Original subtitles

Ladies and gentlemen, the covers of your current magazine issues.

A missile,

a house,

and a dame.

All cold as ice.

Nothing to make a customer stop, look and buy.

Harding.

What was the average circulation of Aitken's Weekly in 1946?

One million, seven hundred and forty-three thousand,

six hundred and twenty-six.

And last month?

Five hundred and sixty-four thousand,

eighty-two.

And what happened to the advertising?

Well, it dropped 63 percent, but then, of course,

I think that Mr. Aitken can explain that.

Lori.

Yes, Mr. Fletcher.

Remove this garbage.

The new covers will illustrate our new policy.

Woman's Viewpoint will deal frankly with sex

from the point of view of the woman,

Aitken's Home Magazine will concern itself

with the place where it presents its greatest problems,

and Aitken's Weekly will concentrate

on exposing its scandalous results.

That, very broadly, ladies and gentlemen,

will be our new editorial policy.

This is shocking.

Mr. Aitken, your father created this house.

It's his name and yours this man is degrading.

Even if you don't fully control the business anymore.

Decency means nothing to a man who does not know what it is.

His idea of literature

is the scribbling on washroom walls.

The swamp he calls his brain

spawns a virus that infects minds and bodies.

I sell magazines, Mr. Aitken, not morality.

You see?

A virus can't be talked to.

It must be exterminated.

And so everybody who was anybody in the magazine racket is here.

Well, I don't see Mr. Aitken.

Oh, he'll be along.

So that's the new Aitken Weekly.

Looks to me like you're going into competition

with a peep show, Mr. Fletcher.

Anything you want to say for publication?

No, no, I'll just say that

we believe in the facts of life.

Harding.

See that these newspaper boys get all they want to drink.

It's awfully loud, Mr. Fletcher.

Now, that's the way I like it.

And a good, good evening to you.

Welcome to the Fletcher pad.

I was just beginning to miss you.

We were delayed.

This is Mr. Fletcher.

My wife, Alyce.

Hello.

A real pleasure, and a great surprise.

Surprise?

Well, I figured you for Vassar, a Ph.D. and horn rimmed glasses.

Why, you belong on the cover of Vogue.

I've been there.

This is Milly Nash, my wife's sister.

Mr. Fletcher.

Nash?

Milly Nash.

Excuse me.

You're wanted on the phone, Mr. Fletcher.

It's the man next door.

Oh, not again.

See that these handsome people get what they want to drink.

Excuse me.

Yes?

No, I won't turn it down. I like music loud.

Well, so she's that sick, send her to a hospital.

"Alyce Nash. Blonde. 38-25-35. See sister, Milly Nash."

Yes. Yes.

And it was so strange for me

because all the manners I knew were Chinese

and here I was going to an American school

with American children for the first time

and I didn't even learn to speak English

until I was seven years old.

What she really means is that our amah, our nurse,

spoke so much Chinese...

Yes, what I really mean...

Whatever you mean, Mrs. Aitken,

I'm sure you've got quite a history.

Well, it's true.

Our family always kept us rather sheltered,

didn't they, Alyce? Yes, that's right. Our family...

I'll bet you've got the kind of family pedigree

that would satisfy even Aitkens' main line relatives.

Well, now, let me see.

On our mother's side we are direct descendants...

Milly.

Mr. Fletcher resents family trees.

He takes great pleasure in chopping them down.

Really, Edmond...

No, no, it's all right, he insults me all the time.

I didn't think it got through to you.

If you don't mind, I think I'd like to powder my nose.

Alyce?

Yes, of course. Excuse us.

You know, it's funny with you blue bloods.

Every now and then you've just got to get

some of that good red blood in to improve the strength.

Mr. Aitken. Any truth in the rumor

you're going to resign from this company?

No.

Well, if Fletcher's running the magazines

out near Los Angeles,

who's going to take your job in Philadelphia?

Well, if he'll take my advice,

he'll stay home and take care of that wife of his,

but if he doesn't, I know a lot of other men

who'd like the opportunity.

Are you all right?

Tell Mr. Fletcher you're sorry.

Tell him it's only because Edmond had a drink.

Oh, no.

Do as I say.

Mr. Fletcher, I...

I don't know what brought this on, but I'm very sorry.

I don't know what to say.

Come on, Alyce.

Milly Nash.

You call me in the morning.

Poetry enriches the soul, but impoverishes the publisher.

