Perry Mason (1957–1966): Season 3, Episode 20 - The Case of the Crying Cherub - full transcript

And this is our prized Matisse,

an example of the
master's middle period.

Notice how he handles his
light by the use of pure tone.

This is the Matisse
I've been reading about?

Yes. Our most recent purchase
and one we're very proud of.

Hm.

Miss, uh, are you
with the museum?

Yes. I'm the new assistant
to Mr. Harkens, the director.

Mm-hm. I am Sylvester Robey

of the Robey Galleries. Oh, yes.

I'd like to see
Mr. Harkens at once.



May I ask what about, sir?

Henri Matisse.

I can't believe it.

I simply can't believe it.

It's just not possible.

I'd be most happy, Mr. Harkens,

if you would secure
another opinion.

Oh, I'm not doubting you.
I know your reputation.

I can see it myself now.

The brush strokes
on the patina...

What will Amelia say?

Mr. Harkens' mother.

Oh, yes. I've met her.

But surely the
picture's insured.



For $100,000.

Oh?

I read somewhere that you
paid a million francs for it,

which is over $200,000.

I was supposed to increase
the policy and I forgot.

Oh, my mother will kill
me. Absolutely kill me.

Good morning, Mrs. Harkens.

Clark.

Yes, Mrs. Harkens?

Where is the new Matisse?

In Mr. Richard's office, ma'am.

And what is it doing there?

Mr. Richard didn't say.

Just told me to bring it in.

Mm-hm.

If I notify the police,

Mother will find
out and if I don't,

well, we'll never
get the original back.

Richard?

Richard.

Mother.

May I ask what
this is doing here?

Speak up.

Sylvester Robey
wanted to see it.

Sylvester Robey?

He's a charlatan
and a scoundrel.

Well, why should
he want to look at it?

Well, he wanted
to see how it stood

the air trip from Paris.

And that's not what he wanted.

He wanted to know why
we were displaying a copy,

instead of the original.

Where is the original?

I don't know.

Stolen?

I'm afraid so.

Let me see the night
watchman's reports.

All right.

Come here, June.

It states here that you and
a man named David Lambert

were in the museum last night.

Yes, he was waiting
for me to finish work.

Mother, I gave June some
reports to make up for me.

You keep out of this.

David Lambert,

34 years old,
Chicago Art Institute,

Ecole des Beaux-Arts, Paris.

Abstractionist and penniless.

Are you engaged to this man?

He's married, Mrs. Harkens,

but if you're thinking
he had anything

to do with this,
you're mistaken.

Am I mistaken in saying that
he paid his way through school

in Paris by copying old
masters in the Louvre?

No.

Did you help him
steal the picture, June?

Mrs. Harkens...

I want you to go to him.

Tell him he's to bring
back that Matisse tonight.

Otherwise I shall
have you both arrested.

Mrs. Harkens, we
didn't take the picture.

The matter is closed.

Pick it up, Richard,

and put it back before
people start asking questions.

David Lambert, you haven't
heard a single word I've said.

It's a habit I got into while
we were married, Liza.

Well, it happens
we're still married,

even though you seem to be doing

your best to forget it.

Me? I wasn't the one
who filed suit for divorce.

No. I did, in the
apparently vain hope

you'd try to make
something of yourself.

Just look at this junk.

You can paint.

I've still got some of
those things you did

while we were in Paris.

But who could tell from these?

I suppose you'd like me to paint

those, uh, bath-oil,
syrupy cherubs

with idiotic smiles like you do.

They sell, darling.

And I see you think
enough of them

to keep at least one around.

That's to inspire me
not to do likewise.

Still the same impetuous Dave,

but the funny
thing is I miss you.

In fact, I miss you quite a lot.

Are you in, uh, some
kind of trouble again?

No trouble, darling.

Things are going fine.

So fine I'd like
you to come back

and share them with me.

All I want is for you
to go to the courthouse

and get that final decree.

Suppose we make a bargain?

You come back for, say, a month,

and, uh, if it doesn't work

I promise to sign the papers.

Uh-uh.

No more spider traps
for this fly, honey.

No? Well, let me just
straighten you out.

You'll never get that divorce
you're so hot for if you don't.

Think it over.

