Original subtitles

THEME SONG PLAYING...

Assembling the facts. You've got a loaded actress.

Fell off a rustic bridge in the middle of the night

in her bathing costume.

Did she jump? Or was she pushed?

You've got a bevy of theatricals. The nastiest one,

the one nobody has a good word for,

who heads off on a Sunday morning to catch the local train for Boarbridge.

Twenty minutes later, he hops out and retrieves his precious steed

from the guard's van.

He hands over his ticket, all present and correct,

walks into the station yard to greet his chums,

members of the Speedo Club, or some such.

And then...

He gets blown to kingdom come.

- Oh, there you are. - Conclusions?

None as yet, I'm only a humble domestic.

How is Mrs Sutane taking it?

Like a trouper.

But more than once inquired about you.

With a look in her eye which can only be described as wistful.

- Wishful? - Wistful.

I might have said "lovelorn" in another context.

Which is why I telephoned and you came runnin'.

Inspector Oates informed me about the bomb outrage.

Where is she now?

Upstairs with her husband in the massage parlour.

Family conference.

Well, so far only one paper's picked up on the coincidence.

Two deaths from the show in one week.

Should we close?

For what reason?

Decency!

Or superstition. It might be said we have a jinx.

What do you think, Finny?

You're playing at night.

You've the new show in rehearsal and all this worry.

Your body needs a rest.

Thank you, dear.

Linda, darling.

Linda.

- Good morning! - Good morning.

Squire Mercer's poisoned himself, the silly fool.

- Where is he? - At his cottage.

Through here.

He got back from Paris on Friday night,

thought he had a cold, borrowed some Quinine from Jimmy's kitchen

and took the wrong dose.

No one looks after him properly.

Who's there?

Come in.

I'm deaf and blind and cross-eyed,

so don't expect too much from me.

What does the doctor call it?

Synchronism.

My ears crackle and my eyes fog up.

I can't work.

I'm as near to death as I ever hope to be.

Well, I've brought you some flowers, and Mr Campion.

I don't like flowers.

Sit down, Campion.

A bobby called about Konrad an hour ago.

What on earth's been going on?

Do you know if Benny Konrad had any strong political views?

He didn't have any views at all about anything, except himself.

What do you mean, "political"?

Three innocent people dead, 11 seriously injured.

Wanton indiscriminate slaughter.

How dreadful.

I had no idea.

His name's Bloom, Major Bloom.

Brown job from the home office.

Bomb expert.

They say he knows his stuff.

Has he been to the railway station?

- I don't know. - Well, I have.

What a mess.

Konrad had a piece of metal blown clean through his head.

Left a hole big enough to put your fist in.

That porter chap, they dug a steel nut out of his stomach.

Young woman about to lose a leg.

I'm not a squeamish one, but I'll tell you, Albert,

what I saw last night made me spiteful.

Morning.

The effect was rather like a Mills bomb,

but about four times more powerful.

Did someone pull out a pin before throwing it?

A pin or switch.

Or a screw. It's lined with 60 ways to set it off.

Hello, Stan.

Chief Inspector Cooling, county constabulary. This is Mr Albert Campion.

Who knew the deceased.

Which one? There's four now.

The porter's widow has drowned herself in the local mill pool.

Two little kids.

On the bombing, Inspector, any eye-witness reports?

54 interviews, were there? 39 statements.

40.

There's a new one.

Joseph Harold Biggins, one of the cyclists, from his hospital bed.

"Mr Konrad emerged from the station.

"We was all a bit shy, him being a stage star.

"But he put us at ease and showed off the bicycle.

"The drop handlebars with the special grips.

"Then he demonstrated the lamp. There was a sort of roar..."

The lamp, you say?

Lamp.

- Well, Major? - Oh, well,

you must understand this is not evidence, of course,

but I could make out a case for the lamp.

The bomb could have been inside, you see,

where the dry batteries should have been

and exploded when he switched it on.

Well, if that's the case, that means he...

