Original subtitles

You know, I've got a funny

feeling about this job.

You can't have.

We don't even know what it is yet what with this Grania Monkton

woman being so mysterious about it.

I'm telling you, why couldn't she tell us more

about it on the phone?

Honestly, you and your funny feeling.

You-- you always work on instinct, don't you?

Whereas I, I can only go on what I see and hear.

Now for instance, what was that that just went past?

What?

Well, it was a car, wasn't it?

Yeah, well-- you see, you feel it was a car.

But I know it was a taxi.

And if I ever saw that woman again, I would

recognize her instantly.

What woman?

Oh, here we are.

Here we are.

Rowfield.

Now, um, now you turn left here.

Left?

Left, yes, left, left, left.

You sure?

My instincts say left.

Yes, I'm sure.

Well, this doesn't look right.

Can't you read the instructions?

Oh, ha, second left.

Pfft... you and your instincts.

Look where they've got us now.

Um, I'm sorry.

We're looking for Rowfield house?

Next turn.

Charming.

Nice garden, eh?

Oh, I see what

this job is all about.

It's the garden open day scheme?

Yes, that's right.

It's a competition for us keen gardeners who like to open to

the public.

We have a mystery judge who goes around

secretly and picks a winner.

So you want us to knock your garden into shape so

you'll win?

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no.

It's much more complicated than that.

You see, I'm the local organizer for the whole area.

And in Rowfield, we have a big problem.

Uh, that's just a bit of

blight or something, mrs. Monkton.

We can soon sort that out.

Yes, except that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

It's only just starting here.

But I've been expecting it because other gardens in the

competition are rampant with it.

Just the ones in the competition?

Yes.

And then I noticed that the worst hit are those which are in

the running to win the trophy.

Well, it smacks of sabotage.

Sabotage?

Really?

The point is that unless we find out what's doing it and--

and who, all the gardens will pull out, and we'll have to

cancel the whole event.

Oh dear.

Well, it won't be the end of the world, will it?

Oh, it would be of Grania's.

My husband, Tim.

Um, Rosemary.

Hello.

Laura.

Yes, these days, her whole standing in the village hangs

on the success of the scheme, doesn't it, darling?

Well, it's not just me, darling.

It's the whole village.

Open day is the big event in Rowfield.

Certainly is.

People would kill to get their hands on that trophy.

Oh, we call that "adora Grania."

Yes.

Tim named it after moi. Didn't you, darling?

Yes, to mark the day we last won the trophy.

I must have been in a very silly mood.

- Hmm, it's lovely. - She's lucky.

Normally, to get a rose named after you,

you have to be dead.

Well, uh, I think I'd better show you around the gardens of

the other competitors.

We'll start with Donald Westward he won last year.

No point in winning a cup if you don't keep it where

people can see it.

A bit vain perhaps, but it encourages me when I'm out

here gardening.

Now, the trouble's over here.

Well, it certainly looks as if it's got the same symptoms.

You think someone's

deliberately doing this to our gardens?

That's what these ladies are

here to tell us, Donald.

My wife certainly thinks so.

But you know Nora, always ready to blame someone else

when things go wrong, usually me.

Perhaps we could ask her if she has any idea who's doing it?

Oh, she's not here. She's rushed off--

To London, to the opera.

She, uh, came by a ticket to "Tristan" at the last moment.

But she'll be back tomorrow.

I'm meeting her off the train, first thing.

Hey, Westward!

Suppose you're very pleased with yourself, aren't you?

That's mr. Skinner.

Take no notice.

Good day's work, that, I don't think.

I'll win this thing in the end.

You'll see.

Come on, Sam, let's go.

Win what, the competition?

No, someone started complaining about the builders

yard at his house, and he thinks it's me, just 'cause I run

most things in the village.

But, I mean, everyone knows he doesn't have planning

permission to run a business there.

Right, um, let's have a look around the back.

It's much worse there.

Well, if we could take some soil samples, I'd probably be

able to tell you if it's contaminated and possibly

what by.

I'd appreciate it because I really want

to retain that cup.

And I'm not going to if it looks like this on judgment

day, am I?

