Original subtitles

And this is our prized Matisse,

an example of the master's middle period.

Notice how he handles his light by the use of pure tone.

This is the Matisse I've been reading about?

Yes. Our most recent purchase and one we're very proud of.

Hm.

Miss, uh, are you with the museum?

Yes. I'm the new assistant to Mr. Harkens, the director.

Mm-hm. I am Sylvester Robey

of the Robey Galleries. Oh, yes.

I'd like to see Mr. Harkens at once.

May I ask what about, sir?

Henri Matisse.

I can't believe it.

I simply can't believe it.

It's just not possible.

I'd be most happy, Mr. Harkens,

if you would secure another opinion.

Oh, I'm not doubting you. I know your reputation.

I can see it myself now.

The brush strokes on the patina...

What will Amelia say?

Mr. Harkens' mother.

Oh, yes. I've met her.

But surely the picture's insured.

For $100,000.

Oh?

I read somewhere that you paid a million francs for it,

which is over $200,000.

I was supposed to increase the policy and I forgot.

Oh, my mother will kill me. Absolutely kill me.

Good morning, Mrs. Harkens.

Clark.

Yes, Mrs. Harkens?

Where is the new Matisse?

In Mr. Richard's office, ma'am.

And what is it doing there?

Mr. Richard didn't say.

Just told me to bring it in.

Mm-hm.

If I notify the police,

Mother will find out and if I don't,

well, we'll never get the original back.

Richard?

Richard.

Mother.

May I ask what this is doing here?

Speak up.

Sylvester Robey wanted to see it.

Sylvester Robey?

He's a charlatan and a scoundrel.

Well, why should he want to look at it?

Well, he wanted to see how it stood

the air trip from Paris.

And that's not what he wanted.

He wanted to know why we were displaying a copy,

instead of the original.

Where is the original?

I don't know.

Stolen?

I'm afraid so.

Let me see the night watchman's reports.

All right.

Come here, June.

It states here that you and a man named David Lambert

were in the museum last night.

Yes, he was waiting for me to finish work.

Mother, I gave June some reports to make up for me.

You keep out of this.

David Lambert,

34 years old, Chicago Art Institute,

Ecole des Beaux-Arts, Paris.

Abstractionist and penniless.

Are you engaged to this man?

He's married, Mrs. Harkens,

but if you're thinking he had anything

to do with this, you're mistaken.

Am I mistaken in saying that he paid his way through school

in Paris by copying old masters in the Louvre?

No.

Did you help him steal the picture, June?

Mrs. Harkens...

I want you to go to him.

Tell him he's to bring back that Matisse tonight.

Otherwise I shall have you both arrested.

Mrs. Harkens, we didn't take the picture.

The matter is closed.

Pick it up, Richard,

and put it back before people start asking questions.

David Lambert, you haven't heard a single word I've said.

It's a habit I got into while we were married, Liza.

Well, it happens we're still married,

even though you seem to be doing

your best to forget it.

Me? I wasn't the one who filed suit for divorce.

No. I did, in the apparently vain hope

you'd try to make something of yourself.

Just look at this junk.

You can paint.

I've still got some of those things you did

while we were in Paris.

But who could tell from these?

I suppose you'd like me to paint

those, uh, bath-oil, syrupy cherubs

with idiotic smiles like you do.

They sell, darling.

And I see you think enough of them

to keep at least one around.

That's to inspire me not to do likewise.

Still the same impetuous Dave,

but the funny thing is I miss you.

In fact, I miss you quite a lot.

Are you in, uh, some kind of trouble again?

No trouble, darling.

Things are going fine.

So fine I'd like you to come back

and share them with me.

All I want is for you to go to the courthouse

and get that final decree.

Suppose we make a bargain?

You come back for, say, a month,

and, uh, if it doesn't work

I promise to sign the papers.

Uh-uh.

No more spider traps for this fly, honey.

No? Well, let me just straighten you out.

You'll never get that divorce you're so hot for if you don't.

Think it over.

Who's that?

June, and she'll be delighted to see you.

