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Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap.

In my opinion, a
second-rate murder mystery.

Not that I've seen
it, you understand.

But it's a whodunit.

You've seen one,
you've seen 'em all.

You know the drill.

An interminable prologue in which
all the key players are introduced.

You get a sense of the
world they inhabit...

and then the most unlikable
character gets bumped off.

There's been a murder?

Cue the entrance of a
world-weary detective...

who comes in and
pokes his nose around.

Talks to witnesses. Takes
a couple of wrong turns.

And then gathers all the
suspects in the drawing room...

and points the finger at the least likely
chump because of the way the guy...

I don't know...

ties his shoelaces.

Now you've seen our play,
you're an accomplice to murder.

And so, we ask
you to remember...

that it is very much
in your interests...

not to tell a soul
outside of this theater...

who done it.

But what do I know?

The Limeys, they just lap it up.

The play's a smash hit.
Not to mention a cash cow.

Right there is the milkmaid
in chief, Petula Spencer.

This lavish affair is a party to
celebrate the 100th performance.

No wonder film producer John Woolf wants to
turn the play into a major motion picture.

Here he is now in the arms of
his slightly paranoid wife.

I sense that death
is close at hand.

It's probably just a draft.

This is where I come in.

Leo Kopernick's the name.

Big-shot Hollywood director.

Hired to make the film adaptation
marginally less boring than the play.

Easier said than done when the
writer's a giant pompous ass.

Mervyn Cocker-Norris.

I say, you're rather tall.

Am I? Haven't really thought
about it, to be honest.

Is that what happened here?

Sort of. I had a bit of
an accident backstage.

Sure, he's educated and he
knows a lot of $10 words...

but it's like he's never
seen a film before...

let alone try to write one.

No one important.

You know, at times you do rather
overdo the temperamental Neapolitan.

That's a nice jacket.

Say, why don't you scare me up
a real drink, will you, kid?

Like a pint of rye or bourbon...

or motor oil, if you have to.

Yeah. Hop to it, now.

In England, that actually
counts as good service.

I was stationed here
during the war...

and, if anything, the locals
are more uptight now...

than when they had the
Luftwaffe overhead.

Mervyn?

Shouldn't you be home? I
thought we had a deadline.

I thought so too.

But then our esteemed director
tore up the screenplay...

and told me to start
all over again.

He's of the opinion that a modern
audience will walk out in protest...

if they're not served at
least one violent death...

in the opening frames.

Suffice to say, we are no
longer on speaking terms.

Merv!

London's most sensitive writer.

How is The Mousetrap, huh?

Did they catch the
guy who did it?

I will not stand
here and be insulted.

Well, I guess he's gonna go
over there and be insulted.

What passes for
glamour in these parts.

Sheila Sim and
Dickie Attenborough.

Kid likes the sound
of his own voice.

Even money, he makes a speech.

I suppose I ought
to say a few words.

Not too many.

- When have I ever?
- Our wedding, remember?

- We almost missed the honeymoon.
- Yes.

Darlings, you're ever so kind.

I'd like to ask you all to
raise a metaphorical bat...

to the old pavilion.

The Mousetrap is 100, not out.

- Cheers!
- Cheers!

I tell you what
else is 100 not out.

Petula's mother.

The old kook's just
crazy about seafood.

They just brought out
more langoustines.

Excuse me, I just need
to deal with that.

- Mother! Please, you've had quite enough.
- Hi.

Now, I'm not one to tell
tales out of school...

but the girls over here, they go
wild for an American accent...

and the promise of
a pair of nylons.

But the husbands...

Right. I think it's time
someone taught you a lesson.

They're not so easily won over.

It's only fair to warn you that
I learned to box in the RAF.

Yeah? Well, I learned to fly
a plane in Gleason's Gym.

All of which explains...

in an admittedly
roundabout fashion...

how I come to be in the theater's backstage
area in need of a change of clothes.

Hello?

Hello?

Aw, jeez.

I guess I should have
seen this coming.

It's always the most unlikable
character who gets bumped off.

It's a whodunit.

You've seen one,
you've seen 'em all.

We're closed.

Clear off.

Honestly.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.
Inspector Stoppard, sir.

Sorry, I was under strict
instructions not to let anyone in.

Just open the door.

Yes, sir. Of course. Sorry,
I didn't recognize you, sir.

I've actually just been
transferred myself.

Thought it was Leeke and
Priestley on rotation tonight.

Careful, sir.

In you come.

- Constable.
- Stalker, sir.

God, you're all
wet through, sir.

Hope you don't catch
a cold after that.

Yep, after you, sir.

Victim's name is Leo Kopernick,
sir. The film director.

Suspected Communist,
blacklisted in Hollywood...

so he came out here to work
on a picture for John Woolf.

You know John Woolf,
the film producer.

He made The African Queen
with Humphrey Bogart.

"Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are
put in this world to rise above."

That didn't sound
anything like Bogart.

No, that was Katharine Hepburn, sir.
She's in it too. Wonderful actress.

I go to the pictures
quite a lot, actually.

It's the escape, I suppose.

- The romance of the silver screen.
- Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

Signs of a struggle.

Actually, sir, I believe that
happened when Mrs. Boyle was killed.

Mrs. Boyle? Who's...

Yes, sir. She's that woman
in the front row there.

Well, she seems to
have bounced back.

Sorry, sir. No, she was killed
in the play. Also strangled.

Not that I've seen it,
although I would like to.

It's an Agatha Christie,
and I do like a good murder.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

A ski did that, sir.

They use it in the
play, apparently.

As I said, I haven't seen it.

And then the large dent in the
cranium is a sewing machine.

Seems he was killed in the
costume store initially...

and then he was deposited here.

Staged, so to speak.

Sorry, sir.

Yeah, that's the ski that
he took in the face, sir.

And I'm afraid it was
downhill from there.

Sorry, sir. That one
just came out on its own.

Seems he came down here
for a change of clothes.

Why?

It was a party to celebrate
the 100th performance, sir.

The other nought must have...
When the victim upset the sponge.

And he then proceeded to sit in
the assortment of crustaceans.

I'm told he was
intoxicated, sir, as a newt.

This was actually a lot more
fun than I thought it would be.

Then he left. No one saw him again
until the body was discovered.

That's correct, sir.

