All language subtitles for Night Has a Thousand Eyes (1948).en

Why did you stop me? Why?

It's all right, Jean.
Everything is all right.

Elliott,
why didn't you let me go?

I can't face it.

Like a thousand eyes.

Watching.

The stars?

Oh, Elliott, I'm so frightened!

I'm so frightened!

Thank you.

You're just upset
about your father.

It's more than that.
It's... It's...

Darling,
the stars can't hurt you.

They keep watching.

I said nothing
is going to hurt you.

How did you know where I was?

Well...

for one thing, your car.

I didn't tell anyone
where I was going.

I was driving around,
and they kept looking down,

and suddenly
I couldn't stand it any longer.

Elliott, how did you know?

I'll tell you all about it.
First, let's have some coffee.

When did you last eat?

Breakfast, I think.

Then it'll be coffee
and an omelet.

Oh, here's your handbag.

And your watch.

At least that made it stop.

They kept right on.

- Could we have the top up?
- Of course.

Good evening.

- That's how you know.
- Would you sit down?

I'll order some coffee and an omelet.
Waiter!

- You needn't bother.
- Why not?

Omelet for missy.

I think you have quite a bit of
explaining to do, Mr. Triton.

Yes, I know.

- To the police.
- If you like.

Elliott, you don't know
what you're talking about.

I know a confidence racket
when I see one.

But Mr. Triton's
been trying to help me.

By scaring you into suicide?

Jean, I've been away, but don't
forget I saw all this start.

I don't blame you for being
suspicious, Mr. Carson.

The facts...

well, they're incredible
if they are facts.

I don't know myself.

But I would like to convince you

that I have no desire
to hurt Miss Courtland,

And what have you
been doing to her?

He told me I was to die soon.

At night.

Under the stars.

And you believed that?

How did you happen to go
to the switchyard tonight?

He sent me, naturally.

How did he know,
when I didn't myself?

Well, I suppose hypnotism,

suggestion,
some kind of a trick.

- I believe you are an oil geologist.
- I am.

Would you be willing to listen

with the open mind
of a scientist

given so doing you might
help Miss Courtland?

Provided I'm free to go
to the police afterwards...

There are no strings attached.

I'm listening.

I, um...

I suppose most people
are looking back

and see the exact point

their lives were
touched by destiny.

A new job,
unexpected inheritance,

a quick decision.

But I can't.

My destiny came upon me
imperceptibly...

like the first
thin drops of rain

are noticed on a window pane.

It wasn't until the third,
or fourth,

or fifth drop

that I became aware of this rain

that was to engulf my life.

I remember the date.

August 3rd, 1928.

We were playing
a one-night stand

in a small town in Louisiana.

Glenberry.

Triton, the Mental Wizard
and Company.

Three 12-minute shows a day,
sandwiched between.

Toto and his Stumbling Dogs,
and a troupe of acrobats.

The act deserved better billing.

It was a phony, of course,
like most mind-reading acts,

but it was a first-class phony,

if I do say so myself.

Nobody knew how we did it.

It was the late show, 11:37.

Jenny was collecting
the envelopes

with the usual
familiar questions.

"Will I take a trip?"”
“Is my husband unfaithful?"

"Should I marry my boyfriend?"

I was winding up my spiel.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen.
All through the ages,

there have been men
with mysterious gifts,

men with inner eyes who have
been able to pierce the veils

that hide the tomorrows
of ordinary mortals.

What is this gift?
Frankly, I don't know.

Yet the visions come,

sometimes cloudy,

sometimes clear.

Strange visions.

- Have you the questions, Jenny?
- Yes, sir.

Would you check
the envelopes, please?

You'll notice,
ladies and gentlemen

that the envelopes
are never touched

from the time
that you sealed them

until they are placed inside
the globe.

I won't touch them myself.

Yet from where I stand,
I shall endeavor

to read the contents
of each envelope

and identify the person
who wrote it.

When I call the name,

will that person please
raise his or her hand?

This will enable me
to strengthen the contact.

And I'd like for everyone
to refrain from thinking

of anything that could
possibly disrupt me.

Try and keep your minds blank.

Now, if I might have
a little quiet music.

I sense a name.

A lady's name.

It's Bryant.

No, uh... Byers.

Spelled B-Y-E-R-S.

She lives on Revere Street.

Number 1-4-7.

Why, that's me!

You, uh, give your maiden name

inside the envelope
which remains unopened

and untouched in the globe.

Your maiden name was... Grayson.

You are very pretty,
Miss Grayson,

and you came to the city
from Virginia.

Also you ask a question.
You, uh...

You ask...

"When will
my mother-in-law go home?"

Well, Madam, I rarely
prognosticate in domestic affairs,

but I believe
that I can safely say

that she will leave very soon.

And I'm concentrating
on another envelope.

A man's handwriting,

bold and angular.

The name is Scottish...

It's... Angus.

MacDougal!

Angus MacDougal,
Aberdeen, Scotland!

No, no. Don't tell me.
Just concentrate in silence.

You ask a question,
a business question.

Aye.

You own a store.

It's on South Street.

I can't quite make it out.

I have it! It's a woolen store!

And your question is
about the store.

Will it prosper?

Well, I will try to answer
that question, sir.

I feel that...

There are disruptive thoughts
connected with someone here tonight.

Someone in a white hat
with daisies.

That's you.

Madam, go home! Your little
boy is in trouble, in danger.

You must go home at once!

Oh, I'm sorry,
ladies and gentlemen.

Where was I?

Oh, yes... uh...

MacDougal, prosperity, sir.

You will own another woolen
store in a neighboring city,

and they'll both do well.

And now, I...

I have a question
of a rather intimate nature.

You almost threw me
on the Scotch one.

I got the Scotch part,
all right,

but how's I'd know that
he had a woolen store?

I played
"Mary Had A Little Lamb."

Sure, sure, and I almost said
that he was a butcher.

Good thing I'm
a first-class guesser.

- That's what you were doing with that woman?
- What woman?

The one you scared
the daylights out of.

- Oh, her.
- What made you do that, Johnny?

I don't know. Something
just popped into my head.

- Ready, baby?
- All ready.

Johnny, what made it
pop into your head?

Oh, how do I know? Just came.

It won't hurt the dame
to go home.

Oughtn't to be up
so late anyway.

Now, look, what we all need
is a big steak dinner

with maybe a bottle
of wine and some beer.

Now, what do you say?

- Who's gonna pick up the tab?
- What are you talking about?

- Bonsoir, mademoiselle.
- Good night.

Maybe Jenny could put
the bite on him.

No, no, no. I draw the line
on eating with poodles.

What happened to
the fifty we got tonight?

We had a 20-buck advance
when hit town.