Brought it with him.

He didn't know it was there.

But all those people.

It was obviously a mistake.

It shouldn't have happened at the station.

It should have happened on a lonely road somewhere, at night.

It's a murder...

Gone horribly wrong.

- Where's the cloakroom? - Off the inner hall.

This is very undignified and rather silly, Oates.

Just getting the layout.

That bicycle was in the cloakroom all week.

Anyone could have tampered with it.

Mr Sutane! Mr Sutane!

Where are those two off to?

To the theatre, I should imagine.

♪ My lady is love

♪ Your lady is love

♪ My lady is free

♪ Your lady is free

♪ There's only one place

♪ There's only one place

♪ That lady should be

♪ That lady should be

♪ Right here in my arms

♪ For the whole world to see

♪ Because that lady was lucky to fall in love with me ♪

Right, let's start with Sutane.

You were at his house that Sunday.

You'd been mixing with him long before that actress died,

you must have noticed something.

If Konrad had been playing nasty little jokes on Sutane...

He would have sacked him, not killed him.

Besides, that was only discovered on Friday night,

after Chloe's funeral.

The bomb had to be obtained, prepared, and planted.

Sutane would never have had the time.

All right, then you try an idea.

I can't, I'm in the dark.

Konrad's death has astonished me.

It's not the kind of thing I could ever imagine coming from that house.

Stanislaus, I don't want to be involved.

That's why you have the advantage over us professionals.

I can't choose, myself.

I've never known you like this, Albert.

You're usually so clean.

Thanks for the treat.

Is the star expecting us to go and tell him how good he was?

Probably, though there are reasons why I'd rather not see him tonight. Come on.

Where are we going?

Another treat.

Konrad's accomplice.

Well, here I am, dear boys. As you requested.

What do you want of me?

Stanislaus, let me introduce Mr Beaut Siegfried,

the celebrated ballet master.

Beaut, this is Chief Inspector Oates of Scotland Yard.

Chief Inspector?

No idea my little peccadillo was worthy of such eminence.

Just a friendly visit, Mr Siegfried.

Well, I should hope so indeed.

I didn't expect to be arrested after Mr Campion had given me his solemn promise.

My letter of cringing apology must already be in Mr Sutane's trembling hands.

That, I trust, is the end of the affair.

Well, apart from damage to theatre property, the bouquet of garlic,

and the writing of abusive letters to Mrs Sutane...

Pin in a stick of grease paint.

Very amusing, I know...

Would your friend Mr Konrad have cared for it in his stick of grease paint?

Really, Inspector, you're too cruel.

Poor boy...

Had such a gift.

Such spirit.

Died so horribly.

From your knowledge, did he have any enemies at all?

There were people who were jealous of him.

It may be slander.

Lord, it's so idiotic, but someone should be told.

Poor boy was persecuted.

That man Sutane is not a dancer, he's an acrobat.

And the mob have made a god of him.

No soul. No poetry.

When he saw Benny, he was jealous.

He dogged the boy.

Tossed him into shows and kept him out of sight,

because he daren't let him appear.

Benny's come to me and cried.

Poor boy was a mess of nerves.

There...

Now I've told you.

Whatever happened, Sutane was morally responsible.

My conscience is clear.

Now, you mustn't bother me any more.

I've my other boys and girls to think of.

The watch you're wearing, may I see it?

Surely I'm under no obligation.

Konrad gave it to you, didn't he?

It has an inscription.

The dear boy.

He stole it from a lady's handbag.

The lady is now dead, so the watch is the property of her heirs.

Really, Mr Campion, that is quite indecent of you.

I accepted it in all innocence.

Take it, if you must.

But you won't get me into court.

"C to J, always 1920."

That was smart work.

From Chloe to... Jimmy?

1920...

A love affair?

He gave it back when they split up.

Chloe kept it, brought it with her to the house to remind him.

Then Konrad stole it, gave it to that old hay bag,

to blackmail Sutane! Oh, no, no, no.

