All language subtitles for Jonathan.Creek.S02E03.576p.00.49.01

Morning, Benjamin.
How are you today?

OK, my name is Martha Parrish,

personal secretary to
Lady Theresa Cutler,

and on her behalf, may I welcome
you all today to Cicada Park.

The house is over 400 years old

and is still the principal residence
of Lady Theresa and her family.

Her husband, Sylvester Le
Fley, you may know, of course,

as the famous theatre critic and cultural
affairs columnist on the "Sunday Telegraph".

Friday 10th. Arts Desk.
FAO Derek Chinnery.

"Edgar Bint's latest effort at
the Cottesloe, "Upload, Download",

"was billed as 'a hilarious new comedy'.

"Of these four words,
only the first is accurate.

"While neither, hilarious, new or comic,
it is most certainly an indefinite article.

"The fact that it drew maniacal laughter
from the horrendous hyenas around me

"merely confirms my long-held belief

"that quality theatre is too
precious to be wasted on audiences. "

Mummy, can I have a tree house?

Of course, sweetheart.

Not just at this second, though.

Saumon fumé, darling? I
thought you might be hungry.

You read my mind.

The doors in this part of the
house are of particular interest.

They're of hand-carved
Spanish Moorish design

dating back to the 1900s,

when the 15th marquis had them specially
imported from his villa in Aragón.

You demented harpy!

- I can't even have a simple massage now?!
- She had her arm up your shorts!

You are insane! I tie my shoelace
now, it's an act of infidelity.

What have you done to my
tongue? I can't sthpeak!

So go suck a dock leaf!

This we call the Flemish Gallery,

housing works by many
well-known Dutch genre painters.

Everything in this room has been
in the house at least 100 years,

apart from Eric, of
course, who's been here 150.

So we come to the jewel of Cicada
Park, El Greco's "Kiss of Judas",

which we keep in a room on its own, where,
as you'll see, the temperature, humidity

and light levels are carefully maintained
to prevent discolouration or cracking.

Because of this, and for reasons of space, we
can allow only eight people inside at a time.

So, who's going to be my
first group? That's it. OK.

As I say, the ambient light is controlled by
the special tinting in the glass above you.

And if you could close the door
while we're in here, please.

These aren't my rules
- they're all laid down by the insurance company,

because the picture that you see before you
is conservatively valued at ã1.5 million.

Hmm.

- OK, when the rest of you are ready.
- Who's this?

Ah, yes. That's by a
painter called Mostaert...

Right. Let's have the
next group, please.

OK? As I was saying to your friends,
the reason we have to take extra care...

This can't be happening.

Eric!

Eric! Eric!

- It's gone!
- Gone? How?

Cut from the frame. How?

This is absurd! The whole
thing is just absurd!

I think it's best if you just...
I'm sorry. I'm in a state of shock.

I can't think how this has happened.

Eric?

Martha? Martha? Eric said...

The El Greco. Someone's
just... I don't know.

Perhaps we're all dreaming or...

It was there 30 seconds
before. And then it wasn't.

And the room was empty, I swear.

Call the police.

Hello? Yes. This is Martha
Parrish ringing from Cicada P...

Mr Le Fley, are you all right?

Something heavy... from behind.

- I think I heard someone running off!
- Darling?

Theresa.

If it's like this at Hyde Park,
we'll have right fun and games.

Never mind crowd attendants,
we'll need synchronised swimmers.

Shut up and keep the knots dry. I'm attempting
a state of osteo-muscular pre-contraction.

- Whoa!
- Bloody gangsters!

Murdering scum, the lot of you!

Help! Police! Over here!

You keep away from that hole!

Are you all set in there?

And we... start the clock.

Wrap your optic nerve
around those two, Jonathan.

Give me a waterbed and three
snorkels and I could be in paradise.

Oh, how absolutely, immensely
satisfying. Did you see this?

Our all-time favourite reviewer,
Sylvester Le Fley... remember?

"With Adam Klaus performing miracles,
Jesus has nothing to worry about. "

Him and his nobby wife just
had a priceless painting nicked.

Yesterday lunchtime, broad daylight.

Well, ha-ha! Suck on
that you, smarmy bas...

- Where are you going?
- They're nervous.

- They need someone to hold their hand.
- You're inside the coffin, remember?