And not with this, either.

You know what the scheme is like about

health and safety, Donald.

If you get visitors with children, they're not going to

be able to resist swinging on it, and it--

it could be a nasty accident.

Every town has to have its Donald Westward,

somebody prepared to protect its interests and run

everything, bless him.

Whereas at the other end of the social scale--

Yes, we met him.

We took a wrong turn.

Then you'll realize that our mr. Judd's a bit of a blot on

the local landscape.

He used to do some gardening for us and the Westwards.

But he was so unpleasant to us all.

We had to sack him in the end.

He built his own garden.

He was pretty good.

Now, mr. and mrs. Skinner, the builder.

Um, you don't need me anymore, do you?

Any objections, just say you're doing the

health and safety check.

But they're from the garden scheme, Barry.

Horticulturalists.

Don't you believe it.

They're from the council planning office.

No, no, really, mr. Skinner.

Westward sent you, didn't he?

First he shops me to the council, and now he's trying

to sabotage my garden?

Who said anything about sabotage?

Oh, well, you've been in his garden, which is contaminated

by this epidemic.

And then he sends you around to infect mine.

It's very clever.

He's chosen the wrong person to pick a fight

with, hasn't he?

Ha, epidemic, contamination, sabotage?

And how does he know Westward's got it unless he

put it there?

There's mr. Westward now.

Busy running the village, as usual.

Looks like he's been visiting our next stop.

Maple cottage.

Vilma Hockham.

Right.

What is it?

Can't remember.

Not indigenous, that's for sure.

Now, I know I'm listed in the green book, but, uh, I'm not

actually in the competition.

Why not?

You'd stand a good chance.

Oh, it's true.

Look, I'm new to this village.

And, I don't know, this garden was the creation of the people

who were here before me.

I don't know, it seemed like cheating entering with

somebody else's work.

You've got some amazing plants

out in the front.

Oh, they're mine.

Yeah, no, I brought those over with me from South Africa.

From Bloemfontein.

And there we had a garden which was, oh--

well, you know Bloemfontein means fountain of flowers?

And that's exactly what we had.

They're doing wonderful, even

away from their natural habitat.

Yeah, I'm very pleased with

the way they've taken.

That's fascinating.

Oh, we call that, uh, dragon's tongue.

I can't remember its fancy name, but it'll be on its

passport somewhere.

Passport?

For a plant?

Oh, yeah.

Your government's very strict about what plants we can

import into the country.

Very interesting.

I'll look it up for you if you really want to know.

Oh, thank you.

Anyway, no sign of plant disease.

Why should there be?

Uh, well, surely mr. Westward told you.

Who?

Or wasn't he just here, mr. Westward?

Um, green acres?

I call that Jumeau Guillaume.

Rainmire, the gallups, High trees, fairlawn, Pine croft,

Rowfield house, and Green acres.

All right.

That's all the competing gardens we've

looked at so far.

And?

Well, I think it might be ammonium sulfamate.

- Weed killer? - In all of them.

Look, you can see little white granules in the soil.

What are we supposed to do, pick them out with tweezers?

No, if it is it, you need a complete soil change.

Well, it certainly looks like sabotage now.

What's that?

Hey, watch out, you punk!

Oh, look, is that Judd?

What's he doing out at this time of night?

We shouldn't really start if the Westwards aren't here,

but we can't hang about, either.

Not with all the other gardens to deal with.

And they've all got to be ready by judgment day.

What in heaven's name?

Mr. Westward.

Too late.

Ah, well, it's judgment day for him, all right.

Who are you?

Why wasn't I met at the station?

Where's my husband?

So in your professional opinion, that branch wouldn't

have come down easily.

No way, Inspector.

I mean, it was cracked.

But from the healthy state t of he wood, it would

have taken some strength.

Thank you.

And also for all this stuff about the garden competition.

Very useful.

Is that why he was murdered?

Murdered?

Jumping to conclusions, aren't we?

Wh-- no--

What about all this vandalism?

Might be connected, might not.

Too early to say.

Do you need me anymore, Inspector Hammond?

I would like a word with you, but when you're ready.

I'm ready as I'll ever be.

