Original subtitles

I am resorting to this device to attract attention to our program.

I have no shame whatsoever.

The Town Crier was a 17th century American newspaper.

As newspapers go, it was rather primitive.

It had no contests, no crossword puzzles, no funnies. And, of course, the

colonists couldn't wrap their garbage in the Town Crier.

They simply threw it at him.

when they disagreed with his editorials. There was no advertising either. The

more I describe it, the more attractive it sounds.

Naturally, this has nothing to do with this evening's play.

Our story is a modern one about a man who moves about a large city, carrying a

box which was both mysterious and disquieting.

It follows this advertisement.

As may or may not be voted by the House in Washington.

For the third time in a week, Thomas Grindley, the Commissioner of Recreation

and Parks, received letters threatening his life.

The Commissioner, when interviewed in his office, could not find any cause for

this attack.

That's true.

I've received several.

I can't imagine why I've been singled out for these letters, since my office

performs few functions that could incense anyone to such a degree.

We run the playgrounds and the parks.

Oh, I do set up art exhibits and ceramic classes and things like that, but

perhaps it's some disgruntled volleyball player.

But whatever it is, it isn't very amusing.

And the person who's doing it should realize they're committing a crime just

mailing such letters.

Where the hell did the package go?

Call the bomb squad.

Commissioner Grinley's office?

What?

Oh, no, no, he hasn't, but... Yes, I'll see.

I would like to see the park commissioner immediately.

Do you have an appointment?

I would have mentioned it if I did.

Is this professional or personal?

One might say it will ultimately be a little bit of both.

What do you mean?

I'm not here to argue the merits of my visit.

I am not arguing.

It's your duty to announce me now.

You're not the park commissioner?

Lieutenant Weimar, detective bureau.

I haven't done anything.

Why do you want to see the park commissioner?

Is a visit to a public servant now considered a criminal offense?

What's in that box?

Call the bomb squad, man.

I'll take it.

Might be waterproof paper.

Outside, Lieutenant.

Your name?

We'll find out anyway.

James Bellington.

For someone whose profession reputedly deals in facts, you have a penchant for

fantasy.

Read it.

I'll hold it.

To Commissioner Grindley.

You are a boor and a fool.

Completely unqualified to judge what painting shall or shall not be exhibited

the city art shows.

Since there is no legal means to relieve the struggling artist in the city of

your prejudice, I shall have to resort to a bomb.

It's typewritten, but there's no signature.

Of course not.

You seem to be accusing me of something, a bomb threat.

Are you prepared to book me on that charge?

If it's necessary.

I live in the Bedford Apartment Hotel. I do not have a police record of any

kind, and I have never committed a crime.

Maybe this is the first.

Or yours.

Against me?

On what basis?

False arrest.

You're only being detained.

How refreshing. A police officer who's taken the trouble to read and comprehend

the statute laws governing arrest.

Jesus' description?

I need it for the charge. This alarm clock.

I mean a technical one.

That's it.

But what explosive was used?

That's all.

You mean the explosive was inside the clock?

He's trying to tell you there is no more.

It is only a clock.

Not a dolly -esque clock of artistic significance or a Swiss clock to create

timpanic music.

It is not an heirloom. It's not a bomb either. It is simply a clock.

A plain pedestrian hand -wound alarm clock that even someone with your

imagination could buy in a corner drugstore.

You still didn't say why you want to see the commissioner.

No, I don't want to see him.

Why not?

For the same reasons I wanted to.

And that is?

Personal reasons.

Private reasons.

Goodbye. You're not going.

Are you arresting me? I only said you were being detained.

It's false detention. I'll sue you for false detention.

But certainly a man with your expert legal knowledge knows there can't be

detention.

I can hold you for eight hours without booking you for anything.

You're going to be asked some questions.

I don't have to answer.

Oh, well, not by me.

I'm just a cop.

Since you describe yourself as worthless, it would be impolite of me to

since you're my reluctant host.

But by Dr. Glover.

A doctor?

A psychiatrist.

But how do you make a living?

Like most people.

How's that?

By work, obviously.

You enjoy verbal fencing?

Only when the occasion doesn't merit anything more profound.

You speak like a man with some sort of education.

So do you.

Some sort.

Why aren't you wearing a white jacket?

Why should I? Well, you're an M .D.

On the other hand, wearing a white jacket might raise resistance in

patients who come to see you.

You seem to know something about the profession.

Too much.

Through reading or personal contact?

May I go?

Why don't you want to answer my question?

What for?

To help yourself.

I can help you.

How?

If you tell me what is really bothering you, I might be able to...

To help me adjust.

Perhaps.

Do you know... an artist has to go through in this world.

I've heard.

Do you know what he has to put up with?

Do you know what uneducated oafs and clowns do to his work?

