Original subtitles

Good evening, friends.

Would you all please examine the tops of your television sets and see if one of

you doesn't find a goldfish bowl with a crack in it?

Thank you.

By the way, I've been asked to announce that some of you are missing this

program unnecessarily.

You have moved and not kept us informed of your address, so we don't know where

to send the show to you.

I hope you'll take care of that matter at once.

Tonight we are presenting a tale of mystery and intrigue laid in middle

suburbia. It is called Mr.

Blanchard's Secret.

I realize this doesn't tell you much about the story, but several fine actors

have been hired to do that, and I would hate to rob them of the privilege.

And so, without further ado, we reveal Mr.

Blanchard's Secret.

Poor woman.

It's a shame I had to kill her off that way. A psychiatrist would probably say

that I had some hidden homicidal tendencies or something.

Who knows?

If I didn't get it off my chest by writing mystery stories, I might end up

committing a few murders myself.

Phew.

I'm glad it worked out this way, of course.

It's so much healthier.

Also, it pays better.

Otherwise, I'd say that I was pretty normal.

Even though my husband, John, doesn't always agree with me.

It's my vivid imagination that gives John the most trouble.

Poor John.

He's a lawyer.

Corporations, mostly.

Crime doesn't even enter his mind.

But with me, it's like eating peanuts.

Once I start thinking about it, I can't stop.

Right now, I'm beginning to think some pretty strange things about the people

next door.

If I thought about it enough, I could really build it up into a production.

Knowing myself, I probably will.

John. John, are you asleep?

There's just one light on next door.

Don't you think that's odd?

Ever since the Blanchards moved in, that one light always burns all night.

It's not the right place to be coming from a hall.

It must be a bedroom.

Maybe it's hers.

Maybe she has insomnia and she reads all night.

Maybe that's why I've never seen her because she sleeps all day.

Oh, that sounds like a lovely idea, doesn't it?

It's funny, though.

They've been in that house for over two weeks and I've never seen Mrs.

Blanchard. Not once.

Well, isn't that funny?

He does all the chores.

He even hangs out our laundry. I popped him in the market several times. Oh,

he's very strange.

Hardly even nodding.

He's such an odd, withdrawn type.

Oh, and let's see how he could make a good teacher.

Do you know that he used to be a university professor?

What's he doing stuck away in a small -town high school like ours, anyway?

It's very strange.

Good night, darling. I enjoyed our little chat.

John, suppose there isn't any Mrs. Blanchard.

Suppose he just invented her for some reason, or... or she's dead and he can't

accept it, so he just goes on pretending.

Or suppose he killed her.

Suppose he discovered that she had some secret vice.

And he tried to get rid of it to save his career.

Oh, boy, I better make a plot out of that.

Tony, I'm hungry all of a sudden.

Can I get you something, dear?

It's not really so far -fetched when you think about it.

Mr. Blanchard gets rid of his wife, but he's still afraid someone will

eventually get suspicious.

So, he pretends that she's still with him.

He acted so peculiarly when I asked him about his wife.

Wasn't a bit friendly when I said I'd like to be neighborly and visit.

Of course.

Now I know why he behaved that way.

It's because there is no Mrs.

Blanchard. Why, he could go on like this for years. In fact, as long as he

pretends Mrs. Blanchard is alive, he's safe.

That was not my vivid imagination.

That was Mr.

Blanchard. Nobody's going to come peeking through my back door in the

the night without an explanation.

and that's so far.

Oh, I could do myself a real favor if I turn around and go home right now.

Of course I'm not going to.

Like those peanuts, this is irresistible.

Looks like a set.

Ready for the lady to enter on cue.

At least there was a Mrs. Blanchard.

Oh, lovely, too.

Even the old stony face doesn't seem to think so.

Wow.

She could put an awful dent in the professor's salary.

He couldn't afford to keep her.

Good evening, Mrs. Fenton.

I was looking for you.

In the closet?

Not exactly.

You see, when I caught you peeking... I mean, when I saw you outside my kitchen

a little while ago... I thought there might be something wrong with Mrs.

Blanchard. There's nothing wrong with Mrs. Blanchard. Really?

Well, can you prove it?

I mean... Oh, I'd just love to meet her. Some other time, perhaps.

Then she is here. This is her home.

I'm sorry if I frightened you a while ago. My wife went out without telling me

and I thought perhaps she was with you.

Now, with your permission, I'd like to see you to your door.

Well, so far he's only got you for illegal entry and defamation of

What else happened last night?

Nothing, unfortunately.

But you know I'm positive there's something wrong in that house.

Mr. Blanchard never once looked me straight in the eye.

Maybe he was embarrassed.

You weren't exactly dressed to go visiting.

Oh, don't be silly.

Besides, you should see some of Mrs.

Blanchard's negligees. Wow.

I just can't understand how a woman with those tastes could pick a man like

that.

That house.

