All language subtitles for why.didnt.they.ask.evans.s01e01.hdr.2160p.web.h265-glhf

(BUZZING)

(INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING)

(ENGINE WHIRRING)

WOMAN: Alfred!

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)

(OMINOUS MUSIC PLAYING)

DR THOMAS:
What do you say, Bobby Jones?

A shot through the bunkers, Sir.

Get a good angle to the cliff.

Hmm. Excalibur, I think.

- Are you sure, Sir?
- Not remotely.

Unforgiving you called it.

- Not at all, Sir. Man's club.
- Hmm.

Don't say a word, Bobby Jones.
Not a single word.

- Sir.
- You see,

it's the "Sir"
that's throwing me.

Corporal's as far as I got,
two stripes, one leg.

- Whereas you--
- Lieutenant.

Hmm... Navy of course,
that doesn't really count.

- Do you miss it?
- Sometimes.

Right, you are.
So, you're cruising the Pacific,

you see a brochure
for Marchbolt Golf Club

and the spread of adventure
rises within you.

Marchbolt is not
the long term plan.

I should bloody well hope not.

Right. What do you
suggest now, Sir?

The 3-iron, Dr Thomas.

Show an old man how it's done.

- Uh...
- That's an order, Lieutenant.

(BOBBY SIGHS)

(DISTANT SCREAMING)

Do you hear that?

Thought I heard something.

- Careful, Bobby.
- Telescope.

BOBBY: Oh, God.

(SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC PLAYING)

BOBBY: Oh, no, no, no, no.

DR THOMAS: Is he all right?

He's alive.

I can't...

I'll have to go and get help.

Try and keep him warm.

And say a prayer.

They're coming. Help is coming.

Why didn't they ask Evans?

MAN: Everything all right?

Uh, no.
There's been an accident.

I've sent for help.
Can you see anyone?

(WHISPERING) Oh, you...

Oh, bloody hell.

Oh, my God. What happened here?

I don't know.
He must have fallen.

- He's--
- Dead, looks like.

(EXHALES)
Dr Thomas has gone for help.

- Did you see him?
- No, no. Not a soul.

This place is like a graveyard.

I'm sorry. It's a...
bad choice of words.

(SIGHS) Poor beggar.
Is he a friend of yours?

No. I've never seen him before.

Never seen me before either,
have you? How rude.

Roger Bassington-ffrench,
two small f's.

Just don't ask me
what they stand for.

Bobby Jones.

(BELL TOLLING)

Listen, I hate to ask you this.

Dr Thomas has gone for help.
I am supposed to be--

You need to get off, do you?

Do you mind? I mean,
there's nothing more to be done.

But even so,
I don't want to leave him alone.

No, no. Absolutely.
Doesn't seem right.

I'll stand guard.
Dr Thomas, was it?

Yes. You can't miss him.
He has a wooden leg.

Well, I didn't see anyone,
of course. That's why I came,

looking for a new house,
bit of peace and quiet.

Not, uh... (SCOFFS)
...not this much, though.

Right. Well...

I really must be off.
Thanks for doing this.

No, don't mention it.
You are dismissed, Bobby Jones.

RICHARD: "Happy shall he be,
that rewardeth thee

"as thou hast served us."

(MAN COUGHING)

Don't crush the ends

and when you lick it,
you got to imagine

you were kissing a beautiful--

(SHOUTING) Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Bloody hell. You could have done
some damage there.

Not really. These things
are pretty solid.

- Why aren't you two in church?
- Why aren't you?

Good point. Excuse me.

At 3pm on Sunday, the 19th.

(DOOR CREAKS)

Mrs Morgan has very kindly
agreed to host once more.

And I'm sure she would
appreciate, as we all do...

punctuality.

Hymn 84.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

(PEOPLE SINGING)

- Lovely to see you.
- Thank you.

- Pa, I'm sorry. I got--
- WOMAN: Excuse me.

Bobby, you don't have to do it.

No, I know.
I know. I want to do it.

Yeah, well you agree to it,
that's the thing.

- I didn't force you, did I?
- No.

(MAN SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)

I can easily ask Janice.

- Janice--
- Can't play the organ, I know,

but at least she can be here.

WOMAN: Father.

Who is that?

That is Lady Frances Derwent.

- Frankie.
- Mm-hmm.

She's grown up.

Yes, Bobby. She has.

(ENGINE STARTS)

Your friend,
Mr Beadon telephoned.

Knocker?

What did he say?

