Original subtitles

You can't get away, Simon. Wait to die.

You got him to change his will and then you killed him.

Mr. Hodges has more than just a casual interest in all this.

She started out to be a serious actress, but as you can see, her talents seem to lie more in the area of, uh, what's the word?

Perfect. Point out of yes.

You had the means, the motive, and the opportunity.

Yeah, well, she tried to kill me.

You and the government?

Three little words, Miss Brinsing.

C-I-A.

I was a first-time an applequist, and from what I'd heard about him, I wasn't sure I wanted to.

But he'd asked to see me, and the note requesting my presence was accompanied by $1,000 in cash.

At those prices, why not see how the other half lives?

Oh, Mr. Orwell, come in, come in. Good to see you, sir.

Mr. Orwell, I'd like you to meet my family.

Such as it is.

My half-brother, Edward.

My daughter, Sylvia.

Well, the day might not be a total loss after all.

And, uh, my son, Arnold.

Orwell.

And this, Mr. Orwell...

This is my wife, Felicia.

Felicia.

How do you do?

Another member of the family, my...

My nephew.

Very unreliable sort, who's never been, never been responsive to my wishes.

Oh, well, no matter, no matter, this meeting probably does not concern him anyway.

Mr. Orwell, I've asked you to be here today because one of these charming people is planning to murder me.

Mr. Orwell is a private detective.

And I'm retaining him to find out for me just which one of you it is.

I received this tape in the mail this morning.

In case, Mr. Orwell, or any of the rest of you think that I'm suffering from paranoid delusions,

I'm going to play it for you now.

Dear Simon,

for all of the hurt and humiliation that you've taken such great pleasure in inflicting upon others during these past years,

you are going to die.

You can't get away, Simon.

Wait to die. Wait to die.

Simon Applequist died of natural causes.

The coroner has established his heart failed due to congenital coronary disease.

It was not unexpected, Orwell.

Whether this could possibly be construed as murder would be if the tape scared him to death.

Yeah, what about the tape?

What about it?

Why don't you try to find out who sent it?

There's no need. It's moot.

Well, moot or not, somebody threatened his life.

Simon Applequist was a rich eccentric public figure almost universally disliked.

The tape was probably sent by a crank.

Do you have the tape?

What for?

Simon Applequist paid me a sizable retainer. I owe him something for his money.

Undoubtedly, Orwell, the butler did it.

Robert!

Get him the tape.

Thank you.

As long as you seem bent on pursuing this matter, Orwell, I have a hot lead for you.

What's that?

We won't know who has what to gain from the death of Simon Applequist until the reading of the will,

but I thought you might be interested in the identity of the missing nephew.

Who is he?

A sometime colleague of yours, Orwell. His name's Lester Hodges.

You know any of the Applequists very well, Mr. Orwell. Uncle Simon and I never did get along.

I guess that's because he always liked everyone to feel dependent on him,

and nobody in my side of the family had any reason to be interested in his money.

Which side of the family is that?

My mother's.

You see, my mother was Edward Taber's sister, and Simon Applequist was her half-brother,

and she never liked him very much either.

Are you going somewhere?

Yes, a movie.

Why?

Well, I can't afford this place any more.

Lester, you're rich.

No, not me. My father.

And he cut off my allowance.

Is it because you're doing badly in school?

Oh, no, I couldn't be doing better. As a matter of fact,

I just got my master's degree in criminology, summa cum laude.

Well, your father should be very proud of you.

Yes, he disowned me.

Why?

I think it had something to do with my applying for my private investigator's license.

So you see, Mr. Orwell, if Simon Applequist was murdered,

I would certainly have to be considered one of the prime suspects, wouldn't I?

Don't do that.

Don't worry, Mr. Orwell, on the night in question,

I was attending a special lecture at the university.

I hope it had something to do with voice prints.

Can you help me with that?

I know someone who can.

Who?

Well, you've often heard me speak of him.

Oh, yes, Professor Smith Book.

Oh, no, no. He's a criminologist.

The man I'm thinking of is a criminologist.

The French guy, LeClerc.

As a matter of fact, he's the same fellow whose lecture I attended the other night.

I even got to meet him personally.

Lester, I don't like mysteries. Who is it?

Dr. Creighton Fong.

Voice print technology has come a long way in the last few years.