It's like a morgue.

Who knows, maybe it is.

Darling, how the Blanchards live is none of our business.

You can't expect Mr. Blanchard to put the welcome mat out for you when you go

prowling around his house in the middle of the night asking questions that are

about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Who's prowling around our house first?

Besides, what was he really doing outside our kitchen door anyway?

Who knows? Maybe he walks in his sleep.

I'd even settle for that if I could just get some sleep.

I'm sorry, darling. I wish I could forget. You know me. I just can't stop

thinking about that poor woman probably lying in a cellar someplace right this

minute, just ready to be popped into the furnace. Now, please, not right on top

of my breakfast.

Oh, sometimes I don't know how you put up with me.

I'll tell you what. I'll try working the blanchards into a script.

Then maybe we'll both get some sleep tonight.

Can I count on that? Of course, darling. By the time you get home, Mrs.

Blanchard will be buried for the last time.

All right.

Bye. Bye -bye.

Maybe the secret vice anchor for Mrs. Blanchard is a good one.

Maybe she was an alcoholic or something.

Mr. Blanchard's university career was being destroyed, so he finally had to

steps.

A liquor store, you mean. Get back to your room at once.

Charles.

Charles, I promise to behave.

Oh, Charles, I can't stand it any longer.

I can't stand it.

If I don't get out of this house, I'll go mad.

Oh, Charles, I want to make friends.

Go shopping.

Like other women, don't you understand?

But you are not like other women. Other women do not get themselves into a

drunken stupor and nearly set fire to their homes, or go off on a spree and

up almost running a child down. Other women help their husbands' careers. They

do not destroy them. Now get back to your room.

No!

No! No!

I will not be kept a prisoner in this house any longer.

I am going to tell the world what you have done to me.

Have you counted the number of times that we have had to move?

The positions I have given up because of you, have you?

You have ruined my career for the last time.

The last time.

And that's the end of her.

Oh, John will be so happy.

Mrs. Fenton?

I'm Mrs. Blanchard. I've been wanting to meet you.

No, I should have knocked, but the door was open, so I took the liberty of

walking in.

Mrs.

Blanchett?

Yes.

Come in, please.

You have no idea how glad I am to see you.

It's all so pretty here, just the way I imagined it.

I was beginning to think that you didn't exist at all.

I'm sorry, I can't stay very long. My husband doesn't know I'm here.

He wouldn't like it.

Oh, I don't see why not. After all, we are neighbors.

It's a little difficult.

Don't you say another word until I get some coffee. I'm sure we're going to

a lot to talk about.

Mr. Blanchard, how charming of you to call.

Will you join us in some coffee, won't you? I'm sorry, Mrs. Fenton, but I'm

afraid there won't be time for that.

Come, Ellen.

Are you angry with me? Come, Ellen, I said.

All right, Charles.

I'm sorry that I couldn't stay for coffee.

Men are such babies.

They just can't be left alone for one minute.

When a man is so jealous that he keeps his wife a virtual prisoner in her own

home, won't even let her out to talk to a neighbor, well, then he has to be

insane.

I'm not going to desert her.

I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't do something to help her.

Her light is on.

As usual.

When you think of it, that bedroom is her whole world.

And when she doesn't care what the rest of the house looks like.

And all those pretty clothes that no one ever gets to see.

Honestly, John, I'd just like to take that man to... He's just come out of the

house.

He's carrying something.

It looks like a large sack.

He's putting it into his car.

John, he's driving off with it.

Oh, John.

John, something awful.

How can you read at a time like this?

Doesn't everybody?

Oh, for heaven's sakes, do something.

About what?

John, ten minutes ago, Mr. Blanchard left here in a great hurry, practically

dragging Abby Sack.

I've been pounding on their door ever since. Mrs. Blanchard's light is still

but Mrs. Blanchard doesn't answer. Now do you understand?

Not in the least.

Just we both agree that Mr. Blanchard is a homicidal maniac.

He was furious with her for coming over here this morning.

Suppose that what Mr. Blanchard had in that sack was the body of one Blanchard.

What? Now will you call the police?

Look, you've done some pretty wacky things in your... Never mind, I'll do it

myself.

Get me the police. Now stop that.

I beg of you, don't... Maybe you don't mind having a murder committed by...

Hello?

This is Mrs. John Fenton.

I'm awfully sorry to bother you, but I believe a woman has just been murdered.

Who? Oh, she's my next -door neighbor.

No, no, I'm not absolutely sure, but... You see, I saw her husband dragging a

sack out of their house in the middle of the night.

Do you mean that you still haven't found the body?

You haven't even looked.

No, I am not crazy.

Although it's a wonder with all that's been going on around here.

No, of course I can't be absolutely sure there was a murder.

But how can you be absolutely sure that there wasn't unless you look?

I don't know.

You're the police. Just ask yourself where you'd go to get rid of a body.

