True Confession Page #6

Mr. Krayler was.

Yes, I know.

Now, first, Miss Baggart, why weren't

you at work on the morning of the murder?

It was my day off.

It was your day off.

Mr. Krayler hadn't

discharged you? Of course not.

So, at the time of the murder, you were

officially Mr. Krayler's private secretary?

I certainly was. And what

was Mrs. Bartlett's position?

I don't know, sir,

and I'd, uh, rather not guess.

Mr. Bartlett, if you are ready,

you may proceed.

Your Honor, with your permissin,

[ shall recall the witness, Suzanne Baggart.

Proceed.

Suzanne Baggart.

[s Suzanne Baggart present

in the court?

Yes. Yes, ['m here.

Miss Baggart, you say that

at the time of Mr. Krayler's death,

you were officially employed

as his private secretary?

Yes.

Good.

Now, Miss Baggart,

as a demonstration of your ability,

I want you to take a letter.

Will you take a letter in shorthand?

But, uh-

Mr. Frank Butler, Oceanside Popcorn

Company, Oceanside, California.

Dear Mr. Butler, your last shipment of

popping corn was inferior in size, weight-

What's the matter, Miss Baggart?

Isn't the pencil sharp enough for you?

I, uh-

Oh, don't be upset.

You're among friends.

Why aren't you writing?

You know darned well why I'm not

writing! I can't take shorthand!

Order in the court.

Order.

Order in the court.

Your witness.

No questions.

That is all, Miss Baggart.

Thank you.

How's your shorthand, toots?

You took the job at 50

dollars a week? Yes, sir.

And you can't take shorthand?

No, sir.

But you took the job in

good faith? Yes, I did!

And you can't type either.

I can too! I'm a writer.

What do you write?

Fiction.

You're telling me.

What system of typing you use?

What? Suppose there was a

typewriter before you now.

How would you strike the keys?

Why, I'd-

I see. The good old

hunt-and-peck.

Nice going for a private secretary

at $50 a week.

Mrs. Bartlett, could it be that you,

in your charming way, shall we say,

forced Mr. Krayler to employ you on threat

of exposing your past relationships with him?

How would you like a poke

in that fat nose? What?

Your Honor,

I object to the district attorney's...

unfounded and vicious accusations!

And if he doesn't stop it,

I'll knock his teeth out!

Order!

You'll knock whose teeth out?

Yours, you big clunk!

Order! Quiet!

Quiet! Order in the court!

Order, I say! Quiet!

Number 22.

You told them you

had to see me. Why?

I am Charles Jasper,

criminologist in the utmost.

You are a specimen

under my microscope.

And you'll fry.

Get out of here!

You're crazy!

Sure.

You're getting

lots of publicity, aren't you?

Big articles, pictures in the papers.

You like it, don't you?

It's the nectar of the gods for fools.

And whether you killed

Krayler or whether you didn't,

you're going to look very pretty fried.

- Get out of here!

- Sure.

Very nice to have seen you.

Au revoir.

We go down soon, Helen. How

do you feel? I don't know.

Sometimes just sitting there and listening,

I want to see myself electrocuted!

If I feel like that,

how will the jury feel?

Oh, don't worry. Please.

Remember, I haven't started yet.

I can't help being scared.

What do you think they'll do to

me? Helen, don't talk like that now.

Because if I feel I haven't your confidence

- Oh, you have, Ken, honest.

But I'm scared!

I told you to stop that.

But-

Ken, there's something I should have

told you a long time ago.

What's that?

This is a mistake- a big, crazy joke!

I didn't kill Otto Krayler!

I was lying, and-

I know how you feel, Helen. Lots of

people get that way during a trial.

You're nervous and excited,

worrying about what might happen.

But it's not going to happen,

because we're fighting openly...

and honestly when we admit

that you killed Otto Krayler.

And if we can't win the right way,

the honest way, we don't want to win.

I want to thank Your Honor

for permissin to have the scene...

in Otto Krayler's home reenacted

for the benefit of the jury.

But first, I must have the defendant

and her motives...

clearly established in their minds.

We shall make no attempt

to cloud the issue.

Helen Bartlett is charged

with murder in the first degree,

meaning that she did willfully

and premeditatedly take a life.

To that charge,

our answer is not guilty.

But in an effort to convince

you of our sincerity,

I shall call upon the defendant

to stand and face the jury.

Ladies and gentlemen,

meet Helen Bartlett, my wife,

who on August 8 killed Otto Krayler.

Be seated, Helen.

So now it is the morning

of August 8,

and I am Otto Krayler,

and this is the office in his home.

What follows is an honest reenactment

of what happened that morning,

as related to me by my wife,

Helen Bartlett.

I'm ready, Helen.

Well, here's what happened.

The butler is supposed to-

supposed to-

to let me in the front door.

I follow him down the hall,

and he a takes my hat and coat...

and hangs them behind a thing.

I go to the desk, and in a minute,

Mr. Krayler comes in.

Good morning, my dear.

Good morning.

Well, well, another day.

The first thing we must do, Helen, is

reach an understanding. Is that clear?

All I know, sir, is I'll work hard

and study while I'm working.

Why work hard? Because that's the

only honest way to make a living.

You have a lot to learn, Helen.

At this point, in order to avoid

the clutches of this- this-

Human wolf. Human wolf, Mrs.

Bartlett tries to get away.

Krayler follows.

Can't we start answering

your mail, Mr. Krayler?

Won't you please go back

and read those letters? No!

Let me alone!

You have no right to touch me!

Oh, yes, I have.

You're working for me!

Isn't it enough that all the while I'm

working, I'll be learning shorthand?

Must a woman put up with this

just because she needs a job?

Take it easy, Helen.

We're going to get along fine,

just as soon as you realize

I'm a friend of the family.

After all, five days a week,

three hours a day, $50 a week-

Don't you dare kiss me! I'll do

as I please. Be quiet, you fool!

Your Honor, must we submit to this

three-ring circus in the guise of drama?

What on earth can they possibly prove

by these rank, cow-barn theatricals?

With every ounce of decency in me,

I object. Give them the gong.

Mr. Hartman, your violent outburst

is in the worst possible taste.

These people are trying sincerely,

uh, albeit too strenuously,

to present their defense as best

they may, so hold your tongue.

Proceed, Mr. Bartlett.

And, uh, the quieter, the better?

Mm-hmm?

Thank you, Your Honor.

Help.! Help.!

Ooh!

Oh, Ken, I'm sorry!

No. Go on. Go on.

You'll pay for this.

No woman can do this

to Otto Krayler. Stop!

I'll kill you for this!

Bam, bam!

Oh, I've killed him!

Oh.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the

true picture of the death of Otto Krayler,

the depraved merchant prince

who believed gold could buy...

womankind's most priceless

possessin- her honor.

What is that?

Think of this, all of you:

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