All language subtitles for 06 - Campion Flowers for the Judge pt2

(THEME SONG PLAYING)

Let the whole of London
say what they will.

I will not listen
to their vile gossip.

And who are they,
these petty people,

with their lust
for cheap sensation?

It was an accident.

It was.
I don't know what or how.

But Mike did not kill Paul.
Did not!

Gina.

Someone murdered your husband.
I think you know that.

-No.
-I think we all know that.

(YELLING) Help me!
Help me, someone!

(WHIMPERS) Please.

Thank you for driving me home.

Please.

Can I see him?

It would be very much better
if you didn't.

Mr Campion,

I think I know what
you're going to tell me.

You had no idea
he was in love with you.

Isn't that just too awful?

What he must think.
How shallow he must
find me now.

I don't believe he does.

We go back quite a long way,
you know.

And you are quite right.

Mike didn't kill your husband.

You can be sure of that?

I don't think he did.

We Barnabases. Oh!

Poor John.

Takes himself
so very seriously.

Don't suppose you know.
Or do you?

The way Paul was killed,

taken from the plot
of a novel we published.

-Really?
-Mm-hm.

When?

Hmm. Two years ago.

Who saw it through
to publication, Mike?

I did.

Do the backlists
of the company
contain any more surprises?

Possibly.

-It's just,
I couldn't help noticing...
-Ah, yes.

You noticed
we once published a book
under my name.

My own work.
That's very astute,
Mr Campion.

If you're suggesting
my humble tome,

also a plot to murder someone,

afraid not.

What was the title of the book
you mentioned as having
similarities with the murder?

Flowers for the Judge.

Modus operandi, identical.

We've published a lot
of such books.
Murder mysteries.

And you take personal charge
of many of them?

This was the first.

And only.

You may have noticed,
I'm the unworldly Barnabas.
(CHUCKLES)

Matter of fact,
I detest this firm.

This is Mr Richard's book.

The Life of the Circus
by Richard Barnabas.

Oh, please.
Was it a bestseller?

Put it this way,

you could make
yourself a garden wall
from the unsold copies.

(CAMPION LAUGHS)

Is Mr Ritchie unworldly,
would you say?

MISS CURLEY: What on earth
gave you that idea?

And Mr Brande?

Do you mean,
what did I think of him?

I thought he was a fool
and a cad.

Good book?

-Well written?
-This bloke knows his stuff.

-You've worked in the circus,
have you?
-Page 100.

He mentions a
Gerald A. Murray.

Known to my father
as Jedda the Strongman.

Comes the end of the Boer War,
this Jedda says to me old man,

"I'm off, me old china,
for a life of ease
and the open road."

"What's that then, Jed?",
says me old man.

"The circus,
me dear old darling."

See? Well, your bloke
has got it bang to rights.

"The Man Mountain,
of Marsh Lane,

"and scrooge of public houses
the length and breadth
of Lambeth."

-Scourge, possibly.
-That's what I said.

Hm.

Does Ritchie
really know his stuff?

Well, I'll say this.
It is art, isn't it?

Uh, next cab on the rank.

A rather pasty individual
called Riggett.

Left his last job
in a bit of a hurry.

I'd like you to nose around,
Lugg.

(LUGG GIGGLES)

If you can spare the time.

Tell me what you told
Sergeant Pillow, Mr Riggett.

Should I do that?

Am I supposed to?

Yes, or we'll go to
the head of the firm together.

I was only thinking of my job.

The day before
Mr Paul was killed,
the Wednesday morning,

I happened to overhear
this quarrel between
Mr Paul and Mr Michael.

-And how did that come about?
-Sir?

You heard them talking
through the wall?

Through a half-open door.
That one.

And what was said?

Well...

If you can tell me
without bringing a blush
to your maiden cheek.

Mr Paul said,
"You mind your own
damn business.

"She's mine.
And I'll manage my own life
in my own way."

Was that it?

Then he said,

"Make love to her,
if you want.

"Don't think
I'm going to stop you."

And what did
Mr Michael say to that?

Nothing.

Then he... I happened to
notice him walk away.

I could see what
he was thinking.

Could you indeed?

Oh, yes.

But then, of course,
that's not really
evidence is it?

Not in a court of law.

He sounds
absolutely loathsome.

