Original subtitles

Please stand by for an international call from England right next change.

When you've

finished here, I'll meet you in the dining room. And I need everything

We have a problem.

A problem?

Well, tell me everything, Luca.

We're going to resume from the start, okay?

How is the place?

And the other guests?

Of course, you know the dolly.

Do not look me in the eye.

Fetch my suitcases and bring them up to my suite on the double.

Darling, what a silly mistake.

This is not some little footman.

This is the future of surrealist painting.

After me, of course.

Where is your darling wife? Georgina, was it?

Yes, right, this one.

My lord and I would like to welcome you all.

the most promising artist of today.

And what is your lot, by the way? Delayed in London, preparing for the

Exhibition of the Century, sir, this coming Friday here at West Dean, which

establish you as the world's foremost artist, not to mention rich, beyond your

wildest dreams.

You'll have five days to display your art in our exhibition space.

And where would that be?

Moncton House, Mr Ray, within walking distance of the manor, amid the estate's

beautiful forests.

Meanwhile, don't forget to live it up like lords and ladies.

Once you all hit the deadline on Friday, of course, 4 p.m., sharp, if I could

ask you to raise a glass.

Mr. Daly, Miss Miller, Mrs. Daly, Mr. Ray, Mr. Magritte, Mr.

Ernst, Nash, sir, and Miss Legg.

Here's to unlimited success.

One more.

What is he doing here?

I'm sorry, sir.

Sheila. I swore I would never see that vile child again.

Mr. Daly.

Miss Lake is Lord James' niece.

She's been staying here in this day for some time.

I'm afraid you will just have to put up with her.

And why is she at our table?

She's not even an artist.

Miss Lake.

is one of our most esteemed performance artists.

René Magritte?

Comment allez - vous?

René?

René?

Don't touch anything!

Is she?

Good God.

Get up, Mr. McRae. Turn up. At once, come on.

Calm yourself.

Come on, sir.

Come on.

What the hell happened?

Honey? Let's get you out of here.

Get up. Come on.

Don't do anything to anybody, please. Why not?

Maybe someone remembers something.

That might be so. We can't create a panic. Let me call the police first.

I have questions too.

René? I don't mean to upset you, sir, but you just woke up next to a dead

What problem do you want to talk to me about?

It's nothing, my love.

It's just a bad night, I think.

The lunch is ready. I have to go.

René?

Certainly, even by your standards.

I pour it on the paddle as you abide the trip.

Those damn storms.

Da Vinci is used to being underwater, not on top of it.

You care more if you're a damn dead crustacean than you do me.

Hey, McGree.

Hi.

My condolences on the death of your lobster, ma 'am. This is one lobster

won't be met. Da Vinci bit me on the way over, twice.

A lobster doesn't bite. It pinches, and it's a sign of affection.

A bit like you, then.

I'm glad you're in lobster heaven, buddy.

I have a lot better than being stuck down here.

You're as pale as a corpse, McGree.

Sheila didn't wear you out too much last night, did she?

Wear me out? We saw you two go up together just after midnight.

Fast work, mon ami.

Um, will you excuse me?

I could get used to this.

I couldn't live here, sir.

The air.

The plants, the animals.

The people.

Just don't show them that you're impressed by their wealth or their

Right, sir.

Thank you.

An honour to meet you, my lord, Detective Chief Inspector

Detective Quant, at your service. I must say that your estate deserves to be

seen among the collection of any gentleman's seats in the kingdom.

Please, sir, you are mistaken. I am merely Lord James's servant.

I see.

Name?

Duke, sir.

Archibald, sir.

Please, could you show us the body?

Of course.

Follow me.

We'll take it from here. Thank you.

You do the honors now, Detective Constable.

On the left - hand side of the bed, female.

deceased evening clothes, a head covered with white scarf tied loosely at the

neck, blood - stained nose, broken glass, another stain on the sheets, blood

or wine, right side of the bed, an impression of a body, heavier, larger,

perhaps male.

I'd say so. Not bad, detective. Not bad at all.

Black shoes, recently shined.

Men's loan.

Bitter and sweet.

Opioids.

And if so, it's a large dose.

This might be the poor woman lying in bed, Quant.

Let's meet our victim.

Strangled. A couple of hours ago.

Leger, Sheila.

