All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek - 05x01 - The Letters of Septimus Noone.DVDRip-RB58.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

My God, who did this thing?!

Mathilde, speak to me!

♪ In the darkness, scarce I saw him

♪ Man or beast, I could not tell

♪ Soft his shadow fell before him

♪ Apparition born in Hell

♪ Ghostly, ghastly, through the gloom

♪ He struck me down upon the stair

♪ Then a black abyss consumed me

♪ When I woke he was not there

♪ He had vanished in the air... ♪

But how could he have escaped

through a locked door
and a barred window?!

It's impossible!

♪ What evil creature of the night

♪ Was here and then took flight?

♪ What phantom in this
chamber yet may hide?

♪ What demon in his dark
domain may yet remain?

♪ What secrets in the
Yellow Room reside? ♪

So, how did that work
for you, then, tactically?

You might know the man would
try and bite you in the neck.

I might know he'd try and
bite me in the neck? No!

Do we have to assume that everyone
in the theatre's a vampire now, do we?

Hi, Polly and Jonathan
Creek, MMP Marketing.

We're here to see
Zelda Niedlespascher.

Sixty quid a throw, you
expect a little decorum.

I'd hate to see where they try
and bite you in the cheap seats.

Can't you ever turn a blind
eye to these things?

It may not be our biggest account,
but very high profile,

and it'll be great to get
their creative input

on the rebranding
strategy for next year.

Yeah, well, The Mystery
of the Yellow Room?

I'm sorry, Gaston Leroux?

Only happens to be one
of THE benchmark novels

of impossible crime fiction.

Whereas THAT was just two and a half
hours of complete and utter tos...

- Ow!
- Polly and Jonathan, hello!

Hello!

Oh, mon Dieu, quel dommage!

Mais, qu'est-ce qui s'est passe?

On va au theatre, c'est comme
la Bataille de la Somme.

I know, I know, you
don't have to say it.

My whole interpretation
in the gondola scene,

it lacked phrasing, it lacked
modulation, it lacked intensity.

It also lacked the gondola.
Did you notice?

Three nights now, Zelda, we have to
walk on water because the man in

the wings with his toy boats can't
pull a screwdriver out of his arse!

- What's going on?
- Yes, yes, we fix in the morning, okay?

10:30, all the technicals.

And I cast these people!

A leading lady with no confidence,
a leading man with no patience.

You want some true insights
for your campaign?

You should come back tomorrow
and witness the chaos.

Yes, well, tomorrow, sadly,
we're out of town, aren't we?

Sunday lunch at Sharon's with
their little eight-year-old?

Promised to go and say
hello to the new pony.

Or had you forgotten?

No, no, no. I hadn't forgotten.

Hey, Angus.

- You all right?
- Oh, I've got some post for you.

Thank you. Night-night, sweetie.

Was it a late one?

Sorry.

How was your day?

You all right?

Stop it. Stop it!

Stop it, get off me! Get off!

What, what?
For God's sake, what's wrong?

What's wrong is that I'm
not here any more, am I?

- It's just you and her!
- You're wrong.

It's a sickness, Angus, what's going
on with that woman in your head.

And I swear to God, you are
going to have to deal with it,

because I'm sorry, I can't!

No, well, listen,
it works for Roger.

I mean, an hour on the train
each day, but what's that?

When you were born and brought
up in the country, it's just...

Cos obviously we've only just
started looking around, but no,

definitely feeling the time's
right now to make the move.

Anyway, listen. It's meant the world
to her today, you coming over.

Especially after that
big upset this week,

which, I have to say,
she's taken amazingly well.

Upset?

Yeah. Last Tuesday was awful.

Her imaginary friend died.

They were out together
playing in the garden,

and this dragon came down and
just completely burnt her alive,

there on the spot,
with its fiery breath.

I mean, horrible, right?

All that oozing skin, and eyes
melting in their sockets?

But listen, did I tell you?

Ridley's going to be joining
us for dinner tonight.

Managed to sneak the
weekend off from uni.

Cos you know he's been doing this
module in advanced criminology?

