All language subtitles for Remington Steele s03e19 Illustrated Steele.eng

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Oh, Miss Holt.

This place is starting to look
like Bekins on a bad day.

If you'd just let me put all these
into the computer.

Absolutely not, Mildred.

I will not have this agency's history
condensed on a single floppy disk.

You hit a wrong button, and you bring
a whole new meaning to "gone in 60 seconds. "

We need more room.

Some- Some place
that's not being used.

- Wasted space.
- Oh! Ooh, ooh, no, no. No, no, Miss Holt.

No, the boss left strict orders
not to be disturbed.

I'll take full responsibility, Mildred.

But-

Ah, good morning, Miss Holt.

Yes.

What- Oh, my signature.
Yes, great.

No. We're running out of room
for our old case files...

- and I thought- - Oh, well, in that
case, carry on. Please do. Please do.

Mmm.

- The Blaster. I might have known.
- Mmm.

Oh, yes. Wonderful, isn't it, eh?

Very flattering for us
to be immortalized...

in such a popularized art form,
don't you agree?

Dashing Dave, you?

Yeah, well, the- that granite jaw...

that luxuriant black hair...

those- those steely blue eyes.

Well, you can't deny,
the resemblance is uncanny.

And look at this. I think
they've captured you quite well, Laura.

- Hmm?
- Dollface?

- That ill-defined blob?
- Well-

The ditz with the Orphan Annie eyes?

Yes, well, uh, the hair has
a certain... similarity.

So what are we up to these days?

Hmm? Well, it seems, uh,
Dashing Dave and Dollface...

are awaiting the arrival
of Dick Darkside.

Dick Darkside has just
double-crossed the Blaster...

- so the Blaster has cut Dick's brake cable, see?
- Mm-hmm.

Someone's trying to kill me.

Dick Darkside?

Oh, gosh. No, I'm sorry.
It's Arte- er, Arthur-Arthur Wayne.

Hello.

I ink The- The Blaster.

Um, you said someone's
trying to kill you.

Uh, about two weeks ago,
the character of Dick Darkside...

was put into the Blaster strip.

Just for fun, I kinda filled in his features
to look like me.

Ever since then, whatever happens
to Dick Darkside happens to me.

Would you care to elaborate?

When Dick Darkside was chased
by killer Dobermans...

and the next day a strange dog
came at me like Cujo...

I- I didn't even get the connection.

When Dick Darkside was nearly run down
by a hit man...

and the next day a car ran a red light
and almost hit me...

I just thought, "Hey, Arte, you're
in the wrong place at the wrong time. "

- An-And yesterday?
- My brake line was cut.

From the second I started down Malibu Canyon,
I didn't have any brakes.

- I jumped just before-
- So what you're saying is that, uh...

whoever's reading this strip could, uh,
be making these attempts on your life.

Doesn't narrow it down much, does it?

Is there anyone
who's threatening you?

Well, someone who might
hold a grudge against you?

Anyone who dislikes you
a- a teensy-weensy bit?

Well-

Oh, gosh. I'd hate to get
anyone into trouble.

- Arte, someone's trying to kill you.
- Okay.

There are a couple
of people, and, well...

I think they hate me.

Hate him? What's to hate?

Arte's one of the nicest guys
that I know.

Mr. Steuben, uh,
Arte tells me...

that you and he
had a rather large, um...

disagreement a couple of weeks ago
and that you haven't spoken since then.

Look, it's my job to have disagreements
with people like Arte.

I supervise production on a half dozen strips
here at Allied Press Syndicate.

It's up to me to make sure that the stories
and the drawings are all up to snuff.

So Arte's work hasn't been, uh,
up to snuff lately?

Arte's work was perfect...

but Raymond Kelly,
the man who writes The Blaster-

He asked me to lean on him,
keep him humble.

Well, is that common
between artist and inker?

No.

But there's nothing common
about Raymond Kelly.

You see, about three years ago, we were gonna
drop The Blaster. Nobody was reading it.

Well, suddenly,
Raymond hires Arte to ink.

