Original subtitles

My dear Miss Frail, were I to observe that I were even remotely interested in

whatever labored form of excuse you're about to offer for your lateness, it

would be an overstatement. I'm terribly sorry, Dr. Murrell. I gather from the

reek of glandular extract of the civet cat, coupled with the unnatural

glossiness of your hair, that you consider having a perm more important

than transcribing my casebook. Oh, but Dr. Murrell, the... Humanity, my dear

Miss Frail, will not agree with you.

Kindly fetch your notebook and begin to take my dictation.

We will call this episode The Case of the Missing Heiress.

It is chiefly remarkable for the fact that my assistant, Miss Frail, featured

prominently in it, and by her entirely inept efforts, hampered me considerably

in arriving at a solution of the problem.

Darren Torr.

as its name suggests is situated in the west country it is a lonely and isolated

mansion two miles from the nearest village three from a railway station and

far removed from any bus route to reach the house you turn off the main exeter

road at gibbet corner so-called from the bodies of monmouth rebels which used to

dangle here in chains when the notorious judge jeffries stayed at baron tor for

the assizes

There is a drive, nearly half a mile in length, leading to the north front of

the house, behind which, on the evening of October the 15th, at about seven o

'clock, the curtain is rising on the drama of Cynthia Mason.

So in future, I will be informed of your acquaintances.

I will not have you running about the country.

Then you'll stay here.

That is Samuel Kimber, Cynthia's stepfather, an unpleasant man of

schizoid tendencies.

whose lack of self-control is only equaled by his dictatorial attitude to

his stepdaughter.

Do I make myself clear?

Cynthia! What the devil are you going to?

Cynthia! Come back here!

Do you hear me?

Cynthia, do as you're told!

Pencil! Go and see where the young fool has gone to!

Cynthia.

Oh, Peter, I'm so frightened I had to come to you.

Darling, what's frightened you? He's my stepfather. He's getting worse and

worse. Has he been shouting at you again?

I tried to tell him tonight about our wanting to get married.

He started screaming at me.

One of these days he'll kill me, Peter. Oh, nonsense.

You're all upset.

It's the money.

He can't face paying over my inheritance.

But he's got to. By law, now that you're 21, it's in your mother's will.

He won't do it.

He'd kill me first.

That's why I told him tonight that... Told him what? If he'd consent to our

getting married, he could keep the money.

I wouldn't claim it.

All I want is you, Peter.

I love you. I don't care how poor we are.

I couldn't let you do that, darling.

I can't support you.

My writing barely brings in anything yet.

There must be some other way.

There isn't any other way.

I don't go back to him, Peter.

Oh, take me away to London, anywhere.

And then perhaps he'll leave us in peace.

But you can't just run away leaving all your possessions into the bargain.

Well, I brought these.

My mother's will and mine, and my papers.

I didn't want him to have them.

Now listen, darling.

I'll tell you what we'll do.

You go back to the house. No, I don't. I'm too frightened. And tell your

stepfather I'll be coming round to see him this evening in about an hour.

And while you're doing that...

I'll pack a bag, get the car out and bring it round to the gates at the foot

of the drive.

Then I'll walk up to the house.

Supposing he won't see you?

He'll see me, all right.

Now listen, directly I'm with him. You run upstairs to your room, pack a bag,

put all your valuables inside it and try and get out of the house without being

seen and down to the car.

But if you're there, why can't I wait for you? In case I fail.

I'm going to take you away, darling, whatever happens.

But in any case, we'll put up a fight for your inheritance.

Oh, Peter.

Nothing else matters to me. Only you.

But you know it's the same with me, my sweet.

Now hurry, darling. We're having a moment to lose.

Hurry, darling.

Who's that?

It's only me.

Pencil, what are you doing here?

Taking my dog for a walk.

Dog? Yes, sir.

At my heels, as he always is.

There's no dog there.

How logical you are, sir. To me, he's always there. The best friend I ever

had. I always take him for a walk about this time.

