All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek - 04x91 - The Judas Tree.DVDRip-RB58.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

So talk to me then.
What does it say?

You talk about the back of beyond.
We could be absolutely

- anywhere by now.
- Well, it's not my fault, is it?

Give us it here, a sec.

I could've picked a more
rubbish navigator?

What was that last place
we went through?

Lower Squiddlyswick or something.

And that's got to be an hour ago.

God knows.
I'm getting such a headache.

Look, if it's all the same with you, I
think I'm just going to get out and ask.

What do you mean "ask"? Ask who?

I don't know.

Whoever lives in that
house over there.

Try my luck, at least.

What are you talking about?
What house?

Have you...?

Got the handbrake
on or did we just...?

There was a house!

Like... a funny little cottage!

Oh, great.
So now I'm seeing things.

Stay right where you are.

SHE SHRIEKS

MIAOW!

DISTANT SHRIEKING

SOBBING

She does our daily washing...

I hope I'm not breaking the flow.

So, regarding your duties outside,
this is the main terrace area.

It just needs a bit of a sweep each
morning to clear away any debris.

Right.

And a good, thorough scrub-down three
times a week with a fungicidal agent.

Very good.

Paying special attention
to the grouting.

Okay.

The drains I would only bother
with every four days.

- Drains?
- You've got slender arms.

If there's anything nasty
growing down there,

I'm sure you'll catch it early.

Human excrement in the mail-box.

Used to be a dreadful problem,
of course, years ago.

Intended for the previous
owner, but...

Unfortunately he never
left a forwarding address.

And then at six o'clock every night,

if you could just make sure the
log basket's full in the lounge.

It might need a couple of trips.

- Any questions so far?
- No.

Well it's certainly quite a full
schedule then, Mrs. Gantry.

And underneath here would be,
what, some sort of coal-hole, or...?

Oh, no longer used, of course, since
Mr. Dore and his wife moved in.

Carbon footprints and all that.

Oh, sorry. Is it all right if I just...?

Whatever you need to do, Emily.

- Oh, thanks.
- Two minutes, I'll be out of your hair.

Oh, God! Sorry, I'm so sorry.

Oh, this will have to go back
and be re-done. She'll kill me.

- Don't be silly. Here.
- What am I like?

I won't tell if you won't.

Thanks.

Otherwise I'll be out on my
ear before I've even started.

You'll have me down
as a right liability.

Nothing of the sort. Now come
on, there we go. You got them?

- Thank you. That's lovely.
- No problem.

There we go.

So, another really late one for
you then, was it, last night?

Beavering away out
there, you were.

Well, I'm afraid the creative
impulse rarely keeps regular hours.

All these plots you come up with.

How do you even begin...

to get inside the mind of a murderer?

Ah, the trick, of course,

is to fool the reader into
trusting all the wrong people.

And then, in the most apparently
innocent and everyday details,

slowly sow the seeds of terror.

Do me a favour and
smell that mango.

- Beeswax.
- Who polishes fruit, Hugo?

Next thing you know she'll
be simonising the bananas.

I think one can take pride in
one's kitchen a little too...

...Mrs. Gantry, are you well?

Oh, just a word about
the new recruit.

I know it's only her
second day, but, er...

If you could get something
slightly more appropriate

organised by way of
her working wardrobe?

Just to give my husband a
fighting chance with his deadline?

Leave it with me, Mrs. Dore.

Is that a thumb-print
on that mango?

How did I miss that?

That might be a better
option for tomorrow.

I should hate to see
history repeating itself.

Sorry? History?

What are you talking about?

Oh, well, you see, the
folly of unrequited lust

has more than once brought
tragedy upon this house.

According to the story,
in the late 1880s,

a young Egyptian woman
of striking beauty

came to work here
as a housekeeper.

Her name was Selima al-Sharad.

And scarcely had she joined the
household of Dr. Thadeus Northcote,

than she found herself attending to
his needs by night as well as day.

Until finally, when his
passion for her cooled,

a strange demonic force is
said to have transformed her

from seductress to sorceress.

And she put a curse
on her former lover,

predicting the exact
date and time of day

that he would meet a
dreadful, agonising death.

Well, as a man of science,

he had little time for any
suggestion of witchcraft,

and simply went about his
business in the normal way.

Until the appointed
hour came round.

She afterwards claimed that
through some divine faculty

she'd actually seen
"Death" approaching.

And the vision had struck
terror into her heart.

But the strange thing was,
no creature or living being

had come within 20 yards
of him when it happened.

Nor could any other method or
means of his murder be found.

Not a mark or injury
anywhere on his body,

or any suggestion or
possibility he'd taken poison.

And so her act of vengeance,
through whatever supernatural agency,

forever went unpunished.

And of course,

this is the very room
in which she slept.

Some say, still sleeps.

If you believe in the
power of a restless spirit

to take control of a person's soul.

Okay, so we come in
off the lighting change

with a whip-spot to find the table.

And...

...bon appetit.

On the night, we can but
hope, you'll be smiling.

Are you kidding?

The heat I've been
taking last seven days,

we'll be lucky if it gets to air.

Oh, man, is my career
really in the crapper.

Well, you will go out on these high-
profile charity assignments to Africa.

You could choose your words
more carefully in future.

Goddamn Magic Relief!

They got you by the nuts every time.

Do you know how long it
took to get from the hotel

to that Catholic mission
station in the desert?

Six hours.

Couple of nuns come out to greet
me, what else am I going to say?

Anything, hopefully, but
"Jesus, I'm starving".

It's not your biggest lapse
in taste ever, I'll grant you,

it's up there, would you say?

Okay, go.

So now they've got to keep sticking
it to me with this shit every day.

Here we go again.

"Not content with flaunting his
sick humour in the famine zone,"

"the egregious xenophobe
was on more odious form"

"as we travelled to a native
village on the Eritrean border,"

"where he was heard to remarked,"

"'Let's hope we don't
all get eaten alive'",

"a reference, he later claimed"

"to the high incidence
of locusts in the region."

