All language subtitles for 03 They Do It With Mirrors

Naturally, they all put the fire down to
faulty wiring, but I know that there was

a man.

I can see him now. He was stealing
across the hallway.

How would you describe him, Ruth?
Wicked.

Quite, quite wicked.

I see.

Of course, Carrie Louise says that I
dreamed it all, but then my sister never

had any time for unpalatable truth.

Do you think anyone could possibly
guess, Jane, that you and I are

practically the same age? Not for a
moment, I'm sure.

I'm afraid, you see, I look every minute
at my age.

No.

When was it, this fire?

About six weeks ago.

I'd just flown in from New York for a
meeting with the trustees.

Surely, Karen Louise's husband must have
seen something.

Lewis has eyes only for his dear wife
and her blessed cause.

She's still keeping up with her causes.
The sunrise in the morning?

Naturally, such a thing is fashionable
when one is a young girl.

I was going to nurse lepers, and you
were off to be a nun, I believe.

Quite possibly, but marriage knocks
sense into one, and God knows, Carrie

Louise has had plenty of practice ever
since she threw herself at that Nordic

lump. Her first husband, Mr.

Gould Bronson, he was something of a
philanthropist, wasn't he? And two

husbands later, she is still living off
his inheritance, and she has surpassed

herself with this latest cause,
criminals.

Oh? She imagines she can do something
with them.

So there they all are, all living it up
in some so-called reform facility at the

bottom of her garden.

Gracious. And this is what you're afraid
of? Jane, I don't know.

All the time I was with her, I felt this
presence around her.

And then that fire in her study.

All of her memories burnt to ashes.

Someone in that house wishes my sister
harm. I dare say that all sounds quite

mad to you.

Oh, no. You believe me? I trust your
conviction.

Nothing's ever surprised you, has it,
Jane? Because you always think the

worst. The worst is so often true.

Then you'll go as soon as you can?

Do you remember how she

and Gould Bronson longed for a child of
their own?

Didn't they adopt in the end? I think I
met the child. Very pretty girl.

Yes, Gina.

A bewitching little thing.

Then, as so often happens, not long
after, Carrie Louise found herself

pregnant. Now, normally it's hard lines
on the adopted child, but not in their

case. Carrie Louise was so anxious to
make no difference between the two that

when Mildred came along, if anything,
she tended to overindulge little Gina.

while her natural child was left to fend
for itself.

Poor Mildred. She never stood a chance.

Hello. Oh, hello.

Oh, what a nice string bag.

You must be...

It's the 450 from Paddington.

I said you must be Aunt Jane. And you
must be Gina. How did you guess?

Don't answer that.

Come on.

This must be the famous facility where
Mummy keeps her young men.

Hmm.

Incorrigible.

Oh, dear.

Why, them, of course. Oh.

Jane. My dear Karen Louise.

How are you? The flesh is weak, but the
spirit's as stubborn as ever.

Would you take tea? I always have mine
standing up, otherwise one would sit

around forever, don't you think?

Allow me to introduce Lewis, treasured
husband and chief

of my tribe.

How?

How do you do?

Amateur dramatics.

Things we do for love. I think you look
quite fierce.

Oh. Don't you, dear?

I have no head for such matters.

My daughter, Mildred. How very nice to
meet you after all this long while.

Likewise.

I've put Miss Marple in the Fabian
suite, ma'am. Good thinking.

Jane, this is Juliette Belliver, who's
simply everything to me. Nurse, dragon,

watchdog, and very faithful friend.

Jolly. What's for dinner? I'm starved.

As Mr. Kellogg has proven, an excess of
protein in the diet excites all the

wrong instincts, amongst those of a
criminal vet. We find barley an

excellent substitute.

Isn't that so, Dr. Maverick? Indeed.

For what we are about to receive...

May the Lord make us truly thankful.

Amen.

And may he, in his wisdom, remind us
that without thee and all

his gifts, we are like our rudderless
ship.

Oh, dear.

Doomed to... Doomed to perish upon the
rocks.

Amen. Amen.

Thank you, dear.

Vividly put.

I like us all to eat together once a
week.

I want all my charges to feel they're
like part of the family.

And so we do, my dear.

They make a splendid couple.

I should hope not.

That's my stepson, Stephen Restrick, by
my second husband, Johnny, the theatre

producer. Of course he is.

All manner of waifs and strays under
this roof.

Everyone's allowed the odd error of
judgment.

Dad was yours, isn't that right,
darling?

Stop it, you're making my mother sound
quite far.

Well, there she is.

A couple more divorces and I shall have
all her exes carved into the rock like

Mount Rushmore.

Not quite a laughing matter.

Stephen has made himself indispensable
to my wife's dramatic review.

Terry Louise likes me to stage a show
for her every year. It's a morale

booster for the troops.

Are you in the theatre like your father,
Mr Westwick?

I'm in fabric.

Soft furnishings.

Keeps me out of mischief.

But Stevie's going to storm the West End
in the spring, aren't you, darling?

And Gina's husband?

A gentleman called Wally Hurt, from
Wyoming.

Mr. Hurt has a great fondness for
grilled chicken.

What is he doing?

He's mending a toaster. A very capable
fellow.

Wally was a G.I. during the Normandy
landings. He and Gina met during V-Day.

You can imagine.

On the contrary, I think they're
admirably suited.

Did you have a good war, Wally?

Well, it didn't kill me.

But it didn't make me stronger.

May I help you?

No, no.

Oh,

such a pity.

The fire.

Quite.

Set us back some months.

Edgar Lawson.

Jane Mantle.

Till I gather.

You work for Carrie Louise?

For Mr. Theracord.

I'm his personal.

Secretary.

Sounds terribly important.

It has its moments.

But... Oh?

May I speak in confidence?

Of course.

Swear it, please.

You see, I have no wish to compromise
it.

Mr. Ferricult?

No.

My father.

I am, in fact, Winston Churchill.

I do see.

He does what he can, but he's vile.

We have done.

And the whispering campaign, if it
wasn't for the damned whispering, do you

see? Has anyone seen Mrs. Sedercold? I
was just thinking the same thing.