Today, it is an exact science.

Dr. Fong is one of the pioneers in the field, Mr. Orwell.

During these past years, you are going to die.

You can't get away.

Doctor, you mean even though the voice on this tape is a whisper,

if you had a sample of a normal speaking voice,

you could make a comparison and then a positive identification.

Oh, yes.

But as in all matters of this kind,

the process of identification becomes infinitely easier

when one knows more precisely just what or who one is looking for.

And I think we can narrow it down pretty well to one of four people.

Edward Tabor, Arnold Applequist, Sylvia Applequist, or Felicia Applequist.

When's the reading of the will?

Wednesday night.

But we can narrow it down more than that. Who has the most to gain?

And in the meantime, it shouldn't be too difficult for me to get voice samples

without their knowing about it. I can do that at the funeral.

To everything there is a season.

Go away, Lester.

And a time for every purpose under heaven.

A time to be born,

and a time to die.

A time to break down,

and a time to build up.

You better do something about that call, Cousin Arnold.

A time to love.

Lester.

And a time...

Please go away.

A time to weep,

and a time to smile.

A time to love.

And a time...

I'm sure he was too bad about it for Uncle Simon, wasn't it, Cousin Sylvia?

Get away from me, Creep.

Befalleth beasts.

You're going to die.

You can't get away.

Get away.

Away.

Away.

I'm slowing down and isolating the single word away

from the original threatening tape.

This spectrograph is a visual representation

of the speaker's vocal cavities and articulators.

Now, by tracing the pattern on this glass plate,

we have the possible killer's voice print.

We'll then play the voices of Arnold, Edward, and Sylvia

and see if any of their prints should match.

First, your cousin, Arnold Applequist.

Please go away.

Go away.

Away.

Arnold Applequist's voice clearly does not follow the same pattern

as the voice on the original tape.

Let's try another one of your samples.

The next voice you hear will be your uncle,

Edward Tabor.

Go away, Lester. Not now.

Away, Lester.

Away.

Well, there's no doubt about it.

The voice on the original tape is identical

with the one on this sample.

It belongs to Mr. Edward Tabor.

But it all fits.

If Uncle Simon was murdered, it would have to have been done

with some rare undetectable poison.

Nothing is undetectable when one knows what one is looking for.

My point exactly.

You see, Uncle Edward, besides being an anthropologist,

is also a toxicologist.

All his life he's had this almost morbid interest

in the poisons used by certain jungle tribes in South America.

But all we have proved so far is that the voice on the original tape

is that of Edward Tabor,

and by itself that is questionable forensic evidence.

This tape could easily have been counterfeited

using bits and pieces of his voice,

obtained in much the same manner

as you yourself acquired that sample.

What's that?

A magnetic viewer.

Now, every tape recorder leaves its own unique signature

as individual as a fingerprint.

Do you see any difference?

No.

It's individual as a fingerprint.

Do you see that thin stripe running the length of the tape?

That means the machine that made this tape

has a small nick in its recording head.

And if that tape belongs to Uncle Edward,

it must have been he who made the death threat.

You're learning.

You know, Dr. Fong, you and I make a great team.

Once again, I am obliged to restrain

certain of your enthusiasms.

There remains, after all, the essential question of motive.

Well, we should know that tonight.

As Simon Applequest's attorney and executor of the estate,

it is my function at this time to let it be known

the contents of his last will and testament.

In the first place, to my wife, Felicia,

who has given me some small measure of creature comfort

in my declining years,

an annual allowance in the sum of $50,000

to be terminated only upon her death or upon her remarriage.

In the second place, to my son Arnold and my daughter Sylvia,

who have always ranked among the greatest disappointments

of my life the sum of $1 each.

Oh!

In the third place, to my nephew Lester Hodges,

who has never been on time for anything in his life,

the gold watch which belonged to his mother's father.

In the fourth place, to my half-brother Edward Taper,

whose scholarly endeavors and gentle manner

have always brought honor and approbation to the family name,

the bulk of my estate, my possessions, and my affections.

You're kidding!

I don't believe it.

Is that all?

It all sounds like some terrible joke.

Good night, sir.

Well, we'll contest the will, of course.

That won't do you any good.

Why don't you make so sure of that?

It's unbreakable. I drew it up myself.

