1
Ah, Walter Craig?
How do you do?
You're Eliot Foley?
That's right.
So glad you were able to come.
Let's have your bag and
put the car away afterwards.
It struck me after I telephoned you,
rather cheek on my part
asking a busy architect like yourself
to spend the weekend
with a set of complete strangers.
Not a bit.
We're pretty cramped for space here.
We need at least two more bedrooms.
- And with only one living room?
- Yes, only one living room.
However, we'll go into all that
in the morning, shall we?
- Know this part of the world at all?
- No, I've never been here before...
...not actually.
- Let me take your things.
Fancy you spotting that.
Trained professional eye, eh?
Yes, of course.
We've got several other guests,
so I've put you in the barn,
but don't get worried...
It has central heating
and every modern convenience.
The very words I was going to use.
Listen, I expect they've started tea.
Yes... yes, they have.
Mother, this is Mr Craig.
Oh, I'm so glad you're here.
How do you do?
Well, come along in.
Let me introduce you to the others.
Mrs Cortland.
How do you do?
Dr Van Straaten.
How do you do?
Very pleased to meet you.
- And, er... Mr Grainger.
- How do you do?
- And this is Sally O'Hara.
- How do you do?
You must be tired after your drive.
Come and sit over here by the fire.
I can't tell you how delighted I am
you were able to accept
my son's invitation.
You see we are both
such admirers of your work.
You'd like some tea, wouldn't you?
Do you take milk and sugar?
Milk and sugar, Mr Craig?
You're still there.
So it isn't a dream this time.
I beg your pardon.
As it isn't a dream this time,
I must be going out of my mind.
Of course!
Dr Van Straaten.
You're a psychiatrist.
You always treat me.
You'll treat me now, won't you?
Forgive me,
I don't quite understand the joke.
It isn't a joke. I only wish it were.
I've seen you in my dreams.
Sounds like a sentimental song,
doesn't it?
I've dreamt about you
over and over again, Doctor.
Hardly turns you into a mental case.
After all, recurring dreams
are quite common.
But how did I dream about you?
I've never set eyes on you in my life.
Very likely, you've seen
my photograph in the papers.
That's why my face
seems familiar to you.
I don't think so.
Even if it were, is that any reason why
I should keep on dreaming about you?
After all,
you don't mean anything to me.
There may be an association of ideas.
I may be linked to something
that means a great deal to you.
Such as?
I should have to psychoanalyse you
to find that out.
But it doesn't end there.
You see, everybody in this room
is part of my dream. Everybody.
- Gosh!
- Good Lord, really?
- You're kidding!
- What all of us?
I can only tell you that when I came
into this room, I recognised you all.
Having seen all our photographs in
the newspapers, eh, Dr Van Straaten?
You may have seen me on the sports
page. Motor racing's my line.
And there was one of me once,
in the "Kentish Mercury".
When I was a bridesmaid at
my sister's wedding. You remember?
Oh... But I shouldn't think
you've come across that.
- I've never had my photograph taken.
- Oh, yes, you did dear once.
You know the one.
Naked on a fur rug, six months old.
Good Lord, that's right. I don't think
he'd recognise me, I was much fatter.
Surely, Mr Craig, you might've seen
any of us some time or another.
- In the street or anywhere.
- Yes...
But why should I always dream
about meeting you all together,
here in this room that I've never
been in, in my life, until today?
Mr Craig, can you describe
what happens in your dream?
Well, not in detail,
but it always starts exactly the same
as when I arrived, just now.
I turn off the main road into the lane.
At the bend in the lane,
the house comes into view.
I stop, because I recognise it.
Then I drive on again,
and Foley meets me at the front door.
I recognise him, too.
And then, when I'm taking off my coat,
I have the most extraordinary feeling.
I nearly turn and run for it,
because I know I am going to come
face to face with the six of you.
Well, you've only come face to face
with five of us so far, not counting Eliot.
That's right. Five of you.
There is a sixth person
who comes in later.
Can you describe this late arrival?
- It's an attractive girl with dark hair.
- Is that you can tell us about her?
She comes in quite unexpectedly,
and says something about
not having any money.
- A penniless brunette, eh?
- How romantic.
Do you fall madly in love
with her Mr Craig?
Have you ever told
anyone about your dream?
No, I don't think so.
Not even my wife.
Now I come to think of it,
after I wake,
it never stays in my memory
for more than a few seconds.
And none of it ever comes back to me
until the next time it starts.
In fact, there's no evidence you ever
dreamed this dream at all, is there?
None whatever.
I haven't a scrap of proof.
Personally, I don't need any.
I believe what you say, Mr Craig.
I believe you really have dreamt
about us all.
- So do I.
- And so do I.
- Me too!
- I think I do, too.
I don't question that you have been
subject to a recurring dream,
and no doubt it has a background
vaguely similar to this.
It would be quite enough
to account for your feeling
that you've been here before,
it's quite a common experience.
- And that's all there is to it?
- That's all there is to it!
I must say it's very disappointing
not to be a leading character
in some supernatural drama, after all!
- Cigarettes, anyone?
- You never know...
...perhaps it's like the Red King's dream
in "Alice Through The Looking Glass".
None of us exist at all. We're nothing
but characters in Mr Craig's dream.
That's right, and when he wakes up,
we shall all vanish into thin air.
Dear me, what a morbid notion!
Let's get this straight, Doctor,
you won't for a moment admit
the possibility of foreseeing the future?
Not for a moment.
You'd say I was a pretty ordinary,
down-to-earth person, wouldn't you?
I refuse to commit myself. Why?
When it comes to seeing the future,
something once happened to me
that knocks your theories
into a cocked hat.
Something I'll not forget
to my dying day.
Matter of fact,
it very nearly was my dying day.
Now's my chance. I can't make it!
I can't make it!
Yes, I can...
This is it... Oh! Oh!
How long is it since the crash, Nurse?
Six days?
No, seven, Doctor.
There's no injury to the brain,
I'm certain of that.
His mind cleared completely
this morning.
He asked about the other driver.
I told him he was unhurt.
He slept quite peacefully
for the next two hours.
It's his temperature that worries me.
Let me know at once if it goes up again.
I shall be in number 18.
You're here, Peggy?
All the way from Scotland?
All the way from Scotland.
But... you're not Peggy, are you?
No, I'm awfully sorry.
You've been calling me Peggy for days.
My name's Joyce.
There's something
sort of soothing about you.
- You'll not leave me, will you?
- I won't.
- Promise?
- If you promise to go quietly to sleep.
Anything you say...
'From then on, my temperature
began to slide back to normal.
'It was a grand job of nursing
on Joyce's part.'
Tell me frankly, darling.
Am I out of the wood yet?
Well, you've stopped being delirious.
At least, I think so.
It's hard to tell,
you talk such nonsense!
- I still have awful bad nightmares.
- Nightmares?
I thought you said
you always dreamt about me.
So I do. I dream you turn me down
and get married to Dr Albury instead.
You needn't worry.
He has a wife and three children.
Oh, good for him.
It's a lovely night.
Quarter to ten.
Long past your bedtime.
Darling, I put it to you.
Only one way to cure me permanently,
and that's to marry me!
- It's your professional duty.
- You've got a hope!
- Good night.
- Good night, darling.
Just room for one inside, sir!
It couldn't have been a dream.
I hadn't had time to fall asleep.
Nurse had only just left me.
You checked the time,
it was no more than five minutes.
- Does that mean I'm going crackers?
- My dear chap, of course not.
In the split second
before your car crashed,
you were firmly convinced you were
going to be killed, weren't you?
- Yes. Yes, I was.
- That fear has remained with you.
I wasn't conscious of it.
You mean my subconscious mind?
You'd already passed
the purely physical crisis.
That apparition of death is what
we call the psychological crisis.
Yes, maybe.
But suppose I go on seeing things?
You won't.
I'll lay you 2 to 1 in pounds,
we'll have you out of here in a week.