This is the second time this week she's
forgotten a chronic.

The woman has no head for her own
safety.

to mention that a cool dip works wonders
for arthritis.

And you know Mama.

Always the first to the barricade. But
she can hardly swim.

Oh, pop the cock.

Anyone here actually swim?

Very well, landlubbers. I'll rescue them
myself or die trying. Gina, don't you

dare. I say, Mildred.

Who are those young men?

Come on.

Looks like you're surprised we're all
good now.

Watch out.

My dear Ruth, I had hoped to dispel your
concerns over Kara Louisa's safety.

But I fear I cannot.

She has the same blithe spirit as ever.

But there may, as you suggested, be dark
forces at play here in Stony Gates.

Gina is as bewitching, as you say.

Certainly the stepson Stephen Rasterick
finds her so.

While her American husband looks away,
as if indifferent.

And then there is... Edgar Lawson.

He is maladjusted, certainly.

But there is something else a little
wrong about Edgar Lawson.

Though what it is, and whether it
touches Carrie Louise, I cannot yet say.

It's so good to see you so well.

I know it's silly, but the world feels a
more secure place with you at my side.

What have I done to deserve such a
trust?

It must have been a terrible shock for
you. The fire, I mean. In my study.

Oh, no, no, that was an accident.

It's just... I promise you won't be the
word of this to my poor Lewis.

Oh, the hero of the hour.

Abattoir Anthony.

Ma'am?

Eight counts for burglary, four for
breaking an entry, and more grievous

harm than I have fingers and toes to
count. But last night, this gentleman

saved my life. All it takes is a little
dignity, though try telling that to the

Home Office.

And this is Whitstable Ernest. How are
your tomatoes bearing?

Wipe as plums, ma'am.

Get a toy, madam.

Oh, very nice. Thank you.

Mr. Seracard happily recovered from his
paddle, I hope? Oh, quite.

Off to London on the first train this
morning.

On business, I expect. That's right.

Ernest once took a great interest in
financial matters.

Yes, so I got a bit ahead of myself,
didn't I, Mum? He used to invest other

people's money without their permission.

Still, the fellow needs something to
look back on as he matures.

You have green fingers, I see. Thank
you. And happily free to use them.

Lakeside view, once been a garden.

Can't think of a more pleasurable way to
unwind.

Put like that, I feel I might join you.

Well, there's always room for one more.

Mrs. Sedeco.

Jolly. There's a gentleman to see you.

Oh?

I'll be along in a moment.

Christian.

Not whom you were expecting.

Well, I... I didn't know... Raptor, you
were in such mystery.

Johnson, I told Lewis last night, didn't
he tell you? Oh, perhaps he did. I'll

get Jolly to prepare the care-hardy
rooms.

Oh, Jane, I'm so sorry. Allow me to
present Christian, my other stepson, by

way of my late beloved first husband.

Oh, Mr.

Goldbranson's son.

I see. Well, I think I do.

Madame. I hope you won't be deserting us
too soon this time.

Well... At least day for the weekend.

I was hoping to have a word with Lewis.

business matter.

All very tedious.

Well, he's not here, so you'll jolly
well have to wait.

So much the better.

Come, let us show you the garden.

Such a lovely day.

They might have consulted me.

Miss Lawson.

I'm Mr. Theracolt's personal secretary.

Ergo, Gulbrontham should come to me if
it's also urgent.

Indeed.

They take me for a fool.

But I know.

That's the point.

What do you know?

He had the devil in him.

Mr.

Gulbronson? Or your father?

Just you wait and see. Leave her alone.

Spying on me?

Don't you see the old day wants some
peace? Go on, split.

Gladly.

some coffee you have there. Perhaps you
could spare a drop of my nerves.

I make it pretty strong.

Well, that's the way I like it.

A cup of Joe, isn't that what you
Americans call it?

Or is that just what the picture says?

You know, I sometimes wonder who or what
Joe is.

Well, God bless him, whoever he is.

You know, when I look out on all this,
I'm beginning to feel a little homesick

for my hostage.

Oh, you and me both.

You have hostages?

Oh, no, I... Oh, homesick.

Yeah.

Well, there's only one known cure for
that.

Try telling that to Princess.

What have I got to give her?

Two crummy rooms in a gas station.

Hello,

Stoney Gates.

Very good, sir.

There's no need. I've already informed
the groundsman.

I'll see to it myself.

Goodbye.

That Mr.

Sarah Cole?

Yes, sir.

He'll be home on the 427th planned.

Perhaps I might.

Drive up and meet him from the station.
He prefers to walk.

Very good.

Miss Belliver.

I should see about dinner.

Miss Marple?

Oh, Mr. Gilbrunson.

Just offer a little lie down.

Well, don't let me keep you.

Miss Marple, you've known Carrie Louise.

Oh, most of my life, would you believe?
Such a comfort.

Old friends.

I like to think so.

We have a different perspective, one
might say.

How do you find her?

As great an idealist as ever.

But it may be she does not appreciate
the evil there is in the world.

Tell me, how is her health?

She seems well enough, apart from the
arthritis.

And her heart?

Is her heart strong?

As far as one can tell, that's a good
bronzer.

Until supper time.

Enjoy your shot eye.

It's hard to stay.

Carrie Louise for knowledge.

If it can be kept from her, why is it
so?

That's it.

No, no, no. Keep going.

I want it in the center. Okay, left it
there.

Left, left. No, no, right, right. Left.

To the right.

A bit further to the right.

Just a bit.

Oh, dear.

Further.

Sorry, I'll go.

Oh, Mel. I thought you didn't approve of
such things.

Try anything once.

I bet.

Christian. I hope you'll stay for the
dress rehearsal.

I'm a little weary.

Could I have some paper and a typewriter
brought up to my room? Of course.

Miss Bellaville. I'll see to it at once.

How nice. All of us together under the
same roof. Yes.

Could you give me a hand with this?

Where's your Mr Lawson? One of two.

Edgar? Oh, I don't know.

Not off, I expect.

Yeah.

Oh,

if there's anything more I can do.

You sit tight and hoot like a banshee.

Oh.

All right.

