Original subtitles

[Hinges squeaking]

[Knocks]

What's all this here?

[No audio]

You may choose, members of the jury,

to believe the prisoner...

That, returning from a walk,

he found the hanging Mrs. Mcginty

and was about to release the rope

when police constable Wells appeared on the scene.

On the other hand, you may think the accused

intended to cover manual strangulation of Mrs. Mcginty--

[clicking]

For motive's of greed--

with clumsy attempts to make his mean crime

appear to be suicide.

[Clicking]

Madam, either you will have to cease knitting,

or I will have to cease judging.

Which shall it be?

It helps me to concentrate, milord.

It does not help me, madam.

Oh.

Very well.

Thank you, madam.

Uh...ah, yes.

If what I have just said is the truth of the matter,

then the prisoner was delayed

in the execution of his evil subterfuge

by the desperate fight of his victim.

There were scattered bank notes...

That pathetic crushed Rose torn from her breast.

He was delayed, I say...

Long enough for the timely intervention

of the alert police constable Wells.

Summing up for a conviction, inspector.

Judge: you may further think that the accused...

Stand you a beer afterwards, Wells?

Thank you, inspector.

Judge: ...Had every opportunity of knowing

that the unfortunate widow

kept her life savings there,

instead of in the bank,

and that Harold Teeler was bent on securing

her meager fortune.

If the facts as presented to you

admit of any reasonable doubt,

then the accused is entitled

to the benefit of that doubt.

But, members of the jury...

If you have been convinced by the evidence,

beyond all reasonable doubt,

that the accused committed this heinous crime,

then it is your solemn duty

to return a verdict of "guilty."

You will retire...

And consider your verdict.

I just have time for that quick beer

before they come back, Wells.

Man: there's absolutely no doubt in my mind

he's guilty.

He was caught red-handed by the police.

[Door opens]

Uh, prisoner at the bar,

have you anything to say before I--

not yet, milord.

Jury's still out.

Surely the time is more appropriate

for a very dry Martini, Johnson.

Very good, milord.

[Yawns]

[Yawns]

What, more tea?

No. They're coming back.

Members of the jury,

are you agreed upon your verdict?

No, sir.

What did you say?

We're not able to reach an agreement, milord.

[Murmuring]

Judge: silence.

I will not have my court turned into a beer garden.

I suggest you retire for a further period.

I'm afraid it would be a waste of time, milord.

I see.

Very well.

There will be a retrial at a later date.

Jury dismissed.

If ever there was an open-and-shut case,

this was it.

One member of that jury

was being deliberately perverse.

Many more than one, inspector, I assure you.

Oh?

11, to be precise.

That woman's made a mockery

of my one and only murder.

No, no, no, Mr. Swanbridge!

You mustn't turn your back on the audience.

I want them to see

the look of surprise on your face.

Allow me.

Just once more, miss rusty...

Please.

Right.

Ah! Our lady president!

Carry on, please. Ah!

Try again.

And do please try harder, Mr. Swanbridge.

My arm's getting awfully tired.

A little rough at the moment, miss Marple,

but I'm confident it'll be all right on our night.

Oh, of course.

Tea?

Oh, no, thank you.

Well, you found him guilty, of course?

They did.

I did not.

But, miss Marple, surely--

you recall our production

in aid of the church organ renovation fund,

the lodger's dilemma?

Unforgettable.

Well, you'll remember, Mr. Stringer,

that the victim in that play

wore a Rose to receive her paramour.

He murdered her, the lodger was blamed.

Exactly.

Mrs. Mcginty wore a Rose on the fatal night.

Oh!

Would it have been to receive her lodger

when we have no evidence

of any...Dalliance between them?

I hardly think so, madam.

Then she wore it for someone else.

Her murderer, you think?

I do.

Rusty: excuse me, Mr. Stringer.

I'm sorry, but he still keeps turning away.

What can I do?

We'll have to recast him. I know...

Ask the vicar if he'll be kind enough to have a try.

Yes.

Miss Marple, if what you say is so,

then an innocent man's life may be at stake.

What can be done?

Well, we can begin by inquiring rather more closely

into the private life of Mrs. Mcginty

than the police have seen fit to do.

Yes. But how?

By returning to the scene of the crime, as it were.

[Man screaming]

Oh, very good, vicar!

Excellent! excellent!

Whoa.

Mr. Stringer...

If our plan works,

you're sure you know your part?

Oh, yes, I think so.

Down! Down! You may be observed.

Yes?

I'm collecting--

no.

I'm collecting jumble for the church bazaar.

You're a Christian, surely.

I should hope so.

Well, then.

Oh, well, if it's jumble for the church,

there's plenty here. Come in.

Oh, thank you.

Got all her stuff here, you know.

You've heard of my sister, of course.

Ah, yes. The poor lady.

Oh, I always thought she'd come to a bad end.

One of those theatricals, you know.

Really? I thought she was a barmaid.

Oh, yes, but she used to be on the stage.

Did it in there, you know,

with his bare hands.

Gloved ones.

Well, it comes to the same thing in the end.

This way.

She was always sticking her neck out, that one.

She did leave you her cottage, I believe.

Didn't have time to arrange her will, did she?

No. It would seem not.

Still, I mustn't decry her, my own sister.

Blood's thicker than water, I suppose.

Here's all her stuff. Nothing of value.

Probably got it from a jumble sale herself.

She used to swear these rat tails was mink.

And look at this coat.

I wouldn't be seen dead in it.

Can't imagine why she dressed in these rags

when she had all that money.

A real little slut, she was.

I remember when she was a kid.

Always wanted to be an actress.

An actress! I ask you!

Mean, she was, you know. Mean--

a little touch of rheumatism.

I find this beneficial.

Oh, really?

Yes.

You know, you should try

rubbing linseed and vinegar into the joints.

Makes a new woman of me.

I'll bear that in mind. Thank you very much.

[Knocking]

That'll be the insurance man paying out.

You know, they don't like it

when the unforeseen does occur.

Persistence, Mr. Stringer, persistence.

Foot in door.

Well, I hope you brought it in cash.

Brought what, madam?

Oh, come on, come on, now.

I don't want the same trouble as when my John passed away.

I don't understand.

Well, you are from the insurance, aren't you?

Oh, no, madam.

No, I was hoping to interest you

in improving your mind.