I named my magazine The Pleiades

after the seven daughters of Atlas

who died and went to heaven to become a group of stars.

That constellation rises in May and sets in November.

It is now November.

My creditor's children are cold and hungry.

Why do you keep on publishing a magazine

that has such limited appeal, Mr. Nicholson?

But why not?

Of all the things I know,

poetry most deserves to be kept alive.

Excuse me.

Yes?

Mr. Aitken is here

for his appointment.

All right, Della. Oh, and...

Make out a check to the Pleiades Press for $100.

Thank you, Mr. Mason.

It's deductible.

By the way, is that Aitken Publications

coming in next?

Yes, it is.

Ah. And I'm complaining.

Thank you again.

Hello, Mr. Mason.

I'm Edmond Aitken.

Literary integrity and good taste are not legal problems

except in libel suits,

or when the laws covering public decency

have been violated.

Only the post office can really stop men like your Mr. Fletcher.

I'm afraid he knows how to sidestep the postal laws.

What about the business end of it?

Has he used corporate funds for anything

in which he might have a personal interest,

for instance?

I don't know.

I've made some notes for you here

on everything the company's invested in since he took over.

Good.

I'll examine the way he broke your contract

as editor in chief.

We'll check every possibility of getting to him legally.

You've given me some hope, Mr. Mason.

Don't get your hopes too high, Mr. Aitken.

Men like Fletcher have a way of hiding their sins.

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the street looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

Don't finish it.

Poetry bores you, Mr. Aitken?

Who are you?

My name is Ben Nicholson.

Oh, yes, of course. The Pleiades.

I've seen it back in Philadelphia.

Shall I, uh, finish the poem for you?

Mr. Nicholson, you live out here in your little dream world,

helping moonraking poets grow words nobody reads,

smugly poor because that's

the way it's always been with poets.

What do you know about circulation and advertising

and what a man must do to show a profit?

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread.

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

You need a drink.

Well, that's one thing I don't need.

Dinner?

Sympathy?

Even a publisher of poetry

has heard the sad story of your troubles, Mr. Aitken.

Well, maybe one drink.

Well, the first line advertising accounts

are not too keen on the new setup.

They... Oh, thank you.

They won't support anything quite as lurid

as you seem to be planning.

Go on.

Well, we'll have to round up some new accounts,

hire a new sales staff that understands your kind of market,

so I've been thinking...

They've already been hired.

What?

Unless you stop thinking, Harding, you'll be fired.

I have a contract which... Sue me.

And I'll tell the jury how you helped Aitken fall on his face.

What do you mean by that?

Well, in your 20 years of loyal company service,

you've put just a little too much money in the bank.

That's not true.

My salary's always been modest.

Lori?

How much is it he has scattered

in those accounts all over the country?

Well, at the last total,

it was slightly over $93,000, Mr. Fletcher.

Well, there was nothing dishonest.

I had private investments.

You can't prove a single...

Harding.

All I want you to do is to keep your mouth shut

and do your work the way I tell you.

Now. Round up some new advertisers

and do whatever has to be done,

only get out of here and do it.

They're all phonies, every single one of them.

But not you, Lori.

Only it's getting late.

You'd better beat it too. I got a lot to do.

So don't come back tonight.

Company?

No, no, no, I've just got some business.

But not mine?

Well, that's right.

So beat it now, baby.

Hello,

Mrs. Aitken.

Edmond.

I thought you were going to be at the club all evening.

I want to talk to you, Alyce.

She has a headache, Edmond.

I saw a lawyer today.

There's a faint hope we might get something

on this man Fletcher.

If we do, I'm going to the stockholders again.

In the meantime, I'm talking to the editors.

Oh, Edmond, if it's just more bad news about business,

couldn't it wait until tomorrow?

It's good news, darling, don't you understand?

I've made a decision.

I've decided to fight.

Why? Why?

To get my company back again.

Now, listen here.

The first thing I'm doing is rounding up proxies.

The editors who have stock, well, they'll give me theirs.

On those shares I gave you for Christmas,

I'll have to have your proxy on them.

I told you she had a headache.

Will you for once just keep out of this?

Alyce.

The reason I need your proxy is...

But you can't have my proxy, Edmond.

I gave it to Mr. Fletcher.

You what?

Just now, tonight.

To Fletcher?

Oh, I'm sorry, Edmond, but I didn't know.

How could I know?

And now it's too late.