Pow! Now the drawings are
jumping off of the page.

The whole style has changed.
He saved that strip.

Well, I would have thought that Ray
would have been indebted to Arte surely.

Yeah, but he's not.
Instead of being thankful, he's resentful.

His ego won't allow it.

In fact, I think he'd just as soon kill somebody
as share the credit with him.

Okay. Thank you very much.
Good day.

- Uh, Mr. Steele.
- Hmm?

I don't know if anyone
has ever told you this or not...

but you look an awful lot
like Dashing Dave.

Really? Hmm.

I must have a look at it sometime.
Good day.

No, I am not Dollface.

I'm sorry.
I- I just assumed.

I- I know Arte modeled Dashing Dave
after Mr. Steele.

- He's always admired-
- Miss Dirks...

could- could we get back
to your feelings about Arte?

Well, sure. I, um-

- I love him.
- You love him?

- Arte thinks you hate him.
- Oh, Miss Holt, I could never hate Arte.

I don't think
any woman could. He's-

He's so open
and so caring and so-

Independent.

I guess that's why
it didn't work out.

I was suffocating him.
Women do that with Arte.

There's something about him
that makes you want to mother him.

I can see that.

Tell me, Miss Dirks,
do you know of any other women...

who, uh, would've granted
Arte his freedom?

Someone less understanding
than yourself?

- Mrs. Kelly.
- Who is Mrs. Kelly?

Mrs. Raymond Kelly.

The wife of the man
who draws The Blaster?

Well, it- it wasn't Arte's fault.
Believe me.

She had this Mrs. Robinson complex
or something. She seduced him.

- Could she hold a grudge against him?
- I don't see how.

She died,
about three months ago.

Did- Did Mr. Kelly ever
learn of the affair?

Oh, no.
And please, Miss Holt...

you have to promise
that you will never tell him.

If Raymond ever found out,
I- Why he'd-

- Kill Arte.
- Hmm.

Perhaps we should ask Arte a few questions
about the man behind The Blaster.

My thoughts exactly, Mr. Steele.

Mildred, could you get me
Arthur Wayne's address?

Thank you.
Uh, I'm sorry. What was that?

I'll tell him.

7753 Cedar Road, Fred.

It seems, uh-
Aspen has just received...

five inches of fresh powder...

over an eight-foot packed base.

Really? How interesting.

- I didn't know you skied. - Oh, an occasional
schuss down the Alps with Jean-Claude.

I was, uh, junior downhill champ
when I was 10.

- Hmm.
- Mmm.

I'd love to invite you, Laura,
but I couldn't bear the disappointment.

- What makes you think you'd be disappointed?
- Past history.

I mean, every time we've planned a few
uninterrupted moments together, a case interferes.

- You don't think that I'm capable of having fun, do you?
- I didn't intimate that.

It's just that your idea of a vacation
is coming back late from lunch.

- I could shut the agency down like that.
- Yes, but you never would.

- I wouldn't?
- No.

When this case is done,
I will close the office down for a week...

send Mildred on a vacation,
and we'll hit the slopes.

You want to have fun?
I'll show you fun.

Mmm. I can hardly wait.

- Yes?
- Uh, Remington Steele.

Oh, Mr. Steele,
I'll buzz you in.

Thank you.

What's that smell?

Smells like almonds.

- Arte?
- Arte?

Open the door!

No time for that, Miss Holt.
Excuse me.

A- Arte!

Is he breathing?

Seems someone put capsules containing
potassium cyanide in your kettle.

Hence the almond scent.

Once they dissolved in water,
they turned ordinary steam into a deadly gas.

You said this comic strip
won't be running until tomorrow.

Does anybody know
about its contents before then?

Me. I guess Paul Steuben.

He approves the stories
and the rough sketches.

And Sid Rothman. He runs
the newspaper syndicate.

What about Raymond Kelly?

Well, sure, he drew-

No, absolutely not.

- Mr. Steele, Ray would never-
- Did Raymond have access to that teakettle?

- No.
- Arte!

He brought some sketches down
from Santa Barbara yesterday.

