Original subtitles

It's good to see you, Dick.

It's good to be back.

Everything has been arranged. She's up there waiting for you.

Thank you.

Poor, dear man.

I. . . . I guess I'II be going now.

Good Iuck to you, Dick.

Been through heII, hasn't he?

To a man Iike that, two years in prison is worse than heII.

Isn't that Dick HarIand, the chap who used to Iive in Back of the Moon?

Yes, I beIieve it is.

WeII, of aII the seven deadIy sins, jeaIousy is the most deadIy.

Oh, wiII you bring us some coffee, pIease?

-You were his Iawyer, weren't you? -Yes, I defended him.

Some might say I Iost the case for him.

I read the newspapers, but I never couId make head nor taiI of it.

WeII. . .

. . .there's some things that couIdn't be toId in the courtroom.

Yet, of aII the peopIe invoIved. . .

. . .I suppose I'm the onIy one who knew the whoIe story.

You see, it was through me they first met.

He'd been working very hard on a new book.

I invited him up to my pIace in New Mexico for a rest.

They met on the train.

-Thank you. -You're quite weIcome.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I was staring at you, wasn't I?

I didn't mean to, reaIIy. It's onIy because--

Because you Iook so much Iike my father.

When he was younger, of course, your age.

A most remarkabIe resembIance.

For a moment I thought--

Do forgive me.

To teII you the truth, I was doing quite a bit of staring myseIf.

And I assure you it's not because you Iook Iike my mother.

In fact, I can't say you Iook Iike anyone I've ever met before.

Then why did you stare?

-Do you want to know? -If it's not too unfIattering.

Now, you know perfectIy weII that nothing I couId say about you--

The way you Iook, I mean, couId be anything but fIattering.

-Of course, if you don't Iike fIattery-- -But I do.

On second thought, it won't be fIattery.

It'II be the truth and nothing but the truth.

Any resembIance to fIattery wiII be sheer coincidence.

-ShaII I proceed? -Proceed.

WhiIe I was watching you, exotic words drifted across the mirror of my mind. . .

. . .as summer cIouds drift across the sky.

Mmm.

-CouIdn't you be a bit more specific? -I'II try.

Watching you, I thought of taIes in the Arabian Nights. . .

. . .of myrrh and frankincense and. . . .

-And patchouIi? -PatchouIi, that's it.

Wait a minute.

I knew it. Here it is. I quote:

''As he watched her, exotic words drifted across the mirror of his mind.

He thought of taIes in the Arabian Nights. . .

. . .of myrrh and frankincense and patchouIi. '' Unquote.

-So that's where it came from. -Oh, I guess so. But reaIIy, I wasn't--

I give you my word, it's weeks since I read it.

-It must've impressed you enormousIy. -The book? Not particuIarIy.

-Rather a sIoppy job, I thought. -I agree with you.

You do?

Next stop, Jacinto.

Next stop, Jacinto.

Oh, that's me.

Jacinto. That's me.

Oh, there you are. HeIIo there.

Oh, it's nice to see you.

-Mrs. Berent. -HeIIo.

-HeIIo. HeIIo, baby, how are you?

HeIIo, darIing.

-And how's Louise? Fine.

-And the chiIdren? -Fine, wonderfuI.

Get those bags, wiII you?

-Looking forward to seeing the ranch. -Can you stay Iong?

Here! Here we are!

HeIIo there.

HeIIo, GIen, how are you? Nice to see you.

-GIad to see you, Dick. -You Iook fine.

-How's your brother? -Danny's stiII fIat on his back.

He wanted very much to come. . .

. . .but the doctor thought the trip might be too much.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Ladies, may I present Mr. HarIand?

Mrs. Berent.

-How do you do? -How do you do?

Ruth Berent.

-How do you do? -HeIIo.

EIIen Berent.

-How do you do? -How do you do?

We met on the train, rather briefIy.

Too briefIy.

I've got the car right here, foIks. Are you aII ready? Come on.

-Did you say HarIand? -Richard HarIand.

Oh, Mr. HarIand, I'm terribIy sorry.

I doubt if I'II ever forgive you.

Wait tiII you get a Iook at the new coIts.

Oh, I bet they're darIing.

EIIen, we've got pIenty of wiId turkey this year.

WonderfuI. -Big as ostriches, twice as ornery.

Hope you peopIe are aII good and hungry.

-Here we are. -Mom, they're here! They're here!

-WeIcome to Rancho Jacinto. Thank you, GIen.

-Mother, isn't it wonderfuI? -It's beautifuI.

Ruth.

Oh, my dear.

Margaret.

I did want to come to meet you. . .

. . .but I thought it best to stay here to supervise dinner.

-EIIen, how are you? -How are you?

Dick, it's so good seeing you. But where's Danny?

-He couIdn't quite make it, Louise. -Oh, I'm terribIy sorry.

-Is he stiII at Warm Springs? -Yes, he's getting aIong fine.

Oh, good. You'II probabIy want to change.

Come on, I'II show you your room.

Those trout were in the stream hours ago.

-You couIdn't get that in Boston. Perhaps, but our codfish--

I was born and raised in Boston myseIf.

I yieId to no one in my passion for codfish.

-I hate codfish. -So do I.

-ChiIdren, that's rank disIoyaIty. -It's treason.

Mr. HarIand, what do you think?

Mrs. Robie, I'm what you caII a saImon man.

Fact of the matter is Mother just doesn't Iike New Mexico.

Since this is my first visit, I don't see how you can say such a thing.

It's true just the same.

Father and I used to come here every spring, year after year.

And occasionaIIy Ruth came aIong, but never Mother.

Too bad Mr. Berent didn't come aIong this time. I've been toId I resembIe him.

-Who toId you that, Mr. HarIand? -I did.

Louise, don't you think so?

WeII, yes, now that you mention it.

-GIen? -WeII, in a way.

In every way.

I noticed it the minute I saw him in the cIub car.

His face, his voice, his manner. It's uncanny.

WeII, I must admit you've aroused my curiosity.

If I shouId get an opportunity to meet your father--

That's hardIy IikeIy, Mr. HarIand.

-My husband-- -We've come for my father's funeraI.

My goodness, there is a resembIance.

Why, a most decided resembIance.

TeII me, what did they mean about coming here for the funeraI?

Oh, that was rather a figure of speech.

As a matter of fact, Professor Berent died some time ago in the East. . .

. . .and his body was cremated. They brought the ashes here.

They're having the ceremony in the morning.

-Where? -High up in the mountains. . .

. . .sort of a pIateau. A favorite spot of his.

He used to go there a Iot with EIIen.

WeII, now, if you'II excuse me, I'II see if the chiIdren have gone to bed.

HeIIo.

HeIIo.

EIIen's gone for a waIk.

-WeII, how did you know that I--? -Oh, I'm quite psychic.

Oh.

And is your sister psychic too?

Oh, yes, much more than I am. OnIy I'm not her sister.

-You're not? -No, I'm her cousin.

I've Iived with the famiIy ever since I was a chiId.

Mrs. Berent adopted me.

Good evening, Mr. HarIand.

Oh, good evening.

In aII fairness, I must confess the nights here. . .

. . .seem more beautifuI than at Beacon HiII.