Well, I don't want to see her.

Call me tonight.

Oh, I was afraid you weren't here.

Hey, what's up?

So much I-I don't know where to begin.

Mrs. Harkens at the museum thinks...

I smell perfume.

My almost ex-wife just left the scene,

via the back door. JUNE: Liza?

What did she want?

I'm not quite sure,

but I think she's looking for a bodyguard.

Oh, uh, what's all this

about old lady Harkens?

Well, the new Matisse is missing,

and Mrs. Harkens thinks that we stole it

from the museum last night.

You're kidding. No.

She says if the picture isn't back by tonight,

she's going to have us both arrested.

Well, how do you like that?

I've always wanted to achieve fame in the art world,

and here it comes. Dave, this isn't funny.

You know what a Matisse is worth.

I haven't bought any lately.

Well, this one cost over $200,000.

I'm sorry, honey. You're right, this isn't funny.

Perry, I know you're busy,

but there's a young couple in the outer office

and, uh, they'd like to see you.

They say it's very urgent.

I am quite busy.

She's quite pretty.

I don't supposed you noticed what the young man looked like.

Would you like to see for yourself?

Come in, won't you?

Thank you.

Uh, you don't know me, Mr. Mason, but you bought

one of my paintings a couple of years ago.

Kids and pigeons on the steps

of the Palace of Justice in Paris?

Of course I remember you. You're David Lambert.

That's right. And, uh,

this is June Sinclair whom I hope to make

a happy bride one of these days.

And who hopes you'll keep us out of jail

in the meantime, Mr. Mason.

Sit down, won't you?

Tell me about it.

I still think I should go in with you.

After all, it's me she's mostly accusing.

We're in trouble enough already. You stay here.

Well, call me if you need help.

We will.

Figuring out some new ways for stealing pictures, Davy Boy?

What are you doing here?

Appointment.

Don't forget to call me tonight.

Or better yet, come around.

Hey. What was that crack about stealing pictures?

Just a joke, darling.

It's a beautiful piece of work.

Yes.

Only a real expert could tell it from the original.

Richard, this is Mr. Mason.

Richard Harkens, the museum's director.

Perry Mason?

Well, then you must be representing June.

Not that I blame her for getting a lawyer.

I think my mother's absolutely wrong.

Have you told her that?

My mother regards me as a vegetable

that somehow has learned how to talk.

No, she wouldn't listen. She never has.

Oh, by the way, she's in my office,

if you'd like to talk to her.

I'd very much like to.

You do want the Matisse back, don't you?

Naturally.

And isn't it worth spending a few paltry dollars

to save almost a quarter of a million?

What I should do is turn you over to the police.

You and June and that husband of yours

are all in this together.

Possibly.

But you'll never force him to give the picture back.

Dave's stubborn.

We'll see.

Yes. Wait till tonight.

When he doesn't appear, contact me,

if you're willing to accept my terms.

The money must be in cash.

Mother, June is here with her attorney.

The side door.

Just a moment.

Come in.

How do you do, Mrs. Harkens?

My name is Mason.

Well, if you've come here to make trouble,

Mr. Mason, I won't have it.

It seems to me you already have a certain amount of trouble.

Which I don't wish to discuss with any lawyer except my own.

Show them both out, Richard.

I have no wish for a discussion, Mrs. Harkens,

but I must tell you this:

If you persist in your accusations

against Miss Sinclair and Mr. Lambert,

there will be a discussion, and in court.

I'm sure you'll find the position of defendant

in a slander suit extremely uncomfortable.

I hope you will consider this carefully.

Thank you.

Dave?

Richard.

David's not here?

No, I don't know where he is.

Well, um,

maybe I'd better tell you, then.

June,

Liza Carson has all but told Mother

David took the Matisse.

She was lying.

Well, Mother doesn't seem to think so,

because Liza offered to return the picture for $25,000

and a promise that David wouldn't be prosecuted.

She wanted it that way because she said David

was coming back. Coming back?

Are you sure, Richard?

Just as sure as I am that Mother's 25,000 is right here.