It's a bet. If I lose, I win.
'As a matter of fact, I won.
That is, I lost, if you see what I mean.
'Albury was right,
I made marvellous headway,
'and was able to leave the nursing
home before the week was over.'
Excuse me,
can you tell me the time?
- Yes, it's quarter past four.
- Thanks.
Just room for one inside, sir.
So you see, if I hadn't seen
that man driving the hearse,
I wouldn't be alive to tell the tale.
Bit sick for the passengers on the bus.
Yes, the hearse driver
might've tipped them off, too!
Perhaps he did,
but perhaps they were all Doubting
Thomases like Dr Van Straaten.
This time you have got
your evidence, Doctor.
Mr Grainger told the specialist
about the hearse
before he went to catch the bus.
I'm afraid that does not prove
the bus conductor had
the features of the hearse driver
or that he said,
"Just room for one inside."
But he had and he did.
Nothing will ever shake me.
That hearse driver was sent to me
as a warning.
I agree. Otherwise,
why didn't he board the bus?
- Exactly.
- He hadn't recovered completely yet.
Your were still obsessed by your crash.
It made you reluctant to board
any kind of vehicle, didn't it?
- Sorry, Doctor, I'll not buy that one.
- Well, maybe it's as well.
You cling to your belief, my boy,
that providence is specially
concerned about your survival.
No use, Grainger. We're both in the
same boat. We'll never convince him.
What Dr Van Straaten wants
is genuine first-hand evidence.
The kind that would satisfy
judge and jury.
And neither of us has been
able to produce that... yet.
Darling, where on earth
did you spring from?
Brenda suddenly changed her mind
about staying up in town.
Would you pay the taxi?
I spent my last penny on the train fare.
- Hello, Eliot.
- Hello, Joyce.
Oh, your penniless brunette.
All right, I'll pay the taxi.
...I made a dash
for Charing Cross and caught the 3:15.
A delightful surprise, my dear.
Though no surprise to Mr Craig.
Let me introduce you.
Mr Craig, Mrs Grainger,
your dream come true.
Yes, she's the sixth person.
Sixth person? Are you playing
some sort of a game?
Well, not exactly a game,
my dear.
Mr Craig has been dreaming
about you for years.
Not only you darling, all of us.
Come upstairs and take your things off.
It's all perfectly simple really.
- Just like your husband's hearse.
- Oh?
I don't mean his hearse,
I mean the one he saw
when he was in your nursing home.
Or the one Dr Van Straaten said
he didn't see.
Oh, dear,
I think I'd better start again.
Mr Craig has been having
the most frightful dreams...
Penniless brunette
laid on according to plan.
- How's that for evidence, Doctor?
- You'll say it's a pure coincidence.
- You can't say that, Doctor.
- The odds are a million to one against.
I am a little indignant.
I am driven to the conclusion it's all part
of a very carefully prearranged plan.
An extraordinarily elaborate
practical joke at my expense.
- Oh, really!
- You think we cooked the whole thing up?
As an explanation, it's not any more
farfetched than Mr Craig's.
The jokes on me, too,
for I didn't know anything about it.
A funny sort of practical joke.
It isn't funny.
What conceivable motive do you
think we possibly could've had?
No doubt you thought
it would be very amusing
to watch my cherished disbeliefs
being shattered.
Very clever of us, I must say.
I wonder if we have any more
surprises up our sleeves?
- That's it! Your glasses.
- What about my glasses?
It's later on,
we're having drinks,
you break those glasses of yours,
and then, quite suddenly,
the room goes dark.
Then, Foley, you say something,
something about the death of a man
I've never heard of.
And that's where my dream
becomes a nightmare,
a nightmare of horror.
Horror? What sort of horror?
I feel my will power draining away.
I feel I'm in the grip of a force
that's driving me
towards something unspeakably evil.
It shows that you have some heavy
weight on your conscience.
Now, in my opinion...
I'm no longer interested
in your opinion, Doctor.
You shook me at first
with your ingenious theories.
I thought perhaps
the whole thing was a delusion.
But Mrs Grainger's arrival
has altered all that.
I have been here before
in my dream.
For some reason, I was given
foreknowledge of the future.
Why? I don't know.
I want to know. I must know.
Sally, dear, I think perhaps it's time
you were going off home now.
Mother means she wouldn't want
your infant mind warped, my pretty.
I'm sorry, Sally. I didn't mean
my fear to frighten you.
It's all right, Mr Craig, it didn't.
All the same, I'll go, if you like.
But it seems rather silly to me,
considering I've had some myself.
- Some what?
- Subconscious thingamajigs.
Or whatever Dr Van Straaten
makes out they are.
I had an absolutely staggering one
last year.
Save it up for the school magazine.
Run along home.
Thanks for the nice tea, Eliot,
and for calling me a liar.
- Good afternoon.
- Please let her stay, Mrs Foley.
I should like to hear about
your subconscious thingamajigs.
You would?
Not that it'll cut any ice with you.
Well, we were spending Christmas
down in Somerset.
I'd been asked over to a party by
an old school friend of my mother's.
A Mrs Watson.
There were a lot of other kids there.
'Mostly younger than
Jimmy Watson and myself,
'so we let them choose the games.'
Nobody else could have
such a silly nose. It's Jimmy.
Well, you should talk!
- What shall we play now?
- Musical chairs!
- Sardines!
- All right, sardines, it is.
Sardines?
Don't you know about sardines?
It's a sort of hide-and-seek.
Who's to hide? All right.
Anywhere in the house, bar the kitchen.
Cook's in a state.
- But I don't know my way about the house.
- So much the worse for you.
I'll count 30.
Turn your backs, everyone!
One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine,
ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
seventeen, eighteen,
nineteen, twenty,
twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three,
twenty-four, twenty-five,
twenty-six,
twenty-seven, twenty-eight,
twenty-nine, thirty!
Off you go! Come on, quickly!
- Got you!
- It's all right. I'll go quietly.
Shh! I'll stop here with you.
When somebody else finds us,
they pack in, too, like sardines.
Oh, it's cold in here.
Cold, eh?
- That better?
- Hmm...
No mortal cold, Sally.
It's a cold from beyond the grave.
What are you talking about?
Believe it or not,
this house is haunted.
- I don't believe it.
- Everyone around here says it is.
- I'll bite. Tell me!
- Shh!
They're bound to find us here.
I know a much better place. Come on.
Go on about your precious ghost.
There was a murder committed here
in 1860, I think it was. Come on.
The girl who did it
must've been crackers, I suppose.
Strangled him,
then half cut his head off.
- How revolting.
- There's lots more, but you're too young.
- And where does the ghost come in?
- Well, I don't know, really.
Nobody's heard or seen anything
actually. We've been here 6 months.
I expect it's the girl going around
in a long white nightgown.
Whistling winds...
Clanking chains...
Blood curdling screams.
I suppose she's seeking
forgiveness for her crime.
- Search me. Give us a kiss, Sal.
- No, it's against the rules for sardines!
Hi, Sally! Sally, wait for me!
Who's that?
What is it, darling?
Come on now, stop crying.
Did you get separated
from the others?
Let's go downstairs,
where it's nice and warm.
No. Stay with me.
It's better now you've come.
Isn't it silly of me? I don't remember
noticing you downstairs.
- Are you one of the Headingly children?
- My name is Francis, Francis Kent.
It is my bedroom,
mine and Constance's.
- Constance?
- She's my half-sister.
- She's grown up, like you.
- I didn't notice her either.
All the other girls seem
much younger than me.
I wish you were my sister.
You're so kind and nice.
Why? Is she unkind to you, darling?
She hates me.
She said she'd like to kill me.
Oh, don't. You poor little thing.
But I'll be quite safe now,
now that I've met you.
I'll be able to sleep.
Poor Francis.
Come along, I'll help you.
Has anyone tried the playroom?
Nanny insisted on locking it
and she's got the key.
Gosh!
We've forgotten the linen cupboard.
Come on!
