His Double Life (1933) - full transcript
Priam Farrel is a celebrated artist but a social recluse. When his valet dies of a sudden illness, a mix-up leads to the body being identified as Farrel's. The timid artist then assumes the identity of his former servant, but finds himself faced with constant dilemmas as a result.
-Worth a fortune, these.
-Who is the painter?
-Who is the painter!
Priam Farrel, of course.
-Oh, that one?
-That one.
He gets a thousand pounds
for the flick of a brush.
Fortune he makes.
-My word.
For these?
-Isn't Priam Farrel
an Englishman?
-Yes.
But they say he
never comes here.
No one ever sees him.
-Yes.
He's shy.
Always in hiding.
-If my name were Priam Farrel,
I wouldn't be in hiding.
-How much do you
think that would cost?
-Oh, they're not for sale.
This is a loan exhibit.
-When is he returning
to America, Mr. Witt?
-Tomorrow.
I wish there were some
way I could meet Farrel.
-There isn't.
I've been his agent for
15, and I've never met him.
-Strange man.
-Wise man.
He lives his own life.
-These, my boy, were painted
by your famous cousin.
-All of them?
-Oh, this is a tenth
of what he's done.
He simply squalls paintings.
-I beg pardon.
Are you related to Priam Farrel?
-I'm his first cousin.
-Could, uh, you tell me
where I might find him?
-I doubt if anyone
could tell you that.
I haven't seen him
since he was a child.
Even his banker don't know him.
-I'm sorry.
Thank you.
-This is the Farrel
exhibit, Madam.
-Thank you so much.
-May I show you about.
-Oh, please don't trouble.
-Trouble, I assure you.
-Aren't your cousin's
paintings wonderful?
-Yes, Papa.
-Isn't that one
particularly fine?
-Yes, Papa.
-This is his most famous
painting, "The Policeman."
-Nice, isn't it?
-Nice!
Why it's worth thousands.
-Dear, dear.
I can't see a policeman
being worth all that.
I suppose you know
Mr. Farrel well.
-Me?
Why I've never even seen him.
No one has.
-I know his secretary, Mr. Leek.
-Do you?
-Well, that is, I
don't exactly know him.
I, uh, I correspond with him.
He writes nice letters.
-That's the way I got married.
-I beg your pardon?
-"The Matrimonial Times!"
Is that the paper you used?
-Well, in my dear manner.
-There's no need to get touchy.
It's as good a way as any.
-Did yours turn out well?
-Well, she has a bit of
a limp, but she's jolly.
-Where was he when
you last heard?
-His last picture
came from Spain.
You can't
dream what these few weeks
have meant to me.
I've wanted for
years to know you.
-Oh, really, Lady Helen?
-You don't know how great
you are, how simple.
-Simple?
-Unpretentious,
unaffected, like a child.
If only we could
be together always.
-That'd be nice, wouldn't it?
-Really?
You mean that?
-Oh, why, I--I mean--
-Oh, this is glorious.
I'll take you out of your shell.
I'll take you out into the
world where you belong.
-No, no, no.
I'm afraid of the world.
-Oh, oh, not my world.
You must love my world.
-Oh, no, no.
I won't.
I, you see, I can't
bear being noticed.
People terrify me.
I've, well, I've
always been like that.
Of course, you can't understand.
-There, dear.
There.
You'll get over all that.
I'll help you.
-Oh, I--
-Oh, Mary!
-Oh, good afternoon, Mary.
-Mary, the most wonderful
thing has happened.
Should we tell her, dear?
-Why, I'm--
-Of course, we must!
Why she's my dearest friend.
-There's no need to tell me.
I can guess.
Why it's written all over you.
Oh, I'm so glad Mr. Farrel.
I'm sure you'll
both be very happy.
-Oh, yes.
Thank you.
-We have the most
wonderful plan.
We're going to travel.
We're going into the world.
-You have no idea what a
lion you'll be, Mr. Farrel.
-No, I suppose not.
I have to, excuse me.
I have to go back
to the inn now.
-We'll see you for dinner, dear?
-Yes, yes.
-We'll celebrate.
-Yes.
Do.
-How ever did it happen?
-I'll never know.
I can scarcely believe it.
-It's wonderful, dear.
-"Dear Mrs. Hunter, Your
photograph is beautiful.
Will I ever see the original?
Not unless I find a new master.
Am enclosing a snapshot
of Mr. Farrel and me.
The one on the right is me."
-Leek!
Leek, pack.
Pack up.
I've got to get away
from here at once.
-What's happened, sir?
-It's not going to happen, Leek.
Now pack up and don't
ask any questions.
-Oh, where are we going, sir?
-Oh, I don't know.
Anywhere.
Away from here.
Someplace where
they can't find me.
-Nobody knows you
in London, sir.
-Huh?
Perhaps you're right, Leek.
-We could open up the old house.
-After all these years?
-Yes.
No one would know
you there, sir.
-Right again, Leek.
-Who's that?
-Just you asked for the bill.
-Oh, pay it, Leek, will you?
No one is to know that we're
leaving, do you understand?
-Si, senor.
-No one!
-Si, si.
-Give her something extra, Leek.
-Here, Rita.
Take care of the servants.
-Oh, wonderful.
-Sh.
We'll be back.
You'll think of me?
-Always, always.
-What's all that
muttering out there?
Come and get packing.
-Yes, sir.
Yes, sir.
-I found a doctor.
He'll be here in a minute.
-You ought not to have gone
out without your coat, sir.
We don't want you
to catch cold, too.
-Oh.
-Here.
-Your dressing gown, sir?
-You must get you
to bed at once.
Do you think you can make
it up one flight to my room?
-Me?
-Yes.
-In your bed, sir?
-Oh, don't be silly.
Come on, I'll help you.
-Oh, I hate to be
such a nuisance
-Come on now.
-I hate to be such
a nuisance, sir.
-You'll be all right
in the morning.
It's just a cold.
-There you go.
When I mentioned this
address, the doctor
gave me a most peculiar look.
-Is this Mr. Farrel's house?
-Come on up
-Hey, Leek.
We're discovered.
Good evening, doctor.
-Good evening.
-How long has Mr.
Farrel been ill?
I asked you, how long
has your master been ill?
-Oh.
Yes.
Well, I, we.
He began to complain when we
got off the boat this morning.
What's wrong, do
you think, doctor?
-I don't know yet.
It might be anything.
Bring me some boiling
water at once.
-There isn't any.
-You have water, haven't you?
-Yes.
But not boiling.
Never mind I'll get a plaster.
I'll bring-- my assistant.
-Thank you.
-Get his clothes off.
Have you brandy?
-Yes.
-Well, get it.
Be of some use here.
This is serious.
-My poor Leek, he
takes you for me.
-Please tell him.
-Not at all.
It'll save me a lot of
that infernal curiosity.
Now come on.
Let's get some of
these clothes off, eh?
-I, I hate to be
such a nuisance.
-Where is the brandy, Leek?
-In my small bag, sir.
-I see.
The temperature 104.5.
The pulse 140 and weak.
We'll try an injection
of strychnine at once.
-Can I help?
Can I do anything?
-You see that chair.
-Yes, I see it.
-Well, go and sit in it.
-Hey!
-Yes?
-Where's that brandy?
-What?
-The brandy.
The brandy!
Isn't that it there?
-Yes.
Yes.
-Has he any relatives?
-Oh, I don't know.
-They should be
notified at once.
-What, what , what,
what's the matter?
What is it, doctor?
-It's all over, my man.
-Oh, but it can't be.
He was a perfectly
strong, healthy man.
-Precisely.
It's not unusual for
strong, health men
to go suddenly from
acute double pneumonia.
-But it's impossible.
I don't know what I'll
do without that man.
-Look here.
You don't seem to
be much use here.
I'll notify the registrar.
-Registrar?
-We have to report Mr.
Farrel's death, you know?
-Oh.
I'm afraid there's
been some mistake.
-What?
-You see, I--
-Now listen to me, my man.
There's been no sort of mistake.
Everything's been done
that could be done.
-Yes.
But I--
-Look here, you're holding up.
You need some rest.
I'll be back in the morning.
-But doctor!
-Yes, doctor?
What's that?
What time?
Where?
Pneumonia?
Thank you so much, doctor.
Thank you.
Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Write the lede.
Get the picture.
Bring me the Farrel folder.
-Yes, sir.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Leek!
Leek, why don't you--
-You took your time answering.
-This is Mr. Duncan Farrel,
your late master's cousin.
-Where is the body?
-Upstairs.
First door.
-Leek.
Leek!
Your name's Leek isn't it?
This is for you.
I picked it up at the door.
See here, Leek.
If I were you I wouldn't try
to get another valeting job.
-I, I beg your pardon?
-You may have
suited Priam Farrel.
Artists are strange.
But I don't believe you'd
suit an ordinary employer.
-Thank you.
Don't you recognize your cousin?
-I haven't seen him since
he was 12 years old.
But I think I may
safely say I should
have recognized him anywhere.
I shall treasure this
as a remembrance.
His shroud, as it was.
-Well, I'll be going.
-What arrangements
have you made?
-None, I've been asleep.
-You're not very respectful.
-That dressing
gown belongs to me.
-Oh!
So you're starting to
claim things, are you?
We'll soon put an end to that.
Oh!
Pigsty.
-Stop what you're doing.
Those are painting things.
-Oh, so you're a
painter, too, are you?
Now see here, Leek.
I fancy you and
I had better come
to an understanding at once.
What salary did
my cousin pay you?
-100 pounds a year.
-When were you last paid?
-Oh, let's see.
I, uh.
-Well?
-Oh, the day before yesterday.
-Here's eight pounds
in lieu of notice.
-Yes, but listen--
-Take it.
-But I want to tell you--
-Take it!
Now pack up and get out of
this house as soon as you can.
-But I'm not--
-I shall not argue.
Are his papers here?
-Yes.
-Where's the key?
-There, there's something
I want to tell you.
-No doubt.
No doubt.
Ah.
Here's his will.
Oh, is that still there?
I thought that had
been destroyed.
-Do you know what it says?
-Everything is left to
England for the establishment
of a new gallery.
And you get five pounds for
your trouble as executor.
-Yes.
I see.
Well, he probably thought
I should be annoyed.
-He did.
-Well, my man, the idea of a
great public institute bearing
my family name is
not unpleasant to me.
-But he meant it as a joke.
-I don't see why you complain.
You come into 80
pounds a year under it.
-Yes.