I'm sorry, Edmond.

If I'd been there, I would have stopped her, of course,

but you kept saying how close we are to going broke.

Edmond, you know how frightened Alyce is of being poor.

Of ever being poor again.

And with Fletcher, the business would be safe.

Well. You've come back.

I hoped you would.

I need more courage.

When a man has murder in his heart,

he asks himself questions.

Things like...

Well...

A man who hates enough to kill

doesn't waste time asking questions.

He kills and gets it done with.

Yes. That's good. That makes sense.

Murderers hate. I hate. Therefore I am a murderer.

Then I suggest only one thing to you.

If it is murder you're now thinking of,

for the sake of your own conscience,

be sure you murder the right person.

"Mr. Fletcher's death occurred

"during the late hours of the night.

"His body was discovered by a servant

who entered the luxurious bachelor apartment at 8 a.m."

Hello.

May I please speak to Mr. Aitken?

Well, do you know where he could be reached?

Is this Mrs. Aitken speaking?

No, it is not,

and I haven't the faintest idea where Mr. Aitken is.

Now, I'm very busy.

Would you mind taking a message, please?

He...

He hasn't been home all night.

Well, when he does,

would you please have him call Mr. Perry Mason.

Who was that?

Nobody. More reporters.

Here. Take this.

Oh, no more, please.

Take it.

We were here.

We never left this house last night, Alyce.

Remember.

We were here together all night.

All night.

Now, remember. All night.

May I see Mrs. Aitken, please?

Police.

Well, she's asleep right now.

In fact, she's under heavy sedation.

Well, I'm afraid we'll have to wake her up somehow.

Why?

I have a warrant charging her

with the murder of Donald Fletcher.

Oh, no.

Well, Alyce Aitken's fingerprints

were all over the murder apartment.

There was a struggle, wasn't there?

Place all upset?

Uh-huh.

But it was a gun that killed Fletcher.

His own gun.

What else?

I haven't been able to find out

what motive the police figure yet,

but apparently Fletcher's secretary

told them that her boss was planning

some kind of a rendezvous for last night.

With Alyce Aitken? Uh-huh.

On top of which, a neighbor says

he saw a woman answering Alyce Aitken's description

running out of the apartment a little after 3 a.m.

And, of course, you can guess at what time

the doctors figure that Fletcher's murder took place.

Mm-hm, 3 a.m.

Yes, Della?

Perry,

Mr. Ben Nicholson is here.

He says he has a message from Mr. Edmond Aitken.

All right. Send him in.

You know where he is?

Yes, he is, or was, a moment ago,

at my house.

It's all quite awkward, I'm afraid.

What do you mean?

I ran into him last night.

He was pretty upset.

Of course, I barely know Aitken.

We only met yesterday and quite by accident,

but when he started talking about killing someone,

I thought it best to offer him a drink

and try to keep him out of trouble.

So I took him over to my place.

He spent the night there.

Maybe you did keep him out of trouble.

Well, actually I fell asleep about 1:00 or so.

He was in another little room with its own entrance.

What about his message, Mr. Nicholson?

Yes, yes.

He wants you to defend his wife.

He wants you to see her right away.

He'd be in touch himself,

but the police are over there now

asking him a thousand questions.

Not that he has any answers, poor chap.

It's such a dreadful thing to have to face.

A man's own wife,

mixed up in a thing like this,

with a man like that.

Sometimes the police make mistakes,

Mr. Nicholson.

I didn't kill him.

Honestly, I didn't.

But you did go to see Mr. Fletcher last night?

No. Of course not.

Then how do your fingerprints

appear so many places in his apartment?

I don't know. I can't explain it.

I'm all confused. I...

I'm still half asleep.

Have some more coffee, Mrs. Aitken.

Now, as I've said,

you don't have to make any statements to the officials,

but if I'm going to be your lawyer, you simply must...

Have you talked to my sister, Milly?

No, not yet.

Well, she'll tell you I wasn't out of the house all night.

I was in bed by 11:30.

Your sister shares your bedroom? No.

Then how can she prove you weren't out of the house?

Oh, I don't know.

You're trying to mix me up.

Mrs. Aitken, you must tell me the truth.

I won't talk without Milly.

I won't.

But Alice had no reason to kill Fletcher.

In fact, she was even on his side.

Against her own husband?

Not really against.

She was fighting to protect Edmond,

to keep him from losing all his money

on a lost cause.

