All language subtitles for Wimsey.Have.His.Carcase.Episode.1-1

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I'm instructed to say,
my lord,

that in withdrawing the charge
against the prisoner,

the Crown proceeds
from a complete conviction

of her innocence, and offers
no evidence against her.

Judge: I am very glad
to hear it.

Prisoner at the bar.

The Crown,
by unreservedly withdrawing

this dreadful charge
against you,

have demonstrated
your innocence

in the clearest
possible way,

and I most heartily
congratulate you

on this very
satisfactory ending

to your long ordeal.

Good-bye.

Thank you. Bye.

You have been
wonderful,

the way you've
supported me

and acted
on my behalf.

It was nothing.

You are the woman I would spend
the rest of my life with.

How else could I behave?

I've had a lover, Peter.

I've been accused
of murdering him.

I'm not going to rush
into another affair.

Marriage?

Marriage, affair...
what's the difference?

It's supposed to be love,
isn't it?

I'm sorry.

(Gulls crying)

I say, watch the tide!

You'll get cut off soon!

That's peculiar.

I say.

I say.

I say.

Aah!

(Gulls crying)

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

Help!

Help!

Help!

Only one set
of footprints...his.

And mine.

(Waves crashing)

The footprints.

Perfect.

(Cows mooing)

Go on!

Harriet: I say!

Hello!
Go on.

I say!

Excuse me.

I say,
could you tell me,

is there a telephone
up at that farm?

Telephone?
I never heard of one.

Is anyone there who might
be able to help me?

Is the farmer there?

There ain't
no one there.

'Tis market day.

Oh, I see.

Do you know where
the nearest telephone is?

They might have one
at Red Farm.

Where's that?

You go up the road
and turn left.

How far?
three or four mile.

Three or four miles.

But you do know
there's a telephone there?

Mr. Coffin,
he has a wireless.

Oh, I see.

Well, I'll try that.
Thank you.

No, we ain't got
no telephone.

Mr. Coffin
don't hold with 'em.

Oh, I see.

They do have one
at the big house.

Where's that?

Just keep going
up the lane,

and you'll come
to the park gates.

They keep 'em locked.
keep round by the high wall,

you'll come to the lodge.

Mind, I'm not sure
there's anyone there now.

Might be up in London.
They go up there quite a lot.

Mrs. Coffin, is there
anywhere else near here

where I can get
a telephone?

Oh, Darley! I know
they got one there.

Just go back
to the coast road,

and it's on the way
to Wilvercombe.

Thank you.

(Chickens cluck)

Ohh! Oh, excuse me.

Could you tell me
anywhere

where I could find
a telephone?

Or a car, or...

There's a man on the beach
with his throat cut.

Is he a friend
of yours?

I don't know him
from Adam.

I've got to get
to the police

before the body
gets washed away.

The tide could be
going out.

But it isn't.
it's coming in.

Afraid I'm rather
shortsighted.

Yes, well,
thank you anyway.

D-do you think
he was murdered?

I suppose
he might have been.

I better
come along with you.

I expect you'd feel better
if I was along.

Yes, thank you.

We've got to hurry,
though.

(Gate creaking)

Hello.

What's your name?

Rosie.
Rosie Pollock.

Well, Rosie, do you know
anybody near here

who's got a telephone?

Here, Rosie! You come
inside this minute!

Excuse me.
Mrs. Pollock.

(Car approaches)

Hey!
you didn't stop them.

They could have
given us a lift.

What were you doing?

I've got a blister
on my heel.

Oh, I am sorry
to hear that,

because now it looks
as though

we're going to have to walk
all the way to Darley.

Ah, a camper.

Oh, I shouldn't, though.

Excuse me.

Are we anywhere
near Darley?

Yes, ten minutes
down the road.

First right, and it's
half a mile inland.

Oh, thank goodness.

Is there anything
the matter?

Well, I've just found
a dead body on the beach.

Good lord.

So I wanted
to notify the police.

Naturally. Well, there's
a telephone in Darley.

You can phone the police
in Wilvercombe from there.

Right. Thanks.

Sorry I can't help.

Damn thing's broken down.

That's all right.
Thank you.