I was wondering if you'd allow me to show you

the new wonderbook.

Do.

Come in, Mr...Um...

Come in.

"Murder, she said.

Murder, she said. Murder, she said."

Mm-hmm.

And as you can see,

the section on our feathered friends

is most comprehensive.

Everything from an albatross to a shrike--

a what?

A shrike. So named for its incessant chatter

and predatory instincts.

It has a habit of impaling its prey.

How interesting.

Look, I've got an old woman upstairs.

I'll just get rid of her,

and then we'll have a cup of tea.

Oh, no, please don't do that.

I can't trespass on your generosity like that.

Oh, dear. Poor Mr. Stringer.

Fancy me mistaking you for the insurance man.

You're much too nice.

Oh, really?

Well, of course you are.

Now I come to think of it,

you don't really look like a salesman, do you?

Don't I?

No.

So you're a bachelor, Mr. Stringer?

Uh, yes.

Oh, I can always tell!

And I'm a widow.

I'd never have believed it.

Ahem.

Ah... how do you do?

Oh, I see you got what you wanted.

Yes, thank you. Perhaps the gentleman

would care to help me with these into the trap.

Yes, indeed.

Thank you.

I'll leave you the book, Mrs. Thomas.

Brood on it, will you?

Brood on it.

What about the tea?

Good day, Mrs. Thomas.

So you're a bachelor, Mr. Stringer.

Not staying to tea?

Oh, no, miss Marple.

Dear me...The lady will be disappointed.

Up.

[Clicks to horse]

Miss Marple, I do assure you

I gave that woman no encouragement.

It's of small importance, Mr. Stringer.

Good heavens! I've got it!

Jim...look.

Here's the page of the Milchester gazette

I took from Mrs. Mcginty's room.

Here's the identical page I obtained

from the newspaper offices.

I've snipped out the same words and letters...

And produced this.

A Rose...

A Rose...

[Dialing]

Milchester 862, please.

[Ring ring]

[Ring ring]

Oh, is that lady Cynthia waterhouse?

Lady who?

No, this is Mrs. Gladys Thomas.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I appear to have the wrong number.

As I thought.

862 is the telephone number of Mrs. Mcginty's cottage.

I'm afraid I'm at a loss.

Don't you see? This type of message

is typical of a certain kind of criminal...

The blackmailer.

Oh?

Yes. I think Mrs. Mcginty may have been one.

Dear me!

Well, consider...

The Сosgood players

gave 6 performances of murder, she said

here in Milchester in the week of may 12 to 19--

the same week, incidentally,

as this issue of the gazette.

And here we have 6 programs.

Mrs. Mcginty appears to have attended each performance.

Why?

It's an excellent play, miss Marple.

True, but I believe that her interest

was not primarily in the play,

former actress though she may have been.

No. I am convinced she was a blackmailer...

And that it was a member of this company

whom she was blackmailing.

Her murderer, you suppose?

I do.

Hmm...now, I think we deserve a small beer.

Yes, please.

Shh!

Oh!

It's you, inspector.

You gave me quite a turn.

You gave me quite a turn, miss Marple.

May I come in?

Well...

Uh, yes.

It's inspector Craddock, Mr. Stringer.

Oh...how nice.

Good evening, inspector.

Good evening.

Are we here socially or officially, inspector?

Well...a little of both, shall we say.

That poses an interesting problem.

Socially, I can offer you a small beer.

Officially, I cannot... If you're on duty.

I, uh...

All right, miss Marple.

It's official.

Then perhaps some tea. Won't you sit down?

Thank you, no. This won't take long.

We were playing anagrams, inspector.

Hmm.

Miss Marple, police constable Wells informs me

that he observed you this afternoon

pay a call at the cottage of the late Mrs. Mcginty.

Oh?

Furthermore, you were apparently impersonating...

A rag and bone dealer.

I certainly was not.

I was collecting jumble for the church bazaar.

Is that so?

Well, if you don't believe me,

I suggest you ring the vicar...

Now.

Now, look here, miss Marple.

In the past, you've been

of some small help to the police,

and we're grateful, naturally.

But at yesterday's trial,

you misguidedly interfered

with the course of justice.

I'd feel a lot easier in my mind--

and so would the chief constable, come to that--

if you would promise me here and now

not to continue to do so.

You can have that promise freely, inspector.

I have no intention whatever

of interfering with the course of justice.

Yes.

Well, good.

There's no more to be said, then.

No.

Well, I'll say good night, then.

Good night.

Yes.

Perhaps we should have confided our suspicions.

Certainly not!

That man has just thrown down the gauntlet.

You know what the police are.

The month of September, 1951...

This reference to a Rose...

These things must have a great significance

for our man...

Or woman.

I suppose so.

The difficulty is,

the Сosgood players have moved on.

I did read they were at the palace theatre

over at helford.

Oh, yes.

There is no doubt in my mind

that one of these playactors is a murderer.

If you're really convinced

of your theory, miss Marple,

I suppose we should in some way, well...Act.

Act.

Of course! Why not?

That's what I must do.

After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Take our bags to the YMCA, Jim.

If I'm successful, I'll collect mine from you later.

I really think I ought to wait, miss Marple.

No, no. This may take some time.

Au revoir.

All I know is that we had over £300,

and now we've got nothing.

Where's it gone? It's a simple question.

For simpleminded people.

And that's mine.

What's the use?

Ah...thank you.

Oh, daddy's very Democratic, George.

He doesn't mind who I marry.

You could've put that a bit better, luv.

If he's not asking for a pedigree,

you're sitting pretty, eh, bill?

And you could've put that a bit better, too.

[Door opens]

Oh, I was looking for Mr. Cosgood.

Haven't I seen you somewhere before?

Really? I wonder where that could have been?

I'm not sure.

Probably in another dimension.

Don't take any notice of her.

She's our resident weirdy.

No. It was in a dream.

She and you, George.

Something to do with death.

Oh, please, Eva.

Can I help you?

Well, I have an appointment

with Mr. Cosgood.

Oh, he's probably messing about

on the stage somewhere.

It's over there.

Oh, yes. Thank you. I'll find him, young man.

Mr. Cosgood?

Mr. Cosgood!

Mr. cos--oh!

Man: are you Jane marble?

Marple, if you please.