She even gave a proxy to Fletcher

to vote some stock she owns.

When was that?

Last night.

You see, Alyce did go to see Fletcher last night,

but she was home by 11 and I can prove it.

Why wouldn't she tell me that herself?

Well, Alyce isn't very strong.

Oh, please, give her time to rest, to think.

I'm sure she'll be cooperative, Mr. Mason.

I'll speak to her.

I'm sure she will be.

Did Mr. Aitken know of this visit to Fletcher?

Did he know about the proxy?

He was waiting for us when Alyce came home.

There was quite a scene.

He left and he hasn't been back since.

Why aren't they after him instead of after her?

Where is he?

He's been with a friend.

Who?

Ben Nicholson.

Do you know him?

He publishes a poetry magazine called The Pleiades.

No.

Is there anything else?

Why, yes.

Did your sister repeat

anything Fletcher might have said to her last night?

No.

Oh, but I'm sure I can find out.

I'm sure she'll tell me anything

you need to know, Mr. Mason.

I'm sure she will.

Thank you, Miss Nash.

Fletcher was a louse.

You're right. He was a rat.

How do you know that?

Because you hate him.

Oh. And how.

And how and how.

He was the meanest man in this world.

The things he did to people.

For example...

Well, he was always scaring them.

What with?

Anything he could find.

Letters, tape recordings...

Blackmail?

Same thing as.

Like when Harding was there.

"Sue me," he says.

"I will prove that you double-crossed Mr. Aitken."

How?

Bank books.

What's this double-cross?

Then he tells me to beat it.

I know, but about this double-cross.

Me.

Getting bounced out for a phony like that Alyce.

"Alyce spelled with a Y" Aitken.

What a dame.

Ask Rudi Tripp.

He knew her way back.

Just ask Rudi Tripp.

Sure, I knew her.

Alyce with a Y.

Only Milly's the one you remember.

She was the smart one.

A regular slave driver.

Kept poor Alyce working all the time.

Even calendar pictures.

It made no difference to Milly

so long as she collected the dough.

I don't do that type of work anymore.

Mr. Tripp. Did you know Fletcher in those days?

Well, who didn't?

I ain't surprised he's murdered.

Maybe at least 500 girls could have done it.

Plus 500 men whose girls he made cheesecake out of.

You was asking about them Nash sisters.

One day I'm working on an art layout...

That's what we call it in the trade.

With Alyce, when in comes this good-looking guy,

talks like a college professor.

Aitken?

Well, If Aitken's the guy she married, I guess that's the one.

Anyway, he tells Alyce to put her clothes on and get out.

Only Milly says no.

The next thing you know there's a fight

and Milly hits this guy right over the head with a spotlight.

Boom! Real crazy.

I'm glad I don't do

that kind work no more.

Now it's quarterly stuff.

Strictly good taste.

Ready, baby?

Paul, I'd like to see if he's got copies

of those pictures of Alyce Aitken.

You don't mind sticking around here for a while,

do you?

No, no, no, no.

Your wife is frightened.

And she's hiding things, Mr. Aitken.

From my investigation so far, I'd say it's quite possible

that Donald Fletcher was blackmailing her.

She's never said anything to me.

But you're aware that your wife

posed for the sort of photographs

which she might now want suppressed.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm certainly not ashamed

of anything Alyce might have done.

And if you're saying that her background makes her

into the kind of person who would actually commit a murder...

I'm saying nothing of the sort.

I don't believe she killed Fletcher.

Come in, Paul.

Hello, Mr. Aitken.

You believe I killed Fletcher?

Is that what you're trying to say?

You know, it's one thing for a person in your wife's position

to become terrified and tell frantic lies...

Mason.

If I'd killed Fletcher, I would admit it.

I love my wife.

I'd want to protect her.

The way you did several years ago,

at a photographer's studio?

When I what?

Excuse me.

There's something I wanted Paul to start working on right away.

Excuse me, Mr. Aitken.

What's wrong?

It wasn't Aitken.

After you left,

I asked Rudi Tripp some more questions,

and I found out that the guy he remembers

as hauling Alyce Nash out of his studio

just didn't fit Aitken's description.

Any idea who it was?

Positive identification.

Ben Nicholson.

Nicholson?

This being a preliminary hearing,

the defense is willing to stipulate

that the defendant's fingerprints were found

in the Fletcher living room.