"Although to this correspondent
the words were clearly more redolent"

"of cannibals and cooking pots."

It's the press, Adam, it's
what they do. Get over it.

Oh, why is this so stiff?

Just bear with me a sec.

Anyway, where's the rest
of our cast got to today?

Hey! What's happening?

Is this a turn-up?

I've got a meeting just down the road
at six and I suddenly remembered

it was round here somewhere you
always hold your top-secret rehearsals.

Of course, I didn't know
the exact address.

I had to ask a woman
at the bus-stop, but...

So how's it all going? Feel free
to acknowledge my presence.

Is that...?

That's to stop him licking himself.

It's not something you want to watch.

Look, if you've come
here looking for a job

because you're had
enough of waitressing,

sorry, you're out of luck.
What's happened?

The bottom fallen out of the Paranormal
Problem-Solving business?

Who said I was looking for work?

I don't know where you get
the idea I've been waitressing.

The slight reddening of your
fingertips is characteristic

of someone who's recently
been handling hot plates.

Now the chafing on your knees almost
certainly the result of cleaning floors.

Both consistent with
nightly work in a restaurant.

While the absence of shopping

appears to suggest you've
recently fallen on hard times.

Add to this, the faint imprint of the
letters "cav snoit" on your forearm

where you've been leaning on the words
"Situations vacant" in the small ads,

the conclusion is a simple one.

Well, here's another fine mess.

- She just quit.
- Who did?

Who did? Sunitri, our uniquely
gifted Bengali showgirl.

Said she couldn't
in all conscience

continue to work with a
barefaced, racist bigot.

Three hours to curtain up, Jonathan.

Who the hell's going to do
the Indian Basket Trick?

Oh, shut your row.
Come on, how hard can it be?

Just poke them through
and I'll get out the way.

Just poke them through?

Have you any idea of the immense
physical precision required here?

It takes years of training to perfect
the complex curvature of the joints.

Not even close. You got any more?

She's going to end
up like a pin cushion.

Hey, little star, you're
doing great in there!

Any problems, just holler!

Nope. It's all easy peasy so
far, just keep them coming.

This is amazing.
Very last one now, on its way.

Ya, I'm still cool in here.

You know, I reckon you could
easily get another one in.

Straight down, through the top.

Are you serious?

Just need to squeeze my shoulders
back another half an inch, and

I need to suck myself in.

- Perfect!
- Oh, man! Will you look at that?

Where did you find this girl?
She's a natural.

I tell you, you're going to slay
them out there, big time.

- Come on. I'll see you on the ice.
- Yeah, see you later.

Look, what is it?

That she's good, that she's young?

That she's every bit
as smart as you are?

I tell you, 27 years,

I've never known anyone
pick up a trick that fast.

We'll see.

Okay, what is it?

The old Magic Johnson not
making the net enough lately?

So listen, get to work!

You're on your own
in town for the night.

I tell you, it's out there, man,
on every street corner.

You just got to know
how to reel it in.

And the way you do that...

...it's with the eyes.

That's how you communicate
your intentions.

Check it out.

See what I'm saying with my eyes?

"Come to me tonight,
entrust me with your body,"

"and I will pleasure every inch of it,
until you scream for mercy."

Yeah, forgive me if I don't rush
out and buy your latest manual

on gender politics any time soon.

In the same series, I think wasn't it,
as "Dot Cotton on Super-String Theory"?

You know I'm right, Jonathan.
On every street corner.

You've just got to make it happen.

APPLAUSE

So, shall I...?

- Whatever.
- ...go first?

It's funny, isn't it,

how you can spend months

and years

getting to know someone

and then still never
get to know them.

Huh, tell me about it.

When I actually think,

all you really need to
know about someone

you know in the first five minutes.

So you think our life stories
will keep for another time?

Give us something to
talk about in our old age.

There's just two things you
should know about me, actually.

I don't do tongues in ears.

Always found it a bit disgusting,
for some reason.

And don't be alarmed

if I suddenly wake up screaming
in the middle of the night.

It's just, when I was 17,

I had this completely
strange thing happen to me.

There was this woman I was
sharing a flat with at the time.

That's another story.

And the two of us were out
in the country one day,

middle of nowhere,
and there was this cottage,

in a field,

that was there one minute,

and then, so bizarre,

just completely
vanished into thin air.

And when I went over to look around,

there was this horrible old man

slithering about on the ground.

Scared me half to death.

To say that weird stuff
keeps following me around!

It's like one day I'm working in this
shoe shop and this guy comes in,

and he says, he's looking for an
assistant for his housekeeper.

And serious money, so...

And I get there, and it
turns out that 100 years ago,

there was like this really bizarre
murder, which no-one could explain.

- Is that right?
- Sorry?

Weird stuff?

Like, unexplained,
impossible things.

A bit of luck you ran into
me then really, wasn't it?

I have no idea what
you are talking about.

Oh, you mean the only
reason you wanted to come

over here tonight was
because you really liked me,

as a person, you just happened
to bump into at a bus stop,

just purely and totally by accident?

Look, I don't know what you...

Suddenly this all
feels very strange.

I think...

maybe I'd better just...

CYCLE BELL RINGS

Morning.

Come in.

- Your post.
- Oh, thank you.

By the way, I don't know if
Mrs. Gantry mentioned to you.

Our neighbours round the corner
are in New Zealand for the year.

They've put the whole
place into hibernation.

I said we'd keep an eye
on the post for them.

Number 29, Ashwood House.

If you'd just pop along there every
few days and have a sort through.

Anything that looks vaguely
important, I'll get it forwarded.

What's this?

"You loathsome bitch."

"Do not think you can
escape your fate."

"In three days, you will be dead."

It's signed "Selima."

Wasn't she that woman...?

Perhaps you can explain why
it's in your handwriting?

What? I never wrote that.
I swear to God, someone must've just...

You believe me, surely?

All right.

Just go.

Good morning, good morning,
good morning!

How are we all this
bright sunny day?

Utterly brill house last night,
didn't you think?!

The only thing, I've had
an idea how we can

make it look better
when I go up the rope.