Who's that?

June, and she'll be
delighted to see you.

Well, I don't want to see her.

Call me tonight.

Oh, I was afraid
you weren't here.

Hey, what's up?

So much I-I don't
know where to begin.

Mrs. Harkens at
the museum thinks...

I smell perfume.

My almost ex-wife
just left the scene,

via the back door. JUNE: Liza?

What did she want?

I'm not quite sure,

but I think she's
looking for a bodyguard.

Oh, uh, what's all this

about old lady Harkens?

Well, the new
Matisse is missing,

and Mrs. Harkens
thinks that we stole it

from the museum last night.

You're kidding. No.

She says if the picture
isn't back by tonight,

she's going to have
us both arrested.

Well, how do you like that?

I've always wanted to
achieve fame in the art world,

and here it comes.
Dave, this isn't funny.

You know what a
Matisse is worth.

I haven't bought any lately.

Well, this one
cost over $200,000.

I'm sorry, honey. You're
right, this isn't funny.

Perry, I know you're busy,

but there's a young
couple in the outer office

and, uh, they'd like to see you.

They say it's very urgent.

I am quite busy.

She's quite pretty.

I don't supposed you noticed
what the young man looked like.

Would you like to
see for yourself?

Come in, won't you?

Thank you.

Uh, you don't know me,
Mr. Mason, but you bought

one of my paintings
a couple of years ago.

Kids and pigeons on the steps

of the Palace of
Justice in Paris?

Of course I remember
you. You're David Lambert.

That's right. And, uh,

this is June Sinclair
whom I hope to make

a happy bride one of these days.

And who hopes you'll
keep us out of jail

in the meantime, Mr. Mason.

Sit down, won't you?

Tell me about it.

I still think I should
go in with you.

After all, it's me
she's mostly accusing.

We're in trouble enough
already. You stay here.

Well, call me if you need help.

We will.

Figuring out some new ways
for stealing pictures, Davy Boy?

What are you doing here?

Appointment.

Don't forget to call me tonight.

Or better yet, come around.

Hey. What was that crack
about stealing pictures?

Just a joke, darling.

It's a beautiful piece of work.

Yes.

Only a real expert could
tell it from the original.

Richard, this is Mr. Mason.

Richard Harkens,
the museum's director.

Perry Mason?

Well, then you must
be representing June.

Not that I blame her
for getting a lawyer.

I think my mother's
absolutely wrong.

Have you told her that?

My mother regards
me as a vegetable

that somehow has
learned how to talk.

No, she wouldn't
listen. She never has.

Oh, by the way,
she's in my office,

if you'd like to talk to her.

I'd very much like to.

You do want the
Matisse back, don't you?

Naturally.

And isn't it worth spending
a few paltry dollars

to save almost a
quarter of a million?

What I should do is turn
you over to the police.

You and June and
that husband of yours

are all in this together.

Possibly.

But you'll never force him
to give the picture back.

Dave's stubborn.

We'll see.

Yes. Wait till tonight.

When he doesn't
appear, contact me,

if you're willing to
accept my terms.

The money must be in cash.

Mother, June is
here with her attorney.

The side door.

Just a moment.

Come in.

How do you do, Mrs. Harkens?

My name is Mason.

Well, if you've come
here to make trouble,

Mr. Mason, I won't have it.

It seems to me you already
have a certain amount of trouble.

Which I don't wish to discuss
with any lawyer except my own.

Show them both out, Richard.

I have no wish for a
discussion, Mrs. Harkens,

but I must tell you this:

If you persist in
your accusations

against Miss Sinclair
and Mr. Lambert,

there will be a
discussion, and in court.

I'm sure you'll find the
position of defendant

in a slander suit
extremely uncomfortable.

I hope you will
consider this carefully.

Thank you.

Dave?

Richard.

David's not here?

No, I don't know where he is.

Well, um,

maybe I'd better tell you, then.

June,

Liza Carson has
all but told Mother

David took the Matisse.

She was lying.

Well, Mother doesn't
seem to think so,

because Liza offered to
return the picture for $25,000

and a promise that David
wouldn't be prosecuted.

She wanted it that way
because she said David

was coming back. Coming back?

Are you sure, Richard?