All set.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

That's not your cue.

Well, I'm here now.

So let's go on with it.

Spoken like a pro.

Madam, you forgot your tonic.

Oh, hang on.

I normally do this. I'm sorry, my
darling.

I quite forgot.

Oh.

Oh. Oh, no. It doesn't matter. It
doesn't matter. It doesn't matter,

Lewis. Really, it's not important.
Sorry, Miss Bella. Never mind, Jolly.

Put it down. I'll take it later.

Oh. I wonder.

Miss Marple. What? I wonder.

If you wouldn't mind. Oh, but I don't
seem to have my glasses.

On your head?

No. Oh.

Yes, here. Get over there.

I have traveled far and wide to... I
believe it's to

hail you.

Hail you.

To hail you from the great gods of our
tribe.

Dear me. They say that I, big chief
running bear, must brave

all for the love of my dear.

Third and finest, Lewis.

What? Third and finest.

Oh, quite, quite. Sorry, sorry. My third
and finest score, Summer Rain.

Oh. Oh,

Tina, you look lovely. Good grief.

That's the summer.

Oh.

Here we go.

Her beauteous eyes, most pleasantly
framed.

Oh, bravo.

Most eloquent, Stevie.

Edgar.

Edgar.

Sit down.

Oh, not again.

Wiring's on the blink. I'll go and check
the fuse box.

Oh, good man, Wally.

Well, what now?

Shall we carry on, my sir?

Eddie, Eddie!

Is something wrong, Edgar?

You dare to ask me that?

Calm as you like when... He's got a gun,
just a toy. He's very angry. Everybody

focus.

Very dramatic.

I want the truth. And I want you all to
bear witness.

To bear witness.

I'm serious.

You're scaring us now.

Look at you standing there. You're
pathetic.

Somebody please get Wally.

chasing your every whim like some grubby
little... He's only got to lock the

bloody door.

Put the gun down, Edgar.

I'm not here. A smile there. Thank you,
Mr. Theracold.

Edgar.

How many sugars, Mr. Theracold?

Tea is sweet enough for you, Mr.
Theracold.

Somebody do something.

Oh, don't be silly. He's harmless.
Anything at all?

Don't just stand there with your mouth
open. Give me that gun.

Don't move.

Oh, Mr. Lawson.

Don't you think that you might be more
comfortable inside? Nobody move.

this time it was you whispering and
plotting.

Edgar, please, this is madness.

You promised to help me. Edgar, enough.

Awful me, eh?

Never trust anyone.

He's not in this den of... Look at you.

We ought to ship the whole lot of you
off to your present facility and see how

you... I told you not to move!

Come here. It's all right, Edgar. Come
here.

I'm not going to hurt you. On your
knees.

Edgar, the key.

Not exactly big game, is he? Well, I
suppose you could always try boiling him

up for stock.

Father? Stephen! What's he doing here?

Lewis Staracold. Glad to meet you, old
man.

Oh, Edgar, whatever next? Chase up Dr
Maverick, will you?

Did I hear gunshots? So you must be...
Big Chief Johnny Restrick.

Fresh from the happy hunting grounds of
Soho and the Garrick. And, uh, former

tenant... Of the great white bed. Oh.

Any chance of something moist in a
glass, old man?

Why not?

Ah, look at you, my botted shelly angel.

Oh.

We have to call the police.

Oh, there's no need to fuss. Edgar is
quite himself again, and Lewis is fine,

aren't you, darling?

It wasn't Mr. Dedicote I was thinking
of.

He was always so precise about his
appearance.

I'm so sorry.

How could anyone do such a thing?

Forgive me, Cara Louise, but had you any
idea that your former husband was coming

to Stoney Cates tonight?

Johnny?

Yes, how did you know?

Well, earlier, dear, when we were near
the glasshouse, you tried to tell me

what was troubling you.

Yes, you see, Johnny kept writing me
these long letters, like some supplicant

at the gate, threatening to end it all
if I turned him away.

And you gave him hope?

Never!

Though heaven knows what Lewis will make
of it.

He gets into the most dreadful huff if
he so much as sees Johnny's name in the

newspaper.

Do come in.

Inspector Curry.

Ma'am, my assistant, Sergeant May.

Your stepson, I get it? That's right.

By my late first husband.

Judicial shock and a bit of a late
night, I imagine.

Jane Marple.

Friend of Mrs. Sayre.

A chair for the lady, Sergeant.

So, let's see if I've got this straight.

Deceased arrived today on a pressing
matter of business with your husband, Mr

Lewis Seracold.

Deceased then retired to his room after
a light supper, where he was stabbed in

the back, while the rest of the company
were busy downstairs, locked in the

drawing room for a theatrical
performance that...

went awry on account of a Mr... Edgar
Lawson.

That's correct.

Nothing to concern you there, Inspector.

A momentary aberration. One of your
convicts, is he, this Edgar Lawson?

What of it?

What's he in for?

Oh, I see.

Edgar rather pressed his attention on
one or two pillars of society.

Mr Churchill, Viscount Montgomery and so
forth. He's been with us two years.

He's made great strides.

And he had access to the gun room? Edgar
is my husband's personal secretary.

I see. From time to time, we employ
individuals from the facility, those who

would benefit from added responsibility.

And where is he now, this Mr Lawson?

Asleep.

Dr Maverick sedated him. And where were
the other convicts?

Safely under curfew.

All the gates of the property are locked
at 5pm.

Oh, sharp.

Of course.

This would be the murder weapon, then.

Military flavour familiar at all?

It belongs.

It belongs to a Mr Wally Harder.

US Army knife.

The American who left the locked room to
fix the wiring?

He kept that knife in his room.

Absolutely anybody could have taken it.
Well, I think we've gleaned as much as

we can from the crime scene.

I'd like Gina to take me to my room.

Miss Gina!

Oh, Inspector, I'm sorry.

I did wonder, the typewriter.

Ah, was it an imperial good companion?

And then I've got my evenings muddled. I
seem to recall the late mystical Bronson

requested a typewriter and paper be
brought up to his room.

Right.

It struck me as a little odd that one
would imagine he wished to write

correspondence, only there doesn't
appear to be any.

