Alfred Hitchcock Presents s02e12 Episode Script

Oh, good evening, friends, Romans and countrymen.
I've just unearthed some items which may be of vast archaeological importance.
Two fig leaves.
And a half eaten apple.
Tonight's play is not about fig leaves, but it does have a scene in a garden.
It is called "The Rose Garden.
" And it's concerned with two elderly sisters in a magnolia scented house in Louisiana.
You say you come all the way from New York to see Miss Julia on business? You sure you ain't got them mixed up? You didn't come to see Miss Cordelia? No, who is Miss Cordelia? She's Miss Julia's sister.
Why, she even tell Miss Julia what to eat for breakfast.
That's why I was kind of surprised that Miss Julia got any business that Miss Cordelia ain't in charge of.
Well, Miss Julia has written a book which my firm is going to publish.
As far as I know, it has nothing to do with Miss Cordelia.
Well, I declare.
A book, huh? Miss Julia never had a chance to say nothing.
I guess she just had to write it down.
How soon do you reckon I can get a hold of a copy? It sure will sell out fast in this town.
Oh, we hope to bring it out in the spring.
It's so good, we'll probably rush it through.
Really good, huh? Well, I'll be.
So there are two Miss Pickerings, hmm? No, Miss Cordelia was married for 30 years.
Then one day, about two years ago, Gordon Welles just walked out and left her.
Never even took his toothbrush.
I guess he couldn't stand her no longer.
He only stayed as long as he did on account of Miss Julia, I shouldn't wonder.
Oh? How was that? Well, he was her beau to start with then Miss Cordelia took him away from her.
I'll bet there's plenty of times that guy wished he stuck with his first choice.
That's interesting.
Well, here we are.
Is this the place? Could be the house in the book.
Perfect setting.
You know, I ain't surprised that Miss Julia's wrote a book.
I always thought she had plenty of wheels.
She just ain't got what it takes to stand up to Miss Cordelia, that's all.
Now, how much do I owe you? Two bits.
Anywhere in town for two bits.
Only a quarter? Yeah.
I think I'll move down here.
There you are, thanks.
Well, thank you.
Oh, good afternoon, I'd like to see Miss Good afternoon.
You're Mr.
Vinton, from New York.
How do you do, Miss Pickering.
It's awfully good of you to Well, this is Miss Welles, Mister.
Thank you, Barney.
That was very helpful, but we won't keep you any longer.
Judson can carry Mr.
Vinton's bag in.
Miss Pickering is my sister.
I am Mrs.
Welles.
Oh, I beg your pardon.
Won't you come in? Thank you.
It's very kind of you to ask me to stay here, but wouldn't you find it more convenient if I went to a hotel? No, indeed.
We wouldn't think of not having our guests in our home.
Besides, that hotel is a disgrace.
Why, if they have a fire, the only escape would be to come out of the window on a knotted rope.
Whereas, if there were a fire here, there wouldn't even be a rope.
How do you do, Mr.
Vinton? How do you do, Miss Pickering? Very kind of you to come.
I'm afraid you'll have to take potluck, Mr.
Vinton.
If I had known sooner that you were coming, or even that my sister had written a book Well, I was afraid my sister wouldn't approve, Mr.
Vinton.
That's why I didn't tell her I was writing it.
Well, I don't think it very dignified, Julia, for a woman of your background to write one of those sensational mystery stories.
Come, Mr.
Vinton, I'll show you to your room.
Julia, tell Madie she can serve dinner in an hour.
And tell her to stop that noise.
"The old something furniture with its carved lion's heads.
" Why, I believe this is the room that "The room was old.
"It had been there before they were born, "and had housed their travesty of a marriage "for 30 years.
"The old, massive furniture with its carved lion's heads "stood as if defying anyone to move it.
"The fireplace, with its white marble facing "black inside with the soot of years.
"And on the mantel, "a porcelain dairy maid had stood "since her grandmother's day, "together with two brass cherubs "which had held candles to light her to bed.
"In a fury, Charles turned away, "Amelia snatched the heavy brass candlestick from the mantel "and brought it down upon his head.