Aside from a few nominal requests to members of the household staff

to bear me upon their time and service,

now that's about the size of it, my friend.

I'll be recording this will for probate

first thing in the morning.

It'll be some time before anyone receives what's coming to them.

You killed him.

I'm not quite sure how you did it,

but you got him to change his will, and then you killed him.

What are you doing here?

The question, Uncle Edward, is what have you been doing here?

What are you talking about?

What is all of this?

This is what we in criminology call evidence.

I think you'd better go back to your room.

I'm not going to let you in.

I'm not going to let you in.

I'm not going to let you in.

I'm not going to let you in.

I'm not going to let you in.

I'm not going to let you in.

I think you'd better explain, Lester.

This is a piece of tape

taken from the recording that threatened Uncle Simon's life.

This is a piece of tape

which I've just removed from your tape recorder.

You will note that the unique striations

on both these tapes are identical.

Which proves beyond a reasonable doubt

that it was you who made the death threat.

I'm afraid there's no use denying it, Uncle Edward.

Why should I deny it now?

I think it's your turn to explain.

I wanted Simon to suffer.

I wanted to torment him.

Just as he tormented all those less fortunate than himself

who had to depend on him for their support.

I wanted Simon to know how it feels to be afraid.

And now, to be lost in the dark,

to be left his entire fortune.

Can you imagine how that makes me feel?

Not sorry that you killed him, I'm sure.

I didn't kill him.

Come on now, Uncle Edward.

You're the only one who could have done it.

You're the only one who had both the knowledge and the means.

Now, which poison did you use?

Was it curare, acuac,

ixtinite, tuconite?

No, it was this one, wasn't it?

Kamenoh.

Tell me, just how did you administer the poison?

According to the coroner, Edward Tabor died of a heart attack

just like Simon Applequip.

But before we go any further in this command briefing, Orwell,

I'd like to know exactly what your franchise is in this matter.

My franchise? Your client.

For whom are you now working?

I'm not working for anybody. If there's been no murder,

if there's been a murder, I'm working for the estate of Simon Applequist.

Well, then, perhaps I should tell you on the remote possibility

there is some merit in Lester Hodges' rather bizarre speculations.

We've had the old man's body exhumed.

Now, what was it you were going to say?

I was going to say, why don't you have the old man's body exhumed?

The pathologist is making a comparative analysis of the body tissue,

even as we speak.

The slides I've prepared are from the digestive tracts of both men.

It's the identical substance, all right, but I don't know what it is.

Kamenoh?

I've heard of Kamenoh, but I'm afraid I wouldn't know it even if I saw it.

Hodges!

What are you doing here, Hodges?

Just thought I might be able to help.

Lieutenant, under the circumstances,

I think we should be grateful for any help we can get.

Yeah, well, Lester, it can be very helpful at times.

Considering the budget under which I am forced to operate this department,

it's beyond my capacity to make a positive identification

of a substance found to be present in the tissues of both bodies.

Why don't you let me have a sample of this stuff to take to Dr. Fong?

Dr. Fong? What is this?

An Asian conspiracy?

Dr. Creighton Fong is the most eminent man in his field.

Is he a criminologist?

No, he's a criminalist. There is a difference between...

I know the difference all well.

All right, give it to him.

And Hodges, I want you to report back to me personally,

not to anyone else. Is that understood?

Of course, Lieutenant.

Does he have to do that?

Kamenol.

It's refined from the extract of kamen eggs.

The kamen is a large reptile, indigenous to the Amazon basin,

similar to our crocodile or alligator.

The poison is used by some of the native tribes of the region

to tip their arrows and darts.

Kamenol is always fatal, and the reaction to it is immediate or delayed,

depending on the amount and on the method used to introduce it into the system.

Just how many ways can kamenol be introduced into the system?

Four. By osmosis, by inhalation, by ingestion, and by injection.

So having access to the poison in Uncle Edward's room,

any one of them could have done it?

A safe assumption.

Even me?

Yeah, the police have made it official. They were both murdered.

Simon Applequist gave me a thousand dollars retainer.

Had a hundred dollars a day, plus expenses.

I figure you got about a week's work coming to you.

You've been doing very well so far.

Well, actually, it hasn't been me. It's all Lester Hodges.

Well, that's what's got me worried, Orwell.

Lester Hodges has more than just a casual interest in all this.

