Original subtitles

(sombre music) (hammer clanging)

(eerie music)

(swords clanking) (dramatic music)

- [Peter] Unhand the maid or perish!

- Never!

I'll unhorse you here!

(swords clanging) (sombre music)

(suspenseful music)

(hammer clanking)

(suspenseful music)

(man yelling faintly) (woman screaming)

(door creaking) (sombre music)

(hammer clanging)

- [Boss] How is he, Foley?

- Ready to run for his life, boss.

- Good, 'cause I'm putting a real jockey up on him

for tomorrow's race.

A top rider from Newmarket.

- You can't do this.

- You need a rider with a bit of class, don't you, boy?

- The race is mine, you owe me.

- I owe you nothing!

(dramatic music)

(horse whinnying)

(water hissing)

(lilting music)

Bantling Boy's eating up the ground, pulling double.

- Jake's done wonders with him.

- I'm the damn trainer, Marianna.

- How many years since your last winner?

- He'll win the Cup.

And then maybe, even you might find it in yourself

to give me some damn credit, go on!

(sirens wailing) (cord rattling)

- Car thefts, Scott.

Our superintendent is hoping for something better.

- Me too sir.

That's a nice outfit, sir, Mrs. Barnaby choose it for you?

- Yes, she did.

I'm off to the charity event at Causton Races.

- Oh, are you going to have yourself a flutter?

- Certainly not, that's a mug's game, that, Scott.

- I don't know, I enjoy a punt on the horses, studying form.

- Well, plenty of form there for you to study, Scott, enjoy.

(telephone ringing)

- Go on, get your glad rags on.

We'll make a day of it.

- Sam, I've told you, I'm already committed.

(horn honking)

They're here!

(light music)

(laughing)

- Sir Peter!

Have at you!

- Die! - Die, varlet!

(Peter hissing) - Surrender saucy knave!

- Die! (hissing) - Put that back

immediately, Geoffrey.

- [Geoffrey] Sorry, Angela, sorry!

(Geoffrey laughing)

(horn honking)

- Morning, Lady Hartley.

- Morning. - Come on, Jo.

I've got a horse to shoe.

- Peter, come here.

Thanks for having him; now you be good.

- He always is.

(light music)

- Is she coming?

- Yes, she's still on the phone.

(Tom sighing)

- It's work, Tom, she's up for a part.

- Oh, we'll miss the first race, ah!

- I have an audition.

- Oh, that's great, Cully, what is it?

- Oh, to play Hero.

- Shouldn't that be heroine?

- No Dad, Hero's a woman.

It's Shakespeare, "Much Ado about Nothing."

- Let's hope this time it isn't.

(light music)

(crowd cheers)

- [Announcer] The next race is the Causton Gold Cup

sponsored by Tate's bread.

Local hopeful Bantling Boy is owned

by a syndicate of Midsomer villagers and is trained

by Bruce Hartley.

- Well, he's been working terribly hard

for the last year.

He's come on tremendously well.

We've got the right man on top of him today, as well.

He's a very genuine animal, so--

- More than can be said for you.

- [Announcer] And for our next race,

the course for the Golden Cup going into the preview now.

Five runs, for what promises

to be a very good competitive race.

- 500 to win, Bantling Boy.

- 15 hundred to five.

Ticket 74, thank you, guv'nor.

- Steady.

- I know my job, Mr. Hartley.

You must be gutted.

- I could gut Bruce Hartley, that's for sure.

- Been going since I retired the Horseguards.

Wife thinks I'm mad, but is the world any saner, Barnaby?

(chuckling)

- How many rescue horses have you got at Fallowfields now?

- Too many.

But horses have rescued me often enough.

Hauling artillery over the Italian Mountains in '45.

(chuckling)

Splendid creatures.

- Yes, indeed they are.

- Dad?

Oh hi, Major.

Can I borrow your wallet for a second?

- Why?

- We're gonna put a bet on.

- Smile like a sunburst, that girl of yours.

Hasn't changed since her pony club days.

(dramatic music)

- [Announcer] Jockeys mounting up now,

they will play it up a little bit,

will be followed out by Bantling Boy, ridden by Simon Winter

and wearing the colours of the Bruce Army Guard.

- Yeah, can I have 50 pounds to win please,

on Hawksbill, that's 3:30 at the Causton Cup, thank you.

- You've done your money there, squire.

Bantling Boy'll romp home.

Gonna win me plenty.

- Oh yeah, you got the mortgage on it, have you?

- I own a leg of it.

That horse could win pulling a milk float.

(bell ringing)

- [Announcer] Here comes Simon Winter on Bantling Boy

just cantering up the post.

Just the five runners then

for this afternoon's big race.

But it's real appeal.

Letting the stalls now horse bill.

(horse whinnying)

(dramatic music)

With Indian Tonic on the rails and Carmelite

moving well behind her.

But it's Hawksville moving in on three.

- Come on Barnable, what's he holding them up for?

Come on.

Come on give him a bit of stick there,

come on boy, yeah.

(audience cheering)

- Come on!

- That the one you've backed?

- Yes, he's local, Midsomer trained.

- Come on, Bantling Boy!

(audience cheering)

Come on!

- [Announcer] Length and a half behind in second place.

- [Both] See him fly, his feet are wings.

Of noblest blood, sired by kings.

See him fly, his feet are wings of noblest blood.

- I told him to drop him out.

- No, he needs to pick up the pace.

Come on Bantling Boy!

- [Announcer] Sir Richard out and committed in front

of Hawksville, but here comes Bantling Boy

moving equally as strongly making his move

to join him.

- Come on, Bantling Boy!

- There he is, come on Bantling Boy!

- How much have you put on?

- I put 30 pounds to win.

- 30, come on, Bantling Boy!

Come on, come on, Bantling Boy, come on!

- [Announcer] A confident looking Bantling Boy

with three furlongs to go. - Come on Hawksbill.

- Come on, yeah he's going!

- Come on!

Whip him on my son!

(audience cheering)

- Go, go, go!

- [Announcer] And they're neck and neck inside the final

furlong with Hawksbill still--

- Get up there!

(audience cheering)

- [Announcer] Hawksbill, Bantling Boy's got his nose in.

(cheering)

- Push him on, push him on!

(audience cheering)

(upbeat music)

(bell ringing)

(upbeat music)

- Well done, Ray.

- I'll do that with you Jake.

- Sam Tate.

Interested in selling him?

- Well--

- I'll give you 500,000.

- Pounds?

- Guineas if you like.

- Oi, keep away from my owners.

- I'll talk to who I like.

- He's not for sale, get away!

- Don't push me.

I'll see you finished, Hartley.

