All language subtitles for The-Trouble-with-Harry_1955_English-ELSUBTITLE.COM-ST_44731890

Okay, I know how
to handle your type!

Well, old faithful,
that's your shooting for the day.

If we haven't rung up
at least two rabbits,

we deserve to go home
empty-handed.

Yeah. Still, blessed are they
who expect nothing

for they shall not
be disappointed.

Hmm.

Fewer things in life give
a man more pleasure than hunting.

It satisfies his
primitive nature.

Striding through the woods,
picking up his kill.

Well, come on, old faithful.

There's plump rabbits
waiting for the frying pan.

If this can had four legs and a tail,
we'd be eating it tonight.

Clean through the heart.

For rice cake,
I've done him in.

A harmless potshot at a rabbit
and I'm a murderer, a killer.

Mother always said
I'd come to a bad end.

What in Hades were
you doing here anyway?

I can't say that I've
seen you around here before.

If you're going to get yourself shot,
do it where you're known.

"Mr. Harry Worp, 87 Maple Avenue,
Boston, Massachusetts."

Well, Worp, you're
a long way from home.

By the looks of it, you won't
get back for Christmas.

We're going to have
a cold, hard winter.

You might keep here a long time,
an awful long time.

Too long for me, Harry.

Yes.

Captain Wiles.

Yes, ma'am?

What seems to be
the trouble, Captain?

Well, it's what you might call
an unavoidable accident.

He's dead.

Yes.

I would say that he was. Of course,
that's an unprofessional opinion.

- Do you know him, Miss Gravely?
- No.

- Doesn't live around here.
- Well, he died around here.

That's what counts now.

Embarrassing. What do you plan
to do with him, Captain?

Miss Gravely,

without cutting the hem
off truth's garment,

I'm going to hide him.
Cover him up. Forget him.

Are you never going to
inform the police, Captain?

No. Forget you saw me,
Miss Gravely.

Chase it out of your mind,
for heaven's sake. It was an accident.

He was poking around the clearing
and I thought he was a rabbit or something.

It was a human error.

Please, don't.

Don't say anything
to anybody, Miss Gravely.

Do as you think
best, Captain.

I'm sure you must have met
many similar situations

in your travels
in foreign lands.

Yeah, I've seen
much worse things.

- I certainly won't say anything.
- Much worse things.

I remember when
I was on the Orinoco.

We had a Turk, a great big Turk
there running amok with a machete.

Captain, if I were going to hide
an accident, I shouldn't delay.

You're right as rain,
Miss Gravely.

Yes, you know something?
I'm glad I met you today.

I feel better for telling somebody as warm,
tender, understanding as yourself.

On the contrary,
Captain, it...

I'm certainly glad
if I helped you, Captain.

Perhaps you would care to come over
for some blueberry muffins

and coffee later on.

High-bush blueberries.

This is certainly something
of an interesting surprise.

And perhaps a touch
of elderberry wine.

After all, we've been neighbors
for nearly three years now

and we've never
exchanged social calls.

You're right.
It's high time I paid a call.

What time?

Oh, say,
early this afternoon?

I'll be there with a clean shirt
and a hungry face.

Do that.

You'd better be
going along now.

You don't want to be
an accessory after the fact.

You are a considerate man,
Captain Wiles.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

We're almost
there, Mommy.

Here he is, Mommy,
here he is.

- What did I tell you, Mommy?
- Don't touch it, Arnie.

There he is.

No, it can't be. Harry.

Harry. Thank Providence,
the last of Harry.

Who's Providence, Mommy?

- A very good friend.
- Don't you know who it is?

You said, "Harry."
Can't you remember, Arnie?

Why don't he get up
and do something?

He's asleep.

He's in a deep sleep.
A deep, wonderful sleep.

How'd he hurt his head?

Putting it where it wasn't
wanted would be my guess.

Will it get better?

Not if we're lucky.

Let's run home and I'll make you
some lemonade.

Will lemonade put me in a wonderful,
deep, deep sleep, Mommy?

No, Arnie, but it's
better than no lemonade.

- I don't understand that.
- Never mind.

Now you just forget
you ever saw this man.

Is there a special way
to forget?

Just think of
something else.

I think I'll try not
to see him tomorrow, Mommy.

That's a good boy, Arnie. Now let's run
home and get that lemonade.

She won't care
what I do with him.

Couldn't have had more people here
if I'd sold tickets.

What's the big attraction,
I wonder.

This could turn out to be
the luckiest day of my life.

Might as well sit here till
the rest of the world comes by

to pay their last respects.

Sooner or later one of them has
to turn out to be the deputy sheriff.

Flaggin' the train
that's goin' home

Flaggin' the train
to Tuscaloosa

Never no more, no more to roam

Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

Got a sweet gal
who's on my mind

Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

Back to the gal I left behind

Got no baggage

Just got my fare

But all I need, yes, indeed

Is waitin' for me there

Flaggin' the train
to Tuscaloosa

Oh, how I love
that choo-choo sound

Flaggin' the train
to Tuscaloosa

Flaggin' the train
that's homeward bound

Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

Got a sweet gal
who's on my mind

Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

Back to the gal I left behind

Got no baggage

Just got my fare

But all I need, yes, indeed

Is waitin' for me there

Hello, Mr. Marlow.

Wiggy, you haven't
sold a painting.

All my pictures
in the same place.

So few cars.
They don't seem to...

- Guess the cider takes their attention.
- Cider?

Cider, indeed.
Throw it away! Drink it!

No, I hate cider.

Not a picture sold.

I'm sorry, Mr. Marlow. Let's get a look
at your new one. Hold it up.

What good would it do to show it to you?
You don't deserve to see it.

How am I going to eat?

Mr. Wiggs always used to thump
his stomach when he got mad.

He busted something
inside once.

You think we'd do any
better on Fifth Avenue?

If there's
more people there.

Oh, lots of people. Hundreds and thousands
and billions of people.

Well, might be
better then.

But what sort of people, Wiggy?
What breed?

I'll tell you.
They're little people.

Little people
with hats on.

How are your cigarettes?

I'll buy the other
half tomorrow.

What does your son do with those
old cars he always works on?

He sells them.
Mechanical antiques.

Doesn't make much,
but he needs the money.

Doesn't he get paid
for being deputy sheriff?

Piecework. Gets paid
by the arrest, I think.

Oh. Mr. Marlow,
it's wonderful.

I've been in a tortured
mood lately.

What is it?

Good old Wiggy,
my sternest critic.

I don't understand your work.
I think it's beautiful.

So does Mrs. Rogers.

Oh! You talk about me?

She's the pretty woman
with the little boy, isn't she?

Mmm-hmm.

I only brought up your name once
when we were talking about strange people.

Huh?

That is, strangers.
People she hadn't met yet.

And what does the pretty little thing
say about me?

Nothin'.

I think we better discuss business.
Now, my shopping list.

I'll go in and start
puttin' it up.

Say, Wiggy, how do
you spell Tuscaloosa?

Sam?

Hi, Calvin.

- You hear any shootin' a while back?
- Nope.

Well, I did, and there shouldn't be
any shootin' around here.

- Why?
- It's posted land, that's why.

- Why's that?
- 'Cause I posted it.