That's why I came to see you.

Now that Mr. Tabor is dead, who is going to inherit?

Well, barring their demise, it first goes to Arnold, then to Sylvia.

And then because Lester Hodges' mother is already deceased,

it goes to Lester in that order.

What happens if all the family is dead?

According to the prenuptial agreement,

if there are no surviving blood relatives, Felicia, the grieving widow.

Felicia's the only one I haven't been able to find out much about yet, Mr. Orwell.

I prepared dossiers on both Arnold and Sylvia.

Pictures, biographies, fingerprints, the works.

Arnold doesn't seem to do much of anything except drink, gamble and ride horseback.

And aside from being a pain in the neck, he's also rather deeply in debt.

Well, you've been very busy, Lester.

Speaking of being busy, Sylvia has been rather active of late, as you can see from this.

What is this?

That's her latest film. She started out to be a serious actress,

but as you can see, her talents seem to lie more in the area of...

What's the word?

Pornography.

Pornography, yes. It's called Deep Pillows.

What do you know about Felicia?

Only that Uncle Simon met her last year on a yachting weekend at Palm Beach, Florida.

He always had this thing for young ladies.

Been married seven times.

What's her maiden name?

Hamilton. Felicia Hamilton.

That's it?

Well, except for this picture.

Well, I gotta start someplace.

Where are you going?

To that Palm Beach.

Oh, Cousin Arnold.

I don't have any time for you, Lester.

I just want to ask you a couple of questions about Uncle Simon.

I certainly do not have any time for your amateur detective work.

Guilty conscience, Arnold?

Lester, the police were just here with the same rude questions that I'm certain you are planning to ask.

They have made me late enough already.

Tally-ho.

Sir?

I've been having a little trouble sleeping, Hamman. I thought maybe I could come over and find something to read.

There is no need to explain, sir. I believe I know what you're looking for.

You do?

Yes, sir.

This?

Where did you get that?

In the trash, sir.

Whose wastebasket?

Oh, that's impossible to tell, sir.

You see, the individual wastebaskets are emptied by the maid into a receptacle downstairs,

as well as emptying that container in the main trash bin in the service yard that I came across the vial.

Well, why didn't you give it to the police?

The police, sir? I thought it better to keep it a family matter, sir.

The vial may prove to be of no significance, in which case why subject any of the Applequists to possible embarrassment?

I understand, Hamman.

I knew I could rely on your discretion, sir.

Good work, Hamman. Very good work.

Thank you, sir.

As you can see, there were three different sets of fingerprints on the vial. One set, of course, belongs to you.

The second set would belong to the butler, Hamman, and it follows that the third set could belong to only one person.

Well, see how this print matches up with those you already have.

Where did you get this specimen?

That's from my own files.

These two are quite dissimilar.

Well, for the time being, let's assume that that one belongs to either the butler, Hamman, or myself.

Could you try one of the other ones, Dr. Baum?

They're identical. Look for yourself.

They belong to Arnold Applequist.

I think perhaps you'd better call the police.

I told you to stay out of this, Hodges.

What? Arnold Applequist?

All right. We'll meet you there right away.

This had better not be another wild goose chase, Hodges, or you will rue the day you decided to study criminology.

Roberts, let's go.

Where are we going?

To the Fox and Hound Riding Academy.

This is a new experience for me. I've never been in on a bust before.

Oh, well, bust is no longer de rigueur, Dr. Baum. We say collar now.

In either case, I must admit to a certain feeling of exhilaration.

Hodges!

Would you mind telling me...

Oh, Dr. Fong, this is Lieutenant Trench.

Lieutenant.

Dr. Fong, for now, Hodges.

Hi, I'm Sergeant Roberts. Sergeant.

Sergeant Roberts, Dr. Fong. Hodges, where's Orwell?

He's in Palm Springs. Palm Beach.

Palm Beach?

Palm Beach.

This is a great time to go on a vacation.

Oh, he's on a vacation.

What's he doing in Florida?

He's got to do legwork.

Dr. Fong, you could ease my apprehension by confirming what Hodges told me over the phone.

It's true, Lieutenant. On the vial which contained the poison,

there are fingerprints that belong to Arnold Apoquist.

He rides well.

He's dead.

The injuries he received in the fall from the horse were serious,

but not sufficient in themselves to cause death.

