All language subtitles for The Wild Wild West - 2x13 - The Night of the Skulls.EN

( noirish jazz theme playing )

MAN:
Ladies and gentlemen, the covers
of your current magazine issues.

A missile,

a house,

and a dame.

All cold as ice.

Nothing to make a customer stop,
look and buy.

Harding.

What was the average circulation
of Aitken's Weekly in 1946?

One million, seven hundred
and forty-three thousand,

six hundred and twenty-six.

And last month?

Five hundred
and sixty-four thousand,

eighty-two.

And what happened
to the advertising?

Well, it dropped 63 percent,
but then, of course,

I think that Mr. Aitken
can explain that.

Lori.

Yes, Mr. Fletcher.

Remove this garbage.

The new covers will
illustrate our new policy.

Woman's Viewpoint
will deal frankly with sex

from the point of view
of the woman,

Aitken's Home Magazine
will concern itself

with the place where it presents
its greatest problems,

and Aitken's Weekly
will concentrate

on exposing
its scandalous results.

That, very broadly,
ladies and gentlemen,

will be our new
editorial policy.

This is shocking.

Mr. Aitken, your father
created this house.

It's his name and yours
this man is degrading.

Even if you don't fully control
the business anymore.

Decency means nothing to a man
who does not know what it is.

His idea of literature

is the scribbling
on washroom walls.

The swamp he calls his brain

spawns a virus that
infects minds and bodies.

I sell magazines, Mr. Aitken,
not morality.

You see?

A virus can't be talked to.

It must be exterminated.

( suspenseful theme swells )

( jazz song ends )

( crowd chattering )

( jazz song playing )

And so everybody who was anybody
in the magazine racket is here.

Well, I don't see
Mr. Aitken.

Oh, he'll be along.

So that's the new
Aitken Weekly.

Looks to me like you're
going into competition

with a peep show,
Mr. Fletcher.

Anything you want to say
for publication?

No, no, I'll just say that

we believe
in the facts of life.

( all laugh )

Harding.

See that these newspaper boys
get all they want to drink.

( record plays louder )

It's awfully loud,
Mr. Fletcher.

Now, that's the way
I like it.

And a good,
good evening to you.

Welcome to the Fletcher pad.

I was just beginning
to miss you.

We were delayed.

This is Mr. Fletcher.

My wife, Alyce.

Hello.

A real pleasure,
and a great surprise.

Surprise?

Well, I figured you for Vassar,
a Ph.D. and horn rimmed glasses.

Why, you belong
on the cover of Vogue.

I've been there.

This is Milly Nash,
my wife's sister.

Mr. Fletcher.

Nash?

Milly Nash.

Excuse me.

You're wanted on the phone,
Mr. Fletcher.

It's the man next door.

Oh, not again.

See that these handsome people
get what they want to drink.

Excuse me.

Yes?

No, I won't turn it down.
I like music loud.

Well, so she's that sick,
send her to a hospital.

"Alyce Nash. Blonde. 38-25-35.
See sister, Milly Nash."

Yes. Yes.

...and it was so strange for me

because all the manners
I knew were Chinese

and here I was going
to an American school

with American children
for the first time

and I didn't even learn
to speak English

until I was seven years old.

What she really means
is that our amah, our nurse,

spoke so much Chinese--

Yes, what I really mean--

Whatever you mean, Mrs. Aitken,

I'm sure you've got
quite a history.

Well, it's true.

Our family always kept
us rather sheltered,

didn't they, Alyce?
Yes, that's right. Our family--

I'll bet you've got the kind
of family pedigree

that would satisfy even
Aitkens' main line relatives.

ALYCE:
Well, now, let me see.

On our mother's side
we are direct descendants--

Milly.

Mr. Fletcher resents
family trees.

He takes great pleasure
in chopping them down.

Really, Edmond--

No, no, it's all right,
he insults me all the time.

I didn't think
it got through to you.

If you don't mind, I think
I'd like to powder my nose.

Alyce?

Yes, of course.
Excuse us.

You know, it's funny
with you blue bloods.

Every now and then
you've just got to get

some of that good red blood
in to improve the strength.

Mr. Aitken.
Any truth in the rumor

you're going to resign
from this company?

No.

Well, if Fletcher's
running the magazines

out near Los Angeles,

who's going to take
your job in Philadelphia?

Well, if he'll
take my advice,

he'll stay home and take
care of that wife of his,

but if he doesn't,
I know a lot of other men

who'd like the opportunity.

( crowd gasps )

Are you all right?

Tell Mr. Fletcher
you're sorry.

Tell him it's only
because Edmond had a drink.

Oh, no.

Do as I say.

Mr. Fletcher, I--

I don't know what brought
this on, but I'm very sorry.

I don't know
what to say.

Come on, Alyce.

Milly Nash.

You call me in the morning.