English, single, 25 years old.

Occupation, performance artist.

Occupation, murder victim.

No doubt of that.

Who would be the killer in the mix?

Squant.

We need a place to work.

Let's find... what's his name?

Dukes, I believe, sir.

I found it.

Apologies for the wait.

Would this be a suit, detective?

Yes, this will do nicely for a murder room.

What information do we have on the guests, Quan?

It looks like they're a bunch of struggling artists.

One of them's in England for the first time.

Look.

Rene Francois Ghislaine Magritte.

Born 1898, Lausanne, Belgium, painter.

I'm agreed. I've got to... Sir, I've got to deliver the bad news to the group.

Come along.

And try to look surprised, sir.

It is my sad duty to inform you all that Miss Lake had passed away in the night.

What? It was a dreadful accident, of course, but...

Scotland Yard have been ordered to investigate just to be on the safe side,

they are looking into every possibility.

You mean murdered?

I know that Miss Legg was a beloved friend, companion, and colleague of you

My lord and I are deeply sorry for your loss.

If there is anything you need at this time, please don't hesitate to ask.

dear God, the poor girl.

Are you happy now?

Need more coke, pal?

Stop it.

We are all in shock.

Let's not make it worse.

You are awfully quiet.

Pardon? Surely you were the last one to see her when you took her upstairs.

No, je ne sais pas.

Suddenly you can't speak English anymore, mon ami.

Our friend dies and you've got nothing to say.

Explain yourself, man. Come on. Nobody wanted this.

Are you sure about that, Sal?

Calla.

Good morning.

DC Quant, Scotland Yard.

We request that you all be available for interview.

And please accept our condolences for the loss of your friend.

Thanks.

Wait, does this mean we're all suspects?

How long have the guests been here?

They all arrived last night.

When Miss Legg was still alive?

Yeah. So this lot are all famous, apparently, in the art world, I presume,

because I've not heard of a single one of them before now. Well, that's the

point, sir.

Lord James finds the greatest artist of tomorrow,

just as they lie on the cusp of fame.

By next week, this lot will be front - page news.

How come?

The most important art show of the decade is due to be out here this coming

Friday. All the artists will showcase their work.

It will be astounding, I can assure you.

Surrealism is the next big thing. On Lord James's say - so.

Sound investment.

Get the artworks on the cheap, create the hype, grab all the cash.

Smart move.

I take it you're not much of an art lover then, sir.

What time did you go to bed last night, Jukes?

On the stroke of eleven.

Never, are you?

We would appreciate it if you told us everything we needed to know.

I don't know if it was important.

You don't know if it isn't.

This morning, when I was doing my rounds with the special breakfast requests, I

found one of our guests in bed with Miss Lake.

Who?

Well...

It were Mr. Magritte, but I know he had absolutely nothing to do with this.

Don't ever play games with me, Jukes.

All right?

No. Never, sir.

Magritte!

Magritte!

Yes? DCI Thistlethwaite.

What's the matter, Detective?

You're the matter, Magritte.

Final person to be seen with the victim last night and first thing this morning.

You found him dead with the poor woman.

Why don't you do us a favour and confess, Magritte? We can all be back in

London. No, sir. No.

No.

Sure?

All right, let's concentrate on last night.

Your movements from midnight onwards.

We know you slipped away with Miss Legger, correct?

We went upstairs, yes.

Was there a scarf wound around your neck like with Miss Legger?

Yeah. Yeah, I woke up because I was struggling to breathe.

Jutes told me you're all here to exhibit.

Perhaps become famous and wealthy beyond your surrealist dreams.

Not all of you, of course. Must create a few little rivalries, no?

No. Are you a jealous man, McGreek?

No, just a curious man.

Well, that makes two of us.

Good. Sir!

I have something I want to show you.

And that, of course, your colleague hasn't already found it.

Sir!

You have to see this.

Bloody hell. I found it in his box, in that wardrobe there.

It was nailed shut.

I had to break it open.

Sorry.

This is your painting?

Yes. I brought it back from Brussels for the big show on Friday.

But this box has never been opened on English soil.

Well, I just opened it. I mean, up until now.

It looks just like the murder scene.

Tell me about it.

Les amants.

The lovers.

You see, my lovers, they kiss.

And at the same time, they don't kiss, as their lips are sealed with a scarf.