Miss Belliver? As a matter of fact,
there was a letter.

I thought I told no-one to touch a
thing. Who else has been here?

Only Mr Lewis Saracolt.

Very good.

Thank you. Thank you, Miss... Marple is
quite welcome. Anything else up your

sleeve? Not especially.

Only... Well, there was a rather unusual
incident after dinner with Mrs.

Theracol's tonic.

Her husband appeared to spill it, but
I'm quite sure he meant to drop it.

Miss Bello was rather put out.

Oh, splendid.

Got all that?

Just a little thing, of course, but
after my conversation with Mr.

Goldbronson earlier in the day... You
spoke with the victim? Only briefly, I'm

afraid, but he did say something rather
unusual.

He asked, after Carrie Louise's health,
is her heart strong?

Her heart?

Well, those were his words.

What did he mean by that?

Perhaps... Louis Seracold can shed more
light on the matter. They were having a

talk this evening in the park.

I just happened to be looking out of my
window.

You're not new to this game, are you,
Miss Harple?

How about a song?

Cheer us all up.

Look at this.

I, big chief running bear, must brave
all for the love of my hair.

Who wrote this drivel?

I did.

As a matter of fact. Ah.

Not to worry.

Hand me a pencil. We'll see if he can't
turn us around.

No.

We're getting on very well as we are,
thanks all the same. I think it's jolly

good. Well, I stand corrected.

Oh, hello. Is that the time?

Say, you couldn't free up the October
suite for a fallen comrade, could you?

He's not sleeping in here.

No choice, old man.

Copper's orders.

Very well.

I dare say we can accommodate a
gentleman on skid row.

That's more like it. Miss Belliver, will
you deliver our guest to the facility?

Thank you. What?

I'm sure you'll find the accommodation
adequate to your needs.

Quite correct on both counts.

Chris John and I did speak before
dinner, and there was indeed a letter in

the typewriter.

Ah, I have it with me now.

I take a dim view, sir, of those who
meddle with my evidence.

Of course you do.

But you see, I knew my wife wanted to
view her late stepson's body, and if she

were to glimpse the letter's contents...
Oh, sounds very grave, sir.

What matter of business could be so
terrible? Well, it's nothing to do with

business. Well, you were colleagues.

After a fashion.

Christian Gulbranson was a fellow
trustee of his late father's estate,

together with myself and my wife's
sister, Ruth Von Rydock, her sound head

for business.

Anyway, I take care of the day-to-day
running. I have a background in

auditing. The three of us like to meet
at least once a year to keep a weather

eye on the accounts.

When we last met, Christian...

outline some concerns.

But, ever cautious, he did not run to
specifics, not until he'd made

inquiries. He wanted to be sure, you
see.

And tonight, he finally confessed the
truth.

We agreed that he should write to Ruth
at once and seek her advice.

There, there.

Read it.

Dear Ruth,

A crisis of extraordinary gravity has
arisen, and I am at a loss how to deal

with it. I know how your deep affection
is for Carrie Louise, and how grave your

concern for anything that affects her.

Not to beat about the bush, I have
reason to believe she is being slowly

and cold-bloodedly poisoned.

I first suspected this when... And here
he breaks off.

Murdered? Beggars believe.

Only living with her in and out of each
other's pockets, one doesn't see the

little changes.

And you think Christian Gulbronson knew
the identity of the poisoner? He had an

idea.

If only I'd pressed him.

I wanted you to know, Miss Marple, as an
old friend of my wife's.

Thank you.

All of you.

You agree.

It's imperative.

She discovers no hint of this threat.

If the woman's in danger, she needs to
be made aware of the risk.

But who would wish harm on Carrie
Louise?

A woman so universally admired.

What possible motive?

Well, we must have the household locked
in the drawing room and Mr. Seracold

here held at gunpoint by the harmless
Edgar Lawson.

Yes, that would seem to narrow the
field.

If I could just...

Like I told you, I came straight here.

The crazy British wiring, the main fuse
box was blown second time that night.

Second, sir?

Yes, I'm told.

The lights went out around seven
o'clock.

Care to explain what your knife was
doing in that fellow's back, sir?

Well, it was in our bedroom. Second
drawer, bedside table. Anybody could

have taken it.

Anybody.

Do you believe him? I've never had much
time for Americans.

Well, at least this one did his bit in
the war. What about the household staff?

Night off.

The ex-husband, Johnny Restrick?

I reckon it was him. It has to be.

He's the only other person who's
unaccounted for.

Right, sir? I think we can do better
than that. Never underestimate the power

of the obvious, Sergeant Lake.

Sir? A flock of jailbirds, rotten to the
core, simmering in their own juices.

The leopard don't change his spot,
Sergeant Lake. Not in West Brats.

Certainly well drilled, sir.

Apparently they do training like this
every morning. Training for what?

What's he doing here?

Lose circles, orders.

Not keen on the competition, eh?

Come on.

Mr. Effig, a word, if you please.

If you ask me...

Lewis wants a closer look.

I mean, these city suits, they're just
glorified clerks, you know. Coming up

west, Friday night, you know.

Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth,
though, please. I've seen it dribbling

down his chin.

What brought you to Stoney Gates, Mr.
Resterick?

Love gave me wings.

Got to get fit, you see.

Mrs. Seracold.

Look, everybody's entitled to a second
chance, aren't they?

Except for murderers, obviously.

So, you walked from the station,
proceeded through the park to the back

of the main house. Is this correct, sir?
Perfect suspect, ain't I? Quite alone,

no witnesses.

See anything, sir, on your way round to
the house?

Now, I did have one of my mad creative
turns.

I wouldn't expect you to understand
that, how could you?

I might.

Well, it was the fog that got me going,
standing there in the darkness of the

garden. footsteps, and then the gun.

Pow! Pow!

I thought to myself, now that's exactly
the effect that I want for my Limehouse

Nights.

My ballet?

Footsteps.

Where from?

Impossible to say, old man.

So you've crossed the garden to the
French windows.

Yeah, yeah. Well, perhaps it's a closer
look.

Anything wrong with that?

