The Return (1973) - full transcript

(melancholic music)

- Yes?

- Mrs. Parks?

I have an order from Messrs.

Flake and Limpenny to see the house.

- I'm afraid I've called
at an inopportune time,

but I've missed one train,
and the next arrived late.

Perhaps, however, you
won't mind showing me in.

- Will you come in, sir?

I'm sorry, you won't be
seeing the house at it's best.

I shall have to show you around by lamp.



There's no gas or electric light.

I'm afraid you will
find everything just...

anyhow, I wasn't expecting anybody,

not many people come here, nowadays.

And it is a big place, for
one that plans to keep clean.

- It's been empty for a long time, then.

- Just ever since...

For over twenty years, I should think.

This is supposed to be a very fine hall.

Everyone admires the staircase.

If the house doesn't find a
tenant, or a purchaser soon,

I totally intend to moving the staircase

and selling it separately.

- Indeed.



- Well, shall we begin down here, perhaps?

- By all means.

- The upstairs bedroom.

- Excuse me.

I've been a long time in
the train, I'm very cold.

I wonder if it would be troubling

you too much to give me a cup of tea.

- I think I could do that.

The kettle's on.

I was intending on having one, myself.

Will you come this way, sir?

I'll give you your tea in here, sir.

And I'll take mine in the kitchen.

- Nonsense, why should you?

Besides, I want to talk.

Oh, uh.

Here's the order for you, let's see.

Mr. Stephen Royds, that's my name.

To you.

I'll remove my greatcoat,
if you don't mind.

The room is warm.

Do you live here all alone?

- Yes.

- Aren't you nervous?

- Nervous?

What is there to be nervous about?

- I don't know.

Some people can't bear loneliness.

Can you tell me why the house stayed

on the market, all these years?

- That's easy enough.

It's nobody's house.

- What do you mean, nobody's house?

- People that can afford
to keep up a great house

generally want land to go with it.

There's no land.

People that don't want land can't afford

to keep up a great house like this.

The estate was sold to a Major Skirting.

He has a house of his own.

He's left the land, and he's been

trying to sell this house, ever since.

I've showed hundreds over, but nobody's

ever thought twice about taking it.

- Strange. It's a good house.

But the land, yes.

I quite follow you.

Whom used it to belong to?

- A gentleman called Harboys.

- Do you hear anything?

- No.

I'll make the tea.

- I suppose you sometimes
fancy you hear things?

I said, I suppose you sometimes
fancy you hear things.

- Hear things?

No. Why should I?

- These empty old houses.

- I'm not one of the fanciful sorts, sir.

You help yourself to milk and sugar.

- Thank you.

Who was this Harboys? Is he still alive?

- I couldn't say.

- Isn't there some story about the house?

Didn't something happen here?

- I don't know.

- Forgive me, but I think you do.

- There are stories.

But you don't have to listen.

- Tell me.

- But I can't, sir.

If Major Skirting knew I told
people, I could lose my job.

He'd think I was trying to prevent

them from taking the house.

- It wouldn't prevent me.

Wasn't this Harboys
supposed to have shot...

- Oh. Then you have heard
something already, sir.

- A little.

You had better tell me all.

It will not prevent me
from taking the house.

- I don't like talking about it, sir.

You see, I live here all alone...

- Just so.

And sometimes you hear noises.

What noises?

- It's imagination.

Or the wind.

Sometimes the wind sounds like voices.

Sometimes I seem to hear...

it may be a loose door
somewhere that bangs.

- You mean, you hear a shot fired?

- I've known it sound like a shot.

I don't believe you.

- They say the house is haunted.

- They say.

If there is a tragedy happened

in the house, people always

- Nevermind what people
say, what do you say?

Is the house haunted?

- I don't know.

I've heard things, and I
tell myself they're nothing.

I thought to tell myself they're nothing.

- You haven't seen anything?

- No.

Thank God.

I never go near the
master bedroom after dark.

- So it was there.

Tell me.

- It must have been
about twenty years ago.

The place belonged to
a Mr. Gerald Harboys.

He was quite young, not
much more than thirty,

and very well liked.

Some said he was a bit
strange, he had strange tastes.

I'm told he hated any
deformity in a woman,

whether natural, or acquired.

He had some strange idea that any

physical defect had an accompanying

mental and moral defect.

Anyway, he fell in love with one

of the Miss Greys of Horfield.

She was engaged to Mr.
Peter Marsh at the time,

but she broke off the engagement

and married Gerald Harboys.

She was a beautiful woman,

and I'm told, dear daughter.

It was later learned that she had

suffered the amputation
of a toe as a child.

The middle toe of the right foot.

Of course her family knew, and her doctor,

but no one else.

Certainly not Gerald Harboys.

Whether that was why he
killed her, I don't know.

Of course, the thing is
now, no one ever will know.

Well, on their wedding night, they

went up to the master bedroom.

