Secret Beyond the Door... Page #5

The count was a religious bigot. When he

discovered that his beloved wife,

Celeste, was secretly a Huguenot,

she was nothing to him any more.

Athing without a soul.

She was lying on the chaise-longue,

reading, when he came in.

Did he poison her?

- Why?

Oh, you mean the glass?

No, no, that was mine.

But, if you notice the handkerchief

on the couch, there's a little blood -

it was a rapier thrust.

In room number two, the weapon

was less conventional.

The killer used the floods of 1913.

This was the cellar of a house in Barton, Missouri,

where the floods were especially severe.

He was a sordid little rat.

Who was the victim?

- His mother.

That's rather rare -

murder of a mother by her son.

She's a brain psych major.

In many cases the murder of a girlfriend,

or a wife, has its psychological roots in an

unconscious hatred for the mother.

As I see it, the motive was common as dirt:

The old lady was insured.

He tied her to that chair.

The waters were rising.

You can see how high the waters rose.

Don Ignacio couldn't stand the sight of blood;

he was a cultivated man.

As you can see by this room, even in the

wilderness of Paraguay

in his hacienda surrounded by desolate pampas,

he lived a cosmopolitan life.

He'd been educated in Paris.

To Don Ignacio, murder,

as well as love, was a fine art

and in both he was a master and a perfectionist.

Constancia, Maria, Isabella -

they were all girls of flawless beauty.

Before Don Ignacio faced the firing squad,

he swore that he never intended to murder,

that what he hoped for was an ultimate

and lasting love, but that something...

he spoke of an unholy emanation from this room

that drove him inevitably to kill.

Pretty far-fetched.

For Don Ignacio it seemed the most apt.

A pity for him that in his day nothing was known

yet about psychoanalysis.

Then if the room had nothing to do with it...

- 'Course it did. Very important.

Something happened to him here - perhaps in his

childhood - and he'd made a resolution

in this room to kill. His conscious mind had

forgotton all about it but...

But he still killed.

- Naturally, but he didn't know why -

he just had to.

But if he'd been able to tell someone, like a

psychoanalyst, what it was that happened here

no murder would have been necessary.

Unless, of course,

his love for his victims made it necessary.

Now, our next murderer, compared to

Don Ignacio, was a blundering amateur.

Didn't you say happy events?

I'm sure that's what Mark said.

I must have misunderstood him... I...

Mark wouldn't lie to me.

Celia, when Rick died he left me with

certain responsibilities and...

Well, I may not be alone with you again.

You signed a power of attorney last week.

Do you realize it gives Mark the same power

over your trust fund that you have,

complete control over all your money?

- But he needed money for his magazine.

The magazine makes pretty good money.

- Bob, you're jealous!

If you feel that way, Celia...

- I'm sorry, but I know Mark -

he wouldn't do anything unfair.

They say women are canny.

- Ha-ha! Ha-ha! Mark's a lucky fellow.

First wife's money runs out - she dies.

Second wife - plenty of scraps. Nice work!

You don't want to make a scene, Celia.

- It's vicious.

Gossip, Celia - ignore it.

I had to beg Mark to use my money.

I forced him to...

You tell me to ignore gossip,

but you believe it yourself.

Celia!

Ah! But there's not a bale in the loft. I admit we

women provide plenty of provocation, Mark,

but there must be some way short of murder to

demonstrate male exasperation!

From Eve till today,

women are our greatest temptation.

That is the last of the rooms to be seen,

ladies and gentlemen.

The guide is not allowed to accept tips.

Oh... we haven't seen this one, have we?

No.

Isn't it complete?

- Yes.

- Then don't let's skip it.

Why, it's locked. This must be

tops in gruesomeness!

Come on, Mark, open up!

A man must have some secrets.

- Danger, darling, danger.

Never trust a man with secrets.

- Doesn't your husband have any?

Naturally. It's as instinctive for Arthur to hide

things from me as for a dog to hide bones under a

rug.

Arthur!

- What is it, darling?

When the rain started Arthur was... oh heavens!

- What is it?

Well, you know Arthur - one drink too many and

he's over the edge.

He was sleeping in one of those canvas chairs

back at the Pacifica bushes and I forgot him.

He must be drowned by now.

It's good to be alone with you at last, darling.

Night cap?

- Mm-hmm.

Mark... didn't you tell me in Mexico that you

collected 'happy rooms'?

Happy? No.

Felicitous, is that what you mean?

- Mm-hmm.

- Felicitous doesn't mean happy, darling.

Look it up in the dictionary:

It means happy in effect, fitting, apt.

I use the term to describe an architecture

that fits the events that happen in it.

But why only murder rooms, Mark?

- Murder comes from a strong emotion.

More direct even than love. It's the clearest

demonstration of my theory.

I was rather shocked.

By the stories? Most people find

them pretty potent.

No, it wasn't that. It was you.

Somehow I felt as though I did that night in

Mexico - and when I met you at the station...

I don't know what you're talking about, Celia.

It was the way you... immersed

yourself in those stories

as if you were almost

happy about their deaths.

Mark,

what's in the seventh room?

It will never be shown to anyone.

Not even to you.

Oh, Mark, what do you mean by 'never'?

- By what I mean.

I'm not just curious, darling. I don't mean to pry,

I want to understand you, remember?

I have to live my own life.

Since I was a child, I've been hemmed-in

by women wanting to live it for me.

Caroline, Eleanor and now you, too.

No, thanks.

Mark, surely there can't be anything

in the room worth quarrelling about?

I don't want to discuss it!

The room is locked and stays locked!

Good morning.

- Good morning, ma'am.

I thought you never got up before eleven.

- I couldn't sleep.

Butterflies?

- Uh-uh.

A little headache.

What are you planting?

- Carnations.

I like carnations.

Deep red ones and lilacs.

She liked lilacs, too, Mr Mark's mother.

All this side of the house was a solid bank

of it - white and purple

and that fuzzy kind they call Persian.

What happened to it?

They was dug out when

Mr Mark came home from school.

Yes, Mark had them taken out

the summer after mother died...

so long ago.

Oh, Andy, I left the

bonemeal on your work bench.

Yes, ma'am.

Only after dinner.

Celia, I've been trying to tell you for days -

I'm glad you're here.

Thank you, Carrie.

I blame myself so much

for Mark's first marriage.

But Carrie, you aren't...

- Yes. I picked Eleanor for Mark.

I thought him very wild and unsettled

and I made up my mind and his

that he had to be married for his own good.

But...

I think I'll have that cigarette.

I watched Mark at the party yesterday.

He must love you very much.

Thank you, Carrie.

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