Very well. Get on with it.

It?

I have a performance in half an hour, madam.

Whatever you have chosen to do for me, do.

Oh.

And throw your voice to the back of the theatre.

I want to hear every word.

I can't catch what you say.

I want to hear every word!

Oh, very well.

The shooting of Dan Mcgrew...

By Mr. Robert W. Service.

Miss Marple: A bunch of the boys were whooping it up

in the malamute saloon,

the kid that handles the music-box

was hitting a jag-time tune,

and back of the bar, in a solo game,

sat dangerous Dan Mcgrew...

And watching his luck was his light-o'-love,

the lady that's known as Lou.

When out of the night...

When out of the night that was 50 below

and into the din and the glare,

there stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks,

dog-dirty and loaded for bear.

Just give me the gist and get to the climax!

Oh, dear me. That's very difficult.

It's a long poem,

and there's a great deal behind it.

However...as you wish.

Well, now, uh...

Soon after the stranger

has entered this lurid scene,

it becomes increasingly evident

that there is a growing antagonism

between him and Mr. Mcgrew...

An antagonism which is to end in stark tragedy.

Uh...shall I pick it up at the point

when the miner, seated at the saloon piano,

is playing like a maniac?

Yes, yes. Please do.

Thank you.

And the stranger turned,

and his eyes, they burned

in a most peculiar way.

In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt

he sat... And I saw him sway.

Then his lips went thin in a kind of grin,

and he spoke, but his voice was calm,

and "boys," says he, "you don't know me,

and none of you care a damn!"

Yes, yes, yes, but get to the point, please!

"But I want to state, and my words are straight,

"and I'll bet my poke they're true,

"that one of you is a hound of hell...

And that one is Dan Mcgrew!"

Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out,

and two guns blazed in the dark...

And a woman screamed, and the lights went on--

and two men lay stiff and stark.

Pitched on his head and pumped full of lead

was dangerous Dan Mcgrew...

While the man from the creeks

lay clutched to the breast

of the lady that's known as Lou.

I'm not as wise as the lawyer guys,

but strictly between us two...

The woman who kissed him and pinched his poke

was the lady that's known as Lou.

Are you still there?

You were joking, of course.

Joking? indeed, I was not.

Oh. Then I am not joking when I tell you

that if you persist in this ridiculous notion

of joining our profession,

your wisest course is to register at once

for unemployment pay.

That will not be necessary.

I am of independent means.

Dear lady...

You didn't let me finish.

You made your view quite clear.

No, no, no, no. I was about to point out

that your performance had merit--great merit.

Your choice of material let you down.

Yes, definitely duchess parts.

Regal roles.

I see you, with other material,

performing like an angel.

Angel.

Is not that the term

for a backer of theatrical enterprises?

Droll. Very droll.

No. I simply meant

you have a lot to offer the theatre, Mrs. Marble.

Miss Marple.

Ah, I'm delighted to hear that.

In our profession, the marital knot

is so often the bolt on the door

to the room at the top.

Do I take it, then,

that you are offering me employment, Mr. Cosgood?

Well, as to that, not exactly employment.

I was thinking

rather along the lines of an apprenticeship.

Unpaid?

Well, in a word...Yes.

I accept.

Splendid. Splendid!

Welcome to the Cosgood players.

Thank you.

Well, now... As to lodgings,

I prefer to live, as it were,

cheek-by-jowl with my colleagues.

Naturally, naturally.

We're at westward ho, Prescott street.

Mrs. Harris--excellent landlady, very clean.

Good. Well, I'll just pick up my baggage

at the YMCA.

Au revoir.

Cosgood!

Drunk again!

Now, look here, George--

this man is not drunk, Mr. Cosgood.

He's dead.

[Police bell ringing]

Poisoned.

Poisoned!

Poisoned.

Arsenic, I'd say.

The autopsy will prove it.

Nonsense! George drank too much.

It's as plain as the nose on his face.

Now, sir, you say you were on the stage

when he came up

from the direction of the dressing rooms?

Yes, yes.

Inspector, the curtain is due up in 10 minutes,

and you must appreciate

I now have two roles to play.

There'll be no curtain up today, I'm afraid, sir.

But my audience--they'll tear the place apart!

We'll risk that, sir.

I've got quite a few questions to ask.

Questions? What about?

A man is dead, sir. It's usual.

Damned inconvenient.

Yes, sir. Now, which was his dressing room, sir?

Number two. Look, inspector,

can't you get George off the stage

and come back later?

No, sir. Number two, you said, sir?

I knew something was going to happen.

Really, miss?

Yes. I have premonitions about these things.

I've always been like that.

That's very interesting.

Well, I told George...

As soon as I saw that strange woman...

What strange woman?

The one who came to see Driffold.

Driffold? Who--

Driffold Cosgood, inspector. Me.

All right, sir. What about her?

Her?

The strange woman, sir.

Oh, her. I'd just auditioned her

when George interrupted.

Is the lady here now, sir?

I expect so. She'll be about somewhere.

Oh, she seems to have gone.

Get a name and description, sergeant.

Now, sir, any idea what this lady's name is?

[Sniffing]

I've seen this somewhere before.

Not that one, inspector...

This one.

"Ring--"

miss Marple,

I distinctly asked you not to interfere--

inspector, that strange woman, it's--

yes--miss Marple.

Allow me.

Sergeant, would you escort her to headquarters

and see that she makes a complete statement?

I'll get around to her later.

After you, sergeant.

Sergeant, you sure you didn't mishear

any of what miss Marple said?

I did not, sir.

No.

Well, will you come in, please, miss Marple?

Certainly.

Almost a draw, sergeant.

[Door closes]

Well, please sit down.

Ahem.

All right, miss Marple,

let us suppose-- just suppose--

that Mrs. Mcginty

was blackmailing one of those actors,

and let us suppose

that this was the actual blackmail note she sent.

By all means, inspector.

Right.

Now, as it was lying beside the whisky bottle

in George Rowton's dressing room,

she must have sent it to him.

That does spring to mind.

So that she was blackmailing him.

It would appear so.

Now, if there's anything at all in what you say,

he murdered her.

On the face of it, yes.

So are we to suppose that today,

in a rather belated fit of remorse,

he poisoned himself?

Perhaps.

Or are we to suppose that someone else

poisoned him for some reason?

