Meet John Doe Page #4

CONNELL:

(reading)

"An appeal to John Doe. 'Think it

over, John. Life can be beautiful,'

says Mayor. 'If you need a job,

apply to the editor of this paper

. . .'" " and so forth and so forth

. . . Okay, Mayor. I'll let you

know as soon as I have something!

What? . . . Well, pull down the

blinds!

(he hangs up)

The door opens and a man enters. His name is BEANY. Walks

fast, talks fast and accomplishes nothing. Outside, we see

the painter trying once more to get his sign painted. He

reaches in—and pulls the door to.

BEANY:

I went up to Miss Mitchell's house,

boss. Boy, she's in a bad way.

CONNELL:

Where is she?

BEANY:

Hey, do you know something? She

supports a mother and two kids.

What do you know about that?

CONNELL:

(controlling his

patience)

Did you find her?

BEANY:

No. Her mother's awful worried

about her. When she left the house

she said she was going on a roaring

drunk. Er, the girl, I mean!

CONNELL:

(barking)

Go out and find her!

BEANY:

Sure. Hey, but the biggest thing I

didn't tell you . . .

CONNELL picks up telephone.

CONNELL:

Hello! . . . Yeh?

BEANY:

Her old man was Doc Mitchell. You

know, the doc that saved my mother's

life and wouldn't take any money

for it? You remember that? Okay,

boss, I'll go and look for her.

BEANY exits, knocking over an ash-stand.

CONNELL:

(into phone)

Holy smokes, Commissioner. You've

had twenty-four hours! Okay,

Hawkshaw, grab a pencil. Here it

is again. She's about five foot

five, brown eyes, light chestnut

hair and as fine a pair of legs as

. . .

The door opens, ANN stands there—CONNELL sees her.

CONNELL:

(into phone—staring

at Ann)

. . . ever walked into this office.

Med. Shot:
At door. The sign painter is slowly beginning

to lose patience. He again reaches in—pulls the door

shut—glaring at ANN.

CLOSE-UP:
Of ANN.

ANN:

(innocently)

Did you want to see me?

WIDER SHOT:
CONNELL, without moving, stares at her.

CONNELL:

(quietly—sizzling)

No. I've had the whole army and

navy searching for you because

that's a game we play here every

day.

ANN:

I remember, distinctly, being fired.

CONNELL:

That's right. But you have a piece

of property that still belongs to

this newspaper. And I'd like to

have it!

ANN:

What's that?

CONNELL:

The letter.

ANN:

What letter?

CONNELL:

The letter from John Doe.

ANN:

Oh!

CONNELL:

The whole town's in an uproar.

We've got to find him. The letter's

our only clue.

ANN:

(simply)

There is no letter.

CONNELL:

We'll get a handwriting expert to—

(suddenly realizes

what she has said)

What!

ANN:

There is no letter.

He stares at her for a moment, flabbergasted—exchanges a

look with POP—crosses to the back door—shuts it—then comes

back to face her.

CLOSE SHOT:
- ANN and CONNELL.

CONNELL:

Say that again.

ANN:

There is no letter. I made it up.

CONNELL looks at her a long moment and then up at POP.

CONNELL:

(repeating dully)

You made it up.

ANN:

Uh-huh. You said you wanted

fireworks.

WIDER SHOT:
As he recovers from the shock, and then wheels

on ANN again.

CONNELL:

Don't you know there are nine jobs

waiting for this guy? Twenty-two

families want to board him free?

Five women want to marry him, and

the Mayor's practically ready to

adopt him? And you . . .

As CONNELL glares at her the door springs open and BEANY

enters.

BEANY:

just called the morgue, boss. They

say there's a girl there—

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