Original subtitles

MAN: I Love a Mystery.

Featuring the adventures of Jack Packard and Doc Long

in "The Decapitation of Jefferson Monk".

San Francisco, golden gateway to the Orient,

where East and West have met and mingled,

city of romance and mystery.

(SIRENS WAILING)

What's your hurry, Joe? Take your time.

All the King's horses can't put that fellow back there together again.

Here's his hat, Gimpy.

Thanks, boys.

Name, Jefferson Monk.

Address...

They tell me you just got a new customer, Gimpy, anybody important?

How should I know?

Through these portals pass the known and unknown,

the important and the unimportant eventually.

Now, that's a cheerful thought.

Your morbid vocation has made a philosopher out of you, Gimpy.

Oh, sure, sure.

What's the name?

Monk, Jefferson Monk, automobile crash.

Collision? Bay Bridge.

Bridge? D.O.A.

Dead on arrival? That's right.

Jefferson Monk.

Hey, could that be the Jefferson Monk?

Search me.

You mind if I take a look?

No, help yourself.

Where's his head?

Say, Morgan, how do you spell decapitated?

(CLOCK CHIMING)

I can't understand it.

Mr. Monk, he was such a nice gentleman.

He used to come here very often.

I think I told you already about that, Mr. Long.

Six times.

A fellow's got a right to repeat himself once in a while,

but you're overdoing it.

Hey, you know, Jack, that fellow was right.

That prophesier had picked the date that Monk was going to die.

Prophesy? He hit it right on the nose.

Yes, the prophecy was fulfilled.

Now, gentlemen, please, you can't make me believe in such nonsensicals.

We didn't believe it either,

when Mr. Monk first told us about it.

Yeah.

I thought he was drunk as a hoot owl.

He was sittin' right over yonder in booth number 12, with that gal Jean.

It was 1:00 in the morning, three nights ago.

Just three nights ago on the 13th of March.

Will that be all, Mr. Monk?

For the time being, Paul.

How's your Vatrushka, Vovaritch?

Vatrushka? Specialty of the house.

Vatrushka? Well, what is that?

Sort of a Russian cheesecake.

It's very special. You ought to have some.

I'd rather have an introduction to that there little old Gypsy pigeon.

Uh, which one?

That little blonde, the one that's playing the fiddle.

Oh, you mean Czarda?

(CHUCKLES) You want to meet her?

That's done, as soon as she finishes her number.

I guess I ought to warn you, Vovaritch,

Doc is quite a ladies' man.

He's left a trail of broken hearts from Hong Kong to Hong Kong.

(LAUGHING)

Ahem. Excuse me, gentlemen,

it seems to be a little trouble in number 12.

MONK: Why'd you say that?

Please, don't talk so loud.

Excuse me, Mr. Monk, has everything been satisfactory?

I've been insulted.

This lady's insulted me, called me a coward.

Why, I'm sure such a beautiful lady

will never intentionally insult you, Mr. Monk.

Of course not, please sit down.

I won't sit down.

There's no one here who can make me sit down.

I'm leaving. Oh, please, Mr. Monk.

Jefferson, don't make a scene. MONK: Why not?

What's the matter with that?

How you like that?

Here I am enjoying all this fancy foreign feed,

and a old-fashioned brawl has to bust out next door.

Just because a lush...

Hmm?

Gentlemen, do I look to you

as if I was afraid of anything?

What is botherin' you, my table-hopping friend?

Take it easy, Doc.

The aspersion has been made that I'm a coward.

Okay, son, I done counted to 10.

But he's beggin' for it.

Oh, gentlemen, please!

Mr. Packard, Mr. Long, may I present to you Mr. Jefferson Monk,

and Miss... Jean.

Ah, Sascha, right in time.

Sascha, run, tell Gregory to turn off the lights.

I shall light this Cafe Royale here now,

in honor of Mr. Monk, and our special guests,

the famous detectives, Mr. Jack Packard and Mr. Doc Long.

Detectives?

That's right.

(APPLAUSE)

Miss Jean.

Ladies and gentlemen, this Cafe Royale

is the specialty of the house.

Isn't that beautiful?

Oh, that's mighty pretty.

Oh! (SCREAMING)

(PEOPLE SCREAMING)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Ladies and gentlemen, please, please!

That's nothing, just an accident.

(SNAPS FINGERS)

(MUSIC RESUMES)

Nice work, son, remind me to say thank you.

Do you have any first-aid equipment in the kitchen?

Oh, yes, in the kitchen.

Take Doc out there and dress his arm. Yes.

It's not too severe a burn,

your jacket got the worst of it.

You mean I can't sue 'em for nothin' but just a new coat?

Only one sleeve. Please, this way,

I think we'd better be going.

I'm sorry I had to bowl you over like that, Mr. Monk.

I'm very grateful.

That was an odd sort of an accident.

It wasn't an accident.

The fire and the boiling coffee were intended for me.

Why do you say that?

He's been talking nonsense like that all evening.

Can't we go now, Jefferson?

You wouldn't look so skeptical, Mr. Packard,

if you knew that accidents like this

are constantly happening to me.

Why don't you go to the police for protection?

