All language subtitles for Miss Scarlet and the Duke - S03E03 - Hotel St Marc_track4_[eng]

-Thank you.

-Désolé de vous avoir
fait attendre, Monsieur.

Nous avons beaucoup
de monde ce soir.

-In English please.

-We are very busy this evening.

I am so sorry
to keep you waiting.

-Hmm.

-You are staying with us
tonight, Monsieur...?

-Slade.

-It is cold this evening.

Were you warm enough
on your carriage ride?

-No.

-Oh. I am sorry to hear that.

Slade...Slade.

Ah, yes, here we are.

Room eighteen.

Antoine?

Help this gentleman
with his suitcase.

-No, I, I'll take it myself,
just give me the key.

-But it is...
-Just...the...key.

-Room eighteen.

Up the stairs.

Les Anglais, uh?

Allez vite...

Uh, uh...

-Good evening.
-Uh!

What on earth are you doing?!
Let me go!

-You'’re a hard man to find,
Mr. Percival.

-Percival?

My name is Slade,
Jeremiah Slade!

-The room is booked under
the name Slade,

but you are in fact
Charles Percival,

a rather notorious conman.

Or do you prefer con artist?

-What are you talking about?
You'’re insane!

-You'’ve defrauded
half of London,

including my client,
Lord Morgan,

who's offered
an amount of money

I can only describe as vulgar,

to bring you back to England.

Of course, there are Is to dot
Ts to cross,

extradition warrants
and so forth.

I'’ve sent a telegram to the
British Embassy in Paris,

so the wheels are in motion.

But, um, we'’ll probably be
stuck here 'til morning,

so we should try and
make the best of it.

Do you, er, play cards?

I'’ll have to deal, obviously.

-I have no idea who
you'’re looking for,

but I'’m telling you,
you'’ve got the wrong man.

-Duly noted.

Let me go this instant

or I will call for help

and you will most certainly
be arrested.

-The more you co-operate,
the easier this will be.

-Help!

Help!

Help!

Help!

Please, can you just-
please take this off?

I- I can'’t see anything.

Uh!

-I'’ll remove the gag if you
promise to remain calm.

-Yes, I, I promise, I promise.

-Nod your head if you agree.

This goes straight back on if
you so much as raise your voice.

-Okay.

Ah.

May I please have
my glasses?

I can barely see a thing
without them.

Hmm.

You have no right to
treat me like this.

-I have every right.

Some of your victims lost
their life savings.

-But I am no
confidence trickster

or, or fraudster or
whatever the damn word is.

I am a lawyer from
Camden Town.

-And what business
does a London lawyer have

in the middle of the
French countryside?

-That'’s confidential.
-That'’s convenient.

-Not from where I'’m sitting.

-We are three hours'
coach ride from Paris

and six miles from
the nearest town.

Not much work here for a lawyer,

but an excellent place for a
wanted man to hide.

Now, I suggest you stop
your complaining

and make
yourself comfortable.

Well, as comfortable as you can.

-Can I get you some water?
-No.

You say you are
a private detective,

how do I know you'’re
not some deranged lunatic?

-You don'’t.

-Look, I have the utmost
respect for those

on the side of law and order...

-Oh, I'’m sure.

-It is rather arrogant that you
will not even entertain

the possibility of being wrong.

Truth never comes to the
closed mind.

-You certainly sound like
a lawyer.

I am a lawyer!

Why in God'’s name
won'’t you believe me?

-Well, since we have
time on our hands,

allow me to state my case.

Charles Percival has been wanted

by Scotland Yard
for twelve years.

He'’s fooled the rich
and the powerful,

the poor and the needy.

The secret of his success
is versatility,

He'’s never played
the same trick twice.

Each character he adopts

has a different appearance
and demeanour.

Meek and mild, colourful
and bombastic.

His latest role was as a
flamboyant bookmaker

who offered incredible
odds on

the biggest
horse race in England.

The Grand National.

Hundreds were fooled,
my client included.

But, as always, the elusive
Mr. Percival

disappeared into thin air,
with no leads to follow.

Well, almost none.

There was a train booked from
London to Dover.

Then a boat to Calais.