MAN:
Poetry enriches the soul,
but impoverishes the publisher.

I named my magazine
The Pleiades

after the seven daughters
of Atlas

who died and went to heaven
to become a group of stars.

That constellation rises
in May and sets in November.

It is now November.

My creditor's children
are cold and hungry.

Why do you keep on
publishing a magazine

that has such limited appeal,
Mr. Nicholson?

But why not?

Of all the things I know,

poetry most deserves
to be kept alive.

( intercom buzzes )

Excuse me.

Yes?

DELLA ( on intercom ):
Mr. Aitken is here

for his appointment.

All right, Della. Oh, and--

Make out a check
to thePleiades Pressfor $100.

Thank you, Mr. Mason.

It's deductible.

By the way,
is that Aitken Publications

coming in next?

Yes, it is.

Ah. And I'm complaining.

Thank you again.

Hello, Mr. Mason.

I'm Edmond Aitken.

Literary integrity and good
taste are not legal problems

except in libel suits,

or when the laws
covering public decency

have been violated.

Only the post office can really
stop men like your Mr. Fletcher.

I'm afraid he knows how
to sidestep the postal laws.

What about
the business end of it?

Has he used corporate funds
for anything

in which he might have
a personal interest,

for instance?

I don't know.

I've made some notes
for you here

on everything the company's
invested in since he took over.

Good.

I'll examine the way
he broke your contract

as editor in chief.

We'll check every possibility
of getting to him legally.

You've given me some hope,
Mr. Mason.

Don't get your hopes too high,
Mr. Aitken.

Men like Fletcher have a way
of hiding their sins.

( ominous theme playing )

Whenever Richard Cory
went down town,

We people on the street
looked at him:

He was a gentleman
from sole to crown,

Clean favored,
and imperially slim.

And he was rich, yes,
richer than a king

And admirably schooled
in every grace:

In fine we thought
that he was everything

To make us wish
that we were in his place.

Don't finish it.

Poetry bores you,
Mr. Aitken?

Who are you?

My name is Ben Nicholson.

Oh, yes, of course.
The Pleiades.

I've seen it back
in Philadelphia.

Shall I, uh, finish
the poem for you?

Mr. Nicholson, you live out here
in your little dream world,

helping moonraking poets
grow words nobody reads,

smugly poor because that's

the way it's always
been with poets.

What do you know about
circulation and advertising

and what a man must do
to show a profit?

So on we worked,
and waited for the light,

And went without the meat,
and cursed the bread.

And Richard Cory,
one calm summer night,

Went home and put
a bullet through his head.

You need a drink.

Well, that's one thing
I don't need.

Dinner?

Sympathy?

Even a publisher of poetry

has heard the sad story
of your troubles, Mr. Aitken.

Well, maybe one drink.

( dramatic theme playing )

Well, the first line
advertising accounts

are not too keen
on the new setup.

They--
Oh, thank you.

They won't support
anything quite as lurid

as you seem
to be planning.

Go on.

Well, we'll have to round
up some new accounts,

hire a new sales staff that
understands your kind of market,

so I've been thinking--

They've already
been hired.

What?

Unless you stop thinking,
Harding, you'll be fired.

I have a contract which--
Sue me.

And I'll tell the jury how you
helped Aitken fall on his face.

What do you mean by that?

Well, in your 20 years
of loyal company service,

you've put just a little
too much money in the bank.

That's not true.

My salary's always been modest.

Lori?

How much is it he has scattered

in those accounts
all over the country?

Well, at the last total,

it was slightly over $93,000,
Mr. Fletcher.

Well, there was
nothing dishonest.

I had private investments.

You can't prove a single--

Harding.

All I want you to do
is to keep your mouth shut

and do your work
the way I tell you.

Now. Round up
some new advertisers

and do whatever
has to be done,

only get out
of here and do it.

( ominous theme playing )

They're all phonies,
every single one of them.

But not you, Lori.

Only it's getting late.

You'd better beat it too.
I got a lot to do.

So don't come back tonight.

Company?

No, no, no,
I've just got some business.

But not mine?

Well, that's right.

So beat it now, baby.

( dialing )

( door shuts )

Hello,

Mrs. Aitken.

( dinging )

( door opens )

( door shuts )

Edmond.

I thought you were going
to be at the club all evening.

I want to talk to you,
Alyce.

She has a headache,
Edmond.

I saw a lawyer today.

There's a faint hope
we might get something

on this man Fletcher.

If we do, I'm going
to the stockholders again.

In the meantime,
I'm talking to the editors.

Oh, Edmond, if it's just
more bad news about business,

couldn't it wait
until tomorrow?

It's good news, darling,
don't you understand?

I've made a decision.

I've decided to fight.

Why?
Why?

To get my company
back again.

Now, listen here.

The first thing I'm doing
is rounding up proxies.