Apparently, he has the lease
and you're going to be busy.

Yes, Pa. I've been meaning
to talk to you about this.

A £120 for a garage, Bobby.

It's not a garage.
It's a sales room.

Oh, for crying out--

Knocker's put in
a lot more than I have.

He's got three cars already

and I promised him
that I would go halves.

Oh, have you indeed?
Well, I have not.

Oh, thank you, Mrs Roberts.
That was delicious.

- Finished?
- Was it local?

- Local soup?
- The fish.

From Bennett's
in the high street.

And I've made some extra
for the weekend.

Oh.

- Carnival.
- Oh, yes. Of course.

Thank you.

A man died on the golf course
this afternoon.

Died?

Fell off a cliff.

Broke his back.

(RICHARD SIGHS)

I was caddying for Dr Thomas.
We found him on the 17th.

I sat with him.

Then he died.

From the village?

I don't think so. Just a chap.

Oh. You sat with him, dear me.

Did you say a prayer?

Yes.

Well, if he's not
from the village,

I doubt
they want him buried here.

Still. Oh, by the way,
Graham Morris died.

That's not a bad thing, is it?

Not really.

(GASPS)

(GASPS)

(SIGHS)

(CHEERFUL MUSIC PLAYING)

They're gone, finally.

Made a right bloody mess
in the galley.

Also, they got to call you
at the inquest.

(HORN HONKING)

Oh, blimey.

(DOOR BELL DINGS)

ALBERT: Lady Frances,
a pleasure.

FRANKIE: Good afternoon,
man behind the counter.

- ALBERT: Albert.
- FRANKIE: Alb.

Care to sell me
a round of golf, Alb?

ALBERT: Alas, Lady Frances,
the course is closed.

We had
an incident here yesterday.

And the council... Well,
you know what councils are like.

FRANKIE:
I emphatically do not, Albert.

What sort of incident?

- A very unfortunate one.
- FRANKIE: Oh, yes.

Making me beastly.

Perhaps I ought to play
a round of golf

just to take my mind off it.

And of course, this,
for the caddy.

ALBERT: Oh...

Hello, Frankie.

I beg your pardon.

(LAUGHS) I got you, Bobby Jones.
I got you good and proper.

(CHUCKLES)

(LAUGHING)

BOBBY: The last time I saw you,

you were on a pony
and I think you were 12.

FRANKIE:
As if I was ever 12. Madness.

What about you?

You played rugby
for the under 18s

when you were 15?

- Too dreaming.
- (SIGHS)

And they said,
you ran away to sea.

- Sort of.
- But you've run back.

Sort of.

Oh, great story, Steve.
Dragged a bit in the middle.

- Who 's Steve?
- Always called you Steve.

I don't remember
you calling me anything.

Not out loud.

And what about you?

What brings you back
to Marchbolt?

Nothing. London sent me back.

You've heard of London.
No one to baffle you.

(BOBBY SCOFFS)

Well it's full of people
and yet there's nobody there.

Explain that to me,
oh, ancient mariner.

What are you doing?

Well, the first hole
is a longish par-4, so,

I thought you might want to
loosen up with a lofted wood.

- You're speaking Welsh now.
- I thought you wanted to play.

Golf?

Well, that is why I'm carrying
your bag, isn't it?

Picnic.

- This is it?
- It is.

Now, the police
have been here all day.

We probably shouldn't...
Oh. Here we go.

Silent upon a peak in Marchbolt.

Do you have any balls?

One, dromedary.
Two, dromedaries.

Three, dromedaries.

Three and a half dromedaries
of knowing your life is ending.

A matter of fact,
it didn't end then.

He was alive when I found him.

- Only just but--
- You were with him?

Oh, Bobby. What did you do?
Did you say anything?

- Nothing to say.
- Did he?

I don't think he knew
where he was.

Probably just as well.

Well, how?
There are balls everywhere.

Yes and they're mine, all mine.

Once a month,
the caddie's climb down

collect the balls and
resell them at the shops.

It's one of the perks.

She's a lucky girl,
whoever she is.

Hungry?

Wait a minute.

- He did say something.
- What?

I think he said...

"Why didn't they ask Evans?"

FRANKIE: And it beats me.

I don't know if his words are
supposed to be a statement.

The will is behind
the walnut bureau.

- Tell Edith I love her.
- (CHUCKLES)

You're not supposed to
ask a question, then just die.

It's possible he didn't know
they were his last words.

