All language subtitles for I Love a Mystery (Levin,1945).DSR.x264-Regret.Eng

MAN: I Love a Mystery.

Featuring the adventures
of Jack Packard and Doc Long

in "The Decapitation
of Jefferson Monk".

San Francisco,
golden gateway to the Orient,

where East and West
have met and mingled,

city of romance and mystery.

(SIRENS WAILING)

What's your hurry, Joe?
Take your time.

All the King's horses can't put that
fellow back there together again.

Here's his hat, Gimpy.

Thanks, boys.

Name, Jefferson Monk.

Address...

They tell me you just got a new customer,
Gimpy, anybody important?

How should I know?

Through these portals
pass the known and unknown,

the important and
the unimportant eventually.

Now, that's a cheerful thought.

Your morbid vocation has made a
philosopher out of you, Gimpy.

Oh, sure, sure.

What's the name?

Monk, Jefferson Monk,
automobile crash.

Collision?
Bay Bridge.

Bridge?
D.O.A.

Dead on arrival?
That's right.

Jefferson Monk.

Hey, could that be
the Jefferson Monk?

Search me.

You mind if I take a look?

No, help yourself.

Where's his head?

Say, Morgan, how do
you spell decapitated?

(CLOCK CHIMING)

I can't understand it.

Mr. Monk, he was
such a nice gentleman.

He used to come here very often.

I think I told you already
about that, Mr. Long.

Six times.

A fellow's got a right to repeat
himself once in a while,

but you're overdoing it.

Hey, you know, Jack,
that fellow was right.

That prophesier had picked the
date that Monk was going to die.

Prophesy?
He hit it right on the nose.

Yes, the prophecy was fulfilled.

Now, gentlemen, please, you can't
make me believe in such nonsensicals.

We didn't believe it either,

when Mr. Monk
first told us about it.

Yeah.

I thought he was
drunk as a hoot owl.

He was sittin' right over yonder in
booth number 12, with that gal Jean.

It was 1:00 in the morning,
three nights ago.

Just three nights ago
on the 13th of March.

Will that be all,
Mr. Monk?

For the time being, Paul.

How's your Vatrushka, Vovaritch?

Vatrushka?
Specialty of the house.

Vatrushka?
Well, what is that?

Sort of a Russian cheesecake.

It's very special.
You ought to have some.

I'd rather have an introduction to
that there little old Gypsy pigeon.

Uh, which one?

That little blonde,
the one that's playing the fiddle.

Oh, you mean Czarda?

(CHUCKLES)
You want to meet her?

That's done, as soon as
she finishes her number.

I guess I ought to
warn you, Vovaritch,

Doc is quite a ladies' man.

He's left a trail of broken hearts
from Hong Kong to Hong Kong.

(LAUGHING)

Ahem. Excuse me, gentlemen,

it seems to be a little
trouble in number 12.

MONK: Why'd you say that?

Please, don't talk so loud.

Excuse me, Mr. Monk,
has everything been satisfactory?

I've been insulted.

This lady's insulted me,
called me a coward.

Why, I'm sure such a beautiful lady

will never intentionally
insult you, Mr. Monk.

Of course not, please sit down.

I won't sit down.

There's no one here
who can make me sit down.

I'm leaving.
Oh, please, Mr. Monk.

Jefferson, don't make a scene.
MONK: Why not?

What's the matter with that?

How you like that?

Here I am enjoying
all this fancy foreign feed,

and a old-fashioned brawl
has to bust out next door.

Just because a lush...

Hmm?

Gentlemen, do I look to you

as if I was afraid of anything?

What is botherin' you,
my table-hopping friend?

Take it easy, Doc.

The aspersion has been made
that I'm a coward.

Okay, son, I done counted to 10.

But he's beggin' for it.

Oh, gentlemen, please!

Mr. Packard, Mr. Long,
may I present to you Mr. Jefferson Monk,

and Miss...
Jean.

Ah, Sascha, right in time.

Sascha, run, tell Gregory
to turn off the lights.

I shall light this
Cafe Royale here now,

in honor of Mr. Monk,
and our special guests,

the famous detectives,
Mr. Jack Packard and Mr. Doc Long.

Detectives?

That's right.

(APPLAUSE)

Miss Jean.

Ladies and gentlemen,
this Cafe Royale

is the specialty of the house.

Isn't that beautiful?

Oh, that's mighty pretty.

Oh!
(SCREAMING)

(PEOPLE SCREAMING)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Ladies and gentlemen,
please, please!

That's nothing, just an accident.

(SNAPS FINGERS)

(MUSIC RESUMES)

Nice work, son,
remind me to say thank you.

Do you have any first-aid
equipment in the kitchen?

Oh, yes, in the kitchen.

Take Doc out there and dress his arm.
Yes.

It's not too severe a burn,

your jacket got the worst of it.

You mean I can't sue 'em for nothin'
but just a new coat?

Only one sleeve.
Please, this way,

I think we'd better be going.

I'm sorry I had to bowl you
over like that, Mr. Monk.

I'm very grateful.

That was an odd
sort of an accident.

It wasn't an accident.

The fire and the boiling
coffee were intended for me.

Why do you say that?

He's been talking nonsense
like that all evening.

Can't we go now, Jefferson?

You wouldn't look
so skeptical, Mr. Packard,

if you knew that
accidents like this

are constantly happening to me.