Excuse me.

That's odd.

Is it?

Yep.

She was the woman in the taxi yesterday, the

one you didn't notice.

So what are we going to do?

I don't know.

This is a write-off.

We'd better go and deal with some of the others.

Well, I think it's pretty obvious what happened.

Westward hears our saboteur doing his stuff

in the middle of the night.

He goes out.

There's a struggle, which gets out of hand, and Westward gets killed.

Y-yeah, but there's no marks on the body, though.

He must have had some sort of scythe to savage the garden.

And what about the tree?

How does that get into it?

Um, afterthought, maybe?

Dragged the body under the tree, then pulled the branch

down on him to make it look like an accident?

Someone very strong, then.

Hello, girls.

Just the people I want to see.

Listen, I've got this sick plant I'd really

like your advice on.

Go on.

It's your department.

Oh, I've got the very stuff for this.

Soon get it back on its feet.

Um, may I take it with me?

Sure.

Oh, I found the import document for that

plectranthus.

What?

Oh, uh-- uh, yes, the, um-- the dragon's tongue.

Plectranthus, plectranthus--

ach, man, where's that piece of paper?

Oh, here it is.

Oh, is this its passport?

Covers all the plants I brought over.

All the latin names are on there, too.

Plectranthus ecklonii, very interesting.

Could I keep this, too?

Oh, please.

Thank you.

Oh, and about, uh, Donald Westward--

It's very tragic, isn't it?

Look, I know I was a bit cagey when you

mentioned him yesterday.

But, uh, yes, he was here.

And he did mention that somebody had been sabotaging

the gardens.

Do you think that has anything to do with why he was killed?

I--

I thought he was, uh, well-liked and respected here.

Donald?

Oh, no, he was the most hated man in the village.

Hated?

Who by?

Well, just about everybody.

Well, his wife, for a start.

Flaming Nora, playing that bloody opera

music all day long.

And then there was that weirdo,

Judd, and the Skinners.

And as for those Monktons--

The Monktons?

Oh, yeah.

Their noses were put out of joint big time when Donald

arrived and started trying to run

everything in their village.

No, I--

I think I was probably the only real

friend that he had here.

And now--

Well, there's nothing left for me here.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I--

I had no idea you were so close.

Um, did his--

wife know that you were-- that he came here?

Oh, god, no.

If she did, he'd be dead.

Even the Monktons?

Yes, the whole village seemed

to have it in for Westward, according

to the Vilma Hockham.

Oh, and, uh--

That is not her real name, by the way.

The name on the plant passport is Vilma Van der Waals.

Well that's South African, all right.

So it must be her married name or her maiden name?

So that man must be her husband, as in "we had a

garden in Bloemfontein."

Uh, what man?

The man in all the photographs?

What photographs?

All the framed photographs, all over the room.

There weren't any photographs.

Yes, there were.

There were at least six of them.

No.

No photographs.

Look, I notice these things.

I saw everything in that room.

I noticed all the African artifacts, everything.

But there were no photographs, not when we were there.

Well, there were when I was there.

Maybe she put them away so that Westward didn't see them.

Why?

Because she was having an affair with him.

How'd you work that out?

Because you wouldn't go to all the trouble to put

photographs away if you were just going to do a bit of

village gossip, would you?

Not unless you were having a full-blown ding-dong.

Just an instinct.

I'm sorry, mrs. Westward.

We're just not going to be able to sort this out in time.

No, no, but you must.

My husband lived for this competition.

Now he's died for it.

Do you think this is all to do with the competition?

Well, absolutely.

I have proof.

Please excuse the mess.

I've just been going through my husband's papers.

Absolutely chaotic.

Yes, I found something here on the desk.

A note.

Oh, where have I put it?

I know who you are.

If you don't want the rest of the village to know, keep your

garden out of the competition"?

If that's not a threatening note, I don't know what is.

Who could this be from?

Could be anyone.

I'd put my money on Skinner, probably.

Pot of poison that one is, if you ask me.

Uh, what does it mean, "I know who you are"?

Well, that's just it.

He wasn't anybody.

He was just an ordinary retired consultant.

