SARAH: It still seems a little —
CRUZZI: Fanciful? I agree with you there. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t until this morning, when you yourself announced the loss of Mrs. Swann’s notebook that I became persuaded that there was a rather remarkable, not to say alarming, pattern to all this. If you know anything about the laws of probability, you will quickly see —
SARAH: It’s a little hard to see who would want … and for what reason? (The waiter puts the bill down on the table, and both Sarah and Cruzzi reach for it.) Please, Mr. Cruzzi, let me. Please. It’s been my pleasure. (She places bills on the plate, and rises.)
CRUZZI (rising stiffly; his speech, too, is stiff, containing the awkwardness of translated words): I think, rather, that I have not given you pleasure. I have given you my own troubling concerns, and I am sorry for that. But I do feel … that this his gone far enough. And that something will have to be … (His voice fades and blends with the general noise.)
Sarah leaves the coffee shop, walking slowly by Cruzzi’s side. CAMERA follows them into the hotel lobby; they can be observed talking, but what they say is drowned out by the general noise of passers-by and by MUSIC: a swirling organ tune that holds an element of agitation. They stand waiting before a bank of elevators, gesturing, conferring, questioning, shaking their heads; one of the elevators opens, and they step inside.
Cut to: Interior of an identical elevator. Same time as above.
Jimroy is alone in the elevator. The doors spring open, and he is joined by Rose Hindmarch who steps aboard in sprightly fashion.
JIMROY: Ah, Miss Hindmarch. Enjoying the symposium?
ROSE (laughing): Please, it’s Rose. You remember—Rose!
JIMROY: Rose. Of course.
ROSE: Oh, I’m having the loveliest time. Everyone’s so nice and friendly, well, almost everyone. (She makes a face, thinking of Buswell.)
JIMROY: I think you’ll find the afternoon interesting. A number of papers on various —
ROSE (nervously): You don’t think we’ll be late, do you? I went up to my room for a little lie-down after lunch. I haven’t been awfully well of late, and then all these new faces, well, it’s tiring. And the trip down from Kingston, and the elevators—elevators always give me a funny feeling in the tummy. I’d of taken the stairs, but I didn’t want to be late.
JIMROY: They can be tiring, meetings like this. (The elevator doors open. Politely he allows Rose to exit first, then he follows; they are about to pass the glass display case holding Mary Swann’s photograph when Rose suddenly grasps Jimroy’s arm.)
Director’s Note: Jimroy must cringe at Rose’s touch. It is important that the actor playing this role reveal, by facial expression and bodily contraction, that he finds Rose’s touch repellent and that he regards the photograph of Mary Swann as vaguely threatening.
ROSE (girlish, garrulous): There she is! Don’t you wonder what she’d think of all this fuss. I mean, she’d be just bowled over to think … (CAMERA focuses on Mary Swann’s photo.)
JIMROY (speaking socially, composing himself): Good of you to bring the photograph along, Miss Hindmarch. Rose. Some people like to have a visual image to reinforce—(His manner implies he himself is not one of these people.)
ROSE: Oh, well, of course it’s a terrible, terrible likeness. Out of focus, you know, and too much sun, that was the trouble with those old box CAMERAs, you couldn’t adjust for the light —
JIMROY (anything to shut her up): Well, as I say, it is most fortunate to have even a poor likeness. I don’t suppose we can expect anything —
ROSE (suddenly courageous, seizing her opportunity): Mr. Jimroy. Morton. There’s something—if you don’t mind—something I’d like to ask you about.
JIMROY (gesturing at the open door of the meeting room where people are beginning to assemble for the afternoon session): Perhaps we might converse a little later. I believe (he consults his watch) it’s nearly time for the next —
ROSE (not about to let him escape): It’s just, well, I don’t want to seem impolite or anything, but, you see, there’s something I’ve been wanting to mention to you. Ever since that time you visited Nadeau. I almost wrote you a letter once—
JIMROY (his expression is one of pain): I believe we are going to be late if we don’t —
ROSE (pursuing): You remember when you came to Nadeau, that you wanted, you wanted to see everything, you were so interested in every last little thing?