Cos I just worry they
can tell I'm on a wire.

But how about if I climb
up the rope for real?

If you put enough tension in it,

and then I could just secretly
hook the harness through

when I get to the top,
just before the flash.

Cos when we did gym at school,
I was actually pretty damned nif...

God, you look like death dug up.
What's happened?

What happened is, I went to
bed last night in the real world

and woke up this morning
in a Kafka novel!

You show her, I can't bear to look.

That gaff he made on Magic Relief

turns out to have been a bit of
a gift to the internet satirists.

Witness first, the original
clip on YouTube.

Thanks for coming.

Hi, I'm Klaus. Congratulations.

And then witness the spoof version,

currently riding rather
higher on 600,000 hits.

Oh, that is incredible.

How've they done that?

Well, they'd have had to use a
very sophisticated CG programme.

The shirt, you're probably
looking at rotoscoping.

Could've been a frame by frame job,

or sometimes with a moving
image you can just tell it

to lock onto a certain key point,

and then it'll just track that
element for you as it goes...

Yes, thank you!
Can you hear yourselves?

I'm up here planning Operation
Barbarossa, and you're talking pixels!

I've got to get on
to PA or something,

lay down some sort
of formal apology

before this whole thing
goes thermo-nuclear.

Sweetheart, it's me.
Yeah, listen. I want...

Can you believe someone actually
sat up all night creating that?

I mean, you've got to give them credit.
PHONE RINGS

Yeah, hello?

Oh, hi.

Listen, I am so sorry you
didn't get my text last night.

It's just I had this amazing
last-minute thing come up

and I had to dash off again,
after you'd come in specially.

'It was a bit of an
odd night in the end...'

I wound up with this guy I
met at a bus stop, who was...

Well, not all I thought he'd be, and...

Oh, God, really?

No, you want to be careful,

there are some serious wack-
jobs knocking about this town.

You could come a right cropper.

'Anyway, what I wanted
to talk to you about,'

what took me to your
website, it's like,

all that stuff I told
you on the phone,

about this woman and the doctor,

is starting to really freak
me out now, cos...

The other day, right,

I was outside, near the wood shed.

I tell you, Joey, something's
going on in this house.

Something frightening.

'Like a treasure map or something.'

And this was hidden away
in the desk in his study?

Which she obviously
didn't want me to see.

It doesn't take a genius
to work out, does it?

Someone's got it in for
you round here, big time.

Dumbwoman's Lane?

Can't be many of them around.

Intriguing.

And there was no sign of
the soil being turned over

or anything being
dug up or buried?

In which case, what the
hell was she up to?

I've been racking my brains.

Sounds as if you've got yourself a
real little House of Mysteries there,

with this, what's it called,
Green Lanterns place?

Should keep you busy
for an hour or two.

Hang on, what's that strange
smacking noise I can hear?

Couldn't be the sound
of you licking your lips

at the prospect of getting
stuck into a case like this?

I had a dog like that once.

Made you feel so guilty
if you didn't keep

throwing this rubber ball
at him all the while.

My trouble, I'm too good-
natured for my own good.

Is that right?

Though I don't suppose
Emily'd have a problem

if I brought in an office
junior as a sounding board.

Oh, really. Well, you can just...

Emily?

Do you know, it's a bit old
hat this, don't you reckon,

flying round the stage as a fairy?

What if I was, I don't know, like a
little imp or something, all in red.

And he could be dressed as
maybe a wizard or something,

like in that Mickey Mouse film.

Might run it past him,
see what he thinks.

So, so when you were
going to meet someone

the other night, and
then couldn't make it...

Sorry?

Yes, I might have a bit of
repair work to do there,

by the sound of things...

Oh dear.

How extremely unfortunate.

Oh, what've you found this time.

Hi, my name's Adam Klaus,

and I just want to take a moment
before I go onstage...

What on earth possessed him to
record it in his dressing room?

...do what I love doing most of all,

entertaining people of
all races and creeds,

to register a big, heartfelt apology
for what I now realise was a stupid

and unguarded remark on my
recent trip for Magic Relief.

Anyone who really knows me,
knows my stance on the issue

of race relations could
not be more positive...

You can kind of see where
it's going, I think...

It was the legendary
Stevie Wonder who said

"Ebony and Ivory"

"live together in peaceful harmony."

Man, I'm playing that piano.

So, this would be...?

Fairly simple colour key.

Amazing.

Oh, God. No!

Ow! Ow!

KNOCKING
Emily? Emily, are you okay in there?

What's the matter?

Oh, you poor thing.

- Shh, it's all right.It's all right.

- It's all right.
- It was so real...

- It's all right.
- I was so frightened...

Mr. Dore,

is everything all right?
I heard such screams.

No, it's okay. It's okay.

A bulb must have blown,
I think, that's all.

This is really embarassing.

Just watch where you're treading,
there's glass everywhere.

Do you want to go and reset
the fuses? Everything's fine.

I'm so sorry. It was just
that picture on the wall

frightened me half to death.

- I just...
- Really?

What about the picture?

Well, it was...

I don't know now.

Maybe I just...

Okay. Look, Harriet,
she's probably just tired.

Come on, why don't we leave
you in peace, sleep it off?

One second. What do we have here?

What am I supposed to make of this?

Morning. I think you've
already met this person.

Emily, feel free to
tell me to bugger off.

Obviously, you're going
to be a mass of nerves.

Who wouldn't, with all the madness
that's going on around here?

Insecurities can play havoc
with your mental health,

as I unfortunately
managed to demonstrate,

not very thoughtfully,
the other night.

What he's trying to say is he's
such an anally fixated big-head,

he thought the only
reason you wanted him

was for his world-famous
powers of deduction.

As opposed to his charming
personality and animal magnetism.

But look, come on,
you've got to hang in here

and not just go imagining this woman's
somehow taken over your mind,

making you write those
weird notes and whatever.

That's just horror story time,
it's not real.

Sometimes I think...
my whole life is a horror story.

That house that just disappeared.

The man in the grass.