The editors who have stock,
well, they'll give me theirs.

On those shares
I gave you for Christmas,

I'll have to have your
proxy on them.

I told you she had a headache.

Will you for once
just keep out of this?

Alyce.

The reason
I need your proxy is--

But you can't have
my proxy, Edmond.

I gave it to Mr. Fletcher.

You what?

Just now, tonight.

To Fletcher?

Oh, I'm sorry, Edmond,
but I didn't know.

How could I know?

And now it's too late.

I'm sorry, Edmond.

If I'd been there, I would
have stopped her, of course,

but you kept saying how
close we are to going broke.

Edmond, you know how frightened
Alyce is of being poor.

Of ever being poor again.

And with Fletcher,
the business would be safe.

( ominous theme playing )

( glass shatters )

Well.
You've come back.

I hoped you would.

I need more courage.

When a man has murder
in his heart,

he asks himself questions.

Things like...

Well...

A man who hates
enough to kill

doesn't waste time
asking questions.

He kills and gets
it done with.

Yes. That's good.
That makes sense.

Murderers hate. I hate.
Therefore I am a murderer.

Then I suggest only
one thing to you.

If it is murder
you're now thinking of,

for the sake of your
own conscience,

be sure you murder
the right person.

MASON:
"Mr. Fletcher's death occurred

"during the late hours
of the night.

"His body was discovered
by a servant

who entered the luxurious
bachelor apartment at 8 a.m."

Hello.

May I please speak
to Mr. Aitken?

Well, do you know where
he could be reached?

Is this Mrs. Aitken speaking?

No, it is not,

and I haven't the faintest
idea where Mr. Aitken is.

Now, I'm very busy.

Would you mind
taking a message, please?

He--

He hasn't been home
all night.

Well, when he does,

would you please have
him call Mr. Perry Mason.

Who was that?

Nobody.
More reporters.

Here. Take this.

Oh, no more, please.

Take it.

We were here.

We never left this house
last night, Alyce.

Remember.

We were here together
all night.

All night.

Now, remember.
All night.

(doorbell dings)

May I see Mrs. Aitken, please?

Police.

Well, she's asleep
right now.

In fact, she's under
heavy sedation.

Well, I'm afraid we'll have
to wake her up somehow.

Why?

I have a warrant
charging her

with the murder
of Donald Fletcher.

Oh, no.

( dramatic theme swells )

Well, Alyce Aitken's
fingerprints

were all over
the murder apartment.

There was a struggle,
wasn't there?

Place all upset?

Uh-huh.

But it was a gun
that killed Fletcher.

His own gun.

What else?

I haven't been able
to find out

what motive
the police figure yet,

but apparently
Fletcher's secretary

told them that
her boss was planning

some kind of a rendezvous
for last night.

With Alyce Aitken?
Uh-huh.

On top of which,
a neighbor says

he saw a woman answering
Alyce Aitken's description

running out of the apartment
a little after 3 a.m.

And, of course,
you can guess at what time

the doctors figure that
Fletcher's murder took place.

Mm-hm, 3 a.m.

(intercom buzzing)

Yes, Della?

DELLA ( on intercom ):
Perry,

Mr. Ben Nicholson is here.

He says he has a message
from Mr. Edmond Aitken.

All right.
Send him in.

You know where he is?

Yes, he is,
or was, a moment ago,

at my house.

It's all quite awkward,
I'm afraid.

What do you mean?

I ran into him last night.

He was pretty upset.

Of course, I barely know Aitken.

We only met yesterday
and quite by accident,

but when he started talking
about killing someone,

I thought it best
to offer him a drink

and try to keep him
out of trouble.

So I took him over to my place.

He spent the night there.

Maybe you did keep him
out of trouble.

Well, actually I fell
asleep about 1:00 or so.

He was in another little room
with its own entrance.

What about his message,
Mr. Nicholson?

Yes, yes.

He wants you to defend his wife.

He wants you
to see her right away.

He'd be in touch himself,

but the police
are over there now

asking him a thousand questions.

Not that he has any answers,
poor chap.

It's such a dreadful thing
to have to face.

A man's own wife,

mixed up in a thing like this,

with a man like that.

Sometimes the police
make mistakes,

Mr. Nicholson.

( suspenseful theme playing )

I didn't kill him.

Honestly, I didn't.

But you did go to see
Mr. Fletcher last night?

No. Of course not.

Then how do
your fingerprints

appear so many places
in his apartment?

I don't know.
I can't explain it.

I'm all confused. I--

I'm still half asleep.

Have some more coffee,
Mrs. Aitken.

Now, as I've said,

you don't have to make any
statements to the officials,

but if I'm going to be your
lawyer, you simply must--

Have you talked
to my sister, Milly?

No, not yet.

Well, she'll tell you I wasn't
out of the house all night.