JIMROY: A most pleasant visit as I remember. Most interesting. But really, we must —
ROSE: Oh, we talked and talked, I remember how you asked all about —
JIMROY: I believe, yes, we had a most interesting —
ROSE: You took me out for dinner. To the Elgin Hotel, remember? We had the double pork chop platter. With apple sauce. I’ll never forget that. That evening. But do you remember the next day, I’m sure you do, visiting the museum, the Mary Swann Memorial Room, that’s what I want to ask you about … Morton.
JIMROY (attempting once more to extricate himself): Most fascinating exhibition. A credit to your community, yes. Perhaps we can chat later, but now —
ROSE (doggedly): I showed you those two photographs of Mary Swann, the ones they found in a dresser drawer after she was … Do you remember that? There were —
The voice of Willard Lang can be heard from the meeting room.
LANG: Ladies and gentlemen, the afternoon session is now called to order and —
JIMROY: I really am awfully afraid—I don’t want to miss … (He makes a helpless gesture toward the door.)
ROSE: There was this photograph here (points to display case) and then there was the other one. A much better likeness. Not so fuzzy. Her eyes, Mrs. Swann’s eyes, were wide open, remember? You picked it up and said how her eyes showed feeling. Do you remember, Mr. Jimroy, how you picked up —
JIMROY: I’m afraid not. I don’t really remember there being another—and I certainly never picked up —
ROSE: But it’s true, I remember things like that. People are always saying what a memory I’ve got. Like a camera! You picked up the picture and —
JIMROY (attempting unsuccessfully to get around her): If you don’t mind. This is really —
ROSE:—and afterwards, the very next day when I went into that room … I was showing a bunch of school kids around and —
JIMROY (dully, with desperation): Please!
ROSE:—and I was just about to show them the two photographs, and one of them was missing. The good one with the eyes open. It was gone, Mr. Jimroy. And now—I hate to say this, but facts are facts and you were the last person to … (gasps for breath) and I think it’s only fair for you to —
JIMROY: This is outrageous! (He speaks loudly, not just to Rose, but to Merry Eyes and Wimpy Grin, who are arriving late, stepping arm-in-arm off an elevator, followed a second later by Sarah and Cruzzi.) I did not come all the way from California, Miss Hindmarch, to listen to … dim-witted ravings.
ROSE: Oh! (She covers her face with her hands.) Oh! (At the word ravings, she rushes in tears to the EXIT stairway, blindly pushing open the door and disappearing.)
JIMROY (shrugging to Merry Eyes, Wimpy Grin, Sarah, and Cruzzi, who stand in stunned bafflement before him): Poor soul. She’s been ill apparently. Very ill. Under a strain. I’m not sure she’s … (winces)… afraid she’s not quite … (He taps his forehead meaningfully.)
Sarah’s mouth drops. CAMERA close-up. She is taking in Jimroy’s behaviour, which is close to hysterical. Her eyes move sideways and meet Cruzzi’s.
Again the voice of Lang is heard from the meeting room.
LANG: And so if you will kindly take your places we will commence with —
Director’s Note: The next few TAKES are fragmentary; their purpose is not to illuminate the film’s theme or to advance the action, but to suggest the passing of time. The symposium has moved into its second stage; the atmosphere is calm, hard-working, serious, even somewhat plodding, and the faces of the actors must reflec
t this shift.
Fade to: Interior of the meeting room. Afternoon.
Blue-Spotted Tie is standing at the lectern, winding up a paper entitled “Regional Allusions in the Poetry of Mary Swann.”
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: And now, to sum up my main points of departure: the non-specific nature of the geo-sociological references in Mrs. Swann’s universe, and the mythic and biblical implications of place names and allusions…
Cut to: Interior of small seminar room. Afternoon.
A workshop is in progress. Eight men and women are seated around a table. The discussion leader is Woman With Turban.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: … would sincerely like to thank you all for your participation, especially Professor Herbert Block, who has been so kind as to give us his ideas concerning a post-modernist interpretation of Swann’s Water Poems. (Polite applause.)
Cut to: Interior of meeting room. Late afternoon.