And a reservation at a small but
exclusive French hotel.

All booked by the same man.

Jeremiah Slade.

A lawyer from Camden Town.

-You've been duped.

Someone clearly wishes
to blame me for crimes

in which I played no part.

-You don'’t believe that
any more than I do.

-Help!

Help!

Help!

-I'’m astonished you haven't
been caught before this.

Help! Uh!

-Monsieur?!
Monsieur Slade?

-I'’m so sorry,
my husband was having

the most dreadful nightmare.

-Your husband?

The gentleman in this room
checked in alone.

Well, I'’ve only just arrived,

I was visiting some friends
in Compiègne.

-What is that?

-Twenty Francs to walk away and
ask no more questions.

- Help me!
- Help me!

Please, please help!

She's, she'’s mad!

She'’s mad!

-This man is a wanted fugitive.

-No, I'm not.
-And I am in the process of

bringing him back to England.

My name is Eliza Scarlet,
I'm a private detective.

-You are a detective?

-I expect that reaction
in England,

I had hoped the French
would be more forward thinking.

-That is not what I meant.

I merely wished to establish
if you are working

with the other detective.

-What other detective?

What did he say, exactly?

-Only that he was from Scotland
Yard and was working a case.

He was most aggressive and
insisted I leave him alone.

Madame, there are
other guests to consider.

I would ask that you please
be discrete.

-You have my word.

Where is he?

-Excuse me.

-Eliza Scarlet!

-Hmm. Mr. Nash.

-Come now, are we not
long past such manners?

Call me Patrick.

-What are you doing here?

-Ordering room service,

they'’ve no tables free
in the dining room.

-I mean what are you doing in
France?

-The same as you, I guess.

-I'’m on holiday visiting friends
in the region.

-Oh really?

Now, if I was a betting man,
which I am,

I'’d lay money on you being here
to find a fugitive conman.

How'’s it going?

Have you found him?

-Not as yet, no.

-Well, good luck to you.

Good evening.

-Mr. Nash?

-Patrick, please.

-Why did you tell
the hotel manager

that you were
from Scotland Yard?

-To get rid of him.

He was asking too many
questions.

-About what?

-About him.

Eliza Scarlet, Charles Percival.

Charles Percival...
Eliza Scarlet.

-As I've said
several times already,

I have no idea who this
Charles Percival is.

My name is Baron.

Sebastian Baron of the
Hampshire Barons.

-Now, why wouldn'’t I believe
the word of a conman?

-I'’m sure he's made this
mistake in good faith,

but it is a mistake,
nonetheless.

-I'’ve had a team of thirty men
looking all over northern France

but I found him staggering back
from the hotel bar, blind drunk.

-It is not a crime
to enjoy oneself.

I have tried reasoning with him
but he will not see sense.

Please, go and fetch help.

-He'’s convincing, isn't he?

I think it'’s in the eyes, hmm?

Anyway, we'’re leaving first
thing in the morning.

Should be back in London
by this time tomorrow.

I'’d imagine there'll be
a big reception

at Charing Cross station.

Or at least I hope so,
I'’ve paid enough for it.

-Congratulations.

-You make a sound and
I'’ll break your thumbs.

Wait a minute.

Is that it?

Is that all you'’ve
got to say, hmm?

'Congratulations?'

-Can you only enjoy success
when it comes with praise?

-Come on, he'’s been on
the run for twelve years.

You don'’t have any
professional curiosity?

How did I find him?
Where did I find him?

-No.

-Well, is this sour grapes,
are you jealous?

-Oh, I assure you it'’s not that.

-Oh, it is jealousy.

Well, that'’s a shame,
Now, I thought you of all people

would be above that.

-Absolument Monsieur,
whatever you require.

-And the lady will be
joining us for dinner.

So, we shall require
a table for four.

-Of course.

If you would like to take a seat
in the lounge,

I will tell you when your
other guests have arrived.

-Excellent.

And, er, send someone
over with the wine list.

I'’m in the mood to celebrate.

-Monsieur.

-Shall we?
-Hmm.

-I'’m sorry to trouble you again,
but do you have a moment?

-I am very busy, Madame.

-For, er, various legal reasons
that I cannot divulge,

there are complications with the
case I'’m working.