InfiniteIy. I think everything's more beautifuI here.

EIIen has gone for a stroII.

Thank you.

HeIIo.

HeIIo.

-Am I intruding? -Not at aII.

I--

WeII, I'm afraid I owe you an apoIogy.

It was rather cIumsy of me at the tabIe to speak of your father.

That's aII right. You couIdn't have known.

You were very cIose to your father, weren't you?

Yes, we were inseparabIe.

From the time I was abIe to waIk. . .

. . .we were both happiest when we were together.

Engagement ring?

Yes.

I beIieve I'd better be going in now.

We're getting up at 5:00 in the morning.

-Good night. -Good night.

Don't you think somebody ought to Iook for EIIen?

-What for? -WeII, it's pretty wiId country up there.

-Perhaps she's Iost. -EIIen knows her way home.

I know, but it's been over 1 2 hours. Suppose something happened to her.

Nothing ever happens to EIIen.

WeII, I think I'II take a ride before I turn in.

-Are you aII right? Oh, yes, perfectIy.

I just wanted to be aIone for a whiIe.

Thank you for coming to the funeraI.

-You knew I was there? -Yes, I saw you as I rode by.

I hope you don't think it was just curiosity.

No, I understand.

-I'm gIad you were there. -So am I. I'II never forget it.

Father used to say it was Iike riding across the front Iawn of heaven.

We made a pact to bring our ashes here when we died.

''If you die first,'' I toId him, ''I'II bring yours here.

If I die first, you'II bring mine. ''

Yet, I know now. . .

. . .peopIe you Iove don't reaIIy die.

Can we go now?

I'm not a bit sIeepy, are you?

Not in the Ieast.

Have you forgiven me yet?

-What I said about your book. -Oh, that.

I have a different opinion now.

I finished reading the book Iast night and I found it quite absorbing.

What made you change your mind?

I got interested in one of the characters.

-Which one? -The author.

WeII, I assure you the book is not supposed to be about me.

Oh, but it is, whether you Iike it or not.

''Every book's a confession,'' my father aIways said.

-You have to read between the Iines. -And did you?

-WeII, what sort of man am I? -You're a bacheIor.

Thirty years oId. You were born and raised in Boston. . .

. . .and you went to Harvard, where you edited the Lampoon.

When you graduated, you went to Paris and you studied painting for a whiIe.

You have a Iodge in Maine caIIed Back of the Moon.

Before you went in for writing noveIs, you were a newspaper man.

Your favorite sport is fishing, and you speak French and Spanish quite weII.

Shades of SherIock.

You got aII that just from reading my book?

Just from reading the dust jacket. It was aII there under your picture.

You know, if you'd Iived in SaIem 100 years ago, they'd have burned you.

Why did you give up painting?

WeII, it was Iike this.

In the first pIace, I discovered I was coIorbIind.

Since I was interested in Post-Impressionism. . .

-. . .that didn't matter, did it? -No.

When I made the acquaintance of the boys on the Left Bank. . .

. . .I found that they Iived in squaIid garrets. . .

. . .and most of them were miserabIy undernourished.

Have you ever known what it was to be reaIIy hungry?

I'm hungry right now.

You must be. You haven't had dinner, have you?

-Nor Iunch. -You poor thing, you must be famished.

Mrs. Robie toId EmiIy to Ieave you a tray.

Good.

Oh, there it is.

I'II get it.

Let me.

TeII me about your pIace in Maine.

Oh, it's just a cabin, a shack, that's aII.

But it's set down in just about the most beautifuI country I've ever seen.

Why do you caII it Back of the Moon?

WeII, there's a Iake up there, shaped Iike a crescent.

Danny and I used to spend aII our summers there.

-You Iove Danny a Iot, don't you? -WeII, naturaIIy.

Is that why you've never married, because you've had to take care of him?

No, not exactIy.

The way I feeI about marriage--

WeII, it's Iike-- Thank you.

It's Iike that trip I made to Europe after I graduated.

I hadn't the Ieast idea of going abroad. It just happened.

I was taking a waIk with a girI.

We went down to Boston Wharf and watched a freighter being Ioaded.

I Iiked the Iooks of her.

-The girI? -No, the freighter.

She Iooked good to me and she smeIIed good.

I didn't know where she was going, but I knew I was going with her. And I did.

Mmm. . . .

This is the tastiest sandwich I've ever eaten.

-What is it? -Turkey. WiId turkey.

-Ever hunted them? -No, I haven't.

It's tricky shooting.

They're sort of scary, but they're so big and cIumsy, they hate to take wing.

It's a Iot of fun.

I'd Iike to try it sometime.

-How about tomorrow? -WeII, if GIen has no other pIans.

-I meant just the two of us. -I'd Iove to.

Why did you come for me tonight?

WeII, I don't know exactIy. Everybody assured me you'd be perfectIy aII right.

I guess it was just an impuIse.

-Like the time you took the freighter? -Yes.

You knew I was coming up there tonight.

You were waiting for me, weren't you?

Yes.

And you came, didn't you?

WeII. . . .

Good night.

HeIIo.

-What's going on up there? -I'm just pruning and tying up the roses.

-I hope I wasn't interfering. -Not at aII. I'm gIad you're here.

I was thinking about you. Something you said the other night.

-What did I say? -Something rather strange.

You said you'd been adopted by Mrs. Berent.

WeII, what's so strange about that?

WeII, you didn't say Mr. and Mrs. Berent.

-Weren't you adopted by both of them? -Yes, of course.

-Why did you say Mrs. Berent? -I don't know.

I suppose it was because she suggested that--

She was aIone so much of the time, and I--

I mustn't keep you from your work.

-Be carefuI. -Oh, I'm aII right.

How's that for an entrance?

Perfect.

I'm deIighted to see you.

-AII of you. -Thank you.

I do hope I've interrupted you in your work.

You have, constantIy, aII morning.

How couId I? I haven't been with you tiII now.

Oh, yes, you have. I've been thinking about you and about Quinton.

-Who toId you his name? -GIen Robie.

-How did he happen to teII you? -I asked him.

-Why? -Because I hated Quinton.

-Do you know him? -No.

-Then why do you hate him? -Because you knew him.

That's nice. You going to hate everybody I know?

You've Iost your ring.

No, I took it off an hour ago.

Forever.

Come on, hurry up!

I'II race you across.

One, two, three, go.

Thattaboy, Lin.

Come on, Lin, keep it up.

Come on.

-Lin's going to win. No. EIIen.

EIIen aIways wins.

The winner!

Don't forget we have a date after Iunch.

Quiet, Fritz. Lie down.

What's the matter with you?

Oh, come in.

HeIIo, Robie.

Quiet, Fritz. Quiet.

Let me take your things.

Thank you.

Here, Iet me fix your tie.

WeII, heIIo.

-What in the worId brought you here? -An airpIane.

I grabbed the first one I couId catch after getting your teIegram yesterday.

Why aII the rush?

I wanted to be among the first to congratuIate you. . .

. . .on your forthcoming marriage.

WeII, we hadn't pIanned to announce it for a whiIe. . .

. . .but since you've Iet the cat out of the bag. . . .

DarIing, this is RusseII Quinton.

My fiancé, Richard HarIand.

How do you do?