That's what makes it all so tragically absurd,

I don't know the names of the people who want to kill me.

I've never even seen their faces.

All I know is I won't be alive three days from now.

I've been condemned to death.

You don't believe me.

But, whenever I go anywhere at night,

there's a man who follows me everywhere.

In his hand he carries a small black valise,

just the right size to hold a man's head.

Jefferson! I tell you, I've seen it.

He carries a small, black valise.

You've never seen his face?

Never. And he's been following me for nearly a month.

Well, how come?

You got anything that belongs to him?

He thinks so.

He's after my head.

Now I've heard everything.

You don't have to take my word for it.

Just follow me and see for yourselves.

Why, certainly.

Will you?

Oh, I'd be very grateful.

You see, sometimes I'm not so sure of myself,

I feel confused.

Well, you just go ahead, me and Jack'll be right behind you.

Anybody followin' you, why, we'll grab 'em.

Won't we, son?

I left my coat in the booth.

Would you get it for me, Jefferson?

Why, certainly.

Excuse me. Surely.

You've been very patient with him.

You're not Mrs. Monk, I take it?

No, just a friend.

You see, Mr. Monk's wife is an invalid,

I hope you're not serious about following us.

There really isn't anything. It's all in Jefferson's mind.

Yes, I'm sure it is, Miss...

Jean.

We only agreed to follow him so that he'd leave quietly.

Yeah, Jean, but, if you need any help in the future,

why, me and Jack is stayin' at the Baycrest Hotel.

Room 1202.

(CHUCKLES) Thank you.

Here you are.

You haven't changed your mind, you're going to follow us?

Oh, sure, just leave it to us.

Well, come on, son, my arm's beginnin' to hurt.

Let's get on out of here.

Wait a minute.

Give them time to get a little way ahead of us.

Seems like kind of a shame to walk off and leave Mr. Monk.

I don't intend to leave Mr. Monk, or his girlfriend Jean,

who doesn't like to give her last name.

Hey, you didn't fall for that stuff he was handing out?

Why, he was so drunk...

He wasn't drunk. He'd been drugged.

I don't hear them.

They said they'd follow us.

That doesn't mean they'll be stepping on our heels.

Do you hear anything?

Yes, that step.

It's him.

Do you hear it?

I don't hear anything.

Are you sure it isn't just in your mind?

No, no, it's not in my mind.

I tell you, I hear it.

Listen.

Nothing, come on, let's go.

Wait.

I'm going to stay and face it.

Those detectives aren't following you.

They're probably home in bed.

What?

What did you say?

They told me they weren't going to follow us.

They only said that to get rid of you.

You're lying.

Say you're lying! Say you're lying!

Help! Help! Let me go! Are you one of them?

Help!

(GASPS)

Here we are, Monk. On the double.

There he goes, Doc, head after him. Yeah.

Hey, Jack, is he hurt?

No, just has the wits scared out of him.

Well, no wonder. Did you get a look at that freak?

No, not a close one.

Well, I did. Too close.

PACKARD: Are you all right?

You see? I was telling the truth.

PACKARD: Yeah, I guess you were.

Well, from now on, Doc and I'll do your worrying for you.

Yeah, I can't wait to get my hands on that fellow with that satchel again.

(DOG BARKING)

Lie down, Hamlet.

(BARKING)

Lie down, Hamlet.

He worries about me.

DOC: What gets me is what you said about that gal, Jean.

You sure you ain't never seen her before tonight?

Positive. She sort of attached herself to me at the bar.

I see a light in one of the windows.

Do the servants wait up for you?

No, that light's in Mrs. Monk's room.

My wife never goes to sleep until I get home,

Ellen's an invalid, paralyzed from the waist down.

DOC: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Nice of her to wait up for you.

I'd rather you didn't mention what happened tonight.

I don't want my wife to start worrying about me.

Well, how about you having just three more days to live?

Did you tell her about that?

Oh, yes.

Ellen knows all about the prophecy.

It's connected with her paralysis.

Propechy? Yes. Shall we go in?

I'll explain the entire matter to you inside.

Kind of on the Oriental side, ain't it?

Yes, my wife loves everything connected with the Orient.

Will you wait a moment, please.

I'll tell Ellen we're here.

What you make of it, son, you got any ideas?

I don't know enough about it yet to have any ideas.

What's the matter?

Who are you?

Mrs. Monk?

I'm Jack Packard and this is my partner, Doc Long.

We brought Mr. Monk home.

MONK: Oh, there you are, darling.

I went to your room, but I couldn't find you.

Jefferson, why are these gentlemen here?

Why, dear, they're detectives. Detectives?

They promised to help us...

Jefferson, are you out of your mind?

Do you want every tabloid newspaper in this town to learn our story?

But, darling... Our business is keeping secrets, Mrs. Monk.

Yes, ma'am. Besides, we already know quite a little bit.

Mr. Packard and Mr. Long befriended me this evening.

I've told them a little of what we've been through the past few weeks.

Jefferson and I have been living under such a strain since all this began.

I'm afraid I was terribly rude to you.

Please forgive me.

That's all right. We understand.

Dear, if you don't mind, I'd like to tell them

the whole story from the very beginning.