FRANKIE: Hmm. Sloppy.

So how are you
going to answer it?

- Answer it? I can't.
- But you have to.

- Why?
- Why?

Because the man spoke
his last words to you.

That's a bond or something.

- It's well known.
- Frankie, the man was dying.

He had no idea
what he was saying.

FRANKIE: Hmm.

Poor Alex Pritchard.

BOBBY: Thought I was Steve.

You do continue
to disappoint me.

Alex Pritchard is the name
of the man who died.

How do you know that?

"The victim of the tragedy
has been named

"as Alex Pritchard..."
That was my first clue.

"...who was identified by means
of a photograph he was carrying

"of his sister, Mrs Leo Cayman.

"Mrs Cayman journeyed
to Marchbolt

"from Paddington late last night
to identify the body.

"Inquest will be held tomorrow."
All that for a thrupence.

Apparently,
there's one every day.

- His sister.
- Who?

BOBBY: I saw a photograph.
It was in his pocket.

You went through his pockets?

Certainly not. I just--

I meant you went
through his pockets, I hope.

- I would have.
- I know you would have.

I was trying to work out
what had happened.

FRANKIE: Of course you were.

Because you wanted to know
if he was pushed.

- (TIRE PUFFS)
- BOBBY: Oh...

Twice.

(LAUGHS)

(LAUGHING)

- Knocker.
- Hey, Bobby, you're the one.

All right, watch the suit.

(BOTH SINGING)
Way, hay, roll and go

Maybe one day
she will have my baby

Gonna spend my money
on Sally Brown

That is very fine
workmanship, man.

Oh, thank you, Sir.

- Should we take for a run?
- Uh, no, Sir. We shan't.

- Why not?
- No engine. It's 25 quid.

But up and running

this thing worth 300
anywhere in the world.

Knocker, how are you going to
sell a car without an engine?

I'm not. You are.

Oh...

(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)

Move back, man. Move back.

- Bobby.
- Ivy.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

(ALL WHOOPING AND CHEERING)

He's stronger than you, innit?

Who? Knocker? Much.

- (CHEERING)
- I'm proud of you, boy.

But you've got
the brains though?

No. He's got those, too.

What'd I tell you? Huh?

So, what have you got,
Bobby Jones?

KNOCKER: That's it,
boys and girls. That's it.

(KNOCKER LAUGHS)

- KNOCKER: Rum.
- (TABLES THUMPING)

Lieutenant, what me say, man?

No thanks, Knocker.

- Bit of a day tomorrow.
- KNOCKER: Ahh...

Night, Ivy.

Both the wedge fractures
of the thoracolumbar sections

and the intra-abdominal damage
are fully explained

by the force of a body
striking the rocks

from a considerable height.

You said the path was overgrown.
Enough to obscure the way.

Perhaps, if someone wasn't
familiar with the terrain.

CORONER:
But you are familiar, Dr Thomas.

In your opinion, was the path
a safe thoroughfare?

One that you yourself
would have attempted?

I have a wooden leg.

You're a friend of Frankie's?

Cousin.

Ah. Right.

Distant or...

Norfolk.

- No. I meant in terms of...
- Norfolk branch.

Don't proxy.

CORONER: Robert Jones.

You are Robert Jones

and you reside
at the vicarage in Marchbolt.

- I am and I do.
- Your occupation?

All dead ends, mostly.

(CROWD GIGGLES)

I picked fruit for Mr Barrett.

I worked on the school roof
after the storm.

I'll be operating carnival rides
this week--

Yes, yes. All right.

And you were with Mr Pritchard

at the moment of his demise,
is that correct?

It is.

I heard a shout.

And I climbed down,

and there he was,
at the bottom of the cliff.

Were there words exchanged?

Yes.

What words exactly?

I...

told him that help was coming.

All right. Thank you, Mr Jones.

Amelia Cayman.

Please state
your name and address.

AMELIA: Amelia Cayman,

17, St. Leonard's Gardens,
Paddington.

JUDGE: Mrs Cayman, when did you
last see your brother?

Three days ago.

He told me he was going
on a walking tour of Wales.

He'd been away for some time
and wanted to see the country.

Away doing what? What was
your brother's occupation?

Prospecting, is what he told me.
He spent a lot of time abroad.

JUDGE:
What about his temperament?

Was your brother given to bouts
of melancholy or depression?

Never. He was always
very cheerful.

He was looking forward
to this walking tour.

JUDGE: Yes.

Mrs Cayman,
do you recognise this key?