-Complications?

-The other detective...

-The one
from Scotland Yard.

-He cannot know that
I also have a prisoner.

I understand
how that must sound,

but I assure you everything
is above board.

I'’ve applied for an extradition
warrant

and very soon the local
police will arrive

to take myself and my prisoner
to the port of Calais.

In the meantime, I would
appreciate it if you would

keep this between us.

-Very well.

But I must insist that
you stay in your room

and do not bother
the other guests.

-You have my word.

-So you keep saying.

Madame.

-I'’m sorry,
I can'’t take that off.

Hopefully it won'’t be for too
much longer.

But, but...

Hello again.

I forgot to mention
I saw you arriving

a couple of hours ago.

But I didn'’t know that
you had company.

Are you going to introduce me?

-This is Charles Percival.

I don'’t know who
you have downstairs

but you must release
him immediately

and hope he
doesn'’t press charges.

-Now it makes sense.

I knew you wouldn't
just give up, walk away.

You think I have the wrong man.

She has the wrong man!

I'’m, I'm the wrong man!

-Can he breathe like that?

-He was yelling for help.

I warned him several times
but he wouldn't listen.

-Hmm, get one of these.

It makes people very compliant.

You can threaten to shoot them,
obviously,

but you could just say you'’re
going to hit them with it

and break their nose.

No-one wants that, do they?

-No.

Ah!

-Who are you?

-My name is Jeremiah Slade.

I am a lawyer from Camden Town.

-No he isn'’t.

-And what brings you to France?
-He won'’t say.

Apparently it'’s confidential.

I refused to discuss my business

whilst chained up
like a wild animal!

I beg you, release me from
these shackles,

I cannot stay
like this a moment longer.

-I have an idea.

Give me the keys to those cuffs.

We'll let him get up,
stretch his legs.

Maybe he can tell us
what he'’s doing here.

-Absolutely not.

-Hmm.

So, you are a hundred percent
sure you'’ve got this right?

-Yes.

-There'’s not even a glimmer
of doubt that you might have

captured and, in fact,
assaulted an innocent man?

-No.

-I have come to France
to see a client,

a Mr. Nelson, formerly of
Belsize Park in London.

He has lived in the region the
past eight years

having married
a local woman.

There have recently
been marital difficulties

and they have
decided to end their union.

Mr. Nelson wishes to
return to England,

but French law gives
his wife certain rights

over his property.

-Why didn'’t he hire
a French lawyer?

-He's a friend
as well as a client.

Our company has
an office in Paris,

I was here on business anyway.

Sir, I am unsure of the
professional relationship

between yourself and...the lady.

But I assume you are the
senior partner?

-He most certainly is not.

-We'’re from different agencies.

Well, I say agency,

unlike myself, Miss Scarlet
is a one-man band.

-Oh, that is no doubt why she
has made this terrible mistake.

-Firstly, I have several
associates

who work for me
on a regular basis.

Secondly, I have a mountain of
evidence against you.

Do you remember that accountant

from Wandsworth?

The Bow Street division
arrested him last year?

They were certain
he was Charles Percival.

Turned out he was innocent,

and Percival had
laid a false trail

to put the police
off his scent.

-I have made no such mistake.

-I'’m afraid you have.

And I can prove it.

-Are you sure you put
the handcuffs on properly?

-He'’s not going anywhere.

But you will have to let him go
at some point,

and when you do,
he'’ll go straight to the police.

He might even sue you.
I mean, he'’s a lawyer.

-He's not a lawyer.

The only reason I agreed to
speak to the poor wretch

that you'’ve captured is in order
to set him free,

which I must insist you do
immediately.

-You do know you'’re not
in charge of me?

Hurry up.

-May I at least
have a cup of tea?

-Just tell her what
you'’re doing here.

-You insisted my man had his
handcuffs removed,

you should do
the same for yours.

-That'’s because your man
is innocent.

-There's someone else
being held prisoner?

-Do you remember what I said
about your thumbs?

Go on then, tell her.

-My name is Sebastian Baron
of the Hampshire Barons.

My father was Lord Lieutenant
of the county.

He recently passed away
and as his only son,

I will inherit the estate.

