All language subtitles for Mrs Bradley Mysteries - E00 - Pilot - Speedy Death

...to take unto himself the soul
of our dear brother here departed,

we therefore commit his body
to the ground,

earth to earth,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

in sure and certain hope
of the resurrection to eternal life

through our Lord Jesus Christ,
who shall change our vile body

that it may be like
unto his glorious body,

according to the mighty working

whereby he is able to
subdue all things to himself.

(HORN HONKING)

I'm afraid
you're going to be late, madam.

(HORN HONKING)

-Thanks very much.
-Good of you to come.

Thank you so much.

-Oh, no!
-What?

My mother!

Ferdinand, you appear to have
something on your lip.

It looks like a caterpillar.

I think it makes him look distinguished.

He is distinguished.
That thing makes him look seedy.

-I'm sorry about your papa.
-Thank you.

-Hermione, I trust you're well.
-Yes. Thank you.

-We thought you were in America.
-I was. Would you rather I hadn't come?

I think it's more a question of
what my father would have wanted.

Precisely. He'd have wanted me here.

Vicar, allow me to introduce
what I can only describe as my mother.

-Condolences, Mrs Bradley. A good man.
-Yes. Dull, but good.

-Honestly! Today of all days.
-Is the day for truth.

The only exciting thing
your father ever did was to divorce me.

Even his obituary calls him the legal
profession's safest pair of hands.

-There are worst crimes than being dull.
-Really?

Excuse me.

See? I said she'd learn to like you.
She actually asked how you were.

Only because she's petrified
we might make her a grandmother.

VICAR: What is she doing?
FERDINAND: Cigars. He loved cigars.

My husband's mother marches
to the beat of a different drum.

My mother has
an entire orchestra of her own.

Are you all right, madam?

Might I trouble you
for a cigarette, George?

Today a funeral,
tomorrow an engagement party.

-Life goes on, n'est-ce-pas?
-Yes, madam.

On and on.

For me, marriage was
a terminally tiresome condition,

for which the only cure
was the healing balm of divorce.

I was branded a bolter,
but what else could I do?

I was in danger of being bored to death.

Still, marriage is one of those things

it's best to get over and done with
early in life.

Like chickenpox.

# You're the cream in my coffee

# You're the salt in my stew

# You will always be my necessity

# I'd be lost without you

# You're the starch in my collar

# You're the lace in my shoe

# You will always be my necessity

# I'd be lost without you

# Most men tell love... #

Dear Alastair. That tie looks familiar.

You gave it to me.
Longer ago than I care to remember.

Sorry to hear about Randolph.
How's the boy taking it?

Pompously. I see your son's
more handsome than ever.

-Hello, Garde.
-Always a pleasure.

-Now, where's my darling Mouse?
-Darling Mouse all present and correct.

Goodness, you've changed!
You look positively radiant.

That's love for you. Love and jewellery.

Hmm! Divine.

She deserves nothing but the best.

You see? If you want people to be nice
to you, just lose the use of your legs.

-Eleanor!
-It's all right, Father.

One is allowed to joke
at one's own expense.

-I take it this is the lucky man.
-I'm the lucky one.

May I present Mr Everard Mountjoy?
This is Eleanor's godmother,

Mrs Adela Bradley.

I feel I know you terribly well already,
thanks to Eleanor's scrapbooks.

Talk about draughty.
You could catch your death.

-What's that smell?
-I can't smell anything.

This way.

-Your room.
-Thank you.

I wonder if I might trouble you
for a dictionary.

This is a private residence,
not a public library.

She's here and she's gorgeous!

-Who?
-Miss Manners, Mr Garde's young lady.

So elegant!

You were supposed to be washing up,
not gawking at ladies.

Staff supper at 6:00.
Punctuality expected.

Hello, I'm Mabel.

George Moody. How do you do?

Don't mind Mrs MacNamara.
She's all puff and no blow.

-Mrs Mothballs, I call her.
-Oh! Mothballs.

Kensington?

Must be worth a few bob,
your Mrs Bradley.

-Must she?
-What's it like? London?

-Never been?
-No.

-You should.
-Careful!

-I might take you up on that.
-(CHUCKLES) Fair enough.

Toodle-oo.

I can't tell you what a thrill this is.
I'm such an admirer.

In that case, Miss Manners,
I'm going to adore you.

Look, here you are in The Times,

The Illustrated London News, Tatler.

I'm never entirely sure
if I'm famous or notorious.

Someone once said, ''Fame is to live
in poverty and end up as a statue.''

Naturally, I prefer to be notorious.

Look, you and Mrs Pankhurst,
shoulder to shoulder.

-Was she really scary biscuits?
-Scary biscuits?

-Dorothy has a way with words.
-If you say so.

Mind if I ask how you know Mr Freud?

We met at a conference
on psychoanalysis.

Freud? Mr Fraud if you ask me.

I gather that's what you call
yourself nowadays, psychoanalyst.

Don't mock. It's very important.

It's the study of secrets
people keep from themselves.

There are no secrets in this family.
I'll stick to fishing, thanks.

(ALL LAUGHING)

And what about you, Mr Mountjoy?

Oh, Everard's going to be hugely famous
after his expedition to Africa.

A humble explorer hardly compares with
the woman who caught the Bombay Poisoner

and the Blackmailer of Belgrave Square.

Toxicology and graphology,
nothing could be easier.

Brilliant and modest.
A winning combination.

Isn't he just heaven on a stick?

-Is he here, Baxter?
-Yes, sir.

-Is who here?
-A little pre-party surprise.

-Mr Bertie Philipson.
-Hello, old man!

-MOUNTJOY: Eleanor?
-Oh...

It's nothing, really.

Hello, Bertie. Do excuse me.

-I said we should have warned her.
-Shall I fetch a doctor?

I think you've done quite enough.

I take it Bertie was driving
the night of the accident.

Yes. On our way back from the opera.

And you were very much in love with him?

It was a long time ago. Two years.

Judging by your reaction,
you haven't seen him since.

No. He wrote.

Said he was sorry,
but he couldn't return my affections

so, all things considered,
it was best if he stayed away.

I assumed she was over you
now she's engaged.

And she is. I assure you.

-Perhaps I should leave.
-What a capital idea.

You'll do no such thing.

Have you forgotten
what he did to your sister?

No. Nor have I forgotten
he saved my life.

Bertie's my friend.

And he pays his debts,
more than can be said for some people.