But Sid was here too.
He came by to check on my work.

Well, I think it's about time
we took a trip to Santa Barbara...

to have a chat with the Blaster himself,
don't you, Miss Holt?

Mr. Steele, you don't understand.

Ray has no reason to want me dead.
He loves me.

I'm like the son he never had.

Arte...

we know about your liaison
with Mrs. Kelly.

We also know he could be jealous
about your, uh, talents.

Miss Holt, Ray's wife chased me.

I didn't know how to say no.

And as for Ray being jealous,
everything I am I owe to him.

Three years ago,
when I left art school...

he's the only person
who would give me a break.

He worked with me, trained me.

It's not Ray. I know.

Miss Holt.

Psycho.

I beg your pardon.

Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh.
Paramount, 1960.

When I was four,
my sister Frances took me to see it.

I couldn't go near a shower
for years after that.

This-This reminds me
of that Psycho house.

Laura, this looks nothing
like the Psycho house.

I didn't say it looked like it.
I said it reminded me of it.

There's a-There's
a reminiscent foreboding...

an aura of doom...

an almost palpable
feeling of evil.

Well-
rest easy, Miss Holt.

We're here to see Raymond Kelly,
not, uh, Norman Bates.

Shall we?

Steele, eh?

And what's your name, toots?

I'm- I'm Laura Holt.
We're private investigators.

Oh, yeah. Couple of dicks.

I suppose you come for some help
from the Blaster.

Uh, yes, you could say that.

Uh, we'd like to ask you a few questions
about Arthur Wayne.

- You- Get out!
- What?

You get out right now!

If you're here on business for that
no-good, self-righteous weasel...

- you're not welcome here!
- Mr. Kelly, I don't think you understand.

Arte is in great physical danger.

No, you don't understand, doll.

I don't know what
Arte's up to this time...

but he's getting nothing more
from Raymond Kelly!

Mr. Kelly, we have evidence to strongly suggest
you're trying to kill Arte.

You know, you're worse
than those attorneys...

in all their three-piece suits
Arte sends up here.

Well, you can tell that parasite
what I tell them-

The well is dry!

- Arte reveres you.
- And why not?

I'm Fort Knox.
But money isn't good enough for him.

No, he wants credit
for saving The Blaster.

Well, lady,
he's not going to get it.

There's only one Blaster,
and that's me!

Mr. Kelly, if anything
happens to Arte...

- we're gonna nail you to the wall.
- Come on.

Well, it appears
we have our man.

I think we should talk
to Sid Rothman.

Since Arte's convinced Ray loves him,
I'd like to see if Sid knows...

what's really going on
between them.

Dragging your feet a bit,
aren't we?

Not afraid we might
have to wrap this case up...

and you'll actually have to follow through
on your vacation plans, are we?

Ah.

Open return. Impressive.

But I'm afraid the jury's still out.

I won't be convinced until I see you
making snow angels in Aspen.

Why is it that the prospect
of a relaxing vacation...

has turned from
an invitation to a dare?

Because I know how you relish
a challenge, Miss Holt.

Ray hates Arte. The kid is just too busy
worshipping him to notice.

So why doesn't Ray just fire him?

Well, if he'll admit it or not, Ray knows
that he simply doesn't have the style Arte does.

- It's a rare talent.
- Seems as if Arte should have his own strip.

Well, he tried.
A couple of months back...

he brought me an idea
that was just great-just great!

- Of course I had to turn it down.
- Why?

This isn't television, Miss Holt.
We don't change our shows like dirty underwear.

I told him we'd talk...

when one of our strips fell out,
which is not likely to be soon.

Does Ray know about Arte's strip?

The day after we talked...

I saw Arte with his hand in a cast.

He said it was Ray's opinion
of his grand notions.

- Why didn't you tell us that Ray broke your hand?
- He didn't-

He didn't break it.
He just cracked it.

Anyway, it was my fault.
I got in the way of his putter.

Arte, face the facts.
The man wants to kill you!

Who knows what he's dreaming up for you
in that strip?

Messenger just brought this.