I blame myself.

Christian dead, and now Gina's young
American.

You think Wally might have committed the
murder? I don't know what to think.

But sometimes I wonder, the way she
rushed into the marriage, was it for

want of a mother's affection?

If I'd been less consumed with my own
work, if I'd given more time, more

energy, for a child needs to feel
cherished in the nursery, doesn't she?

Or she'll never come to know her own
value.

Above all, An adopted child.

What was that?

Oh, no, look.

am a trustee. I have rights. And if
someone is trying to kill my sister...

No, if about it, I'm afraid. I just
received a telegram confirming the

presence of arsenic in Mrs. Theracold's
bottle of tonic. Well, then we must tell

her at once. For pity's sake, Ruth.

Keep your powder dry till morning, would
you? Oh, how perfectly quaint.

No wonder you people lost the empire.

There is a killer on the loose.

You think I don't know that?

You think I don't hold my breath every
time she lifts a spoon to her lip?

I'm trying to protect my wife as
lovingly as I can.

You make too much fuss of her.

You always have.

How is Mr.

Hardfaring? Oh, we'll have him off your
hands in no time, Mum.

Just as soon as he's fit to move.

How would I know what he's been up to?

How would I know the first thing about
him? I'm only his wife, after all.

Sorry. Such a mess.

Found it in a drawer somewhere.

It's the air of contrivance I don't care
for. What?

Well, I was probably thinking how
convenient it all was.

There we were, in the drawing room,
safely under lock and key, at precisely

the moment when... I take your point.

But if there was no other way out...
Wally!

No!

Gina!

Gina!

Don't you dare, gentlemen!

Don't you dare! Get away from him! Get
away from him! I will not let you... You

can't take him away. I have something
very important to say to the inspector.

What the fresh hell is this, eh? He
hasn't done anything.

He hasn't done anything.

Now,

young lady, what was it you wanted to
show us?

Any one of us could have left this room
to murder poor Christian.

There, you see?

Come along, Sergeant, mate.

Come on.

Go on.

This way, Inspector.

Where's she going?

Sherlock matches.

Recent? I should say.

Interesting smell.

Diesel? Possibly.

So you see, Inspector, any of us could
have done it.

That's absurd.

Once Mr Lawson started firing, we were
all frozen to the spot. What, nobody

moved?

Everyone present and correct throughout
Mr Hud's absence?

And I want you all to bear witness.

Absolutely.

But the lights were out.

I know what I saw.

Stephen?

He was lurking about at the piano. I
told him off. Stephen, that belly isn't

helping. No, no, Stephen went for help.

All these weeks, typing your letters.
He's only going to lock the bloody door.

And where did he go after that?

I couldn't honestly say.

And young Mrs. Hud?

Gina.

She was with me, just behind the others.

You're quite certain of that fact?

Well, now that you press me, she came
away from the

window... Somebody please get Wally!

...in that preposterous outfit, but
then... You

don't think my sister could... Now,
we're not jumping to any conclusions.

Well, she's always been flighty.

Unpredictable, volatile.

And she's been sticking to Mother like
flypaper since the moment she got here.

What, Mildred?

Oh!

Well, she knocked into that little
table. And after that, I don't know

where she got to.

So, what now, Inspector?

You're not really going to arrest my
Wally.

What are you doing?

Well that

Giant redwood

smells of America

This baby is about the last thing in
this damn place I can count on.

Don't be so melodramatic.

Anyway, this baby is a Wellingtonia, not
a Redwood.

Wally, where were you going on that
bicycle?

Darling, what are you doing?

Keeping busy.

Oh, has he been a brute again?

He's not a brute.

Of course not.

But a chap like that and a girl like
you, he doesn't know what makes you

tick. How could he?

What makes me tick?

Flat in town.

A wardrobe heaving with pretty clothes
and a cow-eyed lover who doesn't leave

crumbs in the bed. Am I right?

You don't know the first thing about me.
I know all I need.

One day I'm going to be as rich as Chris
as soon as I get my play off.

And you, my dear, you shall be as rich
as Nellis Chris.

Marry me.

Idiot. You like having men mooning after
you, don't you?

Yes. Is that very cruel?

Yes.

Terribly.

Don't.

Give it a few years and the magic will
soon wear off.

And no one will look at me like that
ever again.

And everyone.

Even you.

See how truly rotten I really am.

I don't know why I'm surprised.

Anything goes with Gina. Or anyone.

Please don't say anything.

You won't say anything, will you, Mill?

It's the timing that sickens me.

Timing? Mother being poisoned.

What?

Didn't you hear?

With arsenic, apparently.

Give it a rest, Mill.

Mark the air of tragic sublime.

Don't come all innocent with me, young
lady.

As I said.

Blood.

Well, out.

Who had the most to gain from poisoning
Mrs. Seragant?

In the event of my wife's death, the
estate was to be divided equally between

her daughters Gina and Mildred, and in
addition, 10,000 for her companion.

Miss Bellever. And a further 10,000 for
young Stephen.

No end of motive.

And yourself, sir, if you don't mind me
asking?

Oh, Lewis is rolling in money of his
own. Not quite, how I put it. The

paperwork looks rather new.

Yes. My wife had the will rewritten six
weeks ago.

On account of the fire?

That's right.

Anything altered?

Well, only the extra funds for Stephen.

I wouldn't read anything into that.

I think my wife was rather concerned
when his latest musical project went

south. I didn't even know this. Did he
know about the explicate? I believe my

wife did tell him.

Where did he find him?

He's miles away.

Miss Marple?

I'm so sorry. I was thinking about Edgar
Lawson and how very odd it was.

Go on.

Well, he has a complex, if that's the
term, to do with his father, Winston

Churchill, Viscount Montgomery.

And I'm sure there must be some sad
story at the root of it. A child without

a name, probably mothered by some street
girl. Ruth, you know nothing about the

case. I don't need to.

It's called feminine intuition.

Isn't that right, Jane?

Perhaps it is, although I do wonder why
turn on you, the one person who has done

more for him than anyone else, and why
that night, at the very moment of the

murder? Hmm.

Odd, as you say.