I was in bed by 11:30.

Your sister shares your bedroom?
No.

Then how can she prove
you weren't out of the house?

Oh, I don't know.

You're trying to mix me up.

Mrs. Aitken, you must
tell me the truth.

I won't talk without Milly.

I won't.

( sobbing )

But Alice had no reason
to kill Fletcher.

In fact, she was even
on his side.

Against her own husband?

Not really against.

She was fighting
to protect Edmond,

to keep him from
losing all his money

on a lost cause.

She even gave a proxy
to Fletcher

to vote some stock she owns.

When was that?

Last night.

You see, Alyce did go
to see Fletcher last night,

but she was home by 11
and I can prove it.

Why wouldn't she
tell me that herself?

Well, Alyce isn't very strong.

Oh, please, give her time
to rest, to think.

I'm sure she'll
be cooperative, Mr. Mason.

I'll speak to her.

I'm sure she will be.

Did Mr. Aitken know
of this visit to Fletcher?

Did he know
about the proxy?

He was waiting for us
when Alyce came home.

There was quite a scene.

He left and he hasn't
been back since.

Why aren't they after him
instead of after her?

Where is he?

He's been with a friend.

Who?

Ben Nicholson.

Do you know him?

He publishes a poetry magazine
called The Pleiades.

No.

Is there anything else?

Why, yes.

Did your sister repeat

anything Fletcher might have
said to her last night?

No.

Oh, but I'm sure
I can find out.

I'm sure she'll
tell me anything

you need to know,
Mr. Mason.

I'm sure she will.

Thank you, Miss Nash.

Fletcher was a louse.

You're right.
He was a rat.

How do you know that?

Because you hate him.

Oh. And how.

And how and how.

He was the meanest man
in this world.

The things
he did to people.

For example...

Well, he was always
scaring them.

What with?

Anything he could find.

Letters,
tape recordings...

Blackmail?

Same thing as.

Like when
Harding was there.

"Sue me," he says.

"I will prove that you
double-crossed Mr. Aitken."

How?

Bank books.

What's this double-cross?

Then he tells me
to beat it.

I know,
but about this double-cross.

Me.

Getting bounced out for
a phony like that Alyce.

"Alyce spelled with a Y" Aitken.

What a dame.

Ask Rudi Tripp.

He knew her way back.

Just ask Rudi Tripp.

Sure, I knew her.

Alyce with a Y.

Only Milly's the one
you remember.

She was the smart one.

A regular slave driver.

Kept poor Alyce
working all the time.

Even calendar pictures.

It made no difference
to Milly

so long as she
collected the dough.

I don't do that type
of work anymore.

Mr. Tripp. Did you know
Fletcher in those days?

Well, who didn't?

I ain't surprised
he's murdered.

Maybe at least 500
girls could have done it.

Plus 500 men whose girls
he made cheesecake out of.

You was asking about
them Nash sisters.

One day I'm working
on an art layout--

That's what we
call it in the trade.

--with Alyce, when in comes
this good-looking guy,

talks like a college professor.

Aitken?

Well, If Aitken's the guy she
married, I guess that's the one.

Anyway, he tells Alyce to put
her clothes on and get out.

Only Milly says no.

The next thing you know
there's a fight

and Milly hits this guy right
over the head with a spotlight.

Boom!
Real crazy.

I'm glad I don't do

that kind work no more.

Now it's quarterly stuff.

Strictly good taste.

Ready, baby?

Paul, I'd like to see
if he's got copies

of those pictures
of Alyce Aitken.

You don't mind sticking
around here for a while,

do you?

No, no, no, no.

Your wife is frightened.

And she's hiding things,
Mr. Aitken.

From my investigation so far,
I'd say it's quite possible

that Donald Fletcher
was blackmailing her.

She's never said
anything to me.

But you're aware
that your wife

posed for the sort
of photographs

which she might now
want suppressed.

I don't know what you're talking
about.

I'm certainly
not ashamed

of anything Alyce
might have done.

And if you're saying that
her background makes her

into the kind of person who
would actually commit a murder--

I'm saying nothing
of the sort.

I don't believe
she killed Fletcher.

( knocking on door )

Come in, Paul.

Hello, Mr. Aitken.

You believe I killed Fletcher?

Is that what you're
trying to say?

You know, it's one thing for
a person in your wife's position

to become terrified
and tell frantic lies--

Mason.

If I'd killed Fletcher,
I would admit it.

I love my wife.

I'd want to protect her.

The way you did
several years ago,

at a photographer's studio?

EDMOND:
When I what?

Excuse me.

There's something I wanted Paul
to start working on right away.

Excuse me, Mr. Aitken.

What's wrong?

It wasn't Aitken.

After you left,

I asked Rudi Tripp
some more questions,

and I found out that
the guy he remembers

as hauling Alyce Nash
out of his studio

just didn't fit
Aitken's description.

