All language subtitles for Perry Mason S04E13 The Case of the Envious Editor.DVDRip.NonHI.cc.en.CBS

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.