Who is it?

June Sinclair.

Just a second.

Well, this is a surprise,

though I can't truthfully say a pleasant one.

What do you want?

I want to talk to Dave.

He's not here. His car is outside.

Do you want to search the house?

No.

But I would like to talk to you, Liza.

Not tonight, darling. I'm expecting someone.

Several someones, in fact, and I have to get dressed.

Why did you tell Mrs. Harkens that Dave stole the Matisse?

Who said I told her anything?

Richard Harkens.

Well, isn't that cozy?

You and Richard swapping secrets.

You'd be better off with him than with Dave, you know.

Did you steal the Matisse, Liza?

Don't be silly. How could I steal it?

How can you return it, if you didn't steal it?

Well, maybe I'm not returning it.

Maybe I'm just picking up

a little extra pocket money from the Harkens family.

In any case, it's none of your business.

It is where it concerns Dave.

What are you trying to do? Why don't you answer me?

Answer me! Why are you lying about him?

Let go of me.

I should let you have it.

I could, you know.

Say you came up here and attacked me.

Nobody'd be the wiser.

But I won't. Not now.

I've got bigger fish to fry.

Can you make it to the door under your own power, darling?

Then get moving.

What are you doing here?

Stop it. Stop it!

Hello.

Yes, this is Perry Mason.

Yes, June.

Well, if it's urgent,

shouldn't you tell me over the telephone?

All right. I'll be there in 15 minutes.

June?

June.

Hold it.

Drop the picture and turn around slowly,

hands in the air.

Well, I guess we can talk a little more now, Perry,

that I've got the machinery going.

You're sticking with your story about a client calling you?

And asking me to come here.

Only when you got here the client had disappeared.

That's right.

And you won't say who the client is.

Not until we have a chance to confer.

Lieutenant Tragg. Yeah?

There's a piece of jewelry here, under the chair.

It's a gold clip.

Threads snagged in the catch, as though it had been torn off.

Initials: “J.S.”

Is the J.S. who dropped this

by any chance your client, counselor?

You know I can't answer that, lieutenant.

Um, put this in an envelope, sergeant.

Take care of it, will you? Yes, sir.

As I recall, you said that after you found the body

you started for the telephone.

To call you, as a matter of fact.

But as an actual matter of fact, you weren't calling,

you were looking at this

when the officers entered.

And that's the puzzle.

With the corpse back there, the telephone here,

why did you detour to look at this?

I'll have to explain that later.

All I ask is a civil question and you act as though

I'd committed murder or something.

What's going on?

How come you're here, Mr. Mason?

Who are you, young man?

David Lambert.

And all I want to know is... Is who swiped my car?

You'd think with a dozen cops around...

So somebody finally caught up with her.

I suppose I should shed a tear or two,

but I...

I'm just fresh out.

Who killed my wife, mister, uh...?

Lieutenant Tragg, Homicide.

When did you see your wife tonight, Mr. Lambert?

I didn't see her at all.

He admitted his car was parked out in front, lieutenant.

What was it doing there?

Uh, may I suggest that you have a talk with me

before you make any statement, Dave?

This is your client, then?

Mr. Lambert is a client.

Did you telephone Mr. Mason and ask him to come over here?

Uh, no statement.

How about telling us where you've been

for the last hour or so?

No statement.

Counselor, would you care to explain

why you were so interested in this?

Where'd this come from?

Mean something to you, Mr. Lambert?

Well, of course. It's one of m...

No statement.

How about you, counselor?

No statement.

Are you positive you gave Liza Carson the money?

Of course, Mother.

That's what you told me to do.

I told you to get your hands on the Matisse first.

Well, she promised to show me where it was in the morning.

And you believed a woman like that?

Mother, I am not as stupid as you might think.

I had her sign a receipt.

Well, tear it up.

No Harkens has ever been mixed up in a murder case

and no Harkens ever will, even to save $25,000.

So tear it up, at once.

Yes?

The modern wing?

I'll look into it.

Now, I want you to burn those scraps.

