All language subtitles for 0502 The Secret of Chimneys

(Waltz)

(Fireworks explode)

No, no, no. Please, please.

No, no.
You mustn't go in there, please.

Listen to what I'm saying.

Please listen to me.
No, please, please.

(Cries out)

Corrected & synchronized by titta
for addicted.com exclusively

Caterham, my dear chap,
I wouldn't ask,

only it's a matter of
considerable national importance.

Isn't it always?

We've had the most tremendous
approach from Vienna.

Go on.

Now the Austrians
are a nice neutral bunch,

they're very keen to be friends
with us Brits.

- What's the offer?
- Iron ore.

We go in, help them put their heavy
industry back on its feet,

take home all the iron ore we need.

The PM can scarcely believe his luck.

Anyway, Vienna's sending over
an envoy.

Count Ludwig.

I've been tasked with sitting
the Count down, putting pen to paper

and getting him to sign the contract.

Somewhere green and pleasant
and, above all, discreet.

And you thought of Chimneys?

Well, you know,
a weekend house party.

Good food, decent cellar.

Just like the old days, eh?
What do you say? Do the ayes have it?

Well, actually, I was thinking of
going on holiday next month.

Oh, nonsense.
Nobody goes on holiday in September.

Besides, we're practically family
you and I.

Once we bring that girl of yours to
her senses.

We're not as we were.
The house is in some disrepair.

Perfect. Faded grandeur.
Adds to the flavour.

It'll need to be low-key.

Indeed so. Intimate. Discreet.

One or two guests,
sensitively chosen.

Of course, these continentals
are such fearful snobs.

I'll send my best chap round
to help with the setting up.

Bill Eversleigh. Yours to serve.

How do you do?

But why Chimneys?
It's years since we gave a party.

Decades. Not since '32.

Show him the letter.

- The...?
- From Count Ludwig.

Here we are.

Fourth para.

Halfway down.

I have heard that Chimneys
is the most prized house...

COUNT: ..in old England,

and would count it a singular honour

to see that jewelled palace for
myself.

It is a memory I am most eager to
cherish.

Sorry to drop in unannounced.

If you're gentle with me
then I'll be gentle with you.

Agh!

Help!

Never, ever...

..touch mother's bicycle again.

Are you all right? Can you stand?

- Oh, yes, I...
- Well, that's the main thing.

Once you're up on your pins,
then life seems so...

Full of possibility.

Indeed.

Not that I was purely concerned about
poor mother's bicycle, you understand.

Well, I should hope not.

I think the chap got the message,
don't you?

And there he was,
galloping in to save me on his iron horse.

I mean it really was
the most idiotically chivalrous...

What?

Virginia.

You are as absurdly romantic
as your dear mother.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Woof woof. Wrong tree. If you
honestly...

He couldn't be more unsuitable.

No cash, no prospects.

Oh, well, then.
Yes, quite.

Case closed.

And, anyway, he's been quite
standoffish with me this past week.

I expect he's bored of me. Don't you?

Oh, yes. Does he have a name?

Sir Anthony Cade.
Only without the knighthood.

Oh, dear. I was just thinking.

Your poor MP.

George Lomax won't be
the least bit put off.

On the contrary.

Not another ultimatum?

I have until Sunday night
to consent to be Mrs George Lomax.

Or what?
He invades Poland, I suppose.

Anyway, the terms are most generous.

He'll put daddy up in a mansion flat
in town,

which is all he wants
since Mama passed away.

And he'll even pay
to stop Chimneys from falling apart,

which I suppose is jolly good
for the family.

If you marry him.

I should be more grateful, obviously.

Well, I'm not sure gratitude
is the basis for a happy marriage.

Well, no, no.
Not that I am any sort of expert.

No, Mummy always said you were
the most eminently sensible of all
her cousins.

Well, she certainly made a splendid
marriage.

It should be so simple, shouldn't it,
being happy?

I mean, one ought to see it,
and just know.

Well, now that I've got you here
we are going to have a riot, you and I.

- Are you game?
- Well, I'll do my best.

Well!

Are you quite sure it's all right
with your father, having me along?

Oh, Daddy's thrilled.

And, anyway, you've had me down
to St Mary Mead.

It's only fair I return the favour.

Here, look. Page 17.

Isn't he a dish?

Anthony Cade.

Some passing whim.

Virginia is innocent, easily led.
It's all part of her charm.

- Yes, Treadwell?
- Your guest has arrived, sir.

Already?

Shoulders back. Cometh the hour.

Watch and learn.

Letters for posting on his Lordship's
table.

Send them express,
if you'd be so kind.

Count Ludwig!

Oh, look.

He's practically licking his shoes.

The Count might think it's some sort
of quaint British custom.

(Laughter)

(Speaks German awkwardly)

A little early
but so much the better.

Indeed, a lovely house, yes.

He seems like he's from another age.

I wonder if he speaks any English.

How much English do you need
to sign a cheque?

Me metal. You big, big dollars.

Daddy!

Virginia!

I didn't hear you come in.

Hello, Daddy!

So sorry, darling.

Ah, dear Jane.

Clement.

It's been... Well...

Yes, not since the funeral.

You've been so kind to my daughter
since we lost Madeleine.

How's your garden?

Hardly thriving, I'm afraid.

Daddy, you might have made a bit of
an effort.

Oh, pay no attention to me.
I'm just the odd-job man these days.

Oh, look. I see you've invited that nice lady
from National Heritage.

Hilda Blenkinsopp?

No. No.

Oh, no!

Now, Bundle, don't get cross.
She was very keen to be invited...

She's banned. We agreed.

Yes, but the National Heritage
have made a very sensible offer.

Chimneys has been in the family
for centuries. It is family.