Well, you see, about a year ago,

Jefferson and I took a trip through the Orient.

A sort of second honeymoon for us.

We didn't know then that it was too...

If I could only make you understand.

You mustn't talk, dear.

I'll explain everything.

All right.

I'm tired, I... Will you please excuse me?

Goodnight.

Goodnight. Goodnight.

Goodnight, dear.

Please make Mr. Packard and Mr. Long feel at home.

Of course.

When I see how bravely she takes all this,

it makes me thoroughly ashamed of myself.

I think we'd be more comfortable in the drawing room.

Before we begin, can I pour anyone a drink?

Not for me, thanks.

I don't ever touch the stuff so early in the mornin'.

Mind if I have one?

I need something after tonight's little experience.

Go right ahead, son, help yourself.

You were saying something about a second honeymoon.

Yes.

You see Ellen and I were great travelers,

and this trip was deliberately haphazard.

We took coast-wise boats and tramp steamers from one seaport to the next,

stopping off at wonderful, out-of-the-way places.

This all started in Bakyab,

supposed to be one of the widkedest places in the world,

certainly one of the most mysterious.

It was Ellen's idea that we go there,

I hadn't wanted to, but she insisted.

She had heard of a thieves' market in Bakyab

where there're marvelous specimens of jade,

and she wanted to visit it.

Ellen loves jade and is always collecting it.

In those days, she was well and walking.

It was there in Bakyab that a startling thought came to me.

A street musician who seemed to be following us, looked strangely familiar.

In several ports previously,

I was certain we had seen him, always playing the same weird music.

Suddenly his presence ceased being coincidental and became deliberate,

I was convinced that the musician was following us,

and that his music was in some way connected with Ellen and me.

(PLAYING MUSIC)

We were sailing for home the next day,

but somehow I couldn't shake off the eerie feeling

that music had given me.

Then, one night, I heard it again.

Here, right here in San Francisco.

It was evening, I was meeting Ellen for dinner

in a strange part of town.

She was very late and it had grown dark.

I was beginning to be nervous when I heard that same music.

There, coming toward me, was a blind beggar.

Suddenly, I made up my mind to speak to him.

I stepped from my car and threw him a coin.

Would you mind telling me what tune that is you're playing?

It is music of my people far away.

As long as you hear it, no harm will come to you.

Do you recognize it?

Yes, I've heard it several times, in the Orient.

Then, if you recognize it, I have a message for you.

MONK: To my amazement, the note was in Ellen's handwriting,

asking me to come to her

and implying she was in some danger.

My first impulse was to call the police,

but the note warned me to come alone.

I asked the beggar...

Where did you get this?

My master.

He wishes to speak with you.

Who is your master? Where is he?

Most high man. Most important.

He say you will come to see him.

What makes him so sure?

He say if you love your wife, you will come to see him.

Follow me, please.

MONK: I suppose everyone has, at some time or other,

been in situations where familiar things suddenly become strange.

It was that way with me.

I have lived here all my life,

and yet I followed that blind man through alleys

and along strange streets I had never seen before,

I felt as if I had been cut off from the world I knew.

I was alone in a strange, foreign place,

and I was frightened,

like a child that awkens and finds itself surrounded by new, unfamiliar faces.

Is this where my wife is? Where is your master?

Uh, follow me.

My master is here.

I will tell the master you are here.

Just a moment.

Who is this master?

He will speak for himself.

MONK: The room I was in seemed to be the basement

of a deserted temple or monastery.

As I waited, a strange feeling I was being watched came over me.

I am the person who sent for you.

You may call me Mr. G.

Will you kindly tell me where my wife is,

and why you brought me here?

Have patience, Mr. Monk.

I have followed you for many months, over many thousands of miles.

That still doesn't answer my question, Mr. G,

if that is your real name.

Reality, Mr. Monk, what is it?

If you are a skeptic, you say only those things

that you can see and feel and taste are real.

Believe me, there is more to life than that.

There is even more to death.

I didn't come here to discuss philosophy.

Oh, forgive me, I was indulging myself.

Allow me to reassure you that your wife is safe,

and that she is here.

Thank you. Now, if you'll take me to her. I'll...

Everything in due time, Mr. Monk,

I have first to make you a proposition, a business proposition.

Your business methods are a trifle unique, Mr. G.

You may say the same of the proposition I am about to make.

You see, philosophers and scientists have for centuries maintained

that nature never repeats herself,

that her variety is limitless.

And yet, at this moment, and in this very room,

there are two mortal forms so much alike as to defy explanation.

What do you mean?

Who are you?

I am G, the High Priest of the Sacred Society of the Baroukhan.

Baroukhan?

The oldest secret society in the world.

We were old when Marco Polo was young,

over 700 years ago.

He was the only other white man ever to become a member.

What are you driving at?

Will you please step up here to the altar?

I... I don't understand.

Is it a mummy?

Not exactly. it is the body of the sacred one,

the founder of the Baroukhan.

He has been dead a thousand years.

That's impossible. Why, it's...

I see you notice a certain resemblance.

Why, I can't tell.

It's incredible.