And one of you is on guard here every minute the museum is open?

Yes. We work two-hour shifts.

You by any chance a detective?

I'm a private investigator.

Then maybe I should tell you something.

That is, if you're working on the case

of the lady artist that got shot last night.

I am.

I saw her picture

in the paper this morning.

She was one of those

been making copies of the Matisse here,

like her:

She came in two days... - Clark.

You are employed here to watch, not talk.

I'm sorry, ma'am.

Who was that? My boss.

Thanks.

Mrs. Harkens, Mr. Harkens, this is indeed a pleasure.

These cherubs, they're Liza Carson's?

The very last she painted.

A great loss.

You know, of course,

they're to be auctioned off next Thursday.

So it says in your catalogue.

Richard, wait for me in the car, please.

And now, Mr. Robey, where is my Matisse?

I don't know, Mrs. Harkens.

No?

You tried to buy that Matisse yourself,

didn't you, Robey?

Yes, and as usual, you outbid me.

Could you have discovered that Liza Carson had the picture

and killed her to get it yourself?

No, no, Mrs. Harkens.

Liza was my friend.

I loved her.

Well, the picture

can't have disappeared into thin air.

I want you to...

I offered Liza Carson $25,000 for the return of that painting.

I'll make you the same offer.

Mrs. Harkens.

Mr. Harkens.

Hello, Mr. Harkens.

I got your message, Mr. Mason.

I thought perhaps it would be better if I came here.

Thank you. Sit down.

I'm curious as to why your mother is so positive

that June Sinclair and David Lambert stole the Matisse.

Perhaps you'd better ask her.

I wanted your opinion.

I don't know why mother instantly jumped

on June and David.

The only thing I can think of is,

it would be almost impossible

for just anyone to have smuggled the picture out,

it would be very difficult for them.

I see. Mr. Mason,

the real reason I came here...

I know June is in love with Dave,

but if it'll help her,

I'll say I stole the Matisse.

You'd do that for her?

Yes.

The police would ask you to produce it.

Well, I could say...

I could say that I had hidden it downstairs in the storeroom.

That-that someone had seen me,

or they just stumbled on it,

and took the opportunity to steal it for themselves.

It might work.

Too bad I can't accept your offer.

I can't even lie for someone.

Mr. Mason,

what is it that puts a man out of step

with the people around him?

Perhaps he hears a different music, Mr. Harkens.

Perhaps.

Thank you, Mr. Mason. Good day.

Oh, excuse me.

Perry, I just heard from June.

Where is she? At David's studio.

And you really think that I should give myself up?

Yes, I do, June.

I understand about last night now,

having heard your story,

but running away was a mistake.

Dave.

Oh, Dave. They let you go.

Yeah, yeah. They let me go, but I'll never know why.

I, uh, went your “no statement” route

to the bitter end, Mr. Mason.

Didn't Lieutenant Tragg say anything to you

when he let you go?

No, he just called me into the office and said scram.

Oh, yeah. He did say something about not leaving town,

but that's all.

Do you think that means they're after me?

I don't see how he could be.

I didn't mentioned you, and neither did Dave.

Why should he be after you, June?

June was in the studio when Liza Carson was killed.

Last night?

What were you doing there, honey?

I was looking for you.

She saw your car in the street.

She went in, had a quarrel with Miss Carson.

When she was leaving, she heard shots from the bedroom.

She went back, found Miss Carson,

then telephoned me.

But why weren't you there when they grabbed me?

Well, after I called Mr. Mason,

I realized that you'd be involved because of your car,

so I-I rushed out and I moved it to another street.

When I came back, the police were there. I...

I lost my head and ran.

That wasn't too bright.

What can we do?

Well, first, June and I are going down to headquarters.

No need to trouble yourself, counselor.

I'd be more than happy to provide transportation

for Miss Sinclair.

You are June Sinclair, aren't you?

Yes.

I have a warrant for your arrest, Miss Sinclair.

Charge of first degree murder.

On the surface, Your Honor,

this case fits an all too familiar pattern,

where the mistress of a married man rids him and herself

of his wife by means of murder.