In the coroner's opinion, Arnold Apoquist was dead before he hit the ground.

Another poisoning.

Our pathologist is examining the body tissue now,

but he can't find the slightest trace of poison in the digestive tract,

and to make things worse, the lawyer, Arthur Rubin,

has got the commissioner all pumped up.

He's calling my office every 15 minutes for progress reports.

If I could visit your pathologist, Lieutenant,

now perhaps I could be of some help to you.

I was hoping you'd say that.

I'll go with him.

I was hoping you wouldn't say that.

I've found traces of caminol in tissue samples from the heart,

the lungs, and the pulmonary artery,

but absolutely nothing to suggest how the poison might have been administered.

Could I see the victim's personal effects?

Thank you.

May I?

Nothing unusual there, Dr. Fong.

Exactly, but some things are made unusual by their absence.

Have you analyzed the contents of the victim's stomach?

Nothing unusual there either.

Well, I'm looking for something quite ordinary, aspirin perhaps, or antibiotics.

Well, there were traces of analgesic.

Which suggests the victim may have been suffering from a cold or the flu,

a condition which would occasion more than an ordinary use of a handkerchief.

Well, that's brilliant, Dr. Fong.

Cousin Arnold did have a cold, and the last time I saw him he was using a handkerchief.

And yet his handkerchief, that most ordinary of all personal effects, is now missing.

There once was a case in Cleveland where the poison was applied to the victim's handkerchief

and inhaled by him while frequently blowing his nose because of a bad cold.

But Cousin Arnold dropped the handkerchief.

I saw it fall out of his pocket when he left the house,

and that was at least two hours before he died.

Administered by inhalation, caminol would take just about that long to have its lethal effect.

Well, assuming of course that I'm innocent, we've now narrowed the list of suspects to two.

Not surprising that both of them are women.

Poison always has been favored by the fairer sex.

Totalize this, Miss Grinsling. Make three copies.

I'll deliver Miss Applequist two of this evening.

Yes, sir.

Well, everything's going perfectly well, isn't it?

The only thing left for us to do is to incriminate Felicia.

Well, why don't you leave that up to me, darling?

Oh, come in, sir.

Hammond, did you by any chance find a handkerchief there by the front door?

Handkerchief? Oh, yes, sir, I did, sir.

Well, Cousin Arnold dropped it there on his way out to go writing.

With all due respect, sir, Mr. Arnold was a bit careless in his personal habits.

We have every reason to believe that that handkerchief caused his death, Hammond.

Well, how could that be, sir?

Someone treated it with poison.

That is hard to believe, sir.

Well, what did you do with the handkerchief?

Well, I put it in the laundry.

There isn't one of his in the lot that I can find.

And it's an odd thing, too,

considering Mr. Arnold used handkerchiefs the way most folks use tissue.

Where are Felicia and Sylvia?

Well, Madam went to the cemetery, sir,

to put fresh flowers on Miss Applequist's grave.

Well, what about Sylvia?

I believe she's in her room, sir.

This is most improper, sir.

It doesn't matter much.

Return home unexpectedly if you find a such in her room.

Don't worry, Hammond. I'll take that responsibility.

This is Madam's room, sir.

Does Felicia always keep this locked, Hammond?

I wouldn't know, sir.

Well, if you do find caimanol on that handkerchief,

I'd say that pretty well wraps it up, Dr. Conn.

You think so?

No doubt about it. I had a hunch it was Felicia all along.

You did?

That's why I sent Orwell to Palm Beach.

One cannot help but be in awe of such confidence.

Only one thing bothers me, though,

and that's how do you explain Cousin Arnold's fingerprints on that vial of poison?

They were counterfeited so that the police,

believing the guilty party to have been killed in an accident,

would close the case.

The only thing unusual about such prints

is that they tend to be too clear, too perfect.

There.

Caimanol has a unique influence on linen fibers.

It leaves a residue of microscopic crystals,

always reddish-brown in color.

Well?

See for yourself.

Caimanol.

Hello.

It's for you. Long distance from Chicago.

Hodges here.

Oh, Mr. Orwell, just a minute.

Is there an extension you can use?

Yeah, press the bar on the speaker.

What are you doing in Chicago?

Yeah, I picked up Felicia Hamilton's trail in Palm Beach,

and I followed her through a series of bars in her home.

