Alfred Hitchcock Presents s02e13 Episode Script

Good evening, friends.
Would you all please examine the tops of your television sets, and see if one of you doesn't find a goldfish bowl with a crack in it? Thank you.
By the way, I've been asked to announce that some of you are missing this program unnecessarily.
You have moved and not kept us informed of your address.
So we don't know where to send the show to you.
I hope you'll take care of that matter at once.
Tonight, we are presenting a tale of mystery and intrigue, laid in middle-class suburbia.
It is called "Mr.
Blanchard's Secret.
" I realize this doesn't tell you much about the story, but several fine actors have been hired to do that, and I would hate to rob them of the privilege.
And so, without further ado, we reveal Mr.
Blanchard's secret.
Poor woman.
It's a shame I had to kill her off that way.
A psychiatrist would probably say that I had some hidden homicidal tendencies or something.
Who knows? If I didn't get it off my chest by writing mystery stories, I might end up by committing a few murders myself.
Phew! I'm glad it worked out this way, of course.
It's so much healthier.
Also, it pays better.
Otherwise, I'd say that I was pretty normal.
Even though my husband, John, doesn't always agree with me.
It's my vivid imagination that gives John the most trouble.
Poor John.
He's a lawyer.
Corporations mostly.
Crime doesn't even enter his mind.
But with me, it's like eating peanuts.
Once I start thinking about it, I can't stop.
Right now, I'm beginning to think some pretty strange things about the people next door.
If I thought about it enough, I could really build it up into a production.
Knowing myself, I probably will.
John? John, are you asleep? There's just one light on next door.
Don't you think that's odd? Ever since the Blanchards moved in, that one light always burns all night.
It's not in the right place to be coming from a hall.
It must be a bedroom! Maybe it's hers.
Maybe she has insomnia and she reads all night.
That's why I've never seen her, because she sleeps all day.
It sounds like a lovely idea, doesn't it? It is funny, though.
They've been in that house for over two weeks, and I've never seen Mrs.
Blanchard.
Not once.
Well, isn't that funny? He does all the chores.
He even hangs out her laundry.
I've bumped into him at the market several times.
He was very strange.
Hardly even nodded.
He's such an odd, withdrawn type.
Oh, I don't see how he could make a good teacher.
Do you know that he used to be a university professor? What's he doing stuck away in a small town high school like ours, anyway? It's very strange.
Good night, darling.
I enjoyed our little chat.
John! Suppose there isn't any Mrs.
Blanchard? Suppose he just invented her for some reason, or she's dead and he can't accept it, so he just goes on pretending? Or suppose he killed her.
Suppose he discovered that she had some secret vice, and he tried to get rid of her to save his career.
Oh, boy, I bet I could make a plot out of that.
Honey, I'm hungry all of a sudden.
Can I get you something, dear? Aw! It's not really so far-fetched when you think about it.
Mr.
Blanchard gets rid of his wife, but he's still afraid someone will eventually get suspicious.
So, he pretends that she's still with him.
He acted so peculiarly when I asked him about his wife.
Wasn't a bit friendly when I said I'd like to be neighborly and visit.
Of course! Now I know why he behaved that way.
It's because there is no Mrs.
Blanchard.
Why, he could go on like this for years.
In fact, as long as he pretends Mrs.
Blanchard is alive, he's safe.
That was not my vivid imagination.
That was Mr.
Blanchard.
Nobody is gonna come peeking through my back door in the middle of the night without an explanation.
No sign of the woman's touch so far.
Oh, I could do myself a real favor if I'd turn around and go home right now.
Of course, I'm not going to.
Like those peanuts, this is irresistible.
Looks like a set, ready for the lady to enter on cue.
Well, at least there was a Mrs.
Blanchard.
Lovely, too, even if that stony face doesn't seem to think so.
Wow! I'm sure these could put an awful dent in the professor's salary.
Maybe he couldn't afford to keep her, so he killed her.
Good evening, Mrs.
Fenton.
I was looking for you.
In the closet? Well, not exactly.
Well, you see, when I caught you peeking I mean, when I saw you outside my kitchen a little while ago, well, I thought there might be something wrong with Mrs.
Blanchard There's nothing wrong with Mrs.
Blanchard.
Really? Well, can you prove it? I mean Oh, I'd just love to meet her.
Some other time, perhaps.
Then she is here? This is her home.
I'm sorry if I frightened you a while ago.
My wife went out without telling me, and I thought perhaps she was with you.
Now, with your permission, I'd like to see you to your door.
Well, so far he's only got you for illegal entry and defamation of character.
What else happened last night? Nothing, unfortunately.
But you know, I'm positive there's something wrong in that house.
Mr.
Blanchard never once looked me straight in the eye.
Maybe he was embarrassed.
You weren't exactly dressed to go visiting.
Oh, don't be silly.
Besides, you should see some of Mrs.
Blanchard's negligées.
Wow! I just can't understand how a woman with those tastes could pick a man like that.
And that house.
It's like a morgue.
Who knows, maybe it is.