They cannot get fully close, and that's what I call love.

Right, well, enough of the art lessons.

Let me smell your breath. Excuse me. No, come on, open up.

Good God. Yeah, well, I didn't push my teeth this morning. Yes.

Maybe just as well.

Because you could have saved yourself a night in a little horrible cell.

You were drugged just like Miss Legger.

Look at that sediment.

And no one else has seen this painting, you're sure?

My wife, but she's in Brussels, so no. Did you notice anything else strange

night?

Well...

Thank you.

Don't pour it, darling.

I don't play with little girls.

I should let you know when I'm finally old enough to play with you.

Perhaps in half a century?

Wrap it up, you two.

Let's not have the boys drink all the best stuff.

Rather extraordinary entertainment But it

was just for fun don't worry is there anything else you'd like to reveal no

I'm good. Right, you can go.

For now.

Suspect, do you think?

Not when the lab confirms he was drugged. Don't be charmed by this

quant. I need you to stay focused.

I don't find him charming, sir.

I just... Pay attention.

There was something else I found at the crime scene earlier.

What do you make of this?

It's a bank book I found in Miss Legger's bedside table.

Starting last summer, she makes monthly payments to a certain Charlie L.

This goes on for a year, until suddenly, yesterday, an extra thousand

pounds is paid to this Charlie L.

How good that'd be.

L for Legger, perhaps?

A relation.

Constables!

I want you to search all the guest rooms. We're looking for the following

A glass revolver. Any narcotics and relevant prescriptions. Any reference to

a Charlie L.

Plus anything you gentlemen regard as suspicious.

Go on, hop to it, the book work.

Jews!

We need a lockable place on the estate, preferably indoors, as cold as can be.

Yes, I believe I have somewhere of mine, sir.

This way, please.

Don't ever do that again. My sincerest apologies.

I would like to help you with your investigation.

I want to catch this killer as much as you do, probably even more.

Why?

Mama!

You didn't realize you're still the suspect.

I know. If I can find one thing in that murder scene that you missed, would you

perhaps allow me to assist you? This is a murder investigation, McGree. Not a

bloody game. I'm serious.

I'm deadly serious.

This is really important to me.

If you can show me one decent clue, then I might look the other way whilst you

play detective.

Follow me.

Do you know anything about painting?

Not really.

Okay. Because this assassin does.

What makes you so sure?

Are you familiar with a painting technique called repoussoir? No.

Okay. It's when you paint the foreground in darker tones, but you brighten up

details in the background.

So it creates a depth of field and leads the viewer's eyes to details otherwise

overlooked. I use it all the time.

You detectives, you focus on the logical things. The body, the bed, the bottle.

An error on our part.

No. But you focus on the foreground.

Thus, your view is incomplete.

So let's focus on the background.

What?

The killer likes oysters.

Symbolism seems cruel, but an oyster near a woman means that she's of a loose

morale. Yeah, I get it. Thank you.

Your killer is an artist.

In a house full of artists.

The cross stays put whilst the world turns round.

That is fascinating. Great. Thank you. Let's go.

Hey, listen.

Artists, they have a very specific language. Use me as an interpreter. I

help. I'll be fine with English. Thank you.

If we can have your attention, ladies, gentlemen.

Constables are currently searching all of your rooms. Do not disturb them in

direction of their duties.

Search all you like. I'm getting the hell out of here.

Nobody's leaving the premises.

We're keeping your passports until we clear this case. What? No way. Goddamn

little fashion.

Is it really necessary?

Mrs. Gala Dali, is it?

Who wants to know?

The woman who's going to be questioning you.

You must all stay put right here.

We have questions for each and every one of you.

We found your conscience well.

Thought we were friends.

I thought we were safe.

So long, my love.

Our secret's safe with me.

Mind your step, boys. It's just through here.

I'll have the stuff. Get rid of all this, obviously.

One hell of a mortuary.

Lee Miller, the war reporter.

That's me, all right.

Listen, I didn't know Sheila all that well.

Not like the others, but I knew it would end in tears.

It's the rule of three Ds. Drugs and depression equals death.

What was your exact relationship with Sheila Legg, Mr. Ray?

She, inspired me. As a model?

Muse, more so.

I'm bored.

Locked up in this golden cage.