But entwined in this pattern

are the threads of a $200,000 grand larceny.

The State has not yet accused the defendant

or the husband, or anyone else, for that matter,

of being implicated in this theft of an art masterpiece

from the world famous Harkens Museum.

But the entwinement is such that the State intends

to delve rather deeply into this secondary aspect of the case,

provided the court is agreeable.

Mr. Mason?

Your Honor, the defense is aware

that the deputy prosecutor is an authority on art,

and he is welcome to delve where he desires.

If the defense finds the delving irrelevant or objectionable,

it will say so.

That seems fair enough.

You may present your first witness, Mr. Hanson.

As I said, I live across the street,

so I didn't hear the shots too clearly.

Just heard them and wondered what it was.

And then I saw a young woman run out and race off in an old car

that was parked in front.

And later I saw another car pull up

and a man got out and hurried into the house.

Mrs. Forbes, is the young woman you saw run out

anywhere in this courtroom?

Oh, why, yes.

Right over there. Miss Sinclair.

And the man you saw enter the house?

Oh, he's sitting right there beside her.

Let the record show the witness has identified

Miss Sinclair's attorney, Perry Mason.

Your witness, Mr. Mason.

No questions.

I realize you are a reluctant witness, Mr. Lambert,

but you must answer the prosecution's questions

fully and truthfully.

Okay, Your Honor.

Yes, I've been in love with June Sinclair for some time.

And your wife refused to give you a final divorce?

I think it was only a question of her not facing the fact

that I no longer loved her.

Now, isn't it true that you were short of cash?

Constantly.

And the painting represented quite a bit of money, didn't it?

I object, Your Honor.

The witness may very well be hostile,

but he's not on trial.

Mr. Hanson, you're making some point here?

If the court will bear with me, I will connect it all up.

Very well, I will overrule the objection,

subject to your connecting up all this evidence

with the germane issues of the case.

You may proceed, Mr. Hanson.

Mr. Lambert, since you were in love with June Sinclair,

and she in love with you, did she tell you

that she was going to see your wife that night?

No.

Did you tell her that you were going to see your wife?

No. No?

Why did you go to see your wife?

She had made a remark about, uh, a painting.

Ah.

The missing Matisse.

Did she accuse you and Miss Sinclair

of stealing it?

No. She didn't directly accuse either one of us.

But she gave the impression that you did?

What did she say when you went to her?

Nothing. She wasn't home.

What did you do?

Well, since it was after 11, I figured she'd be home soon,

so I went around the corner to the neighborhood bistro

and had a beer.

It took you an hour and a half to drink one glass of beer?

I had several, and by the time I got back,

the cops were there and my car was gone.

Did you see Miss June Sinclair during this period of time?

No, I didn't.

Is there anyone to corroborate your alibi?

No one I know.

I now show you this gold pin, which has been identified

as having been found in Miss Carson's studio

the night of the murder.

Do you recognize it?

Answer the question, Mr. Lambert.

I gave it to June on her last birthday.

Yes, I took the pin from Miss Carson's studio

directly to the police crime lab and I examined it there.

What did you find, lieutenant?

Adhering to the catch,

some torn strands of lavender wool.

They were compared microscopically

and fluoroscopically with strands taken from the coat,

worn by the defendant the time of her arrest.

And we found the strands to be identical.

Which indicated to you,

as an expert in matters like this...?

A struggle, in which the pin was torn

from Miss Sinclair's coat

by the deceased.

I object, Your Honor.

I grant that the witness is an expert,

but he's not clairvoyant.

That pin might have been torn off by anyone.

Objection sustained.

The witness may offer an opinion,

but only within the realm of his special knowledge.

Strike the witness' last answer.

Now, Lieutenant, in your microscopic and fluoroscopic

examination of the defendant's coat,

did you find anything further?

Yes. On the right arm, elbow and shoulder,

I found traces of face powder

identical to that used by the deceased.

And what did you do, Mr. Robey,

when you discovered this was not a real Matisse,

but a copy put in its place?