Any idea who it was?

Positive identification.

Ben Nicholson.

Nicholson?

( dramatic theme swells )

This being
a preliminary hearing,

the defense is willing
to stipulate

that the defendant's
fingerprints were found

in the Fletcher living room.

Furthermore,
we will stipulate

that the defendant visited
the Fletcher apartment

on the evening
of the murder.

Mr. Mason would do well
to stipulate

that the defendant,
at about 3:00 in the morning,

murdered Donald Fletcher.

Would save the taxpayers
of this state

the expense of a trial.

I must remind
the prosecutor

that I did not stipulate
as to what time

the defendant visited
the Fletcher apartment.

Call your first witness,
Mr. Prosecutor.

It was about half past 8

when Mr. Fletcher told me
I could leave.

And he told you he was expecting
a caller later that night?

He said he had work to do,
business.

But didn't you just state
that you knew

it was Mrs. Alyce Aitken
he was expecting?

LORI:
Well, I heard him telephoning,
as I was getting my coat,

going out the door.

SAMPSON:
What exact words do you
recall overhearing, please?

LORI:
He spoke her name.
Then he said:

"How about you and me
getting together tonight?"

SAMPSON:
Do you recall hearing
anything further?

He said,
"9:30 is okay with me, baby,"

and that's all I heard.

Thank you, Miss Stoner.
Cross-examine.

Miss Stoner.

Do you recall a recent
conversation

with a private investigator,
Mr. Paul Drake,

in which you recounted
some of these same facts?

I do.

Sort of.

MASON:
Do you recall mentioning certain
letters and tape recordings

which Mr. Fletcher ordinarily
kept in his apartment?

Yes. In the drawer in his desk.

I have here a police listing
of the contents of that desk,

as itemized on the day
after the murder.

Miss Stoner,

could you be more specific

as to the sort
of material you referred to?

Well, there were two or three
large manila envelopes

that Mr. Fletcher
said were private.

I don't know exactly
what was in them but--

Manila envelopes?

I don't find anything
like that listed here.

Apparently, those envelopes
seem to have disappeared.

Miss Stoner,
is it your opinion

they might have contained
blackmail material?

JUDGE:
All right, just a minute,
counselor.

It seems to me that prosecution
might well object to your asking

the witness for her opinion.

On the contrary, Your Honor,

we have no objection
to Mr. Mason pleading our case.

In fact, we soon hope to show

that there were certain
indiscreet photographs

of the defendant in those
very same envelopes

which were so obviously

stolen by the murderer.

All right, all right,

you can both argue
your cases later

at the proper time.
In the meantime,

I suggest that you rephrase
that last question, Mr. Mason.

Yes, Your Honor.

Now, Miss Stoner,

do you have positive knowledge
that Mr. Fletcher

was a collector
of blackmail material?

Yes.

Mr. Fletcher would
stoop to anything

to get what he wanted.

I have no further questions.

Call Mr. Wendell Harding
to the stand.

I telephoned Mr. Fletcher
at exactly 11 p.m.

What was the purpose of that
call at that hour, Mr. Harding?

Well, as business manager
of Aitken Publications,

I often called at night.

This was in reference to our
advertising sales campaign--

I see, Mr. Harding.

Is there any question
about your ability

to recognize
Mr. Fletcher's voice?

It was definitely

the deceased that
you talked to?

Oh, absolutely. Of course.

I see. Go on, sir.

Well, I told him there were some
things we had to talk over,

and if he wasn't going
to retire soon

I'd go over to his place.

Do you recall his response?

I recall it exactly.

He laughed, and he said,

"No, not tonight."

Then he said,
"Guess who was here,

and who just called
and is calling back?"

Alyce Aitken.

SAMPSON:
And this was at 11:00?

HARDING:
Yes, sir, precisely.

SAMPSON:
And the deceased

said that she, Alyce Aitken,
was coming back?

Thank you, sir.
Cross-examine.

Mr. Harding.

Did Donald Fletcher
ever blackmail you?

Well, of--

Of course not.

Did he ever mention certain
bankbooks, or copies thereof,

which he had somehow obtained?

I don't remember.

Well, did he ever threaten
to expose you

because of, uh, certain money
that you had put away

as an employee of Edmond Aitken?

Your Honor, I object to this
treatment of the witness.

The questions are immaterial
and irrelevant.

The bias of this witness
is not irrelevant, Your Honor.

Yes. I agree.

Objection's overruled.

And I might caution the witness

to remember that he
is under oath.

Mr. Harding,

how much money
do you have collected

in certain banks
across the country?

About $93,000.

( crowd murmuring )

Well, it's perfectly honest, I--

I mean--

Well, I think I recall Fletcher

once asking his secretary

about an investigation
he'd made.

Now you just think you recall.

