All language subtitles for 09. The Affair at the Victory Ball

The Harlequinade, ancestor of the
English pantomime.

Six characters, garish, grotesque, first
brought to life three centuries

ago by the clowns and the actors of the
Italian fairgrounds.

Today, mere costumed characters at a
masked ball, where now their mystery,

magic, their comedy.

Ready for the party, Uncle?

Oh, where's your ma?

It's not midnight yet, you know,
Eustace.

Victory fall.

You'd think the Hun would remember 1918
as well as we do.

Ah, well, as Coward says, what a pity
the Hun prefers fighting to fun.

Not this.

Oh, Uncle Eustace, not more for your
collection.

Magnificent, that, isn't it?

Just over from Holland.

Van Meer is holding it for me to the end
of the month. I can guess why you're

telling me.

Your poor uncle doesn't get 6 ,000 a
year from the Crenshaw estate. You know

cleaned out after the figurines. This is
a night for old triumph.

Not for new quarrels.

Crenshaw!

This is the national programme.

The time is seven o 'clock.

And now we present a play by Desmond
Havelock Ellis, entitled Deadly Alibi.

Starring Coco Courtney as Loretta
Lampton. The late Coco Courtney, as

Where is she?

Are you expecting Miss Lampton for
dinner tonight, sir?

Yes, she should be arriving in about
half an hour.

I believe that clock is gaining, sir.
I'm quite aware of that, thank you.

Will there be any other guests?

No.

Very good, sir.

Good evening, Davis.

I'm afraid I'm a little early.

That's quite all right, miss.

Bloody actresses.

It was such a fine night, I... Oh, is
that the time?

Approximately. Of course, I forgot. It
gains rather fun, really.

You can be early and late at the same
time.

Oh.

Lettie, I wasn't expecting you till
eight.

Sorry, but I never realised.

Thank you, Miss Lemon. I think Captain
Hastings was listening to the weather

report to see whether you'd need an
umbrella.

An urgent package just arrived by
messenger.

Can I go now?

Yes, of course.

Just one moment, Miss Lemon.

Ah, I was running without a got to.

Apparently we won't need an umbrella.

Oh, you haven't forgotten, have you?

The victory ball.

You promised you'd try and make it.
Ackerley was really looking forward to

Ackerley is?

He's with the BBC.

But he's quite a decent chap. Drives an
Elvis.

Well, unfortunately, I have to rearrange
my stamps in order of size.

Please convey my apologies to Monsieur
Ackerley.

He'll be very disappointed.

He said that meeting you was the high
spot of his career.

Well, that seems reasonable.

It's not much to ask, Crenshaw.

A thousand should do it. Eustace.

Not now.

Later.

There she is.

The belle of the ball.

Crenshaw.

Cutting it a bit fine, weren't you,
Coco?

I like cutting it fine.

Hello, darling.

Coco, you remember my uncle, the
Honorable Eustace?

Dishonorable, I heard.

Oh, and this is Chris Davidson.

one of Coco's old acting cronies. Hello.

Come on, Davidson, we'd better go and
rescue your wife.

She's out in the taxi with a friend of
Uncle's, the infamous Mrs. Maladie.

After you.

About time.

From the beginning, Courtney was having
a clandestine affair with Henry Hall and

his orchestra.

Good evening,

Coco.

Getting chilly, isn't he?

All aboard for the victory ball.

They seek him here, they seek him there.
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.

What do you think, Poirot?

Hastings, you look...

Comparable.

I still don't think they'll let you in.
I thought I made it clear that the

people with the costume do.

Don't you know who does not wear
costumes? Everybody does. The whole idea

go with someone famous.

Precisely.

Oh.

I see.

Arthur. May I present, Monsieur Hercule
Poirot. I am so delighted to meet you at

last. The Sheik of Ackerley, I presume.

Well,

here we are then.

We'd suffer first, Pidwee Tronshaw. No,
not till half past nine.