He'll be the last horse you ever train.

- 30 pounds bet at three to one.

That's 90 pounds profit.

And that means dinner at the Bon Chance Restaurant.

Bottle of Bone, steak au pois?

- No.

This money's going to charity,

to Fallowfields.

- What, you mean you're going to spend out

winnings saving some nag from the gluepot?

- Yes.

- Well, what a waste.

- Fish and chips?

- I will not sell, that's final.

- Half a million quid, that's 125 grand apiece.

- He'll be worth even more next year.

- And if he breaks his leg tomorrow,

he'll be dog food.

- The money would be very useful.

- My father left us Bantling Boy as a reward

for our loyalty.

I demand the same loyalty from you.

- Don't try and dress it up, Bruce.

We all know why he left the damn horse

to the four of you.

- This has nothing to do with you.

(sobbing)

The terms of the syndicate require

a unanimous decision.

- Dr. Osgood.

Are you loyal to Bruce on this?

- Yes, I'm with Bruce on this.

- Well I say we sell.

I need the money.

- Yeah, me and all, we'll get ourselves a lawyer.

- You want to break up the syndicate?

You want the truth to come out?

'Cause it will.

Bantling Boy will be sold over my dead body!

(dramatic music)

- [Angela] I just thought for once in your life,

you'd want to show a little consideration for somebody else.

- [Bruce] That's rich, coming from you.

- [Angela] I'm not going to beg, Bruce.

- Then get into bed with Sam Tate.

You can give him what he wants.

Why the hell should I?

- How dare you?

- Bite his hand off, Mother.

Before you're past your sell-by date.

(dramatic music)

You and that half wit brother of yours.

(sobbing)

- Angela.

Don't cry.

(sobbing)

(dramatic music)

- [Ray] Why now?

- Because Bruce said he would tell.

He said he'd tell everybody.

- I can't believe this, they knew?

All them knew!

Well, damn the lot of them, and damn you!

- Ray!

(sobbing)

(dramatic music)

(man yelling)

(dramatic music)

- I know, I know, it has to stop, no, no,

don't come round, please, John.

John?

(suspenseful music)

- Good boy.

(suspenseful music)

(horse whinnying)

(dramatic music)

- [Ray] Mariana!

- In here.

Stay back, Ray.

He's dead.

- What happened?

- I don't know, I found him, Jake's disappeared.

- We need the police.

Don't touch anything.

Mariana, come away.

(sirens blaring)

- I doubt it was a kick.

A blunt heavy weapon, I suspect.

The horse could have stood in the pooling blood.

- Or the hoof's been smeared with blood

to make the death appear accidental?

Possibly.

Thanks for your help.

- Mr. Craxton, when did you last see Bruce Hartley alive?

- About eight-ish last night.

Drunk as a handcart.

Shouting his head off.

Bruce was a pain in the ear with everybody.

- Including you?

- I left here about eight.

By nine, he was up at Bantling Hall having

a blazing argument with the syndicate.

That's the way he was.

- What syndicate?

- Bruce Hartley owned Bantling Boy

with Dr. Osgood, Trevor Machin, and Joanna, my wife.

Look, I have nothing to do with any of that.

I've got a horse to shoe.

- Of course you have Mr. Craxton.

Jake Foley, the stable lad.

Where can we find him?

- Don't know, seems he went last night.

- And we'll need this hammer please for forensics.

Yes, George? - Thank you.

- Why?

- Just routine, Mr. Craxton.

- Don't play little Miss Innocent with me.

You brought nothing into this marriage.

- How dare you!

- Was it Osgood?

Or the two of you together?

- Leave, Angela, now!

- D.C.I. Barnaby, this is D.S. Scott.

- Sorry.

My mother-in law.

- Mrs. Hartley,

do you feel able to answer a few questions for us?

- If I can be of any help.

- Jake Foley, I understand he's missing?

- Yes.

Jake was the real horseman here.

He should've been on Bantling Boy yesterday,

but Bruce took the ride from him.

- How did Jake take that?

- He put up with it.

- He put up with it?

- We all put up with Bruce.

His drinking, his violent temper.

- Was your husband violent last night,

Mrs. Hartley, towards you?

- We did argue, I,

I fell, sprained my wrist.

- What did you argue about?

- It was personal.

- Okay, just one more question please:

were you alone here last night with your husband?

- Yes.

- You know, a very angry woman swinging a heavy

weapon might just do that kind of damage to herself.

- What, do you mean the sprained wrist?

It was very neatly bandaged, wasn't it?

Scott, the people in the syndicate that own Bantling Boy--

- I met one of them yesterday, sir.

Trevor Machin, lives in a wheelchair.

Has got breath like a badger.

- You can start with Trevor Machin then.

- Where? - Where exactly

did you meet him?

- The Hammer and Pennant.

- The Hammer and Pennant, Scott?

I thought you were supposed to be investigating car thefts?

- Well, I noticed that most of the car thefts

took place in pub car parks,

so I did a sort of tour.

- A forensic pub crawl, was it?

- Public house to house inquiries, sir.

- I'm off to Bantling Hall.

Put out a call for this Jake Foley.

- Yes, sir.

- [Geoffrey] Yes!

- A hit!

Come on, bull's eye next, go for gold, yes?

- Shoot it again!

- [Peter] I can do it myself.

- Going to help.

- No, you can't.

- Excuse me, Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby,

Causton CID.

- Come inside, will you?

- [Geoffrey] Shoot.

- No, get off.

Stupid!

You made me miss, go and fetch!

- Cecil Hartley, third Baron Bantling: famous

Catholic, involved in the Gunpowder Plot.

George, fourth Baron Bantling: betrayed

the king at Marston Moor.

Thomas Bantling: fought in the American War

of Independence, for the Americans.

There's more bloodshed and treachery

in the Bantling family, Inspector,

than all Shakespeare's plays put together.

Shut the door, will you?

You may as well know: my relationship with my son

had been in low water for some time.

- Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

Was there a particular reason?

- When my husband died last year he left me

nothing but debts.

I was Lady of the Manor, I'm now Maid

of all Work.

I cook, clean, do accounts for tradesmen

to keep body and soul together.

- And I take it your son was unsympathetic?

- There was a profound shallowness

about my son.

A childlike selfishness which he inherited

from his father.

- What about his wife, Marianna?

- The girl lacked background.

My son made a bad marriage.

- Have you lived here alone,

since your husband's death?

- I live with my brother Geoffrey.

A full time occupation in himself.

Body of a man, mind of a child.

Men who remain children seem to run

in my family.

- This horse, Bantling Boy,

your husband left it to a syndicate, didn't he?

Why did he do that?

- Bruce and my husband wasted a fortune

on useless horses.