Why don't you go to
the police for protection?

That's what makes it all
so tragically absurd,

I don't know the names of
the people who want to kill me.

I've never even seen their faces.

All I know is I won't be alive
three days from now.

I've been condemned to death.

You don't believe me.

But, whenever
I go anywhere at night,

there's a man who
follows me everywhere.

In his hand he carries
a small black valise,

just the right size
to hold a man's head.

Jefferson!
I tell you, I've seen it.

He carries a small, black valise.

You've never seen his face?

Never. And he's been following
me for nearly a month.

Well, how come?

You got anything
that belongs to him?

He thinks so.

He's after my head.

Now I've heard everything.

You don't have to
take my word for it.

Just follow me
and see for yourselves.

Why, certainly.

Will you?

Oh, I'd be very grateful.

You see, sometimes
I'm not so sure of myself,

I feel confused.

Well, you just go ahead,
me and Jack'll be right behind you.

Anybody followin' you,
why, we'll grab 'em.

Won't we, son?

I left my coat in the booth.

Would you get it for me, Jefferson?

Why, certainly.

Excuse me.
Surely.

You've been very patient with him.

You're not Mrs. Monk,
I take it?

No, just a friend.

You see, Mr. Monk's
wife is an invalid,

I hope you're not
serious about following us.

There really isn't anything.
It's all in Jefferson's mind.

Yes, I'm sure it is, Miss...

Jean.

We only agreed to follow him
so that he'd leave quietly.

Yeah, Jean, but,
if you need any help in the future,

why, me and Jack is stayin'
at the Baycrest Hotel.

Room 1202.

(CHUCKLES) Thank you.

Here you are.

You haven't changed your mind,
you're going to follow us?

Oh, sure, just leave it to us.

Well, come on, son,
my arm's beginnin' to hurt.

Let's get on out of here.

Wait a minute.

Give them time to get
a little way ahead of us.

Seems like kind of a shame to
walk off and leave Mr. Monk.

I don't intend to leave Mr. Monk,
or his girlfriend Jean,

who doesn't like to
give her last name.

Hey, you didn't fall for that
stuff he was handing out?

Why, he was so drunk...

He wasn't drunk.
He'd been drugged.

I don't hear them.

They said they'd follow us.

That doesn't mean they'll
be stepping on our heels.

Do you hear anything?

Yes, that step.

It's him.

Do you hear it?

I don't hear anything.

Are you sure it isn't
just in your mind?

No, no, it's not in my mind.

I tell you, I hear it.

Listen.

Nothing, come on, let's go.

Wait.

I'm going to stay and face it.

Those detectives
aren't following you.

They're probably home in bed.

What?

What did you say?

They told me they weren't
going to follow us.

They only said that
to get rid of you.

You're lying.

Say you're lying!
Say you're lying!

Help! Help! Let me go!
Are you one of them?

Help!

(GASPS)

Here we are, Monk.
On the double.

There he goes, Doc, head after him.
Yeah.

Hey, Jack, is he hurt?

No, just has the wits
scared out of him.

Well, no wonder. Did you
get a look at that freak?

No, not a close one.

Well, I did. Too close.

PACKARD: Are you all right?

You see?
I was telling the truth.

PACKARD: Yeah,
I guess you were.

Well, from now on,
Doc and I'll do your worrying for you.

Yeah, I can't wait to get my hands on
that fellow with that satchel again.

(DOG BARKING)

Lie down, Hamlet.

(BARKING)

Lie down, Hamlet.

He worries about me.

DOC: What gets me is what you
said about that gal, Jean.

You sure you ain't never
seen her before tonight?

Positive. She sort of attached
herself to me at the bar.

I see a light
in one of the windows.

Do the servants wait up for you?

No, that light's
in Mrs. Monk's room.

My wife never goes to
sleep until I get home,

Ellen's an invalid,
paralyzed from the waist down.

DOC: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
Nice of her to wait up for you.

I'd rather you didn't mention
what happened tonight.

I don't want my wife
to start worrying about me.

Well, how about you having
just three more days to live?

Did you tell her about that?

Oh, yes.

Ellen knows all about the prophecy.

It's connected with her paralysis.

Propechy?
Yes. Shall we go in?

I'll explain the entire
matter to you inside.

Kind of on the Oriental side,
ain't it?

Yes, my wife loves everything
connected with the Orient.

Will you wait a moment, please.

I'll tell Ellen we're here.

What you make of it, son,
you got any ideas?

I don't know enough about it
yet to have any ideas.

What's the matter?

Who are you?

Mrs. Monk?

I'm Jack Packard and
this is my partner, Doc Long.

We brought Mr. Monk home.

MONK:
Oh, there you are, darling.

I went to your room,
but I couldn't find you.

Jefferson, why are
these gentlemen here?

Why, dear, they're detectives.
Detectives?

They promised to help us...

Jefferson, are you
out of your mind?

Do you want every tabloid newspaper
in this town to learn our story?

But, darling... Our business
is keeping secrets, Mrs. Monk.

Yes, ma'am. Besides,
we already know quite a little bit.

Mr. Packard and Mr. Long
befriended me this evening.

I've told them a little of what we've
been through the past few weeks.

Jefferson and I have been living under
such a strain since all this began.

I'm afraid I was
terribly rude to you.

Please forgive me.

That's all right.
We understand.

