All language subtitles for Alfred Hitchcock s02e13 Mr Blanchards Secret

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He's such an odd, withdrawn type.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.