Uh, early retired.

Did he have any enemies?

No, not that you'd call enemies.

He was on civil terms with most people in the village.

Rather too friendly with one in particular, for my liking.

Anyway, I'm sure that none of this would have

happened if only I'd been here.

Yes, you were in London last night, weren't you?

Yes, at the opera.

Somebody sent me a complimentary

ticket out of the blue.

Nice surprise.

I suppose I must have some secret admirer.

Well, I couldn't resist for "Tristan," could I?

So I went up to London yesterday morning.

She didn't go up to London in the morning.

What?

We saw her in the taxi on the way to the station, remember?

And it was in the afternoon.

Odd.

That means that her morning is unaccounted for.

She was certainly into her

husband's desk a bit sharpish.

She had his insurance policy out at the top of the pile.

And what about that secret admirer, sending her opera

tickets?

Well, that would go with the opera she was playing, "the

merry widow." Well-- w-- oh, bollocks.

Oh, hang on.

Oh, whoops, I've got--

Some tissues here somewhere.

Well, there's one.

There's another.

Oh, what's that?

That's a belt buckle I found in the Westward flower bed.

Oh, well, what do you know?

Oh, now what?

These are the route

directions from Grania Monkton.

I thought I recognized that notepaper pattern.

Have a look.

It's the same as the "we know who you are" note.

And the

writing's the same, too.

Well observed.

So, Grania Monkton writing threatening messages.

Ooh, our friends, the Skinners.

Off to sabotage some more gardens.

Whatever.

Point is, they're not at home.

Where are we going now?

I'm going to have a look

around their garden.

We shouldn't be doing this, you know.

I just want to see if it's contaminated or not.

All right, all right, but just be quick,

that's all.

No sign of browning.

Yet.

Want to take some soil samples, for comparison?

What?

All right, if you insist.

What are you doing here!?

Uh, what are you doing here?

I'm mr. Skinner's gardener, if it's any of your business.

Oh, are you indeed?

Well, mr. Judd, for a gardener, you

keep very odd shifts?

What do you mean?

Well, do you always work in the middle of the night?

Well, we saw you here in the lane, last night.

Around about the time when mr. Westward was being killed.

Hah, not me.

Oh yes we did.

We saw you.

You had a brush with a van.

What van?

I haven't got time to answer questions from interfering

old busybodies.

Now clear off out of here before I pitch you out

with this.

Oh-- all right, all right, we're going.

Nice chatting to you.

Interfering old busybodies?

There must be two other ladies asking him questions.

Rosemary?

Why has a builder got so much ammonium sulfamate?

And how could Judd say he wasn't there on the night of

the murder when we saw him?

Yes, exactly.

Inspector Hammond.

What brings you here?

We can have days off, can't we?

Well, in the middle of a serious murder investigation?

Actually, we're not sure this is a serious murder

investigation.

Oh, so it's a funny one.

Ha, no.

We were looking at manslaughter.

But then we had the post-mortem result.

Go on.

I can't tell you that.

Oh, go on.

It's your day off.

All right.

If you twist my arm, it was a heart attack.

What?

Brought on by trying to shift that branch on his own,

no doubt.

A heart attack?

Oh, that is good news.

Not if you were Donald Westward.

No, I mean-- here I was thinking somebody might have

murdered him, and all because of the garden scheme.

Which might have given it a frightfully bad name.

So we're only concerned with our saboteur now.

Do you think Skinner and Judd might be doing it together?

Well, we do know that Skinner has got ammonium sulfamate,

and that his garden is clear.

A-- and Judd is working for him.

But all this proves nothing.

Well, at least Judd's doing an

honest job for a change.

What dishonest jobs has he done?

Oh, well, he scavenges for tree bark from the forestry

commission property.

And then he bags it up and sells it round the

neighborhood as garden chippings.

Ooh, naughty, naughty.

That's stealing.

So I wouldn't put sabotaging gardens past him.

Or Skinner, for that matter.

Well, people have stooped to worse to win the trophy.

Such as?

Finding out who the mystery judges are so

they can bribe them.

I get calls all the time from other villages.