MR. G: The body of the sacred one has been kept eternally young

by the magic of the embalmers.

Each member of our order makes at least one pilgrimage

during his lifetime to the secret tomb,

high in the ice-locked mountains beyond Tibet.

From every corner of the world they come

to view the features of the sacred one.

What has this to do with me?

Come, I will show you a portrait.

MONK: Where did you get this?

It is of our beloved founder made during his lifetime.

But that's impossible.

It's a portrait of me.

Precisely, Mr. Monk. That is why we have brought you here.

On behalf of the society of the Baroukhan,

I am prepared to offer you $10,000 for your head.

Are you out of your mind?

Quite the contrary.

Unfortunately, our founder's head is deteriorating

in spite of the most marvelous skill of our embalmers.

Mr. Monk the very existence of the Baroukhan

depends upon your accepting our offer.

It's crazy. Absolutely insane.

You expect me to sell you my head?

When you no longer have any need for it, Mr. Monk.

When you are dead.

I suppose you know when that will be?

It is written in the mountain snows,

in the bleaching sands of the desert.

You will be dead one year from today.

You could kill me for my head.

We never kill, Mr. Monk.

We merely prophesy.

Yours will be a great honor.

I can promise you glory for eternity.

The temple bells of Par Shansi

are tolling each day at dawn and dusk,

and the long lines of humble watchers

who will come to gaze upon your hallowed features.

The whole thing seemed so preposterous.

The presence of that mummy,

the portrait with my incredible likeness, the mysticism of it all.

Well, that is the doggondest thing I ever heard about.

He insisted I take the $10,000.

You mean, you agreed to sell your head?

Yes. Oh, it was all so weird.

It seemed the easiest way out of a mess.

In fact, it was the only way.

Mr. G made it quite plain that unless I accepted his offer,

neither Ellen nor I would leave there alive.

Well, if you ask me, I think you was darn smart.

A month ago, I received a letter from Mr. G,

reminding me that my time was almost up

and prophesied that my wife would become an invalid.

Three days later, my wife was unable to get out of her bed.

Her legs were paralyzed.

Well, I'll be dad-gonned.

Did you ever try to find the place where you talked to Mr. G?

I spent a week going over the entire district, day after day, on foot.

There wasn't a trace.

You know, one thing puzzles me.

If they were so eager to have your head, why didn't they just take it?

DOC: Yeah?

Why spend $10,000?

Why did they let you live any longer?

The Baroukhan prefer not to use violence.

You see, according to Mr. G,

there was a possibility that I might be

the reincarnation of their revered founder.

That's very interesting.

Oh, believe me, there was much, much more.

Mr. G seemed to know everything about me.

When and where I was born,

and, evidently when and where I'm going to die.

(DOG BARKING)

Your Hamlet is kicking up quite a soliloquy.

Oh, hey, Jack.

Lookee yonder. We got us a prowler, son.

Come on.

Be careful. They've never come here to my house before.

You wait here, we'll see what this is all about.

(DOG BARKING CONTINUES)

Was it a man or a woman?

They was headed away from the house.

I couldn't tell whether it was a man or woman.

Look around, see if we can't smoke something out.

(BARKING)

Doc, he's headed for the road!

Did you see him?

Yeah, he was headed this direction,

but I lost sight of him.

(CAR ENGINE STARTING)

Look out! Hey!

Doc, are you all right?

I don't know, son.

Maybe I should have stayed in bed today.

Did you get a look at whoever was driving that car?

Uh-uh. I was too busy lookin' for a soft place to lie.

Yeah, he was too fast for me.

Come on, let's check the house.

Maybe some of the servants or Mrs. Monk saw the prowler.

All right, son, we'll do that.

Are you sure you didn't hear anyone just outside?

Or that no one has entered the room through this window?

Why, of course I'm sure.

No one could have come in without my knowing it.

I'm a very light sleeper.

I guess that's that.

Thanks, Ms. Monk.

Dear, would you ask Osgood to get me a glass of milk?

Certainly, dear. Thanks.

Doggone shame, us bustin' in on you this way.

We get to workin' on a case,

we kind of forget about other folks' feelings.

Come on, Jack. Goodnight.

No, please stay, Mr. Packard, I'd like to talk to you.

Of course, Mrs. Monk.

I want to tell you how glad I was that you consented to help us.

Jefferson's been so worried.

Sometimes I've feared for his sanity, even his life.

Suicide?

Well, my husband's extremely sensitive.

He's tortured himself with the idea that

he's responsible for my condition.

Does your husband use any drugs or opiates to quiet his nerves?

Jefferson refuses sleeping medicines.

He thinks they're a sign of weakness.

Perhaps if your physician prescribed something, he'd be willing.

Well, I'll speak to Dr. Han about it.

He's the family physician.

I think that would be wise.

Goodnight. Goodnight.

Justin?

Of course, Ellen.

Don't apologize.

You wouldn't have called if it hadn't been urgent.

What's that?

Say it again, slowly.

Tomorrow I'm going to see what's behind Mrs. Monk's supposed illness.

Supposed?

You mean, you think maybe she ain't sick?

Could be.

Well, that's part of the prophecy.

Maybe it is and maybe it isn't.