The Police suspect that

it was from a hotel
or a boarding house.

Which would explain why there
was no luggage by the body.

Not even a knapsack.

Can you identify it?

AMELIA: No idea.

I know that Alex didn't like
carrying a knapsack.

He meant to post parcels
on alternate days.

He posted one the day he left.

He addressed it to Darbyshire,
rather than Denbighshire.

So, it only got here today.

I see. Now, your brother always
carried a photograph of you.

With the name of the studio
printed on the back.

Did you know
he was carrying this picture?

AMELIA: I did not.

It was taken a long time ago.

- JUDGE: Would you like to pause?
- (SNIFFLES)

AMELIA: No, no. I just um...
I just...

had no idea Alex carried
that picture all this time.

I just wish I had one of him.
(SNIFFLES)

JUDGE: Thank you, Mrs Cayman.

Ladies and gentlemen
of the jury...

Well played, Jones.

Coroner is a bit of a goon,
but he does the job. Listen.

In all the hoo-ha, I forgot to
pay you for losing my ball.

Right here, all right?

- (CAR DOOR CLOSES)
- (CAR ENGINE STARTS)

They don't have a ticket,
they're off.

End of the night,

return the tickets
in the kettle,

so we can pay our taxes.
(CHUCKLES)

You're boxman.

Three minutes in the afternoon.
Two after sunset.

Mr Miller, can I be boxman?

I mean, I get seasick
on the outside.

- Do you get seasick?
- No.

Then switch.

And remember,
kids have got to be over five.

Mothers have got to be under 30.

- (CHUCKLES)
- Mr Miller?

What happens to the trucks
over the weekend?

Glad you asked.

Ah, Bobby. We have visitors.

You have visitors, I should say.

Leo Cayman. How do you do?

Did he suffer much do you think?

I don't believe so.

It was very...

peaceful, I would call it.

AMELIA: That's something.

And he didn't speak at all?
No last messages?

No.

- Regarding a burial it's--
- Could he hear you?

Amelia said you told him
help was coming.

We wondered
if he could hear you.

I don't know.

But I said it anyway.

And a prayer,
I'm also happy to say.

Well, not happy.

So, he could hear you.

I don't know. He said--

I thought
he didn't say anything.

He didn't.

Well, at least I didn't think
it was, uh, anything.

He said, "Why didn't they
ask Evans?"

What does that mean?

I don't know.

That's why I didn't attach
any importance to it.

Amelia, did Alex know
anyone called Evans?

I don't believe so.

Do you know anyone called Evans?

We're in Wales.

(LAUGHS)

Well, we are very much
in your debt, young man.

Very much. Very...

delighted that you were there.

That somebody was there.

LEO: We've arranged
for burial in London.

As soon as the coroner
releases the body,

we'll have him transported
by train.

And, Pa tells me
you're in the navy.

RICHARD: Was.

Robert's at a crossroads
just now,

the world is his oyster.

(CHUCKLES) Well, don't let
that oyster go bad, ey?

Ha! I wish you luck.

BOBBY: Thank you.

(KNOCKER SINGING)
Hooray, and up she rises

Parts from the floor
come in many sizes

Put your back into it, Jones.

With a ball of grease, man?

Be easier
if I wasn't pulling you.

Huh. Makes a change.

That's not what I meant.

Forget the money.
They're after the first month.

Knocker, listen.

If a man said something to you

as his last words
before he died,

would you say that's...

I don't know,
would you call that a bond?

Blimey!

We've got to get you
to London, man.

- MAN: Whoa!
- (WOMAN SHOUTS)

(BOBBY GROANS)

MAN: Idiot. Come on.

(MAN SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)

Bobby? What were you thinking?

What do you mean,
what was I thinking?

Well, I know
what I was thinking.

- Are you all right?
- I'm fine.

Me chain's come off.

MAN: Should we keep going?

The chain's come off.
Whatever that means.

I'll meet you by the river.

I thought you were in London.

I was now I'm not. How does
she do it? No one knows.

- Any developments?
- In what?

The case, Steve. The case.

I sent Thicko to the inquest
as my spy.

- Is that Thicko?
- As they come.

He gave me a full report.
He said you were facetious.

That Mrs...
What's her name? It was vulgar.

- Cayman.
- Hmm.

Yeah, she certainly looked
nothing like her photograph.

FRANKIE: Really? That's not
what Thicko said.

- Dead spit according to him.
- How would he know?