Often the judges are local organizers

from somewhere else.

What about blackmail?

Anyone ever tried that?

Blackmail?

What do you mean?

Sending blackmail notes to the

other competitors.

Mrs. Westward showed us a blackmail note.

It said, "stay out of the competition, or else."

Or else what?

Or else they would tell the rest of the

village who he was.

Really?

Who on earth would do a thing like that?

Who was he, mr. Westward?

Well, his wife said he was a retired consultant.

A consultant surgeon.

We don't know anything about him, darling.

Yes, we do.

It may not be generally known in the village, but it was in

all the papers at the time.

What was?

How he had a spot of bother a few years back.

He was a specialist at st.

Nathaniel's hospital in London.

Quite a high flyer, apparently. Tip to the very top.

And his wife was quite a socialite.

Well, then he bungled some operation.

That was the end of a brilliant career.

And the high life for her.

I see.

No wonder she didn't seem to be too keen on him.

What happened?

The patient died.

There was a GMC inquiry and a court case.

But he was found not guilty.

He wasn't struck off, then?

No, but he gave up medicine.

Came down here to get away from it all, I suppose.

It just beggars belief, doesn't it?

Fancy digging up something like that just to keep him

out of the competition.

Fancy that.

So how are

your instincts tonight?

Don't knock my instincts.

They tell me a lot.

Such as?

Well, for instance, such as-- cheers--

They tell me that the plant, Vilma's plant, dragon's

tongue--

Is not a plectranthus.

But this passport thing says that it is.

Do your instincts run to telling you what it is called?

No, but if I had my computer, I could look it up on the web.

Let's have a look.

No, gobbledygook to me.

Oh look, there's a telephone number on the back.

That might be something to do with the-- the plant passport

thing. Go on, give it a ring.

- Nah. - Give it a ring.

You might find somebody who knows about these things.

All right.

What are your instincts telling you about Judd?

Judd?

Such as?

Well, why would he deny having had that brush

with the van?

Probably 'cause he's up to no good?

He wouldn't be out trying to sell tree back at

that time of night.

Bark.

That's it.

I knew there was something different

about Skinner's garden.

No, now you've lost me.

No, all the other gardens had

tree bark chippings.

And Skinner's didn't.

So maybe the ammonium sulfamate wasn't in the soil

to begin with.

But in the tree bark.

And who sells tree bark to everyone around here?

Judd.

Oh, the box office is closed.

Box office?

Yes.

Royal opera house, Covent garden.

So Vilma's another opera fan.

No, she isn't, you know.

She isn't.

Because she said to me that she couldn't understand why

Westward allowed his wife to play opera music all day.

Well, that doesn't make sense.

Wh-why would she be ringing the--

unless she was booking a

seat for someone else!

Nora Westward.

Yes, because she said the ticket fell out of the blue.

Yes, of course.

She packs the wife off so the lovers can have

their wicked way.

What is it, boy?

Anyone there?

Who's there?

Come out, whoever you are.

Do you hear?

Not you again.

Judd's not here.

You've got no business knowing he was even working here.

We just happened to notice.

No, you happened to be snooping, I know.

I suppose the whole village knows now.

Well, is there any reason why they shouldn't?

Just my secret weapon.

I stand a good chance with him on board.

Mr. Skinner, just how keen are you

to win this competition?

On a scale of 1 to 10, 12.

This competition's always been a stitch-up.

Pass the trophy around amongst themselves.

Well, about time somebody broke the chain.

Oh, is that why somebody's going around sabotaging

everybody else's garden?

What are you getting at?

Oh, everybody's except yours, that is.

Uh, can you explain that?

I don't have to answer your questions.

And can you explain why a builder

needs ammonium sulfamate?

Ok, so what's our calling card

if Judd catches two old busybodies snooping

about his bark bags?

Oh, n-no need.

He's not at home, look.

I don't believe it.

We've just seen him.

Look.

Doesn't this look familiar?

Thank you, Inspector.

Well, as far as I'm concerned, Inspector Hammond,

this tree bark is riddled with ammonium sulfamate.

And I don't know if you know it, but that is--

w-weed killer, I know.