There's no need to stop
and talk to everyone we meet.

That fellow was very rude
to me this morning

when I came through here.

There's something funny
about him.

I'm sure
he's wearin' a wig.

So what if he is?

Poor man's
probably bald.

Unless you think
that makes him a murderer.

Come on, then.
let's get to Darley.

(Motorcycle engine
running)

Oh, come on!

Havin' her tea,
most likely.

Operator: number, please.

The police station,
Wilvercombe.

Wilvercombe police station.
Hold the line, please.

Man: Wilvercombe
police station.

I wish to report
a body of a man.

My name is Vane.
Miss Harriet Vane.

And I'm speaking from
the grocer's at Darley.

George Hearn's shop.
Where was this, Miss?

Well, it was on a rock

sort of shaped
like a shoe tree

about five miles
down the coast.

Is there two big rocks
out to sea?

Yes. Yes, there are.

Ah, the Grinders
they are, Miss.

I know the place.
Flat-iron rock, we call that.

Now, uh, what time
did you see the body, Miss?

About 2:00. It'll have been
washed away by now.

I've been trying
to get to a telephone.

If you can hang on, someone
will be along directly.

Yes, very well.

Do you think I could make
another phone call?

To London?

That'd be an
expensive call, Miss.

I'm sure ten shillings
would cover it.

Very good, Miss.
Help yourself, Miss.

Thank you.

(Typewriters clacking)

(Telephone rings)

Man: (Indistinct)

Look, I'd love
to do your job,

but I've got my own
problems, all right?

Yeah, so just stop whining
and get on with it.

About time.

Quick one
to lay the dust?

Wig and pen
in ten minutes, OK?

(Telephone rings)

Took the words
out of my mouth.

Morning Star,
News Editor.

Harriet: Crime reporter,
please.

Hang on. Sally!

Who wants him?

Harriet Vane.

Could you speak up,
please?

Harriet Vane.

I'm calling from Darley,
near Wilvercombe.

Yeah, hang on.
Harriet Vane.

Wasn't she
on that murder charge?

Lord Peter Wimsey's
friend.

I'll take it.

Salcombe Hardy here,
Miss Vane.

Good afternoon,
Mr. Hardy.

Good afternoon.

I see you've been reporting
the Clarence Hatry case.

It's early stages yet,
but just wait.

There'll be some disclosures
there, all right.

But what about you,
Miss Vane?

The whole of fleet street's
wondering what became of you.

I'm on a walking tour
of the west country.

Ah, get away
from it all, eh?

Partly.

Well, what can we do
for you, Miss Vane?

I've got an exclusive
for you.

What's the catch?

Oh, come now, Mr. Hardy.
you're too cynical.

It's a cynical business.
What's the catch?

Have you got a pen
handy?

Yes, thank you.

"Whilst working on the plot
of her latest novel..."

It's called
The fountain-pen mystery...

So that's the catch.

Call it a quid pro quo.

"Miss Harriet Vane

came across
the body of a man."

(Dog barks)

(Bells chiming)

(Dog barking)

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Miss Harriet Vane?

That's right.

Inspector Trethowan.

Good afternoon,
Inspector.

Oh.

You reported seein'
the body of a man.

That's right,
though I doubt

if it will be there
any longer.

Quite so.

What did you say
your name was, again?

Miss Harriet Vane.

Yes, that's right,
I've been tried for murder.

Oh, and acquitted,
Miss.

I think Lord Peter Wimsey
had something to do with that.

Yes, something.

I owe Lord Peter
a great deal.

It's far too long.

They're bound
to use the photograph.

Cut it in half,
or the sub will mutilate it.

Our Miss Vane seems to have
stumbled on a hot one.

I'd better let
Lord Peter know,

but not just yet.

Let's get
the story in first.

This hiker...you didn't see
where he went to?

No. I went in to telephone.
when I came out, he'd gone.

Can you
describe him, Miss?

Thin, in his 30s,

tortoiseshell spectacles,
mousy hair,

khaki shorts,
haversack.

Very observant, Miss.

Now, do you mind telling me
where you're heading for?

I'd hoped to spend the night
in Wilvercombe, Inspector.