Yet a moment ago you were
glibly quoting words

supposedly spoken
about the defendant.

You were being very precise

about her possible return
to the apartment.

Is your memory, Mr. Harding,
only accurate

when the blackmail
of other people is involved?

Well, I-I guess I was
a little confused.

I-- I'm not used
to testifying like this.

Well, no one's
memory is perfect.

I-I mean--

You mean:

No one's memory is perfect.

Thank you, Mr. Harding.
That'll be all.

Now, in your first statement
to the police, Mr. Nicholson,

you said Mr. Aitken
spent the entire night

in your apartment.

I'm afraid that
that statement

wasn't entirely true.

In what regard
was it untrue?

Well, the fact is that
about 2:30 in the morning,

I was awakened by Mr. Aitken
leaving the house.

He was frankly too drunk
to know what he was doing,

but he said he wanted
to see his wife.

When I tried to stop him
he set up a tremendous din,

rather loudly
offering to kill me

if I didn't get out of his way.

I decided the best procedure
was to take him home

to put him to bed there.

And when you arrived
at his home,

did his wife agree with you?

She wasn't at the house.

SAMPSON:
What time was it?

NICHOLSON:
About 3 in the morning.

He's lying.

Well, how did you know that
Mrs. Aitken was not at home?

Aitken stumbled up to her room.

I followed, I tried to stop him.

I wanted to make sure
he did her no harm.

He'd been talking so wildly.

She wasn't there.

SAMPSON:
Thank you. Cross-examine.

Mr. Nicholson,

when you arrived
at the Aitken home,

was there anybody
in the house?

Well, Aitken did open
another door.

He said his
sister-in-law was asleep,

but he'd leave
her that way.

It was his wife
he wanted to find.

What did you do then?

Well, I persuaded him that
we'd go looking for her.

Fortunately, when I got him
back to the car,

he fell sound asleep.

I went back to my apartment,
managed to get him to bed there.

Did you know Alyce Aitken,
Mr. Nicholson?

Mr. Aitken never
introduced her to me.

Were you ever introduced
to Miss Alyce Nash?

No, I wasn't.

Does your memory
go back eight years?

I hope so.

Well, do you remember that--

A Miss Milly Nash once hit you
on the head with a spotlight

in a certain
photographer's studio?

I do.

Then I ask you once again,

were you ever introduced to her
sister, to a Miss Alyce Nash?

No, Mr. Mason.

I picked her up
on a boat trip to Catalina.

( crowd murmuring )

( crowd laughing )

Did you ever ask Alyce Nash
to marry you?

Yes. Many times.

How many times?

I have forgotten.

Why?

Because all I've wanted
for eight years

was to clean my mind
of her memory.

I loved her too much and she
almost destroyed me for it.

How?

I was poor and she couldn't
stand to be poor.

To please her, I wallowed in her
cheap world for a while,

editing a fly-by-night

girlie magazine.

I was no good at it.

When I asked her to try
my kind of life, she left me.

For another man?

For money.

Always for money.

MASON:
Isn't it a fact that
you hate the defendant,

that you would do anything
in your power to harm her?

No, Mr. Mason.

The fact is I despise her

and would do nothing to prevent
her from being harmed.

Who published that cheap
magazine you edited,

Mr. Nicholson?

Donald Fletcher.

No more questions.

I call Mr. Phillip Robinson
to the stand.

Well, uh, our apartment

is just across the courtyard
from Mr. Fletcher's.

So I saw the woman
quite clearly.

It was her, all right.

That one.

Alyce Aitken.

And once more, now,
what time was it

that you saw the defendant

running from Mr. Fletcher's
apartment?

Five and one half minutes
after 3 a.m.

Now, Mr. Robinson,

did you ever in the past have
cause to speak to Mr. Fletcher?

Well, yes.

You see, my wife has been
quite ill for some time,

and she doesn't sleep well.

And Fletcher was noisy.

His parties, that is.

And that hi-fi set of his,

you could hear that
halfway down the block.

Was his hi-fi set playing

at the time that
you saw the defendant

running from his apartment?

Yes, it was.

It had awakened my wife

and I'd gotten up to get her
some medicine to help her sleep.

Well, did you consider calling
Mr. Fletcher to complain?

Oh, yes,

but a minute or two after
Mrs. Aitken left,

the music stopped.

It came to the end
of the record.

And after that?

Silence.

Deadly silence.

Thank you, Mr. Robinson.

Cross-examine.

For the tenth time,
I saw her mink coat, I tell you.

I-I can swear it wasn't muskrat
or anything else, it was mink.

The moonlight
was that clear.

It could have been someone
else's mink coat, couldn't it?

And that light
blonde hair of hers?

I tell you it was Alyce Aitken.

Her.

Nobody else.

