Original subtitles

Let's get a look at the teams...

16ths, England scores first.

Thank you.

Closing time.

Please make your way towards the exit.

Hurry up, girls.

All right.

Up a bit.

Up a bit more.

Left a bit.

Oh, there!

That's perfect, keep it like that.

If you think I'm standing like this

for the rest of the game, you've got another think coming.

Oh, don't be like that.

I'd have asked your Mom, only she's gone down to the shop.

Oh, but...

Sam, get over there, will you?

Saturday afternoon?

Someone's keen.

Miss Thursday.

I was looking for your father.

I thought you were a bit early

for a date.

Good, uh, match?

Nil-nil so far.

The ref's sent off Rattin, mind.

Has he?

The Argentine Skipper.

Yeah.

Poor old Rattin.

Comes to talking football with you,

I might as well be showing a dog the three-card trick.

Victim is Adrian Weiss, sir.

Age 69.

Address in North Oxford.

Body was found by the museum attendant, Terence Black,

post-grad at Wolsey College working here for the summer.

He was just going round making sure

nobody had missed the closing bell.

Weapon's over there.

Taken from one of the display cabinets.

It's a katar.

An Indian dagger.

Dr. deBryn, what have we got?

Blood.

Lots of it.

Deep, single slash

across the throat.

Right to left.

Trachea sliced through.

Carotid artery severed.

Rapid exsanguination,

leading to unconsciousness, cardiovascular collapse

and death within a matter of minutes.

No one saw or heard anything?

No, sir.

Very few visitors, what with the football on telly.

And half the museum is under sheets

while they recatalogue.

But we do have a possible motive:

robbery.

His wallet's been cleaned out.

Guv'nor and me will take his house.

You make a start with any entries in the visitors' book.

Odd choice of weapon, don't you think?

The katar's a stabbing blade, rather than slashing.

Designed to punch through armor.

Seems to have done the job.

You didn't notice anyone unusual?

I had half an ear on the wireless.

The football.

Mr. Weiss wasn't a regular visitor, then?

I don't know.

Sorry, I only started

at the beginning of the long vac.

You're a post-grad, that right?

Yes, economics.

At Wolsey.

One's only allowed to take

eight hours a week paid work in term time,

so a lengthy engagement like this

is something of a godsend.

Chance to replenish the coffers.

Something at which the Cardinal himself proved rather adept.

Wolsey.

Oh, yes.

Yes, indeed.

Not bad for a butcher's son.

Who's this?

Miss Danby and party?

Oh, uh...

School visit.

But we're not in term time.

Summer boarders.

The Blythe Mount School for Girls at Slepe.

It's a village.

S-L-E-P-E.

Out beyond Carterton.

Afternoon, miss.

Detective Inspector Thursday.

Would I be right in thinking

that a Mr. Adrian Weiss lives at this address?

Yes, my uncle.

Why?

Might I come in for a few minutes, miss?

Thanks for the lift.

Indian country, matey.

If county police find a nice city boy like you

poking around the ground, they'll have you for breakfast.

Listen, I've been meaning to ask.

I've got this date.

Thing is...

I was wondering if you'd make up a four.

She's bringing a friend, see?

A looker, apparently.

Says she doesn't trust herself with me on her own.

I'd do the same for you.

Let me know where you want picking up.

All right?

Can you think of anyone who bore him any ill will?

What was his line, miss?

Uncle Adrian was called to the bar in the '30s.

But after the war,

he was appointed Rouge Dragon Pursuivant.

A junior officer at the College of Arms.

The heraldic authority.

Your uncle was retired, though?

Four years ago.

But he retained

a great interest in his subject.

It was...

his life.

These are young, impressionable girls,

and I'd rather their minds weren't filled with murder

and bloodshed.

Actually, Miss Symes, I'm afraid I must insist.

One or more of the girls

may have seen something pertinent to our inquiries.

They're summer boarders,

am I right?

Indeed.

These are girls who for one reason or another

are unable to spend the holiday at home.

Hmm.

Must be hard for them.

I was a summer girl myself.

One gets used to it.

Petra.

Petra Briers, head girl.

Are you really a policeman?

Yes.

I'd just like to ask you a few questions

if you remember anything about your visit to the museum.

Did anything strike you as odd?

Why?

What's all this about?

Has someone been killed?

Is it a murder?

I was with Miss Danby most of the time.

Were there any other visitors there that you noticed?

I don't really care for museums.

I mean, they're all right for teacher's pets

and swots like Bunty Glossop,

but I'd far sooner be down a club.

Do you frequent many clubs?

All the time.

In London.

Eel Pie, Craw daddy, The Marquee...

Do you like the Stones?

It was boring.

We certainly didn't see anything interesting.

Just a lot of old museum stuff.

It broke the day, I suppose.

There was an old couple.

She was in a wheelchair

and he wore glasses with one lens blacked out.

And a man with a gold watch

in a hurry.

You notice things.

I try not to.

Why?

Do people think you're showing off?

It's not showing off, is it?

So what I need to know, Miss Thengardi...

I didn't do anything.

No one's suggesting that you did.

Who's that?

That's Billy Carswell, the groundsman's son.

He has a somewhat enlivening effect

on some of the older girls.

Shelly Thengardi.

She seems a bit...

Prickly?

Shelly only joined us in the spring.

She's been expelled from half a dozen places

for fighting and general insolence,

but there's no real harm in her.

She's just, um...

a difficult age.

And her surname, is that Indian?

Yes, Mahratta blood in there somewhere.

The other girls tease her for it,

so she hits back.

And yourself, Miss Danby?

How long have you been at the school?

My second summer.

Before that, I was a year at St. Enid's.

And you're sure you saw nothing untoward at the museum?

No.

As I said, the girls hold all of my attention throughout.

Oh, Mackintoshes in July!

The joys of an English summer, such as it is.

As well to be prepared, I suppose.

It looks as if it may rain again.

"It may if it chooses.

We have no objection contrariwise."

Tweedledee.

Bunty's rather taken

with Through the Looking Glass at the moment.

All right, off you go.

Yes, Miss.

Thank you very much for your time, Miss Danby.

This is a very happy school.