Bus fares to New Orleans,
hotel bills,

breakfast,
to mention a few items.

Well, looks as though Jenny
has been elected cook again.

But I don't mind.
It's good practice.

- How much have we got left?
- $22.65.

Give me two bucks.

That's for the license, baby.

Our swing around the Middle West
will pay for the ring.

There are rings
in dime stores, Johnny.

No, no, no. My wife has gotta
start off marriage in style.

Come on, let's be going.

- Mr. Triton?
- Yeah?

There's a woman here to see you.

We are so grateful!
He found some matches.

I can't imagine where.
And the bed was on fire.

- He was pretty badly burned.
- I'm sorry.

He's in the hospital
He will be all right, won't he?

I don't know.

But I told you, Court, those
things just pop into my head.

The first one that meant
anything was tonight.

Listen, after the show in Akron,

I checked on the guy
you warned not to drive home.

Yeah?

He was in the hospital
with a broken collar bone.

His car slipped off a bridge.

You are as punch-drunk as I am.

Now, look, let's lay off this
so-called occult stuff, will you,

and concentrate on the act.

Stand a little work.

You know? I've been thinking
Jenny ought to have a routine.

Maybe a song just as I start
to answer the questions.

Oh, that would be wonderful.

Yeah, they'll think
you're tipping me off,

but when you finish,
I go right on.

What do you think, Court?

I think a ten-spot on Ready Cash
in the fifth at Green Meadows

would do us more good.

No.

No, not Ready Cash.

He'll fall
and have to be destroyed.

Peer Gynt by two lengths.

Johnny, did that just
pop in you head too?

No, no, no.

I was joking, just a gag.

- Are you sure?
- Of course I'm sure.

Look, didn't I tell you
to lay off?

- Now, what's the big idea?
- I was just curious.

I called the hospital.
The kid is gonna pull through.

- We called too.
- I still think...

- Never mind.
- Did you pay the bill?

- No, not yet.
- Well, then pay it.

Then we'll grab some lunch.
Jenny's hungry.

- I know that, but Johnny...
- What?

I don't think we have any money.
At least I don't think we have.

Haven't any money?
What happened with the 207.

- Peer Gynt on the nose.
- You bet it?

What do you know about that?
Every cent we got in the world.

If that isn't the craziest, most
harebrained stunt I ever heard of.

You're supposed
to be a businessman.

Couldn't you've at least
bet it to show?

I can make it up, Johnny.

Oh, sure, sure.

In the meantime,
how do we get to New Orleans?

I can always pawn the earrings
my mother left me.

No, no no. I wouldn't let you.

Oh, mister, can I see you
a minute, please?

Would you mind taking it
in fifties?

- Taking what?
- The 200 bucks he just won.

Brother, can you pick horses!
Peer Gynt, 10 to 1.

What have you got,
second sight or something?

Seems odd my being frightened
over a bet on a horse race

when I had all these other
things to be frightened about.

I think it was because
it had touched me this time.

Me and the two people
I cared most about.

Look, this is interesting, but
what has it got to do with Jean?

Well, the piano player was
Whitney Courtland, Jean's father.

- And Jenny was...
- My mother.

- You were engaged to Jean's mother?
- I loved her very much.

- And you didn't know this?
- Dad told me some of it.

Yes, but not everything, because
he didn't know everything.

- Would you prefer I stopped?
- No, please don't.

In the next month, during
our swing around the West,

half a dozen of the hunches
came through.

Another horse race,
a flyer in wheat,

some quick stock deals.

Courtland handled the money.
I never touched it.

I was becoming
more frightened every day.

And I began to have
a crazy feeling

that I was making
the things come true,

like a voodoo sorcerer

who kills people
by sticking pins in the doll.

I thought of the man
with the broken collar bone,

the boy with the matches...

Would anything have
happened to them

if I had kept quiet?

And then one day, it was
a rainy afternoon in Wichita,

as I was leaving the theater
for the hotel...

the answer came.

I'd been heckling
the house electrician.

I wasn't quite satisfied with the
way he worked the lights for the act,

and I was still wondering if he
understood about the baby spot.

- Paper?
- Yeah, sure.

Here.

Mr. Triton, I've seen
your picture on the poster.

- Yeah?
- Can I ask you something?

Yes, sure, but come in here,
out of the rain.

What do you wanna know?

How is the Saint Louis Cards
gonna make out this year?

Oh, they're gonna be
right up on top,

provided their pitching
holds out.

That's what I say.
Can't you tell me anything else?

- That's the best I can do.
- Oh, thanks anyway.

- Hey, son.
- Yes, sir.

Be careful today. Don't cross.

Here.

Blow yourself with some tickets
for the show tonight.

Gee! Thanks Mr. Triton.
I go call my mom.

It had come again.

A hunch or vision
or whatever it was.

This time I hadn't spoken.
I kept it to myself.

- Telephone in there, mister?
- Yes, sure. What happened?

Newsboy. Just been run over.
I'm afraid he's done for.

Johnny, what on earth
have you been doing?

Walking.

In this weather!
Why didn't you take a cab?

I wanted to walk.

And catch your death
of cold, I suppose.

Oh, silly, give me a kiss.

What you need is
a nice hot cup of tea,

a hot bath
and a change of clothes.

You'll be fine.

- Why were you walking, Johnny?
- I don't know.

- Something is bothering you, isn't it?
- Yeah, I suppose so.

You wanna tell me about it?

It's all kind of mixed up.
Something just happened.

Johnny, look at this.

Five grand on the cotton deal
and Western Carbide's up to 70.

We are sitting on top of the
world and the sky's the limit.

I got a new deal, a fellow I
met in the lobby, an oil man.

He has an option on
a big tract outside of Tulsa.

Comanche Hills, it's called.

He's willing to sell a half interest.
What do you think?

Can you pull out another one
of those hunches, Johnny?

Comanche Hills, Oklahoma.

We are all washed up
of hunches, Court.

- Washed up! What do you mean washed up?
- Just what I said.

Johnny, 23,000 in four weeks,
and we've only started.

- I know, I know.
- But why? What's got into you?

Well, I don't suppose I can
explain, it's something I feel.

Bad luck for all us because...

Well, because we're fooling around
with something that we oughtn't be.

- I'm not afraid.
- Why you should be?

You aren't
the one who was doing it.

Well, I mean on it
and so is Jenny.

Have you thought about her?

Look Johnny,
you wanna get married.

You want a home,
money in the bank, security,

something you'll never get out
of show business.

Court, I love Jenny
and I like you.

We've been through a lot.
Never lied, cheated or chiseled.

It's always been what's
the best for the three of us.

No matter how it sounds,
I'm still thinking that way.