WATTLED GENT (at lectern): … and I do apologize for going over time, but I want to express my thanks to you all for your enthusiastic reception of—but I see I’m getting a signal. Thank you. (Applause.)
Cut to: Interior of the LaSalle Room. Early evening.
The members of the symposium are mingling in a cocktail atmosphere. There is a sound of glasses, ice clinking, and blurred talk.
WISTFUL DEMEANOUR: … not a bad day, all in all —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: … but it’s the love poems we really came for —
MAN WITH OUTSIZE AFRO: The love poems, ha! I’ll eat my neck-tie if Lang —
GINGER PONYTAIL : … splitting headache —
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: … was a trifle disturbed by his remarks regarding —
BIRDLADY: … blatantly sexist —
GREEN TWEED SUIT: Slash, slash —
GINGER PONYTAIL : Jesus, the smoke in here’s thick enough to —
WOMAN IN PALE SUEDE BOOTS: … and the noise —
SILVER CUFFLINKS: … sorry, I didn’t catch —
The noise escalates, loud, indistinct, overwhelming.
Cut to: Interior of the banquet room. Evening.
Dinner is over; coffee cups litter the long white tablecloths. Members of the symposium are relaxed at their places, some smoking, lolling in their chairs, only partly attentive to the speaker. Rose Hindmarch, dressed in a harsh red lace dress, sits between Cruzzi (in a dark suit) and Sarah (in dark green silk with a lace collar).
LANG (at head table): … his been a most profitable first day, ladies and gentlemen. Just a reminder before we adjourn—we will be meeting at nine-thirty sharp tomorrow for our session on Swann’s love poems. Thank you.
People begin to rise from the tables. There is the sound of chairs being pushed back, spontaneous conversations springing up. The crowd begins to surge into the corridor and disperse. MUSIC: dense, lyrical.
Cut to: Interior of the hotel corridor, between the display case and the bank of elevators. Evening.
The crowd thins out; there is continuous chattering as people enter elevators, call good night and disappear. A small group stands in front of the display case.
ROSE: Well, I’ve had it for this day. I don’t know when I’ve been so dog tired.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Gawd, morning’s going to come early.
MERRY EYES: Anyone for a nightcap? I’ve some gin in my room and a little —
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: Don’t mind if I do. How ‘bout you, Mr. Cruzzi?
CRUZZI: Ah, well, perhaps one —
WISTFUL DEMEANOUR: Why not?
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: Onward!
SARAH (to Merry Eyes, Blue-Spotted Tie, etc.): Good night.
CRUZZI (tapping on display case): Good night, Mrs. Swann.
SARAH (extending a hand to Cruzzi): Good night. I’m glad … very glad we’ve had a chance to talk. And you, too, Rose. (Her tone is weighted with meaning.)
Director’s Note: There is a shaking of hands all around, a sense of people going off in their separate directions, and a sense, too, of a change in mood, a gathering of tension. MUSIC: begins slowly, a combination of strings and organ. Frederic Cruzzi, Rose, and the others enter the elevators and disappear, leaving Sarah alone in the corridor. Her hand moves to touch the elevator button, then hovers in the air uncertainly. Her face wears a look of intense concentration, and her wandering hand goes first to her mouth, then becomes part of a salute in the direction of the display case.
SARAH (softly whispering): Good night, Mary Swann. Sleep … tight.
Fade to: Interior of the same corridor. It is approaching midnight, and the corridor is in total darkness.
MUSIC: alto clarinet, very soft. Complete darkness gives way to partial darkness. Light in the corridor is provided by the red EXIT sign over the stairs and by the illuminated panel above the bank of elevators. A portion of this dim light reaches the glass display unit and shines on its mitred edges. SOUND: clarinet diminishes until the silence is total; this lasts for a few beats; then the silence is broken by a small swishing sound. The door to the EXIT stairway opens, and the figure of a man slips quickly through. He is only faintly visible, but CAMERA picks him up in silhouette as, quickly and quietly, he approaches the display case, glancing catlike over his shoulder. From his pocket he takes two or three small keys and begins to tinker with the lock of the case. His first attempts fail, he then takes out a small knife and works it into the lock. There is a sharp sound as the locking mechanism breaks and the lid of the display case opens. At this moment, as he is about to reach for the photograph, a sudden beam of light falls on him, causing him to jerk with surprise.
