Original subtitles

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

One of you is a murdering thief.

I never should have let you and Bert get me into this.

- I don't suppose you'd be interested in selling? - You're joking.

Just as I thought. The bluish tinge under the fingernails— Poison.

Scotland Yard is already present.

I'm not a screenwriter. Writing is writing. I'll even squeeze you in as an investor.

This is Jessica Fletcher. I'm about 5,000 feet over London.

Would you listen carefully? Time is precious.

Breathtaking.

All eyes will be on you at the Royal Gala in London tomorrow evening, Miss Greer.

Well, that's the whole idea.

Who says the Brits have a monopoly on crown jewels?

I'll go see if the forms have arrived from your insurance company.

Try not to lose it. Yes, Miss Greer.

An hour ago, they bought plane tickets.

Now they've just left the bank vault. No, they never spotted me all week.

They're headed for Logan Airport.

We're delighted you're flying with us, Miss Greer. If I may be of any service...

Be sure the food's hot, and the drinks are cold. We'll get along famously.

Of course. We should be boarding in about 20 minutes.

Sonny, dear heart! Clint, darling!

Well, I haven't seen you since when— the symphony fund-raiser.

You on the Champagne Supper to London? Transatlantic house call.

I'm, uh, flying over to nip and tuck 10 years off Lady Burbury.

Sonny, I'd starve if the world were filled with such ageless beauties as you.

Chin up, in 20 years when it all starts to fall.

I'm in the yellow pages. By the way, is it true

what I read in Town and Country the other day...

you're-you're going to the Royal Gala?

I wish I knew how those busybodies in the press know my plans before I do.

Leon! Okay, friend, that's enough.

Hey, what do you think you're doin'? Hey, are you crazy?

Look, I'm just trying to make a living. Oh!

I'll deposit him with Security, Miss Greer.

I'm so sorry. But with Madonna out of the country, someone has to be shot.

Oh, that's quite all right. I understand.

Come on, Doc. Buy me a drink.

I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you like that.

Oh, no harm. I think he gave you the worst of it.

Well, I lost a couple of shrimp puffs along the way.

Let me take that for you. Thank you.

Errol Pogson. Oh, Jessica Fletcher. How do you do?

Who was the, uh, film star he was after?

- Oh, that is Sonny Greer. - The infamous Miss Greer.

It's not only we British who have pampered heiresses.

I love your country. I've just been on holiday here. I'm on my way home.

And I'm on my way to start a holiday in London. Well, sort of a holiday.

Actually, I'm doing research on a rather grizzly murder that

took place in Northumberland at the turn of the century.

It sounds macabre. You must be a writer.

Of course you're a writer. Jessica Fletcher. J.B. Fletcher.

Errol, you are a dunce. It was precisely three years ago...

that you were rummaging through our files just, uh, two floors below my office.

Then you are with Scotland Yard.

Yes, but... And a 25-year man to boot.

Uh, your lapel pin.

- Um, who was the person you were working with then? - Inspector Crimmins.

Roger, that's right. From the Knightsbridge District.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I know I'm three years too late,

- but, uh, please, would you join me in a sherry? - Oh, thank you. I'd love to.

I think we've got time. I'll be right back. All right.

Mr. Gunnar Globle, white courtesy

telephone please. Uh, two medium dry sherries, please.

Transatlantic Flight 1 1 1 to London Heathrow Airport, now boarding.

Mr. Otto Hardwick, courtesy phone please. Otto Hardwick.

- Flight 1 1 1 to London, now boarding. - Operator, I was cut off.

I'm talking to my-my secretary on the Coast.

Doris, look, uh, tell Burt to stop being a nag.

Tell him I've got to be in London for the premiere of my new picture,

and I cannot go skydiving with he and Clint.

Who else called? Joan? Joan who, Collins or Rivers?

Oh, my wife! Joan! I love her. Tell her I love her.

Yes.

Sonny, how are you? Gunnar Globle. You remember me.

You were skiing at Bobby Redford's resort, and I picked you up.

- I beg your pardon? - When you fell.

Yes, the man in the green plaid parka with the white sunscreen all over your nose.

That's me. Yeah.

Listen, Sonny, I'm only offering pieces in my next film to a few people.