I'm catching your disease.

Fanciful supposition.

Give me hard facts.

It's in the palm of your hand.

It was cold on the stair.

And your door was unlocked.

You came to the house this morning.

I saw you myself, from the window.

Why didn't you stay and speak to me?

I had a pressing engagement.

I asked Lugg if you were avoiding me.

He said he wouldn't answer for you.

- He gave me your address. - Let's have a drink and talk about this.

A White Lady?

You're in terrible trouble.

After Jimmy left for the theatre, the police came.

And questioned us...

About the bicycle...

And poor Konrad.

Do you know about it?

What they're thinking?

Roughly, yes.

And yet you won't do anything!

My dear, I'll hold the whole blithering universe up for you.

I'll stop the whole dizzy juggernaut of British police procedure.

I'll wave a little wand and we'll put the clocks back a month.

You're a good man.

No.

I'm a cad and a liar at heart.

I have no magic wand, miracles are quite beyond me,

and there are other more powerful spells at work.

The porter's wife, for instance, drowned leaving two orphans.

And there's your husband.

Your husband who loves you very much.

Does he?

Do you still have that letter I gave you?

The one in green ink?

Finished with.

The culprit found and vanquished.

Read it. Read it to me again.

Please.

"Watch your husband with his co-star, Mrs Sutane.

"The adulteress must suffer."

His co-star.

Slippers Bellew, we assumed it meant her.

But supposing it didn't...

Supposing it meant Chloe Pye.

I'm not so sure.

I remember how she approached me in the theatre.

Wheedled an invitation out of me.

And Jimmy's face when I told him...

His anger...

For a split second.

What are you imagining?

Oh, come now.

You're a man of the world, aren't you?

And I'm not a country bumpkin.

My husband is one of the most desirable men in England.

Women are constantly pestering him.

And I'm under no illusions that he's a saint.

Supposing there had been an affair...

Even in the past.

And she came back to make trouble.

And now...

She's conveniently dead.

Oh.

I'm sorry. This is very stupid of me.

Stupid to have come.

Mrs Sutane.

I'm very happy to assist in cases of dubious suicide,

even a murder or two, but when I see such a quantity of carnage...

I understand.

I won't trouble you any more.

Did you come up by car? It's late. How will you get back?

We still have the flat in Great Russell Street.

- I think Jimmy's there tonight. - No, wait.

Look, if I do come beetling back with you,

and walk among your flowerbeds for a day or two

and dig up the truth and it's painful...

I shan't blame you.

There's usually a maid called Magda, they say, but she's gone sick.

Madame wanted special care taken of you.

Any, uh, visitations in the night?

What?

I didn't like to say.

With you arriving so late with Madame.

Oh, do stop calling her Madame.

And, Lugg, stop all your heavy hints.

I didn't like to say, with you arriving so late with Mrs Sutane.

But this room was Konrad's.

When he changed into his cycling clothes last Sunday,

I thought his ghost might have floated in.

I told you, old dummy.

Well, he doesn't know, does he? Do you know?

You were guardian of the cloakroom.

Don't rub it in.

Had the local flatties pestering me all yesterday.

You don't think they'll bring me down a shirt or two, I don't suppose?

If I'm stayin' on in this here job?

No, I didn't, and, yes, you are. Staying on.

I need you here.

Oh, by the way, I nailed Konrad's accomplice.

He's an elderly ballet master.

Breakfast to your specification?

Yes, of course it is. I see your hand in it.

Who's here at the moment?

Mr Sutane.

He was in bed when you arrived with his wife.

Miss Finbrough's here. I booked you a massage with her.

And Ms Eve Sutane's gone missing.

Eve?

Since tea-time yesterday.

Packed a case and drove off tearful, according to George.

- Who's George? - One of the gardeners.

He was workin' by the gate when she swung out in a little two-seater.

Narrowly avoided him.

