be 10:39 and a half.

Ten thirty nine and a half.

Right. Now, it's official.

Better douse some of these lights.

No use making targets out of ourselves.

Sure it's a clear night out.

You can see a thousand...

What am I saying?

- Send Wilson in here. - Yes, Sir.

Have me as heavily guarded as you wish,

but I tell you, time is running out.

I'm sorry, but you produced nothing

that would justify us in letting you go.

This can't be.

I saw myself at the house, under the same stars.

Hello. Quinn? Yes.

What? Wait a minute!

No, not now.

Amos Block just killed himself in his cell.

- You ever shoot a lion? - How could I have ever shot a lion?

- Could sneak out of the bushes. - What bushes”?

I was just saying it could.

Look, it broke loose the other side of Westwood.

That's more than six miles from here.

Why, it could never...

- Hey, what's that? - Sounds like wind.

What's that?

- Gowan... - Yes, sir?

- What's going on? - One of the trees blew down!

One of the trees blew down.

There ought to be a law against things like that.

The sudden wind.

Yeah, another one.

Ten fifty-seven and a half.

Two and a half minutes to go.

Funny how it came up so fast,

like as if somebody pushed the button.

Look, you've got education.

What are the odds on this and him being legitimate?

Yesterday, I'd have said a billion to one.

You know? My Irish grandmother used to tell stories

about banshees and leprechauns

and blind singers with second sight.

I always used to think she was kidding,

but now I'm beginning to wonder.

Well, there's no scientific proof of such things, Lieutenant.

Some of the big universities are making experiments in that direction,

which means that scientists think there's a possibility...

Whoever you are, stay out!

Hey, Lieutenant, it's about the lion.

- What about it? - I just got a flash over the radio.

A couple of guys from the Sheriff's office

cornered him out near the Veterans Hospital.

- What happened? - They plugged him.

- Yeah? Better tell the boys. - Right away, sir.

Brother, that's a load off my mind.

First decent break we've had.

Kinda makes this chain of events look cockeyed.

- Holy smoke! - The broken vase.

It's 11:00.

- Gowan. - Yes, Sir.

Well, that's over.

Tell the boys to relax. Get them some coffee and sandwiches.

Coffee?

Do I feel good?

Darling, it's all history now.

Elliott...

I'd like to be by myself.

For a moment.

I'm not afraid anymore.

You know?

This business almost got me.

He sure called his shots.

Flower, wind, broken vase... even the lion.

Except for the voice saying, "There's no danger now.”

Lieutenant!

- How'd you get here? - I brought him, Lieutenant.

- Where's Miss Courtland? - Outside.

You let her go outside?

What's the matter with him? It's after 11.

No, it's not, it's two minutes of.

Eleven o'clock. Looks like your troubles are over.

But the clock inside...

Don't be frightened. There's no danger now.

- The voice saying... - Saying what?

There's no danger now.

He must have meant...

Put that down!

Jean!

- Darling, are you hurt? - No, I'm all right.

- Mr. Triton! - Jean...

- We took care of him, Miss Courtland. - But it wasn't him, it...

- That's ridiculous. She's out of her mind. - It was you!

He didn't want the options found!

- What was that? - He didn't want the options found.

- He didn't want the merger to go through. - I don't get it.

The options were due to expire day after tomorrow,

provided Miss Courtland didn't find them first.

- Go on. - He tried to make sure she didn't.

In that case, he could keep the option money

and still retain control of the vast Mid-Tide Oil interests.

Yeah, could be.

And it could be you were the one

who tampered with Mr. Courtland's plane.

Ride him downtown.

The two of them were in cahoots.

I think you're wrong.

I think he gave his life to save her.

Aw, the whole thing was an act.

Otherwise, Miss Courtland would be dead like he predicted.

He thought she was.

His visions all came true.

The time, the lion, the stars.

Only they ended with his death.

He couldn't see past that.

Couldn't know that she was still alive.

This letter fell out of his pocket.

It's for you.

"Dear Carson, as you read this,

"I will be lying at your feet,"

"killed by the revolver"

that failed to fire last night.

"No one is to blame.

"My death was as certain

as the other events I saw in my mirror."

Some of you

have just seen me die, will doubt me.

Will believe these events to have been contrived by me.

Or you may call them a series of weird coincidences.

But I know that you, Carson, and some of the others,

will not dismiss it so easily.

My own strange fate must make you ponder for a moment,

must make you realize

that there are things on earth

still hidden from us.

Secret things...

dark and mysterious.