Yeah, so you're saying that mr. Judd contaminated the

bark, then sold it round people in the garden

competition who put it on their gardens.

Uh, no, no.

We know he was selling it.

But we don't know that he was doing the contaminating.

Well, thank you for that.

May or not be relevant.

And I don't know how it'll go down with my governor, not

when I've got all the evidence of a nasty accident.

Accident?

Accident, my foot.

He's never have gone for us

seeing two Judds, not without proof.

Ah, we've got it.

What?

This buckle, which I found in the Westward's garden.

It's not Judds, but it's identical to Judd's.

So somebody has got an identical coat.

Oh, and so they could have been dressed like that on the

night of the murder.

The person we saw in the lane.

Who we naturally thought was Judd.

Unless, of course, who happened to be Judd.

And that's what got him bumped off.

Well, that doesn't explain why Westward was killed.

Well, maybe that wasn't anything to

do with the competition after all.

Can't your instincts come up with another reason why

Somebody would want him out of the way?

No, but my observation can.

One lover dead--

Next, please?

A bit thin, isn't it?

Well, it'll, uh-- it'll spread

Out in time.

But not if we overcrowd it now.

So I can kiss goodbye to that trophy, then.

No, not necessarily.

But, uh, it's the best we could do in the time.

Well, I've only got myself to blame, I suppose.

Why?

For not being here.

I couldn't leave my husband for two minutes

without something happening.

Honestly, I could have murdered him sometimes.

Oh, what an awful thing to say.

Well, surely, you-- you don't think that I--

Well, I do think you should explain why you said you'd

gone to London in the morning, and yet we saw you in a taxi

not far from here in the afternoon.

So where were you in the morning?

Oh, all right.

I was at the council planning office.

I was formally registering my objection to Skinner's

builders yard.

So it wasn't your husband harassing Skinner.

No, it was me.

Skinner must have seen that the objection was in the name

of Westward and just assumed it was my husband.

It was I who was antagonizing him.

But it was my Donald that he took his revenge on.

Wasn't it?

Hello, Inspector.

What's new?

I was going to ask you the same question.

I thought your boss wasn't interested in

anything we had to say.

Well, he was coming around.

That is, until mr. Judd's post-mortem results came in.

And?

Heart attack.

Massive.

Heart attack?

Another one?

I mean, come off it.

That is too much of a coincidence.

So you've got a better idea?

No.

No, she hasn't.

No, we haven't.

No, we're just gardeners.

Sometimes, I wish that's all I was.

Mm, potentilla arbuscula.

What does he mean, "that's all"?

Why did you cut me off like that?

Well, what were you gonna say?

Two bodies, two heart attacks, two Judds and Vilma's

two lovers?

We can't be sure of Vilma and Tim Monkton.

No.

We could find out.

How?

Ask them.

While they're still alive to ask.

Just march in there and accuse them

of having an affair?

Here's your excuse.

Go and see her.

Give her that back, and find out what you can.

All right.

What about you?

I'm going to see Tim Monkton.

And what's your excuse?

I'll think of something.

All right.

Ah, ms. Boxer.

Uh, mr. Monkton.

What can I do for you?

I was wondering if we could borrow some--

string.

Yes, I, uh--

I want to tie something up.

And, and--

We're fresh out of string.

String?

Yes.

Yes, I think I can help you there.

Come here.

String?

Yes.

Ha... Come on, Tim, string, string, string.

Oh, string.

No.

W-would--

Oh, thank you.

Actually, I'm rather glad you've come.

There's something I want to tell you.

It's about that blackmail note you were telling us about.

Oh, that.

What about it?

Well, I could see that you were rather under the

Impression it had been sent by my wife.

It was her notepaper.

And you would have been quite right.

I-it was her who sent it.

It's very stupid, very childish, all those things.

And she bitterly regrets it.

Why are you telling me this?

Because, well--

It makes it look as if she might also have had something

to do with Westward's death.

But believe me, I--

I mean, all right, a bit of blackmail's one thing.

But murder?

No way, not Grania.

She had nothing to do with it.

Uh, do you have

any idea who did?

No.

Or why he was killed?