I was forgetting about that.
-I never saw such a
disrespectful servant
in my life.
Now, get your things
together an go.
-Yes, sir.
-Who's luggage is that?
-Mine.
-Yours indeed!
Are your initials P F?
-Oh.
-Have you a latchkey?
-You have all the keys.
-I'll notify you
about the funeral.
Where will you be stopping?
-Grand Babylon Hotel.
-The man is mad.
-Boy?
This is the Grand
Babylon, isn't it?
-Yes, ma'am.
-Have you a suite?
-Yes, sir.
-May I have it?
Yes, sir.
Same one?
It's occupied now.
This guest has one night.
-Yes, we'll notify you.
-Mr. Leek?
Well, I suppose you are
Mr. Leek, aren't you?
-Oh, oh, why yes.
-I really didn't expect you.
Mr. Farrel being dead,
I knew you'd be upset.
-How did you know he was dead?
-How did I know?
Why it's been placarded all
over London since early morning.
Didn't you see?
-No.
-That shows how you
must have been thinking.
I was about to give you up.
-Really?
-Well, it's nearly 2 o'clock.
-Huh?
Oh, yes.
Excuse me.
Will you take those
bags upstairs?
Shall we sit here?
-It's nicer in the back.
-Was Mr. Farrel a good master?
-Oh, very.
Yes.
Oh, won't you sit down?
-Thank you.
But I see you're
not in mourning.
-No.
That is, I--
-I don't hold with
mourning myself.
If you can't show respect
without a pair of black gloves
that the dye's
always coming off of.
It's grumbling against
Providence, too.
Not that I don't think
there's a good use
to talk about Providence.
-Oh, I quite agree with you.
-I suppose you'll
have to be going
back soon to
arrange things like?
-Oh, no.
No.
I've been dismissed.
-I hope you made them
pay you your money.
-Oh.
-Who dismissed you?
-Mr. Duncan Farrel.
He's a fool.
-Why?
-He wouldn't let me
keep my dressing gown,
thought I was
trying to steal it.
-Oh.
He's that kind.
-But a beautiful
dressing gown, really.
And then there was
something very important
I wanted to tell him, and
he, he wouldn't let me.
-But how could he stop you?
-He cut me off like, like that.
-Perhaps you really
didn't want to tell him.
You could write him you know?
-No.
No.
I won't write him.
-Then you didn't
want to tell him.
-Perhaps you're right.
-And if I were you, I should
think no more about it.
-There is great
comfort, Mrs., uh--
-Alice is all right.
-Alice.
-And you've not occasion
to be shy with me.
There's no call for it.
I'm just as you see me.
-Shy?
Oh, I don't feel shy with you.
-That's all right then.
Because I should
take it as a full
compliment being shy with me.
You know, I think a
matrimonial agency
is a very good and useful thing.
Don't you?
-Well, yes.
I suppose.
Yes.
-Because if you are thinking
of getting married, well,
what are you to do?
You could sit in a chair
and wait till eggs are
six pence a dozen and
you'd be no nearer.
No.
If you want to get married,
you want to get married.
There's no use
pretending you don't.
I do hate pretending.
And if you ask me,
matrimonial agencies
are the most useful things ever
invented, next to dress sheers.
-Will you have lunch with me?
-Oh, if you have time.
-Oh, I have so much time.
-If anything comes of this,
I shall pay the agency
with the greatest of pleasure.
-So that was the end of it.
-Well, I think it would be.
-You are like your photograph.
-Like my photograph?
-I knew you at once.
-May I see it?
Thank you.
-I love it.
-The one on the right is me.
-If it isn't rude
to ask, Mr. Leek,
why did you always
typewrite your letters?
It seems so public.
-You see, I write so badly.
-Poor Mr. Farrel.
What good did it do
him to be so celebrate,
always trying to hide as if
the police were after him.
-Well, after all, he had the
pleasure of being successful
and work he liked best to do.
-Well, but, couldn't
he have had that
without chasing all over Europe?
He might just as well have
been a commercial traveler.
-You're wonderful.
-You can laugh, Mr. Leek.
But believe me, there's
nothing like a comfortable home
and a quiet life.
And the less you're in the
newspapers, the better.
-All right.
Nothing like it indeed.
-Extra!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
Extra!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
-Now you know what
he was afraid of.
-I can't imagine a person
being afraid of anyone.
-When I'm with you, I
can't imagine it either.
When I was with him, I
understood it though.
-Poor man.
He doesn't need to be
afraid of anyone now.
Tell me if you
were ever married.
-No, never.
-You've always live
alone like that?
No home.
Traveling.
And no one to look
after you properly?
-Well, one gets
accustomed to it.
-I suppose so.
But I feel sorry for
you all these years.
-"A Country Garden"
-A country garden?
-That's what they're playing.
-Oh.
Lovely, isn't it?
-Have you a garden, Alice?
-Yes, with a wall around it.
Was it only today we met?
-Hm.
Magic day.
-And now I must be going.
-Oh, please don't.
-Oh, but it's late.
And I must be getting
back to Putney.
-I'll see you home.
-No, you poor dear.
You're too tired.
But we could walk to the tube.
-Is it far?
-Not very.
-Oh, that's too bad.
I wish we could take
the music with us.
-Here, I say!
What's the matter with you?
Are you crazy?
-I beg your pardon.
-What are you doing?
-Well, I suppse I
was rather wonderful.
Am, I mean.
-Good morning, sir.
-Thanks.
-You're Mr. Leek, I presume.
-What of it?
-I'm Horning of "The Courier."
-I'm Doblin of "The Metro."
-Well, you've no right to
intrude yourselves in here.
-My paper's prepared to offer
you 100 pounds for your story
on Farrel's eccentric
life on the Continent.
-Eccentric life on
the-- well, I'll be.
-I'll write the article.
All you have to do is sign it.
You'll make 125 pounds.
-To sign an order for
the fellow's execution.
-150!
-Or burning at the stake.
-Can you tell me if Mr.
Farrel had any notion
that he'd be buried
in the Abbey?
-Buried in the Abbey?
Why it's preposterous.
-Why preposterous?
-Why bury that fellow in the
Abbey, England's sacred shrine
where only the great are buried?
It's absurd.
-Absurd!
Do you know about his will?
-He left everything
to found the Gallery
of Modern Art in London.
-Oh, so that's it!
He's to be buried in
the Abbey because he's
a philanthropist, not
because he's an artist.
Oh, I've seen this all over.
Yes.
Well, I won't have it.
-You'll not have it?
-And I'll tell you
something else.
Farrel is not dead!
-Not dead?
Oh, what next?
-I am Priam Farrel!
Oh,
-Get out!
-Is he mad?
-He must be.
Nothing but a valet.
He takes a suite in the most
expensive hotel in London.
Then he refuses 150 pounds.
And now, bless me, if he
doesn't think he's Priam Farrel.
-Get out!
-He's mad, if you ask me!
-This must be stopped.
Someone should explain to
the Dean of Westminster.
Someone should--
-Well?
-Is Mr. Parker at home?
-Mr. Parker?
This is the Dean's house.
-Oh, pardon me.
I, I thought Mr.
Turner lived here.
-Mr. Turner?
But you said Mr. Parker.
-Did I?
Forgive me.
I'm a little confused.
-Obviously.
-But I say-- I couldn't do it.
I couldn't do it.
But the Abbey!
Oh, fantastic.
-You mustn't make
that noise in here.
-I had no idea
I'd be so honored.
-Who, who is he?
-I don't know him from Adam.
You have no right to be here.
-What's all this noise?
-I had no idea.
I had no idea!
They're
waiting for you.
-Get him out.
-No, stop!
This is my funeral.
-Sh.
Quiet!
-No, I tell you,
this is my funeral.
-Control yourself.
-This is an outrage.
This is an outrage!
-You asked for it!
-Let go of me.
I tell you I am Priam Farrel.
-Drunk, that's what he is.
-What's all this?
-He's been making a
disturbance in the organ loft.
And now he says
he's Priam Farrel.
-Oh, is that so?
-Let go of me, will you?
-Easy, my lad.
-What's all this?
-Drunk and disorderly
in the Abbey.
-I am not drunk.
I'm stunned.
After all, if you knew
what was going on in there!
-Now, now.
Don't cry.
-But what am I to do?
-Well, first of all, if I was
you, I should get a new hat.
There, there.
Stop crying.
-Oh, it's the music.
-Now off with you.
-Why Mr. Leek!
Come in.
Your face!
Whatever have you been up to?
And you'll be needing a new hat.
-That's what the policeman said.
-Well, don't tell me you've been
quarrelling with a policeman.
-I tried to stop them burying
that fellow in the Abbey.
-But why should you do that?
-Because there's been
a dreadful mistake.
-There, there.
You'll all upset.
Just a moment.
-What will she think of me?
-Do sit down.
-No, but, ma'am.
I tell you, there's
been a dreadful mistake.
-There, there.
-No, but I must tell you.
My real name is not Henry Leek.
-Oh, isn't it?
-No.
-Well, what does
it matter so long
as you haven't
committed a murder.
-But my real name
is Priam Farrel.
-I thought that was
your gentleman's name.
-Well, the doctor
thought Leek was me.
And I tried to tell him
and he wouldn't let me.
-I don't know what
you're talking about.
-But can't you understand?
I am Priam Farrel.
I had a valet called Leek.
He died.
And they thought he was me.
-You mean it's this Henry Leek
that's buried in the Abbey.
-Yes, of course.
Yes.
-Hm.
Well, if I were you, I should
keep perfectly silent about it.
-You don't believe me?
-I shouldn't let it worry me.
The best thing you can
do is to forget it.
-Doesn't believe me.
-Give me your coat.
Oh, I see your collar's
come unfastened.
Well, let me.
I can do it.
You have two funny moles on
your neck close together.
That's good luck.
There.
That's better.
I hope you're not
thinking of taking
another position immediately.
-Position?
Oh, no, no, of course not.
No.
-It's not necessary, you
know, what with your legacy
and my income from
the brewery shares.
-The brewery shares?
-Yes.
Father always said, keep
your money in beer, Alice.
Beer will never
fail you in England.
And he was right.
Here.
Put this on.
You'll be more comfortable.
-Do you mean that you want
to share your income with me?
-What else?
-And your home?
-Why not?
-Alice, you're wonderful.
You've even remembered
the dressing gown.
-I've wanted someone to
look after a long while.
Heaven knows you need it .
-It will be the
beginning of a new life.