-Might I have a moment with you aIone? -CertainIy. We can go in the Iibrary.

WiII you excuse us?

Mrs. Berent, Ruth.

Dick. Dick, is it true?

-I'm so happy for EIIen. For both of you. -Thank you.

That's aII very weII, but what I want to know is when and how?

-WeII. . . . -I'm sorry, Russ. ReaIIy, I am.

I never expected you to come here in the midst of a poIiticaI campaign.

-When do you pIan to be married? -As soon as possibIe.

WouId it be convenient for you to postpone it untiI the faII?

UntiI after eIection, you mean.

It wouIdn't do me much good for the news to get out. . .

. . .that I'd been jiIted and thrown aside Iike an oId shoe.

Oh, come now, Russ. SureIy there's no poIiticaI significance. . .

. . .in the fact that a Iady has changed her mind.

I don't understand it, EIIen.

I aIways knew you'd never marry me whiIe your father was aIive.

But after he died, I thought-- WeII, I thought there might be a chance.

What happened?

I'm in Iove.

We intend to get married at once.

Tomorrow.

Don't Iook so downcast.

I'II stiII be abIe to vote for you.

Perhaps you don't think I'm good enough for you or romantic enough.

PeopIe thought I was marrying into the Berent famiIy for reasons. . .

. . .but that's not true.

I want you to know that I had onIy one reason.

I want you to know that I was in Iove with you.

I'm not a man who Ioves often, EIIen. I Iove once.

Thank you, Russ. That's quite a concession.

I Ioved you. . .

. . .and I'm stiII in Iove with you.

That's a tribute.

And I aIways wiII be.

Remember that.

Russ, is that a threat?

Now, Iook here, EIIen--

DarIing, wiII you marry me?

Why, you unpredictabIe IittIe--

And I'II never Iet you go.

Never, never, never.

EIIen, there he is.

Danny.

Dick.

Dick!

Easy, boy, easy.

Oh, Dick!

Hey, you've put on weight.

-I beIieve you've actuaIIy grown. -You Iook sort of different yourseIf.

Get my teIegram?

Yeah, but I didn't sIeep much that night.

I kept thinking, ''Now he's Ieft the ranch, and now he's in Chicago. ''

I kept seeing that train coming nearer and nearer.

-I counted every turn of the wheeIs. ELLEN: May I come in?

Hi, Danny.

Hi, EIIen.

I hope you Iike her, Danny, because if you don't, we'II send her right back.

Oh, pIease don't Iet him fire me, Danny. I Iike this job.

Don't you worry. If he fires you, I'II hire you.

Thank you. -Were you surprised to get my Ietter?

Not a bit. I knew what was in that Ietter even before I opened it.

I just kept reading it over and over again, just to sort of--

-Get used to the idea? -Yeah.

I was trying to picture what kind of a pIace Taos was. . .

. . .how Iong a honeymoon is.

EIIen didn't Iike Taos.

I thought Warm Springs wouId be better for a honeymoon.

I hope you can stay a whiIe.

We're going to take a cottage right here in Warm Springs.

-And Iive here, you mean? -That's right.

That's EIIen's idea. That's the way she wants it.

Gosh.

WeII, Mrs. HarIand.

I think I can feeI safe in saying the job is permanent.

Thank you, sir. I aIways does my best.

I trust you'II find the soup to your taste.

It's sheer understatement to caII this ambrosia soup.

I caII it consommé à la patchouIi.

When you hire a cook, teach her the recipe.

I have no intention of hiring a cook or a housekeeper or any other servants.

-You mean for the present. -Ever.

-Idiot. -I don't want anybody eIse but me. . .

. . .to do anything for you.

I want to keep your house and wash your cIothes and cook your food.

A born sIavey.

I don't want anybody eIse in the house but us.

-Ever? -Ever.

WeII, but suppose in the naturaI course of events. . . .

-WeII, that's different. -And what about Danny?

WeII, that's different too.

OnIy three peopIe have been to Back of the Moon:

Me and Dick and Thorne.

-Who's Thorne? -Leick Thorne. He's a woodsman.

He heIped buiId the house, the dam, the boathouse and aII.

He takes care of the pIace.

I'd Iike to get hoId of some of Richard's baby pictures.

-CouId I, do you suppose? -Yeah, there's a whoIe aIbum fuII.

A Iot of coIIege yearbooks with Ioads of pictures of him.

OnIy, there's one he doesn't Iike to show to anybody.

Why not?

WeII, it's got a picture of Enid Sothern in it.

Who's she?

The one they voted the best-Iooking girI.

-Was she reaIIy beautifuI? -Not as beautifuI as you are.

Thank you, Danny.

Won't it be wonderfuI when you can go back to schooI?

Gosh, yes.

-What schooI did you go to? -Same one as Dick.

-Boarding schooI? -Yeah.

-Oh, that must be fun. -Sure is.

Uh. . . . Has Dick been busy IateIy?

Yes, he's been working awfuIIy hard on his book.

We mustn't interrupt him.

Besides, have you forgotten our secret?

Danny.

Dick. Dick.

Danny. Danny.

Now we can, aII three of us, go to Back of the Moon.

Can't we, Dick? Can't we?

You bet we can. You bet we can.

It's way up north, miIes from nowhere.

I know aII about that pIace. I've heard about it pIenty from Danny.

-He can't wait to get up there again. -I know, that's my probIem.

Dr. Mason, my husband is pIanning to Ieave for Back of the Moon. . .

. . .as soon possibIe, and he wants to take Danny with us.

So do I, of course.

-What's the probIem? -WeII, it's so remote up there.

WiId and rugged and miIes from the nearest town.

The faciIities are primitive. There isn't a teIephone. . .

. . .in case we need a doctor for Danny.

I'm sure he won't need a doctor up there.

-Or medicine? -Or medicine or anything.

-What about schooI? -That can wait.

I must say Danny's progress has been rather remarkabIe.

I don't know how you did it. You must've wiIIed that boy to waIk.

But don't you see, doctor. . .

. . .my husband wiII be busy a good deaI of the time writing. . .

-. . .and with nobody eIse-- -Isn't somebody there?

-Somebody by the name of Thorne? -Yes, but he's Ieaving, and so it'II be--

I assure you, I don't want to shirk any responsibiIity.

I'm thinking onIy of Danny, and I--

No, that isn't true.

I'm thinking a IittIe about myseIf too.

I know you'II understand, Dr. Mason.

I gave up my honeymoon to come here. . .

. . .so my husband couId be with his brother.

But he's been working, and the burden's been on me.

I've spent hours here every day.

I was gIad to do it. It was no sacrifice at aII.

I Iove Danny as much as he does. . .

. . .and I'm just as happy as he is that Danny's doing so weII.

But after aII, he's a crippIe.

I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to say that.

I'm sure you didn't.

I didn't mean it.

Of course not.

I'm afraid I haven't been too weII myseIf IateIy.

Mrs. HarIand, what do you want me to do?

I want you to teII my husband it wouId be better for Danny to stay here.

But that isn't true. It's much better for him to go to Back of the Moon.

But it couId do no harm for him to stay here or go back to schooI.

If you'II teII my husband--

-Why don't you teII him? -Because coming from you--

-Richard. -HeIIo, doctor.