It's become quite a habit.

Although, it's 15 years since he died.

Good night, then.

Good night, then, fool.

My dear, you make me very sad.

Of course, I know for some time that you've not been happy here.

There's little in this house to interest a young girl.

But I had hoped that things would be different.

That I should be able to share in your happiness. To plan your future with you.

To advise you.

But now, you want to go at once.

Leaving me here, a helpless cripple, to fend for myself.

After all I've done for you all these years.

Bensal. Yes, sir. Miss Cynthia wishes to leave us tonight.

Yes, sir.

You'll be sorry, won't you, Bensal?

Yes, sir.

We shall be two lonely men without her, Bensal.

Yes.

What time did you say this young man was coming?

Half past eight, sir.

And his name?

Peter Lorimer.

He writes, you say.

Writes what?

Novels?

Nonsense about romantic young men with no money who wish to marry wealthy and

attractive young women, eh?

Cynthia, when you marry, you will be a rich woman and I shall then become a

poor man.

But I've told you I... I've always done my duty by you and I shall continue to

do it. That is why I shall view this young man with a careful and a critical

eye.

Basil. Sir.

I don't wish to be disturbed this evening.

There's a young man coming, Mr.

Lorimer.

Let him anything go to bed, you understand?

Yes.

And you, my dear, will go to your room and stay there until I send for you.

Hello, Benson.

Good evening, sir.

Mr. Kimball is expecting me.

If you wait one moment, sir, I will inform him that you are here.

Mr. Lorimer, sir.

Go to bed, Benson.

Shall I lock up, sir?

No, I'll sit there.

Sit down, Mr. Lorimer.

Thank you.

Sit down.

You want to marry my stepdaughter, Mr. Donovan? That is my intention.

How long have you known Cynthia?

About two or three months.

Hmm, rather hasty, caught you.

I've only learned of your existence this evening.

Well, you see, Mr. Kim. Yes, I do see.

I think it's only fair to warn you what you probably know already.

My stepdaughter is a very highly strung girl.

Not to put too fine a point on it, she suffers from certain delusion.

Do I appear to be a very terrifying person to you, Mr. Lorimer?

Well, you don't terrify me.

You think I'm the kind of man, deliberately, to harm the one person

left to me in the world after my wife's death?

I only know what I've been told.

Cynthia, let us face it, suffers from a certain amount of persecution, Maynard.

Whatever she suffers from, I'm not going to let her give up her inheritance.

When you propose, this marriage should take place?

As soon as possible.

I'm taking Cynthia to London tonight.

Tonight?

Oh, you'll appreciate that this comes as rather a shock to me. A great shock.

I was sad.

A lonely man.

This needs thinking about.

This needs talking over.

Sit back, Mr. Larimer.

Relax.

Let us talk this over.

This is not a matter that we can hurry.

Sit back, Mr. Larimer.

Relax.

It is of great importance to us both.

And that was the last that was seen of Cynthia Mason.

She was not in Lorimer's car when he drove down to the gates at the

conclusion of his interview with Samuel Kimber.

And although it's reported that he searched for her the whole night

through, he was unable to find any trace of her.

Nor could her stepfather throw any light on her whereabouts.

Did she go up to London after all?

But then, why did she not communicate with the one friend who was in her

entire confidence, Miss Frail?

Had Miss Frail's mental equipment been equal to her impetuous anxiety, a good

deal of trouble would have been saved.

But alas, such is not the case.

She then proceeded to embark upon a course of action which can only be

described as sheer imbecility.

Dr. Mervale, I... Quiet, please.

Any interruption disturbs the flow of my thoughts.

Instead of reflecting that the sensible course would have been to consult me

immediately...

She decided to play the role of private detective, for which she is so patently

ill-equipped, and to spend some ten days of her leave, which was due to her, in

investigating the fate of Cynthia Mason on the spot.

Starting from Parrington Station, in her customary flooded haste, it may be

regarded as a minor miracle that she ever succeeded in catching her train.

