All language subtitles for Agatha and the Truth of Murder 2018

"What A Friend We Have In Jesus"
by Charles C. Converse

♪ What a friend we have in Jesus ♪

♪ All our sins and griefs to bear ♪

♪ What a privilege to carry ♪

♪ Everything to God in prayer ♪

♪ O what peace we often forfeit ♪

♪ O what needless pain we bear ♪

♪ All because we do not carry ♪

♪ Everything to God in prayer. ♪

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♪ When this bloody war is over ♪

♪ No more soldiering for me ♪

♪ When I get my civvy clothes on ♪

♪ Oh how happy I shall be ♪

♪ No more Church parades on Sunday ♪

♪ No more begging for a pass ♪

♪ You can tell the sergeant major ♪

♪ To stick his passes up his... ♪

Oh, no, don't mind me.

I've heard much worse.

Two years on the front line.

Language.

At first, I couldn't stomach it.

- But then I thought...
- They're just words.

Exactly.

They really don't mean anything.

It's actions that matter.

That's what we're judged on.

Don't you agree?

Not everyone can be saved.

We can industrialise the murder
of half the civilised world

but try making a decent golf ball.

It's more complicated than murder.

Hm.

That's rich coming from you, Mrs Christie.

The reason I'm here...

I hate talking shop on the fairway.

Let's play a few holes.
- I hate golf.

Then what are you doing at a golf course?

Trying to talk to you, Sir Arthur.

I need help.

With my writing.

Well...

I'm not going to talk unless you play.

Assuming you can, of course.

Yes. My husband loves golf.

That detective...

Your Flemish dandy.

You'll learn to despise him.

Likewise, your readers.

They'll think your creation is theirs.

If I can't write anymore,
none of that will matter.

Well, it's probably for the best.

I'd be far happier if I never started again.

You'd be much poorer.

Yes.

And everyone would hate you.

That's true.

What if Sherlock Holmes had never existed?

Hmm.

Good riddance to an intolerable dick.

Hm.

Ah!

But it's not a character I'm talking about.

It's me.

Alright.

What's the problem?

Why can't you write?

People are solving my murders.

Yes.

They're assuming it's the most unlikely
candidate and guessing correctly.

And?

Well, what would be the point in reading
300 pages of clever insight and deduction

if the audience knew who the killer was
in the first five?

Ah.

Clever bastards, aren't they?

Your readers.

I'm not sure that guesswork is clever.

You spend months and months
plotting and sub-plotting

learning subterfuge and sewing misdirection

and the buggers find a shortcut
and chop you off at the knees, hm?

Exactly.

But what do I do?

I stopped writing.
- I've only just started.

I've never told anyone

but I did just start writing again.

If you tell anyone

I'll deny it.

And I'll make sure your name is thoroughly
dragged through the mud.

I understand.

You're not going to like it.
- At this stage, I'd do anything.

Design a golf course.

That's what I did.

It was like channelling the hand of God.

You said an hour. It's been two.

The writing's going to have to wait.

How can I make this fly properly?

I must have an answer.
I can't wait any longer.

Can we talk about this later?

There's nothing to talk about.

I want a divorce.
I just need you to agree.

Well, I won't.

Nancy and I...

you know how sorry we are.

But the quicker this is done, the less pain
for everyone.

Nancy's suffering too.

Yes, Carlo? Everything alright?

There's a lady to see you.

Who is it? I've no appointments.

A Miss Rogers. She says it's important.

Since when did I receive fans at home?

She's a nurse.

She can come back another time.

It's OK, Carlo. It's not your fault.
Why don't you see what she wants?

If it's anything that can wait,
I'll send her on her way.

God, I hate you.
- Then give me a bloody divorce.

No.
- Why not?

Because I love you.

But I don't love you.

I know.

This is Miss Rogers.
- Hello, Mrs Christie.

Is this a professional visit?
I don't remember any medical appointments.

No, no, nothing like that.

Then why are you here?

I need your assistance.

How so?

I want you to help me solve a murder.

What?

Six years ago, my friend
was bludgeoned to death on a train.

They never caught the killer
and I've been investigating ever since.

I'm sure you know the case, it was famous.

She was called Florence.

She was Nurse Nightingale's god-daughter.

I'm sorry, Miss Rogers, but whatever fantasy
you've been indulging

I'm a writer, not a detective.

Let me just outline the details.

It's a mystery, like one of your books.

No doubt, Miss Rogers, but still,
there are 100 reasons why I can't.

Please could you see Miss Rogers out?
I must return to my work.

Please, I've nowhere else to turn.
She deserves justice.

Miss Rogers insisted on leaving this,
I tried to...

Thank you.

You'll find a way through.

I'm not sure that I will.

Shall I type the manuscript?

Seeing it printed always helps you.

No, not this time.

A read-through, perhaps? A field trip?

I'll do anything to help.

I know, and I'm very grateful.

But I think I need to see a professional.

Mrs Christie? Sir Hugh will see you now.

Thank you.

Mrs Christie.

I am flattered you should turn to me
for research purposes.

So many writers riding roughshod
over their source material.

I'm very keen to understand
the emotional dynamics of course design.

You mean...

Thank you.

...how one would go about murdering someone
on a golf course.

No.

What makes one enjoy playing a round of golf?

As an alibi?

How could one be playing golf

but not playing golf?
- No.

This has nothing to do with my writing.

I want to design a golf course.

I see.

Really?
- Yes.

Well... in that case

I'm afraid my answer's quite short.

You can't.

Excuse me?

There isn't a golf club I know that would
commission a design from a woman.

I understand there has been a trend of late
for ladies to golf.

But really...

the sheer complexity of a designer's task
is beyond the capabilities of a woman.

No matter how capable that woman is.

