Original subtitles

Good Lord.

Albert?

Yes, Mr. Berenson?

Do we by chance have any scissors?

Scissors?

A two-bladed instrument with handles at one end.

Works by leverage?

Pivots in the middle?

Jolly useful for cutting paper and things.

Thank you, Albert.

My pleasure, Gav.

Mrs Beresford's not going to be with us today. Oh, yes, but she said she had an

important appointment first.

Ah.

Something the matter?

You're not cutting through the feature page, are you, Gav?

Oh, I don't think so.

Oh, good, because there's an article on the rat.

I didn't know you were interested in animals.

It's a film.

Starring Ivan Avella.

Oh, I see.

They're going to make a sequel, The Triumph of the Rats.

Fascinating.

You like Ivor Novello, do you?

He's highly talented.

Yes, well, I really must try and see him.

Oh, you won't be disappointed, sir.

Anyone at home?

What's happened?

I say.

Oh, Mrs. Burson, what a chick-tip, sir.

I didn't think you'd notice.

You mean you hoped we wouldn't. So that was your important appointment, was it?

Oh, yes, I know it's wild and arrogant of me, but I found this new little place

in South Milton Street and I just couldn't rule this.

South Milton Street?

That's a bit pricey, isn't it? Been busy without me.

Have we, Albert?

Oh, quite as a greatness.

Oh, dear.

Fetching up with the news?

Sort of.

I think you'll find page 17 is the one you're after.

Oh, thank God.

Mrs Beresford and I are going out for some lunch now, Albert.

So, if anyone comes with a problem for Blunt's brilliant detectives, they

simply won't wait. You'll find us at, um... The Ritz. Try again.

That nice little place in Soho.

Our local ABC shop.

Oh. How else are we going to afford that splendid new hat?

Couldn't be better.

Why does craze for the simple life come upon you?

Be patient.

All will come near.

I wonder now whether one of these haughty damsels will condescend to

notice us.

Uh, excuse me.

Uh, splendid.

She drifted this way.

That was just a conscious mind deceiving with such matters as ham and eggs and

pots of richly brewed tea. Yes.

Pork chop, Brussels sprouts, garden peas, please, miss.

Oh, and some fried potatoes.

A large coffee and a roll of butter.

And a plate of tongue.

Plate of tongue, chop and fried too, veg. Large coffee, R&B.

No, this gentleman will just have a cheesecake and a large glass of milk.

Oh.

Cheesecake, glass of milk, anything else? No, thank you.

That was completely uncalled for. Not at all.

But I hate milk.

Cheesecakes are always so yellow and bilious looking.

If you're going to be simple, you might as well do it properly.

Jolly good stuff, cold tongue.

Now then, Tommy, what's this really all about?

I'm not sure I want to tell you. Shall I call her back and order rice pudding

instead? No, no, no.

Cheesecakes are perfect, thank you.

All right.

Well, first of all, I'm speaking in a strictly unofficial capacity.

Business isn't too brilliant at the moment.

In fact, it just about doesn't exist.

Yes, that's the problem in a nutshell. But I have applied my mind to it. The

solution is simple, and I venture to say, quite brilliant.

I'm on tenterhooks.

If business won't come to us, we must go to business.

Sort of Mohammed in the Mountain.

What an original thought. Tommy. Which brings me to the point.

The Thunningdale mystery.

Ah, the Thunningdale mystery.

Now, this is a portrait of Captain Anthony Cecil, as it appeared in the

Daily Leader.

You know, I wonder if someone doesn't sue these newspapers sometimes. I mean,

look at that photograph. It's so blurry.

I mean, you can see the man, and that's just about all.

Feminine vanity. Oh, rubbish. Now, in common sense.

Be that as it may, when I said the Thunningdale mystery, I should have said

the so-called Sonningdale mystery.

An enigma to the police, perhaps, but not to the intelligent mind.

Meaning you've solved it already?

No, not exactly.

Like a tongue.

Cheese, paper.

A lot of milk.

Well, go on.

Suddenly I don't feel very hungry.

No, no, I mean Captain Settle.