Bantling Boy was just a homebred yearling

when he willed it to the syndicate.

Now it's worth thousands.

Just another of life's ironies.

- I understand there was some sort of argument

at the meeting of the syndicate last night?

- They had an offer for the horse.

Bruce refused to sell.

His death will make the rest of them

considerably richer.

- How?

- If one member dies, their share passes

to the remaining members.

- Oh, I see.

- All of which is cold comfort to me.

I shall have to sell Bantling Hall to settle

my husband's debts.

It's been in the family 500 years.

Devastating loss.

- More devastating than the loss of your son?

- Frankly, Inspector, yes.

- Mr. Machin, I'd like to know

where were you last night, about 10 o' clock please?

- Whoa, I'm stuck in this wheelchair.

I couldn't have killed him,

no matter how much I wanted to.

- This horse of yours, Bantling Boy,

how did you get a share in it?

- I was 30 years a gardener up at the Hall.

It broke my back.

Colonel Hartley left it me as a reward.

But you're chasing shadows if you think

the horse is behind it.

No.

This is family matters.

- In what way?

- Have you met Hartley's wife?

Marianna?

Her with her swimming pool eyes?

Talk to Dr. Osgood.

Him and Hartley were like that.

But behind Hartley's back,

Osgood and Marianna are like that, and all.

- Were they having an affair?

- A bit of one-with-the-other, yeah.

And I saw Osgood driving up to the stables last

night like a bat out of hell.

- What time was this?

- About 10 o' clock.

- Thank you, that's very useful.

- See yourself out, can you?

- Yeah.

(dramatic music)

- Ginseng and dandelion.

Sharpens the mind.

- Thank you.

I understand Dr. Osgood, that you and Bruce

Hartley were friends?

- Grew up in the village.

Climbed the same trees, chased the same girls.

- So you were very good friends, then?

So it was Bruce Hartley that left you the share

in Bantling Boy, was it?

- No, his father bequeathed it to me.

I became his doctor in his final years.

Dead long before they buried him, poor chap, cancer.

- When did you last see Bruce Hartley?

- At Causton races.

French kissing a bottle of champagne.

Bit chateaued, I'm afraid.

- Would you say he's got a problem with drink?

- Bruce was a functioning alcoholic, sergeant.

Like his father.

- Causton races, you say?

You're not being entirely honest with us,

are you Doctor Osgood?

We know that you saw him up at the Hall last night.

- Ah, you've heard about that.

- Oh yes, indeed.

And we also have a witness who saw

you driving towards the stables around

about 10 o'clock last night.

I'm assuming it was you who bandaged Marianna's wrist?

Is she a patient of yours?

- Yes, Marianna called me.

Bruce had assaulted her again.

- Just a house call, was it doctor?

- Okay.

Marianna and I are involved.

But Bruce knew nothing.

I love Marianna and I begged her to leave him.

- And how did you feel, knowing that your good

friend had assaulted the woman you love?

Did you confront him, teach him a lesson?

- He'd cleared off, Inspector.

I assumed he'd gone to the pub.

- How do you like him for it, sir?

Love ripens into vengeance?

Crime of passion?

- Possibly.

But what about this syndicate?

This strange collection of locals who own

Bantling Boy?

- Well, Trevor Machin was the Colonel's gardener.

Osgood was his doctor.

- Yeah, but why leave Joanna Craxton a leg of the horse, eh?

- Pass.

Right; lunch, then we'll find out.

- He's off his food, Ray.

Hasn't touched an oat.

The vet's scoped him, done a blood test.

Something or somebody's got to him

that's for sure.

- Somebody?

- He's worth big money now,

and there's nothing in the way of security here.

Maybe we should move him.

- Where?

- I don't know, anywhere but here.

I'd like to be a million miles away myself.

- Yeah, me too.

But I'm only going as far as the forge,

so call me if you need me.

(dramatic music)

(dogs barking)

- You know, my uncle was a bookmaker.

- Was he?

- Yeah.

- In the blood then, is it?

- Yeah.

Used to carry the satchel for him at Kempton Park.

Do the old tic tac.

100 to 30, Burlington Bertie.

All that stuff.

- What a sheltered life I've led.

- I'm sure you've had your moments, sir.

- Not at Kempton Park, I haven't.

(dramatic music)

Mr. Craxton!

- [Craxton] Just a minute.

- Mr. Craxton, we're here to see your wife.

Is she in?

- She's in the back garden.

- Is this you, sir?

- Yeah, we have mediaeval tournaments up

at Bantling Hall every year, for charity.

- That your son?

- Yeah, he loves all that malarkey.

Mad over it.

This way.

- Put a nasty dent in your skull.

- WMD, Scott, weapons of mediaeval destruction.

Mrs. Craxton, I understand that you're one

of the owners of Bantling Boy?

- Yes, I'm a visiting nurse.

I looked after Lord Bantling during his illness.

And he left me a share in the horse.

- We're trying to establish the whereabouts

of people around about 10 o'clock last night.

- Well I was here, with Peter.

- And were you all three together all the time?

- No, Ray had gone for a walk.

- A walk?

- Tell them, Joanna, tell them what you like.

- He just wanted to get out for some air.

You know, wanted to be on his own.

- Can I take it your husband is not entirely

happy about your involvement

with Bantling Boy?

- You'll have to ask him about that yourself.

Excuse me.

- Hiya, what's the game you're playing?

- The Secret of the Ring.

Want a go?

- Yes, yes please.

- Here, hold this, okay,

now wait,

steady. - Hello?

- When I tell you,

fire!

Yes, you got him!

- Is killing people your idea of fun, young man?

- It's only a game.

- Sir, we've got a treble nine call

from Lodge stables, it's Marianna Hartley.

I think we should get down there.

- Right.

- If all the killing in the world was only

a game, nobody would ever be hurt, would they?

- No, No, that is true, very true.

Out of the mouths of babes.

- Somebody's prowling around.

I've seen them twice, now.

Bantling Boy's ailing.

I'm worried he's been got at.

- Got at?

- I don't like saying this,

but Jake Foley was in trouble a few years ago.

A doping scandal.

Race fixing.

- Was he prosecuted?

- No.

Nothing was proved.

But mud sticks.

He had trouble getting rides.

That's why he came to us.

- I presume if Bantling Boy is a sick horse

that could reduce his value?

- Oh, yes.

The vet's been up.

It'll be all round the county, by now.

- So Sam Tate, who wants to buy the horse,

he could save himself a lot of money?

- Yes.

You don't think Sam Tate's behind this do you?

- We've spoken with Dr. Osgood, Mrs. Hartley

and you haven't been entirely frank with us, have you?