I see.

I hadn't realised

but thinking about it,
how could I have been so stupid?

Imagine a woman

being able to design the preamble to putting
something small in a hole.

A woman might just present the hole
and have done.

And where would be the fun in that?

There'd be nothing to groom, for a start.

Well, thank you for your time.

It's been pointless.

Mummy, will you play hide and seek?

Yes, dear.

What are you doing?

Working.
- That's not work.

Where's Carlo?
- She's hiding.

Shouldn't you find her?

How long will she hide for?

I imagine until you find her.

But what if I don't find her?

She'll starve.

Really? Carlo!

Ha!

Rosalind!

I'm coming!

Ready or not!

"And who is to blame for all this?"

"Nobody's to blame except the robots."

"No, we are to blame, for our own
selfish ends, for profit, for progress.

We have destroyed mankind."

Miss Rogers.

Thank you.

You don't know how much this means.
Come in!

I haven't done anything yet.

But you're here.

You're going to help.
- I have some questions.

Oh, of course. Anything, come through.

I think her cousin killed her.

He's called Randolph.

He inherited the trust fund.

At first, I thought it might be her brother
but he was in America at the time.

He took back the pendant Florence gave me.

Randolph hates me.

Florence says so in her diaries,
I'll show you.

You have her diaries?
- Of course.

He'd never even met me.

Erm...

Zaki Hannachi

one of Florence's waifs and strays.

He came to see her two weeks
before she was murdered.

He wouldn't leave her alone.
He wanted money, I'm sure.

Florence had money?
- Oh, yes.

The police thought it was a robbery
gone wrong.

Oh, there was a boxer...

here, but really, he's a thief.

Travis Pickford, nasty piece of work.

He was arrested

but they said he didn't do it.

His gun was covered in blood.

And then there is the nurse.

Daphne.

Florence's report would have seen her barred
from nursing.

That boy would have died.

It... it has to be one of them.

I... I just don't know which one.

Mabel.

Yes?

Is that Florence?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

Look, I...

I know how this must look.

I mean, you were right.

What you said when I came to see you.

This... is a fantasy.

But you've got to believe me.

Florence wasn't killed by a stranger.

She was murdered for a reason.

Let's start at the beginning.

Florence always took a corner seat
in the last carriage

facing forwards.

She didn't like trains.

A friend of hers died in Italy,
suffocated in a tunnel.

Bad coal, I think.

The day she was attacked

I found her a seat in the compartment
next door but a woman told us it was taken

- so we came in here.
- What woman?

I don't remember.

And the man in the brown suit?

He got on just before the train left.

But I don't remember his face.

The police were convinced he was the killer.

If only I could give them a description.

You're sure it was a man?
- Yes.

I... mean, he looked like a man.

Did Florence recognise him?

I can't remember.

You must try.

Murdering someone is easier
if you know their routine.

Who knew about Florence's train habits?

Oh, everyone.

I mean, she wasn't embarrassed
about her fears.

She'd always make a point of explaining it.

Florence didn't believe in pretending to be
something she wasn't.

This is the tunnel where it happened.

That's what the police thought.

Seems harder to kill someone
when you can't see them very well.

It took her four days to die.

Bits of skull stuck in her brain.

Everyone saying it was alright,
that she didn't feel anything.

But I'd seen it too many times before
with the soldiers.

The mind finds a way through.

She knew that she was broken.

She knew that she was dying.

But she also knew that I was there.

And that I loved her.

How long were you together?

Twenty-six years.

That's 15 more than Archie and I.

I'm very sorry.

This is where the person
in her carriage got off.

The man in the brown suit?

Yes, but witnesses described someone else.

Heavier build and different clothes.

And the man you saw
getting in the compartment with Florence

had nothing with him?

He couldn't have been concealing a disguise?

It was a cold day but he had no coat or bag.
I remember that.

So...

one man got in the compartment with Florence,
and another man got out.

Yes, that's right.

Impossible.

Who was Florence visiting?

Mrs Pamela Rose, her son James
died in France

and Florence tended to him.

What happened?

He was shot after armistice by some madman

who should've been
in front of a firing squad.

Could she have blamed Florence
for not saving him?

Oh, no. He was dying by the time
he got to Florence.

All she could do was make him comfortable.

Have you met Mrs Rose?

This would have been their first meeting.

She'd only just discovered that Florence
had helped her son.

She wanted to hear about his last few days.

So she knew the train Florence was on?

Oh, she was to collect her from the station.

But you can't think...
- She's a suspect.

Same is true for anyone who knew what train
she was on.

So that makes five.

Well, unless you count me.

Don't worry, I'm not going to berate you.
I think it's time for a truce.

You do?

This is a course I'd like to play.

Where did you get this?

I made it.

Bollocks! You hate golf.

I hate playing it.

I don't understand.

I enjoyed the challenge.

You made this for me.
- No, I didn't.

You're a terrible liar.

But look, I was supposed to be
going to a Suicide Club reunion.

Why don't I forego an evening of exaggerated
flying heroics and stay here?

We can look at this together.

I've already seen a couple of small
improvements.

With a bit of work, we could make this
something special.

You really like it?

Yes.

It's fabulous.

That means a lot.

But I really must be getting back to my work.

Anything else, Mrs Christie?

No, thank you, that's lovely.

I haven't seen Florence in years.
How is she?

She died, I'm afraid.

Oh, well, that's terrible.

I'm surprised Mr and Mrs Williams
didn't tell me about it.

Then again, maybe they did.

My memory's not what it was.

I'm borrowing the house for a sort of
memorial.

They were very fond of Florence.

Florence was the only good person
that I ever met.

Mm.

It's been a while since the family have been
in country.

I'm afraid I'm finding it harder
to keep on top of it.