It's like...

maybe I can see things sometimes

that aren't there any more.

You know, the mystery
of the vanishing cottage

may be the least challenging
of this whole puzzle.

And when you stop and think
about it, the man in the grass

would be part of the only
explanation that could possibly fit.

It's a bit of a flyer,

but the real clue to
what you saw that night

will almost certainly
be the weather.

Excuse me, I'm very sorry to interrupt.
Jonathan Creek, is it?

- I'm Harriet.
- Joey Ross.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to
steal your friend away for a while.

Top guest room, if you would,
Emily, in five minutes.

Some of that bed linen from the
other day really won't do, I'm afraid.

No, no, you jest. How could I object
to a visit from Jonathan Creek?

I mean, we plough a
similar furrow, don't we?

- I plot them, you solve them.
- Murders.

I've not long been
back here, of course.

The family home,
this where we all grew up.

My brother and I, well it
seems like ancient history now.

Till I took off overseas, earned a crust
or two, and then a couple of years ago,

fresh marriage, fresh start,

something seemed to
just beckon me back.

The lingering air perhaps,
of Victorian mystery.

You'll be familiar, I imagine,
with the nuts and bolts of the case?

An absolute classic of
its kind, by all accounts.

Victim remotely positioned,
under constant observation,

succumbs to his fate at a
time precisely predicted.

The cause of his death never
resolved from that day to this.

Unsurprisingly, this Egyptian
femme fatale character

was not slow, after that,

to exploit her celebrity status.

I've ransacked her personal
account of those years for

some sort of clue,
how she did it, but...

Em, yes, riveting as all this is, of
course, to students of ancient history,

there's a small matter of
unexplained death threats

which I don't know if anyone's taking
very seriously around here, but...

No, no, no, it's most alarming,
particularly the one last night.

First of all, who could
have put it there?

And more to the point,
what the hell does it mean?

"Beware the approach of Isis."

Isis being?

An ancient Egyptian deity,
fertility goddess if I remember.

Or a part of the River
Thames in Oxfordshire

depending on your preference.

Picked up some interesting pieces
then, Mr. Dore, on your travels.

Except for that one, funnily enough.

Discovered one day here in the attic.

It seems to date right
back to the earliest owner.

Some sort of primitive
reed instrument apparently.

Look, I'm going to have to
love you and leave you for now.

One or two calls to make, so
hopefully catch up with you later.

An Ellison Starberth Mystery.

You ever read any of these?

I'm afraid I have.

What?

No, it's just,

the way the dust in here's
been disturbed, I'd say this has

been very recently removed,
and then put back again.

So who's doing it?

Dodgy death threats
and phoney photographs.

You've only got a choice of three.

Or four, if we count the spirit of our
Victorian witch, whatever she was,

who appears able to
re-materialise in a pile of logs.

Ah, now, I've got a pretty
good idea how that was done.

Father Alberic, how are you today?

I'm a bit earlier than I said, Mrs.
Gantry, I hope it's not inconvenient.

Now, you'll correct me if I'm
wrong here, I've no doubt,

but was there not a very
old magic trick once

where you had this big sheet of glass
on the stage, tipped over at an angle,

and then some bod in the orchestra
pit, who'd be reflected upwards,

to look all kind of
eerie and translucent.

Pepper's Ghost.
First patented February 1863.

Which means all they'd have to do
would be to prop up their glass here

and then your ghostly actor,

probably just with this woman's photo
stuck on their face or something,

would just take up position down below,
underneath the open trapdoor.

HE SNEEZES

I should never make the
mistake of stroking a long-hair,

they always set me off.

I'm sorry about that.

He'll settle down now,
over there by the bird table.

Can I get you an antihistamine or...

I won't risk it with
the blood-thinners.

Heaven knows, I'm a walking
dispensary these days, Mrs. Gantry.

They think there might
be an early malignancy

knocking about in there somewhere.

But apart from that, you're well?

You're not going to do anything
silly with that trap-door?

I know, but we don't want....

I suppose you're going to
say this is all my fault?

Yes!

I mean, she comes
in here every day,

at six, I think it is,

so it's not like we'll be
stuck down here forever.

Oh, just the 5½ hours then,

imprisoned in an
airless dungeon beneath

half a hundredweight of tree stumps.

Why we both had to come down in the
first place, I'm not entirely sure!

Well, so we could check
out that theory,

see if there was a sheet
of glass that they...

Fortunately, I like nothing better
when trapped in a coal-hole,

than to curl up with a good book.

Might just help me to
forget about the fact that...

Yes, all right.

I know what you're going to say, so
there's no need to say it, thank you.

What was I going to say?

I know exactly what
you were going to say.

You don't need to make
things worse by saying it.

We should never have had
those two cups of coffee.

Just shut up and read!

It was cos it was linen,
it was kind of hard to do.

Is that one okay, though?
I'm not sure.

No. And if I could just
see this one. Same problem.

So you've recently acquired
a new helper, I hear?

That'll all end in tears,
the way things are going.

And why he thinks I can't
manage on my own any more?

I'm as fit as I ever
was, Father Alberic.

Fit enough, I hope, to come and buff up
my pews next Saturday at the usual time.

All right, I am now
officially very bored.

And very uncomfortable.
These cement bags are like rock.

- Yes?
- I didn't say anything.

Well, would you mind saying something,
before I go completely stir-crazy?

What's that book told you so far?

So far, the victim was one
Dr. Thadeus Northcote,

prominent neuro-surgeon
and known associate of

the eminent Victorian
scientist Francis Galton,

himself a close friend
of Charles Darwin.

Skipping the prologue?
Significant facts?

I don't know.

There's a whole bunch of photos in there
which may or may not tell us something.

The thing that keeps bugging me is this
business of the blood-curdling scream.

The fact that she screamed
and then he collapsed.

According to her, because the
vision of Death approaching

struck terror into her heart.

It's clearly bollocks.

It's almost as if...

No. What is very persuasive
is his theory that she

couldn't resist the idea of leaving
some kind of cryptic hint behind,

somewhere in the book,
about how she pulled it off.