I tell you, it's like this genius talent
he's got for working things out

from the tiniest details
and scraps of evidence.

Of course, that's his big dream,
is a career in forensic detection,

so, obviously, you know, he's
desperate to talk to your husband

- about how to...
- Yeah, Jonathan's not a detective.

No, no. But all those
weird cases he's solved.

Yeah, are the very thing we're
trying to put behind us, Sharon.

You know, it would be nice to live
in the real world now if we can.

Ripley? What is it? What's happened!

He chopped the head off my pony!

Chopped the head off her pony?

What? What?

I was showing her some pictures
I took of the two of them

and I said, "I'm sorry
about that one."

"Looks like I've cut his head off."

How could you say such a thing!

Don't you even think
before you speak?

She has a very vivid imagination.

So what does she think I am now,
some sort of hit man for the Mafia?

She's only got to go in
the stable, hasn't she?

See it's still standing there.

Why would she go in the stable now,

which she presumably thinks is
swimming in horse's blood?

Ripley, it's okay, he's fine.
He's fine, I promise!

Ripley and Ridley.

No prizes for guessing what
her favourite film is.

♪ Drifting together in a daydream

♪ Floating for ever on a moonbeam

♪ Beneath a dark enchanted night

♪ Where silver stars
Bestow their light

♪ Upon the waters from above

♪ Where on an evening such as this

♪ An angel watching our first kiss

♪ Came down and taught
us how to love... ♪

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

- Oh, my God!
- For God's sake, Zelda!

It's all right, sweetheart,
it's okay.

What did I say?

I said we'd not seen the last
of that sweet and sour squid.

Just a touch of mal de mer,
you'll be fine.

It's not that, Darryl.

It's me, I'm rubbish.

The things you read now.

Apparently, I'm just this
third-rate maladroit soubrette.

Blond, bland and blind
to her own inadequacies.

Critics! It's the public
you should listen to.

Oh, that was the public.
That was in the ladies toilet upstairs.

Written on the cistern, in lipstick.

Today's fan club, tomorrow's
lynch mob. What are they like?

- Here.
- Thank you.

I tell you, there's some really
frightening people out there.

OK, first positions then,
everyone, let's start again!

- Bye, Juno.
- Bye.

You, Juno Pirelli?

I've got a present for you.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!
No, no, no, no!

No, no, no!
No! Oh, no! Oh, no!

What have you done?!

Oh, shit, oh, shit!
Jesus, what have you done?!

Get away from her! Get away!
Open that door!

It's okay.

Mmm, smells great. Lovely.

Oh, now, please, sugar,
don't do that.

That's only on trees, remember?

Come away from there.

Epitaph, for her imaginary friend?

No, just likes carving her name.

Which is all very well, but...

Come on, Ripley, think it's way
past your bedtime, so, off you go.

Ah! Here he is,
the man of the moment!

How were the trains?
You have a good journey?

Yeah, fine.

Ridley, this is Jonathan.

- Hi, Jonathan, a real pleasure.
- Me too.

- Polly, hi.
- Hello!

So, I see you're just back
from Reykjavik, both of you?

- Hope you had an enjoyable flight.
- I beg your pardon?

Reykjavik? You never said!

You see? This is what he does.

How, I have absolutely no idea.

Oh, come on, you make me sound
like some kind of sorcerer!

When, as Jonathan knows,

there's no trick to the
art of simple observation.

The abrasions round the side
of your neck, quite recent,

quite deep, and quite nasty.

Something feral at work.

If not feral, then certainly
not happy. A pet, perhaps?

Provoked or antagonised?
Or traumatised?

In your bag, a diary entry,
largely obscured, for yesterday.

A visit somewhere, to a cemetery?
A monastery? A presbytery?

The name, Zelda, a touch too exotic.
More plausibly feline.

A cattery, then, but
boarding or collecting?

Allow room for Zelda.
Where? In a car full of bags?

Returning from the airport, surely?

Why drop a cat off more than
24 hours before departure.

And a week or two in a kennel would
explain the feisty behaviour.

The watch on your wrist,
still set for a previous time zone,

is one hour behind, which leaves us
only Iceland or north-west Africa.