I hope your guests don't mind a bit of mess.

Oh, dear.

I must have forgotten to get this cleared.

Don't you worry, miss, I'll get right on it.

You won't forget to collect our guest
from the station?

All the important things gets written down.

Rosalind, dear.

Rosalind?

I'm going away for a little bit.

I need to solve a murder.

I have to pretend to be someone else.

What colour is a bunker?

Yellow.

Carlo will take you to see your father.

Will Nancy be there?

I expect so.

Nancy's pretty.

My great aunt told me it's better
to be pretty than clever.

Was she pretty?

She was clever.

Can I meet her?

She died... a long time ago.

It's better to be alive than dead.

That's right.

Do you have a disguise? Can I see it?

When I get back.

Are you going somewhere?

When I finish this, I'm going to draw
a picture of me

so you always know where I am.

Here you go, Mrs Westmacott.

Thank you.

Is there anything else? Some stamps perhaps?

Is it true there's a writer
of detective novels who lives nearby?

Yes, Mrs Christie. She's famous.

Are her novels any good?

Not as good as Stevenson

but better than Conan-Doyle.

Thank you.

Florence here'll look after you.

I was beginning to think
you'd changed your mind.

I've had a terrible journey, my car broke,
the train got stuck

I spent last night in what I think
was a brothel.

Are they here?

Yes, and they started to talk to one another

I'm terrified they'll make a connection.

Then we'd better get to it. Any surprises?

Miss Miller has brought her father with her,
or should I say he's decided to come

I don't think his motivation is paternal.

Mrs Rose is with her son, Franklin

I get the impression he's not completely
taken in by our lies.

Mr Hannachi is so nervous,
I'm wondering if it's an act

and Mr Pickford looks capable of, oh,
just about anything.

Any other surprises?

Their luggage is missing.

Oh, and...

What? What is it?

Oh, God!

I'm not missing.

I've only been gone 48 hours.

We'll have to try and keep our suspects
away from the newspapers.

At least there isn't a picture.

Mrs Westmacott.
Assuming you are Mrs Westmacott.

Yes. That's correct.

I must apologise for the delay,
I'm sure you all have a lot of questions.

- Why are we being kept in the dark?
- Are you the secretary?

When do we get our money?
- Who's in charge?

Where's the lawyer?

Good morning.
My name is Mary Westmacott

I am the representative of Messrs
Kant Hope Delaney.

We thought you might want to change that
to "Can't Help Delay Me."

Firstly, I would like to reinforce
what was stated in the letters you were sent.

No-one is under any compulsion to stay.

Our firm has no legal power or responsibility

other than that conferred on us as executors
of Mr Dower's will.

Mr Dower's legacy is valued at £186,000.

This total, minus our fees

is to be distributed proportionately
amongst you, his relatives.

Tracing Mr Dower's bloodline
has been very difficult.

The purpose of calling you here is twofold

to check our findings regarding your lineage

and to satisfy a couple of specific
conditions of the will.

We weren't told about any conditions.

No, these are matters
to be discussed privately.

There is a good deal of work to be done

and I have no wish to increase your fees
through wasted time.

If anyone is unhappy with these arrangements

or feels they no longer wish to engage in
this process

now is the time to let me know.

Given my late arrival, I won't start
formal interviews until the morning

prior to that, are there any questions
which require an immediate answer?

Yes?

Do you know where my suitcase is?

No, Mr Hannachi,
luggage is not my responsibility.

It's like Christmas with the family

only without anything to drink.

And trapped in a festive morgue.

You know what, you're absolutely right

we are family.

We're related.

Yeah, well, go back far enough,
I'm related to the king.

Hm.
- Or a shoe-shiner.

Mr Hannachi

would I be right in thinking
you served in the war?

How did you know?

My other son fought at Verdun.

Are you Algerian or perhaps Moroccan?

I'm French

born in Constantine.

Your English is excellent.

I was a translator.

As I remember it, a howitzer sounds the same
in English as in French.

You fought?

No, I was a chaplain.

Ha! I knew it.

Yeah, I had the feeling we were
in the presence of God ever since I got here.

How funny to think we're all related.

I hardly know anyone on my mother's side.

When she died,
there was just her half-sister.

Imagine all this family I never knew I had.

How did you track us all down?

It was done by a specialist firm.

With a pin and a telephone book,
by the looks of it.

Do feel free to take your leave.
A quarter share is preferable.

My daughter will get hers.

Your letter stated that Mr Dower
spent most of his life in America.

What was his line of work?

He sold cars.

All that money from cars?
I'm in the wrong business.

What is your business, Mr Pickford?

Removals.

A little like you, Reverend.

- I no longer serve.
- God or country?

Both.

Shame. I could've used your help.

What happened to change your mind?

I stopped believing in either.

Surely you don't mean that?

What did you do during the war?

Administration.

Mm-hmm. You never saw the trenches?

I read a great deal concerning them.

A million crimes.

Enabled by my country, unpunished by my God.

Ah.

Any sign of our trunks?

Yes, sir, I'm afraid they went back
to the station

but they'll be with you again in the morning.

Well, I suppose I should thank God for that.

What time do the interviews start
in the morning?

10am. Perhaps you and your daughter
would like to go first?

Yes.

How much of our inheritance is locked in
this pile?

None of it. Mr Dower's gift to his relatives
is a cash asset.

Yeah, good job too.
This castle's built of paper.

I spent last night
listening to the Frenchman snore.

So, we're not inheriting the whole estate?

No. The bulk of it is being handled
by Mr Dower's American representatives.

I thought that might be the case.

There's a great deal more at stake here than
a couple of hundred thousand, isn't there?

When all's said and done,
we might be due a bigger share.

A much bigger share.

