All language subtitles for Alfred.Hitchcock.Presents.S02E13.Mr.Blanchards.Secret.1080p.PCOK.WEBRip.AAC.2.0.H.265.-EDGE2020_track3_[eng]

Good evening, friends.

Would you all
please examine the tops
of your television sets,

and see if one of you
doesn't find a goldfish bowl
with a crack in it?

Thank you.

By the way,
I've been asked to announce

that some of you
are missing this program
unnecessarily.

You have moved
and not kept us informed
of your address.

So we don't know
where to send the show to you.

I hope you'll take care
of that matter at once.

Tonight, we are presenting
a tale of mystery
and intrigue,

laid in middle-class suburbia.

It is called
"Mr. Blanchard's Secret."

I realize this doesn't
tell you much about the story,

but several fine actors
have been hired to do that,

and I would hate to rob them
of the privilege.

And so, without further ado,

we reveal
Mr. Blanchard's secret.

BABS: Poor woman.

It's a shame I had to
kill her off that way.

A psychiatrist would
probably say that I had

some hidden homicidal
tendencies or something.

Who knows?

If I didn't
get it off my chest
by writing mystery stories,

I might end up by committing
a few murders myself.

Phew!

I'm glad it worked out
this way, of course.

It's so much healthier.

Also, it pays better.

Otherwise, I'd say
that I was pretty normal.

Even though my husband, John,
doesn't always agree with me.

It's my vivid imagination
that gives John
the most trouble.

Poor John. He's a lawyer.

Corporations mostly.

Crime doesn't even
enter his mind.

But with me,
it's like eating peanuts.

Once I start thinking
about it, I can't stop.

Right now,
I'm beginning to think
some pretty strange things

about the people next door.

If I thought about it enough,
I could really build it up
into a production.

Knowing myself,
I probably will.

John? John, are you asleep?

There's just one light on
next door.

Don't you think
that's odd?

Ever since
the Blanchards moved in,

that one light
always burns all night.

It's not in the right place
to be coming from a hall.

It must be a bedroom!

Maybe it's hers.

Maybe she has insomnia
and she reads all night.

That's why
I've never seen her,
because she sleeps all day.

(SIGHING)

It sounds like a lovely idea,
doesn't it?

It is funny, though.

They've been in that house
for over two weeks,

and I've never seen
Mrs. Blanchard.

Not once.

Well, isn't that funny?

He does all the chores.

He even hangs out her laundry.

I've bumped into him
at the market several times.

He was very strange.

Hardly even nodded.

He's such an odd,
withdrawn type.

Oh, I don't see how he could
make a good teacher.

Do you know that he used to be
a university professor?

What's he doing stuck away
in a small town high school
like ours, anyway?

It's very strange.

Good night, darling.
I enjoyed our little chat.

(MOANS)

John!

Suppose there isn't
any Mrs. Blanchard?

Suppose he just invented her
for some reason,

or she's dead
and he can't accept it,
so he just goes on pretending?

Or suppose he killed her.

Suppose he discovered
that she had some secret vice,

and he tried to get rid of her
to save his career.

Oh, boy, I bet I could
make a plot out of that.

Honey,
I'm hungry all of a sudden.

Can I get you something,
dear?

Aw!

BABS:
It's not really so far-fetched
when you think about it.

Mr. Blanchard
gets rid of his wife,

but he's still afraid
someone will eventually
get suspicious.

So, he pretends
that she's still with him.

He acted so peculiarly
when I asked him
about his wife.

Wasn't a bit friendly
when I said I'd like
to be neighborly and visit.

Of course!

Now I know
why he behaved that way.

It's because
there is no Mrs. Blanchard.

Why, he could go on like this
for years.

In fact,
as long as he pretends
Mrs. Blanchard is alive,

he's safe.

That was not
my vivid imagination.

That was Mr. Blanchard.

Nobody is gonna come peeking
through my back door
in the middle of the night

without an explanation.

No sign of the woman's touch
so far.

Oh, I could
do myself a real favor

if I'd turn around
and go home right now.

Of course, I'm not going to.

Like those peanuts,
this is irresistible.

Looks like a set,

ready for the lady
to enter on cue.

Well, at least there was
a Mrs. Blanchard.