Now, you admit--

The only thing I admit is,

that if it wasn't her that went
clattering out there like a--

Like a scared as a rabbit,

then was somebody enough like
her to be her own twin sister.

I saw Alyce Aitken--

But it could have been
someone who looked like her.

Thank you, Mr. Robinson,
that's all I ask.

It's a long playing record.

And you found it still
lying on the turntable

when you entered
the murder apartment?

That's right.

What sort of turntable
is it, lieutenant?

I gather Fletcher
was quite a hi-fi addict?

The, uh, turntable was manual.

To start a record,

it's necessary to lift
the arm itself and then

lower the needle
down gently.

SAMPSON:
What sort of material

is this arm made of,
lieutenant?

Smoothly polished
aluminum.

Would it show the fingerprints
of the person

who last put a record
on to play?

Of the person who must have
put this very record on

some ten minutes before
3 a.m. in the morning,

perhaps to cover
the sound of gunshots?

Objection.

The question is suggestive,
argumentative,

and calls for a conclusion.

Sustained.

Did you find the fingerprints
of one person,

and only one person,
on that phonograph arm?

Yes, sir.
The defendant.

Alyce Aitken.

( ominous theme swells )

Yes, I was there.
I went back to see him.

After what Edmond had said,

when I realized how upset
he was, I couldn't sleep.

So I phoned Mr. Fletcher

and I went over
to his apartment again.

And what time was that?

About 2:00, I think.

And then what happened?

Well, I wanted to get
that proxy back.

I wanted to tell
Mr. Fletcher what

a dreadful, horrible
mistake I'd made.

I wanted to tell him that I was
gonna help my husband, not him.

And what was Fletcher's
reaction?

He laughed at me.

Well, in your situation,
why wouldn't he have laughed?

Wasn't he making a collection

of some pictures
you once posed for?

Oh, but I didn't care
about any of that.

I wasn't afraid
of being blackmailed.

Wasn't that why you gave him
your proxy in the first place?

No, no.

I did it because--

Well, because, I thought
it was the right thing to do

to protect the stocks I owned.

You mean, you did
it because your sister

told you it was
the right thing to do?

Yes, I've always done
what she told me.

You see, Mr. Mason,

we were brought up
in an orphanage in China.

Our father was a sailor
who just dumped us there.

By the time we were 14 we had
to earn our own living and--

Well, that's why Milly
is so afraid of being poor.

And that's why I let her
push me into making money.

Any way at all.

But Edmond understood.

I mean, about the kind
of life I'd had.

You didn't do
what your sister wanted

when you went back to Fletcher
for your proxy.

No. Because for once I was
thinking of Edmond, not Milly.

Did you argue with him?
Did you fight with Fletcher?

Yes. I started to argue,

but he just laughed harder,

and then he tried to kiss me,

and I suddenly realized how
stupid I was to go there alone.

I got out the door
and I took off my shoes

and ran out of the building

as fast as I could.

Took off your shoes?

Yes, I didn't want
to attract attention.

Then what made you put that
loud record on the hi-fi?

But I didn't.

Mr. Mason,
I've thought and thought,

the only time I can remember
touching the hi-fi

was when I turned
that record off.

You turned the record off?

Yes, when I was there earlier.

Because he had this horrible,
loud record on,

and I wanted to talk to him.

Only, Mr. Mason,

that was at 10:00
in the evening.

( mysterious theme playing )

Go over to the apartment again.

Now check the guest room
and both bathrooms.

I'll get back to you
as soon as I can.

Oh, and one of your men
see Della.

She's trying to get hold
of a manual turntable

similar to the one
on Fletcher's hi-fi.

I want it before
court reconvenes.

On my way.

Well, Alyce may have been
a little bit nervous, perhaps.

Now, that is not
what I asked you.

When your sister came home,
Miss Nash,

did you or did you not get
out of bed to speak to her?

Yes, I did.

And what did she have
to say?

Nothing.

She ran into her room
and locked the door.

And the following morning,
wasn't she so upset

that she required sedatives?

But it was my idea--

Just answer yes or no,
Miss Nash.

Did your sister
require sedatives

after what she'd been
through the night before?

Yes. She did.

Your witness.

Miss Nash,
we have heard testimony

that two men entered
the Aitken home

at 3 a.m. in the morning.

Further, that one
of those two men was drunk

and opened the door
to your bedroom.

Yet you remained asleep.

Is that true?

Well, I pretended to be asleep,
that's all.

I certainly didn't want
to talk to Edmond

when he was in that condition.

MASON:
I understand.

Did you then remain awake

until your sister come home
a few moments later?

Well, it wasn't a few moments.

I didn't have my watch on,

but I smoked a couple
of cigarettes

so it must have been 20 or 25
minutes later that I heard her.

I didn't say anything.

I just wanted to make sure she
got home all right, that's all.

Miss Nash,
do you recall anything

which would more nearly
indicate the exact time?