Well, it was about three weeks ago that the gruesome discovery was made.

A young couple were enjoying an early round on the famous course.

It was a beautiful morning.

No one else was about.

Ah, Lord.

Don't worry, dear.

I'll help you look.

They separated.

And then, after a few minutes...

Even before the police arrived, they knew it was Captain Cecil.

He was a well-known figure on the links and always wore a golf jacket of a

particular shade of blue.

Captain Cecil was often seen out on the course in the early morning practicing.

At first, it was thought he'd had a heart attack.

But he hadn't.

A doctor's examination revealed the significant fact that he'd been

murdered.

Stab to the heart.

By a woman who's had been.

He was also found to have been dead for at least 18 hours.

Meaning he must have been killed the previous afternoon.

Precisely. Darling, it's rude to talk with your mouth.

Sorry.

Anyway, that put an entirely different complexion on the matter. Well,

obviously.

Now, who was the last person to see Captain Sessler alive?

Well, apart from the murderer, that is.

A close friend and business partner.

Mr. Wilfred Hollaby of the Porcupine Assurance Company.

What had happened was this.

Cecil and Hollaby were enjoying a last round of golf.

Cecil seemed in good spirits and was in excellent form.

As Cecil approached the 17th routine, Holliday saw someone else.

A woman appeared.

There's a public footpath across the course. She must have used it.

She was very tall and dressed in brown.

Holliday was astonished to see Cecil and the woman talking together.

It shan't be a minute.

They walked off in deep conversation.

The footpath there leaves the course. They've disappeared.

Two other players were coming up the course.

Then, much to Holliday's relief, Cecil reappeared.

Are you all right?

Yes, of course.

Well, let's get on.

But really, Cecil wasn't all right.

Not only did he foozle his drive badly, but he also seemed worried, on edge.

His golf was atrocious.

Evidently, something had happened to put him completely off his game.

The other two players were a Major Barnard and a Mr. Leckie.

They were preparing to play off the 17th tee when they noticed something strange

happening in front of them on the fairway.

What do you think is going on over there?

and dressed if I can say. Never seen him place a band. Are you lucky?

Never.

Is he not feeling well?

He seemed fine when we started.

There was a woman.

Caught a glimpse of her.

Tall creature, dressed in brown.

She seemed to be waiting for him.

They went off together.

What was it she wanted?

I wish I knew.

And as far as we can tell, they were the last people to see Captain Cecil alive.

Gosh.

Finished, have you? Oh, yeah. Thanks.

Well, Thomas?

Well, Tommy.

What do you think?

Is there a Mrs. Cecil? Yes.

But she was away at the time visiting friends.

Children? No.

So?

A couple.

who looked after their cottage.

But it was their day off. They spent it in town.

Now, who else might have had a motive?

No one, apparently.

And the police?

Rather baffled.

Aha, which brings us back to the mysterious woman in brown. Who was she?

No one knows.

Don't worry, it'll only take me half an hour.

What will? Why, packing, of course. Bounds need a few more clothes.

Clothes? Well, you surely don't expect me to appear on a golf course dressed

like this.

So we're going to be Mohammed after all, are we? We are going to be whatever you

say, my darling.

And whatever it takes to find the mysterious woman in brown.

Mark my words, she's the key to this murder.

Hello, Albert. We're off.

What on earth are you waiting for?

I'm just wondering about Doris Evans.

Doris Evans?

Yes, she's short, fair, and nothing like the woman in brown. Isn't it?

Nothing's got to do with it.

Everything, it seems.

The police have charged her with the murder.

Oh, dear.

As you say, oh, dear.

But there's one thing I'm sure of.

Absolutely convinced.

What's that?

That you won't finish packing in anything like half an hour.

Connie?

Are you sure this is right for... Stunning, Dale.

Positive. Oh, don't worry.

It's my own way.

Nice to drive, less traffic.

Always used it in the old days.

Old days?

Before we met.

Often used to come down here to play.

Poor Tommy.

Why poor?

Have I caused you to give up lots of things?

Nothing that I miss.

Truly?