I know what's
the matter with you.

You've got the rainy day blues.
Talk to him, Jenny.

I think Johnny is right.

I haven't had a good feeling
about this either.

It's scary.

What's scary about making money?

I don't want money.
I just want Johnny.

Hello.

Yes.

Keep your shirt on.
We'll be right over.

Curtain in 20 minutes.

Curtain in 20 minutes.

I had no way of knowing
it was my final curtain.

I am concentrating
on a particular envelope.

Young lady's handwriting.

She's shy. She's only written
her first name.

It's Agnes.

- Agnes, where art thou?
- Agnes, he's speaking to you.

- Don't be afraid to speak up.
- Here I am, Mr. Triton.

Oh, thank you. Was I right?

- Yes, sir.
- Oh, that's splendid.

And now...

The young lady has a problem.

She asks,

"Shall I marry my boyfriend
or should I get a job?"

I rarely meddle in affairs
of the heart,

but in this case I should like
to assure the young lady that

when the time comes...

when the time comes
that she's really in love,

there will be no question
as to which course to follow.

But until that time...

I am sorry,
ladies and gentlemen,

but that's all for the present.

Ring down the curtain.

Ring down the curtain,
I tell you!

Ring it down!
Ring down the curtain!

Everything is all right,
darling.

Court talked to the manager.
He understands.

Why shouldn't he?
Could happen to anybody.

I just felt dizzy.
Couldn't think.

Probably caught cold

been in the rain
all the afternoon.

- Johnny...
- Where is Court?

He's on his way up.

It was something you saw,
wasn't it?

No, it wasn't, not this time.

- Something you saw about me?
- Oh, don't be silly.

I don't mind
if you don't wanna tell me,

just so it doesn't make any difference
about our loving each other.

For the heaven's sake, Jenny.
I told you it wasn't anything.

My mind went blank.
I couldn't think, that was all.

- Well, how are we feeling?
- Fine.

Oh, that's good. I have an
idea that'll complete cure.

A little relaxation in
the Prairie Room downstairs.

Some dancing
and a little supper.

That would be fun,
wouldn't Johnny?

Yeah, I'm all for it.
You deserve a break.

You haven't danced in months.
Have a good time.

- But you're coming too?
- Yes, I'll join you in a minute.

Now you order
the best supper in the place

and be sure you get
the best table of the joint.

That's the spirit.

And slip the orchestra
something so they play good

when I Charleston into the room.

I'll save the first dance
for you.

The first and the last.

Say, Johnny,
I was talking to that man again.

What do you think?
Comanche Hills in Oklahoma.

Be one of the biggest oil
fields in the country, Court.

Oh, brother!

We'll see downstairs, Johnny.
Come on, Jenny.

- Bye-bye, darling.
- Bye-bye.

Somebody once wrote a poem,

something about each man
killing the thing he loves.

They might have been writing
about me.

What I'd seen looking at Jenny
on the stage was her death,

a death through me,
provided I remained with her.

If I stayed, we'd be married.
There'd be a child.

The child would live,
but Jenny wouldn't.

Maybe it was the wrong decision,

I don't even know now.

Jenny would be hurt,
of course, bewildered,

but I knew Court would stand by.

I knew to save my sanity,
I had to go.

I took the first train out.
It happened to be westbound.

And as I sat
on the dusty chair car,

I suddenly realized it wasn't just
Court and Jenny I had to leave.

It was everybody.

I became a sort
of a reverse zombie.

I was living
in a world already dead,

and I alone knowing it.

So when the train reached
Arizona, I got off.

I found a deserted
gold mining camp.

Lived there for five years.

- What happened to Jenny?
- She died when I was born.

Yeah, I read about it in Variety
a week after it happened.

I'd failed.

I wanted to write Court
and tell him how sorry I was,

but I realized that would
only make more trouble.

I found a sort of peace
on the desert.

But I was lonely.

And then, towards
the end of the fifth year,

I picked up
a California newspaper

and I read that Whitney
Courtland, the oil man,

was establishing headquarters
in Los Angeles.

I established headquarters
there too,

though in a far less
pretentious neighborhood.

I was drawn by a strange sort
of compulsion to be near

the only friend I had on earth.

It was an odd part of the city,
but I liked it.

It was a strictly
"no-questions asked" area;

People minding their own business
and letting you mind yours.

Even after 15 years,
my social conversation

didn't exceed 25 words a day.

My work, well,
it was solitary too.

Parlor magic, disappearing
coins, marked cards.

False bottom water glasses,

things I've learned to make
in my Vaudeville days,

all sold by mail.

It was a lonely life,

but it was pleasant to be
near Court and his daughter.

I read about them in the papers

in my room where I ate,
slept and worked.

I could go to the window and
see the skyscraper he built,

the Comanche Building.

Only once in all that time
did I risk fate

by going near either of you.

That was three months ago.

It was the night of your debut
at the Mayfield Hotel.

I'd read about it in the papers.

A thousand guests,

two orchestras
in the grand ballroom,

orchids brought all the way
from South America.

I watched you leave
the limousine

and walk towards the doors
holding tight to Court's arm.

And, for a moment, it was almost as
though the 20 years had never been,

as though it was Court
and Jenny going into the hotel.

And then, just as you
disappeared, something happened.

I had a fleeting glimpse
of wreckage,

the wreckage of an airplane.

It was a faint impression,
blurred and hazy,

like a double-exposed negative.

I forgot about it entirely,

forgot about until one night,
as I was working late,

the picture jumped into focus.

Now the 11:55 news,

brought to you by
your Comanche Oil Reporter.

New York. Flying his
converted Army bomber,

Whitney Courtland, multi-millionaire
president of Comanche Oil,

took off from La Guardia field
early today

in an attempt to smash the East-West
trans-continental speed record.

He and his pilot, Captain
Martinson, former Army ace,

expect to reach Los Angeles
in time for breakfast,

if the favorable weather...

It was after midnight
when I reached your house.

I suppose I was
an odd looking figure.

At least the butler thought so.

I was afraid you wouldn't see
me, so when he left to find you,

I followed him.

Your friends were dancing.

I looked for you but,
not finding you there,

I went downstairs
to the lower terrace.

It was a lazy, warm,
summer night that

seemed as remote from tragedy
as anything on earth.

- I told him to wait outside.
- This is important.

Miss Courtland, I am an old
friend of your father's.

And I have an urgent message
for him.

I'm sorry, he's not here.

Yes, I know, but I must
speak to him at once.

I'm afraid that's impossible.
He's flying from New York.

- Non-stop?
- One stop in Wichita for fuel.

Well, then, please call there.

Leave a message for him
to halt the flight.

Halt the flight?
He'd laugh at me.