Your friend, Inspector Oates, told me about your discrete unmasking

of the wretched Siegfried. I'm very grateful.

But as one problem goes, six others seem to replace it.

I can't help but thinking about that poor porter's wife.

And the small children.

We must make sure we look after them.

I suppose Linda gave them permission. What are they looking for?

A bicycle lamp, I believe.

Jimmy at home?

He's in the garden with Mr Campion.

I have a song for him. God, I feel ill.

Squire.

Do you know what's happened to Eve?

She left the house yesterday without a word.

Did she say anything to you?

Eve? No.

You could ask Campion.

They came to visit this day, morning.

- Do you like this? - Mmm.

It's called, "Pavane for a Dead Dancer".

Tasteless?

I'm only converting life into art.

My lyricist will no doubt raise objections when I see him tomorrow in town.

I think it turned out rather well. Don't you think?

Clearly you don't think.

Oh, well, tant pis.

Oh, no, no. Save it, of course we'll use it.

Lugg!

Explain.

George found it.

Gardener George, amongst some hedge clippings.

Hardly on the lookout for it, but it is still a miracle.

- When he picked it up... - Gardening gloves, of course.

It was cleaned right, of course, before it was chucked.

And you can see the manufacturer's specifications.

And they're prepared to swear that this was the actual lamp

they supplied with the bicycle?

Without a doubt.

They were proud of it.

So, this lamp was swapped for a duplicate containing the explosive,

between Sunday and the following Sunday.

Oh, my God!

You're not saying someone was fool enough to leave a live bomb,

which could be set off by the turn of a switch, in a cloakroom?

For a whole week?

Have you got the gardener's statement?

He's next door now with Sergeant Forest.

What are you offering, Mr Campion?

We need only concern ourselves with those who were there on the previous Sunday.

What, you mean the death of the actress and the murder of Konrad are linked?

Well, you're the one who doesn't like coincidences.

Hello?

Who am I speaking to?

You know who I am.

I am waiting patiently.

How long must I wait?

Tomorrow night.

And you'll bring the money with you?

Whatever time you wish.

And the place?

Yes.

I know it.

If you break our appointment...

Or try to trick me...

You know what I will do.

Coffee, Madame?

Thank you, Lugg.

Will that be all tonight, Madame?

Yes.

Yes, thank you.

What are you thinking?

I'm thinking how trusting your husband is...

Or preoccupied that he doesn't notice that his wife is entertaining an admirer.

In her home, on a balmy star-lit evening in June.

Due for a song from Squire Mercer.

What are you thinking?

I didn't mean to trick you into coming down here.

There's something building in my mind so horrible,

that I can't even share it with you.

The, uh... telephone, Madame.

- Is it Eve? - It's Mr Mercer.

My damned driver has just phoned to say he's caught

the measles from his beastly little son.

And I have to be on the 902 to town in the morning

to spend the day with my lyricist.

I'm stranded. I'm too ill to walk the four miles to...

Oh, Linda, that is extraordinarily good of you.

Oh, I was expecting Sutane's man.

I was doing nothing.

I hate motors. No disrespect.

I hate travelling, I hate London, I hate theatres now.

Not like the old days, Paris, 1920.

- You were there, with Sutane. - Oh, I was.

There was energy, passion, ecstasy in those good times.

- New songs. - Oh! Poured out of me!

Good and indifferent. Joyful.

Before the travails of fame, you need to pander with pale imitation.

- And Chloe Pye, she was with you? - Yes.

Yes, she was there. Briefly, I think.

Yes. Strange woman. Little older than the rest of us.

Quite successful, though.

- I remember Jimmy once saying... - Were they lovers?

Oh, good Lord. I can't remember.

I found Eve. Safe.

She's with friends.

Phone her.

She won't talk to me.

Phone her and tell her I'm sorry. That's all.

Well, do it, Sock.

Do you want her home?

No. No, she's safe. Let her be for the time being.

- You look terrible, do you know that? - Yes.

