Trouble with Harry, The (1955)

[bunniefuu]

Okay, I know how

to handle your type!

Well, old faithful,

that's your sh**ting 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 k*ll.

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 m*rder*r, a k*ller.

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

sh**ting now and then?

Let off a little steam.

b*ll*ts and g*ns are

dangerous. They k*ll 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 sh**t 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 tr*mp

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 k*lled 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 m*rder 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 k*lled.

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 k*lled.

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 k*lled 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 g*n.

You must have

k*lled it today.

It should make a

nice stew for you.

A rabbit! I finally

k*lled 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

k*ll 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 sh**ting?

- 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 b*llet.

One b*llet? How 'bout that "No

sh**ting" sign that I found?

Oh, well, that. One b*llet

for the "No sh**ting" 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 b*ll*ts.

Three. One for the sh**ting

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 sh**t Harry.

Oh, Sammy boy, what have

you tried to make me do?

Tried to make a m*rder*r

out of me.

Don't sit there. Help me!

You helped bury him.

Even if you didn't k*ll

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

k*lled him or not, you've

incriminated yourself.

You'll have much more of

a job explaining a body

you didn't k*ll and buried

than a body that you k*lled

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

k*lled 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 k*lled

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 m*rder*r 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 b*llet wound.

- "Isn't a b*llet 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 m*rder.

If it's m*rder, who done it?

- Who "did" it?

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

Apart from Jennifer Rogers,

who else would want to k*ll 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.

Of course, it might have been

Dr. Greenbow or the tr*mp 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 k*lled

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 k*lled 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 k*ll.

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.

m*rder 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 k*lled 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 k*lled 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 m*rder 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

tr*mp 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

tr*mp 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.

m*rder is m*rder,

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 k*lled Harry.

First you, because you

married him. And now Sam.

Me? Why would I want to

k*ll him? I never met him before.

You could still have

a reason for k*lling 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 are you acting

like a deputy sheriff?

That tr*mp 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 tr*mp 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 b*ll*ts, 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.