Just as sure as I am that
Mother's 25,000 is right here.

Who is it?

June Sinclair.

Just a second.

Well, this is a surprise,

though I can't truthfully
say a pleasant one.

What do you want?

I want to talk to Dave.

He's not here.
His car is outside.

Do you want to search the house?

No.

But I would like
to talk to you, Liza.

Not tonight, darling.
I'm expecting someone.

Several someones, in fact,
and I have to get dressed.

Why did you tell Mrs. Harkens
that Dave stole the Matisse?

Who said I told her anything?

Richard Harkens.

Well, isn't that cozy?

You and Richard
swapping secrets.

You'd be better off with him
than with Dave, you know.

Did you steal the Matisse, Liza?

Don't be silly.
How could I steal it?

How can you return
it, if you didn't steal it?

Well, maybe I'm
not returning it.

Maybe I'm just picking up

a little extra pocket money
from the Harkens family.

In any case, it's
none of your business.

It is where it concerns Dave.

What are you trying to do?
Why don't you answer me?

Answer me! Why are
you lying about him?

Let go of me.

I should let you have it.

I could, you know.

Say you came up
here and attacked me.

Nobody'd be the wiser.

But I won't. Not now.

I've got bigger fish to fry.

Can you make it to the door
under your own power, darling?

Then get moving.

What are you doing here?

Stop it. Stop it!

Hello.

Yes, this is Perry Mason.

Yes, June.

Well, if it's urgent,

shouldn't you tell me
over the telephone?

All right. I'll be
there in 15 minutes.

June?

June.

Hold it.

Drop the picture and
turn around slowly,

hands in the air.

Well, I guess we can talk
a little more now, Perry,

that I've got the
machinery going.

You're sticking with your
story about a client calling you?

And asking me to come here.

Only when you got here
the client had disappeared.

That's right.

And you won't say
who the client is.

Not until we have
a chance to confer.

Lieutenant Tragg. Yeah?

There's a piece of jewelry
here, under the chair.

It's a gold clip.

Threads snagged in the catch,
as though it had been torn off.

Initials: “J.S.”

Is the J.S. who dropped this

by any chance your
client, counselor?

You know I can't
answer that, lieutenant.

Um, put this in an
envelope, sergeant.

Take care of it,
will you? Yes, sir.

As I recall, you said that
after you found the body

you started for the telephone.

To call you, as
a matter of fact.

But as an actual matter
of fact, you weren't calling,

you were looking at this

when the officers entered.

And that's the puzzle.

With the corpse back
there, the telephone here,

why did you detour
to look at this?

I'll have to explain that later.

All I ask is a civil question
and you act as though

I'd committed
murder or something.

What's going on?

How come you're here, Mr. Mason?

Who are you, young man?

David Lambert.

And all I want to know
is... Is who swiped my car?

You'd think with a
dozen cops around...

So somebody finally
caught up with her.

I suppose I should
shed a tear or two,

but I...

I'm just fresh out.

Who killed my
wife, mister, uh...?

Lieutenant Tragg, Homicide.

When did you see your
wife tonight, Mr. Lambert?

I didn't see her at all.

He admitted his car was
parked out in front, lieutenant.

What was it doing there?

Uh, may I suggest that
you have a talk with me

before you make
any statement, Dave?

This is your client, then?

Mr. Lambert is a client.

Did you telephone Mr. Mason
and ask him to come over here?

Uh, no statement.

How about telling
us where you've been

for the last hour or so?

No statement.

Counselor, would
you care to explain

why you were so
interested in this?

Where'd this come from?

Mean something
to you, Mr. Lambert?

Well, of course.
It's one of m...

No statement.

How about you, counselor?

No statement.

Are you positive you gave
Liza Carson the money?

Of course, Mother.

That's what you told me to do.

I told you to get your
hands on the Matisse first.

Well, she promised to show
me where it was in the morning.

And you believed
a woman like that?

Mother, I am not as
stupid as you might think.

I had her sign a receipt.

Well, tear it up.

No Harkens has ever been
mixed up in a murder case

and no Harkens ever
will, even to save $25,000.

So tear it up, at once.

Yes?

The modern wing?

I'll look into it.

Now, I want you to
burn those scraps.