Dear, if you don't mind,
I'd like to tell them

the whole story
from the very beginning.

Well, you see, about a year ago,

Jefferson and I took a
trip through the Orient.

A sort of second honeymoon for us.

We didn't know then
that it was too...

If I could only
make you understand.

You mustn't talk, dear.

I'll explain everything.

All right.

I'm tired, I...
Will you please excuse me?

Goodnight.

Goodnight.
Goodnight.

Goodnight, dear.

Please make Mr. Packard
and Mr. Long feel at home.

Of course.

When I see how bravely
she takes all this,

it makes me thoroughly
ashamed of myself.

I think we'd be more comfortable
in the drawing room.

Before we begin,
can I pour anyone a drink?

Not for me, thanks.

I don't ever touch the stuff
so early in the mornin'.

Mind if I have one?

I need something after
tonight's little experience.

Go right ahead, son, help yourself.

You were saying something
about a second honeymoon.

Yes.

You see Ellen and I
were great travelers,

and this trip was
deliberately haphazard.

We took coast-wise boats and tramp
steamers from one seaport to the next,

stopping off at wonderful,
out-of-the-way places.

This all started in Bakyab,

supposed to be one of the
widkedest places in the world,

certainly one of
the most mysterious.

It was Ellen's idea
that we go there,

I hadn't wanted to,
but she insisted.

She had heard of
a thieves' market in Bakyab

where there're
marvelous specimens of jade,

and she wanted to visit it.

Ellen loves jade and
is always collecting it.

In those days,
she was well and walking.

It was there in Bakyab that a
startling thought came to me.

A street musician who seemed to be
following us, looked strangely familiar.

In several ports previously,

I was certain we had seen him,
always playing the same weird music.

Suddenly his presence ceased being
coincidental and became deliberate,

I was convinced that
the musician was following us,

and that his music was in some way
connected with Ellen and me.

(PLAYING MUSIC)

We were sailing for home
the next day,

but somehow I couldn't
shake off the eerie feeling

that music had given me.

Then, one night, I heard it again.

Here, right here in San Francisco.

It was evening,
I was meeting Ellen for dinner

in a strange part of town.

She was very late
and it had grown dark.

I was beginning to be nervous
when I heard that same music.

There, coming toward me,
was a blind beggar.

Suddenly, I made up
my mind to speak to him.

I stepped from my car
and threw him a coin.

Would you mind telling me what
tune that is you're playing?

It is music of my people far away.

As long as you hear it,
no harm will come to you.

Do you recognize it?

Yes, I've heard it several times,
in the Orient.

Then, if you recognize it,
I have a message for you.

MONK: To my amazement, the note
was in Ellen's handwriting,

asking me to come to her

and implying she was
in some danger.

My first impulse
was to call the police,

but the note warned me
to come alone.

I asked the beggar...

Where did you get this?

My master.

He wishes to speak with you.

Who is your master?
Where is he?

Most high man.
Most important.

He say you will come to see him.

What makes him so sure?

He say if you love your wife,
you will come to see him.

Follow me, please.

MONK: I suppose everyone has,
at some time or other,

been in situations where familiar
things suddenly become strange.

It was that way with me.

I have lived here all my life,

and yet I followed
that blind man through alleys

and along strange streets
I had never seen before,

I felt as if I had been
cut off from the world I knew.

I was alone in
a strange, foreign place,

and I was frightened,

like a child that awkens and finds itself
surrounded by new, unfamiliar faces.

Is this where my wife is?
Where is your master?

Uh, follow me.

My master is here.

I will tell the master
you are here.

Just a moment.

Who is this master?

He will speak for himself.

MONK: The room I was in
seemed to be the basement

of a deserted temple or monastery.

As I waited, a strange feeling I was
being watched came over me.

I am the person who sent for you.

You may call me Mr. G.

Will you kindly tell me
where my wife is,

and why you brought me here?

Have patience, Mr. Monk.

I have followed you for many months,
over many thousands of miles.

That still doesn't answer
my question, Mr. G,

if that is your real name.

Reality, Mr. Monk,
what is it?

If you are a skeptic,
you say only those things

that you can see and feel
and taste are real.

Believe me, there is
more to life than that.

There is even more to death.

I didn't come here
to discuss philosophy.

Oh, forgive me,
I was indulging myself.

Allow me to reassure you
that your wife is safe,

and that she is here.

Thank you.
Now, if you'll take me to her. I'll...

Everything in due time,
Mr. Monk,

I have first to make you a proposition,
a business proposition.

Your business methods
are a trifle unique, Mr. G.

You may say the same of the proposition
I am about to make.

You see, philosophers and scientists
have for centuries maintained

that nature never repeats herself,

that her variety is limitless.

And yet, at this moment,
and in this very room,

there are two mortal forms so much
alike as to defy explanation.

What do you mean?

Who are you?

I am G, the High Priest of the
Sacred Society of the Baroukhan.

Baroukhan?

The oldest secret society
in the world.

We were old when
Marco Polo was young,

over 700 years ago.

He was the only other white man
ever to become a member.

What are you driving at?

Will you please step up
here to the altar?

I... I don't understand.

Is it a mummy?

Not exactly.
it is the body of the sacred one,

the founder of the Baroukhan.

He has been dead a thousand years.

That's impossible.
Why, it's...

I see you notice
a certain resemblance.