They hadn't been there half an hour

when raised voices were
heard, and then a shot.

The butler burst into the room,

and saw poor Mrs. Harboys
lying dead on the bed.

Mr. Harboys was standing over her,

staring wildly at the dead body,

with the revolver still in his hand.

He told the police that his
mind was a blank at the time,

that he remembered nothing, between

going into the room, and the
butler bending over the body.

He was examined.

Found to be mad, and was put away

in an asylum for the rest of his life.

But all the time, he insisted
that he was innnocent,

and that Peter Marsh
was the real murderer.

I suppose...

Harboys is dead, now.

They don't last long in those places.

Or, maybe he's out, if he's alive.

Do you think Harboys did it?

Of course, how else
could it have happened?

There was only two of them
in the room at the time,

it couldn't have happened any other way.

- And what about Peter Marsh?

- Oh, he was never really suspected.

The evidence against Harboys
was far too impressive.

- I swear to you, that I don't
believe that Harboys did it.

I knew the man.

I knew him well as a
child, and boy, and man.

I was at school with Harboys.

I tell you, he was incapable of murder.

All the circumstantial
evidence in the world

would not weigh one atom with me

against my knowledge of his character.

They said he had fits of madness?

Another lie!

But mad or sane, he couldn't have done it.

He loved his wife.

I tell you...

But I'm frightening you, I didn't mean...

But think of it.

There's Harboys, rotting in
an asylum these twenty years,

remembering nothing of
those few dreadful moments.

To this day, he doesn't know whether

he is innocent or guilty.

Think of it.

- Why have you come here?

You don't want the house.
You never intended.

- No.

I came here to find out.

- Find out what?

- They say strange things
happen here, in this house.

- I've heard stories.

You told me you'd heard voices.

The sound of a shot.

But don't you understand, woman?

Whatever happened in
that room that night...

is known only to God.

The man who lives remembers nothing.

If it were true, that
Muriel Harboys returned...

Don't you understand?

It's the only way of learning.

The only way.

- I can't let you go into that room.

- But you must.

I'm going to spend the night there.

I'm going to wait for Muriel.

- I can't let you.

- But you must.

Don't you understand this
means life or death for a man?

- Madness.

Nobody's endured that
room after nightfall.

- I will.

- I shall be sent away if it's found out.

- It will not be found out.

I shall recompense you, if it is.

Here.

I came prepared to pay for the privilege.

How much do you want?

Five pounds?

Ten?

Twenty?

Come, there are five, five pound notes.

Now take them, and act
like a sensible woman,

and I shall go to the master bedroom,

you shall light a fire for me.

Is there any furniture there?

- No, only the bed.

- Then, if you will permit
me, I shall take a chair.

- I'm doing wrong.

- No, you are doing right.

- I shall get the truth tonight,

if I have to summon the devil himself.

Now, come and help me make a fire.

(eerie music)

(wind howling)

There's a hole in the headboard.

- Yes.

It's a bullet hole.

It lodged there after...

- Yes.

I quite understand.

- And that night, over twenty years ago,

I was sitting here.

- So you are Gerald Harboys, the murderer.

- Gerald Harboys or Stephen Royds?

What does it matter?

Murderer?

Only God knows.

But I shall learn tonight.

Light that fire, woman,

and then leave me.

- [Call Recipient] Number, please.

- Operator? Would you connect
me to the police, please?

And hurry.

- [Police Officer] Harboys?

Did you say Gerald Harboys?

- Yes.

- [Police Officer] We have
a report of his escape,

this morning.

- Escape?

- [Police Officer] Yes.
he could be dangerous.

Whatever you do, miss, don't go near him.

We'll be there as soon as possible.

- Thank you.

(wind howling)

- Muriel.

(eerie music)

Muriel.

Muriel.

Muriel?

Can't you hear me?

I'm sitting in the same place.

Here I am.

Won't you come, Muriel?

They say you're always here,

but you can't rest because
your husband murdered you.

Did I murder you, Muriel?

My mind's a blank.

You're blank.

Go on. Tell me.

I want to know, to know...

I want peace!

They're wrong.

I couldn't have done it.

I couldn't have murdered you, my darling.

Is it because you hate me,
that you won't show yourself?

Was I mad, and did I do it, after all?

Don't hate me.

I've suffered.

Pity me.

Oh, God, let her be merciful to me.

Muriel?

Muriel.

Oh, God, I'm be...

I'm beginning to remember.

That's right, you sat just the way you're

sitting now, on the edge of the bed.

Yes, and you're...

I remember, now.

You're right.

The shoe fell from your
hand, and I saw your foot.

Your limp, loathe foot!

Don't look like that.

For God's sake, have mercy.

(Harboys screaming)

Help!

(gunshot)

(wind howling)

- Mr. Harboys?

Mr. Harboys!

God have mercy, he's dead.

(orchestrated music)