We're safe, they're in their rooms.
- Oh, that greedy bastard.

He's already got the trust he inherited
from Florence

imagine being offered all that money
and his first thought is to want more.

It doesn't make him a killer.
- He's watching us.

I know.
- He's no fool.

Money makes most people foolish.

Wade's a bastard too.

Well, Mr Hannachi certainly thinks so.

Oh, his poor daughter.

Imagine living with such a brute.

His poor daughter is one of our suspects.

Pamela seems nice.

Maybe she did it.

How are you going to conduct the interviews?

By keeping their minds on the inheritance.
What did you find in their luggage?

Mm, come with me.

So...

Wade has a cleaning kit for a pistol,
but no pistol.

Daphne has enough make-up to put on a show.

Pamela and Franklin's cases are unremarkable

a couple of books, a copy of the Bible.

Zaki's case has a few clothes
and a tin of coffee.

Travis has a doctor's case which is empty.

And, um...

And Randolph?

Smut.

And not the artistic kind.

Could Florence really have ended
Daphne's career?

Oh, yes. Her report would have seen Daphne
barred from nursing.

But she was killed before she could write it?

Oh, that girl's scared of her own shadow.

Imagine Daphne killing in cold blood?

Will this take long?

I hope not.

Your mother's maiden name was Stone?

She died in June 24th, 1922?

You know already know that.

You have the death certificate?

Everything is exactly as stated
in my daughter's letter.

Your mother's father, Joshua Stone

lived in Richmond

her grandfather, William Stone,
died in Aberdeen.

I don't see how this has got anything...

The man found in our searches was James Stone

not William Stone, it's a different person.

Well, clearly there's been a mistake.
William was probably a middle name.

It was definitely William.

My mother used to tell me stories about him.

He was a cavalry trooper,
he fought at Waterloo.

Well, you can't take my wife's word for it,
she was a drunk.

If I remember correctly,
his name was James William Stone.

Yes, that's it.

Well, that would be unfortunate.

Why?

Because I've discovered a mistake.

James Stone was the half-brother
of Mr Dower's great uncle, Andrew Dower.

William Stone was a second cousin.

If Daphne is correct
and her great grandfather is William Stone

she is the only surviving direct descendent
of Mr Dower.

I'll have to check no similar mistake
has been made

in regards his other relatives

but if I'm right, Daphne would inherit
the majority of Mr Dower's estate

with a much smaller proportion
going to his other antecedents.

Daphne's bound to be right, she always is.

I'm no good with these things, once removed,
twice removed.

It's all Greek to me.

However, before we can progress,
there's something I need to establish.

Of course, anything.

You finished your nurse's training
in February, 1920?

Yes.
- Shortly after completing it

you went in front of
the Regional Superintendent.

They were looking into a complaint
serious enough

to have you removed as a Queen's Nurse.

What in God's name
has that got to do with this?

As I said yesterday, there are certain
conditions of the will that must be met

She was exonerated.

No evidence against her.

Just unfounded allegations by a bulldagger,
who got what she deserved.

Look, I don't mean to fly off the handle,
it's just...

it was a very unpleasant time
for my daughter.

That woman almost wrecked her life.

Miss Miller?

I was cleared.

- And the allegations were incorrect?
- Yes.

Then I have everything I need to proceed.

I'll explain the situation to the others.

Thank you. Come on, darling.

Is there something else?

There's a line of people outside
who'll be none too pleased

about the turn of events.
Let's not waste any more of their time.

Mrs Westmacott,
who do you want to talk to next?

I'm afraid there's been a change
of circumstances.

What does that mean?

And why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?

What has that man got to be so happy about?

As I understand it, he's not even a relative.

Not of yours, thank God.

But related where it counts.

What's he talking about?

You told them most of the money
is going to Daphne?

Won't they just leave?

They were angry, but some money
is better than no money.

But I don't understand, I mean,
why take such a risk?

Because Wade killed Florence.

You think he killed her
to save his daughter's career?

But there's no evidence.

We'll find it.

It's ironic, I can't write at the moment
because I'm so worried

about always making my murderer
the most unlikely suspect.

Talk about unlikely!

Wade wasn't even supposed to be here.

But there's no connection to any other aspect
of the murder.

We just need to keep digging.

There must be something here that links him
to the crime.

See if you can find it.

I'm going to talk to him again.

He'll help us if he thinks
it's going to make him rich.

What if you're wrong?

I'm not.

But we have to find the proof
before we can set a trap.

Are you looking for someone?

Mr Miller.

Last I saw he was on the terrace.

Who represents Mr Dower in the United States?

Was that a gunshot?

Gunshots don't sound like that.

Travis probably found some champagne.

I'm afraid I have some
rather pressing business.

It's Wade...

Someone tried to kill Daphne.

How?

Daphne said she was in her room

the door opened and a pistol
was pointed at her.

Wade jumped in front of the bullet

stumbled backwards and fell through
the window.

It turns out that deeply unpleasant man
was a bit of a hero.

Has anyone checked for signs of life?

He looks like all the other dead people
I've seen.

Are you a nurse?

Oh no, I... I, I used to work in a hospital.

You're right, he's dead, I think.

It must have been a big gun.

I'll call the police.

Where's Travis? I wouldn't put it past him
to kill someone

for a bigger share of the pot.

Mabel, when you get back,
could you help Daphne?

She has a nasty cut from the glass.

Yeah...

The poor man was trying to get dressed.

A bit of food will do you good,
believe me, I know.

Thank you.

I couldn't bear to be on my own.

Never talk to the police on an empty stomach.

Is that so?

Not really.

Never talk to the police, full stop.

You take that woman writer
that's topped herself, yeah?

If everyone in her books
had kept their mouths shut

that Poirot couldn't catch a cold.