" Amelia.
Cordelia.
I hope you like our Louisiana coffee, Mr.
Vinton.
Oh, I'm sure I shall.
So you haven't read your sister's manuscript, Mrs.
Welles.
I have not.
As I told you, I wasn't even informed that she was writing it.
But you don't like this sort of story, sister.
I don't consider it literature, if that's what you mean.
And you must have wasted a great deal of time writing it.
Well, I'm going to be paid for my time.
Thank you.
Do you take cream and sugar, Mr.
Vinton? I'll have mine black, thank you.
Shall I make a great deal of money, Mr.
Vinton? I don't know.
I think this book's going to sell very well.
Certainly we shan't hesitate to advance you $1,000.
Of course you'll probably make much more than that.
That part, at any rate, will be pleasant.
Thank heaven dear Mama will never know where it came from.
Perhaps she will, sister.
Maybe Mama's watching over us in everything we do.
What an interesting house you have.
So many beautiful things.
Those old pistols.
Why, they're They're works of art.
Yes, they belonged to my grandfather.
He was forced to use the pistols several times to defend the Pickering name.
Really? I'm enchanted to find myself right in the setting of your novel, Miss Pickering.
I don't believe it's ever happened to me before.
In the setting? Why, yes, this house and all the things in it.
Why, you even put me in the murder room, Mrs.
Welles.
And I'll bet there's a stone bench in the garden by the rose bed.
What? Yes.
I recognized it at once.
You know, authors should always have their murders committed in old houses.
The shadows of the past surge forward to lend a doomful atmosphere to the matter in hand.
Murder most foul.
It's most impressive.
It must have impressed you for you to make a special trip down here.
I should have thought these things were done by mail.
Well, I was coming south anyway, and I had read enough of the book to know we wanted to publish it.
As a matter of fact, I finished it on the plane to New Orleans.
Oh, then you have the manuscript with you? Oh, I'm sure he didn't bother to bring it, sister.
If he finished it on the plane, it seems likely he still has it with him, Julia.
Perhaps I might glance through it whenever you find it convenient to get it out.
But you don't like this kind of writing, sister.
You said so.
What beautiful roses.
Are you interested in gardening, Mrs.
Welles? I am president of my garden club.
My roses always take first prize.
How very gratifying.
You must feel rewarded for all your work.
Yes.
You've aroused my curiosity, Mr.
Vinton.
I think I would like to read Julia's book.
Oh, by all means.
But the only copy we have just now is the hand written original, I'm afraid.
And we'll probably be working on that most of tomorrow.
Miss Pickering, may I suggest the first thing you buy with the advance on your book is a typewriter.
And spare your long suffering editors.
No, of course I'd be delighted to send you a copy as soon as we have it typed.
"'Sylvia', Charles urged.
"'All we have to do is to go away.
"'She doesn't love me, you know that.
"'She'll be furious, but we won't be here to see it.
"'You can stay with my Aunt Therese in New Orleans "'until I get a divorce.
"'I'll meet you there tonight.
' "It was very late when Sylvia, almost in a state of shock "from anxiety and disappointment, "stole furtively into the house.
"She crept up the stairs and into her room "without encountering Amelia.
"Where was Charles? "Why hadn't he met her in New Orleans? "Much later that night Sylvia found herself at the window, "half asleep, pushing it open.
"The room was hot and stuffy "and she leaned out to breathe in the cool night air.
"And there below her in the garden "by the stone bench was Amelia.
"What was she doing?" Ah, there you are.
Why, I thought your sister was the gardener in the family.
Well, sister enjoys the garden, but sister's too busy to work in it.
I hope they give you credit when the blue ribbons are handed out.
Oh, I don't care about that sort of thing.
Oh, did you want to go in and work on the manuscript? Well, if it's all right with you, we'll work out here.
Well, as you say.
Miss Pickering, have you thought about what your sister's reaction would be to this book? And the possibly local reaction? Yes, I have.
Do you think I ought to withdraw it? Not publish it at all? Mr.
Vinton, maybe you're right.