I'm sure it is.

You shouldn't have come all this way.

I called for a patrol.

I fancied a run out.

Big old place.

Anything doing?

Nothing much.

You?

Sergeant Jakes put the word out via the usual channels.

Anyone who's suddenly come in flush.

You still think it was a robbery?

Till something convinces me otherwise,

it's all we've got.

Anyone else unusual in the visitors' book?

A Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner from Kingsport, Massachusetts.

An American couple.

They're staying at the...

Morse, you all right?

Yes, uh...

Yeah.

That was the police up at the school,

Miss Danby said.

What they want, then?

Been a murder.

In town.

This museum the girls went to.

That right?

Well, you mind you keep out their way.

I ent done nothing.

You know what I'm talking about.

That sort's never been nothing but trouble for our sort.

Go wash your hands for tea.

I thought he was rather dishy.

Petra!

What? Didn't you?

He could take down my particulars any time.

"Oh, Detective Constable Morse!

What big blue eyes you have!"

Okay, girls, Danby's coming up!

Lights out in 15 minutes.

I'm naming no names, Phillipa Collins-Davidson,

but you really oughtn't smoke.

It's an awful fire hazard in an old place like this.

Yes, miss.

I know this has been a difficult day,

but try not to think about it.

Miss Danby?

Yes, Bunty?

What if we see it again, miss?

You know as well as I do there's no such thing.

Stop trying to be the center of attention.

All right, that's enough!

Now then, snuggle down spit-spot!

We'll have no more talk of this.

Good night, Miss Danby.

A katar was used...

Where in the museum was this?

A gallery on the first floor.

No!

I'm afraid I don't do stairs so good.

Terrible thing to happen.

You're here on holiday, Mr. Gardiner?

Our son Lowell...

He was stationed here with the Air Force in the war.

We always wanted to see England.

Morse.

If you have a moment.

Would you excuse me, Miss Weiss?

This Indian dagger.

Having examined it now at some length,

I'm of a mind it's unlikely to have been the murder weapon.

Its edges simply aren't sharp enough

to inflict that kind of wound.

Not at one sweep.

What would be?

A straight razor, perhaps.

One or two scalpels I can think of.

If the blade were sharp enough,

even a kitchen knife would do.

Bunty was found frozen half to death

on the music room floor.

I heard Miss Danby tell Miss Symes.

What was she doing wandering about in the dark?

You know what.

Oh, rubbish!

If she says that, she's just a little liar.

You gave poor Miss Danby a dreadful fright, you know.

What were you doing?

Um...

I don't remember, miss.

Are you sure of that?

I was a girl at Blythe, you know.

A long time ago.

And girls can make up rather silly stories,

don't you think?

There's been some mention made of a fob watch.

Gold.

Your uncle was seen with it at the museum,

but it wasn't amongst his effects.

It was a present from the College

on his retirement.

Would someone really have...?

For something of so little value?

It's a possibility.

He was a Herald, I understand.

It was his great passion.

Up until the end, he still undertook private work

if the case held sufficient interest.

Such as?

Oh.

People wanting a family crest

or a coat of arms to hang over the fireplace.

Nothing too taxing.

Just enough to let him feel

he was still keeping his hand in.

Did he have an interest in curios?

Antique weaponry, say?

Not that he ever mentioned to me.

According to our records,

the katar was part of a large bequest

made by the Blaise- Hamilton family

in 1879.

Provenance suggests it was left to them

by a family friend killed at Cawnpore.

Any idea who they were?

The Blaise-Hamiltons?

Something to do with tea, I believe.

Plantations in India.

Made a small fortune.

Tea planters?

Apparently.

Why?

Oh, something else.

My old guv'nor down at Mile End

used to collect back numbers of the Illustrated Police News.

There's nothing much to do on lates,

so I'd have a scry through 'em.

Blaise-Hamilton.

Sort of name that sticks.

In what regard?

Well, it's years back, so don't hold me to it,

but I've got a feeling it was something out this way.

Murder.

Sorry, matey, I've had a good gander,

but there's nothing in the case archive.

You try County?

Yeah-- same.

I'm on to the Yard now.

The Yard?

Scotland Yard?

Yes.

Blaise-Hamilton.

Yes, I'll hold.

See you're through, then.

England, one-nil.

Hurst in the 78th.

Oh.

Got them in the sweep, haven't you?

Yeah, I believe so.

Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up.

You got Portugal in the Semis.

Eusébio banged in four yesterday.

Any word on Weiss's missing watch?

Handful of possibles.

I'm meeting with a couple of my snouts this evening.

You still on for what we talked about Saturday?

Only Mo's got us down for the pictures.

You do?

And what date is on the file?

And when was this?

July.

Well, that shouldn't be too...

1866.

I've been at the Mail awhile, Morse,

but that's before even my time.

This predates the Mail itself.

You'll need to look in Jackson's Oxford Journal.

Will I?

Mm-hmm.

You run me to earth here on a Sunday

to ask me about a 100-year-old case?

Well, there's nothing in the City archive, nor County.

I've checked.

And all the Yard could come up with

was an empty file and that date.

There may be a connection

with yesterday's murder at the museum.

I'll see what I can do.

When?

Might that be?

What's so important?

Morse?

I can't quite put my finger on it.

Instinct.

But I have an overwhelming feeling of...

What?

Dread.

Hello.

Oh.

Just half a loaf and some cheese.

I'm not going to be here, so...

You shouldn't have.

Waste not, want not.

Well, see you.

Yeah, thank you.

"According to witnesses,

the victim's body was found in a pool of blood."

Ooh.

"Adrian Weiss..."

"Vice."

It's pronounced "vice."

You'd know, I suppose.

Oh, look, the Kraken awakes!

Fee-fi-fo-fum,

here comes Edwina and the Beanstalk!

Please don't.

Or what?

Are you going to cry?

Some of us are just a little old for things

that go bump in the night.

You're perfectly horrid.

I don't know why you're sticking up for her, Piggy-wig.

As soon as Princess Maudie gets back,

Bunty will drop you

like a cup of cold poison.

The only poison here is you.

If you don't like it, go back to Calcutta.

Gin fizz, Fish-Nor!