Yes, but, darling, you know we can't
afford to keep the place on.

We will manage. We always do.

Well, she's on good form.

National Heritage has taken on
13 homes and gardens in the county.

High society, Eversleigh.
What did I say?

Embellish the scene, sir.
Embellish the scene.

Scientists. Captains of industry...

What do you bring me?
Mrs Mop and Mrs Bucket.

Caterham says they're both first
class if you get a bit of gin down them.

- Oh, does he?
- Problem?

Not at all.

Very diverse guest list.

Good. Well, I should join in.

(Chuckles)

Was this your doing?

George will have to take us
as he finds us.

- What?
- Marry me.

Bill.

Never propose on an empty stomach.

Ask me again after supper.

Don't you have to be somewhere?

Sultry, isn't it?

What have you done to your hair?

Not a thing.

Sweet of you to notice, darling.

You haven't forgotten that you
promised me an answer by Sunday night?

The clock is ticking.

(Waltz)

Forgive me,
but you all looked so perfect.

Like you had stepped out of
a photograph.

Count Ludwig, allow me to introduce
Clement Revel,

Ninth Marquis of Caterham.

- How do you do?
- The honour is entirely mine.

Gnädige, Damen.

And these are your two little Revels?

Would you indulge a fading guest?

Why not?

I've two left feet.
So why don't you try her?

Because everyone else seems to.

Oh, for a sense of rhythm.

Such a graceful dancer.

Well, they all are, aren't they?

Still, hardly the most practical
accomplishment.

Is this your first visit to our
shores?

No, I am an inveterate itinerant,
I'm afraid.

Or I was, once upon a time.
(Laughs)

Now you are laughing at me.

No, no, no, it's just your English.

Splendid.

I had a highly disciplined teacher,
you see.

She taught me only tongue-twisters.

Inveterate itinerant.

BOTH: Inveterate itinerant.

Inveterate itinerant!

LOMAX: Enough, I think...

Your dinner is getting cold.

Very good.

- Bundle, will you lead on?
- Yes, of course.

Miss Blenkinsopp, after you.

Follow me, ladies.

Very good, you're with us.

- Shall we?
- Oh.

(Clock chimes)

COUNT: A splendid dinner, thank you.

Yes, very filling.

Forgive my asking, sir.
Your interest in my house,
is it for architecture?

No, no. I have no head for grand
design, for architecture.

- Your paintings...
- We sold most of the decent ones.

We still have our Van Dyck.

So I see.

- Who is this fellow?
- Some old duke.

Richmond. Duke of.

Richmond. Yes.

So if it's not the art,
or the architecture, then...?

Oh, the history.

The great men rumoured to have met
within these walls.

Treaties, affairs of state,

wars, even, begun and ended here
over coffee and cigars.

Oh, nothing so biblical,
I assure you.

He's being modest, aren't you,
Caterham?

Chimneys had quite a reputation.

So what happened?

- What was that?
- We ran into some bother.

Oh, the party of 1932?

Oh, that old yarn.

Well, we'd come back from an embassy
posting. Caracas.

It was my last one,
as it turned out.

It was before Virginia was born.

Anyway, it was quite a night.

Your mother always gave wonderful
parties, with a band out in the garden.

I remember the story, yes.

You were there yourself,
weren't you, George?

Helping out.
I was accompanying Lady Somerset.

It was um...most instructive.

Is this it here?

- Yes.
- Where is that?

- The rose garden.
- Ah.

Our lovely Viennese waltz.

♪ La da-da, da-da dum

- Charming singing voice.
- Thank you.

Anyway, there was a bit of a to-do

because the Duchess of Somerset
had borrowed a large brooch for the evening.

- On her...
- Large brooch?

Daddy, it was the Mysore Diamond
from India,

possibly the most revered diamond
in the world.

Well, whatever it was,
by breakfast time it had disappeared.

Stolen. By some good-for-nothing
parlour maid named Agnes.

A parlour maid. What an English saga!

The maid vanished overnight.
Isn't that right?

And the diamond was never ever
to be found again.

- Anyone for more coffee?
- Oh, yes, please.

So what sort of girl was she,
this Agnes?

Or did nobody notice?

Well, only 19 years old.
She must have lost her head, I suppose.

Anyway, it meant the end of my
career in the diplomatic service.

All rather shameful.

Well, if the ladies can spare us...?

- To business.
- Indeed. Yes.

I give you business.

You want our iron, Mr Lomax, MP?

Well, naturally.

I make one request.

Chimneys.

Give me Chimneys as a personal
favour.

And, in return, I guarantee you can
take home all the riches your heart desires.

- Well, I'm not sure...
- We are not for sale.

Not for sale. Tell them.

Why don't you all try
a hand of bridge?

- Oh, for God's sake.
- Yes.

It seems to be in order.

(Chimes)

You're quite sure?
Absolutely.

Very well. Then mark your cross...

..here.

Now, Count, if you'd be kind enough
to sign here.

With great pleasure.

(Rings bell) Mr Lomax! Sir!

Jane!
What's happening?

I don't know.
What time is it?

If you'd all like to gather
downstairs...

I'm sorry to have to wake you all up

but one of Mr Lomax's security staff
was found unconscious. - Is that so?

That's right, sir. Roberts.

- All present and correct, Eversleigh?
- Indeed so.

I believe we're one short.

- The Count.
- Out for the count.

That's no surprise, considering
how he was knocking it back.

See if you can raise him.

- He's not in his room, sir.
- What?

Where is he?
Perhaps we need a search party.

Indeed. Jaffers you and Roberts
seal off the back door.

Bundle, the old servants' quarters.

You and Miss Blenkinsopp,
the ground floor,

and Virginia and I will look
upstairs.

- Can't Virginia come with me?
- We don't have time for this.