Don't worry, darling. I didn't say anything would get us into trouble.

Certainly not.

Of course, when the police arrest you for being a general nuisance, don't you

come to me.

But if you need help, I'll be at the office.

I wish he had just a little more imagination.

He wouldn't suffer so.

Now, if I can reconstruct the murder...

Hello?

I've come for coffee.

You had such a funny look on your face when I came in as if I were a ghost.

To be perfectly frank, I thought I'd never see you again after yesterday.

My husband and I had quite a quarrel over my being here.

Well, as a matter of fact, he got so furious, he threw a few things into a

duffel bag and stormed into the night. He hasn't come back yet.

Duffel bag. So that was it.

But didn't you hear me ringing your bell?

You know.

Oh. But then I was so upset I took a sleeping pill. I didn't hear a thing

that. Oh, how pretty. Do you mind?

No, of course not.

Help yourself.

Only it doesn't work.

They never do for me.

I guess I just don't have a red thumb with lighters.

Try this.

Oh, thank you. It's such a lovely one. I adore silver, but I suppose every woman

does. You knew some of the wild theories I've had about you.

Theories? I think we better skip those.

From now on, I'm going to stick to writing.

Right? How exciting.

That depends on if your taste runs to crime.

Mm -mm.

Mm -mm. Upsets me horribly.

And my husband adores murder mysteries. The gorier, the better.

Well, at least I was right about something.

Ellen.

Ellen, forgive me for being personal, but... Are you happy?

You mean with Charles?

Yes. Yes, I think so.

Oh, of course, he is nervous, sort of high -strung.

Doesn't want me out of his sight. Watches me a little too closely

he's sweet when you get to know him.

I'm sure.

Gee, but don't you mind being cooped up and never getting out, never seeing

anyone? Oh, I sneak off ways sometimes, but to the movies or go shopping. I

adore to go shopping by myself.

But, well, Charles doesn't approve. I suppose he knows what's best.

You know, I just don't think that you're real. No, no. No, no. Actually, I'm

very grateful to him. He understands my little foibles.

Besides, I am the most dreadful housekeeper. Sometimes I think he's an

put up with me.

You know, I really must be going.

Charles generally gets home for lunch about this time, and I'm going to be

there. Last night he... Oh, you mean about leaving me.

He's done that before. He always comes back.

You know, I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed this.

I do hope there's something I can do for you sometime.

Just come again. As often as you... As often as you like.

Oh, my Irish stew! I forgot all about it!

Oh, don't worry about me. I'll let myself out.

See you soon.

I really thought I had the blenches all figured out.

Now I don't know who's crazy.

Unless it's me.

It's funny.

Glad I was here just a few minutes ago.

I remember distinctly because Mrs.

Blanchard had it in her hand admiring it.

She said how much he adored silver.

Now I know what Mr. Blanchard's secret is.

Well, I finished it, and I think it's good. Want to hear it?

If it has anything to do with the Blanches, no.

I disguised them beautifully.

I don't think I've lost anything.

Imagine me thinking all those dreadful things about him. All the time the poor

man had a kleptomaniac on his hand.

It's funny.

One thought that never occurred to me.

No wonder he had to leave the university.

Probably can't keep any position very long because of her.

I mean, gee, the minute he lets her out of his sight, she just goes right out

and steals things.

Can't help it, of course, but it must be awfully nerve -wracking for him. Think

of the strain he must live under, never knowing when the blow will fall again.

It's a wonder that he hasn't killed her.

People simply don't go around murdering each other so easily, my love.

Except in your stories.

They also don't take quite as many silver cigarette lighters as you might

Well, I'd just like to know what happened to that silver cigarette

then. Why don't you try the director first? Why don't you ask Mrs. Blanchett

she took it?

Don't be silly, darling. You just can't go around asking people personal

questions like that.

Besides, it didn't work anyway.

That's for me. I'm asleep.

Hello?

Yes?

That was the police.

They've just found a woman's body.

They say she was around 30 and a brunette.

It must be Mrs.

Blanchard. I don't believe it.

It's down at the morgue and I have to go down and identify it.

She was hit over the head and thrown over a cliff.

Oh, I really feel responsible.

It must have been that silver lighter that finally broke the camel's back.

What camel?

Mr. Blanchard.

When he discovered his wife had stolen again, I guess he just went berserk and

murdered her.

John, you don't think that he really did murder her?

Of course not, darling. Now, it's got to have been somebody else.

She was so nice.

I'll just never forgive myself for this.

What has it got to do with you?

I was so suspicious. I was always inventing things.

It's almost as though I made it. happened don't you see no i don't see

down to the morgue and settle this right now no john i started it and i'm going

to finish it

it

works now i had charles fix it he's awfully good at that sort of thing

he hates to admit it

This concludes our show.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hurry off to a little social affair.

A dear friend is guest of honor.

It's astounding.

I wouldn't miss it for the world. Good night.