Uh, $100,000 is the minimum per piece. What do you say?

How many pieces do you have left?

Thank you, Mr. Pogson. Oh, Errol, please.

Cheers. Cheers.

Final boarding for Flight 10

to London is now boarding at Gate number 1.

That's us.

Come on, let me be your bodyguard...

just in case some well-read paparazzi decides to start chasing you.

Enjoy your flight.

May I take your coat? Yeah, thank you.

Thanks, pal.

Welcome aboard. Thank you.

1-A. Non-smoking section, right this way.

There you are, ma'am. And there you are, sir, just in front.

Well, we're neighbors, eh? How about a, uh, coffee upstairs after dinner?

Oh, good idea.

Out. This is out.

This is terrible. You call this writing?

The picture business— You work 24 hours a day.

I'm Gunnar Globle. I single-handedly produced Off-road Aliens.

I-I must have missed that one. Jessica Fletcher.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher,

but I really enjoy your work,

and if there's anything we can do to make your trip

more pleasurable, please don't hesitate to ask.

Oh, that's very nice. Thank you.

Level with me. Are you anybody?

I'm a writer.

A writer? Thank you, God.

Even for me, you listen up.

Here. I'll make a deal with your agent when we get to "Fogtown."

Don't ask me what's wrong because everything is wrong.

We need more action, more explosions, more— Off-road Aliens: The Second Coming.

Uh, oh, no. Don't say no. I hate that word.

I'm not a screenwriter. Writing is writing. I'll even squeeze you in as an investor.

Mr. Globle, I may not be good enough a writer to work on your script.

You must be a good writer. You're flying first class, aren't you?

Mrs. Fletcher, listen, I'm the greatest deal-maker in the history of Hollywood.

Believe me, you will say yes to this great opportunity even

if it takes me all the way to London to talk you into it.

Ye-Yeah. Well, uh, in that case, I, uh, guess I-I will read it.

Uh, but no promises. Don't worry. Once you get into it, you'll get hooked.

Ma'am, may I store that above you? No. Uh, it's my knitting.

She's a knitter. Give the wife a length of rope, and she'll knit you a noose.

This is Captain Whetsel speaking. On behalf of the entire crew,

I'd like to welcome you to our Boston-to-London Champagne Supper Flight.

We should be taking off in just a few minutes. Thank you.

- It's not workin'. - Maybe it's the batteries.

I put fresh ones in this morning.

My God, we're taxiing. Darling, it's going to be all right.

Sonny, I-I can't do this. I gotta get off.

Leon, it is safer than being in a car. Then let's drive to London.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain.

We are now airborne en route to London. Thanks for flying with us.

Miss. As soon as you're able, would you please bring Mr. Bigard a glass of water?

It'll just be a moment.

I'm gonna use the gent's room.

Excuse me. You go right ahead.

May I get you a cocktail, sir?

Yes, please. I'll have a medium dry sherry if I may.

There you go.

White knuckler?

Yeah. I'll live, I guess.

You didn't lose it, did ya'? I got it right here.

Oh, uh, miss, I asked for a white wine with my Dover sole.

Oh, right. It's... white with fish.

I think she's running on empty.

Yes, she does seem a bit distracted. Perhaps she's got a lot on her mind.

Thank you.

So, how's the market?

I'm keeping liquid. Speaking of liquid, can I get you a drink?

No, no, thanks. I'm fine.

You know, one of the local channels reported...

you'd be wearing the Empress Catherine necklace to the gala. Is that true?

Oh, what's the sense of owning some gaudy little bauble if you can't show it off?

Gaudy bauble. I don't suppose you'd be interested in selling?

- You're joking. - Not at all.

A group of doctor friends and I are looking for an investment package.

Good Lord, Clint.

What would my beloved ancestors say when I meet them in the

great upstairs? It's been in the family since Bunker Hill.

Well, at least I can tell my partners we made the offer.

This is your captain. We're experiencing a little turbulence.

Please fasten your seat belts.

Be careful. Don't you tell me to be careful.

It was your idea. I never should have let you and Bert get me into this.

Here he comes.

Sir, your seat belt.

Sir. Sir, your seat...