Lovely, too,

even if that stony face
doesn't seem to think so.

Wow!

(BABS WHISTLES)

I'm sure these could
put an awful dent
in the professor's salary.

Maybe he couldn't afford
to keep her,

so he killed her.

Good evening, Mrs. Fenton.

I was looking for you.

In the closet?

Well, not exactly.

Well, you see,
when I caught you
peeking...

I mean, when I saw you
outside my kitchen
a little while ago,

well, I thought there might be
something wrong
with Mrs. Blanchard...

There's nothing wrong
with Mrs. Blanchard.

Really?
Well, can you prove it?

I mean...

Oh, I'd just love
to meet her.

Some other time, perhaps.

Then she is here?

This is her home.

I'm sorry
if I frightened you
a while ago.

My wife went out
without telling me,

and I thought
perhaps she was with you.

Now, with your permission,
I'd like to see you
to your door.

Well, so far
he's only got you

for illegal entry
and defamation
of character.

What else happened
last night?

Nothing, unfortunately.

But you know, I'm positive
there's something wrong
in that house.

Mr. Blanchard
never once looked me
straight in the eye.

Maybe he was
embarrassed.

You weren't exactly
dressed to go visiting.

Oh, don't be silly.

Besides, you should see
some of Mrs. Blanchard's
negligées.

Wow!

I just can't understand how
a woman with those tastes
could pick a man like that.

And that house.
It's like a morgue.

Who knows, maybe it is.

Darling,
how the Blanchards live
is none of our business.

You can't expect
Mr. Blanchard

to put the welcome mat
out for you

when you go prowling
around his house
in the middle of the night,

asking questions
that are about as subtle
as a sledge hammer.

He was prowling
around our house first.

Besides, what was he
really doing outside
our kitchen door, anyway?

Who knows?
Maybe he walks
in his sleep.

I'd even settle for that
if I could just
get some sleep.

I'm sorry, darling.

I wish I could forget.
You know me.

I just can't stop thinking
about that poor woman

probably lying
in a cellar someplace
right this minute,

just ready to be popped
into the furnace.

Now, please,
not right on top
of my breakfast.

Oh, sometimes I don't know
how you put up with me.

I'll tell you what.
I'll try working
the Blanchards into a script.

Then maybe we'll both
get some sleep tonight.

Can I count on that?

Of course, darling.
By the time you get home,

Mrs. Blanchard will be buried
for the last time.

All right.

Bye.
Bye-bye.

BABS:
Maybe the secret vice angle
for Mrs. Blanchard

is a good one.

Maybe she was an alcoholic
or something.

Mr. Blanchard's
university career
was being destroyed,

so he finally
had to take steps.

Where are you going?

No place especially.

Just out for a walk.

A walk to the liquor store,
you mean.

Get back to your room
at once.

Charles. Charles,
I promise to behave.

Oh, Charles,
I can't stand it any longer.

I can't stand it.

I... If I don't get
out of this house,
I'll go mad!

Oh, Charles,
I want to make friends...
Friends.

...go shopping...
Shopping.

...be like other women.

Don't you understand?

But you are not
like other women.

Other women
do not get themselves
into a drunken stupor

and nearly set fire
to their homes,

or go off on a spree
and wind up
almost running a child down!

Other women help
their husbands' careers.
They do not destroy them.

Now, get back
to your room.

No! No, no!

I will not be kept
a prisoner in this house
any longer.

I am going to tell the world
what you have done to me.

Have you counted
the number of times
that we have had to move,

the positions I have
given up because of you?
Have you?

You have ruined my career
for the last time.

The last time.

(SCREAMING)

BABS:
And that's the end of her.
Oh, John will be so happy.

(WOMAN CLEARING THROAT)

Mrs. Fenton?

I'm Mrs. Blanchard.
I've been wanting to meet you.

I know
I should have knocked,
but the door was open,

so I took the liberty
of walking in.

Mrs. Blanchard?

Well, yes.

Come in, please.

You have no idea
how glad I am to see you.

It's all so pretty here,
just the way I imagined it.

I was beginning to think
that you didn't exist at all.

I'm sorry,
I can't stay very long.

My husband
doesn't know I'm here.

He wouldn't like it.

Oh, I don't see why not.
After all, we are neighbors.