You mean Agatha Christie.

Golden rule, like my cousin says.

Says what?

Keep your fucking mouth shut!

She's a very good writer.

But rather predictable.

I read "The Murder of Peter Ackroyd",
guessed the end within a few pages.

It's easy when you know how.

Roger.

Excuse me?

"Roger Ackroyd."

I'm pretty sure it was Peter.

So, how are we gonna guess
who knocked off Wade?

No offence, but none of you lot
look like the killing type.

That's how it is in her books.
The last person you'd ever suspect.

If Mrs Christie were writing this

Mrs Westmacott would be guilty.

More like that caretaker, Mr Todd.

The police can talk to him all they like,
he'll have forgotten he did it.

Murder isn't like a detective novel.

Of course.

Sorry.

Your father was a brave man.

He had his faults.

But after my mother died,
he came home to look after me.

He was abroad?

In New York, he left in June '16.

I didn't see him for six years.

So many of my friends lost their fathers
in the war

I suppose I should be grateful for the years
that I had.

Someone tried to kill Miss Miller.

Until the police get here,
I will keep watch outside her room.

Oh, very brave! Are you sure you're French?

That's very kind, Mr Hannachi,
our room is next door.

Franklin and I will be sure
to look after you.

It will be reassuring to have a man
who served, keep watch.

I served my country.

I served them sugar, meat, cigarettes.

Much more of a service than donating
my bollocks to French agriculture.

The police will be here shortly.

I've been asked to request that
no one leaves.

Even if I did kill him

I'm not leaving till I get my money.

I said I was cleaning, we don't have long.

It couldn't have been Wade.
He was in New York.

We got an innocent man killed.

I don't think he was innocent.

Well, that's hardly the point,
they were our lies.

But someone else's bullet.

That doesn't make any difference.

I know what it's like to kill by proxy.

This isn't it.

But during the war, Florence and I
worked at the clearing stations

it's where the wounded are assessed

who can wait, who is critical

who it was pointless to help.

I was good at it. I never dwelt on
the hundreds of people I sent to die.

Florence wanted to save everyone.

She was a remarkable woman, wasn't she?

Towards the end of the war

a German called Keller came in
with a treatable wound.

I was told he'd done something awful
and should be left to rot.

When Florence found out,
she threatened to contact headquarters

and then treated him herself.

She was better than me.

We can't give up.

The police are coming

they'll see through this charade
in a few hours.

Then we don't have long.

I was wrong about Wade, but that doesn't mean
we're wrong about everything.

I was thinking about my writing,
not the evidence.

What evidence?

We've got to continue the interviews.

Whilst they still believe in the inheritance,
we've still got a chance.

How?

I think I know who killed Wade.

Who?

I'm not making the same mistake twice

but if I'm right about Wade

Florence's killer can be found
in the same way.

We can still solve this.

What are you doing?
- I had some work for Miss Rogers

what are you doing?

The police are here.

So you all received the same invitation
from Mrs Westmacott?

Yes, she's the one in the glasses.

And you all arrived at the house
at the same time?

Now that you're all here,
I will introduce myself.

My name is Detective Inspector Dicks

this is PC Spencer.

I'd rather not shout.

As you may know, the author,
Agatha Christie has gone missing.

There are currently 5,000 police personnel
searching for her

and as a consequence

my usual complement of 13 officers
is running at three

myself and PC Spencer included.

So because of Mrs Christie

I do not have enough officers
to take you to the station

so I'm forced to question you here.

We'll start with your personal details.

These will be thoroughly checked,
any false information will get you arrested

which, to be honest, will make my job
a little easier.

Accommodating you in the cells
is not a problem.

Although I would rather be here
than searching for authors in bushes

I do not like working with one hand
tied behind my back.

This process will take some time,
but please do not keep asking me how long.

The more annoying you are,
the more of a bastard I'll be

and please, do not even think
of asking to leave.

Now, Mrs Westmacott

I've been told that you're the person
responsible for bringing everybody here

so I'll start with you,
if you could follow me, please.

Now, if you don't mind.

Name?
- Mary Westmacott.

Date of birth?

September 1st, 1890.

Occupation?

Legal representative.

Employer?

Kant Hope Delaney, 26 York Street, W1.

Telephone number?

Mine or theirs?

What would be the point in having
your number?

I'm trying to verify this ridiculous story
I've just been told.

Are you always this rude?

Yes.

I'm fully aware of my rights.

Well, that makes one of us.

Are you gonna answer the question?

My office number is London 7734

the secretary's name is Miss Fisher.
She'll confirm everything.

That'll do.

Am I allowed to continue my work?

Does your work involve undermining
my investigation?

Of course not.
- Then do what you like.

Thank you. I will.

DI Dicks, what a charmer.

I do hope you're gonna be a bit more gentle.

Do you have the documents?

Lawyer goes to the dentist.

When he comes around from the Ether,
it's dark.

He asks the nurse, "What's going on?"

She says, "There was a fire across the road

so we drew the blinds.

We didn't want you to wake up
and think you'd died."

That's very good.

Ah! Maybe you're not such a scratch
after all.

You were arrested for murder in January,
1920, is that true?

You don't have to answer my questions

but it means I can't do my job,
which means you won't get your money.

I don't know what you're talking about.

A nurse called Florence,
she was beaten to death.

It was a highly publicised case.

You've made a mistake.

"No benefit of any kind can be transferred
to an individual

charged with a capital offence."

Well...

in that case, there's no problem.

I was never charged.

But you were arrested.

Sure, they tried to pin it on me.

You just said you didn't know
anything about it.

Well, what do you expect?

I expect to be told the truth.