I knew it was too easy.

So, I don't know...

Everything's such a mess at the
moment, I don't know where to start.

Have you had any more
erotic dreams about...?

You know who?

Last night, actually.

We were making love together like
- I don't know - Olympic gymnasts.

I think I got down to
a size ten at one point.

Except for some reason, we were onstage
at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden,

and the audience were all booing and
shouting, "Bring back the juggler,"

which put us off slightly, because...

All right. That'll do.
Come with me, please.

- I beg your pardon?
- Detective Inspector Roy Gregson.

- I'm afraid this consultation is over.
- For what reason?

For the reason that you're no
more a psychoanalyst than I am.

- You what?!
- I'm sorry. It's called "obsessive delusion".

The sufferer acts out a fantasy role to
satisfy some unfulfilled desire in their life.

In this case, listening to
people's intimate sexual neuroses,

but I'm afraid party's
over now, young lady.

All right, Mr Gregson.
Leave her be, please.

Mr Gregson.

I'm sorry about this. It's a psychotic condition.
He believes himself to be a police inspector...

whereas you actually work for
the North Thames Gas Board.

Do forgive the intrusion.

I'll try and keep my
door locked in future.

Unsettling when that happens, isn't it?

Now, you were talking about some... general
sense of confusion in your personal life.

Sorry?

Yes, well, there's this ongoing
business with Jonathan, obviously.

But... the other day, something
else cropped up as well, which...

You know that thing...

where a ghost from your past
suddenly comes back to haunt you?

Listen, Jonathan, great to put
a face to the name at last. Um...

I'm sorry. Due to a cock-up, I have two
lunches today, and I'm late for both.

Oh, incidentally, Mad, did you
hear any more about that other?

Um, yeah. He rang me again last night.

- And?
- Yes. Thursday morning.

I'm going to see it through, Barry. My
therapist reckons it'll be good for me.

- OK, shall we wend?
- Well, I better get back...

Oh, come on! What do you say I take
you somewhere really smart for lunch?

Not that it's OTT or anything.

Just stick with me on this one.

Miss Magellan, Mr Creek, how do you do?

Martha Parrish. Would you
like to follow me, please?

It's not much further.
It's just through here.

Look, I just want a cheese omelette...

Oh! Are you OK? Jonathan,
unfortunately, is borderline asthmatic.

- You couldn't give us a second?
- Oh, yes. Of course.

I'll just go find Mr Le Fley for you.

Mr Le...?

All right. Where's the mirror?

Just to remind myself what
a gullible prat looks like.

All right. All right!

I'll level with you.
They don't do omelettes.

Come on! It's a real puzzle.
You've read the reports.

- A painting is there one minute, gone the next.
- "Take you somewhere smart for lunch. "

- Will I never learn?
- Jonathan!

- Just because he's given you iffy reviews...
- Death notices!

.. is no reason to pass up a challenge.

But... I hear what you're saying.

It is clearly so
impossible, why even try?

It's one of those weird mysteries
that'll just never be explained.

That the room down there?

The window's made of some kind
of reinforced special glass.

It was never designed to be opened,
except where else could they have got in?

Are you two married?

- Whatever gave you that idea?
- I saw you arguing.

That's right, but we're
just arguing in sin.

Mummy and Daddy are always arguing.
Sometimes they shout at me and...

Benjamin.

What have you been told about
talking to strange men and women?

That's another habit you've
picked up from Melissa, isn't it?

His last nanny was a terribly bad
influence. We return from two months abroad

and find her fraternising
with a mechanic.

The consequences are unthinkable.

- Never trust a man with oily fingers.
- Exactly.

As for this horror, the
police are up a gum tree,

so the £50,000 is there for the taking to
anyone who can come up with a positive lead.

Oh, yes... That was the other thing.

They are offering a small
reward for the painting's return,

which... can't be bad?

Now, you see, this is
where I'm sitting, here -

not over there, not over there, but here,
where I've got a direct line through that door -

eating my lunch, which on Friday comprised
a bottle of Lucozade and a Spam sandwich.

When Mrs Parrish came out with those girls,
it was there on the wall in its frame.

Half a minute later, when they
opened the door, it was gone.

And if you're thinking that someone might have
stepped in or out without my noticing, well...