Perhaps they were all
in on it together, sir?

Looks like the killer tried to
pull out the victim's tongue.

Why would anyone do
a thing like that?

Excuse me, Chief Inspector.

It's just "Inspector."

Yes. Of course. Inspector.

I hate to interrupt, I do.
There really is nothing worse...

Petula Spencer, sir.
Prominent theater impresario.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Tell me, how much longer do you
intend to keep us all hostage here?

Or is that the idea? "Let
the galled jade wince."

Gather all the suspects
under one roof...

and then interrogate each of us in
turn until the mystery is solved?

Mervyn Cocker-Norris,
overrated playwright.

Celebrated playwright.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. I
can't read me own handwriting.

Not that we are
suspects, necessarily.

Are we suspects?

It was just a reference to Agatha Christie
and her penchant for denouement...

in which the detective
gathers the...

I dare say, that's not...

- Please continue.
- Yes, thank you, Mervyn.

Inspector, I want you to know that I
have nothing but the utmost respect...

for the Metropolitan Police.

But, well, do you think you
might be finished in time...

- for curtain up tomorrow night?
- Oh, for goodness' sake.

John Woolf, esteemed
film producer.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

This is a murder investigation.
Surely that takes precedence...

sold out or not.

Yes, it's all going to plan
for you, isn't it, Woolfie?

You want the run to end.

I want nothing of the sort.

It's the decent thing to do, that's all.
Close the theater out of respect for Leo.

Such a tragic loss.

Inspector, I implore
you not to overreact.

I would hate to have to
go over your head and...

talk directly to your superiors.

We wouldn't want that,
now would we, madam?

But I'm afraid that under the
circumstances, as a precaution...

Precaution?

He's already dead.

He is, madam.

But until we have an idea
as to a likely motive...

who's to say this
is the end of it?

What is that supposed to mean?

We are no longer
merely suspects.

We are also potential victims.

Oh, God, I wasn't in that,
was I? I must look dreadful.

Excuse me, sir.

Stoppard!

My office.

Hello, sir.

What in God's name possessed you
to close down the Ambassadors?

Protocol, sir.
It's a crime scene.

No, it's a public relations
disaster, is what it is.

Public what, sir?

- Stalker!
- Sir.

Not to put too
fine a point on...

- Yes, please.
- Here.

Not to put too fine a
point on it, Inspector...

but your latest blunder
is front page news.

Fleet Street is all over this,
like hot jam on a Devonshire scone.

You are slap-bang
in the crosshairs.

Now, we need to do
everything we can...

to make sure the bullet
doesn't miss you and hit me.

- Yeah, of course, sir. Yes.
- Good.

Then you'll inform
the theater at once.

Well, I thought as
a precaution, I...

The Home Secretary is a close,
personal friend of Agatha Christie.

His brother-in-law
is Rex Harrison.

- Wonderful actor.
- Yes, thank you, Constable.

Sir.

It's actually worked in our favor to
have the press distracted like this.

It means we can keep a lid on
the Rillington Place murders.

Rillington Place murders.
Yes. What's that?

Blimey.

Haven't you heard? We have a
serial killer on the loose.

You didn't think all of this
was for you, now, did you?

- No, of course...
- No.

Of course not.

Well, have all the resources been
allocated to this other investigation?

No, not all of them, no.

I understand you met
WPC Stalker last night?

I did, yes.

- Constable.
- Inspector.

A very capable officer.

Or at least she will be once
she gets the proper instruction.

Sorry, sir, I'm not sure I...
You don't mean you want me to...

Yes, I do.

I'd like you to
show her the ropes.

I'm hoping some of her enthusiasm
for police work might rub off on you.

But the bullet,
sir. Is that why...

This is not a debate, Stoppard.

I have a reputation as a modernizer.
I have to be seen to keep it up.

I have said in public...

that I think women are
the future of the force.

Absolutely, sir, I agree.

- But we're not looking for stolen sweets...
- Sweets.

Or a lost bleeding bicycle.

This is a murder
investigation...

and she is inexperienced.

They were inexperienced
in the war.

Ask Jerry how that turned out.

Yes, sir. But...

- That will be all.
- Thank you.

- Commissioner.
- Inspector.

Constable.

Inspector.

- Commissioner.
- Constable.

Sorry again about
last night, sir.

- With the rain and everything...
- Water under the bridge, Constable.

No harm done.

You all right?

Yeah. Do we have an
address for the victim?

Yep. It is "Laurel
Canyon, Hollywood, USA."

Where was he staying
in England, Constable?

Right.

If I am honest, Monsieur Kopernick,
he was not a very good guest.

In arrears, was he?

Non, but he did not
pay for his room.

Monsieur Woolf did.

What part of France
are you from, sir?

Belgium.

Ah, right.

Oh, my, my.

What a bloody pigsty.

They don't clean the
rooms at the Savoy?

Hélas, not this one.

The maids, they refuse.

We offer them more money,
but still they say non.

There was an incident.

Always avec Monsieur
Kopernick...

there was an incident.

Thank you, Constable.

Sorry, sir.

Did one of these incidents
ever turn violent?

Oui. Une fois.

How dare you call
me a bad writer!

I didn't say that. I
said it's bad writing.

I did the best I could within
the confines of the genre...

and Woolf loved it!

Woolf wouldn't know a good script if
it came up and bit him on the ass.

- It's horseshit!
- No, it isn't! Not all of it!

All right, what I
read is horseshit!

You mean you didn't
even finish it?

I read enough, pal, to know that nobody
gets killed in the first 10 pages!

You charlatan! Give it back!

- Listen. Listen to me. Listen!
- Give...

We need to go in a completely
different direction!

I'll kill you for this,
Kopernick, you bastard!

That's that then, sir. It's
as good as a confession.

Let's not jump to
conclusions, Constable.

No, sir.

The least we can do is
talk to this other party.

Yes, sir. Cocker-Norris, sir.

Tell me, do you write everything
down in that little notebook?

Only if it's important, sir.

How do you know
if it's important?

Well, I'll just sort
of put everything in...

as we go, and then down the line
when we know what's important...

we'll know that it's
already in the notebook.

So you do write everything down.

Yeah, everything.

That's what I thought.

Make yourself comfortable. You're
just in time for elevenses.

You must excuse the désordre...

it's research for
the film adaptation.