Yes, well, we may
have to ask you

to spend two or three days
in the area.

Oh, yes. Well, if it's murder,
I want to be in on it.

Murder, Miss?

Or suicide.

Yes, quite.

We'll give you a lift
into Wilvercombe.

We can talk about it
in the car.

Right.

Bring her bag.
Aye, sir.

I don't suppose you could
recommend anywhere, Inspector?

Um, Cleggs
Temperance Hotel

is generally reckoned
to be quite comfortable.

I daresay it is, but...

What about
the Resplendent?

Resplendent?
(Chuckles)

That's pushing the boat
out a bit, isn't it?

Sounds just what
I feel like.

Take me to
the Resplendent Hotel.

Thank you so much.
good evening.

I am afraid that
all our rooms are engaged.

Surely not this late
in the season.

Very well. I'll have
a drink in the lounge.

Perhaps you'd ask the manager
to have a word with me.

My name is Vane,
Miss Vane.

Would you join me,
Inspector?

Oh, very kind of you,
Miss, yes.

Harriet Vane,
the famous mystery writer.

Friend of
Lord Peter Wimsey's.

Oh!

Miss Vane.

(Turns page in register)

I had quite forgotten
that an American gentleman

vacated his room
sooner than he expected.

Number 223 on the second floor

with a nice view
of the Esplanade.

Does it have
a private bathroom?

Oh, yes, madam...
Miss Vane.

And a balcony.

I think you'll find it
quite satisfactory.

Thank you.
have you got a paper bag?

A paper bag, Miss Vane?

Yes, a large one.

Will this do?

Perfect.

Items from the corpse.

Oh, and I forgot.

My camera. I took
some pictures of the corpse.

I'd quite like to know
how they come out.

Room 223,
did you say?

Maybe you'd ask the porter
to bring my luggage up?

I'll be along tomorrow,
Inspector, if that's all right.

Oh, yes, Miss.
good night.

Good night.
good night, Constable.

Good night.

Well, bring the bag,
Percy.

Oh, aye, sir.

(Ding)

The Hotel Resplendent,
Wilvercombe?

When did you hear this?

Couple of minutes ago.
she just called.

An Inspector Trethowan is
in charge of the case.

She doesn't know you're
telling me this, I suppose?

Does a newspaperman
tell one hand

what the other one's
doing?

Only when he thinks
it'll make a better story.

But thank you, Sally,

and get yourself here
tomorrow morning at dawn.

Your White Lady,
my lord.

My white lady?

An omen, do you think?

My lord?

Pack a bag, Bunter.

Wilvercombe, my lord?

Where else?

(Playing lively music)

(Music ends)

(Applause)

Waiter.

Isn't Mr. Alexis
yet arrived?

I believe not, madam.

Why not? Is he ill?

Uh, I don't think so,
madam.

But...

I'm sure Monsieur Antoine
would be happy...

No! No, thank you.
It really doesn't matter.

(Band tuning up)

(Band playing slow
romantic music)

Madame, this is your
favourite tune, n'est ce pas?

Pray, do me the honor.

Now, then,
Mr. Blenkinsop,

aren't you going to ask me
to dance today?

I shall have to give you
one of my scolds.

Oh, yes, please.

(Laughs)
Mr. Blenkinsop.

Come on, I thought
we were going to practice

that new chasse.

(Snoring)

(Door opens)

Lord Peter: May I come
into your parlour?

Peter.

What on earth
brings you here?

"Famous author
finds body on beach."

So, here I am,

like a bird that hears
the call of its mate.

I didn't call.

I meant the body.

Oh.

But, talking of mates,
will you marry me?

Certainly not.

How did you get here
so quickly?

Sally Hardy, who is
even now waiting

for the bar to open,
told me "my Miss Vane"

had found a corpse
and did I know about it.

I don't know
how he knew.

I told him.

The gory details?

Certainly. Good publicity
for my new book.

Does this not...pardon me...

indicate a certain
coarsening of the fibers?

Absolutely.

At this moment, my fibers
resemble coconut matting.

With not even "welcome"
written across them.

I'm off to the police.

Look, here, beloved.

Bearing in mind that I, too,
am a meddler in mysteries,

couldn't you,
as man to man,

let me in
on the ground floor?