Now, wait a minute, I didn't mean that.
We're very anxious to publish it.
Well, I should never have made a special trip here if we weren't.
Oh.
Of course.
It wouldn't be fair to withdraw it now after you've been to all that trouble.
It's only, just that Mr.
Vinton, to be honest, I never in the world thought anyone would publish it.
It was quite a shock.
Yes, but, surely, I mean, you must have thought about what the situation would be if it were accepted.
No.
No, I'm afraid I didn't.
When I actually mailed it, I'd done all I could.
It wasn't up to me anymore.
It was out of my hands.
Miss Pickering, I don't quite understand what you mean.
Well, I don't know what there is to understand.
I don't know what you're talking about, Mr.
Vinton.
I thought you wanted to talk about alterations in the manuscript.
Yes, I do.
Forgive me.
I do want to revise a few pages with you if I may.
Oh.
You'll forgive me, Mr.
Vinton.
I'm afraid I'm a little nervous this morning.
But what was it? Now, let's see Oh, yes, here we are.
Now, the night Sylvia came back from New Orleans, when Charles failed to meet her there, a little later on you say she found herself at the window.
Now, was she actually awake or what? Well, that was it.
She was never conscious of waking.
She might've been walking in her sleep.
She just found herself there, looking out.
And there below was a deep trench which had been dug for compost for sweet peas.
She saw Amelia struggling with some burden in the wheelbarrow which she dumped into the trench.
But she couldn't tell what it was.
Well, she couldn't be sure.
She Well, then she fainted, you know.
Yes.
"And as Amelia sank down upon the bench " That would be this one, wouldn't it? Well, it would be one like it.
Hmm.
"Suddenly Sylvia's head was icy and she fell to the floor.
"When she woke up it was dawn.
"The trench below was no longer there.
"Rose bushes had been planted in the newly filled-in bed.
"Or was it newly filled-in? And why roses? "Could it be so the bed "wouldn't be dug up again next year? "But Amelia " Mr.
Vinton.
Yeah? What Well, what was it you wanted to ask me? Oh, well Well, about this really.
After seeing Amelia dump what looked like a body into the trench, and when Charles never appeared again and there was no word from him, isn't Sylvia sure it was he? Well, she couldn't be positive.
It might still be a dream.
Well, everything was so queer.
And then next day, Amelia said that the rose bushes had been there all the time, planted the day that Sylvia went to New Orleans.
Yes, I know.
But in her own mind, in her heart, wasn't Sylvia sure? Well, yes But I don't know.
Yes, I suppose she was.
Then why doesn't she go to the police? Was it just the prospect of the disgrace, the shame and notoriety? Well, partly, I suppose.
Mostly because she was a coward.
You mean she's afraid of Amelia? Not physically, perhaps, though it could come to that.
She's afraid of her sister's disdain.
Her contempt.
Well, I I tried to make it clear.
Mr.
Vinton, if you've never been really afraid of another person, you can't understand this.
Sylvia cannot take the step.
She cannot stand up and say, "I accuse.
" She's got to go on day after day pretending that she'll do it tomorrow, knowing that she never will.
I see.
And yet, as a reader, I can't help feeling her sister's power over her exists only in Sylvia's imagination.
Mr.
Vinton, I You'll have to excuse me, please.
I I have to see about lunch.
Well, there you are, Mr.
Vinton.
It's all signed.
You have an option on my next three books, but I fear I shall never write them.
Let's not be too sure, Miss Julia.
One never knows.
Get your hat, Julia.
We'll be late for choir practice.
Sister, I just thought I wouldn't go, for once.
It's Mr.
Vinton's last night.
Nonsense.
The choir's down to nothing these last few weeks.
Reverend Samuels is counting on you.
I'm sure Mr.
Vinton doesn't consider himself more important than God.
Oh, no, not at all.
Get your hat, Julia.
And not that silly thing you bought for Easter.
I must thank you, Mrs.
Welles, for a very pleasant visit.
I hope you two ladies will visit New York some time and let me be the host.
Thank you.
I doubt that we ever shall.