Police statements, court
reports, newspaper cuttings.

The Mousetrap is actually
based on a real-life case.

Nettle tea?

I appreciate you've not yet
had time to come to terms...

with the death of
Mr. Kopernick, but...

Is it true his tongue
was pulled out?

I'm afraid I can't divulge details
of an ongoing investigation.

It was disgusting.

What?

That's Gio. Nephew of
mine. Very hotheaded.

I wonder if it
isn't all the fumes.

You know, from the chemicals.

He's an amateur taxidermist.

He has a fascination
with the macabre.

I call it his
Stymphalian Bird series.

Macabre in a strictly
"ornithological" sense, that is.

You wanted to ask me about Leo?

We heard there was an
argument at the Savoy...

and I noticed you had
the other half of this.

Inspector, that was a
contretemps, nothing more.

Read that part. Yeah.

"I'll kill you for this,
Kopernick, you bastard."

Well, obviously, I...

Taken out of context, I...

Those words were spoken in anger
and under extreme provocation.

We had creative
differences, that's all.

How did you like The Mousetrap?

Oh, yeah, the play?

Yeah, I didn't see it yet.

- Well, if you'd like, I can précis this...
- No, no, no.

I got the basics. It's
a whodunit, right?

So, you got a dead
body, a detective...

and then all the suspects
rather conveniently...

end up in a remote
country house together.

In a nutshell.

Our task will be to present this
improbable series of events...

to an audience of
moderate intelligence...

in a manner that does not
cause too much offense.

Easy.

Flashbacks.

No.

No what?

No flashbacks.

They are crass, lazy, and they
interrupt the flow of the story.

In my opinion, they are the last
refuge of a moribund imagination.

Whatever next? A caption that
says, "Three weeks later"?

Merv. Merv, will you come on?

This is crazy. Will
you open the door?

I'm not coming out
until Woolf gets here.

What is it this time?

I'll tell you what it is.

I pitched a new ending...

Cockamamie-Novice over here
locks himself in the bathroom.

Is this instead
of the car chase?

As well as. I think he thinks
"denouement" is French for "shootout."

Will you at least hear me out first,
and then tell me you don't like it?

Come on, I storyboarded it
for you. Come on, have a seat.

Why can't we just have the detective
gather everyone in the drawing room...

and then reveal to
them who did it?

Why? 'Cause it's
old, it's tired.

It's been done a thousand times.

So then who explains to the
audience what on Earth's going on?

No one.

I don't know. The killer.

Now you see what I
have to put up with?

Will you please have a seat?

So, a remote country house.

We got all the suspects gathered
in the drawing room, right?

So far, soporific.

Suddenly, the lights go out.

Our hero grips his Colt
Special, edges into the hall.

The killer's got a hostage,
can't get a clear shot.

Suddenly, kaboom!

The place goes up in flames.

Blam! Blam!

Our hero plugs the killer.

One in the gut!

One in the knee!

Then, all of a sudden...

His goddamned gun jams.

He's a sittin' duck.

Sorry, not that one.

I'm sorry about this.

He's a sittin' duck.

Our killer, dying
but not dead...

takes aim.

Boom! He fires.

Out of nowhere...

our hero cop's partner
dives in slow motion!

Takes a bullet!

Our hero cradles his partner
like a father would his child.

His face a gumbo of emotions.

We hold on the inferno...

and we pan left,
to a dead butler.

Hank Williams plays us out.

"I Saw The Light."

You hate it.

No, no, I don't hate it.

But you don't love it.

Of course he doesn't!

It's preposterous...

and totally out of keeping
with the rest of the film.

Oh, who cares?

The audience only ever
remembers the last 20 minutes.

Oh, poppycock.

Hitchcock, actually.

How does he get the gun?

He's a cop!

Police are not armed in England.

What? How do they
kill the bad guys?

They don't. They ask them to
stop in the name of the law.

Well, he fought in the war, so
he kept his service revolver.

God damn it, we're gonna have
to pick this up another time.

Say, Merv.

You wouldn't want to lend
me this pad, would you?

Just for the night.

Only I got this dame parked
outside I wanna impress.

As in, she actually is a dame.

And, well, you know.

My place ain't
exactly the Savoy.

I thought his place
exactly was the Savoy.

No, he didn't take up residence
there till a month later.

And the production company
footed the bill when he did.

How he finagled that,
I'll never know.

Either I need a new agent,
or he had dirt on Woolf.

Did you ever meet these women?

Who were they?

Girls he met during the war
who had low standards...

and even lower self-esteem.

I never had the pleasure.

Oh, wait.

Tell a lie.

Merv! Come on.

When I said we should tear up the
script, I didn't mean literally!

Hello, Leo.

What is that doing here?

He was Kopernick's son!

Peas in a pod.

And the mother?

I didn't get a good look. A
plain girl, rather homely.

Dark hair, glasses...

thick lenses.

So there we have it,
sir. Cherchez la femme.

What?

It's Belgian, sir. It
means, "Look for the woman."

I know what it means,
Constable. What woman?

The mother of Kopernick's
illegitimate son.

Cocker-Norris couldn't remember her name,
but I bet it's in that little black book.

You know, the one that you
found in the hotel room, sir.

If we find her, we
have our answer.

We need to get a police sketch
artist down here at once...

before he forgets anything.

I'm doing it again,
aren't I, sir?

- Jumping to conclusions.
- Conclusions, yeah. Little bit.

Sorry.

Constable.

I have a very important
mission for you.

I need you to find
a telephone box.

Call the station.

Get an address for John
Woolf, the film producer.

And I'll wait for you here.

"Romulus Films, Soho,"
sir. I wrote it down.

- You did?
- Mm-hmm.

Right.

Well done. Thank you.

Shall we?

Telegram came for you.

Bad news?

It's the studio.

Grace Kelly's doing a
Hitchcock picture for Warner...

so it's Dial M for
Maybe Next Time.

- Grace Kelly?
- Yes.

For the part you
promised Sheila?

Yes, that's right.

Which is why this
is such good news.

Ann?

Darling, what's the matter?

You do know a promise is only
a promise if you keep it.

What do you mean?

I mean you promised me
a night out months ago.

I have been so busy lately.

Yes, I know. I am
your assistant.

I promise, as soon as I
have a moment to spare...