Well, it's more than that, isn't it?

It's almost as if somebody put the idea
into his head.

Purposely knowing young Lawson would go
off the deep end.

What a perfect cover that would be.
Everybody focused on young Lawson,

especially if somebody had thoughtfully
supplied a revolver from the gun room.

What I did... It wasn't just wrong, it
was... Mr Lawson. No, let me finish. It

was unconscionable, unforgivable.

After all he's done for me... Mr Lawson,
are you chipping those potatoes or what?

As I say, the fault was on my head
alone.

Arrest me if you like, I don't care.

All in good times, eh?

Nobody said anything to me regarding Mr
Seracold or anybody else.

I just get angry and muddled.

Mr Churchill has his black dog and I
have my red myth.

Nobody said a word, Mr...

Stephen Resterick, for instance?

No.

Nobody else? You're quite sure?

Transference is a very slippery thing.

Transference? Simply put, the
redirection of the patient's experience

of some significant other, in this case
the Peter or father, onto the tabula

rasa of those closest to him. What
you're saying is Edgar Lawson came to

believe that Lewis Sterakold...

Was his pot.

In a word? Yes, exactly.

Indeed, it could be that in Edgar's
imagination, the paterfamilias was more

an object of rage rather than worship.

In fact, this spy of whom he constantly
talks, always watching, whispering,

could simply be a representation of the
absent father.

So, round the twist, was he? No, please,
Inspector, never.

Never use that term, no.

Besides, up until the last few weeks,
one was making great strides with Edgar.

Where were you on the night of the
murder, Dr. Magnus? I was here in the

facility. I've made a note of my
movements with approximate timing.

is very ill indeed. Quickly, upstairs to
the infirmary. We mustn't transform

physical trauma into mental trauma.
Whatever we do, upstairs. Take him

upstairs.

Madam.

Oysters? Oysters.

Rotten. Must be.

No wonder he was of colour.

Sir.

Sir.

Is this how you feed and water them, is
it?

Them? The convicts. His name is Ernest.

And for the record, I've no idea how the
fire's got in there.

Think I can fathom a guess.

Oh, would you look at that.

The keys of the kingdom.

Perhaps your Mr Ernest could come and go
as he pleased.

He must have been helping himself in the
kitchen.

Or else he grabbed a bite to eat on his
way out from Flipping Arthnick into

Madam's Tonic, also to be found in the
kitchen.

He hails from Whitstable, I believe.

Home of oysters.

Quite right.

One imagines a fellow brought up around
this particular kind of food would know

immediately if they were... Of?

Quite. He said the oysters were
poisoned.

Sir? Ruth ordered them for Carrie
Louise.

One of my wife's very few indulgences.

Oh, whatever. What do you think of her
next?

Might this be the time to break the news
to Carrie Louise?

Someone in my own home is seeking to
poison me.

And my own dear Christian murdered
before he can name my enemy.

I'm sorry, my love. It was my decision
to keep all this from you.

I knew something was up, didn't I, Jane?

So you came here? On my orders.

I knew you wouldn't have agreed. That's
why I didn't ask you. My dear sister,

how very prescient. We're only trying to
help here.

Forgive me.

I only wish I'd come sooner.

Indeed.

And how is dear Ernest?

Unconscious, but alive, thank goodness.

Poison needs to work its way through.

Well, that'll teach him to keep his
thieving hands to himself.

Provided he lives long enough. Oh, come
off it, sis.

If you really want to reform these
people, there are simpler and more

economical ways of doing it. And that's
your remedy for a broken world? Let them

eat arsenic? Darling.

Well, sometimes I feel she wants
everything I do to fall apart so she can

prove that the world is as savage and
heartless as she is.

Don't interrupt, you know, sir. Not at
all. I was just leaving.

Ruth! You've only just got here. Madam,
I gather you ordered in several crates

of oysters for tonight's supper.

Yes.

Have you seen the filth they serve in
this place? They're beige, beige.

Everything's beige. I would ask that
nobody leave this compound.

Oh, don't be absurd.

Would you mind seeing that my bags are
brought down to my car, please? I may,

um...

Ruth and Carrie Louise have always been
the best of sisters, provided they

maintain an ocean between them.

And Johnny Resterick, is he the best of
ex-husbands?

The jury is out. Is that the phrase?

Shall we?

Still, it's not easy to conduct a
poisoning campaign in the bordellos of

London's theatre district.

An excellent point, Inspector. Very well
made.

Oh, thank you.

You know, it did occur to me that we've,
all of us, been so busy wondering if the

convicts would have climbed over the
gate to the main house that we've lost

sight of the other gate.

Either.

Here, by the lodge.

Johnny Restrick claims he entered the
house through the park.

I gather these are locked every evening
at five o'clock sharp.

One wonders, how did a gentleman past
his physical prime get over?

Or through?

Well, unless someone gave him a helping
hand.

The son.

Stephen. We know he stands to gain from
the will.

Perhaps, although I don't sense any
great intimacy between father and son.

Well, who then?

It was the phone call that struck me.

No need.

I've already informed the groundsman.

I'll see to it myself.

Goodbye.

Is that Mr.

Seracold? Yes, sir. He'll be home on the
427th plan.

If I may presume, Inspector.

What small task were you so quick to
undertake that day?

You were unlocking the gates, weren't
you?

For Mr.

Seracold?

Or so they might be left open, giving
another visitor access to the house

later on that night.

Johnny Resterick.

Well, dashing in his way, isn't he, Miss
Bellover?

I used to think so.

No great crime in that, surely?

I'd go up the town once a fortnight on
my day off.

Catch a matinee.

I ran into Johnny after the show.

He was in his element.

It all seemed so glamorous after long
afternoons in the country.

I was seduced, I suppose.

Then Johnny started up about Carrie
Louise.

He had to talk to her.

She had to be told or our affair would
be tainted by deception.

Of course, the minute the lights came
up, I thought a fool I'd been.

Look at you, my bottom, Shelley.

Angel.

I was a convenience.

A ruse for Johnny to get back in with
Cava Louise.

His vanity wouldn't allow it, you see,
for her to be married again.