Oh. Couldn't they run to a doorman in
this place?

Isn't that good in England, Mrs. Malibu?
We still have door handles. Oh, pardon

me for living.

Oh! Oh!

Did I hurt you, my dear?

I half expected you to shatter like a
vase. Come along, Coco.

It's all right.

You all right, darling?

I was so afraid I wasn't going to make
it here on time, thanks to the antics of

Coco Courtney.

Oh, speaking of which, isn't that her up
there?

Oh, with Lord Cronshaw's party, yes.

She's talked about nothing but the
costumes all through rehearsals. They're

reproduction of the old Italian comedy.

The what?

Ah, yes, the Commedia del Latte.

Harlequin, the magical sprite who can
become invisible.

And his lover, Columbine.

Puccinello and Puccinella, the
grotesque. And, ah, yes, the tragic Piro

Pirenne.

Enchanting.

I thought Lord Cronshaw was a young 'un.

Fortunello? Oh, no, no, that's his
uncle, the Honourable Eustace Beltay.

He was the one who bought those rare
mice and figurines there was all that

publicity about.

Apparently, they provided the
inspiration for the outfit.

Oh, no, that's Cronshaw in the Harlequin
suit.

Oh, yes, I read in the paper. He's worth
an absolute fortune.

And who is that lighting the cigarette,
Mademoiselle Courtney?

Not the Pierrot.

Chris Davidson.

Quite a versatile actor.

And that's his wife talking to Gromshaw,
I assume.

The other lady is the notorious Mrs.
Mallaby.

Ah, yes.

The American widow in search of a new
victim, yes?

They say she stalks the aristocracy with
a net and a group of beaters.

They make a jolly crowd there, don't
they?

Yes, indeed.

And now, I think it is time for a little
creme de banane.

Thank heavens that's over. Coco and
Crenshaw are being simply appalling.

How's that scheisse to Van Meer over
there?

Just forget it.

Shelby for ransom on the figurines, and
now he wants to do the same again with

that china.

It's the least of our worries this
evening. Don't get a call of the

demand that he reduces the price.
Eustace!

I'm sorry.

When Eustace wants something for his
collection, he does rather.

I want to put an end to this right now!

God's sake, shut up.

Coco, where do you think you're going? I
told you, I've had enough.

Chris, get me a taxi, would you? I've
got a splitting headache.

Coco. It's all been decided, Crunch.
Chris is taking me home.

The hell he is.

You're staying right here. I am not
prepared to have an argument about it.

Look, why don't you all just sit down
for a moment and cool off?

Cool off?

He's already as cold as an iceberg.

With me, he's the Titanic.

What the hell do you think you're
laughing at?

I'm sorry.

Coco, people are looking. Come along.

Consul, let's go back and buy.

I feel I took the pony and it jerked at
me.

Mr.

Ackley, do I understand that you
produced a play on the radio this

following the weather forecast?

Yes.

Tell me, is not Mademoiselle Courtney
slightly older than is usual for the

of the engine?

A little, perhaps.

But then that's the joy of radio. The
visual appearance is all in the mind.

It's amazing what we get away with
sometimes.

Good night.

What's all that about?

It would appear that Mademoiselle
Courtney and her boyfriend, Lord

have had a disagreement of some kind.

Just now I heard her ask Monsieur
Davidson to escort her home.

Well, that's a shame. She'll be full of
fun.

Well, I wondered how long it would be
before something like that happened.

You are not surprised?

I know actors, Monsieur Poirot. They
never know when to stop.

She has had a moment of drama for this
evening.

Let us hope it will be sufficient.

He's arrogant.

He's conceited.

What's all this about, Coco? What
exactly did Cronshaw say to you earlier?

It's not now.

I've got tax here, Roger.

Here, have it with you, sir.

You

need

to have it out here and now.

Look, you're not a poor man.