It may have been a heart attack or a stroke. I can't be sure.

Miss, did he say he felt ill? Any distress at all?

He was a nervous flyer, but we see that every day. Where's Miss Greer?

I was with her earlier upstairs. The captain went up to tell her.

Captain, it's just not possible. The man simply closed his eyes to take a nap.

Sonny, he's been dead an hour. Maybe longer. Nothing can be done.

He just wanted to close his eyes instead of watching the film.

Clint, how can a thing like this happen?

Cardiovascular catastrophe is rare in a young man, but they do occur.

I don't want anyone leaving first class.

The news of this tragedy is best if it doesn't

go beyond this section of the aircraft.

Come and sit over here, Miss Greer.

Go get a gurney.

We're all so very sorry. If there's anything I can do...

Thank you.

I suppose it's obvious. He was more to me than just an employee.

The press hasn't been exactly kind to either one of you.

"Flash bulletin: It's Sonny and her chauffeur at it again. Film at 11."

To keep up appearances, he became my bodyguard.

Miss Greer, was he always so obviously nervous and tense?

- Only when it came to plane trips. - Odd.

That cassette player malfunction really sent him over the edge.

A psychiatrist made Leon a relaxation cassette,

and it's helped him on a dozen flights.

I see.

Excuse me, Miss Greer. I'm going to take Mr. Bigard upstairs.

Wait, please.

He was, uh, carrying something. It'll be safer with me.

Maybe he moved it. What is it, Miss Greer?

He had it with him before the movie.

It's gone. It's stolen!

Stolen? What's stolen, madam?

Good Lord, the Empress Catherine necklace? Yes.

I-I gather that this necklace is of some value.

To me. It's worth at least two or three million.

This was no heart attack.

One of you killed him to get the necklace.

One of us? Sonny, please. One of you is a murdering thief.

Well, one thing is obvious. It certainly hasn't flown out of the window.

And there's a murderer on this plane who has it.

London's two hours off. Mr. Carney, radio Heathrow.

I want Scotland Yard standing by before anyone can leave this aircraft.

No calls will be necessary, Captain. Scotland Yard is already present.

You—you're the police?

It seems my holiday will be cut short a bit sooner than I expected.

Well, I think we're all very grateful that you're on board, Inspector.

Correction. All of us but one.

I think the first and perhaps the most obvious question to ask is...

- who knew that the necklace was being carried on board? - Wait just a moment.

You knew I was flying with it. All those questions...

Inspector, it was no secret that she was going to wear the Empress to the gala.

I read something about it myself in yesterday's Boston Sentinel.

Miss Greer, was the necklace insured?

And are you with Scotland Yard too, Mrs. Fletcher?

Miss Greer, uh, Mrs. Fletcher's question was quite natural.

And, frankly, I think you'd best prepare yourself to answer quite a few more.

Yes. I'm-I'm sorry.

The Empress is insured, of course. And I'd collect quite a sum if it is stolen.

But quite frankly, I'm worth too much to swindle an insurance company. Yes.

Well, I think we'd better first begin by making a

preliminary search of all of the first class passengers,

the areas above and below your seats, and all of your carry-on baggage.

Not mine, you don't, Mr. Scotland Yard.

I'm an American citizen flying on an American plane.

Yes, and flying over international waters.

And with the captain's approval, I do have the

authority. You have my full support, Inspector.

Naturally, I can't do as thorough a job here as I could on the ground,

but if the necklace does not turn up by the time the wheels touch the tarmac,

then I shall instruct Scotland Yard to seal off this aircraft...

and detain all of you at Heathrow until we do find it. Now what do we do?

Detained? I've gotta make connections to Budapest.

We'll do our best then, won't we?

If there's anything I can do to help— Oh, Jessica, I would welcome it.

The, uh, fact is, I'm a bit up in the air at the moment.

- No pun intended. - I'm not so sure about that.

25 years.

25 years of playing it oh-so-very carefully.

Nothing rash or hasty for good old Pogson.

While, of course, all the younger chaps came up...

and latched onto all the big cases and got promoted over me.

Jessica, if I could get off this plane...

with both the necklace and the killer, it could mean...

Well, it could mean promotion to-to chief inspector.

Damn it. I've got to go for it.