He couldn't bear to be left behind.

Did Mr. Resterick persuade you to put
poison in Mrs. Seracote's tonic?

I would never lay a finger on Mrs.
Seracote.

Never.

Marks?

You set?

Go.

Look, I'm devoted to Carrie Louise. What
do I want to bump her off for? And with

arsenic evolving.

Personally, I've got a weakness for
curare, a much underrated poison.

Give it some backbone, Sergeant!

What was all the grenade of, anyway?

Just trying to get my facts in order.

You were standing here when the first
shot was fired, correct?

If you say so.

The question is, from the moment the
lights went out in the house...

How much time does a gentleman need?

For what, exactly?

To enter the house, slaughter poor Mr.
Gorbranson, then out again, ready for

your grand entrance at the drawing room.

See?

One minute, seven seconds.

Murder is a lot. Quicker than people
generally imagine. I'm not half as quick

as your sergeant. More state of his
lungs. Well, it's hardly scientific, is

it? I mean, you don't even know where I
was standing. You've only got my word

for it.

You might be in love with her, but you'd
rather see her dead than happily settled

with Mr. Siracold, eh?

You're worse than Dashiell Hammett.

Time to make track for the facility.

The curtain goes up in 15 minutes.
You're not seriously going ahead.

The show must go on, apparently.

Oh, Lewis. Lewis, this is hopeless.

Oh, don't worry, my love.

The Cherokee will take it on the chin.

There. Edgar, what do you think?

Very smart, sir.

Now for the pièce de résistance.

Miss Gina, I haven't seen her all
afternoon.

She's getting ready in her room.

She was muttering about Catherine.

Okay, everyone, 15 minutes.

I thought I said he wasn't coming to the
house.

What are you so afraid of? I would have
thought it was obvious.

Considering you'd murdered poor old
Christian, battered my secretary, and

now stand accused of poisoning my wife.
You take that back. I did no such thing.

Simple statement of the facts, old man.
Right. Come on, then. Come on. On your

feet. All right. All right.

Whenever you're ready.

Father! Lewis!

Ow. Johnny, you have only yourself to
blame.

Chap. Flew at me.

You tripped over a chair, you silly
goose.

I just wish I'd paid a bit more
attention that evening, on the night of

the murder.

One gets so used to seeing the world as
a sort of stage set.

One lives in a state of constant
illusion.

It's real enough, though, isn't it, a
stage set?

Oh? Contrivance it may be, but it's
still real.

Hammers and nails, timber and paint.

Contrivance?

Of course.

Where are you going?

You're chappy with the oysters.

Has he come round yet? No, still out for
the count. Why do you ask?

Oh, it doesn't matter.

And, uh... And thank you.

What for?

Would you look at these nails? Just look
at them.

You promise me you'll let me cut them
for you after the show, eh? Promise?

The sentries think... It's a football
that she carries in.

When they've had a few, they shout, is
Arsenal going to win?

They think it's Alec James instead of
poor old Anne Boleyn.

Running Bear must brave all for the love
of my dear, my

third and finest squaw, Summer Rain.

Her beauteous, beauteous eyes pleasantly
frame.

Behold, she comes, and I am struck
afresh by Cupid's dart.

She haunts my every wish, my thoughts,
my...

Tell me it was an accident.

See?

Severed. With a blade, one should
imagine.

Still, there is one silver lining.

What's that?

At least this time, my sergeant and I
are among the witnesses.

Yes. Yes, of course.

Any known contact between the two
victims prior to the murders, Mr.

Terricol? Johnny and Christian?

None that I'm aware of.

According to some of the inmates, Mr.
Rutherford did hit it off with

Whitstable Ernest, so-called. Did he?

Co-conspirators.

So Johnny had two insiders helping him
get revenge on the ex.

The convict and the bellable woman.

And that's just the ones we know about.

Oh, dear.

What is it, Jane? You're not standing
for your tea.

No.

Not today.

Poor Johnny.

My favourite mistake.

Would you tell me about Catherine?

Who? Catherine Ellsworth.

The murderess?

Hanged 4th of September 1927 in
Portland.

Mrs. Ellsworth found guilty on three
counts of poisoning with arsenic.

Wore a simple dress of printed cotton on
her final journey to the gallows.

She spoke only to decline the offer of
prayers. Where did you find that?

In Gina's room this morning.

Catherine Ellsworth was Gina's birth
mother, wasn't she? Yes.

And the same urges can be seen in the
daughter.

I told her, Gina is our mystery
poisoner, and last

night's ridiculous carry-on with that
blonde hair, making herself look like

that murderess to upset Mummy, was
nothing less than a public confession.

I admit I'm at a loss to know how Gina
came to learn of all this. Perhaps

someone... Put the newspaper there for
her to discover.

That's impossible.

No one knew, not even Lewis.

Only myself and Mildred.

Mildred?

How could you?

She's your sister.

You always said...

We should share.

Well, she won't.

She won't share.

She never did.

Not you.

Not anybody.

Oh, my... My poor darling Gina.

Do you think she blames me?

Do you think last night she was trying
to hurt me for keeping it from her all

these years?

Or hurt herself?

I must go to her.

Speak to her. Carrie Louise, perhaps you
should speak to them both.

Together, perhaps, you can lay this
particular ghost to rest.

I think I'll finish my tea first.

I think we would all sleep a lot better
in our beds if there weren't quite so

many secrets in the world.

How much do you know?

If I was quite sure.

Oh, I think you're sure.

What do you want me to do?

The only thing you can do.

Talk to the inspector.

Just as soon as I finish my tea.

It was Johnny Resterick gave me the idea
to think of this room, not just the

drawing room.

Oh, a little to the left, if you
wouldn't mind.

Just so.

Not as the drawing room, but as a stage
set.

There. An evening of dramatics.

The usual entrance and exit. And
backstage, of course, outside on the

terrace. The audience, myself included,
sat here, hoodwinked by a conjuring

trick.

They do it with mirrors.

Mirrors? Oh, isn't that the common
slang? A few simple acts of

misdirection. First, the power cut.

You think the lights were meant to go
out?

Oh, I'm quite sure of it.