Why do you always undermine me?

Will you two kindly desist?

Thank you.

Now, Virginia, can you run upstairs
and collect his medicine?

Jane will remain here and keep an
eye on him. - Of course.

The rest of us can just as well
look by ourselves. Agreed?

I've brought your medicine.

Thank God for my darling girls.

Daddy?

(Bang)

George? Not now!

- That sounded almost like...
- Was that a gunshot?

Someone close that door!

Well, where is he? Any sign?

- Did you hear it?
- I think half the county heard it.

He can't have just vanished.
Are there no doorways, no
outbuildings?

- You don't think...?
- Our little door.

Take that.

Should be torches on the wall.
Help yourself.

Come on, Jane.

- What is that? Blood?
- Looks like it.

Anthony?

- I think he's been shot.
- What?

Want.

Want!

Count Ludwig? Can you hear me?

- Is he breathing?
- Check his pulse.

Can you hear me?

- It wasn't me.
- I can't find a pulse.

- I think he's dead.
- It wasn't me!

Virginia!

Virginia! Virginia!

(Bangs on door)
Virginia!

He was such an enchanting man.

And he was our guest.

I'm sure there's a perfectly
innocent explanation.

Virginia!

- I should go to him.
- Don't you dare.

Gin, come back.

- Virginia!
- Anthony.

- My love.
- Anthony!

- You can't go in, miss.
- May I at least speak to him?

- I'm sorry, miss.
- Oh, please. Please.

Anthony,
what are you even doing here?

Virginia...

You must promise me something.

Anything.

Please...promise me
you'll forget me.

Anthony?

You're scaring me.

Anthony.

Finch.

Thank God. Good to see you again.

Inspector Finch.
The guru of Scotland Yard.

Finch?

He looks quite like a cat,
don't you think?

(Shouts) I loathe cats.

Ssh!

I gather he has devotees
all over the Home Office.

They regard him as some sort of
mystic.

A bit like Julian of Norwich,
only with powers of arrest.

What do we know of the victim?

Born Vienna, 1892.

Wealthy parents. Travelled about
a good deal in his youth.

Something of a wandering spirit.

Entered politics soon after the war.

I can get my chap
to find you a place in the town.

I shall be staying at Chimneys.
Murder rarely keeps office hours.

Hello.

Bit of fresh air.

Politically this could be a disaster,
if not handled with care.

Indeed.

So the ladies retired early?

We had some business.

- Er...not relevant.
- He wanted to buy Chimneys.

He wanted to buy Chimneys?

Well, the proposal was that the
government would purchase the house,

and then pass it on to Count Ludwig
as a gift.

- A bribe?
- Don't be absurd...

A personal bribe.

In return for which, he hands over
a share of their heavy industry.

Where do we stand on that, morally?

Well back, I'd have thought.

Is there paperwork for this sale?

Signed, sealed and in my room
in the top drawer.

All academic now, of course.

Understood.

As one door closes, another stands
ajar, Lord Caterham.

(Scoffs)

Indeed.

So you gentlemen retired at...

About a quarter to eleven.

Until we were woken by the fire bell.

Mr Lomax! Sir!

- At what time?
- Twenty to midnight.

We all met downstairs.

No sign of the Count.
So off we went, looking for him.

All save Clement and myself.

Next thing... Boom!

(Bang)

The gunshot?

He was in the passageway all along.
Just a few yards away.

Any fingerprints on the weapon?

Regrettably not.

Still, we have the culprit.
Anthony Cade.

He has one or two questions
to answer, certainly.

May I see the body?
I shall take you there at once.

Or perhaps Miss...

Marple.
Marple. Yes. If it's no inconvenience?

Oh.

Well, no, not at all.

What was he doing here,
almost an hour after he went to bed?

He showed an interest over dinner
in the Van Dyck portrait.

I suppose the Count could have
returned...

- A private viewing?
- I suppose.

And chanced upon the secret door.

Except that nothing quite happens
by chance, does it?

Not really.

Or is that my tidy-minded
preference?

I see you don't have a man with you.

I'm sorry?

Well, inspectors nowadays
tend to have a man with them.

Perhaps you prefer to muse alone?

Perhaps no man would have me.

Oh. This blood...

He was shot here.

And crawled, staggered,
or was dragged this-a-way...

..where he was found in the arms
of Mr Cade. Here.

Before falling on poor Virginia.
Here.

All fairly straightforward,
apparently.

Ah-ha.

Is it a letter?

Not quite.

A treble clef. A virtuoso.

Perhaps you could take this
and study it for me, Miss Marple.

Very well.

The Count said something
before he died.

Want, want...

Want? Are you sure?

Mm-hm. Meaning?

Well, I suppose we all want
something, even at death's door.

Kiss of life, perhaps?

How did you get here?
I climbed over the wall.

I was eager to get up to the house

and this gentleman
was blocking the path.

Would you mind, sir?

As I remember,

I came from around here.

Then I spotted the gentleman,
I panicked,

and then... You hit him.

Yes, I am sorry about that.

Using this?

Exactly.

- What time was that?
- 11:33. Precisely.

I remember because I looked at my
watch.

I envy your eyesight, Mr Cade.

You see, that's the thing.

I know, because there was a light
on in one of the upstairs rooms.

It was first storey and then second
to the right.

Now, I can remember
because someone had lit a fire.

Rather a warm night for a fire.

Well, there was definitely smoke
coming out of the chimney above.

Anyway, at this stage
common sense sounded the retreat.

Did you heed the warning?

Sadly, common sense and I
are no longer on speaking terms

so I carried on along here
and through the door.

And then I came down here,

opened the trap door

and then I heard the gunshot.

(Bang)

(Count groans)
Good God!