Her picture was printed
in The Carian

and The Express,
can you believe?

Marchbolt
in the national papers.

I shall have to buy a hat.

BOBBY: I thought she was odd.

Made me think about time.

- The ravages thereof.
- Hmm.

Ditch the jalopy
and jump up here.

(SIGHS) Can she take two?

Yes, he can.

Some detective you'd make.

Okay.

FRANKIE: What is that?

BOBBY: Carnival.

Starts tomorrow.

Oh! Excellent, should we go?

Well...

I'll be there already.

You have before you, Madam

a roustabout.

(SCOFFS) How exciting?

- Am I safe?
- (CHUCKLES)

We are an outlaw breed,
it's true.

But we have hearts of gold.

Knew it. Hearts--
Oh, blast. Tomorrow.

I can't. I've got
a party in London.

I'll be in London myself
next week.

Really? The Cavendish?

I don't... I'm not sure.

But I'll be fairly busy.

Doing what?
Come on. Let's go together.

I can introduce you

as Mr Steve Roust
of no fixed abode.

Are you turning me down,
Bobby Jones?

Come on, give.

What's brewing
in the old roustabouts?

I'm going to be
a used car salesman, Frankie.

Is this a riddle?

No, it's a living.

A job.

I need a job

and selling used cars
is the one I've chosen.

I see.

I see what's going on here.

Poor old Bobby Jones,
the vicar's son

is too far down the ladder
to mix with the likes of,

Lady Frances Derwent.

That is disappointing.
To say the least.

- Frankie, be honest.
- No, you be honest.

And while you're at it
consider how

incredibly insulting is
to call me a snob

when I've done nothing
to deserve it.

I didn't call you a snob.

I called myself
a used car salesman.

Implying that I care.

You could be John the Baptist

and I would still call you
as you are, you prig.

Which is funny, because
only a snob would say that.

Well, only a prig
would say that.

(SIGHS)

Morning, Bobby!

Someone's been tickling
the swallows.

Still don't know
what that means, Nigel.

- I hope it's good news anyway.
- What is?

Express delivery,
tuppence extra.

Who'd spend tuppence
on bad news.

The bloody English that's who.

Yes, yes. I know.
Honest mistake.

But you are Jones
and I was expecting...

Buenos Aires, Bobby.

Fair winds blowing at last.

Posted in Gilford.

Well, of course,
they have an agent here

and Robert Jones, ex-Royal Navy,

most clearly
called their attention.

(SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY)

Good, God!

A thousand a year?

It is pounds isn't it?
(INAUDIBLE)

Starting in a week?
Who are these people?

Henriquez Dallo Imports and
Customs Brokerage, Buenos Aires.

But that's a six-day passage.

I'd have to leave now.

Fortune has
but one hair upon her head.

(SIGHS) I have to think
about this.

My dear Bobby, this is the stuff
young men dream about.

This is your chance
to make a life.

To make a mark on the world.

- I can't. I promised Knocker.
- Kno...

Oh, no! Bobby!

I've agreed to it, Pa.

He's sunk everything into this.

His pension. His life savings.

I can't let him down.

I would very much like
to tell Mr Beadon

that you are sacrificing

a remarkable career
for his sake.

But I won't.

Thanks, generous offer. Stop.

Regret must decline. Stop.

Other plans conflict. Stop.

Jones. Stop.

Ten words.

Six punts for nine and
a penny a word after.

- You could take out "regret."
- But I do.

- "Generous"
- It is.

- We've already taken out "very".
- Tell you what?

I'll make other plans,
one word for a kiss.

(SIGHS) You drive
a hard bargain, Ivy.

You know very well I don't.
(CHUCKLES)

Absolutely not!

- A thousand a year?
- BOBBY: Mm-hmm.

Well, I'd be damned.

They're not looking for
a one-legged doctor

- by any chance?
- (CHUCKLES)

You left the army as a Corporal?

That was a choice wasn't it?

I mean, you could have
tried for a commissioner.

Funny thing is, they didn't
want me at all, to begin with.

Too old.

Until Passchendaele.

And then all of a sudden,
"Beginners welcome!"

You heard of
"Luck of the Welsh"?

- I thought it was the Irish.
- Exactly.

That is the luck of the Welsh.

By the third day,
my two best friends were dead

and I was minus a pin.

So what do you do?

Worry about what might have been

or tuck into what it is?

There's only one rule, Bobby.
Your words.

- Play it as it lies.
- Play it as it lies.