When that painting was stolen,
there was no one inside that room.

So, you'd come out of the Flemish
Gallery and you're standing, what,

looking out of the window, when someone
attacked you from behind with a sharp instrument?

As I seem to have told
everyone 100 times.

- And then I fell to the ground.
- Where?

- Pardon me?
- You couldn't show us?

On the floor? Where you fell?

Exactly.

And that's when you heard
whoever it was running away?

Presumably into the library, because that's
where they found footprints in the dust,

which do not correspond to any shoes
worn by members of this household.

Might be worth a shufti.

Interesting...

- Two riddles in one.
- How's that?

Setting aside the problem of how our invisible
thief got past everyone with a painting,

it's a safe bet he'd be in a hurry
to get out, so this doesn't tally.

- What do you mean?
- Oh, come on. A child of five could work it out.

I can work it out. Why didn't
he go across the carpet?

Exactly.

He's heading for the window,
so why go around the room?

Riddle number one.

Riddle number two, why was he walking?

These aren't the footprints
of a running man, Mr Le Fley.

Whoever was in this room
didn't attack you in the hall.

- Who did you say they were? I've lost track.
- Miss Magellan is - have I got this right? -

an investigative crime writer.

- And Mr Creek is...
- Creative consultant to Adam Klaus.

You came to one of our shows, remember?

It was "a ragbag of charmless chicanery
ill-conceived by witless tricksters

"who seemed to confuse
mystery with misery. "

Turn of phrase he's got,
hasn't he? So, anyway...

I make no secret of my aversion to
your particular art form, Mr Creek.

However, I concede its relevance
to the problems in hand.

If you have any insights,
we'd be pleased to hear them.

It's a stumper.

No question.

I'm afraid I can't help.

So this been a complete
waste of our time?

It's defeated everyone else. Lord knows why
we expected these two to fare any better.

I didn't say it'd defeated me.

I know exactly how your
painting disappeared, Mr Le Fley.

I'm just not going to tell you.

Time we were moving.

Fifty thousand green ones, Jonathan.

So, you've clocked it all, basically,

worked it out, but you just
want to make him suffer.

Correct.

Don't you think that's
being amazingly petty?

Still... I suppose no one can blame you.

The man's a grade-A
toss-bag, I can't deny.

Yes. Why don't we make him stew?

Why should we let him know what we know?

What, um... do we know exactly?

Obviously, you can tell me.

Dream on.

"Witless trickster. " That's
not far off the mark, is it?

Now, sweetheart, no one's denying your
invaluable contribution to the show

or the unique place you
occupy in my affections.

I just have to be careful when meeting
Her Majesty about who I bring along.

Which I don't want you to
take as any kind of slight,

because I know she would
absolutely adore you.

- Lovely. It's been a big help. Thanks a lot.
- You're very welcome.

There's no sweat, you know.
I'll work it out myself.

I've seen everything you've seen.
I'm not a complete and utter moron.

Yes?

- I never said anything.
- Look, just give me a leg up to get me started.

Please. Just one tiny clue.

Look to Eric's Spam sandwich. It
contains the key to the whole affair.

Sorry about the time.

Guess where I've just come from.
Mr Poison Pen, Sylvester Le Fley's,

one of the weirdest set-ups I ever...

Yes, yes. You can tell me later. Did you
talk to Larry about the dowels in the coffin?

He'll see. We can't make them too loose
or we'll blow the audience inspection.

Just enough so I don't break my spine. Box
office is through the roof. Both performances.

Biggest open-air magic show for 70 years.
Now, Thursday week, Buckingham Palace.

- Have you come up with anything?
- What's to come up with?

You're being presented to the Queen. You
just shake your hand, cop your MBE, then off.

No, no, no. It needs a
little something to leaven it.

I was toying with an egg from the mouth.
Or what about this - a stamp on her tongue?

- A stamp on her...?! Are you insane?!
- Come on. It's perfect.

I get her to stick it out.
"Oh, what's this, Your Majesty?"

"I know this face. Could
you sign this for me?"

Big laugh. What do you think?

How could we do that?

Are you winning?

Oh, right. Come to gloat now,
I suppose, at my ineptitude?