- He'd been shot already?
- Yes.

- Any idea who shot him?
- Afraid not.

And yet, the revolver three feet
from you, the victim at your heels?

I swear I never saw any revolver.

Mr Cade, may one ask
what you were actually doing here?

Yes, well, I did wonder when you'd
get around to asking that.

The truth is, I couldn't let Lomax
have his way
without putting up a fight.

- His way with Virginia?
- Yes.

I thought to myself: just sit tight

and then burst in at breakfast
and give you all a fright.

You certainly did that.

The constable found this
in your pocket.

Oh. Any idea who wrote it?

"Dear Cade, come to Chimneys.
There's a trapdoor in the garden.

11:45 sharp."

What? I didn't write this.

Are you sure?
Mr Cade seems to think...

Not my style.

A love note is not something you just
dash off.

I don't see what you're sniggering at.

I'm sorry - idiot - may I see?

Hand it over.

It appears from the postmark
to have been sent locally,
express service,

as late as yesterday morning.

So, none of you sent this letter?

How's this for a hypothesis?

Cade types the letter himself,

takes the train down to the village
and posts it.

All in a cynical bid to ensnare Virginia.

Rubbish! I was having tea with him
yesterday morning.

At the Lyons Corner House
on the Edgware Road.

And it was very nice.

Mr Lomax, your room is
second from the end, isn't it?

So?

There was a light on there
last night. Just before the alarm
sounded.

Rubbish! Says who?

Oh. Cade.

Blatant attempt
to put you off your game, Inspector.

Anthony.

I told you.
I'm not worth the sacrifice.

I'll be the judge of that,
thank you very much.

If you would be so good as to remain
at Chimneys until further notice.

What about him?
You're not going to let him wander
about?

We'll keep an eye on him.
Keep an eye on all of you.

(Hums low note)

(Soprano notes)

It's quite perverse, isn't it?

(Range of notes)

He was such a musical fellow.

Quite the dancer.
(Shrill note)

I always say the point of a tune
is to boost the morale, surely?

Indeed.

- May I help?
- Ah, Treadwell, the very man.

Where is that musical handbook of
Virginia's? You know the one?

Hits Of The Blitz?

The very nelly. Come.

(Hums and strikes notes)

No...

Oh.

Hard at it, Miss Marple?

Inspector, it's...
I'm a little lost.

One can hardly see where one bar ends
and the next begins.

(Hits notes)

(He hums)

I'm sorry, forgive me.

It's... Hardly music at all.

Could it be... I almost wonder...

Forgive me. Go on.

Well, I wonder, is it possible,

it is, in fact, a message
of some sort in code?

(Voices outside)

What were you thinking of?
You know nothing about the man or
his people.

I know he's funny and reckless

and his mother has a jolly nice
bicycle,

which I happen to think counts for
more than a dozen columns
in Who's Who.

- He ran a bar.
- Oh, how philanthropic.

In Africa. In Bulawayo.

He had a friend with him,
they were business partners.

And does this friend have a name?
Jimmy McGrath.

They did rather well, for a time,

but Jimmy liked to drink, you see.

He gambled it all away.

Lost it in one sitting
to a gentleman from Pretoria.

You've known him for less than a
fortnight.

- Daddy.
- Ah, Caterham.

Knock some sense into your daughter.

Oh, well it's a brave man
who'd dare to.

What would your mother have said?

My mother, you presume to speak
about, always went with her heart.

Isn't that so?

And she raised me to do the same.

- Virginia!
- Anthony is no murderer.

(Recites numbers)
What's she doing?

Trying to prove her lover innocent.

How does she propose to do that?
I have no idea.

Like it or not, Mr Cade was still
there, in the tunnel,
with the smoking gun.

- Will you arrest him?
- I'm tempted.

He's careless, all the lies he tells.

The letter, that business with the
light on in the house...

A man like Cade requires plenty of
rope.

Like most of us. Even you.

Am I under suspicion?

I know your secret, Miss Marple.

You are a puzzle-outer of mysteries.

I muddle through one or two.

It's a matter of association.

I envy you, you know,
the amateur sleuth.

One has nothing to lose, somehow.

Still, a salary is er...convenient.

Indeed.

If it wasn't for the generosity of
my nephew...

Raymond.
So I've read in a dozen case files.

Yes.

Hardly a distinguished name.

- Raymond?
- No.

Chimneys.

Until it stands before one,
and then it all makes sense.

Dozens of them.

Splendid.

That great tower standing proud,
so that...

Which was the window Mr Cade said
was lit up on the night of the murder?

Second from the right?
The MP's room.

And yet, as one approaches the spot
where Mr Cade stood,

a window is obscured. Do you see?

On account of the tower.

So that what appears to be
second from the right is, in fact...

Third from the right.

So who was up and about
moments before the gunshot?

At 33 minutes past 11
your bedroom light was on,

12 minutes before the gunshot.

Yes. Briefly.

Can you tell me why?

I wished to speak to Count Ludwig,

but noticing his bed was unoccupied,
I returned to my room.

Any particular reason
for wishing to speak to him?

Oh, he'd...

earlier in the evening
he'd asked for an extra blanket.

So perhaps you lit a fire?

I beg your pardon?
At the same time. 11:33.

No fires last night. I...

I would have known, you see.

You know, it's funny, but yesterday
I really felt that you knew him.

This looks a very grand affair.

That's how they did it
in those days.

And this would be the orchestra,
at the back here?

What sort of music did they play?

Waltzes, mainly.

Viennese waltzes?

It's him, isn't it? There.
Count Ludwig.

So he has been here before.

And where else but in the orchestra?

What brought you back after all
these years?

Any thoughts, Miss Treadwell?

He got no more than he deserved.
I'm sorry?