No member of our family has been north for 100 years.
It's changed a good deal, I believe.
Will you be gone long? Oh, not long.
We shall be gone a good two and a half hours.
Put your gloves on, Julia.
Well, I'm sorry, Mr.
Vinton.
I just hope you won't be too bored.
Oh, I'll find plenty to do.
Well, Mr.
Vinton? Oh, Mrs.
Welles.
I was just Yes? I must apologize.
You see, in fact I You were looking for my husband's body, is that right? Yes, I'm afraid I was.
Perhaps you would like to dig a little deeper.
Oh, no.
Thank you.
Mr.
Vinton, perhaps it's just as well you've done this.
I left choir practice early so I could talk to you in private.
And since Julia's book has driven you to this extreme, you must see that it's quite out of the question ever to publish it.
Well, it is a very convincing book, Mrs.
Welles.
It convinced me and I feel sure your sister believes every word of it.
Very probably she does.
My sister is a neurotic and disappointed woman with a vivid imagination.
And she deeply wishes it were true.
Why should she wish a thing like that? Why, so that I might appear as the villain, of course, instead of my husband.
I wasn't the only one he deserted, you know.
Julia thought she was going away with him.
But he left her, too.
And she has never been able to accept that.
So, she wrote her own sordid ending to the story.
I see, Mrs.
Welles.
I feel like a fool.
I I can only apologize.
And as to Miss Julia's book, if she wants to withdraw it You may leave that to me.
Julia will do as I say.
Well, I'm sorry to change my mind again, Mr.
Vinton, but I'm afraid Cordelia's right.
So if you're willing to release me from my contract It's treating you shamefully, I know.
It's quite all right, Miss Julia.
Please don't give it another thought.
Well, I I think I'll get along now.
There's There's a late train, I believe.
I don't wish to appear inhospitable, Mr.
Vinton, but perhaps it would be best.
Yes.
I'll walk to the station.
I've got plenty of time.
Good bye.
Good bye.
Good bye, Mr.
Vinton.
Well, I'm glad you've finally come to your senses.
Yes, I have.
Tomorrow No.
In the morning.
In the morning I'm going to Sheriff Thibault, and I'm going to tell him everything.
And he's going to come here and he's going to dig in the right rose bed where the bench used to be.
Julia! I would've done it tonight, only I wanted to spare us the humiliation in Mr.
Vinton's presence.
Are you out of your mind? You certainly are not going to the Sheriff with any such insane accusation.
You know perfectly well I won't allow it.
Nothing you can do to stop me.
I'm not afraid of you anymore.
I guess maybe now I'm more afraid of going on being a coward, lying to myself and to everyone I most certainly can stop you, and I will if you make it necessary.
I killed Gordon to save us from the scandal of his running away with you and I won't hesitate now.
But now Now you're being ridiculous, sister.
Why Why, you can't kill me and not be found out.
I'll simply say I was cleaning the pistol, and it discharged by accident.
Nobody will suspect me now any more than they did with Gordon.
Very well, then.
I guess you gotta kill me, because you can't stop me any other way.
No, you mustn't do that, Mrs.
Welles.
Mr.
Vinton.
Or that.
You can hardly explain my body, too.
What are you doing here? Spying on us? Yes, as a matter of fact.
You see, I noticed this pistol was missing.
Sneaking back here prying into our personal affairs, of all the disgraceful outrageous performances Sister, sister.
Don't you call me sister! Are you all right, Miss Julia? Yes, I guess so.
You were grand.
You know, I really believe you'd have let her shoot you.
You know, I made a decision for once.
Mr.
Vinton, you do understand about the book, don't you? I just couldn't bear to have anybody read it now.
Of course.
Please don't worry about it.
Besides, you'll write me another one, I'm sure.
Well, perhaps I will.
You know, I've known about all this for two years.
They'll probably send me to prison, too.
Maybe I could write it there.
I'm sure they won't.
But if they do, I shall insist they don't give you time off for good behavior.
So much for the literary set.
And now we must interrupt our program while we prepare the next play for production.
I shall see you then.
Good night.