Truly.

You'd say.

You know I would.

Besides, think of all the lovely things in life.

Okay?

Now, what do we know about Doris Evans?

Not much.

Except that she's been charged with murder.

She denied it, of course, but she's been committed for trial.

On what evidence?

Circumstantial, but pretty damning.

You see, when Thettle's body was examined, they found a strand of fair

hair caught in his fingers.

Twisted around one of the buttons of his coat were a few threads of flame

-coloured wool.

There wasn't much to go on, but the police were pretty thorough in their

search.

Diligent inquiries led them to the railway station.

A young, fair-haired girl in a flame-coloured coat and skirt had

arrived on the afternoon of the murder.

Excuse me.

Could you tell me where I can find Captain Anthony Cecil's house?

Captain Cecil's?

Yes, miss.

It's about half a mile down the road. A cottage on the left.

Lays back a bit.

You can't miss it. Thank you.

But two hours later, the girl appeared at the station again.

Her hat was awry and her hair badly tousled.

She seemed in a state of great agitation.

She kept looking over her shoulder as she was afraid of something or someone.

Please!

I wish we could use the next train back to town.

With the blender evident to go on, they managed to track her down.

Good evening, sir.

Leaving, madam?

Evening. I'd like your license to cover this, please.

I think

we

can do you, madam.

Ah, yes, what luck.

The Jolly Huntsman suite just happens to be available.

Jolly Huntsman, eh?

How appropriate. You, hello.

If you wouldn't mind signing, sir. Certainly.

By the way, are we being blunt or Beresford today?

I've no idea. What do you think?

I don't know.

You choose.

Oh, no, you.

Tricky. Yes.

How about both?

Good idea.

There we are.

Mr. and Mrs.

Beresford Blunt.

Perfect.

Would you have some tea sent up, please?

Certainly, Mrs.

Yes,

madam. At once.

Thank you.

Just right.

Oh, I am glad we came here. You are clever, Tommy.

Only doing my bit.

How's the view?

Dunning.

Absolutely stunning.

Darling, what was Doris Evans' story?

Oh, you really want to hear it? Of course.

I mean, now.

Well, how else am I going to get a feel for the case?

Won't you wait?

Oh, please.

Oh.

Well, all right.

Doris has always stuck to her original statement.

Yes?

Even under the closest questioning, it's never varied.

Hmm? Tubbins, are you listening? Of course.

Oh, got it.

Well, go on.

You talk.

I'll unpack.

But that'll take ages.

Not if you stick to the point.

Huh.

All right.

Well, concentrate, Tubbins, because I'm only going to say this once.

Quite right.

Doris Evans is young, unmarried and rather pretty.

A good time girl.

No, far from it. She's a typist by profession.

Very respectable.

Quite so.

Which makes what happened all the more inexplicable.

One evening, about a month ago, she went to the cinema.

By herself?

Yes. What was the film?

I don't know.

Is it relevant?

It might have been.

Well, whatever the film was, she went to the flicks.

And that was all.

Until the program had ended.

Hello.

Hello.

Horrid, isn't it? Yes.

What are you going to do?

Might I offer you any assistance?

Not unless you can make it stop.

I'm afraid that's beyond me. However, in which direction are you going?

That way.

So am I.

Well, the least I can do is to prevent you from getting drowned.

I should probably catch my death.

My name is Cecil.

And to be settled.

I'm Doris. Evan.

How do you do?

Hello.

Well.

Thank you.

He seemed a perfect gentleman.

So when he suggested a visit to a tea shop before catching her butt, Doris was

happy to agree.

He told her he had a cottage at Sunningdale.

When Doris asked if he was married, he said no.

He was a widower.

She liked him.

He was charming.

His manners were impeccable.

He suggested they meet again.

Doris didn't hesitate to say yes.

So it was arranged that she should come down to Sunningdale on her next

afternoon off.

Doris was excited and flattered.

She had always liked older men.

So the following Wednesday, Doris duly arrived.

She soon found the place.

But the video turned out quite differently from what you'd expected.

Hello.

Oh, it's you.