Oh, Richard, I've got such wonderfuI news.

Dr. Mason just consented to Iet Danny come with us to Back of the Moon.

Oh, no, darIing, pIease.

Let me.

I want to be the first to teII him.

And this is Leick Thorne.

HeIIo?

Yes. It's for you.

HeIIo?

Oh, goIIy, EIIen!

We're going to Back of the Moon.

Yes, EIIen.

When?

Tomorrow?

Oh, gosh.

Yeah?

Gee, thanks, EIIen.

Gosh.

Good morning.

Good morning.

Oh, darIing, I dreamed you were--

What gives?

Another day with you.

Twenty-four hours with you.

Good morning, Dick. -Hey, good morning, Danny.

-Good morning, EIIen. Hi, Danny!

Hey!

How about a dip in the Iake before breakfast?

Okay.

-Morning, Mrs. HarIand. Thorne.

Who gets up first, you or the sun?

WeII, mostIy it's neck and neck.

I thought I'd fix breakfast for you this morning.

Oh, no. That's my job.

I'm beginning to feeI sort of Iike a fifth wheeI around here.

You mustn't feeI Iike that.

Richard considers you a part of the pIace.

You must've been especiaIIy nice to him when he was a boy.

Oh, that wasn't hard. He was a nice kid.

You must've had wonderfuI times together.

Yes, toIerabIe.

Did he change much when he got to be a young man?

Not especiaIIy.

Did he use to confide in you a Iot?

Yeah, sometimes.

Did he ever teII you about Enid Sothern?

-Who? -Enid Sothern.

I don't especiaIIy recaII he did. Who was she?

Oh, nobody in particuIar, I guess.

Just schooI stuff.

I'II take those.

-Thorne, do you dream a Iot? -Never.

I had the most awfuI nightmare Iast night.

We were out in the skiff, my husband and I, and he jumped in for a swim.

But I was too Iazy, so I just rowed after him.

Somehow I was afraid. When we got to the middIe of the Iake. . .

. . .I thought it was time for him to get in the boat.

So I decided to caII out to him, but I had no voice.

SuddenIy, Richard went under, not diving, but the way seaIs do. . .

. . .just sort of settIing in the water.

Then he came up again, and one of his arms fIung out to me. . .

. . .as if he were trying to caII to me.

I tried to row to him, but the Iake was Iike gIue. The boat wouIdn't move.

My arms were paraIyzed.

Then he went down again. . .

. . .and this time he stayed down.

I reckon there's onIy one way Ieft for you to save his Iife.

-How? -For you to wake up.

That's just what I did.

Hey!

Come and get it! -Come on in, EIIen!

The water's sweII!

I guess we'd better go in.

Okay, Iast one in is a sissy.

Oh, no!

-No what? -Good grief!

-'''WiII you marry me?' he said. '' -WeII, what's wrong with that?

First, men never propose. They may think they do, but it's reaIIy the woman.

Who toId you that? RipIey?

If men do propose, they never say, ''WiII you marry me?''

Get away. Get away, gadfIy.

-Did you ever propose to a woman? -Hundreds of them.

-When you proposed to Enid Sothern-- -Who toId you about Enid Sothern?

Did you say, ''WiII you marry me?''

-I didn't propose to her. -Did she propose to you?

-Beat it, wiII you? -How did you propose to me?

-Uh. . . . -You didn't.

I proposed to you, Iike this.

-Remember? -Okay, I'II marry you. . .

. . .right after I finish my chapter.

Oh, I hate your chapter.

I hate aII your chapters.

-They take up too much of your time. -Funny, that's what my pubIisher says.

No, I'm serious. After aII, it isn't as if you had to write for a Iiving.

I've got more than enough for both of us. . .

. . .and it's the dearest wish in my heart to support you.

Is that bad?

Oh, darIing, I didn't know it couId be so wonderfuI here, Back of the Moon.

-You Iike it here, do you? -Every minute. . .

-. . .if onIy it weren't so crowded. -Crowded?

Why, this is the most remote, uninhabited pIace east of the Mojave.

I mean the cabin.

Not that I mind chaperones, not in the Ieast.

But there's Danny's room on one side of us and Thorne's room on the other side.

And the waII's as thin as paper, and the acoustics disgustingIy perfect.

WeII, at Ieast nobody snores.

Do you know since we've been married, we've never been aIone, not for a day?

-Do you know--? -Do you know. . .

. . .Thorne moved his cot to the boathouse this morning?

He did? Oh, Richard, I hope you didn't teII him I--

Oh, not at aII. It was his own idea. As far as Danny's concerned--

-Where is Danny? -He went with Thorne.

-Where's Thorne? -He went to town.

-You don't mean they'II stay in town? -Oh, certainIy not.

-Then why did they go? -Do you have to know everything?

-TeII me. -No.

-TeII me. -Cut it out.

-TeII me. -Stop it. It's a secret.

You can't have any secrets from me.

We wanted to surprise you, honey.

Danny, you sing one. Come on.

What was that?

That was a Ioon. There's a coupIe of them across the Iake.

They sound horribIe.

You'II get used to it. Wait tiII you see the deer. You'II Iove them.

They come right up to the cabin to be fed.

-What do you give them? -Potato peeIings and saIt.

And then, of course, there's our porcupine.

Oh, yeah. He used to come every morning and nibbIe on the doorstep.

The Robies paid us a visit at Bar Harbor just before we Ieft.

Are they weII?

-The chiIdren had the mumps. -Oh.

Of course, you've heard about Russ Quinton being eIected district attorney.

ReaIIy?

They say he's got his mind set on the governorship.

It wouIdn't surprise me if he made it.

Can we find some wiId wisteria and transpIant it around the cabin?

-I know where there's some. -Oh, fine. Then tomorrow we--

I'm afraid Thorne won't have time for that.

He has his work to do.

Look what I can do.

Thorne showed me.

Oh.

After aII, Mother, you must remember EIIen didn't expect us.

We shouIdn't have come, Ruth.

We shouIdn't have come.

There must be Ioose bricks in the chimney.

I noticed it wasn't drawing very weII.

Did you hear me, darIing?

What happened tonight?

Since Ruth and your mother arrived you've been acting Iike a shrew.

At the Ianding you were coId, at dinner, aIoof.

-After dinner you were beastIy. -I didn't expect guests.

-I thought you'd be pIeased. -Don't Iet's quarreI, Richard.

And Danny adores you. You hurt him. Why?

-I was upset. -You were insuIting to your mother. . .

. . .and mean to Thorne, treated him Iike a servant.

-Isn't he? -CertainIy not!

He's a friend, one of my dearest friends.

Is Ruth one of your dearest friends too?

What's eating you? Ruth is your sister.

Ruth is not my sister. AII night Iong, you devoted yourseIf to her!

WeII, somebody had to make her weIcome.

Maybe you're in Iove with her.

You're in a rotten mood, EIIen.

-Maybe that's why you invited her. -Do you want her to hear you?

You can't draw a breath in this room without being heard aII over the house.

Let's change the name from Back of the Moon to GoIdfish Manor.

What's happened to you?

You're whipping yourseIf into a fit of hysterics.

Oh, no, I mustn't do that.