Yet no discernible suntans and that
faint reddening of the left eyelid.

What else but a biting Arctic wind?

So, you see.

Really very simple.

Anyway, if you'll excuse
me a sec while I just, erm...

Should I tell him it
needs a new battery?

Oh, God! Oh, my God, no!

Sharon? What is it?

You okay? What's happened?

It's my dad. He's dead.

What do you mean he's dead?

It just says,
"I'm sorry to let you know,"

"he just peacefully slipped away,
about half an hour ago."

- Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!
- Oh, Sharon, I'm so sorry.

Oh, no!

You know what?
This isn't my phone!

It must be your phone!
Oh, thank you, God!

Thank you so much!

Because I just naturally
picked it up off there and...

Oh, what a relief! I mean,
that really scared me to...

...death.

Oh, yeah, so that's, erm...

You'll...

...probably want to...

It's okay.
You're going to be okay.

Doesn't look like it's deep
at all, as far as I can tell.

It's just a flesh wound.

Thank God.

The thick coat, I think,
took the worst of it.

Why, Angus? Why?

Y-You have to try and understand...

She's in this really bad
place at the moment.

16 months.
It's not getting any better.

16 months since...?

He was barely four-weeks-old.

Emotionally, she's like...

Everything's a conspiracy,
everything's a threat.

I try and tell her it's all in her
mind, this morbid insecurity.

I didn't mean to hurt you!

Oh, God, what have I done?!

More time.

She just needs more time.

No, no, you've done a wonderful job,
Mr. Partridge, thank you.

It's just...

I think any more red in the cheeks and
we'll be getting a bit Prince Harry.

Yes. He just looks a bit...
sad, I suppose.

I suppose you would be.

We can cheer him up if you'd prefer.

Could you? Yes. Just perhaps, erm...

Oh, God.

Things hadn't been good
for some time, but...

Just seemed to go downhill so fast.

Seems like only yesterday
he was here

making arrangements
for your dear mother.

11 years.

Is it really?

And so, great big empty
house there, now.

Now what will you do, will you put
it on the market, do you think?

Oh, who knows?

Why is everything so hard?

Rigor mortis, I think you'll find.

How can a house die?

It doesn't have to.

It's whatever we put into it.

I'm sure they both
would have wanted that.

And for the life of me,
I'm still not getting this.

You won't go to the hospital,
or the police?

Bloody woman needs locking up!

She needs help!
Darryl, if you'd been there...

And all I could think was,
what would it do to me, you know?

It's like, where is the
justice in her life?

Come on, I turn up at A & E now,
with a stab wound?

It's going to be a
bit tricky to explain.

And God forbid we ever
let a jury near this.

They're the people that
write on toilet cisterns.

Well, you need to get that
looked at, young lady,

and by someone who's
handy with a needle.

I might know someone.
Meantime...

Meantime...

...you think you might
have something?

For you, my sweet, always.
I'm a magician, you know that.

When was it, you said,
last year in that Joe Orton,

a certain well-known young
actress with a Caesarean scar?

You had to come up with
this special prosthetic.

See?

You star turn!

We'll make this work, won't we?

Cos I promised him, you know?
For her.

Two minutes for the pasta.

I managed to cobble a sauce
together, of sorts. What's that?

No, just having a nose around.
Found it in one of those books.

Oh, yeah, from the local paper.

Used to keep this next to him,
just there on his desk.

Shame about the
blasted coffee ring.

Got the look of a halo.

Yeah, well. To him,
she was always a saint.

Oh, God, yes.

Ironic after yesterday.

Me with my imaginary friend.

Polly and Orez. "Oreth"?

Name my mum came up with
because she was half Spanish.

Tickled me at the time,

all those funny little Latin references
when I was growing up.

Oh, God, it was never
going to be easy, was it?

Come on, shall we...
shall we go and eat?

♪ Some mysteries our
hearts cannot conceive

♪ And when the story-teller's
tale is spun, and we are one

♪ What secrets will the
Yellow Room reveal? ♪

I'm in front of 1,500 people
back there for God's sake.