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep, pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby...
- Good night.
- Goodbye.
- Sally! Sally, Where are you?
- Please, give up.
- I can't find her anywhere. Sally!
- Sally! Sally?
- It's all right. Here I am.
- There you are!
I was wondering
where on earth you'd got to.
I found another door behind a wardrobe,
then along a corridor.
- Then into the room at the end.
- Oh, there?
But that's where
the whole thing happened. Sally!
- Meet your new nanny, Mrs Watson.
- What do you mean, dear?
I found myself in a sort of nursery.
I didn't know any of the children
were staying the night.
- Staying the night?
- Why, yes.
This little boy said he was sharing
a room with his sister.
- Which little boy?
- He told me his name was... erm...
...Francis Kent.
- Francis Kent?
- Come off it! So you knew all the time?
Knew what?
About Constance Kent murdering
her brother, Francis, of course.
I didn't know.
So that little boy was...
I'm not frightened...
I'm not frightened!
Oh! Please hold me tight...
hold me tight!
Mother said I must be sickening
for something,
and made me stay in bed
with three hot water bottles.
She didn't believe a word of it,
anymore than Dr Van Straaten does.
In the past, of course,
that type of experience was
very frequent among saints.
St Joan, for example, and St Theresa
record some visitations
of an exceedingly tangible character.
- I'm in jolly good company then.
- Not at all, my dear.
I decline to believe that you are
on such an exalted spiritual plane.
I think you are all being
ridiculously weak-minded,
letting Dr Van Straaten
lay down the law.
When I was a nurse,
I came across a lot of things
that doctors didn't just dismiss
in an airy fashion.
I believe in Sally's story
and in Mr Craig's dream.
Good for you!
We're powerless in grip of Craig's dream.
That's a solemn thought!
I think it's awfully exciting.
If I am a puppet
and Mr Craig is pulling the strings,
at least he can tell me more
about the part he's giving me to play.
I wish it were as easy as that.
Trying to remember a dream is like...
How shall I put it?
...being out at night
in a thunderstorm.
There's a flash of lightning,
and for one brief moment,
everything stands out vivid and starkly.
And what have the lightning flashes
illuminated so far?
One thing is very vivid and very horrible.
I hit Sally savagely, viciously.
Oh, no, you won't, I shall stick close
to Mr Grainger. He's bigger than you.
But, anyway, it isn't consistent.
I shan't have a chance to, because
you leave quite soon, quite suddenly.
- You're certain of that?
- Absolutely certain.
Splendid. Then I suggest Sally stays
to dinner. That'll break the spell.
An admirable suggestion.
- Thrilling. I'll ring mother and get her OK.
- Tell her Eliot will run you back in the car.
- Mother!
- Really, Sally, this is too bad!
Oh, good afternoon, Mrs Foley,
do please forgive this invasion.
You know quite well
it's your Uncle Edwin's birthday.
Actually, he's her godfather,
but she always calls him uncle.
And not to leave a message!
Of course I guessed you'd be here.
She must be a thorough nuisance.
Come along, we're hours late.
But I can't! This is Mr Craig, and
I'm one of the characters in his dream.
How do you do? Such fun, charades.
You do understand, don't you?
Poor Edwin's so terribly sensitive.
Come along, dear.
Mother, listen. You see Mr Craig
is going to hit me savagely.
I'm sure he can hit
somebody else instead.
Now come along, dear. Don't forget
you're dining with us on Tuesday...
That'll teach you to mess about
with Mr Craig's dream, Ma.
Really, I don't know what to say.
I am surprised Mr Craig didn't
remember Sally's mother.
She seems to me most memorable.
Look, Doctor, if Craig had told you
she was coming
and exactly what she'd be wearing
and the very words she'd say,
you'd still have thought
the dream was all baloney.
- Good for you, darling!
- I'm becoming quite alarmed.
By the end of this evening, I shall be
just as credulous as any of you.
Mr Craig, I can only say the more
incredulous the doctor becomes...
...the more I believe you.
- Thank you.
Doctor, I'd hoped you'd be able
to explain to me a happening
which, to put it mildly,
has always puzzled me.
I shall try.
It started a few weeks
after we'd become engaged.
It was April 9th, to be exact.
I remember the date,
because it was Peter's birthday.
'You know how difficult it is,
choosing presents for a man.
'They always seem to have
everything they want.'
- Oh, hello, darling.
- Hello, sweet.
Take it through, will you?
- What on earth's that?
- Just a little birthday present.
Put it on the couch, will you?
- What is it, a kite?
- Why don't you open it and see?
Right. Suppose you fix us a drink?
- You haven't had your portrait painted?
- No.
I thought you'd like to look
at yourself.
- Darling, it's a beauty.
- You really like it?
Love it.
It's an improvement on that
barbola thing your aunt gave you.
Yes, that is pretty grim.
Always felt I was looking at a gift horse
in the mouth. This is a honey.
- Where did you find it?
- Chichester. Very expensive.
Happy birthday, darling.
- What sort of journey did you have?
- Came by road. Got a lift.
Don't tell me, let me guess.
Not old faithful?
Hmm, the same.
Poor old Guy.
What will he do when we get married?
Hardly the big-game shooting type, is he?
Hardly. He nearly put us into a ditch
coming up, trying to avoid a rabbit.
Fellow feeling, obviously.
You be careful, I'm very fond of Guy.
You mean it pleases your disgusting
feminine vanity to have him on a string.
A spaniel would do just as well.
Spaniels don't have nice
comfortable Bentleys, do they?
Perhaps you've got something there.
- How's that?
- Most professional.
I'm glad to see you're going
to be useful about the house.
Hmm... handsome couple.
What's the matter?
Nothing. I thought I saw something.
- What sort of something?
- Don't know quite.
What, a little man about so high
in a bowler hat?
- What have you been drinking for lunch?
- One pint of bitter.
- I think I've been very generous.
- So do I. Nicest present I've ever had.
What shall we do tonight?
Dress up, spend a lot of money?
Why not?
- Should've worn our grass skirts.
- Well, we've danced enough anyway.
- Darling, is anything the matter?
- No. Why?
I don't know. You seem to have
been a bit broody all evening.
A bit limp with the heat, I expect.
- Sure there's nothing the matter?
- No, nothing. Really.
That usually means there is
something really. What is it?
- It sounds so damn silly.
- Never mind. Tell me.
Well, you know that mirror
you gave me...
You didn't get it at a joke shop,
by any chance?
No, of course not. Why?
Well, when I was dressing this evening,
just as I was tying my tie,
I suddenly realised
the reflection was all wrong.
What do you mean, "wrong"?
Well, it wasn't my room I was seeing,
it was some other room.
- Darling!
- I told you it sounded silly.
It only lasted for a moment,
but I could've sworn I saw it.
Some sort of optical illusion,
I suppose.
All done with mirrors, in fact.
'The next few weeks,
we were pretty busy house-hunting.
'In the end, we found
quite a pleasant house in Chelsea.
'And of course, I had all the usual chaos
getting ready for the wedding.
'I noticed that Peter seemed
preoccupied and a bit jumpy and irritable.
'But I thought it was just
eve-of-wedding nerves.
'Anyhow, I was so busy, I didn't have
time to think much about it.'
Phew, what a day!
Helen's got measles, so I'll have to find
another bridesmaid somewhere.
The cake's under control,
and I've had a lot more answers.
The Laughtons can't come,
thank heaven.
We've got some perfectly
frightful presents.
I really think we'll have to turn that
spare room into a chamber of horrors.
Which reminds me, when are
the men coming to lay the carpet?
I don't know. I forgot to ring up.
Oh, I'm getting fallen arches
chasing around getting things done
and you can't even remember
a simple telephone call.
For heaven's sake, don't nag!
Sorry, I didn't mean to say that.
Peter, what's the matter with you?
You've been edgy for days.
Yes, I know.
I haven't been sleeping too well.
I really am sorry, darling.
Oh, it doesn't matter. Forget it.