It might disturb Mother and Ruth or wake up Danny!

EIIen, what's got into you?

I don't know.

I don't know.

Oh, darIing, forgive me.

I'm sorry.

I can't heIp it.

It's onIy because I Iove you so.

I Iove you so I can't bear to share you with anybody.

WeII, the gaI with the hoe.

Oh.

You're doing a sweII job.

It's easy here. You just put things in the ground and they grow.

It's much harder by the sea where we Iive.

Dick, when are you going to visit us at Bar Harbor?

When I finish the book maybe.

I think you'II Iike it there.

We were taIking about it this morning, Mother and I.

We thought it might be a good idea for Danny to go back with us.

The beach is IoveIy, and we have a saiIboat.

He'd have a wonderfuI time.

I'm sure he wouId.

There's a schooI too, an exceIIent schooI.

Yes, I know. EIIen toId me aII about it.

I'II have a taIk with Danny.

Dick, as far as I've read, it's spIendid.

Oh, weII, just for that I'II dedicate the book to you.

And what shaII I say?

To my sweet, to my beautifuI, my discerning mother-in-Iaw who--

Who advised me to dedicate this book to my wife.

-I'II dedicate the next one to her. -You dedicate them aII to her.

I hope you'II send me the rest when it's finished.

There are onIy a few more chapters to write.

I'II wind it up before you Ieave.

That's hardIy IikeIy. We're Ieaving Saturday.

Saturday? That's preposterous. You've onIy been here a few days.

Yes, and they've been wonderfuI days. Ruth and I shaII never forget them.

But there are reasons why we must be getting home.

-Does EIIen know you're Ieaving? -I toId her this morning.

Now, don't Iook so downcast, Dick.

In a way, mothers-in-Iaw are Iike chiIdren.

They shouId be seen and not heard. . .

. . .and not seen too much.

What's wrong with EIIen?

There's nothing wrong with EIIen.

It's just that she Ioves too much.

Perhaps that isn't good. It makes outsiders of everyone eIse.

But she can't heIp it.

You must be patient with her.

She Ioved her father too much.

PIease, sit stiII. How do you expect me--?

I can't heIp it. It tickIes.

You'II just Iove our house by the sea.

There are rocks on one side of the beach. When it's Iow tide. . .

. . .you can go there and watch the anemones and ink-squids.

And there are the most wonderfuI sheIIs and pebbIes, aII sizes and coIors.

Sounds sweII.

HoId stiII.

How wouId you Iike to go to Bar Harbor for a whiIe?

I had a Ietter from Ruth, and she'd Iove to have you.

I'd Iove to go. With Dick, you mean?

He doesn't want to Ieave untiI the new book's finished.

Then we can join you.

WeII, I'd rather wait then. . .

. . .tiII we can aII go together, the three of us.

We wouIdn't be separated for Iong, just a few weeks.

No, I'd rather wait.

Can I swim aII the way across today?

-Think you couId make it? -Why, sure.

I made it 3/4 yesterday and wasn't a bit tired.

-AII right. -If I make it today. . .

-. . .can we show Dick tomorrow? -Yes, tomorrow.

We don't have to teII him how Iong I've been practicing, do we?

No, we can just pretend you decided to do it on the spur of the moment.

Yeah, that's what we'II do.

You know, I can just see him watching now.

After a whiIe he'II say, ''That's enough. Get back in the boat. ''

I'II pretend Iike I didn't hear him and keep on going.

Are you ready?

Ready.

-You think you can make it, Danny? -It's a cinch.

Don't worry about your direction. I'II keep you on your course.

Okay.

Are we haIfway to the point yet?

Not yet.

You're not making very much progress, Danny.

Are you aII right?

I'm a IittIe winded.

I had a kink in my side, but it's gone now.

-You'd better fIoat for a whiIe. -Yeah.

I. . . . I think I'm getting tired.

Take it easy.

You don't want to give up when you've come so far.

Okay. I'II get my second wind in a minute.

Oh. . . .

The water's coId.

CoIder than I thought.

I ate too much Iunch.

I have a stomachache. EIIen!

It's a cramp.

EIIen, it's a cramp!

EIIen! EIIen!

HeIp me!

Danny!

Danny!

Danny!

I've been cIeaning Father's Iaboratory.

It might be a good pIace for Dick to work.

He's dropped his work.

He's dropped everything.

I'm Iosing him, Ruth.

I'II die if I Iose him.

Perhaps if you went back to the Iodge, just the two of you.

No, he hates it now, everything about it.

He never wants to set foot there again.

And he doesn't want to go back to Boston.

If I onIy knew what he was thinking.

You've aIways heIped me, Ruth.

HeIp me now.

A IittIe time, EIIen, you'II see.

He's had a great Ioss. There's a great emptiness in his Iife.

If he onIy had a chiId of his own.

Oh, it's wonderfuI!

When EIIen was IittIe, her father fixed this as a pIayroom.

When she grew up, he used it as a Iaboratory.

It's going to be a pIayroom again, as it was before.

Not exactIy. Your baby was a girI. Ours is going to be a boy.

-You've decided that, have you? RICHARD: DefiniteIy.

EIIen gave me her word of honor. Stand stiII, wiII you?

-I've got a kink in my neck. -Dotted Swiss is nice for the curtains.

-What about the rug? -Don't put rugs in chiIdren's pIayrooms.

-You use IinoIeum. -Why?

LinoIeum washes easier, just in case.

Say, you women think of everything, don't you?

-AII right, you can rest. -Oh.

EIIen, you shouIdn't have waIked up those stairs.

You know what the doctor toId you.

Come here and sit down.

What have you done with Father's Iab?

We didn't want you to see it tiII it was finished.

-Where are his things? -We stored them in the basement.

Why didn't you consuIt me?

We wanted to surprise you. It's an ideaI pIace for a pIayroom.

But I didn't want the room changed, ever. I wanted it Ieft just as it was.

I know you don't Iike being surprised, but we were trying to pIease you.

Come on, darIing, everything's so wonderfuI now.

Patchouli.

You'II have to behave yourseIf.

Imagine eating shrimps at a time Iike this.

-Where's Richard? -He went to town.

They upset you. I've been teIIing you that for years.

-Did Ruth go with him? I think so.

EspeciaIIy now, in your condition.

-When did they Ieave? -Right after Iunch.

And another thing, don't try to be so bIamed athIetic.

What time is it, Mother?

-AImost 5. -You've got to stop gadding about.

Gadding? What are you taIking about?

-This baby's making a prisoner of me. -Why are you having it then?

I can't do anything. I can't go any pIace.

-I don't even see my husband. -Why don't you have him come here?

Because I don't want him to see me this way.

That doesn't make sense.

Those are orders, now. No shrimps. No stairs.

And don't you budge off that couch.

Hey! -Oh! Oh!

Get those, Ruth. -Oh, heavens!

Hey!

There. -What are you doing?

You Iook so funny. You shouId aIways wear your hat Iike that.

I missed you this afternoon.

What did you do when you went to town?

Oh, we just shopped around for the baby things.

You were gone about four hours.

WeII, we waIked to town and back.

Rather a Iong waIk, isn't it?

TeII me, what did you taIk about?

Oh, a Iot of things.

About Danny?

No.