Jaldi, jaldi!

Shrive Hill House.

On Friday 27th of July, a gruesome discovery

of the dreadful murder at Shrive Hill House

situated at Slepe in the county of Oxon was made.

Detective Inspector Langley, famed for his part

in the investigation of The Bermondsey Horror,

arrived this day from Scotland Yard to guide the inquiry.

The five victims--

three children, the youngest but a babe in arms,

together with their nursemaid and governess--

were discovered on the 27th instance

at about 6:00 in the evening by Samuel Blaise-Hamilton.

The Blaise-Hamilton's eldest daughter Charlotte, aged 11,

somehow survived the blood-letting,

though thus far, she has been able to shed no light

on the identity of the person or persons

who visited such terrible violence upon her siblings

and the two faithful family servants.

Petra!

Petra!

Petra!

What?

What do you want?

Bunty's gone.

What?

Bunty's gone again.

I'm going to fetch Miss Symes.

You were right about the Blaise-Hamilton murders.

Five murders, in fact.

Including three children.

Unsolved, so far as I can make out.

Thing is, it's the same place, sir.

What is?

Blythe Mount and Shrive Hill House.

The Blaise-Hamiltons' home and this school for girls.

There's more to this than the theft of a wallet, sir.

Look.

"Save Me."

From what?

I don't know.

I found it in my coat pocket last night

after I'd left the school.

One of the girls must have slipped it in there.

Look.

Say it wasn't a robbery.

Say there is more to it.

Any motive for Adrian Weiss's murder lies in the here and now.

His niece has put me in touch

with the College of Arms in London.

Maybe one of his ex-colleagues can throw some light.

I'd be more inclined to look towards some personal slight

or professional jealousy at his work, wouldn't you?

Look lively!

Welcome to the College of Arms, Detective Inspector...?

Thursday.

Cendrée Wyvern Pursuivant.

It's a bit of a mouthful, I know.

It just means a kind of Herald.

Less formally, it's Robin Bulstrode.

My colleague, DC Morse.

Morse! Mmm!

"Argent between three pellets

a battleaxe gules!"

The Morse escutcheon, Inspector.

"In Deo Non Armis Fido!"

Hardly.

Oh, forgive me.

Too long a Herald.

Just the mere mention of a surname and I...

I must admit, though, your Thursday's got me foxed.

Oh, please, do.

Regrettably, as I mentioned

on the telephone, Sir Hilary is on holiday.

But I'm not a bad second.

When did you last see him?

Adrian?

About a fortnight ago.

He came up to town for lunch.

How did he seem?

In excellent spirits.

Enjoying his retirement.

Anything on his mind?

Troubling him?

No.

No, nothing.

Did he ever talk to you about his work?

Actually, I do know lately he'd undertaken

a line of inquiry on behalf of some Americans.

Concerning what, exactly?

Their boy.

Tail-end Charlie on a B-17.

"Bought the farm," as they say,

quite late in the war.

Died here.

Any event,

in his last letter home,

he announced quite out of the blue

that he was getting married.

Appears to have been a case of the, um...

Doing the right thing.

Just so.

No more than the girl's first name to go on.

It was just the sort of mystery that appealed to Adrian.

Quite a weekend, Thursday.

Yes, sir.

Anything in this American connection?

We'll want to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner again,

but according to the Randolph, they've gone

on a trip to Stratford.

Should be back this afternoon.

I see.

There's a possible link

to a girls' school.

A party of eight from there

were present at the museum when Mr. Weiss was killed, sir.

There was a weapon left at the scene, sir.

An antique dagger

bequeathed in 1879 by a family called

Blaise-Hamilton.

In 1866,

three of their children together with a nursemaid and governess

were killed at Shrive Hill House.

This touches on the school trip in what regard?

The Blaise-Hamiltons' home, sir, Shrive Hill House,

is now the Blythe Mount School for Girls out at Slepe.

Slepe, you say?

That's extraordinary.

Just come off the teleprinter not an hour since:

a request from County.

One of the girls at the school absconded in the night.

Um... Bunty Glossop.

Oh, it's you, is it?

What's this, then?

You run out of crosswords?

DI Church, sir.

And his bagman DS Bruce.

I was under Mr. Church whilst on light duties at County.

DI Thursday.

Fred.

Bit off your beat, aren't you?

Pair of city boys.

Miss Symes tells me you were the last person

to see Bunty Glossop, is that right?

No, not exactly.

Edwina woke me, and there was music playing...

But Bunty was already gone from her bed.

What sort of music?

The piano.

A Chopin nocturne.

So we went to look for her.

You and Edwina?

Yes.

You wouldn't happen to know which nocturne, by any chance?

Number 1, I think.

B flat minor.

Would anybody in the school be able to play the piano

to such a standard?

Of all the summer girls, only Shelly, I suppose.

And she was still in bed when we went looking.

Why play piano in the middle of the night?

A prank?

I don't think so.

If it was a prank, then where's Bunty?

She struck me as rather a bright girl.

Not every 13-year-old

can offer an apt Lewis Carroll quote from memory.

Yes, perhaps our brightest.

Would you recognize her handwriting?

What I want you to do is write this down.

As it appears in capitals.

Say, uh... 20 times?

As quick as they can.

Your boy's not backward in coming forward?

Morse?

Keen as mustard.

Smart, too.

Queer old place, this, isn't it?

Between you and me,

the staff seem as batty as the pupils.

Different in term-time, I expect.

400 girls, 50-odd staff.

Only now...

The Marie Celeste.

I wouldn't want to spend the summer here.

Just the nine of them,

rattling about like peas in a drum.

Only eight now, of course.

What about her parents?

Her father's overseas with the Foreign Office in Kenya.

And her mother?

She died abroad quite suddenly.

Not long after Bunty came to Blythe Mount,

which is why I imagine she summers here.

I've been meaning to ask.

Last Saturday, when the girls

were at the museum, where were you?

Here.

I had a motor accident last week,

and driving is presently impossible.

You're familiar with the history of this place?

Every house has its secrets.

Do the girls know what happened here?

Fragments, perhaps.

I mean the Blaise- Hamilton case.