Oh, come on. You were the one who
duped me into going in the first place,

because you knew I'd never help
Sylvester Le Fley, reward or no reward.

- So what are you doing back here today?
- Figured you still owed me lunch.

Go on, then.

We'll give that Italian
round the corner a try.

Just... give me a minute
- make some calls, put my face on. I'll be with you.

Of course, there's another school of
thought - that you know jack-shit about it.

This is all a bluff to
make me feel like a dunce,

while you get to act all superior,

which, according to my analyst, is further
evidence of your insecurity complex.

MY insecurity complex?

- Want to know how it was done?
- Yes.

- How the painting magically disappeared?
- Yes!

- So you can tell him and collect the reward.
- Yes, No... All right, then, yes.

Oh, can't we just forget this
stupid vendetta and pocket the dosh?

We can make some serious money here.

They're desperate. I know the insurance
company are being sticky about the claim.

If I picked up that phone now, I could
get him to double that reward... easily.

£100,000, Jonathan.

- You reckon?
- I'm sure of it.

So, instead of saying, "Stuff your 50
grand," I could say, "Stuff your 100 grand. "

Even more satisfying.

I surrender.

All right.

As that was a particularly fine linguine,
let's have a quick canter through it.

The first girls come out with his secretary.
The painting's in view of everyone present.

In 30 seconds, it's cut from its
frame and removed from the room.

There's nowhere it could've been hidden.

The thief somehow managed to spirit himself
through the gallery without being seen

and knock Le Fley to the floor outside.

The overhead window doesn't open.

Police said there was no sign
it had been tampered with.

I don't know... I've been working
on every conceivable possibility.

Did it occur to you that someone could
cut it without being in the room...

using a high-powered laser
through the glass in the ceiling?

You are kidding me?!

'Course I am. The idea's ridiculous.

In fact, this trick was so sublimely
simple, you'll wonder why you didn't get it.

For goodness' sake,
put me out of my misery.

What was the significance
of the sodding Spam sandwich.

Ah! Absolutely.

And, for that matter, what's the
significance of the scented room...

which puts another
spin on it altogether?

The scented room?

You clocked it. The second
we stepped through that door,

a heavy fragrance of something sweet
and floral in that drawing room.

That's right, that was coming
from the pot-pourri on the table.

You mean pot-pourri, one of the
biggest cons of the 20th century?

People pick it up in a shop, what
do they do? "Mmm! Smell this one.

"That's sensational! Oh,
I'll have some of that. "

Yes, if you shove your face in it. Put
some in bowl, you can't smell a thing.

Should be a label
- "Only effective when inserted up nostril. "

Is there a point to this?

The point is that the smell
wasn't coming from the pot-pourri.

I'm not with you. What are you saying?

That it was someone's perfume
that was involved in the robbery?

Perfumes don't hang around
like that for two whole days.

Well... what, then?

All right. Mr Creek, is it?

Detective Inspector Roy Gregson. You've
got some serious questions to answer.

Yes, actually, Inspector, your
services aren't required after all...

Just let me handle this. Are you aware it's an
offence to withhold information about a crime?

You can either save yourself grief
by telling me everything you know

about the theft of Lady
Theresa Cutler's painting...

or we can play hardball.

Why does your ID say
"North Thames Gas Board"?

Don't get clever with me or you'll regret it.
Failure to disclose evidence is a serious matter.

So is impersonating a
police officer. Nice try.

I have to be going.
I'll see you in court.

Oh, Jonathan! I had to have a contingency
plan. You can't blame me for that.

OK, now you can open them.

What do you think?

You did say you wanted a tree house.

- What's that on the side?
- Ah.

A lift.

So you don't get all scratched and tear
your clothes climbing up the branches.

Come on. As if we haven't
got enough problems...

Sylvester Le Fley.

Mmm...

What?

They are joking, surely to God?!

Well, you tell him I
want to speak to him NOW.

Your blasted insurance company aren't
buying the painting's disappearance.

They say there isn't enough
evidence a crime was committed.

If that Creek does know something,
he's bloody well telling us!

What this time? A row of flags coming
out of the Duke of Edinburgh's flies?

Jonathan Creek?

Jonathan, I have a multiple choice question. If
you could choose the manner of your own death,

would it be A - peacefully in your sleep,
B - breathlessly with Nicole Kidman,

or C
- being dismembered by a homicidal illusionist?