About your relationship with him?

- No.

Sorry.

Last night after Bruce hit me, He stormed off.

I called John and he came up here but he left.

He has nothing to do with Bruce's death.

- And what about you?

Were you angry with your husband?

Angry that he'd attacked you?

- Did you go looking for him?

Find him in here, and then--

- No!

I married a vulgar bully of a man.

And, yes, I've wished him dead, often enough.

But I didn't kill him.

- Well, right now the most important thing

is to increase your security, isn't it?

Whoever killed your husband may have been trying

to steal Bantling Boy when he disturbed them.

- I said to Ray, maybe we should move him somewhere safer.

- Yeah, yeah, that would be a good idea.

And in the meantime, Sergeant Scott can stay with him.

He's very good with horses.

Spent many happy days with them.

- Yes, sir, not sure I fancy spending the night with one.

- Cully!

Cully,

how did it go?

- I was wrong for the part, again.

- It'll come.

- Will it?

I feel so useless, just sitting around waiting

for my agent to ring.

I'm not making any money,

just frittering away my life, you know?

- I'm sorry.

Hey, do you remember the Fallowfields?

- Yeah, why?

- I've got to drop this off up there.

Will you come along with me?

It'll take you out of yourself.

- It's all right Dad, you don't have to.

I'm just a misery right now.

- Come on, you know what they say!

Misery needs company.

Come on.

- 90 pounds. - Yes, 90 pounds.

Mrs. Barnaby won that on Bantling Boy

and she insisted that you to have it.

- Splendid, need every bit of help we can get.

- I wonder, Major, if you could help us out here?

We think that Bantling Boy has been got at.

And or someone is trying to steal him.

He needs stabling somewhere, you know,

out of the way, somewhere safe.

- This is the back of beyond.

You get nobody out here except the odd

birdwatcher and the occasional rambler

bimbling about.

Be safe enough here.

- So do you think you could manage Bantling Boy?

- Well, George, my head man's just retired.

92, lovable old biscuit.

Complete horse nut like myself.

Point being, it's left us a bit thin

in the ranks.

- Well, Perhaps Cully could help you out

while you've got some time on your hands.

Couldn't you?

- I wondered why you'd dragged me up here.

- Doesn't pay much I'm afraid.

Just three square meals and BFH: bus fares home.

Is that agreeable?

- Sounds great.

Until I get a better offer.

(light music)

(dogs barking)

(light music)

(horse neighing)

- Police!

Stay where you are!

(suspenseful music)

(horse neighing)

(suspenseful music)

- Why did you go on the run, Mr. Foley?

- The only running I did was to catch

the last bus to Causton.

Bruce fired me, told me to clear out.

- Why?

From what I hear, the success of Bantling Boy

was very much down to you.

- Why?

Bruce was a wannabe jockey but a few sizes

too large.

That's why he jocked me off.

Jealousy.

- And that made you bitter?

- Course it did.

- Why did you go back to the stables,

last night Jake?

- I heard they called a vet out to Bantling Boy.

- Yeah, because someone got to him.

Was it you?

- I've raised that horse since a yearling.

He's not sick, he's pining.

- For you?

- There's a bond between a horse and his minder

that goes deep.

- Your four-legged friend is he?

Of course, you've doped a few of your friends

in the past, haven't you?

Fixed the odd race?

- That was all malicious.

I was never charged with anything!

- I have to ask you this Mr. Foley.

Did you kill Bruce Hartley?

- No, you wanna know who I think did it?

(chuckling)

Sam Tate.

Tate's bread?

- Why him?

- Him and Bruce had a right set-to

after the race.

If anyone's going to be dancing on Hartley's

grave, it'll be Sam Tate.

- [Joanna] With Bruce gone, that just leaves the Doctor.

- So don't disappoint me.

- It's the police.

I don't want to be seen here.

I don't want them digging into our business.

- No, just keep out of sight.

If I'm on your list, you can cross me off right now.

- Mr. Tate, you had a bit of a run in with Bruce Hartley

at the race course the other day.

- He made a backside of himself, if that's what you mean.

I offered to buy Bantling Boy and what I want I usually get.

- Mr. Tate, have you or any of your acquaintances

been anywhere near Bantling Boy since the race?

- No, nowhere near.

- Do you live here alone, Mr. Tate?

- Yes, divorced two years ago.

I've been happily unmarried ever since.

Ever heard of Tate's Oven-Ready Bread?

- Oh indeed I have.

The crust you can trust.

- That's the one it's disgusting.

But people buy it 'cause it saves time.

And time is money.

I've got a Board meeting in an hour, Inspector.

Bye!

- [Inspector] Well thank you, Mr. Tate.

Thank you very much.

For your valuable time.

- Bye.

- Scott,

run a car check on that.

- Yes, sir, certainly.

Hey Sarge, it's D.S. Scott here.

Could you run a vehicle check on a registration

for me please, kilo, one, five, three, echo, yankee, Mike.

No, I'll wait for it, thank you.

What do you make of Sam Tate, sir?

They reckon he started as a delivery boy

on the bread vans.

- Yeah.

I don't suppose he got rich keeping

on the right side of the law.

- No.

Yeah?

Thank you.

Cheers, thanks very much.

It's Joanna Craxton, sir.

What's she doing up here?

- I suspect she's come to see a man

about a horse.

- Bruce Hartley as Richard the Lionheart.

He were the biggest chicken I ever met.

- Are we going to meet here?

- Peter's indoors.

I don't want him hearing our business.

Sam Tate wants an answer by tomorrow night.

- We sell.

Me and Joanna's agreed.

What's your vote?

- I think Marianna, as Bruce's wife,

should have a say in this.

- But that's not the Syndicate rules, Doctor.

We own Bruce's share.

- Morally, Marianna has a right.

- Morally?

You still knocking a slice off her?

- Trevor!

- You'll be laughing all the way to Bruce's

funeral, that's for sure.

- That settles it.

The horse is not for sale.

Good bye!

- He don't care, do he?

Bloody toff!

- We've got another problem.

Bantling Boy is ailing.

He's been shipped up to Fallowfields.

- Who's gonna pay for that?

I'm skint!

- It's a charity, Trevor.

But if word gets out, his price will drop.

- Damn Osgood.

We've got to sell that horse before it drops

dead in its stall.

- Keep coming, keep coming, that's it,

back you come, come on, come on, slowly!

Come on, come on.

Keep coming, keep coming.

That's it, whoa, that's it!

This takes me back to the Pony Club trials.

Do you remember the Causton show?

"The Five Foot Wall."

- Yeah, you were an old worryguts.

- Yeah, and you were lucky to get away

with just a broken arm there, weren't you?