As well as the requirements
to confirm identity

Mr Dower gave his executors
a discretionary power

with regards to the moral suitability
of his heirs.

I'm suitable.

Just careful.

But now I don't know if you are
who you say you are.

You've got my papers.
- Papers can be forged.

Given the sums of money involved

I'm sure you can appreciate the need
for thoroughness.

Fair enough.

Does your firm have any dealings
with Scotland Yard?

Of course.

Ask them why they let me off.

For what purpose?

They'll tell you something
they never told the papers.

The killer left a footprint in the blood.

And?

And, there's no way I could know this,
if I wasn't arrested.

Took me all of five seconds to point out
my feet were three sizes too big.

They even tried to squeeze me
into an old trench boot

like I was fucking Cinderella.

A trench boot?

Yeah, another thing they never told
the public.

It doesn't look good when our boys come home
and start murdering civilians.

So...

I guess that means I've passed.

I'll need to confirm this.

Mm, confirm away.

The longer we wait, the more chance
another member of my family has an accident.

Say what you like about the Germans

they know how to make coffee.

Thank you.

That's the first time I've heard a Frenchman
compliment a German.

After you got over the fact
they were trying to kill you

most of them are pretty decent,
in my experience.

Your experience doesn't amount to much.

I lied before. I'm not really French.

No, you're a bloody traitor.

Come now, dear,
we all have different experiences.

Clearly.

I did not mean to offend.

Mr Hannachi, could we speak in private?

I have nothing to hide.

No, but some of the details of your case
are personal.

It does not take a great detective

to work out my connection to Mr Dower
is illegitimate.

Unfortunately, my notes are upstairs.

OK, I'll come

but only if Miss Miller promises
to stay here.

I promise.

Don't say another word!

She is a fraud!

Her and that sorry excuse for a maid.

We've been set up.

There's no inheritance?

That's the least of it.

This whole charade is...
- A murder investigation.

Oh, God help me.

You admit it?

Of course I do. I'm amazed it took you
so long to work it out.

I'm a private detective hired by Miss Rogers.

You are all suspects in the murder
of Florence Nightingale Shore.

Florence? But...

How dare you?

My beautiful cousin.

What possible reason could I have
for killing her?

The same reason that brought you here.

Money.

Well... I suppose that makes sense of things.

No, it doesn't.
What has this got to do with me?

She was killed by someone
wearing service boots.

That's ridiculous.

Florence was the only nurse
who looked after us bougnoul.

She didn't care who we were or what we'd done

she was perfect

I would never...
- You killed her.

Now then!

Now then, murderer or not

Mr Hannachi is right about one thing

this is ridiculous and a monumental waste
of my time.

Spencer!

I've already got one murder to deal with

I couldn't give a rat's ass
about another one.

When this bloody author's found,
I'm taking you all in.

In the meantime, you'll stay in your rooms.

Anyone ignoring this will be considered
a suspect and arrested.

That is completely unacceptable.

My mother and I have nothing to do
with this absurd game.

Daphne can attest to our whereabouts
when Wade was killed

and we never met that bloody nurse.

I insist that we be allowed to leave.
- I'm happy to put you in handcuffs

right now, if that's what you want.

Look at it from the inspector's
point of view.

This is an intolerable situation.

Well, we can agree on that.

The maid
and Travis Pickford have gone missing.

Oh...

Travis and the fake maid, Miss Rogers
have gone missing.

PC Spencer will escort you to your room

whilst I will amuse myself
playing hide and seek.

I advise you to use your confinement wisely.

If any of you has any information
about the only murder that I'm interested in

do yourself a favour and come forward.

Now is a good time to remember
that there is a difference

between a cell and the gallows.

Right.

Are you really trying to find
Florence's killer?

I'm sorry I got so heated.

It was a great shock seeing the...

material.

I was never shown the pictures of...

what was done to her.

How well do you know Mabel?

I bet she told you how awful I was.

How the family hated her relationship
with Florence.

Truth is, I couldn't care less
that my cousin preferred women.

I just didn't like the fact that the woman
she preferred

was such a controlling, malign influence.

You have strong feelings for a woman
you never met.

Because Mabel always refused.

It was easier to keep her distance
and pour poison into my cousin's ear.

For all her experience,
Florence was very naïve.

She had strong convictions
but was blind to manipulation.

You didn't know her.

Mable hates me because she was always jealous
of anyone Florence cared for.

Keep up!

Do you know what always struck me
about Florence's murder?

The police never questioned the last person
to see her alive.

Mabel Rogers.

PC Spencer?

Mr Pickford is in the garden
talking to Mr Todd.

I can see Mr Todd, but not Mr Pickford.

It was only a minute ago.

I'm sure Mr Todd can tell you
where he's gone.

Or should we wait for Inspector Dicks?

You'd better not be lying.

Why are you out of your room?

I could ask you the same thing.
What are you doing?

What does it look like? I'm crying.

Is there something I can do to help?

Find me somewhere to sleep
where my father wasn't killed.

You lied about your job, didn't you?

Leave me alone.

You almost killed a young boy

then Florence was murdered
and your career was saved.

What's wrong with you?

It's a good motive for murder.

I couldn't murder anyone!
I'm weak and I'm stupid.

I'm a pathetic little girl.

Zaki was right.

Florence was better than all of us.

That maid is responsible for all of this

she deserves everything she gets.

And so do you!

I didn't do it.

What are you doing in there?

Hiding.
- From whom?

The police.

Where did you get that?

I found it under my pillow.

Is it loaded?

Yes.
- Well, for God's sake, unload it!

The soldiers used to love showing me
their guns.

Where have you been?

I saw Randolph with our folder,
I panicked and hid in here

then someone came into the room

and when they'd gone, I found this.

I'm being set up.

It seems so.

But by whom?