Not if you say the message
comes from John Triton.

John Triton? But dad told me
John Triton was dead.

No, he's not dead.

- Who is John Triton?
- He was dad's best friend.

I'd advise you to call there.

Why should Mr. Courtland
stop his flight?

Because if he doesn't,
the plane will crash!

And just how do you know that?

Does it matter?
Is it too late to reach him?

- No, I suppose not.
- Well, then, please call.

What do you think, Elliott?

I think it's a lot of nonsense.

But what can you lose

except three dollars
on the phone bill?

All right.

Hello.
I'd like the municipal airport

at Wichita, Kansas, please.

Do you make a practice of going
around predicting airplane crashes?

- No, I don't.
- Maybe just the planes of very rich men?

- No, not even those.
- Then what is it?

A bet that he won't break
the record?

The night manager, please.

Hello, this is Whitney
Courtland's daughter.

I'd like a message delivered
to my father when he lands.

Oh, he has?

No.

No, that's all right. Good-bye.

- He's already taken off.
- Good! That means he's got the record.

Or a smashed up plane.

Don't be silly. Our friend
here is just a harmless crank.

He's gone.

You see? He got while
the getting was good.

Elliott, I remember
something dad said about him,

something about
his having visions.

I get them too.
And I'll tell you what I see:

A shakedown
that didn't come off.

You were impressed enough
to let me call.

Impressed? Just wanted
to see how far he'd go.

We'll have a good laugh
when your father comes.

That night I couldn't sleep.

Thoughts whirled around
my head like pinwheels.

Again the strange feeling
that I was responsible

for the things I saw came to me.

I wondered if I should have
remain quiet.

And then,
I remembered the newsboy.

In the morning, it was announced over
the radio that the plane was missing.

There it was again,
after 20 years.

I made up my mind to leave
before you found me,

to bury myself completely
this time.

You recall I was packing
the same battered suitcase

when you knocked on the door.

And you, Miss Courtland,
asked me

if I knew what had happened
to your father.

I couldn't tell you. All I'd
seen was the wrecked plane.

I've thinking a lot
about you, Mr. Triton.

Somebody telephoned
or wired you about the plane.

- I assure you they didn't.
- Then what did happen?

I had a forewarning,

an impression of the crash
about three months ago.

- Three months ago!
- How much did you see?

Nothing too clear, just an
impression of the crash, that's all.

Look, if you saw all this three
months ago, why did you wait...

Elliott, please.
Where was the plane?

It seemed to have been
somewhere in the mountains.

Your pal didn't send you very
much information, did he?

No. There's no one else
connected with it.

What's the matter?

You have a maid.

- A thin dark girl.
- Yes, Edna.

Well, get rid of her
before your brooch...

Your sapphire brooch...

Doesn't matter.

It won't make any difference.

Look, fella, I think
it's about time somebody...

We interrupt this program to
bring you a special news bulletin.

Wreckage of the Comanche Angel,
converted bomber

in which Whitney Courtland

and his pilot,
Captain Martinson,

were attempting to smash
the East-West record,

was discovered early today
by forest rangers

near Gallup, New Mexico.

Both occupants
of the plane are dead.

Jean!

For almost a week,
I hardly left my room.

I busied myself.
I tried not to think

of the decision I knew
I had to make.

There had to be some way to prevent
the tragedy that I had seen.

My running away, my not
speaking hadn't saved Jenny.

Now I wondered if I should try
the other course...

Challenge fate.

And then, the next morning you
came back to see me.

- May I speak to you for a moment?
- Yes, of course.

As a matter of fact, I was
just starting for your house.

Then I suppose you've heard.

What?

About my sapphire brooch.

It's disappeared
and so has my maid, Edna,

just as you said they would.

I'm sorry, but I imagine
the brooch was insured.

I haven't bothered to find out.

You see, I remember you said

that it wouldn't make
any difference.

You meant I was going
to die, didn't you?

That's what I thought.

How soon is it going to be?

Quite soon.

Six months?

One month?

Sooner than that.

How soon... and where?

Within a few days...

before the end of the week...

at night... under the stars.

Perhaps it was a mistake,
my telling her.

Not if you were trying
to help her.

Oh, I was and am.

I do want to help.
I want help myself.

It isn't easy to live
with something like this,

something that has turned me
into a half-crazy recluse...

robbed me of twenty years.

I've tried to understand it.

I've read books on the occult,
on divination, on sorcery,

on abnormal psychology,
but they haven't helped.

That's why I told you the story.

Because I thought that you,
with your training,

could help to explain
some of these things

and together perhaps we could do
something to avert what I've seen.

- Do what?
- I don't know.

If I could only have seen
something

beyond the vague picture
of her lying under the stars,

if I could've seen the place,
identify it,

then we could keep her
from ever going there.

In the meantime, Jean,
you need some rest.

You ought to be
in bed right now.

You'll help?

Frankly,
I am still pretty confused,

but of course,
I'll do everything I can.

- You are not coming with us?
- No, you don't need me.

You see, it's day again.
The stars are gone.

Elliott, thank you for being
so nice on the way home.

About what?

About not questioning me,
not being angry.

I could never be angry with you.

But you certainly
had me worried.

When my plane landed, I tried
the house, but you weren't here.

I went to his place.

He seemed very excited.
He said you were in trouble.

He knew exactly
where your car was.

We got there,
he sent me on alone,

told me to bring you
back to the restaurant.

He'd probably seen you
from his window,

or had you followed
or something.

- But he didn't have time.
- I'm not too sure about that.

There certainly wasn't
in dad's case.

He warned us only a few minutes after
the plane took off from Wichita.

Yeah, that's the angle
I couldn't figure.

But now you believe.
You told him you did.

I told him I'd help
and that's all.

Are you ready to get some sleep?

Good night.

I mean good morning.
See you later.

Sort of early,
aren't you, Preston?

We were wondering
about Miss Courtland, sir.

Operator, give me
police headquarters, please.

Nobody tell us
we gotta have two license!

We give a man what he asks!
Twenty-five dollars!

Mr. Weston's been calling
for you, Ruth.

Why he not tell us
we gotta have two license!

The roulette wheels
were concealed under the floor.

Six were uncovered along with a
faro table and two birdcage games.

Yes, corporation papers.
Triton Novelty Company.

I've given you
the name twice, now.

Come in.

You bet. We'll ask
for a blanket injunction

as soon as the D.A.
gives us a green light.

Oh, maybe in the middle
of the week. Good-bye.

Courtland reports, Mr. Weston.

- Oh, fine, where's Shawn?
- He's on his way up.

Good.

"Mind reading,
magic tricks by mail,

"watching by clairvoyance,
thefts predicted,

"airplane crashed foreseen,

girls frightened to the point
of suicide by autosuggestion.”