And one of you is on guard here
every minute the museum is open?

Yes. We work two-hour shifts.

You by any chance a detective?

I'm a private investigator.

Then maybe I should
tell you something.

That is, if you're
working on the case

of the lady artist that
got shot last night.

I am.

I saw her picture

in the paper this morning.

She was one of those

been making copies
of the Matisse here,

like her:

She came in two days... - Clark.

You are employed
here to watch, not talk.

I'm sorry, ma'am.

Who was that? My boss.

Thanks.

Mrs. Harkens, Mr. Harkens,
this is indeed a pleasure.

These cherubs,
they're Liza Carson's?

The very last she painted.

A great loss.

You know, of course,

they're to be auctioned
off next Thursday.

So it says in your catalogue.

Richard, wait for
me in the car, please.

And now, Mr. Robey,
where is my Matisse?

I don't know, Mrs. Harkens.

No?

You tried to buy
that Matisse yourself,

didn't you, Robey?

Yes, and as usual,
you outbid me.

Could you have discovered
that Liza Carson had the picture

and killed her
to get it yourself?

No, no, Mrs. Harkens.

Liza was my friend.

I loved her.

Well, the picture

can't have
disappeared into thin air.

I want you to...

I offered Liza Carson $25,000
for the return of that painting.

I'll make you the same offer.

Mrs. Harkens.

Mr. Harkens.

Hello, Mr. Harkens.

I got your message, Mr. Mason.

I thought perhaps it would
be better if I came here.

Thank you. Sit down.

I'm curious as to why
your mother is so positive

that June Sinclair and David
Lambert stole the Matisse.

Perhaps you'd better ask her.

I wanted your opinion.

I don't know why
mother instantly jumped

on June and David.

The only thing
I can think of is,

it would be almost impossible

for just anyone to have
smuggled the picture out,

it would be very
difficult for them.

I see. Mr. Mason,

the real reason I came here...

I know June is
in love with Dave,

but if it'll help her,

I'll say I stole the Matisse.

You'd do that for her?

Yes.

The police would
ask you to produce it.

Well, I could say...

I could say that I had hidden
it downstairs in the storeroom.

That-that someone had seen me,

or they just stumbled on it,

and took the opportunity
to steal it for themselves.

It might work.

Too bad I can't
accept your offer.

I can't even lie for someone.

Mr. Mason,

what is it that puts
a man out of step

with the people around him?

Perhaps he hears a
different music, Mr. Harkens.

Perhaps.

Thank you, Mr. Mason. Good day.

Oh, excuse me.

Perry, I just heard from June.

Where is she? At David's studio.

And you really think that
I should give myself up?

Yes, I do, June.

I understand about
last night now,

having heard your story,

but running away was a mistake.

Dave.

Oh, Dave. They let you go.

Yeah, yeah. They let me
go, but I'll never know why.

I, uh, went your
“no statement” route

to the bitter end, Mr. Mason.

Didn't Lieutenant Tragg
say anything to you

when he let you go?

No, he just called me into
the office and said scram.

Oh, yeah. He did say
something about not leaving town,

but that's all.

Do you think that
means they're after me?

I don't see how he could be.

I didn't mentioned you,
and neither did Dave.

Why should he
be after you, June?

June was in the studio
when Liza Carson was killed.

Last night?

What were you
doing there, honey?

I was looking for you.

She saw your car in the street.

She went in, had a
quarrel with Miss Carson.

When she was leaving, she
heard shots from the bedroom.

She went back,
found Miss Carson,

then telephoned me.

But why weren't you there
when they grabbed me?

Well, after I called Mr. Mason,

I realized that you'd be
involved because of your car,

so I-I rushed out and I
moved it to another street.

When I came back,
the police were there. I...

I lost my head and ran.

That wasn't too bright.

What can we do?

Well, first, June and I are
going down to headquarters.

No need to trouble
yourself, counselor.

I'd be more than happy
to provide transportation

for Miss Sinclair.

You are June
Sinclair, aren't you?

Yes.

I have a warrant for
your arrest, Miss Sinclair.

Charge of first degree murder.

On the surface, Your Honor,

this case fits an all
too familiar pattern,

where the mistress of a
married man rids him and herself

of his wife by means of murder.