The legend is as old as the school,

handed down from one generation to the next.

I knew it in my time,

and the girls no doubt have learned it in theirs.

Learned what, exactly?

How "Bloody Charlotte" walks the halls

in the dead of night,

looking for those girls foolish enough

to wander alone after lights out.

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed..."

She's dead.

Don't say that.

You mustn't say that.

I'm sorry.

It isn't Bunty's handwriting.

And there's no match with the other girls.

Well, somebody wrote it and slipped it

into my coat pocket, Miss Danby.

Who's this other girl with Bunty?

Her bosom companion, Maud Ashenden.

She went home to her parents at the end of term.

Might Bunty have struck out for Maud's, hoping to see her?

I think the Peloponnese would test even her abilities.

The family is on a sailing holiday, I believe.

You like her.

Bunty.

Yes.

She's quick.

Personable.

A prospect for Lady Matilda's if boys don't get in the way.

Whose bed's this?

Shelly's.

Shelly Thengardi.

Is she friends with Bunty?

Shelly's not friends with anyone.

Did Bunty strike you as the sort of girl

that might just run away?

She was unhappy.

Missing Maud, I think, her protector.

Some of the older girls

can rag on the younger ones.

Who can say?

Young girls don't just disappear into thin air, Miss Danby.

If she's not here,

it's because she chose not to be or because somebody took her.

There's no other explanation.

You can say that, of course you can.

You haven't seen what I've seen.

What were you doing?

It's a part of the school that isn't used.

It's out of bounds, in fact.

It isn't safe.

There's dry rot.

Some of the older girls...

I was worried

in case they were using it as a smoking den.

I'm sorry...

I can't, I won't.

Miss Danby...

I know what I saw.

It was as real to me then as you are now.

Maybe you should go downstairs.

Please.

Don't. Don't go up there.

It's all right.

Really.

I felt it at first.

A...

presence.

And I knew I was not alone.

I turned around.

I didn't want to, but I knew I had to.

And that's when I saw it.

What did you see?

You all right?

Let's get you out of here.

It was an easy mistake to make.

You caught the reflection of the painting in the mirror.

That's not what I saw.

A spook.

A child.

Could it have been Bunty Glossop?

No, sir, she was too small for Bunty.

You sure?

It was dark.

I didn't see her face.

Maybe she didn't have one.

Morse says he saw a child.

You can take him at his word.

Yeah, well, whatever he saw,

it's not here now.

Hospital?

Oh no, it's just cuts and scrapes.

I'd be glad of a change, though.

I'll drop you home, then.

The "Save Me" note.

Miss Danby said it's not Bunty Glossop's handwriting,

but I'm convinced she's the one stuck it in my coat pocket.

I just found this in her dorm room.

Plighted Cunning.

It's an account of the Blaise-Hamilton murders.

You remember the head girl, Petra,

said she woke to the sound of a Chopin nocturne

playing in the piano room.

Well, according to this, when the police arrived in 1866,

the same nocturne was playing on a music box.

Someone playing silly buggers?

No, I think someone's trying to re-create the...

ritual, if you like,

of those past murders here in the present.

But why?

I don't know.

But Weiss's murder

and the disappearance of Bunty Glossop are connected.

I'm sure of it.

Should I ask?

Mind if I come in?

That'll need darning.

Burning, more like.

You're being paid too much.

Hardly.

Let me.

This is going to sting a bit.

I've been meaning to say thank you.

For the meals and whatnot.

I told you.

You need feeding up.

To that end, would you...

want to have dinner with me?

Sure.

Tomorrow?

This evening-- thank you.

Yes, I'll see you then, Mr. Fitzowen.

Okay, thank you.

Thank you.

Aye-aye!

As I live and breathe.

If it isn't World Cup Willie!

So what's it all about, then?

I got a mate over at County says you saw something today.

A girl in Victorian clothes.

This before or after you fell on your nut?

Meanwhile, back in the world

of real policing,

I got a lead on Weiss's gold watch.

You want to go halves on a stakeout?

Tonight?

I can't.

Just thought you might want to get your name

on the charge sheet.

When they're giving out medals, don't say I didn't ask.

Sir.

You remember that book I found on the Blaise-Hamilton murders?

Yes. Well, I've spoken to the author.

It turns out Weiss had been in contact with him

shortly before his death.

I think we should hear what he's got to say.

After we've spoken to the Gardiners, of course.

That was the man you were talking about?

We'd no idea.

To us, he was just a name.

A Mr. Weiss

of Select Genealogical Services Limited,

Oxford, England.

We were due to meet him at the end of the week, but...

May I ask why you took so long

to begin your search for a possible grandchild?

When we were notified our boy had died,

we took it hard.

Lowell didn't come till late.

He was our only.

But so far as we knew,

the marriage he wrote of never took place.

He said he had some other"big news,"

but that would have to wait for his next letter.

Only that letter never came.

No.

I guess the older we got...

We just wanted to find out if there was a piece of our boy

still walking and talking somewhere on God's good earth.

But you just had a name?

Caroline.

I know he meant to do right by her.

He just never got the chance.

We'd no mind to go causing trouble

or bustling in on someone's life unwanted.

For all we know, that girl may have found a good man

to take her and the child on both.

To give him a name

and a decent Christian raising.

We just wanted to find out.

It's important to know these things

when you get to our age.

They've gone.

There's nothing more they can do.

They're leaving a man on the gate.

You knew Adrian Weiss, Mr. Fitzowen?

I wouldn't say that.

He wrote to me some months ago,

asking me for any information I might have

on the Blaise-Hamiltons.

I referred him to my book, now sadly out of print.

You never met him?

No.

I read of his murder in the Mail, of course.

And naturally, I've been following news

of this girl's disappearance.

Where were you on Saturday afternoon?

Just for the record.

In the Eagle, for the most part.

And most certainly not in the museum

cutting anyone's throat.

Anyone vouch for you?

The landlord, I should imagine.

And my fellow reprobates.

Interesting all this should be happening now,

don't you think?

This Wednesday marking the centenary of the murders.

If you'd like to take a seat...

I've taken the liberty.

A magic lantern show.

I believe it may prove instructive.