If C, simply hang up now. If not, get
your backside down to Cicada Park tomorrow

and explain to Sylvester and Tweety
Pie what happened to their El Greco.

But... I'm sorry. I'm
not with any of this.

Then, let me keep it simple.

Lady Theresa Cutler's chairperson of
the local Conservative Association.

She wields immense influence
upon Westminster Council,

who have the power of life or
death over our concert on Saturday.

Our concert in the park
has been refused a permit

on discretionary grounds that
purport to concern public safety,

but really concern a member of my staff who
naïvely thinks he cannot be bought with money.

Wrong, Jonathan. Money can
buy anything and anyone.

This is a battle we cannot win,

so surrender your
pride and save the show.

By tomorrow lunchtime, Jonathan,
I expect to hear good news.

Okey-dokey, my sweet.

E
- mail? What's that? I can barely remember my postcode.

Will do, then. Sure. Cheerio. Bye.

Jonathan! To what do we owe?

You're looking lost.

This stolen painting. Something's
come up, and I've got to move on it.

I can't track her nibs down
this morning for love nor money.

I didn't expect to. I know it's today
he's coming down, this Gordon Hill.

I just thought if you had a contact number... If
she can put her love life on hold for 24 hours.

- How much has she told you about all this?
- About what?

You've known Madeline how long?

A matter of months?

You'll not have scratched her
surface yet... so to speak.

You do, you'll find a
lot of protective layers,

like she makes it look very
easy, but it hasnae been.

You never knew her
father. Neither did she.

Her mother... was a wreck,
who lived on her nerves.

One day, she was stopped in a store,
accused of stealing a packet of bacon.

She said it was all a mistake.
Supermarket took her to court.

Next day, she pulled the wire from an
electric iron and put it in her mouth.

Maddy came home from work. She was 17.

Ran away after that... to try and put
the pain behind her, except it never goes.

It just sits there,

waiting for the day when you'll
come back and confront it.

For Maddy, today's that day.

So... who's Gordon Hill?

Lunch break. We've timed it well.

This shouldn't take too long. Just one
last piece of the jigsaw and we're all set.

I was told to expect you. You
have some news for us, I believe.

Benjamin, you all right?

How would you like to
learn another trick?

So on a scale of one to ten, Mr Le Fley, just
how baffling would you say this robbery was?

If this is another feeble
attempt to antagonise me...

10... 20... 100.

Haven't we all driven ourselves utterly
demented trying to figure it out?

All right. Just so we're clear.

No one in any doubt the painting
did actually vanish from this room?

I think that's the one factor in this whole
blasted business we can be certain of. Why?

Because it's going to make what
happens next totally impossible.

If everyone could just leave
now except for Benjamin.

- Benjamin?
- What?

Indulge him. It usually pays off.

About 30 seconds, I think
you said, the door was closed.

- Yes.
- If you want to put your watch on...

OK?

It can't be!

Now, remember, Benj.
First law of magic -

never tell them how it was done.

The, um... sordid matter
of the reward, Lady Theresa.

What? Oh, yes...

It's obviously something I'll
have to take up with your son.

Well, then, perhaps you can use it to buy
him something he really needs, like... a life.

So... I don't know.

All that stuff about
"it'll be really cathartic"

was absolute bollocks in the end.

The only way I could ever get through all the
horror in life was to try and forget about it.

I think I might just have
stepped in front of that digger

if he hadn't showed up at that point...

to finish that business
of the stolen picture.

Do you remember me telling you about it?
Talk about the last person I'd ever suspect.

How did you find out?

Through a boring process of watertight logic.
The same logic that told me how you did it.

There was no question it was one of you.

What we're still hazy on is why.

You'll have to speak to Melissa, my
sister. She'll be round at Geoff's.

So suddenly, I'm thinking,
"Melissa, Melissa... "

That name that cropped up earlier, but
it took me a minute to remember where.

That's another habit we picked
up from Melissa, isn't it?

His last nanny was a
terribly bad influence.

Well... was that a tale and a half,
when it actually came out in the wash.

For God's sake, Judith. Do
you want to get us put away?

We won't rat on you. That's
not the object of the exercise.