(CARNIVAL MUSIC PLAYING)

BOBBY: Ivy. Tickets please.

Thanks.

Oh, have a heart, Bobby.

Young love.

All right.

I'll count two of you
as one if...

you sit very close
to each other.

(INAUDIBLE)

Mr Miller said to give you this.

Oh! Well, thank you, Mr Miller.

I have some friends.

FRANKIE: Insufferable, Thicko.

(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)

BOBBY: One moment.

Ay, shop!

Ah, it's Bobby Jones,
the vicar's son.

Oh! The vicar's son.

Let's see, what are we? Uh...

Five adults.

And, uh, one utter child.

Come on, Thicko.

- There you go.
- I don't have change for that.

Keep it.

- Put it towards a new bicycle.
- (PEOPLE LAUGHING)

Keep your hands
inside the car, please.

Ooh, you hear that?

Lucky me! (LAUGHS)

Give us a spin, vicar's son.
Come on!

(WHOOPING)

(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)

Spin us, vicar's boy.

(LAUGHTER)

Bobby?

What's wrong?

(DISTORTED LAUGHTER)

FRANKIE: "I shall th' effect
of this good lesson keep,

"as watchman to my heart.

"But, good my brother.

"Do not, as some
ungracious pastors do.

"Show me the steep
and thorny way to heaven."

Are you wearing my clothes?

Yes, Sir.

"Gamine" is the word
I think you're fumbling for.

Uh...

- Why are you--
- Policemen took my dress.

Alright, brace yourself Jones.

You were sick on me last night.

- I was what?
- Sick.

Frogged up, woke the cat,
right in my lap.

I ran towards you.

You went, blegh...
All over my dress.

They pumped your stomach
found traces of morphia.

So, the police took my dress
to check that too.

I put on your clothes because
the hospital gown

made me look like a rhino.

And I started doing Ophelia.
It's a real square, I reckon.

Sorry, did you say morphia?

Ophe...Oh!

Yes morphia.

Theory is, if you hadn't got
seasick you'd be dead.

I was not seasick.

Well, whatever you were,

the twirly thing
got rid of the poison,

before the poison
got rid of you.

Someone tried to poison me?

Unless you tried
to poison yourself.

Why would I do that?

Apparently, you said my name
in the ambulance.

Several times.

BOBBY: Frankie...

I hope you won't be offended
if I tell you I'm not...

quite ready to kill myself
over you yet.

I am a little stung.

And also sorry, for what I said.

- No, I'm sorry.
- No really I--

- No, no I shouldn't have ever--
- (DOOR OPENS)

Bobby, dear boy,
are you all right?

Fine, I think.

Can you remember what happened?

Nothing, total blank I'm afraid.

Apparently they found
traces of morphia.

DR THOMAS: Indeed they did.

What we call
an intentional amount.

Bobby this is awkward,
but I have to ask you.

Were you trying to... you know?

FRANKIE: Ease the pain
of a broken heart?

Definitely not, no.

We just laughed that one right
out the door up the high street.

Oh, policemen took my clothes.

Well, can either of you explain
how thirty grains of morphia

found their way into
your stomach?

No idea. Is that a lot?

(HUFFS) Enough to kill two men
and their horses, I'd say.

(SIGHS) If you
hadn't been seasick.

I was not seasick.

You're a little touchy about
that, not sure why.

Well, the local paper thinks
you were drunk. Front page.

I was not drunk either.

Did have
a bottle of beer, though.

The twins...

They said it was from,
what was his name, Miller maybe.

Do you have the bottle?

Unless it's in my pocket.

I think I'd have noticed.

DR THOMAS: Pity...

The police still have
my dress, though.

That tells them
where the poison went,

not where it came from.

FRANKIE: Hmm.

BOBBY: Frankie,
where are you going?

To have it out
with this Miller character.

No, you're not.

Relax Jones, I wear the trousers
around here.

Frankie, I've said less
than ten words to the man.

And, "Why didn't they
ask Evans?", is only five.

BOBBY: I did not poison myself.

Of course not.

If you were going to do it,
you'd drown yourself.

Me, I'd take a large dose
of phenobarbital

under the willow tree,

so Mrs McCauley
wouldn't have to clean up.

Those buggers
who hang themselves

over perfectly good carpets.

(SIGHS)
Did you read about John Savage?

No, Reverend doesn't care much
for newspapers.

Nor do I, but John Savage
was this wealthy entrepreneur

and he committed suicide

because he had become convinced
he had cancer.