Furthermore, we will stipulate

that the defendant visited the Fletcher apartment

on the evening of the murder.

Mr. Mason would do well to stipulate

that the defendant, at about 3:00 in the morning,

murdered Donald Fletcher.

Would save the taxpayers of this state

the expense of a trial.

I must remind the prosecutor

that I did not stipulate as to what time

the defendant visited the Fletcher apartment.

Call your first witness, Mr. Prosecutor.

It was about half past 8

when Mr. Fletcher told me I could leave.

And he told you he was expecting a caller later that night?

He said he had work to do, business.

But didn't you just state that you knew

it was Mrs. Alyce Aitken he was expecting?

Well, I heard him telephoning, as I was getting my coat,

going out the door.

What exact words do you recall overhearing, please?

He spoke her name. Then he said:

"How about you and me getting together tonight?"

Do you recall hearing anything further?

He said, "9:30 is okay with me, baby,"

and that's all I heard.

Thank you, Miss Stoner. Cross-examine.

Miss Stoner.

Do you recall a recent conversation

with a private investigator, Mr. Paul Drake,

in which you recounted some of these same facts?

I do.

Sort of.

Do you recall mentioning certain letters and tape recordings

which Mr. Fletcher ordinarily kept in his apartment?

Yes. In the drawer in his desk.

I have here a police listing of the contents of that desk,

as itemized on the day after the murder.

Miss Stoner,

could you be more specific

as to the sort of material you referred to?

Well, there were two or three large manila envelopes

that Mr. Fletcher said were private.

I don't know exactly what was in them but...

Manila envelopes?

I don't find anything like that listed here.

Apparently, those envelopes seem to have disappeared.

Miss Stoner, is it your opinion

they might have contained blackmail material?

All right, just a minute, counselor.

It seems to me that prosecution might well object to your asking

the witness for her opinion.

On the contrary, Your Honor,

we have no objection to Mr. Mason pleading our case.

In fact, we soon hope to show

that there were certain indiscreet photographs

of the defendant in those very same envelopes

which were so obviously

stolen by the murderer.

All right, all right,

you can both argue your cases later

at the proper time. In the meantime,

I suggest that you rephrase that last question, Mr. Mason.

Yes, Your Honor.

Now, Miss Stoner,

do you have positive knowledge that Mr. Fletcher

was a collector of blackmail material?

Yes.

Mr. Fletcher would stoop to anything

to get what he wanted.

I have no further questions.

Call Mr. Wendell Harding to the stand.

I telephoned Mr. Fletcher at exactly 11 p.m.

What was the purpose of that call at that hour, Mr. Harding?

Well, as business manager of Aitken Publications,

I often called at night.

This was in reference to our advertising sales campaign...

I see, Mr. Harding.

Is there any question about your ability

to recognize Mr. Fletcher's voice?

It was definitely

the deceased that you talked to?

Oh, absolutely. Of course.

I see. Go on, sir.

Well, I told him there were some things we had to talk over,

and if he wasn't going to retire soon

I'd go over to his place.

Do you recall his response?

I recall it exactly.

He laughed, and he said,

"No, not tonight."

Then he said, "Guess who was here,

and who just called and is calling back?"

Alyce Aitken.

And this was at 11:00?

Yes, sir, precisely.

And the deceased

said that she, Alyce Aitken, was coming back?

Thank you, sir. Cross-examine.

Mr. Harding.

Did Donald Fletcher ever blackmail you?

Well, of...

Of course not.

Did he ever mention certain bankbooks, or copies thereof,

which he had somehow obtained?

I don't remember.

Well, did he ever threaten to expose you

because of, uh, certain money that you had put away

as an employee of Edmond Aitken?

Your Honor, I object to this treatment of the witness.

The questions are immaterial and irrelevant.

The bias of this witness is not irrelevant, Your Honor.

Yes. I agree.

Objection's overruled.

And I might caution the witness

to remember that he is under oath.

Mr. Harding,

how much money do you have collected

in certain banks across the country?

About $93,000.

Well, it's perfectly honest, I...

I mean...

Well, I think I recall Fletcher

once asking his secretary

about an investigation he'd made.

Now you just think you recall.

Yet a moment ago you were glibly quoting words

supposedly spoken about the defendant.

You were being very precise

about her possible return to the apartment.

Is your memory, Mr. Harding, only accurate

when the blackmail of other people is involved?

Well, I-I guess I was a little confused.