You recall the power cut earlier in the
day, set off by the spotlights being

tested before supper?

Well, the fuse box was then primed to
blow a second time when the circuit for

the drawing room was overloaded.

Oh. Oh, Lord.

Wiring's on the blink. I'm going to take
the fuse box.

The American? Wally Hunt?

Which brings me to the second
misdirection.

Oh,

would you mind?

The hidden door.

Yes. Now, here we deduced was the
killer's hidden exit.

And with the lights out, of course,
nobody could be sure of anything,

leaving you, Inspector, with a far wider
cast of suspects. But what if the door

had nothing to do with the murder?

What if the killer made a far simpler
escape?

Never underestimate the power of the
obvious, Inspector.

Indeed. Now,

two men step

through the French windows onto the
terrace.

But what did we see?

What did we actually see?

Edgar Lawson, of course.

But what became of Mr... Theracold.

We heard him.

Thank you, Mr. Theracold. That guy.

Oh! Nobody move!

That's enough.

Another trick.

Edgar was simply mimicking the voice
of... Louis Theracold. The kill would

have taken no time at all. No more than
your sergeant's one minute and seven

seconds.

I never saw a man so devoted to his
wife.

Quite. But how do we know there really
was a poisoner?

Look at the evidence.

Carrie Louise's arthritis was
coincidence, nothing more.

And her tonic, mixed at the eleventh
hour with a very few drops of arsenic,

intended not for Carrie Louise, but for
you and your colleagues to discover.

A few words were then added to the
letter.

when Mr.

Seracold looked in on the body. I have
reason to believe she is being slowly

and cold-bloodedly poisoned.

I first suspected this when... And the
meaning was quite

altered. So there never was any plot to
poison Mrs. Seracold?

No, Inspector.

And I'm sure Johnny suspected as much.

Hence his rather odd desire to trim
Carrie Louise's fingernails a few

minutes before he died.

A sample of nail clippings would have
soon proven there was no arsenic in her

bloodstream. But how could he
possibly... There, in the garden, on his

way up to the house, he had a glimpse
backstage, as it were.

Even through the fall, gunshots and
footsteps.

And when Johnny befriended Ernest at the
facility, I'm sure he began to piece

together the hidden story behind the
poisoning hoax.

And as for all those treats in Ernest's
room, a single more whiskey, the keys,

the oysters, they weren't stolen.

They were gifts from Louis Serricold.

Grateful tokens to a man whose rare
talent for fraud and embezzlement had

helped restore the fallen fortunes of
the Goodbranson Trust.

Why an upstanding gentleman like that?

Things we do for love.

Wasn't that the way you put it, Mr.
Theracold?

Quite right.

Jane.

Christian called Brunson had discovered
your slide into financial corruption and

sought to expose it.

Only his affection for Carrie Louise
gave him pause.

Was her heart strong, you see?

You must have known he was on to you the
last time Christian came to Stoney

Gates.

When the trustees convened seven weeks
ago.

That's when you conceived your plan,
wasn't it?

First the fire.

Started not by faulty wiring, but by
your accomplice, Wichstable Ernest.

Concealed. Behind a hidden door.

Only he left a few telltale drops of
petroleum.

The smell we took for diesel on the
floorboards.

The real target of those flames wasn't
your wife's photographs or even her

will.

It was the accounts records housed in
the filing cabinet.

I bought you some time, but you knew
Crichton couldn't be put off forever.

And so you were ready to silence him
when he next came to Stoney Gates.

The reform facility ate up all we had.

The buildings, the endless privileges.

It was the only way I poured everything
into it.

The trust.

My own fortune.

It was a last resort.

You see that, don't you?

It was the only way I knew to make you
happy.

If you found out... You didn't have

to prove yourself to me.

With Johnny Rastrick waiting in the
wings?

Johnny? I saw his letters to you.

The man was unstoppable.

No, you were my husband. You knew a
little, didn't you?

I wondered when Johnny...

His new friendship had to be scotched
before wistful Ernest let something

slip.

The arsenic and the oysters kept Ernest
out of harm's way.

And Johnny?

Spontaneous killing, I would wager.

As he stood on the path of that lighting
apparatus.

Waiting for a word with the leading man.

You were on stage all the time.

Who wasn't you?

Edgar Lawson.

Father?

Edgar! Sergeant!

Did you know?

I wondered.

Lewis was always quick to quell any idle
talk about Edgar's true provenance.

And then there was Edgar himself.

His madness seemed unconvincing somehow.

The quest for a missing father.

I'm so sorry. Oh, Lewis, why didn't he
just tell me?

Too scared you wouldn't approve.

What with my check at history?

At least he died trying to save his own
son.

I tried to take some comfort in that.

And maybe that means he was a good man.

After all... Like being billeted back in
the war.

Oh. Then careful with that.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

It's part of a hidden door. Here, let me
show you.

Oh, help me, darling. Yeah, of course.

So clever.

Come on, Jane.

We're late enough already. Flight leaves
at four.

And apparently the pilot refuses to
wait. Of course.

Are you sure you won't change your mind?

Manhattan is fabulous at this time of
year. Quite sure. Thank you, Ruth.

Damn British wiring.

One minute.

Ah!

Wally!

Where have you been?

What are you doing here?

You're wrong.

I looked it up.

They're Redwood, not Wellingtonia.

For Bart, too tough.

See? Wally!

Don't! Stop!

Wally.

Now you've got me started.

Wally, I... It's all settled.

Then I'll settle it.

What?

Why do you always do that? I'm sorry.
Laughing when I'm trying to say

something. I... I just can't believe you
still want me.

Don't you get it?

There was never... Not a single moment
when I... When you what?

Sweetie, you look just the ticket.

Do I?

Fancy a spin?

Thank you, but no.

I don't think so.

Not anymore.

My dear Aunt Jane, I wanted you to know
that we seem to be prospering after a

fashion here in Wyoming.

I decided to be an American girl after
all.

They say that here it's not where you
come from that counts.

It's what you make of the life you are
given.

After all that's passed, after all
that's gone before, is it too much to

dream that such a thing is possible?

All our love, Gina.