Sorry, Wrong Number Page #8

in January of last year.

The place was your father's plant

at Cicero, Illinois.

- Working late?

- I'm afraid so, Mr. Stevenson.

Catching up a little.

I lost a little time last week.

Anything I can show you,

Mr. Stevenson?

No. No, thanks. Just curious.

I've always been curious about

this department, what you do here.

This is where the formulae for the

products are developed, isn't it?

I suppose you could put it

that way.

Many ingredients which go into

the various pharmaceuticals.

We break down the raw materials

into their various components.

- Many of them extremely rare.

- Is that so?

And what do you do with all this

after you break it down?

Why, it goes into

the Cotterell products.

I know, but in the meantime, before

you ship it out, where is it?

I'm afraid that's

a company secret, Mr. Stevenson.

But I suppose being

Mr. Cotterell's son-in-law...

It'd never do to leave it

lying around loose.

It's quite precious,

you know.

- You're the man in charge of it.

- Well, I suppose I am.

- Doesn't it ever worry you?

- Worry me, Mr. Stevenson?

Pardon me.

- Thank you.

- What I mean is...

being responsible

for all this.

For instance, suppose you

were ever to make a mistake?

A mistake?

I've been working here for 15 years

and I'm sure no one's complained.

Of course, of course.

I was just... how shall I say...

curious, that's all.

Well, I quite understand,

Mr. Stevenson.

Cigarette?

No. No, thank you.

I don't smoke.

That's how I first became acquainted

with your husband, Mrs. Stevenson.

About a month later

I was waiting for my bus as usual.

- Wally!

- Good evening, Mr. Stevenson.

- Hop in.

- Sure it's not too much trouble?

- No trouble at all.

- Well, thank you then.

This is certainly a treat.

- Very beautiful car, Mr. Stevenson.

- It's my wife's.

Oh. I've never owned a car.

They've always seemed

a bit too mechanical for me.

Personally I prefer a brace of

spanking horses and a good carriage.

I was brought up around horses,

you know. In Surrey.

And I suppose one never gets

it out of one's blood.

- Do you care for horses?

- No, not very much.

You're missing a great deal.

They're such fine creatures.

So powerful, and at the same time,

so gentle and affectionate.

I often wish that I owned

a small number of them.

You don't say.

Only I'd never keep them in

the stable. That's far too cruel.

I'd let them be free as nature

intended in a very large meadow.

Every day I'd go down there with

carrots and sugar and stroke them.

As a matter of fact, I've already

picked out the perfect spot.

It's near Dorking, England.

There's a bit of land there,

all green grass and shade trees.

With a beautiful brook.

Horses do love a brook.

I'd price it every now and then,

just for my own amusement.

But it always seems just a little...

how shall I say... beyond me.

Sounds nice.

Why is it beyond you? Haven't you

saved enough at that job of yours?

Well, Mr. Stevenson,

the high cost of living.

I've become a bit overanxious

on occasion for ready money...

and lost out

on foolish speculations.

But I'm putting a little

aside now every month...

and someday, a very distant one,

when I've retired from my job...

Why wait? What good is a dream

when you're too old to enjoy it?

That's quite a truism,

Mr. Stevenson.

The zest does go out of things

with the encroachments of old age.

You said it, Wally.

You can't live on dreams forever.

Waiting only weakens your dream.

My motto is, "If you want

something, get it now."

It's the next turn on the right,

Mr. Stevenson. Number 54.

Well, good night, Mr. Stevenson.

And thanks ever so much.

Wally. About that conversation

we had at the lab last month.

I've been thinking, there might be

a way out after all.

A way out? Why, whatever do

you mean, Mr. Stevenson?

- To have that meadow in England.

- How so, Mr. Stevenson?

- By making a mistake here and there.

- A mistake?

- Nobody has to know.

- Please. I better be going.

- Wally! Wait a minute.

- Yes, Mr. Stevenson?

I've got it all figured out.

The differences need to be so slight,

and nobody ever has to know.

A chemist like you ought

to be able to work miracles.

- Work miracles, Mr. Stevenson?

- Certainly.

Look what you've done for the company.

What have you gotten out of it?

Nothing. Nothing but

the dirty end of the stick.

Come on.

Don't be silly.

I've already talked the whole thing

over with somebody else.

You talked this over?

With whom?

A man named Morano. He'll take

everything we can get and unload it.

You know what a fence is?

We'll split the money three ways.

- You... a drug thief?

- No, not necessarily.

Cotterell company makes a lot

of products we can dispose of.

How could you?

- You're so young and fine.

- Yes, I'm young.

Young enough not to dream. There

are things I wanna do, big things...

and the only way to get them

is to be strong, to be...

What's the use of talking? I'm sorry

I brought the whole thing up.

I trusted you because, well,

I thought you were my kind of person.

- I guess I was mistaken.

- But what if we were caught?

Why should we be caught?

Morano has it all figured out.

For once there's an advantage

in being Cotterell's son-in-law.

It's just that I... I wouldn't want

to see you take that chance alone.

May I come in?

We weren't caught, Mrs. Stevenson,

for nearly seven months.

From March 9 to September 14

we weren't caught.

I never saw Mr. Morano. I merely

carried out our mutual plan.

And every Friday afternoon

Mr. Stevenson handed me the money.

By September 14 of last year,

I had saved the sum...

of $7,555.49.

But it was nearly

afternoon of that day...

When did you get it?

It came this morning

in the interoffice mail.

I don't understand it.

I never said a word.

That's why I'm sure

they must suspect.

If they suspected you, they'd

have fired you or called the police.

I can't help feeling this transfer

to New Jersey is a sign.

A warning.

I'm sure of it!

A sign of what?

To stop this. Mr. Stevenson,

I just can't go on any longer.

Shut up!

Now, what do you mean

by this kind of drivel?

- Money doesn't seem important now.

- Maybe not to you.

Look, you stupid fool. We've been

stooges. Morano's kicked us around.

Now we can get rid of him. Your

transfer is what I was looking for.

We're much better off

operating from Bayonne.

You'll be your own boss...

a partner with me.

I'll tell Morano you've been

laid off. The setup's over.

Then we'll establish headquarters

for ourselves back East.

We'll operate on our own

and split Morano's share.

Don't you think that's dangerous?

I'm just a chemist.

- I don't know anything about that.

- But I do.

I've been doing research and I'll

teach you. I'll give you an idea.

This is the Cotterell plant

at Bayonne.

New York.

Staten Island.

One and half months later

we began operations...

on Staten Island,

New York.

Our headquarters were an abandoned

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