Had it not been for the innate courtesy of her fellow travellers, she might well

have been left behind.

Which would, incidentally, have saved me a considerable amount of trouble in the

days to come.

Her anxiety over the fate of her friend, coupled with the excitement of playing

the role of Sherlock Holmes for the first time, would seem to have obscured

any appreciation of the difficulties and dangers into which her ill-considered

impulse was precipitating her.

If she had only stopped to make a few simple routine inquiries before

departing on her errand of mercy, she would have learned, for instance, that

the facilities offered by the public transport did not extend to the gates of

Baron Tor.

and that she would be faced with a lonely walk of some two miles.

What do you want here?

Are you a new housemaid?

Yes.

Yes.

Are you strong?

Can you cook?

Can you mend clothes?

You're not afraid of hard work, eh?

No. No, sir.

You do.

Benson! Sir.

Show this girl to her room.

What's your name?

Amy

It's a bit rambling, isn't it?

Oh, it's a very strange house, this, miss.

The gentleman who built it must have been a bit eccentric.

At night you can hear voices.

Voices?

Yes.

Voices of little people singing in the wind.

Your room is down here, miss.

I'll just get it.

This is your room, Miss.

Thank you, Vincent.

How long have you worked here, Fitz?

Many years now, Miss.

How many are there in the household?

Mr. Kimber, me, and you.

What about the young lady?

Someone in the village said there was a Miss Smith.

She didn't care anymore.

Well? Where's she gone?

I said, what's happened to her?

Don't ask too many questions, miss.

It's much better if you don't ask questions.

There's a house telephone over there.

Mr. Kimber will call you when he wants you.

Cynthia. Keep quiet and you won't get hurt.

What are you doing here?

I... I... I don't mean in this room. I mean what are you doing in this house?

Housemaid. But with those hands, and a housemaid who knew her job, would call

the butler Mr.

Will I?

Who are you?

Police?

Have you come about her?

Who? He has heard her. He has heard her.

He? Do you mean Mr. Kimber? Shh.

Have you asked him about her?

You don't ask him questions.

She was terrified of him. She told me so.

And he's got control of all the money until she gets married.

I know.

And this young man she wants to marry?

Mr. Lorimer. Can't he tell us anything?

He's as much in the dark as anyone.

He doesn't leave his cottage now.

I've never seen a man look so strange and ill.

Well, perhaps that's all a bluff.

Suppose Cynthia's hiding there in his cottage until she's of age and they can

get married without her stepfather's consent.

She's not there.

If she was, I would know.

Perhaps she couldn't tell you. Perhaps she daren't. In case her stepfather

found out.

Do you know the way to Mr. Lorimer's cottage?

Certainly. Then we'll go there now, both of us.

He mustn't see us leave the house.

Then we'll slip out the back way. Come along.

Don't mind if I take my little dog.

He does so love a walk.

Your dog?

Yes. There'll be no trouble. I'll put him on the lead.

You see?

He's dead.

I don't like this, miss. Oh, don't worry.

What happens if he finds us here? Oh, don't you worry about that.

I'll deal with him.

Quick, Pencil.

Look.

It's the will.

It's Cynthia's mother's will.

She always kept it with her in case her stepfather should destroy it.

You mean Miss Cynthia must have brought it here?

Good Lord.

Pencil, what are you doing here?

Well, we were just taking a walk and we decided to call on you.

Who the devil's this?

Begging your pardon, sir, this is the new housemaid at Barrantore.

We were wondering if you had any news of Miss Cynthia.

No.

Did Mr. Kimber send you to spy on me?

Good gracious, no, sir.

I wouldn't put anything past him.

Mr. Lorimer. Come along, Amy.

The gentleman doesn't wish to be disturbed.

Cynthia must have come to the cottage.

Otherwise, how could her mother's will have got there?

She was here the night she disappeared, Miss.

She could have brought it then.

Yes, that's true.

What harm could it have done if I told him who I was and asked him about

Cynthia?