The Blaster has Dick Darkside
out in the middle of a jungle.

- Not many of them around here.
- The arboretum could be a jungle.

I mean, the park down the street,
the garden out the back.

As far as Ray's concerned,
that whole bloody thing could be a jungle.

What are you telling me, Mr. Steele?
That it's a jungle out there?

All Mr. Steele is saying...

is that perhaps it would be a good idea
if someone stayed with you...

until the guilty party, whoever it is,
is apprehended.

No, I've got a lot of work to do,
and I won't be able to concentrate...

if I know someone's hovering around
babysitting me.

- Arte-
- Really. Go home.

I will call you if I need you.

Dashing Dave to Dollface.

Dashing Dave to Dollface.

Come in, Dollface. Over.

Doll-

Laura here. There's really
no need for code names.

How are things where you sit?

To paraphrase
a great American leader...

surveillance is hell.

Ooh.

Any sign of Ray down your end?

Uh-uh, and I'm freezing.

Well, perhaps this might, uh,
thaw you out a bit.

Um-

Picture a- a ski lodge.

In the center, a fireplace.

A stone fireplace...

with a large, roaring fire.

And people all around...

their faces glowing in the light.

I see only two people-

a man and a woman...

shoes off, feet by the hearth.

They're sitting very close together...

mugs of, um, hot buttered rum
in hand-

Toasting one another on a splendid run
down the slopes.

- He leans in to her and-
- And she to him.

and gives her a big, big warm-

handkerchief.

Mr. Steele, get down here.
Arte just left.

- Where'd he go?
- I don't know. I lost him.

I was watching for someone trying
to get into the building, not out.

How do you know the man just didn't
go looking for a carton of milk?

- Do we not believe that Ray is trying to kill Arte?
- Right.

And that what appears in the strip
subsequently happens to him?

So we look for the nearest jungle?

There's gotta be a clue
in the drawings.

- What exactly was in that jungle?
- Bushes, rocks, vines.

Uh, a waterfall, a-

It's okay. It's over.

He was like a father to me.
How could he want to hurt me?

Arte, what made you come here?

Ray called.

He asked my advice
on some new story lines.

He never wanted
my opinion before.

I was so excited.

You're gonna have to give
a statement.

It's really more a formality
than anything else.

I'm sorry I didn't let you
handle this your way.

I'm sorry.

Oh, the poor guy.

Yes.

So it appears.

I still can't believe
we're closing down for a week.

Ooh.

Miss Holt, you sure the boss doesn't want me
to just hang around and cover the phones?

No, Mildred.
We all need a vacation.

Is Mr. Steele ready?

Beats me. He hasn't come out
of his office all morning.

- Mr. Steele?
- Mmm?

- Aspen awaits.
- Mmm.

Our vacation?

Schussing, hot buttered rum...

apr�s-ski?

In a minute, Laura.
Something's not right here.

Look at this.

Dashing Dave lose his dimples?

No, look at this.

- Notice the blue pencil?
- It's pretty.

Nonphoto blue.

That's a color they use
so it won't be reproduced when it's copied.

Oh. How did you learn that?

Well, I had a dash of
commercial art training in-

Never mind that.
The point is...

Arte claims this is the way he received
the artwork messengered from Ray.

But look at this.

Okay? Notice the black lead
and the type of paper?

This is from Ray's studio.

He doesn't use blue pencils.
Nor does he have blue pencils...

nor this type of paper.

- What are you driving at?
- I'm not sure.

- You're stalling.
- No, I'm merely following your lead.

I'm not stalling. I'm ready to go.
Let's have fun.

I mean your attention to detail,
your compulsion to tie up loose ends.

There are no loose ends. The case is closed,
and we've got plane reservations.

Laura, your slapdash approach
to this case...

is absolutely unfathomable.

Oh, I see.

The picture is becoming very clear now.
Portrait of a devious man.

Could it be that the only reason
you invite me on these little jaunts...

is because you know
that I'll say no...

and now that I'm ready to go,
you're getting cold feet, hmm?

Hmm.

After you, Miss Holt.