The talk at the time suggested Mrs. Blaise-Hamilton

may have been the perpetrator.

But since she was long afflicted with a nervous malady

and confined to her bed,

that was quickly discounted.

These are official police photographs.

How did you come by them?

Well, there's a lively trade

in such material, Inspector,

amongst connoisseurs of the macabre.

The case was originally under control

of a County officer: Superintendent Edgeton.

A good man, but out of his depth.

Public feeling was running high.

There was a demand for quick justice.

The Yard sent Detective Inspector Langley

and Detective Constable Cuff to take over the investigations.

Their inquiries soon led to Joseph O'Connell,

originally of County Wicklow and a well-known local poacher.

It was given under oath at the inquest

by the family gamekeeper Benjamin Pickstock,

and his son Robert, that O'Connell had been sworn

to be revenged on Blaise-Hamilton

for a just flogging received at his hand.

We've found no record of a trial.

Nor will you.

Before the police could take him,

he was found with his throat laid open from ear to ear

by his own hand.

Thus avoiding the noose

which surely awaited him.

Was he guilty?

Bearing the surname Fitzowen,

I can testify to this.

"When in doubt, blame the Irish."

But Inspector Langley didn't believe so,

and those doubts cost him his job.

He was dismissed from the police

and died a broken drunk

in a cheap rooming house in Dorking.

He thought O'Connell had been framed?

Samuel Blaise-Hamilton was a rich and powerful man

who numbered the Commissioner of Police

and the Home Secretary amongst his intimates.

So it went unsolved.

Officially.

My own theory is that it was

the surviving daughter Charlotte who slew her siblings.

Armed with a croquet mallet.

What photographic evidence I have managed to unearth

bears out my theory.

If those scratches aren't the sign

of an overwhelming hatred,

I don't know what is.

It would appear, like her mother,

Bloody Charlotte was of unsound mind.

Records confirm that shortly after the murders,

her father had her quietly and permanently committed

to Holmwood Park Sanitorium,

where in 1908 she died, alone and unmourned.

The last of her blood.

What do you reckon, then?

Are we going to do it tonight?

Do what?

Get past Portugal.

Oh, morning, Morse.

Mrs. Thursday.

I, um...

I don't know.

We've as good a chance as any, I suppose.

Without Greaves, though?

What's this?

The, uh, football cup.

Oh, no, not you too?

I'll be glad when it's all over.

Mom, have you done my sandwiches?

You in tonight to help me and Sam

on aerial duties, Joan?

No, I said I'd see Maureen.

Oh, right.

Saddle up then, Morse?

Sergeant Jakes called first thing.

We've got a likely prospect for Weiss in the cells:

Ossie Lloyd.

Ossie Lloyd?

But he's a housebreaker, not a killer.

He was found with Weiss's gold watch on him.

And once he's sober,

I'll be putting one or two hard questions his way.

And what about this missing girl?

Bunty Glossop?

Look, I can see how something like this

might tickle your fancy.

Tickle my fancy?

Something out of the ordinary.

Downright peculiar, if you ask me.

100-year-old unsolved murder on top?

Just don't get so you can't see the wood for the trees.

I need you with both feet firmly four square on this one.

You've no objection

to me turning over Weiss's study again?

Just in case there's anything we've missed.

You mean just in case there's anything

me and Sergeant Jakes have missed?

Just keep it in the here and now, all right?

All right, sir?

All due respect to Sergeant Jakes,

but he's got it wrong on this one.

I've fallen short once or twice,

but something like this?

Violence? Murder?

That's never been my line.

You were seen at the museum.

What were you doing there?

Went in there out of the rain, didn't I?

The whole town's in the pub watching the football,

and you choose that moment to try and improve yourself?

Come off it.

You were on the dip.

How did you come by the fob watch?

Found it, didn't I?

Alley behind the museum there.

Just lying there, it was.

Finders keepers.

I may have to borrow some of these.

Take what you like.

I can't see the interest myself.

In knowing where you came from?

Does it matter? Nowadays?

It matters to most, I'd have thought.

And to a few, probably a great deal more.

Not to me.

I never knew my father.

"A wrong 'un," my mother said.

She must have thought something of him once.

Surely, who you are and what you can do

counts more than "breeding," so called.

Did your uncle ever mention Shrive Hill House?

I'm afraid not.

Is it important?

He seems to have thought so.

I was looking for the Senior Curator.

I'm afraid Dr. Rowse is on holiday

till the end of August.

I see.

Well, maybe you can help me.

I don't know if I can be much use.

What is it you want to know?

It would appear Mr. Weiss has been in contact

with Dr. Rowse concerning the Blaise-Hamiltons,

and their estate in particular.

Is there such a thing?

There would have been, presumably.

I wouldn't count on it.

We've recently recatalogued many of the exhibits,

and I'm fairly certain their line came to an end

late last century.

Hence the bequest.

What couldn't find a home here would have been auctioned off,

and the proceeds,

along with the sale of the house and any other estate,

would revert to the Crown.

Still, I would like to see anything the museum holds

in its archive concerning their affairs.

Of course.

I'll see what I can do.

You're not coming like that, are you?

Don't tell me you've forgotten.

I'll be in the car.

Nurse Hicks.

Hi, it's me.

Morse.

Hello.

About tonight.

I have to work.

Sorry.

Thanks for letting me know.

Look, I've got to get back to work.

Come on!

Can't believe I'm missing this for the pictures!

Just my bloomin' luck.

I thought we'd go out on Saturday.

You got England in the Station Sweep, didn't you?

What's she like?

This friend?

Haven't met her, have I?

Maureen said she's a...

Hello, Jim!

Oh, hell.

Where would you like your ashes scattered?

This is a turn up.

I'd no idea.

Better play along for Maureen's sake.

Maybe drop the "Miss Thursday"s, at least.

How do you know her?

At the bank.

Nobody there really knows what Dad does, so...

Morse?

I'm gonna just pop out.

Shh!

What the hell?

How did you get in?

Someone left a window open.

You scared me half to death.

Don't be mad.

I had to see you.

Well, God knows how I'm meant to sleep after that.

Given me the proper willies.

Well, we're this way.