What do you got against people doing
a little shooting now and then?

Let off a little steam.

Bullets and guns are dangerous.
They kill things.

No one around here could hit
a freight car with a cannon.

I guess you're right, Sam.

All the same
the law's the law.

And I got a good mind to scout around,
find out who's doin' the shootin'

and level a little fine.

And pick up
a little piecework?

If I can do anything to make it
any harder for you, let me know.

How do you want
your bacon, Mr. Marlow?

- What were you saying?
- I asked how you want your bacon.

Sliced.

Where's Calvin?

Off somewheres unimportant.

What a wonderful day.

So was yesterday, but you didn't
say anything to me about it.

What you want Calvin for?

These marvelous pictures.

Someone told me
they were yours.

Why don't you sell them,
make a lot of money?

Never thought of that.
Guess I'll just have to think about it.

And that song.
You sing it so beautifully.

You wrote it yourself,
of course.

- What do you want to borrow?
- Oh, dear.

I just think people need encouragement sometimes,
don't you, Mr. Marlow?

- How do you know my name?
- Well, it's on the pictures, isn't it?

Not supposed
to be readable.

You can tell it's not
supposed to be.

They're very professional.
Don't you think, Mrs. Wiggs?

Well, Miss Gravely,
all I know is nobody buys them.

Thank you for your encouragement,
Miss Gravely.

I wonder how you
know my name.

- Easy. Wiggy just said it.
- Wiggy.

What a perfectly
ridiculous little nickname.

Do you mind if I call
you "Wiggy," Mrs. Wiggs?

Not if you pay
all your bills on time.

All right, Mr. Marlow.

Bacon, beans,
cabbage, sugar, salt,

tea, oleo margarine. $1.95.

Don't forget half
a package of cigarettes.

- Oh, yes. Ten cents. $2.05.
- That much?

Don't seem
to be able to find...

I know, Mr. Marlow. As soon
as we sell some of your paintings.

Just a minute, Mr. Marlow.

Let me make my position clear.

What do you think?

I think it'll hold coffee.

Would you try it,
Mr. Marlow?

Put your finger through
the handle, please.

How about the size?
What about the handle?

Hmm?

I mean, does it fit?
Is it the right finger size?

It's my finger size.

I'll take it.

Fifteen cents.

- And the saucer?
- Ten.

That seems
a fair price.

What's the finger size
got to do with it?

Um... I wanted to be certain
it would fit a man.

- A certain size man.
- A man?

A certain somebody is coming over
to my cottage this afternoon.

Not really?

For coffee
and blueberry muffins.

Why, you old
social butterfly, you.

Old?

That was figuratively
speaking, Miss Gravely.

Think we've got
a nearsighted cider customer.

How old do you think
I am, young man?

Mmm...

Fifty. How old
do you think you are?

Forty-two.

I can show you
my birth certificate.

I'm afraid you're gonna
have to show more

than your birth certificate
to convince a man of that.

What do you mean?

I mean you have
to show your character.

The inner self.
The hidden qualities.

The true Miss Gravely,
sensitive, young in feeling,

timeless with love
and understanding.

I can do it.

At least I think
I can do it.

Do what?

Well, I think I'll just go out
and see what that gentleman wants.

At a time like this?
Where are your scissors?

- Outside.
- We're going to cut her hair.

- Hair?
- Cut it short.

Bring it up to date.
Make a nice romantic styling.

Take ten years off
your birth certificate.

How are you
fixed for ribbon?

Should be some
around somewhere.

- Powder, rouge, lipstick?
- I think so.

Nothing cheap,
shoddy or obvious.

Just youth,
gentility, character.

I'll go out and get the scissors.
You find the other things.

- Ah! Here they are.
- Excuse me, young man, I...

Oh, well.

All right, Ernest,
let's go.

Well, always
grow back, I guess.

- There's Calvin.
- Is he alone?

Yep. Guess he didn't
sell his car.

Hey. Would you mind
getting out of my picture?

Next thing you know,
they'll be televising the whole thing.

Uh...

- This your body, little man?
- Oh, don't turn me in.

It was an accident, an accident,
pure and simple.

I thought he was a rabbit
or a pheasant or something.

It could have
happened to you.

Suppose we straighten
this whole thing out?

Well, I guess that's
the only way out.

First thing I seen
when I rolled out this morning

was a double-breasted robin,
drunk as a hoot owl

from eating fermented
chokecherries.

Right away I knew
somebody was in trouble.

What I didn't know
was that it was me.

Well, the larder was empty,

and I got to thinking
about a toothful of fried rabbit...

Stands to reason they
can't touch you for it.

Nothing these days
stands to reason.

It was accidental,
an act of God, perhaps.

In a way you should be grateful
that you were able to do your share

in accomplishing
the destiny of a fellow being.

Suppose, for instance,
it was written in the Book of Heaven

that this man was to die
at this particular time

at this particular place.

And suppose for
a moment the actual

accomplishing of his departure
had been bungled.

Something gone wrong. Uh...

Perhaps it was meant
to be a thunderbolt

and there was no thunder
available, say.

Then you come along,
and you shoot him

and heaven's will is done
and destiny fulfilled.

Your conscience
is quite clear.

You got nothing
to worry about.

Sammy, I haven't
got a conscience

and it's not heaven
that's worrying me

'cause I don't expect
I'll ever have to face it.

And it's none of those noble things
you were talking about, no.

Nothing like that.

Then what is it?

It's me. It's me
that's worrying me.

Me and my future life.

I know the police
and their suspicious ways.

You're guilty until
you're proved innocent.

I want nothing more
to do with them.

Bury him, I say,
and have done with him.

He's no good to anyone now.

Lay him to rest.
Put him under the sod. Forget him.

I never did it,
and you never saw him.

Yes, what about all those
other people who saw him?

How about the woman
and the little boy?

Miss Gravely and the tramp

and the man who was reading
the book, Dr. Greenbow.

How about all of them?

Nobody was interested,
I tell you.

Nobody ever cared
until you came along.

Ah. That's what you think.

Suppose someone starts to care
after you've buried him.

I can't wait for people to start
caring whenever they feel like it.

I don't want a little accident
to turn into a career.

Suppose that woman
who called him Harry.

Suppose she decides
she loves him after all.

She was downright
hysterical with delight.

What was she like?

Pretty as a rainbow.
Wish I was two years younger.

- And with a little boy?
- About four or five years of age.

It's got to be
Mrs. Rogers and her son.

Sammy,

what do you say we slip him underground now
that you've finished drawing him? Eh?

We could discuss
the smaller details later.

I don't like it.

The authorities like
to know when people die.

All right, Sammy.
Forget it.

You cut off home.

I killed him, and I'll
look after his remains.

What will you do, drag him around
the countryside the rest of the day?

I'll do my best.
That's all a man can do.

If you're not careful, you will get
a murder charge lined up.

Matter of fact, I'm beginning
to suspect something myself.

There you are then. See?

If you, an artist,
suspect the worst,

what are they, the police,
going to think?

What about that envelope
with his name and address on it?

By rights you should
mail him back home.

Sammy, have you forgotten

who carries the mail
down to the station every night?

Calvin Wiggs,
deputy sheriff.