Listen, darling, I know you fairly well.
You're keeping something from me.
What is it?
Well, if you must know,
it's that mirror.
You remember me telling you
that first evening?
Well, it's got worse.
Much worse.
Every time I look in it now,
I see that room.
It's getting me down.
I'd really rather not talk about it.
You'll feel much better if you do.
It's no good bottling things up.
Well...
...at first, if I made
an enormous effort of will,
the reflection used to change
back to what it ought to be.
But lately, however hard I try,
it doesn't change anymore.
The only thing to do
is to try not to look in it at all.
But in a queer sort of way
it fascinates me.
I feel as if that room,
the one in the mirror,
were trying to... to claim me,
...to draw me into it.
It almost becomes the real room
and my own bedroom imaginary.
And I know there's something waiting
for me on the other side of the mirror.
Something evil.
Monstrously evil.
And if I cross that dividing line,
something awful will happen.
Well, let's get rid
of the beastly thing.
You don't have to keep it
just because I've given it to you.
I can take it back
and they'll change it.
The trouble's not in the mirror,
it's in my mind. It must be.
A mirror's just wood and glass.
Peter, I don't know what to say.
Perhaps you're overworked.
Why don't you see a doctor?
I have. He couldn't find
anything wrong with me.
- I'll have to see a mental specialist.
- Oh, nonsense! You're as sane as I am.
Obviously, I can't be!
Listen...
I've been putting off saying this.
But I think we ought
to postpone the wedding.
- That's a bit drastic, isn't it?
- I don't know. Suppose I am going mad?
Wouldn't be much fun for you, would it?
Take you five years to get a divorce.
Really, darling, you're going
a little bit too fast for me.
Let's get the wedding over, then we can
make divorce arrangements afterwards.
Peter, come with me, will you?
Look in the mirror.
What is it, darling?
It's worse than ever.
- You're not there.
- 'But of course I'm there.'
I tell you, you're not.
In the other room, I'm alone.
Look in the mirror and
tell me exactly what you see.
It's just as it always is.
Instead of my bed,
there's the other bed.
I can see it quite clearly.
The posts have vine leaves
twisted round them,
with bunches of grapes at the top.
The hangings are dark red silk.
The walls are panelled.
There's a log fire burning in the grate.
It's no use, I tell you!
I am going mad.
Now I'll tell you what I see.
No four-poster,
no panelling and no log fires.
Just your ordinary room
with you and me in it.
Listen to me...
You're going to look in this mirror again
and see exactly the same as I do.
Come here. Come here.
- 'Can you see your own room? '
- No.
- 'Or me? '
- No.
- 'But you must! Make yourself.'
- I can't.
You can, darling, if you try.
- It's no good.
- You can.
Look, here I am, standing by you.
Yes...
Yes, there you are.
I can see you now.
You see? I told you so.
I can't make it out.
Come on, let's get out of here
and have a drink.
'So that seemed to be that.
'A fortnight later, we got married
and moved into the new house.
'In a way, I'd have been happier
to get rid of the mirror,
'but Peter seemed to have
lost his fear of it,
'so I decided to let things be.'
Mother says, can we come down
the weekend after next. It's her birthday.
I shan't be able to make it.
We're rushing that big audit through.
Oh, never mind. She'll be disappointed,
but we can go some other time.
Well, you can go, sweet, anyhow,
even if I can't.
I don't want to go without you.
I don't want you to. But your mother
would rather have you alone.
You know, getting her precious
daughter back for a few days.
Don't be an idiot. She doesn't feel she's
lost a daughter. She's gained a son.
What gift for a phrase you have!
Think it over, anyhow.
- Hello?
- 'Hello, Peter.'
Hello, darling.
Have a good journey?
- 'Yes. I wish you could've come.'
- So do I. Still, it can't be helped.
- 'Do you miss me? '
- Of course I do.
- Do you miss me?
- 'Yes. Gone to bed yet? '
No, I'm going to do another
half an hour's work first.
- 'Well, good night, darling.'
- Good night, darling. See you Monday.
- Give my love to your mother.
- 'Yes. Goodnight, darling.'
Goodnight, darling.
- 'Toll number, please? '
- Flaxman 6061.
Get me Chichester 2352.
Thank you.
- What is it, dear?
- Nothing.
I want to speak to Mr Rutherford.
Would you go to the library,
and walk back this way?
Very well, dear.
- Morning, Mr Rutherford.
- Good morning, Miss Walsh...
...I beg your pardon, Mrs Cortland.
Do you remember that Chippendale
mirror I bought here 3 months ago?
Indeed I do. I hope your husband
was satisfied with it.
Yes, very. Tell me...
- That bed, the four-poster...
- How odd you should mention it.
It so happens, I bought it
at the same sale that I got your mirror.
There's a curious history
attaching to them both.
- Curious?
- Well, tragic, perhaps I should say.
I trust, by the way,
you're not superstitious.
No... No, I don't think so.
Won't you sit down?
Some people retain a medieval attitude
of mind with regard to these matters.
Please, Mr Rutherford,
tell me the story, I'm very interested.
By all means.
The bed and the mirror form part of
the contents of the private apartments
of a Mr Francis Etherington,
who died at Marsden Lacy in 1836.
The apartments had remained unused
and locked from that time till the sale.
That is his portrait, by the way.
He was a man of dominating character.
Arrogant, reckless, handsome
and of a violent temper.
He married a very beautiful heiress,
a Miss Perry.
The couple retired to Marsden Lacy
where they lived contentedly for a time.
Then suddenly, disaster overtook them.
Out hunting one day,
Etherington was thrown by his horse,
which then rolled on him.
His spine was injured.
He was never again able to do more than
drag himself a few paces from this bed.
- How dreadful.
- Yes...
Unfortunately,
the effects of such constraint
on a man of his enormous energy
were more than his mind could endure.
He became morose, embittered,
suspicious, above all, of his wife.
Quite without reason, he began accusing
the poor lady of betraying him.
With his friends,
with strangers,
with his servants.
Had she not been so devoted to him,
she certainly would've left him,
and indeed it would've been
better for her had she done so.
For one day,
in an excess of jealous rage,
he strangled her, and then sat down
in front of the mirror...
...your mirror...
...and cut his throat.
What a horrible story.
Then the mirror hasn't been
used again until Peter...
...until I bought it for my husband.
Precisely.
Peter?
Peter?
Peter, darling? Oh, there you are!
Something gone wrong
with your plans for a weekend?
- Darling, what do you mean?
- You know what I mean.
I haven't the faintest idea
what you're talking about.
Of course you haven't.
You didn't think I suspected anything,
when you were so eager
to go away without me.
Well, I'm not a fool.
I knew what your game was.
Darling, stop, please.
Sit down and listen to me.
I will not sit down!
I know you'd like to have me chained
to this chair and chained to this room.
But I won't stand it,
not while I've strength to move at all.
Darling, sit down and listen to me.
You're not well.
And a good thing for you
and your precious lover that I'm not.
If I could move out of this room
and break him in pieces...
Peter, it's the mirror. I've found out
what's wrong with the mirror.
There's nothing wrong with the mirror.
I look in it often.
I sit here and look at these four walls.
Then for a change,
I look at them in the mirror.
You don't know what you're saying!
This isn't Marsden Lacy.
Your name isn't Etherington.
It's Cortland, Peter Cortland,
and I'm your wife!
Exactly, you're my wife,
but you sometimes choose to forget it.
Well? What's the matter?
Why have you come back?
No, let me guess.
You were enjoying a pleasant weekend
with Guy, but he was called away.
So you had to come back to me.
Peter, I haven't even seen Guy.
Anyhow, you know
we've always treated him as a joke.
Yes, I know we've always pretended to,
but I knew what was going on all the time.
Nothing's been going on,
you know that as well as I do!
I pretended not to notice,
day after day,
month after month,
while you were making
a public laughing stock of me.
But this time, I've had enough!