I finally traced it down to a state-sponsored orphanage

in LaGrange, Illinois,

that's a little suburb out of Chicago.

Her real name is Emily Grubbs.

If I got her records,

I got her fingerprints, and those of her parents,

French ought to be able to determine whether they have a police record.

When are you coming back?

Well, I'm gonna get there as soon as I can get a flight out of here,

sometime tomorrow.

I'm sorry your time is up. Please signal when you've completed your call.

Now, look, Lester, I can't talk anymore. I don't have any change.

But don't do anything until I get there, all right?

Oh, you can depend on me, Mr. Orwell.

Don't smile like that.

Well, I guess that's all I need.

Where are you going?

To see Felicia.

That may be dangerous.

It's okay.

Lieutenant Trench, please.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm talking about murder.

If you think that I had anything to do with this nightmare,

you're crazier than I always thought you were.

Come now, Felicia, it's been established that Arnold died

from the same poison that killed Uncle Simon and Uncle Edward.

In Arnold's case, the poison was administered by inhalation.

His handkerchief was treated with caminol.

Caminol?

Caminol.

You had the means, the motive, and the opportunity.

The name Hackenshaw was found in a partially destroyed state

in the fireplace in your bedroom.

Someone else put it there.

Somebody else?

Oh, of course.

Shall we say Emily Grubbs?

Hodgers?

I can only assume you have arrogated to yourself

the function of my department.

Luckily for you, however, Dr. Fong interceded on your behalf.

Because your testimony may be needed to corroborate

some of the evidence, I have decided not to press charges against you.

Sergeant Roberts, will you please read Mrs. Applequist's rights?

I'm Arthur Rubin, Lieutenant, Mrs. Applequist's attorney.

Mr. Rubin?

Would you mind telling me how you managed to arrive here so fortuitously?

I had some business with Sylvia.

As a matter of fact, I just left some papers with her

pertaining to the estate.

It needed her attention.

I see.

Mrs. Applequist, you're under arrest on suspicion of murder.

This way.

Don't worry, Felicia.

I'll be down first thing in the morning to arrange the offer.

I wouldn't count on that, Mr. Rubin.

I don't believe it, sir.

Not madam.

Well, cheer up, Ammon.

Try to look on the bright side of things.

When you consider the fact that Felicia was the last in line to inherit,

we probably saved Sylvia's life.

Not to mention my own, when you think about it.

Well, that is a consolation, sir.

By the way, where is Sylvia?

I last saw her in the dining room with Mr. Rubin.

Well, I'd better go tell her the good news.

Cousin Sylvia?

I went into the study and I found Sylvia slumped face down at the table.

There was a small trickle of blood and one of Uncle Edward's poison darts

lying next to her throat and she was quite dead.

Type that up, Sergeant.

We've got to do something about this, Lieutenant.

Somebody is wiping out the whole family.

Felicia couldn't possibly have killed Sylvia.

She was with me that whole time.

I've already released Mrs. Applequist.

We ran the name Emily Grubb through R&I and we came up with a complete blank.

Well, that leaves Arthur Rubin.

Lieutenant, we've searched the entire house and the grounds.

There's no sign of the murder weapon.

There's one blow dart gun missing from Edward Taber's collection.

How big are these blow dart guns, Sergeant?

About half an inch in diameter.

No longer than 14 or 15 inches. Why?

I'm sure we're thinking the same thing, Lieutenant.

That blow dart gun would fit rather nicely into a briefcase.

But why, Hodges?

Why would Arthur Rubin want to wipe out the entire Applequist family?

What possible motive could he have?

A person's motive can often be a very elusive thing

unless one knows where to look for it.

I am reminded of the drunken man who was apprehended by the police late one night

down on his hands and knees in the pool of light shed by a street lamp,

apparently searching for something.

When asked what he was looking for, he said his car keys.

But when asked exactly where he had dropped them,

the man pointed off into the shadows across the street.

Why, then, the police asked, was he looking for them over here?

And the man replied, because this is where the light is.

I get it. Dr. Fong is sort of a parable.

So while everyone else has been searching in the light,

I have been looking in the shadows.

What did you find?

I have learned that Arthur Rubin was twice censured for unethical practices

by the State Bar Associations of New Jersey and Florida.