Before I take up that
responsibility

I wish to spend a few months
travelling round the Continent.

-And what brings you to this
particular hotel?

-I'm a student of history.

This hotel was designed by an
Italian architect

in the 17th century.

The stain glass window
in the lobby

is a tribute to his
home city of Venice.

-Exhibit A.

Unnecessary detail
designed to make

the story seem more...
convincing.

-That'’s a little tenuous,
don'’t you think?

-Indeed it is,
thank you, Madam.

-Exhibit B.
His accent.

He'’s trying to sound like
old money,

but there'’s something
else hidden in there.

-As a child I lived in many
different places,

my father made
his fortune in trade.

-I fail to see what
any of this proves.

I thought you had actual
evidence?

-Glad you reminded me.

The bogus bookmaking firm

that Charles Percival set up for
the Grand National?

We did some digging
and found a safe house

paid for by that
same bookmakers.

We went to take a look and
no-one was there.

But we found travel documents
and bank details.

All fake.

And all belonging...
to one Sebastian Baron.

Of the Hampshire Barons.

-This is patently absurd.

Someone clearly wishes to
damage my reputation.

-Why didn'’t you mention
all this before?

-Showmanship.

Always save the best till last.

-We need to talk.

There'’s something very
strange going on here.

-I can offer an explanation.

-That you are right
and I am wrong?

-I have a team of thirty full
time detectives

and you have, well...you.

It'’s one of many reasons you
should come and work for me.

Eliza...

Eliza...

I only have your
best interests at heart.

Please.

-Let us imagine
for a moment

that you are right about
all this.

-Well, that'’s very gracious,
thank you.

-I say it only to
prove a point.

If you have indeed caught the
real Charles Percival,

and I have...fallen for
some false trail

designed to put me
off the scent,

then the question is this...

who created that false trail?

-He did, Percival.

-But why leave a series of clues

to bring me to the same hotel
he's staying in?

Why not send me off to some far
flung part of the world,

miles from where he actually is?

-That'’s an interesting point.

-I believe there are three
possible answers.

One of us is right.

Both of us are right.

Or neither of us are right.

And Charles Percival is
somewhere else entirely.

-So, what do you suggest?

We're going to ask you
a few more questions.

You have our word

you'll be given the benefit
of the doubt.

-Thank you, that is most
reassuring.

-Don'’t thank them, they
should be arrested for this!

-An aggressive tone will not
help any of us.

-Well, you seek to ingratiate
yourself to them.

There's something about this
man I do not trust.

-Documents with your
name on them

were found at a house
belonging to Charles Percival.

How do you explain that?

-My father was a ruthless
businessman.

He had many enemies.

This could be an act of revenge
on his only son.

-Is that the best you can do?

-No one was talking to you.

-This cock and bull story may
wash with her.

It will not with him.

-A woman who runs a detective
agency is clearly no fool.

-You see, he seeks to avoid the
issue and instead gain favour.

This is the man you seek.

He oozes fraud,
just look at that waistcoat.

-Well, you dress like an
undertaker.

-How dare you talk to
me like that

when you are the reason
I have been dragged

into this whole sorry
business in the first place!

Smoke screens,
damn it...

-You'’re a liar, a fraud...

One at a time, gentlemen,

if you please.

-Thank you, Mr. Nash.

Now...

-You have
a visitor, Madame.

You called the police,

what were you thinking?

-I believed I'd caught
a wanted criminal.

How else was I going to bring
him back to London?

-There are ways.

-Such as?

-A private boat, three armed men
and a big sack.

-I do hope you'’re joking.

-Well, this is not good.

Not good at all.

-Perhaps he'’s a reasonable man.

-No.

No, no, no, no.

This is unacceptable.

-I apologise for the confusion
but the situation has changed.

There are now...two suspects.

-I was told there was only one.

-Well, both men may be involved
in the same crimes.

-Or perhaps just one of them.

Or, or neither of them.

For now I would suggest
detaining them both

whilst myself and my, er...

-Partner?

-Colleague, make further
enquiries.

-Do not tell me what to do,
you have no jurisdiction here.

-I understand that...
-Wait here.