I could do with a rest. Phil can go on tonight, can't he?

Evening papers!

Give me one. Thank you, very much.

Evening paper! Full of news! Evening papers!

Evening paper!

324. The Sutane residence.

Who?

Mr Peach tree at the railway station. Could somebody...

I'm doing nothing!

Really good of you to pick me up, Campion.

My car's been stolen.

Last night, from outside my flat.

Some ass just climbed in and drove off with it.

The paper man saw it all. Assumed it was a friend of mine, the blithering idiot.

I had to come down to see Jimmy.

The whole company's in a state of hysteria.

I've got chorus girls fainting in the wings.

- Jimmy isn't here. - What?

Stayed the night in London. Didn't you know?

The man never tells me anything any more.

- Do you know where Eve is? - Eve?

We're getting rather worried about her.

Oh, I think she's all right.

She just wanted to get away from all the fuss, that's all.

Hold on, Campion. Stop a minute.

Go back, will you?

Look! That's my old bus over there.

I bet that tick's run her dry of oil and seized her up. I don't believe it.

- Who is it? - I don't know.

I've never seen the chap in my life before.

Time of death, Doctor?

Oh, I'd put it between 10:00 p.m. and 6:00 in the morning.

The body hadn't been moved, so he must have been the driver.

A man returning from the Red Line pub

thought he saw the car about half past 10:00.

He assumed it was a courting couple.

Oh. Hmm. Yes.

Well, this is what you need to find.

Just an ordinary car spanner.

If you need me, you know where to find me.

Your chum Petrie's got some explaining to do.

Campion, thank God you're still here.

I've told them my story, but they don't seem to believe me.

I left my car outside my flat at 7:00, yesterday evening.

And it was gone when I came out this morning.

Do you really think it was just a coincidence, Mr Petrie?

Your car taken by a total stranger from outside your flat in London.

Then found abandoned just two miles from Mr Sutane's house

with the thief in it, dead?

- I know! It's crazy! Was he robbed? - No.

There was a quantity of money on him.

That's not for publication, by the way.

He wasn't robbed?

Listen, I did not bash that fellow over the head, Inspector.

Of course we'll check your story with the newspaper vendor.

There's still no witness to your actions between 7:00 p.m. and this morning.

Not much of an alibi, is it, Mr Petrie?

I know, I know, but it's the truth.

And you've got to believe me, Inspector.

Let him go, I'll keep an eye on him.

What?

Trust me.

- It's a nightmare. - Tell me about Eve, why she ran away.

Was it some row between her and Jimmy?

Why do you say that?

You know where she is, don't you?

Look, it's rather a sore point between me and Eve.

We used to be rather keen on each other.

Jimmy didn't like it. He's quite possessive about her.

And I'm not a startling proposition, I know that.

Anyway, she lost all interest and looked elsewhere.

To whom?

I don't know for certain.

I have a dirty suspicion, but I won't slander the girl. Bless her.

The victim was George Kummer.

Alias, Kruger. Alias, Kribs. Polish. Aged 44 years.

First attracted police attention in this country, January, 1928.

Deported as undesirable alien, 1929.

Reappeared and charged with felonious conspiracy, Glasgow, 1930.

Sentenced to six months.

Next heard of in Paris, in connection with an arson charge.

Became mysteriously wealthy after the repudiation of arms agreement.

Arms... War material... Ah.

Known by several governments in his capacity as a chemist.

We found traces of chemicals on his hands.

Physical description... Hmm.

The paper seller described him to a tee.

Damn it, Albert. He has to be the man who made that ruddy bomb.

All that from a set of fingerprints.

The way I see it, Kummer got greedy,

read about the bomb, made his demands for silence.

A meeting was arranged, a payment, but it wasn't enough.

Where does Petrie's car come into it?

I'm inclined to believe Petrie's story. Weak, though it is.

But our man, whoever he is, had to cover his tracks.

Put the blame elsewhere.