Why, I can't tell.

It's incredible.

MR. G: The body of the sacred
one has been kept eternally young

by the magic of the embalmers.

Each member of our order
makes at least one pilgrimage

during his lifetime
to the secret tomb,

high in the ice-locked
mountains beyond Tibet.

From every corner
of the world they come

to view the features
of the sacred one.

What has this to do with me?

Come, I will show you a portrait.

MONK: Where did you get this?

It is of our beloved founder
made during his lifetime.

But that's impossible.

It's a portrait of me.

Precisely, Mr. Monk.
That is why we have brought you here.

On behalf of the society
of the Baroukhan,

I am prepared to offer you
$10,000 for your head.

Are you out of your mind?

Quite the contrary.

Unfortunately, our founder's
head is deteriorating

in spite of the most marvelous
skill of our embalmers.

Mr. Monk the very existence
of the Baroukhan

depends upon
your accepting our offer.

It's crazy.
Absolutely insane.

You expect me to sell you my head?

When you no longer have
any need for it, Mr. Monk.

When you are dead.

I suppose you know
when that will be?

It is written in
the mountain snows,

in the bleaching sands
of the desert.

You will be dead
one year from today.

You could kill me for my head.

We never kill, Mr. Monk.

We merely prophesy.

Yours will be a great honor.

I can promise you
glory for eternity.

The temple bells of Par Shansi

are tolling each day
at dawn and dusk,

and the long lines
of humble watchers

who will come to gaze upon
your hallowed features.

The whole thing
seemed so preposterous.

The presence of that mummy,

the portrait with my incredible likeness,
the mysticism of it all.

Well, that is the doggondest
thing I ever heard about.

He insisted I take the $10,000.

You mean, you agreed
to sell your head?

Yes. Oh,
it was all so weird.

It seemed the easiest way
out of a mess.

In fact, it was the only way.

Mr. G made it quite plain that
unless I accepted his offer,

neither Ellen nor I
would leave there alive.

Well, if you ask me,
I think you was darn smart.

A month ago, I received
a letter from Mr. G,

reminding me that
my time was almost up

and prophesied that my wife
would become an invalid.

Three days later,
my wife was unable to get out of her bed.

Her legs were paralyzed.

Well, I'll be dad-gonned.

Did you ever try to find the place
where you talked to Mr. G?

I spent a week going over the entire
district, day after day, on foot.

There wasn't a trace.

You know, one thing puzzles me.

If they were so eager to have your head,
why didn't they just take it?

DOC: Yeah?

Why spend $10,000?

Why did they let you
live any longer?

The Baroukhan prefer
not to use violence.

You see,
according to Mr. G,

there was a possibility
that I might be

the reincarnation of
their revered founder.

That's very interesting.

Oh, believe me,
there was much, much more.

Mr. G seemed to know
everything about me.

When and where I was born,

and, evidently when and
where I'm going to die.

(DOG BARKING)

Your Hamlet is kicking up
quite a soliloquy.

Oh, hey, Jack.

Lookee yonder.
We got us a prowler, son.

Come on.

Be careful. They've never
come here to my house before.

You wait here,
we'll see what this is all about.

(DOG BARKING CONTINUES)

Was it a man or a woman?

They was headed
away from the house.

I couldn't tell whether
it was a man or woman.

Look around, see if we can't
smoke something out.

(BARKING)

Doc, he's headed for the road!

Did you see him?

Yeah, he was headed this direction,

but I lost sight of him.

(CAR ENGINE STARTING)

Look out!
Hey!

Doc, are you all right?

I don't know, son.

Maybe I should have
stayed in bed today.

Did you get a look at whoever
was driving that car?

Uh-uh. I was too busy lookin'
for a soft place to lie.

Yeah, he was too fast for me.

Come on, let's check the house.

Maybe some of the servants
or Mrs. Monk saw the prowler.

All right, son, we'll do that.

Are you sure you didn't
hear anyone just outside?

Or that no one has entered
the room through this window?

Why, of course I'm sure.

No one could have come in
without my knowing it.

I'm a very light sleeper.

I guess that's that.

Thanks, Ms. Monk.

Dear, would you ask Osgood
to get me a glass of milk?

Certainly, dear.
Thanks.

Doggone shame,
us bustin' in on you this way.

We get to workin' on a case,

we kind of forget about
other folks' feelings.

Come on, Jack.
Goodnight.

No, please stay, Mr. Packard,
I'd like to talk to you.

Of course, Mrs. Monk.

I want to tell you how glad I was
that you consented to help us.

Jefferson's been so worried.

Sometimes I've feared for
his sanity, even his life.

Suicide?

Well, my husband's
extremely sensitive.

He's tortured himself
with the idea that

he's responsible for my condition.

Does your husband use any drugs
or opiates to quiet his nerves?

Jefferson refuses
sleeping medicines.

He thinks they're
a sign of weakness.

Perhaps if your physician prescribed
something, he'd be willing.

Well, I'll speak to
Dr. Han about it.

He's the family physician.

I think that would be wise.

Goodnight.
Goodnight.

Justin?

Of course, Ellen.

Don't apologize.

You wouldn't have called
if it hadn't been urgent.

What's that?

Say it again, slowly.

Tomorrow I'm going to see what's
behind Mrs. Monk's supposed illness.

Supposed?

You mean, you think
maybe she ain't sick?