Come Monday morning, I'm off to Munich, interviewing Hitler for the Washington

Post. Any questions?

For you or for Hitler?

Both.

Any theories as to who might have done that?

If I did, I... I would kill them right now.

You think it was a man.

You don't.

What's wrong with your arm?

Lee was playing with her toy gun during her damn William

Teller party trick and the ricochet got me. The infamous glass gun.

Yeah, It's nothing worse than a lady's milk. She's a gun nut.

Where's the gun now?

It lives in her purse.

That silly thing?

You don't think that's a lethal weapon, do you?

I put it right in my bag after the game last night. Where?

It's gone.

Duly noted.

And you have no idea who could have taken it?

I haven't the damn idea.

Sorry. The DC has trouble adapting to this environment.

Bless you, detective.

I sure can relate to that.

Tell us about this game last night.

Come on, Lee, shoot.

Sheila had to pose for me as the victim.

Don't be afraid. Man loves danger.

Dolly is scared of loud noises.

Somebody's going to get hurt. They don't like this game. It's a silly game. It's

a silly game. Come on, Salva. They don't like this.

It's a silly game. It's a toy.

Gala loved it, of course.

Told me to aim lower. For a joke, mind you.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Sheila,

are you okay?

Did you see?

It was just a little game.

No one got hurt, except for Miss Leg's Coke bottle.

Perfume, I should say.

And a scratch on man's arm.

Nothing serious.

All right.

Thanks for now, Miss Miller. Thank you.

Sheila should never have died.

Just like my birds.

She was way too good for this world.

She's an angel now.

Watching over me.

My sweet guardian angel, I...

I can't stand this. I'll kill myself.

Sorry.

Who did you last see with the victim?

Don't call it like that.

The Belgian lad.

He seems so nice.

He's a bit shy.

Just like me.

I thought I'm going upstairs together.

My brave Sheila looked free again.

How was Mifflager's mood last night?

Um... Up and down.

Mostly down.

Ever since the death of her son.

When did this happen?

Last summer, he died, um, an accident, I think, was stated, so...

Who's the father?

Nobody knows.

Could be anyone, so...

Thank you.

You can go.

Thank you so much, okay? For now.

Why don't you arrest the Belgian?

He's done it, I'm sure.

Perhaps a sleazy sex game gone wrong.

He gives me the creeps, that fellow. Excuse me, Mrs.

Daly. We'd wanted to speak to your husband.

Mr. and Mrs. Daly. Call me Gala or nothing at all. It is my cosmic name.

I think we might need an interpreter.

Last night, we believe you had a fight with Miss Legger.

Fight?

Just two women having a good time.

We all loved her.

Who do you think did it, Mr. Daly? You think it's us, don't you?

Well, we've got an alibi.

Ironclad. But in your own mind, Mr.

Daly, who do you think may have killed Miss Legger?

Do you think birds have a conscience, detective?

I'm sorry, do you think birds have a conscience? Is that what you said?

They look like they do, don't they?

We only want to know if you think anyone has motive, sir.

Sheila owned millions.

Who would inherit it?

Isn't that your million - dollar question?

We will look into it.

Anything else of note from last night? Man Ray was very drunk.

He looked like one of my early paintings. He had a scuffle with our boy

about 2 or 4 a.m.

And I knew it because he happened to be watching the clock at that time. So we

took Nash upstairs to avoid cold - blooded murder.

And the three of us slept together in the same bed, like babies, till this

morning.

Alibi, as my wife said.

I hardly remember anything else.

Right. Well, we'll be in touch when we have more questions.

Thank you.

Perfectly normal bunch of people. They're surrealists, don't you think,

Detective Quant?

What did Magritte say to you earlier in the upstairs corridor?

He wanted to see the crime scene.

And you let him?

Well, I thought that it might be useful to hear what we had to say.

Any particular insights on his part?

No, sir.

Please don't keep such things from me again.

Sam.

Nash?

Nash?

Hello, Nash.

It's Nash.

The A.

Like my great Nash.

Please remember my name. I'm sorry.

Don't worry about it.

Good that you're here.

As I may be able to help you.

Bravo.

I know who might have killed Sheila.

Who?

There's two of them.

Possibly I'm just figuring it out.

I don't think you did, dear.

Why not me?

It's better to spring your heart.