It's a little difficult.

Don't you say another word
until I get some coffee.

I'm sure
we're going to have
a lot to talk about.

Mr. Blanchard.
How charming of you
to call.

Well, you'll join us
in some coffee,
won't you?

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fenton,
but I'm afraid there
won't be time for that.

Come, Ellen.

Are you angry with me?

Come, Ellen, I said.

All right, Charles.

I'm sorry that I couldn't stay
for coffee.

Men are such babies.

They just can't
be left alone
for one minute.

When a man is so jealous

that he keeps his wife
a virtual prisoner
in her own home,

won't even let her out
to talk to a neighbor,
then he has to be insane.

Well, I'm not going
to just sit here.

I just couldn't live
with myself

if I didn't do something
to help.

Her light is on, as usual.

When you think of it,
that bedroom is
her whole world.

No wonder she doesn't care
what the rest of the house
looks like.

And all those pretty clothes
that no one ever gets to see.

Honestly, John, I'd just
like to take that man and...

(DOOR SLAMMING)

He just came out of the house.

He's...
He's carrying something.

It looks like a large sack.

He's putting it into his car.

(CAR DOOR CLOSES)

John,
he's driving off with it.

Oh, John!

John! John, something awful.

How can you read
at a time like this?

Doesn't everybody?

Oh, for heaven's sakes,
do something!

About what?

John, 10 minutes ago,
Mr. Blanchard left here
in a great hurry,

practically dragging
a heavy sack.

I've been pounding
on their door ever since.

Mrs. Blanchard's light
is still on,

but Mrs. Blanchard
doesn't answer.

Now do you understand?

Not in the least.

Didn't we both agree
that Mr. Blanchard
is a homicidal maniac?

He was furious with her
for coming over here
this morning.

John, suppose that
what Mr. Blanchard
had in that sack

was the body
of Ellen Blanchard!
What?

Now will you
call the police?

Look, you've done
some pretty wacky things
in your...

Oh, never mind,
I'll do it myself.

Get me the police.

Now, stop that!

I beg of you, don't...

Maybe you don't mind
having a murder committed
right...

Hello, this is
Mrs. John Fenton.

I'm awfully sorry
to bother you,

but I believe a woman
has just been murdered.

Who? Oh! Oh, she's
my next door neighbor.

No, no, I'm not
absolutely sure, but...

You see,
I saw her husband

dragging a sack
out of their house
in the middle of the night.

Do you mean that you still
haven't found the body?

You haven't even looked?

No, I am not crazy,

although it's a wonder
with all that's been
going on around here.

No, of course I can't
be absolutely sure
there was a murder.

But how can you be absolutely
sure that there wasn't
unless you look?

I don't know.
You're the police.

Just ask yourself
where you'd go to get rid
of a body if you had one!

Don't worry, darling.

I didn't say anything
that would get us
into trouble.

Certainly not.

Of course, when the police
arrest you for being
a general nuisance,

don't you come to me.

But if you need help,
I'll be at the office.

Poor John!

I wish he had just
a little more imagination.

He wouldn't suffer so.

Now, let me see if I can
reconstruct the murder.

(DOORBELL RINGS)

Hello.

I've come for coffee.

You had such a funny look
on your face when I came in,
as if I were a ghost.

To be perfectly frank,

I thought
I'd never see you again
after yesterday.

My husband and I
had quite a quarrel
over my being here.

Well, as a matter of fact,
he got so furious

he threw a few things
into a duffle bag
and stormed into the night.

He hasn't come back yet.

Duffle bag.
So that was it.

But didn't you hear me
ringing your bell?

No.

Oh, but then
I was so upset
I took a sleeping pill.

I didn't hear a thing
after that.

Oh, how pretty.
Do you mind?

No, of course not.
Help yourself.

Only, it doesn't work.
They never do for me.

I guess I just don't
have a red thumb
with lighters.

Try this.

Thank you.
It's such a lovely one.

I adore silver,
but I suppose
every woman does.

Oh, if you knew
some of the wild theories
I've had about you.

Theories?

I think
we'd better skip those.

From now on,
I'm gonna stick to writing.

You write?
How exciting!

That depends on
if your taste
runs to crime.

Mmm-mmm.