Weren't you expecting me?

Yes, of course.

You'd better come in.

Are you hungry?

Yes.

Well, let's eat.

Is anything wrong?

Oh, nothing. I, um... What?

Is there somewhere I could put my coat?

Oh.

Anywhere will do.

Sit down.

It's a bit remote here.

Yes.

It's the servants' day off.

Oh.

So we are quite alone.

Are you partial to ham?

Sometimes.

Good.

Very good.

Must have been quite a shock for her.

Not a bit what she'd imagined.

Poor Doris. And fancy him pretending not to be married.

Then what?

The cat will continue to behave oddly.

So much so that Doris began to wish she'd never come. I'm not surprised.

What caused her to appear at the station in that terrible state?

That came later.

Don't rush me. I'm sorry.

I'm glad to tell the story that Doris insisted it happen. And you're doing it

wonderfully.

Thank you.

Anyway, they finished the meal, and afterwards Cecil suggested they go for a

walk.

Tuppence? Yes?

What on earth are you doing?

Arranging my things.

Need a hand?

Why not?

You think I'm a baby?

Well, go on.

Are you sure you can hear me?

What?

Oh, look, I'm not deaf.

Look, darling.

You stay where you are and keep talking. I'm taking in every word.

Now then, Captain Cecil suggested they went for a walk.

They left the cottage and took the path at the back.

It leads directly to the golf course.

Pestle had lapsed into silence.

He strode ahead quickly.

Doris found it hard to keep up.

As they were coming down the footpath leading to the 17th... This is it.

We go no farther.

I don't understand.

The end.

What are you talking about?

They'll get me.

They're bound to get me.

I was a fool to think otherwise.

What's the point in trying to hide anymore?

Stop it. I'm ruined.

I'm done for.

There's no point in going on. I can't escape them any longer. You're

frightening me.

I shan't go alone.

Never alone.

You shall go with it.

They'll be all right. Oh, yes, they'll get me.

I've cheated them so far.

I've cheated them last of all.

One bullet for you, the second for me.

All they'll find is our body. Bodies, side by side, dead.

That is a story Doris Evans tells, and from which she has never once varied.

She strenuously denies ever having struck at him with a hatpin in self

-defense, although given the circumstances, it would have been a

natural enough thing to do, I suppose.

Anyway, there for the moment, it rests.

What about the gun?

I beg your pardon?

I said, what about the gun?

According to the story, Cecil waved a gun at her.

Yes. Yes, her gun was found the next day lying in some bushes next to the body.

It had not been fired.

I see. So that would support Doris's story, wouldn't it?

Possibly.

Although if we believe her, and you have to admit it is a pretty big if, who was

it killed Captain Cecil?

Was it the other woman?

The woman in brown whose appearance so upset him?

Oh, so far no one's explained her connection with the case.

Quite right.

Who was she?

Was she a local resident?

Or did she come from London? If so, did she come by car or by train?

Who? What's the matter?

I was just thinking.

If she came down by car, she might have stayed here.

Oh, that's hardly likely. No, I don't suppose so. But it's a horrid thought,

though. One thing is certain.

She couldn't have been Doris Evans because Doris is short and fair and was

only just arriving at the station.

Her wife?

Cecil's wife?

Mrs. Cecil, the short woman, too.

Besides, Hollaby knew her well, remember?

You'd have recognised her the moment she appeared on the course.

Although one further piece of evidence has come to light.

The Porcupine Insurance Company?

Hollaby and Cecil's business.

It's in liquidation.

The accounts reveal that for years there has been the most daring

misappropriation of funds.

Embezzlement?

Precisely. Neither Hollaby nor his son had any idea what was going on. His son?

Yes, Hollaby's son is in the business too.

Now, apparently they're practically ruined.

I see, though the case stands like this.

Captain Cecil was on the verge of discovery and ruin.

Suicide would seem a natural way out.

A man doesn't stab himself with a hat pin.

I know. That's what's so baffling.

I keep coming back to the woman in brown.

Do you think she killed him? I don't know.

One thing I'm certain of, she didn't do it.