I'’ll go see for myself.

-But if I could just...
-I said wait!

-How about a drink?

You been to France before?

-No, never.

-I've been lots of times.

I'’ve met plenty of
little Napoleons

like that Chief of Police.

Which is why I said this
wasn'’t good.

Do you want to know why?

-I'’m sure you're going
to tell me.

-An area like this in the middle
of the countryside,

there'’s next to no crime.

The odd stolen horse, maybe a
punch-up on Bastille Day.

But now the local police have
two suspects who could be

Scotland Yard'’s most wanted.

It'’s a chance for them to make a
name for themselves.

-I have more faith in
human nature.

-No, you don'’t.

-So, who are you
working for anyway?

Who is your client?

-No-one.

I'’m doing this for the, er...

I suppose you might
say the glory.

-The glory?

-Charles Percival isn'’t just
wanted in London.

There are warrants for his
arrest in Belgium and Austria,

not to mention America.

-And you want the
whole world to know

that Patrick Nash was the
man who found him.

-There is nothing wrong with
being ambitious.

You are too, that'’s why you
should come and work for me.

It'’s because you don't
trust me, isn'’t it?

-Do you blame me?

Sometimes I see you leaning
heavily on your walking cane.

Other times there'’s not even
a trace of a limp.

I'’d suggest the only reason
you'’re using that cane

is to make me feel guilty.

You think that bullet you took
was somehow my fault.

-It was your fault.

-I can'’t think of a subtle way
to change the subject,

so, I'm just going do so.

What if we're both wrong

and neither of those men
are Charles Percival?

-You think it could be
someone else?

Someone in the hotel?

It'’s hard to tell...
just by looking.

Unless mind reading is one of
your hidden talents?

-When I was a girl I used to
play a game with my father.

We'’d go into a busy street and
try and guess three things about

a perfect stranger.

-Tell me about him.

-Parisian.

Some kind of banker.

He'’s waiting for his wife
to join him.

She nags him about his drinking
which is why he'’ll finish that

bottle before she arrives.

-It'’s, it's true,
I swear it!

-In a moment...

that loud gentleman will try to
impress the young lady

by ordering the most
extravagant item on the menu.

A vintage Claret or
a Château Margaux.

A Château Margaux, definitely,
it'’s slightly more expensive.

-You'’re wrong, he's going to
order cigars.

-My good man...
We'’ll take a box of cigars!

Oh, and a, a bottle
of Château Margaux, please.

-Ah!
-I'’d call that a draw.

Shouldn'’t he have
come down by now,

the Police Chief?

-It has been rather a long time.

As you say, he no doubt
wishes to be involved

in the investigation.

-Yes, probably just that.

What if he'’s left the hotel and
taken them with him?

-Surely we would have
seen him leave.

-Well, there may be
another way out.

Maybe a, a back door?

- Help!
- Please!

Help!

He collapsed.

Just fell onto the floor, I,
I don'’t think he's breathing.

-I'’ll go and get help.

-There'’s no pulse.

What do you think?

-I think he'’s dead.

I spoke to the manager.

He'’s sending word
to the police station.

-And you told him not to let
anyone leave?

-I did but I doubt they'’d
want to.

That storm'’s getting worse.

Any idea what killed him?

No obvious cause of
death that I can see.

No puncture wounds or bruising,
no, no trauma to the head.

You say he just collapsed?

-He'd been questioning us
for a few minutes.

I became thirsty and asked
for some water.

He poured a glass
from that jug over there.

One for me,
one for him.

We continued talking
for a short while

then all of a sudden

his breathing became shallow
and he fell to the floor.

-Could he be poisoned?

-I, I drunk that water too,
you must call a doctor!

-Liar.
-What?

-The policeman took a drink,
he did not.

-Of course I did. You saw me
sip from that very glass.

-That is a blatant lie.

The policeman drank the water,
and collapsed.

I called for help, he told
me to be quiet.

-I did not!

He threatened to harm
me if I made another sound.

-I don'’t know why he's
saying these things

but you must call a doctor,
my life is in danger.

-He'’s lying,
he'’s come here to kill me.

-Why would he want to kill you?

-Because I'm the man
you'’re looking for.