Darling, how the Blanchards live is none of our business.
You can't expect Mr.
Blanchard to put the welcome mat out for you when you go prowling around his house in the middle of the night, asking questions that are about as subtle as a sledge hammer.
He was prowling around our house first.
Besides, what was he really doing outside our kitchen door, anyway? Who knows? Maybe he walks in his sleep.
I'd even settle for that if I could just get some sleep.
I'm sorry, darling.
I wish I could forget.
You know me.
I just can't stop thinking about that poor woman probably lying in a cellar someplace right this minute, just ready to be popped into the furnace.
Now, please, not right on top of my breakfast.
Oh, sometimes I don't know how you put up with me.
I'll tell you what.
I'll try working the Blanchards into a script.
Then maybe we'll both get some sleep tonight.
Can I count on that? Of course, darling.
By the time you get home, Mrs.
Blanchard will be buried for the last time.
All right.
Bye.
Bye-bye.
Maybe the secret vice angle for Mrs.
Blanchard is a good one.
Maybe she was an alcoholic or something.
Mr.
Blanchard's university career was being destroyed, so he finally had to take steps.
Where are you going? No place especially.
Just out for a walk.
A walk to the liquor store, you mean.
Get back to your room at once.
Charles.
Charles, I promise to behave.
Oh, Charles, I can't stand it any longer.
I can't stand it.
I If I don't get out of this house, I'll go mad! Oh, Charles, I want to make friends Friends.
go shopping Shopping.
be like other women.
Don't you understand? But you are not like other women.
Other women do not get themselves into a drunken stupor and nearly set fire to their homes, or go off on a spree and wind up almost running a child down! Other women help their husbands' careers.
They do not destroy them.
Now, get back to your room.
No! No, no! I will not be kept a prisoner in this house any longer.
I am going to tell the world what you have done to me.
Have you counted the number of times that we have had to move, the positions I have given up because of you? Have you? You have ruined my career for the last time.
The last time.
And that's the end of her.
Oh, John will be so happy.
Mrs.
Fenton? I'm Mrs.
Blanchard.
I've been wanting to meet you.
I know I should have knocked, but the door was open, so I took the liberty of walking in.
Mrs.
Blanchard? Well, yes.
Come in, please.
You have no idea how glad I am to see you.
It's all so pretty here, just the way I imagined it.
I was beginning to think that you didn't exist at all.
I'm sorry, I can't stay very long.
My husband doesn't know I'm here.
He wouldn't like it.
Oh, I don't see why not.
After all, we are neighbors.
It's a little difficult.
Don't you say another word until I get some coffee.
I'm sure we're going to have a lot to talk about.
Mr.
Blanchard.
How charming of you to call.
Well, you'll join us in some coffee, won't you? I'm sorry, Mrs.
Fenton, but I'm afraid there won't be time for that.
Come, Ellen.
Are you angry with me? Come, Ellen, I said.
All right, Charles.
I'm sorry that I couldn't stay for coffee.
Men are such babies.
They just can't be left alone for one minute.
When a man is so jealous that he keeps his wife a virtual prisoner in her own home, won't even let her out to talk to a neighbor, then he has to be insane.
Well, I'm not going to just sit here.
I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't do something to help.
Her light is on, as usual.
When you think of it, that bedroom is her whole world.
No wonder she doesn't care what the rest of the house looks like.
And all those pretty clothes that no one ever gets to see.
Honestly, John, I'd just like to take that man and He just came out of the house.
He's He's carrying something.
It looks like a large sack.
He's putting it into his car.
John, he's driving off with it.
Oh, John! John! John, something awful.
How can you read at a time like this? Doesn't everybody? Oh, for heaven's sakes, do something! About what? John, 10 minutes ago, Mr.
Blanchard left here in a great hurry, practically dragging a heavy sack.
I've been pounding on their door ever since.
Mrs.
Blanchard's light is still on, but Mrs.
Blanchard doesn't answer.
Now do you understand? Not in the least.
Didn't we both agree that Mr.
Blanchard is a homicidal maniac? He was furious with her for coming over here this morning.
John, suppose that what Mr.
Blanchard had in that sack was the body of Ellen Blanchard! What? Now will you call the police? Look, you've done some pretty wacky things in your Oh, never mind, I'll do it myself.
Get me the police.
Now, stop that! I beg of you, don't Maybe you don't mind having a murder committed right Hello, this is Mrs.
John Fenton.
I'm awfully sorry to bother you, but I believe a woman has just been murdered.
Who? Oh! Oh, she's my next door neighbor.
No, no, I'm not absolutely sure, but You see, I saw her husband dragging a sack out of their house in the middle of the night.
Do you mean that you still haven't found the body? You haven't even looked? No, I am not crazy, although it's a wonder with all that's been going on around here.
No, of course I can't be absolutely sure there was a murder.
But how can you be absolutely sure that there wasn't unless you look? I don't know.
You're the police.
Just ask yourself where you'd go to get rid of a body if you had one! Don't worry, darling.
I didn't say anything that would get us into trouble.
Certainly not.