Daphne.

She killed her father.

W... Why?

He beat her, she broke.

The belt... Oh, the make-up.

His work will be under it.

She was terrified of him.

So this is Wade's gun?
- Yes.

But why blame me?

The person who benefits most from your arrest
is Florence's killer.

But surely Daphne didn't kill Florence.

It doesn't make sense.

It does. We're just missing something.

I need Florence's diaries,
did Randolph take them?

Um...

No.

I've looked through them a hundred times.

Keller!

That's it!

He killed Florence.

This isn't what it looks like.

Well, that's good, because what it looks like

is a murder suspect pointing a gun
at two police officers.

It's not loaded.

Don't worry, you haven't done anything wrong.

Everything will be alright.
- Get her to the station

and bring some bloody help.

You couldn't make it up.

I... I can explain.
- No, I mean it.

And so do I.

No, you couldn't make it up,
could you, Mrs Christie?

How did you know?

I spoke to Miss Fisher.

Oh, she was very convincing, but...

the name rang a bell, Carlo Fisher

interviewed in connection
with the disappearance of Mrs Christie.

And your disguise, I mean

it's good, but it's not that good.

Do you know they've had aircraft
out looking for you?

Parliament practically demanded it.

Parliament?
- You've no idea, have you?

No.

If it was up to me, I'd make you pay for it

have you writing until the end
of your days to settle the account.

I know policemen don't get paid much
but 5,000 of us soon adds up.

I don't even know what to charge you with.

A £10 fine for wasting police time
hardly seems to cover it.

Daphne killed her father.

Well, I'll give you that.

You knew?

Well, of course, she was the only one
in the room when he got shot.

It don't take Sherlock Holmes to work out
she was the most likely.

Speaking of which, there's another person
you need to make reparations to.

Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle held a séance
to try and track you down

he used one of your gloves apparently.

Was the cut to her hand from the recoil?

Probably.

A gun this size shouldn't be shot
from the hip.

She killed him because of what he did to her.

That's a defence.
The jury will understand, if she'll talk

but I doubt she will.

If I was right about Daphne

don't you think I might be right about the
other murder?

No.

No more playing detective.

Don't you want to know what's going on?

That's why I arrested Miss Rogers.

Have you ever been obsessed
with something, Inspector?

Just the law, Mrs Christie.

A while ago, I realised
that's what I write about

obsession.

The inability to clear something
from one's mind.

I'm not in the mood for philosophising.

There's no philosophy in obsession,
just feeling

usually pain.

I mean it, let's go.

Mabel is obsessed with finding the killer
of the person she loved.

I dare say she's been obsessed with Florence
since the day they met

that's what it's like, in my experience.

My husband is leaving me.

He's been having an affair
with a 24-year-old.

They consummated their relationship
on a golf course.

But I didn't come here to escape him.

If I could, I'd spend every minute
by his side.

I recognised that obsession in Mabel.

I came here to help the both of us.

When I came back from the war

my wife gave me the clap.

In my experience

obsession's like getting caught in
no-man's-land.

You'd get out if you could

but you don't know
where the bullets are coming from.

So you're better off sitting
in the shell hole and covering your ears.

You never know, you might get lucky.

Do you really know who killed Florence?

I have a plan, but I need your help.

Well...

This is the first time I've eaten with a pig.
No offence.

This is the first time
I've eaten with a group of people

who've gotten together under false pretences
with the promise of an inheritance.

When can we leave?

When PC Spencer gets back,
he'll start ferrying you to the station.

A short statement,
then you're none of my concern.

Unless of course, your impatience
is the sign of a guilty conscience?

Don't worry, I have my killer.

I still do not understand why Miss Rogers
tried to murder Daphne?

Well, I wouldn't normally discuss a case,
but under the circumstances.

Miss Rogers thought that Miss Miller
had killed her friend, Florence.

This whole debacle is an elaborate act
of revenge.

Unbelievable.

What is it they say about revenge?

Dig two graves.

She'll hang for sure.

I want to apologise.

When I take jobs, I tend not to think
about the consequences.

In my experience, the greatest harm
is done by people

who pursue a course of action
despite being told of the damage it will do.

When I was in Verdun...
- Oh, not the bloody war again.

Here's to the family that never was.

Where's Daphne?

She's not feeling very well.
Said she was going to stay in her room.

I'll check on her, given what
I've put that poor girl through.

For the record, I think you should look again
at the murder of my cousin.

It's quite possible this Rogers woman
is some sort of homicidal maniac.

Yes, it's true, some people do get a taste
for murder.

Inspector Dicks said you'd be coming
to see me.

What's going on?

Pamela said Miss Rogers has been arrested.

Yes.

She was found with the gun you used
to kill your father.

I can't imagine what you've been through.

I should have used that gun on myself.

All that matters now
is that we find the people

who blackmailed you to frame Mabel.

None of this is your fault.

Did your father leave England
to escape conscription?

He beat my mother and I our whole life.

And then he ran away from the fight.

If you tell the truth, they'll understand.

The truth is...

I wish I'd shot that bastard years ago.

I killed him.

I know.

But you didn't plan it,
you're not a murderer.

We'll help you.

Someone else knew it was me.

Yes.

Why did you say "people"?

How is Daphne?

As good as can be expected.

Perhaps you might take her something to eat?

Not very subtle, is he?

I still have some of Miss Roger's material

given that most of it relates to your cousin,
perhaps you would like to take it?

Assuming the inspector doesn't mind.

That would be kind.

That awful woman kept so much
that was personal to the family

it would be very gratifying to get it back.

Oh, I wouldn't worry about the inspector

he has other things on his mind.

He's with Travis, who seems to have forgotten
his cousin's golden rule.

Daphne asked if you would check in on her
after dinner.