I... I'm not used to testifying like this.

Well, no one's memory is perfect.

I-I mean...

You mean:

No one's memory is perfect.

Thank you, Mr. Harding. That'll be all.

Now, in your first statement to the police, Mr. Nicholson,

you said Mr. Aitken spent the entire night

in your apartment.

I'm afraid that that statement

wasn't entirely true.

In what regard was it untrue?

Well, the fact is that about 2:30 in the morning,

I was awakened by Mr. Aitken leaving the house.

He was frankly too drunk to know what he was doing,

but he said he wanted to see his wife.

When I tried to stop him he set up a tremendous din,

rather loudly offering to kill me

if I didn't get out of his way.

I decided the best procedure was to take him home

to put him to bed there.

And when you arrived at his home,

did his wife agree with you?

She wasn't at the house.

What time was it?

About 3 in the morning.

He's lying.

Well, how did you know that Mrs. Aitken was not at home?

Aitken stumbled up to her room.

I followed, I tried to stop him.

I wanted to make sure he did her no harm.

He'd been talking so wildly.

She wasn't there.

Thank you. Cross-examine.

Mr. Nicholson,

when you arrived at the Aitken home,

was there anybody in the house?

Well, Aitken did open another door.

He said his sister-in-law was asleep,

but he'd leave her that way.

It was his wife he wanted to find.

What did you do then?

Well, I persuaded him that we'd go looking for her.

Fortunately, when I got him back to the car,

he fell sound asleep.

I went back to my apartment, managed to get him to bed there.

Did you know Alyce Aitken, Mr. Nicholson?

Mr. Aitken never introduced her to me.

Were you ever introduced to Miss Alyce Nash?

No, I wasn't.

Does your memory go back eight years?

I hope so.

Well, do you remember that...

A Miss Milly Nash once hit you on the head with a spotlight

in a certain photographer's studio?

I do.

Then I ask you once again,

were you ever introduced to her sister, to a Miss Alyce Nash?

No, Mr. Mason.

I picked her up on a boat trip to Catalina.

Did you ever ask Alyce Nash to marry you?

Yes. Many times.

How many times?

I have forgotten.

Why?

Because all I've wanted for eight years

was to clean my mind of her memory.

I loved her too much and she almost destroyed me for it.

How?

I was poor and she couldn't stand to be poor.

To please her, I wallowed in her cheap world for a while,

editing a fly-by-night

girlie magazine.

I was no good at it.

When I asked her to try my kind of life, she left me.

For another man?

For money.

Always for money.

Isn't it a fact that you hate the defendant,

that you would do anything in your power to harm her?

No, Mr. Mason.

The fact is I despise her

and would do nothing to prevent her from being harmed.

Who published that cheap magazine you edited,

Mr. Nicholson?

Donald Fletcher.

No more questions.

I call Mr. Phillip Robinson to the stand.

Well, uh, our apartment

is just across the courtyard from Mr. Fletcher's.

So I saw the woman quite clearly.

It was her, all right.

That one.

Alyce Aitken.

And once more, now, what time was it

that you saw the defendant

running from Mr. Fletcher's apartment?

Five and one half minutes after 3 a.m.

Now, Mr. Robinson,

did you ever in the past have cause to speak to Mr. Fletcher?

Well, yes.

You see, my wife has been quite ill for some time,

and she doesn't sleep well.

And Fletcher was noisy.

His parties, that is.

And that hi-fi set of his,

you could hear that halfway down the block.

Was his hi-fi set playing

at the time that you saw the defendant

running from his apartment?

Yes, it was.

It had awakened my wife

and I'd gotten up to get her some medicine to help her sleep.

Well, did you consider calling Mr. Fletcher to complain?

Oh, yes,

but a minute or two after Mrs. Aitken left,

the music stopped.

It came to the end of the record.

And after that?

Silence.

Deadly silence.

Thank you, Mr. Robinson.

Cross-examine.

For the tenth time, I saw her mink coat, I tell you.

I-I can swear it wasn't muskrat or anything else, it was mink.

The moonlight was that clear.

It could have been someone else's mink coat, couldn't it?

And that light blonde hair of hers?

I tell you it was Alyce Aitken.

Her.

Nobody else.

Now, you admit...

The only thing I admit is,

that if it wasn't her that went clattering out there like a...

Like a scared as a rabbit,

then was somebody enough like her to be her own twin sister.

I saw Alyce Aitken...

