All language subtitles for Alfred.Hitchcock.Presents.S01E09.The.Long.Shot.1080p.PCOK.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-Hurtom_track3_[eng]

[slot machine clattering]

My last quarter.

[clattering]

I've been frightfully lucky
this evening.

Now if they were
to invent a machine...

that I could play
using orange seeds
and cherry pits...

I'd be perfectly happy.

All the foregoing
will immediately seem...

justified,
appropriate, clever.

And even dignified,
when I tell you
that tonight's narrative...

is about a gambler.

It is called "The Long Shot."

If you like to bet
when the odds are high
and the risks great...

you'll appreciate
our hero's philosophy.

But if you prefer
to put your money
on a sure thing...

listen to this friendly tip
about a highly touted product.

(Raymond)
A week ago Thursday, it was...

in a New York bar
called Happy Jack's.

On the bar
was a classified ad section
of a newspaper.

On the newspaper
was a glass of beer.

And behind the glass of beer
was a tin-horn horse player
named Charlie Raymond.

That's me.

I'd had a terrible run of luck
at the track...

started out the season
with $5,000...

dropped down to train fare...

and made the fatal mistake
of trying to get healthy
in one fell swoop...

on a three-to-one shot
named Cinnabar.

(man on radio)
Cinnabar, Rondelay
and Sully's Girl...

and making his bid now
is Battle Flag.

Battle Flag coming up fast
on the outside.

It's Cinnabar and Battle Flag.
Cinnabar is fading.

Cinnabar is dropping back.

It's Battle Flag, Cinnabar
and Rondelay. Battle Flag,
Cinnabar and Rondelay.

At the finish,
it's Battle Flag by a neck!

Then Cinnabar, Rondelay
and Sully's Girl!

I was on a goat like that
a couple seasons ago
at Jamaica.

You can't win them all.

[telephone ringing]

Yeah?

Just a minute,
I'll see if he's here.
It's Dutch Schroeder.

Tell him I left.

He just left, Dutch.

Yes, he'll be by
in a few minutes
with the money, probably.

Yes, I'd wait right there
if I was you.

(Raymond)
All I had in the world
was a $20 bill...

some odd change, and a pair
of zircon cuff links.

And I was in hock to Dutch
for $4,200.

In half an hour
Dutch would be suspicious.

By tonight he'd be hunting me.

"Londoner wanted.

"Englishman will pay
$150 and expenses...

"to fellow countryman,
preferably Londoner...

"in return for services
as driver on motorcar trip
to San Francisco.

"Phone: Murray Hill 3-8098."

The perfect way
to get out of town.

And about the only job
in the world
I was qualified for.

After all, I'd spent
the best part of a
disreputable life in London...

and would be there still
if it hadn't been for...

an unfortunate
misunderstanding about
my signature on a check.

(Hendricks)
Hello?

I'm inquiring
about the advertisement
in tonight's newspaper.

Yes. My name
is Walker Hendricks.

How do you do, sir?
My name is
Charles Ffolliot Raymond.

Charles Ffolliot....

I take it you're a Londoner,
Mr. Raymond.

Very definitely,
lived there all my life.

Except, of course,
for Eton and Oxford.
That's capital.

How about coming round
to my hotel
for a whiskey and soda...

in about an hour's time?

I'm at the Weldon.

A whiskey and soda?
Nothing I'd like better, sir.

Goodbye.

So you know
the old town, Mr. Raymond?

Like the back
of my hand, sir.
Whereabouts did you live?

I had bachelor quarters
in Vigo Street.

Vigo Street? I'm not sure
I know it.

It's a turning
off Sackville Street,
runs into Regent Street.

Yes, I place it now.

And you want to go
to San Francisco.

Any particular reason?

Are you at all interested
in horse racing,
Mr. Hendricks?

No, I can't say
I am, particularly.
Been to Ascot of course.

You are, I take it?
Quite.

Bay Meadows is opening
next week.

That's a race course
just outside San Francisco.

Nothing like Ascot,
I'm afraid.
Naturally.

You do know London?
You're not making this up?

Mr. Hendricks,
I could take you
on a Cook's tour...

from Kensington Gardens
to the East India Docks
with my eyes shut.