Again, perhaps.

Inspector, may I ask you a question?

Please do.

If you had simply found that note

in the victim's dressing room

and knew know more about it than that,

what would you have made of the affair?

Well, I suppose I'd have thought

the man was being blackmailed...

And had decided to end it all.

Yes, that's what I thought you'd have thought.

It could be the note was left there deliberately

so that you would think that.

Miss Marple, it's been a long, hard day already.

What are you suggesting now?

I am suggesting

that the murderer of Mrs. Mcginty

and the murderer of George Rowton

are one and the same.

As to who murdered George Rowton,

I don't yet know...

But I will.

As to who murdered Mrs. Mcginty, I do know.

He is, at present, being held in Milchester jail

awaiting a retrial

necessitated by the stubbornness

of a certain member of the jury.

And he killed her for her money.

Ah, yes.

That £100 that was found by her body.

Doesn't it occur to you, inspector,

that that wasn't Mrs. Mcginty's savings at all...

But her payoff?

Are you trying to make me believe

that whoever she was blackmailing

brought the money, killed her,

and then, hearing the lodger come in,

left it behind in panic?

No.

Well, then what?

I am proposing that, like the note,

the money was left behind deliberately.

What for?

Obviously, so that the police

would leap to the conclusion

they have leapt to.

Now, look here, miss Marple--

if I were you, inspector,

I would at least examine

the bank accounts of these people

to see if one of them happened to withdraw £100

either on or about the time

of Mrs. Mcginty's death.

I will, of course, investigate your theories.

In the meantime, I'd be very much obliged

if you would go home to Milchester and stay there.

I'm afraid that is out of the question, inspector.

My work will keep me here indefinitely.

Your work?

I have accepted an engagement

with the Cosgood players,

and a Marple's word is her bond.

Good day.

Cosgood: "actor, playwright,

impresario, man of many talents."

Mmm...might have used a better photo.

You should worry! It says here I'm 48.

Listen to this...

"Lady Sheila,

"stage-struck adopted daughter of lord upward

and bride-to-be of juvenile lead bill hanson, said--"

and I quote the quote--

"this will make no difference

to our wedding plans.

Daddy's very Democratic."

Bully for daddy, eh, bill?

Arthur, you're an absolute stinker.

Why don't you crawl back under your stone?

Well, well, it's all good stuff.

Absolutely no rubbish.

A little notoriety always helps the box office.

Arthur: too true.

Have you read this about you, Ralph?

"Ralph summers,

matinee idol of mother's day,

now an aging, overweight barmaid fancier."

Let me see that!

You're a nasty little joker, aren't you?

I think that's very funny...

And so true.

Ralph: nice wifely thing to say.

Well, your taste does rather run to barmaids,

doesn't it, darling?

There was that one at Milchester, remember?

The one who--

shut up, Maureen.

[Door opens]

Yes, Mrs. Harris?

Your new one's here.

Dear lady, I was beginning to fear

we had created an unfortunate impression on you,

in view of today's accident.

Oh, no, indeed.

I had a little business to attend to.

Well, you're here, you're here.

Boys and girls, meet miss Marple.

Miss Marple... The company.

All: hello.

How do you do, everyone?

There's cocoa on the tray.

If you want the beer, it's extra.

Yes, of course, a nightcap. Do sit down.

Thank you.

Name your poison, dear lady.

I mean, uh...

Cocoa, please, Mr. Cosgood.

An excellent brew. I can recommend it.

By the way, the police are looking for you.

Oh, yes. I have spoken with them.

You have? Good.

I was thinking, Driffold,

why don't we revive a kind of murder

as a sort of tribute to George?

Eh?

Well, I mean miss Marple and Dorothy here...

Perfect for the two scheming sisters.

Oh, I couldn't possibly play a murderess.

Arthur: couldn't you?

One of us could. He or she's had practice.

And what's that supposed to mean?

Let's face it, bill, old man.

Someone slipped a noxious dose

into old George's whisky,

and that someone is in this room.

Oh, don't be ridiculous!

Cosgood: oh, no, no, no. I'm not having this!

In front of a new colleague, too.

There's no question of George having been murdered

by a member of my company.

The whole thing is obviously

some kind of ghastly mistake.

No, you're wrong.

One of us is a murderer.

And you feel that, too, don't you?

Well, my dear,

it's hardly for me to say, is it?

Stop it, stop it!

Cosgood: bill!

Stop talking about it!

I can't stand it any longer!

You know, don't you? You know it was me!

You and your insinuations and your stupid sarcasm!

What do you mean? What are you talking about?

Well, I'm going to finish you!

I'm going to close your big mouth once and for all!

Bill!

Let go of me! Let me go!

[Laughing]

Well, that had you going a bit, didn't it?

Well, I--

you know what your trouble is?

You can dish out the jokes,

but you can't take them, can you?

Well, I think that was all in very bad taste.

Yes. So do I.

I'm sorry, luv.

I didn't mean to upset anybody but him.

Well, you've upset me.

Oh, for heaven's sake,

I've had enough of this.

I'm going to bed.

I'm feeling a bit tired myself, Mr. Cosgood.

If I might be shown my room.

Hmm? Oh, certainly. Certainly, dear lady.

It's been a trying day.

Very trying, indeed. Florie? Florie!

So glad to be one of you. Good night.

All: good night.

Mrs. Harris will show you up.

Come on, then.

Number 10, upstairs.

Thank you, Mr. Cosgood. Good night.

I shouldn't take too much notice

of those youngsters.

Strange lads in some ways,

but hearts in the right place.

Oh, I'm sure they are. Well, good night.

Good night, dear lady. You'll soon feel at home.

We're all one big happy family here.

I hope you know what you're doing, dear boy.

You'll find this comfortable. He did.

He?

The deceased. You know--Mr. Rowton.

Well, now, breakfast, 8:30, no cooking in the rooms,

shilling in the gas if you're cold,

bath days Sundays and Fridays.

Don't waste the light.

And no male callers upstairs.

[Creaking]

[Meow]

Oh, naughty Puddy! What are you doing in there?

Come along. Off you go. Shoo!

Ah!

[Sighs]

"Remember September!"

[Milk bottles clinking]

Eva?

Yes?

What are you doing?

I couldn't sleep.