But entwined in this pattern

are the threads of a
$200,000 grand larceny.

The State has not yet
accused the defendant

or the husband, or
anyone else, for that matter,

of being implicated in this
theft of an art masterpiece

from the world famous
Harkens Museum.

But the entwinement is
such that the State intends

to delve rather deeply into this
secondary aspect of the case,

provided the court is agreeable.

Mr. Mason?

Your Honor, the defense is aware

that the deputy prosecutor
is an authority on art,

and he is welcome to
delve where he desires.

If the defense finds the delving
irrelevant or objectionable,

it will say so.

That seems fair enough.

You may present your
first witness, Mr. Hanson.

As I said, I live
across the street,

so I didn't hear the
shots too clearly.

Just heard them and
wondered what it was.

And then I saw a young woman
run out and race off in an old car

that was parked in front.

And later I saw
another car pull up

and a man got out and
hurried into the house.

Mrs. Forbes, is the young
woman you saw run out

anywhere in this courtroom?

Oh, why, yes.

Right over there. Miss Sinclair.

And the man you
saw enter the house?

Oh, he's sitting right
there beside her.

Let the record show
the witness has identified

Miss Sinclair's
attorney, Perry Mason.

Your witness, Mr. Mason.

No questions.

I realize you are a reluctant
witness, Mr. Lambert,

but you must answer the
prosecution's questions

fully and truthfully.

Okay, Your Honor.

Yes, I've been in love with
June Sinclair for some time.

And your wife refused to
give you a final divorce?

I think it was only a question
of her not facing the fact

that I no longer loved her.

Now, isn't it true that
you were short of cash?

Constantly.

And the painting represented
quite a bit of money, didn't it?

I object, Your Honor.

The witness may
very well be hostile,

but he's not on trial.

Mr. Hanson, you're
making some point here?

If the court will bear with
me, I will connect it all up.

Very well, I will
overrule the objection,

subject to your connecting
up all this evidence

with the germane
issues of the case.

You may proceed, Mr. Hanson.

Mr. Lambert, since you
were in love with June Sinclair,

and she in love with
you, did she tell you

that she was going to
see your wife that night?

No.

Did you tell her that you
were going to see your wife?

No. No?

Why did you go to see your wife?

She had made a remark
about, uh, a painting.

Ah.

The missing Matisse.

Did she accuse
you and Miss Sinclair

of stealing it?

No. She didn't directly
accuse either one of us.

But she gave the
impression that you did?

What did she say
when you went to her?

Nothing. She wasn't home.

What did you do?

Well, since it was after 11, I
figured she'd be home soon,

so I went around the corner
to the neighborhood bistro

and had a beer.

It took you an hour and a
half to drink one glass of beer?

I had several, and
by the time I got back,

the cops were there
and my car was gone.

Did you see Miss June Sinclair
during this period of time?

No, I didn't.

Is there anyone to
corroborate your alibi?

No one I know.

I now show you this gold
pin, which has been identified

as having been found
in Miss Carson's studio

the night of the murder.

Do you recognize it?

Answer the
question, Mr. Lambert.

I gave it to June
on her last birthday.

Yes, I took the pin from
Miss Carson's studio

directly to the police crime
lab and I examined it there.

What did you find, lieutenant?

Adhering to the catch,

some torn strands
of lavender wool.

They were compared
microscopically

and fluoroscopically with
strands taken from the coat,

worn by the defendant
the time of her arrest.

And we found the
strands to be identical.

Which indicated to you,

as an expert in
matters like this...?

A struggle, in which
the pin was torn

from Miss Sinclair's coat

by the deceased.

I object, Your Honor.

I grant that the
witness is an expert,

but he's not clairvoyant.

That pin might have
been torn off by anyone.

Objection sustained.

The witness may
offer an opinion,

but only within the realm
of his special knowledge.

Strike the witness' last answer.

Now, Lieutenant, in your
microscopic and fluoroscopic

examination of the
defendant's coat,

did you find anything further?

Yes. On the right arm,
elbow and shoulder,

I found traces of face powder

identical to that used
by the deceased.

And what did you do, Mr. Robey,

when you discovered
this was not a real Matisse,

but a copy put in its place?