Well, you're free on Wednesday.

- Am I? Are you sure?
- Yes.

- I thought I was...
- No.

No, well, you should know.

You are my assistant, after all.

Well, that's settled,
then. It's a date.

I promise I will take you out.

I'm afraid, Mr. Woolf, you
really must be going now...

otherwise you'll be late.

Right. Thank you.

No, I'm serious. You do actually
need to get back to Romulus.

- Right. Okay. Yes.
- Yes.

This is exciting, isn't it, sir?

I'd say this is the
type of thing...

that made you want to become
a police officer, was it?

Me? I just sort of
fell into it, really.

They needed people after the war,
and I needed the money, so...

No, it's true. The hours
can be unsociable...

but I can't type or stand
the sight of blood...

so that ruled out
secretary for me.

You don't mind if I pick
your brains, do you, sir?

Only I have sergeants'
exams in a month...

and I just have one or two questions
that I'd love to run by you.

Actually, Constable, I've just
remembered that I have a...

dentist appointment.

Sorry, sir. I didn't
know you were suffering.

Just a routine checkup.

- What shall I do, sir?
- Wait here.

But what if Woolf turns up, sir?

Won't be long. And
you have your...

notebook.

Keep your eyes peeled.

Yes, sir.

- Gin.
- Gin?

Yeah, please.

You're joking.

Oh, no.

Oh, God.

Follow this up with
another, please.

There you are, Constable.

I've been looking
all over for you.

So, I gather it was you...

that paid for Mr. Kopernick's
rather extravagant hotel suite.

Nothing unusual in
that, Inspector.

I'm afraid a producer is expected
to indulge the whims of the talent.

Especially when
they're American.

But still, a pretty penny,
a room at the Savoy.

Par for the course.

When I was in the Congo...

for The African Queen...

Huston and Bogart refused
to drink the water.

Insisted on bourbon...

even to brush their teeth.

Not so easy to get hold of in
the jungle, I can assure you.

You know, Constable Stalker here
is a great admirer of that film.

Aren't you, Constable?

It's a marvelous film, sir.

Why, thank you, Constable.

Encyclopedia.

Cinematic encyclopedia up there.

- I wouldn't say that.
- Yeah.

Right.

Being humble.

I'm not.

So, it's not true that
Kopernick had dirt on you?

Who told you that?

Well, now what do we have here?

Woolfie?

Sittin' in a quiet corner,
all very nice and intimate.

Say, you wouldn't mind if
I joined you, would you?

Not at all, old boy.

And you must be Mrs. Woolf, huh?

Swell to make your acquaintance.

No, no. Leo, this is Ann.

She's my assistant.

Workin' late, huh?

If you'll excuse me...

I'm sorry.

You have a nice night, now.

Well, now.

This puts me in a tough spot.

That I'm afraid I'm gonna
have to take advantage of.

He asked to be put up at
the Savoy, and I agreed.

I knew it wouldn't be for long.

That is, just until I found
the right moment to...

tell my wife.

I see. Well...

we'll be in touch if
there's anything else.

Constable.

Shall we?

But, sir, Woolf killed Kopernick
to hush up the affair. Case closed.

I think if that was the case, he wouldn't
have volunteered the information.

So, then he's in the clear?

No, not necessarily.

He might have killed Kopernick
for another reason entirely.

I tell you...

I'll never get the hang of this
in time for sergeants' exams.

Constable, about earlier.

I know it looked like I'd
just come out of the pub.

You had just come
out of the pub.

That's right.

But I'd only gone in there to get
rid of the taste of the mouthwash.

So you had a gin, sir.

It's an antiseptic.
I had a filling.

I thought you said it
was a routine checkup.

I see we've read the chapter
on interrogation techniques.

Sir...

I know I haven't done
anything yet to impress you...

or to inspire any
confidence, and...

I know you'd probably rather
that I wasn't on the case.

But I didn't ask to be put
on this case either, sir.

I was nervous, and I still am...

and I'm probably
trying a bit too hard.

But, you know, even if
I do make mistakes...

or if I jump to conclusions...

or talk a little bit too
much, that has been said...

I just want you to know
that you can trust me.

Sir.

Okay. Good.

You're joking.

- Constable.
- Commissioner.

Stoppard about?

No, sir. He's not yet
made it in this morning.

It's almost eleven o'clock.

He had a dentist
appointment, sir.

A filling, I think he said it
was. A molar, it might have been?

I have been summoned
to the Home Secretary.

He wants a debrief.

I said I had good news.

Have you seen the play, sir?

Yes.

I'm afraid I took the
wife for her birthday.

Of course, it didn't fool me for a
moment. I knew who did it right away.

She was baffled, though.

Even after the chap
explained everything.

It was a trying night
for all concerned.

I'll stick to flowers in future.

Yes, always a safe bet, sir.

Sorry.

Police.

Please try to be
more careful, sir.

Good morning.

- Commissioner.
- Inspector.

Is it wise to eat so many mints?

How do you mean, sir?

Well...

haven't you just
been to the dentist?

Yes, that's right, sir.

Yeah. It was just a checkup.

Although I did have
a filling as well.

Since I was there.

I've come down here for
an update, Inspector.

- We have good news, sir.
- We do?

Yes, sir. Isn't that what
you told the Home Secretary?

Yes, that's what I told the
Home Secretary on the telephone.

I came down here to get it.

So we don't have good news?

We do have a witness, sir.

To the murder?

Yeah, that would be
nice, wouldn't it?

No. One of the ushers saw
a suspicious character.

He's waiting for us inside.

Very well.

I'll tell the Home Secretary
we have a promising lead.

And I'll rely on you not
to make a liar out of me.

- Constable.
- Commissioner.

Inspector.

Commissioner.

Constable.

Inspector.

So, Dennis...

I understand that you saw
something the other night.

- Yeah.
- What'd you see?

Well, I'd gone to get a bottle
of Scotch for the dead man.

This was before,
you know, he died.

And then you came back...

and that's when you saw
the suspicious character?

Exactly.

Well, sort of.

I didn't get a very good
look, if I'm honest.

He had on, like, a
darkish overcoat.

I see. Anything else?

A pair of trousers.

And a hat.

It was on his head.

Right. Yeah.

Yeah. A soft, felt hat.

What about a
physical description?

Was he a tall man?
Short? Thick set?