He knew where Petrie's car was usually parked,

ordered Kummer to steal it while he kept out of sight.

Then they drove to his home to fetch the rest of the money.

Stopped in a quiet spot.

- Pure conjecture, Inspector. - Course it is.

Only one thing missing, though.

- A spanner? - A motive for the killing of Chloe Pye.

'Cause the rest of it fits.

Konrad was rubbed out because he witnessed the killing.

Making sense. No doubt of it.

I see a chap who's a sort of great white chief in his own small world,

used to getting his own way.

People who work for him think he's something a bit bigger than life.

Such adulation goes to a man's head.

He starts behaving like he's a god. Invincible.

That's why he doesn't bother with simple things, like disposing of weapons.

Murdering a man so close to home when he could have chosen any spot in England?

If the car was spotted in the trees at 10:30, Sutane has an alibi.

- He was on stage. - Oh, no, he wasn't.

His understudy was on the stage for him.

He'd gone home to his London flat to sleep.

Look, all I want is the thing that pins it on him, and on him alone.

We'll get him in a couple of days anyway,

but what's he going to get up to in the meantime, eh?

Not particular who he causes trouble for, is he?

There's a Miss Finbrough who works for him.

Call her in half an hour and get her down to the station.

Don't make a fuss, or you'll start an alarm.

Tell her you know she went to Chloe Pye's lodgings the day after the inquest.

Ask her what she was looking for.

And what she found.

And who sent her.

Poor Mr Campion.

What a terrible time we've put you through.

- Would you like some breakfast? - No, thank you.

Who was that man in the car? Do they know yet?

Fingerprints will get him.

It's marvellous what they can do nowadays.

Oh, no.

Not the police again.

Morning, Linda.

Sock, you look half beaten to death.

Mr Campion.

Back again.

Jimmy, Gill's written the words to that new song.

I don't like them, but do you want to hear them?

Yes. That's exactly what I want.

If the police want me in my suite,

tell them they'll damn well have to wait till after the rehearsal, all right?

Come in.

- She's arrived, sir. - Ah. Come in, Miss Finbrough.

Eve?

I acted for the best, Inspector.

I never dreamed...

You know, don't you?

Jimmy knows.

I think Eve knew.

Will you stay with me till I know?

Yes, I'll stay.

This is very difficult for me to say.

But I like you more than anyone I ever met.

You're the only person I ever suddenly liked,

who didn't turn out to be a dreadful error of judgement.

You won't let that go to your head, will you?

I don't believe I quite fell in love with you.

But I don't think I shall see you again.

I just really wanted to thank you.

For staying on our side.

For lending us Lugg, who was much appreciated.

Thank you for your tact.

And your loyalty.

What's the matter? Why are you looking like that?

"If you haven't got the temperament, philandering isn't pleasure."

It's a quotation from a Spanish philosopher-poet.

And I should have taken heed of it.

324, the Sutane residence.

Hang on, Inspector.

Are you alone?

Yes, I think so.

That Finbrough woman was a tough nut, but she cracked.

Finally seemed quite glad to talk. Congratulations. Some nice work.

You were right. It was a marriage certificate.

We went ahead and found the church. It was in Brixton.

The date in the register, 1920.

We also got Kummer's hotel, and I was right, it was blackmail.

Name, address, telephone number, all written in a little black notebook.

They found the spanner, too!

We'll be over within the hour.

Albert?

Yes, I'm here.

What a turn up, huh? And you knew all along, you rascal, you.

We shall have words about that later.

Make sure there's no hitch your end.

Well?

Come to make your report?

Police have got a copy of Chloe's marriage certificate.

I told them about it.

When she came down here and increased her blackmailing demands on her husband,

he lost his temper with her.

Was it as simple as that?

She'd arranged to meet him by the lake.

And when he found her, she was dancing.

He took her by the throat,

and before he realised what had happened, she went limp.

Dead.

From a rare condition of the glands called status lymphaticus.

He picked her up.

