All language subtitles for This.is.Not.a.Murder.Mystery.S01E01.720p.WEB.H264-JFF + mSD.EN

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.