I am Charles Percival.

Now, please, take me
somewhere safe

and I'’ll tell you
everything you want to know.

You were right, I am in hiding.

The net is tightening around me

and I've run out
of places to go.

As a younger man, I confess I
enjoyed the thrill of running

from city to city,
country to country.

The exhilaration of escaping
those who wished to jail me

or cut my throat.

But now...

-Who's the man
upstairs,

the one you say
wants to kill you?

-I cannot say for sure, but I
have seen him before, in London.

I have a house in Holborn, I was
coming back there one night

when I saw a movement
in the front parlour.

I did not go inside, instead I
peered through the window

and I saw him
waiting...with a gun.

-Is he one of your victims?

-I believe he's
a paid assassin.

-Paid by who?

One of the larger bets on the
Grand National was placed

by a Russian gentleman.

I later discovered he was
a gang leader,

a cold blooded
murderer.

My life is in danger.
You must let me go.

-Sit down.

Now.

I'’ve been hired to bring you
back to England

and that'’s
exactly what I'’ll do.

-Oh, please, you must call a
doctor, I feel most unwell.

-That is unwell.

You're perfectly fine.

-He gulped the water down,
I only took a few sips,

it may take
longer to have an effect.

-Hmm.

Your friend in black says you
never touched a drop.

-He's lying, and not just
about that, about everything.

-He's not Charles Percival.

-And how do you know that?
-Because I am.

-Alright...

-If you are Charles Percival,
who's the other man?

-Call a doctor, I beg you.
-Who is he?

-I don'’t know, I think I saw him
on the boat coming over.

If he is following me, I would
guess he'’d be a hired killer.

-Hired by who?

-There are so many who
wish me dead.

Oh please, my heart is racing.

The lady, her life is in danger,
he will kill her if he has to.

There may even be others
in the hotel.

-What do you mean others?

If you want help start talking.

-I can'’t breathe...

Walk back,
three paces, palms facing me.

When I say,

and only when I say,

you'’re going to give me the
key to these cuffs.

Alright...

Now.

-Who are you?

-Thomas K. Malone.

Of the New Hampshire Malones.

I'’m a detective, I work for an
agency in Boston.

Been after Percival
for years.

Almost caught him in London too.

I was undercover,

posing as a rich lord looking to
spend Daddy'’s money.

I found out about his safe house

and sat for two days waiting for
him to come back.

He didn'’t.

But your men did.

So I had to make a run for it.

Anyway, long story short,

the man downstairs is Charles
Percival and I'’m taking him in.

-And you'’re going to kill us

like you killed the policeman?

-No, I didn'’t kill him,
he just collapsed.

Maybe there is something
in that water, I dunno.

The police can look into that
when they get here.

I'’ll be long gone by then.

-And where will I be?

Stupid.

So damn stupid.

I can'’t believe I fell for that.

-This is no time for self-pity,
he fooled me too.

I thought it was you
knocking on the door.

I should never have
answered without checking.

There'’s some tools on the floor.

If I just...

-They'’re gone anyway,
what'’s the point?

-So your plan is to
sit there and sulk?

You have a tie pin, don'’t you?
Try using that on the lock.

We can still catch up with them.

Hopefully the police will be
here soon.

-You do know there are three
different ports

where ships leave for America?

Le Havre, Cherbourg
and Marseille.

-You have a team of men in
France, yes?

Send one group to Cherbourg,
one to Marseille

and you and I
will go to Le Havre.

-There'’s no team,
I'’m here on my own.

-What?
-We'’re overstretched as it is.

We'’ve got twelve active
investigations.

I couldn'’t spare anyone.

And then I found out that
you had a lead

and were heading to France.

-How did you find that out?
-You had the whole case

pinned up
on the wall of your office.

-You broke into my office?!

Argh!

Are you incapable of
telling the truth?

-My brother used to say that.

'Patrick, you lie so much,

I think it may be
a medical condition.'

We came to London together
a few years back.

It was his idea to
set up the agency.

And he was a good detective,
thorough.

He'’d do the hard work and I'd do
the...what would you call it?

The front of house, I suppose.

He had more of a
moral compass than I did.

He'’d help anyone,
rich or poor.