Yes, you're right.

Tell you what we'll do.

Tell you what.

We'll find out how well
Mrs. Rogers knows this man

and whether she intends to notify
the police of his death.

What good will that do?

A lot of good.

If she's just
a distant friend of his

who doesn't intend
to notify the authorities,

then I personally
will help you bury Harry.

Oh, Sammy, you've signed on
for the cruise.

What time is it?

- About noon.
- Good heavens!

I've got to go home
and spruce up.

I've got a date
with Miss Gravely.

Not you?

You're not the one.

Oh, Sam, she could do
a lot worse, you know.

Couldn't do any better.

Just think, you'll be
establishing a precedent.

I'm not
establishing nothing.

I'm going over for some
blueberry muffins and coffee

by her own invitation.

And, possibly,
some elderberry wine.

Do you realize that
you'll be the first man to

cross her threshold?

Hmm.

It's not too late,
you know.

She's a well-preserved woman.

- I envy you.
- Yes. Very well-preserved.

And preserves have
to be opened someday.

Yes. You just trot down
and see what Mrs. Rogers has to say.

- How about hiding Harry first.
- Holy smoke!

Forgetting a little detail
like that could hang a man.

Oh, I beg your pardon.

I hope I never have to be
operated on by Dr. Greenbow.

- Come on. Let's get going.
- Yeah.

Good afternoon.

You're beautiful, wonderful.

You're the most wonderful,
beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I'd like to paint you.

Is there something else you wanted,
Mr. Marlow, isn't it?

You certainly are a lovely woman.
I'd like to paint you nude.

Some other time, Mr. Marlow.
I was about to make Arnie some lemonade.

Oh, yes, yes, of course.

Perhaps I've come
at an awkward moment.

If you want
to undress me, you have.

It wasn't exactly that. I came here
to talk to you about something

but after I saw you,
it slipped my mind.

- Couldn't have been very important, then.
- Yes, you're right.

Why don't you sit down
on the porch?

I'll get you a lemonade,
and maybe you'll think of it.

You're not only beautiful,
you're considerate, too.

- Arnie!
- Hello, Mr. Marlow.

Hi. What have you got?
A rabbit?

Dead. What have you got?

Oh!

I got me a little frog.

There he is.

It's hungry.
It needs a mother.

- I'll trade ya.
- Your mother for mine?

- The rabbit for the frog.
- It's yours, Arnie.

I think you got
the best deal.

Dead rabbits don't eat.

I'll just take it in the kitchen
and give him some lemonade.

Four rabbits' feet,
and he got killed.

He should have carried
a four-leaf clover, too.

And a horseshoe.

Say, how do rabbits
get to be born?

- Same way elephants do.
- Oh, sure.

How come you never came over
to visit me before?

Didn't know you had
such a pretty mother, Arnie.

If you think she's pretty,
you should see my slingshot.

- Hmm. Perhaps I'll come back tomorrow.
- When's that?

Day after today.

That's yesterday.
Today's tomorrow.

It was?

When was tomorrow yesterday,
Mr. Marlow?

- Today.
- Oh, sure. Yesterday.

You'll never make sense out of Arnie.
He's got his own timing.

- Lemonade, Arnie?
- I already swiped two glasses.

- I would have given you two glasses.
- It's more fun swiped.

- Can I borrow your rabbit, Mr. Marlow?
- Sure, Arnie.

What are you
gonna do with it?

You never know when
a dead rabbit might come in handy.

It already got me one frog.

Arnie, where you going now?

To make some more trades.

- Arnie, come home in time for supper.
- I'll try.

What's your given name? If you don't want
to tell me, just make one up.

Jennifer. Jennifer Rogers.

Nice.

Um...

Who's the man
up on the path?

- What man?
- You know, Harry, the dead man.

Oh, him.
That's my husband.

Your husband's dead, then?

Is your lemonade
sweet enough?

- Seems to be.
- I like it tart.

Harry is Arnie's
father then?

- No, Arnie's father's dead.
- So is Harry.

Thank goodness.
He was too good to live.

From his looks, he didn't appear
to be the kind that was "too good."

Well, he was.
Horribly good.

I like your mouth, too.

Especially when
you say "good."

- Will you have some more lemonade?
- Maybe later. Thanks.

Where'd Arnie get the rabbit?

He found it. I think
Captain Wiles shot it.

I'd like to hear more of your life story,
if you don't mind.

You see, we don't know
quite what to do with Harry.

Thought you might
have some suggestions.

You can stuff him,
for all I care.

Stuff him and put him
in a glass case.

Only I'd suggest
frosted glass.

What did he do to you,
besides marry you?

Look. I've wanted to explain
about Harry a lot of times.

Nobody would understand,
least of all Harry.

But you, you've got
an artistic mind.

You can see the finer things.

When I'm lucky. Go on.
Tell me everything.

Let it all out.

It was a long time ago,
and I was in love.

- I was too much in love.
- What was his name?

Robert.

We'd agreed to overlook each other's families
and everything and get married.

Did you?

Oh, yes.

And then Robert got killed.

Oh?

I was heartbroken

for six weeks, and then I discovered
little Arnie was on the way.

- Must have been a shock.
- That's where Harry came in.

Harry the handsome hero.

Harry the saint.
Harry the good.

- I didn't catch his last name.
- Harry Worp.

Robert's brother.
His older brother.

And he fell in love
with you?

If he'd fallen in love with me,
I wouldn't have minded.

He wanted to marry me because
he was Robert's brother and felt noble.

But you thought he was
in love with you.

And I decided to let him
love me because of Arnie.

It was on my second wedding night
that I learned the truth.

You didn't learn
on your first?

This was a terrible truth.

The truth about Harry.

Just what happened?

How old are you, Mr. Marlow?

About thirty.

This is what happened.

I was in
the hotel room alone.

I put on my best nightie.
You understand?

Perfectly.

Although I had
no true feeling for Harry,

I had worked myself
into a certain enthusiasm

because I thought
he loved me.

Must have been hard work.

There was a full moon,
and I sat by the window

because I thought it would show off
my new nightie to advantage.

Naturally.

I don't know why
I'm telling you all this.

You, a perfect stranger, too.
I'm not boring you, am I?

No, no, not at all.

- How about some more lemonade?
- Soon.

Where was I?

You were sitting by the window
because it was a full moon

and you'd worked yourself up
to a certain enthusiasm?

I said all that?

When does Harry come in?

He doesn't.
He never came in.

He called
the following morning.

The following morning?

In the hotel lobby the night before,
he had bought a magazine.

- His horoscope was in it.
- Bad?

It said...
He was a Taurus.

It said, "Don't start
any new project that day.

"It could never be finished."

And what did you do?

I left him on the spot
and went home to Mother's.

The end.

What a poignant story.

I knew you'd understand.
Nobody else does.

Not even Mother?

Well, she thought I should live
with him, but I wouldn't.

He pestered me to go back,
but I always refused.

Suppose some night
I wanted him to do something.

Like the dishes,
for example.

His horoscope
just wouldn't let him.

You're absolutely right.

There are some things I just
don't like to do by myself.

And no one with any true understanding
would blame you for it.

Soon as Arnie was born

I moved away to where I thought
Harry could never find me.