Surely you can do me just one favor.

You know I'm desperate.

Thanks for everything, Griff. I think I
can handle it from here.

Time crunch realized I'm not one of them
prized racehorses.

Coco, are you sure you'll manage?

I'm sure.

I'd get back there if I were you.

That wife of yours may look like a
startled poodle, but she's no fool.

I'll never make it back before midnight.

And then you'd better go home and wait
for her.

Good night, Coco.

Sleep tight.

I always do.

Have a nice evening, Miss Colby.

Monsieur Hackerley, I thank you. You're
a great guy.

Santé. Cheers.

Are you sure I can't persuade you to
recount some of your juicier cases on

radio? Alas, no.

You see, murder, a real murder, is not
an entertainment.

Oh, look at this place. People dance,
they laugh.

But anywhere, there may be evil beneath
the mask.

Pardon me.

I saw you across the room. Aren't you
Hercule Poirot, the detective?

I am indeed, Madame Malavie. Oh, that's
amazing. You worked out my name. I

suppose you don't also know where Lord
Cromshaw is. He's a harlequin. He's been

in a tizzy ever since supper.

Alas, no.

Oh, he promised me a turn on the floor
before 12 o 'clock.

Then, Madame, you must not be
disappointed.

My associate, Captain Hastings, is a
dancer -consumer. He would be pleased to

accompany you.

My pleasure.

Ah, there he is.

Yoo -hoo!

By Captain Cromshaw!

Would you excuse me, Colonel? Of course.

King stood up, all right.

No gentle, I pray.

My lords, ladies, and gentlemen.

The time for the unmasking and the
victory celebrations is at hand.

Twelve shepherds for midnight.

Darling, what is it?

What's happened?

Lord Cronshaw's dead.

Inspector Jack, any comment to my... Is
it true of you, Poirot, Mr. Killer?

Tell us the truth, Inspector.

Here's a fine dish of tea, Poirot.

Peer of the realm murdered in cold blood
under the noses of 400 revelers.

We'll need the albohol to gather the
suspects on this one.

Perhaps.

She's one of the Theronites.

Plenty back here. We'll check for
prints, but I'll lay odds it's clean.

An instrument not very practical.

But in the right hands.

Ah, we also found this on the floor.

The Malaby woman saw him make some sort
of note just before he died.

Lewistoft.

Town on the east coast.

Perhaps he was planning a holiday.

I say, Poirot, look at this.

Attention, mon ami.

Monogram. Fee for Cronshaw.

Very nice.

What is it?

Such foolishness.

Young people must realize that life is
not to be gambled with like the roulette

wheel.

It is nothing less than poison.

Cocaine.

Would that account for its strange
behavior after supper?

It's not unusual for addicts to become
moody and troublesome.

It certainly seems to have put up a
fight.

Why do you say that, Hastings?

Hadn't you noticed?

His fist. It's still clenched.

Sister. I can't see how that helps us.

Can you not, Chief Inspector?

Then let me enlighten you further.

Unless I am very mistaken, there is
something very important behind this

curtain.

Voila. Well, it's just an empty recess.

My point exactly.

One more thing, Chief Inspector.

If I were you, I should find
Mademoiselle Coco Courtney.

Why?

Ask her if she and Lord Crenshaw had an
argument.

murderer eludes famous detective.

Idiot. It's a very good photo of Captain
Hastings.

Indeed it is, Miss Lamont.

I'm sure no one will think less of you.

Seen the paper, Poirot?

Jolly good photo of me. Oh, you've seen
it. I'll go and sort the letter.

I wouldn't take it to heart if I were
you.

No, indeed, Hastings.

For the present, it suits my purposes.

Ah.

This is what interests me.

The obituary.

Listen to this.

The Viscount Crenshaw was chairman of
many charities, including the Widows of

British Seaman and the League Against
Drug Addiction.