No.

Have you?

Uh, no, no.

Um, well, I thought--

maybe he had a rival for Vilma.

You know about them.

Yes.

And I know about you.

Me?

Yes, well, you, uh--

You were seeing her, weren't you?

Over there, w-we saw you yesterday.

Indeed you may well have done.

I--

I was there.

Why?

In a purely professional capacity.

She's leaving, and I'm selling her house for her.

I'm an estate agent.

As a senior partner, I wouldn't normally be involved

in individual small property sales, but I obviously have a

personal interest in who we get in the village.

Vilma's very grateful, too.

She gave me a thank-you present.

Look, dragon's tongue, a-- a plectranthus, apparently.

No, I don't think so.

She said so, and I've just been

looking it up on the net.

No, it's something else.

And I have a feeling I know what it is.

Uh, may I?

Yes.

Right.

Let's see if my instinct is right.

Hello?

Anyone at home?

That's the one.

Strophanthus speciosus.

Not a particularly friendly plant to

have around the house.

What's this?

That?

Oh, that's just the newspaper report about Donald Westward's

spot of bother.

It's how we knew about it.

Uh, may I?

Hello?

Ms. Hockham?

Ms. Hockham?

Prohibited import, toxic.

The seeds contain a potent glycoside used by native

africans to make poison darts which induce

instant heart attacks.

Charming.

Instant heart attacks.

Poison darts.

Of course, that's how they were killed.

Oh my god, and I've sent Laura over there!

Mr. Monkton, you've got to come with me, quickly!

What about this tree?

Go!

Oh, go!

W-what's going on?

Oh, mrs. Monkton.

Call the police and send them to Vilma Hockham's cottage.

It's an emergency.

The picture in the paper.

And the patient's name.

William Van der Waals.

That's Vilma's real name.

The man in the photographs.

What photographs?

In Vilma's cottage.

That's why she hid them when Westward was there.

He'd have recognized him as the patient he killed.

He'd have known who Vilma really was.

She only came here to live in the first place to get her revenge.

But I don't understand.

Vilma and Donald Westward were good friends.

Only so she could find out all about him.

About the village, everything.

Just so that she could kill him?

And so she'd know how to make his murder look

like something to do with the competition, just to lead

everybody up the garden path.

Oh my god.

It was you.

Yes.

Not that you're going to be telling anybody.

Laura, it's a poison dart!

Ha, and it's powerful enough to stop a bull elephant.

So you had better stay right where you are.

So you know, too.

Yes, I do.

And I know why you did it and how.

Impossible.

No, I do.

I do.

I know you smuggled that deadly strophanthus in under

another name, fully intending to kill Donald

Westward with it.

And then you used the competition to incriminate

everyone else.

And then you planted that plant on mr. Monkton.

Yes.

And it was you that poisoned the bark

that Judd was selling.

Then you dressed yourself up as him, so that you could do

your dirty work, and he would take the rap.

Only he found out, so you had to kill him too.

Very clever.

And now you.

Let's have you both where I can see you.

My brother wasn't allowed to live, to enjoy his garden.

So why should the surgeon who killed him?

Your brother?

Yes, William was my twin brother.

And sometimes, when there's no justice in this world, you

just have to take the law into your own hands.

So William, this is for you.

Ah, of course.

Jumeau guillaume.

Twin William.

A rose by any other name.

Laura, that's your third.

So?

Think of your health.

You don't need poison darts to have a heart attack in this Village.

And how right you were about them.

Oh, Inspector.

Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing.

But yes, you were spot-on.

The pathologist hadn't spotted the little dart marks in the

neck, in among all the other injuries.

Uh-- c-could I have your

attention, please, everybody?

Now, um, before we make the presentation, I would like to

say a special word of thanks to two people without whose

advice and hard restoration work this year's garden open

day scheme might not have happened at all, our

horticultural experts, ms. Boxer and mrs. Thyme.

And who better to present the trophy to this year's winners,

mr. and mrs. Skinner, than our mystery judge

himself, mr. Hammond.

Well, how do you fancy that?

A gardening detective.

I've never heard of anything so ridiculous.

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