It may be nothing, but if you look at
that dedication she's put in the front.

"With thanks to HCN,
none but we may know."

And Northcote's wife
was named Helen.

What, you think the two women
might've been in cahoots somehow?

I don't know. What I do know is

I'm absolutely going to burst
in a minute if I don't...

Hang on a sec.

Light!

Oh, I don't believe this,
what are the chances?!

That's the very thing!

Cement bags indeed.

You know what you've
got here, don't you?

Do I? What?

Oh, you are jok...
Cat litter?

However long's this been here?

Thank you, God.

You're not seriously
going to use that?

"All-natural, instant-
clumping clay formula."

Just hold that steady, is all I ask.

Try not to wobble.

I think we're running a bit
dry here, Mrs. Gantry.

Any chance of a top-up?

Won't be two seconds.

So you're managing to get some
down time, I hope, Father.

Oh, yes.

Still hanging in with
the old carpentry?

I always say if I have a vice,

it's to be screwed on
the edge of a bench.

And that's got me into trouble
on more than one occasion.

Better?

You sure you don't want to...?

Much better, thank you.

There's plenty more there,
if you should feel the need.

So how long's that coffee
had to percolate now?

A good 2½ hour...

Oh God, no.

- "Beware the approach of Isis."
- What?

That just took me back to
when we were in the kitchen.

Because what did that first note say?

"In three days you will be dead."

Isis.

I think I know now what it means.

And it's not a river,
it's not an ancient Goddess.

Well, what does it mean?

What it means, I've
got a horrible feeling,

is that Harriet Dore has only
got a minute left to live.

Thank you. Whoops.

A drop more, Mr. Dore?

What are you doing?

Have you gone completely insane?!

Get, get your hands off me!
Get away from me!

Dear God above.

- Mrs. Dore!
- You're mad!

Help me!

Help me, somebody, help me!

This isn't happening.
Oh my God!

No! No!

Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
Oh, my God!

- Father, can you manage?
- Yes, yes.

Stay with me, my darling.

Oh, my God.

All right, my darling.

Mr. Dore, may God
have mercy on us!

For God's sake, call for
a doctor, an ambulance!

- Yes, yes. Absolutely.
- Oh, my precious...

In the name of God, who did this?

I couldn't stop her.

She dragged me across the room,

grabbed me by the
throat and pushed me.

No!

I wasn't even there!

I'd just gone round to
put out the bins out,

ready for the...

Oh, God!

She did it.

Emily!

She murdered me.

For God's sake, just get her up.

And for God's sake, just leave us!

Officer, the young girl, she
can't have gone far. Find her!

Help! Is there anyone out there?!

HIGH-PITCHED NOISE

They had one of those, like,
police shrinks in here this morning.

Reckons I'm distorting
things in my mind,

blocking out what happened,
cos I can't bear to face it.

What do you think, Jonathan?

You believe I killed her?

I think that's what someone
wants us to believe.

And they've gone to a
hell of a lot of trouble

to put this case together
very convincingly.

Somehow, we've got
to prise it apart.

That is not impossible.

The weirdest things sometimes, that
don't add up, once they're explained...

That cottage you saw and then
didn't see, we've had a thought.

Never mind how unlikely the thought,
just run with the sheer, cold analysis.

A building cannot disappear.

It can't even seem to disappear.

But what looks like a building,
that can seem to disappear,

that could have been placed in that field
deliberately, in the middle of nowhere,

for a purpose that's unlikely
to occur to any of us.

These days, probably, no-one'd go
to the trouble of building the facade

of a fairytale cottage on location for
a scene in a movie now long forgotten,

pending the arrival of a
film unit in a few days' time.

When you first spotted it, during a lull
in the wind, the illusion's complete.

A second later, our "night
watchman" character,

there to keep an eye on the site

takes a nasty tumble.

One of those things, I suppose.

We'll never know now, will we?

But it does just show that you...

No, I don't suppose we ever will.

We are all of us unique
and blessed before God,

and the tragedy of any
loss touches us all.

But while Harriet Dore
today is no longer flesh,

her spirit, I know,
walks among us still.

Quite a fair turn-out then,
you'd say, on the day.

Considering she was hardly famous
outside her publishing circles.

I doubt there's anyone round here
would have known her from a bar of soap.

But how prophetic were
your words, Mrs. Gantry.

"It'll all end in tears." Yes.

Oh, excuse me for a moment.

So you'll be staying on,
will you, at the house?

Of course, he's talking
now about selling up

and going back to
the Far East to live.

So much to come to terms with.

And with this latest development,
one wonders if he'll ever get over it.

- Latest development?
- Oh, you haven't heard?

The coroner's report has been
knocking around for days.

Though if you want my opinion,
it was definitely news to him.

At the time of her murder, Harriet
Dore was eight weeks pregnant.

Morning! I was just trying it for size

and I seem to have broadened
out a bit around the gills.

Sorry to disturb you.
You need a hand?

It may seem macabre, but I always
say, if you want a job doing...

And listen, I must tell you, Miss Ross,
I'm such a devotee of your work.

The way you put that case to bed last
year, the painting in the haunted attic.

Master-class in ratiocination.

I think some of these screws
will have to come out.

Right, of course.

Well, if your Dr. Watson chappie
is acquainted with drills...

Intimately.

No, just so we've got it right, Father,
order of events that day.

You were all sitting
there at the table,

you heard all these noises,

and then you actually saw her
pushed out of the window?

It's a dreadful business, to be sure.

And so Emily was the only other
person around the house that day?

No way that looks good, does it?
DUCKS QUACKING

That's my personal copy.

Well thumbed, of course.

Like yourselves, I find
these things quite addictive.

Oh, and something interesting
I found out the other day.

Helen Northcote's middle
name was Catherine.

That's not in the book, of course.

Oh, really? But it pretty
much nails it then?

HCN? And if you're looking for
a weapon that could kill a man

in the middle of a lawn
without being seen or heard,

how about that blowpipe,
we saw in his study?