It wasn't a loan, it was an investment.
You knew that.

Darling, I'm sure Everard has
every intention of paying what he owes.

Are you indeed?

Not a day goes by I don't wish
I could turn back the clock.

I never blamed you. It was an accident.

I'm glad you came.

Same here.

Do you remember
the day we took tea here?

I made a fool of myself, gushing
all over you like a lovesick schoolgirl.

You didn't make a fool of yourself.
I was highly flattered.

Don't patronise me, Bertie.

Sorry.

Mountjoy seems a decent sort.
Potty about you.

-Can you blame him?
-He's a lucky man.

And you, who are you potty about?

No one. Too busy making ends meet.

Maybe you'll meet the girl
of your dreams tonight. You will stay?

-Well, I don't think your father...
-I'll take care of Father.

Since the accident,
he'll do anything to make me happy.

Mabel, these glasses need polishing.

And if you think this silver's clean,
you've got another think coming.

Excuse me.

Sorry, not till 6:00, is it,
staff supper? Only I'm a bit peckish.

And we're a bit busy.

(CRASHING)

Shilling off your wages, Mabel Jones.

Don't worry. I'll see you don't starve.

Do you think Mr Bing would mind
if I borrowed a book from his library?

(CLEARS THROAT)

(MEN ARGUING)

-I told you, I need more time!
-Don't give me that.

?1 00 is a lot of money.

This cheque isn't worth
the paper it's printed on.

I was just admiring your car, sir.

-Know anything about motor cars, do you?
-Enough to know that one's a beauty.

-Yes. Got my eye on a Bentley.
-Me, too, sir. When my ship comes in.

Whoever said
the best things in life are free,

he didn't have an overdraft, eh?

-Don't suppose you got a smoke?
-Mmm.

Thanks.

-I might let you wash her tomorrow.
-Why, thank you, sir.

I hardly know what to say.

Right, it's time for
the old penguin suit, I suppose.

Party party party, hey?

(DOOR OPENING)

Beg your pardon, sir.
I was after a book.

So I see.

-Carry on.
-Thank you, sir.

(KNOCK ON DOOR)

Uh-huh.

Sausage rolls. Made by yours truly.

Thank you.

I...

I don't suppose
Mrs Bradley needs a new maid?

I don't know. Why?

Well, I don't want to be stuck
in this dump all me life, do I?

-What do you think?
-Tasty. Very tasty indeed.

Saucy.

(CHUCKLES) Oh, I meant the sausage roll.

I know what you mean, George Moody.

-What's this?
-My references.

If I worked for Mrs Bradley,

you could have
something nice and tasty like that

every single day.

(DOOR OPENING)

Mabel, work to do. Chop, chop.

I think you should know
Mabel's spoken for.

-Well, she doesn't act like it.
-No, well...

Her admirer hasn't quite found the words
to convey his feelings.

You give him a tip from me, Mr Baxter.
A single rose speaks volumes.

(MUSICIANS TUNING INSTRUMENTS)

-Adela, lovely as ever.
-Thank you.

When's everybody due?

8:30. I hate this bit just before
they all come. It's so nerve-racking.

Do you realise this is the first one
of my parties you'll ever have been to?

Nonsense. We had birthday parties
every year.

Yes, but Pa never came to mine.
Too busy.

Well, we'll just have to
make up for lost time.

Now, Garde's going to say
a few words of congratulations.

No, thank you! This is my night.

I don't want
big brother stealing the show.

-As you wish.
-DOROTHY: Bertie, would you?

Has anyone seen my fiance?

He has a terrible habit
of just dropping off.

Marriage will change that.
For a time, at least.

Honestly, the things you say.

(BAND PLAYING JAZZ MUSIC)

That's it, Bertie. Time for bubbles!

MRS BRADLEY: Darling Mouse.

She's quite the life and soul
of the party.

ALASTAIR: Oh, a total transformation
since she met Mountjoy.

Remember how morose she used to be.

That's the Eleanor you remember.

Thank you.

ALASTAIR: As for Dorothy Manners,
flibbity-gibbet.

-What is that infernal racket?
-MRS BRADLEY: It's called jazz.

-It'll never catch on.
-Dear Alastair, were you ever young?

You should know. You ever think of
that May Ball in Cambridge?

-The night of the full moon.
-And afterwards, swimming in the river.

(CLEARS THROAT)

-Yes, what is it, Baxter?
-I think you should come, sir.

It's Mr Mountjoy.

# ...we're merely and mammals

# Let's misbehave #

-I nearly got away with it.
-Sir?

Couple more hours and I would have been
off duty on me way to Whitstable.

-No one goes in or comes out, right?
-Yes, sir.

(SOBBING)

Everard. Everard. I must see him.

-Nothing's been moved, Inspector...?
-Starkey, ma'am. And you are?

Mrs Adela Bradley.

I'm sorry we meet
under such circumstances.

-I'm a great...
-Admirer. How kind.

I take it the gentleman's body
is still in the bath.

Yes. Inspector?

Might I suggest
you brace yourself for a shock?

Thank you.

But there's not much
I haven't come across in 22 years.

Famous last words.

Good grief.

Do you seriously expect us to believe

that Everard Mountjoy
was really a woman?

I'm afraid it's true, sir.

But the fellow was engaged
to be married to my sister.

Nevertheless,
Mountjoy was not all he seemed.

-In fact, he wasn't a he at all.
-Why, that's preposterous.

Well, not wishing to be indelicate, sir,
but I've seen the evidence

with me own eyes.

What kind of woman goes around
pretending to be a man? It's unheard of.

Uncommon, but not unheard of.
We women live in a man's world.

Sometimes getting on
requires a little subterfuge.

How do you mean?

When Wolseley went to Khartoum in '84
to rescue General Gordon,

he had a Captain Jack Tremaine
at his side.

Tremaine died of malaria
and the postmortem revealed his secret.

He was Miss Wilhelmina Nash.

-Good lord.
-She wrote in her diaries,

''To be a woman with ambition
beyond that which society will allow

''is to endure a slow death.

''I was determined to live a life.''

Are you saying that
Mountjoy had the same feelings?

Many of us do.

Mountjoy's ambition
was to explore the world.

No investor would accept
a mere woman explorer.

I've just had the most beastly thought.
Who's going to tell Eleanor?

I can't begin to comprehend
how Everard thought

he would ever get away with his charade.

After we were married, I mean.

Did the subject of physical love
never arise?