Autopsy showed
he was fit as a fiddle!

Right...

Well, I'm just pointing out
the brain is a peculiar thing.

Mine isn't!

I did not put morphine
in my beer, I have no reason to.

Shame...

Because the alternative
is worse.

What alternative?

Bobby, you're a clever young man

and any employer would be lucky
to have you.

But didn't you think it's odd

that out of the blue
an Argentine shipping company

should ask you to leave
so quickly?

No interview, no application,
just first class ticket,

sail on the next tide?

Well, sort of, but no,
I didn't really.

Well I did,

so I made some enquiries
as they say.

There is no Henry Costello in
Buenos Aires or anywhere else.

- Hold on, you think--
- Exactly!

Someone for some reason,

wanted you
not to be in Marchbolt.

And when that didn't work,

they wanted you simply
not to be.

FRANKIE: If you put
your foot down Arthur,

you wouldn't have to worry
about what is behind you.

Yes, Miss.

It would save you having to look
in the mirror quite so much.

(SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC PLAYING)

I'd get into a lot of trouble

having my men
drinking beer on a ride,

never mind putting
morphine in it.

So, you wouldn't slip him
a few bottles

in lieu of payment, perhaps?

He wasn't being paid.
He asked to borrow a truck,

I told him he could work off
the cost of it.

What's he want a truck for?

Not my business.

- Nor mine, I suppose.
- You haven't said why.

Why would I poison
one of me own lads?

Thank you, Mr Miller.

We may need to ask you
further questions so,

hope you're not planning
to leave town any time soon.

(SIGHS) We are
a travelling carnival.

Quite so. Good day, Sir.

(SIGHS)

BOY: Pass it. Go on.

Boys, Sammy, I need to ask
you something.

I'm Sammy.

I know, I was just...

Listen, last night, you gave me

a bottle of beer,
do you remember?

I gave you the beer.

Right, Mickey, yes, you said
it was from Mr Miller.

He said it was from Mr Miller.

Oh...

Do you remember
what he looked like, the man?

We never saw him,
he was wearing a mask.

FRANKIE: Do you believe
in crystal balls, Arthur?

Fortune tellers,
that sort of thing.

I had an aunt who had the gift,
she died of typhoid.

As she foretold
when she was sixteen.

- God, look out! Stop! Stop!
- (BRAKES SCREECHING)

Bobby will you stop
jumping out in front of me?

- You have to see this.
- Why are you wearing that?

You know, funniest thing,
someone stole my clothes.

Look at this.

Mrs Leo Cayman, sister of the
deceased, arrives at inquest.

She's definitely
on the frothy side.

As she was on the photograph
found on the dead man's person.

Well done Thicker,
we'll give him a biscuit.

Don't, because
that is not the photo

that I saw
in Alex Pritchard's pocket.

- You sure?
- I'm certain.

That is not the same photograph
and that is not the same woman.

I'd stake my life on it.

Not sure you should be saying
things like that just now.

Two small F's.

Don't ask me
what they stand for.

Lost me now, boss.

This chap said his name was
Bassington-ffrench.

He came down to the beach while
I was waiting for Dr Thomas.

There's nothing I could do,

so I asked him
to stand in for me.

And what, do you think
he swapped the photographs?

(INDISTINCT CHATTERING)

Do as I say, not as I do.

So what else did he say,
this geezer?

Not much, not a great setting
for small talk.

FRANKIE: Hmm.

But you didn't think he was
from around here?

Definitely not, he said as much,

that he'd come
to look at a house.

On a golf course? Fishy...

But if anyone's bought a house
in Denbighshire,

the oracle will know.

Sorry, H, the police
have my keys.

The kitchen door is always open,
Lady Frances.

I'm not bringing Bobby Jones
through the kitchen.

BOBBY: I've been through
the kitchen, as it happens.

Long time ago, though.

Bobby Jones who bowled me twice
on the south lawn.

Ah! I think you let me bowl you,
as a birthday present.

- That doesn't sound like me.
- (CHUCKLES)

Your father is in the library
with Mr Bragge.

FRANKIE: Right.

Nice to see you again,
Mr Robert. Welcome back.

Last one, yeah a little
signature there.

Bassington?

Yes, that's right.
Fortyish, we think.

He's French you say?

No, that's his name,
Bassington-ffrench.

Mean anything?

I should be going.

Lady Frances, delight as always.

You're not staying
for lunch, Mr. Bragge?