What's-her-face screams,

so he turns his head and gets
it in the neck from the wife.

Excellent! You have the
mind of a true logician.

Though sadly, my dear, that object
in the glass case is no blowpipe.

Far too short.

And there were no puncture marks or
poison darts anywhere on the body.

Also, I'm afraid, it was
Katherine spelt with a K.

Still, very interesting that you
bring it up, because when I was

there last week, discussing
the funeral arrangements...

I happened to notice that
pipe was no longer there.

It was an odd meeting, because
he seemed to be suddenly

burdened with the issue of man's
accountability for his sins.

And the strangest request,

he asked if he might come to the
church and undergo confession.

At which point, I'm afraid I had
to leave, when the cat came in.

Very low tolerance, you
see, to our feline friends.

And once the nasal
cavities start opening up...

- And so, did he?
- Did he what?

Come to you for confession.

Oh, yes. The very next morning.

I can't tell you, obviously,
what he said to me.

Confidentiality of the box.

That as well, but mainly
because I fell asleep.

Most dreadful lapse on my part.

All the drugs one has to take
at my age, I'm afraid it's just...

PHONE RINGS

Sounds like me.
It must've dropped out.

Oh, it's gone dead.

Oh, well, they'll call back.

Oh, that's interesting.

The Judas tree.

Come again? You recognise that?

Oh, yes. Cercis siliquastrum.

Always seemed a misnomer
for such a lovely specimen.

But according to legend, of course,

this was the tree from which
Judas Iscariot hanged himself

after betraying Our Lord.

Was there any reason,
would you say, Mrs. Gantry,

why Miss Somerton would want
the deceased out of the way?

Let me rephrase that. Was there any
suggestion that she might have had

designs of her own on her employer?

I can't really recall.

Well, let me refresh your memory.

Was there an incident
recently, in the night,

when you had occasion to
visit the accused's bedroom

when a light fused?

Well, yes.

And can you describe for us

exactly what you saw when
you reached the room?

Mr. Dore was there,

and Miss Somerton, the accused,

had her arms around him

and her head on his shoulder.

She had...

only her underwear on.

She was squeezing him very tightly.

I couldn't hear what she was saying.

Well, no. I...

I saw no-one push her exactly.

But you heard sounds of a
violent struggle going on,

and your wife screaming
at someone.

Yes.

We've heard that the shred
of cloth that was in her hand,

it has now been confirmed,
was torn from the accused's dress.

And before she died, Mr. Alberic,

can you tell us as precisely
as your memory will allow,

what were her last words?

She said, "She did it."

"Emily. She murdered me."

I'd be a lot closer to
cracking this thing

if I knew what it was
I was trying to crack.

Obviously, a major fit-up, but I
don't fancy her chances with that jury.

I don't know. Have you
noticed there's a lot of

dodgy echoes of
creepy movies here?

Gaslight and The
Shining spring to mind.

And you wouldn't say the
novels of Hugo Dore

were always noted for
their original plotlines.

All right, so he's found out his
wife's been playing around.

Decides to bump her off,
but make it look like

the work of his amorous
young housekeeper.

He knows she still having
nightmares about some

weird experience that
happened 20 years ago,

so he uses that back story
about our Victorian friend

to try and spook her into
believing she actually did it.

- Question.
- Mmm?

What are we doing in this place?

The owners are in New
Zealand, didn't she say?

The whole thing happened weeks ago.

But a bit of re-staging
and elucidating

can sometimes just
help to focus the mind.

Okay, so you're coming
up the stairs like she did.

From inside the bathroom you hear...

I push open the door

and go to the basin.

So whoever it was just tucked
themselves in behind the door

while her back was turned, and then
slipped out again while she was...

So that's no big deal.

The only problem being, how could
they possibly know she was going

to come here in the first place,
to set up a stunt like that?

Well, fairly obviously, they couldn't.

Which can only mean there's
something else going on in this house

that we've yet to get to the bottom of.

Okay. More aimless foraging, I think.
You want to take upstairs?

I'll go down.

LATCH CLICKS

DOOR SHUTS

All clear out here now,
when you're ready.

IN VASE: Yeah, actually, I
might need a bit of a hand.

What do we suppose
he came up here for?

Hold on, I think I've got cramp
or something, in my knee.

Makes sense, I suppose, he'd use this
place for anything he wanted to hide.

Hello? Can you hear me out there?

I'm jammed solid! Hello?!

Ah! Aha!

Hidden, we can only assume,

to prevent its true function
from becoming apparent.

- Jonathan! Awhh!
- Fascinating.

And at this stage, of course,
the purest hypothesis,

but it would certainly all
slot together very neatly.

The scream in the garden,

the light bulb that blew in
her room that night and...

...HCN. I mean,
is that obvious or what?

We could have Googled
it and got there quicker.

Jonathan, can I possibly
have your attention?!

- I am seriously stuck in here!
- Yes, hang on a sec.

And short of a ruddy Caesarean...

What the hell have you
got yourself into?

I didn't have any choice, did
I, with the doors all locked.

Just pull.

I'm going to have to put it on its side.

Ah, God, that's not
helping one little bit.

Ah, careful!

Pulling me arm out of it's socket.
How is this going to work?

Rocking about all over the place.

My bloody shoulder.
What's happening?

Whoa, oh, ah!

Oh, ow, ow! Ah ah ah! Oh, oh, aah!

SHE COUGHS

Hopefully it was insured.

Oh, give me some good news.

What was all that up there about
screams and gardens and light bulbs?

"Significant facts," was it, you said?

And what did I say about
our Victorian Dr. Northcote?

That he was a close friend of
the scientist, Sir Francis Galton,

who, among his many
varied achievements,

is widely credited as the
inventor of the dog whistle.

120 years ago, thereabouts,

a previous housekeeper
at Green Lanterns

famously put a curse on her
employer that caused him to die,

apparently without any
physical explanation.

To an impressionable mind, the idea of
that malign presence still in the house,

somehow controlling her actions,
was fairly terrifying,

and may have had a direct bearing on
the run-up to Harriet Dore's death.