I think it best for the moment, Miss, to keep your identity secret.

It's getting late. We'd better get back.

What's going on in here?

It's quite a little misfortune, sir.

I was making your breakfast.

My what?

Breakfast.

Then, sir, why hasn't my room been done? I mean, it's just going to do it now.

Well, don't do it at once.

Yes, I... Oh, but they're disgustingly naughty.

He's responsible for Cynthia's disappearance, I'm sure of it.

I feel in my bones he knows all about it.

Besides, he keeps the money... Shh!

Don't say that, miss. He might hear you.

I know.

What are you doing there, miss?

I'm searching for clues.

But what sort of a clue? I don't know. But Dr. Murray... Well, someone I know

says you always find clues in a man's wardrobe.

Bus ticket in his pocket, or a woman's hair on his jacket.

Or dust on his shoes.

Shoes.

There. What did I tell you?

But he hasn't been anywhere.

He can't get out of the house, except in his chair. And he hardly ever does that.

This looks like ash.

Where could it have come from?

I don't know. Unless it's from the incinerator in the garden. But he can't

walk. How do you know?

You mean you've never seen him walk? But it's impossible.

We must see that incinerator.

Miss, not while he's about.

Then we wait till after dark.

Nothing's going to prevent me from looking at that incinerator tonight.

Mitchell!

Mitchell!

Sarah!

Shut the cupboard door.

Shut the cupboard door!

Someone has been here.

This ash has only just been scattered.

There's still one.

You recognize this?

Benso? Look, this is just...

Benso.

Benso.

Who was it?

Did you see?

Who was it?

Try and tell me.

Little dog.

Look after my little dog.

Yes.

Yes, I will.

I promise.

Did you see who it was?

Oh, do try and tell me.

I want to make a call to London, please.

It's urgent.

Wilbeck, 7-4-3-8.

Dr. Morrell speaking.

Will I accept a reverse charge call from where?

I've never heard of the place. Where is it?

Devonshire. Well, I'm afraid I don't know anybody in that vicinity.

I do not accept the call.

What's that?

What's the name?

Frail.

I see. In that case, very well.

But three minutes only.

Hello.

Dr. Morrell.

It's me, Miss Frail. I'm in terrible trouble.

I found Cynthia, but she's dead.

Frail, please speak up.

I can't hear what you're saying. Who's dead?

Cynthia.

I found her hearing in the incinerator shed.

And the butler, Ben Salt, he's been murdered.

Only a few minutes ago.

We found ashes on his boots.

Charred bones.

He was kind. Now I'm alone.

Mr. Morell, I insist you remain silent for the space of a minute.

It's bare enough to be distracted from my work, which is of considerable

scientific importance.

But when it's to listen to some monstrous verbal phantasmagoria of

charred bones, ashes on boots... There's no time for that sort of stuff, Dr.

Morell.

I'm desperate.

Five minutes ago, a man died in my arms.

I'm in danger myself.

Real danger.

You've just got to come and help me.

Very well, Miss Fravor. Come.

By the midnight train.

Provided you do exactly as I tell you.

I want you to make a report of everything that's happened.

Amid nothing and embroider nothing.

What's the nearest station to Ballantore?

Moorminster.

Now, have you anyone you can send down there with your report?

Yes. Yes, the bus driver.

Give it to him.

Good. Now, listen carefully.

Have him take that report, sealed of course, to the station master.

I'll collect it from him tomorrow morning and take whatever course I deem

most advisable in the circumstances.

When you've finished your report, go straight to bed and have a quiet sleep.

Don't go!

I'm all right.

I'm very well, thank you.

I'm in bed.

Stop talking nonsense and listen.

You better be up sharp in the morning.

I've sent Benson away.

Yes, I...

Hello, Miss Froh.

It's absolutely essential you pretend you don't know me from Adam.

In other words, to use a distressing colloquialism, that you preserve a dead

pan. Oh, Dr Morell, you don't know what it means to see you.