I changed my name and...

But he was persistent?

This morning there was a knock
on the door.

Before I opened it, I knew
he was standing on the other side.

- What did he want?
- Me.

He wanted me
because I was his wife.

He wanted me because,
as he put it, he suddenly felt

some basic urge. Loneliness.

What did you feel?

I felt sick.

Did you see his moustache
and his wavy hair?

When I saw him,
he was dead.

He looked the same when he was alive,
except he was vertical.

So he entered.
What did you say?

Nothing. I hit him over the head
with a milk bottle and knocked him silly.

Silly?

Bats. Tappy.

He went staggering up
towards the woods

saying he was gonna find his wife
and drag her home if it killed him.

Apparently it did.

Have some more lemonade.

Why, Captain Wiles,
what a surprise.

But you invited me,
Miss Gravely.

At least,
that's how I remember it.

Of course I did, Captain,
but somehow it's still a surprise.

Yeah.

You certainly know
how to make a man feel wanted.

Won't you
come in, Captain?

Thank you.
I've looked forward to it.

Takes a real cook to make
a good blueberry muffin

to keep the blueberries
from sitting on the bottom.

High-bush blueberries.

That's the secret.

I picked them up near where you shot
that unfortunate man.

A real, handsome, man's cup.

It's been in the family
for years.

My father always used it,
up until he died.

I trust he died peacefully,
slipped away in the night?

He was caught
in a threshing machine.

I hope I haven't
distressed you, Captain.

Not at all, Miss Gravely.
Not at all.

I'm used to looking
on the rough side of things.

I'm a man who's
faced death many times.

Rather recently, too.

Yes.

Arnie, what are you
carrying there?

A rabbit.

A rabbit?

- What do you call it?
- Dead.

- It ain't mine.
- Whose is it?

Yours. You shot it
with your gun.

You must have
killed it today.

It should make
a nice stew for you.

A rabbit! I finally
killed a rabbit!

- Where did you find it?
- In the blueberry muffins.

- What?
- Out in the woods.

Here you are. One muffin for one rabbit.
Fair enough?

That was
a two-muffin rabbit.

- I gotta go now.
- Oh.

Mmm...

It's certainly a nice
afternoon, Miss Gravely.

Isn't it.

Yes, and you're a nice woman.

And I think you're awfully nice,
Captain Wiles.

Um... Let's get back
to our little problem. Harry.

What's going to
become of him?

Oh, now, now,
don't you worry about Harry.

He'll be comfortably
underground before nightfall.

All that digging and work.

Couldn't you just let him slide
off the end of your boat pier

into the pond?

And have him pop up
like a cork?

No, sir. Nobody ever popped up
from under four feet of ground.

No. Besides, they'll be cutting ice
there this winter.

Now, wouldn't it be
a nice thing

if they were cutting
blocks of ice and...

Never mind, Captain.
You're right.

Yes, underground
is the best place for Harry.

He seems comfortable, Sam.
Very comfortable and snug.

We'd better find a place and
get it dug, and the sooner the better.

If what you're telling me about Mrs. Rogers
and her husband is right,

I agree with you, Sammy.

Let's find a place.

No use making
hard work out of it.

We need a place where
the earth is soft.

Yeah, and a place where the whole town
won't stumble over us as we work.

A place with a certain character
and attractiveness.

Facing west, so that Harry
can watch the setting sun.

- Where it'll be cozy in winter.
- And cool in the summer.

You know,
I'm half envying Harry.

Wouldn't take much longer
to dig it twice as wide.

Thanks for your kindness,
but some other time.

- This looks like a good place.
- Ah!

You're a lucky fellow,
Harry Worp.

- Come on, Captain, off with your coat.
- Who, me?

Certainly you.
It's your body, isn't it?

I'm not much of a hand
at grave-digging.

You should have thought of that
before you went hunting this morning.

Calvin Wiggs.
What do we do now?

Think up the best story
he's ever heard.

Lay down your shovel, Sam.

What's the trouble?

I'm dead beat.

Good. I was dead beat
ten minutes ago.

I wanted to keep digging
until you gave up.

Gives me the creeps.

What? Come on.
Let's get Harry and pop him in.

With hasty reverence.

Would you like to say
a few words, Captain?

That I would. Harry Worp, don't ever
show your face around here again.

Let's finish this job
and get out of here.

Captain, I think Calvin Wiggs is
looking for something.

Suppose he knows
Harry Worp came up here?

Sammy, that's as horrible
a thought as you've ever had.

And that he wonders what happened
to Harry or where he is?

My only answer is to keep on scraping,
and fast.

You know, if you must kill things
from now on,

I wish you'd stick
to rabbits.

The body's smaller.

Rabbits! I didn't tell you,
did I, Sammy?

I shot a rabbit today!

Don't shout.
I know you did.

I was up at Jennifer Rogers'
when Arnie showed me the rabbit.

Jennifer, eh?
Didn't waste much time, did you?

Well, I don't
blame you, Sammy.

A very nice widow
she'll make. Very nice.

Let's discuss her
when we've finished with Harry.

Oh, no need to get huffy.
I don't want to talk about your affairs.

I've got affairs of my own.

You mean my protégée?

- Come again?
- Miss Gravely.

The lady that I renovated down
at Mrs. Wiggs' this afternoon.

A most remarkable
reversion to femininity.

I don't quite
get you, Sammy boy.

She came into the emporium
in rather high excitement.

Wanted a new cup and saucer,
lots of other things.

I gave her
a new makeup and hairdo.

Don't tell me
you didn't notice.

She's a very
nice lady, Sam.

- Very nice.
- We're all nice.

I don't see how anyone
could help but like us.

That's just
how I feel today.

I don't know whether I've grown
rose-colored glasses or if...

Or if you're in love?

Ah...

There's nothing like
finding yourself in love.

No, it adds zest
to your work.

Zest. Zest.

I think I've had
enough zest for a while.

Let's sit down
and rest, huh?

Why not? We've earned it.

Tell me, Sam, what did Jennifer think
of my shooting?

- You mean Mrs. Rogers?
- Oh, I think by now I'm entitled

to be on a first-name
basis with her.

After all, I brought her a happy release
with one bullet.

One bullet? How 'bout that
"No Shooting" sign that I found?

Oh, well, that. One bullet
for the "No Shooting" sign,

one for the beer can
and one for Harry.

- How about the rabbit?
- And one for the...

What's the matter?

- What's wrong? What's bitten you?
- I only fired three bullets.

Three. One for the shooting sign,
one for the beer can...

And one for the little man
who's lying in the grave.

No, Sammy, no. That's just it.
One for the rabbit.

If I shot the rabbit,
I didn't shoot Harry.

Oh, Sammy boy, what have you tried
to make me do?

Tried to make a murderer
out of me.

Don't sit there. Help me!
You helped bury him.

Even if you didn't kill him,
why go digging him up

now that he's so
beautifully planted?

I've promised Jennifer
that we'd bury him.

Keep my word,
he should stay buried.

Besides, whether you killed him or not,
you've incriminated yourself.

You'll have much more of a job explaining
a body you didn't kill and buried

than a body that
you killed accidentally and buried.

Right, Captain?