This bloody thing keeps
coming back on.

Look, it's ridiculous!

Darling, can I leave these
with you to sign?

Okay.

Some children from
my old ballet school.

Just a sec, Zelda.

They thought you were sensational
tonight! When you have the time.

Yes! Surely.

- Bye, my darling.
- Night, Zelda.

Oh, Chloe! Tu etais
parfaite ce soir...

Juno?

Are you all right in there?

Mon Dieu!

My precious one!

What in the name of God?

Someone get an ambulance
and ring for the police!

- What happened?
- She's been stabbed!

But how? No-one came
in or out of the room.

I would have seen!

We all would have seen!
There was nobody here!

The whole thing is impossible!

Why am I remembering that
Conrad Veidt silent classic,

The Man Who Laughs?

You think they might have gone too
far now, in the other direction?

Yes, I know, I know.

Oh, Jonathan. This is Hazel.

- Auntie Hazel.
- Hello.

My mum's closest friend.

Just always been around,
haven't you?

For my dad, especially
these last few weeks.

I'm so grateful.

And listen, Polly.

One word, if I may,
at this difficult time?

Hope.

You know, it's only a week since I
lost my mother who was 86, but...

Doesn't make it any easier.

And all I'm saying,
and I want you to think about this,

the end can actually
be a beginning

if you open your eyes and your
mind, to other possibilities.

What are these?

Well. You tell me, Polly,
what you see in them.

Angels, ghosts.

The spirits of departed souls who just
happen to have been caught on camera.

This one just takes
your breath away.

You see there, in the fountain?

This was my granddaughter,
Gracie, who I swear,

had no idea the angel
was behind her.

Although she does say that
she felt like a cold shiver

on the back of her neck
as she was sitting there.

Go on?

Then there was my Auntie Norma
here saying a prayer in the sky.

Okay, yes, with her
hands pressed together.

That was taken ten years
to the day after she died.

- Jonathan Creek.
- Now,

obviously, I know,
there's a lot of people

just think this is all completely
cranky, but I'm a great believer...

My God! No, that's erm...

Yeah, distinctly odd.

Hang onto those, I've got copies.

And I'm just writing you
a link now to a website,

- that just gave me so much comfort.
- Thank you.

Well, weird or what? That was Zelda.

Yellow Room producer?

Juno Pirelli, the star of the show,
is in hospital in a coma.

They found her last night
in her dressing room

after the performance,
stabbed in the stomach.

From what she's just told me...

Please don't say it.

Not a bloody impossible crime.

Ooh, now, then. Do I hear
the words work experience?

They are thinking perhaps
some kind of crazed fan

with an obsession about
the story in the show.

But in the show, of course,
we explain...

The injuries had all occurred before
the character went in the room.

Yes, but here only ten minutes
before, not a mark on her body.

I saw with my own eyes!

Morning! How are you today, Polly?

Wasn't sure if I'd
still find you here.

No, well...

We were overdue some
downtime from the office, so.

Question is, I suppose,

whether I can bear to imagine
anyone else living here.

Or whether it's fate, in a way,
that's brought us back...

You all right today, Hazel? You look
as though you've seen a ghost.

Early intimations only, but...

A crime of passion,
we can fairly assume.

A lover, very much her senior,
age 50-51, possibly 52.

A tall man. Somewhat simian
in appearance. In excess of 6'.

Disproportionately long
arms and big hands.

And, dare I venture, no mean athlete
in the bedroom department.

We know from the angle of penetration
the blade was inserted from below.

The victim's in a state of undress,

yet comfortable with her
assailant's proximity.

They were clearly embracing.

The force of the blow implies recoil.

Witness three grey hairs on the door
where the back of his head made contact.

The position gives us his height.
The colour, his age.

Very early 50s. Any older would
make the liaison improbable.

A dead wasp in the saucer,
has to be recent.

But swatted against
the wall too high up,

too far across, for all but our
elongated giant to reach.

The thickness of the magazine
he rolled up bears testament

to the girth of his grip.

His sexual prowess?

Such an ungainly man
surely had some allure.