Doris Evans?

What makes you so sure? Well, look at her. She's got bobbed hair.

Only one woman in 20 uses hat pins nowadays. Long hair or short. Hats fit

tight. They pull on. Hadn't you noticed?

Perhaps she had one by her.

My dear boy, we don't keep them as heirlooms. What on earth would you have

brought a hat pin down to Sunningdale for?

No, you're right.

It isn't logical.

It just doesn't fit.

Then it must have been the other one.

The woman in brown. I wish you hadn't been so tall. Then it could have been

the wife.

I always suspect wives were away at the time and couldn't possibly have had

anything to do with it.

If she'd found her husband carrying on with some girl, it would have been quite

natural for her to go for him with her hatpin.

I shall have to be careful, I see.

Just a joke.

Good heavens.

I've completely forgotten something. What's that?

It's all ours, and we haven't eaten yet.

You must be starving.

Tommy, would you mind terribly if just this once we missed dinner tonight?

Oh, I suppose I could try and bear it.

Only I don't seem to have much of an appetite.

No. Now you come to mention it, neither do I.

On the other hand, I don't feel particularly sleepy.

I don't either.

Tricky.

Let's try and think of something.

Let's.

Comet? Mm-hmm.

What sort of man was Captain Cecil, really?

Separate the idea.

I look respectable.

Outwardly. Fellow of the community.

All that sort of thing.

Guess what makes it so odd?

Murders are not business.

No, I don't mean the murder. Anyone's capable of that.

Even you and I.

No, I mean the stuff with Doris Evans. That's what puzzles me.

Picking her up like that, why should he do it?

Why should she do it?

Perhaps he led a secret life.

The original whited sepulcher.

No, I don't think so.

I wonder what the vessels were really like.

What do people say about them?

As far as I can make out, they were very popular.

Local committees, good works. Were they happy?

Supposedly devoted to each other.

He's an ex-soldier, you know.

Good regiment.

Came into a fair bit of money and retired early.

They came down here and he went into this insurance business with the

Hollabys. The Porcupine Insurance Company.

He was the last man in the world, apparently, whom anyone would have

suspected of being an ambassador.

Like you said, it just doesn't fit.

Come on, Bess.

Come on.

Not hungry, darling?

Well, tuck in.

I'm absolutely certain Petrel was the crook. Who else could have embezzled the

money?

Why, the Holobys.

But they say they're ruined. Oh, they say.

Perhaps they've hidden it all away in a bank under some other name.

Oh, Tom, really?

Somewhere, anyway.

Look, I suppose they've been speculating with the money all the time and Cecil

didn't know.

I suppose they lost it all.

What? Well, it happens.

It would have been jolly convenient for them that Cecil died when he did.

So you're accusing this respectable gentleman of murdering his close friend

and business partner? Why not?

Because, my darling wife, you seem to forget that Cecil parted from Hollaby.

In full view of Barnard and Leckie.

And then Holliday spent the rest of the evening entertaining friends at home.

Bottle.

Bottle indeed.

Anyway, there's the hat pin. Oh, nuts to the hat pin.

You seem to think the hat pin points quite inevitably to the crime being

committed by a woman.

Doesn't it? No.

You men are impossible. Your notoriously old fashion is simply no imagination.

Oh, I say. It takes ages to rid your silly preconceived ideas.

For example? For example.

Hat pins and hair pins being associated with a female sex are always called

women's weapons.

Well, it seems quite logical to me.

But so unimaginative.

Why, I haven't used a hat pin or a hair pin for the last four years.

No.

No, that's true.

Then you think... It was a man that killed Bethel.

The hat pin was used to make it seem like a woman's crime.

Tommy, you're a golfer. You know the Sunningdale course.

You've been there lots of times. Well, not as a detective searching for clues,

but as an ordinary member playing a... playing a... Rand, what's happened to

you today? You know it's liable to put a man off his game.

Darling, aren't we going to finish your breakfast?

No,

I haven't got time.

Good morning.

Morning, sir.

Would you put these in the car, please?

Thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Sorry I kept you.

It was worth it.