Besides, I could
offer you a lift.

Oh, well, if you put it
like that, yes, I suppose.

(Knock on door)

Oh, good morning,
Miss Vane.

Harriet:
Inspector Trethowan.

This is Lord Peter Wimsey,

whose interest in crime
you may know of.

Oh, well, I never.

Very glad to make
your acquaintance, my lord.

Thank you, Percy.

Oh, right, sir.

Of course
I know of you.

Excuse me.

You're early on the scene,
I must say.

Not that there's much in it
for you, my lord.

Plain case of suicide.

It appears so.

Yes. Oh, I expect
you're waiting

to see how your snaps
have turned out, Miss Vane.

Oh, yes. Thank you.

And we've identified
the man.

Oh, well done,
Inspector.

Yes. I didn't think
we'd have too much trouble,

a foreign-looking
gentleman like that.

And was he a foreigner?

Oh, yes, a Russian
or something of the sort.

Paul Alexis Goldschmidt,

but he called himself
Paul Alexis...

One of the
professional dancers

at the hotel where you're
staying, Miss Vane.

Good heavens. Really?

Poor man.

Did he leave a note
anywhere?

Well, if he did,
we've not found it.

Nor the body, neither.

'Tis a bit
of a bother, that.

Yes. No body,
no inquest.

Have his carcass

or the coroner
can't sit on it.

Yes, just so,
my lord.

Just as well Miss Vane
took these photographs.

Otherwise you wouldn't know
there was a body.

Quite so.

Coroner can't sit
on a photograph, though.

Trethowan: Still, it looks

a plain enough case
of suicide.

Oh, do you think so?

Don't you?

Well...

Why should a man wear gloves
to cut his own throat?

Yes, I wondered
about that.

And what's a man
with a full beard

doing with a razor,
anyway?

He might have had it
before he grew the beard.

He might have bought it
especially for the purpose.

Yes.

Inspector, I wonder
if I might see it

and if my man Bunter
could have a look at it, too.

He's a veritable barber shop
of information

when it comes to razors.

Endicott, my lord.

Yes.
Endicott?

He is...or was,
since he's now retired...

One of the most exclusive
gentlemen's hairdressers

in the West End,
so exclusive

one had to have had one's name
for 300 years in debrett

in order to secure so much
as a short back and sides.

And he preferred to the end
to be known

by the old-fashioned description
of "Barber."

Very slight crack
in the handle, my lord.

Yes.

Owned, my dear Sherlock,

as you will
no doubt have deduced,

by a middle-aged man
of short temper

and careless habits,

with a stiff beard
and expensive tastes.

Absolutely my view
entirely.

(Laughs)

You will have
your little joke, my lord.

Oh, would you care
to see the other exhibits?

Oh, very good of you,
Inspector.

Hmm.

Cranial capacity
on the small side.

(Sniffs)

Brilliantine... ordinary
stinking variety.

Last year's hat reblocked
with a new ribbon.

Style a little more emphatic
than is quite necessary.

Deduction...
not wealthy,

but keen on his
personal appearance.

Ah, the cigarette case
is pukka, all right.

Fifteen-carat gold,
plain, fairly new monogram.

"P.A." probably a gift

from a wealthy
female admirer.

Waiter.

Is not Mr. Alexis
yet arrived?

I believe not, madam.

Why not? Is he ill?

Uh, I don't think so,
madam.

But...

I'm sure Monsieur Antoine
would be happy to...

No! No, thank you.
it really doesn't matter.

Lord Peter:
Handkerchief, silk,

and an unfortunate
colour.

It did match
his socks.

Yes, I daresay
it would.

Laundry mark?

Wilvercombe Sanitary
Steam Laundry, my lord.

All correct.

Well done,
Constable.

Glove.

Mass-produced
chamois leather.

You took this
off his hand?

Yes. Soaked
with blood.

Soaked, not dried?

No, no. That was
what was so awful.

It was still dripping.

Hmm.

Shoe.

Thin sole,
fairly new.

Foul colour.
Worse shape.

Handmade, my lord.

Yes, so horrid appearance is
due to malice aforethought.