I immediately informed
Richard Harkens,

the museum's director.

Now, let me call your attention
to this half-finished copy

found in Liza Carson's studio.

Oh, yes. I've seen that before.

It is the work of Miss Carson?

No, no, no. It's the
work of David Lambert.

He left it with her
when they separated.

Ah, I see.

And this copy from the museum?

It never occurred to
me before, but of course.

That must be the work
of David Lambert too.

Thank you, Mr. Robey.

You may cross-examine,
Mr. Mason.

Mr. Robey, as close,
personal friend of Miss Carson,

you were well-acquainted
with her work, were you not?

Oh, yes, yes. I sold a
good many pictures for her.

As a matter of fact,

in my weekly art sale
at my gallery tonight,

I am offering four
of her cherubs.

Aren't they part of her estate?

Oh, no. I bought them from
her the day before she, uh...

Before she died.

At her insistence, I might add.

She said she wanted
them out of the studio.

Wasn't that
insistence rather odd

from an artist of her stature?

Well, I suppose she
needed the money.

Perhaps.

Now, to get back to
your intimate knowledge

of Miss Carson's
work. In your opinion,

couldn't she just as well have
painted this as David Lambert?

Yes. Yes, she could have.

Thank you, Mr. Robey.

Yes, sir, I'm a guard
during the days.

And nights?

Well, sir, there's an
outside watchman.

And who was on duty
this particular night?

Well, now, I took Jim
Roscoe's turn that night.

I know Miss Sinclair,
and I can't say

that she took
anything out at all.

But I guess that's like seeing
something a hundred times.

Your eyes take it for granted.

So I didn't notice either one
of them carrying anything out.

Cross-examine.

No questions.

And on Miss Carson's promise
to turn over the real Matisse

in the morning, you gave
her the $25,000 dollars?

Yes, but I believe
she merely promised

to tell me where it was.

Did anyone other
than your mother know

that you were going to give
Miss Carson the $25,000?

Miss Sinclair.

Mr. Mason?

Mr. Harkens, when did you
give Miss Carson the money?

I, uh... I went over there
right after I talked with June.

Then you must have been
there when Miss Sinclair arrived.

Oh, no, I wasn't.

I didn't see June.

Mr. Harkens, how do you account
for the money not being found

in Miss Carson's studio?

I-I don't know.

I suppose the murderer took it.

Or else you never
gave it to her.

Oh, yes, I did.

Here.

My mother told
me to tear that up

and burn it to avoid scandal.

But I didn't burn
it, as you can see.

And when Liza Carson
came to your office,

she actually accused her
husband and June Sinclair

of having stolen the Matisse?

You just heard me
tell Mr. Hanson that.

And on the
strength of that story,

and without further proof,

you authorized the payment
of $25,000 to Miss Carson?

I authorized no such thing.

My son is a fool, Mr. Mason.

He was to get the painting

before he gave her the money.

But the $25,000 did come
from your personal account?

Naturally, since
Richard hasn't a dime.

Mrs. Harkens, why did you
set about recovering the picture

in this manner instead
of going to the police?

I don't think that's
any of your business.

I believe it may very well
be the court's business.

Well, I'm not going to
answer the question.

Mrs. Harkens,

I must caution you
that a refusal to answer

will put you in
contempt of court.

But now, since the hour is late,

and if it is agreeable
with counsel,

I will adjourn court until
10:00 tomorrow morning.

And in the interim I suggest
you give thought to your position.

Mr. Mason?

No objection, Your Honor.

Court will adjourn.

Perry, why don't
you eat something?

Hi, Perry.

Here are the copies of Liza
Carson's handwriting you wanted,

and here's the catalogue
for that auction tonight.

I never knew you were
interested in cherubs.

I am when I have
a client accused

of killing the person
who created them.

Paul, are you sure the
Harkens examined those cherubs

that day at Robey's gallery?

Sure. They were talking
to Robey about them.

Hardly seems the kind of thing

Mrs. Harkens would be interested
in buying: a smiling cherub.

Well, they aren't all smiling.

What do you mean?

Well, three of them are,
but one of them is crying.

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

what you've been
waiting for all evening:

the first of Liza
Carson's cherubs.