I read your report. It's very interesting.

Here it is, if you hadn't slept. I hadn't. I was alone in the house with

him last night. I stacked all the furniture against the door.

Will you be good enough to tell your employer that Professor Hapley would

very much appreciate the privilege of a few words with him? Yes, sir. Tell him.

When I've been with Kimber for a few minutes, he must come in with the news

of some domestic crisis. They'll get him out of the way for a moment or two, so I

can have a look round.

Professor Hampton!

It is so kind of you to spare me a few moments, Mr. Kimber.

Sit down, Professor.

Oh, thank you.

Please forgive the somewhat bizarre lighting, but I've got used to working

by artificial light. How interesting.

And how conducive to concentration.

And now, Professor, what can I do for you?

Well, briefly, my mission is this.

I've been invited by the County Historical and Topographical Society to

prepare a paper on old country houses in this district.

And I wondered if you'd be kind enough to give me some information about Baron

Tor. There's a reasonably full account of the house and of its historical

association in Rydal's Antiquities of Devon, a work you'd like to know.

I do, indeed.

But the date of publication is 1827, and I feel sure there must be a wealth of

interesting material of more recent dates. Very little, I assure you.

Rydell speaks of some particularly fine carved paneling in one of the bedrooms.

I should be most grateful for an opportunity of examining it. I have

neither the time nor the money to keep this house in the state of preservation

which it deserves.

Who has any money these days, Mr.

Kimber?

For a philosopher, money is immaterial.

All very clear.

Even a philosopher must eat, Mr. Kimber. It's surprising how much food they need,

Professor. What a philosopher needs is relaxation.

That is the answer to the stress of modern life.

Look at yourself.

Tense and on edge.

Relax, Professor.

Relax.

And you will find that your whole point of view... Oh, the devil! Oh, sir! Oh,

please, sir!

Oh, sir!

Oh, please, sir!

What is it? What's the matter? The boiler says bursting. There's steam,

sir. Come out all over the place and do what you want, sir.

Please.

That girl's a fool.

I shall have to get rid of her. It's not even a matter of the boiler at all.

Well, Professor, I don't think we have anything more to say to each other.

No, I must be on my way.

I've just remembered a most pressing appointment. What is it?

Well, not being a philosopher, my lunch.

Good day, Mr. Kimber.

What do you think of the boiler idea?

Quite ingenious.

What are we going to do now?

I'm going to see Mr. Lorimer.

What on earth have you done to your hair?

Do you like it?

Yes, it's quite suitable for a holiday.

Quite surprising.

Oh, why, I'm busy.

If it's money you want, I haven't got any.

Oh, no, boy, you've got me wrong. I want to give you money. I want to offer you a

job, a sort of literary job, you know.

Ah, a nice little place you have here.

Well, what do you want? My name's Wilson, Captain Roger Wilson.

I'm starting a publishing business in Exeter.

I want someone to write a guidebook for me. You know, nice, light, amusing sort

of stuff. And your name was given me. Oh?

I say, you do look ill.

What's the matter with you?

Oh, nothing.

I'm all right.

But you know, you don't look all right.

Have you seen a doctor?

Oh, what good are doctors?

Oh, say, why should you know? Or a psychiatrist.

You know, the old trick cyclist. I've seen nerve strain work havoc with the

strongest fellows.

Who said anything about nerves?

Or perhaps something's gone wrong with your plot.

Plot?

Plot?

The plot of your latest story, I mean.

But whatever it is, there's only one cure.

Relaxation.

That's the answer to nerve strain.

Relaxation.

Relax.

Empty your brain of thought.

Allow your resistance to subside.

Relax.

As it were, anesthetize your will.

Oh, for heaven's sake, stop fiddling with that knife!

Oh, I'm sorry.

I say, I must apologize for talking to you like a Dutch uncle. But after all, I

really came here to talk business.

Can't we discuss it some other time? Oh, I'll only be a minute. Let me tell you

about it.