Have you ever had a showing of your paintings in a city or county museum?

Showing?

How can I? How can any artist have any words with that stupid park commissioner

sitting up there and passing on art?

He didn't pass on them. He did.

A committee of artists and curators selects the paintings for the city

What artists?

What curators?

I... I don't know. What curators?

I'm not sure.

Lackeys. I'm not through.

Charge me with something.

Name one crime I've committed.

One.

I can only name one you want to commit.

You're smart enough to know we can't hold you.

We can't force you to take treatments.

But we're smart enough to know one of two things about you.

Either you're faking your condition.

We can't stop him.

He might even commit suicide or a murder within the next two or three days.

Why all the secrecy to get me to a hotel as if we were intelligence agents for

profit? Your drollery doesn't help sometimes.

It isn't meant to. It's meant to disturb, provoke.

Mr. Bellingham's room?

It's safe to come in.

We went over the whole room already.

Wally was here?

Of course not.

Pretty awful, aren't they?

The content?

Yes.

But he has a very complex color sense.

That's either heightened psychotic color awareness, or he has training.

Junk. I'd have turned him down if I'd have been on the mayor's art committee.

But technique.

He has technique.

That takes control.

Superb technique.

Distorted.

Now, why would a man with technique want to hide it?

Well, there are classy psychological reasons.

Remember, I told you all that psychological stuff, so please don't

to me. They don't apply.

If you look at all this stuff, how can you find a way to stop them?

You've done the damage already.

What damage?

When he finds out you've been here... Who'll tell him? Don't be foolish.

never know.

Being both brilliant and paranoid, he set traps for anyone entering into this

room. I had the squad go over it.

Clever traps.

Things of rational mind would never notice.

Ashes on the floor. Did anyone step on them?

A picture. Did anyone pick it up or put it down? Just one, but I set it back the

way it was.

Exactly the way it was?

Almost. But it has to be exactly, precisely the way it was.

There are probably 10 or 15 things around this room that you have touched,

moved, crushed, altered, or modified just enough to make him walk into this

room, take one look at his hidden traps, and go right out and build a bomb.

A real bomb.

A true bomb.

To make up for your visit.

I shouldn't have used so much yellow.

I wonder why some paranoids use such an excessive amount of yellow when they

paint. Jenkins!

Yeah? Get on the car radio.

Call Central Bureau and have about a 24 -hour guard for every member of the

mayor's art committee. Right.

It will only be a matter of hours, Lieutenant Weimar.

Only hours from the time he sees his room again.

A couple of 5 -volt batteries, 10 feet of bell cord, and a roll of friction

tape. Yes, sir.

Hey, Arthur.

Central Bureau, number 63, over.

This is Central.

Go ahead, 63.

Lost Bellington on 2nd Street. Alert guards at all points and persons.

over. 63, this is Central.

Hey, buddy.

We help you? Yeah. What time is it?

10 .25.

Thanks. Hey, okay if I sit here for a few minutes? No. No, it isn't. Oh, come

on. It's just for a few minutes.

Who's that package for? Well, that's it. I'm not supposed to deliver this for

another five minutes.

Exactly. No sooner, no later.

Who is it for?

The director of this museum here.

Who sent it?

A guy named Bellington.

Call the bond squad.

That one cent of your tax dollar goes into this function.

Now first we will cover the West Wing, with its displays of Spanish, Dutch, and

Flemish masters.

An unusually large display of such paintings for a museum of this size.

And next we'll cover the French Impressionists and contemporary artists.

Then we'll cover their miniatures, and finally the Statuary Room.

If there are any questions as we move along, please don't hesitate to ask

Now,

ladies and gentlemen, we are now... I nearly missed it.

They used to let artists come in here and sit all day and copy these masters.

Are you an artist?

Not very good, but I try.

You mean you can copy some of these?

Some. I'd hoped to try today.

But I thought you said they didn't allow it. I realize it's ridiculous of me to

try, but I was half finished a miniature when they stopped me the last time.

You mean they made you leave?

Oh, no, but they said they would if they found me copying or bringing in any

paint supplies.

Oh, and just because you wanted to copy a miniature.

You know how absurd these bureaucratic rules can be. They're just ridiculous.

But there they are.

Oh, look.

Isn't that a beautiful still life?

I got a nice...

To define

the multiple planes of content... Oh,

well.

Such a noise for a museum.

I guess I won't get to finish it now.

Why not?

Oh, I'm not going to break the law just to paint a picture.

Oh, that's sensible.

But if they find me with my paint supplies, they'll confiscate them.

But they're yours.

There's a sign near the front that warns against anyone bringing in paint or

paint supplies.

Oh, I didn't notice it.

Well, if you were a painter, you would have.

They'll take mine.