Of course not.

I was thinking, he might have assumed,
given your condition,

that he would never be put to the test,
so to speak.

You mean an invalid wife would never be
expected to do as other wives?

Precisely. His secret would be safe.

Why marry me in the first place?

Forgive me, but your mother left you
a considerable amount of money in trust.

Which I only inherit upon marriage.

Oh, it's too horrible.

I have a sedative. I brought it back
from America. It's very effective.

I don't want a sedative.

I just want things to be as they were.

MRS BRADLEY: I know this is hard,
but I must clarify something.

You said Everard had the habit
of falling asleep at odd times.

Uh...

Often at meal times,
his head would just slump.

At the theatre.
Once, almost at the wheel of a car. Why?

Is it important?

So you agree with Mrs Bradley, Doctor?

Well, narcolepsy is
a distinct possibility, yes.

It's reasonable to assume that he...

She just blacked out
in the bath and drowned.

A possibility or a likelihood?

Well, in the absence
of any other explanation,

more than a likelihood.

Perhaps you'd be kind enough to show us
exactly what the butler saw?

By all means, Inspector.

I knocked. No reply, so I went in.

I saw the lady-gentlemen
and went down to inform Mr Bing.

The door unlocked and the window open?

-Yes, madam.
-And what time was this?

I remember the hall clock striking 8:00
just as I came up the stairs, sir.

-And...
-Pardon me, don't you find that strange?

That the window should be open
on such a chilly evening?

I always bathe with the window open.
Prevents condensation.

Odd, there's water
on both sides of the bath.

Easy enough to spill a few drops
getting out.

-But he didn't get out, did he?
-What are you suggesting?

Oh, just being inquisitive, Inspector.

Terrible habit.

Your thoughts, Doctor? Cause of death?

Well, if, as I expect,
we find water in the lungs,

then I'll be satisfied the deceased
fell prey to a bout of narcolepsy

and drowned.

Inspector, the musicians
would like to know how much longer?

Oh, I think we are done in here, sir,

unless Mrs Bradley would like
to interrogate everybody, one by one.

No, thank you.

And don't let us keep you from your
holiday. I hear Whitstable is charming.

Your train ticket
was clipped to your notebook.

I'm just observant, Inspector,
not a witch.

I recommend the oysters, Inspector.

Could you spare a moment, madam?

(WHISPERING) What's he looking for?

What on earth made you retrieve
these pieces from the wastepaper basket?

Five years working for you, madam.

A cheque for ?1 00
drawn on Bertie Philipson's account

and made out to Everard Mountjoy.

Why would someone throw away ?1 00?

There's only one reason I can think of.

-If Bertie's account were overdrawn...
-Then the cheque would be worthless.

I think we'll prolong our stay.

The house will be empty
during Mountjoy's funeral.

I shall plead a headache,

and you and I
will conduct some experiments.

Mind if I ask why?

Because Mountjoy's death
had nothing to do with narcolepsy,

and because someone in this house
is a murderer.

(ORGAN PLAYING)

# The Lord's my Shepherd

# I'll not want

# He makes me down to lie

# In pastures green

(ELEANOR SOBBING)

# He leadeth me

# The quiet waters by #

Baxter found the body at 8:00.

Between 7:30 and 8:00, we were all
in our rooms, dressing for the party.

-So no one has an alibi.
-Three questions.

If Mountjoy had a blackout and drowned,

why was there water
on both sides of the bath?

Why was the window open
and why was the door unlocked?

-People do forget to lock doors.
-Not if you have a secret like Mountjoy.

In which case, his assailant must have
unlocked the door in order to escape.

You're assuming the murderer
climbed in through the window?

It does rather look like it.

ALL: # Shall surely follow me

# And in God's house... #

He'd have to be quite an acrobat

to climb through that window
from here, madam.

Perhaps he used a ladder.

In which case,
there'd be marks on the flowerbed.

(MRS BRADLEY EXCLAIMS)

A branch, snapped off.
Quite recently by the look of it.

Perhaps under the weight of
someone using it to climb up.

Thereby cutting off the escape route

and forcing the culprit
to leave by the bathroom door.

May the bereaved among us draw comfort

as the Lord gives light to them
that sit in darkness

and in the shadow of death.

Mountjoy would have his back
to the window,

so he wouldn't see his assailant enter.

The water would be running,

and so he wouldn't hear the window open.

Bath time.

Beg your pardon?

I myself was not overly familiar
with the poor departed soul

we have come to know
as Everard Mountjoy.

But by all accounts,

he was a most remarkable character.

In more ways than one.

(WATER RUNNING)

GEORGE: Ready when you are.

-You are sure this is necessary?
-Essential.

I open the window and climb in.

As I cross the room, he sees me,
but too late.

I seize the feet and hoist them
into the air like so.

His head is completely submerged,

and struggle though he may,
his only hope of survival

is if I let go.

He is dead. Then turn off the taps.

(GASPING)

The floor is wet.

There is water
on either side of the bath.

Note, consistent not with his being
lifted out from one side or the other

when he was dead,

but of his frantic splashings
when he was alive.

Time to escape.

But the branch that helped me up
is broken, so...

It's risky,
but better than breaking my neck.

(GEORGE COUGHING)

Are you all right?

(GASPING)

Splendid. Now,

I think that takes care of how.

MRS BRADLEY: We are left with who.

ALL: # You behold Him face to face

# Sun and moon bow down before him

# Dwellers all in time and space

# Praise Him, praise Him

# Praise Him, praise Him

# Praise with us the God of grace #

Let us pray.

For what we are about to receive,
may the Lord make us truly thankful.

ALL: Amen.

Eleanor's favourite.
Well done, Mrs MacNamara.

-Nothing for me.
-You should eat something, miss.

Thank you.
I'm no longer seven years old.

Life's rich pageant must go on, Eleanor.

Well said, Father.

We've all had a shock,
Eleanor in particular.

But life does go on,
which is why I have an announcement.

I have asked Dorothy to do me the honour
of becoming my wife.

I'm happy to say, she has accepted.

Somebody say something.

Have you taken leave
of your senses, boy?

Miss Manners, isn't this rather sudden?

Not really.

We just didn't want to steal
Eleanor's thunder, but now that...

-I'm sorry. I think it's appalling.
-Bertie!

I mean, for Eleanor's sake.

It's the most insensitive timing
I can imagine.

I don't mind, really.

-I'm truly happy for you both.
-See, Bertie, as you should be.