I immediately informed Richard Harkens,

the museum's director.

Now, let me call your attention to this half-finished copy

found in Liza Carson's studio.

Oh, yes. I've seen that before.

It is the work of Miss Carson?

No, no, no. It's the work of David Lambert.

He left it with her when they separated.

Ah, I see.

And this copy from the museum?

It never occurred to me before, but of course.

That must be the work of David Lambert too.

Thank you, Mr. Robey.

You may cross-examine, Mr. Mason.

Mr. Robey, as close, personal friend of Miss Carson,

you were well-acquainted with her work, were you not?

Oh, yes, yes. I sold a good many pictures for her.

As a matter of fact,

in my weekly art sale at my gallery tonight,

I am offering four of her cherubs.

Aren't they part of her estate?

Oh, no. I bought them from her the day before she, uh...

Before she died.

At her insistence, I might add.

She said she wanted them out of the studio.

Wasn't that insistence rather odd

from an artist of her stature?

Well, I suppose she needed the money.

Perhaps.

Now, to get back to your intimate knowledge

of Miss Carson's work. In your opinion,

couldn't she just as well have painted this as David Lambert?

Yes. Yes, she could have.

Thank you, Mr. Robey.

Yes, sir, I'm a guard during the days.

And nights?

Well, sir, there's an outside watchman.

And who was on duty this particular night?

Well, now, I took Jim Roscoe's turn that night.

I know Miss Sinclair, and I can't say

that she took anything out at all.

But I guess that's like seeing something a hundred times.

Your eyes take it for granted.

So I didn't notice either one of them carrying anything out.

Cross-examine.

No questions.

And on Miss Carson's promise to turn over the real Matisse

in the morning, you gave her the $25,000 dollars?

Yes, but I believe she merely promised

to tell me where it was.

Did anyone other than your mother know

that you were going to give Miss Carson the $25,000?

Miss Sinclair.

Mr. Mason?

Mr. Harkens, when did you give Miss Carson the money?

I, uh... I went over there right after I talked with June.

Then you must have been there when Miss Sinclair arrived.

Oh, no, I wasn't.

I didn't see June.

Mr. Harkens, how do you account for the money not being found

in Miss Carson's studio?

I-I don't know.

I suppose the murderer took it.

Or else you never gave it to her.

Oh, yes, I did.

Here.

My mother told me to tear that up

and burn it to avoid scandal.

But I didn't burn it, as you can see.

And when Liza Carson came to your office,

she actually accused her husband and June Sinclair

of having stolen the Matisse?

You just heard me tell Mr. Hanson that.

And on the strength of that story,

and without further proof,

you authorized the payment of $25,000 to Miss Carson?

I authorized no such thing.

My son is a fool, Mr. Mason.

He was to get the painting

before he gave her the money.

But the $25,000 did come from your personal account?

Naturally, since Richard hasn't a dime.

Mrs. Harkens, why did you set about recovering the picture

in this manner instead of going to the police?

I don't think that's any of your business.

I believe it may very well be the court's business.

Well, I'm not going to answer the question.

Mrs. Harkens,

I must caution you that a refusal to answer

will put you in contempt of court.

But now, since the hour is late,

and if it is agreeable with counsel,

I will adjourn court until 10:00 tomorrow morning.

And in the interim I suggest you give thought to your position.

Mr. Mason?

No objection, Your Honor.

Court will adjourn.

Perry, why don't you eat something?

Hi, Perry.

Here are the copies of Liza Carson's handwriting you wanted,

and here's the catalogue for that auction tonight.

I never knew you were interested in cherubs.

I am when I have a client accused

of killing the person who created them.

Paul, are you sure the Harkens examined those cherubs

that day at Robey's gallery?

Sure. They were talking to Robey about them.

Hardly seems the kind of thing

Mrs. Harkens would be interested in buying: a smiling cherub.

Well, they aren't all smiling.

What do you mean?

Well, three of them are, but one of them is crying.

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

what you've been waiting for all evening:

the first of Liza Carson's cherubs.