Could be.

Well, that's part of the prophecy.

Maybe it is and maybe it isn't.

All I know is that Ellen Monk
wouldn't be the first woman

who hated her husband and
pretended to be sick or paralyzed

to keep him away from her.

Oh, man.

I ain't never seen a woman act
more in love with her husband.

Maybe that's the word
for it, Doc, "act."

Now, go to sleep.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

There, didn't you hear it?

Why, I hear a symphony,
but what of it?

Listen to it again.

(MUSIC STOPS AND STARTS)

(VOCALIZING)

Your sacred music of Nirvassa,

which is supposed
to be 1,000 years old,

was written by Tchaikovsky.

I don't get it.

A few notes of music appear in a Russian
symphony but what does it prove?

Well, maybe nothing, maybe a lot.

Let's look at it this way.

I'm a detective.
I know a lot of fantastic happenings

are supposed to come out of
the so-called mysterious East,

things that have
never been explained.

But you refuse to accept them as facts
until they can be proved. Is that it?

Exactly.

Can you explain my wife
receiving a letter

prophesying that she'll
become paralyzed?

No, I can't.

But I'd like to see that letter.

I have it right here.

It won't be necessary to show you
the other letter, Mr. Packard.

Here is a later one just like it.

Aren't you going to read it?

I know what it will say.
You open it.

"The temple bells of Par Shansi

"toll twice daily for
the souls of the Baroukhan.

"At dawn and at dusk.

"When they have rung
four more times,

"you will come home."

"The temple bells
of Par Shansi..."

How did you know the
exact wording of this?

I have a very good memory.

The letter prophesying Ellen's
illness began exactly the same way.

May I come in?

I hope I am not interrupting.

Oh, not at all.
Please come in, Doctor.

This is Dr. Hahn,
attending Mrs. Monk.

Mr. Packard, Mr. Long.

Mrs. Monk has told me
of your exploits, gentlemen.

I am glad to meet you both.
How do you do, Doctor?

Hiya.

I hear we haven't been
sleeping well lately?

Oh, that's all changed now, Doctor.

Mr. Packard has promised me an
amazing cure for all my troubles.

Oh, I'm most impressed.

Mr. Packard, are you, by chance,
a medical man, as well as a detective?

I'm only a medical amateur.

What field of medicine
do you prefer, Mr. Packard?

The human mind, Doctor.

Oh, psychiatry.

My branch. Fascinating.

If you'll excuse me for a moment,

I'll look in on Ellen.

Oh, certainly.

(DOOR CLOSING)

Tell me more about your
and Mr. Long's experiences.

Well, I started out
to be a musician.

Are you musical, Doctor?

(PIANO PLAYING)

Now it's my turn to plead amateur.

I understand, Doctor,
that you're Russian.

I suppose you took
your medical training

at the University
of Saint Petersburg?

This is a very shrewd guess,
Mr. Packard.

Am I correct?

Yes.

Do you mind if I make
another shrewd guess?

I don't believe there's anything
the matter with Mrs. Monk.

I believe she could get up and
walk tomorrow if she wanted to.

It's hardly proper for me
to discuss my patients.

If you'll excuse me.

(SPEAKING RUSSIAN)

What?

What did you say?

I asked where you were born,
Doctor, in your native tongue.

I'm also an amateur linguist.

I was born in
the Province of Uzbek.

Have you ever heard of or had any
dealings with the Baroukhans?

The Baroukhans?

It's a secret organization of
professional thieves and cut-throats.

Their members are everywhere,
I've heard.

My travels haven't been as
extensive as yours, Mr. Packard.

Is there anything further
you wish to know?

No, thank you.

But, if there's ever anything
you wish to tell me, Doctor,

I receive all messages
at the Silver Samovar.

You done struck oil there, son.

Yeah, he's in this up to his neck.

What's more, he's no Russian.
He's probably Eurasian.

Well, how many's mixed up
in this, anyhow?

I don't know, but that's what
we're going to find out.

I'll meet you tonight
at the Silver Samovar.

In the meantime,
try and pick up the trail of that girl.

Oh, Jean?

Oh, son, that's mixing
business with pleasure.

Well, is that bad?
No.

Hey, lady. I've been
lookin' for you.

Hello. I was looking for you.

You was looking for me?

Yes. I wanted to ask you
how you got along

with my drunken
boyfriend last night?

What makes you say
he's your boyfriend

or that you're a friend
of his family's?

Because I'm a liar.

I've been a liar ever since
I can remember. (CHUCKLES)

Let's see if we can get a booth
before they're all taken.

Well, all right.

Hey, son, lookee what I found.

Congratulations.
Good evening, Jean.

Hello.

How about answering
a few questions?

Why don't you two big,
strong fellows mind your own business?

At the present,
our business is Mr. Monk.

He'll be here in a few minutes.

Well, I guess that lets me out.

You're not afraid of meeting him?

Haven't you read
the gossip columns?

Jean and Jefferson have...

Suppose you let me
give you a little advice.

Stay away from that man.

He's stark raving mad.

I'm not at all surprised,

what with pretty ladies
doping his drinks

and trying to scald him to death.

Hey, hadn't we better nab her?

No, we have far more
important work to do.

Okay, son, what is the program?

Monk is meeting us later.

Tonight we're going to set a trap

for the gentleman
with the peg-leg.