You're not supposed to bury bodies
whenever you find them.

It makes people suspicious.

Supposed to tell the police
or advertise or something.

Oh, Sammy,
you don't understand.

You don't comprehend
one little bit.

You wouldn't like me
to go through life

not knowing if I've killed him
or not, would you?

Very inconsistent. First you tell me
you've got no conscience.

Now you talk about something
that sounds remarkably like a conscience.

Sammy, come on. Help me.

I don't care if I killed him or not,
for all that matters, but I'll get the shakes

whenever I see a policeman,
and it's no good saying I won't.

All right.
If I had my choice

I'd rather be thought
a murderer than proved one.

Thank you, Sam.

With two of us digging, we'll have Harry up
out of here in nothing flat.

Can't see much from here. I'd better get
in down there and look at him.

Let me do
the honors, Captain.

All right, Sammy,
you've got good eyes.

- That isn't a bullet wound.
- "Isn't a bullet wound"?

Well, what do you know.

That's what they call a blow
with a blunt instrument.

Huh?

What are you
thinking, Sammy?

I think, Captain Wiles,
we're tangled up in a murder.

If it's murder, who done it?

- Who "did" it?
- That's what I say, who done it?

Apart from Jennifer Rogers,
who else would want to kill him?

- "Apart from Jennifer"?
- Yeah.

- Do you think that she would...
- That's ridiculous.

You said she was surprised to see the body
when she came up here.

You said
she hit him on the head.

Coming home from Madagascar once,
we had a fireman on board

who hit his head on a brick wall
and died two days later.

Where could he find a brick wall
on board a ship?

Mmm. That's what
we always wondered.

Couldn't have
been Jennifer. No.

Besides, what's it
matter who did it?

It'll be better for all of us
if he's buried and out of the way.

Nothing doing, Sammy. I'm not burying
someone else's bad habits.

- Mmm? Suppose it was Miss Gravely?
- What?

No, it's not
as funny as all that.

You said yourself
she wasn't particularly startled

to see you dragging Harry
up the path.

You artists have
got no idea of etiquette.

Miss Gravely is a lady of
gentle habits and upbringing.

A lady to hide her feelings. If I hadn't
been holding Harry by the ankles

I don't suppose
she'd have mentioned him at all.

Really?

When she said,
"What seems to be the trouble, Captain?"

it was nothing more
than a pleasantry, so to speak.

Like, "Nice day, isn't it?"
"I'm sure, yes."

- Yes, or something like that.
- Going to help me bury him again?

Mmm...

I don't know.

Course, it might have been Dr. Greenbow
or the tramp or...

- Or Jennifer?
- I told you it couldn't...

No point in arguing about it.
Let's get rid of him.

All right, Sammy. You've helped me
in my hour of need.

I guess it's up
to me to help you.

- We'll file Harry away once and for all.
- Yeah.

No more nonsense
about it.

Come aboard, Miss Gravely.
Come aboard.

It's just an old salt's
snug anchorage.

Small. Not palatial like yours.
But homely, very home...

- Won't you sit down, Miss Gravely?
- Thank you.

It's funny, you know. Funny how we got to be
so friendly in one afternoon.

I knew you weren't as prim
and starchy as they made out.

Not by a long shot.

- Really?
- No.

I'm a man who can recognize
the human qualities in a woman.

When I first saw you
down where Harry was...

- Captain Wiles.
- Yes, ma'am?

Before you make your
kind thoughts known to me,

I should like to offer you some explanation
of my sudden invitation

to coffee and blueberry muffins
this afternoon

and my... And my sitting
with you here now.

No, ma'am, you don't
have to explain anything.

You came to my aid at a moment of crisis,
for which I'm truly grateful.

Thank you, but it's just
that I owe you some reason...

No, no, no. I won't
hear a word of it.

You saw the predicament I was
in with that body on my hands and all,

and you shut your eyes to it in
a most sporting fashion, if I may say so.

- Captain Wiles.
- Yes, ma'am?

I'm trying to tell you
that the reason that I asked you

to coffee
and blueberry muffins

was because I felt...

- Sympathy.
- Gratitude.

But I'm the one
who should be grateful.

No, I was grateful.
I am grateful.

I'm grateful to you
for burying my body.

Your body?

The man you thought
you killed

was the man I hit
over the head

with the leather heel
of my hiking shoe.

You?

- And with a metal cleat on the end of it.
- But why?

He annoyed me.

I was walking towards home
when he suddenly came at me

with a wild look in his eye
and insisted we were married.

Then you'd known
each other before.

Believe it or not, Captain,
I had never seen him before in my life,

and if I ever had,
I never would have married him.

He must have mistaken you
for someone else.

No, he very definitely
pulled me into the bushes.

- Yes?
- I came out again.

- Go on.
- He pulled me back.

- Twice.
- He swore at me...

Horrible, masculine sounds.

- I didn't understand them, of course.
- Of course. Of course you didn't.

- We fought.
- Then what?

I won. My shoe had come off
in the struggle, and I hit him.

I hit him as hard
as ever I could.

You killed him.

I must have done it.
I was annoyed, Captain.

- Very annoyed.
- Naturally.

I don't think I've ever
been so annoyed.

Consequently, I...
I didn't realize my own capabilities.

Seems to me

Mrs. Rogers knocked him silly,
and you finished him off.

Why should Mrs. Rogers
knock him silly?

She was really his wife.

Poor woman. I thought
she had better taste.

You know, Captain,

when I ran away I decided I would
never tell a soul what had happened.

Then I met you,
and I thought

how convenient it was that you should
think that you had shot him.

- You must forgive me for thinking that.
- Only natural.

That's why I felt...
I still feel under an obligation to you.

Not at all.
Let's forget it.

No, we mustn't do that.
It would hardly be fair to you...

I mean, for you
to go through life

knowing that you had
buried a man you didn't kill.

You would have my crime
on your conscience.

It's a pleasure,
I'm sure.

No.

Now I realize that
Harry man was out of his mind

and my action was justifiable, there's...
There's no reason

we shouldn't let the authorities
know about it.

- The authorities?
- Everything will be cleared up nicely.

I'm sure Calvin Wiggs and the police won't make
a fuss about it when we explain.

Perhaps it needn't get
into the papers at all.

Don't you believe it, ma'am. They love it,
the papers, this kind of thing.

Murder and passion.

You let Harry be.
Just forget it ever happened,

the same as Sammy and me
and Jennifer Rogers are going to do.

Oh, but it isn't your body.

After all, I killed him, so it's
only fair that I should have the say-so.

- Yes, but...
- Don't you agree?

- Well, in a way...
- I thought you would.

I tell you what, Captain.

- We'll go and get a spade now.
- But, ma'am...

And after we've dug him up,
we'll go back to my place

and I'll make you
some hot chocolate.

Arnie's so tired, he'll sleep
all day and half the night.

I think you've got
a pretty house, Jennifer.

The best I could do
on Robert's insurance.

- Sugar?
- No. Black, thanks.

It's funny, but I feel awful comfortable
with you, Sam.

You know, I feel
the same way, too.

It's a good feeling,

feeling comfortable with someone
who feels that way, too.

There is one thing
I feel uncomfortable about.

Just tell me what it is,
and I'll take care of it for you.