Now, may I have a bid, please?

Two hundred dollars.

Two hundred dollars. Three hundred.

Four hundred and fifty.

Four hundred and fifty dollars.

Uh, $600.

Six hundred dollars.

I have $600. Do I hear 650?

No further bids?

Sold to Mrs. Vandercord.

Now picture number six.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is unique.

The late Liza Carson was famous

for her laughing cherubs.

This, as you noticed, is crying.

Now, may I have a bid for the crying cherub?

Oh, isn't that cute?

I'll bid $500.

Five hundred dollars.

Seven fifty. Eight fifty.

One thousand.

A thousand dollars.

I bid $1500.

Sixteen hundred.

Two thousand.

Two thousand.

Twenty-five hundred dollars.

I bid 5000.

Well, this is ridiculous.

No Liza Carson painting ever sold for half that.

Six thousand.

Six thousand.

Ten thousand.

Fifteen thousand.

Did I hear you say 15,000, sir?

That's right.

I bid 25,000.

Twenty-six thousand.

Twenty-six thousand...

Mr. Harkens?

I, uh...

I'll have to make a telephone call.

Just a moment.

You advertised an auction, Mr. Robey,

and that calls for continuous bidding.

That's right, Mr. Harkens.

Well, I, uh... I can't go any higher.

The painting is yours,

Mr. Mason.

Your Honor, the adjournment yesterday

interrupted Mrs. Harkens' testimony.

If it please the court, I would like to recall a witness

before proceeding with Mrs. Harkens.

Which witness, Mr. Mason?

Sylvester Robey.

Mr. Hanson?

I'd like to know what kind of demonstration

counsel is planning here, Your Honor.

This relates to the artistic phase of the case

referred to by the prosecution itself.

If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Hanson,

you were the one, originally, who wanted to delve

into the artistic aspect of this case.

Well, not with courtroom high jinks.

Do you formally object to Mr. Mason

recalling Mr. Robey to the stand?

No, I... I won't object.

Mr. Robey, please.

You are still under oath, sir.

Mr. Robey. Yes, sir.

Would you mind performing a small chore?

What chore, sir?

Testing the paint on this picture.

Well, now, I wouldn't want to damage this, uh...

It's quite all right. If you'll recall,

I bought this picture at your auction last night.

Yes.

Well...

All right, Mr. Robey, you may take the witness stand.

I'll perform the test.

Thank you, sir.

A water-based paint, Your Honor, that washes away completely.

The missing Matisse.

That's right, the missing Matisse.

How did you get it, Mr. Robey?

Liza... Miss Carson.

Assigned it to me with the other cherubs for auction.

Now, Mr. Robey, you must do better than that.

Your auction catalog didn't mention a crying cherub.

No.

Isn't it a fact, Mr. Robey, that you stole that Matisse,

and that you then commissioned Miss Carson

to make a painting of a crying cherub over it,

so that it would be immediately identifiable

and yet still be hidden, so to speak?

No, no, Mr. Mason. I didn't steal it.

Although I suppose it amounts to the same thing.

I paid Miss Carson $5,000 to get it for me,

plus a half of anything over that I might get for it myself.

How did you propose that it be stolen?

Well, I got her to paint a copy.

You mean that one there? That's right.

I gave her another $1,000 to bribe one of the guards

to help her exchange the copy for the original.

Did she tell you who this guard was?

Yes.

Thomas Clark.

So with Clark's help,

Miss Carson did steal the picture, did she not?

Yes. Our plan was to sell it back to Mrs. Harkens.

But you never intended

that it come up for public auction?

No, but when Liza was killed, I became frightened.

I thought if the picture was sold at auction,

I could say I knew nothing about it, it was Liza's plot.

So I put it up.

And became more frightened when I bought it.

Now, Mr. Robey, I could theorize that you were frightened

not because Liza Carson was killed,

but because you killed her.

But why?

Now, why would I kill her?

To, uh, keep the Matisse. To get back your $5,000.

But I didn't get my money back.

And I didn't want the picture. Not after she was killed.