Why do you suppose that Marple woman

should want to sneak out of the house

at this time of morning?

Mmm? Oh, how should I know?

Perhaps she's just eccentric.

She certainly looks it.

I wonder.

Oh, darling, you're not going all creepy, are you?

Really, you could haunt a house.

Oh, I do wish you hadn't wakened me.

Now I'll start fretting again.

I'd put it out of my mind, if I were you.

Oh, easier said than done.

I mean, where can one go for a honeymoon these days?

Everywhere's so old hat.

Hey, what do you think about Moscow?

How can you care about that after what's happened?

Life must go on, darling...

George or no George.

You were in love with him, weren't you?

No.

It was all over.

Was it?

Yes.

I hated him.

Don't worry, darling.

I won't tell anyone.

Good heavens, Mr. Stringer!

What on earth are you doing in that getup?

Oh, just training. I thought it advisable

to get into peak condition for any emergency.

Is there one already?

No emergency, but a very interesting development.

Oh, do stop bobbing about and come over here.

Remember September.

Not a date, a play...

And by my new employer, Driffold Cosgood himself.

Oh?

Well, you do see the significance of this?

Um...no.

Well, now, follow me, Jim. Follow me closely.

It seems to me

that whomever Mrs. Mcginty was blackmailing

must have had some connection

with the production of this play in 1951...

And is with the Cosgood company.

The author himself?

Perhaps.

How did you come by it?

I found it on my pillow.

What?

It was left there deliberately.

Then he knows... The murderer.

He's been onto you all the time!

He's just playing cat-and-mouse with you.

Well, two can play at that game.

Miss Marple, I'm deeply disturbed.

Don't get yourself in a state, Jim.

I'm not in a state. I'm cold.

Oh, dear me.

There we are.

That's better isn't it? Tuck it well round.

Now...

Now, what organization would be likely to keep a record

of all professional theatrical productions?

Uh, the censorship people, I suppose.

To be sure.

The lord Chamberlain's office in London.

I should be obliged if you would go there posthaste

and inquire into the history of this play:

Where it was produced in 1951, who was in it, and so on.

Hmm. It may have been played in many theatres.

I hardly think so. You see, I've read it.

Oh.

Very well, miss Marple.

I'll take the next train up.

Good.

To your task... And I must fly.

I wish to be at the breakfast table

when they come down.

Away, away!

Thank you, Mrs. Harris.

I seem to be a trifle early.

No. The others are a trifle late.

Not that I'm complaining.

If they're not down in time, I've got 6 cats to feed.

Cosgood: good morning, Florie.

Good morning.

Good morning, good morning.

Good morning, Mr. Cosgood.

I trust you slept well, dear lady?

More like a top, thank you.

Good, good.

Nothing like sleep

for knitting up the raveled sleeve of care,

as the bard so aptly pointed out.

What's that you find so engrossing?

Your play, Mr. Cosgood.

What?

This is your play?

Yes. Yes, it is.

Where on earth did you find this?

In my room last night.

Well, now, isn't that extraordinary?

Yes.

I can only assume

poor George must have borrowed it sometime.

Don't let me stop you reading it.

I've finished reading it, thank you.

Ah, well, let's see

how the good Florie serves us today.

Oh...

How do you find it?

The kipper?

The play.

Oh, I beg your pardon. The play.

I find it most interesting.

How very gratifying.

Has it ever been produced, Mr. Cosgood?

Oh, no. I completed it only quite recently.

I see.

I have high hopes for it, though.

Those must sustain you.

They do, dear lady. They do.

Ah, Ralph. Ahem.

Driffold, I've been up half the night thinking.

Now I want to ask you a question.

Oh?

Yes.

Could you believe in miss Marple

as a lady detective?

I don't know any lady detectives.

I'm not saying you do, but what do you think?

She's hardly typecasting.

You're quite wrong there. You know, she's perfect.

What are you getting at?

I've had a marvelous idea.

I suggest we keep the theatre closed

till Monday, let the publicity build up...

Then we reopen with out of the stew pot.

That old potboiler?

A murder mystery, dear boy.

We've got one of our own, why not put one on?

You may have a thought here...

With miss Marple

as the honorable Penelope brown.

Yes...now I do see what you mean.

Yes, by Jove, it's brilliant!

You're familiar with the play,

of course, dear lady.

No, I don't think so.

A classic of its kind.

I'll fetch the scripts right away.

Ralph, call the theatre.

Tell them we're rehearsing on-stage

for the rest of the week.

Mr. Cosgood, I really wouldn't have thought

I was anyone's idea of a detective.

Not anyone's, dear miss Marple,

but you're mine.

You're certainly mine.

And mine.

Cosgood: spotlight!

Get it on me... And keep it on me.

Now, you've all read the play...

Let me put you in the mood.

The scene is a filthy attic in Soho,

in the very heart of London's

square-mile of vice...

And worse,

a dim figure is flitting about the stage--

that's you, bill.

You play Sidney, working-class assistant

to the honorable Penelope brown,

amateur criminologist extraordinaire.

That's you, miss Marple.

Sidney is looking for something....

Searching...searching...

Searching.

A noise! A step on the stair outside.

I, as the father, am about to enter,

when my delinquent son Stanley--

that's you, Arthur.

Arthur.

Sidney freezes...

Then darts to a place of concealment.

[Gasps of astonishment]

Ooh, sorry, guv.

Testing.

You're back!

[All laughing]

All right, all right! Don't just stand about grinning!

Just testing, indeed!

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes. I come in with my son.

I plead with him to tell the police all he knows

about the killing of Rona Laplante.

He sneers at me... Rejects me.

Then...the climax of the scene.

I detect a movement behind the alcove curtain.

I cross to it--

pull it aside to reveal...

Sidney--oh!

What do you want?

A phone call for miss Marple.

Well, why didn't you say so?

All right, miss Marple.

You're not wanted in this scene.

Thank you.

Right. Now, let's take it from my entrance.

Bill, you're concealed over here.

Arthur, you and I come in.

You're living here? A son of mine?

Hello?

Oh, yes, Mr. Stringer.

You were right, miss Marple.

Remember September was put on in 1951,

a tryout performance at Pimmelston-on-Sea.

Very interesting. Particularly as the author claims

that he's only recently completed the work.

Oh, well, that may have been embarrassment.