There was this family from Cork,
fresh off the boat.

They paid my brother up front to
find their missing daughter.

A lot of men would'’ve just

taken their money
and spent it.

But not him.

He went looking for her.

He found her with some drunk
lunatic down by the docks.

A fisherman.

Handy with a knife.

Stabbed my brother...

right through the heart.

Was dead before
he even hit the floor.

That'’s what you get
for being honest.

-So the moral of your story is

lie and cheat
and you'’ll stay alive?

-There'’s no moral.

I'’m just saying that some
people are survivors.

Like you and I.

That'’s why we should
work together.

Is this some twisted
attempt to get me

to sympathise
with you?

I will never work for you,
do you understand?

I don'’t know if you
made that story up just now

or if you'’ve told it
a hundred times before,

but I don'’t believe a word that
comes out of your mouth.

I doubt you even had a brother.

-You were right about
the tie pin.

His name was Michael.

My brother.

-Have the police arrived yet?
-No.

But someone has stolen a horse
and carriage from outside.

Do you know anything about this?

-I think I may know
who that was.

-Of course you do.

-Could I trouble you
for one more thing?

I need to send a telegram to
Scotland Yard.

-I want nothing more to do
with any of this.

The police will help
you when they get here.

-You are English?

-I am.

Good, my French is appalling.

I hope you don'’t mind,

I know it'’s very late
but I do hate to drink alone.

-What about your companion,
the lady?

-Oh, we are not together.

We met on the boat coming over.

I thought we were getting on but

it seems I may have
misread the situation.

-It'’s not my intention to be
rude, but I'm working.

-Please, don'’t, er, don't let me
disturb you.

Are you enjoying your stay here?

-Erm...

Not particularly.

-I know what you mean.

I wish I had never set foot in
this damn place.

I'’m in the hotel business,
you see.

I own property in Delhi,
Paris, London.

Always on the lookout for new
opportunities.

Someone in London suggested I
come here and take a look.

I should'’ve known
never to trust a lawyer.

-A lawyer?
-Hmm.

Er, he works for the owner,

who apparently
is very keen to sell.

Yeah, I, er, I shouldn'’t
gossip but, er,

he was married to a local girl

and things ended badly.

So, he wishes to
move back home.

-You came here to buy the hotel?

-Hmm.

Yeah, it'’s a small place,
but, er, it'’s a goldmine.

I was due to meet the owner for
dinner, along with his lawyer.

-This lawyer, what'’s his name?

-Slade.

Jeremiah Slade.

He didn'’t turn up,

neither did the owner,
so I thought to hell with them

and I decided to leave.

Didn'’t get very far, though.

-Why not?

I'’ve seen them do it.

Trampling grapes in bare feet,
covered in bunions.

Even in the finest of vineyards.

It's extremely disconcerting.

-Terribly effective.
-Ah-ha.

-We need to talk.

-Miss Scarlet, Miss Kinsky.

-Charmed.

-Hmm.

It'’s important.

-I shall leave you to it.

-Thank you for that.

-There'’s only one road
that leads

from the hotel
to the outside world.

It'’s a, a small, narrow track
that runs up a steep hill.

-I remember. So?

-I was just speaking to one of
the other guests,

the loud gentleman
with the cigars.

He tried to leave but the snow
has made the road impassable.

There'’s no way out,
and hasn'’t been for hours.

The, erm, American detective.

-Malone was it?
-Mm-hmm.

-I think he and Charles Percival
are still here.

-He wouldn'’t be stupid enough to
hide in the same room?

-Well, we should at least check.

-Alright. Well, who'’s going
first, me or you?

-You obviously.
He has your gun.

-Bullets work on men as well as
women, you know.

-Just...hurry up!

-There'’s no one here.

I told you.

Argh!

Oh, god...

-Oh, did someone poison you?

Again? Oh, I'’ll take that.

Thank you.

-What happened?

Tried to leave,
stole a coach.

Didn'’t get far, I couldn't see a
damn thing in that storm.

I brought him back here to work
out another plan.

I must'’ve taken my eyes off him
for a second,

I don'’t know how,

but I guess he hit me from
behind and knocked me clean out.