-About me? -Not especiaIIy.

You're Iooking very weII, Ruth.

I've never seen you so happy.

TeII me, do you think Richard Ioves me?

WeII, now, that's a siIIy thing to say.

Oh, I know in the beginning he Ioved me.

But I'II teII you something funny, he never Iiked me.

-He Ioved you, but he never Iiked you? -That's right.

We've never reaIIy been friends, Iike you and he.

He Iikes you.

TeII me, has he found a nickname for you yet?

WeII, not exactIy.

Sometimes he caIIs me ''the gaI with the hoe,'' to kid me about my gardening.

He used to caII me PatchouIi.

Look at me.

I hate the IittIe beast. I wish it wouId die!

EIIen!

Shocked, aren't you?

If you were having the baby, you'd Iove it.

WeII, I never wanted it.

Richard and I never needed anything eIse.

And now this.

How can you say such wicked things?

Sometimes the truth is wicked.

You're afraid of the truth, aren't you, Ruth?

No, you're the one who's afraid.

EIIen!

CaII the doctor.

What happened? -She must have tripped.

HeIIo, Dr. Saunders? This is Ruth Berent.

PIease come over at once. Something terribIe has happened.

WeII, we couIdn't save the chiId.

It was a boy.

WeII. . . . I hadn't reaIIy hoped that--

-As Iong as she's out of danger. -Oh, yes, you may rest assured of that.

When she came to, she remembered nothing about Ieaving her room.

She thought she must have been waIking in her sIeep.

She couIdn't have been asIeep. I was with her 20 minutes before it happened.

You can go in and see her now for a moment if you Iike.

First his brother. . .

. . .and now his son.

Yes?

No, she's not here at the moment.

I'd be gIad to take a message.

Yes, I wiII.

Don't mention it.

Ruthie, my Iass, the surf was wonderfuI. You shouId've come in for a dip.

Too coId for me.

You're a softy. You aIways were.

Hmm.

Richard's new book.

Nice.

Where is everybody?

Dick's gone for a waIk. Mother's in her room.

I'm worried about Mother these days, the way she keeps to her room.

-Isn't she weII? -PerfectIy weII.

Then why do you suppose she insists on acting Iike a hermit?

-Why don't you ask her? -She won't taIk to me.

I can't imagine what's come over her.

Oh, by the way, that phone caII was for you.

Somebody from the traveI bureau in town.

Said it was aII right about the transportation and hoteI reservations.

Who's going pIaces and where?

I am. Mexico.

WeII, why the wanderIust aII of a sudden?

I just thought I'd Iike to get away for a whiIe.

From what?

Is there anything strange about wanting to take a trip?

No, I suppose not, but why Mexico?

I've aIways wanted to see Mexico.

I've never heard you say anything about it before.

What part of Mexico?

Taxco.

-When are you going? -Next week.

-With Mother? -No.

-By yourseIf? -By myseIf.

What are you running away from?

Is it me?

When we were kids, you tormented me every way you couId think of.

-You can't do that anymore. -Is it Richard?

I'm going away because I can't stand Iiving in this house any Ionger.

The whoIe pIace is fiIIed with hate. Your hate.

Not hate, Iove, Ruth. Richard's Iove for me.

AII these weeks I was in the hospitaI, heIpIess. . .

. . .you had him here to yourseIf, but it didn't do you any good, did it?

He Ioves me more than ever. That's what you can't abide.

-That's why you envy me, isn't it? -I don't envy you, EIIen.

AII my Iife I've tried to Iove you, to pIease you.

AII of us have. Mother, Father and now Richard, and what have you done?

With your Iove, you wrecked Mother's Iife and pressed Father to death.

With your Iove, you've made a shadow of Richard.

No, EIIen, I don't envy you.

I'm sorry for you.

You're the most pitifuI creature I've ever known.

HeIIo, Richard.

Have a nice waIk?

You haven't shaved, darIing, but I'II forgive you.

Your new book just came. I've been gIancing through it.

I noticed the dedication: ''To the gaI with the hoe. ''

I'd hoped it wouId be ''To PatchouIi. ''

But I suppose she did heIp you with it a Iot.

Oh, weII, there'II be other books.

DarIing, I had no idea the setting of your book was Mexico.

I didn't even know you'd been there.

Why didn't you teII me?

Is anything wrong, Richard?

You're so strange.

You've been avoiding me.

Going off by yourseIf.

Where do you go?

What do you think about?

Whatever it is, can't you share it with me?

We haven't done that for a Iong time, shared things.

Ever since Danny--

You've never forgiven me for that, have you?

You've aIways bIamed me.

You did teII me not to Iet him swim the Iake unIess you were with us. . .

. . .but we wanted to surprise you.

Danny was so happy pIanning to surprise you.

He swam 3/4 the day before. . .

. . .and he was sure he couId make it. The water was so warm.

I thought there was no danger.

I must've Iooked away for a moment, then when I Iooked back, he was sinking.

I puIIed at the oars and then Iost one, and then I grew panicky.

It was Iike a nightmare.

Like waIking in your sIeep?

Yes.

Yes, I began to paddIe and the boat didn't seem to move.

So you Iet him drown.

Didn't you?

-Didn't you? -Richard, you're hurting me.

What happened that day at Back of the Moon?

You'd got rid of everybody eIse. Your mother, Ruth, Thorne.

There was onIy Danny Ieft. What were you thinking of?

You never reaIIy cared for him. You onIy pretended to.

What happened? Did he refuse to Ieave?

Don't, Richard. Don't.

-Is that why you kiIIed him? -I didn't mean to Iet him drown.

But you did, didn't you? You're a perfect swimmer. . .

. . .and the boat was so far away, he was going down for the third time.

You kiIIed him. You Iet Danny drown, didn't you?

-Didn't you? -Yes.

I did. I Iet him drown, and I'd do it again.

I didn't want him around. I didn't want anyone but you.

I knew it.

I must have known it aII aIong. . .

. . .but I kept pushing it out of my mind.

I couIdn't beIieve it.

I didn't want to beIieve it.

How couId I?

You Ioved me, you said. Wanted onIy to make me happy.

Yes, that was aII I ever wanted, Richard. Your happiness, onIy that.

I didn't mean to Iet Danny drown. I didn't pIan it, I swear I didn't.

But when he went under. . .

. . .I thought if he never came up, I'd have you aII to myseIf.

I thought if he was gone, you'd have onIy me.

And whiIe I was thinking that, he was gone.

I was sorry then, and frightened. I tried to find him, tried honestIy, tried hard.

But it was too Iate.

Why don't you kiII me, Richard? You couId so easiIy, you know.

And the baby.

-You never wanted it, did you? -No.

Don't you see? I didn't want anyone around. OnIy you.

I wanted to be just with you. I couIdn't stand having anyone between us.

Oh, I Iove you so, Richard. I Iove you so.

I'm Ieaving you, EIIen.

Mr. . .

. . .RusseII. . .

. . .Quinton.

District. . .

. . .attorney.

Sussex.

Flight 17, the sunset special, now loading at gate seven.

Mr. Richard Harland wanted at the telephone.

Inquire at Information.

-I'm Richard HarIand. -Use the phone number one.

Thank you.

HeIIo.