He's just being sweet. Aren't you?

Naughty boy. What's this?

Garde, that was your mother's.

And she bequeathed it to me
with strict instructions

to present it to my betrothed
on the day of our engagement.

It's sublime.

-The clasp appears to be broken.
-Broken?

What the devil do you mean?
It's worth a fortune!

It's all right, darling.
Nothing that can't be fixed.

I'll pop it in here

and I'll have it repaired
next time I go up to town.

GARDE: I'm... I'm sorry.

Dorothy's right.

-No harm done.
-No harm?

You announce your engagement
without a word to me and say no harm.

I'd hoped you'd be happy for me.

And I'd hoped you treat me
with a little respect.

A toast to the happy couple.

Garde's always had a temper,

but since the war he has these rages
which flare up for no reason at all.

-Bertie says it's shellshock.
-How did he save Garde's life?

ELEANOR: They don't talk about it much,
but I got Bertie squiffy one night.

He told me it was at Passchendaele.
Garde was hit by a sniper.

The others left him for dead,
but Bertie refused to give up.

Carried him for miles through the mud.

MRS BRADLEY: How very brave.

ELEANOR: It's a bit early for tea,
isn't it?

You didn't have any lunch.

ELEANOR: Dear Mrs Fusspot,
what would I do without you?

Oh, I couldn't possibly,

but I know one person who is
very fond of fruit cake. My chauffeur.

One slice of that, Mrs MacNamara,
and you'd have a friend for life.

Thank you, madam.
I'll bear that in mind.

I don't think she likes me very much.

That's just her way.
You'll get used to it.

She's been like a mother to me
since Ma died.

Interesting perfume she wears.

Mrs Bradley, fancy a game?

Much obliged.

I see you've found
your dictionary, then.

A new word every day.

Broaden your vocabulary,
broaden your mind.

That's what Mrs Bradley says.

Unusual for a lady to take
such an interest in her chauffeur.

''Serendipity.
Making happy discoveries by accident.''

Of course, the challenge is to use it
in an actual sentence.

She's no better than she should be
if you ask me. Divorced indeed.

My Albert and I
were married for 21 years.

We stuck it out through thick and thin.

Poor old Albert.

Oh, bread and dripping.
Thank you very much.

There you are.
I've been looking everywhere.

I was just thinking,
I'll never marry now.

I've only met two men I could ever love.

One couldn't love me
and as for the other...

Just remember your Montaigne.

''Marriage may be compared to a cage.

''The birds without despair to get in
and those within despair to get out.''

It's all right for you, you've done it.

No one could accuse you
of being on the shelf, could they?

Oh, I think I can safely say I've been
taken down and dusted once or twice.

Help! I've been burgled.

I took a bath after croquet
and when I got back...

-What's missing?
-My handbag.

-And the necklace Garde gave you...
-Was inside.

Where's Bertie Philipson?

-Something the matter?
-Mind if we ask where you've been?

I went for a spin about an hour ago.

After your man
finished washing the motor. Why?

There's been a burglary.
Dorothy's necklace.

-Am I being accused of something?
-Of course not.

Come and have a drink.

There's no better alibi than George.

We've only got the fellow's word
he left an hour ago.

He could have sneaked back in
and robbed the place.

Or...

-Surely not.
-He's only been with us a month.

-Or...
-You're not saying the butler did it?

Perhaps we should leave
the detective work to you.

Let's not call the police
for the time being.

Quite. Something tells me
this is best kept in the family.

Horace! This mangle's not right.

Would you happen to know how long
Mrs MacNamara's been with the family?

Why? You think she could be a thief?
Or a murderer?

Some sort of grudge?

She's not exactly
brimming with bonhomie.

Bonhomie! Such a good word.

Do we know what happened
to Mr MacNamara?

He died. Three years ago.
Probably starved to death.

And where was she at 8:00 last night?

-In the kitchen, so she says.
-Did anyone see her?

Apparently not.

(DOOR CREAKING)

Alastair.

Just, uh... Just getting some water.

I don't sleep much nowadays,
not since Marjorie passed on.

Full moon tonight, like the May Ball.

I don't think we'll be swimming tonight.

Sometimes I think
I should have fought for you, Adela.

Queensbury rules against Randolph?
You wouldn't have stood a chance.

-We could have had a good life together.
-Maybe, but he was very handsome.

And I was very smitten.
The folly of youth.

I still see shades of the young you.

''Age cannot wither her,
nor custom stale her infinite variety.''

Alastair, dear Alastair.

There are two things in life
you can never do.

One, catch a waiter's eye
before he's ready to see you.

And two, turn back the clock.

Never say never.

I have an increasing inability
to trust people, even old friends.

Alastair has every right
to creep around his own house,

still, with a murderer on the loose,
one can't help but wonder, can one?

BERTIE: Dorothy!

(GUN FIRES)

It wasn't me.

-What's going on?
-Bertie, put down the gun.

Bertie, what are you doing?

Look, I swear it wasn't me.

Looks like a break-in, madam.
The kitchen door's been forced.

-See, I told you it was a burglar.
-Exactly what happened?

Anyone mind if I help myself to a drink?

-You've got a damn cheek, sir.
-Father, it's Bertie.

I know it looks bad,
but the truth is very simple.

I had a thumping headache,

and I couldn't sleep,
and I knew Dorothy had some aspirin.

And then,
there wasn't any light under the door.

I was about to go back to bed,
but the pain was getting worse.

So I crept in and I saw Dorothy.
She was fast asleep.

With her sleep mask, as usual.
And the aspirin on the bedside table.

And I was about to leave
when I heard someone coming in,

so I stepped behind the wardrobe.
Sort of reflex action, I suppose.

I could see the rifle, but not
who was holding it. And I called out...

Dorothy!

...and she moved, thank God.

Dorothy, are you all right?

I ran to see if she was all right.

Then I rushed out,
but whoever it was had gone.

And so I came back in.
The rifle was on the floor.

I picked it up
and that's when Mrs Bradley came in.

-So you were wearing a sleep mask?
-Always do.

-And you didn't actually see anything?
-No.

I woke when Bertie yelled my name.
All I saw was him.

And the rifle.

Why would I want to harm Dorothy?

I neither know nor care.
Call the police.

Father, please, be reasonable.
Someone obviously broke in.

At the very least, Bertie deserves
the benefit of the doubt.

I'll tell you what he deserves.
Ten years' hard labour.