Made to measure for Mr. Alexis
in Wilvercombe.

I checked this morning.

Quick work,
Constable.

You are obviously
destined for greatness.

Slight traces
of saltwater on the sole,

none on the uppers.

So, inference... Ahem...

Walked across the wet sand

but didn't actually wade
in the water.

I tried it
in the footprint.

It fit it exactly.

And according to Miss Vane's
photographs, my lord,

there were only one set
of footprints out to the rock.

So it had to be suicide.

Unless the murderer came
from the sea,

which, as you are about to
observe, Inspector, is absurd.

I would love to savour

the wonders of Wilvercombe
with you,

but Bunter and I
must leave instantly for Epsom.

Epsom?

Where Mr. Endicott lives
in virtuous retirement

to pursue the matter
of the razor.

And the middle-aged man

of short temper
and careless habits,

with stiff beard
and expensive tastes.

What a wonderful memory
you have.

I grant you that the razor
is important,

but why do you still think
it wasn't suicide?

Maybe the two
go together.

One of the many things
I love about you, Harriet,

is your percipience.

Bunter, would Mr. Endicott
have sold

one of his
handmade razors

to a gigolo
called Paul Alexis?

Certainly
not to a gentleman

who wore that hat
and those shoes

and whose handkerchief,
most unfortunately,

matched his socks.

Mr. Endicott sold
his handmade razors

exclusively
to his own clients,

and highly favoured ones,
at that.

Moreover, each one
has a serial number.

So until you find out
how that razor

got into the hands
of Paul Alexis...

I won't be satisfied
to call it suicide.

Still, I'm sorry,
O best beloved,

to tear myself
away from you.

Not at all.
I was going to say

I've got plenty
of work to do.

Of course.
The fountain-pen mystery.

(Softly)
Don't forget our murder.

If it was murder.

Oh, you might try a turn
round the dance floor

with the other
dancing parties,

see if you can get any gossip
about Paul Alexis.

I shall have to get
a better evening frock.

Get a wine-coloured one.

I've always longed to see you
in wine colour. Bunter.

Peter!

Yes?

Port or Burgundy?

What?
the frock.

Oh, Claret.

Chateau Margaux '93
or thereabouts.

I'm not particular
within a year or two.

I should like to know
if anything has happened.

I'm afraid I don't know
any more than...

that lady, Miss Vane,
arrived with the police.

Miss Vane!

I do apologize
for bothering you.

Yes, can I help you?

My name
is Flora Weldon.

The receptionist said
you know the police here.

Well, not exactly know,
but why?

A very dear friend,
a Mr. Paul Alexis...

He's one of the
professional dancers here.

Shall we go
into the lounge?

Oh, um, yes.

It's about Mr. Alexis.

You see,
I haven't seen him

since the evening
before last.

That's most unusual,
because...

Would you like
to sit down

and tell me
everything you know?

The chambermaid said that
there were dreadful rumors

about, uh, something
having happened to Paul...

To Mr. Alexis...

But nobody will
actually tell me anything.

Please, Miss Vane,
tell me what's going on.

Well, Mrs. Weldon,
I'm afraid

something rather beastly
has happened.

Yesterday I was
down by the seashore,

and I came across a man
lying there dead,

and it seems
it was Paul Alexis.

Oh, no.

I...I know he wasn't strong.

Uh, was it a heart attack?

No, I'm afraid not.

What, then?

Mrs. Weldon...
Please tell me.

His throat was cut.

Oh, G...oh, God!

Oh, oh, G...

Oh, God!

Can you get me
a double brandy, please?

Quickly.

I'm so sorry.

I must look dreadful.

Not that it matters now,
with Paul...

I'm afraid you must think
I'm very silly.

No, not at all.

If Paul Alexis
was a friend of yours...

He was
a very dear friend.

He was much more
than that.

Would you like
a cigarette?

Oh, yes, please.

He was...

Paul was...

So handsome
and graceful.

Of course, all the women
ran after him,

but, uh, he was lonely
just as I was.

The first night
I was here,

he came over
and asked me to dance,

and it seemed
as if we were...

We were drawn together.

It was as though
the moment our eyes met,

we knew we were meant
for each other.