I suppose I ought to have a set of clubs.

No one will notice.

Let's get the sequence right.

We're Barnard and Leckie, playing up towards the 16th green.

Now, Holliday and Cecil are up there.

You can clearly make out Cecil's bright blue golf jacket.

Now, what exactly do we see?

Pardon me.

The devil approached at the 17th of tea.

She was very tall and dressed in brown.

Something's wrong.

Why didn't they see her before?

Who? Bonnard and Leckie?

She hadn't crossed over from the lady's course, they'd have noticed.

And it's strange they didn't see her on the footpath before.

Wait a minute.

Come on.

This hut's out of sight of the course.

Anyone could wait here until the right moment came and then appear, just as she

did.

Yes.

Perfect.

What for?

For someone to change their appearance.

Tell me.

Would it be very difficult for a man to look like a woman and then change back

to being a man again?

It depends.

It would only need to look real from a distance.

I can see it happens.

I think I know how it was done.

A minute and a half at the outside.

taller before.

Not a woman in brown, but a man dressed as a woman.

That's why she was so tall.

She and Cecil went off.

They disappeared and that's when it happened.

The murder?

You could leave a body over there and it'd be pretty certain to lie hidden

till morning.

But surely someone would have heard.

Death must have been instantaneous.

I've seen men like that die in the war.

They don't cry or call out.

Just a gurgle or a moan.

A funny little cough.

Imagine it.

Cecil goes up to the 17th tee.

The woman appears.

Shall be a minute.

Look here, just what's all this about?

I'm not going to...

The murderer then takes the blue jacket off the body and returns to the hut to

get rid of the disguise.

From this point on, Barnard and Leckie never see Cecil's face.

Only the blue jacket they know so well.

They never doubt that it's Cecil.

But he doesn't play Cecil's brand of golf.

They all say he played like a different man.

Of course he did. He was a different man.

It wasn't Cecil who picked Doris Evans up at the cinema and invited her down

here.

It wasn't Cecil who brought her onto the course and scared the life out of her.

It was a man calling himself Cecil.

Doris Evans wasn't arrested until a fortnight later.

She never saw the body.

If she had, she'd have immediately destroyed a carefully laid plot.

It was all a blind.

The strands of fair hair and the threads from her coat, remember?

She was lured down here deliberately and cunningly framed.

It must have been after

Doris had run off.

The murderer returned to the hut, took off the blue jacket,

retrieved the disguise and went to put the blue jacket back on

Settle's dead body.

Wait a minute.

There's something wrong.

What's that?

Hollaby.

Hollaby? Now, I'll admit the Barnard and Leckie couldn't see if it was Cecil or

not. But you're not going to tell me that Hollaby, the man playing with him,

couldn't see his face?

My dear old thing, that's the whole point.

Hollaby knew.

You guessed it yourself.

And if we're right, Hollaby and his son were the real embezzlers.

And they'd worked out the whole plot together.

The woman in brown was Hollaby Jr., who then returned to the course as Captain

Cecil.

Yes, of course.

Well, let's get on.

Down.

So when he left his father, he went straight to the cottage to lie in wait

for Doris.

So Holliday's son was the murderer?

Yes. He was about the same age as Cecil and the same height.

He knew the cottage would be empty and was in a perfect position to get an

impression of the key.

He never appeared at the inquest either. Why should he?

Nobody thought to inquire where Holliday's son was that fatal afternoon.

Or what he was up to.

So Doris Evans actually met...

Holliday Jr. pretending to be Cecil.

And if you'd seen his photograph in the newspaper, well, the quality's so poor,

there's no chance of recognising him.

Exactly.

At last, it all fits.

First, stop Scoffland Yard and make sure that Blunt's brilliant detectives get

the trouble they deserve.

And home for a meal and a quiet evening alone.

Don't you agree?

Yes.

It happens.

Not another evening at a nightclub or some boring old play.

No. What then?

I just wondered if we might stop off on our way home, that is.

Yeah? At that dear little place in South Milton Street I found.

You don't mind, do you?

Mind?

You deserve it.

Thank you.