Of course, when the police arrest you for being a general nuisance, don't you come to me.
But if you need help, I'll be at the office.
Poor John! I wish he had just a little more imagination.
He wouldn't suffer so.
Now, let me see if I can reconstruct the murder.
Hello.
I've come for coffee.
You had such a funny look on your face when I came in, as if I were a ghost.
To be perfectly frank, I thought I'd never see you again after yesterday.
My husband and I had quite a quarrel over my being here.
Well, as a matter of fact, he got so furious he threw a few things into a duffle bag and stormed into the night.
He hasn't come back yet.
Duffle bag.
So that was it.
But didn't you hear me ringing your bell? No.
Oh, but then I was so upset I took a sleeping pill.
I didn't hear a thing after that.
Oh, how pretty.
Do you mind? No, of course not.
Help yourself.
Only, it doesn't work.
They never do for me.
I guess I just don't have a red thumb with lighters.
Try this.
Thank you.
It's such a lovely one.
I adore silver, but I suppose every woman does.
Oh, if you knew some of the wild theories I've had about you.
Theories? I think we'd better skip those.
From now on, I'm gonna stick to writing.
You write? How exciting! That depends on if your taste runs to crime.
Mmm-mmm.
Mmm-mmm.
Upsets me horribly.
My husband adores murder mysteries, the gorier the better.
Well, at least I was right about something.
Ellen Ellen, forgive me for being personal, but are you happy? Oh, you mean with Charles? Yes.
Yes, I think so.
Of course, he is nervous, sort of high-strung, doesn't want me out of his sight, watches me a little too closely sometimes, but he's sweet when you get to know him.
I'm sure.
Gee.
But don't you mind being cooped up, never getting out, never seeing anyone? Oh, I sneak off away sometimes, to the movies, or go shopping.
I adore to go shopping by myself.
But, well, Charles doesn't approve.
I suppose he knows what's best.
You know, I just don't think that you're real.
No, no.
No, no.
Actually, I'm very grateful to him.
He understands my little foibles.
Besides, I am the most dreadful housekeeper.
Sometimes I think he's an angel to put up with me.
You know, I really must be going.
Charles generally gets home for lunch about this time, and I'm going to be there.
But you said that last night he Oh, you mean about leaving me? He's done that before.
He always comes back.
You know, I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed this.
I do hope there's something I can do for you sometime.
Just come again, as often as your husband As often as you like.
Oh, my Irish stew, I forgot all about it! Oh, don't worry about me.
I'll let myself out.
See you soon.
Okay.
Bye! I really thought I had the Blanchards all figured out.
Oh.
Now I don't know who's crazy.
Unless it's me.
That's funny.
That lighter was here just a few minutes ago.
I remember distinctly because Mrs.
Blanchard had it in her hand, admiring it.
She said how much she adored silver.
Now I know what Mr.
Blanchard's secret is! Well, I finished it, and I think it's good.
Wanna hear it? If it has anything to do with the Blanchards, no.
I disguised them beautifully.
I don't think I've lost anything.
Imagine me thinking all those dreadful things about him.
And all the time the poor man had a kleptomaniac on his hands.
That's funny.
It's one plot that never occurred to me.
No wonder he had to leave the university.
He probably can't keep any position very long because of her.
I mean Well Gee, the minute he lets her out of his sight, she just goes right out and steals things.
She can't help it, of course, but it must be awfully nerve-wracking for him.
Think of the strain he must live under, never knowing when the blow will fall again.
It's a wonder that he hasn't killed her.
People simply don't go around murdering each other so easily, my love.
Except in your stories.
They also don't take quite as many silver cigarette lighters as you might think.
Hmm.
Well, I'd just like to know what happened to that silver cigarette lighter, then.
Why don't you try the direct approach? Why don't you ask Mrs.
Blanchard if she took it? Don't be silly, darling.
You just can't go around asking people personal questions like that.
Besides, it didn't work, anyway.
If that's for me, I'm asleep.
Hello? Yes? That was the police.
They've just found a woman's body.
They say she was around 30 and a brunette.
It must be Mrs.
Blanchard.
I don't believe it.
It's down at the morgue, and I have to go down and identify it.
She was hit over the head and thrown over a cliff.
Oh, I really feel responsible.
It must have been that silver lighter that finally broke the camel's back.
What camel? Mr.
Blanchard.
When he discovered that his wife had stolen again, I guess he just went berserk and murdered John, you don't think that he really did murder her? Of course not, darling.
Now, it's got to have been somebody else.
She was so nice.
I'll just never forgive myself for this.
What has it got to do with you? I was so suspicious I was always inventing things.
It's almost as though I made it happen.
Don't you see? No, I don't see.
I'm going down to the morgue and settle this right now.
No, John.
I started it, and I'm gonna finish it.
It works now.
I had Charles fix it.
He's awfully good at that sort of thing, although he hates to admit it.
This concludes our show.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hurry off to a little social affair.
A dear friend is guest of honor.
It's a stoning.
I wouldn't miss it for the world.
Good night.