He has succeeded in his title in the
States by his uncle, the Honourable

Beltane. The League Against Drug
Addiction? That's a bit hypocritical,

You missed my point, I think, Estes.

Mr. Poirot.

Chief Inspector Jarrell.

Ah, Poirot. We're drawing a blank at
this end, I'm afraid. Miss Courtney

answer her phone and there's no reply at
her door either.

I implore you to be persistent, Chief
Inspector Shepard.

I am now even more convinced that
Mademoiselle Courtney must be located

possible speed.

Right.

Mademoiselle Courtney is proving
elusive.

Probably sleeping the night off.

What will these theatrical times lie in
late if they haven't a performance?

But she does have a performance.

They usually perform the Friday evening
play again on Saturday morning. My

mother listens to it during her morning
coffee.

Hercules Poirot.

I'm afraid the variety auditions are on
Tuesdays.

That is fortunate.

I am here on a matter of murder, madame.

You're the detective from the
newspapers.

Correct.

Don't suppose you want to miss a second
one?

You were never where you said you were
that night, but here all the time.

I've been such an idiot.

I never guessed it was the money you
wanted.

Is that what you thought?

Luckily, we took a recorded
transcription of last night's

archives. We'd have had to ask one of
the girls to double up parts.

Did Mademoiselle Courtney send you a
message this morning to explain her

absence? Not a sausage.

Three minutes to transmission, she still
wasn't answering her phone. So I had no

choice but to use the transcription and
dismiss the other actors.

Hastings, I'm very much afraid of what
has happened.

Would you please telephone the Chief
Inspector, Jacques?

Instruct him that he must enter the
apartment of Mademoiselle Courtney by

means necessary.

Well, of course. Hastings, please.

This is a matter of life and death.

Very clever, Lettie. But I suppose you
realise that you can't let this kill the

mood. Is there anything I can do to
help?

Oh, my God.

Philip, you can't.

Right, depart from the bus. Get down
over the battery.

Fast!

And don't break your necks!

Nothing yet?

You and Mamouza Courtney are old
friends, son.

After a fashion.

She likes having people she knows around
her, playing minor roles.

Coco and I go back a long way.

She was playing the lead in Rep when I
landed my first part.

So you see a great deal of each other.

Look here, Poirot, I'm a married man,
remember?

I'm sorry, Monsieur Davidson, forgive
me, but... I was just trying to

whether you could shed any light on the
argument last evening between

Mademoiselle Courtney and the Lord
Crenshaw.

Not really.

There was a bad atmosphere all evening.

It was as if something was brewing.

We all noticed it.

But they conversed normally at supper?

Hardly a word.

And no one had much of a chance to say
anything with Beltane going on about

china he wanted to add to his
collection.

Of course, it all flared up after the
meal.

And then I ended up taking her home.

And when you were alone together in the
taxi?

Just a lot of nonsense about how she'd
make Crunchell pay.

The usual hysterics.

Then I dropped her off at her flat.

What time was this?

Nearly midnight.

There was no time to go back to the
ball, so I just headed home.

Right, lower away.

Okay.

Okay.

He made me feel young again, like a
newborn calf.

When I saw him, it was as if the whole
world was fresh.

We'll come down right away.

Even the sky seemed bluer.

Hello. Come on.

Let's see your face. Quick.

Oi, stop that, you lot. Courtney.

Come on.

Come on, move out of the way.

Chief

Inspector?

We found her in the bedroom.

Overdose of cocaine.

Presumably supplied by her boyfriend,
Lord Cronshaw.

How many more must die before this folly
is seen for what it is?

Toxicity finally got too much for her.

Crenshaw must have been supplying it to
her for some time.

Do you not understand, Chief Inspector?

Lord Crenshaw was determined to stop
Mademoiselle Courtney from taking

The initial C on the silver case, it
stood for her name, Coco.

Of course.