Uh, ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Fletcher is going to assist me in my search.

Uh, it's nothing personal, but since it is my necklace

that's missing, shouldn't everyone be searched?

Oh, yes, and we're going to begin with me.

All right.

Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Miss Greer, there is just one question.

When Mr. Bigard boarded the plane, was he, uh, suspicious of anyone?

He would have told me if he were. He said nothing

other than the necklace was in his pocket.

Inspector, that movie producer...

He seemed very anxious to get his hands on some cash for his next endeavor.

Of course, being a producer doesn't make him a thief.

- Not automatically. - Pardon me.

Excuse me, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I...

Uh, you are Mr.— I'm John Sugahara.

Inspector, the Empress Catherine is too well known to be sold as is.

If I were the thief, I'd sell the stones separately on the European black market...

and perhaps net a million and a half for my labors. If you were the thief?

In 1980, I cut the Capetown diamond. Flawlessly, some say.

If you'd care to search me now— Excuse me.

Oh, Mr. Carney, would you mind? I need to look at the deceased.

Oh, well, like the captain said, you and the Inspector have our full support.

Well, there doesn't appear to be any sign of a wound.

He died very quietly... if it was murder.

Ah, just as I thought. Ma'am?

The bluish tinge under the fingernails— Poison.

How can I get a look...

at the seating chart, the, uh, the boarding passes, the ticketing records?

Well, just knock on the cockpit door. We keep 'em in there.

Thank you.

Let me have your carry-on pieces, please.

I'm hoping to make a connecting flight to Berlin.

Well, I'm hoping to detain just one person. Inspector.

All right. And don't you go anywhere.

What is it, Jessica? Look, I know you haven't

finished searching the passengers yet,

but I came across something here that might cut a few corners. The ticket records.

Right. You see the date down here?

Now, Sonny purchased her ticket at the Liberty Tree Travel Service today.

So only the passengers who booked their flights as late as today...

could have been on the trail of that necklace. Hmm.

Well, Dr. Strayhorn booked his ticket a month ago,

the Metcalfs 10 days ago, Mr. Hardwick two days ago,

you a week and me three weeks ago.

And Mr. Sugahara bought his ticket at the ticket counter today.

But I've already searched him.

Well, I'll search him again if I have to. Thank

you very much, Jessica. Errol, Errol, wait.

We've been concentrating so much on the

passengers, we may have overlooked something.

What, the crew? Uh-huh.

Now, look here. That's our stewardess, Kay Davis.

Now she made a last minute switch with another

girl so that she could take this flight.

You know, she did seem sort of preoccupied, and

her beverage service left much to be desired.

Oh, yes. She stuck me with a tomato juice.

Well, Miss Davis is either brand new to the job...

Or something is distracting her.

That's mine, Inspector.

Uh, Captain, I don't want to seem nervous about this, but who's flying the plane?

- Automatic pilot. - Oh.

And this? Uh, that's mine, Inspector.

How long have you been with the airline, Miss Davis? Two years.

Mrs. Fletcher found out that you switched with

another girl at the last minute to take this flight.

May I ask why?

Well, the man I'm going with is a pilot for another

airline. He's flying into London this weekend.

I can see how romance would weigh heavily on a young girl's mind.

- What's his name? - Bernard Hollings.

Bernie? Bernie's been seeing me in Paris.

What? He swore he was only dating me!

Come on, girls, you calm yourselves. Your pilot Bernie's alibi is airtight.

- But, Kay, yours is not. - Wait a minute. That isn't mine.

A two-million dollar necklace. And you're right, young lady, it's not yours.

I think you've got a great deal of explaining to do.

I hope this brings you some comfort, Miss Greer.

I'm only sorry it can't bring back your Mr. Bigard.

Kay, I'm responsible for the safety of 300 passengers.

Captain, I didn't kill that man.

Mrs. Fletcher suspects he may have been poisoned.

Well, I didn't poison him, and I didn't steal any necklace.

Captain, Mrs. Fletcher, I swear to you both.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Pardon me for intruding, but might I have a closer look at the necklace?

Perhaps it's the light.

No, it isn't the light. It's the color of the piece. It's a half tone off.