For God's sake, you're talking about
the man who saved my life.

I want you out of this house tonight.

An injection would take effect
more quickly.

Needles, no thank you!

This'll do fine,
as long as it helps me sleep.

-Thank you.
-It's no trouble, miss.

-You're sure you'll be all right?
-Hunky dory.

Thank you for being sweet.

-Lock the door.
-I will. Nighty-night.

Anything you'd care to tell me
about you and Dorothy Manners?

-I don't know what you mean.
-You said when you went to her room,

she was wearing her sleeping mask,
as usual.

I'm curious. How would you know about
Dorothy's usual sleeping habits?

And why go to her for aspirin
when you've got your own?

-I forgot they were there.
-Tell me...

why did Mountjoy
tear up your cheque for ?1 00?

And why were you arguing
with him in the library?

-How the deuce did you know about that?
-You were observed.

It was for his expedition to Africa,

but the bank sent it back.
Insufficient funds.

Mountjoy was livid because
it left a hole in his finances.

-We argued. He tore up the cheque.
-And why go back for it after his death?

I thought it might look peculiar
if someone found it.

Quite right, it does.

So according to you and Mr Bing,

I'm a thief, a liar
and I tried to kill Dorothy.

Anything else
you'd care to accuse me of?

I haven't actually accused you
of anything.

But you were hardly ecstatic about
Dorothy becoming engaged to Garde.

Mrs Bradley, I'm sure your reputation
is well deserved,

but I'm afraid this time
you're barking up the wrong tree.

It was that business about the cheque

and the row with Mountjoy
that seemed to unnerve him.

Lucky I was passing
when they were arguing, madam.

One might almost call it serendipity.

I suppose one might.

-Good riddance to bad rubbish.
-Perhaps.

Good night, George.

(BELL RINGING)

Eleanor? Eleanor.

Eleanor?

Telephone the doctor. Now!

-What happened? Is she...
-Eleanor? Eleanor, can you hear me?

She suffered minor concussion,
contusions to both arms.

Parietal haematoma
and haematoma over the oxiput.

I need hardly have rushed my sausage.

Well, must be more careful, young lady.
An accident like this could be fatal.

It wasn't an accident.
Someone pushed me.

What sort of monster would harm
a girl in a wheelchair?

In my experience, Doctor,
monsters are few and far between.

It's ordinary folk like you and me,
they're the danger.

I'm glad I don't share your cynicism,
Mrs Bradley.

-Good morning.
-Morning.

-Where is everybody, Baxter?
-Mr Philipson left last night, madam,

Mr Garde and Miss Manners
left the house early

and Mr Bing is out shooting.

Shooting? Oh, dear.

I've never cared much
for the countryside.

To me, it's a soggy sort of place where
animals and birds wander about uncooked.

(GUN FIRING)

Or don't wander about,
as the case may be.

Still, this visit promises to be
rather more memorable than most.

-Morning!
-Morning.

There's been an accident.

Message from Mrs Bradley.
Change of plan.

-You're staying.
-Your lucky day.

Since when have roses
been part of the uniform?

Since someone left it in my room.
A secret admirer.

-Don't talk so soft.
-I'm not.

-Am I, George?
-George?

Mr Moody to you, young lady.
Go and fetch the shoes for polishing.

If I find you're leading her on...

...I pronounce you to be man and wife.

Dorothy!

I'm so happy for you.

Remind me,
am I bridesmaid or matron of honour?

-Both.
-And best man.

-Isn't he scrumptious?
-Quite a catch.

Congratulations, Mr Bing, Mrs Bing.

A somewhat unorthodox occasion,
but I hope you'll be very happy.

Thank you.

Now all we have to do is tell Father.

You don't just go off and get married.
It's not done.

I doubt if it's even legal.

We signed an affidavit for the vicar.
It's all perfectly legal, I assure you.

As long as you've lived in the parish
for 1 5 days or more.

Look, I know it was impetuous,

but after what happened last night,
she needs looking after.

I thank God your mother is not alive
to see this.

I've been proud of that boy
all his life until now.

Children disappoint their parents.

It's one of
the immutable laws of nature.

Your son's made an unsuitable match,
mine became a lawyer.

We just have to bite the bullet
and carry on.

She sees pound notes
every time she looks at him.

When Randolph asked for my hand,

Father said,
''Why marry such a colossal bore?''

I told him you're missing the point.
He looks like a Greek god.

Marrying Randolph was a mistake, you've
said so yourself a thousand times.

Yes. But it was my mistake.

And we must allow our children
to make theirs.

It was so romantic!

Garde knocked on my door at sunrise
and said, ''Marry me.''

I said, ''Silly! I've already said yes.''
He said, ''I mean now.''

So I telephoned
my bestest friend in the whole world

and the next thing I knew,
we were Mr and Mrs.

However did you persuade the vicar?

He's still very grateful for a rather
large donation to the church roof fund.

Uh-oh.

Scary biscuits.

Dorothy.

Mrs Bing.

Welcome to the family.

Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.

I think I'm going to cry.
Garde said you were livid.

What's done is done.

Congratulations. Baxter!

Delicious.

Thank you, Baxter.

For whatever you did, thank you.

Thank you, Baxter.

A long and happy life.

ALL: A long and happy life.

And the best of British luck.

Now, who have we here?

My dearest friend, Miss Pamela Storbin,
from New York.

Mr Bing, my father-in-law.

-Delighted.
-Storbin?

-The Storbin Bank on Wall Street?
-Yes.

I hope you're not going to ask me
about money, Mrs Bradley.

As my poor old pa would tell you,
I only know how to spend it.

Dorothy, who is
this gorgeously dishevelled man?

-Bertie, you look an absolute fright!
-Nothing some sleep wouldn't put right.

You've got a damn cheek. Strolling
in here as if nothing had happened.

Well, that's precisely why
I'm here, sir. Nothing did happen.

-Where were you at 8:30 this morning?
-In my flat. Why?

Somebody pushed Eleanor down the stairs.

Good lord! Are you all right?

-A few bruises, that's all.
-Well, who could do a thing like that?

-Now hang on a minute!
-Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?

Nobody needs to.
Bertie would never do such a thing.

-Thank you.
-Excuse me.

Bertie, I'd like you to know
Dorothy and I were married this morning.

Well! Talk about quick off the mark.

I suppose congratulations are in order.
I wish you both health and happiness.

How very sweet of you.