Grab that.

Greenstick fracture, wasn't it?

At least you got a lot of exercise out of it,

didn't you?

Now these days kids seem stuck in front

of computers all the time.

Okay.

Playing games the entire purpose

of which is to kill people.

The Craxton's boy's obsessed with them.

He's nine years old, Cully, nine years old.

We never let you play games like that, did we?

- I hated computers; films were my thing.

Having said that, when I was nine my favourite

film was "Terminator."

- Was it?

- A fascination with gruesome deaths does run

in the family.

- You think so.

- Thanks Dad.

I'm gonna go though 'cause I've gotta pick

up Bantling Boy at three.

- Thank you, Cully, thank you.

Hey, is the phone ringing?

- No, I think my agent died.

- [Jake] I need to see him.

- Keep away from that horse!

- He's pining, that's what's the matter with him.

- I'll call the police, I mean it!

- Calm down, Jake.

- Get out of my way!

- Clear off, Jake.

You heard her.

- If anything happens to Bantling Boy.

- Why have the police let him go?

- Because they haven't got anything on him.

- I think he did it, Ray.

He hated Bruce.

- We all hated Bruce.

The way he treated the horses.

The way he treated you, made my blood boil.

(horn honking)

I'll fetch Bantling Boy.

- Think of it as a marriage of convenience.

Angela Hartley, née Bantling of Bantling

Hall and Sam Tate, Roughley Road, Barnsley.

Made in heaven.

- Sam, please.

- This place will be sold off, developed,

maybe even bull-dozed.

Now is that what you want,

for you and Geoffrey?

- Not now, Geoffrey, please.

We have business to discuss.

- Great tradition, showing the flag.

- Well, he's settled in, but still not feeding.

- Jake Foley reckons he's pining for him.

Is it possible?

- Well, yes.

Could be.

- The Major mentioned he'd lost his head man?

Do you think he'd take on Jake Foley?

- Well, he's very experienced but isn't there a risk?

Don't you suspect him?

- No, no, I don't.

I suspect he is genuinely fond of this horse.

- Pining for Jake, are you boy?

- You know who killed him, don't you, eh?

- Don't, no!

Leave me alone.

- It's all right, it's not gonna hurt.

- I don't want him touching me.

Go away!

Go away!

- Any vomiting?

- No, but he's been having nightmares

and cold sweats.

- Joanna's out on call, is she?

- Yes.

- You did right to call me.

It's always better to be safe than sorry.

(clock ticking)

(dramatic music)

(glass smashing)

(dramatic music)

(suspenseful music)

(chattering)

- George.

- Blow to the skull, exactly as with Bruce Hartley.

But this was found tied 'round victim's mouth like a gag.

- Was that applied before or after the blow to the head?

- 'Can't be sure, what's certain

is the head blow killed him.

This skull's very crushed.

- Anything back from forensics on Craxton's hammer?

- I'll chase it up.

- Thanks George.

Bruce Hartley, John Osgood.

They both opposed the sale of Bantling Boy, yeah?

- Yeah.

- Which leaves Trevor Machin and Joanna

Craxton free to sell the horse, yeah?

- Yeah and Sam Tate, who always gets what he

wants now has a clear way to buy it.

I'd say that makes the three of them joint favourites.

- Would you?

Remind me, what horse did you back for the Causton Cup?

- Dr. Osgood is dead.

- Death's the cost of living for all of us, innit?

Well, there'll be no more problems

'cause me and Joanna will sell.

- I'm not sure I can trust you, Trevor.

You've been keeping things from me, haven't you?

Bantling Boy's a sick horse.

- It's not you who's been getting at him, is it?

- He's been shipped up to Fallowfields.

Most horses come out of there feet first.

- Are you buying, or not?

- 250,000.

- That's half of what you said.

- You're no worse off.

Your stake's doubled now Osgood and Hartley

are out of the mixture.

- This isn't sweetie money we're talking about.

- Two of the owners of this horse

have come to a sticky end, Trevor.

We don't want you suffering the same fate.

- Are you threatening me?

- Just making a once and only offer.

Phone me, Trevor.

- It seems Scott, that our Dr. Osgood paid

a visit to the Craxton's yesterday.

- What time?

- Why do doctors always write in Sanskrit?

Can you make head or tail of that?

- No.

- Well it means, they might have been the last

ones to see him alive.

Let's give the Craxton's a house call of our own,

shall we?

- It was Ray who called the doctor.

Peter was having nightmares.

I was out visiting a patient.

- The name of this patient?

- Dickinson.

But she's got Alzheimer's.

She can't remember which way's up,

never mind who was where when.

- And the night Bruce Hartley died,

you say you were at home here on your own,

your husband had gone for a walk.

- Yes, I was here with Peter.

Are you implying that I had something to do

with these murders?

- Well, the two people who refused to sell

Bantling Boy are now dead.

And you are much the richer for it, aren't you?

- It's not my doing, none of it.

- Oh, who have we here?

- I'm Sir Peter Bantling.

- [Inspector] Are you?

- Rehearsals for the tournament.

We're due up at the Hall.

- I hear, Peter, you've been having nightmares?

It could be "The Secret of the Ring."

Those computer games certainly give me nightmares.

- With "The Secret of the Ring" I'm never scared.

Never, ever.

- Look, I'm late, Inspector.

Ray's up there, waiting.

Peter, get in the car.

- Bye.

- Bye, Sir Peter.

He's a fine little lad, isn't he?

Has he always been troubled with nightmares?

- No more than most.

It's a troubled world, isn't it?

- Indeed it is.

- Trevor, what is this proposition?

- Sam Tate has cut his offer to 250.

- So?

- Persuade him to up his bid,

and I'll give you 20% of every penny

more you can get out of him.

- What makes you think I have any influence?

- You've got him 'round your little finger.

He's a ladies man.

- What about Joanna?

- Well, she ain't got your class, has she?

Now tell Tate I will not sell.

Not for 250 grand, never.

- You may regret saying that.

- I'll take my chance.

Thanks for the veg.

Put them through to the kitchen for me, would you?

- You may be fiddling yourself a disabled

pension, Trevor, but you won't get me waiting

on you hand and foot.

(dramatic music)

(upbeat music)

- Come on everybody, come on.

(laughing)

(horn honking)

(upbeat music)

Can we have the yeomen,

the bowmen and the camp followers

into the jousting field now?

- Mr. Craxton, a couple of questions please.

- What, in the middle of all this?

- I'm in the middle of a murder inquiry, Mr. Craxton

and I believe you were the last person

to see Dr. John Osgood alive.

- When he left mine, that was the last I saw of him.

Excuse me, I'm in the middle of a battle.