Now, may I have a bid, please?

Two hundred dollars.

Two hundred dollars.
Three hundred.

Four hundred and fifty.

Four hundred and fifty dollars.

Uh, $600.

Six hundred dollars.

I have $600. Do I hear 650?

No further bids?

Sold to Mrs. Vandercord.

Now picture number six.

And this, ladies and
gentlemen, is unique.

The late Liza Carson was famous

for her laughing cherubs.

This, as you noticed, is crying.

Now, may I have a bid
for the crying cherub?

Oh, isn't that cute?

I'll bid $500.

Five hundred dollars.

Seven fifty. Eight fifty.

One thousand.

A thousand dollars.

I bid $1500.

Sixteen hundred.

Two thousand.

Two thousand.

Twenty-five hundred dollars.

I bid 5000.

Well, this is ridiculous.

No Liza Carson painting
ever sold for half that.

Six thousand.

Six thousand.

Ten thousand.

Fifteen thousand.

Did I hear you say 15,000, sir?

That's right.

I bid 25,000.

Twenty-six thousand.

Twenty-six thousand...

Mr. Harkens?

I, uh...

I'll have to make
a telephone call.

Just a moment.

You advertised an
auction, Mr. Robey,

and that calls for
continuous bidding.

That's right, Mr. Harkens.

Well, I, uh... I
can't go any higher.

The painting is yours,

Mr. Mason.

Your Honor, the
adjournment yesterday

interrupted Mrs.
Harkens' testimony.

If it please the court, I
would like to recall a witness

before proceeding
with Mrs. Harkens.

Which witness, Mr. Mason?

Sylvester Robey.

Mr. Hanson?

I'd like to know what
kind of demonstration

counsel is planning
here, Your Honor.

This relates to the
artistic phase of the case

referred to by the
prosecution itself.

If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Hanson,

you were the one, originally,
who wanted to delve

into the artistic
aspect of this case.

Well, not with
courtroom high jinks.

Do you formally
object to Mr. Mason

recalling Mr. Robey
to the stand?

No, I... I won't object.

Mr. Robey, please.

You are still under oath, sir.

Mr. Robey. Yes, sir.

Would you mind
performing a small chore?

What chore, sir?

Testing the paint
on this picture.

Well, now, I wouldn't
want to damage this, uh...

It's quite all right.
If you'll recall,

I bought this picture at
your auction last night.

Yes.

Well...

All right, Mr. Robey, you
may take the witness stand.

I'll perform the test.

Thank you, sir.

A water-based paint, Your Honor,
that washes away completely.

The missing Matisse.

That's right, the
missing Matisse.

How did you get it, Mr. Robey?

Liza... Miss Carson.

Assigned it to me with the
other cherubs for auction.

Now, Mr. Robey, you
must do better than that.

Your auction catalog didn't
mention a crying cherub.

No.

Isn't it a fact, Mr. Robey,
that you stole that Matisse,

and that you then
commissioned Miss Carson

to make a painting of
a crying cherub over it,

so that it would be
immediately identifiable

and yet still be
hidden, so to speak?

No, no, Mr. Mason.
I didn't steal it.

Although I suppose it
amounts to the same thing.

I paid Miss Carson
$5,000 to get it for me,

plus a half of anything over
that I might get for it myself.

How did you propose
that it be stolen?

Well, I got her to paint a copy.

You mean that one
there? That's right.

I gave her another $1,000
to bribe one of the guards

to help her exchange
the copy for the original.

Did she tell you
who this guard was?

Yes.

Thomas Clark.

So with Clark's help,

Miss Carson did steal
the picture, did she not?

Yes. Our plan was to sell
it back to Mrs. Harkens.

But you never intended

that it come up
for public auction?

No, but when Liza was
killed, I became frightened.

I thought if the picture
was sold at auction,

I could say I knew nothing
about it, it was Liza's plot.

So I put it up.

And became more
frightened when I bought it.

Now, Mr. Robey, I could
theorize that you were frightened

not because Liza
Carson was killed,

but because you killed her.

But why?

Now, why would I kill her?

To, uh, keep the Matisse.
To get back your $5,000.

But I didn't get my money back.

And I didn't want the picture.
Not after she was killed.