As for his means of exit...

Of course.

She could have climbed on
a chair and used both hands?

And I've seen a grey angora sweater
hanging on that hook in there.

But then, what do we know?

Have to make a start tomorrow,
I suppose, on the dreaded clothes.

If anything's guaranteed
to finish me off...

All these people who talk about
catharsis and closure.

I know. As if grief can be just
stuffed into a black bin liner

and sent to Oxfam.

You've had a long day.

Come on.

So how did all that go this
morning, at the theatre?

Are you any the wiser
about what happened?

Oh, I dunno.

What's that about the torch being
passed to the new generation?

Think I may just be
getting very old.

Yeah, well, I wasn't going to tell
you this, but while you were there,

I had another visit
from our friend Hazel.

And if you thought those
photographs took the biscuit...

It's like she had this weird story
she absolutely swears is true.

"You remember last week
she told us her mother died?"

"86, apparently, but still
had her own house."

"And after she left here yesterday,"

"she went up to the crematorium
to collect the ashes."

"Took them back there to
scatter in the garden."

"Suddenly, her phone rings..."

"...and they go everywhere."

Oh, no!

"The phone call's from
her next door neighbour"

"to say that the cat has got out of
the house onto a busy main road,"

"so in a mad panic, she has
to dash straight out again."

"Couple of hours later she comes
back, ready to clear it all up."

"Except now they're gone."

"They've completely
vanished from the room,"

"and she's absolutely adamant
there was nobody else in the house,"

"it was all locked up and she
was the only one with a key."

"There were no windows open,
no draughts or breezes,"

"or anything that could
have got to them."

"It was like, in her words,
it was just as if..."

God must have taken her...

...to heaven.

So is that it then, do you think?

It's a terrible thing when
your mind starts to go.

And to think what a loyal
friend she was to my mum.

And such a tower of strength,
at the end, when she...

♪ Apparition born in hell

♪ Ghostly, ghastly

♪ Through the gloom... ♪

Okay, time to dive in, I suppose.

Is it me or is there something
different here?

This was her last performance,
same night as the stabbing.

Off someone's phone in the audience.

Dunno. Maybe not quite
the same passion?

Bit of an off-night, maybe.

Hmm. I'll come and give
you a hand in a bit.

No rush.

How you getting on? Okay?

What have you found?

I dunno. Looks like a note from
my mum just before she died.

Virtually unreadable.

I remember she could barely
hold a pen by that time.

"My Dearest Peter, I have just
one final heartfelt request..."

I think that is.
"Under the..."

"something, something
or other you'll find a box."

"Please, please destroy
without opening. Cathy."

"Under the thin backroom."

Bedroom, is it?

Bedroom! Bedroom...

- Flowerbed?
- Floorboard, maybe?

Er...

"Under the third bedroom
floorboard, you'll find a box."

Hello?

Oh, hi, Hazel, how are you?

This afternoon?

Erm... Well, I suppose I could.

What time?

Third bedroom floorboard.

Third floorboard, but from which end?

Or try both.

Ahh!

- Oh, my God!
- Is that you in there?

Yes!

God Almighty,
you scared me to death!

Sorry, I was just under the
third bedroom floorboard.

This is the third bedroom and
this has got to be the floorboard.

It's the only one that's not
nailed down. Fairly obviously.

Maybe he did find it, and did
exactly as she asked him to...

Hang on a sec.

What did she say? Please
destroy without opening?

Yes, bugger that.

I'm so sorry.

Not really what you wanted
on top of everything else.

Two years...

looks like this was going on.

Thank God he didn't find them.

Sounds as if it got pretty
heavy on both sides.

You imagine?

Behind his back...

for two years. I...

I can't believe it.

And Septimus?

Who the bloody hell is Septimus?
Septimus who?

Hmm.

These are all her books
in this room, I take it.

What?

God, you think you know people.

Someone you grew up
with your whole life!

And you realise you actually
never knew them at all.

Oh. I didn't hear you go out.

Yes, just up the road.

Had to get an orange, so...

Right.

For any particular
reason or just...?