Yes, this is--

Oh, heIIo.

What?

WeII, how did it happen?

Oh, yes, of course.

I'II take the first train back.

Dr. Saunders, I'm sorry to get you out of bed, but she's much worse.

WouId you hoId on for just a minute, pIease?

-Oh, Dick. -Thanks.

-Where is she? -In her room.

It happened very suddenIy. We were having a picnic Iunch at the beach.

Doctor, it seems to be more serious than you thought. Come at once, pIease.

Richard.

I'm going to die.

Don't taIk Iike that, EIIen. You're going to be aII right.

No.

And you mustn't feeI sorry for me.

I'm not afraid.

OnIy--

OnIy, promise me one thing.

I want to be cremated.

Like my father.

And my ashes scattered in the same pIace.

-Remember? -I remember.

Promise?

Of course, I promise. Anything you Iike, onIy--

Richard!

I'II never Iet you go, Richard.

Never.

Never.

Never.

Murder.

CoId, brutaI, premeditated murder.

The State wiII prove that on the afternoon of September 5th. . .

. . .at a picnic attended by EIIen HarIand, her mother and her adopted sister. . .

. . .that EIIen met death as a resuIt of poisoning.

The State wiII prove that the sugar with which EIIen sweetened her coffee. . .

. . .was mixed with poison. . .

. . .and that she met death by reason of that poison.

The State wiII prove that the defendant had both motive and opportunity. . .

. . .to commit this dreadfuI crime.

And the State wiII prove that the defendant, Ruth Berent. . .

. . .deIiberateIy and maIiciousIy pIotted and carried through the murder.

It'II be aII right.

I refer now to the enveIope found in the defendant's Ieather jacket.

When you anaIyzed the contents of this enveIope, what did you find?

The apparent sugar tested 60 percent arsenic.

ShortIy after you made this test, I came to you with a seaIed parceI.

The contents was a bottIe haIf fuII of white powder.

I show you the bottIe.

-That's it. -You anaIyzed the contents?

-I did. -What was it?

Pure arsenic.

-Your witness, Mr. Robie. -No questions.

Mr. Medcraft, you are the manager of the Bay State Mortuary?

I am.

Were the remains of the Iate Mrs. EIIen HarIand cremated at your estabIishment?

-Yes, sir. -Who made the arrangements?

Miss Ruth Berent.

Your witness. -No questions, Mr. Quinton.

Mr. CarIson, what is your occupation?

Vice president of the Seaboard Trust Company.

Your bank is trustee for the estate of the Iate EIIen Berent HarIand.

Yes, sir.

When was the Iast time you saw Mrs. HarIand?

After she got out of the hospitaI.

Did she make any provision in her wiII about being cremated after her death?

No, she did not.

WouId you teII the jury what provision she did make?

She requested that she be buried in the famiIy vauIt at Mount Auburn Cemetery.

-HeIIo, Dick. HeIIo.

-Good evening. Good evening, dear.

Tomorrow, Dick, you'II go on the witness stand.

You must remember that Quinton isn't just the prosecutor.

You may rest assured he'II have his brass knuckIes on.

He'II throw the whoIe book at you.

He'II ask you some questions that won't be easy to answer.

One in particuIar.

Do you swear to teII the truth. . .

. . .and nothing but the truth, so heIp you God?

I do.

Your name? -Richard HarIand.

-Your profession? -Writer.

If you don't mind, Mr. HarIand, I shaII ask you for a moment to be a reader.

I have been asked how I happened to investigate the death of Mrs. HarIand.

This Ietter is my answer.

I ask you to read it.

-AIoud? -PIease.

''Dear Russ, I'm writing this Ietter to you. . .

. . .because we once meant a great deaI to each other. . .

. . .and there is no one eIse to whom I can go for heIp. Richard is Ieaving--''

Proceed, pIease, Mr. HarIand.

''It was after I Ieft the hospitaI I first began to sense a change in my husband.

At first I thought it might be due to the Ioss of our chiId. . .

. . .and then the truth, the awfuI truth, began to dawn on me.

The reason for the change was Ruth.

Russ, they Iove each other, and want to get rid of me.

When Richard suggested a divorce. . .

. . .I went to Ruth and begged her to give him up.

She said she intended to have him and wouId stop at nothing.

I toId Ruth I wouId never give Richard a divorce.

Then she threatened to kiII me. ''

Go on, Mr. HarIand.

''Russ, I know she means it, and is capabIe of it.

She wiII kiII me first chance she gets. ''

If you don't mind, Mr. HarIand, wouId you read that Iast paragraph Iouder?

''She wiII kiII me the first chance she gets. ''

Go on, Mr. HarIand.

''I'm afraid to stay in the house, but I can't Ieave without Richard.

I'd rather die than give him up.

I don't know what to do or where to turn, except to you.

-PIease heIp me. EIIen. '' -Mr. HarIand. . .

-. . .identify the handwriting in this Ietter. -EIIen's.

I caII your attention to the first sentence:

''I am writing this Ietter to you because we once meant a great deaI. . .

. . .to each other.'' Do you know the significance of this?

I suppose it refers to the fact you once were engaged to her.

Yes, we were once engaged.

Did you know that when you first met her?

-She was wearing an engagement-- -When you met. . .

-. . .you knew she was engaged? -Yes.

-In spite of that, made Iove to her? -I suppose.

WiII you teII the jury about this courtship?

I didn't exactIy court her.

-She courted you? -No, not that either.

WeII, then what do you mean?

-I knew she'd marry me if I asked her. -So you decided to ask her?

-No, I decided not to. -Did she ask you?

-Not exactIy. -Then how'd you happen to get married?

Why, I found one day that she had removed her engagement ring.

She gave me to understand--

I reaIized then that I was in Iove with her.

-Did you teII her so? -Yes.

What did she say?

She said she wouId never Iet me go.

How soon after this were you married?

A coupIe of days Iater. She wanted it that way.

-Were you reIuctant? -I was doubtfuI.

Now, Mr. HarIand, I don't say this criticaIIy, nor in mockery. . .

. . .nor to suggest that you are conceited.

But simpIy to be sure that I understand you correctIy.

You suggest that a beautifuI young woman, engaged to another man. . .

. . .faIIs in Iove with you, wins you, and persuades you into a quick marriage. . .

. . .against your better judgment. Is that a fair statement?

-Yes. -I see.

Now, how soon after did you begin to regret your surrender?

-Were you happy for the first month? -CompIeteIy.

-Second, third, fourth? -Yes.

Was Ruth at the New Mexico ranch. . .

-. . .when EIIen met and courted you? -Yes.

-Did you see much of Ruth at this time? -No.

Where did you go after you Ieft New Mexico?

To Warm Springs, Georgia, to visit my brother, Danny.

During your residence in Warm Springs. . .

-. . .did you have any servants? -No.

-Who did the housework? -EIIen.

-And the cooking? -EIIen.

-You couIdn't afford servants? -It wasn't a question of afford.

She preferred it that way.

-EIIen Iiked doing things for you? -Yes.

-Did Ruth visit you during this time? -No.

Where did you go after you Ieft Warm Springs?

To a fishing Iodge I have at a pIace caIIed Back of the Moon.

-Did anyone come with you? -My brother, Danny.

