The Trouble with Harry Page #6

Perhaps it needn't get|into the papers at all.

Don't you believe it. They love it,|the papers, this kind of thing.

Murder and passion.

You let Harry be.|Just forget it ever happened.

The same as Sammy and me|and Jennifer Rogers are going to do.

Oh, but... but it isn't your body.

After all, I killed him, so it's only|fair that I should have the say so -

- Yes, but -|- Don't you agree?

- Well, in a way -|- I thought you would.

I tell you what, Captain.

- We'll go and get a spade now.|- But ma'am -

And after we've dug him up,|we'll go back to my place

and I'll make you|some hot chocolate.

Arnie's so tired he'll sleep all day|and half the night.

I think you've got a pretty house,|Jennifer.

It's the best I could do|on Robert's insurance.

- Sugar?|- No, black, thanks.

It's funny, but...

I feel awful comfortable with you,|Sam.

You know, I feel the same way too.

It's a good feeling,

feeling comfortable with someone|who feels that way too.

There is one thing|I feel uncomfortable about.

Just tell me what it is,|and I'll take care of it for you.

- It's Harry. What about Harry?|- Harry? Don't you think about Harry.

Harry's part of the earth.|He's with eternity, the ages.

Take my word for it,|Harry's ancient history.

Come in, whoever it is.

What happened?

Sam, I've got something to tell you.

No, Captain,|I have something to tell him.

Now who's going to tell what?

I killed Harry|with the heel of my shoe.

So it was you.

We're on our way to get Calvin Wiggs.

- And have him call the state police.|- I keep telling her there's no need.

He's right and, besides, it'd be|indecent. Harry's dead and buried.

Sam, I've got something to tell you.

You haven't dug him up again.

Well, I...

I insisted, Mr Marlowe.

- Don't you understand?|- You have nothing to fear.

It's my concern entirely.

As soon as Captain Wiles told me the|full circumstances of his being here

I knew there was nothing for me|to hide.

You know all about Harry?

Well, I'm afraid I do, Mrs Rogers,|and...

and after all, nobody could possibly|gossip about a lady and a maniac.

You'd be surprised.

You don't quite understand|what murder involves, Miss Gravely.

It'd be hours and hours|of questioning and photographs,

and the whole of your private life|spread indecently in the newspapers.

What makes you think|my private life is indecent?

I didn't mean that. I meant that|the way they pry is indecent.

They'll hound you to death.

There'll be newspapermen,|photographers, detectives.

I've made up my mind.

She certainly has.

It was Captain Wiles here|who persuaded me to call

and tell Mrs Rogers|what I proposed to do.

After all, she is most closely|connected with the business.

What do you think about it,|Mrs Rogers?

I can't see why you're all|making such a fuss about Harry.

If he was buried, I don't see|why you had to dig him up.

But since you have, I guess|you'd better do what you think best.

I don't care what you do with him,|as long as you don't revive him.

I have a free hand, then.

Free as a bird. As far as I'm|concerned, it's ancient history.

Wait a minute, Jennifer.

I think we've forgotten something.

Do you realise if this comes out,|that all the details of your marriage

will be public property?

Oh.

- I hadn't thought of that either.|- Where'd you put Harry this time?

Over by the big oak tree.

- I'll get my shovel.|- I'm causing you a lot of hard work.

- I'm sorry.|- Not at all, Not at all.

Well, let's all go up there.

You know, I've never been to a|home-made funeral before.

Hm. I have.

This is my third.

All in one day.

Well, let's get it over with.

Yes.

I think we ought to cement it over.

Next spring|I'll set out some blueberry bushes.

Couldn't you make it|something else? Lilac, maybe.

I think nature'll|will take good care of it.

- How about a service?|- I Can't think of what to say.

- Besides, my arms ache.|- It's late for a prayer.

Besides, wherever he was going,|he's there now.

Bye, Harry. I forgive you.

- Trumpets welcoming Harry.|- You didn't know Harry.

I want to paint you, Jennifer.|You're beautiful in the moonlight.

Sounds as if it's|coming down from near the village.

I know what it is.|The call of the phantom stagecoach

that used to pass by here|each night 200 years ago.

- Phantom ghost?|- The turnpike ran across the hills.

Oh, to be a highwayman|on a night like this.

Listen. Somebody's running.

- Horses?|- A horse that can shout.

- What's she saying?|- We'll know soon. She's coming here.

- Sam Marlowe!|- It's Wiggy. Old Wiggy.

Mr Marlowe!

Mr Marlowe!

- Wiggy, what on earth do you want?|- I... He wants...

- Wait a minute, Catch your breath.|- He's a millionaire!

- Who?|- He wants to buy your pictures.

- Which pictures?|- All of 'em and more besides.

He says you're a genius.

He's right, but it's hard to believe|he wants to buy all my pictures.

I'd be too curious|to refuse to at least to talk to him.

Don't turn down|a good chance, Mr Marlowe.

All right, I'll talk to him.

- We dug sassafras root.|- Sassafras tea is healthy.

Mr Wiggs always swore it cured|his arthritis just before he died.

How much does|the millionaire want to pay?

I said seven dollars for the one that|looks like blobs in a thunderstorm.

- And?|- He said they are priceless.

Priceless? Sounds like|something I painted in kindergarten.

That picture is symbolic|to the beginning of the world.

That's where I first heard|of the world, in kindergarten.

Yes, and my friend here, art critic|for the modern museum, he -

Don't think I'm rude, but it doesn't|matter to me what an art critic says.

- Is that so?|- I know my paintings are good.

He doesn't want them, you do. So|all that matters is what you think.

Well, I think they are works of|genius, and I want to buy them all.

- Too bad.|- Why?

Just decided I can't sell them.|Besides, you couldn't afford them.

Oh.

- Uh...|- Money.

Sammy. Don't be a fool.|Make him pay through the nose.

Go ahead, Mr Marlowe, be reasonable.

- Be unreasonable, if you want.|- What do you say?

It's your genius, Sam.|It's up to you.

All right then. What do you like most|in the whole world?

I don't know. Strawberries, I guess.

Strawberries. Write that down.

Two boxes of fresh strawberries, each|month, in season and out of season,

from now on.

Well, it's simple. What else?

What would Arnie like?

A chemical set.

- What kind?|- Whatever smells the worst.

- Got that?|- Right.

One smelly chemical set.

Wiggy, Wiggy, what would you like?

Cash register, chromium plated,|one that rings a bell.

- Got room for one?|- I'll find room.

- Cash register.|- Chromium plated, rings a bell.

Check.

Miss Gravely,|a beauty parlour, fully equipped?

What for?

A hope chest... filled with things|I should have put in it but didn't.

A hope chest, full of hope.

Captain?

A good shotgun, plenty of ammunition,

some corduroy britches, a plain shirt|and a hunting cap. A brown one.

Davy Crockett, the works.

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