Just average, I'd say.

Average height or average build?

Both?

No, don't ask me.

I don't know. I'm asking you.

Average height...

medium build.

Would you say like
the Inspector?

Yeah.

Suppose so. Pretty much.

So what did he do that
made you suspicious?

It wasn't so much what he did...

it was more, you know,
the way he did it.

Right. How'd he do it?

Well, sort of...

suspiciously.

This has been great.

Off you go.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

Thank you.

That was good.

Do you think that went well?

I think it's time we talk to that
actor who had a fight with Kopernick.

Mr. Attenborough, sir?

That's the one. Famous, is he?

You're pulling my leg, sir.
You've never heard of Dickie?

Richard Attenborough? Pinkie Brown?
Brighton Rock? You must have.

"You wanted a recording of
my voice. Well, here it is.

"What you want me to
say is 'I love you.'"

Keep in mind...

that we're here to conduct an interview
as part of a murder investigation...

not an article for Sight
& Sound magazine, yes?

Yes, sir.

Come in, darling.

Inspector Stoppard.

I say, a real-life detective.

Scotland Yard and everything.

And you are?

This is...

- Constable Stalker.
- Stalker.

I like the way you did that.

Very natural.

I hope you don't mind, sir,
but I just want to say bravo.

And encore.

All right, thank you, Constable.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Are you a lover of theater? I
can get you tickets if you like.

I would like, sir.
Yes. Very much.

It would be good to get a
professional take on it.

Yeah. I have so many questions.

I have one or two of my own.

I dare say that you do.

I understand that you and Kopernick
came to blows the night in question.

Was there a particular
reason for the ill feeling?

Tell me, Inspector, did you
get your limp during the war?

It's very slight.

I noticed it the other night
when you were on stage. I...

Well, I thought I might
borrow it, if you don't mind.

It's always good for the lead
character to have a physical defect.

Speaks to a troubled soul.

It was me, Inspector.
You need look no further.

- I arrest you for the murder of Leo...
- No, no, no.

No. Not yet.

Sorry, sir.

I was the particular
reason for the ill feeling.

Yes, well, Leo had his eye on Sheila,
you see. And I took exception.

He was a real hound, Inspector.

Come on, play nice.

Maybe I can help you.

Help me?

To do what?

Bag the lead role in the
film of The Mousetrap.

Top billing.

Make you a star.

But I have bagged the lead role.

Yeah, who told
you that, Woolfie?

He is the producer.

Honey, he just cuts the checks.

I'm the director.

Without me, there is no
movie. You understand?

You got a problem, buddy?

Keep the change. And the glass.

And the studio, don't
they have a say in it?

Rumor is they want to put
a name in the picture...

that people have heard of.

Bona fide Hollywood star.

They like Grace Kelly.
You ever heard of her?

Don't worry.

They can be talked round.

I've got a very silver tongue.

I won't lie, Inspector.

I was not entirely sorry to learn of
his demise, but I had no part in it.

Much like the film adaptation
of The Mousetrap, it would seem.

Come now, darling,
you don't know that.

Woolf promised you the role.

He's a man of his
word. He went to Eton.

Wake up, Dickie.

He's a man of whatever word
will get his film made.

And that contract business with
Choo is coming apart at the seams.

- Choo?
- Bless you, sir.

No, as in Petula Spencer.

She sold Woolf the film rights.

Well, about those tickets. Is
there a day that suits you better?

I'm generally free on
Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

And Thursdays.

Well, thank you, sir.
Thank you, madam.

No, no, not at all. We'll
be sure to let you know...

if anything else
springs to mind.

I'm sure it's always the
insignificant detail...

that catches the killer in the
end. Isn't that so, Inspector?

I don't usually have a
lot on on weekends either.

Or Mondays. For the tickets.

- Constable.
- Sir.

Right.

She'll see you now.

So, you own this theater?

Yes. Humble beginnings.

You'll have to excuse Mother.

She's not been herself since Father
died, in the first Great War.

It's been a long 30 years.

It's nice that you
gave her a job.

Well, how else is she
gonna pay the rent?

I let her have the spare
room at a discount as it is.

Yes, no. You can stop there.

We get the idea. Bravo.

I understand that you handled the sale of
The Mousetrap film rights to John Woolf?

Yes, that's right.
I did. Wait... Why?

What's he been saying?

Oh, he's such a crybaby.

Honestly, he acts as though
I put a gun to his head.

Hang on a minute.
Is this important?

I doubt it. What does it say?

"No motion picture based on
the stage play The Mousetrap...

"is to enter into production until a
minimum of six months have elapsed...

"since the end of its
first theatrical run."

Oh, you don't need
to worry about that.

It's a whodunit. As soon as
word gets out who did do it...

audiences are bound to drop off.

Come on, sign on the dotted
line, and I'll make a toast.

Ann, darling, the next contract I
sign will be our marriage certificate.

Well, first it'll be the divorce papers.
But then our marriage certificate.

Edana, darling.

What a pleasant surprise.

You know Choo and Ann.

I do.

Dear girl, what on Earth
are you doing down there?

I just fell over. Excuse me.

Honestly, it's like having
Buster Keaton for an assistant.

Now, I've just come
from Madame Zena...

Darling, I really wish
you wouldn't see that...

Please don't call
her a charlatan.

I was going to say "crackpot."

- What's this?
- It's a Tarot card.

I can see that.
What does it mean?

Betrayal.

Betrayal as in his
affair, not the contract.

That was above board.
Is above board.

Agatha insisted on
that clause, not me.

No, she's fiercely protective of
her own work, you see, because...

Well, she has to be.

People get so riled up.

She's had death
threats, you know.

Poor girl can't write so much
as a letter to The Times...

without a deluge
of legal action...

and spurious claims she stole
this plot or that character.

Isn't that what
happened here, though?

Isn't The Mousetrap
based on a true story?

Yes. Well, originally.
I mean, tangentially.

In any case, that's
the reason...

Woolf was so keen to shut
the theater the other night.

He can't make his film until the
play ends its run in the West End.

As it is, what with the play
being such a phenomenal success...

he's stuck in
theatrical purgatory.

He's a ruthless
customer, is Woolf.

He'll stop at nothing
to get his film made.

It's definitely Woolf, sir.

Well, not 100%.