Mr. Robey, why did
you take it upon yourself

to point out that the picture
hanging in the museum

was just a copy,
and not the original?

Because I couldn't wait to
see Amelia Harkens squirm.

For years now she's
made me squirm:

outbidding me at auctions,

snapping up the
pictures I've wanted,

calling me a
charlatan and a fool.

Well, it was my turn now,
to make a fool out of her,

and get money for it to boot.

Divine justice.

No further questions.

Mr. Mason, you may complete
your cross-examination

of Mrs. Amelia
Harkens at this time.

Yes, Your Honor.

You may stand down, sir.

You're still under
oath, Mrs. Harkens.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Mrs. Harkens, since your
Matisse has been found,

will you tell us why you didn't
report its loss to the police?

Pride, Mr. Mason.

An old woman's foolish pride.

Inadequately insured,
stolen from under my nose.

I knew its loss would make me

the laughingstock of every
museum head in the world,

unless I could
recover it myself.

Is that why you sent
your son Richard

to the auction last
night, to recover it?

Iwas at the auctionrd

until he told me
so. And, of course,

he bungled everything, as usual.

It seems to me you
were pretty good

at that very same
thing, Mrs. Harkens.

Accusing innocent
people of stealing a Matisse

on the skimpiest evidence,

on the basis of reports
from one of your guards.

I was remiss.

A guard who now faces
the charge of bribery.

Oh, Your Honor, I
protest this type of aside

in which counsel is indulging.

Whether or not a guard faces
charges of accepting a bribe

has no bearing on
the matter at hand.

Uh, one moment.

Your Honor, I would like
to recall Mr. Thomas Clark

to learn how this
bribery-theft worked.

So would I.

Mr. Hanson?

Very well. No objections.

No, she never did
tell me her name.

Just picked me up
in a bar one night

and put the proposition
to me, and I fell for it.

Or, rather, the $1,000
she was offering.

How was the theft engineered?

Well, she came in while I
was on guard, set up her easel

with the half-finished
copy of the Matisse,

and pretended to paint.

I screened off
the exhibit briefly

and switched the pictures
while she kept watch.

Where did you get
the completed copy

you needed to accomplish this?

She had it stuck onto the
back of the half finished one.

That's where she
put the real painting

when she carried it out.

And then?

That's all.

Except for her handing
me the 1,000 as she left.

And you didn't see
Miss Carson again?

How could I find her,
not knowing her name?

You could have
followed her home.

What for?

Why would I want to do that?

You received $1,000
for helping her steal

a Matisse worth $200,000.

Given time to think about it,
you might come up with the idea

that the split was inequitable.

Uh, what happened when
you followed her home?

You know, it's all going
to come out, Mr. Clark.

Including the $5,000 you
stole from Miss Carson's house.

The five thousand.

How did you know about that?

Mr. Robey gave her the money,

and now it's missing
and unaccounted for.

What happened when
you followed her home?

Remember, Mr. Clark, in
examining the murder room,

the police found several
unidentified fingerprints.

Now that your name
has entered the case...

You're right. I...

I did try to cut myself in.

Only, she lied.

She didn't tell me about
going to old lady Harkens,

and she said she
hadn't been paid yet

for stealing the picture.

But that night, when she
was talking to Miss Sinclair

in the studio, I-I
searched the bedroom

and found the 5,000.

I was on my way
out when she came in

with that toy pistol of hers.

She was going to shoot me.

When I took it away, I...

I shot her.

Perry, about Richard
and that 25,000?

He never paid the money
to Miss Carson, Paul.

It was only after he
learned she was dead

that he forged the receipt.

Ah, it was a bit of petty
larceny on his part?

Oh, no. He explained
that to us, Paul.

He actually hated the museum.

His mother just kept him
around as sort of a whipping boy.

So he figured he'd take the
cash and go away someplace

and make a fresh
start for himself?

He'll make a
fresh start, all right.

She turned a million
dollars over to him.

She also gave a very
nice wedding present

to June and Dave.

Oh, she was just in
a giving mood, Perry.

Don't forget, she
also paid your fee.

No, my fee really came
from David Lambert.

Just arrived. A portrait of me.

It's an abstract of course,

but I think the
likeness is excellent.