What for?

For having allegedly embezzled large sums of money from a wealthy client.

Well, that's it. I'll get on it right away.

Lester, I'm sure the police have pieced together the same information by this time.

And having met Lieutenant Trench,

I think it would be unwise for you to interfere again.

Don't worry, Dr. Fong. I'll be careful.

Lester, don't forget your shoes.

They're predicting rain.

And to save you a possible future embarrassment, Lester,

you might do well to remember that it's the Japanese and not the Chinese

who remove their shoes before coming into a room.

I'm glad we had this talk, Felicia.

It was necessary for us to come to an understanding

before this matter proceeded to its logical conclusion.

Ah, Mrs. Apquist.

May I see your briefcase, Mr. Ruben?

I presume you have a warrant.

I do.

Seems to be in order.

Sergeant Roberts.

What do you expect to find, Lieutenant?

A blow-dart gun.

Hardly.

Take a look at this, Lieutenant.

A contract assigning a half-interest in the estate

to Arthur Ruben.

Signed by Sylvia Apquist.

Sylvia was a very generous young lady.

Perhaps we should continue this interview

down at police headquarters, Mr. Ruben.

Does that mean I'm under arrest, Lieutenant?

You're in custody, Mr. Ruben.

After you.

Wait.

You forgot your pipe, Mr. Ruben.

Are you sure Mr. Ruben said this would be all right?

Let's just say that it's in the best interest

of your country, Miss Greenfield.

You do love your country, don't you?

Of course.

But shouldn't you show me some kind of identification?

Where's the key to this drawer?

Mr. Ruben keeps it in the fern.

He's not in trouble with the police, is he?

What makes you ask that?

They called here earlier looking for him.

You promised not to tell anyone about this.

You have my word.

You've heard of the Pentagon Papers?

Yes.

What we're dealing with here are the Ruben Papers.

Are you with the government?

Aren't we all when you think about it?

I still think you should have some identification.

Three little words, Miss Grinzing.

C-I-A.

Oh, I should have known.

There's something about you.

It's the coat.

You'll have to admit, Mr. Ruben,

there are striking similarities between the two cases.

A wealthy client, an attractive unmarried daughter?

According to the report we have here from the New Jersey police,

you and the daughter were systematically looting the old man's estate.

When the daughter found out you were betraying her with another woman,

she turned state's evidence and charges were brought.

That report, Lieutenant, should also tell you

that I was acquitted of those charges.

Yes, that's true, Mr. Ruben.

But only because the daughter died in a freak accident

two days before she was to testify.

Lieutenant, I think you ought to have a look at these.

Found them in a locked drawer in Arthur Ruben's office.

They're all from Sylvia Abiquist.

Well, Mr. Ruben, you don't have to read those, Lieutenant.

I might as well tell you all about it now.

I was having an affair with Sylvia.

We were stealing money from the estate.

Simon was becoming very suspicious.

But I didn't kill him.

Nor did I kill any of the rest of them.

Someone else did that.

It might go easier with you, Ruben, if you could tell us who.

Are you all right?

He's dead.

Doctor, where's Lester?

A question, Mr. Orwell, that I'm somewhat hesitant to ask myself.

Lester is probably out searching in the light again

instead of looking in the shadows.

Which reminds me, did you bring those records from the orphanage with you?

Yes, I did.

Thank you.

It's the fingerprints I'm particularly interested in.

Orwell?

Where's Hartles?

You know what?

This isn't Palm Beach, Orwell. It's raining. Where is he?

You make it sound like a matter of life and death, Lieutenant.

Arthur Ruben has just been murdered.

I've been instructed to arrest Hartles not only for that, but for all five murders.

To avoid embarrassment, Lieutenant,

perhaps it would be wise of you to consider this more carefully

before jumping to conclusions.

Dr. Fong, he had the means, the motive, the knowledge and the opportunities.

Been all over this case like syrup on pancakes.

In the interest of justice, Lieutenant,

might I ask that you delay this action for another 24 hours?

By that time, I am confident that we shall have delivered the real murderer to you.

He's confident?

Well, considering your reputation, Dr. Fong,

I'll give Hartles until 10 o'clock tomorrow morning.

But I can't hold the commissioner off a minute longer.

Rorace!

You are confident.