The girl who...
Who disappeared?

Agnes.
The parlour maid, yes.

Whatever happened to Agnes?

That night after the party, I...

I saw a light...

This was the tomb I saw opened.

Her body, it was down there.

Let me help you.

Clement, are you sure?

Agnes.

Her apron.

Poor child.

All this time,
we said she was the thief.

I think it's time you told us what
happened.

The mistress, she confided in me
once.

Madeleine?
What did she tell you?

She said Agnes was with him that
night.

With whom?

A musician. A fiddle player.

Oh, the Count?

All these years. Not a word.

I wanted to, sir.

But I thought if I spoke out,
you would contact the police,

and there would be more of
a scandal.

It had already ruined your career

and if a stolen jewel
could cast such a shadow,

and then the theft of a life...

I'm so sorry.

Oh, what have I done? I'm so sorry.

- Well?
- She's certainly hiding something.

Damn.

Oh.

- Wondered if there was any...
- What?

Cardboard.

Wondered if there was any...
What are you...?

- What do you want cardboard for?
- I'm making something.

Well, I can't see any,
so if you wouldn't mind.

What are you up to,
Miss Blenkinsopp?

Just looking for some privacy
in this big, old nasty...house.

Hands off.

Sorry. I'll leave you to it.

(Sings notes)

Oh, it's child's play.

It's musical mathematics.

Don't you see? One simply transposes
the music from notes into letters.

So two octaves...

take us from A up to O,

while these 11 sharps
bring us all the way up to Z.

Your coded letter.
# La! La-la!

Please, I cannot abide flattery.

Thank you, Lady Revel. Thank you.

- Very well.
- Thank you, Bundle.

"For this reason,

my beloved Captain...

I can never see you again.

Promise me you will return one day

for the greatest jewel.

Richmond Twenty, North Three East."

A love letter in the dead man's
pocket.

Incomplete.
If we had a couple more pages...

A date'd be helpful.

Though the manuscript was written
in ballpoint pen.

Indeed. So, the last couple of
years. Yes.

A farewell?

"Beloved Captain." Captain?

An alias for Count Ludwig,

if this affair was to be kept quiet?

The Count had a secret lover. Agnes?

Perhaps.

But what do we make of this?

"Promise me you will return one day
for the greatest jewel."

Is it possible...?
Count Ludwig came here to Chimneys

not to discuss iron, but on a
secret mission, revealed within this letter,

to recover the stolen Mysore Diamond
located somewhere in this house.

No wonder it's in code.

That's why he wanted to buy
Chimneys.

"Richmond Twenty, North Three East."

The evidence was before our eyes.

The Van Dyck? And the subject?

The Duke of Richmond.

18, 19, 20.

So?

So.

Don't torment me, Inspector.

If you're holding something back...
Want, want...

His last words.

Unless, of course...

Vunt, vunt...

Unless of course he was speaking not
English, but his mother tongue.

Not "want, want" but "vunt, vunt".

"Der Wand" in High German.

Or "vunt" in the Austrian dialect.

Meaning?

The wall, the wall.

You think...? You think the diamond
is hidden somewhere in the wall?

Well. Bravo.

But, you know, I think I know a
gentleman who might shed a little
more light on the matter.

You were accompanying
your godmother?

Lady... Lady Somerset.

That's right. We all used to call her
Robbie.

Must have been quite bewitching.

What? The diamond.

Oh. I see.

Well, it's all just coloured glass
to me, Inspector.

What have you got there?

Notes from the investigation in '32.

Interviews with, among others,
yourself.

"I have no recollection
of said diamond's disappearance.

In fact, I was asleep."

I'd been charging about since dawn.
Really, Inspector...

I see Lady Somerset
retired early as well.

We had nothing to do with any theft,
I assure you.

The point is...

See for yourself.

I was a young rake.

She was easily led.

I see.

Well, at least, I have an inkling.

And he was writing under a nom de
plume.

Count Ludwig had an alias?
Mm-hm. The Captain.

Odd.

And a secret lover, to boot.
It's all in the letter.

Who was she, the lover?

We wondered. Agnes? Poor Agnes.

Not only that. The Count seems to
have had a hand in the theft of the
famous diamond.

So he bumped her off, did he?

Two thieves fighting over the spoils?

Well, do start away, everyone.

Yes, and she wasn't the only one,
was she?

The only victim, I mean.

Bill, where is the...?

Right here, my dearest.

Chimneys.
It's not quite to scale, I'm afraid.

The night of the murder.
We all came downstairs.

Yes? And we couldn't find the Count,
so off we all went.

Separately. Now, this is the point.

This is where we all were.

So, Bundle, you were upstairs
in the guest wing.

George was there also.

Treadwell, kitchen.

Miss Blenkinsopp, I believe,
was on the terrace.

Bill - study

and I was upstairs
then down to the council chamber.

Then... (Hits table)
Gunshot!

Back we all flew, front door wide
open.

Someone close that door!

Agreed?

Who's to say one of us
couldn't have run out of the house

through the garden, trapdoor,

into the passage, shot the Count

and then one minute to get back,
after the gunshot, in time to make it
look like...

well, to make it look like
we'd been in the house all along?

Front door to the trapdoor is...

How many strides, Bill?

We measured it. 112? 112.

Five minutes there and back. It's
possible. You said so yourself,
didn't you, Bill?

Sure.

But why would anybody...? The Count
wanted Chimneys, didn't he?

And, Bundle, you're so mortally
opposed to losing the house.

I had no idea I was so pathetically
grasping.

Well, somebody killed him.
And as for that poor dead girl...

My little fox.
What you need is fattening up.

Enough. Quite.

You making notes, Blenkinsopp?

No.

To think, what a pleasing oral
history this will all make

back in your municipal headquarters.