It's Harry.
What about Harry?

Harry? Don't you
think about Harry.

Now he's part
of the Earth.

He's with eternity,
the ages.

Take my word for it.
Harry's ancient history.

Come in, whoever it is.

What happened?

Sam, I've got something
to tell you.

No, Captain. I have
something to tell him.

Now who's going
to tell what?

I killed Harry Worp with the leather heel
of my hiking shoe.

- So it was you.
- We're on our way

to get Calvin Wiggs
and have him call the state police.

- I keep telling her there's no need.
- He's right.

And besides, it'd be indecent.
Harry's dead and buried.

Sam, I've got
something to tell you.

- You haven't dug him up again.
- Well, I...

I insisted, Mr. Marlow.

- Don't you understand?
- You have nothing to fear.

It's my concern entirely.
As soon as Captain Wiles

told me the full circumstances
of his being here,

I knew there was
nothing for me to hide.

You know
all about Harry?

Well, I'm afraid I do,
Mrs. Rogers, and after all

nobody could possibly gossip
about a lady and a maniac.

You'd be surprised.

I mean, you don't
quite understand

what murder involves,
Miss Gravely.

There'd be hours and hours
of questioning and photographs

and the whole
of your private life

spread indecently
in the newspapers.

What makes you think
my private life is indecent?

I didn't mean that. I meant
that the way they pry is indecent.

They'll hound you
to death.

There'll be newspapermen,
and photographers, and detectives...

- I've made up my mind.
- She certainly has.

It was Captain Wiles here
who persuaded me to call

and tell Mrs. Rogers
what I propose to do.

After all, she is most closely
connected with the business.

What do you think
about it, Mrs. Rogers?

I can't see why you're all making
such a fuss about Harry.

If he was buried, I don't see
why you had to dig him up.

But since you have, I guess
you'd better do what you think best.

Frankly, I don't care
what you do with Harry.

Just as long as you don't
bring him back to life.

- I have a free hand then.
- Free as a bird.

As far as I'm concerned,
it's ancient history.

Wait a minute.
Wait a minute, Jennifer.

I think we've
forgotten something.

Do you realize
if this thing comes out,

that all the details
of your marriage

will be public property?

Oh...

I must confess,
I hadn't thought of that either.

- Where'd you put Harry this time?
- Over by the big oak tree.

I'll get my shovel.

I'm afraid I'm causing you
rather a lot of hard work.

- I'm sorry.
- Not at all, not at all.

Well, let's all go up there.

You know, I've never been to
a homemade funeral before.

I have.

This is my third.

All in one day.

Well, let's get it
over with.

Yes.

I think we ought
to cement it over.

Next spring, I'll set out
some blueberry bushes.

Couldn't you make it something else?
Lilacs, maybe?

- I think nature will take good care of it.
- How about a little service?

I can't think of anything to say.
Besides, my arms ache.

It's too late to say prayers. Besides,
wherever he was going, he's there now.

Bye, Harry. I forgive you.

- Trumpets welcoming Harry.
- You didn't know Harry.

I'd like to paint you
like that, Jennifer.

You look beautiful,
glistening in the moonlight.

Sounds as if it's coming down
from near the village.

I know what it is.

It's the call of
the phantom stagecoach

that used to pass by here
each night 200 years ago.

- Phantom coach?
- The old turnpike

used to run right across
those foothills over there.

Oh, to be a highwayman
on a night like this.

Listen.
Somebody's running.

Horses?

- If it's a horse, it's learned how to shout.
- What's she saying?

We'll know in a minute.
She's coming this way.

- Sam Marlow!
- It's Wiggy, old Wiggy.

Mr. Marlow, Mr. Marlow.

Wiggy, Wiggy, what on Earth
do you want?

- I... He wants...
- Wait a minute. Catch your breath.

- He's a millionaire.
- Who?

He wants to buy
your pictures, Mr. Marlow.

- Which pictures?
- All of 'em and more besides.

He says you're a genius.

He's right, but it's still hard to believe
he wants to buy all my pictures.

I'd be too curious to refuse
at least to talk to him.

Don't turn down
a good chance, Mr. Marlow.

All right, all right.
I'll talk to him.

- Sassafras root.
- Sassafras tea's mighty good for you.

Mr. Wiggs always swore it cured
his arthritis just before he died.

How much does the millionaire
want to pay?

Well, I asked seven dollars for that one
that looks like a lot of blobs of color

- caught in a thunderstorm.
- And?

Said he couldn't think of it.

- Said they were priceless.
- Priceless?

Sounds like something
I painted in kindergarten.

I'll have you know that picture's
symbolic of the beginning of the world.

That's where I first heard
of the world, at kindergarten.

Yes, and my friend here, art critic
for the Modern Museum, he says...

Don't think I'm rude, but it doesn't matter
to me what an art critic says.

- Oh, is that so?
- See, I know my paintings are good.

He doesn't
want them, you do.

So all that matters
is what you think.

Well, I think they're works of genius,
and I want to buy them all.

- Too bad.
- Why?

Just decided
I can't sell them.

Besides, you couldn't
afford them.

Money.

Sammy, don't be a fool.
Make him pay through the nose.

Go ahead, Mr. Marlow.
Be reasonable.

- Be unreasonable if you want.
- What do you say?

It's your genius, Sam.
It's up to you.

All right, then. What do you like
most in the whole world?

I don't know.
Strawberries, I guess.

Strawberries. Write that down.
Two boxes of fresh strawberries

first of each month,
in season and out of season

from now on.

Well, it's simple.
What else?

What would Arnie like?

A chemical set.

- What kind?
- Whatever smells the worst.

- Got that?
- Right.

One smelly chemical set.

Wiggy, what would you like?

Cash register. Chromium plated.
One that rings a bell.

- Got room for one?
- I'll find room.

- Cash register.
- Chromium plated. One that rings a bell?

Check.

Miss Gravely, a beauty
parlor fully equipped?

What for?

A hope chest filled with the things
I should have put in it and didn't.

A hope chest, full of hope.

- Captain?
- A good shotgun, plenty of ammunition,

some corduroy britches, a plain shirt
and a hunting cap, a brown one.

Davy Crockett... The works.

Well, that's it, I guess.
The paintings are yours.

- Yes, but what about you?
- Yes, Sam, you've gotta ask for something.

Well, let's see.

That's it.

- What's it?
- Pardon me.

What do you think?

Yes, I think that can
be easily arranged.

Well, that's it, then. I'll come back
in the morning for all these paintings.

Mr. Marlow, this has been a night that
I shall remember the rest of my life.

Come back again. Have some more
paintings for you next month.

And you'll have a steady customer in me,
even if you raise your prices.

- Well, good night, everyone.
- Good night.

All right, young man.

Congratulations, Sammy.
Good boy.

Did I do
the right thing?

You did just
the right thing, Sam.

Good.

Because it's important
to me that you think so.

Why?

Because I love you.
I want to marry you.

- You want to marry me?
- Why not?

Because I just got
my freedom today.

Easy come, easy go.

Besides, if you married me,
you'd keep your freedom.

You must be practically
unique, then.

I respect freedom.
More than that, I love freedom.

We might be the only
free married couple in the world.