The quarrel after supper was when
Crenshaw discovered what he'd suspected

evening, that she had a supply with her.
He took it from her, and that's when

she went home.

So despite him, she took another dose as
soon as she got back.

Messy. What I don't see is where
Cronshaw's murder fits in with all this.

Because the devil himself dances among
us. But we do not see him.

Eh?

I wonder.

Chief Inspector, would you permit me a
further examination of the body?

Well, I don't know what you expect to
find.

The facts on Miss Courtney are
indisputable. I am not talking about the

Mademoiselle Courtney.

I am talking about the body of Lord
Cronshaw.

That newspaper headline sent him dippy,
if you ask me.

What's he going to find that we didn't
spot last night?

You checked all his pockets.

Pockets, clothing, the lot.

I don't see. Indeed, you do not see,
Chief Inspector.

All right, Poirot, what's the trick?

Look at this hand.

What do you observe?

Clenched fist.

Hastings. I agree.

But a fist, why is it clenched?

Could it be

that it hides a secret?

He was old and something. The pom -pom.

Madame Malaby. Captain Hainting. We meet
again. I wonder, could you... Of

course. Oh, I couldn't decide on my
often look.

Anyway, Eustace can afford it. He's my
Count Cronson now.

To what do we owe this delegation?

Well, Monsieur Poirot has taken it into
his head to see these famous figurines.

Oh. A foolish win.

Is His Highness at home, sir?

His Lordship is in the morning room,
madam. Thank you.

This way, gang.

Samuelson, be a dear and take the boxes,
will you?

I used it.

Oh, I see you're already enjoying your
inheritance.

It's beautiful.

May as well salvage some consolation out
of this awful business.

Ah,

Poirot.

Hastings. Welcome.

Good afternoon, Viscount.

I say, what a quaint little tea set.

Hastings, this tea set is not only
quaint, as you call it, but priceless.

And very rare, as well.

Had no idea you were interested in
China, Poirot.

Mr. Poirot wants to see the figurines.

The mice? May we?

We have all heard so much about them and
of your success in bringing them to

this country.

I wonder if I could please make an
examination?

Feel free.

Thank you.

Mayor?

I can't imagine what he's looking for.

Trick of the trade, you know.

The costumes last night at the ball...

There were exact replicas of these?

To the last detail.

And this was your apparel, was it not?

Punchinello. With the elaborate ruff and
the hump?

Yes.

I imagine it took some time to change in
and out of this costume.

I had to hold him up while he unfastened
it.

As I thought.

Viscount, where were you after supper
last night during the war?

Trying to beat down the dealer champion
for this lot.

Finally managed to corner him. In the
supper room.

That's right.

Again, I thank you.

Oh, cheerio.

I've been looking for you.

Inspector Jack.

I've been doing some thinking. And to my
mind, that missing pom -pom could only

have come from one person.

I concur absolutely, Chief Inspector.

Excuse me.

Mrs Davidson?

Yes?

May we come in?

Oh, thank you.

I'm sorry my husband isn't here. He went
out for a drink.

A bit early for that sort of thing,
isn't it?

He's the sociable type, is he?

Yes.

Unlike me.

Acting isn't exactly a good, steady job
for me.

You're not in the profession yourself?

No.

I thought I might like to once, but I
just couldn't. Not in front of everyone

like that.

Indeed, there are many types of people
in this world, madame.

We must each be true to ourselves.

Perhaps.

What exactly did you want?

Monsieur Poirot here has some notion of
staging a reconstruction of the evening.

That is so.

It is just merely a question of detail
to be checked.

The precise nature of the costumes that
were made for you for last night's ball,

you understand?

I think so.

We'd like to have a look at them for a
moment, if we may.

Do you still have them?

I'm afraid not.

My husband sent them to be cleaned.

Yes, of course.

Quel dommage.

Well, I'm very sorry to have disturbed
you, Madame Davidson.

We will just finish our gear.

Thank you, Hastings.