(upbeat music)

- You bought yourself a horse yet, Mr. Tate?

- No, but I'm working on it.

- I wish you'd leave Sam to me, Trevor.

- Put my trust in pillow talk, no.

- Peter, would you take Mr. Machin his drink, please?

- No!

- You, young man, will do as I say!

(yelling)

- [Trevor] Little monkey!

- Make ready.

Approach.

- [Scott] What's she doing, sir?

- She's giving her favour to her chosen knight, Scott.

- Making him the favourite, is that it?

- That's where the phrase comes from, Scott.

- Let battle commence!

(dramatic music)

(horses neighing)

(dramatic music)

Vicar.

(dramatic music)

Give mercy!

(groaning)

- Ray and Joanna Craxton are a double act, sir.

They'll share the money from selling the horse.

That's the motive.

- Trevor Machin also stands to gain from the sale

of the horse, if money is the motive behind all of this.

- Well, if it's not money, sir, what is it?

- The boy Peter.

He's clearly upset, having nightmares.

You should have seen him this afternoon,

running at Trevor Machin with his little sword.

- I'm not with you on this, sir.

- Scott, there is something between his mother

and Trevor Machin that makes the boy very angry.

- You think Machin's got some hold over her?

- Yeah, could be.

- He was certainly keen to finger Dr. Osgood

when I spoke to him.

- Tom, I thought you'd want to see this

straight away, just back from forensics.

No prints, I'm afraid, but it's a pretty close

fit with the head wounds on Hartley and Dr. Osgood.

Definitely the type of weapon you're looking for.

- Thank you, George.

- Ray Craxton's spent a lifetime swinging

hammers like that, sir, with deadly accuracy.

- Yes, but everybody knows that Scott.

The killer could be using that fact.

(suspenseful music)

(hammer clanging)

(dramatic music)

- The same hammer blow.

Exactly the same weapon profile, Tom.

Skull crushed and this again.

- Why would you do this?

- It's a statement.

They're being killed, then they're gagged.

They're being ritualistically silenced.

- Would make sense of it.

- But silenced about what?

And by whom?

- [Sam] Inspector Barnaby's car isn't it?

- I'd better go.

- Take care.

(dramatic music)

- Yeah, I was on my own.

Working here 'till 10, on them shields.

- When did you last see Trevor Machin, Ray?

- What's going on?

- Trevor Machin was murdered last night.

- Oh, my God.

- You think I killed him.

And Dr. Osgood.

And Bruce Hartley.

Am I right?

- Can we continue this conversation

at the station, Mr. Craxton?

- Ray!

He wouldn't harm a fly, let alone kill anybody.

- Just his hobby is it?

Malleting people?

Excuse me.

- I liked none of them, no.

- Nevertheless, your wife now owns outright

a horse worth half a million pounds.

- Everybody in Midsomer's made money out of that horse.

Even the vicar trousered a fair few quid.

Look, it's caused me and Joanna nothing

but arguments, I killed nobody.

I don't know why you're picking on me.

- Because you don't have an alibi for the times

of the three murders, sir.

- What about Sam Tate?

And that two-faced cow Angela Hartley?

You haven't pulled them in have you, no.

- Oh, come on.

We question everyone alike,

no matter who they are.

- Well you're not going to get the right answer

questioning the wrong man.

I didn't do it.

- The police think that Ray killed all three of them.

- Well, they're wrong aren't they?

- What if Ray starts talking?

About the syndicate.

He knows everything Angela.

All of it.

Me,

you.

- How does he know?

Did you tell him?

- I had to.

Bruce threatened to tell everybody.

I wanted Ray to hear it from me.

- Stay calm Joanna.

We don't need to panic.

I can look after Peter as long as you like.

We're in this together.

Always have been.

- We searched Craxton's cottage 'till we

ran out of places to look, sir.

Nothing, any luck your end?

- No, he's denying any involvement.

I've got nothing, you've got nothing,

we're gonna have to release him.

Here, take a look at that.

That's the Bantling Family Crest.

- Yeah, but sir, surely, it's gotta be him.

Can't we lean on him a bit?

Keep his feet to the fire?

- Sergeant, this is Midsomer, not the Met.

Did they not teach you about the Holy Trinity up at Hendon?

Three things required before you move

from suspicion to conviction.

Motive, opportunity, and evidence.

And the greatest of these three, my son,

is evidence, which in Ray Craxton's case we do not have.

- Yeah, but sir--

- He will be released.

Bring that along with you.

- See him fly, his feet are wings,

keeper of the secret of the ring.

- Get on, quick sticks.

We'll be late.

(doorbell ringing)

Who the hell's that?

- What do you see?

- Well, it's a coat of arms, isn't it?

- Yes, the hammer and the pennant.

Now, we've had three people killed

with a hammer and two of them were gagged.

Each with a piece of triangular cloth

in the shape of the pennant.

- That could be a connection, sir.

But why not gag all three of the victims?

- Why not, indeed.

Something different about Bruce Hartley's death?

- Oh, Inspector, we were just going to Fallowfields

to see Bantling Boy.

- Ah, Lady Hartley, could you tell me,

where you were last night, you and Geoffrey?

- I was working in my office on some accounts.

The boys were playing their computer games.

Is that all, Inspector?

- Geoffrey, that shield up there.

What does that mean to you?

(chuckling)

- The Crest of the Bantlings.

- Into the car boys.

- Good bye.

- Peter.

- If you think Geoffrey had anything to do with these

dreadful murders you are very much off track.

He is completely harmless.

- I'm sure he is.

But I have to ask these questions, Lady Hartley.

Sometimes the most unlikely people

do the most extraordinary things, don't they?

I'll drop you off at the station, Scott,

if I may, head up to Fallowfields with them.

(dramatic music)

- Mrs. Hartley] Put it away now, Peter.

- The secret of the ring.

- The secret of the ring.

- [Joanna] I want to get out, Ray.

- [Ray] Yeah, so do I.

- I meant you and me, and our Peter.

We just pack everything and go.

I want us to start again.

We could be back to how we were.

Just us three.

- No, Joanna.

There's no going back.

You destroyed all that.

You and Angela and the whole damn lot of them.

- Ray, please.

- The hell with you!

(clearing throat)

- It's all cleared with the Custody Sergeant, Mr. Craxton.

You're free to go.

- Thanks,

for nothing.

(alarm blaring)

- Doesn't Bantling Boy look a picture?

- Yes, he does.

- Can I give him this?

- Mrs. Hartley] Can he?

- [Woman] I think he'd love it.

- [Geoffrey] Can I stroke him?

- Of course you can, Geoffrey.

(horse neighing)

- He doesn't like you, Geoffrey,

he only likes me.