I'll see you tomorrow, Mo.

Bye.

Be good.

And if you can't be good...

Be careful!

Edwina?

Everything all right?

You don't seem yourself tonight.

Sorry.

Work.

This runaway from the school?

It was on the radio.

You'll find her.

I think this is the bit where I say,

"Thanks for a lovely evening,"

and you say, "How about a coffee?",

and I say, "I can't,"

so we have a long kiss under the porch light

until my dad taps on the window,

and then I go in and you go home.

I don't care for coffee.

Tonight at the pub.

That girl...

I shouldn't have lied.

The road to hell.

Buy her some flowers.

It's not like that.

Besides, I don't know if she's the flowers sort.

We're all the flowers sort.

Night.

You've heard a second girl's gone missing?

Edwina Parrish.

That's...

The youngest of them.

I want to go back out there.

I've told you, it's not our case.

It's connected.

What's this about?

Proving something to County?

County?

No.

It's... today is the centenary of the murders.

I thought if anything was going to happen...

What do you think's going on?

Some specter's reached out from the grave

and slashed Weiss's throat?

Of course not.

What, then?

I don't know!

But there's something malign going on out there.

If we don't stop it...

Thank you.

Hello, you.

What's the latest?

Well, obviously you've heard another one's gone missing?

County are keeping it close to their chest,

but there's talk a girl answering Bunty's description

was seen on a train out of Paddington last evening.

Do you believe it?

Your colleagues appear to.

Maybe this second girl's just copied the first.

I saw Edwina go into the music room,

and there was another child in there.

A girl wearing Victorian clothes.

As I walked towards them,

the door slammed shut in my face.

So you tried the handle?

Yes.

The door wouldn't open.

But it did when you returned with Miss Symes.

Yes.

We went inside and the room was empty.

Edwina isn't the sort of girl who might just run away?

For sport, say?

If anything, she clung to Miss Symes and I

like a suckling calf missing her mother.

So... there's you, still pink from your bath,

flitting around the school in your nightclothes?

Is that usual?

I wasn't flitting.

I was tidying the art room.

That's when the lights went.

Is that a common habit, is it?

Soaping paintbrushes after dark?

What can you tell me about Billy Carswell?

I was given to understand that the County Constabulary

was handling the investigation from hereon in.

That's right.

And not to seem impertinent, but I believe the disappearances

are connected to another matter,

the one I was talking to you about the other day.

The murder at the museum?

I found this amongst Mr. Weiss's personal effects.

Any idea why he would have kept that?

Did you ever speak with him?

About my accident?

Good heavens, no.

What possible reason could I have had?

I didn't even know the man.

Thank you, Miss Symes.

Stop it!

Stop it at once!

You wicked girl!

Go to your room!

My God.

What's happening to us?

You're Indian, Miss Danby tells me.

What of it?

Nothing "of it."

I'm paid to ask questions.

Actually, I'm Anglo-Indian.

Fish-Nor, some of the girls call me.

Because I'm neither fish nor fowl.

I found this by your bed.

The underlined passages, was that you?

It was like that when I pinched it.

Pinched it from where?

The staff room.

I just liked the cover.

That it was about Blythe Mount.

What did you make of them?

The Blaise-Hamiltons?

They were...

of their time.

My father says that the Raj was a long injustice,

but if it had not existed, then neither would I.

The past can only hurt us if we let it.

Morse!

Are you coming, then?

Good-bye.

What's all this, then, Billy?

Huh?

Spying on young girls in their underthings, are you?

Huh?

Bet that got you up in a right lather, didn't it, eh?

Hmm?

Where's Edwina, Billy?

Where'd you take her?

Oi!

What do you want with him?

Your son's a suspect in a missing persons inquiry.

We have nothing to hide.

Then you'd have no exception to me taking a look

round your property, then?

Billy, let the man in.

He's not a bad lad.

Just a bit wild like his mother, God rest her.

Romany, see.

Where was he Saturday afternoon?

Went into town.

Watched the football with his mates.

Got back here, what, about half-past 6:00?

Have you worked here long?

30 years, nigh on.

And my father before me.

There's always been a Carswell at Blythe Mount.

Not always.

100 years ago, a family called Pickstock lived here.

When it was owned by the Blaise-Hamiltons.

Tea planters.

What's your point?

My point is that three of the Blaise-Hamilton children

were murdered a stone's throw away from this cottage.

The case remains unsolved.

Bit late to fetch anyone to court, then.

Everyone at the school seems to know about it,

headmistress included.

Yeah, well, I wouldn't set too much store

by what you hear up there.

Half-mad, most of them.

And small wonder, too.

All women together?

It's against nature.

All right, sleep tight.

Is this really necessary?

Bolting us into our rooms

as though we were common criminals?

It's for your safety.

Safety?

The girls must be frightened out of their wits.

I don't want anyone roaming the halls after dark.

The girls are locked in their dorm,

no chance of anyone getting in.

What's all this?

Just something for work.

Hello?

It's Sergeant Jakes.

What's your angle, then?

Hm?

Who are you trying to impress?

I'm just trying to find out what happened.

What did the groundsman's boy have to say?

He says they're not shy.

The girls.

Least the football's looking up, eh?

Who'd have thought it?

Can't see us beating the Jerries, mind.

Not at football, any...

Good evening.

The school's given him permission to be here?

Apparently, his old publisher sits on the Board of Governors.

With the place back in the news,

they're thinking of reprinting his book.

Well, you keep a close eye.

I'm going to take a turn around the place,

make sure we're secure.

Temperature's dropping.

The boiler's gone off.

So what's with the recorder?

A hobby.

The last 40 years, I've made field recordings

at some of the most haunted sites in Britain.

I don't suppose you believe a word of it.

Isn't that what it's all about?

Hope? Belief?

That a better world lies just beyond?

Is that so bad?

Death is the end, Mr. Fitzowen.

Believe me, I've seen enough of it.

Ah, but what comes after?

In my experience, the police.

I thought this place was supposed to be locked up tight!

Jakes has found an alibi for Ossie Lloyd.

That's what I came out to tell you.

The front door was left wide open!

There!

Morse!

Are you sure she came this way?