You can usually count on the real thing to

weigh an ounce or two more than an imitation.

Inspector, if this young lady stole the necklace, she stole a fake.

- A fake? - You sure of that?

Impossible. Well, it can't be.

Miss Greer, will you take a very close look?

I can't believe it.

He's right. This is a copy.

Miss Greer, could Leon have been carrying the fake as a decoy?

Well, not without telling me.

I suspect that someone brought the imitation on board for a reason.

Probably to substitute it for the real thing which we still have not found.

Then, Inspector, is Miss Davis charged with any crime or not?

No, Miss Davis, you and your crew can all return to your posts. Thank you.

Mr. Sugahara, you can return to your seat, if you would please. Thank you.

Well, it looks as if we miscalculated.

Well, Jessica, we must try and look on the bright

side. At least the number of necklaces is growing.

Ah, well, endless the trek, endless the search.

Come.

Uh, would you stand up, please? Us?

Yes. And could I, uh, ask you to empty your pockets

and to show me all your hand-baggage, please?

We heard you had your suspect. Yeah.

How, uh, how long are you going to spend in England?

On business. For a vacation.

I said how long, not why.

A month, Inspector. And we're not thieves.

Do we look like thieves or killers?

Could I have your knitting basket, please? Uh, wait-wait.

Now just suppose we sue you and the airlines for invasion of privacy?

But if you have nothing to hide, you've got nothing to fret about.

It was Bert. He was behind it from the start. I can't take it anymore!

Hush up, Agnes, and let me handle this.

Bert?

Louis, there's no way we're gonna get away with it.

Would you hand it over, please? All right, all right.

Sorry, Bert. We couldn't help it.

You see, we were told it's against the law to bring a dog into England...

unless he's quarantined there for six months.

You were told correctly.

And-And we couldn't leave poor Bert back home in some old kennel.

For those few moments clearing Customs,

we were gonna put him in my husband's coat pocket.

Ladies and gentlemen, we're

just off the English coast, starting our descent.

We should be landing in Heathrow Airport in about 20 minutes.

I'll let the, uh, Heathrow authorities deal with my major bust.

I'm sorry. I really had no idea.

What are you gonna do?

What can we do? I guess we'll take the next plane home.

Oh.

Where's Mr. Carney? He's just fetching something for me.

You know, when we arrive at Heathrow, I've got to

alert the Customs chief and my entire department.

They're going to descend on this plane like locusts.

So much for my one-man show.

Oh, I'll get a citation, all right. "Dogcatcher of the Year." Oh, Errol.

Oh, well. Meeting you— That's reward enough.

What do you say to dinner tomorrow night at the Savoy Grill? You're on.

These printouts just came in on the computer for you. What is that?

Oh, it's probably a shot in the dark. It's ticketing records.

Not just for today's flight, but for yesterday's

flights and-and flights later today...

on all the airlines that service the Boston-London

corridor. I'm looking for a familiar name.

Well, look, there's our Otto Hardwick. Hmm.

But, I— Wait, I don't understand. Uh, there he is again.

He's got—And again! Mm-hmm.

Of course. Now I understand.

He booked passage well in advance...

of any possible flight that Sonny and her necklace could have taken to London.

Hardwick, or some confederate, follow Sonny and Leon,

and when they do head for the airport, he's already ticketed.

And because the airlines are used to passengers

overbooking, they don't get suspicious.

And by buying his ticket for this flight well in advance of Sonny, neither did we.

Errol, I distinctly remember Mr. Hardwick in the airport lounge.

Cigarette smoke bothered him terribly.

So why take a seat in smoking when there's a

perfectly good empty seat down in non-smoking?

Well, he could have known that Leon Bigard didn't smoke,

and so to avoid suspicion, he wouldn't want to sit anywhere near his intended victim.

But where did he hide the necklace? And sitting

all the way back there, how did he steal it?

Wait, I remember. Earlier in the flight, I was sitting reading.

I remember looking up and seeing Leon going to the

restroom. It was the only time he left his seat.

Mr. Hardwick got in his way.

Maybe he's a professional pickpocket... and with a criminal record,

or one of those clever cabaret artists...

who lifts people's wallets and watches right there in front of the audience.