The mechanics of that first
crime, from all the evidence,

were pretty daunting.

A healthy man with a healthy
heart, in the middle of a lawn,

suddenly keels over and dies.

No marks or wounds were detected,

no food or drink that could
have been poisoned,

no possible trigger that could have
caused his death at exactly 3.15,

the moment it was predicted,

just a high-pitched, blood-curdling
scream that came from the bushes.

No significance to that,
fairly obviously.

Unless that scream
was not a reaction...

...but the instrument
of murder itself.

A scream that set in motion
something so lethal

that it could kill within seconds,
and then disappear,

quite literally, into thin air.

Hydrogen cyanide,

HCN,

could be pumped into a
small airtight container...

...and then sealed with a piece of glass
known to shatter at a certain frequency.

SHE SCREAMS

Fair to say you'd need specialist skills
to put something like that together,

but I think we can assume
that she had the contacts,

and that her powers of
persuasion were well up to it.

But where do we think the inspiration
for something like that would come from?

A prototype ultrasonic whistle,

known to be in Northcote's
possession at the time.

Too weak, certainly, to crack
a watch at that distance,

but used on a custom-
made replica light bulb,

just outside a bedroom door...

Lights are geared to go off all
over the house, and in the dark,

the picture's easily switched back.

That creepy photo

and the forged letters...

...and the apparition
in the woodshed,

from the moment she
arrived in the house,

were all part of an
orchestrated campaign

to make Emily Somerton feel and
look like a woman out of control,

who was capable of murder.

INAUDIBLE

Let me just see if I have
this correct, Mr. Creek.

Mr. Dore, as a calculated
ploy to frame the accused,

has deliberately orchestrated
all the events you describe,

and then pushed his own
wife out of the window.

How exactly, when he
was sitting at a table

on the far side of the garden
with two independent witnesses?

It wouldn't be the first case of this
kind where an accomplice was involved.

An accomplice who appears to have borne

a miraculous resemblance to Miss
Somerton, according to the deceased.

From her position in the room,

the way the light's coming
in through that other window,

she'd have been virtually in silhouette.

Bearing in mind all the death threats,

the victim's already primed
for her to try something.

The fact that it was
all over in seconds,

Harriet Dore saw exactly
what she expected to see.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,
have you now reached a verdict?

We have.

- Is it a unanimous verdict?
- It is.

On the charge of murdering Harriet
Dore, do you find the defendant,

Emily Anne Somerton,
guilty or not guilty?

Guilty.

"As she was led
away to the cells,"

"with a look of barely
disguised resignation,"

"and many long years
to reflect on her crime,"

"the defence team must have
pondered the wisdom of fielding"

"as their star witness the self-styled
'magic sleuth', Jonathan Creek,"

"whose ludicrous musings and
utterly improbable reasoning"

"would have stretched any jury's
credulity to breaking point."

The thing is, they're right.

All that guff I cobbled together
about an accomplice in silhouette

"seeing what she expected to see",

doesn't get near to explaining
what happened that day.

And the more you turn it all over,
the more you realise that Hugo Dore

was a whole lot smarter
than we gave him credit for.

To kill someone in such a way...

that the victim is going to accuse the
wrong person seconds before they die,

bordering on psychopathic genius.

Of course, there is
one other possibility,

which we both know is
staring us in the face.

You know what I'm saying, Jonathan.

Cos I know what it is

to believe in someone that much, to
build your whole future on someone,

because it's something you know
and feel, deep down, is right,

with every instinct you ever trusted.

And, you know, that
is absolutely the way,

the true and perfect way,

to get shat upon from a great height.

I know.

I know you know.

And it makes no difference, does it?

None whatsoever.

So, which of the many drawing
boards you want to go back to?

I suppose it's a lot to hope for, it's
suddenly going to just fall into place.

Except somewhere here is the
key to how it was all worked.

You just hope for some slight glimmer.

Teaspoon?

Where he dropped his
cup when it happened.

'Course...

- Cos he's allergic to cats.
- Excuse me?

Cos they never made it
clear, did they, in court,

which table they were sitting at.

But if the cat was over
there, with the birds,

the only one they could
have been sitting at...

Amazing.

It's only when you're actually here,
you can see it,

the solution to the whole trick.

Pretty much explains, I think, who was
washing their hands in that bathroom.

OWL HOOTS

Darling, I'm afraid we've got company.

Actually, we were just passing.

So, I wonder what you've got to say
about all this now then, Jonathan?

What would Ellison
Starberth say at this point?

We know that between you,
you've pulled off as cynical

and staggering a deception
as I've ever come across,

in order to incriminate an
innocent young woman.

Convincing us all that you'd
fallen to your death that day,

impaled on a set of metal spikes.

Just a bit impressive.

Although we're still quite
curious, it has to be said,

what it is keeps bringing
you back to this place,

to the Judas Tree.

An unnaturally deep concern,
it would seem, for its welfare.

If it weren't for the location,

I'd almost be prepared to guess
it was one of you that planted it.

You're angling for
the truth, Jonathan.

I wonder if you've got
the stomach for it?

- Go on.
- Look, we don't have to play this game.

Let them work for it,
they're so bloody smart.

Oh God, I just got that shiver.

This is like when people lay
flowers at the side of the road.

Something happened here.

Something horrible.

Someone close to you?

It's the strangest thing, you know?

Growing up with an older brother,

who's younger than you.

Strange, but constantly fulfilling.

Today we call these people "special".

Well, Danny was certainly that.

A child at 27,

born into a world he couldn't
possibly hope to understand.

Stop! Stop!
Stop, please. stop the car!

Stop! Stop the car!

Please, get out! I don't know
what to do. Can you help us?

There you go. Thank you so much.
She's just there.

Straight ahead.

It's my ankle.

Shit!
SHE SCREAMS

DULL THUD

He survived...

just long enough to paint the picture.

Of course, when they finally picked
them up, and took it to court,

two sweet young girls,

forced to defend themselves against
a man of proven mental inadequacy.

Of course all the
evidence went their way.