It's a pocket guide with a new sort of a twist.

You see, we arranged with the local hotel keepers to let us have a list

weekly of all the guests.

Then we mail them each a copy. This gives us the circulation which attracts

the advertising upon which we live. Of course, it has to be well written in

case any of them start reading it. Let me give you an idea of the kind of

makeup we had in mind.

Oh, I say, that was very careless of me. Don't worry, I'll pick them up.

I hope they weren't in any sort of order.

Leave them alone.

Oh, well, now let's have a look at this little guidebook. I'm not interested.

I see you making good money already out of your books and short stories, is that

it? Yes.

Lucky man.

Young, unencumbered, and as the lawyers say, the sole beneficiary.

What the devil do you mean by that?

From the proceeds of your works, of course.

Well, good day, and don't bother, I'll see myself out.

If I don't scream, scream on the note. Oh, Dr. Morell.

What a shock you gave me. Yes, you could have avoided that by remaining at

Ballantore's, I told you. I suppose I shouldn't have come here.

But, Dr. Morell, I don't understand.

Pencil.

He was lying there.

The body's been removed by the murderer. It was only to be expected.

And now, may I ask what you're doing here?

I suddenly remembered I dropped something here.

When? Last night.

What was it?

Your handkerchief?

Yes. I used it for poor Bensal's wound to try and stop... Well, it was lying

just there.

Do you realise the implications of this?

No.

The absence of the handkerchief proves that the murderer found it when he came

to remove the body.

That was Kimber. He knew about Bensal last night. He told me it sent him away.

It must be him.

I'm not emphasising the point of the murderer's identity, but merely that

you're in the very greatest personal danger.

I am.

Now that the murderer realizes that you were here at the actual moment of the

murder, there's only one course left open to him. What's that?

To murder you.

Oh.

My dear Miss Frail, I should be greatly obliged if you would kindly settle

somewhere. I find this persistent leaping about the room like a startled

goat most disturbing. It's all right for you, Dr. Morell.

You're not likely to get murdered at any moment.

I always feel a profound pity for those whose intellectual attainment fails to

provide a philosophy to cover such a contingency.

There is a chance, as you say, that you may be struck down this very evening if

my plans for your protection prove inadequate.

Very well.

But you take a rather similar chance every moment of every day.

For instance, the ceiling above your head may be structurally unsound and

crash down upon you this very instant.

Answer it.

But it's Kimber.

Very well. Answer it.

Hello? What are you doing?

Nothing. I'm... I'm changing, sir.

Get to the kitchen at once and get on the server.

For two.

Mr. Lorimer's coming.

Yes, sir. Very good, sir.

And I want the sherry and the two glasses put in the study.

Yes, sir.

And now to work.

Directly, I'm gone.

Lock your door.

But, Dr. Morrell, I... Lock your door and stay there till I send for you.

What the devil?

Mr. Kimber, I've been waiting to have a little chat with you. May I ask,

Professor Hapley? Yes, Mr. Kimber.

That was, I'm ashamed to say, somewhat wide of a truth.

In fact, my name is Morell.

Dr. Morell.

Dr. Morell.

Will you kindly tell me how you got into my house and what you think you're doing

here? I've told you.

I wanted a further chat with you. What about it?

The murder of your stepdaughter, Mr. Kimber.

A matter upon which I think you can throw a good deal of light.

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

Who led you to believe that my stepdaughter was murdered?

You did.

Nonsense. She's merely gone away. Where to?

I don't know.

Anyway, it's no business of yours.

Perhaps she went away with Bensoul.

He's gone away too, hasn't he?

Yes.

You'd rather she were with Bensoul than...

Peter Lorimer.

Why should I mind if she were with Peter Lorimer?

Because he'd insist on your paying over her inheritance.

I refuse to answer your questions!

Get out of my house!

Get out!

Mr. Kimber, relax.

That's what you said to me, wasn't it?

Relax.

Look at you, all tense and on edge.

Relaxation, you said.