No. Just when I was in that
dressing room I saw something.

Corner of my eye.
Didn't sit right.

Sometimes if you can
get back in the moment

and recreate the association,
one thing'll trigger the other.

So where is it you're going again?
You did say.

Oh, this Hazel woman.
What was that all about again?

Her mother's ashes.

She went to collect them the other
day from the crematorium

- and when she got back...
- That was it.

That was it.

- Sawjoy. On the picture.
- What?

Signature of an artist on
a big abstract painting

that was on her wall.

You have to say, that was odd.

Sawjoy? Does sound very made-up.

What's that got to do with anything?

Erm, no, the fact that it sounds
made-up is not what was odd.

Sorry, you were saying?
About Hazel.

I'll tell you when I get back.

I mean, no, when you think

I knew her probably better
than anyone, but Septimus?

No, I never heard her mention
that name before, ever.

- Septimus who?
- Well, exactly!

And it's all there, in black and white.

Stuff they got up to, you've no idea.

Talk about a shock to the system.

Anyway, look, thanks so
much for popping round.

I do appreciate it. Erm, shall we?

So, when you said on the phone about
grasping the nettle this afternoon,

what exactly did...?

Sorry, has there been a power cut?

Patience, I think, Polly,
is all that's required.

You see...

...I know she's here.

Jonathan!

Hi, is this a good moment?
It's Ridley.

Yeah. Hi, Ridley, how you doing?

Surprisingly well,
surprisingly well.

Though hobbled for
a while, I must admit,

by the ingenuity of a master
strategist in this case,

who relied upon us all accepting
the prima facie evidence

of an attack that took place within
the woman's dressing room.

Crucially, the upward
incision of the blade,

which meant the assailant had to be
standing close against the victim.

But did it?

Take the pieces of this puzzle apart.

The direction of the wound,
the copious bleeding on the floor,

and put them back together again,

and a very different
picture emerges...

...of a lithe young singer-dancer,
we know looks after her body,

and with her nightly work-out
presents the perfect inverted target

for a weapon with a
disappearing missile.

Oh!

Coolly constructed in every sense,

who would suspect a crossbow
firing a shard of frozen blood?

Designed to kill and then instantly
melt away without trace.

Okay? Yeah, er...

I see where you're coming from, Ridley.
I certainly missed that one.

Elementary, my dear Holmes.

And, based on some other research,

I've got a pretty good idea now
about the identity of the perpetrator.

Which, with everyone's indulgence,
I was planning on erm...

Holmes...

Holmes!

You know what, Hazel, I really will
need to be getting along in a minute,

- because...
- Wait!

What's that?

A presence!

You feel it, Polly?

Like a kind of faint vibration,
almost. In the air.

Oh, God, are you serious?

Actually I was thinking I might
drop by there again, so

if you were going to be
around, then maybe...

Yeah, okay.

Thanks, Zelda, bye.

Oh, hi. You were a while.

Things all seem to be hotting up,

apparently, on the Yellow
Room front, so...

Yes, well, we've cleared up one
mystery there at any rate.

An urn full of ashes, she spills
all over her mother's carpet,

went away for a couple of hours

and when she gets back,
they've just disappeared.

Without any explanation.
And do you know what it was?

Robot vacuum cleaner?

Pardon? A robot vacuum cleaner!

Do you not think that's the most
absurd unlikely scenario

you could possibly imagine?

So... was it?

Yes.

Programmed for half past
three, as it turns out,

by the old dear every afternoon.

Makes sense.

Okay. Okay, well, maybe
you can make sense of this.

On a tombstone in the churchyard
directly behind my mother's grave.

I mean, it can't just
be a coincidence.

Except that he died at least three years
before those love letters were written.

Septimus Noone.

No, I'd say that far from
being a coincidence,

it fits in with everything else
here absolutely perfectly.

Only, one thing at
a time, I'm afraid.

I'm going to need you to run me
back to the theatre, if you would.

Our young friend Ridley's asked them
all to assemble on the stage at six,

cos he wants to announce
his big solution,

which, as you can imagine,
is completely preposterous,

but arguably no more preposterous
than the real solution,

which, unfortunately, there's
only one way to confirm now.