Where's Daphne? We're starting to worry.

When you beat Florence to death,
what did you think about?

I've always wondered

during the act of murder,
is there anything but the act itself?

Does the brain reject what the body is doing?

Or is there gratification?

Did you enjoy it?

Did Florence even understand
why you were doing it?

That she was being killed
for saving a man's life?

I don't know what you're talking about.
- Your son James would be alive

were it not for Florence.

She saved the man who murdered him,
Captain Dieter Keller.

A man everyone told her should be left
to die, a monster.

But, as Mr Hannachi said,
"Florence helped everyone"

regardless of who they were
or what they'd done.

We're leaving.

Was it you in the compartment
next to Florence?

Making sure she was alone with your son?

This is as insulting as it is stupid.

Not as stupid as leaving a bloody footprint
at the scene of the crime.

If you'd had the stomach to kill her yourself

I doubt such a mistake would have
been made.

You planned everything so carefully.

Florence told you which train
she was travelling on

which carriage she'd be in. You hid a coat
and cap underneath the bench seat

for Franklin to wear when he escaped.

If I were you, I'd stop.

You left evidence in the compartment,
evidence the police still have

evidence that will send you
and your mother to the gallows.

The footprint?

There's a million servicemen
it could have come from.

And a million crimes left unpunished.

How did you feel when you found out
that Florence wasn't dead?

That despite all your mother's plans,
you'd failed?

I didn't want to kill her.

Franklin!

I bashed her skull just enough
to get her attention.

I wanted her to understand
why it was happening.

I explained that her death was the result
of her sanctimonious morality.

Then I bashed her skull a bit more.

As an ex-priest, I'm compelled to offer
confession and absolution

to someone approaching death.

But as I told Florence, before I beat her
into a coma...

not everyone can be saved.

Oi!

Something else I didn't learn in the army.

We were in the next room,
we heard every word.

Who'd have thought that the walls
in this place would be so thin, eh?

But you knew that, didn't you?

I don't know what you're talking about.

You and your son listened
to what happened to Mr Miller

and then you blackmailed Daphne
into framing Miss Rogers.

- Really?
- Yes.

And you've implicated yourself
in a premeditated murder.

The only thing that's happened here
is a vicious assault on my son.

Whatever you think you've heard,
I'd like to know what evidence you have

to back up these scandalous accusations.

A murder weapon, perhaps?
Maybe an item of clothing?

I heard something about a pair
of bloody boots, that sounds incriminating.

You have them, I assume?

I didn't think so.

Nothing that was said here
can be used in court.

This pathetic attempt at entrapment is over.
You've failed.

Pamela Rose, you are under arrest
for the murder of Wade Miller

you do not have to say anything,
but if you do say anything

it will be taken down
and may be used in evidence.

You wouldn't.

Zaki?

I saw Mrs Rose take the gun
from Wade's luggage.

That's a lie.

It was Mabel. She deserves it, you know that.

Mrs Rose left this note in Daphne's room.

There's been a horrible misunderstanding.

Whatever they've told you, it isn't true.

I caught a glimpse of the killer
through the door.

It was him.

You can't do this!

Let me know if his balls don't recover,
I'll say a prayer

or two.

No...

No!

Alright?

Will you be alright?

I hope so.

I'm sorry.

About Mabel?

I was wrong about her.

She surprised you?

Yes.

People don't often surprise in a good way.

No.

No, I suppose not.

Would you do me a favour?

I'd like to ask Mabel to tea.

Tea?

That's what he said.

Her family have spent 20 years
pretending I didn't exist.

Inspector Dicks says if I'm not found
in the next 24 hours

they'll call out the army.

Will you go home?

What will you say?

I can't remember.

One minute, I was driving my car, the next...

Amnesia? Really?

It's like something from a bad novel.

Dicks told me to keep it simple.

He's going to help.

What will you do?

Finding Florence's killer
is all I've thought about for six years.

How do I stop?

I have no idea.

You have your family.

The police questioned Archie about my
disappearance.

They probably think he knocked me off
in order to marry Nancy.

And get an inheritance.

I'd better change my will.

I'll agree to a divorce.

And I'll stop living my life
through Florence's death.

I don't want to.

Me neither.

Now then.

Bloody hell, should I put you two
on suicide watch?

We're discussing the future.

Bad, is it?

Worse than being hanged for a crime
you didn't commit?

Or being caught up in a scandal
so spectacular

you'd want to settle down
with an arsenic nightcap?

Knowing that things could be worse
is not much comfort in my experience.

Well, that's true.

Still, be good for your writing.

Oh, the novel I'm working on is terrible,
it won't help that.

With the sensation you've caused

you could publish a book on concrete ratios
and it would still be a best seller.

Just have to have the right title.

Make it simple.

"Murder on the Building Site."

I don't think my publishers would agree.

Well, as we're sat here talking, they're busy
getting everything together they've got

just in case you turn up dead.

Oh, thanks! I feel much better...

Did we do the right thing?

Well, I am glad I joined this conversation.

They'll hang.

They murdered in cold blood,
that's what it's for.

Does it feel like justice?

Yes, but...

Oh, it's a funny kind of justice
that's carried out by a group of strangers.

If she were alive,
Florence would be helping strangers.

Mm.

You never told me why you suspected
Franklin and Pamela in the first place.

Oh, apart from you

they were the only people who knew
which train and carriage Florence was in.

Once I stopped indulging fantasies,
they were the most likely suspects.

It's a shame the truth of murder
doesn't lend itself to detective stories.

I mean, it wouldn't be much good
if the person most likely to have done it

actually did it.

No.

That would never work.

Time to go.

I just got comfy, is it something I said?
- No, Inspector.

It's something I thought.

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