All I know is that Ellen Monk wouldn't be the first woman

who hated her husband and pretended to be sick or paralyzed

to keep him away from her.

Oh, man.

I ain't never seen a woman act more in love with her husband.

Maybe that's the word for it, Doc, "act."

Now, go to sleep.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

There, didn't you hear it?

Why, I hear a symphony, but what of it?

Listen to it again.

(MUSIC STOPS AND STARTS)

(VOCALIZING)

Your sacred music of Nirvassa,

which is supposed to be 1,000 years old,

was written by Tchaikovsky.

I don't get it.

A few notes of music appear in a Russian symphony but what does it prove?

Well, maybe nothing, maybe a lot.

Let's look at it this way.

I'm a detective. I know a lot of fantastic happenings

are supposed to come out of the so-called mysterious East,

things that have never been explained.

But you refuse to accept them as facts until they can be proved. Is that it?

Exactly.

Can you explain my wife receiving a letter

prophesying that she'll become paralyzed?

No, I can't.

But I'd like to see that letter.

I have it right here.

It won't be necessary to show you the other letter, Mr. Packard.

Here is a later one just like it.

Aren't you going to read it?

I know what it will say. You open it.

"The temple bells of Par Shansi

"toll twice daily for the souls of the Baroukhan.

"At dawn and at dusk.

"When they have rung four more times,

"you will come home."

"The temple bells of Par Shansi..."

How did you know the exact wording of this?

I have a very good memory.

The letter prophesying Ellen's illness began exactly the same way.

May I come in?

I hope I am not interrupting.

Oh, not at all. Please come in, Doctor.

This is Dr. Hahn, attending Mrs. Monk.

Mr. Packard, Mr. Long.

Mrs. Monk has told me of your exploits, gentlemen.

I am glad to meet you both. How do you do, Doctor?

Hiya.

I hear we haven't been sleeping well lately?

Oh, that's all changed now, Doctor.

Mr. Packard has promised me an amazing cure for all my troubles.

Oh, I'm most impressed.

Mr. Packard, are you, by chance, a medical man, as well as a detective?

I'm only a medical amateur.

What field of medicine do you prefer, Mr. Packard?

The human mind, Doctor.

Oh, psychiatry.

My branch. Fascinating.

If you'll excuse me for a moment,

I'll look in on Ellen.

Oh, certainly.

(DOOR CLOSING)

Tell me more about your and Mr. Long's experiences.

Well, I started out to be a musician.

Are you musical, Doctor?

(PIANO PLAYING)

Now it's my turn to plead amateur.

I understand, Doctor, that you're Russian.

I suppose you took your medical training

at the University of Saint Petersburg?

This is a very shrewd guess, Mr. Packard.

Am I correct?

Yes.

Do you mind if I make another shrewd guess?

I don't believe there's anything the matter with Mrs. Monk.

I believe she could get up and walk tomorrow if she wanted to.

It's hardly proper for me to discuss my patients.

If you'll excuse me.

(SPEAKING RUSSIAN)

What?

What did you say?

I asked where you were born, Doctor, in your native tongue.

I'm also an amateur linguist.

I was born in the Province of Uzbek.

Have you ever heard of or had any dealings with the Baroukhans?

The Baroukhans?

It's a secret organization of professional thieves and cut-throats.

Their members are everywhere, I've heard.

My travels haven't been as extensive as yours, Mr. Packard.

Is there anything further you wish to know?

No, thank you.

But, if there's ever anything you wish to tell me, Doctor,

I receive all messages at the Silver Samovar.

You done struck oil there, son.

Yeah, he's in this up to his neck.

What's more, he's no Russian. He's probably Eurasian.

Well, how many's mixed up in this, anyhow?

I don't know, but that's what we're going to find out.

I'll meet you tonight at the Silver Samovar.

In the meantime, try and pick up the trail of that girl.

Oh, Jean?

Oh, son, that's mixing business with pleasure.

Well, is that bad? No.

Hey, lady. I've been lookin' for you.

Hello. I was looking for you.

You was looking for me?

Yes. I wanted to ask you how you got along

with my drunken boyfriend last night?

What makes you say he's your boyfriend

or that you're a friend of his family's?

Because I'm a liar.

I've been a liar ever since I can remember. (CHUCKLES)

Let's see if we can get a booth before they're all taken.

Well, all right.

Hey, son, lookee what I found.

Congratulations. Good evening, Jean.

Hello.

How about answering a few questions?

Why don't you two big, strong fellows mind your own business?

At the present, our business is Mr. Monk.

He'll be here in a few minutes.

Well, I guess that lets me out.

You're not afraid of meeting him?

Haven't you read the gossip columns?

Jean and Jefferson have...

Suppose you let me give you a little advice.

Stay away from that man.

He's stark raving mad.

I'm not at all surprised,

what with pretty ladies doping his drinks

and trying to scald him to death.

Hey, hadn't we better nab her?

No, we have far more important work to do.

Okay, son, what is the program?

Monk is meeting us later.

Tonight we're going to set a trap

for the gentleman with the peg-leg.

Monk has agreed to be the bait again.

Oh, now that's somethin' like it.

