lisa slowly helping jeff to lobster from the main dish.
shooting over jeff's shoulder we see beyond him the divan- bed upon which lisa is stretched out. there is one light burning, behind lisa's head. a fierce discussion is in progress. lisa gesticulates with her hands, body and legs.
lisa, stretched out on the divan. she looks at him for a moment without speaking. then:
shooting over lisa's shoulder, and down her body, with jeff in the chair beyond. jeff says, as if remembering some old experience:
lisa, from jeff's viewpoint.
lisa pauses in the act of gathering her things together.
lisa stretches herself out on the divan. her head rest on the cushion at the far end, and she instinctively falls into an attractive pose. however, her expression is disturbed as she watches jeff.
lisa sits bolt upright on the divan. she reaches back quickly and pulls on the overhead light. at that moment the songwriter returns to his composing. we can see him over lisa's shoulder. he is beginning his song again, and it has taken on new fullness and melody.
lisa, still stretched out on the divan looking at jeff, suddenly sits upright and then getting up from the divan, mover over to jeff, the camera going with her.
jeff looks, turns back to her, trying to suppress a chuckle.
jeff lowers the glasses. his look is sober. lisa stands behind him, one hand on the back of the wheelchair. she, too, is serious. the camera moves in until lisa's head fills the screen. she says, slowly:
jeff is seated in the dark, his face lit by the faint glow from the distant street. he is looking out of the window tensely, as the camera moves in, until he is in big profile.
he stops, turns to her quickly.
lisa moves toward a nearby lamp.
he lowers the lens.
lisa stands, listening, entranced.
doyle turns his head from the window, and looks down at jeff. he asks, quietly:
she continues rotating the brandy.
jeff picks up the phone.
doyle picks up his hat.
lisa turns away from jeff's chair to get a cigarette from the table. she lights it, as jeff turns his chair back to the room.
lisa looks down at jeff.
jeff rubs his chin thoughtfully. stella is scanning the neighborhood. we hear a radio, or a television show, off; and there is distant, rhythmic music coming from the cafe on thorwald's street.
stella lowers the long-focus lens.
as lisa comes up to the two of them.
jeff puts down the long-focus lens, and turns around toward the room. the two women watch him expectantly.
jeff turns his wheelchair halfway around as lisa and stella start quickly for the door, the camera panning them across the room. they pause at the sound of jeff's voice.
jeff puts down the lens and wheels quickly to the wall cabinet. he finds a box of flash bulbs and a reflector.
jeff and stella turn for a quick glimpse of the song-writer's apartment.
stella is so shocked, she can only gasp for breath.
jeff and stella visibly relax. jeff doesn't say anything, but a gesture of rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand gives an indication of how deep his tension was.
jeff and stella. he drops the camera into his lap.
the last light out, stella stops to catch her breath, and turns to jeff.
the door. quiet in the apartment, and in the corridor.
the door. another squeak of a floorboard, so light and quickly passing that at any other time it would have no significance, even if it could be heard. then the light beneath the door disappears. black.
the door. no doubt about it, black.
only the slightest sound is heard as the doorknob turns.
thorwald comes down the two steps, pauses at the bottom.
thorwald stumbles back against the side table, knocking objects off onto the floor, struggling for balance and sight. jeff works rapidly to put a fresh bulb in the holder.
from thorwald's apartment shooting at jeff's window. a sudden bright flash is seen as the last flash bulb goes off. and it lights the scene of jeff in the wheelchair and thorwald diving through the air at him. darkness rushes in, blacker than before.
thorwald has finally reached jeff, knocking the flash equipment out of his hands and coming to grips with him.
thorwald fights to dislodge jeff's grip.
thorwald and jeff struggling.
thorwald smashes at jeff's arms and hands. jeff's grip begins to slip.
thorwald still trying to loosen jeff's grip. the salesman, in a complete, wild, sweating rage, is beyond all reason. his glasses hang from one ear, his coat is torn, his tie pulled to one side.