More like 73-74%, I'd say.

He killed Kopernick in the theater
to force it to close down...

so that he could make his film.

He could marry his mistress.

And then he could get
shot of a blackmailer.

It's not Woolf.
It's too elaborate.

Burn the place down, if
that's what you want.

Besides, doesn't he need
a director to make a film?

Well, then it's back to
Cocker-Norris. Process of elimination.

No, it's not Mervyn.

Yeah, but the tongue business.

And he clearly didn't
like Leo, did he?

People don't rip out other people's
tongues because of creative differences.

They do it out of revenge...

or rage because they've
lost a loved one.

They can't forgive or forget...

so they just stew and
fester alone in the dark...

until finally it all comes out in
a sudden, frenzied act of violence.

How did you get the limp, sir?
If you don't mind me asking.

In the war. Got shot
in the Italian Alps.

Sounds painful.

What do you...

Sorry, sir.

No, that's very funny.

Is there a Mr. Stalker, Stalker?

I'm afraid he died
in the war, sir.

Children?

A boy and a girl.

Can't be easy.

What about you? Do you
have any family, sir?

I came close, once. Yeah,
I had an unfaithful wife.

She was eight months pregnant when
she told me I wasn't the father.

I'd made a cot and everything.

That's awful, sir. I'm sorry.

- Landlord.
- Yes, sir?

Another round.

Oh, I don't know.

Should we maybe get going,
sir? Got work tomorrow.

Go on, steer off before
I call the police!

Sorry again. Thank you.

Are you sure you're all
right to drive, sir?

Absolutely.

I could run you
home if you like.

Now. Just gonna pop you there.

I can take it from
here, Constable.

Sir.

There we go.

Morning, sir.

What do you want?

The other night,
sir. The dead Yank.

Inspector Stoppard got the call
and not Leeke or Priestley.

So?

Leeke was in Skegness on his honeymoon, and
Priestley took the Rillington Place call.

What time?

Half-past 11:00. Book
at Bedtime was on.

Did you ever meet
Stoppard's wife, sir?

I did.

You don't happen to
remember her name, do you?

It was...

Mrs. Stoppard.

Brilliant.

Hello, is this Abigale?

Hello, is this Beryl?

I am a friend of
Leo Kopernick's.

Beryl?

Is Geraldine there
by any chance?

- Oh, Constable.
- Sir.

Did Dickie ever come through
on those theater tickets?

I thought of going, and
maybe the play's the thing.

Ties this all together.
Would you like to tag along?

Yes, sir.

What is it, Constable?

Nothing, sir.

Do you want a cup of tea?

Listen to me, Stalker.

No one is ever going to take you
seriously as a police officer...

if you act like a
tea-lady, do you hear me?

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Milk and two sugars.

Commissioner.

I said, "Who do you want? Agatha
Christie or Mervyn Cocker-Norris?

"Anyone can do her,
but only I can do me."

The Mousetrap in the
house style, as it were.

I'll take the bare bones of the story,
a rather mundane tale of child abuse...

and make it my own.

Here we are.

These aren't together, sir.

Well, we can cover
more ground that way.

Keep your eyes peeled.

Yes, sir.

Cheers.

Hello?

Hello?

Is anyone there?

Who's calling at this late hour?

Yes?

All right then.

That was Scotland Yard. They're
sending out an inspector.

In this unseasonable
blizzard? What on Earth for?

Good Lord.

- Inspector.
- Thank you.

Good evening.

I am Detective Sergeant Trotter.

Please excuse the limp.

An old war wound
playing up in the cold.

I'm assuming you were
warned of my arrival?

Apropos of nothing,
I'm a magistrate.

Also, he looks too young
to be an inspector.

Well, I'm old enough to
remember the Corrigan Case.

Yes, a dreadful business.

Two brothers who put their faith
in the British social services.

A sorry tale of abuse
that ended in tragedy.

Yes, it was in
all of the papers.

Gio, I can't sit
through this again.

I'm sorry. Will you excuse me?

One died, the other
left traumatized.

I shudder to think what an ordeal like
that might do to a vulnerable mind.

Won't be a moment. I'm just
going to try and catch Mervyn.

Oh, bother. I forgot the tea.

By God, that has to be
the worst cup of tea...

I've ever had.

I agree.

Did you make it in a
teapot or a plant pot?

- Pardon me. Excuse me. Thank you. Sorry.
- Oh, dear.

- Pardon me. Excuse me. Sorry.
- I've already had another disaster...

in the kitchen.

I left out the steak pieces
in my steak and kidney pie.

Gloves.

Kidney pie just doesn't
have the same ring to it.

Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me.

Excuse me. Terribly sorry.

Bleeding gloves. I'm so sorry.

There they are. Thank you.
Sorry. Sorry. Terribly sorry.

I'm beginning to think it was a
dreadful mistake to skip lunch.

Excuse me.

I'll open a tin of peas.

We interrupt Book at Bedtime...

to warn residents in the
Colney Hatch area of London...

to be on the lookout
for an escaped lunatic.

You startled me.

You startled me.

Turn the lights on.

Stop in the name of the law!

Bollocks!

Well, that's a good thing.
The limp, was it too much?

Oh, God.

Oh, sorry, sir. I thought
you were somebody else.

No, no, it's all right.

And thank you for the tickets.

Very welcome.

There ya go.

Bottoms up.

Cheers.

What brings you to
this neck of the woods?

Oh, a murder investigation.

Yeah? Anyone I know?

You.

I'm sorry, I thought...

No, no, no. It's all
right. It's all right.

Say, Inspector.

Tell me, was anyone...

you know, sad to see me go?

Figures.

I'm sorry, sir, you
can't go in there.

You can only go in
if you have a ticket.

I had a ticket. It
was in my pocket.

That's... I could have sworn
I had on a pair of trousers.

I had trousers on.

Where's my ticket?

I'm sorry, sir. I can't let you
in unless you have a ticket.

I had a ticket. I just
don't have it on me.

Let me in! Stop mucking about.

- I've gotta go in.
- No, please, sir.

You. I know you.

What are you doing?

Sir. Sir.

I've got a ticket!

The hell is going on?

What am I doing here?

What happened to my trousers?

You asked me to press them, sir.

I did?

Yes, sir. You were adamant.

How long have I been here?

Eighteen hours.