Well, it comes to quite

a bizarre little bundle,
Mr. Carson.

Yes, sir, I know it does, but...

This morning, when the police
transferred your call,

it sounded like one of the 156
we get from crackpots every day.

I wouldn't have bothered
about it.

I would've forgotten it,

except that Miss Courtland
happens to be an ideal target

for a confidence game.

She's young, she's wealthy,
she's unprotected.

Come in. Oh, here we are.

Mr. Carson,

meet Lieutenant Shawn
of the City Homicide Bureau.

How do you do, Lieutenant?

It was Mr. Carson who called

our attention
to the Courtland matter.

Have you read his statement,
Lieutenant?

I couldn't make
head or tail of it.

I see you are not a follower
of the occult.

Well, neither am I.

And I might as well tell you
right now, Mr. Carson,

we've been pretty skeptical
about this story of yours.

And about you.

I didn't expect you to believe
anything. I don't myself.

Oddly enough, there's a substantial
element of fact in what you told us.

- Match?
- See, there was a man, back in the 20's

who billed himself as Triton,
the Mental Wizard.

Whitney Courtland
was a member of his act,

and the Courtland fortune comes
from the Comanche Hills oil field.

On August 4th, 1928, the
fifth race at Green Meadows

was won by a horse
named Peer Gynt.

Only he got gypped.
Track odds were 12 to 1.

- Then he was telling the truth.
- To a certain degree.

Horse race results
ain't hard to find.

What the Lieutenant means
is that the basic facts

are probably straight,
and I agree.

But facts are easily distorted
to fit a purpose.

For instance, Miss Courtland's
being in the railroad yards

and his knowing about it
is supposed to be proof

for the validity of his visions?

Well, you offered the solution
to that yourself.

Back porch.

It's possible to see the railroad
yards from the back porch

and with a good eye
to spot a parked convertible.

Then this prediction
about Edna, the maid,

vanishing with
the sapphire brooch...

It's all very baffling

until Shawn here made
a discovery.

She used to live on Bunker Hill,

a couple of blocks from Triton.

It's pretty easy to be
a prophet, Mr. Carson,

with a Confederate or two
to help things along.

There's still one item,
Mr. Weston.

How could he have known
about the plane crash?

Tell him.

We were talking to the police
of New Mexico.

The plane was wrecked
in the mountains,

but it had not hit a peak,
it fell.

- On account it threw a propeller.
- That's not impossible.

No, no if somebody worked
on the shaft with a file.

Which according to the investigators,
is exactly what happened.

- Then, it's murder!
- It ain't table tennis.

You know?
I'm different from most cops.

Most cops feet hurt,
but with me it's my back.

- Good evening, Lieutenant.
- Hello, Gowan. Everything set?

Half a dozen men around
the place and a couple inside.

It would take
a miracle get through.

They've been known to happen.
You and Bertelli come along.

Wouldn't it be simpler
to arrest Triton?

For what? Warning people
about airplane crashes?

Good evening, Mr. Carson.

What's this? The Magic Guy?

I just happen to be looking
out of the window, sir.

- No law against that, I guess.
- That's right, Lieutenant.

Wouldn't the evidence of the
propeller shaft be enough to hold him?

Huh-uh, on account of
he was in L.A.

Stick around here.
I might need you.

- But he knew about it.
- Yes, kind of looks that way.

What's this? A convention?

Some of Mr. Courtland's
business associates.

Elliot! Excuse me, please.

Jean, this is Lieutenant Shawn.

Elliott's told me
about you on the phone.

Hope my men haven't upset
you, Miss Courtland.

No, they've been very
polite and comforting.

Please come in.

These gentlemen were with Dad in
the East completing an oil merger.

Lieutenant Shawn, Mr. Gilman,
President of Mid-Tide Oil.

How are you. Lieutenant?

Mr. Myers,
attorney for the estate,

and Peter Vinson,
Dad's secretary.

How do you do, Lieutenant?

Hello, Carson,
how is the celebrated geologist?

- Fine.
- These folks are living here?

Why, yes, they've been
going over Dad's papers.

Some of the merger
details were lost.

- The estate needs settling too.
- You know about this psychic business?

Yes, Miss Courtland told us something
about it, and we would like to help.

However, if you'd rather,
we'll leave.

- I wouldn't think of it.
- Nonsensical business anyway.

Maybe... maybe not.

Don't think your staying
will make much difference,

provided you're willing
to cooperate.

Oh, you can count on us,
Lieutenant.

Jean knows the way I feel.

What do you plan to do,
Lieutenant?

Hang around until
the end of the week.

- Two more days.
- Don't you worry, miss.

No, I won't. Not with all of
you here, and Mr. Triton too.

- You got him in the house?
- Yes, Lieutenant, I am here.

How do you like that?

Your attitude is natural enough.

I suppose you've been
breaking down my story,

- finding possible explanations.
- We ran on a couple.

Yes, but there are some things
that are beyond explanation.

Otherwise, I'd be under arrest.

Not a bad idea.

I asked him to come, Lieutenant,
to be with me.

Yes, you see,
I think I may be of help.

Not in my book, you can't.

I'm hoping, perhaps if I...

I may see things more detailed
what will happen.

Come now, Mr. Triton,
we're adults.

You can't sell us on visions.

Let him speak his piece.

Mr. Carson and I have
already discussed it.

If I see things clearly,

it may be possible
to take precautions.

Wouldn't that be my job?

Yes, of course, that's why I was
pleased when Mr. Carson called you in.

But your powers are limited.

Yeah, I never had much luck
with tea leaves.

Which brings us to a point
I'm very curious about.

How do you account for these
alleged visions, Mr. Triton?

I... I doubt
if I can explain it.

I wouldn't mind hearing you try.

Well, I've, uh...

I've thought and read
a great deal on prevision,

and somewhere I've come across an
illustration that very nearly covers it.

Suppose you're on a train.

You look out the window,
and you see a white farmhouse.

In a minute it's gone, then
you're watching cattle in a field.

And just ahead, even though
you can't see it yet,

is a clump of maple trees.

Past, present and future.

But to the man on top of
the train, they're all one.

At one glance, he can see
farmhouse, cattle and trees.

Well...

occasionally, I'm like
that man on top of the train,

even though I may be sitting
inside it.

How do you get on top
when you're sitting inside?

You've been there.

All of you.

You've had experiences.

Telegrams that you knew the
contents of before you opened them.

Places that seem familiar,

though you've never been
in them before.

And under the emotional
stress of tragedy,

have you noticed how everything
becomes distorted and unreal

as the mind tries
to escape into time.

And in dreams, it escapes too.

Not always into fantasy.

