All language subtitles for Alfred.Hitchcock.Presents.S03E25.Flight.to.the.East.1080p.PCOK.WEBRip.AAC.2.0.H.265.-EDGE2020_track3_[eng]

Good evening, Earthlings.

Now you housewives
know what to do with

your rugs when
the moths eat at them.

Put the moths to work.

After all, if you
can't lick them, join them.

This could be
the transportation
of the future.

I'm certain that
the day is not far off

when the two-carpet family
will be quite common.

No special launching
platform is needed.

The well-waxed hallway
of your home will do.

10,000 feet up,
and yet I could swear I saw
a billboard.

Over there.

Shall we get off?

No.

I'm sorry.

I wonder if I could
have one of those?

Of course.

Thanks.

I should have got
some at Nairobi.

You live there?

Thank you. I was born there.

That's luck. My own brand.

I've been smoking
them ever since the war.

I was a correspondent
during the war.

American Wire Service.
Bizerte. El Alamein.

I was a nurse's aide.

That still your work?

No. I'm a governess.

What's your name?

Miss Denham.

"Miss"?

All right. Barbara Denham.

I'm Ted Franklin.

The name familiar to you?

Yes.

I read your articles on
the North African campaign,

and later your
dispatches on the Mau Mau

uprising in Kenya
and what followed.

The trial of Sasha Ismail?

Sasha the Terrible.

"Sasha the Terrible".
He was nothing but a puppet.

You still believe that?
Yes.

Mr. Franklin has
many strange beliefs.

Beliefs I'm going to prove.

If Sasha had been
an Englishman instead

of a half-caste
French Arab from Algeria,

he'd never have
been convicted.

You didn't say that
at the beginning of the trial.

I didn't know then.

I spent every day
in that courtroom.

Right from the start.

Crown Prosecutor
Sir Robert Walton
made his opening speech.

WALTON: ...and the Crown
will prove that Sasha Ismail,

the defendant in the dock,
was not only a scavenger

who robbed
the bodies of the dead

of their weapons
on the battlefields

but that he subsequently
made an evil career

of illegally
trafficking in such weapons,

coming from Algeria to Kenya
for that sole purpose.

The crown will further
prove that he incited
the Kikuyu tribe to rebellion,

bloodshed and mass murder,

supplying them
with German, Italian,

English and American
instruments of death.

And that he was
paid for his nefarious
activities in stolen diamonds,

an inestimable
fortune of which only

a small part has
been recovered.

For his infamous crimes
against all of humanity,

the Crown will ask,
nay, demand,

that Sasha Ismail be
made to forfeit his life.

Of course I
assumed he was guilty.

Sir Robert was
very convincing.

You seem very
bitter about Sir Robert.

I have my reasons.

Day after day I
sat there listening

while he drew
the noose tighter

and tighter
about Sasha's neck.

Witness after witness
told of loading crates

or driving trucks
under Sasha's guidance.

They told of night
trips into the countryside,

the crates delivered
under cover of darkness,

Sasha getting small
packages in payment.

If they'd stopped the trial
and hung him
right then and there,

I wouldn't have
been surprised.

The repetition
made me restless.

Only one thing
drew my attention.

An old man in
the spectator's gallery.

He occupied
the same seat every day.

I took to watching him.

He must have
become aware of it,

because our
eyes began to meet.

Then, one day after
the court adjourned,

I was a little
slow in getting out,
and I saw him waiting for me.

He's not guilty.

I'm afraid you're the only one
who feels that way.

I know it.
I know it. He is my son.

He is not guilty.

He asked me to see Sasha,
to talk to him.

Somehow, I couldn't refuse.

I was
an accredited correspondent,

so I asked Sir
Robert's permission
for an interview.

He didn't like the idea,

especially without an
armed guard in the room.

But my wire service
was a powerful one.

Yes, Mr. Franklin,
I was arrested during

the transfer of
a wooden crate to the Kikuyu.

But I did not
know its contents

or that the receivers
were to be Mau Mau.

And it was
the only such transfer
I ever made.

So far,
10 witnesses have testified
to other shipments.

I had one small
package of diamonds,
Mr. Franklin, one.

Did they find any
others in the hovel
that was my home?

Does a man with
a fortune live as a pauper?

They have dressed me
well for the trial.
I was arrested in rags.

The witnesses tell
the same story you're

telling,
but with you as the leader.

And there must be a leader,
mustn't there?

One master criminal
to be hanged while

they get off with
a few years in jail.

Why should they point to you
if another man hired them?

Perhaps because
another man with a fortune

in diamonds could
offer them security?

You have heard
the prosecution, Mr. Franklin.

Have you once heard
the name Arthur Smith?

No.

Nor will you.

Because he is the man
for whom I must die,

the man who hired
me for the errand
that brought me here.