I'm going to punish you
as you deserve to be punished.
It's the mirror. Mr Rutherford told me
about it. That's why I came back.
It belonged to a cripple who accused
his wife, just as you're now accusing me.
Peter, you must listen to me!
Peter.
Peter, darling, are you all right?
- I seem to have cut myself.
- Sit down, let me have a look at it.
Look at the mirror.
How did that happen?
Never mind now, darling.
- But, darling, we could get it mended.
- No, we can't.
It's old and worm-eaten and rotten.
It should've been burned ages ago.
You poor darling!
Well, I think you could do with a drink
after that. I know I could.
Mother, what did you do with that bottle
of schnapps I got for Dr Van Straaten?
It's in the cupboard in the hall.
Well, how's the great debunker
going to debunk that?
Ever since Mr Craig arrived,
you've been asking me to produce
scientific explanations
like rabbits out of a hat.
I am not accustomed
to solving complex problems
with the careless ease
of your Brains Trust.
Sounds to me as though you're
completely stumped this time.
Joan saw the room in the mirror
as well as Peter.
The witness
I couldn't supply you with.
Very well. You asked for it.
This was a case of crypto-amnesia.
The transmissibility of an illusion by
one person to one or more other persons
who are emotionally cohesive,
is well established.
- Do I make myself clear?
- I'm totally at sea.
You wouldn't like to start again
very slowly, in words of one syllable?
Hamlet was right, Doctor.
There are more things
in heaven and earth
than are dreamed of
in your philosophy.
And my recurring dream isn't just
a meaningless trick of the mind.
It was sent to me as a warning.
A warning against the terror
that's waiting for me in this house.
Well, I'm like Grainger.
I'm going to act on the warning.
I'm going to leave here now,
this instant.
Craig, if you go now,
you'll be making a profound mistake.
You'll be delivering yourself
into the hands of your obsession.
I beg you to stay,
and see it through.
Whatever happens,
if anything happens,
the reality can't be possibly be as bad
as your imagination has painted it.
Why not? I tell you, Doctor, there's
something horrible awaiting for me here.
- Perhaps even death itself.
- Craig!
An hour ago, you asked me
to help you. I think I can.
But only if you want me to,
only if you do what I beg you to do.
While every minute brings
the horror closer? No, Doctor.
I won't submit my will to yours.
I'm going to leave this place now,
before it's too late.
What's your tipple by the way?
Scotch?
No, thanks, I'm going.
I can't face it.
Oh, I'm sorry, my dear fellow.
However, I don't blame you a bit.
Oh, yes, you do. You despise me.
You think I'm a contemptible coward.
Nothing of the kind, honestly.
I'm sorry because a fellow would like
to rally round, lend a helping hand.
- Nobody can help me.
- Tell you what, have one for the road.
- Well...
- Matter of fact, I know just how you feel.
Jolly unpleasant, when you come
slap up against the supernatural.
I still get a shiver when I think of what
happened to a couple of friends of mine.
Ghastly business.
'It was when I was staying
at my golf club at Wittlesham.
'The stars of the club were
George Parratt and Larry Potter.
'Nothing could keep them
from their game.
'They were both pretty good,
and they were deadly rivals,
'but only on the links.
'In all other respects, they were
the best of friends, until... '
'Mary seemed to look on them
with equal favour,
'and the result, of course,
was complete deadlock.'
We can't go on like this, old man.
She's ruining my game.
Mine, too.
Every time I take a stroke,
I see her wretched face.
I keep on hearing her tiresome voice,
just as I'm swinging.
- They'll be raising our handicaps soon.
- Yeah...
She must choose one of us.
But there's nothing to choose.
We're both as good as Bobby Jones.
Very nearly.
Wish you were dead, old man.
It'd be just as good, if you were.
- George, I've got it!
- What?
- We'll play for her.
- Tomorrow morning. 18 holes.
- Match play.
- Loser to vanish from the scene.
- Forever.
- Put it there, old man.
Of course!
Why didn't we think of it sooner?
'It was a terrific game.
They halved the first four holes.
'Then Parratt sliced his drive
and Potter took the lead.
'But at the long 13th,
Parratt got a wonderful four,
'and after that,
it was ding-dong all the way.
'Parratt - Potter. Potter - Parratt.
'When they reached the last hole,
they were square once more.
'This hole for Mary Lee... '
- How many, old man?
- Three.
- And you?
- Two.
- Two?
- Yes. Didn't you see my spoon shot?
- Oh, beautiful shot, wasn't it, Smithers?
- Ooh, a lovely shot, sir.
But nobody's ever reached
this green in two before.
- I don't believe it's possible.
- There it is.
- No mistake, is there, Smithers?
- No, sir. Quite right, sir. Only 2 strokes.
Hmm... Seems as if I've got
my work cut out then.
Ho-ho! Jolly good putt, old man.
Well, here's for it...
Well, that's that!
- Grand finish and grand game.
- An almost incredible finish.
'With Mary in the bag,
'Parratt realised it was time to turn
his mind once more to serious things.
'He hadn't touched his clubs
since the Potter tragedy,
'and he needed practice.
'I offered to give him a game.
'I soon found to my cost
he was playing better than ever.
'Life obviously seemed
very good to him.
'And then...
we reached the lake.'
'Good morning, George, old man.
'Still cheating?
'Oh, yes, it's me all right.
'I've returned from my watery grave
to haunt you.
'Cheat!
'Cad! Twister!
'Worm! Skunk! Rat!
'Rabbit!
'Ho-ho-ho!
'Oh, I'll teach you
that crime doesn't pay.
'Unconditional surrender, old man.
Those are my terms.
'May the Lord have mercy
on your handicap.
'Ouch! '
- I say, Eliot...
- Yes, old man?
- Do you believe in ghosts?
- Ghosts?
- Good Lord, no.
- Neither do I.
'That was only the beginning.
'For this poor, stricken, shadow of a man,
there was only one relief.'
Another whiskey, Fred. A large one.
Make it two.
Heavens!
I thought you were dead.
So I am, old man,
as dead as a stymie.
- Two large whiskeys, Fred.
- A quadruple, sir?
No, no, no. Separate glasses,
of course. One for him.
Fred can't see me or hear me.
Nobody else can either.
It's only you I'm haunting.
Well, it's time you gave
somebody else a turn. I've had it.
Not bad, am I, for a beginner?
George Parratt, handicap 18!
- I think it's perfectly despicable.
- Not as despicable as cheating at golf.
- You haven't a vestige of proof.
- It's on the record.
- What record?
- The recording angel's record.
- It shows there you took 5 for the 18th.
- Five shillings, please, sir.
Recording angel! He can't count.
Listen, you're going too far,
it was bad enough on the links.
Don't expect me to stop there.
All that invisible stuff was elementary.
Any rabbit could do it.
A ghost must better himself.
You're going to hang around me
for the rest of my life?
I most certainly am.
Unless of course, you care to lay me.
- How? -
- First of all, you must give up Mary.
Give up Mary? Certainly not!
I'll not have a fine young girl like that
married to a cheat and a liar.
I suppose I've got it coming to me.
It'll break my heart of course.
Listen, if you promise to let me alone,
I'll step out of Mary's life.
Well, that's my first condition.
The second is...
- You'll have to give up golf.
- Give up golf?
- Never!
- Don't you realise what you've done?
You've disgraced this club,
besmirched the greatest of all games,
dragged the name of St Andrew
in the dust.
Heavens, man, you should be
drummed out of the Royal & Ancient.
Oh, yes, yes, yes, I admit all of this.
I'm a cad, a rat and a worm.
I agree with everything you've called me.
But you can't punish me like this.
Listen, Larry,
you're a golfer yourself.
You must realise what it means.
I should have nothing left to live for.
Nothing.
You can't be such a skunk!
Perhaps, you're right, old man.
I mustn't lower myself to your level.
Dear old Larry.
I knew you'd see it the right way.
- But you've got to break with Mary.
- And if I do, you'll never haunt me again?