You don't know about the darkness.

Who was blackmailing Sheila?

Look at Hercule Poirot over here.

Are you two related?

You need to get a better mustache.

Stop with the jokes, Nash. Sheila is dead.

After Sebastian died, Sheila was never really the same.

The tree was broken.

Did you hear something back there?

No. Are you sure?

What about the father? I don't know about the father. Someone does.

Yeah, well, I don't know.

Someone... I don't know, named Charlie L? I don't know who that is. Yes, I

you do, you little... Stop it, okay? I don't know who that is.

Nash. Yes.

How are you doing?

I am so sorry for your loss.

We all are.

But you two were so close.

My deepest condolences.

And you are again?

We met last night?

Right, the man from Brussels.

I've seen your work.

Mr. Ernst can't remember any of it.

Nash, love, you need to find some peace.

Go for a walk in the forest.

God, I'm sorry, Magritte.

There's actually a really interesting puppy field on this.

Detective Chief Inspector... Yes, Superintendent Coney, sir.

Yes.

Yes, will do.

And thank... Well,

it seems that Lord James has a lot of clout. That was the big chief quant.

Worried like hell that we're going to drop the ball.

Take note.

The elite are keeping tabs on us.

Tread carefully.

Right.

Summarize the case for me, D.C. Quant, if you please.

Okay. So, crime scene, very theatrical.

Opium in the wine.

Magritte and the victim dressed up as the lovers. A painting that nobody has

seen except for Magritte, who we don't think has done it.

Also, a group of touchy, oddball artists intent on becoming famous.

That and mysterious payment.

Potential for blackmail.

A Charlie L.

Who is he or she?

Now she's room.

Thank you.

And, finally, a vast quantity of cocaine. Worth a fortune. A fortune not

an heiress could afford.

Go and get Nash, will you? Sir.

We've all seen pictures of Nash. Keep searching.

He has to be outside.

Sorry. So, Charlie L is Nash.

Charlie, for cocaine.

L is short for his surname.

Leslie, Nash, is the blackmailer.

Thank you, but we need proof.

To my wireless mate, Charlie L, pulse of love, SL.

I found it in Nash's room.

We need to find him.

Well, I told him...

Sit.

What do you mean, Nash can't be found?

Look bloody well harder!

We have, sir.

It's just a very large estate. Ten square miles.

He's not in the house, nor the vicinity, nor the outhouses.

Nobody has seen him on the estate, and nobody saw him leave.

Lock down the estate.

Every exit.

Main, tradesmen's, hunting paths.

Patrol the perimeter.

We need this man in our custody. Now, at the double, gentlemen.

No stone unturned.

Right.

Time for a motivational speech.

Shall I line up the guests?

Everyone!

lot show up on this estate last night and all hell break loose.

Is that a coincidence?

I think not.

This is what we call cause and effect.

I'm far from satisfied with the answers you've all given regarding the death of

Miss Leg. So from this moment, I'm placing the estate in lockdown.

Anyone who steps outside its perimeters will be in trouble.

Who do they think we are? A bunch of powerless artists, Al. Who do you think

are? As soon as this is solved, you can all go back to doing whatever it is that

you do.

Detective, do you seriously think that one of us was capable of killing Sheila?

We don't think so, sir.

We know.

I've been here to create that. Really?

One of us?

This is ridiculous.

Lord James.

Hi, Nolly.

Welcome to West Dean, my dearest guest.

Max, how are you?

All the better for seeing you, my lordship.

Lord James, if you'll excuse me. Who are you to stand on my stairs and call the

shots, old man?

Scotland Yard, your lordship.

Detective Chief Inspector John Thistleston. Down, pup.

You decided to lock up my estate, treat my guests like dogs.

How dare you?

We're investigating a murder.

The only thing getting murdered in my estate is poor taste, detective.

The murder of your cousin, Miss Sheila Legg, your lordship.

I wanted to tell you the law, but I couldn't reach you. I am so sorry. Where

she?

Where is my cousin?

My condolences, Lord James.

We're interviewing everyone at present.

If we may... You may not.

The greatest artists of the 20th century are gathered here.

Lovers they are, fighters yes.

But murderers?

Are you serious?

My god, it's smashed!

Everybody stay outside!

Stay outside!

La Croix demeure tandis que le monde tourne.