Monk has agreed
to be the bait again.

Oh, now that's somethin' like it.

You know, Doc, someone with an
Oriental eye for refined cruelty

is trying to drive Monk to suicide.

Hey, you mean all that
stuff about the prophecy

is just so much
razzle-dazzle?

That's the way I figure it.

I looked up the Monk will.

There's $2 million in the estate,

and the entire estate
is held in trust.

Monk's father
didn't believe in divorce.

Now, if Monk or his wife
ever hits the Reno trail,

the entire estate goes to charity.

Oh, meanin'?

If one or the other dies
or is murdered,

the entire estate automatically
reverts to the other.

But murder usually carries a penalty
which costs the life of the killer.

Now, if Monk could be
made to commit suicide...

Oh, hey, now a lot of things
begins to make sense.

Well, when and where
do we start at?

I gave Monk a whistle
and told him to use it

if peg-leg shows up.

(WOMAN SCREAMING)

What was that?

(WOMAN SCREAMING)

Wish they'd bank the corners
around this block.

I think we've fallen for a very old,
but very effective trick.

Somebody wanted to get us off
Mr. Pegleg's trail.

Yeah, that wasn't Monk that hollered.
That was a woman.

We'd better get on back to where
we were supposed to meet Mr. Monk.

(VEHICLE HONKING)

Let's grab that cab.
Monk must be somewhere about.

Taxi!

Come in and share the ride.
I'm the neighborly type.

Hey, this is the way every taxi
cab ought to be furnished.

Sister, you do get around.

Didn't we just hear you
scream a few minutes ago?

Possibly.

Every once in a while I feel like
screaming, and when I do I just let fly.

You're liable to bust your pretty
little neck yellin' that a way.

Yeah, scream yourself
right into jail.

If anything happens to Monk and
the police get into this...

Don't take yourselves so seriously.

What is this, a pressure group?

Sorry, gentlemen, three's a crowd.

I hope I won't be seeing you.

Don't ever say we didn't warn you.

Cruise around the block, driver.
We're looking for someone.

(CAR ENGINE STARTING)

Who's there?

(STRUGGLING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

All right.
Time to wake up.

There now.
Do you feel rested?

(SIGHS) As if I'd slept twelve
hours instead of two. (CHUCKLES)

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Did anyone see you come here?
No.

(DOORBELL RINGING)
Excuse me.

Yes, he's here.

Come in, gentlemen.

They insisted
on seeing you, Mr. Monk.

We've been lookin'
for you all night.

You hadn't been home all night
and we were worried.

We were just about to go
to the police.

Then decided to come by here
and have a chat with Dr. Han.

And here you are.
Something went wrong last night.

I lost you fellows.

Don't you think we'd better
discuss this in private?

Oh, but, of course.
I'll, uh...

I'll write that prescription for Mr. Monk
while you talk over these secret matters.

Thank you, Doctor.
We'll only be a minute.

(DOOR CLOSES)

I don't like that guy.
What happened?

I started out to lead the man with the
black bag to where you were waiting,

but he fooled me.

He came from
the opposite direction.

Then I heard a woman scream and my
peg-legged pursuer took to his heels.

Did you follow him?

No. He was gone
before I could think.

I walked the streets.

For the first time in weeks,
I walked alone,

unafraid.

When it was daylight, I came here.

Well, then you ain't seen
the morning paper yet.

No. Your friend Pegleg had
his throat cut last night.

MONK: "Jason Anderson,
known in police circles as 'Pop, '

"or 'Pegleg' or 'The Face, '

"due to the numerous
weird disguises he affected,

"was found dead at four twenty this
morning in his rooming house."

So Jean is his daughter.
Yeah.

Doc, you better get on over
to the police station

and see what other information
you can pick up. Okay, son.

Your wife is probably worried.
You'd better got on home. Yes, I had.

I don't understand
this sudden switch.

A murderer murdered.
What do you think it means?

I don't know,

but according to my calculations

the wrong people
are getting killed.

Well, gentlemen?
Thank you for the use of the hall, Doc.

I've been wanting to ask you,
Doctor, about drugging a man

into a condition where he reacts
hypnotically to suggestions

he is going to die.

For a medical amateur, you possess

a most professional
curiosity, Mr. Packard.

Thank you, Doctor.

I didn't really need to ask you that.
I could have told you.

A man told over and over
again that he's going to die

finally becomes
hypnotized by the idea.

I could also have told you

that playing with the Baroukhan
is dangerous business.

A man got his throat
cut last night.

There's no telling who'll be next.

May I help you, sir?
Yes, I'd like to see Mr. Justin Reeves.

Is he in?
Have you an appointment?

No. Just say
it's Jack Packard,

a friend of
Mrs. Jefferson Monk.

Tell him it's important.

I'll see
if Mr. Reeves is free.

(PLAYING THE PIANO)

Do you wish to see me?
Mr. Reeves? Yes.

My clerk tells me that you
mentioned the name of Mrs. Monk.

Yes. When I saw the word
"Orientalist" on your window.

I half-expected to see someone
done up in embroidered robes

and eating with chopsticks.
Oh, really, Mr. Packard?

Now what can I do for you?
You can help me. If you will.

Mrs. Monk said you're the finest
authority on the Orient in the city.

Mrs. Monk is very kind.
Yes, isn't she?

You know, I've been to a dozen shops
like this before I came here...