Bertie, I don't believe
you've met Dorothy's bridesmaid,

-Pamela Storbin.
-Storbin?

-The bankers?
-Yes.

How do you do?

I do very well, thank you.
Very well indeed.

If you'd like to follow me,
Miss Storbin,

I'm sure Mrs MacNamara
will be able to find you a room.

I'm afraid all the rooms
on the first floor are taken, miss.

I've put you in the blue room
on the second floor.

Fine. The exercise will do me good.

-Sorry. Foot in mouth.
-Not at all.

How brave you are.
I hope we're going to be friends.

-Anything you need, let me know.
-Thank you.

You're not leaving?

According to Mr Bing,
I've outstayed my welcome.

-What a shame.
-Yes.

I was rather looking forward to
messing about on the river.

What a delicious idea.
I'll be right down.

-Ah, Mabel. Have you seen Mrs Bradley?
-No.

Have you showed her my references yet,
Georgie Porgie?

Mabel, this has to stop.

She doesn't need a maid.
There is no job in London. I'm sorry.

-But what about us?
-Us?

-You gave me a rose.
-That wasn't me. That was Mr Baxter.

I don't believe you!

You led me on, George Moody.
Shame on you.

Anything I should know about, George?

No, madam. A misunderstanding.

-Pretty girl.
-Not my type, madam.

I just came to tell you
that I found this.

Dorothy's necklace. Where was it?

I saw something catch the light.
I never dreamt it'd be diamonds.

Look there.

It's what's left of Dorothy's handbag.

We seem to be dealing with
the world's most careless thief.

It doesn't make sense.

Why would someone steal diamonds
only to throw them away?

Unless they weren't after the diamonds,
but the bag itself.

Or something in it.

I think we'd do well
to look in Dorothy's room.

It might help if I knew
what I was looking for, madam.

You'll know when you find it.

George.

Go out and come back in again, will you?

Stop!

Last night, Bertie said
he was standing exactly where I am now

when he heard the door open
and saw the gun aimed at Dorothy.

He said, ''I could see the rifle
poking through the door,

''but not who was holding it.''

Sounds right. The wardrobe
would have blocked his view.

Yes, but from this angle, the mirror
would have given him a perfect view.

Not only of the rifle,
but of the person aiming it at Dorothy.

But if he saw who it was,
why keep it to himself?

Especially when Mr Bing
was accusing him.

Why indeed?

Mabel, what happens to the contents of
the wastepaper baskets

-after you've emptied them?
-What do you think?

Young lady,
we are not at home to Mr Rude.

Sorry, ma'am. I don't know.
You'd have to ask Mrs MacNamara.

-She won't be long.
-Thank you. Carry on.

-These are very stylish.
-Miss Eleanor's, ma'am. From London.

-May I help you?
-Oh, silly of me!

I threw away
an important document by mistake.

-What happens to the household refuse?
-The stable boy takes it to the tip.

He's just left.

(CAR HORN HONKING)

GEORGE: Pull over!

I had an auntie who was mad like her.
They had to lock her up.

She's not mad. She's unique.

That's not what Mrs MacNamara says.

Well, she should mind her own business
and you should mind your manners.

When I interviewed George
for the position of chauffeur,

he told me his wife had left him,
gone off to better herself.

There was a daughter, Cecily, and
a brother, Tom, but he was in France.

''Oh, how nice,'' I said. ''Touring?''
''No,'' he said.

''He's buried there.
He died at the Battle of the Somme.''

Then I asked him his greatest fear
and he said, ''Being bored, madam.''

So, naturally,
I engaged him on the spot.

This might be it.

''You mustn't go through with it.
You're breaking my heart.

''B.''

That would be ''B'' for...

Bertie!

(PAMELA GIGGLING)

Oh!

All right?

It's definitely Bertie Philipson.

The handwriting matches
the cheque he gave Mountjoy.

I don't quite see the significance.

If I saw Bertie slip this note
into Dorothy's handbag,

it stands to reason somebody else did.

And that someone stole the handbag
purely in order to read this note.

Hello there! Lovely day.

Quite the ladies' man.

The word ''oleaginous'' comes to mind.

Oleaginous? Oily, slippery.

-In the vernacular, madam, yes.
-Can I have a sixpence, George?

-A trip round the island, boatman.
-Oh!

-Well, I'd love to, but Miss Storbin...
-George will take care of Miss Storbin.

-About an hour should do.
-I say, are we being kidnapped?

-I don't suppose you've got a cigarette?
-Down to my last one, miss.

Fine. I only want one.

Some years ago,
I enjoyed a dalliance with an ambassador

who was, shall we say,
not entirely unmarried.

At an embassy reception,

I made the fatal error of picking lint
from his lapel.

His wife, charming woman
with just the hint of a squint,

saw me make this small,
but unmistakably intimate, gesture.

Two months later,
one of the great loves of my life

-was posted to Ulan Bator.
-Am I supposed to be shocked?

I saw Dorothy pick a piece of lint
from your jacket.

You and she are lovers
with a taste for the good life

and not a brass farthing between you.

I wasn't aware being hard-up
was against the law.

I also saw you slip this note
into Dorothy's handbag.

''You mustn't go through with it.''
Care to tell me what ''it'' might be?

It's my belief you and Dorothy
decided she'd marry Garde for his money

and you'd continue your affair
behind his back,

-just as you have been doing for months.
-This is slander!

Only if it's untrue.

-Your matches.
-You keep them, miss.

I'm giving up.

-Why did you go to Dorothy's room?
-To talk her out of marrying Garde.

It seemed so simple at first.

He comes into a fortune
now he's married.

We could all have had what we wanted
and he'd have been none the wiser.

When it came to the crunch,
I just couldn't bear it.

-How noble.
-I know my faults, Mrs Bradley.

Even weak, greedy men fall in love.

And if you couldn't have Dorothy,
nobody could. Is that how it was?

-I did not try to kill Dorothy.
-No.

But you saw whoever did
reflected in the mirror.

And you're covering up for them.

I don't know what you mean.

Tell me about Mountjoy's cheque.

-I told you, it was for his expedition.
-Poppycock.

I think he found out about you and
Dorothy and was blackmailing you both.

-Pity he's not here to tell the tale.
-Yes.

Murder does have a way
of keeping people quiet.

Murder?

-He drowned in the bath.
-That's the official version, yes.

I've done things I'm not proud of,
Mrs Bradley,

but I swear on Dorothy's life
I did not murder Everard Mountjoy.