SARAH (emerging from behind the coffee vending machine with a flashlight in her hand. The beam of light catches the man on his arm, which he quickly raises to cover his face. Sarah’s voice is shaky but determined): Hello, Mr. Jimroy. I thought I might find you here.
The intruder jumps, letting the lid of the display case crash heavily. It breaks. He runs for the stair exit, pursued by Sarah, who has difficulty keeping the beam of light directed on him.
Sarah follows, but arrives at the stairwell in time to see only his fleeing back in a maintenance man’s uniform, disappearing down the stairs. She turns back to the display case and, as she does so, her light picks out the figure of Morton Jimroy, his back pressed to the wall at the doorway of the meeting room. The LIGHTING increases slightly, but only enough to suggest eyes growing gradually accustomed to the darkness. Seeing Jimroy, Sarah gasps.
JIMROY (sardonically, arms crossed on his chest): Well, well, Dr. Maloney. Prowling the corridors. And with a flashlight I see. A regular Girl Guide on patrol.
SARAH (glancing back at door): And what are you doing here, Mr. Jimroy? If I may ask.
JIMROY: The same thing you’re doing, I would guess. Guarding (gestures toward the display case) our high priestess from thieves and rogues.
SARAH: Who? … (She is shaken and confused.) Who was that? (She gestures toward the exit.)
JIMROY: I’m afraid I didn’t see its face. Not having equipped myself with a handy flashlight.
SARAH (holding up the flashlight): I borrowed it from the front desk. (She laughs nervously.) I told them I was … afraid of the dark. Who was that?
JIMROY: It looked like one of the maintenance men. At least he wore the garb. I gather from your … your outburst … that you thought it was I who was busying myself with the burglar tools.
SARAH: Do you think, Mr. Jimroy, that you might speak to me, just for once, in a normal voice. Not quite so loaded with venom.
JIMROY (continuing in sardonic tone): I was almost sure I heard my name ringing out in the darkness. Well, I don’t have to ask you who planted the ugly seeds of suspicion in your head. I suppose our dear Miss Hindmarch has been spreading her libellous little tales. Which have no foundation, let me tell you.
SARAH: You were in Nadeau. She did show you the photo—she told me. And it disappeared the same day. I don’t pretend to understand what you’re up to, Mr. Jimroy, but—quite a number of things seem to be disappearing ?
?? as I think you know.
JIMROY: Including, if I may remind you, my own briefcase. During our little power break yesterday evening.
SARAH: Someone probably … in the confusion —
JIMROY (interrupting decisively): Do you know what was in that briefcase? Let me tell you. My notes for my lecture. All right, those notes are of little importance. I’m quite accustomed to speaking without notes. But I also had with me my copy of Swann’s Songs. And need I tell you, it was my only copy. Can you imagine my … grief.
SARAH (softening): I’m sorry about that. Really. But about the photograph, the other photograph —
JIMROY: Would you kindly stop shining that light in my eyes? Your Miss Marple act is less polished if I may say so, than your … letters.
SARAH: And will you kindly stop addressing me with that accusing tone. Has anyone ever told you that continual sarcasm can be offensive?
JIMROY (always a man to take a question seriously): My wife.
SARAH: Your wife?
JIMROY: My ex-wife, I should say. Her daily complaint. Sarcasm.
Cut to: Interior of the stairwell. Same time as above.
The stairway is dimly lit and pin-droppingly quiet. Very gradually the sound of slow, trudging ascending footsteps is heard. CAMERA focuses on Rose Hindmarch, still in her red party dress, climbing the stairs. She is breathing with difficulty, clutching at the rail, resting occasionally. She is alerted suddenly by the sound of descending footsteps, rapidly approaching. Her look changes from exhaustion to fear, and she stops, listens, then flattens herself against the wall in the shadows. The footsteps continue to approach.
INTRUDER (coming into view, startled to see Rose crouched against the wall): What —?
ROSE (relieved somewhat at the sight of the maintenance uniform): I was just …