You were right, Madam Davidson, not to
consider a career in acting.

Your eyes betrayed what your tongue
denied.

Chief Inspector?

There's a pom -pom missing from the
Pierrette costume.

That?

Perhaps you'd like to tell us how it
came to turn up in the hand of the

man?

Oh, yes, I forgot.

It got pulled off after supper, and I
didn't know what to do with it.

I looked for Mr.

Belting, but he was in the supper room
having some kind of argument, so I gave

it to Lord Cronshaw to look after.

Sorry, I didn't think it was important.

Does that answer your question?

You must understand, Madam Davidson,
that to conceal information may not only

protect the guilty, but also punish the
innocent.

You do understand, do you not?

I understand.

I'm sorry.

Her story seemed completely plausible,
except in one respect or both. It is a

foolish lie.

The threats on the pom -pom that we
discovered in the hand of Lord Cronshaw,

they were torn, whereas those on the
costume of Madame Davidson were cut.

You mean she cut it off herself?

No, no, Hastings. She did not even
notice that the pom -pom was missing

pointed it out. That is why she made up
that story that was ridiculous.

Hers was cut by the murderer.

Why?

So replace the one that Lord Cronshaw
had torn from the costume of his killer.

Well, if it wasn't her, and her husband
wasn't even there when Cronshaw was

murdered... Have either of you
considered the possibility of a

costume? Another pair of.

And what about that note he left?

Lowestoft. Ah, yes, the note.

May I suggest that you inquire from the
dealer about the dinner service that has

just been purchased by Lord Belteng?

I think you will discover that it is
rare Lowestoft, China.

You mean...

And now it is necessary to restore the
reputation of Hercule Poirot.

This is the national program.

In a change to our published schedule,
we now present a special broadcast.

Good evening, everybody.

This is Hercule Poirot.

I have been asked many times to recount
my cases for the radio, but I have

always refused.

However, tonight, I have decided to
present for you...

A reconstruction of the affair at a
victory ball.

And that is why I have with me tonight
in the studio the principal members of

the party whose lives were altered by
that most tragic event. I thank you all

very, very much indeed for accepting my
invitation.

And now, I take you back to the Colossus
Ballroom on the night of the victory

ball.

The lights, they dim.

place.

And the shadows of the principal
characters return to gather before us.

Listen.

You can almost hear them.

Harlequin am I, in diamond panes of
colored hues.

And I his columbine. Together we have
special care for lovers.

True.

Pulcinello also here appears, bombast
and buffoon to no avail.

Seeking heart of Pulcinello, ever shall
he fail.

Heroes tragic fated saddest, see his
painted tear.

Sign for his own peeress, star -crossed
lovers.

So completes our masqueraders, gathered
once more here.

And so our little evocation is complete.

Our ensemble is before us.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, I have
been told is the wonder of radio,

what we see is in the eye of our mind.

What is in the eye of your mind, Madame
Malepi?

Why, the six characters we heard, of
course.

Viscount?

Oh, just the same.

The six characters as portrayed by my
figurines.

But... You agree, Madame Davidson?

Of course we agree, Mr. Poirot.

But now let us see the reality before
us.

Monsieur Adam, the players.

I present to you Pierrette, Pierrot,
Pulcinella...

Puccinello and Columbine.

There's one missing.

That's right. Where's Harlequin?

Have you forgotten, Viscount, that
Harlequin can become invisible?

Let us now reveal the truth.

Are you ready to tell us the truth?

Madame Davidson, or shall I?

Very well.

It was all very simple.

The motive behind the murders of both
Lord Crenshaw and Coco Courtney was the

evil drug cocaine.

During the Victory Ball, I witnessed an
argument between Lord Crenshaw and

Mademoiselle Coco.

They were known to be lovers, but
Crenshaw discovered Coco's secret

What the hell is it you're laughing at?

The young Lord Crenshaw was a man of
high principle.