You won't have
to go that far, Mr. Raymond.

I lived in London
all my life.

Care for a cigarette?
Thank you.

Perhaps you wondered
about my advertisement.

It was a bit unusual, yes.

I'm extremely depressed
with America, frankly.

Never in the world
would have come here...

if it hadn't been
for urgent business
in San Francisco.

I don't believe I could face
the prospect of a trip
across this country alone...

and I hoped to find
a fellow Britisher
in the same fix.

Simpatico, you know.

Lots of chat
about jolly old London.

Greatest city
in the world, right?

[telephone ringing]
No question about it.

Excuse me.

Hello?

Yes, the advertisement.

Yes, I know.

I'm dreadfully sorry, old man,
but I've just hired someone.

(Raymond)
So bright and early
the next morning...

we were off to San Francisco.

My simpatico companion and I.

When he said chat
about jolly old London...

he meant chat
about jolly old London.

Spent much time
in Soho, Raymond?

I never lived there,
if that's what you mean.

No, I mean, do you know
the restaurants, and so on?

Oh, yes, there was one
called the Moroccan....

No, what was it?

The Algerian Cafe,
on Dean Street, wasn't it?

[chuckling]
Yes. The Algerian
on Dean Street.

Do you remember
the sign on the wall
behind the counter?

Sign?
Yes. Very funny.

Anybody caught gambling
or playing for money...

will be thrown in the gutter
and never picked up again.

Of course, of course.
It's still there, old boy.

Really?
Yes.

Do you remember
the proprietress,
what was her name?

Big French woman.

Celeste!

Celeste is still there, too.
I saw her not long
before I left.

Really?
Yes.

I was under the impression
she died a few years ago.

You don't say?

Why, how could I have--
Her daughter.

She had a daughter,
looked exactly like her.
You probably met her.

Dear old Soho.

Now let's see...

just beyond the Algerian
in Dean Street....

(Raymond)
Dear old Soho.

We talked about
the other quaint little place
in Dean Street.

And a dozen more like it.

Complete with haunts
and habits
of the regular customers.

[inaudible]

Soho was only the beginning.

After Soho came Bayswater
and Fleet Street...

and Bloomsbury and Mayfair.

All day in the car,
during stops for meals.

At night at the hotel.

His one aim in life,
apparently...

was to become the only
walking guide to London
in the world.

This dear, simple Britisher
who had dedicated himself,
heart and soul, to a city.

(Hendricks)
You've seen that remarkable
man in Covent Garden, Raymond?

There are many remarkable men
in Covent Garden.

Quite. I mean the one
who does the balancing act.

Balancing act?

Greengrocer or something,
isn't he?

Greengrocer.

Oh, yes, you mean
Jim the Porter.

Balances 100 baskets
on his head
in the middle of traffic.

Right. 100% correct.

I try.

Perhaps you'll reward me
with a little advance
on my salary.

Certainly, old man.

$50 be enough?
Fine, thank you.

I thought I'd go down
to the bar for a nightcap.

Good idea.
Give me two minutes
and I'll join you.

(Raymond)
I had hoped
for a short vacation...

from jolly old London,
but no luck.

We'd toasted the Queen
three times and my employer...

was expounding
to the bartender...

on the inferiority
of American taprooms...

to British pubs
when business picked up.

A sound member
of the racing fraternity
and an old friend.

Tommy DeWitt.

You're in trouble.

You've been on the phone
to New York, huh?

Just talked to Dutch.

$4,200, he says.

He'll get it.
I need time.

You want to make it fast?
How?

Palmetto track next week.
A sure thing.

How sure?
It's on ice right now.

$500 will get you $10,000
on the parlay...

but it's got to be $500.
No less.

What's with that?

Thank you.

I'm driving it
to San Francisco.
Dump him.

We'll leave
for Florida tomorrow.
Has he got any money?

You're sure
this can't lose?

This, death, and taxes.

I'll call you here
in five minutes,
tell you where to meet me.

If he leaves,
call me in Room 582.

Right.

(Raymond)
The roll he'd flashed looked
like over $500, maybe $1,000.

There was a stack
of official-looking papers,
letters...

and birth certificates.