How well do you
know the staff?

Hardly at all.

Netley, the girl who's
Paul's secretary.

Conceited little thing.

Is it possible...
I'm casting around a bit,
I have to confess...

Did she mean anything to Paul?

I don't know.

Supposing Riggett did hear
something passing between
Paul and Mike

to the effect, you know,

"Do what you like,
it makes no difference to me."

Could that mean...

I'm really sorry to have to
ask you this, Gina.

Did he have another woman?

I don't know.

It is possible
there was someone else.

-But not Miss Netley.
-I wouldn't have thought so
for a moment.

Though you don't know her.

When will this ever end?

The trial begins
the day after tomorrow.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

(HEAVY FOOTSTEPS)

LUGG: Office manila.
Postmarked Holborn,
4:30 yesterday.

Disguised handwriting,
or I'm a Dutchman.

Good man. Coffee, Lugg.

It helps, does it,
to make the place untidy

by sleeping in the chair
all night?

Coffee!

-What was it?
-A post office savings book.

Well, pro bono publico!

What is Latin for, a leg up.
From a secret admirer.

Yes, of course it's mine.

-And where do you
normally keep it?
-In my bag.

And your bag?

How on earth did
you get a hold of it?

May I?

I can't help noticing
you're a thrifty young woman,
Miss Netley.

You save 10 shillings a week
from your wages, it seems.

-That's not a crime.
-Oh, a virtue.

And this sum you pay in just
down the road at the Holborn
office on a weekly basis.

We take the post there.
It's the nearest.

Hm.

But then there are these other
irregular payments.

-Birthdays.
-Ah.

People give you money
and you pay it
into your account.

How many birthdays
a year do you have?

-Give me back my book.
-I don't think so.

It's theft!

Yes. Let's go and make
a complaint to the police.

We'll go together.

This particular year,
did you have a birthday
on the 11th?

And the 13th?
And the 17th of January?

I mean, to add to the
birthdays you had in November
and December of last year.

I don't have to talk to you.

You may find it less painful
to talk to me.

There's very nearly
half a year's wages
of these...birthday presents.

Paid in at post offices
from King's Cross to
St. James's.

What is this?
The rewards of blackmail?

You cad.

What a rotten thing to say.

Answer me.

You're not stupid.
What else could it be?

Presents for favours received?

From a man?

Only a man could
think of that.

Then what are these payments?

I do not need to answer.

The reason you
do not need to answer,
Miss Netley,

is that your little book
will speak for you.

You can be sure of that.

I came to see you
on quite another matter.

I want to ask you again
about the last few minutes
you shared with Mr Paul.

I've told the police
all I know.

It was in this very office,
wasn't it?

At close to half past three,
the afternoon post arrives.

I'll be Mr Brande, shall I?

There's just the one letter,
so I'll open it. Thank you.

Aha!

Now. What do I do
with the envelope?

Mr Paul scrumpled up
the envelope and the letter
and threw them on the fire.

Like this? Did they burn?

-Or did you manage...
-They were burnt to ashes.

Yes, of course
you'd have checked that
after he'd gone.

Anyway, I jump up.
I'm Mr Brande again,
by the way.

I put on my hat and coat.
I'm excited,
I think you said.

Now do I just go
without saying a word?

No. Mr Paul asked
if a parcel had come.

From Fortnum and Mason's.

-From?
-It arrived an hour
after he left.

What did you do with it?

It's in the cupboard
over there.

Still?

What business is it of mine?

You silly little fool.

It won't bite you.

You've looked inside.

I don't have to.
It's crystallised fruit.

Open it.

Who is the lady, Miss Netley?

You've found me, then?

-Yes.
-Come in.

(WHISTLES) Hello!

Be quiet, George!

He's absurd, isn't he?

Can I get you a drink?

-Whisky?
-Thank you.

Paul was really
a very simple man.

He could have had a girl with
nice long legs

and a collection
of dance-band music,

but he was happy here,
my dear old boy.

-It's very charming.
-Do sit down.

I knew him for 18 years.
We met at the end of the war.

Nothing could ever come of it.

He was awfully cut up
when he married
that little thing.

But I said it didn't make
a blime bit of difference.
Not to me.

He had to marry someone,
I knew that.
That's what happens.