You know, Doc, someone with an Oriental eye for refined cruelty

is trying to drive Monk to suicide.

Hey, you mean all that stuff about the prophecy

is just so much razzle-dazzle?

That's the way I figure it.

I looked up the Monk will.

There's $2 million in the estate,

and the entire estate is held in trust.

Monk's father didn't believe in divorce.

Now, if Monk or his wife ever hits the Reno trail,

the entire estate goes to charity.

Oh, meanin'?

If one or the other dies or is murdered,

the entire estate automatically reverts to the other.

But murder usually carries a penalty which costs the life of the killer.

Now, if Monk could be made to commit suicide...

Oh, hey, now a lot of things begins to make sense.

Well, when and where do we start at?

I gave Monk a whistle and told him to use it

if peg-leg shows up.

(WOMAN SCREAMING)

What was that?

(WOMAN SCREAMING)

Wish they'd bank the corners around this block.

I think we've fallen for a very old, but very effective trick.

Somebody wanted to get us off Mr. Pegleg's trail.

Yeah, that wasn't Monk that hollered. That was a woman.

We'd better get on back to where we were supposed to meet Mr. Monk.

(VEHICLE HONKING)

Let's grab that cab. Monk must be somewhere about.

Taxi!

Come in and share the ride. I'm the neighborly type.

Hey, this is the way every taxi cab ought to be furnished.

Sister, you do get around.

Didn't we just hear you scream a few minutes ago?

Possibly.

Every once in a while I feel like screaming, and when I do I just let fly.

You're liable to bust your pretty little neck yellin' that a way.

Yeah, scream yourself right into jail.

If anything happens to Monk and the police get into this...

Don't take yourselves so seriously.

What is this, a pressure group?

Sorry, gentlemen, three's a crowd.

I hope I won't be seeing you.

Don't ever say we didn't warn you.

Cruise around the block, driver. We're looking for someone.

(CAR ENGINE STARTING)

Who's there?

(STRUGGLING)

(BREATHING HEAVILY)

All right. Time to wake up.

There now. Do you feel rested?

(SIGHS) As if I'd slept twelve hours instead of two. (CHUCKLES)

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Did anyone see you come here? No.

(DOORBELL RINGING) Excuse me.

Yes, he's here.

Come in, gentlemen.

They insisted on seeing you, Mr. Monk.

We've been lookin' for you all night.

You hadn't been home all night and we were worried.

We were just about to go to the police.

Then decided to come by here and have a chat with Dr. Han.

And here you are. Something went wrong last night.

I lost you fellows.

Don't you think we'd better discuss this in private?

Oh, but, of course. I'll, uh...

I'll write that prescription for Mr. Monk while you talk over these secret matters.

Thank you, Doctor. We'll only be a minute.

(DOOR CLOSES)

I don't like that guy. What happened?

I started out to lead the man with the black bag to where you were waiting,

but he fooled me.

He came from the opposite direction.

Then I heard a woman scream and my peg-legged pursuer took to his heels.

Did you follow him?

No. He was gone before I could think.

I walked the streets.

For the first time in weeks, I walked alone,

unafraid.

When it was daylight, I came here.

Well, then you ain't seen the morning paper yet.

No. Your friend Pegleg had his throat cut last night.

MONK: "Jason Anderson, known in police circles as 'Pop, '

"or 'Pegleg' or 'The Face, '

"due to the numerous weird disguises he affected,

"was found dead at four twenty this morning in his rooming house."

So Jean is his daughter. Yeah.

Doc, you better get on over to the police station

and see what other information you can pick up. Okay, son.

Your wife is probably worried. You'd better got on home. Yes, I had.

I don't understand this sudden switch.

A murderer murdered. What do you think it means?

I don't know,

but according to my calculations

the wrong people are getting killed.

Well, gentlemen? Thank you for the use of the hall, Doc.

I've been wanting to ask you, Doctor, about drugging a man

into a condition where he reacts hypnotically to suggestions

he is going to die.

For a medical amateur, you possess

a most professional curiosity, Mr. Packard.

Thank you, Doctor.

I didn't really need to ask you that. I could have told you.

A man told over and over again that he's going to die

finally becomes hypnotized by the idea.

I could also have told you

that playing with the Baroukhan is dangerous business.

A man got his throat cut last night.

There's no telling who'll be next.

May I help you, sir? Yes, I'd like to see Mr. Justin Reeves.

Is he in? Have you an appointment?

No. Just say it's Jack Packard,

a friend of Mrs. Jefferson Monk.

Tell him it's important.

I'll see if Mr. Reeves is free.

(PLAYING THE PIANO)

Do you wish to see me? Mr. Reeves? Yes.

My clerk tells me that you mentioned the name of Mrs. Monk.

Yes. When I saw the word "Orientalist" on your window.

I half-expected to see someone done up in embroidered robes

and eating with chopsticks. Oh, really, Mr. Packard?

Now what can I do for you? You can help me. If you will.

Mrs. Monk said you're the finest authority on the Orient in the city.

Mrs. Monk is very kind. Yes, isn't she?

You know, I've been to a dozen shops like this before I came here...