And now it's the other way, Kimber.

Relax. Look at you, all tense and on edge.

Relaxation, you said.

And now it's the other way, Kimber.

And I'm going to succeed where you failed.

Because I happen to be a professional in hypnotism.

And you are only an amateur.

Why, you are only an amateur.

Why, you are only an amateur.

Why, you are only an amateur.

All right, Inspector, you can come in now.

He's really in a hypnotic trance? Try and wake him up.

Mr. Kimber.

Mr. Kimber.

You've put him under, all right.

But what use is that going to be to us?

He'll answer any questions I ask him, and truthfully. I doubt if use can be

made of any statements while he's in a condition like this.

I'm not suggesting it should be.

When you've heard the true story, I emphasize his own true story as he

believes it.

I'll wake him up. You can caution him and question him in the ordinary way.

Yes, but... Oh, frankly, Inspector, I'm not interested in the legal aspects of

the matter.

All I'm concerned with is to arrive at the truth.

What you do with the truth when you've heard it's your own affair.

Very good, Dr. Morell.

Carry on in your own way.

Kimber, can you hear me?

Yes.

And you'll answer all questions I put to you?

With absolute truthfulness?

Yes.

Why did you keep your stepdaughter a virtual prisoner in this house?

Was it to prevent her having any chance of getting married?

Yes.

Why did you oppose her marriage?

Was it because of that event all the money would pass to her under her

mother's will?

Yes.

When she told you that she wished to marry Peter Lorimer, what action did you

take?

I decided she must die.

How did you plan to kill her?

I hypnotized Peter Lorimer.

And while he was under my influence, I ordered him to kill her

and destroy the remains in the incinerator.

And then?

And then, I planned to turn over sufficient evidence to the

police to convict Lorimer of her murder.

And Benthal, what about him?

He was getting suspicious.

And the housemaid, Amy.

Have you any plans for her?

Lorimer is dealing with her now.

Then haven't we better go and see... Don't worry, Inspector.

I've taken precautions.

My assistant, Miss Frail, alias Amy, is now locked in her room, waiting to be

sent for. But what I don't understand is this. Surely Lorimer must realize

that... It's a proven fact, Inspector, that...

Subjects of hypnotic trance never remember anything that occurred during

their trance.

Oh.

Lorimer should be here any moment now. I suggest while we're waiting we have Miss

Frail brought down so that when I recall Kimber from his trance, all the

principles that remain can be present.

Yes. Jackson. Yes, sir? Go and fetch Miss Frail. Yes, sir.

If she should seem reluctant to come down, tell her that I sent for her. Very

good, sir.

Miss Frail seems to have a positive genius for doing the wrong thing at the

right moment.

Only exceeded by her capacity for doing the right thing at the wrong moment.

Quite.

Tell me, Dr. Morrell, what put you on to Kimber's hypnotism stunt?

Well, the poor deluded man had the effrontery to try his skill on me.

And then I took a look at those volumes over there.

Every single book has ever been published on the subject.

And I realized I had to deal with a self-taught amateur.

Oh, excuse me, sir, but there's nobody in that room.

Nobody there?

No, sir. The door was unlocked, so I looked in and the room's empty.

As usual, she's disobeyed instructions.

Come on, Inspector. Yes, what about him?

Oh, he'll stay put until I release him. Right. Jackson, you stay in the hall.

Yes, sir.

Keys on the inside.

Doesn't look as if the lock's been tampered with.

It's as I feared.

That girl's sheer bone from the neck up.

Inspector, what do you make of that?

Isn't that from the incinerator?

Assessor Johns, if we hurry. Come on.

Miss Frail, are you all right?

Yes.

I knew you'd get here in time.

Come on, now. Take it easy.

You don't remember me?

Yes. You're Captain Welton. No longer.

I've abandoned the publishing business in favor of detection.

Detecting what?

A murderer, Mr. Lorimer.

But I don't understand.

You soon will.

Now I suggest we return the baron to unsettle matters with Kimber as well.