Sometimes the dreams come true.

Your visions always do.

Yes, they always have
in the past.

And not of my asking.
I've no control over them.

They come when they come.

Where's his room?

In the tower, over the terrace.

He wanted to be away
from everyone.

It's 10:00, and according to your
theory, Miss Courtland's in danger

only at night,
when the stars are out.

All right, I'll make a deal.

You can stay, provided you stick
in you room until daylight.

- Would you like me to go now?
- Yes, I would.

Mr. Triton, you don't have to...

It's all right. I prefer it.
I feel uneasy with people

after 20 years.

There's your pigeon, boys.
He got a loft up there.

See that he don't leave.

Are you sure you wanna go
into the garden?

I always do when I'm upset.

It's a sort of hideaway
from trouble.

Besides, if it's to be, there's
nothing we can do about it.

Jean, it's not inevitable.
It's not even likely.

- He saw it.
- He said he saw it.

I hate this,
this terrible resignation,

as though you were
half-dead already.

You're like an automaton
playing a part.

An automaton locked down
for 48 hours.

That's exactly
what I'm talking about.

Elliot!

- Just checking up, folks.
- That's right.

This is Miss Courtland. I guess it's
all right for her to be down here.

Excuse me. Come on, Joe.

I wish I could tell you
what the police have found out.

- Why can't you?
- I promised.

They think that...

- Well, they think you'd go to Triton.
- I would.

I can tell you this much,
and you can tell Triton.

There's a logical
and very unpleasant explanation

for the whole business.

For the newsboy? For my mother?

He has taken a group of half-truths
and woven them into an overall lie.

You're forgetting one thing.
Dad's told me stories about him.

I've been remembering.
I remember Comanche Hills

and how Dad once said the field
really belonged to Mr. Triton.

Are you sure you remembered it?

Or is it something Triton
remembered for you?

- At least give me credit for...
- Hey there!

Don't think I'm going along
with this fortune-telling gag,

but I'd look pretty silly and so
would both of you if anything happened

with all them stars up there.

Why don't you go to bed like him
and the rest of them have?

The windows are all locked,
Miss Courtland.

Thank you.

Would you like me to sleep
in your dressing room?

No, I don't think so.

I'm not afraid.
At least I don't think I am.

You go to bed and get
a good night sleep.

Yes, Miss Courtland.

- All right to go in?
- Sure, as long as he don't come out.

Is what they say true,
that he's kind of strange?

It's pretty close.

Come in.

Oh, I was hoping you'd come,
Mr. Carson.

Why?

A moment ago,
the veil lifted again.

I saw many things,
about Jean, about myself,

strange and obscure things
that I don't understand.

Perhaps as a scientist,
you can help to interpret...

Scientists don't believe
in visions,

and I don't wanna hear
about them.

Wouldn't it be sensible
even doubting me

to keep an open mind?

You'd never forgive yourself
if I was right

and you hadn't helped.

What did you see?

It was different this time.

A series of cloudy flashes,

and then the central vision.

I made notes to make sure
I remember the order.

I saw a flower crushed
under a heel,

a sudden hot wind
that shook the windows,

a vase shattered on the floor.

And I heard a voice saying,
"There's no danger now.”

And then I saw her again
lying under the stars and...

by her...

something I don't understand
at all,

something that looked like
the feet of a lion.

Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous
but I saw them clearly.

Big front paws with curved
talons almost touching her head.

- It doesn't make much sense.
- Yes, I know.

And you say you saw something
about yourself too?

Yes, I saw...

Uh, it's not important.

Did you see when the moment was?

Tomorrow night,
as the clock strikes 11.

- I've been talking with him.
- Yeah, I heard.

He's convincing.

I went up there
to break him down,

and instead he...
Well, he shook me.

More visions?

A whole series of them,

including one setting the time.

- Tomorrow night at 11.
- Well, fine.

Now we can all go to bed.
What else did he have?

A chain of small events
leading up to the moment.

The first was a flower,
crushed under somebody's foot.

Then, by Jean's head,
he saw the feet of a lion.

The feet of a what?

- Jean, are you all right?
- Are you all right, Miss Courtland?

- What happened?
- I don't know.

Something over my face.
I couldn't breathe.

You had a nightmare.

No, I don't think so.
I've never had one before.

The poor child!
What happened to her?

Do you need any help?

- Miss Jean...
- Get some water.

What's this doing here?
It belongs on the daybed.

Someone or something's
been here,

but nothing human could've been.

The windows were locked.
I locked them myself.

Maybe so.

But they didn't stay that way.
Not in that dressing room.

- Where are you going?
- Downstairs. There's something wrong.

Yeah, but we've got orders
to keep you up here.

- I'll only be a minute.
- One more step and I'll wing you.

We're not kidding.

Don't forget I warned you.

First time in 20 years.

Yeah, it's him.

I sensed you were in
some kind of trouble.

Sensed it, my eye.
You're the trouble.

What was going on out there?

- How did you get in here?
- I walked.

It's a wonder
you don't tell me you flew.

- What's the shooting about?
- All right, take it easy.

Who was doing the shooting?

- You tell him.
- Me.

- At what?
- Kind of at the ground.

At the ground?

Well, first at him,
but my gun wouldn't fire.

Then it did, only he was gone.

He jinxed it.

You see, Lieutenant,
it isn't my time.

Well, it isn't now.
That's why nothing can touch me.

That's just dandy.

I can hardly wait
to tell the D.A.

we can't touch you
because it isn't your time.

You can trick a couple
of dumb detectives

and hand us a line
about crushed flowers,

broken vases and lions feet.

You can try and throw us
off guard by claiming

there's no danger
until tomorrow night,

and you can shinny down
from your window

and do your best
to knock off Miss Courtland.

But we can't touch him.

It isn't your time. Show him.

You are making
a serious mistake.

My fate is linked
to Miss Courtland's.

Because of that, I'm the
only one who might save her.

Your fate is linked
to a pair a handcuffs.

Now, ride him downtown.

Well, it's just a waste of time.

I'll be back tomorrow night
before 11.

Throw the book at him.

I'd agree with you if he
wasn't so normal otherwise.

I got a couple of psychologists
from the University

coming in to see him
this evening.

Mm-hmm. About 10:00.

I'll keep in touch with you.

- One hour left to go.
- Oh, it's you, Mr. Myers.

I don't know how
I'm gonna live through this.

I'm scared half
to death already.

And that window. The police
have been after me all day.

Do you think it could've been
him somehow from the outside?

There's a simpler explanation.
You left the window open.

I could have, of course,
but I can't believe that I'd...

- Where is the Lieutenant?
- I don't know.

He told us to be here at ten.

That's to keep us
from doing any work.