My head is killing me.

It's bloody freezing in here.

Did you make an arrest?

We did.

Who was it? Was it Gio?

Gio?

Yeah, Gio. The Italian
chap, the killer.

The man in a darkish
overcoat, soft felt hat...

I chased out the theater.

Inspector, that man was you.

What?

You are the man in the
darkish overcoat...

and the soft felt hat that
Constable Stalker here...

chased from the theater.

I'm sorry, I'm not following.

I think I might
have a concussion.

Or the shakes?

No, this is ridiculous.

What possible reason could I
have for strangling a playwright?

I haven't seen
anything he's done.

No, but Mervyn saw the woman who
visited Kopernick at the Savoy.

So?

Inspector...

have you spoken to Joyce lately?

Joyce?

Your wife.

Ex-wife.

Yes. I met her once
at a police social.

A plain girl.

Very homely.

What does Joyce have
to do with anything?

Her name was in Leo's
little black book, sir.

Oh, come on. You don't
seriously think that Leo and...

Didn't your wife
leave you for a Yank?

Leo was an American G.I.

Will you listen to yourselves?
You hear what you're sayin'?

Constable.

"They do it out of
revenge or rage...

"because they have
lost a loved one...

"and can't forgive or forget.

"So they just stew and fester...

"until it all comes out in a
sudden, frenzied act of violence."

You wrote that down.

That was a private conversation.

Well, I thought it
could be important, sir.

Unbelievable.

We found her.

- Who?
- Joyce.

Joyce. Joyce is here?

Constable.

That's not my wife.

I'm sorry?

I said that's not my wife.

But it is your ex-wife.

Never seen that woman
before in my life.

But your name is Joyce?

Well, it's a common name.

- 'Course it is.
- Yeah.

'Course it is.

Well, Inspector, in
that case, I believe...

you are owed an apology.

Constable.

Yes, sir. O' course.

I'm so sorry, sir.

I just got the wrong end of the
stick, and I have no excuse. I just...

I jumped to conclusions
again. I'm so sorry.

Commissioner, why don't you
run along back to the office...

look over the
quarterly accounts.

Let me handle the
murder investigation.

Inspector.

Sorry.

It's Dickie and Sheila.

Hello, Woolf. Didn't
expect to see you here.

Perhaps, it is...

Miss Rams... bottom.

Get that...

If you have broken down, there is
a garage not 15 miles from here.

No, we're here for dinner.

I don't think so, sir.

This is Winterbrook House?

The Christie residence?

It is.

We have an invitation.

We do, yes.

Richard Attenborough.
Friends call me "Dickie."

I do hope you
haven't traveled far.

Fellowes! Who is it?

No one, sir. Tinkers.

What, in this unseasonable
blizzard? Come on, man. Open sesame.

Richard Attenborough.
Friends call me "Dickie."

Max Mallowan, eminent
archaeologist.

Good God, man,
you're frozen solid.

- It's cold. It's cold, yes.
- Come in.

- Hello, Sheila Sim.
- Hello.

- John Woolf.
- How do you do?

Ann Saville.

We're friends of
Petula. Spencer.

Oh, yes. I know Choo.

We thought we'd been
invited for dinner.

Yes, we received this...

but apparently, not from you.

Extraordinary.

You know who's going
to love this? Agatha.

It's just like one
of her confections.

She's in the kitchen now trying
to figure out some new ending.

It helps to do the
dishes, apparently.

Hello. Who else didn't
we invite to dinner?

Ah, it's Petula.

Why, so it is.

Come in out of the cold, Choo!

What on Earth have
you got there?

It's not Mother, is it?

'Fraid so.

Oh, God.

Better make that eight for dinner,
Fellowes, and let Agatha know.

Yes, sir.

And get a shovel
to clear the path.

Yes, sir.

And do we have enough coal?

Yes, sir. Three bags full, sir.

- Hello, Maxie.
- Hello, darling.

Oh, it's a full house.

Yes.

Mother.

Come on in. Straight
through to the drawing room.

- Here.
- Now...

I have a rather potent
Mesopotamian aperitif...

that'll have you
thawed out in a jiffy.

I'm sorry again that you
had to find out like this.

Oh, I can't say it
came as a surprise.

Leo was a bad seed.

Always in trouble, he was.

He picked a fight the
night he took us out.

Mervyn Cocker-Norris
at the hotel.

No. At the pictures.

He turned on this tall fella who
came in after us and shouted...

"What are you following
me for, buddy?"

And... Did he know a good dentist, 'cause
he was about to lose a lot of teeth.

Right, who's ready for a top-up?

No.

Where's the old girl? Not gonna
play the recluse card, is she?

Oh, no, no, no. She'll
be down soon enough.

That will be Fellowes.

The man's an oaf.

A tall fella, you say?

Had a funny accent.

Italian?

No, not that funny.

More like...

a village idiot.

I'm sorry, but you
have to get out.

No. Good heavens. No.

Scotland Yard, Sergeant
Bakewell speaking.

Yes, Stoppard here.

Police, stand back.

He keeps a key...

under the mat.

Let me guess, Inspector.

You're after an address.

How did you know that?

Constable Stalker, sir. She called
just now for the same information.

Stalker?

Agatha?

Gosh, is she all right?

Where's Agatha? What
have you done with her?

- It was the usher, sir.
- I know.

He was under our
noses all this time.

- Is he in?
- No, sir. But I found this.

- If we get going now, sir, we can...
- I can take it from here, Constable.

Oh, right. And me, sir?

Go back to the station.

Yes, sir.

Oh, and, Constable?

Yes, sir?

Make a start on the paperwork.

Yes, sir.

Is it me, or does he
look awfully familiar?

It's Dennis. He's an usher
from the Ambassadors.

Oh, Dennis!

So nice to see you.

This is a strange coincidence.
What are you doing here?

Well, I invited you.

Oh, my God.

You killed Leo and Mervyn!

I did.

I wanted to stop the
film and the play.

What film? What play?

The Mousetrap!

Now, look here, Dennis.

We all have strong
opinions on the theater.

In a sense, that's what it's
there for, to provoke emotion.

And I appreciate you don't
care for The Mousetrap.

I'll be the first to admit
it's not exactly Hamlet.

But you must see...

that this is a bit
of an overreaction.

That's not what this is.

Then, what is this?