Take a left. Just up here.

Six nights and seven days...

at the fabulous Aspen Chalet.

Nestled in a small hamlet
at the foot of rolling hills...

the lodge offers
the expected accoutrements-

- fireplace, hot tub, Jacuzzi-
- Uh-huh. Right.

You said it.

- No, turn right.
- Oh.

I already got the lift tickets.

Have you?
Okay, just pull over here, will you?

Okay.

I won't be a moment.

Nope. Doesn't look like we delivered this
to any Arthur Wayne.

- But this is your receipt, hmm?
- Yep.

Well, when was the last delivery made
from Raymond Kelly to Arthur Wayne?

Uh-

Never.

Care to explain what we're doing here?

Merely retiring a few nagging questions,
uh, before our trip.

Now our records do show deliveries...

from Arthur Wayne to Raymond Kelly.

About three a week.

Thank you very much.
Good day.

Well, must get to the airport.
Mustn't dawdle.

- We're nowhere near the airport!
- Mmm.

Just down the hill, I believe.

I never knew you'd go to such great lengths
to avoid going away with me.

Well, merely checking Arte's story.

If he lied about receiving
the waterfall strip from Ray...

he may well have lied about
his roller-coaster ride down the canyon.

He nearly died.

How to Murder Your Wife.

Jack Lemmon, Virna Lisi.
United Artists, 1965.

Lemmon plays a cartoonist...

who has a habit of acting things out
before he puts them in his strip.

But Arte only drew
what Ray gave him.

Miss Holt, if you're so sure about Arte
setting up his own accident...

then I dare you to make it from here to the point
where his car went off the road...

without... using your brakes.

Buckle up.

Brake with discretion, please, Laura!

If this test is gonna prove anything,
I've got to do it just like Arte.

Must you be so faithful, Laura?

- Ah, Laura!
- I don't think we're gonna make it!

Laura!

Oh!

Excellent call, Miss Holt. Excellent.

How did Arte do it?

At night yet.

Well, I doubt a brakeless car
could have made these.

And at the speed Arte would have been
going without brakes...

there's no way he would have survived
a jump from his car.

Speedy Express has no record...

of delivering any artwork
from Ray to Arte.

Yet Arte was always
sending material to Ray.

Could it be that Arte was...

artist, author and inker?

And with Ray dead...

Arte would have control
of The Blaster...

and get everything
he felt he had coming.

Perhaps we'd better catch
a later flight, huh?

Mmm. Mm-hmm.

Thank you both so much for coming.

Here, an- an extra thank-you gift.

Miss Holt, I hope you're pleased
with the changes I made to Dollface...

especially the eyes.

Excuse me.
I have to say a few words.

Please have a seat.

Thank you, one and all,
for being here today.

Ray was a wonderful man...

and all our lives will be diminished
by his passing.

I'm sure all of us...

have our own fond memories
of Raymond Kelly.

As for me, well...

I owe the man everything I am today.

Before I, uh, say a few words
about Ray Kelly...

I hope you'll indulge me
for just a minute...

and let me tell you about
this fine young man, Arte Wayne.

He has decided...

to let The Blaster rest...

and leave us with,
well, fond memories.

So much for motive.

Fortunately, for my own
personal concerns...

Arte will soon be starting
a new strip...

of his own creation.

Motive, Miss Holt?

Proof, Mr. Steele. Proof.

- Find anything?
- A disturbing pattern.

Arte started courting Cindy Dirks
three months ago...

the same time Ray's wife died.

Arte took his new strip idea to Sid
three months ago.

And get this. The characters
Dashing Dave and Dollface...

were added to the pages
of The Blaster-

Three months ago.

The little bugger.

He planned this murder
three months ago.

He knew then that we'd be the perfect patsies
to corroborate his story.

Something happened between Ray and Arte
three months ago that drove Arte to murder.

There might be a clue in Ray's house.

But-

- What about the ski trip?
- Is that all you can think of?

What's that?

Contract.

- Between Arte and Ray.
- Mm-hmm.

It appears our troubled inker was more
of an indentured servant than a hired hand.