Not at all.

When everyone knows you've had your
claws in Chimneys for years,

grubbing about with your letters
and your polite notices,

rifling through our drawers,
tipping off our creditors.

Mother was on her death bed,

not that you lost a moment's sleep
over that.

- God knows why.
- I'll tell you why.

I caught her in the study,

going through the old housekeeping
records, weren't you? 1932.

This is all about Agnes, isn't it?
You knew her?

Agnes Parker was a child,

a child when she was handed over
to people like you.

Trusted to your care.

And when one morning she wasn't
there, it broke her family's heart.

And not one of you had the decency
to ask why.

I feel sick. Well, you might.

No, I feel sick.

(Groans)

- Daddy?
- Clement?

It's his ticker.

Where's your tonic? Your tonic!

Excuse me.

There's hardly any left.
Just take a swig.

- Excuse me.
- Damn soup.

Let's get some fresh air.

I'm so sorry. I'm so terribly sorry.

What kind of soup is this,
Miss Treadwell?

Mushroom and sage.
But you are quite well.

Oh, I have no appetite by nightfall.

One of the hidden costs of old age.

Miss Treadwell, help me here.

Are you quite sure in your mind
that the Count murdered poor Agnes?

If there's anything else, then,
please...?

It's been so many years.

- Can this not wait until the morning?
- No.

Fuse wire.

What's that doing there?

Indeed.

Dear me, what a business.

Ah, yes.

Foxglove leaves.

Easily muddled with sage.

Must have found their way
into the soup.

- Foxglove, you see, contains...
- Digitalis. Natural poison. I'll be indoors.

(Toilet flushes)

Sorry.

(Knocks)

Jane.

Here to rebuke me?

Castigate away.

No.

Your sister's account of last night.

Please don't mind Ginny.
Her nerves are shot.

I noticed that you were upstairs,
here in the guest wing,

during the search party,

and I wondered what became of them.

Of...?

The legal paperwork, drawn up last
night for the sale of Chimneys,

which you took from Mr Lomax's room.

(Bang)

Oh, that.

Old maid's last refuge, isn't it?

An overweening love of domestic
animals.

Not that they ever reciprocated.

It was always Treadwell.

Every dog and pup we ever had.

She used to give them the funniest
names.

(Whines)

There's really no need to stay, sir.
No, I'm fine.

She had a weak heart?
Well, not that I knew.

I wondered merely why the poison
in the foxglove leaves

should prove lethal for her
while the rest of us...

Well... she was a terrible worrier.

Shanghai. '27.

She travelled about with us
everywhere.

And this one?

Oh...

Do you know, I have no idea.

Our friend the Captain.

All of them? Looks like it.

And not in musical code.

Not this one.

Who was he writing to?

Constance?

She was with us for so many years.

One forgot she even had a Christian
name.

Constance Treadwell.

I was so sure she was holding
something from us.

Constance was Count Ludwig's lover?

COUNT LUDWIG:
My dearest Constance.

Nine days until the party
at the Palazzo Ducale.

It feels like a prison sentence...

It has rained every day since
Caracas.
The Captain.

I am mad, Bedlamised, with love.

But the lamb is stamping her little
hooves.

I must sign off now.

Be of courage.

Until Friday and Chimneys.
All my love.

...Our glorious reunion.

I will take you in my arms.

And we will make such light-fingered
music."

Treadwell?
I suppose she had much to lose.

Her position, her livelihood.

And when love is driven underground,
it quickens its ardour.

Oh, we had a case with our organist
and a young page turner at St Mary
Mead.

I see.

Well, one mustn't talk scandal.

Places and times.

Venice, Caracas.

He must have trailed her for two
years at least.

All the way to Chimneys.
Back to the party.

But Treadwell, a diamond thief?

Well, perhaps it was the Captain
who urged her to do it?

What is the "lamb" in these letters?

- That's...
- Well, I think...

I'm so sorry. You first.

Agnes. Old papist word for lamb.

Agnes Dei. Lamb of God.

Altar boy. Misspent youth.

So, safe to conclude Agnes Parker
was the courier,

ferrying letters between Constance
Treadwell and her "Captain".

And then, on the night of the party
in '32,

the theft of the Mysore Diamond...

Agnes is murdered.

Wildly circumstantial,
but the messenger,

murdered by Count Ludwig because
she found out about the theft?

She knew too much,
the Count buries her in the crypt,

and, of course, everyone assumes
that Agnes has stolen the diamond.

And then, years later,
the two lovers dead themselves.

Or murdered.

That wretched soup.
Which begs the question...

How can the same dish kill one of us
while provoking mere unpleasantness
in the rest?

The foxgloves tossed into the soup
by the killer

to convince us that Miss Treadwell's
death was an accident.

But, in fact, she was poisoned
by something else.

But what?

- I have no idea.
- Pity.

And who among us, I wonder, has been
quickest to defend poor
Agnes Parker?

Yes. I was at school with her.

They lived on our street.

This whole business with Agnes,
well...

It's how they treat them, isn't it?

You never believed Agnes stole
the Mysore Diamond in '32, did you?

Of course not.
But I didn't knock anyone off.

And I certainly don't know anything
about any poison.

Digi... digi...

And yet here you are...on the
terrace.

Count Ludwig!

Quite alone. No witnesses.

What do we think? Could it be that
Miss Blenkinsopp climbed into the
passage,

fired the gunshot...

..then back in the house?

I don't think so.

Not with my asthma.

And yet, you saw something,
didn't you?

Yes.

I realise now it must have been Cade
I saw in the garden.

It did seem odd behaviour for a
security guard.

I could have said something,
cried for help.

I could have stopped it,

but I just stood there.

You're absolutely right, Inspector.