-I hope so.
-While I'll be a
different person.
-At least you'll have
peace and comfort.
-Oh, no.
It's too fantastic.
I'll bring no end
of trouble on us.
-No more than we
can take care or.
-I'd be born again.
-That sounds a bit religious.
Your milk will be boiling over.
-I say, Alice, it
is lovely here.
Perhaps I have died
and gone to heaven.
-Drink this.
I do.
-I do.
Want anything else, love?
What are you reading
that's so interesting?
-Oh, Priam Farrel's
princely bequest,
a new Gallery of
Modern Art started.
Foundation of stone and so on.
-So they've begun it.
It's taken them long enough.
-A year.
You know, it is true.
-What's true?
-I have died and gone to heaven.
-Silly.
-And I've got
something to show you.
-What?
-Close your eyes and follow me.
-I'm following.
-Eyes closed?
-Tight.
-See nothing?
-I smell something.
-Sh.
-It's a--
-Sh.
-It's--
-Sh.
-It's paint.
-Sh.
-Oh, I know.
You've been painting
the bathroom chair.
-Bathroom chair, indeed!
Now, now turn around.
-Mm-hmm.
-Open your eyes.
There.
-Oh.
Did you do that?
-Yes.
How's it strike you?
-Well, I'm sure it's very
beautiful, but what is it?
Is that the bridge?
-Yes, dear.
But don't go any nearer.
-Well, if you don't
want me to see it close.
-Well, you can't take a
picture like snuff, you know?
-What's that red
streak behind there?
-There?
That's the railway bridge.
-Oh, so it is.
Now, if you were to
put a train on it,
then people would be sure.
-I suppose you learned
to paint from your--
-Pretty good, you know?
In fact, it's deadly good.
Old Farrel would
have have gotten
800 pounds for the like of that.
-It's wonderful how
wonderful people
become after they're dead.
-Oh, there's the postman.
Excuse me.
I'm sure it's very
wonderful, dear.
-By Jove, I can paint.
Poor Alice.
She will think me mad.
-Here's a bit of news.
-What is it?
-My brewery shares.
We shan't get a penny this year.
Not one penny unless
there's been some mistake.
-"Dear Sir or Madam," Oh.
There's no mistake.
The brewery is done for.
That's a fact.
-It would have been a
great surprise to Father.
Well, whether we get anything
or not, I've got pastry to make.
-Oh, you can look.
I'm not worrying.
I have no patience
with worrying.
-No, I don't want you to worry.
Alice, I can always
take care of you.
-If you think I'm going to let
you go into another situation,
you're mistaken.
-No.
I wasn't thinking of that.
-Then what were you thinking?
-Oh, I don't know.
-Because those things they
advertise-- home work, envelope
addressing, and selling
gramophones on commission--
they're no good, you know?
-Look here, Alice.
I can sell that picture and
anything else that I paint.
-Please, please don't
bother about money.
I won't have you bothering.
-Why, Alice, you're
crying, darling.
-Only because I think
it's so awfully nice
of you wanting to
help like that.
-Oh, you darling.
-Another beauty, Mrs. Leek.
-Isn't it?
-This will make Mr.
Cohen's eyes pop.
I told him he'd have to pay
15 pounds for the next one.
-It's nice of you to handle
these for me, Mr. Simmons.
But I'd wish you'd
take a commission.
-No, indeed.
Mr. Cohen always buys a frame.
And that's payment enough.
-You are kind.
-And how is Mr. Leek?
-Very well.
Thank you.
-Marvelous to make
money like this.
-And it's so easy for him.
A few hours and it's done.
-Someday he may be famous.
-Oh, I hope not.
He wouldn't like that.
-Wouldn't he now?
-Not in the least.
-Well, as they say, it
takes all kinds of people
to make a world.
-Whoever said that was more
than right, Mr. Simmons.
More than right.
-He was, Mrs. Leek.
-He was, indeed, Mr. Simmons.
Isn't it a beauty?
How much?
I told
you the last time.
The price has gone up.
It's 15 pounds.
60 pounds, Feinburg.
All right.
Where
did you get this?
That's my affair.
-It's good enough,
but it's unsigned.
Unknown painters are
hard to sell, you know?
-Not that one.
-How much do you want for it?
-100 pounds.
-I'll risk that much.
I'll send you a check.
-Thank you, Mr. Oxford.
-And, uh, Feinburg?
-Yes, sir?
-You might send me anymore
of this fellow's things
you can get.
-I'll see what I can do.
-Here's a mystery.
-What's that, sir?
-Well, don't you
recognize the painter?
-No, sir.
-This is a Priam Farrel.
-Well, how can that be, sir.
We bought up all the Farrels.
-We thought so.
But there's no doubt
this is a Farrel.
Take a cable to Mr. Witt.
"Have found another Farrel.
Unusually fine example.
Painting unsigned, but
I will guarantee it.
I'm sending it to you tomorrow.
Oxford."
-Lovely?
-Loveliest thing I've ever seen.
-Silly.
-It is silly to be in
love with one's wife.
-And your wife is silly, too.
-No.
My wife is wise.
-My poor dear, I know so little.
-She knows how to live.
And that's everything.
And you've taught me.
-Well, it's the
thing we do most.
-I'm painting better
than I ever did.
-You'll not take
above 50 pounds.
Think of it.
It's like a fairytale.
-Yes.
It is.
-Oh, one of your tradesmen.
-They know better than
to come to my front door.
-Well, I have to go to work.
In any case, they'll have
to be paid, you know?
-Oh, uh, is this
Mr. Leek's house?
-Yes.
-Could I see him?
It's about pictures.
-Oh, won't you come in ?
-Henry.
Here's a gentleman come
to see you about pictures.
Won't you sit down?
-Thank you.
Good afternoon, master.
-Good afternoon.
-I've been buying
some things of yours.
And I've traced them--
not without difficulty--
to the picture
framer's shop here.
-Yes.
That's where I sell Mr.
Leek's pictures for him.
-Ah.
I called to see if, by chance,
you had anything more for sale.
Pardon me.
May I look?
-Oh, do.
-It's a masterpiece, madam.
-Yes, it is rather pretty
when you come to look at it.
-Oh.
If you care to consider,
say, 500 pounds?
-500 pounds!
Why, Henry, that's marvelous.
-I came prepared to spend.
If you'll kindly count these.
-I'm too dizzy to count them.
I never did understand
this art business.
-How did you do it, Mr. Farrel?
-Do what?
-Escape from the Abbey.
-What's that?
-I saw Priam Farrel
buried in the Abbey.
-So did I!
-And now I'm talking to him.
-Alice, do you see what
comes of admitting strangers?
-Do you mind telling
us who you are?
-Oxford.
At Parfitt's Gallery.
-Huh.
-Quite so.
Your old dealer, Mr. Farrel.
-What makes you think
I am Priam Farrel?
-That and the other
pictures that I've bought.
-My style is entirely
different from Farrel's.
-Oh, you tried to
disguise your brush,
but your signature's
in every stroke.
-Oxford, I must ask
you to say nothing
to anyone about this
mad idea of yours.
It will be devilish awkward.
-I'm afraid I shall
have to ask you to state
publicly that
you're Priam Farrel.
-Publicly!
Why?
-I've been selling
some of your paintings
to Mr. Witt of Pittsburgh
with my guarantee
that they are genuine Farrels.
-You have no right!
-Mr. Witt has discovered
a date on the back
of one of the canvasses.
And that date is
after your death.
Do you see the fix?
-Yes.
It's your fix.
-Well, Mr. Witt's bringing
suit against me for fraud.
My reputation's at stake.
I shall have to insist upon
your going into the witness box.
-Me?
In the witness box?
A public cross-examination!
No, no, no, no!
I tell you it's unthinkable.
It's un--
-I'll have to ask you
to go, Mr. Oxford.
And here's your money.
We can't be under obligation.
-But I bought this picture.
I must insist upon having it.
-Very well, take it then.
You must pardon us.
I can't have my husband upset.
-I'm sorry, Mrs. Farrel.
Good day, master.
-You can find your way.
-Oh, yes.
Thank you.
-Now we're in for it.
I told you I'll bring
down trouble on us.
If he tells that I am
Farrel, I'll never face it.
Reporters, publicity--
-There now, dear, you mustn't
get all unrolled again.
Come.
I'll fix your tea.
-Oh, Alice!
Your faculty for
remaining calm is amazing.
-Well, somebody
has to keep calm.
-You don't seem
to care a tuppence
whether I'm Priam Farrel or not.
-Well, what does
it matter to me who
you are so long as you're you.
You can be the Shah of
Persia, if you like.
-But I am Farrel.
Honestly, I wish I wasn't.
But I am.
-Bless you, love.
It doesn't matter.
Come.
-But that isn't what you
said in the first place.
-On the contrary, that's
exactly what I said.
-Oh, what a memory you have.
Cake?
-Yes.
-Marmalade?
-No, dear.
-Who could that be?
-Yes, what is it you wish?
-We were determined to get in.
And in we've got.
John, shut the door.
-Yes, Henry.
-Now, Mother.
Don't put yourself about.
Where is Mr. Henry Leek?
-There you are, Henry.
After 25 years!
Think of it.
I'm his wife, ma'am.
The rightful Mr. Henry Leek.
And these are my
sons who have come
with me to see
that I get justice.
-What does it mean?
What does it mean?
-I think you had all better
come in and sit down.
There.
Will you?
And which of you
boys had the idea
to keep a middle aged
woman on the doorstep?
-Now, Mother, don't give way.
-I'd think we'd all
better have tea.
-Now, Mother.
Do you recognize this
man as your husband?
-Yes.
It's a rare, long while.
-You're sure he's your
husband and our father?
-Yes.
And sorry I am to say it.
-Never saw her
before in my life.
I never saw her.
-He married me
just 25 years ago.
And a month after
our twins were born,
he just walked out of
the house and left me.
And never a word of explanation.
-I never saw her in my life.
I never saw her.
-Then how do you explain this
marriage certificate, sir?
-Do you really
recognize my husband?
-Your husband, madam?
-He's the same sort of
man and got the same eyes.
-Now, Mother, don't give way.
-Do you remember, Henry?
How you said you wouldn't
be married in a church,
not for anything?
But it's strange that our
sons should both be curates.
And now, this dreadful scandal!
-You may shrug your
shoulder, but you
can't shrug us out of existence.
Here we are.
And you can't get away from us.
You're a, a bigamist, sir.