But yours is the first where anyone knew Mrs. Jefferson Monk's name right off.

Well, that's odd. Mrs. Monk is quite a collector of Oriental art.

I know. But they don't seem to know her at any of the other stores.

She said you might be able to give me some information

about a secret religious organization known as the Baroukhan.

Oh, the Orient is full of secret religious societies.

There may be a Baroukhan, although I've never heard of it.

But then why should I, if it's a secret society?

Just what I told Mrs. Monk.

Oh, do you play, Mr. Reeves? A little.

(PLAYING PIANO)

Do you recognize this? (PLAYING PIANO)

Should I?

Jefferson Monk heard it played by a street musician in Bakyab.

Now what do you suppose a street musician in far off Bakyab

was doing playing an oboe part written by Tchaikovsky?

What do you want? Why, I told you. Mrs. Monk...

Mrs. Monk didn't tell you anything.

That's a rather positive statement, Mr. Reeves.

One doesn't make postive statements without foundation.

I take it you've had occasion to talk to Mrs. Monk recently.

Well, you see. I... I happen to know Mrs. Monk very well.

She would have told me if... Don't bother.

It's out of my hands now, anyway.

What do you mean? The thieves have fallen out.

The one called "The Face" got his throat cut last night.

There may be others.

There's an old Chinese proverb,

"Better one more good man on earth than another angel in Heaven."

Good day, Mr. Reeves. Or should I say, "Mr. G"?

There's certain to be more murders and soon.

We've got to act quickly.

Evidence points to both killings being by the same person,

which bears out what you've just told me.

I don't know who killed Jean and Pegleg, but I have an idea for finding out.

It's a long chance but it may work.

If it does, we'll have saved a couple of lives.

That's the business of this department.

What do you suggest? That you arrest me.

What? I'm not kidding.

What's new, Captain? Any word on the killings yet?

Give us a statement, Captain. Is Jack Packard connected with this case?

We've just had our first break in the knife murders.

I'm holding a man as material witness

who knows the identity of the killer.

Who is he? What's his name?

However, this man is standing on his constitutional rights and refuses to talk.

What's his angle? What?

Say that again? The man who is withholding the name of the killer

is Jack Packard. ALL: (IN SHOCK) Jack Packard?

Let me out of here. Where's that telephone?

Packard, you're a nine-day wonder.

What are the headlines? You ought to know, you made 'em.

Good.

You know, somewhere the killer's read one of those newspapers.

He thinks I know who he is.

Naturally, he wants to get to me before I decide to talk.

I want to fix it so he can get to me.

But you'll have to cooperate one hundred percent.

What do I do?

Tonight, at nine o'clock, I want a few backs turned in this jail.

(PLAYING PIANO)

In tune. It's downright cozy.

All the comforts of home.

How'd you fix it? The place belongs to Monk.

I had to tell him your plan to get to borrow the joint.

I'd like it better if no one knew.

Monk will keep his mouth shut.

Besides, he's the only one who could fix it with the night watchman.

Listen.

I want you to send identical telegrams to Ellen Monk,

Reeves, Dr. Han, and Osgood, the nurse.

Tell them I'm hiding here and that I'm ready to talk business,

after twelve o'clock tonight.

Okay.

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Is Monk here? He hasn't left the house all day.

Stays shut up in that drawing room, playing his violin.

Justin... No, no, no, not here.

I'll see you when I leave.

(PLAYING VIOLIN)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(DOORBELL RINGING)

Good evening, Osgood.

Keep your hands off me. (CHUCKLES)

Is everyone here? Yes, we're all here now.

Well, I think we should drop the whole thing. Please!

If we quarrel among ourselves, everything will be lost.

As far as I'm concerned, everything is lost now.

I say it's not.

Don't you see, the fact that Jack Packard sends each of us a telegram

proves that he's bluffing.

He doesn't know who the killer is.

Yes, but it also proves that Packard suspects one of us.

He must have a reason. ELLEN: He hasn't any reason.

We're not going to stop now.

Not when we're within one day of two million dollars.

I am more interested in knowing the someone

who kills off two of our members.

Who gains by their death, except someone in this room?

JUSTIN: Well, don't look at me.

That's no way to get... Listen...

We'd better go. He shouldn't find us here.

Justin, stay.

The rest of you go.

And remember, tomorrow we go ahead as we planned.

What do you think they're plotting now?

Which one of us will be next?

You must be insane to talk about going ahead with this.

Those two detectives have seen through everything.

They're suspicious but they can't prove a thing.

I should think you'd be as eager as I am.

Think what it means to both of us.

Now there are too less to share.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR) Who is it?

MONK: It is I, Ellen. May I come in?

Over there, behind the drapes.

Wait a minute, I'll press the buzzer.

Oh, are you alone?

(DOOR SHUTS) I thought I heard voices, a man's voice.

(CHUCKLES) I suppose a man who is scheduled to lose his head tomorrow

is apt to hear all sorts of things.

Jefferson, please. I forgot.

It distresses you to be reminded of my fate, doesn't it, dear?

Forgive me.

I can't get it out of my head that I heard a man's voice.

I was thinking of that wonderful story by Balzac...