I fear Mr Cade is running out of
rope.

Mr Eversleigh.

Here we are.

"Dear Cade. Come to Chimneys.

There's a trapdoor in the garden.

11:45 sharp."

Patent falsehood.

Yes, well. Note the capital C?

The letter has a little crack in it.
Do you see?

And again here,
the same little crack.

So?

The note to Mr Cade appears to have
been written on this very typewriter.

Which you yourself were using on
the very morning the letter was
dispatched.

Oh, I see.

You wrote this, didn't you?

Yes. Well, some of it, anyway.

But I don't remember anything
about 11:45.

But your purpose in writing the
letter?

To help Mr Cade gain access to
Chimneys?

How long have you been acquainted
with Mr Cade?

Couple of weeks.

I lost rather heavily at cards.

My pet vice, losing heavily at cards.

I get so crashingly bored in the
office.

There's a little room run in Aldwych,
pontoon,

poker for the die-hards.

How much did you lose?

97 quid.

Anyway, in walked Cade.
Said he could cover the debt.

He said we could help each other out.

Go on.

So, this gentleman from Pretoria
who's holding your friend?

He has a pet passion.

Diamonds?

Yes.

The Mysore Diamond?

He gave me six weeks to bring him
the real McCoy or Jimmy's life would
be forfeit.

So you staged the street assault
to endear yourself to Virginia?

Yes.

Posing as the good Samaritan to
creep into the affections of an
innocent young woman.

George, please, my head is splitting.

And the assailant?

Agh!

Sorry.

But your real purpose was to
gain access to Chimneys, where the
diamond was first hidden.

I am a decent man. Pah.

A decent man who did a stupid thing.
I had no choice.

Ditto. Absolutely.

Anthony Cade, I am arresting you

on suspicion of the murder
of Count Ludwig Von Stainach.

Get out!

I love you.

And you.

Really?

Nobody say anything, please.
Just for a moment.

I think, despite everything, that
this must be
my favourite room in the world.

It was out of bounds as a boy,

so naturally it was where
one longed to be.

And this heraldic brute.

Oh, the battles we fought,
through shot and shell.

Armies, dragons, the whole works.

Then one summer, 12 years old,

just tall enough to open his visor,

my brother in arms was nothing at
all.

Just empty air.

If this is you gently breaking the
news that Anthony Cade is
no knight in shining armour,

consider me rudely awoken.

No, no.

I'm saying that love is its own
adventure.

Take no-one for granted,
not even those closest to home.

- Jane, help me.
- No, no.

I know what you're saying.

Wish me luck.

Excuse me, George.
Sorry to barge in on matters of
state.

I accept.

- I beg your pardon?
- The offer. If it's still open.

I know how sticky you are about
ultimata.

But... Cade?

Oh. That was a dream I had.

I'm awake now.

Well, I'm delighted to hear it.

Well, well.

The first of many.

A drink. Champagne.

A toast!

What are you doing?

(Blows horn)

Get off him!

You stay there.

Virginia!

Virginia!

A toast. To us.

Cheers. Cheers.

Cheers.

(Thud)

What on earth was that?

It came from inside the house.
In the passageway.

Sir, Cade's escaped.

Try the trapdoor.

It's stuck.

Virginia!

Virginia!

Mr Cade, all this isn't going to
look very bright in court.

Virginia! I want you to know.

I want to give you something -
the diamond.

Not that I give a damn.

You're the only prize worth dying
for.

And it's got to be here somewhere.

And when I find it, it's yours.
Do you hear?

Anthony!

Got it!

It's him.

Get off me.

He couldn't even get that right.

What's he trying to prove?

Well, he has proven one thing.

- Oh?
- His innocence.

May I show you?

(Muffled thuds)

We were all standing just where we
were the moment of the fatal
gunshot. Agreed?

- Indeed.
- Everything just as it was?

No. The gunshot, it was too quiet.

Yes, it was much quieter, Inspector.

Like Mr Cade's hammering a few
moments ago,

whereas the sound we thought was the
gunshot made my ears ring.

Mr Cade, you remember, out in the
garden,

what did he see on that warm night?

Someone had lit a fire.

And then that off-cut of flex
that had no business being in the
compost.

A piece of fuse, Inspector.

The Count's killer lit something
in the chimney that evening.

On a slow fuse, timed to explode
15 minutes later,

to deceive us all that what we heard
was a gunshot

when what we, in fact, heard
was a firework.

What was it you said, Inspector?

"Like it or not, Anthony Cade was
found in that tunnel
with the smoking gun."

But what if the gun was not smoking?

What if the Count was killed
earlier than supposed,

after the men retired from their
business at quarter to eleven

but before the alarm bell
almost an hour later?

Suddenly, the killer could be any
one of us.

Are you sure?

You recall the Count's interest,
over dinner, in The Duke Of
Richmond?

No great feat to quietly invite the
Count back after the rest of us were
in bed,

show him the hidden bolt,
tempt him inside,

then shoot him,

and toss the gun to be found later
as if abandoned by the killer.

Sadly for the Count,
he didn't die straightaway.

The murderer's only mistake,
if mistake it was.

Good God!

The poor man was still living
when Mr Cade found him some time
later.

Go on, Jane.

Those letters...

I've been woefully, unforgivably
naive.

Constance and the Captain -
ah, the romance of it.

One gets swept along and yet...

Let me pose a question.

A pair of lovers,
determined to hide their secret,

might they not write under an alias?

Indeed, Count Ludwig
called himself the Captain.

So he did. But why just the Count
and not Constance?

Did she not fear exposure as much as
him?

Unless Constance was also an alias.

So the Constance of the letters
was not Treadwell?

Forgive me, Bundle.

I took this from your scrapbook.