Mr. Robey, why did you take it upon yourself

to point out that the picture hanging in the museum

was just a copy, and not the original?

Because I couldn't wait to see Amelia Harkens squirm.

For years now she's made me squirm:

outbidding me at auctions,

snapping up the pictures I've wanted,

calling me a charlatan and a fool.

Well, it was my turn now, to make a fool out of her,

and get money for it to boot.

Divine justice.

No further questions.

Mr. Mason, you may complete your cross-examination

of Mrs. Amelia Harkens at this time.

Yes, Your Honor.

You may stand down, sir.

You're still under oath, Mrs. Harkens.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Mrs. Harkens, since your Matisse has been found,

will you tell us why you didn't report its loss to the police?

Pride, Mr. Mason.

An old woman's foolish pride.

Inadequately insured, stolen from under my nose.

I knew its loss would make me

the laughingstock of every museum head in the world,

unless I could recover it myself.

Is that why you sent your son Richard

to the auction last night, to recover it?

Iwas at the auctionrd

until he told me so. And, of course,

he bungled everything, as usual.

It seems to me you were pretty good

at that very same thing, Mrs. Harkens.

Accusing innocent people of stealing a Matisse

on the skimpiest evidence,

on the basis of reports from one of your guards.

I was remiss.

A guard who now faces the charge of bribery.

Oh, Your Honor, I protest this type of aside

in which counsel is indulging.

Whether or not a guard faces charges of accepting a bribe

has no bearing on the matter at hand.

Uh, one moment.

Your Honor, I would like to recall Mr. Thomas Clark

to learn how this bribery-theft worked.

So would I.

Mr. Hanson?

Very well. No objections.

No, she never did tell me her name.

Just picked me up in a bar one night

and put the proposition to me, and I fell for it.

Or, rather, the $1,000 she was offering.

How was the theft engineered?

Well, she came in while I was on guard, set up her easel

with the half-finished copy of the Matisse,

and pretended to paint.

I screened off the exhibit briefly

and switched the pictures while she kept watch.

Where did you get the completed copy

you needed to accomplish this?

She had it stuck onto the back of the half finished one.

That's where she put the real painting

when she carried it out.

And then?

That's all.

Except for her handing me the 1,000 as she left.

And you didn't see Miss Carson again?

How could I find her, not knowing her name?

You could have followed her home.

What for?

Why would I want to do that?

You received $1,000 for helping her steal

a Matisse worth $200,000.

Given time to think about it, you might come up with the idea

that the split was inequitable.

Uh, what happened when you followed her home?

You know, it's all going to come out, Mr. Clark.

Including the $5,000 you stole from Miss Carson's house.

The five thousand.

How did you know about that?

Mr. Robey gave her the money,

and now it's missing and unaccounted for.

What happened when you followed her home?

Remember, Mr. Clark, in examining the murder room,

the police found several unidentified fingerprints.

Now that your name has entered the case...

You're right. I...

I did try to cut myself in.

Only, she lied.

She didn't tell me about going to old lady Harkens,

and she said she hadn't been paid yet

for stealing the picture.

But that night, when she was talking to Miss Sinclair

in the studio, I-I searched the bedroom

and found the 5,000.

I was on my way out when she came in

with that toy pistol of hers.

She was going to shoot me.

When I took it away, I...

I shot her.

Perry, about Richard and that 25,000?

He never paid the money to Miss Carson, Paul.

It was only after he learned she was dead

that he forged the receipt.

Ah, it was a bit of petty larceny on his part?

Oh, no. He explained that to us, Paul.

He actually hated the museum.

His mother just kept him around as sort of a whipping boy.

So he figured he'd take the cash and go away someplace

and make a fresh start for himself?

He'll make a fresh start, all right.

She turned a million dollars over to him.

She also gave a very nice wedding present

to June and Dave.

Oh, she was just in a giving mood, Perry.

Don't forget, she also paid your fee.

No, my fee really came from David Lambert.

Just arrived. A portrait of me.

It's an abstract of course,

but I think the likeness is excellent.