(Romantic music playing)

We danced together
every night.

We had to be careful.

You see, people say
such horrid things,

and I was a little bit
older than he was.

I used to worry
about it,

but Paul used to say...

My Flora, it is the heart
that counts,

and your heart
is just 17.

It was beautiful of him.

But quite true. I...I felt 17
when I was with him.

Of course, I was married
scandalously young.

You might not think
I'm old enough, my dear,

but I do have
a grown-up son.

Really?

But Henry has been
a great disappointment to me.

He has no heart,
and that seems so strange,

because I'm all heart.

If only he'd been kinder to me
after my husband died,

but it seemed that
all Henry was interested in

was the money, and of course,
all that was left to me.

Oh, really?

My marriage wasn't happy,

but it wasn't
my husband's fault.

He just was not
very...sensitive,

and after he died
and I was left alone...

Well, one can't be blamed

for wanting to snatch
a little happiness, can one?

No, no, absolutely not.

Oh, you are so kind,
my dear.

And so clever.

I know you write
detective books.

Oh, please, Miss Vane,

please tell me
who they think murdered Paul.

Well, I'm afraid,
Mrs. Wel...

I'm afraid they think
it was suicide.

Oh, no.

No, that's impossible.
I know it is.

Well, Mrs. Weldon,
I found the body...

No, no, no.

He would never
have killed himself

when he was so happy.

You see, Miss Vane...

We were going to be married.

There's the place,
my lord.

Bunter,
what time have you?

10 minutes
to 5:00, my lord.

I almost feel we should
synchronize our watches

before going
up the drive.

Or over the top,
my lord.

Bunter, how do you suppose
a retired colonel's razor

came to cut the throat of
a professional dancing partner?

Yes, an intriguing
question, my lord.

And one requiring a certain
delicacy of approach.

All I can say is

it's a damned
ungentlemanly business,

going and asking
a fellow's barber

questions
behind his back.

As for being mixed up
in the death of some dago,

you ought to be ashamed
of yourself,

interfering with
the police.

Awfully sorry, sir.
detecting is my hobby.

A fellow has to have
a hobby of some kind.

I daresay, but why
can't he take up golf

or breedin' spaniels?

Quite right, sir.
Much more appropriate.

Trouble is, I got interested
in intelligence during the war.

One thing led to another.

Old school friend of mine
was in intelligence.

Bevington-Spender.

What an extraordinary
coincidence.

We were together
at Chateau d'Or

just before the Somme.

Bad show, that.

We tried to tell them.
they wouldn't listen.

Lost a lot
of good friends, too.

Daresay you did.
What do you want to know?

About the razor you got
from Endicott, sir.

Razors aren't
what they used to be.

Nothing is.

Nothing will be till we get
a Conservative government.

Do you
still have it, sir?

What, the razor?
no, no, no.

I told Endicott
I wondered

he should make
such inferior stuff.

No, no, no, gave it
to my gardener Summers.

Very decent sort of fellow.
knew he'd appreciate it.

Well, you'll take a glass
of Madeira? This way.

Oh.

Nice blooms, those.

Would they be
the Blanche?

That's right.
Blanche Poitevans.

We won a prize
with our Chrysanths last year.

I'm not surprised.

Not that I know much
about them, mind.

I just take an interest

when his lordship's
at Denver.

You...you use a cutthroat,
do you, Mr. Summers?

Do you?

No, no. His lordship's
accustomed to it.

I prefer
a safety razor myself.

Cutthroat's an awkward thing
to have about the house

if you've no use for it.

Especially
if you have a family.

Ah, well,
that's what i thought.

Didn't want the youngsters
to get hold of it.

Sold it, did you?

Oh, no. No, I wouldn't
like to do that.

Colonel Belfridge
is a very kind gentleman

in spite of his manner.

Bark worse than his bite,
as they say?

That's it exactly.

Wouldn't like
to hurt his feelin's.

Still, what the eye don't see,
the heart can't grieve for.

Ah, well, the truth is,
the wife's brother

is a gentlemen's hairdresser
in Seahampton,

so I gave it to him.

Seahampton?

That's near Wilvercombe,
isn't it?

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