It's a dog. So what?

Well, it's Mama's first mutt.

Captain. It was called Captain.

It was so besotted with Treadwell
Mama used to joke they were like...

"Perfect lovers."

Our mother must have thought of
these aliases.

Constance and her Captain.

Our mother...
Took the alias "Constance".

Your mother was the Count's
secret lover.

I don't understand.

Are you saying that the Count and
Madeleine stole the diamond?

Oh, that wretched diamond.

We're all so bewitched by the Mysore
Diamond, we forge our theories and
forget the facts.

It is so important to see things
clearly,

as if through a pane of glass,
and not a prism.

Excuse me.

Sorry.

Good God.

May I?

I'm afraid there's no way the Count
murdered Agnes and made off
with the diamond.

Because the diamond has been with
Agnes all the time.

In the tomb, just where the killer
left it.

When we found poor Agnes's bones,
do you remember?

Your histrionics in the crypt.

You took it then, didn't you?

Then dropped it in the fountain.

Why else would you be drying your
hands?

Daddy?

Why?

The night of the party.

'32.

I'd lost a cufflink, if you can
believe it.

I went upstairs and then...

(Waltz)

No, no, you mustn't go in there,
please.

Please, sir, listen to what I'm
saying.

I'd not meant to kill her,

but she tried to prevent me
from seeing my wife
and the fiddle player.

And then my mind cleared.

I took the diamond.

Left it with Agnes.

Naturally it was assumed
that she had run off with it.

Then all that remained
was to tell my wife a white lie.

You told her Agnes had been seen.

Cavorting with the Viennese fiddler

who, of course, went on writing to
her for quite some time,

but I took care of those letters.

They would only have caused her
pain.

It's funny, looking back.

She was so easily deceived.

These romances are so fragile.

There's no real devotion at all.

Not such as we all had together,

as a family, here at Chimneys.

She was unhappy.

Trapped. No wonder she got ill.

But after she died, you found the
earlier letters, didn't you, from
the Captain?

She'd kept them safe, all these
years.

Yes, indeed.

Every word.

So that when Mr Lomax showed you
the letter from Count Ludwig,

suggesting a visit to Chimneys

you knew the handwriting at once.

A precise match for the old love
letters. And you knew...

The Captain was on his way.

But why the firework?

Why 11:45?

Mr Eversleigh, is it possible that
the letter you wrote to Mr Cade was
in fact left unsealed?

Your guest has arrived, sir.

Still on the desk?

Letters for posting on his
Lordship's desk.

All that remained was to add the
time.

You wrote and posted the letter
to Cade yourself.

And staged the gunshot for 11:45
to incriminate Cade.

What better way to be rid of your
enemies?

Frame one for the killing of the
other.

Cade is no good.
You said as much yourself.

And as for this plan to ship you off
to Africa...

Now, don't look at me like that.
You cannot build a marriage on lies.

Aren't you supposed to build it on
love?

And Treadwell?

As we thought.

Poisoned not by the foxglove
leaves...

..but by your tonic.

Active ingredient: digitalis.

A huge overdose.

I do regret that.

She was a faithful servant.

More faithful than you knew.

You were so fearful that she would
tell the Inspector about the affair.
On the contrary.

She was taking measures
to protect her mistress's secret.

As soon as Agnes's bones were
recovered,

she took the letters from amongst
your possessions to her own room.

If I'd let her live,

no-one would have found out.

Is that what you mean?

Well, that's it, then.

Not quite.

Daddy?

"Return one day for the greatest
jewel."

Stop.

What if this jewel was a diamond
of a different kind?

Stop! Whatever it is, we have a
right to know.

A rose.

Not just any rose.

The Richmond rose.

"Richmond Twenty, North Three East."

The Richmond referred to is not the
portrait.

Precisely. The rose of Richmond.

Ah.

Well, these directions,
where did they lead?

(Counts to herself)

One, two...

I don't understand.

Jane?

The Count's last words. Do you
remember?

Der Wand. The wall.

We thought he meant the wall
in the passageway.

But this Virginia creeper,
when was it planted?

Madeleine planted it 23 years ago
to celebrate your birth.

Virginia creeper.

He knew, I'm sure he did, as he lay
dying.

The rose, the dance...

..it all made sense.

I think your mother wrote to the
Count, shortly before she passed away.

The coded letter?

She didn't want the truth to die
with her, not quite.

- So, you mean...
- You were the "greatest jewel".

He'd come to take you away.

My own little girl.

My darling girl.

He was my father?

No.

No.

I feel, if you were to let go now...
I won't.

I'd just float off and...

I won't.

Come on. No use putting off the
inevitable.

Are you going to tell her or shall I?

Oh, I think it's best coming from
me.

Blenkinsopp!

Oh, dear.

Oh, dear. Bundle won't like that at
all.

But you're not selling Chimneys?

Well, Bundle couldn't bear to stay
on, and I don't want to live here,

so what do you think?

Pass the whole headache on to
Blenkinsopp
and her tea and scones. Why not?

Will she be all right? Bundle, I
mean.

Oh, she'll foist herself
onto some undeserving cause.

Her father? I suppose.

And you?

Here they come.

A happy marriage.

It can't be that difficult, can it?

Go with your heart.

Like mother?

I keep thinking,
if she loved her Count so much,

why was she so quick to believe he'd
run off?

I suppose love is an act of courage.

Yes.

Miss Marple.
Goodbye, Inspector.

Thank you.

I see now I've grown too fond
of my own reputation.

I was so bewitched by the blasted
diamond.

And now look at me.
The latest of your casualties.

What do you think?

Interpol want me to take it to South
Africa,

entrap this villainous fellow from
Pretoria.

You know, Inspector, I don't care
for it at all.

Goodbye.