A deserter of women!
Heaven only knows--
-Sugar?
-Uh, two please.
-Two please.
-One please.
-And how did you happen
to find us out at last?
-Through an advertisement
in the paper put in by that
Mr. Oxford.
-I need not say, madam, that
you have all our sympathies.
-You mean me?
-I repeat, madam, you
have our sympathies.
You are not his wife.
You can never be his wife.
You're living in the
same house with him
under circumstances
which I hesitate
to name the situation
in plain words.
No.
I'm afraid--
-Would you please hand
this to your mother?
-Ah!
Oh, John!
You always were so clumsy.
And a clean cloth, too!
-Oh, don't mind please.
Dear?
Will you run into the
kitchen and bring me
something to wipe this up with?
-Yes, dear.
Of course.
Immediately.
I'll get that.
-He's gone!
-He's gone.
-Who?
-Father.
-I'm afraid so.
-Does he mean to come back?
-I'm afraid not.
There's not the slightest
use trying to drive him.
He can only be led.
You see, he's rather peculiar.
-Who knows better than
I that he's peculiar?
-He has his good points.
Far be it from me to say
anything against him.
He's often very good to me
but-- a cup of tea, Mister John?
-You don't mean to say
that he-- One morning,
when I was ironing his
snaps, the hot iron--
-Don't.
Don't.
I know because
I've been through.
-You don't mean to say that
he threatens you with a--
-If threatening were only all.
-Then he's not changed
in all these years.
He was also so queer.
-Queer?
That's it.
Queer.
I don't think he's
quite right in the head.
I never wake up in
the morning but what
I don't think maybe today
they'll put him away.
-Put him away?
-Yes.
In Hanwell or whatever asylum
it is they put them in.
Would you please pass the cake?
-Did you say asylum?
-And you have his
blood in your veins.
Another cup of tea?
-Yes, ma'am, if you please.
-I think I ought to
tell you that this
is my house and my furniture.
He had nothing at all.
-Oh.
Is that so?
-Many a blow he's
laid on me in anger.
But all the same, I pity him.
Maybe these two
strong young men will
be able to do something
with him, but I doubt it.
He's very strong.
And he has a way of leaping
out at you sudden like.
I was that relieved when
he left the house just now.
-He ought to be
prosecuted for bigamy.
That's what ought to be done.
-Most decidedly.
-Quite right.
That would only be justice.
But then, of course, he'd
deny he's the same Henry Leek.
-He is.
I'm sure of it.
-No doubt you could prove it.
But these law cases,
they're so expensive,
what will private detectives
and that sort of thing.
Yes.
That's very true.
-And, of course,
there'd be the scandal.
Oh, don't mind me.
I'm innocent.
But I don't know how it would
suit you, Mr. John and Mr.
Henry, as clergymen
to have it known
that your own father
was in prison.
-I don't know that we'll
be able to avoid it.
This Mr. Oxford's
lawyers are already
in communication
with the police.
-Oh.
I see.
Well, in that case,
we're all in for it.
I'd better get some hot water.
Excuse me.
-We'd better clear out of this.
We can go by the front door.
-Before he comes back.
-I didn't want to come
in the first place.
-Now, Mother.
Don't give way.
I said, don't give way.
-Henry?
Henry?
It's all right.
They've gone.
Henry!
-Have they gone?
-How you startle me!
Yes.
Ages ago.
And where have you been?
-Walking.
-In the fog without hat or coat.
You'll be down with pneumonia.
Here, get these wet things off.
Sit here by the fire.
-Where are my sons?
What about them?
How did you get rid of them?
-By kindness.
-You know, if Oxford has
begun advertising for me,
he'll never stop until
he gets me into court.
-Well, what will be will be.
And we won't worry about it.
-Hm.
Ooh!
-It's not hot.
-Alice, you don't really believe
I ever married that woman,
do you?
If there's one thing I'm
sure of in this world
it's that you were
never married to anyone
before you married me.
That I will swear to.
Here.
-Ooh!
-Oh, it isn't hot.
-It is, darling.
-It is not.
-Oxford claims Priam
Farrel's alive.
-Farrel alive?
-Farrel alive!
-Farrel alive?
-Witt, the American
billionaire, has taken Oxford
to court, charged
that Oxford has sold
him Farrels painted
after Farrel's death.
Get Oxford.
-Yes, sir.
-Get down to Farrel.
-Yes, sir.
-You have been an avid collector
of Farrel's, have you not?
-For a number of years.
-Were you at all surprised
or suspicious when you began
receiving unlisted Farrels
after Mr. Farrel's death?
-Surprised but not suspicious.
-What first aroused
your suspicion?
-Quite by accident, one day,
I noticed the canvass maker's
imprint on the back of
one of the pictures.
And it was dated.
-What was the date?
-1932.
-That was two years after
Priam Farrel's death.
-Exactly.
-And how many Farrels
in all did you
buy from Mr. Oxford
since Mr. Farrel's death?
-Seven.
-And you believe them
all to be fictitious?
-I believe them all to be fakes.
-What did you pay for them?
-11,000 pounds.
-Is this the picture?
-Yes.
-Is that the mark you mean?
-Yes.
-Gentlemen, you see the date.
-1932.
-1932.
-1932.
-Less than a month after the
twins were born, he left me.
-Is that your husband?
That gentleman sitting
on the end there?
-It is.
-Weren't you in doubt
when you first saw him?
-It's all come over me since.
Shouldn't a woman recognize
the father of her own children?
-She should!
-It's ridiculous.
Priam Farrel was a gentleman.
His valet is a lout.
I knew that the moment
I set eyes on him.
I packed him off at once.
-This fight with
your cousin when
you were children,
tell us what occurred.
-Well, we fought.
-Oh.
You fought.
What did you two naughty
boys fight about?
-About a plum cake, I think.
-And what was the result
of this savage encounter?
-I remember tearing
half his clothes off.
-Ah!
Are you sure you remember that?
-Yes.
I remember now that my cousin
had two moles on his neck,
just below the collar.
-Can you describe
these adornments?
-One was hairy.
One was plain.
So after this
correspondence with Mr. Leek,
you met Mr. Farrel,
thinking he was Mr. Leek?
-Yes.
And married him?
-Yes.
So he deceived you?
-No.
He told me he was Priam Farrel.
Then you
knew all the time?
-Well, the poor
dear wasn't well.
And I thought he was
imagining things.
It was silly of me.
-When did you first come
to believe he was Farrel?
-The day Mr. Oxford came.
The day Mr. Oxford
paid your husband 500 pounds?
-Yes.
-Was it the money that induced
you to change your mind?
-You're very rude!
Answer the
question, please.
-I wouldn't have had my husband
ragged by such vicious people
for the Bank of England.
-These are genuine
Farrels, of course.
-I see.
I see.
I see.
-These are fictitious
Farrels, of course.
I see.
I see.
I see.
-Genuine Farrels.
Fictitious Farrels.
Genuine Farrels.
Fictitious Farrels.
I see.
I see.
I see.
-You say your name
is Priam Farrel?
-Yes.
-You've been known
as Henry Leek.
-Yes.
-Which are you?
-Both.
-How can you be both?
-Oh, none of this
interests me in the least.
Please
answer the question.
-This is all very stupid.
Question, please.
-Who cares who I am?
-Question, please.
-I'll have no more of this.
It's ridiculous!
-Question, please.
-I have better things to do.
-You are at work on a
masterpiece, no doubt.
-Oh, some oaf will think
it a masterpiece, no doubt.
-When did you meet Mr. Oxford?
-Oh, he's been my
dealer for many years.
-When did you meet him?
-Some weeks ago.
-When he discovered
you were Farrel?
-Yes.
-Was there a passage of
money on this occasion?
-500 pounds.
-When he paid you 500 pounds,
you decided you were Farrel.
-He paid me 500
pounds for a picture.
-And you discovered
you were Farrel.
-He discovered it!
-You didn't know it?
-Farrel is buried in the Abbey.
I wish you'd let him rest there.
Will you
answer the question?
-Why put people in
the Abbey if they're
to be dragged out again?
What's the good of the place?
-He's mad.
He's mad.
He's mad.
He's mad.
He's mad!
He's mad!
-Why must you torture him?
-Will you answer the question?
-Why must you torture him?
-Forgive me, Alice.
I'm not being tortured.
It's all too comic.
-Order, please.
-Will you answer the question.
-I am Priam Farrel.
I have nothing more to say.
-Have you two moles?
-Yes.
-Where are they?
-On my neck, just
below the collar.
-Will you indicate the spot?
Perhaps you will
remove your collar
and show the moles to the court?
-No!
-You would prefer
doing it, perhaps,
in his lordship's room?
-No!
-But surely!
-I won't do it
anywhere, my lord.
-But the law!
-There is no law that can
make me take off my collar!
-Must be a law.
Must be a law.
Must be a law.
-But the trial cannot proceed
unless you remove your collar.
-It's not my trial!
-Oh, but it is.
You may be put into
Holloway for bigamy.
-I fancy at Holloway they have
a short method with people
who won't take off their collar.
-Ha!
England, in order to prove
she has a great artist,
arrests him for bigamy and
shoves him into prison.
Very characteristic!
-Quiet, dear.
Now, Mr. Oxford.
Do you think my
husband is entitled
to some part of
the 11,000 pounds
Mr. Witt paid you
for his pictures?
-I'll gladly turn all
of it over to him.
Less a reasonable commission.
Well, that's
fine of you, Oxford.
-I won't touch a penny
of that wretched money.
Not a penny!
-I wouldn't dream of
asking you to, dear.
I shall touch it.
Now, gentlemen, if you wouldn't
mind leaving us alone a moment.
-Certainly, Mrs. Farrel.
-Certainly, Mrs. Farrel.
-Now, love, we must be sensible.
I don't care if they
don't think you an artist.
But I won't have them
thinking you're a bigamist
and dragging you to jail.
-They wouldn't dare!
Would they?
-I'd put nothing past them.
-Huh?
-Come, darling.
Show the gentlemen your moles,
and we can go along home.
Hm?
-Must I?
-It won't be long.
-Oh.
-Gentlemen, my moles.
-The moles!
The moles!
The moles!
Order, please
Order, please.
-Congratulations.
-Congratulations.
-Congratulations.
-Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
-I wonder what our
new name will be.
Mr. and Mrs.--
-Oh, as if that mattered.
-We'll miss our garden.
-We'll find another garden.
-Dear Alice.
-Dear Henry.