-Isn't it a risk letting him go?
-I had no choice.

And he was genuinely shocked
when I mentioned murder.

So we're no nearer
finding Mountjoy's killer?

I have my suspicions,
but what I need now is proof.

Or better still, a confession.

(ELEANOR PLAYING A HARP)

Wonderful! Did you really
compose that yourself?

Yes. It's called Love at First Sight.
My wedding present to Dorothy and Garde.

It's lovely. Thank you.

And Dorothy knows all about
love at first sight, don't you?

I certainly do.

The moment I clapped eyes on Garde,
I knew he was Mr Right.

I hope he returned the compliment.

Rather slow on the uptake, I'm afraid.
But I soon saw the light.

What about you, Adela?
Do you believe in love at first sight?

Of course! Ever since my Cambridge days.

Sadly, it never stands the test of time.

Well said! Surely love at first sight
must be superficial by its definition.

Shame Bertie isn't here
to give his opinion.

-Bertie?
-Oh, come now.

Surely you must have seen
the look of sheer rapture

the moment he set eyes on Miss Storbin?

Love at first sight, mark my words.

Pamela! Are you hiding something
from your bestest friend?

No. We just had fun.

Then you'll see him again?

Well, yes.

-He's invited me to the opera.
-How romantic. Which one?

La Boheme.

(ELEANOR GASPS)

Are you all right?

Yes, yes, I'm fine.

It's just a headache. Excuse me.

I'll see to Ella. I bid you good night.

Did I say something wrong?

My sister used to be in love
with Bertie, Miss Storbin.

He was driving her back from La Boheme

on the night of the accident
which paralysed her.

Well, I expect the happy couple
are dying to turn in.

Pamela, you're incorrigible.

Yes. Well...

Uh...

I'll see you later.

And I'm going to bed with Sigmund Freud.

That boy will never amount to anything.

That's what Freud's father
said about the young Sigmund.

Odd how we can be
spot on about strangers,

yet blind when it comes
to nears and dears.

Still, I hope I'm wrong about
what's likely to happen here tonight.

If not, the family may never forgive me.

And I may never forgive myself.

(FOOTSTEPS OUTSIDE)

What the blazes is... You're walking!

(SOBBING)

My God!

-What has she done?
-She thought that was Pamela Storbin.

(ENGINE STALLING)

I'm sorry, miss.

Mrs Bradley's orders.

But if she could walk,
why keep it a secret?

You're not telling me
she was never paralysed?

Of course not,
but paralysis changed her life.

Plain old Mouse
became poor darling Eleanor.

Suddenly you cared.

And if being in a wheelchair
earned her what she craved,

your love,
it was a price she was prepared to pay.

-You mean I'm to blame?
-Yes!

That's exactly what she means!

Was I such a bad father?
You never said anything.

Well, I'm saying it now.
All I wanted was to matter.

-Can't you understand?
-Understand?

I understand you lived your life a lie.
That you tried to kill Pamela Storbin.

You barely noticed I was alive
till I was in a wheelchair.

How can you say such things?

What was the name of
my best friend at school?

Your best...

-And the nursery cat?
-Cat?

Did I like strawberry jam or lemon curd?

-My hair. A plait or a ponytail?
-What the devil are you talking about?

I might as well have been
a complete stranger!

But not Garde. Oh, no. Look.

Brave Garde,
handsome Garde, heroic Garde.

-Where am I?
-GEORGE: Steady, miss.

You'll hurt yourself.

I don't begin to understand. Why?

Because, despite the accident,
despite being spurned by Bertie,

Eleanor still loves him.

To the point of obsession.

And she tried to kill Pamela
out of a jealousy

that she might steal
beloved Bertie's heart.

But he's the one
who pushed you down the stairs, miss.

Not Bertie.
Why would he want to hurt me?

Because he knew it was you
that tried to shoot Dorothy.

And he still said nothing because
he knew no one would believe him,

least of all your father.

He couldn't stand by
waiting for you to strike again,

so he took matters into his own hands.

All that talk about love at first sight,
about Bertie and Pamela,

you were deliberately
trying to make me jealous,

trying to trick me
into giving myself away.

I needed to give you an overwhelming
desire to go to Pamela's room,

to walk up to the second floor.

-What made you think she could walk?
-The murder of Everard Mountjoy.

-What are you saying?
-The hardest thing I've ever had to say.

Mouse is a murderer.

Eleanor, tell me it isn't true.

He didn't have narcolepsy, I killed him.

Hush, child.

-You don't know what you're saying.
-What gave me away?

Your new shoes. The soles were worn.

Odd for someone who hasn't walked a step
in the last two years.

So marrying Mountjoy was just a way
of getting your inheritance?

When he first proposed, I was ecstatic.
That'd show Bertie.

And then the bombshell, he wasn't a he.
I don't know which was worse,

that or the realisation
he was only after money.

-You could've called off the engagement.
-He convinced me.

Said we could both have what we wanted.

He'd have money for his expedition
and I'd have a husband,

dignity, a place in society.

Dignity! Married to a freak.

Perhaps when you're made to feel
like a freak all your life,

ignored, unwanted,

you seek out others
to make you feel less alone.

So, the marriage was going ahead.

Yes.

Until three days ago,

when Bertie came back into my life.

Mr Bertie Philipson.

ELEANOR: You can't imagine the shock.

Seeing him again made my heart soar,

and I realised that
whatever happened with Bertie,

I couldn't continue
the charade with Mountjoy.

He was furious. Said he'd borrowed
a fortune to finance the trip to Africa.

He was counting on my money
to clear his debts.

He refused to release me
from our engagement,

so I threatened
to expose his sordid secret.

But he said if I did that,
he'd kill the man I love.

I didn't think twice.

On the night of the party,
I waited till everyone was changing

and I climbed into the bathroom.

(TAPS RUNNING)

As I crept in, he saw me.

But too late. I seized his feet,
forced him underwater.

I couldn't look.

And then he stopped struggling.

I'd planned to escape the way I came,
but the branch had broken on my way up,

so I had no choice
but to leave by the bathroom door.

And I then began
to get ready for the party

to celebrate my engagement
to the person I'd just killed

in cold blood.

When this is all over,
I'll ask Bertie to marry me.

Oh, not for love.
You can't make someone love you,

but he'll have money and I'll have him.
We'll be so happy.

What's going to happen to her?