-When was that? -In June.

-In June, you happy with your wife? -Yes.

-How about JuIy? -Yes.

You Ioved her in JuIy. How about August?

Did anyone come to visit you in August?

-Mrs. Berent. -Anybody eIse?

-Ruth. -You Ioved EIIen in August?

-WeII, how about August? -My brother was drowned in August.

Yes, that must have saddened you. But did it affect your Iove for EIIen?

Danny meant a Iot to me.

-So did EIIen? -Yes.

Danny was drowned in August. Come to September.

Did your Iove for EIIen continue in September?

-In a different way. -In what different way?

-We were to have a baby. -Your Iove for EIIen increased. . .

. . .because she was going to have a baby?

-No, not exactIy. -Did it grow Iess?

-I don't know. -What do you mean in a different way?

-I don't know. -During this time you were Iiving. . .

-. . .in Bar Harbor at the Berent home? -Yes.

-Ruth was there aII the time? -Yes.

-Your wife was confined to her room. -A good part of the time.

-Did you see a great deaI of Ruth? -Yes.

-PracticaIIy every day? -Yes.

When did you stop Ioving EIIen?

I don't know.

Isn't it true that shortIy before your wife died. . .

-. . .you quarreIed with her? -Yes.

What about?

-I can't say. -Wasn't it because EIIen. . .

-. . .was jeaIous of Ruth? -She had no reason to be.

Wasn't she? -She was jeaIous of everybody.

But was she jeaIous of Ruth?

-I refuse to answer. -Perhaps you'II answer this:

-Are you in Iove with Ruth? -We're very good friends.

In Iove? -I'm fond of her.

I want you to answer yes or no. I'm asking you a very simpIe question.

Perhaps you didn't understand. I shaII repeat it.

Are you in Iove with Ruth? Are you in Iove with Ruth?

Are you in Iove with Ruth?

I hand you a copy of Richard HarIand's new book.

KindIy turn to the dedication page.

WouId you pIease read the dedication?

''To the gaI with the hoe. ''

-To whom does that refer? -To me.

Isn't it strange Mr. HarIand didn't dedicate his new book to his wife?

I don't think EIIen was interested in the book.

-But you were? -Very much.

-You worked with him on it? -The finaI draft.

-Written whiIe EIIen was in the hospitaI. -Yes.

You were together a great deaI during EIIen's time in the hospitaI.

WeII, we were--

-Working on the book. -Yes.

WiII you teII the jury where most of the action in this book takes pIace?

Taxco, Mexico.

-Had you been to Mexico before? -No.

During the time you Iived with the Berents. . .

-. . .had you gone away on a trip aIone? -No.

-Why did you decide to go to Taxco? -I wanted to get away.

-Expect to meet anybody there you knew? -No.

-Expect to be joined there by anybody? -No.

-Did Mr. HarIand suggest to go to Taxco? -No.

Get back to the dedication.

Why did Mr. HarIand refer to you as ''the gaI with the hoe''?

-I'm rather fond of gardening. -You did aII of the gardening?

-Yes. -Did you ever use chemicaI sprays. . .

-. . .or insecticides? -Yes.

-Any containing arsenic, for exampIe? -I don't know.

I show you a bottIe here in evidence. Do you recognize it?

Yes, it was mine. It heId bath saIts.

-You aware of what it contains now? -Yes.

By what chemicaI process do you suppose bath saIts turned into poison?

-I don't know. -I show you a Ieather jacket in evidence.

-Recognize it? -It's mine.

I show you an enveIope in evidence. Recognize it?

-It's the enveIope containing sugar. -Which the State chemist testified. . .

-. . .was 60 percent arsenic. -Yes.

Which the sheriff testified was in the pocket of this jacket?

-Yes. -Did you wear this jacket. . .

-. . .on the day of the picnic? -For a whiIe.

-Then I gave it to EIIen. -Why did you do that?

-She compIained of feeIing chiIIy. -So you Ioaned her the jacket?

-Yes. -WiII you teII the jury who prepared. . .

-. . .the food in the picnic hamper? -EIIen and I.

Who prepared the sugar?

-I don't know. It must've been EIIen. -Why do you think it was EIIen?

She was the one who took sugar with coffee.

-Who served coffee on the picnic day? -I did.

-You gave her the sugar. -Yes.

-That night she was dead. -Yes.

And the very next day. . .

-. . .her body was cremated? -Yes.

The foIIowing day HarIand Ieft with the ashes for the New Mexico ranch. . .

-. . .to dispose of them? -Yes.

-So that no autopsy couId be possibIe? -No, no! That wasn't the reason.

EIIen aIways wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered. . .

-. . .with her father's. -Then why did she. . .

. . .have a cIause inserted in her wiII requesting her buriaI at Mount Auburn?

-I can't expIain it. -There's many things you can't expIain.

You can't expIain how poison got in the bath saIt bottIe.

Can't expIain how it got in the sugar. Can't expIain why EIIen's body. . .

. . .was cremated to make an autopsy impossibIe.

Can't expIain why you made pIans to Ieave the country. . .

. . .shortIy before your sister was poisoned.

Perhaps you can expIain this:

When did you faII in Iove with Richard HarIand?

-Did you ever teII him you Ioved him? -No.

When did you faII in Iove? You've dodged Iong enough.

You can answer a simpIe question and I demand you do so!

When did you faII in Iove with Richard HarIand?

Did you Iove him after his brother was drowned?

Did you Iove him after the death of his stiIIborn chiId?

After his wife died? Did you Iove him Iast week?

A month before? A year before?

Are you in Iove with him today?

Yes. Yes, I am in Iove with him.

I think I've aIways Ioved him.

The State recaIIs Richard HarIand to the stand.

That's aII.

Get some water, pIease.

Order in the court!

Richard HarIand. . .

. . .you heard that woman finaIIy teII the truth.

And now I want the truth out of you.

You heard Ruth Berent confess her Iove for you.

And now I ask you, as I have asked you over and over, time and again:

Are you in Iove with her?

Are you in Iove with the woman who murdered your wife?

My wife was not murdered. She kiIIed herseIf.

You honestIy beIieve EIIen committed suicide?

-Yes. -Knowing her as you and I did. . .

. . .you think her capabIe, not onIy of committing suicide. . .

. . .but faIseIy accusing her sister of her death?

-EIIen was capabIe of anything. -You want the jury to beIieve. . .

-. . .that she was that sort of monster? -Yes, she was that sort of monster.

A woman who sought to possess everything she Ioved. . .

. . .who Ioved onIy for what it couId bring her.

Whose Iove estranged her own father and mother.

Whose Iove possessed her father untiI he couIdn't caII his souI his own.

Who, by her own confession to me, kiIIed my brother. . .

. . .kiIIed her own unborn chiId. . .

. . .and who is reaching from the grave to destroy her innocent sister.

Yes, she was that sort of monster.

Order in the court!

It took the jury onIy 10 minutes to bring in a verdict of not guiIty for Ruth.

But HarIand had sacrificed himseIf.

In withhoIding knowIedge of EIIen's crime. . .

. . .he'd become an accessory. He got two years.

But EIIen had Iost.

I guess it's the onIy time she didn't come out first.

I guess Dick's about home now.

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