You'll always be Henry to me.
Nothing could change that.
What are you thinking?
-I'm wondering where they'll
bury me the next time.
-Who is the painter?
-Who is the painter!
Priam Farrel, of course.
-Oh, that one?
-That one.
He gets a thousand pounds
for the flick of a brush.
Fortune he makes.
-My word.
For these?
-Isn't Priam Farrel
an Englishman?
-Yes.
But they say he
never comes here.
No one ever sees him.
-Yes.
He's shy.
Always in hiding.
-If my name were Priam Farrel,
I wouldn't be in hiding.
-How much do you
think that would cost?
-Oh, they're not for sale.
This is a loan exhibit.
-When is he returning
to America, Mr. Witt?
-Tomorrow.
I wish there were some
way I could meet Farrel.
-There isn't.
I've been his agent for
15, and I've never met him.
-Strange man.
-Wise man.
He lives his own life.
-These, my boy, were painted
by your famous cousin.
-All of them?
-Oh, this is a tenth
of what he's done.
He simply squalls paintings.
-I beg pardon.
Are you related to Priam Farrel?
-I'm his first cousin.
-Could, uh, you tell me
where I might find him?
-I doubt if anyone
could tell you that.
I haven't seen him
since he was a child.
Even his banker don't know him.
-I'm sorry.
Thank you.
-This is the Farrel
exhibit, Madam.
-Thank you so much.
-May I show you about.
-Oh, please don't trouble.
-Trouble, I assure you.
-Aren't your cousin's
paintings wonderful?
-Yes, Papa.
-Isn't that one
particularly fine?
-Yes, Papa.
-This is his most famous
painting, "The Policeman."
-Nice, isn't it?
-Nice!
Why it's worth thousands.
-Dear, dear.
I can't see a policeman
being worth all that.
I suppose you know
Mr. Farrel well.
-Me?
Why I've never even seen him.
No one has.
-I know his secretary, Mr. Leek.
-Do you?
-Well, that is, I
don't exactly know him.
I, uh, I correspond with him.
He writes nice letters.
-That's the way I got married.
-I beg your pardon?
-"The Matrimonial Times!"
Is that the paper you used?
-Well, in my dear manner.
-There's no need to get touchy.
It's as good a way as any.
-Did yours turn out well?
-Well, she has a bit of
a limp, but she's jolly.
-Where was he when
you last heard?
-His last picture
came from Spain.
You can't
dream what these few weeks
have meant to me.
I've wanted for
years to know you.
-Oh, really, Lady Helen?
-You don't know how great
you are, how simple.
-Simple?
-Unpretentious,
unaffected, like a child.
If only we could
be together always.
-That'd be nice, wouldn't it?
-Really?
You mean that?
-Oh, why, I--I mean--
-Oh, this is glorious.
I'll take you out of your shell.
I'll take you out into the
world where you belong.
-No, no, no.
I'm afraid of the world.
-Oh, oh, not my world.
You must love my world.
-Oh, no, no.
I won't.
I, you see, I can't
bear being noticed.
People terrify me.
I've, well, I've
always been like that.
Of course, you can't understand.
-There, dear.
There.
You'll get over all that.
I'll help you.
-Oh, I--
-Oh, Mary!
-Oh, good afternoon, Mary.
-Mary, the most wonderful
thing has happened.
Should we tell her, dear?
-Why, I'm--
-Of course, we must!
Why she's my dearest friend.
-There's no need to tell me.
I can guess.
Why it's written all over you.
Oh, I'm so glad Mr. Farrel.
I'm sure you'll
both be very happy.
-Oh, yes.
Thank you.
-We have the most
wonderful plan.
We're going to travel.
We're going into the world.
-You have no idea what a
lion you'll be, Mr. Farrel.
-No, I suppose not.
I have to, excuse me.
I have to go back
to the inn now.
-We'll see you for dinner, dear?
-Yes, yes.
-We'll celebrate.
-Yes.
Do.
-How ever did it happen?
-I'll never know.
I can scarcely believe it.
-It's wonderful, dear.
-"Dear Mrs. Hunter, Your
photograph is beautiful.
Will I ever see the original?
Not unless I find a new master.
Am enclosing a snapshot
of Mr. Farrel and me.
The one on the right is me."
-Leek!
Leek, pack.
Pack up.
I've got to get away
from here at once.
-What's happened, sir?
-It's not going to happen, Leek.
Now pack up and don't
ask any questions.
-Oh, where are we going, sir?
-Oh, I don't know.
Anywhere.
Away from here.
Someplace where
they can't find me.
-Nobody knows you
in London, sir.
-Huh?
Perhaps you're right, Leek.
-We could open up the old house.
-After all these years?
-Yes.
No one would know
you there, sir.
-Right again, Leek.
-Who's that?
-Just you asked for the bill.
-Oh, pay it, Leek, will you?
No one is to know that we're
leaving, do you understand?
-Si, senor.
-No one!
-Si, si.
-Give her something extra, Leek.
-Here, Rita.
Take care of the servants.
-Oh, wonderful.
-Sh.
We'll be back.
You'll think of me?
-Always, always.
-What's all that
muttering out there?
Come and get packing.
-Yes, sir.
Yes, sir.
-I found a doctor.
He'll be here in a minute.
-You ought not to have gone
out without your coat, sir.
We don't want you
to catch cold, too.
-Oh.
-Here.
-Your dressing gown, sir?
-You must get you
to bed at once.
Do you think you can make
it up one flight to my room?
-Me?
-Yes.
-In your bed, sir?
-Oh, don't be silly.
Come on, I'll help you.
-Oh, I hate to be
such a nuisance
-Come on now.
-I hate to be such
a nuisance, sir.
-You'll be all right
in the morning.
It's just a cold.
-There you go.
When I mentioned this
address, the doctor
gave me a most peculiar look.
-Is this Mr. Farrel's house?
-Come on up
-Hey, Leek.
We're discovered.
Good evening, doctor.
-Good evening.
-How long has Mr.
Farrel been ill?
I asked you, how long
has your master been ill?
-Oh.
Yes.
Well, I, we.
He began to complain when we
got off the boat this morning.
What's wrong, do
you think, doctor?
-I don't know yet.
It might be anything.
Bring me some boiling
water at once.
-There isn't any.
-You have water, haven't you?
-Yes.
But not boiling.
Never mind I'll get a plaster.
I'll bring-- my assistant.
-Thank you.
-Get his clothes off.
Have you brandy?
-Yes.
-Well, get it.
Be of some use here.
This is serious.
-My poor Leek, he
takes you for me.
-Please tell him.
-Not at all.
It'll save me a lot of
that infernal curiosity.
Now come on.
Let's get some of
these clothes off, eh?
-I, I hate to be
such a nuisance.
-Where is the brandy, Leek?
-In my small bag, sir.
-I see.
The temperature 104.5.
The pulse 140 and weak.
We'll try an injection
of strychnine at once.
-Can I help?
Can I do anything?
-You see that chair.
-Yes, I see it.
-Well, go and sit in it.
-Hey!
-Yes?
-Where's that brandy?
-What?
-The brandy.
The brandy!
Isn't that it there?
-Yes.
Yes.
-Has he any relatives?
-Oh, I don't know.
-They should be
notified at once.
-What, what , what,
what's the matter?
What is it, doctor?
-It's all over, my man.
-Oh, but it can't be.
He was a perfectly
strong, healthy man.
-Precisely.
It's not unusual for
strong, health men
to go suddenly from
acute double pneumonia.
-But it's impossible.
I don't know what I'll
do without that man.
-Look here.
You don't seem to
be much use here.
I'll notify the registrar.
-Registrar?
-We have to report Mr.
Farrel's death, you know?
-Oh.
I'm afraid there's
been some mistake.
-What?
-You see, I--
-Now listen to me, my man.
There's been no sort of mistake.
Everything's been done
that could be done.
-Yes.
But I--
-Look here, you're holding up.
You need some rest.
I'll be back in the morning.
-But doctor!
-Yes, doctor?
What's that?
What time?
Where?
Pneumonia?
Thank you so much, doctor.
Thank you.
Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Write the lede.
Get the picture.
Bring me the Farrel folder.
-Yes, sir.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel's dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Priam Farrel is dead.
-Leek!
Leek, why don't you--
-You took your time answering.
-This is Mr. Duncan Farrel,
your late master's cousin.
-Where is the body?
-Upstairs.
First door.
-Leek.
Leek!
Your name's Leek isn't it?
This is for you.
I picked it up at the door.
See here, Leek.
If I were you I wouldn't try
to get another valeting job.
-I, I beg your pardon?
-You may have
suited Priam Farrel.
Artists are strange.
But I don't believe you'd
suit an ordinary employer.
-Thank you.
Don't you recognize your cousin?
-I haven't seen him since
he was 12 years old.
But I think I may
safely say I should
have recognized him anywhere.
I shall treasure this
as a remembrance.
His shroud, as it was.
-Well, I'll be going.
-What arrangements
have you made?
-None, I've been asleep.
-You're not very respectful.
-That dressing
gown belongs to me.
-Oh!
So you're starting to
claim things, are you?
We'll soon put an end to that.
Oh!
Pigsty.
-Stop what you're doing.
Those are painting things.
-Oh, so you're a
painter, too, are you?
Now see here, Leek.
I fancy you and
I had better come
to an understanding at once.
What salary did
my cousin pay you?
-100 pounds a year.
-When were you last paid?
-Oh, let's see.
I, uh.
-Well?
-Oh, the day before yesterday.
-Here's eight pounds
in lieu of notice.
-Yes, but listen--
-Take it.
-But I want to tell you--
-Take it!
Now pack up and get out of
this house as soon as you can.
-But I'm not--
-I shall not argue.
Are his papers here?
-Yes.
-Where's the key?
-There, there's something
I want to tell you.
-No doubt.
No doubt.
Ah.
Here's his will.
Oh, is that still there?
I thought that had
been destroyed.
-Do you know what it says?
-Everything is left to
England for the establishment
of a new gallery.
And you get five pounds for
your trouble as executor.
-Yes.
I see.
Well, he probably thought
I should be annoyed.
-He did.
-Well, my man, the idea of a
great public institute bearing
my family name is
not unpleasant to me.
-But he meant it as a joke.
-I don't see why you complain.
You come into 80
pounds a year under it.
-Yes.
I was forgetting about that.
-I never saw such a
disrespectful servant
in my life.
Now, get your things
together an go.
-Yes, sir.
-Who's luggage is that?