Tax receipts and affidavits
and finally, the money.

Twenties, tens and fives.

More than enough,
bless his good
old British heart.

The papers probably
had something to do with
his business in San Francisco.

No harm in finding out
what it was.

"We wish to thank you for the
patience you have shown...

"in the matter
of your late uncle's estate.

"Since you are completely
unknown personally...

"to either relatives
or legal counsel
in the United States...

"it is necessary
to establish your identity.

"Therefore, we must ask you
to present yourself
at our offices...

"with the documents requested
in our previous letter.

"The legacy of $200,000...

"may then be released to you
without further delay.

"Cordially, Matthew Kelson,
Attorney at Law."

Everything was there...

every certificate,
every affidavit.

And the man who brought them
to Kelson's office,
as Walker Hendricks...

would be heir to $200,000.

When do we start?
We don't.

The deal's off.
The money wasn't there.

But I tell you
it's a sure thing.

Are you ready to turn in,
old man? We've got
a long day ahead of us.

It's almost 600 miles
to Kansas City.

The trouble
with this country
is it's too big.

Keep the change.

How much longer before
I'm in San Francisco?

Four or five days.

Barring accidents, of course.

Denver.

What's next after Denver?

Nothing much
until Salt Lake City.

Salt Lake City.

I have an aunt there,
you know.

No, I didn't.

I thought you didn't know
anyone on this side
of the Atlantic.

I don't count Aunt Margaret.
Never seen her,
don't intend to.

She's a sister of my mother's,
married a man named Stoddard.

She's probably
an American by now.

[yawning]
Probably a crashing bore, too.

(Raymond)
An aunt he had never seen.

A perfect opportunity
for a test run.

So at Salt Lake
I found a newsstand
which soldThe London Times.

And that kept Hendricks
occupied while I slipped off
for a try at the odds.

[birds chirping]

Yes?

How do you do. Are you
Mrs. Margaret Stoddard?

Yes.

I was just passing through
on my way to San Francisco.

I'm Walker Hendricks.

I can't believe it.

Is anything wrong?

I suppose
I should have expected this...

with your Uncle Gerald's will
coming up in San Francisco...

but it's almost like...

meeting a man from Mars
on my front doorstep.

Do come in.

Thank you, Aunt Margaret.

(Raymond)
It was a complete triumph.

A laboratory test
made-to-order.

If there was any doubt
in my mind,
it disappeared there and then.

I could have told her
I was born
in the Tower of London...

and she would have
believed me.

Some more tea?
No, thank you.

It's English tea, Walker.

I've had it sent from London
every month for 30 years.

It's wonderful tea,
but I'm afraid
I have to leave.

I'm sorry, Walker.

There's one thing
that puzzles me.

Why would Uncle Gerald
want to leave me
all that money?

Well, if Gerald were living...

he wouldn't admit it.

He and your mother
were very close as children.

And I think that
after all these years...

this was his stubborn way
of saying "I'm sorry."

Thank you for the tea,
Aunt Margaret.

I'll be turning up
on your doorstep
another one of these days.

It was lovely
to see you, Walker.
Come again soon.

Bye.

(Raymond)
So that was it.

Everything I needed
was back at the hotel
in that briefcase.

It's 521 miles
from Salt Lake to Reno.

I talked him into making it
in one jump.

I had a special reason.

We had to hit
the Nevada desert at night.

Near Elko I turned off
Highway 40 on a dirt road...

and 15 or 20 miles
out in the desert.

I pulled over to the side
and stopped.

What's up, old man?

I'm terribly sorry,
but I'm afraid we're lost.

Lost. Nuisance.

You see, this looked like
a rattling good short cut.

No harm done, old man.
Just turn round and drive back
to the main road.

I've tried that.

But we keep going
round and round in circles.

We're in quite a spot,
aren't we?

Well, what do you suggest?

I think we'd better
spend the night here.

If you're too cramped
in the car, you could
always sleep outside.

Rather primitive,
don't you think?

If we keep driving round
in the dark,
we'll use up our petrol.

Many people have been lost
in the Nevada desert...

and never heard from again.

Good heavens,
we can't have that, can we?