It's not your story to
tell, is it? It's mine.

Oh, I might have known.

A disgruntled writer. Don't
tell me, you had the idea first?

No. It happened to me.

I'm sorry, I am completely lost. I
don't have a theatrical background.

You're not Dennis
Corrigan, are you?

Oh, you poor boy.

How do you mean?

He lost his brother
in real life.

Dreadful business, it was.

It was years ago, now.
I told you about it.

It was the case The
Mousetrap was based on.

Inspired by,
Mother. And loosely.

Oh, but you're an usher.

You had to watch that
play night after night.

It must've been torture.

I thought it would help.

He was only six when
he died, my brother.

The Mousetrap is actually
based on a real-life case.

Neglected and left for dead by the people
who were supposed to look after us.

It sold a lot of newspapers,
but no one cared about us.

I thought the play
would be different.

A famous writer was
going to tell our story.

Two brothers who put their faith
in the British social services.

But when I saw what Agatha
Christie had done...

used our pain and suffering as a
motive for a deranged killer...

my brother's death reduced
to a cheap sideshow...

There's been a murder?

I knew he wouldn't be able to rest
in peace until the play ended.

But it didn't.

It just went on, and on, and on.

The Mousetrap is 100, not out.

When I heard about the film
adaptation, I just snapped.

Without me, there is no
movie. You understand?

You got a problem, buddy?

I killed the director
to stop the film...

and thought a corpse on the stage
would put an end to the play.

But they didn't even
close the theater.

Do you think you might be finished in
time for curtain up tomorrow night?

And Mervyn's new ideas for the
film made me sick to my stomach.

I'll take the bare bones of the story,
a rather mundane tale of child abuse...

and make it my own.

He left me no choice.

You startled me.

I had to kill him, too.

I thought that would
be the end of it.

But you all just carried on
like nothing had happened.

Shame on you.

Well, maybe you'll take notice if
I kill Agatha Christie herself.

Oh, I think she's
tryin' to say something.

Oh, for God's sake, let her
out. I'll stop the film.

And the play. This is barbaric.

Fine.

Edana?

Darling, what are
you doing here?

I followed you. I suppose I
was going to make a scene.

Hello, Ann.

Then this beanpole assaulted
me, and I woke up in a carpet.

If you're not Agatha Christie,
where the hell is she?

Good God, man. You
mean you don't know?

What kind of a bumbling,
half-witted psychopath are you?

Will you be quiet! Please!

Let me think!

Yes, of course!

Of course. Why don't you
come in and sit down, Dennis?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Have a little
moment to yourself.

What?

Well...

I, for one, believe that...

Dennis here is owed an apology.

- Yes.
- He's right, of course.

The truth is the truth.

It is not to be manipulated
or played with...

and certainly not
for entertainment.

- No, no.
- No, no.

- Art is supposed to reveal the truth...
- Yes.

- Yeah.
- Not pervert it.

How would Agatha Christie like it if
someone took one of her stories...

and twisted it and corrupted
it just for the hell of it?

She wouldn't.

I think that we should all feel
thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.

Oh, here we are.

Tea for everyone.

There you are, my dear.

Sorry to have kept you.

No, no, please don't get
up, not on my account.

There, there.

- No, no, no, it's fine.
- Be careful.

Just as it was. I
think it was that way.

It is so nice to see you again,
Agatha, in spite of the circumstances.

No, no, no, not that one.
No, that's for Dennis.

It is Dennis, isn't it?

There we are.

I put an extra lump in.

Thank you.

Everyone else, help themselves.

Now, Dennis.

How can I help? Why don't we
sit here and drink our tea...

and discuss the matter
like civilized people?

I want you to stop
The Mousetrap.

Oh, I am sorry, but
that I cannot do. No.

I'm afraid it goes against
everything I hold dear in life.

Yes. I'm a writer, you see.

I can't be told what to
write or what not to write.

It would be a denial
of one's freedom.

Do you see, Dennis? Do drink up.

Good God, Fellowes.

Get up. Get up.

Now, look here, young man, I...

Max!

- Yes, good idea...
- Yes.

Oh, my God. Now what's happened?

Dennis.

Put the popular author
down, please, Dennis.

No.

Sheila, darling,
now's hardly the time.

Dickie, I need a light.

But you don't smoke.

Dickie.

Look out!

No, Dennis!

Don't do it, please!

Darling!

It's all right. He's
dead. It's over.

Sir...

I'm bleedin'.

Hang in there, Constable.
Sergeant's exam's in a month.

It's funny, sir. I actually...
I don't feel anything.

I think it mighta
just been a nick.

Yeah. Just the nick
of time, I'd say.

Very good.

I'm sorry, Constable.

I haven't been altogether honest or open
or loyal or fair to you as a partner.

Truth be told, I haven't been
a partner at all, you know.

Sir, you don't have to say that.

No, I want you to know...

I do trust you.

Thank you, sir. That
does mean a lot.

But when I say that I can't feel
anything, I think what I mean is that...

I don't think the
bullet hit me, sir.

What do you mean?

Did you...

- Oh, I see.
- Oh, no. Yeah.

Oh. Well, you're right
again, Constable.

Are you all right, sir?

I think you better
call an ambulance.

Yep.

Yes, I don't feel so good.

A shoot-out and a big explosion.

Perhaps it's for the best that
Mervyn wasn't alive to see it.

Quite.

It's okay, everyone, I'm fine.

Now that's what I call
a Leo Kopernick ending.

But before we go
our separate ways...

you'll be wanting to know what
became of the heroes of this tale.

Constable Stalker, as advertised, sat her
sergeant's exams in the spring of 1953.

She aced them.

Detective Inspector
George Stoppard.

Inspector Stoppard was awarded the
King's Police and Fire Services Medal.

Harrold Scott
received a Knighthood.

The play, if you can believe it, is
still going strong in London's West End.

Over 10 million people have
sat through The Mousetrap.

Two brothers who put their faith
in the British social services.

A sorry tale of abuse
that ended in tragedy.

Well, now that you've
seen our film...

you are an accomplice to murder.

And so we ask you to remember that
it is very much in your interest...

not to tell a soul
outside of this...

Sir. Sorry.

But I've missed the endin' once.

I don't wanna miss it again.

No, of course not.
I'm sorry. Sorry.

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