Mmm-mmm.
Upsets me horribly.

My husband
adores murder mysteries,
the gorier the better.

Well, at least I was right
about something.

Ellen...

Ellen, forgive me
for being personal,

but are you happy?

Oh, you mean with Charles?

Yes. Yes, I think so.

Of course, he is nervous,
sort of high-strung,

doesn't want me
out of his sight,

watches me
a little too closely
sometimes,

but he's sweet
when you get to know him.

I'm sure.

Gee.

But don't you mind
being cooped up,

never getting out,
never seeing anyone?

Oh, I sneak off away
sometimes,

to the movies,
or go shopping.

I adore to go shopping
by myself.

But, well,
Charles doesn't approve.

I suppose
he knows what's best.

You know,
I just don't think
that you're real.

No, no. No, no. Actually,
I'm very grateful to him.

He understands
my little foibles.

Besides, I am the most
dreadful housekeeper.

Sometimes I think
he's an angel
to put up with me.

You know,
I really must be going.

Charles generally
gets home for lunch
about this time,

and I'm going
to be there.

But you said that
last night he...

Oh, you mean
about leaving me?

He's done that before.
He always comes back.

You know, I can't tell you
how much I've enjoyed this.

I do hope there's something
I can do for you sometime.

Just come again,
as often as your husband...

As often as you like.

(SIZZLING)

Oh, my Irish stew,
I forgot all about it!

Oh, don't worry about me.
I'll let myself out.

See you soon.

Okay. Bye!

I really thought
I had the Blanchards
all figured out.

Oh.

Now I don't know
who's crazy.

Unless it's me.

That's funny.

That lighter was here
just a few minutes ago.

I remember distinctly

because Mrs. Blanchard
had it in her hand,
admiring it.

She said how much she

adored silver.

Now I know what
Mr. Blanchard's secret is!

Well, I finished it,
and I think it's good.
Wanna hear it?

If it has anything to do
with the Blanchards, no.

I disguised them
beautifully.

I don't think
I've lost anything.

Imagine me thinking
all those dreadful things
about him.

And all the time
the poor man had
a kleptomaniac on his hands.

That's funny.

It's one plot that
never occurred to me.

No wonder he had to leave
the university.

He probably can't keep
any position very long
because of her.

I mean... Well...

Gee, the minute he lets her
out of his sight,

she just goes right out
and steals things.

She can't help it,
of course,

but it must be awfully
nerve-wracking for him.

Think of the strain
he must live under,

never knowing when
the blow will fall again.

It's a wonder
that he hasn't killed her.

People simply
don't go around

murdering each other
so easily, my love.

Except in your stories.

They also don't take
quite as many
silver cigarette lighters

as you might think.

Hmm. Well,
I'd just like to know

what happened to that
silver cigarette lighter,
then.

Why don't you try
the direct approach?

Why don't you
ask Mrs. Blanchard
if she took it?

Don't be silly, darling.

You just can't go around

asking people
personal questions
like that.

Besides,
it didn't work, anyway.

(PHONE RINGING)

If that's for me,
I'm asleep.

Hello?

Yes?

That was the police.

They've just found
a woman's body.

They say she was around 30
and a brunette.

It must be Mrs. Blanchard.

I don't believe it.

It's down at the morgue,
and I have to go down
and identify it.

She was hit over the head
and thrown over a cliff.

Oh, I really feel
responsible.

It must have been
that silver lighter

that finally
broke the camel's back.

What camel?

Mr. Blanchard.

When he discovered that
his wife had stolen again,

I guess he just
went berserk
and murdered...

John,

you don't think
that he really did
murder her?

Of course not, darling.
Now, it's got to have been
somebody else.

She was so nice.

I'll just never
forgive myself for this.

What has it got to do
with you?

I was so suspicious

I was always
inventing things.

It's almost as though
I made it happen.
Don't you see?

No, I don't see.

I'm going down to the morgue
and settle this right now.

No, John.

I started it,
and I'm gonna finish it.

It works now.
I had Charles fix it.

He's awfully good
at that sort of thing,
although he hates to admit it.

This concludes our show.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I must hurry off
to a little social affair.

A dear friend
is guest of honor.

It's a stoning.

I wouldn't miss it
for the world.

Good night.