Well, there is one thing, yes.

From my bedroom,
when the door is open,

I can just hear the chiming

of the downstairs clock.

Go on.

Well, I heard it chime

just after Edmond
and Mr. Nicholson left,

when I got up to shut
my bedroom door.

And how many chimes?

One.

One?

That's right.

I just assumed that it was 1:00,

but it might have been half past
something when they were there.

Your Honor, I would like
to recall a witness.

The man who said it was 3:00
when he was at the Aitken home.

Your Honor, I object.
Counsel is trying--

Wait. Wait.

I guess I may have made
a little mistake.

It was 3 when I got
back to my place,

that's all I meant to say.

But you didn't say that,
Mr. Nicholson.

Now, why is that?

I made a mistake,
I told you.

Why?

I don't know why.

You despised the defendant.
You already admitted--

All right.

Maybe I wanted to make
her look more guilty.

Or make yourself
look more innocent.

Now, Mr. Nicholson,

what was the actual time
you were at the Aitken home?

2:30. We left there
just before 2:30.

Now, if that's the truth,

then it's quite possible that
Alyce Aitken returned home

before 3 a.m.

in the morning instead of--

Objection, Your Honor.

Aside from the improper
argumentative questioning,

Defense is presenting
his own case--

If it please the court,

I insist that my
cross-examination

is quite proper.

I certainly have the right

to clarify this
time discrepancy.

And the state contends
there is no time discrepancy.

We have already demonstrated
through the neighbor's testimony

that the defendant started

Mr. Fletcher's
phonograph playing

shortly before 3 a.m.
and she was seen

leaving the murder apartment
shortly after 3.

Any discrepancy
elsewhere is irrelevant.

Irrelevant?

Your Honor,

perhaps it would
not be irrelevant

to show that the phonograph

could have been turned on by
someone other than defendant.

Now, if I might recall
another witness--

SAMPSON:
I object, Your Honor.

Now, just a moment,
Mr. Prosecutor.

I'm interested in what
Mr. Mason has in mind.

Deception, Your Honor.

By someone who fought
with Fletcher, killed him,

and then tried to place
the blame on Alyce Aitken.

Deception by someone

who must have been
in Fletcher's apartment

at the time of defendant's
visit there,

earlier in the evening.

JUDGE:
Just what is the purpose of your
demonstration there?

Well, to show how that
person took advantage

of the fingerprints
the defendant had left

on the turntable arm.

It's a simple matter
to turn on a switch.

And then using either a pencil

or a nail file to carefully
lift the tone arm,

lower it,
and start the record playing.

( jazz song playing )

Who is it that you want
to recall, Mr. Mason?

The person, Your Honor, who not
only knew of the fingerprints,

but also knew about the neighbor
and his wife who was ill.

The person who
was familiar enough

with the Fletcher apartment
to use the guest room.

The person who uses
a light hairspray

to put a streak in her hair.

Who even left traces
of that hairspray

on the bathroom wall.

A woman, Your Honor,

who could spray her hair
to make it appear blonde

and then in her own mink coat

run clattering outside
to impersonate the defendant.

( woman sobbing )

He tried to get rid of me.

I helped him with all of it,

every bit of dirty blackmail,

and then he said
he didn't need me anymore.

I stayed there, I begged him.

And then she came back.

And when he tried to kiss her,

when he knew
I was still watching,

I just couldn't
stand it anymore.

Yes, I killed Donald Fletcher.

And it was the best thing
I ever did in my life.

( dramatic theme swells )

It was that one word

in the neighbor's
testimony that did it.

The word "clattering."

But your wife said
that she'd taken off her shoes

hoping not to make any noise

as she ran out
of the Fletcher apartment.

That meant another woman
had to have impersonated her.

Lori was the only one
close enough to manage it.

Then she must have been
in the apartment

when Alyce went back
for the proxy.

She was. Fletcher had
asked her to leave,

but she slipped into
the guest room instead.

Then, just after
you left, Mrs. Aitken,

a little before 3 a.m.,

Lori and Fletcher
really had a fight.

Apparently he fell
and was stunned.

And then she killed him.

She put on the record to cover
the noise, shot him,

did what she had to do
to implicate you,

and ran out of the apartment
past the neighbors.

EDMOND:
But tell me,

before you knew all this,

what made you so sure things
would turn out as they have?

My faith in my client.

Your faith in your wife.

Thank you, Mr. Mason.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, Mr. Mason.
Thanks.

Goodbye, Mr. Aitken.

( door opens )

Oh, these photographs.

Well, they don't mean
anything anymore.

This all of them?

Mm-hm. Negatives too.

That's that.

You realize, of course,

that that represents
hours of work.

I had to go through all
the photos in Rudi Tripp's file.

( dramatic theme swells )

( noirish jazz theme playing )