He hires a man in rags
to ride with
a truckload of guns

and pick up
a payment in diamonds?

Why?

If he knew there was
going to be an arrest.

Wealth buys many things, Mr.
Franklin.

Information.
False witnesses. Protection.

Why didn't you
tell Sir Robert?

I did.

But I doubt if you
will find any mention
of it in my statements.

And when I do
mention it in court,

they will become indignant,
outraged.

"Sasha The Terrible is
lying to save his life."

Could I have another
one of our cigarettes?

Of course.
I'm glad they're your brand.

Thanks.

Is that what
made your articles
change so radically?

Sasha's story?

No. I'm too good
a reporter for that.

I asked Sir
Robert's permission

to examine
the pre-trial statements.

He refused.
But I bribed a clerk
and got them anyway.

Arthur Smith's
name never appeared.

Sasha might have lied to you.

You must have
missed my second article.

Oh, yes. The diamond.

One uncut stone worth $1000

left in my hotel
room with a note saying
there'd be a similar diamond

every night until
Sasha's execution if I would
"see things clearly."

(SIGHS)

That convinced me.

Your articles were
not without effect.
They aroused a lot of people.

Why not?

Sasha became a symbol
of injustice and persecution.

People don't like that.

Sir Robert didn't either.

I couldn't be bribed.

Killing me would
have been further proof
of Sasha's story.

So he did the next best thing.

On the day he was to conclude
for the prosecution
he sent for me.

The manager of
my European bureau
was in from Paris.

Now, calm down, Franklin.

When a man's going to die?

You have stirred up
an international storm.

If it's in the interest
of truth, it's all right.

But there's one
thing I don't like.

Not one other correspondent
has followed your lead.

Because they
were denied access
to Sasha and the records!

WALTON: That's not true.
It is true!

Several of them
interviewed Sasha
days before you did.

I granted your
request immediately,

just as I made
available all records.

You did not!

Franklin,
I've spoken with the others.

They did see Sasha,
but he never
mentioned Arthur Smith.

How do you account for that?

Maybe they don't
have my immunity
to uncut diamonds.

The prosecutor,
the court, the witnesses,
and now the correspondents.

All liars. All but you.

You're fired, Franklin.

(SIGHS)

You, too, huh?

There is a man
from immigration
waiting outside, Mr. Franklin.

You will leave
Kenya on the noon plane.

That was it. I was deported.
A month later,
Sasha was hanged.

What have you done since?

Roamed around.
Europe, Australia, Africa.
Looking.

For Arthur Smith?

Yes. I followed rumors, tips,
anything
involving uncut diamonds.

Did Sasha ever
describe the man to you?

Yes.
Dark complexioned. Stocky.

Neck like a bull. Not British.

That description
could fit your companion.

Yes. It could, couldn't it?

Oh, thanks.

You're a very
surprising man, Mr. Franklin.

Well,
the story isn't over yet.

The part that
brought us together.

That started in Cairo,
just a week ago today.

You were there?

Still searching
for Arthur Smith?

Yes. But it was
a wild-goose chase,
like a hundred before it.

I should have been
used to it by then,
but I was depressed. I walked.

I found myself
on a side street.

Odd little shops,
art galleries, antiques.

Something in the window
of one of them caught my eye.

An ancient
Egyptian luck token.

Well, I guess I needed luck.
I went in.

The proprietor
didn't seem to be there.

But he was.

Excuse me.

Abdul Ismail.

What do you want?

Don't you remember me?

Ted Franklin.

I remember you.

You killed my son.

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

You sold his life as
you would sell the life

of an animal in
the marketplace.

I was the only friend
he had in the world.

I tried to save him.

Until the price
was high enough.

Until enough
diamonds were offered.

I'm broke.
I haven't had a job since.

I've done nothing but search
for Arthur Smith.

Why?
Were you not paid in full?

(ABDUL SIGHING)

I lost my only son, Mr.
Franklin.

My only son.

Are you the only
son of your father?

I pray that you are.

Then I might
believe in justice again.

You ran away?

Yes.
I caught the first plane out.
To Johannesburg.

He must have been insane.
I had to kill him.
It was self-defense.

Well, running didn't help.

No, but I remembered
what happened to Sasha.

And you met him
in Johannesburg?

Yes.

Will he testify for you?

Hardly.

I'm afraid I've
been a little unfair.

Dramatic effect, I guess.
Or perhaps I've

developed
a warped sense of humor.

His name isn't Arthur Smith.
It's Kafir.

Inspector Kafir of
the Cairo police.

I see.

They had my description.

Newspapermen can't hide.
Too many other
newspapermen know them.

Well, do I rate
another one of our cigarettes
after that?

Of course.

I'm afraid I have
a confession, too.