There!

Morse!

My God...

I need help!

In here now!

Get an ambulance now!

Bunty...

No.

Sir, this is a County case, and I can tell you...

And I can tell you we are not going to stand here

and argue like Burke and Hare

over the body of a murdered child!

Sir, I...

Do not mistake me!

One word more--

one word--

and you will spend the rest of your days on point duty!

Am I understood?

Thursday?

Maud Ashenden, sir.

12 years old.

Supposed to have left for the holiday.

Told her parents she was visiting another girl

for the summer.

School thought she was at her parents,

parents thought she was...

I think we have it.

She was in it with these other girls?

Bunty Glossop and Edwina Parrish.

They seemingly found a box of old clothes in the attic.

This place is like a honeycomb.

Backstairs,

concealed corridors...

It certainly allowed the girls

to go about the school unseen

and enact their haunting unhindered.

It was Maud I saw in the attic.

An eighth girl, beyond the seven we knew about.

Simple, but effective.

So what?

They thought they'd put a scare on their schoolmates?

To get back at some of the older girls.

There'd been some bullying, I believe.

Dr. deBryn?

The fall notwithstanding, single wound to the throat.

Same as Adrian Weiss.

There's a blood trail upstairs.

Locus of the attack was in the corridor

directly outside a door.

Outside Miss Symes' bedroom, sir.

Where was County when all this was happening?

I was trying to find the fuse box.

And there's no inkling how the assailant

might have got in and out?

The front door was open when I arrived, sir,

but as to how he made his escape...?

My men are scouring the grounds,

but in darkness

and a place this size,

I wouldn't hold much hope.

Clean away, then.

No notion as to who might have done such a thing?

There's a chance one of the girls might have seen something.

Excuse me, sir.

Gently, please.

County have turfed over the Carswells' cottage.

Nothing to suggest they knew Maud any better than the others.

Both of them asleep at the time of the murder.

That's convenient.

Church took his time finding the fuse box, didn't he?

You want to think twice before you go laying blame.

He just happened to be on his rounds

when Maud was killed.

You going to accuse me of being a part of it next?

Maudie was my best friend.

It was our idea.

We didn't mean it.

Don't you worry about that.

Just you tell us what you saw.

We were racing around.

And I'd just come into the corridor

when I saw someone.

Just for a second,

when the camera light flashed.

With Maudie.

Standing outside Miss Symes' room.

Do you know who it was?

I couldn't see their face.

Maudie seemed like she was floating.

Towards the bannister.

And then she fell.

And when the light flashed again,

there was no one there.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I didn't mean it, and I'm sorry.

Nobody tried your door, Miss Danby?

No.

I was locked in the whole time.

And you heard nothing?

Only that terrible scream.

Miss Symes, can you think of anyone who might wish

to do you harm?

And you told me you have no connection,

as far as you're aware, with Adrian Weiss?

I thought not.

But well, you see...

I had a great many telephone calls from the newspapers

after my car accident

and I thought he was just another reporter,

but looking back,

he wanted to come out to the school,

and none of the others who'd telephoned wanted to do that.

And this was Mr. Weiss?

I took his name for White.

But it's possible I misheard.

What would he want with me?

That poor child.

Her poor, poor parents.

There was nothing you could have done.

The wound was grievous, mortal.

At least the fall.

Adults?

One takes the rough with the smooth.

But this?

You find this piece of work, Morse.

You find whoever did that.

For me.

All right?

You find them.

It now appears that the murders

of Adrian Weiss and Maud Ashenden are connected.

To that end, a joint investigation

by City and County forces has been convened,

to be led by Detective Inspector Thursday.

This will be a round-the-clock inquiry.

We have the day shift, County the night.

Thursday?

There's a lot of you here

turned out for a second shift last night.

That'll make this a 36-hour go for some.

But look sharp.

We're hunting a very dangerous individual.

One who won't shrink from harming a child.

We need to catch them, and quickly.

That's the job.

Get to it.

My God!

I need help!

In here now!

Get an ambulance now!

It was horrible.

That's our killer.

Bit different to writing about it.

We'll need to retain the photographs

and the negatives.

If you remember anything...

Or even if you just want to talk.

That will find me.

It wasn't your fault.

You and the other girls.

It was just a game.

If we hadn't...

No, no.

What happened here was a grown-up's fault.

Do you understand?

Was it Maud who wrote "Save me"?

I asked her to.

It was you that slipped the note into my pocket.

That was part of the game too.

Not altogether.

Bunty said a man's been seen

hanging around the school after dark.

She said that your haunting was meant, in part,

to scare him off.

Do you think that man could have been Billy Carswell?

It wasn't Billy.

It's not a boy.

It's a man.

I know who it is.

I didn't tell Bunty

because I didn't want to get anyone in trouble.

But with what's happened to Maudie, I...

At the museum.

I was looking for the loo,

and then I saw them together.

How long have you been seeing him?

Two months, on and off.

More on than off.

That's why you took the girls to the museum.

I don't know.

I suppose.

How did you meet?

A pub in town.

My day off.

I only went in out of the rain.

He was on his own.

I was...

I don't know.

34, unmarried,

school mistress in the middle of some Godforsaken nowhere.

Haven't you ever been lonely?

I didn't want to get Vicky-- Miss Danby-- in trouble.

Yourself, more like.

You can see how it looks.

Two murders: one right here when you were present,

the other in a location you know well.

Where were you last night?

Here, working till gone 10:00.

Anyone vouch for you?

No.

I wish there were.

But what earthly reason could I have

for wanting to hurt this Weiss chap,

never mind a child?

For God's sake, a little girl!

It's too awful.

What do you know about Miss Symes?

The headmistress?

Nothing.

Besides, she'd have had me flayed

if she'd found out I was seeing Miss Danby.

Look, I don't know if this is any use,

but I saw someone.

The night the second girl...

Edwina?

The night she went missing,

as I was leaving,

he was just stood watching the school.

What did he look like?

It was too dark to see.

But he saw me and, uh... ran off.

And you didn't think to offer that up

before now?

No.

I should have, I see that now.

But like I said...

You didn't want to get Miss Danby in trouble.

What a gent.