-Mine.
-Yours indeed!
Are your initials P F?
-Oh.
-Have you a latchkey?
-You have all the keys.
-I'll notify you
about the funeral.
Where will you be stopping?
-Grand Babylon Hotel.
-The man is mad.
-Boy?
This is the Grand
Babylon, isn't it?
-Yes, ma'am.
-Have you a suite?
-Yes, sir.
-May I have it?
Yes, sir.
Same one?
It's occupied now.
This guest has one night.
-Yes, we'll notify you.
-Mr. Leek?
Well, I suppose you are
Mr. Leek, aren't you?
-Oh, oh, why yes.
-I really didn't expect you.
Mr. Farrel being dead,
I knew you'd be upset.
-How did you know he was dead?
-How did I know?
Why it's been placarded all
over London since early morning.
Didn't you see?
-No.
-That shows how you
must have been thinking.
I was about to give you up.
-Really?
-Well, it's nearly 2 o'clock.
-Huh?
Oh, yes.
Excuse me.
Will you take those
bags upstairs?
Shall we sit here?
-It's nicer in the back.
-Was Mr. Farrel a good master?
-Oh, very.
Yes.
Oh, won't you sit down?
-Thank you.
But I see you're
not in mourning.
-No.
That is, I--
-I don't hold with
mourning myself.
If you can't show respect
without a pair of black gloves
that the dye's
always coming off of.
It's grumbling against
Providence, too.
Not that I don't think
there's a good use
to talk about Providence.
-Oh, I quite agree with you.
-I suppose you'll
have to be going
back soon to
arrange things like?
-Oh, no.
No.
I've been dismissed.
-I hope you made them
pay you your money.
-Oh.
-Who dismissed you?
-Mr. Duncan Farrel.
He's a fool.
-Why?
-He wouldn't let me
keep my dressing gown,
thought I was
trying to steal it.
-Oh.
He's that kind.
-But a beautiful
dressing gown, really.
And then there was
something very important
I wanted to tell him, and
he, he wouldn't let me.
-But how could he stop you?
-He cut me off like, like that.
-Perhaps you really
didn't want to tell him.
You could write him you know?
-No.
No.
I won't write him.
-Then you didn't
want to tell him.
-Perhaps you're right.
-And if I were you, I should
think no more about it.
-There is great
comfort, Mrs., uh--
-Alice is all right.
-Alice.
-And you've not occasion
to be shy with me.
There's no call for it.
I'm just as you see me.
-Shy?
Oh, I don't feel shy with you.
-That's all right then.
Because I should
take it as a full
compliment being shy with me.
You know, I think a
matrimonial agency
is a very good and useful thing.
Don't you?
-Well, yes.
I suppose.
Yes.
-Because if you are thinking
of getting married, well,
what are you to do?
You could sit in a chair
and wait till eggs are
six pence a dozen and
you'd be no nearer.
No.
If you want to get married,
you want to get married.
There's no use
pretending you don't.
I do hate pretending.
And if you ask me,
matrimonial agencies
are the most useful things ever
invented, next to dress sheers.
-Will you have lunch with me?
-Oh, if you have time.
-Oh, I have so much time.
-If anything comes of this,
I shall pay the agency
with the greatest of pleasure.
-So that was the end of it.
-Well, I think it would be.
-You are like your photograph.
-Like my photograph?
-I knew you at once.
-May I see it?
Thank you.
-I love it.
-The one on the right is me.
-If it isn't rude
to ask, Mr. Leek,
why did you always
typewrite your letters?
It seems so public.
-You see, I write so badly.
-Poor Mr. Farrel.
What good did it do
him to be so celebrate,
always trying to hide as if
the police were after him.
-Well, after all, he had the
pleasure of being successful
and work he liked best to do.
-Well, but, couldn't
he have had that
without chasing all over Europe?
He might just as well have
been a commercial traveler.
-You're wonderful.
-You can laugh, Mr. Leek.
But believe me, there's
nothing like a comfortable home
and a quiet life.
And the less you're in the
newspapers, the better.
-All right.
Nothing like it indeed.
-Extra!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
Extra!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
Extra!
Priam Farrel dead!
-Now you know what
he was afraid of.
-I can't imagine a person
being afraid of anyone.
-When I'm with you, I
can't imagine it either.
When I was with him, I
understood it though.
-Poor man.
He doesn't need to be
afraid of anyone now.
Tell me if you
were ever married.
-No, never.
-You've always live
alone like that?
No home.
Traveling.
And no one to look
after you properly?
-Well, one gets
accustomed to it.
-I suppose so.
But I feel sorry for
you all these years.
-"A Country Garden"
-A country garden?
-That's what they're playing.
-Oh.
Lovely, isn't it?
-Have you a garden, Alice?
-Yes, with a wall around it.
Was it only today we met?
-Hm.
Magic day.
-And now I must be going.
-Oh, please don't.
-Oh, but it's late.
And I must be getting
back to Putney.
-I'll see you home.
-No, you poor dear.
You're too tired.
But we could walk to the tube.
-Is it far?
-Not very.
-Oh, that's too bad.
I wish we could take
the music with us.
-Here, I say!
What's the matter with you?
Are you crazy?
-I beg your pardon.
-What are you doing?
-Well, I suppse I
was rather wonderful.
Am, I mean.
-Good morning, sir.
-Thanks.
-You're Mr. Leek, I presume.
-What of it?
-I'm Horning of "The Courier."
-I'm Doblin of "The Metro."
-Well, you've no right to
intrude yourselves in here.
-My paper's prepared to offer
you 100 pounds for your story
on Farrel's eccentric
life on the Continent.
-Eccentric life on
the-- well, I'll be.
-I'll write the article.
All you have to do is sign it.
You'll make 125 pounds.
-To sign an order for
the fellow's execution.
-150!
-Or burning at the stake.
-Can you tell me if Mr.
Farrel had any notion
that he'd be buried
in the Abbey?
-Buried in the Abbey?
Why it's preposterous.
-Why preposterous?
-Why bury that fellow in the
Abbey, England's sacred shrine
where only the great are buried?
It's absurd.
-Absurd!
Do you know about his will?
-He left everything
to found the Gallery
of Modern Art in London.
-Oh, so that's it!
He's to be buried in
the Abbey because he's
a philanthropist, not
because he's an artist.
Oh, I've seen this all over.
Yes.
Well, I won't have it.
-You'll not have it?
-And I'll tell you
something else.
Farrel is not dead!
-Not dead?
Oh, what next?
-I am Priam Farrel!
Oh,
-Get out!
-Is he mad?
-He must be.
Nothing but a valet.
He takes a suite in the most
expensive hotel in London.
Then he refuses 150 pounds.
And now, bless me, if he
doesn't think he's Priam Farrel.
-Get out!
-He's mad, if you ask me!
-This must be stopped.
Someone should explain to
the Dean of Westminster.
Someone should--
-Well?
-Is Mr. Parker at home?
-Mr. Parker?
This is the Dean's house.
-Oh, pardon me.
I, I thought Mr.
Turner lived here.
-Mr. Turner?
But you said Mr. Parker.
-Did I?
Forgive me.
I'm a little confused.
-Obviously.
-But I say-- I couldn't do it.
I couldn't do it.
But the Abbey!
Oh, fantastic.
-You mustn't make
that noise in here.
-I had no idea
I'd be so honored.
-Who, who is he?
-I don't know him from Adam.
You have no right to be here.
-What's all this noise?
-I had no idea.
I had no idea!
They're
waiting for you.
-Get him out.
-No, stop!
This is my funeral.
-Sh.
Quiet!
-No, I tell you,
this is my funeral.
-Control yourself.
-This is an outrage.
This is an outrage!
-You asked for it!
-Let go of me.
I tell you I am Priam Farrel.
-Drunk, that's what he is.
-What's all this?
-He's been making a
disturbance in the organ loft.
And now he says
he's Priam Farrel.
-Oh, is that so?
-Let go of me, will you?
-Easy, my lad.
-What's all this?
-Drunk and disorderly
in the Abbey.
-I am not drunk.
I'm stunned.
After all, if you knew
what was going on in there!
-Now, now.
Don't cry.
-But what am I to do?
-Well, first of all, if I was
you, I should get a new hat.
There, there.
Stop crying.
-Oh, it's the music.
-Now off with you.
-Why Mr. Leek!
Come in.
Your face!
Whatever have you been up to?
And you'll be needing a new hat.
-That's what the policeman said.
-Well, don't tell me you've been
quarrelling with a policeman.
-I tried to stop them burying
that fellow in the Abbey.
-But why should you do that?
-Because there's been
a dreadful mistake.
-There, there.
You'll all upset.
Just a moment.
-What will she think of me?
-Do sit down.
-No, but, ma'am.
I tell you, there's
been a dreadful mistake.
-There, there.
-No, but I must tell you.
My real name is not Henry Leek.
-Oh, isn't it?
-No.
-Well, what does
it matter so long
as you haven't
committed a murder.
-But my real name
is Priam Farrel.
-I thought that was
your gentleman's name.
-Well, the doctor
thought Leek was me.
And I tried to tell him
and he wouldn't let me.
-I don't know what
you're talking about.
-But can't you understand?
I am Priam Farrel.
I had a valet called Leek.
He died.
And they thought he was me.
-You mean it's this Henry Leek
that's buried in the Abbey.
-Yes, of course.
Yes.
-Hm.
Well, if I were you, I should
keep perfectly silent about it.
-You don't believe me?
-I shouldn't let it worry me.
The best thing you can
do is to forget it.
-Doesn't believe me.
-Give me your coat.
Oh, I see your collar's
come unfastened.
Well, let me.
I can do it.
You have two funny moles on
your neck close together.
That's good luck.
There.
That's better.
I hope you're not
thinking of taking
another position immediately.
-Position?
Oh, no, no, of course not.
No.
-It's not necessary, you
know, what with your legacy
and my income from
the brewery shares.
-The brewery shares?
-Yes.
Father always said, keep
your money in beer, Alice.
Beer will never
fail you in England.
And he was right.
Here.
Put this on.
You'll be more comfortable.
-Do you mean that you want
to share your income with me?
-What else?
-And your home?
-Why not?
-Alice, you're wonderful.
You've even remembered
the dressing gown.
-I've wanted someone to
look after a long while.
Heaven knows you need it .
-It will be the
beginning of a new life.
-I hope so.
-While I'll be a
different person.
-At least you'll have
peace and comfort.
-Oh, no.