Can I ride him?

- That alright, Major?

- You can sit on him, yes.

- Okay Peter, come on.

One, two, three, hup!

There.

Sir Peter on his charger.

- He's the best.

Out of Midsomer Girl by Bantling Brave,

from Knight's Maiden by King's Charter,

who was out of Royal Dynasty--

- All right Peter, we've heard enough.

- It's breeding, you see.

It's in the blood.

- Everything's in the breeding.

(dramatic music)

(suspenseful music)

- Ray?

Are you in there Ray?

(suspenseful music)

(door slamming shut) (gasping)

(yelling)

- No!

(dramatic music)

- It's Joanna Craxton.

Head caved in.

- Gagged?

- Yeah, same as the others.

Ray Craxton found her.

- My money says he put her there as well.

- I thought you were holding him?

- We were.

I've just had the super on, wanting

to know why he was released.

- Good question.

- Well, it's the Holy Trinity apparently.

Motive, opportunity and evidence.

The greatest of which is evidence

which in Ray Craxton's case we did not have.

Did we, sir?

- No, I preferred my doubts

to your certainties.

Lady Hartley, can you look after Peter again?

His father will be with us.

- Well yes, of course.

- You'll never get your hands on him, hear me, never!

- Thank you.

(sirens blaring)

"You'll never get your hands on him," he said.

- [Scott] Meaning the horse?

- Or his son.

Craxton clearly resents Angela Hartley's

closeness to Joanna and her owning a share of Bantling Boy.

Scott, there's something staring us in the face

here, and we are missing it.

- About Joanna?

Or the syndicate?

- The syndicate.

Yeah.

As each member of the syndicate died,

their share was passed to the remaining

members of the syndicate, yeah?

Until Joanna Craxton owned the lot.

But now she's dead, who owns the horse?

- It's a matter of your husband's will.

Bequest of Bantling Boy.

- Oh, I've left my notebook, excuse me.

- [Geoffrey] Have at you!

I will be Lord of the Manor now.

- [Peter] You're knight champion, sir Geoffrey.

You have to help me reach the next level.

- Now that Joanna Craxton is dead,

who owns Bantling Boy?

- The terms of my husband's will

are that the horse now belongs to Peter.

- To Peter?

- Oh come on, Barnaby.

You're a man of the world.

Peter's mother, Joanna, nursed my husband.

- Were they lovers?

- Nine years ago my husband raped Joanna.

(chattering)

- [Geoffrey] Lord Peter.

- Joanna was Catholic, so were the Hartley's.

Just as a divorce was out of the question

for me, so was abortion for her.

I paid her money,

every week.

She kept quiet and she kept the child.

- Osgood was his doctor, Machin was his gardener.

And I take it they and your son Bruce,

they all knew what had happened to Joanna?

- They knew.

- And that's why your husband left

all the Bantling Boy shares to the four of them?

As a reward for their silence?

- Yes.

(suspenseful music)

- Peter is very fond of Bantling Boy.

I doubt he'd want him sold to Mr. Tate.

- We'll see.

It will be Peter's decision.

- Oh, I hope it is.

- Your sergeant seems to have gone missing.

Perhaps we'd better find him.

(suspenseful music)

(computer beeping)

Sergeant Scott?

Are you looking for something, Sergeant?

- Toilet.

- This way.

- It's a proprietary game,

originally taken off the internet.

But it's been modified, they've added

some variables, different loops.

- And in English that is?

- Well someone has taken the original game

and expanded on it.

The object now seems to be to redeem the honour

of the Bantling.

So I followed the pathway plan

through to the final level, where I

found this secret chamber.

And then this.

(dramatic music)

The victims' names are all there, sir.

Bruce Hartley, Dr. Osgood,

Trevor Machin and Joanna Craxton.

- Well, that's grotesque.

- Yeah, all of the deaths are described.

Each one using mediaeval language.

Ye hammer of vengeance, and ye pennant of pride.

The quest seems to be to take revenge

on the Ring, the betrayers of the secret.

- Could the ring be the syndicate,

the ring of owners of Bantling Boy?

- The hero of the game is Sir Peter, riding a mighty steed.

It all ties in with Craxton's obsession

with battle recreations, mediaeval weapons.

- Why put that on Peter's computer?

- I think he's used the game to rehearse

the killings before he carries them out.

- Could Geoffrey have created this?

- No, sir, it's beyond him, he's got an IQ of about two.

I think that when Joanna told Ray, Peter wasn't his son,

tipped him over the edge into this.

- I don't know what games you're talking about.

- "The Secret of the Ring."

The game you downloaded onto Peter's laptop.

- His laptop?

I hate them things.

I work with my hands, Inspector.

I'm computer illiterate.

- When did you first discover that Peter

wasn't your real son, Mr. Craxton?

- Joanna told me the night Bruce Hartley

was killed that Peter wasn't mine.

They all knew, the whole syndicate.

They'd been laughing behind my back for years.

- Mr. Craxton, four people are to be buried.

The very ones that you say were laughing

at you behind your back.

- I didn't kill them!

My wife is dead!

And to me Peter is still my son.

So either charge me, or let me go home and look after him.

- [Barnaby] The game on your computer, Peter,

"The Secret of the Ring," what's it about?

- The quest of the Bantling.

- The quest?

- To take back the secret of the ring.

- Did your father invent the game, Peter?

Did you play it with Ray?

- He's not my father!

I don't want to see him ever again!

- I had to tell him, Inspector.

It's his birthright to know who he is.

What he is.

He's my husband's son.

He's heir to the Lordship and Manor of Bantling.

- Lady Hartley, if I may,

I'd like to examine your computer please.

- Feel free.

I have nothing to hide.

- [Barnaby] Thank you.

- That looked champion.

- Yeah, he's all in good order, fit and keen.

- I hear he's been entered up for another

race in Causton next week?

Is that wise?

I'm thinking, after a set back?

- Yeah, you're thinking, if Bantling Boy wins,

he'll be a more expensive buy.

- Now that had never occurred to me.

- Sure.

He'll take his chance next week.

You can bank on it.

- We'll see.

He might have a new owner by then.

- Mr. Craxton.

Mr. Craxton, you're free to go.

But I would seriously advise you not to try

and approach Peter, okay?

- I want my son.

- Please, be warned.

For his sake and for yours,

stay away from Peter.

Did you get anything from Lady Hartley's computer?

- Only that would interest the inland revenue sir,

but nothing for us so far.

- Well, I've had to let Craxton go.

I mean we've got nothing on him, have we?

We've got no blood stains, no weapon,

no fingerprints, we've got nothing.

- It's a bit of a risk, isn't it, sir?