You don't think this
is important, Mr. Myers?

I think it's all poppycock.

Especially with our
Nostradamus in jail.

Instead of searching
for a packet of stock options

that will be worthless
in 36 hours,

we fiddle-faddle
with a lot of ghost stories.

You're sure you can't remember
where your father put the papers?

No, I've been trying to,
but with all this...

How you expect the poor child
to remember anything?

What about
your father's secretary?

No, Peter doesn't know either.

- Doesn't know what?
- They're looking for some papers.

Options necessary
for the Mid-Tide merger.

I suggest we forget business
for 58 minutes

and concentrate on
the so-called prophecy.

Isn't it obvious he's missed the
boat with his chain of events?

A flower crushed underfoot,

a sudden wind, a vase shattered,

a voice saying,
"There's no danger now."

And he's fresh out of lions too.

We got rid of every piece of junk
in the house with a lion on it...

Bookends, lamps, andirons,

even those stone ones
at the entrance.

- Where have you been?
- Checking the defenses.

I must say it's a very good
show; Policemen everywhere.

- Not a prowler in sight.
- And there ain't gonna be.

At half past ten,
we all got places to be.

And we're gonna stay
in 'em until 11.

And then, if nothing happens, I'll
go down to my hideaway in the garden.

- What for?
- To show the stars they were wrong.

You know, Lieutenant?
I've been thinking.

Since you're operating
on the assumption.

Mr. Triton could be right,

wouldn't it be a good idea
to remove the flowers,

eliminate the possibility
of one being crushed underfoot?

- Nonsense.
- Can't do no harm.

Gowan...

- I'll take them.
- I'll handle this, sister.

Ah, no. Oh, my goodness!

Hold it! Don't anybody move!

Not a one stepped on.
Take 'em out and dump 'em.

For a minute, I almost believed.

Gave me a real feeling of...

- What's that?
- What?

Under your foot.

Well...

Quite a guesser, our Mr. Triton.

Eight solid hours reading
literature on the subject...

Dust covered volumes
on soothsaying,

vaticination, augury, prophecy,

and I'm more confused
than when I started.

Walters ought to be able to help you.
It's right up his alley.

Well, not completely.

We have made extrasensory tests
at the University.

The usual ones... selecting cards
from a concealed deck.

- And rolling dice.
- With some rather astonishing variations

among our controls.

But it would take weeks
to examine this man.

First, we'd have to make sure there
was absolutely no chance of trickery,

and then, well,
the mathematical computations

for each single test
are staggering.

And generally controversial.

Well, at least, you can give me
an off-the-record opinion

as to whether he's a faker
or a madman.

We can talk to him.

- Is Triton here yet?
- Yes, sir.

- Send him in.
- Yes, sir.

I can tell you this.
You will find him

about as convincing
a customer as...

Mr. Triton, these two gentlemen
are from the University.

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

Yes, I have read some of Professor
Walters' books on parapsychology.

I found your monograph on
mental telepathy and intuition

particularly interesting, sir.

Oh, I'm flattered.

Mr. Triton, I've asked
these gentlemen to...

To determine whether
I'm a faker or a madman.

And you, sir, have been explaining
the tests of an extrasensory nature

are lengthy and difficult due
to the mathematical computations

and the possibilities
of trickery.

- Send Wilson in here.
- Yes, sir.

Wilson, how long were
you standing out there?

- We just stepped out of the elevator.
- That's all. Thank you.

Neat piece of deduction.

Of course, he knew we were
talking about testing him

and we'd probably bring up
the obvious objections,

but an excellent parlor magic.

I give you my word, gentlemen,
this is not parlor magic.

Yes, I have indulged myself in a
bit of theatrics but for a purpose.

I desperately need your help to
persuade Mr. Weston to set me free.

As you know, Miss Courtland's
life hangs in the balance.

If I'm allowed to go
to the house to be near her,

there is a possibility that I may
use this power of mine to save her.

- Very interesting.
- And if he goes to the house

and the girl lives, as she will,

he can maintain
that he was responsible

and ask for
a substantial reward.

No.

No, I'll ask for no reward, sir.

In the first place,
I haven't long to live.

Oh, I'm not appealing
for sympathy.

I don't care what happens.

This gift,
which I never asked for

and I don't understand,

has brought me only unhappiness.

Over a period of 20 years,
at various times,

I've foreseen
tragic occurrences.

And no matter what I did,
I couldn't prevent them coming true.

I thought perhaps you could
tell me something about it.

Why was this gift given to me?

And why was this
other power withheld?

This power to turn evil
into good.

You've gotta let me go.

This is my only chance,
my last one.

There is a possibility that

this time I may disrupt
this chain of events

that Mr. Weston
has told you about.

Defy fate
and save Miss Courtland!

He puts up a good show.

Of course, you realize we must
have more concrete evidence

before a recommendation
for release could be made.

Well, I hope
I've given you enough.

A kind of hallucination,

probably not unknown
to people in his line of work...

A crystal ball syndrome.

He apparently fastens
on some tragic occurrence,

like Mr. Courtland's death,

convinces himself
that he foresaw it.

From there, it's only a step
for him to believe that...

Mr. Weston!

You have on your desk
some papers

relating to a man convicted
of murder, Amos Block.

You have very good eyes.

He's to be moved
to San Quentin tomorrow.

He'll never make the trip.

I see him in his cell.

Suicide.

That's one you can check.

Quinn? It's Weston.

How's Block getting along?
Oh, you did? Fine.

Oh, just checking up.
Good night.

Well, your man is in a cell
all right, playing solitaire.

When I turned on the radio,
someone was talking

about a lion escaping
from the zoo.

I heard it on
the 9:00 broadcast,

a warning about something,
but I'm not sure.

Well, folks, here's the setup.

Me and Mr. Carson are gonna stick
in here with Miss Courtland.

Gowan will stay on the terrace.

Bertelli,
you're to patrol the house.

And the rest of you
will go to your rooms.

Lieutenant, I thought we
were going to be permitted

to assist in guarding
Miss Courtland.

Now, what?

Caught these two trying
to sneak out, Lieutenant.

- Yeah? What's the big idea?
- We are leaving.

When a person is fated,
others go with him.

- That's ridiculous!
- Ridiculous?

How about Mr. Courtland's pilot?
He got it.

- Let them go, Lieutenant.
- All right.

Ride them downtown.
Turn them loose after 11.

- No, wait a minute...
- You wanted to leave, didn't you?

- I'm sorry, Miss Courtland.
- Never mind, sister.

- Come on, let's go.
- Now suppose we all get moving.

I would like to add
my protest to Gilman's.

Both of us, and Peter too, are
perfectly capable of assisting,

and we resent being shut away
like children.