Do you think it will be safe?

Safe?

No buffaloes or Indians,
I mean.

No buffaloes or Indians.

[snoring]

[crickets chirping]

[car door closing]

What's up, old man?

There's a light over there.
I think I'll drive over
and find out where we are.

I'll come with you.

And if it's a hotel...

I'm going to get a room
with a nice comfortable bed...

[car engine starting]

order up eggs and bacon,
toast, lightly browned
on one side only...

and a pot of tea,
no tea bags--

[Hendricks groaning]

(Raymond)
I'd bought the ticket,
put the ante on the line.

The next move
was the attorney's office.

Everything was there.
I was all set.

But the thing I felt before
hit me again.

It was all so pat, so neat.

Laid out before me
with the orderly geometry
of a spider web.

Maybe it was a hunch.

In my business,
you listen to hunches.

Maybe I was just nervous.

I bought Nevada papers
by the bushel
at an out-of-town newsstand.

Not a line about
finding a body. Of course not.
They'd never find him.

I made sure of that.

Or had I?

But I had to make the move,
one way or the other.

Heads I'd do it,
tails I wouldn't.

It came up heads.

Yes, sir?

I'm Walker Hendricks.

I phoned for an appointment.

Yes. Mr. Kelson
is expecting you.
I'll tell him you're here.

Mr. Hendricks is here.
Yes, sir.

Mr. Kelson will see you
in a moment.
Won't you sit down?

Thank you.

[door opening]

Mr. Hendricks. How do you do?

Welcome to San Francisco.

I'm Matthew Kelson.
How do you do?

Nice trip?
It was long, anyway.

You have a big country here.

And it's a long trip
across it.
It is indeed.

Well...

I suppose you're anxious
to put this business
behind you...

and get back to England.
Shall we begin?

By all means.

I have the documents here.

Here we are.

And this is
the correspondence,
mostly with your office.

I think
you'll find everything there.

They seem to be in order.

Good.

Mr. Kelson...

how long do you expect
it will be before....

I mean,
after all the red tape.

The money?
Yes.

I'm afraid
there won't be any money.

I'm sorry. I don't understand.
Really?

If there's any problem
at all...

I'm sure you'll find
everything right here.

(man)
Not quite.

We got one more to add to it.

Walker Hendricks'
death certificate.

Murdered by person
or persons unknown.

That is, up until now.

They found the body.

You're all through, mister.

Sgt. Mack.
San Francisco Homicide.

I should have known better.

Long shots are for chumps.

You want to tell us about it?

There isn't too much to tell.

My name's Charlie Raymond.

I answered Hendricks ad
in New York.

Looked like a shoo-in.
So easy.

I drove over him in the car.

Buried his body 1,000 miles
from nowhere.

Way out in the middle
of the Nevada desert.

How'd they ever find him?

Nevada desert.

You ran over him with the car.

(Raymond)
Don't you know
the details, Sergeant?

What's the matter?
The Nevada cops getting sloppy
with their reports.

We haven't had any reports
from Nevada, Raymond.

And no one found a body
in the desert.

Then how did you know
I killed him?

Why did you walk with a limp
when you came in here?

Because Hendricks walked
with a limp of course.

I see.

Come on, Sergeant,
how do you know
I killed Hendricks?

You didn't.

Walker Hendricks,
the real Walker Hendricks...

was shot in New York,
and tossed
into the East River.

We got a tip it was a con man
called English Jim who did it.

English Jim is the man
who walked with a limp.

He obviously hired you
to keep him up to date with
how things were in London.

You see, it was English Jim
we expected to see here today.

It seems he only made it
as far as the Nevada desert.

Thank you for
putting us straight, Raymond.

[laughing]

We've had our danse macabre.

But as you know,
someone must always
pay the piper.

Fortunately, we already have
such a person...

in fact, several of them.

These philanthropic
gentlemen...

wish to remain anonymous.

But perhaps
the more discerning
of our audience...

will be able to find a clue
to their identities...

in what follows,
after which...

I'll be back.

Thank you.

Our unknown benefactors...

will bring us back again
next week at this same time.

Why don't you tune in and see
what little surprises
we have dreamed up for you?

Good night.