- Oh! Well...
- God, he's on the 12 o'clock!

- Sadly.
- Catch the 3 o'clock.

- You know, I--
- Takes forever!

Dead before you get there.

It is rather slow.

Thank you all the same,
Lady Frances.

Lord Marcham.

Come on, Pa, back to work.

Bassington-ffrench,
do you know him?

Never seen him before
in my life.

No, that's Bobby Jones
and yes, you have.

Two whole summers
he practically lived here.

- The vicar's son.
- Hello, Sir.

So who's Bassington-ffrench?

A pal buying a house.

BOBBY: He was in the navy.

Before he left me, he gave me
a salute, with the palm down.

He was in the navy.

LADY MARCHAM: Where is my dress?

There was a commodore Bassington
at Jutland.

Ah, there she is,
the dress thief!

Dress borrower, Ma, please.

Not French, though.

LADY MARCHAM: Now Hari tells me
the police are involved,

which delights me, no end.

Can you give me a good reason

why I should not
have you arrested?

I'm your daughter.

I find that increasingly
hard to believe.

Knocker, it's me.

KNOCKER:
Why didn't you call me, man?

Because I've been in hospital.

Girlfriend injury was it?

It's bad enough that you lost
Emily's suede gloves.

That is not true.

I lost one of them.

BOBBY: Listen,
Knocker, does the name

Bassington-ffrench ring a bell?

Pretty sure
he was in The Andrew.

Bassington?

Ffrench, two small F's.

- (SIGHS) Why?
- BOBBY: Why?

It's two small F's in "ffrench".
It's how it's spelled.

But why do posh people do that?

You're not going to become Jones
with two small J's, are you?

- You have my word.
- KNOCKER: Good.

Because they just delivered
the sign.

(CHUCKLES)

LADY MARCHAM: I blame myself
for not instilling in you,

a sense of personal property.

I wonder if you fully understood
how gloves work?

I will have your dress cleaned
and returned to your wardrobe.

You will go nowhere near
my wardrobe,

my wardrobe is out of bounds!

Do hear, it's been nothing
but a string of petty thefts.

I will drive down tomorrow.

Oh, will you, in what?
A stolen car?

I did ask Mrs Harris.

There's no point in asking her,
poor woman.

The maid's the only one

who knows what's going on
in a house.

Did you learn nothing
at that ridiculous school?

Now, the dress that I wore
on our 25th anniversary

is at the police station

drenched in the vomit
of the vicar's son! Teddy!

Am I being unreasonable?

- Do you mean the green one?
- No, not the--

Do you mean to tell me that
you cannot remember

the colour of that dress?

Whatever it was,
you looked very beautiful.

FRANKIE: Why...

BOBBY: Didn't they ask Evans?

FRANKIE: Why does the navy
have a different salute?

Sailor's hands
were always filthy.

Covered in tar from the rigging.

So we keep the palm down
out of respect.

FRANKIE: You never had
filthy hands, did you?

You were an officer
with white gloves.

I wore white gloves, yes,
but I think once, to gut a fish.

I bet you looked dreamy
in uniform, Jones.

But who for? Ship full of men
with filthy hands.

Except when you're
in port, of course.

(SINGING) One night's girl
to love a sailor

(CHUCKLES)

But, why didn't they ask Evans?

Or, why didn't they ask Evans?

Or, why didn't they ask Evans?
It's... Ugh, driving me nuts.

BOBBY: Maybe we'll never know.

FRANKIE: We don't have to know,
we can make it up.

We can sleuth and deduce,
and hypothesise and

wear belted raincoats,
and smoke pipes in alleyways.

We could do that.

But we're not going to.

I have to go to London tomorrow,
Knocker's opening the business.

I should be there.

Is this the used car caper?

I promised Knocker and...

And you're a man of your word.

(SIGHS)

Oh, well,

next case maybe.

(SINGING) Bright and breezy,
free and easy

He's the ladies' pride and joy!

Falls in love
with Kate and Jane,

Then he's off to sea again...

BOBBY: This is very good of you,
Mr Crowe, thank you.

Lady Frances
is a generous person.

You want the vicarage?

No, actually the surgery,
if you don't mind.

Are you ill?

No, no, I just, uh...

What happened to your uniform
by the way?

Dry cleaners, mud.

(WOMAN SCREAMING)

BOBBY: Stop, stop!

Excuse me, excuse me.

What! What is it?

It's terrible,
this is just terrible.

(WOMAN SOBBING)

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)