Well, Mr. Myers,
you got a point.

But, you see, this ain't
exactly like you think it is.

It ain't just
a wholesale ghost hunt.

We've got reason to believe

that somebody tampered
with Mr. Courtland's plane.

- Then, it wasn't an accident?
- Huh-uh.

And we think maybe that same somebody
tried for Miss Courtland last night,

if it was a try.

Would he be fool enough
to come tonight?

Oh, he might, at 11,

hoping everybody would think
it was a supernatural deal.

Just where does Triton fit in?

He's the smoke screen.
And all his stuff about lions

and crushed flowers, and broken
vases is so much malarkey.

- Window dressing to hide...
- Hey, listen.

Keep doors and windows locked.

Warning to residents
of Westwood Village.

Stay inside your houses.

Keep doors and windows locked.

The lion which escaped
from an overturned van

at Wilshire and Sepulveda
earlier this evening

is still at large.

I repeat for the third time:

Warning to residents
of Westwood Village.

Stay inside your houses.
Keep doors and windows...

- Turn that off!
- That's what I thought I heard

- at 9:00, only I wasn't sure.
- Never mind.

Get out of here. All of you,
except you and Miss Courtland.

Go on to your rooms.

- Hey, Bertelli!
- Yes, Lieutenant.

Get a half a dozen riot guns
out of the squad cars

- and pass 'em around.
- Right.

Tell everybody to keep
their eyes peeled.

Jean...

- I'm all right.
- Sure you are.

There's just one thing.

Is it true what he said
about the plane?

I'm afraid so. They found file
marks on the propeller shaft.

- I don't think Mr. Triton knew about it.
- I think he must have.

Elliott, I believe in him.
I wish...

I wish he were here now.

I'm afraid that's impossible.

Now, we got the big game hunters
out on safari.

I got everything
as tight as a drum.

If anything happens
around here tonight,

my name ain't Shawn.

Better check the time.

Twenty one minutes,
if that's right.

Got a watch?

I make it 10:36 and a half.

My old turnip's usually
pretty close.

Let's make sure.

At the tone, the time
will be 10:39 and a half.

Ten thirty nine and a half.

Right. Now, it's official.

Better douse
some of these lights.

No use making targets
out of ourselves.

Sure it's a clear night out.

You can see a thousand...

What am I saying?

- Send Wilson in here.
- Yes, Sir.

Have me as heavily guarded
as you wish,

but I tell you,
time is running out.

I'm sorry,
but you produced nothing

that would justify us
in letting you go.

This can't be.

I saw myself at the house,
under the same stars.

Hello. Quinn? Yes.

What? Wait a minute!

No, not now.

Amos Block just killed himself
in his cell.

- You ever shoot a lion?
- How could I have ever shot a lion?

- Could sneak out of the bushes.
- What bushes”?

I was just saying it could.

Look, it broke loose
the other side of Westwood.

That's more than six miles
from here.

Why, it could never...

- Hey, what's that?
- Sounds like wind.

What's that?

- Gowan...
- Yes, sir?

- What's going on?
- One of the trees blew down!

One of the trees blew down.

There ought to be a law
against things like that.

The sudden wind.

Yeah, another one.

Ten fifty-seven and a half.

Two and a half minutes to go.

Funny how it came up so fast,

like as if somebody
pushed the button.

Look, you've got education.

What are the odds on this
and him being legitimate?

Yesterday, I'd have said
a billion to one.

You know? My Irish grandmother
used to tell stories

about banshees and leprechauns

and blind singers
with second sight.

I always used to think
she was kidding,

but now I'm beginning to wonder.

Well, there's no scientific
proof of such things, Lieutenant.

Some of the big universities are
making experiments in that direction,

which means that scientists
think there's a possibility...

Whoever you are, stay out!

Hey, Lieutenant,
it's about the lion.

- What about it?
- I just got a flash over the radio.

A couple of guys
from the Sheriff's office

cornered him out near
the Veterans Hospital.

- What happened?
- They plugged him.

- Yeah? Better tell the boys.
- Right away, sir.

Brother, that's a load
off my mind.

First decent break we've had.

Kinda makes this chain
of events look cockeyed.

- Holy smoke!
- The broken vase.

It's 11:00.

- Gowan.
- Yes, Sir.

Well, that's over.

Tell the boys to relax. Get
them some coffee and sandwiches.

Coffee?

Do I feel good?

Darling, it's all history now.

Elliott...

I'd like to be by myself.

For a moment.

I'm not afraid anymore.

You know?

This business almost got me.

He sure called his shots.

Flower, wind, broken vase...
even the lion.

Except for the voice saying,
"There's no danger now.”

Lieutenant!

- How'd you get here?
- I brought him, Lieutenant.

- Where's Miss Courtland?
- Outside.

You let her go outside?

What's the matter with him?
It's after 11.

No, it's not,
it's two minutes of.

Eleven o'clock. Looks like
your troubles are over.

But the clock inside...

Don't be frightened.
There's no danger now.

- The voice saying...
- Saying what?

There's no danger now.

He must have meant...

Put that down!

Jean!

- Darling, are you hurt?
- No, I'm all right.

- Mr. Triton!
- Jean...

- We took care of him, Miss Courtland.
- But it wasn't him, it...

- That's ridiculous. She's out of her mind.
- It was you!

He didn't want
the options found!

- What was that?
- He didn't want the options found.

- He didn't want the merger to go through.
- I don't get it.

The options were due to expire
day after tomorrow,

provided Miss Courtland
didn't find them first.

- Go on.
- He tried to make sure she didn't.

In that case, he could keep
the option money

and still retain control of the
vast Mid-Tide Oil interests.

Yeah, could be.

And it could be you were the one

who tampered
with Mr. Courtland's plane.

Ride him downtown.

The two of them were in cahoots.

I think you're wrong.

I think he gave
his life to save her.

Aw, the whole thing was an act.

Otherwise, Miss Courtland
would be dead like he predicted.

He thought she was.

His visions all came true.

The time, the lion, the stars.

Only they ended with his death.

He couldn't see past that.

Couldn't know
that she was still alive.

This letter fell
out of his pocket.

It's for you.

"Dear Carson, as you read this,

"I will be lying at your feet,"

"killed by the revolver"

that failed to fire last night.

"No one is to blame.

"My death was as certain

as the other events
I saw in my mirror."

Some of you

have just seen me die,
will doubt me.

Will believe these events
to have been contrived by me.

Or you may call them a series
of weird coincidences.

But I know that you, Carson,
and some of the others,

will not dismiss it so easily.

My own strange fate must make
you ponder for a moment,

must make you realize

that there are things on earth

still hidden from us.

Secret things...

dark and mysterious.