It's too fantastic.
I'll bring no end
of trouble on us.
-No more than we
can take care or.
-I'd be born again.
-That sounds a bit religious.
Your milk will be boiling over.
-I say, Alice, it
is lovely here.
Perhaps I have died
and gone to heaven.
-Drink this.
I do.
-I do.
Want anything else, love?
What are you reading
that's so interesting?
-Oh, Priam Farrel's
princely bequest,
a new Gallery of
Modern Art started.
Foundation of stone and so on.
-So they've begun it.
It's taken them long enough.
-A year.
You know, it is true.
-What's true?
-I have died and gone to heaven.
-Silly.
-And I've got
something to show you.
-What?
-Close your eyes and follow me.
-I'm following.
-Eyes closed?
-Tight.
-See nothing?
-I smell something.
-Sh.
-It's a--
-Sh.
-It's--
-Sh.
-It's paint.
-Sh.
-Oh, I know.
You've been painting
the bathroom chair.
-Bathroom chair, indeed!
Now, now turn around.
-Mm-hmm.
-Open your eyes.
There.
-Oh.
Did you do that?
-Yes.
How's it strike you?
-Well, I'm sure it's very
beautiful, but what is it?
Is that the bridge?
-Yes, dear.
But don't go any nearer.
-Well, if you don't
want me to see it close.
-Well, you can't take a
picture like snuff, you know?
-What's that red
streak behind there?
-There?
That's the railway bridge.
-Oh, so it is.
Now, if you were to
put a train on it,
then people would be sure.
-I suppose you learned
to paint from your--
-Pretty good, you know?
In fact, it's deadly good.
Old Farrel would
have have gotten
800 pounds for the like of that.
-It's wonderful how
wonderful people
become after they're dead.
-Oh, there's the postman.
Excuse me.
I'm sure it's very
wonderful, dear.
-By Jove, I can paint.
Poor Alice.
She will think me mad.
-Here's a bit of news.
-What is it?
-My brewery shares.
We shan't get a penny this year.
Not one penny unless
there's been some mistake.
-"Dear Sir or Madam," Oh.
There's no mistake.
The brewery is done for.
That's a fact.
-It would have been a
great surprise to Father.
Well, whether we get anything
or not, I've got pastry to make.
-Oh, you can look.
I'm not worrying.
I have no patience
with worrying.
-No, I don't want you to worry.
Alice, I can always
take care of you.
-If you think I'm going to let
you go into another situation,
you're mistaken.
-No.
I wasn't thinking of that.
-Then what were you thinking?
-Oh, I don't know.
-Because those things they
advertise-- home work, envelope
addressing, and selling
gramophones on commission--
they're no good, you know?
-Look here, Alice.
I can sell that picture and
anything else that I paint.
-Please, please don't
bother about money.
I won't have you bothering.
-Why, Alice, you're
crying, darling.
-Only because I think
it's so awfully nice
of you wanting to
help like that.
-Oh, you darling.
-Another beauty, Mrs. Leek.
-Isn't it?
-This will make Mr.
Cohen's eyes pop.
I told him he'd have to pay
15 pounds for the next one.
-It's nice of you to handle
these for me, Mr. Simmons.
But I'd wish you'd
take a commission.
-No, indeed.
Mr. Cohen always buys a frame.
And that's payment enough.
-You are kind.
-And how is Mr. Leek?
-Very well.
Thank you.
-Marvelous to make
money like this.
-And it's so easy for him.
A few hours and it's done.
-Someday he may be famous.
-Oh, I hope not.
He wouldn't like that.
-Wouldn't he now?
-Not in the least.
-Well, as they say, it
takes all kinds of people
to make a world.
-Whoever said that was more
than right, Mr. Simmons.
More than right.
-He was, Mrs. Leek.
-He was, indeed, Mr. Simmons.
Isn't it a beauty?
How much?
I told
you the last time.
The price has gone up.
It's 15 pounds.
60 pounds, Feinburg.
All right.
Where
did you get this?
That's my affair.
-It's good enough,
but it's unsigned.
Unknown painters are
hard to sell, you know?
-Not that one.
-How much do you want for it?
-100 pounds.
-I'll risk that much.
I'll send you a check.
-Thank you, Mr. Oxford.
-And, uh, Feinburg?
-Yes, sir?
-You might send me anymore
of this fellow's things
you can get.
-I'll see what I can do.
-Here's a mystery.
-What's that, sir?
-Well, don't you
recognize the painter?
-No, sir.
-This is a Priam Farrel.
-Well, how can that be, sir.
We bought up all the Farrels.
-We thought so.
But there's no doubt
this is a Farrel.
Take a cable to Mr. Witt.
"Have found another Farrel.
Unusually fine example.
Painting unsigned, but
I will guarantee it.
I'm sending it to you tomorrow.
Oxford."
-Lovely?
-Loveliest thing I've ever seen.
-Silly.
-It is silly to be in
love with one's wife.
-And your wife is silly, too.
-No.
My wife is wise.
-My poor dear, I know so little.
-She knows how to live.
And that's everything.
And you've taught me.
-Well, it's the
thing we do most.
-I'm painting better
than I ever did.
-You'll not take
above 50 pounds.
Think of it.
It's like a fairytale.
-Yes.
It is.
-Oh, one of your tradesmen.
-They know better than
to come to my front door.
-Well, I have to go to work.
In any case, they'll have
to be paid, you know?
-Oh, uh, is this
Mr. Leek's house?
-Yes.
-Could I see him?
It's about pictures.
-Oh, won't you come in ?
-Henry.
Here's a gentleman come
to see you about pictures.
Won't you sit down?
-Thank you.
Good afternoon, master.
-Good afternoon.
-I've been buying
some things of yours.
And I've traced them--
not without difficulty--
to the picture
framer's shop here.
-Yes.
That's where I sell Mr.
Leek's pictures for him.
-Ah.
I called to see if, by chance,
you had anything more for sale.
Pardon me.
May I look?
-Oh, do.
-It's a masterpiece, madam.
-Yes, it is rather pretty
when you come to look at it.
-Oh.
If you care to consider,
say, 500 pounds?
-500 pounds!
Why, Henry, that's marvelous.
-I came prepared to spend.
If you'll kindly count these.
-I'm too dizzy to count them.
I never did understand
this art business.
-How did you do it, Mr. Farrel?
-Do what?
-Escape from the Abbey.
-What's that?
-I saw Priam Farrel
buried in the Abbey.
-So did I!
-And now I'm talking to him.
-Alice, do you see what
comes of admitting strangers?
-Do you mind telling
us who you are?
-Oxford.
At Parfitt's Gallery.
-Huh.
-Quite so.
Your old dealer, Mr. Farrel.
-What makes you think
I am Priam Farrel?
-That and the other
pictures that I've bought.
-My style is entirely
different from Farrel's.
-Oh, you tried to
disguise your brush,
but your signature's
in every stroke.
-Oxford, I must ask
you to say nothing
to anyone about this
mad idea of yours.
It will be devilish awkward.
-I'm afraid I shall
have to ask you to state
publicly that
you're Priam Farrel.
-Publicly!
Why?
-I've been selling
some of your paintings
to Mr. Witt of Pittsburgh
with my guarantee
that they are genuine Farrels.
-You have no right!
-Mr. Witt has discovered
a date on the back
of one of the canvasses.
And that date is
after your death.
Do you see the fix?
-Yes.
It's your fix.
-Well, Mr. Witt's bringing
suit against me for fraud.
My reputation's at stake.
I shall have to insist upon
your going into the witness box.
-Me?
In the witness box?
A public cross-examination!
No, no, no, no!
I tell you it's unthinkable.
It's un--
-I'll have to ask you
to go, Mr. Oxford.
And here's your money.
We can't be under obligation.
-But I bought this picture.
I must insist upon having it.
-Very well, take it then.
You must pardon us.
I can't have my husband upset.
-I'm sorry, Mrs. Farrel.
Good day, master.
-You can find your way.
-Oh, yes.
Thank you.
-Now we're in for it.
I told you I'll bring
down trouble on us.
If he tells that I am
Farrel, I'll never face it.
Reporters, publicity--
-There now, dear, you mustn't
get all unrolled again.
Come.
I'll fix your tea.
-Oh, Alice!
Your faculty for
remaining calm is amazing.
-Well, somebody
has to keep calm.
-You don't seem
to care a tuppence
whether I'm Priam Farrel or not.
-Well, what does
it matter to me who
you are so long as you're you.
You can be the Shah of
Persia, if you like.
-But I am Farrel.
Honestly, I wish I wasn't.
But I am.
-Bless you, love.
It doesn't matter.
Come.
-But that isn't what you
said in the first place.
-On the contrary, that's
exactly what I said.
-Oh, what a memory you have.
Cake?
-Yes.
-Marmalade?
-No, dear.
-Who could that be?
-Yes, what is it you wish?
-We were determined to get in.
And in we've got.
John, shut the door.
-Yes, Henry.
-Now, Mother.
Don't put yourself about.
Where is Mr. Henry Leek?
-There you are, Henry.
After 25 years!
Think of it.
I'm his wife, ma'am.
The rightful Mr. Henry Leek.
And these are my
sons who have come
with me to see
that I get justice.
-What does it mean?
What does it mean?
-I think you had all better
come in and sit down.
There.
Will you?
And which of you
boys had the idea
to keep a middle aged
woman on the doorstep?
-Now, Mother, don't give way.
-I'd think we'd all
better have tea.
-Now, Mother.
Do you recognize this
man as your husband?
-Yes.
It's a rare, long while.
-You're sure he's your
husband and our father?
-Yes.
And sorry I am to say it.
-Never saw her
before in my life.
I never saw her.
-He married me
just 25 years ago.
And a month after
our twins were born,
he just walked out of
the house and left me.
And never a word of explanation.
-I never saw her in my life.
I never saw her.
-Then how do you explain this
marriage certificate, sir?
-Do you really
recognize my husband?
-Your husband, madam?
-He's the same sort of
man and got the same eyes.
-Now, Mother, don't give way.
-Do you remember, Henry?
How you said you wouldn't
be married in a church,
not for anything?
But it's strange that our
sons should both be curates.
And now, this dreadful scandal!
-You may shrug your
shoulder, but you
can't shrug us out of existence.
Here we are.
And you can't get away from us.
You're a, a bigamist, sir.
A deserter of women!
Heaven only knows--
-Sugar?
-Uh, two please.
-Two please.
-One please.