Arte was bound by this contract
for seven years.

He was exclusive to Ray.

Anything of Arthur Wayne's
created during that tenure...

automatically became
the property of Raymond Kelly.

- Like a new comic strip.
- Hmm.

It appears we have a motive,
but no proof.

- Gaslight.
- No, the flashlight's fine. Thanks.

Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer.
MGM, 1944.

I like your choice of films, Mr. Steele.

- Fiendishly appropriate, isn't it?
- Mmm.

- I like this one.
- No. No, it's gotta be changed. That's all.

Arte, my boy.
How are you?

- I saw today's paper.
- Yeah.

Well, I- I was surprised
to see The Blaster.

Did Ray have some extra strips
I didn't know about?

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
It's the darnedest stroke of good fortune.

- Oh, h-how's that?
- Sit down. Sit down.

Well, you see, this bright- this bright
young talent comes into my office...

and says he simply can't stand
to see The Blaster die.

He loved the strip.
He grew up with it.

I say, "Well, that's very nice,
but unfortunately...

we don't have anybody with the same vision
who wants to continue on with it. "

- Yeah, I'm sure Ray would've wanted-
- Listen to me. Listen to me.

So he opens his portfolio,
and I swear to you...

he had at least two years' worth
of Blaster strips and ideas in there...

some of'em ready to be inked.

So, I said,
"Son, welcome aboard. "

But I thought you wanted
to let The Blaster rest...

you-you know,
for Ray's memory.

Don't you see?
Ray was The Blaster.

What better way of keeping him alive
than to keep the strip alive?

- Yes, but-
- Listen to me. I want you to rush right on home.

I told this new guy to send you
some strips to get inked.

But what about Arte's strip?

There's only so much room in the paper.
You know that.

Bird's-eye View is just gonna
have to wait.

Arte.

- Arte.
- How can he do this? He promised I could do my own strip.

Calm down. Everything'll be all right.

No, it won't. It's ruined.
Everything's ruined.

It will be if you don't
get ahold of yourself.

Arte, you're not helping anything
by getting so excited.

It isn't good.

Arte.

Arte.

He's here. Come on.

Doesn't sound like part of the plan.

Seems your comic strip
was frighteningly prophetic.

Would either of us
buy an accident?

Remember in Psycho,
when the private detective-

Played by Martin Balsam.

went to the Psycho house
to interview Norman Bates's mother?

Mm-hmm.

- He began to climb the stairs-
- Mm-hmm.

- one step at a time.
- Mm-hmm.

And suddenly...

a woman with a butcher knife
comes bursting out of a room, and-

Laura, this isn't Psycho,
and there is no-

Watch the knife!

Get up.

Cindy?

Without your help,
we never could have pulled it off.

Oh-

I'll tell him.

- Bye.
- Sid Rothman?

- Yeah.
- Ah.

He told me to tell you that you show
great promise as a cartoonist...

and there's an opening
for you on the comic page.

Really? Hmm.

You know, it's difficult to believe
that Cindy masterminded that entire thing.

Not when you realize how desperately
she wanted to share credit with Arte...

on that new Bird's-eye View strip.

Mm-hmm. And she would've too,
if our Gaslight plan...

hadn't worked in pushing Arte
over the edge.

She was frightened that he'd botch up
his attempt to kill us and then confess everything.

Well, case closed.

- How's the ankle?
- It's down to a dull throb.

Terrible, senseless accident, tumbling down
the stairs like that and spraining your ankle.

Small price to pay
for bringing a murderer to justice.

- Ah, yes, well-
- All set to go, boss?

I can't wait to try out
these new skis.

Take care of that ankle.
I'll wait for you in the car.

She told me how much
she's been wanting to learn to ski...

and since all the reservations
are made for two-

- Don't worry about me.
I've got all this filing to do.

I won't even know you're gone.
Have a good time.

Hmm.

Yes, well, uh, another, uh,
missed opportunity, Miss Holt.

Looks like we're never gonna
get together, doesn't it?

Don't bet on it, Mr. Steele.

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