By going back into that
dressing room. So...

...whenever you're ready.

Jonathan?

(Okay, you know what to do.
I just need three minutes.)

(I can't! I can't do
this sort of thing!)

(How am I supposed to just suddenly
pretend to scream in agony.)

(I don't know.)

(Remember when you got halfway
through Piers Morgan's memoirs?)

(Just recall some of that.)

Arghhh!

Oooh!

Oh! Oh, my God,
are you okay, madam?

Yeah, I just fell down the stairs.

Ooh! Aahh!

Let me take your weight.
It's okay.

Steady. Up on the step.

Okay, Let's have a look. Okay.

I can't believe we're all
taking this seriously!

And who is this Ridley
person anyway?

Well, he seems to be making more
progress than the police over here.

We have to wait and see.

From what they are
saying at the hospital,

this could soon be
a murder inquiry.

What are you doing here?

Rachel, come on!

Come on.

This is scary.

Did you hear what she said?

A murder inquiry.

I don't think it's broken.
Let's just...

- Let me just feel.
- Ooh!

My husband's here,
thanks ever so much.

Yeah, that's great.

- Oh, my pleasure.
- Just take it easy.

- Thank you.
- Yeah, bye.

And now we're looking for...?

Make-up artist named Darryl Kimble,
I think, has to be our man.

Hi, sorry, I wonder if
you have a minute.

My name's Jonathan Creek.

Oh, right, yes. The amateur sleuth

who's come to enlighten us
all about the other night!

Goodbye!

Erm...

Yes...

Darryl, isn't it?

Fairly obviously there's
someone here that

you and Juno were both
really desperate to protect.

I just wondered how sure you are
still you made the right call.

Everyone, can I have your
attention, please?

Let me introduce you Mr. Ridley,

who is here very kindly to help
us resolve Juno's attack.

Thank you very much.

Okay. I know this
is a little irregular.

But Zelda's very kindly said I might
present a few thoughts to you tonight,

about how I think that attack
on Monday really took place...

and, more importantly,
who was responsible.

Someone, I would venture to suggest,
who is here with us today

in this very building.

In the original story
of the Yellow Room,

the whole solution revolves
around an injury sustained

before the victim entered
the bedchamber.

No way that could have
happened here because

Juno Pirelli had been clearly seen
by her director minutes earlier,

completely unscathed.

Or was there something already
troubling her that night?

Enough to slightly put her off
her game in one or two arias,

something potentially
life-threatening

that had been very
skilfully covered up.

The name on that picture, Sawjoy.

Okay, slightly unusual, but not
as unusual as the position

in the top left-hand corner
instead of the bottom right.

Made me wonder how easy it would've
been for someone in a hurry

to have taken it
down at some point,

and then put it back again
the wrong way up.

I imagine the artist,
Beverley Holmes,

might have been a
little put out, but...

And after that, there was no way for you
to get back in there without being seen,

so whatever it was
had to still be there.

She'd convinced herself...

she'd convinced me that
it was just superficial.

We'd get it patched up,
it would heal.

Maybe...

Well.

Guess now we'll never know, will we,

whether something else
happened that set it all off.

Yes, she was stupid,
yes, she was mad.

But she was mad for
the right reasons.

And thank God for people like
that sometimes, you know?

God bloody bless her,
is all I've got to say.

I'm sorry.

Any more than that, you're
not going to get from me.

...that would find its target
and then simply melt away,

completely undetected.

More to the point,

who would have a grievance strong
enough to construct such a plan?

Someone, we may suppose,
on the verge of hysteria.

Emotionally unbalanced,

who was prepared to go to any
lengths to wreak their revenge.

A crime of passion, love spurned,

recriminations, irrational and real,

nausea, jealousy and hate.

Who else could it point to, but the
tuba player, who she'd already...

Rachel!

Yeah, I'm sorry you had to see that.

Sorry I had to see that?!

I sometimes wonder, Jonathan,
exactly what I married!

Free admission for life
to the Twilight Zone?