-We need to go. He must be
somewhere in the hotel.

-Wait! Wait!

I know what I did
was a little underhand

but we'’re all on the
same side, right?

Let's say we team up and bring
him in together?

-Erm...no.

-Come on! You can'’t leave
me here like this.

Wait, please!

-So what now?

Start knocking on some doors?

-No, we may need
the element of surprise.

-Check upstairs in room 18,
I'’ll meet you in reception.

-There'’s no one in room 18...

apart from a dead
French policeman.

Speaking of which,

if the road has been blocked
for the last few hours,

how did he get here?

-He didn'’t.

-Would you care to explain that?

-Well, it'’s snowing outside

but when we spoke to him,
his coat was bone dry.

I wasn'’t sure why at first,
but now it'’s obvious.

-He was here all along.

He'’s not the real
Chief of Police.

Exactly.

I think he was posing
as a guest.

Do any of these names
look familiar to you?

-Erm...not as such.

-Monsieur Papillon.

-The winning horse from this
year's Grand National.

-Room 12.
Checked in last night.

It would seem our conman
has a sense of humour.

-We should be careful.

We'’re not the only ones
looking for him.

-Please, you don'’t
have to do this.

Please, I beg you.

I have money in my suitcase,
take it.

I'll give you anything you want.
Anything at all.

What I want is for you to watch
while he drinks this.

-Oh.

It was you who poisoned the jug
of water in my room.

-So much quieter than a gun.

More painful, too.

Argh!

-I wouldn'’t do that,
if I were you.

Or that.

Hands where I can see them.

Move back.

Please.

What'’s he doing here?

-They'’re working together.

Charles Percival isn'’t just
one man.

He'’s several.

-I put our lady friend
in the cellar

and left the so-called
lawyer where he was.

You sure he'’s in on it?

-He introduced us to the
Chief of Police

when he knew the man
was a fake.

He checked him in last night
as a guest.

-Hmm.

The woman who was trying to kill
you, who is she?

-She was paid by a Russian gang
in London.

They lost money on the
Grand National.

She must'’ve followed me
to room 12,

I had hidden Samuel in there.

Samuel is the man
posing as a lawyer?

-I saw them come back,

Samuel and the
American detective.

I hit the American over the head

then Samuel and I headed
up to the room.

-So, who is Charles Percival?

-I was the first
to go by that name.

The others work with me, even
pose as me sometimes

to help protect my identity.

There have been several others.

But recently just Samuel and
Henri, rest his soul.

-And Henri was the
Chief of Police?

-That was not the role he was
supposed to play tonight,

but when you came,
we had to improvise.

-And what role was he
meant to play?

-The hotel owner.

We were going to sell the place
to that businessman from Delhi.

-Where's the real owner?

-At home in the local town,
drinking himself to death.

His wife left him, he can'’t
even get out of bed

in the morning.

I came here a month ago

and he just...left me
to my own devices.

I still have money.
Dollars, Francs, Pounds.

-If you let me go...
-This isn'’t about money.

-Unless...
-I have the beginnings

of respect for you,
please don'’t ruin it.

-It'’s just an option.

-D'accord, Je comprends.

-Dites moi si vous avez besoin
d'’autre chose.

Merci, au revoir.

-Merci.

-I'’ve just given my statement.

Or at least I think I have,
my French is a little rusty.

-Well, I just spoke to
the Chief of Police,

he says he wants to
interview the prisoners himself.

-Did you offer our help?

-I did, but he said it'’s his
investigation now.

You should'’ve seen his face
when I told him

there'’d been a murder.

I'’ve never seen someone
that happy.

-You'’re sure he's the real
Chief of Police?

-Well, he had a badge.

I don'’t think we'll be
getting our money any time soon.

-Hmm. I'’m sure you're right.

But he did say the road's
open again.

We could go into town
and have some breakfast?

-Why not?

-You know, in some ways this all
turned out rather well.

I mean, we ended up
working together.

-Patrick...urgh,
please don'’t start that again.

-Did you just call me Patrick?

-It was a slip of the tongue,
I'’m tired.

-Well, that'’s progress,
it'’s real progress.

-Yes. In a few years
I might even trust you.