But yours is the first where anyone knew
Mrs. Jefferson Monk's name right off.

Well, that's odd. Mrs. Monk is
quite a collector of Oriental art.

I know. But they don't seem to know
her at any of the other stores.

She said you might be able
to give me some information

about a secret religious
organization known as the Baroukhan.

Oh, the Orient is full
of secret religious societies.

There may be a Baroukhan,
although I've never heard of it.

But then why should I,
if it's a secret society?

Just what I
told Mrs. Monk.

Oh, do you play, Mr. Reeves?
A little.

(PLAYING PIANO)

Do you recognize this?
(PLAYING PIANO)

Should I?

Jefferson Monk heard it played
by a street musician in Bakyab.

Now what do you suppose a street
musician in far off Bakyab

was doing playing an oboe
part written by Tchaikovsky?

What do you want?
Why, I told you. Mrs. Monk...

Mrs. Monk
didn't tell you anything.

That's a rather positive statement,
Mr. Reeves.

One doesn't make postive
statements without foundation.

I take it you've had occasion
to talk to Mrs. Monk recently.

Well, you see. I...
I happen to know Mrs. Monk very well.

She would have told me if...
Don't bother.

It's out of my hands now, anyway.

What do you mean?
The thieves have fallen out.

The one called "The Face"
got his throat cut last night.

There may be others.

There's an old Chinese proverb,

"Better one more good man on earth
than another angel in Heaven."

Good day, Mr. Reeves.
Or should I say, "Mr. G"?

There's certain
to be more murders and soon.

We've got to act quickly.

Evidence points to both killings
being by the same person,

which bears out
what you've just told me.

I don't know who killed Jean and Pegleg,
but I have an idea for finding out.

It's a long chance but it may work.

If it does, we'll have saved
a couple of lives.

That's the business
of this department.

What do you suggest?
That you arrest me.

What?
I'm not kidding.

What's new, Captain?
Any word on the killings yet?

Give us a statement, Captain.
Is Jack Packard connected with this case?

We've just had our first break
in the knife murders.

I'm holding a man
as material witness

who knows the identity
of the killer.

Who is he?
What's his name?

However, this man is standing on his
constitutional rights and refuses to talk.

What's his angle?
What?

Say that again? The man who is
withholding the name of the killer

is Jack Packard.
ALL: (IN SHOCK) Jack Packard?

Let me out of here.
Where's that telephone?

Packard,
you're a nine-day wonder.

What are the headlines?
You ought to know, you made 'em.

Good.

You know, somewhere the killer's
read one of those newspapers.

He thinks I know who he is.

Naturally, he wants to get to
me before I decide to talk.

I want to fix it
so he can get to me.

But you'll have to cooperate
one hundred percent.

What do I do?

Tonight, at nine o'clock,
I want a few backs turned in this jail.

(PLAYING PIANO)

In tune.
It's downright cozy.

All the comforts of home.

How'd you fix it?
The place belongs to Monk.

I had to tell him your plan
to get to borrow the joint.

I'd like it better if no one knew.

Monk will keep his mouth shut.

Besides, he's the only one who could
fix it with the night watchman.

Listen.

I want you to send identical
telegrams to Ellen Monk,

Reeves, Dr. Han,
and Osgood, the nurse.

Tell them I'm hiding here and
that I'm ready to talk business,

after twelve o'clock tonight.

Okay.

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Is Monk here?
He hasn't left the house all day.

Stays shut up in that drawing room,
playing his violin.

Justin...
No, no, no, not here.

I'll see you when I leave.

(PLAYING VIOLIN)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Good evening, Osgood.

Keep your hands off me.
(CHUCKLES)

Is everyone here?
Yes, we're all here now.

Well, I think we should drop
the whole thing. Please!

If we quarrel among ourselves,
everything will be lost.

As far as I'm concerned,
everything is lost now.

I say it's not.

Don't you see, the fact that Jack
Packard sends each of us a telegram

proves that he's bluffing.

He doesn't know who the killer is.

Yes, but it also proves that
Packard suspects one of us.

He must have a reason.
ELLEN: He hasn't any reason.

We're not going to stop now.

Not when we're within one day
of two million dollars.

I am more interested
in knowing the someone

who kills off two of our members.

Who gains by their death,
except someone in this room?

JUSTIN: Well,
don't look at me.

That's no way to get...
Listen...

We'd better go.
He shouldn't find us here.

Justin, stay.

The rest of you go.

And remember, tomorrow
we go ahead as we planned.

What do you think
they're plotting now?

Which one of us will be next?

You must be insane to talk
about going ahead with this.

Those two detectives
have seen through everything.

They're suspicious
but they can't prove a thing.

I should think
you'd be as eager as I am.

Think what it means to both of us.

Now there are too less to share.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)
Who is it?

MONK: It is I, Ellen.
May I come in?

Over there, behind the drapes.

Wait a minute,
I'll press the buzzer.

Oh, are you alone?

(DOOR SHUTS) I thought I heard voices,
a man's voice.

(CHUCKLES) I suppose a man who is
scheduled to lose his head tomorrow

is apt to hear all sorts of things.

Jefferson, please.
I forgot.

It distresses you to be reminded
of my fate, doesn't it, dear?

Forgive me.

I can't get it out of my head
that I heard a man's voice.

I was thinking of that
wonderful story by Balzac...