This is very sudden, Sam.

You'll have to give me
a little time to think about it.

Only fair. I'll give you till
we get back to your house.

What's goin' on here
this time o' night?

The most wonderful
thing happened.

Mr. Marlow sold all his
paintings to a millionaire.

- Got more'n I ever figured he'd get.
- Money?

Well, not exactly money.

I always knew they
weren't worth the space.

I found these on
a tramp hangin' 'round here.

Said he found 'em
on a dead man.

Took me to where
he said he found him, and

I didn't see anybody.

Montpelier-2000.

- That's the state police number.
- Uh-huh.

I think we'd
better get going.

Thank you, Mr. Marlow,
for the cash register.

It was a pleasure.
Good night.

Good night.
Good night.

Good night, Captain.

This is Deputy Sheriff
Calvin Wiggs.

Yeah, I'll wait.

Ma?

- This picture here on the floor.
- It's a new one.

He did it today,
but it isn't for sale.

- Why not?
- You'll have to ask him that.

He left it on his way
over to Jennifer Rogers' house.

Guess he didn't
have time to take it home.

You suddenly got
interested in art?

No.

It's just that it matches
the description of...

Oh, hello, Sergeant.

Calvin Wiggs.

Got something that might
interest you a little.

It seems I picked up this tramp
with a pair of stolen shoes

and a wild story
about a corpse.

What do you think, him walking
in with Harry Worp's shoes

in his hand and then
that phone call to the police?

I don't know.

I may be wrong, but I don't think
he's tied us into it yet.

Oh, the way
he looked at me.

If he'd known anything,
he'd have kept us there.

But modern police methods are
all psychological now, Sammy.

Psychological.

They just wear you down
and wear you down until

you're almost grateful
to get into that gas chamber.

The police will probably tell him
if the shoes fit, to keep them.

- I've decided, Sam.
- Decided what?

I will marry you

if you haven't forgotten
about asking me.

I'm very fond of you and I think
you'd make a good father for Arnie

and for some other reasons
best left unsaid.

Marriage is the comfortable way
to spend the winter,

but right now we should be
working on some good story

to satisfy the state police
if they should turn up.

Would you believe it?
I'd almost forgotten that proposal.

- I have witnesses, Sam.
- I remember now.

All right. You've got
yourself a husband.

I think I'll kiss you
now to prove it.

Lightly, Sam. I have
a very short fuse.

What a pretty sight.

Sam, what did you ask
the millionaire for?

That's very practical.

- Congratulations, my dear.
- Thank you.

You're a lucky man, Sammy.
I think you'll both be very happy.

- Thank you.
- If I grumbled too much

at my share of the work
in burying Harry, I'm sorry.

I can see now
it was well worth it.

- If I can do anything else...
- Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.

What's wrong, Sam?

Harry. We're not quite
finished with him yet.

Well, Sam, if anybody's
through, it's Harry.

He's been buried
three times.

Before we can get married, you're gonna
have to prove that you're free.

To prove you're free,
you'll have to prove that Harry...

Is dead.

What a horrible
complication.

Oh!

I don't know that it is.

What are you
looking at me for?

Sammy, Sammy, I'll do anything
to help you, but please,

please don't ask me
to dig up Harry again!

- Oh, come, come now, Captain.
- No, we can't.

If you're thinking of
the bad publicity...

No, I'm not. I think Sam would be
worth just about anything.

I'm thinking of you,
Miss Gravely.

Murder is murder, no matter
how exonerating the circumstances and...

It just wouldn't
look nice at all for you.

That's right! Better let
him stay where he is.

You only have to wait seven years
to presume death, anyway.

Seven years!
I'll be an old man.

Don't be silly. You waited far longer
than seven years already.

Yes, but now I know
what I'm waiting for.

I insist that you dig
the wretched man up.

I don't care a hoot
what they say.

They'd only have to know me to realize
the man must have been mad.

I disagree.

Really, Captain Wiles?

Well...

I'll dig him up.

But we'd better get it done
before Calvin Wiggs

gets the state police
snooping around here.

I've been thinking.

I've been thinking maybe we could
forget the way it really happened.

I could tell how Harry visited me
and went off in such a rage today

and that's all we'd need to know
about his being there.

No, somebody else
might get the blame

and somebody else might not have
such a good reason as I did.

What do you mean
"somebody else"?

I can think of at least
two people around here

with a good reason for
having killed Harry.

First you, because you married him.
And now Sam.

Me? Why would I want to kill him?
I never met him before.

You could still have
a reason for killing him.

- She means me.
- Yes.

I didn't fall in love with Jennifer
until after Harry was dead.

Try telling that
to the police.

She's right, Sammy boy.

On second thought,
we'd better stick to the truth.

What there is of it.

We'll have to think up a reason
why the police weren't informed before now.

Yes, then there's
the condition he's in.

That'll take
some explaining.

We'll just
clean him up a bit.

It's horrible, but there's
nothing else we can do.

We can't risk complicating
Miss Gravely's confession.

And as for the delay,
I can explain that I was so upset

by the occurrence that
I went straight home and rested.

- Only natural.
- They'll think you rested rather a long time.

Sam, I'd rather not spend
the whole night debating.

Let's get Harry someplace
and clean him up.

Let's get out of here.

"Love alters not with his brief
hours and weeks,

"but bears it out even
to the edge of doom.

"If this be error
and upon me proved,

"I never writ,
nor man ever loved."

I think he met with a bit of
an accident, Dr. Greenbow.

He certainly did.

- Which of you found him?
- Well...

He was my husband, Doctor.

Oh, Ms. Rogers, I didn't know
you had a husband.

I'm awfully sorry.

It's all right, Doctor.
It's just life, I guess.

- What happened to him?
- Well, he...

Well, that's what we'd
like to know, Doctor.

Could you tell us what caused
his death? It was so sudden.

In this light, my opinion would be
little more than a guess.

In that case, we could take him
someplace where you could see better.

All right, but I need my bag.
Where shall we meet?

I'll take Harry home
to my house.

Going home
for the last time.

Better be the last time.

Come on, Sam. I've got about
one more trip left in me.

I'll get your coats.

I'll get the suspenders on.

I can't wait for this to be ready.
I'll have to iron it dry.

Isn't it odd?

After refusing for so long,
here I am finally doing Harry's laundry.

Look.

It's nothing to get
excited about, Captain.

It's only a closet door.

I thought it was Harry.

Relax, Captain.
Nothing to worry about.

What about the cut I made on his head
with my hiking shoe?

I'll put some
adhesive tape on it.

They'll think
it was done before he died.

After the shirt's finished,
it should be just about everything.

- If that's who I think it is...
- Calvin Wiggs' car.

Just one minute.

Well, Calvin Wiggs.
What a surprise.

- Sam here?
- Yes, yes, yes, he's here.

Can I see him a minute?

- Sam.
- Yeah?

Calvin Wiggs
is here to see you.

Tell him
I'll be right out.

- He says he'll be right out.
- Why don't I just go on in?

- Evening, Calvin.
- Evening, Captain Wiles. Miss Gravely.

We've got him on the run
in four spades.

They should have
been in diamonds.

- Play much bridge?
- Never play it.

That's what I thought.