He seized his lover's cocaine and
threatened to expose the supplier who

destroying her life along with many
others.

But Coco was now hopelessly addicted.

By the time she reached home, she had
obtained a new, fatally strong dose of

cocaine from her supplier, who now knew
the one chance to avoid prison was

murder.

But what about Harlequin?

When I examined the body of Lord
Crenshaw, I failed to discover the pom

Why?

Because the fist was clenched tight with
a rigor motive.

Lord Crenshaw was not killed at 12 o
'clock. He was killed earlier in the

evening and the body hidden in a recess
until later.

But that can't be. I saw him myself a
few moments before midnight.

No, no, no, Madame Malaby.

The Harlequin that you saw, that very
same Harlequin, is here with us in this

room.

The killer had a duplicate costume.

and after the murder assumed the role of
harlequin, even scribbling a false clue

pointing to Monsieur Beltane and his
obsession with the lowest of china.

Ridiculous, huh?

Since the elaborate costume of Monsieur
Beltane cannot be changed without

assistance.

No. The murder took place soon after
Thaper, when the killer contrived the

moment alone with Lord Crenshaw.

It is Crenshaw who knows the truth about
the dealing in cocaine.

To avoid being exposed and to preserve
the evil trade in drugs, the murderer

stabs Lord Crenshaw to death.

At the time, the killer is unaware that
the last act of Lord Crenshaw is to pull

the pom -pom from the costume.

Then, the body is hidden in the alcove,
and the plan, it can be completed.

At last, having alerted Madame Malaby
just before midnight, The final task was

to drive the body from its hiding place
so it would appear that the murder had

only just been committed.

Twelve seconds to midnight.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six.

The murderer then slips quietly away.

Knowing that when the discovery of the
body occurs, it is believed that

he is safely at home.

No, it couldn't have been Chris.

But it was Madame Davidson.

It was your husband who had a moment
alone with Lord Crenshaw. It was your

husband who gave to Coco when they were
alone together in the taxi Mocha Cane.

And in spite of what he told us, it was
your husband who had ample time to

return to the ball to complete his
masquerade as Harlequin.

Until... You protect him.

Even though you later discovered that he
was implicating you, his own wife, in

the crime by replacing the pompon that
was torn from his costume with the one

cut from your own.

Don't listen to him, darling.

Congratulations, Mr. Poirot, on a most
entertaining piece of detective fiction.

Maybe.

I'm afraid that is so.

Half a mile? What do you mean?

Because unless Madam Davidson is willing
to testify that her husband deals in

drugs, I'm afraid that everything that I
have told you so far remains only

theory. Then I take it the show is over?

Oui.

Unless... Harlequin has

one last...

With which hand did you see Harlequin
writing?

Oh, my God.

Crenshaw was right -handed.

Christopher Ian Davidson, I arrest you
for the murders of Viscount Crenshaw and

Miss Coco Corley.

If he had not gone too far and tried to
confuse by writing a clue that pointed

to Beltane, he would be walking away
with us now.

But as you say, Mr. Ackerley, actors,
they never know when to stop.

However, I thank you very much indeed
for your cooperation.

I'm honored that you took up my
invitation.

I'm sure it was a most enlightening
experience for our listeners.

Thank you. Mr. Ackerley, they've been
trying to find you. The switchboard's

flooded with callers.

complaining about the dreadful accent,
lowering the standard of spoken English,

all that sort of thing.

Oh. Sir John Rees is waiting to see you
in his office.

So sorry.

Don't take it too hard for her.

Indeed not.

I am not at all surprised.

You're not?

No.

Chief Inspector, you really ought to
look to your elocution.

Swipe me. There's nothing wrong with my
lingo.

You see, that is exactly the kind of
expression like half a mother brings a

language into disrepute.

Come, Hastings.

I shall lend to the chief inspector my
personal copy of the English as she

should be spoken.