You see, the lord Chamberlain's office

particularly remembers it

because it was booed off the stage

halfway through the second act.

That doesn't surprise me in the least.

The point is, was there anyone we know in it?

I have obtained a full cast list,

and in it occurs the name of Margaret Mcginty.

What? Really? Excellent!

Now, tell me, apart from Mr. Cosgood,

who else in this company

was connected with this production?

No one? You sure?

Yes.

All right, Jim.

I was just thinking.

Of course it's possible

that someone has since changed his or her name.

Look, Jim, drop the cast list in to me

at westward ho!, will you?

Thank you.

Good-bye.

Marple.

Oh, I'm sorry if I startled you.

Mr. Cosgood is asking for you on the stage.

Thank you. I'll go.

This was in props. Should do the job.

All right, let's try it.

Ah, there you are, dear lady.

We've just been devising a small embellishment

to the scene where you finally confront Ralph

with the truth about the killing of Rona Laplante.

Oh.

Instead of as written--

him merely knocking over the lamp

and making good his escape--

Ralph suggests he also attempts to kill you.

Really.

Yes.

The idea is he knocks over the lamp,

shoots at you, and then bolts.

I see.

He misses, of course.

There's nothing like a loud report

for keeping an audience alive and alert.

Ahem!

You don't find this alarming, do you?

Oh, no. Not at all.

Good.

Right. Then let's set the scene.

Ralph, you'll be over here, rifling the escritoire.

And the honorable Penelope

will enter through the French windows over here.

Right. Positions, please.

Miss Marple, in now.

Ah, I thought I'd find you here, Faber.

You!

Yes, me!

Stay where you are.

Violence will avail you nothing.

The grounds are swarming with police.

They've got nothing on me.

Oh, yes, they have. You see...

You see, Mrs. Mcginty's dead!

You made a mistake, then, didn't you?

You certainly did, dear lady.

Why, what did I do?

You said, Mrs. Mcginty's dead.

Did I?

Yes. It's Rona Laplante who's dead.

Oh, yes. How silly of me.

I must have picked it up

from reading your play, remember September.

My play? There's nobody of that name in it.

How odd.

The name Mcginty's on my mind for some reason or other.

I know. It was that barmaid murdered at Milchester.

There was a trial last week.

Yes, that's it.

May I try it again, please?

Yes, yes,

only let's do it properly this time. Hmm?

I'll do my best.

Positions, please.

All right, Ralph, make your move.

Seen this in the evening paper?

"Police baffled in theatre mystery."

Not that, this--

"grand charity reopening Monday.

"Driffold Cosgood proudly presents

"the company everyone is talking about

"in a baffling murder drama.

"First-night proceeds

in aid of the police benevolent fund."

Well, it's a nice gesture, sir.

I can just hear the chief constable

agreeing with it.

You got those bank statements yet?

On your desk, sir.

All right, come on in.

Well, did anyone draw out £100

about the time of Mrs. Mcginty's death?

Yes, sir.

Oh, who?

The dead man, sir. George Rowton.

Why didn't you say so?

Well, I just did, sir.

Well, well, well. It was as simple as that.

Suicide.

Oh, miss Marple, there's a visitor for you.

Oh, thank you.

In there. He's a male.

Oh, thank you.

Oh, inspector.

Good evening, miss Marple.

Good evening.

I called at the police station,

and they told me you were out.

I'd no idea you'd come here.

No, I don't suppose you had.

Well, your visit is most inopportune.

You see, at rehearsal today,

I set in train a certain stratagem

which I think will force our murderer

to make a move tonight.

I very much doubt it, miss Marple.

Oh?

Our murderer, as you put it, is dead.

I beg your pardon?

Look at this.

George Rowton's bank statement,

important item underlined,

namely, a withdrawal of £100.

So that explains it.

Yes, I thought you'd see the point.

Oh, yes, indeed, though I must admit

the motive for the murder of Rowton

had eluded me until now.

He wasn't murdered, miss Marple.

He killed himself.

Oh, you really think so?

Well, it's obvious.

Mrs. Mcginty was blackmailing him.

He drew out of the bank to pay her off,

murdered her, then left the money behind

to incriminate the lodger.

That theory has a familiar ring, inspector.

What?

Oh, you did suggest

something along those lines, true.

But the point is, the lodger's innocent.

Rowton did it, and then took

what is laughingly called the easy way out.

Couldn't stand the strain.

The case is wrapped up.

I'm just on my way to tell the chief constable.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Why not?

Because I think you're wrong.

You do?

Yes. You see, I now think

our murderer got the money to pay Mrs. Mcginty

off George Rowton in a way

which made it necessary

for Rowton to be disposed of later.

Only a woman's mind-- possibly only yours--

could have dreamt that one up.

It may irritate you, inspector,

that women sometimes have superior minds.

You'll simply have to accept it.

Ahem.

Oh, uh, don't you need this?

Thank you. Good night, miss Marple.

Good night, inspector.

Good evening.

Good evening.

[Rustling]

[Gasp]

[Cats meowing]

Oh, that's where you are.

They do like to sleep somewhere up here

when they can find an empty bed.

Come on, my pretties, your liver's nice and hot.

Dinner gong in two minutes.

Come on, babies.

[Sniffing]

Ah.

Ohh.

[Knock on door]

Come in.

Ah, miss Marple,

I was hoping to catch you before you went down.

Were you, Mr. Cosgood?

Yes, I thought it was time

you and I had a little chat.

[Gong]

Bill: that's it!

Overture and beginners, please!

And that means you! Tsk, tsk, tsk.

No male friends in rooms, madam.

Don't be absurd, boy.

Well, miss Marple, perhaps I can escort you down.

I think I'll give dinner a miss tonight, Mr. Cosgood.

I'm feeling a trifle queasy.

Nothing incapacitating, I trust.

Oh, no. A good night's rest.

Well, um, I'll leave you, then.

Thank you.

Take care, dear lady.

We mustn't be without you Monday, must we?

Come on.

[Door closes]

[Thunder]

[Thunder]

[Thunder]

[Thunder]

[Thunder]

[Thunder]

[Thunder]

Oh, my dear, I was just...

[Thunder]

[Sniffing]

Bitter almonds.

Cyanide!

Ohh!

This is tragic, absolutely tragic.