Kimber.

Wake up, Kimber.

What's happened here?

Who are these men?

These are Inspector Hood and Detective Sergeant Jackson.

Police. Mr. Lodimer, you know.

Miss Frail, my personal assistant.

Alias, Amy.

Get out of my house, all of you.

Get out this instant.

Now, be a little hasty, Mr. Kimber.

These gentlemen are most anxious for a few words with you. I have nothing to

say to them. Perhaps you will have, when I tell you that you've already given

them full details of your little plot. I've given them details of my plot?

In a hypnotic trance, induced by me.

It's quite a case of the biter bit, isn't it? You hypnotized me.

That's right.

But anything he said in the trance can't be used in evidence against him.

But Miss Frail is a material witness, and she'll identify the charred bones

found in the incinerator as being those of your stepdaughter by means of this

earring, which she found the other night that Bensall was murdered.

So, if you'll take my advice, Gimbo.

You will do well to make a free and frank confession of how you plotted to

get rid of your stepdaughter by hypnotizing Peter Lorimer and using him

to commit your murder for you. You made me kill Cynthia, whom I was going to

marry.

You swine! I'll kill you for it! Here, take it easy, old chap.

So you see what was coming to you, Kimber, if your plan had succeeded.

But it did succeed.

On the contrary, Inspector.

He thought that he'd hypnotize this young man, whereas in fact he had not.

What are you talking about?

Peter Larimer is resistant to all forms of hypnotic influence.

I tested him myself when I called on him in my capacity as Captain Welton.

But when Kimber decided to try his amateur capabilities on him, with

commendable initiative, Larimer decided to seize on this golden opportunity.

You mean he pretended to be hypnotized, but wasn't?

Precisely.

You must be mad.

Why in heaven's name should I want to kill the girl I was going to marry?

Because in the first place, you knew that marriage would be bigamous.

seeing that you were married in Birmingham on April the 14th last, to a

Miss Jane Adams, who is alive today.

And secondly, because in the desk in your cottage lies Cynthia Mason's will,

leaving everything to you.

I knew all about Cynthia's mother's will from Miss Frail, who, with her well

-known capacity for searching for needles in haystacks, did not realize

the importance of the one document which elucidated the whole matter.

Cynthia Mason was murdered, deliberately and cold-bloodedly, by Peter Lorimer.

He did not, however, kill Bensall. That was Kimber's work.

It's not true.

I deny it.

How could I?

I'm a cripple.

I can't get down to the incinerator shed.

Kindly note the first piece of evidence, Inspector.

Kimber knew that Bensall was killed in the incinerator shed. A fact known only

to Miss Frail, you, me, and the murderer.

It's nonsense, Horvitz.

Lying nonsense.

And now for the second piece of evidence.

Miss Frail's handkerchief, with which she tried to staunch Bensall's wound,

and which you found when you went to remove the body.

I saw it in your drawer on the occasion when you so kindly went to assist Miss

Frail with the kitchen boiler.

What you're saying is preposterous.

The handkerchief?

It's mine.

I cut my hand.

Don't bother to lie.

Here's a third piece of evidence, a rather sensational piece.

A photograph of you, taken by Miss Frail by the convenient illumination of a

flash of lightning, showing you in the act of murdering Bensall.

Give that to me.

that to me?

My rather dubious little ruse has at least successfully established that Mr.

Kimber's footwork is as nimble as yours and mine.

Yes. Well, I think, Dr. Morell, I now have sufficient evidence to arrest them

both. Look out! Out there, Jackson!

All right, Inspector.

I'll look after Kimber.

Miss Frail.

Well, I think you're going.

He locked himself in this room, sir, and I reckon he's waiting for the roof.

Right, Jackson. Come on!

Killed instantaneously.

Oh, perhaps it was better that way.

And as I gazed down into Miss Frail's strained white face, I breathed a silent

prayer of gratitude to my creator, that he had endowed me with sufficient common

sense to remain a bachelor.