But it could have been someone who looked like her.

Thank you, Mr. Robinson, that's all I ask.

It's a long playing record.

And you found it still lying on the turntable

when you entered the murder apartment?

That's right.

What sort of turntable is it, lieutenant?

I gather Fletcher was quite a hi-fi addict?

The, uh, turntable was manual.

To start a record,

it's necessary to lift the arm itself and then

lower the needle down gently.

What sort of material

is this arm made of, lieutenant?

Smoothly polished aluminum.

Would it show the fingerprints of the person

who last put a record on to play?

Of the person who must have put this very record on

some ten minutes before 3 a.m. in the morning,

perhaps to cover the sound of gunshots?

Objection.

The question is suggestive, argumentative,

and calls for a conclusion.

Sustained.

Did you find the fingerprints of one person,

and only one person, on that phonograph arm?

Yes, sir. The defendant.

Alyce Aitken.

Yes, I was there. I went back to see him.

After what Edmond had said,

when I realized how upset he was, I couldn't sleep.

So I phoned Mr. Fletcher

and I went over to his apartment again.

And what time was that?

About 2:00, I think.

And then what happened?

Well, I wanted to get that proxy back.

I wanted to tell Mr. Fletcher what

a dreadful, horrible mistake I'd made.

I wanted to tell him that I was gonna help my husband, not him.

And what was Fletcher's reaction?

He laughed at me.

Well, in your situation, why wouldn't he have laughed?

Wasn't he making a collection

of some pictures you once posed for?

Oh, but I didn't care about any of that.

I wasn't afraid of being blackmailed.

Wasn't that why you gave him your proxy in the first place?

No, no.

I did it because...

Well, because, I thought it was the right thing to do

to protect the stocks I owned.

You mean, you did it because your sister

told you it was the right thing to do?

Yes, I've always done what she told me.

You see, Mr. Mason,

we were brought up in an orphanage in China.

Our father was a sailor who just dumped us there.

By the time we were 14 we had to earn our own living and...

Well, that's why Milly is so afraid of being poor.

And that's why I let her push me into making money.

Any way at all.

But Edmond understood.

I mean, about the kind of life I'd had.

You didn't do what your sister wanted

when you went back to Fletcher for your proxy.

No. Because for once I was thinking of Edmond, not Milly.

Did you argue with him? Did you fight with Fletcher?

Yes. I started to argue,

but he just laughed harder,

and then he tried to kiss me,

and I suddenly realized how stupid I was to go there alone.

I got out the door and I took off my shoes

and ran out of the building

as fast as I could.

Took off your shoes?

Yes, I didn't want to attract attention.

Then what made you put that loud record on the hi-fi?

But I didn't.

Mr. Mason, I've thought and thought,

the only time I can remember touching the hi-fi

was when I turned that record off.

You turned the record off?

Yes, when I was there earlier.

Because he had this horrible, loud record on,

and I wanted to talk to him.

Only, Mr. Mason,

that was at 10:00 in the evening.

Go over to the apartment again.

Now check the guest room and both bathrooms.

I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Oh, and one of your men see Della.

She's trying to get hold of a manual turntable

similar to the one on Fletcher's hi-fi.

I want it before court reconvenes.

On my way.

Well, Alyce may have been a little bit nervous, perhaps.

Now, that is not what I asked you.

When your sister came home, Miss Nash,

did you or did you not get out of bed to speak to her?

Yes, I did.

And what did she have to say?

Nothing.

She ran into her room and locked the door.

And the following morning, wasn't she so upset

that she required sedatives?

But it was my idea...

Just answer yes or no, Miss Nash.

Did your sister require sedatives

after what she'd been through the night before?

Yes. She did.

Your witness.

Miss Nash, we have heard testimony

that two men entered the Aitken home

at 3 a.m. in the morning.

Further, that one of those two men was drunk

and opened the door to your bedroom.

Yet you remained asleep.

Is that true?

Well, I pretended to be asleep, that's all.

I certainly didn't want to talk to Edmond

when he was in that condition.

I understand.

Did you then remain awake

until your sister come home a few moments later?

Well, it wasn't a few moments.

I didn't have my watch on,

but I smoked a couple of cigarettes

so it must have been 20 or 25 minutes later that I heard her.

I didn't say anything.

I just wanted to make sure she got home all right, that's all.

Miss Nash, do you recall anything

which would more nearly indicate the exact time?