When the press get onto this,

we could open in two theaters

and still be turning them away.

Now we're stuck without someone

to play the housekeeper.

Well, you can't have it both ways, can you?

We must! We owe it to Dorothy.

Eva! No, you're already doubling

the good-time girl and the vicar's daughter.

Sheila! Would you play the housekeeper, dear,

if I got you a wig?

Oh, Driffy, you make me sick.

You don't care a hoot about poor old Dorothy.

All you care about is your silly old play

and your stupid old self,

and, no, I won't play the housekeeper.

All right, miss Marple, cyanide gas.

But how?

I think I can explain that.

No doubt.

I take it from your tone, inspector,

that you did not have second thoughts

about seeing the chief constable yesterday.

If you can explain, miss Marple, please do so.

Very well.

Now!

So what? My wife has one.

But presumably she doesn't cook candle wax.

No, she doesn't.

There is a little

at the bottom of that saucepan.

Now, this is what happened.

The murderer set the dials

so that the gas came on at 12:55 precisely

under this saucepan

that contained a small wax cup of acid

and a pellet of sodium cyanide.

The wax melted,

the acid flowed over the pellet.

Result--sudden release of cyanide gas.

Lethal.

I see.

And at 1:00 precisely

the gas turned itself off.

Now.

Leaving nothing

but an innocent saucepan on the hob.

Yes, good work.

That means whoever we're looking for

must have specialist knowledge.

Oh, no.

Exactly the same murder method

as employed in the play we open with on Monday--

out of the Stewpot.

So any one of the company could have done it.

Right.

The way things are now, I am tempted--sorely tempted--

to arrest the whole lot.

Really?

Yes, really.

What you found out-- what we found out--

look at what we've got.

Cosgood--he told you he'd only just written

this confounded remember September,

and yet we know it was produced in 1951.

And victim number one, Mrs. Mcginty, was in it.

And this fellow summers--

we know he took Mr. Mcginty out

at least a couple of times

the week the company was in Milchester,

the week she was murdered.

And his wife Maureen-- she knew about this.

She didn't like it.

Then there's the spooky girl Eva.

We've been able to establish

that she was having a romance

with victim number two George Rowton

and that he'd tossed her aside like a...

Worn-out glove, sir?

Yes. And then there's young Arthur.

That note you found in your room

was typed on his typewriter,

and as a result of the assignation,

victim number 3.

There is a point here.

In 1951, the younger members of the company

would have been mere children.

Yes.

Yes, by George,

if that performance of remember September

in 1951--13 years ago-- started this whole thing,

then none of those youngsters--

Eva, bill, Sheila, Arthur--

could have had anything to do with it.

No. It seems so.

I mean, anyone could have gone into Arthur's room

and used the typewriter. I did myself.

[Knock on door]

He's here, sir.

What?

He's here, sir.

Oh, yes. Would you wait here a moment,

please, miss Marple?

Wait?

Please. Sergeant.

Wonder why the iron was hot.

[Door opens]

What are you doing here?

Well, you asked me

to drop in the cast list when I was passing.

You know, remember September.

And you were passing at 2:30 in the morning?

Come now.

Well, as a matter of fact,

the inspector was kind enough to send a car.

He thought I might succeed where he had failed

to persuade you--

to desert my post perhaps?

This is a dangerous place.

These are dangerous people.

Only one of them.

Miss Marple, the time has come for plain speak.

Please, Jim, I'm thinking.

It's here that the answer lies.

"Driffold Cosgood, Ralph summers,

Margaret Mcginty, Rose Kane..."

Rose...

Rose...

Mr. Stringer.

We have here in addition to Margaret Mcginty

an actress called Rose Kane.

Sorry. I am afraid I don't understand.

Don't you see? Rose!

"A Rose by any other name would smell."

The blackmail note!

Oh!

Mr. Stringer, tomorrow I must do some digging.

Digging?

Yes. Into the past.

You mean this Rose Kane?

Yes.

You seem to remember her well, Mr. Tumbrill.

What is your interest in her?

Oh, I simply want to trace her.

You see, I've been outside the profession

for a number of years now, and so the only way--

well, if you're an old friend of hers,

I'm afraid you're in for a bit of a shock.

Oh?

Poor Rosie was hanged, you know.

What?

Yes. Terrible business.

Terrible business.

Oh, uh, will you?

Not so soon after breakfast, thank you.

You were saying?

Oh, yes, terrible. I shall never forget it.

She opened in this play summer in the sticks.

A unique floparoo, by the way.

Didn't even run the night.

Anyhow, the same night, believe it or not,

she poisoned her husband.

Did she indeed?

Yes, she did.

She sent her kid out

to buy half a pound of garlic sausage

and then doctored it with weed killer.

There was a child?

Mmm. Must have been 10 or 11 at the time.

Boy or girl?

Never saw the kid myself.

Can't even remember its name.

Anyway I did hear that some friend took it in

for a bit afterwards, then popped it into an orphanage.

That friend--was her name Mcginty?

Yes, that's right. Maggie Mcginty.

Blonde, flighty piece.

Why ever did Rose do it, Mr. Tumbrill?

Usual thing-- another man.

And who was he?

He never came forward, and she never named him.

Then it could be the lover or the child.

Eh?

Oh, I wonder if I might have

this photograph, Mr. Tumbrill,

as a keepsake.

Oh, by all means. Yes, by all means.

One of mine that got away, you might say.

Well, I won't take up any more of your time.

Allow me.

Evelyn!

I beg your pardon?

Rose's kid. Evelyn. That was the name.

Evelyn.

Nothing like champagne for a champagne occasion.

Uncommonly civil of you, dear lady.

What about a toast, dear boy?

Something appropriate?

Of course, of course.

To success! To us, all of us.

And particularly to our hostess.

Long life, dear lady.

Hear, hear.

Oh, Mr. Cosgood, such lovely flowers.

[Glass breaks]

Who's that?

Huh?

Oh, she was an actress called Rose Kane.

Why do you ask?

I don't know.

But somehow she-- she means death.

Something to do with George.

5 minutes, boys and girls.

Come on, come on. The party's over.

Now, remember, all you have to do

is speak your lines clearly,

try not to trip over the furniture,

and we'll run longer than the mousetrap.

See you on stage, dear lady.

Oh, and don't forget--

it's Rona Laplante who's dead.