Of the man who suspected his wife's
lover was hiding in her room.

When she denied the man was there,

he asked her to swear on the Bible,
and she did.

Then he sent for a stone mason

and had the closet,
where the lover was hiding,

sealed up with bricks.

Would you like to swear?

Jefferson, please don't joke
about such things.

I didn't intend to upset you.

Good night.

It would have been quite dramatic
if you had sworn, wouldn't it?

I tell you,
Packard put him onto us.

How could he when he
doesn't even know himself?

What he doesn't know,
he's guessed and that's enough for me.

Besides, there's...
There's Pop Anderson and Jean.

I don't know who killed them, but I'm
not taking any chance on being next.

I'm getting out.
You can't, Justin. You can't!

You got me into this,
you've got to stand by me now.

I'm sorry, Ellen.
I know when I've lost.

Goodbye.
Justin!

Wait...

(DOG BARKING)

(MAN EXCLAIMS IN ALARM)

(DOG WHINING)

Who is it?

Why, Ellen!

You're standing.

What a miraculous recovery.

I heard a cry outside.

Jefferson, please
may I have my chair?

Why?

You don't need it any more.

In fact, you never did need it,
did you?

How you must have hated me.

Resorting to such cruelty...

Driving me to insanity or suicide.
It's not true.

I'm going to let you suffer,
the way you let me suffer.

I want you to feel a cold
breath of fear, as I felt it...

Day after day, night after night...

Until your nerves scream
as mine screamed

I want you to taste your refined
cruelty down to the last, bitter drop.

You're mad.

When I found out what
you were trying to do to me,

my fear became courage.
The courage to kill all of you.

Justin Reeves
is outside there, dead.

His throat.

His throat.

Then you're the killer?
Yes.

Okay, reach.

Oh. What are you doing here? (CHUCKLES)
You startled me, I was looking for you.

Well, well, what's the matter?
There's been a change of plan.

The police have surrounded the
killer out on Cloverdale Road.

Oh, that's what
all them sirens was about.

Well, I'd better go tell Jack.

(BODY THUDS)

Stay as you are, please.

I'll have to borrow your gun.

I like to hold all the trumps.

So you're the gentleman
who's so handy with a knife.

I should have known.

Don't apologize, Mr. Packard.

When your friend
asked to borrow the warehouse,

I gathered there was an elaborate
ruse to smoke out the killer.

If you knew I didn't suspect you,

why did you come here
and expose yourself?

Because I knew that
if you didn't suspect me now,

it was only a matter of time
until you did.

You see how I respect
your detecting ability?

So, I said to myself, why wait?

Mr. Packard must be killed.

Step over there, please.

The light's better,

and I'd feel a little more
comfortable with a piano between us.

You're not going
to get away with this.

The neighborhood
is alive with policemen.

(PLAYING PIANO)
(CHUCKLES) No, Mr. Packard.

They've all gone.

Someone told the police about another
knife killing out near my home.

Who was it this time?

He called himself an Orientalist.

He also called himself Mr. G.

Yes, it was Mr. G, but as Mr. Reeves,
he and I had never met.

That is, until tonight.

I... I suppose
you're going to kill them all?

Your wife included?

Yes, after a while.

My wife too.

What are you waiting for?

Come on, get the killing over with.

I want to appease my curiosity.

I understand your deductions
about the music,

but how did you come
to suspect my wife?

Your portrait on the miniature.

Why?

Your wife had someone
copy your photograph on ivory.

I know from your description it
was neither old, nor Oriental.

The ancients did not use
lights and shadows,

chiaroscuro, as we do.

Then, when I saw the foot print
on your wife's window sill...

What a mind you have.

It's a pity Mr. Packard,
to stop you from working forever,

really a pity.

For the first time,
we're in complete agreement.

Tell me, how did you arrive
at the same conclusions I did?

I want to Dr. Han and offered him
more than the others were giving him.

He told me everything.

Bribery hadn't occurred to me.

None of them realized they were
handing me the opportunity

for the perfect murder,
the murder without suspicion.

Really?

So, you see, Mr. Packard,
why you too must he killed.

Are you ready?

(EXCLAIMS IN PAIN)

(GUN FIRING)

Raise your hands.

Drop your gun!

Mr. Monk?

Fancy meeting you here.

MONK: I have your partner,
Mr. Packard.

Are you coming out?

Or shall I kill him with your gun?

Don't do it, Jack.
He's got to shoot me anyhow.

I'll count three.

One...

Two...
Stay where you're at, Jack.

Three.

He's getting away.
(STRUGGLING)

(CAR SPEEDING AWAY)

There he goes!
Yeah, he won't go far.

In a few minutes, every cop in
town will be looking for him.

Oh, how horrible!
Take me away, I can't look. His head...

It must have happened when he was
thrown through the windshield.

Money, money...
All the world is mad for money.

Except Mrs. Monk
and her friends.

As guests of the State,
they won't need any.

Doggone.

What started out to be a real
honest-to-goodness mystery

just boils itself down to being
as simple as ABC... Maybe.

But there's one note of mystery
that's not been explained.

What happened
to Jefferson Monk's head?

Hey, you mean the prophecy?

Maybe there was something
after all?

Who can say?

The Temple bells of Par Shansi
toll at dawn and at dusk.

The Temple bells of Par Shansi
toll at dawn and at dusk.