Because of what the lieutenant has just told us,

I had only suspected it before.

But Arthur Ruben's murder has confirmed that suspicion.

As do these two sets of fingerprints on the monitor.

You will note that even the diagonal scar tissue will coincide

when I superimpose the prints.

Curious, isn't it, what illumination can be found in shadow?

What is it?

What is it?

I thought it was a crow!

Yeah, well, she tried to kill me!

But no one knew it was you, sir!

Why'd you hold that?

I tried!

It's all going the other way.

We're talking about him.

Give me the gun.

Back in.

Dr. Samuelson has confirmed what we all suspected.

The poison was administered by treating Mr. Ruben's pipe tobacco with it.

Now, I was unable to get any decent fingerprints off the tobacco pouch itself.

And the one clear print on the snap belongs to the victim.

Inside the pouch, however, I found something which I think will be of great interest to you.

Excuse me, Lieutenant. You had a telephone call. Harry Orwell.

I don't have time for Orwell now. This is a humidifier.

Right. And on it, one perfect thumbprint.

It belongs to Lester Hodges.

Hodges?

Felicia was keeping the darts and the blowgun and the rest of these things in her cabinet

to plant later in my apartment, thereby incriminating me

and thus removing the last obstacle standing between her and Uncle Simon's fortune.

That's a lie. It was you who was trying to incriminate me.

Purely academic.

Arthur Ruben died because he knew something about the real killer.

Or perhaps I should say killer.

Because Mrs. Applequist and Hammond are not mistress and servant.

A fingerprint brought by Mr. Orwell from an orphanage in Illinois

confirmed that they are father and daughter.

Orphanage records confirm the fact that 25 years ago, Hammond worked there as a machinist

in one of Simon Applequist's factories near Chicago.

Would you care to tell us about it, Mr. Grubbs?

In my spare time, I invented a small valve that is used in jet aircraft.

Like a fool, I showed it to my foreman before applying for a patent.

Today, that valve is standard equipment in every jet engine in the world.

And Simon Applequist held the patent.

And it was worth millions.

And I was out in the cold.

I got fired from my job.

I never even got to see Mr. Applequist.

My wife died.

And I had to put Henley into an orphan home.

The one thing that kept you alive was the thought of someday having your revenge on Simon Applequist.

Yes. And one day that opportunity came.

I was working as butler for a well-to-do family on a beach.

By then, my family had grown into a beautiful young woman.

I had heard that Simon Applequist had a penchant for attractive young ladies.

So I arranged they should meet.

Three days later, they were married.

And shortly after that, your daughter hired you as their butler.

And I awaited my chance.

And that chance came when you overheard Uncle Edward making that tape recording.

How'd you know that?

Oh, I've been listening to Dr. Fong.

Doing a little poking around on my own in the shadows.

What I came here for tonight was to try to get some tangible proof that you and Felicia did commit the murders.

At first, I thought that just the revenge itself would be enough.

Then I discovered that I wanted more.

Money, power, everything.

One murder followed another.

I couldn't stop myself.

Oh, well.

Would you mind telling me what's going on?

You're not going to believe this, but the...

The butler did it.

Thank you.

Oh, Doctor, I thought you'd like to know you were right about the meeting with Felicia.

Reuben knew who they were, she and Hammond all along.

Hammond confirmed that?

Yeah, to the lieutenant before the arraignment.

You see, Reuben wanted to make sure he was safe in the situation.

So in return for his silence, Hammond and Felicia agreed to his continued participation in the management of the estate.

Oh, yeah, it was a license to steal.

But they were never going to keep that part of the bargain.

So they killed him.

All Hammond had to do was put the Cayman all in his tobacco pouch.

What happens to the Applequist fortune now?

It goes to Lester Hodges.

There is a certain justice in that.

A boy like Lester needs all the help he can get.

Hello, Dr. Fong. Hi, Harry.

Hi.

Guess what I got?

No money?

No.

Private investigator's license.

That's a very good picture, considering.

Dr. Fong and I are going into business together.

Somebody has to protect Lester from himself?

Hodges and Fong.

Forgive me, Lester, but once more I must restrain certain of your enthusiasms.

The name of the firm is Fong and Hodges.

Fong and Hodges.

That's a very nice ring to it, Doctor.

Peace, Fong. I'm Hodges.

Thank you.

You