- I'll disappear here and now, forever.
- Ah, it's a deal.
Well, one for the sky.
No, thanks, I've got a date
with St Andrew at four o'clock.
Goodbye, old boy.
Good luck. Hope you win.
Thanks, George. Goodbye.
What's the matter?
Got the passes wrong.
I'd better try again.
- George...
- Yes?
- I've forgotten how to vanish.
- Look here, old man. This is shocking.
I can get as far as this,
then I can't remember what I do next.
You must remember. Don't forget
you've been well and truly laid.
I know I've got to hold my breath
and do this...
- But then I get stuck.
- Well, what about that?
No good? Well, try this...
No good. No good.
Oh, I am sorry.
It is a bit thick, a ghost shouldn't
be allowed to go haunting
until he's properly qualified.
It's all my fault. I should've spent
longer on the materialisation course.
But you would insist
on getting married on Saturday.
- I still intend to get married on Saturday.
- Oh, but you promised.
If you can't keep your side of the bargain,
why should I keep mine?
I see your point.
You realise what it will mean?
- What?
- I'll have to stick to you, everywhere.
- Everywhere?
- Yes.
Always remain within 6 foot of you.
That's the official ruling.
Because a chap becomes a ghost,
it surely doesn't mean that
he ceases to be a gentleman.
Don't worry, old chap, it's sure
to come back to me before Saturday.
Ha! It was unbelievable!
I was on the green in 2, down in 3.
That's how I collected that one.
- Well, fancy that.
- Now this is the Wackerbath cup.
- Yes, dear?
- I beat poor old Larry Potter 7 and 5.
2 and 1...
Flukiest game you ever played!
7 and 5!
Oh, I beg your pardon.
Now this one... it's a long story.
Darling, you can tell me
all about that tomorrow.
Kiss me.
- George!
- Yes, my pet?
You haven't given me one real kiss
since we left the church!
I know, darling, I know.
We've been very busy.
Get on with it. Get on with it, you mug.
That's what you're here for.
Well, we're not busy now, are we?
Gracious, ten already!
Is it, darling? I didn't count!
Well, I think I'll be turning in, darling.
Yes, I think I'll turn in, too.
I'm feeling rather tired.
So am I.
- Six feet, old man.
- Six feet!
I don't wonder...
I'll just go and count the cups.
- Count the cups?
- I always count the cups before bed.
Look here, this is intolerable!
Yes, I quite agree, but what can I do?
Everything's failed.
Have another go.
Try as you've never tried before.
All right, for what it's worth.
Shut your eyes.
It'll help you to concentrate.
OK, here goes.
Oh, of all the caddish tricks.
I can't think what's come over you.
It's entirely your fault.
You can't cheat a ghost.
What the devil are we going to do now?
I shall have to go on trying, that's all.
Don't you see, you blithering idiot?
There may be millions of combinations,
and all you can do is this.
What comes next? Oh!
What are we going to do?
What are we going to do?
Good heavens, he's gone.
And I wasn't looking.
- What's going to happen now?
- Darling!
Oh, darling?
Do I make passes?
Or do I make passes?
Really, Eliot, that story is totally
incredible and decidedly improper.
Sorry, I had to tell it.
I couldn't bear to be left out in the cold.
That wasn't why you told the story.
You did it to try and help me.
You succeeded, where I failed Eliot.
And in a double sense.
Craig, you said
that the horror started
when Eliot told about the death
of a man you'd never heard of.
- Didn't you?
- That's right.
Well, Eliot just described how
his friend Potter committed suicide.
You'd never heard of Potter before,
had you?
No, I hadn't.
- Yet the horror hasn't started, has it?
- No, it hasn't.
There you are, you see.
I'm so glad.
The spell has been broken at last.
Now, I can go and see about dinner
with an easy mind.
- I'll lend a hand, if I may?
- Thank you, that's very kind of you.
Oh, Mr Craig,
now that you've met us,
I'm sure you wouldn't dream
of dreaming about us again.
Come along, my dear.
Apart from my bit of nonsense,
the curious thing is that
all of you, even Sally,
seems to have had one of these
extraordinary experiences.
Perhaps they aren't so extraordinary.
Perhaps they happen to most people.
Oh, you mean there's a ghost as well
as a skeleton in everyone's cupboard?
- That's a pretty thought.
- What's the ghost in your cupboard?
Well...
There was one occasion
in my professional career
that made me wonder.
Made me wonder quite a lot.
'You may remember the case.
'Maxwell Frere, the ventriloquist,
was charged with the attempted murder
'of a man in the same line of business,
Sylvester Kee, an American.
'My friend Maurice Olcott,
who was defending the case,
'wanted my opinion
on the state of his mind.'
Hello, Frere.
This is Dr Van Straaten.
- He's going to help us with the case.
- How do you do, Mr Frere?
I had the pleasure of seeing your
performance last year at the Hague.
- It was most...
- Doctor, eh? A brain specialist?
Psychiatrist.
I thought as much. You want
to psychoanalyse me, don't you?
Want to look inside my brain
and see how the wheels go around.
- Now wait a moment, Frere...
- Dissect me like a guinea pig.
Then show me off to you distinguished
colleagues as an interesting case.
- Well, that's it, isn't it?
- Hardly...
But it's possible that
I may be able to help you
if you are prepared to help me.
Now, I'd like to ask you
a few questions.
You're wasting your time, Doctor.
I'm not mad.
I don't want your help.
Nor yours, either.
- Hugo's the only one who can help me.
- The dummy?
Yes, the police are holding it
as evidence.
Hugo should be here with me.
You see... he's more to blame
for all this, than I am.
What exactly do you mean by that?
You'd like to know, wouldn't you?
Get Hugo back, and perhaps you will.
Perhaps, you'll have a case history that'll
make your complexes stand on end.
Then you can write a big fat book
all about it, eh? Ha-ha!
Does that tempt you, Doctor?
Very well, then. Get Hugo back!
Now you see what I'm up against.
Very interesting.
I'd like to have a talk
with that other fellow, Kee.
I'm afraid that's out of the question.
He's a witness for the prosecution.
Look at his statement.
I'd like to know what you think.
Seems more like your job than mine.
'I knew Maxwell Frere
by reputation
'as an artiste of the highest standing
in his and my profession.
'I first made his acquaintance
about a year ago
'when he was performing at
the Chez Beulah Night Club in Paris.'
'Ladies and gentlemen,
is there a Frenchman in the house?
'I am told that one or two
have been seen in Paris lately... '
- Sylvester Kee!
- Well, hello, Beulah.
I haven't seen you for years.
Where've you been?
Oh, back in the States.
I just hit town.
- Well, how's business?
- Mighty fine, honey child, mighty fine.
Hey, you old war horse.
You look terrific.
Just like the lights of Broadway
on a dark night.
Say, Beulah, this guy Frere,
they tell me he's pretty good.
- I'll say he is.
- What's he got that I haven't got?
His dummy.
Don't say you haven't seen him?
Well, what are we waiting for?
Come on, let's go in.
If we had to do this routine in
the Coliseum, the act would be in ruins.
Coliseum? Ruins?
I kill myself sometimes!
Hey, Maxwell, not this one.
Not this one.
Don't be shy, Hugo,
the lady won't bite you.
No, but you know me.
I might bite the lady!
Tell me, my little lotus blossom,
where have I been all your life?
Comment?
Uh-oh, one of the natives.
Didn't I see you working your head off
in the Folies Bergres?
I'm sure I saw her
in the Folies Bergres.
Oh, the lady's face is familiar, is it?
What would I be doing in
the Folies Bergres looking at faces?
Oh, la-la!
Oh, la-la-la-la-lah!
Hey, Maxwell, we don't have
to wake these two up.
Besides, I can read her thoughts.
Read her thoughts?
Why, Hugo, that's clairvoyance.
Clairvoyance?
Oh, good evening, Claire!
Maxwell, we must be a riot.