How are you making out with all this?

Oh.

I think I have something for the Gardiners.

The American couple.

Looks like Weiss had managed to trace their grandchild.

I think we should pass it on to them.

All right.

First thing.

Come on, then.

Just a few more hours.

It's County's got nights, Morse.

No later than 10:00, then.

Will somebody get that?

Morse.

Hello?

He's here.

Bunty?

Sir, it's Black.

What? Black's the killer.

He's at Blythe Mount now.

You sure?

I'll explain on the way.

I've told back-up to meet us there.

I think it all started in India around 1850

with Samuel Blaise-Hamilton,

sole heir to this tea plantation

worth, I don't know, millions in today's money.

Hundreds of thousands, at least.

He'd already got a wife in England,

but it seems he took up with this young Indian woman.

They had a son: Robert.

After the Mutiny in '57,

he came back to England with the boy.

People may have turned a blind eye

to that kind of thing out there, but here?

No.

So he passed his own son off

as the child of a colleague killed in Cawnpore.

But certain passages underlined

in Mrs. Blaise-Hamilton's Bible refer to bastardy,

which would suggest that she knew the truth.

What is clear is that he made some kind of agreement

with Benjamin Pickstock, the gamekeeper.

He gave the boy to them to raise as their own.

Who's to say he wasn't Pickstock's natural son?

The 1861 Census.

Mrs. Pickstock was too old

to have had a child Robert's age.

It may have ended there,

but the child knew the truth.

Imagine how that must have been for him,

watching as the years passed

his true father's family grow and thrive,

knowing that but for a piece of paper

and a sense of hypocrisy, all of that could have been his.

Should have been his.

So his resentment grew

until his anger could be contained no more.

Fitzowen was right, then.

O'Connell was framed.

If it came out who'd really killed the children,

the next question would be "Why?"

Blaise-Hamilton couldn't allow that to happen.

But say you're right.

What's all this got to do with Terence Black

and the murder of Weiss and Maud Ashenden?

With all his children murdered save one,

it seems the Blaise- Hamilton family

went into terminal decline.

But nearing death,

father and son forgave one another.

In accordance with a will

drawn up a few years earlier, the family fortune

went to the surviving legitimate child.

Bloody Charlotte.

Bloody Charlotte, who died

unmarried and without issue.

What happened to the money if Charlotte died childless?

She did, yes, but one strand of the bloodline remained.

Robert Pickstock.

Yes.

But any issue

from Robert Pickstock on down would be illegitimate.

They'd have no claim on any money.

If Parliament had to follow the Russell Committee's report

on illegitimacy and inheritance,

all that could be about to change.

In any event, I think the news of the committee being convened

gave hope to Terence Black.

Adrian Weiss, employed by Black,

discovered a direct bloodline going back five generations

and several changes of name to Samuel Blaise-Hamilton.

But where's your evidence?

It all seems a bit circumstantial.

Well, at the time of his death,

Adrian Weiss was drawing up a coat of arms.

It was unnamed, but it included various clues

in the form of rebuses-- heraldic jokes--

which would suggest it was meant

for Terence Black.

The escutcheon is sable,

the heraldic term for black.

In the upper sinister quadrant is a pick axe, or pick,

while the lower dexter quadrant contains flowers

of the genus Matthiola longipetela,

also known as stocks.

So you have pick stocks, or Pickstock.

But if he was Blaise-Hamilton's son,

shouldn't that be on there?

It is.

Entwined around the bar sinister is a leafed stem

of the camellia sinensis: the tea plant.

Its meaning is used to denote bastardy.

Thus, "Pickstock's bastard,"

or "the bastard laid upon Pickstock."

He'd even traced the pension paid by Samuel

to Robert's mother in India: 50 rupees a month.

But there was only one problem.

Weiss's genealogical examination

turned up a second claimant to the fortune.

A third cousin, once removed.

Miss Symes.

Terence Black could have reached out to her.

To the relative that he never knew existed.

But that would involve him sharing half of the fortune,

which he wanted as his own.

So Miss Symes would have to go.

Terence Black acted without first silencing

the only man who knew there was a connection between the two.

Adrian Weiss.

So Black lured Weiss to the museum

for one last meeting.

But why did he pretend to kill Weiss with a katar?

A nod to the past, perhaps.

One last thing puts it beyond all doubt.

For something more than just a legend was handed down

from father

to son

to great-great-great-grandson.

So this affair with Miss Danby, then.

He only started it in order to gain access to the school.

And learn its secrets, presumably.

So last night, he went there

in order to kill Miss Symes,

but couldn't get past her locked door.

When Maud came upon him in the corridor,

he was afraid she might recognize him from the museum

dressed like that.

He'd no way of knowing

that of all the children in the school,

she's the only one that didn't go on the visit.

Oh, it's you.

Where are the children?

Locked in their rooms, I should think, after last night.

You mean you haven't checked?

I just got here myself.

I thought you had a man on the house.

He rang in sick, so I thought...

Is he here?

Someone's done the lights in.

Where are they? Basement?

Mind how you go.

Don't worry about me.

Just make sure the girls are all right.

Strange, hold the door.

Nobody gets past you, all right?

Sir.

We need to find Bunty before he does.

Inspector Thursday and myself will see to the staff.

You and Church find the child.

Miss Symes?

Yes?

This is the police.

Do not unlock your door until otherwise instructed.

Don't be a fool.

Give her up now.

Don't make things worse.

Away!

I'm warning you!

Stand back!

Come after me,

her blood will be on your hands.

Stand off!

You know I'll do it!

Bunty, look at me.

He's not going to hurt you.

You sure of that?

"Beware the Jabberwock!"

What comes next?

Morse!

It's all right.

I asked you to save me.

And you did.

All right?

I said I'd catch the final with Sam.

You're welcome to join us if...

I have stuff to do here.

But thank you, though.

No?

Well...

Oh, we found a cache of material at Black's.

Weiss must have turned them up.

Have a shufti when you have a minute.

Tomorrow, then.

Thank you, sir.

Come on, come on!

It's all over, they think.

And here comes Hurst, he's got...

Some people are on the pitch.

They think it's all over.

It is now.