And then, later in the flight, he plants another fake in the stewardess's bag,

in the event that Sonny or Leon discover the switch.

Yeah, but that still doesn't explain how or when Mr. Hardwick killed Leon.

Forgive me, Jessica. First things first.

Mr. Kitt, I wonder if you'd be good enough to take my seat up front, would you?

Mr. Hardwick, I'm afraid I'm going to have to submit you to another search.

Inspector, we're all aware that the best

that Scotland Yard could turn up was a mutt.

You're wasting my precious time.

Charles Lindbergh had less hassle soloing

across the Atlantic than I've been subjected to.

Then next time, why don't you do what he did. Fly alone.

Inspector, that's odd.

While I was standing waiting to use the restroom,

I distinctly heard the sound of an electric razor,

and it belonged to Mr. Hardwick.

Mrs. Fletcher, is there some international law forbidding me to shave?

Not that I'm aware of.

But it does seem like a bit of whisker overkill to use an electric razor...

and also carry this.

I don't see any sign of a razor.

Close shave, eh, Hardwick?

How very clever of you, Jessica.

That's it, Inspector.

Genuine. Absolutely genuine.

I'll have the Yard ticket it for evidence, and then

we'll make arrangements for you to come and pick it up.

Uh, Mrs. Metcalf, uh, do you have any wool that you could spare?

Mmm. Uh, this green do?

Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen,

please fold up all trays and extinguish all cigarettes as we prepare for landing.

Would you like to, uh, make a statement, Mr. Hardwick?

What can I say? Yes, I stole the necklace.

And, yes, I killed him.

This is Captain Whetsel. We are making our approach to Heathrow.

Please make sure your seat belts are fastened

and your seats are in an upright position.

Sir, we're about to land. Would you please extinguish your cigarette? Thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher, you must return to your seat.

We're in a line to land. Scotland Yard? Uh, yes.

Inspector Crimmins, please. It's urgent.

Please, Fred, this is vitally important.

Inspector Crimmins? This is Jessica Fletcher.

I'm about 5,000 feet over London. Would you listen carefully? Time is precious.

Mrs. Fletcher, the landing gear is down. You must return to your seat.

Yes, thank-thank you, Inspector. Thank you very much.

Thank you.

Please remain in your seats until the aircraft's come to a complete stop.

Flight Number 10 from Boston has arrived at Gate 6.

Flight Number 927 from Casablanca...

is arriving at the Blue Concourse.

Thank you, Inspector. Need some assistance?

No, I'm fine, thank you. I think everything's in hand.

Thank you very much.

Flight Number 26 1 to Amsterdam is now boarding at the Blue Concourse.

Inspector Pogson, would you and your prisoner mind coming with us?

I'm sorry? I'm with Heathrow Security.

The Customs chief needs to have a word with you. Only be a moment.

Blasted red tape every time. Look, I've just signed the papers.

I suggest that the best thing you can do is have your

chief call my office in Scotland Yard in about an hour.

Thank you. Sorry, sir.

Under orders.

Come on.

Look, if this is a question of filling out more forms, really, I...

What are you doing here?

Same thing you are, Errol. Wrapping up a theft.

I'm only sorry we suddenly find ourselves on different sides.

Jessica, what are you talking about? Oh, I think you know.

In this day and age of tight airport security,

how does one make off with a two-million dollar

necklace without proof of ownership or a bill of sale?

As the evidence in a crime, perhaps?

I'm—I'm sorry. You've lost me.

A perfect theft requires a perfect getaway,

and you had yours planned from the very beginning.

You must have been with the Yard at one time or another.

Perhaps a career man who only got the gold pin,

and in bitterness you went after the real gold?

Chief, it is perfectly obvious that this woman's

storybook world has taken over from the world of reality.

Don't be modest, Errol.

I fell for your deception from one continent to another.

You even had the courtesy to let me find the

necklace in Mr. Hardwick's can of shaving cream.

And to think I invited you to dine with me.

Mr. Hardwick was to pickpocket the necklace and substitute the imitation.

If the switch was not discovered, all well and good.

But if something went wrong, well, then you'd be standing by to nab the thief...

and escort him and the necklace right through Customs.

It was a brilliant plan.