First of tomorrow night's audience
just came in.
See who I mean,
the dumb looking one?
Why, Hugo, he doesn't look
any more dumb than I do.
Don't ask the impossible!
Hello, stranger.
One of our American friends,
strong, speechless type.
Well, Mr Dumb Cluck,
you as dumb as you look,
or do you cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,
cock-a-doodle-doo?
- Did you mislay that egg?
- No, Hugo, I didn't do a thing.
Will someone please tell me
what's going on around here?
Hugo, I think we'd better move along.
He's a ventriloquist.
- He doesn't look like a trick cyclist.
- No, no, I said ventriloquist.
What, the chap who makes a voice
come out of a stuffed dummy?
- The way I do out of you?
- That's about it.
Well, well, well...
Is it true what he said?
- I guess so.
- You interest me, my man.
You interest me quite a lot.
We two could make
beautiful music together.
That's fine, Hugo, but how about making
a little music with Frank, eh? Frank!
Maxwell,
I don't think I feel like singing.
Come, come, Hugo.
Mustn't disappoint your public.
Just a bird in a gilded cage, that's me.
Oh, to hell with it!
Oh, come on, now.
Are you ready? One, two, three.
Four, five, six!
Let's sit this one out, shall we?
- Hugo, everybody's waiting.
- My, my, so they are.
Tell you what,
you be the canary tonight.
I'm going to talk to the ventriloquist.
Mind if I join you?
Sure, come on over.
Come on, sour puss.
Sit down.
Now, either of you gentlemen
care for a glass of champagne?
What do you think I am,
a battleship?
Do you know something? I like you.
What's your name?
The name is Kee, Sylvester Kee.
- Sylvester, you may call me Hugo.
- Oh, thanks, Hugo.
- That is my assistant.
- Oh, glad to know you, Mr Frere.
A very uncouth character, I'm afraid.
I say, Sylvester,
how'd you like to work with me?
I'd like it fine, Hugo, but...
- But what?
- Well, how about Mr Frere?
You're sort of teamed up with him,
aren't you?
Him?
My good man, think nothing of it.
I'm just about through
with that cheap ham, anyway.
Ooh!
Temper, temper.
You'll be sorry for this later, you know.
Yes, I suppose I will.
Ladies and gentlemen,
Hugo and I are old friends.
Dear old pals,
Jolly old pals
Exactly. But every now and then,
we have our little disagreements.
You certainly disagree with me.
Would you believe it?
This guy thinks he carries the act.
Well, in one way, maybe he does.
Come, come, Hugo,
we must be going.
Sure, sure. But there won't be
much room in the dressing room.
Not much room? Why not?
I told the waiter to bring up two side-cars
and he brought two motorcycles as well!
Side-cars! Motorcycles!
Well, goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.
Bonsoir, mesdames.
Bonsoir, messieurs.
- Say goodnight, Hugo.
- Goodnight, sleep tight, wake up sober.
Sylvester?
Sylvester! I'll be waiting for you
in my dressing room.
You and I have got to talk business.
In far lands,
where hazy mountains never end...
- Maxwell Frere's dressing room?
- That door, monsieur.
Thank you.
... the hulla, hulla, hulla-loobah
Dreamy tune,
the boys are riding and they croon
Love comes on like a falling star
It's hulla, hulla, hulla-loobah
Saddle your horse
And hulla-loobah-loobah
come across
The hulla-loobah-loobah way
and sing
In hulla-loobah-loobah swing...
- Who is it?
- It's Sylvester Kee.
Come in!
Glad to see you, Sylvester.
Mix yourself a drink
and let's get down to business, eh?
Well, thanks, brother. I will.
But suppose you tell me,
where I can find Mr Frere.
I guess he can't be very far away.
Oh, so you won't talk, eh?
- You want to see me?
- Well, er...
I rather thought I had an invite
from our young friend here.
After all, Mr Frere,
I'm a ventriloquist myself, you know...
Hell, I'm soaking.
- There's a clean towel in here.
- Thanks.
Sorry, but I can't bear
anyone touching him.
Oh, that's all right. Forget it.
Say, I sure liked it
how you pulled that gag.
What gag?
I don't quite follow you.
The one I saw before you came in.
For a moment, I could've sworn
it was the dummy speaking.
And me a pro.
- What did he say?
- No, don't let's start that all over again.
- About you and him?
- Yes, but you know that.
You wouldn't...
- You wouldn't ever do that, would you?
- Do what? I don't get you.
- Do what he was asking.
- Say, are you nuts or something?
How in heck could I team up
with Hugo? He's yours, isn't he?
Yes, that's right, he's mine.
What kind of heel do you think I am
that I'd try to steal another guy's act?
Please don't misunderstand me.
I don't distrust you.
- You don't know what Hugo's capable of.
- Oh, I don't know about that,
I've had a pretty good demonstration.
Say, who runs this act anyway?
This fellow's almost human.
- Did you say "almost"?
- That's right.
As if you've got a mind of your own.
Maxwell, this fellow is as stupid
as you are.
- Perhaps, I better explain my position.
- No, no, no.
Kee, if you don't mind...
I'm rather tired.
Why, sure, I understand.
Ignore him, Sylvester.
Just ignore him.
I'm the one who gives orders
around here...
- Hugo, please...
- Pipe down, you!
- Listen, my friend...
- No! No!
Say, what kind of a routine is this,
anyway?
Go away, will you? Leave us alone.
Go away. Get out of here.
OK, OK, I'm going.
You ought to get your head examined.
Goodnight!
Kee, my friend, don't leave me,
take me with you.
Maxwell, let go of me!
Kee, get me out of here.
Kee! Kee! Kee!
Hey, that guy there's nuts, huh?
But nuts!
Let go your rein,
Ride for adventure once again
Let go your heart
and oh, mama!
Sing hulla-loo-bah!
'After what happened
in the dressing room,
'I was sure he was not
quite right in the head.
'I did not see Frere again
until the night of February 2nd.
'I had just arrived in London, and
was staying at the Imperial Palace Hotel.
'Shortly before 11 pm,
'I entered the hotel bar.
Frere was sitting at the bar...
Hello, there. How've you been?
Hello.
Say, I met Joe Green just now.
He's mighty sore at you.
I expect he is.
We walked out of his show.
Oh? How come?
He didn't like it,
and I don't want to talk about it.
- Jack, same again.
- OK by me, brother.
Scotch, please.
Come on, you two.
We only got five minutes.
Evening, Jack.
What are you going to have, girls?
- Whiskey sour.
- Me, too.
- Three whiskey sours, Jack.
- Oh, look!
- There's Maxwell Frere the ventriloquist.
- Never seen him. Is that his dummy?
Yes, Hugo Fitch. Isn't he quaint?
Oh, I'd just love to pick him up.
Oh, you can't, Mitzi,
the man's plastered.
You know very well
I mean the dummy. You're awful!
- Go ahead, then, why don't you?
- Go on, don't be shy.
Very well, then.
Oh, Mr Frere, I hope you wouldn't mind,
but he looks so cute.
- On your way, sister. On your way!
- Aren't you a little devil?
Come along now.
Take your hands off me,
or I'll punch your little face in.
Maxwell, this cheap bit of skirt's
getting after me.
You low, filthy drunk, you. I'll...
- Did you hear what this man called me?
- Oh, skip it. Have a drink.
Harry Parker, are you going to stand by
and let this creature insult me?
All right...
Look here, old man,
you'd better apologise to this lady.
- What did you say?
- I said you've insulted this lady.
And I said you'd better
apologise to her.
I assure you,
I hadn't the slightest intention...
Lady? Ha-ha! What lady?
Maxwell, I don't see no lady.
Are you going to apologise
like a gentleman?
- Or do I have to make you?
- Who does this guy think he is?
Will you kick his teeth in, Maxwell,
or shall I?
- You asked for it.
- Gentlemen, no fighting!
Cut it out.
Cut it out, the guy's stinking.
- What's it got to do with you?