We know you set all this
up to get your own back,

for which I'm sure Jonathan would
love to give you a big wet kiss.

I've got no problem giving
Sylvester Le Fley a hard time.

I'm curious which of his many
charming qualities drove you to it.

They had no idea about that child.

No idea or they didn't care.

They were too into themselves and their
ritzy lifestyle gadding round the globe.

Aspen one day, St Moritz the next.

They'd never given Benjy
any time, any quality time.

It was like anything he
wanted, he could have,

except the one thing he really needed
- a mother and father who were prepared to make the effort.

When they were around, she'd
often be on this knife-edge,

giving her husband hell
over absolutely nothing.

Sometimes she'd get quite
violent. Talk about volatile.

Of course, I didn't find favour at all.

I indulged him. Of course
I did. I worshipped him.

When they gave me a fortnight's notice,
well... there weren't enough tears to cry.

I just thought if there was any
way I could put them through it,

deprive them of something
they really loved.

Something like a
million-pound painting?

To take it without actually stealing
it... I've got to say, it was a nice one.

Everyone could see it had
vanished, but where to?

The floor and walls
didn't offer any clue.

It had to be the window, but how do you get
up there and open a window that doesn't open?

Answer
- you didn't.

The window had nothing to do with it.

Once you cross that one off,
you're down to only one possibility,

which was so gloriously unlikely,
it never occurred to anyone.

The contrasting grain on each
side told the whole story.

The way the original Spanish builders
secured the panels to the frame,

you'd ended up with a door
that was technically hollow.

Geoff first saw the possibilities.

One day, when he was there
helping me pack my stuff...

Melissa.

Finding an hour when Eric and
Martha were out of the way was easy.

Then it was just a question of opening a slit,
a couple of nails that could be swivelled across.

We rehung it. Everything was set.

Judith thought of the idea of the school outing.
Who'd suspect a bunch of 12-year-old girls?

So what happened?

Six of you went in
but only five came out.

Who's counting schoolgirls? Half
a minute's just about enough.

Your pals are outside keeping
Martha busy with a few questions.

So when the next group goes in...

and everyone's glued to the empty
frame, you merge in with them.

For my money, a world-class trick,

with a delicious irony that
all the time he's freaking out,

it's just a few yards away,
between two panels of wood.

Like a slice of Spam in a sandwich.

The rest of it we have to guess,

but it's not wide of the mark to imagine
Theresa getting ballistic with her husband.

.. you patronising louse!

Oh, my God! I'm sorry!

He dashes inside. Major panic.

Not only is one of their most
valuable art treasures gone,

there's not a shred of
evidence anyone was in there.

That won't look good
on an insurance claim.

The loss adjuster will need more
evidence. So what does he come up with?

An imaginary whack from
behind by the unseen intruder.

Mr Le Fley! Are you all right?

He's already got the head
wound, courtesy of his wife.

It's a gift.

- Eric!
- Yes, someone hit me. An intruder...

They come up with another
idea before the police arrive.

A set of footprints in the dust on the floor
to show where the thief had left the building.

Slight drawback
- there wasn't any dust. It'd just been cleaned.

No problem. They just create their own.

Hence the overpowering smell that hit
us inside the room. See what I'm saying?

It'd be a brilliant read,
if I could actually use it,

but that'd drop the ex-nanny and her sister
in it, and we gave our word to keep schtum.

Well, you've got to respect
a confidence like that, so...

Sorry. Where was I? You will
stop me if I start rambling?

You can't believe a couple like
that would ever stay together,

considering there's no communication
between them of any kind.

What I can't understand is his
complete lack of embarrassment about it.

To turn up at Buckingham Palace with 12 birds
concealed about your person is a major error.

That's the death of any relationship,
when people stop listening to each other.

Since when has the Royal Family been
noted for its puckish sense of humour?

Especially when there's a child
involved, there's no excuse.

You just know one will
escape and where it will go.

That's why if we ever had a son,
it'd work out. We'd make sure it did.

It's the first time in memory the Queen's
presented an MBE with a canary up her skirt.

Somehow, I don't think he'll top
the bill at the Royal Command.

Ever thought about
that, Jonathan, at all?

- Sorry?
- Having a family.

Settling down and all that.

Right... Very probably.

What can I smell in here?
Is it talcum powd...?