- Yes, yes it is.

Look Scott, you can leave that.

You follow Craxton.

Don't let him out of your sight and sit tight

on that cottage.

- Yes sir.

(dramatic music)

- [Sam] We had a deal.

You can't back out now after everything I've done.

- Anything you've done, Sam, you did for yourself.

Always have, always will.

- And you're Lady Bountiful?

Come off it, Angela.

You're as ruthless as I am.

We're two of a kind.

- I hardly think so.

- You think you can ditch me now?

Now you can control Bantling Boy through Peter?

No way!

- Please, don't raise your voice in my kitchen!

I will not change my mind.

- Oh, yes you will, Angela.

Only fools and the departed never change their minds.

(dramatic music)

- What's another word for con man?

Nine letters, ending in R.

- Ray Craxton's son, Peter, he really is extraordinary.

- Fraudster.

- Pardon?

- Con man, nine letters, ending in R.

- He can remember Bantling Boy's pedigree

going back for four or five generations.

The sires, the mares, everything and all by heart.

(dramatic music)

Do you know, that hadn't occurred to me.

I never thought of that even as a possibility,

- What?

- Something Scott said.

- It's a quest: to take revenge on the Ring,

the betrayers of the secret.

To Redeem the honour of the Bantling.

- Give me the dictionary.

Honour of the Bantling.

Band, banshee, bantam,

bantling.

Oh.

Oh, of course.

- Sleep well, Peter, sleep tight.

- Night, Geoffrey.

- Say goodnight, Geoffrey.

- Goodnight.

- It's the three of us together now, boys.

Nothing more to worry about, Geoffrey.

Nothing, not now.

This will be our family home forever.

(dramatic music)

(phone ringing)

- [Barnaby] Barnaby.

- Sir, it's Scott.

Yeah, I've lost Craxton.

Yeah, he's on the loose I'm afraid.

- [Barnaby] Okay, Scott, get yourself over

to Bantling Hall as fast as you can.

Ray!

I told you to stay away from here.

- I want my son!

(yelling)

Peter!

(yelling)

Peter!

(yelling)

- [Angela] No, no!

- Peter! - No, don't do it!

- No, no, Geoffrey, no!

No, leave him!

- Peter. - No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

I don't want to, no!

I hate you!

I hate you!

I hate you!

- You're a traitor, betrayer!

- Leave me alone!

- It was you, Geoffrey, wasn't it?

You did all this killing.

Bruce and Trevor, John and Joanna.

It was you Geoffrey, wasn't it?

- Is that true, Geoffrey?

Was it you?

- Yeah, but not by himself, Lady Hartley.

Not by himself.

- Surely you're not suggesting that I--

- No, no, no.

He did it at Peter's bidding.

Isn't that right Peter?

Peter?

Geoffrey, Geoffrey,

on the night Bruce died,

can you remember where were you, about 10 o'clock?

- Bruce upset Angela.

- And that upset you too, didn't it?

- Yes, he was mean to her.

- And he wouldn't sell the horse.

He wouldn't help Angela keep Bantling Hall.

- You and that half-wit brother of yours.

(sobbing)

- This is home, Angela.

I wanna stay here.

- Oh, Geoffrey.

- So, you went out looking for him, Geoffrey?

- Yes.

And I crept up on him.

He didn't see me.

Then I found a hammer, so I--

(horse neighing)

- [Barnaby] What did you do with the hammer?

- I hid it in the Priest's hiding hole.

- Oh.

- You couldn't find it.

- But the idea for that game Geoffrey,

that was Peter's wasn't it?

- Yes.

- He has a lot of ideas, doesn't he, Peter?

And you are his best friend, Geoffrey.

You don't have any secrets from one another.

Bet you told him, didn't you?

You told him what you'd done to Bruce.

- He said he'd tell on me if I didn't and they

would take me away and put me in prison.

- Why, Geoffrey?

Why did Peter want you to do to the others

what you'd done to Bruce?

- Because, because

they betrayed the secret.

- What secret?

That Peter was a Bantling?

- Yes, he overheard his mum and dad fighting about it.

- He's always gonna think of himself

as yours. - He's not!

He is the bastard son of the Hartleys!

- Ray! - That is what he is!

- They'd been arguing about you, hadn't they Peter?

- Yes.

- Your mother told your father that you

weren't really his real son?

That you were a bantling.

- Yes, I am a bantling.

- The word bantling is an ancient mediaeval term for bastard.

Isn't that right?

And you knew that word, didn't you?

From your mediaeval myths, from your codes of chivalry.

You knew what it meant to be a bantling?

- To wear the badge of shame.

To forfeit all honour, be mocked,

scorned, outcast for ever.

- And the ring

were the owners of Bantling Boy, who knew the secret?

- They were the possessors, sworn to keep it safe.

Once betrayed, the secret must be taken back.

- But how, Peter, how?

(eerie music)

- By the knight champion of the Bantling with the Hammer

of vengeance and the Pennant of Pride in his hand.

He could steal back the secret of the ring.

- And Geoffrey was your knight champion, was he?

- I wanna be Lord of the Manor now!

- No, you're Knight Champion, Sir Geoffrey.

Brave and fearless.

- So Geoffrey stole back the secret

by silencing them, one by one.

That was his quest, in that computer game that you created?

- Yes.

- And you almost won that game didn't you, eh, Peter?

Colonel Hartley's Bantling Boy, and Colonel

Hartley's title, will be all yours.

- It's breeding.

Class will tell, horses and people alike.

- It wasn't a game, Peter!

Peter?

- Don't think he can hear us, Mr. Craxton.

(eerie music)

- What I don't understand, sir,

is why Geoffrey turned on Peter in the end?

After doing his bidding all that time?

- Peter's last command to Geoffrey was to kill Angela,

because she knew about his Bantling secret as well.

But Geoffrey loved Angela, she was his sister, his carer.

He couldn't do it so he turned on Peter instead.

- Makes you feel a bit queasy, sir.

- You what?

- Well, a little kid like that using

his computer to turn murder into a game.

- Ah Scott, when killing becomes entertainment,

we can all lose touch with reality.

I thought we'd turn in here.

- Sir?

- To tell the landlord that we're onto

the thefts in his car park.

- [Announcer] With two furlongs to go,

plenty of chances.

Ruby Mist has taken over, Bantling Boy on his shoulder,

Jake Foley sitting with a double handful.

And Foley asks for an effort now.

Bantling Boy storms into the lead, by a length, two lengths.

And Bantling Boy wins his come-back

race in a canter. - Yes!

- Have you had a bet on, sir?

- I have, Scott.

I've made myself a nice little killing.

(eerie music)