- I said cut it out. Go on, scram.
All right,
no need to get tough about it.
- You all right, Frere?
- Hugo?
Come on, girls.
Drink up, let's get out of here.
- Come on, it's past time!
- All right, all right...
- Here he is.
- Thank you.
Well, it's my old friend Sylvester!
A-ha, that's better.
- You shouldn't have done that.
- Just one of those things.
- Are you staying in the hotel?
- Room 791.
- We're all right.
- Sure you are. Sure you are.
I'm just going up to my room,
and I'll see you home. 791...
I tell you,
it can't go on much longer.
He's doing it deliberately,
all this business with Joe Green...
- He's trying to ruin me.
- Oh, Joe wouldn't do a thing like that.
- He's sore, but...
- Joe?
You thought I meant?
That's good.
That's really funny.
- No, I didn't mean Joe.
- I don't get it.
Don't you?
No, I suppose you wouldn't.
You just think I'm drunk, don't you?
You're not acting
like you're on the water wagon.
Smug, aren't you?
Well, you'd drink too,
if you were in my shoes.
I tell you... it's enough
to drive a man mad.
Why don't you grab yourself
some sleep?
What do you care
whether I sleep or not?
I'm not such a fool as you think,
Sylvester Kee.
I remember what happened in Paris.
I know what you're after.
- You won't get away with it.
- You're crazy.
Get out of this room.
Go on! Get out of this hotel, before I send
for the manager and get you thrown out.
Now, take it easy, pal.
It happens that I'm living in the hotel.
- Thrown out!
- Take it easy. Take it easy.
You think you're mighty clever,
don't you?
I'll get even with you.
I'll be ready for you.
You won't get away with it.
Young fella, if my pal Fancy Pants
got me down the way you do your boss,
well, I guess I'd want to be rid of him.
OK, OK...
- Where is he?
- Huh? Where's who?
- What are you talking about?
- Where is he? You've stolen him.
If you're talking about the dummy,
I left him on your bed.
- Now go away and let me sleep?
- He's here. I know he's here.
Hey, will you get the hell out of here
or do I have to throw you out?
No. No. Wait...
Dirty, thieving swine.
You dirty, thieving swine!
- What do you think of it?
- Well, before I commit myself...
...I must talk to Frere again.
Think you'll be able to get
anything out of him?
- That, my friend, depends on you.
- On me?
On your powers of persuasion
with the police, I should say.
As a matter of fact, I don't expect
to get what I want from Maxwell Frere.
Who do you expect to get it from?
If I am on the right lines,
from Hugo Fitch.
Hugo Fitch?
I knew you wouldn't leave me, Hugo.
- I knew you'd come back.
- Not for long, my boy, not for long.
You're going to stop in jail for years
and years and years and years.
That wouldn't suit me.
But you'll tell them the truth.
You'll tell them it wasn't my fault.
What sort of dummy do you think I am?
You shot him, didn't you?
Yes, but that was in self-defence.
- He was trying to rob me.
- Tell that to the judge.
Poor Sylvester!
Such a charming fellow.
They tell me he's recovering,
be out of hospital soon.
- What's that to you?
- Looks like I'll be needing a new partner.
Hugo!
You don't mean that. You're joking.
Like hell I am.
I've my career to think of.
What?
You wouldn't run out on me now?
I don't believe it.
You wouldn't do that to me.
Oh, wouldn't I? Wouldn't I?
Wouldn't I?
Hugo, I wouldn't let you.
Can't stop me, Maxwell.
You're finished. Finished.
But if I tell them the truth...
if I tell them you made me do it?
Try it and see what happens.
They'll put you in the madhouse.
But not little Hugo. Oh, no.
I'm going to team up with Sylvester.
Maybe we'll come and visit you.
You know,
private show for the looneys.
Now, Maxwell, don't get excited.
I was only joking.
You know me.
Maxwell!
Maxwell, you can't kill me!
Stop, Frere!
Frere, you fool!
Officer! Quickly, open this door!
Quickly!
I hope we're doing the right thing.
You know what happened
the last time we met.
Maybe, he won't feel so good
seeing me again.
It's our responsibility, Mr Kee.
- He's in here.
- Just a minute, Doc.
I guess I got the jitters.
It'll give him a hell of a jolt,
won't it?
That's just it. He needs a jolt
to set his brain working again.
You're the jolt. Of course, it's risky,
but it's our only hope.
- Well, I...
- We are ready to chance it, if you are.
- OK. You're the doctors.
- Thanks.
He's been like that all the time.
Frere,
there's someone to see you.
Hello, there.
How are you keeping?
Say, you remember me.
The name is Kee, Sylvester Kee.
Why, hello, Sylvester.
I've been waiting for you.
'I've been waiting for you.'
He's still there.
One of the most complete examples
of dual identity
in the history of medical science.
You mean that half the time
Frere was Frere
and the other half
he was his dummy?
Exactly.
And in the end, the dummy got
the upper hand entirely.
But how did the dummy get from one
room to another? Under its own steam?
Without knowing what he was doing,
Frere took it himself.
Impelled by the dominating
Hugo half of his mind.
That is the scientific explanation.
But, no doubt, you people would
prefer a more colourful one.
That Hugo had become endowed
with an existence of his own.
Drink? Oh, I'm awfully sorry.
Blimey, George is dying on us.
It's... started.
It's all right.
Nothing's started. No one's dying.
George isn't a man,
it's Foley's power plant.
They make their own electricity.
There's nothing to be afraid of.
- We're your friends.
- We want to help you.
None of you can help me.
I must be left alone
with Dr Van Straaten. Please.
Perhaps that's best.
Grainger, would you be kind enough
to fetch my spare glasses from my room?
- I'm lost without them.
- Yes. OK, Doctor.
And now, Craig...
I accept your dream.
Now my task is to listen
and yours to talk.
Just let your thoughts run on.
Speak them aloud.
Say everything that is in your mind.
If only I'd left here
when I wanted to,
when I still had a will of my own.
You tried to stop me.
You wouldn't have done if you'd known.
You have not told me yet what it is
that you are compelled to do, Craig.
To kill someone, someone
who's never done me any harm.
Who wishes me nothing but good.
A man without defence,
because he's lost in the dark.
Oh, Doctor... why did you
have to break your glasses?
'Got to hide. Hide.'
Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop!
- Let's play another game.
- Yes, hide-and-seek.
- Who's to hide?
- I'll hide, I'll hide.
Yes, Mr Craig'll hide! Mr Craig'll hide!
One, two, three, four, five, six...
- Peter!
- Something gone wrong with your plans?
Please, Peter, let me hide
in the room in the mirror.
Room in the mirror?
...thirty, forty, fifty, sixty,
seventy, eighty, ninety, hundred!
Jimmy, I've got him!
Here he is, up in the lumber room,
up in the lumber room!
Take a seat, sucker.
What's biting you, sucker?
He looks kind of sick to me, Hugo.
- Well, why don't he see a doctor?
- Maybe he has seen a doctor.
My, my, Hugo, we've never played
to a murderer before, have we?
Why, no, Kee.
Is there a policeman in the house?
Just room for one more inside, sir.
No! No! No!
Wouldn't I?
Darling, whatever's the matter?
- Another nightmare.
- You poor sweet.
Hello?
Oh, just a minute.
Darling...
Walter Craig speaking.
Darling, you're on my feet.
Oh? Bill put you on to me?
That's fine.
- What name is it?
- Eliot Foley.
F-O-L-E-Y.
- Yes, and the place is Pilgrim's Farm.
- Right.
- Who was it?
- A friend of Bill's.
Wants me to go down for the weekend.
A reconstruction job.
An old farmhouse in Kent.
Eliot Foley... Pilgrim's Farm...
I wonder why that sounds so familiar.
A weekend in the country?
I should go.
I'll toss for it.
Heads I go. Tails I don't.
- Heads.
- I go.
That's just what you need, darling.
It'll help you get rid
of those horrible nightmares.