Well, there is one thing, yes.

From my bedroom, when the door is open,

I can just hear the chiming

of the downstairs clock.

Go on.

Well, I heard it chime

just after Edmond and Mr. Nicholson left,

when I got up to shut my bedroom door.

And how many chimes?

One.

One?

That's right.

I just assumed that it was 1:00,

but it might have been half past something when they were there.

Your Honor, I would like to recall a witness.

The man who said it was 3:00 when he was at the Aitken home.

Your Honor, I object. Counsel is trying...

Wait. Wait.

I guess I may have made a little mistake.

It was 3 when I got back to my place,

that's all I meant to say.

But you didn't say that, Mr. Nicholson.

Now, why is that?

I made a mistake, I told you.

Why?

I don't know why.

You despised the defendant. You already admitted...

All right.

Maybe I wanted to make her look more guilty.

Or make yourself look more innocent.

Now, Mr. Nicholson,

what was the actual time you were at the Aitken home?

2:30. We left there just before 2:30.

Now, if that's the truth,

then it's quite possible that Alyce Aitken returned home

before 3 a.m.

in the morning instead of...

Objection, Your Honor.

Aside from the improper argumentative questioning,

Defense is presenting his own case...

If it please the court,

I insist that my cross-examination

is quite proper.

I certainly have the right

to clarify this time discrepancy.

And the state contends there is no time discrepancy.

We have already demonstrated through the neighbor's testimony

that the defendant started

Mr. Fletcher's phonograph playing

shortly before 3 a.m. and she was seen

leaving the murder apartment shortly after 3.

Any discrepancy elsewhere is irrelevant.

Irrelevant?

Your Honor,

perhaps it would not be irrelevant

to show that the phonograph

could have been turned on by someone other than defendant.

Now, if I might recall another witness...

I object, Your Honor.

Now, just a moment, Mr. Prosecutor.

I'm interested in what Mr. Mason has in mind.

Deception, Your Honor.

By someone who fought with Fletcher, killed him,

and then tried to place the blame on Alyce Aitken.

Deception by someone

who must have been in Fletcher's apartment

at the time of defendant's visit there,

earlier in the evening.

Just what is the purpose of your demonstration there?

Well, to show how that person took advantage

of the fingerprints the defendant had left

on the turntable arm.

It's a simple matter to turn on a switch.

And then using either a pencil

or a nail file to carefully lift the tone arm,

lower it, and start the record playing.

Who is it that you want to recall, Mr. Mason?

The person, Your Honor, who not only knew of the fingerprints,

but also knew about the neighbor and his wife who was ill.

The person who was familiar enough

with the Fletcher apartment to use the guest room.

The person who uses a light hairspray

to put a streak in her hair.

Who even left traces of that hairspray

on the bathroom wall.

A woman, Your Honor,

who could spray her hair to make it appear blonde

and then in her own mink coat

run clattering outside to impersonate the defendant.

He tried to get rid of me.

I helped him with all of it,

every bit of dirty blackmail,

and then he said he didn't need me anymore.

I stayed there, I begged him.

And then she came back.

And when he tried to kiss her,

when he knew I was still watching,

I just couldn't stand it anymore.

Yes, I killed Donald Fletcher.

And it was the best thing I ever did in my life.

It was that one word

in the neighbor's testimony that did it.

The word "clattering."

But your wife said that she'd taken off her shoes

hoping not to make any noise

as she ran out of the Fletcher apartment.

That meant another woman had to have impersonated her.

Lori was the only one close enough to manage it.

Then she must have been in the apartment

when Alyce went back for the proxy.

She was. Fletcher had asked her to leave,

but she slipped into the guest room instead.

Then, just after you left, Mrs. Aitken,

a little before 3 a.m.,

Lori and Fletcher really had a fight.

Apparently he fell and was stunned.

And then she killed him.

She put on the record to cover the noise, shot him,

did what she had to do to implicate you,

and ran out of the apartment past the neighbors.

But tell me,

before you knew all this,

what made you so sure things would turn out as they have?

My faith in my client.

Your faith in your wife.

Thank you, Mr. Mason.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, Mr. Mason. Thanks.

Goodbye, Mr. Aitken.

Oh, these photographs.

Well, they don't mean anything anymore.

This all of them?

Mm-hm. Negatives too.

That's that.

You realize, of course,

that that represents hours of work.

I had to go through all the photos in Rudi Tripp's file.