Not guilty.
SHE EXCLAIMS

But you got past it.

For 20 years,

left the country, changed your
name when your career took off.

It's only since you got back,

something,

or someone, persuaded you it
was time to settle that score.

It's not very fashionable, but...

sometimes I think you have to
meet brutality with brutality.

So what happened?

You tracked them both down?

Decided they were going to
pay for what they'd done,

one with a jail sentence,

the other with her life.

Echoes of movies should really
have got me there sooner.

Cos the way you did it was
straight off a film set, wasn't it?

Only instead of using
a stunt performer,

who might just pass
muster in the wide shot,

you did something quite barbaric.

Okay.

As Emily leaves the bedroom,

your two independent witnesses are
already taking up their positions,

in the one part of the garden
where the illusion will work.

So at 3.15, as per your
cryptic death threat...

Have you gone completely insane?!
Get, get your hands off!

Ah, help me!

Help me, somebody!

SHE SCREAMS

A matter of seconds, you're
downstairs, behind the gate.

By the time the other two get there,
the switch has been made.

So seamlessly no-one suspects a thing.

And, of course, you'd already been at
that fringe on her dress beforehand.

After they've gone, you
make the switch back.

Police, paramedics, undertakers,

all take the whole
thing at face value.

You've identified the body.

And as we heard the other week,

no-one round here knows
Harriet Dore from a bar of soap.

When Emily took cover in that house,

she couldn't have known how
close she was to the truth.

So that was the perfect hidey-hole for
a week or two, till things blew over?

And since then, what?

A hotel room somewhere,

sitting it out till a few months' time,
you'd be back together, overseas.

That wooden pipe, it turned out,

wasn't that much of a clue
in the scheme of things.

If you hadn't made such a
big deal about hiding it.

The curse of a crime writer,
exploiting all those parallels.

Just seemed to knit it all together.

And that mess in the hall, I
take it, was your handiwork...

...the day I went back for
those reading glasses.

It never flowered, you see,

that was always the beauty of it.

Splendid pink blossom

in early spring.

So what now?

If this were a detective novel...

You'd hang yourself from one of
the branches, cloaked with shame,

I'd turn myself in and
your friend would go free.

The real world, sadly, is
not so neatly structured.

They didn't believe
your story last time,

you think they'll
believe this one?

All right, her condition,
we had no idea about.

Would it have made a
difference? I don't know.

I do know it was a lunatic idea coming
out here in the first place tonight.

Can I suggest, sweetheart,

whatever we need to discuss
at this stage of the game,

we discuss another
time, another place?

Of course. But, of course, when I
got your text, it seemed so urgent...

My text? Hang on, it was you...

Oh, I can't believe it...

This was a setup?

Don't look at us.

Then, who?

I suppose it was a betrayal of
trust and confidence, in a sense,

but when he found out, you see,

an innocent life had been lost in
that whole gruesome business...

...that's when he felt the
need to declare his crime.

INDISTINCT

SNORING

And then my dilemma,
of course, was no less.

That information was sacred,
and not for me to pass on.

But... when I spotted you out
there last night in the garden,

it did occur to me.

A couple of urgent text messages
would bring them and us together.

But as you say, it does all
feel rather final somehow.

The hand of God, do we think,

balancing our lives?

Our sins are never forgotten.

Our punishments,

merely deferred.

DOOR LOCKED

Oh.

- Oh, dear.
- Bad news?

It's from Mr. Carswell,
deacon at St. Patrick's.

Father Alberic.

They found him two nights ago.

He'd apparently made a DVD.

'We are all of us unique
and blessed before God'

'and the tragedy of any
loss touches us all.'

'But while I am, today,
no longer flesh,'

'my spirit, I know,
walks among you still.'

As he said, if you want a job doing.

'It's a well-worn phrase,
the Lord took him too early.'

'But you know, I've had
a long and fulfilling life'

'in the service of our saviour.'

'Even shared his
interest in woodwork.'

'An example of my efforts,
as a matter of fact...'

Now I know I speak for most
people here when I say

I'm sick and tired of being lectured
to by white middle class intellectuals,

about what I am and what I'm
not meant to be offended by.

Believe it or not, we don't need to be
patronised, we can think for ourselves.

And what I know about this guy

is that he's real, he's sincere,
and he's got it here.

And we're proud to have him
on the roll call tonight,

working for The
Race Against Racism,

would you please give it
up for Mr. Adam Klaus.

CHEERING
Okay, folks, let the show commence!

HE STOPS CLIP

HE STARTS CLIP

How was lunch?

Enrico Caruso could scarce
have sung its praises.

And we had a fine and fertile
discussion, did we not,

on the future course of the act.

You could say my John Dore was
drizzled with creative juices.

I don't think I'll bother.

And talking of Dores, are you
over the worst yet? Bless him.

Cos you've got to be
gutted after all that?

But listen, you know
what I've been thinking,

that police shrink she said about
might've been onto something,

when she talked about blocking
out things that have happened?

I mean, it wouldn't surprise
me if she had absolutely

no recollection of that
stuff with his brother.

Like she'd airbrushed it all out of
her head, the court case, everything.

You read about all that bollocks,
like a kind of denial.

And yet she remembered
the man in the grass.

Well, selective maybe.

Who knows?
Anyway, I'll just be a sec.

So listen, last night's gig.
Did you log on yet.

See whether we made it in
one piece on to YouTube?

Er ya, yes. Certainly on there.
It's very much as you'd expect.

Well, let me see.

Right.

There's one version.

Oh, what have we here?

Uh, yes, I think someone
did also post something...

different.

What they've done there,
it's quite interesting actually.

Used these straight lines up here...

Like the diagonals on the hat.

Basic reference points.

To make it easier to matte in the
Klansman's hood over my face.

Exactly.
HE STOPS PLAYBACK

Isn't that interesting?

Now, I just have to remind myself,
whose idea was it to stage this

whole routine dressed as a
"grand wizard" in the first place?

Cos I know it wasn't you.

Oh!

- That's a coincidence.
- What?

Just coming up to 3.15.

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