Her red silk skirt, which he had loosened in his frantic efforts to revive her,

slipped off and fell on the grass...

Where someone else found it.

Then his mind began to work.

He carried her to the bridge.

The car was there.

He pitched her over and staged the accident.

It wasn't murder at that point, that's the pity of it.

Why give the poor devil years of peace, and then suddenly spring herself on him?

Money, wasn't it?

She was down on her luck.

She didn't want the man, she wanted to be bought off.

Konrad saw him.

Or, at least, the husband thought he'd seen...

Young Konrad.

Ambitious, jealous...

Dangerous.

And the husband committed the intolerable,

incredible folly of deciding to shut his mouth.

There was a man called Kummer.

A brilliant chemist whom the husband had met in Paris just after the war.

Well, he wasn't hard to find again for a man with friends abroad.

Those people at the station, my God.

Those other people.

♪ There's a beating heart at stake

♪ Will you hide and let it break?

♪ I'll be there for all time's sake

♪ Water lily girl ♪

She was singing it to you! Chloe, that Sunday...

Was making the date with you.

Sutane wasn't in the room. He was out in the hall rehearsing.

He wouldn't have heard it.

Isn't that true, Eve?

That evening you told the police you were in here all the time

listening to Mercer playing.

Eve had nothing to do with it, Campion. I suggest you leave her out of it.

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

Jealous of Chloe.

You didn't know it, but Chloe was Mercer's wife from long ago.

A well-kept secret.

After the accident, you found Chloe's red silk skirt by the lake

and you danced on it.

You had no suspicion about her death at that moment.

But then there was Konrad and you began to be afraid.

What is all this drivel, Campion?

What are you suggesting?

You flew to Paris on a Tuesday. Met Kummer in Paris, made your plans,

returned on Friday, missing Chloe's funeral.

Fearing who might be there, perhaps from her past, who might remember you.

You deliberately made yourself ill with an overdose of Quinine

to avoid police questioning.

Fearing your nerve might give away.

After your ingenious, but absurd, bicycle bomb went off at the wrong moment,

killing and maiming innocent people.

Oh, no...

Kummer telephoned you.

You met him in London two days ago. I drove you to the station myself.

Kummer drove you back in Sock's car to collect the full payment he'd agreed on.

You murdered him and strolled home.

Well...

I must own up that I was in London all day...

Hard at work on a new song.

As my dear friend Jimmy will no doubt vouch.

And as for the murder, if such it was, of Ms Chloe Pye,

well, it all depends on Eve, doesn't it?

And Konrad, of course.

He heard me upstairs.

But he can't speak for me, poor chap.

If Eve says that I was here all the time, as indeed I assure you I was,

well, your case against me explodes into tiny fragments.

I fell asleep.

I woke to find you by the window, coming in from the garden.

Why did you stop loving me?

You...

Stupid girl...

Very stupid.

- Now, keep out of my way. - No, no!

Let him go!

And now, my dear old friend. The most stupid and treacherous of them all.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

- Out of my way! - Let him go!

There he is!

There he goes.

Careful, he's got a live grenade.

I'm taking Linda off to the States.

Eve, too, poor girl.

Eve and Mercer...

It was a wild, impossible affair.

When I found out about it, I must have upset her.

I assume that's why she ran away.

I had hope poor old Sock might win her back,

but that, of course, was beyond him.

How long have you known the truth?

I saw Mercer.

I thought you knew, my dear fellow,

I saw him on the bridge with Chloe. He pitched her clean under my wheels.

I never dreamt he'd go on with it, though.

I got Finny to take the marriage certificate and burn it,

'cause I knew he'd never think of it. He was so careless.

So much the king in his own little world.

But, then, after the bomb, I had to have you there, Campion, I had to.

You were my conscience.

You had to find him out.

I couldn't direct you.

See I... I could never give him away.

I was his best friend.

We were together in Paris after the war, and...

Oh, my dear fellow, don't you see?

I was the beggar who pinched his wife.

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