Well, Driffold, tonight's the night.

It most certainly is. Got the gun?

Yes.

What do you suppose she wants to see us about, sir?

I don't know, sergeant, but she's up to something.

[Knocking on door]

Come in.

Well, miss Marple.

Good evening, inspector.

I think there's something you should know

before you go in to see the play.

Oh? What?

I think our murderer

will try to kill me again tonight.

Again?

The first attempt failed.

Poor Dorothy perished instead.

What are you talking about?

The iron was hot, you see. I burnt my hand.

No, I don't see.

When I went into Dorothy's room earlier that night,

there was washing on the line.

Well?

I think she did her ironing later

and forgot to switch off.

Then in the middle of the night,

she woke and remembered

and went down to the kitchen to do so.

And walked into a trap meant for you, you mean.

Quite.

That note was left outside my door deliberately...

To lure me down.

Right, sergeant.

We are going to stay right here,

and we're not going to let miss Marple

out of our sight for one second!

Oh, you mustn't do that, inspector.

We must put no obstacle in the way.

You can't be serious.

Never more so.

You see, our murderer set a trap for me.

I have just returned the compliment.

[Knock on door]

Miss Marple, I brought the--

let me have it, Mr. Stringer.

Thank you.

Wait a minute. What's going on? What's that?

Life insurance, inspector.

Life insurance.

Man: beginners onstage, please! Beginners onstage!

Will you please excuse me, gentlemen?

[Audience murmuring]

Arthur, offstage: Father, we've been

all through that before.

You know that I have committed myself

to this way of life, and I won't give it up.

You're living here? A son of mine?

I live where I choose.

Come in, Eva.

Now, don't scream.

Don't even speak...

'Cause I'm taking you somewhere

where we won't be interrupted.

And if you do anything, I'll kill you.

Now, open that door.

Driffold, onstage: Couple of years in jail.

What's that? Why, it might be the making of you.

You may think the police are fools, Stanley.

Perhaps some of them are, but not all, son. Not all.

Right here.

Now, if anyone tries to come through here,

I want to know who it is and what he wants.

Got that?

Very good, sir.

Hey, what's all this about?

Oh, miss Marple, I've covered every...

Sergeant!

Sheila, have you seen Ralph?

No.

Where is she?

She hasn't left her dressing room.

She has, you know, you blithering idiot.

We've got to find her. You take the other side.

Look, dad, can't we cut this short?

I'm expecting a visitor...

[Audience snickering]

In a few moments.

[Audience laughing]

One of your--one of your worthless friends, no doubt.

It's the girl I'm going to marry,

if you must know.

Look at me, son.

Look at me!

[Whispering] what's the matter with you?

I want you to know why you're going to die.

I want to know that, too.

You killed him.

I don't know why, but you killed him.

By him you mean George Rowton, don't you?

Yes.

You were in love with him.

Yes, I loved him, and you killed him!

Oh, no. You're mistaken, my dear.

He was killed by someone called Evelyn Kane.

I don't believe you.

I know it was you.

I thought it was you from the beginning.

You can't do it, Eva!

You're no more capable of murder than I am.

[Man laughing]

Ohh!

[Man laughing]

Aah! Ohh!

You were quite right. She couldn't have done it.

A pity. I thought she might have saved me the trouble.

Aren't you supposed to be on the stage?

Oh, but I am, miss Marple,

and what's more, hundreds of people will swear I am...

Hiding behind the curtain.

It was very simple, really.

You remember when that idiot Cosgood

dropped through the trap?

Well, I've done the same.

In exactly 3 minutes, I shall be back on stage on cue.

But you, I'm sorry to say, will not be answering yours.

You're Evelyn Kane, aren't you?

Rose Kane's son.

Oh, yes. Evelyn. What a name.

I soon changed that.

Yes, the Mcginty woman found that out, didn't she?

When you were playing in Milchester.

She recognized you,

and as you were marrying an heiress,

she saw an opportunity for blackmail.

She threatened to tell Sheila's father

unless I paid her to keep quiet.

So I kept her quiet.

Where could I find the money she wanted?

George Rowton.

She wanted £100, so I forged George's name on a check.

Well, I couldn't let him find that out, now, could I?

So they both had to die, didn't they?

Poor old Dorothy.

That was meant for you, of course.

Well, I had meant to wring your neck,

but Eva's been very obliging.

Her fingerprints are on that...

And I'm on the stage.

Wait!

I took the Liberty

of borrowing this from Mr. Summers.

You don't think you can fool me

with a prop gun filled with blanks.

Oh, no, not blanks.

A friend of mine procured me some insurance.

I'll risk it.

I should warn you.

I won the ladies' small arms championship

at Bisley in 1924.

Bully for you.

[Gunshot]

Oh, dear.

Shh! I thought I heard something.

Come out of there!

Bill, you stupid...Aah!

Inspector.

[Crash]

[Audience laughing]

Oh, dear.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

With a bit of rest and some luck,

the doctor thinks I should be out of here

in a few days.

Oh, splendid. I'm thankful the blow

caused no permanent damage.

And now if you'll excuse me.

Thank you very much, miss Marple.

Oh, miss Marple, there is one thing.

I thought you might like to know

that as a result of my work on this case,

I'm to be promoted.

Chief inspector.

Oh, I'm so glad. Congratulations.

Yes. Well, thank you, miss Marple.

Not at all, inspector-- chief inspector.

Well, au revoir.

Forgive me if I fail to rise, dear lady.

I quite understand, Mr. Cosgood.

I brought you some magazines

to help while away the time.

Ah, yes. Time, time.

I've been lying here

contemplating a bleak future unless...

Unless?

Well, I wondered if you'd given any thought

to my play remember September.

It has been rather on my mind.

Dear lady, I have a small confession to make.

It was I who left the script in your room.

Really?

Yes. I'd hoped it might make some impression upon you.

It did.

Good.

You see, it seems to me

that with one or two minor alterations in the second act,

I have here a very valuable property.

I'm so happy for you, Mr. Cosgood.

There is however one tiny, weeny little snag.

Oh?

Yes. It's sordid, of course,

when dealing with the arts,

but a play whatever its merits

requires a backer.

Mr. Cosgood, whatever I may or may not be,

I am definitely no angel.

Good-bye.

And good luck.