Something you wanted, Calvin?

- Where were you today, Sam?
- Working, as usual.

Somewheres down
by Mansfield Meadows?

Possibly. I do quite a bit
of sketching around. Why?

Is that where, uh...

Where you painted this?

I left that portrait
with your mother.

What right do you have to carry it
around with you? It might be damaged.

It could be priceless,
and Sam would lose a sale.

I'll send him a box of blueberries
the first of every month.

Sam, what I wanna know is
where'd you paint it and who is it?

First of all, it's not a painting.
It's a drawing.

Matter of fact, it's a pastel,
and as for the model,

just came to me
out of the blue.

You don't say.

Why you acting
like a deputy sheriff?

That tramp I picked up, the one
with the stolen shoes?

Said he got 'em off
a dead man?

Well, he described him
very carefully.

The description fits
this picture to a T.

A tramp who probably can't keep
his job and drinks too much...

I wouldn't think his word
was very reliable.

Got him locked up
in the schoolhouse.

- I took this painting down to show him...
- Drawing, if you don't mind.

I took the drawing down to show him.
He almost fainted.

Said it was the same face.
Where'd you paint it, Sam?

From my vast subconscious.

Sam, I hate to say this,
but I don't believe you.

With all this talk,
I've lost interest in the game.

If you'll forgive me,
I'll just run along home.

I'll see you all tomorrow.

What do you mean,
you don't believe me?

What I mean, Sam...
I ain't educated in fancy art,

but I do know the face of a dead man
when I see one, and this is it.

Well, Calvin, perhaps I can
educate you to "fancy art."

See this?
Portrait of a sleeping face.

A man, relaxed, far removed
from earthly cares.

It was conceived out of memory
and half-forgotten impulse

and it emerged from the shadows
of abstract emotions

until it was born full-grown from
the mechanical realities of my fingertips.

- Oh, now, Sam, don't...
- I don't have to have a model to draw from.

Instead of creating a sleeping face,
I could have

chosen an entirely different
set of artistic stimuli.

My subconscious is peopled
with enough faces to cover the Earth.

And the construction of the human anatomy
alone is so infinitely variable

as to lie beyond the wildest powers
of calculation.

Now, a raised eyelid,
perhaps.

A line of fullness
to the cheek.

Lip that bends
with expression.

There.

- Sam, do you know what you just did?
- Certainly.

Just showed you how clearly
you misinterpreted my art.

You just destroyed
legal evidence.

Calvin, it appears to me
you still don't understand.

I understand you made
kind of a fool out of me.

But I still got
enough evidence

to know something funny's
goin' on around here.

I ain't goin' to sleep
till I find out what it is.

Good night, Calvin.

Hey, what's he doin'
in our bathtub?

That's where
frogs belong.

Oh!

Back to bed, Arnie.
Back to bed.

State troopers
will be up in the mornin'.

I'm gonna want 'em to have
a talk with you, so be around.

- I said back to bed.
- You can find me at my studio.

Just make sure...

Where is he?

He's in the bathroom
playing with his frog.

Oh!

Um...

This way, please, Doctor.

It's Arnie.
He's not very well.

Someone must be foolin'
around with my car.

What are you playin' with the horn for?
It ain't your car.

Well, things are funny,
you know?

Me and Miss Gravely
might be in the car market.

We're looking for a car.

Yes. Had a look at this one.
It's a beauty.

I want to keep it that way.

Now, now, that's not the way
to talk to a prospective customer.

You're no prospective customer.
You can't afford this car.

He's gone.

I put the little...
I put Arnie back to bed.

- What'd the doctor say?
- He said for me to get out.

I didn't like the look in his eye, either.
Something seems to be bothering him.

Well, Captain. Did you get over
being frightened?

Frightened?

Oh!

That's not why I left.

No. I'm not easily frightened,
you know.

Why, after all those years sailing
the four corners of the globe,

strange ports,
a lot of rough men and...

Miss Gravely,
what would you say

if I told you

I was only the captain
of a tugboat

on the East River

and never got more
than a mile or so offshore?

Well, I would say that...

That you were the handsomest
tugboat captain

that ever sailed
up the East River.

Oh, maybe not. No.

You want to
see something? Here.

- Where'd you get those?
- Calvin Wiggs' car.

I figured you were handling
half the evidence, Sammy,

so it was up to me
to take care of the rest.

You're the sweetest
little tugboat captain I ever kissed.

What's he doing
in the bathtub?

Well... What'd you
find out, Doctor?

Oh, that. It was his heart.
He had a seizure.

- His heart?
- Yes, but...

- A seizure!
- Well, I'll take a trip to the Philippines!

- Death from natural causes.
- Well, certainly.

But will somebody
tell me what he's doin'

in the bathtub
half undressed?

Frankly, we didn't want
Calvin Wiggs to see him.

Besides, he was awful dirty
after we dug him up.

"Dug him up"?

I'd better explain,
Doctor. You see,

Harry's been buried and dug up
on and off all day long.

What?

Finally, he caused
so many complications that

we decided to clean him up and
put him back where we found him.

I don't understand you.
What complications?

Well, for example,

he upset Captain Wiles because
the Captain thought he had shot him.

The hole in the head. But as it
turned out, it wasn't the Captain.

It was the blow he got from
the heel of Miss Gravely's shoe

after he attacked her.

Captain Wiles attacked
Miss Gravely?

Oh, no, Doctor. Harry.

He dragged her into the bushes
thinking it was me.

He was dazed, I suppose, after I hit him
on the head with the milk bottle.

The Captain and Sam
buried him first.

The Captain was so scared.

But then he accounted for all his bullets,
so up Harry came.

Then Miss Gravely thought
her shoe was responsible for it, so...

- Shoe?
- So the Captain,

rather gallantly, I thought,
pushed him back in again.

Then he was out and back
and I can't remember why.

But anyway, he's out again now
because Sam and I wanna get married.

- Yeah. But why did you...
- Hit him on the head?

That wouldn't
interest you, Doctor.

It's purely personal
and nonmedical.

Besides, it's awfully late, so if you'll
just keep quiet about all this,

we'll put Harry back
in the morning, nice and clean,

and no one will be
any the wiser.

Then we'll be rid of all these
sticky complications.

Put him back. Put him back,
that's all. Just put him back.

This is the first nightmare
I've had in 25 years.

He's kind of strange,
isn't he?

Well, hadn't we better
get Harry dressed?

Yes, yes.

Wouldn't it be nice if Arnie found him
all over again?

Then he'd run home and tell me,
and then I'd phone Calvin Wiggs.

Yes! Arnie could explain
quite clearly to Calvin...

- That he found Harry tomorrow.
- You mean today.

But to Arnie,
tomorrow is yesterday.

Let's go get Harry.
Come on, Captain.

Here he comes.

Go on, Arnie. Run home
and tell me about it.

Don't touch him.

Please, Arnie, run home
and tell your mother.

Beat it, you little creep.

I mean, hurry home, son.

Captain, you never told me
your first name.

Albert. What's yours?

Ivy. Albert, let's go.

Just a minute, ma'am.
I want to ask Sam something.

Sam, what did you ask
the millionaire to bring you?

Albert, what was it?

A double bed.