I said I was a governess.

My employer is
Sir Robert Walton.

(SIGHING)

I hope you do a better
job with his children.

Sir Robert wasn't present,
of course,

but he had quite
a different theory

about your
interview with Sasha.

I'll bet he did.
He's a clever man.

Shrewd,
unscrupulous and clever.

Strange.
Those are the very words
he used about you.

He said that your
demand for an interview

without
the presence of a guard
was unusual.

But he granted it out
of respect for
your reputation.

I will tell you what I
have told the others.
I have nothing to say.

You're going to hang.
You know that, don't you?

I can prevent it.

A journalist?

Listen to him, my son.

What can he do in
the face of such evidence?

Use it to save your neck.

You've been smart, in spots.

Being dressed in
rags when you were

caught. Living in a hovel.
That's good.

But you've been stupid, too.
Hiring so many drivers.

One driver would have known.

Would have given
them one witness to use
against you instead of ten.

Very well, Mr. Franklin.
You've made your point.

I can regret my
error while I hang.

What would it
be worth to serve
a short jail term instead?

And who arranges this?

FRANKLIN: I do.

For what price?

An even half of the loot.

Does he know where
the diamonds are?

Only I know,

until after I am sentenced.

I'll need one
diamond in advance.

A reward for wasting my time?

Do you want to die?

No.

No, I do not.

But how can you save me?

With a typewriter.

The story of my life?

Not your life.

The life of the mysterious,
unseen,
untouchable Arthur Smith.

Who is Arthur Smith?

The man who hired you
on the streets of Nairobi

to make the one
delivery of arms
that led to your arrest.

The man who
committed the crimes
for which you stand accused.

The man you told
Sir Robert about
in your statements.

But they have records.

They didn't put
it in the records.
They ignored it.

Why?

The witnesses identify me.

That's
the beauty of it, Sasha.
You're so guilty.

A master criminal
would create some doubt,

or maneuver a victim
like you into his place.

I am grateful for
a friend who will prevent
such an injustice.

You'd better be.

That was Sir Robert's version.

Your editor seemed to agree.

Do you?

I wasn't there.

That's what I've
been getting for years.

"I don't know.
I wasn't there."

Isn't your own
knowledge enough?

Yes! But my own
life is at stake now.

You know what
they'll say about
Abdul's death, don't you?

I think so.

They'll say that
you were searching

for him,
rather than for Arthur Smith.

A search that ended
when you traced him
to Cairo and entered his shop,

to kill him.

And they'll be
speaking the truth, you know.

You did set out
to murder Abdul.

Sir Robert Walton will
prove this at your trial

when he tells
the story of what really
happened that day in Cairo.

You haven't been
easy to find, Abdul.

You have been seeking me?

Yes, I've been seeking you.

I want my half.

Half?

What half?

Half of the diamonds.

I don't know where they are.

You're wasting my time.

I don't know.

After the trial I
never saw Sasha alone.
He could not tell me.

You're wasting my time, Abdul.

What are diamonds?
I lost my son.

I don't care about your son.
But you're going to
join him unless you talk.

(SIGHING)

Come on, Abdul!

No, no, no.

Right now.

I will get them.

That's what
they'll claim, isn't it?

Sure. With Sir
Robert leading the pack.

Got another cigarette?

These are
the last until Cairo.

I'm going to
beat them, though.

I've got them
stumped on one thing.

One beautiful thing.

What?

The knife and
the gun were German
war weapons, weren't they?

That's what Sir
Robert hanged Sasha
for dealing in.

So, who'd own them?

Me? Or the father of
Sasha the Terrible?

The newspaper said the gun
and the knife were
of special design,

issued only to Nazi Generals.

So?

The set in question belonged
to General von Kronk.

He was killed al El Alamein.

Yes, I know he was.

I told you I
was a nurse's aid.

I met a Lieutenant
at the hospital base
after El Alamein.

We fell in love.

He might have
lived but the doctors
had so little to make do with.

We had nothing to
give each other.

But he managed
a gift of cigarettes
for me the day before he died.

That's why I'm going
to Cairo to testify.

You see, during the campaign,
he captured von
Kronk's gun and knife.

He traded them
with an American war

correspondent for two
cartons of cigarettes.

Your brand.

I shall certainly
never try that again.

I learnt too late
that it was a three-stage

carpet and I was
the first stage.

I did manage to
take some pictures
which I shall show you now.

Here is how the Earth people
look to a Martian.

As you can see,
the Martians have a rather

distorted
picture of our world.

It looks as though
our flying carpet
is falling Earthward

and disintegrating
into throw rugs.

This concludes
tonight's space adventure.

Next week we shall be back
with more fiction,

scientific or otherwise.

Until then,
good night and a happy

international geophysical
year to all of you.