If it's not phantom knife-
wielding stalkers or

ghostly human remains
suddenly vanishing in the...

Now what are you looking for?

Ah! I did see it here,
I thought I had.

That web link she
wrote down for you.

If I'm not mistaken,

it tells us everything we need
to know and all that other.

Oh, God. What?

A little slower, please,
would be nice.

The letters of Septimus Noone.

The name, you know I said

fitted in perfectly well
with everything else here?

Everything from a book
collection that includes

the works of Dylan Thomas
and Samuel Butler,

to that imaginary friend of yours
you had when you were a child.

Easiest thing, I think, would be to
make one brief detour on the way back.

No. My gosh.

I'm impressed.

Considering the time it took

and all the trouble I went
to to disguise the writing.

Of course, I was rather pleased
with myself at the time.

The writing, oddly,
I never questioned.

It was the paper.

Most people, if a letter's
too wide for the envelope,

fold it a couple of times down
the long way and then across.

Your way's more distinctive.

I'd say it's verging on unique.

I'm just writing you a link now

to a website that just gave
me so much comfort.

Why, Hazel?
For what possible reason?

You don't think we argued?

My head against her brick wall.

And how could I refuse her
anything at that stage?

As soon as she knew her
time was running out...

Believe it or believe it not,

the whole idea was to
try and lessen the grief.

He'd find the letters, and...

She just had this horror, you see,

of him moping about over her
memory for the rest of his days.

If she could somehow discredit
herself in his eyes,

at the very end, she just thought...

...well.

Thank God it never came to anything.

So, Erewhon by Samuel Butler,

a place he famously invented,
as "nowhere" spelt backwards.

And Llareggub backwards,
the village in Under Milk Wood.

"Bugger all."

I know, but how you could just zero in
on those two titles out of all this lot.

Yeah, that rule of three that
made it just about plausible.

Zero. Imaginary friend, whose
name, in reverse, meant "nothing."

She loved words.
And playing with words, but...

trust you to make that connection.

A name she must have seen God knows
how often in that churchyard.

If she's wondering what to
call this non-existent lover...

Septimus Noone...

Was actually Septimus No-One.

So, he'll be back at
uni then, now, Ridley?

I trust he didn't find the whole
experience a waste of time.

Oh, no way. No, no.

Admits he's still got
a lot to learn, but...

- No, he'll be back.
- Oh, good.

And you've made the right decision,
I'm sure, about this place.

Why would you want
to live anywhere else?

Yes, well, I wasn't
too sure at first.

There's been one or two very creepy
moments round here, I have to say.

Oh, finding those old love
letters of your mother's.

And what was even weirder,
the very next moment

that halo suddenly vanishing
from her photo.

That was creepy.

Like, a coffee ring on the page
that was there one minute,

and then miraculously gone.

But you know what, some of that
lateral thinking must be rubbing off,

because it was when I thought about
that painting being the wrong way up,

I suddenly remembered that's a,
a partner's desk in there,

which means the back of it's
exactly the same as the front.

And what if the top section had
somehow been turned around

to face the other way?

Which, guess what, when we checked,
is exactly what we found.

At some point in the past, evidently,

the desk had been moved
around the room,

and that page from the paper,
he put in there to save

had just ended up against the wall.

The one with the ring on it,
obviously another copy altogether,

we just happened to find
in that pile of books.

Except, who would have gone in there
to move the top of a desk around?

We couldn't imagine.

I mean, there's been no-one
else in the house.

Apart from people like yourself,
at the funeral the other day.

Ridley? I can't find Ripley.
We'll have to go. I'm so sorry.

We'll have to go.

Ripley?

Ripley?

- Stay there.
- What shall we do?!

- We switch the desk.
- What?!

We take everything off, turn
it round, and then it's done.

- We put everything back.
- Fine.

This side's exactly
the same as this side.

Right.

Three, two, one!

- Oh!
- Oh!

Oh, God.

Polly...

Jonathan...

What can I say?

Listen, I don't know when you're
thinking of starting a family,

but, you know what
they say about space.

No-one can hear you scream?

Make the most of it?