Probably got about $60 worth of supplies in here.

In that box?

If I try to walk out with it, they'll probably see me.

They don't examine every package people bring in here.

They know me. They know I paint.

I don't paint, young man.

Would you? Would you really? I'd be so grateful. I can't afford to lose them.

But be careful. Hold them tight if they fell and spilled out.

I understand.

What do you mean to stand guard at the director's door?

Do you see a man coming through here carrying a shoebox? No, I haven't.

Where are you going?

There he is.

Stop.

I'll shoot him.

Where's the bomb?

That first bomb, that was a decoy.

Why have you done this?

When we get the second box apart.

Unless it blows up first.

It won't blow up.

We'll prevent it. It won't blow up.

I'll go to it, empty it out and show you.

If I try to escape, you've enough men around here to stop me one way or the

other.

You see, only the instruments of my craft.

A harmless brush.

A defenseless tube of paint.

Some neutral oil.

If you don't mind, I'll go now.

I dislike breaking in at the middle of our story, but we have some late

news. The station over which you are viewing our show has just been

identified. Your local announcer will now provide you with the details, after

which we shall return to our story.

His bombs have all been a hoax.

You've been a detective long enough to know that many a hoax turns into the

thing. But he's like Quicksilver.

The brilliant paranoia is always like Quicksilver.

He knows just enough psychiatry to keep you from finding out anything.

And he knows just enough law to keep me from doing anything.

Then he's picked his moment to die.

It's the closest he can come to watching his own funeral.

In the last 12 hours, it's like he wants us to know where he is. He doesn't try

to run or hide.

He doesn't try to shake the people I have tailing him.

Then he's made his decision.

Exactly when and where?

Something like that.

If I could get him with dynamite or nitro in his possession once, just once,

there's a fast way to find out.

The way you decided is good enough.

The faster way.

You beat him up and he'll try even harder.

I didn't say that.

You meant it.

What are you?

A mind reader or a psychiatrist?

How do you know what I meant?

I only said there are fast ways.

Then let's drop it.

Well, just watch what you say.

Don't go around accusing me of things.

It's my job on the line, not yours, mine.

If it happens, I get the hook.

If it blows, then I've made the big mistake.

It goes against me, not you, me.

Yes? Fine.

Sergeant Marklin is here.

Good.

Central Bureau just reported him in a bar on 24th Street.

Are there any other instructions?

Tell me what I've told you.

Verbatim? In your own words, the way you understand it.

Avoid arguments. If I find myself getting into an argument with him,

subject. Don't ask too many questions. He'll suspect everything.

If he shows any signs of hostility, offer to leave.

But don't get up to go till he says he wants you to.

And don't be too aggressive.

You know everything you want to say?

The main ideas and the main subjects.

Our mail will be just across the street.

Remember every detail.

Listen and listen closely.

Everything he says.

Every tone of voice.

Change of inflection.

Every word he utters could be a clue.

If not to you, to us. Can you remember?

I can't, but this will.

For every detail, listen and listen closely.

Everything he says, every tone of voice, change of inflection, every word he

utters could be a clue.

Women don't generally like this kind of program.

That's true. They usually don't.

I wanted to talk to you.

Why?

Because...

I

recognized you.

I like what you did.

I like the way you made the big boys, the big shot, run all over.

I mean, I admire anybody who can make the fat cats jump and run.

Louise Marklin.

I live around here.

I didn't ask you where you live.

I didn't mean it that way.

What way?

Oh, you know.

If you think I meant it that way, I didn't, not at all.

Okay, you meant it another way.

I just wanted to tell you that I admire what you did.

I mean, when you make a whole town sit up and take notice, that takes a lot.

Well, I told you. I'll go now.

No, you stay.

Can I buy you a drink?

That's a good way to prove it.

Prove what?

That you're not the kind of a girl that goes around striking up friendships in

public bistros in order to get drinks.

Goodbye.

No.

I like people who like me.

Of course.

Don't we all?

Touché. As the saying goes in certain cosmopolitan centers of the world.

I'm not having a contest with you.

It's too bad.

I like contests.

I despise opposition.

But I like contests.

Contests without opponents.

Neat.

That way when I lose, I win.

When I'm the victor, I've only defeated myself, but I don't mind because I have

won.

The papers say you're an artist.

Of sorts.

Objective?

A lady has an education.

Well, yes.

And something.

I'm an objective subjectivist.

I don't know that.

Okay, then I'm a subjective objectivist.

Are you putting me on? Are you putting me on?

No. Who sent you to talk to me?

No one. The newspapers?

No one, honestly.

One of those lousy yellow journals that dip into the slop bucket of human misery

to print their pseudo -human interest stories?

I'm a secretary for a building firm.

Off work so soon?

The office closes at four.

Eight to four.