-And how did you happen
to find us out at last?
-Through an advertisement
in the paper put in by that
Mr. Oxford.
-I need not say, madam, that
you have all our sympathies.
-You mean me?
-I repeat, madam, you
have our sympathies.
You are not his wife.
You can never be his wife.
You're living in the
same house with him
under circumstances
which I hesitate
to name the situation
in plain words.
No.
I'm afraid--
-Would you please hand
this to your mother?
-Ah!
Oh, John!
You always were so clumsy.
And a clean cloth, too!
-Oh, don't mind please.
Dear?
Will you run into the
kitchen and bring me
something to wipe this up with?
-Yes, dear.
Of course.
Immediately.
I'll get that.
-He's gone!
-He's gone.
-Who?
-Father.
-I'm afraid so.
-Does he mean to come back?
-I'm afraid not.
There's not the slightest
use trying to drive him.
He can only be led.
You see, he's rather peculiar.
-Who knows better than
I that he's peculiar?
-He has his good points.
Far be it from me to say
anything against him.
He's often very good to me
but-- a cup of tea, Mister John?
-You don't mean to say
that he-- One morning,
when I was ironing his
snaps, the hot iron--
-Don't.
Don't.
I know because
I've been through.
-You don't mean to say that
he threatens you with a--
-If threatening were only all.
-Then he's not changed
in all these years.
He was also so queer.
-Queer?
That's it.
Queer.
I don't think he's
quite right in the head.
I never wake up in
the morning but what
I don't think maybe today
they'll put him away.
-Put him away?
-Yes.
In Hanwell or whatever asylum
it is they put them in.
Would you please pass the cake?
-Did you say asylum?
-And you have his
blood in your veins.
Another cup of tea?
-Yes, ma'am, if you please.
-I think I ought to
tell you that this
is my house and my furniture.
He had nothing at all.
-Oh.
Is that so?
-Many a blow he's
laid on me in anger.
But all the same, I pity him.
Maybe these two
strong young men will
be able to do something
with him, but I doubt it.
He's very strong.
And he has a way of leaping
out at you sudden like.
I was that relieved when
he left the house just now.
-He ought to be
prosecuted for bigamy.
That's what ought to be done.
-Most decidedly.
-Quite right.
That would only be justice.
But then, of course, he'd
deny he's the same Henry Leek.
-He is.
I'm sure of it.
-No doubt you could prove it.
But these law cases,
they're so expensive,
what will private detectives
and that sort of thing.
Yes.
That's very true.
-And, of course,
there'd be the scandal.
Oh, don't mind me.
I'm innocent.
But I don't know how it would
suit you, Mr. John and Mr.
Henry, as clergymen
to have it known
that your own father
was in prison.
-I don't know that we'll
be able to avoid it.
This Mr. Oxford's
lawyers are already
in communication
with the police.
-Oh.
I see.
Well, in that case,
we're all in for it.
I'd better get some hot water.
Excuse me.
-We'd better clear out of this.
We can go by the front door.
-Before he comes back.
-I didn't want to come
in the first place.
-Now, Mother.
Don't give way.
I said, don't give way.
-Henry?
Henry?
It's all right.
They've gone.
Henry!
-Have they gone?
-How you startle me!
Yes.
Ages ago.
And where have you been?
-Walking.
-In the fog without hat or coat.
You'll be down with pneumonia.
Here, get these wet things off.
Sit here by the fire.
-Where are my sons?
What about them?
How did you get rid of them?
-By kindness.
-You know, if Oxford has
begun advertising for me,
he'll never stop until
he gets me into court.
-Well, what will be will be.
And we won't worry about it.
-Hm.
Ooh!
-It's not hot.
-Alice, you don't really believe
I ever married that woman,
do you?
If there's one thing I'm
sure of in this world
it's that you were
never married to anyone
before you married me.
That I will swear to.
Here.
-Ooh!
-Oh, it isn't hot.
-It is, darling.
-It is not.
-Oxford claims Priam
Farrel's alive.
-Farrel alive?
-Farrel alive!
-Farrel alive?
-Witt, the American
billionaire, has taken Oxford
to court, charged
that Oxford has sold
him Farrels painted
after Farrel's death.
Get Oxford.
-Yes, sir.
-Get down to Farrel.
-Yes, sir.
-You have been an avid collector
of Farrel's, have you not?
-For a number of years.
-Were you at all surprised
or suspicious when you began
receiving unlisted Farrels
after Mr. Farrel's death?
-Surprised but not suspicious.
-What first aroused
your suspicion?
-Quite by accident, one day,
I noticed the canvass maker's
imprint on the back of
one of the pictures.
And it was dated.
-What was the date?
-1932.
-That was two years after
Priam Farrel's death.
-Exactly.
-And how many Farrels
in all did you
buy from Mr. Oxford
since Mr. Farrel's death?
-Seven.
-And you believe them
all to be fictitious?
-I believe them all to be fakes.
-What did you pay for them?
-11,000 pounds.
-Is this the picture?
-Yes.
-Is that the mark you mean?
-Yes.
-Gentlemen, you see the date.
-1932.
-1932.
-1932.
-Less than a month after the
twins were born, he left me.
-Is that your husband?
That gentleman sitting
on the end there?
-It is.
-Weren't you in doubt
when you first saw him?
-It's all come over me since.
Shouldn't a woman recognize
the father of her own children?
-She should!
-It's ridiculous.
Priam Farrel was a gentleman.
His valet is a lout.
I knew that the moment
I set eyes on him.
I packed him off at once.
-This fight with
your cousin when
you were children,
tell us what occurred.
-Well, we fought.
-Oh.
You fought.
What did you two naughty
boys fight about?
-About a plum cake, I think.
-And what was the result
of this savage encounter?
-I remember tearing
half his clothes off.
-Ah!
Are you sure you remember that?
-Yes.
I remember now that my cousin
had two moles on his neck,
just below the collar.
-Can you describe
these adornments?
-One was hairy.
One was plain.
So after this
correspondence with Mr. Leek,
you met Mr. Farrel,
thinking he was Mr. Leek?
-Yes.
And married him?
-Yes.
So he deceived you?
-No.
He told me he was Priam Farrel.
Then you
knew all the time?
-Well, the poor
dear wasn't well.
And I thought he was
imagining things.
It was silly of me.
-When did you first come
to believe he was Farrel?
-The day Mr. Oxford came.
The day Mr. Oxford
paid your husband 500 pounds?
-Yes.
-Was it the money that induced
you to change your mind?
-You're very rude!
Answer the
question, please.
-I wouldn't have had my husband
ragged by such vicious people
for the Bank of England.
-These are genuine
Farrels, of course.
-I see.
I see.
I see.
-These are fictitious
Farrels, of course.
I see.
I see.
I see.
-Genuine Farrels.
Fictitious Farrels.
Genuine Farrels.
Fictitious Farrels.
I see.
I see.
I see.
-You say your name
is Priam Farrel?
-Yes.
-You've been known
as Henry Leek.
-Yes.
-Which are you?
-Both.
-How can you be both?
-Oh, none of this
interests me in the least.
Please
answer the question.
-This is all very stupid.
Question, please.
-Who cares who I am?
-Question, please.
-I'll have no more of this.
It's ridiculous!
-Question, please.
-I have better things to do.
-You are at work on a
masterpiece, no doubt.
-Oh, some oaf will think
it a masterpiece, no doubt.
-When did you meet Mr. Oxford?
-Oh, he's been my
dealer for many years.
-When did you meet him?
-Some weeks ago.
-When he discovered
you were Farrel?
-Yes.
-Was there a passage of
money on this occasion?
-500 pounds.
-When he paid you 500 pounds,
you decided you were Farrel.
-He paid me 500
pounds for a picture.
-And you discovered
you were Farrel.
-He discovered it!
-You didn't know it?
-Farrel is buried in the Abbey.
I wish you'd let him rest there.
Will you
answer the question?
-Why put people in
the Abbey if they're
to be dragged out again?
What's the good of the place?
-He's mad.
He's mad.
He's mad.
He's mad.
He's mad!
He's mad!
-Why must you torture him?
-Will you answer the question?
-Why must you torture him?
-Forgive me, Alice.
I'm not being tortured.
It's all too comic.
-Order, please.
-Will you answer the question.
-I am Priam Farrel.
I have nothing more to say.
-Have you two moles?
-Yes.
-Where are they?
-On my neck, just
below the collar.
-Will you indicate the spot?
Perhaps you will
remove your collar
and show the moles to the court?
-No!
-You would prefer
doing it, perhaps,
in his lordship's room?
-No!
-But surely!
-I won't do it
anywhere, my lord.
-But the law!
-There is no law that can
make me take off my collar!
-Must be a law.
Must be a law.
Must be a law.
-But the trial cannot proceed
unless you remove your collar.
-It's not my trial!
-Oh, but it is.
You may be put into
Holloway for bigamy.
-I fancy at Holloway they have
a short method with people
who won't take off their collar.
-Ha!
England, in order to prove
she has a great artist,
arrests him for bigamy and
shoves him into prison.
Very characteristic!
-Quiet, dear.
Now, Mr. Oxford.
Do you think my
husband is entitled
to some part of
the 11,000 pounds
Mr. Witt paid you
for his pictures?
-I'll gladly turn all
of it over to him.
Less a reasonable commission.
Well, that's
fine of you, Oxford.
-I won't touch a penny
of that wretched money.
Not a penny!
-I wouldn't dream of
asking you to, dear.
I shall touch it.
Now, gentlemen, if you wouldn't
mind leaving us alone a moment.
-Certainly, Mrs. Farrel.
-Certainly, Mrs. Farrel.
-Now, love, we must be sensible.
I don't care if they
don't think you an artist.
But I won't have them
thinking you're a bigamist
and dragging you to jail.
-They wouldn't dare!
Would they?
-I'd put nothing past them.
-Huh?
-Come, darling.
Show the gentlemen your moles,
and we can go along home.
Hm?
-Must I?
-It won't be long.
-Oh.
-Gentlemen, my moles.
-The moles!
The moles!
The moles!
Order, please
Order, please.
-Congratulations.
-Congratulations.
-Congratulations.
-Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
-I wonder what our
new name will be.
Mr. and Mrs.--
-Oh, as if that mattered.
-We'll miss our garden.
-We'll find another garden.
-Dear Alice.
-Dear Henry.
You'll always be Henry to me.
Nothing could change that.
What are you thinking?
-I'm wondering where they'll
bury me the next time.