Unfortunately, Mr. Bigard spoiled it all by getting himself murdered.

It all fell into place when you, Mr. Hardwick, confessed to the murder.

A skilled sleight-of-hand artist like you wouldn't have resorted to violence.

Killing Leon would only attract attention to the theft.

So after lifting the necklace without Leon even realizing it,

why confess to his murder, which you had absolutely no reason to commit?

That's when I knew that you and the inspector were in on it together.

You'd have confessed to every crime on the

blotter to get off that plane and through Customs,

because the man arresting you was your partner in crime.

Shall I ring up the Yard to verify your employment, "Inspector"?

Hardwick, you're a bloody twit.

Don't tie up your phone.

No calls are necessary. Dinner would have been lovely, Errol.

But I'm afraid I'd have been waiting alone at some table...

while you were on another flight for points unknown.

Very impressive, Mrs. Fletcher.

But permit me one small query.

If Hardwick didn't kill Mr. Bigard, who did?

The killer should be arriving at Customs at any moment.

All passengers arriving from foreign destinations...

will proceed directly to Customs inspection.

Thank you.

Mrs. Metcalf. Yes?

You know, I was just thinking. Since Bert is

persona non grata in England, what about France?

It's only an hour's trip across the Channel, and he's welcome there.

Paris, Edna?

Who knows? He might meet a cute poodle.

What a wonderful idea, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm sure Bert'll love it. Parlez-vous français, Bertie?

Any minute.

Flight Number 472 from Cairo is arriving at Gate number 1.

Miss Greer. Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

You darted off the plane so quickly, I didn't get a chance to really thank you.

Yes. Well, uh, I just want to advise you that a real

Scotland Yard man will be contacting you about your necklace.

A "real" Scotland Yard man? I don't understand.

Well, what matters is that your necklace will be waiting for you...

if and when you get out of prison.

What are you talking about?

You know, it's ironic.

You actually made the capture of the bogus inspector and Otto Hardwick possible...

when you killed Leon Bigard.

- What? No. - Oh, yes, I'm afraid so.

And in thinking back, I even remember how and when you did it.

I looked up and saw Kay give you a glass of water.

It was your way of planting the idea of taking

a couple of tranquilizers in Leon's head.

And I couldn't help but see Leon having trouble with his tape machine.

A little later, he either asked you for some

pills, or you may have suggested he take them.

I did see Kay bring him some water.

But the pills that you gave him were no ordinary tranquilizers.

They were poison.

If you didn't see him take pills from me, you have no proof.

You had easy access to his tape recorder.

You could have tampered with it before the flight when he gave you his tote bag.

You made him dependent on your tranquilizers.

Is that what you think?

Are you prepared to deal with the battery of attorneys I'm about to unleash?

Oh, yes. Because you went further than just the murder.

You waited until the cabin was dark, and then you took the necklace.

I was standing at the front of first class and saw you enter the galley.

You had time to plant it in the unlocked

crew closet, and then you headed upstairs...

as far as you could be from the man you killed, waiting to be told of his death.

What you didn't know was that the necklace

that you took from Leon was by then a fake.

The real one had already been lifted from Leon by Otto Hardwick.

That's why you were so shocked when told the

necklace you put in Kay's bag was a fake.

Chief, if you'll alert Scotland Yard, I...

I suspect that the crew closet handle, as well as the stewardess's vinyl bag...

should have, uh, some of Miss Greer's fingerprints on them.

Damn him.

You're right, Mrs. Fletcher. So very right.

Leon was my lover. Only I found out I didn't have him exclusively.

He climbed into my bed to climb out of his chauffeur's seat...

and onto bigger and better things for himself.

He... had an eye on a vice presidency in one of my late father's firms,

and he was bedding the wife of a board member to get it.

Only yesterday I learned he was secretly planning to meet that woman in London...

and give me the gate.

Well, nobody tosses me aside.

He... was a nobody.

Mr. Globle. Here's your script.

You know, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed

the sophisticated imagery and the poetic wit.

I see it as a cross between cinema verité...

Imagery and cinema verité? Yes. I think if you change the title,

it might do very well in those quaint little, uh, art theaters.

Anything to declare, sir?

Yes. This is a dud.