The building trades start early, you know.

No, I didn't, no.

Prove it.

I have a business card with my hours on it.

Unfortunately, I left them at the office.

Why are you always trying to prove something?

Well, because you seem to want proof.

Doesn't everyone have everything?

Prove you love me.

Prove you need me. Prove you want me.

Prove I'm your friend. Prove you're mine.

Prove life is sweet and time is not fleeting.

Prove your proof.

And then, prove it was worth it.

You're a scary man.

I'm a painter.

You said so. How can a painter be a scary man?

No wonder you have the big cats pawing the air.

You said fat cats the last time.

I meant it.

I like you.

Louise, that's it, Louise?

Are you married?

Well, in a way, sort of.

Divorced?

No.

My husband travels a lot.

You live around here?

You go too fast.

I thought you were in a hurry.

I can go fast, slow down, go fast. I've got all the time in the world.

That's if you don't get into trouble.

Oh, I won't get into trouble.

They'll have to be a lot smarter than they are before they get me into

Oh, I wish I had the nerve to do what you've done.

Takes knowledge.

Planning.

And a need greater than a wish.

I want to do something daring.

Something that tells the whole world to jump when I say jump.

Go in the red light, stay on the green.

Across the street in the middle of the block.

Make a right -hand turn from a left -hand lane. Tell everybody what you

when you think it. Or hate when you want to hate.

I don't have the nerve to do anything but stay married to a man I despise

and every morning go to a job I loathe.

You should see the next job I have planned.

Would you let me?

Why not?

The whole police force will be watching.

And the big shots.

Why not unimportant Louise?

Prove to me why you can't.

What will it be like?

It's a plan that will work like a clock.

Bong, bong, can't go wrong.

Even some of the best plans do, sometimes.

Not this one.

They wouldn't dare.

This won't be an ordinary device.

No.

This will be a... A button.

A smooth, black, efficient button.

To be held firmly, wisely.

but strongly.

And if anyone tries to make me release that button before I've been where I

to go and seen who I want and obtained what I want,

then we shall all be

destroyed together.

The loved and the

hated.

Help me!

Let's get him!

Let's get that guy!

All right, you men, cover the exit.

I'm putting you down there, three.

Upstairs. Come on.

Stop, everybody, stop!

One more step, and I release this button.

I've changed my mind.

I've decided there's no point in just revenge.

I said I would.

Now you're showing some sense.

One more step and I release this button.

Exactly. Ten minutes.

I shall release this button.

I could just talk to you.

Words are father to the deed.

Words are father to the deed.

Words are father to the deed.

How much damage could a box that size do?

With some of these new type combinations he's built this building up.

Words are father to the deed.

Words are father to the deed. But for what?

All this art destroyed?

What a sterile protest.

There are no victories.

Only protest.

There are no victories.

Only protest.

In exactly nine minutes, I shall release this button.

If you should be, the button will be released before I hit the floor.

Out in eight minutes.

Why not now?

All right, now.

Go!

Let the people get out first.

I haven't done anything to you.

Come on.

I didn't mean to challenge you.

I meant to help you.

I wanted to see... Get that hypocrite out of here before he provokes me to

a terrible mistake!

How many have you taken?

Five so far.

And we don't have time for any more after this. I can't hold them off that

But with the paintings you made to replace the other two, that'd give us

seven we were going to take. It's not worth the risk.

You know, if I do say so myself, my imitation's better than the original.

By the time anybody discovers the difference, we'll be on our way to

City.

Hey. Boom.

My finger was getting sore.

And a sore finger's worth a half a million dollars.

That much?

Of course.

You don't think I'd steal the paintings before I sold them?

My public awaits.

About the bomb.

Bomb? What bomb?

There's no bomb. There never was. There isn't going to be.

But... But the clock.

The wires. The button.

You told her.

Is there a law against buttons?

Against wires?

Dr. Glover, you're an incompetent man.

But an educated one.

Will you please tell this man he has no case against me whatsoever?

You're going to jail.

Oh, really?

Name one law I've broken.

One. I didn't chase you. You chased me. I never said I would blow anyone up. You

said it. I never had an explosive of any kind in my possession.

You're disturbing the peace.

Provoked by you, and if you don't release me immediately, I shall sue you

one million dollars and win.

Well, we can't arrest a man for what he thinks, and much less for what we think.

Or for what we did that he didn't do.

Release him.

I suppose it would be too much to expect one of your men to get me a cab.

Of course, I understand.

Fortunately, our hero chose to celebrate a bit early.

The paintings were traced, and he is now helping to manufacture cardboard boxes

for the state.

Of course, this program is not to be interpreted as an endorsement of bomb

threats, even when used by collectors of modern art.

As for what this program does endorse, I shall leave that to the town crier I

hear in the wings.