Of the man who suspected his wife's lover was hiding in her room.

When she denied the man was there,

he asked her to swear on the Bible, and she did.

Then he sent for a stone mason

and had the closet, where the lover was hiding,

sealed up with bricks.

Would you like to swear?

Jefferson, please don't joke about such things.

I didn't intend to upset you.

Good night.

It would have been quite dramatic if you had sworn, wouldn't it?

I tell you, Packard put him onto us.

How could he when he doesn't even know himself?

What he doesn't know, he's guessed and that's enough for me.

Besides, there's... There's Pop Anderson and Jean.

I don't know who killed them, but I'm not taking any chance on being next.

I'm getting out. You can't, Justin. You can't!

You got me into this, you've got to stand by me now.

I'm sorry, Ellen. I know when I've lost.

Goodbye. Justin!

Wait...

(DOG BARKING)

(MAN EXCLAIMS IN ALARM)

(DOG WHINING)

Who is it?

Why, Ellen!

You're standing.

What a miraculous recovery.

I heard a cry outside.

Jefferson, please may I have my chair?

Why?

You don't need it any more.

In fact, you never did need it, did you?

How you must have hated me.

Resorting to such cruelty...

Driving me to insanity or suicide. It's not true.

I'm going to let you suffer, the way you let me suffer.

I want you to feel a cold breath of fear, as I felt it...

Day after day, night after night...

Until your nerves scream as mine screamed

I want you to taste your refined cruelty down to the last, bitter drop.

You're mad.

When I found out what you were trying to do to me,

my fear became courage. The courage to kill all of you.

Justin Reeves is outside there, dead.

His throat.

His throat.

Then you're the killer? Yes.

Okay, reach.

Oh. What are you doing here? (CHUCKLES) You startled me, I was looking for you.

Well, well, what's the matter? There's been a change of plan.

The police have surrounded the killer out on Cloverdale Road.

Oh, that's what all them sirens was about.

Well, I'd better go tell Jack.

(BODY THUDS)

Stay as you are, please.

I'll have to borrow your gun.

I like to hold all the trumps.

So you're the gentleman who's so handy with a knife.

I should have known.

Don't apologize, Mr. Packard.

When your friend asked to borrow the warehouse,

I gathered there was an elaborate ruse to smoke out the killer.

If you knew I didn't suspect you,

why did you come here and expose yourself?

Because I knew that if you didn't suspect me now,

it was only a matter of time until you did.

You see how I respect your detecting ability?

So, I said to myself, why wait?

Mr. Packard must be killed.

Step over there, please.

The light's better,

and I'd feel a little more comfortable with a piano between us.

You're not going to get away with this.

The neighborhood is alive with policemen.

(PLAYING PIANO) (CHUCKLES) No, Mr. Packard.

They've all gone.

Someone told the police about another knife killing out near my home.

Who was it this time?

He called himself an Orientalist.

He also called himself Mr. G.

Yes, it was Mr. G, but as Mr. Reeves, he and I had never met.

That is, until tonight.

I... I suppose you're going to kill them all?

Your wife included?

Yes, after a while.

My wife too.

What are you waiting for?

Come on, get the killing over with.

I want to appease my curiosity.

I understand your deductions about the music,

but how did you come to suspect my wife?

Your portrait on the miniature.

Why?

Your wife had someone copy your photograph on ivory.

I know from your description it was neither old, nor Oriental.

The ancients did not use lights and shadows,

chiaroscuro, as we do.

Then, when I saw the foot print on your wife's window sill...

What a mind you have.

It's a pity Mr. Packard, to stop you from working forever,

really a pity.

For the first time, we're in complete agreement.

Tell me, how did you arrive at the same conclusions I did?

I want to Dr. Han and offered him more than the others were giving him.

He told me everything.

Bribery hadn't occurred to me.

None of them realized they were handing me the opportunity

for the perfect murder, the murder without suspicion.

Really?

So, you see, Mr. Packard, why you too must he killed.

Are you ready?

(EXCLAIMS IN PAIN)

(GUN FIRING)

Raise your hands.

Drop your gun!

Mr. Monk?

Fancy meeting you here.

MONK: I have your partner, Mr. Packard.

Are you coming out?

Or shall I kill him with your gun?

Don't do it, Jack. He's got to shoot me anyhow.

I'll count three.

One...

Two... Stay where you're at, Jack.

Three.

He's getting away. (STRUGGLING)

(CAR SPEEDING AWAY)

There he goes! Yeah, he won't go far.

In a few minutes, every cop in town will be looking for him.

Oh, how horrible! Take me away, I can't look. His head...

It must have happened when he was thrown through the windshield.

Money, money... All the world is mad for money.

Except Mrs. Monk and her friends.

As guests of the State, they won't need any.

Doggone.

What started out to be a real honest-to-goodness mystery

just boils itself down to being as simple as ABC... Maybe.

But there's one note of mystery that's not been explained.

What happened to Jefferson Monk's head?

Hey, you mean the prophecy?

Maybe there was something after all?

Who can say?

The Temple bells of Par Shansi toll at dawn and at dusk.

The Temple bells of Par Shansi toll at dawn and at dusk.