ALASTAIR: I want you to know
that I'm truly sorry.

I'm sorry, too.

Mouse is very sorry.

The truth at all costs,
is that it, madam?

-You realise what you've done?
-How could you?

She's going to die, Adela.

My little girl,
she's going to hang for murder.

STARKEY: Thank you
for your candour, sir.

I felt it was my duty.

I'm sorry for your troubles.

Inspector. I thought
you were in Whitstable.

Well, I was, till the wife
tried an oyster. Food poisoning.

-I take it Miss Bing is still asleep.
-Yes. I'll show you her bedroom.

She should wake soon.
It was only a mild sedative.

Well, under the circumstances,
I don't think I can wait.

Yes, of course.
Inspector, it's the room at the end.

Thank you, sir.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

This was supposed to be
such a happy time.

STARKEY: Mr Bing!

Do you normally carry quantities
of this hyoscyamine, Mrs Bradley?

No, it's a new compound from America.
I brought it back for analysis.

STARKEY: Are you
a qualified medical practitioner?

You know very well I'm not.

Yet you gave your goddaughter a drug
unknown and untested outside America?

Was this with your permission, sir?

Yes, of course.
She was in a terrible state.

I gave her a single ampoule,
precisely the amount I gave Dorothy

two nights ago
with no ill effects whatsoever.

-Were you fond of your goddaughter?
-Just what are you implying?

Oh, merely formulating
one or two theories.

Dazzle me.

You say you saw Mrs Bradley
administer the sedative.

Yes.

So, that's one dose administered to
Miss Bing last night,

and the other night, one for you, ma'am?

Yes. I was fine.

That's two out of a box of 1 2,

which should leave 1 0,
yet only eight remain.

Can you account
for the two missing ampoules?

No.

Miss Bing had confessed to murder.
She knew she was going to the gallows.

Given that unhappy circumstance,

someone fond of her might well decide
to put her out of her misery,

save her from a fate worse than death.

Some might call it a mercy killing.

Ajury would call it murder.

-Dazzling enough for you?
-You're quite right, Inspector.

Anyone who cared for Eleanor would
much rather she met a peaceful end

than swing from a noose,
but the angel of mercy was not me.

-The hyoscyamine was in here?
-Yes.

And no one has touched the bag
since you arrived apart from yourself?

No. It was locked in my wardrobe.

Except for last night.
I kept it by my bed.

Someone could have sneaked in
while you were asleep, madam.

True, in which case

that someone's prints
would be on the bag.

I've never been so insulted in my life.
Do you realise who my father is?

Can't say I do, miss. Last one, sir.

STARKEY: Extraordinary.
Quite extraordinary.

-What's extraordinary?
-Two sets of fingerprints on the bag.

One's Mrs Bradley's.
The other doesn't belong to anyone here.

-Are you sure that's everyone?
-CONSTABLE: Positive, sir.

Not quite.

You're forgetting Eleanor herself.

It's my belief she woke in the night,
still groggy from the sedative,

and the full severity
of her plight began to dawn.

Disgrace, trial,
hideous death by hanging.

Who wouldn't be tempted
by merciful oblivion and speedy death?

Mr Bing,

the second set of prints
do belong to your daughter, sir.

I'm afraid Mrs Bradley's right.
She did commit suicide.

I see.

Thank you, Inspector.

Excuse me.

(SNIFFLING)

You got a handkerchief, George?

If you don't mind my saying,
you're not to blame yourself.

She was a murderer.
You did the right thing.

Anyway, I put it down to hypocathexis.

Hypoca what?

Hypocathexis. It's a technical term
for Miss Eleanor's state of mind.

Excessive concentration of desire

upon a particular object or person,
that person being Bertie Philipson.

George, you will give Mr Bing
his dictionary back, won't you?

-Of course, madam.
-So, case closed.

Nearly, George. Very nearly.

MRS BRADLEY: She said
you were like a mother to her.

-Eleanor said that?
-Yes.

When I held her hand this morning,
I noticed a small mark on her arm

as though
someone had given her an injection.

Really?

Easy enough
for that someone to wear gloves,

administer the injection
with my hypodermic

and then afterwards put Eleanor's prints
on my bag and the ampoules.

If you're suspicious,
why not tell the police?

Because whoever gave her that injection
would face trial for murder.

-What exactly are you trying to prove?
-Oh, nothing.

But I had the oddest experience
last night.

A strange smell so pungent
that it woke me,

and I had the distinct impression
that someone had been in my room.

The smell was still there this morning.

Mothballs.

Will there be anything else, madam?

Assuming someone loved Eleanor enough
to help her to a merciful end,

it would be hard
to bear that secret alone.

Not quite alone, I hope.

What are you doing here?

Dorothy telephoned me
about Eleanor. Shocking.

Yes.

I don't suppose
you've seen Miss Storbin?

Why? Got your eye
on the next goose to lay the golden egg?

-I'd say, that's a bit strong.
-Bertie! Thank God.

-I came as soon as I heard.
-It's so awful. Poor Eleanor.

BERTIE: No, poor you.

This rather puts me in mind
of that old parlour game, Consequences.

Poor Bertie Philipson
met rich Pamela Storbin

at a country house weekend.

-He said to her...
-May I offer you a lift back to town?

-She said to him...
-What a delicious idea.

And the consequence was...

(CHURCH BELLS RINGING)

(GIGGLING)

-You look lovely, miss.
-That's an expensive motor car.

A Bentley.
A present from Pamela's father.

-What do you think of that, Mrs Bradley?
-I think you're a very lucky man.

You make your own luck in life.
That's my motto.

Evidently. Drive carefully, won't you?

Thank you so much for coming.

I hear you're going off on a joint
honeymoon with Garde and Dorothy.

-Yes, Dorothy's idea. Isn't she clever?
-Oh, yes. Dorothy is very clever indeed.

(ALL CHEERING)

I gather you two are next.

-Congratulations.
-Thank you.

-Come on, Henry.
-Yes, dear.

-Love is in the air, eh?
-Apparently so.

I take it you're in no hurry

to have another crack at it,
the old wedded bliss.

-I can't say I am. No.
-No. Right. Fair enough. Fair enough.

-Well, bye, Adela.
-Goodbye, Alastair.

-Everything all right, madam?
-Yes, George. And with you?

-Never better.
-Splendid.

Home, I think, don't you?

MRS BRADLEY: Have you got
the evening paper, George?

-Yes, madam.
-Thank you.