He didn't love her.

She didn't love him,
I shouldn't think.

But we struggled along.

You're very kind
to see me, um...

Teddie.

I suppose you must
find it odd.

We were very happy.

Teddie, you realise
whatever you tell me
is a confidence between us.

Thank you.

-Do you know about
The Gallivant?
-The Gallivant?

Some old play or something.

I can't say
I understand it all myself.

The firm have got
the only copy of this thing.

Paulie wanted to exhibit it.
Display it or something.
You know, make a splash.

Sell it, maybe. Supposed to be
incredibly valuable.

A large part of the equity
of the firm is bound up in it.

That's the ticket, yes.

But he wasn't a Barnabas.

He did most of the work.
He tried to
modernise the firm.

But those three cousins
froze him out at every turn.

The Gallivant
was a particular example.

Poor lad. He was practically
chewing the carpet.

When did you last see him?

That Thursday.

He came to tea. About 5:00.

We had our little cuddle.

I wanted him to stay.
Make an excuse and to stay.

But he said,
"I can't, old thing.

"I'm off to Camden Town,
of all places, to get a key.

"Then I'm off
to the British Museum."

He said he'd ring.
As per usual on Sunday.

First time I saw his wife
was at the coroner's inquest.

I couldn't believe
how beautiful she was.

But he loved me. Do you see?

Yes.

I know how clever you are,
Mr Campion.

What you really want
to know is, what key?

May I make a guess?

It was a new key
for the office safe.

That's why he was killed,
wasn't it?

Until I met you,
I wouldn't have known that.

You may have
saved someone's life.

That won't bring
my dear old lad back to me.

Phew.

Good Lord!

Your man just sent me packing!

Do come in.

Says you're terribly busy.

May I ask, the Netley girl.

Her post office book?

Me. Stole it from her bag.

Shot in the dark. Any use?

You wouldn't be free
later on tonight?

Say, in a couple of hours?

Here?

I have some rather good
white burgundy.

Couple of hours.

I say, Ritchie...

There is something
you could do for me
straight away.

The key to the
Golden Quill premises.

Who has one?
Ritchie? This is it.
He just gave it to me.

Mike, John, Paul presumably,
and Miss Curley.

-The strongroom.
-I've just finished laying!

Now, wait a minute.

The strongroom.

The key to the strongroom.
Who has one?

There is only one.
It's kept in
Miss Curley's desk.

A very
security-conscious firm.

Yes, but then
it's nothing more than
a stationary cupboard really,

except that it houses

the safe.

The key to the safe.

There must be a key.
It was locked when
I first saw it.

-What sort of safe?
-Oh, pantomime effort really.

Duff and Eglinton,
maybe 40 years old.

Should be in a museum.

The key to the safe.

How many copies, normally?

Just the one for the old D&E.
It'd be a big old thing
and all.

So, just the one.
The senior partners.

Oh, yes. Now what?

Burglary, Lugg.

I'll get me coat.

Good man.

-A little expert advice.
-Hm?

Good Lord, no!

You're a gentleman's
gentleman, Lugg.

-I have a much more
congenial task for you.
-Oh, yes.

I want you to run this round
to the British Museum.

Awfully good class of people
there, Lugg.

Hand it in, wait,

and then escort the gentleman

back here.

LUGG: And what'll you
be doing meanwhile?

CAMPION: Oh, just a little
harmless sleuthing.

(GROANING)

Just relax!

Ow.

I live with my parents.

They're both very respectable.

They don't know
anything about this.

They don't have to.

I'm evil. I'm not stupid.

It'll all come out.

I'm a filthy, evil,
little nobody.

If you say so.

When did you copy this key?

Last summer.

It was putting
temptation in my way.

We only have the one key.

It was asking for it.

But I didn't kill him.

We'll come to that.

Why did you copy the key?

Why do you think?

Hm?

Because it's exciting.

I can't stop myself.

I go through
the secretaries' desks.

That bitch Dora Netley and
Miss Marchant and...

The strongroom
is too great a temptation

I can't help myself.

It's power.

Over them.

All of you.

Rich people.

Stupid.

What were you looking for?

Not what I found.

Listen to me.

Murder, Riggett, somebody's
going to hang for it.

Real, plain,
no-nonsense murder.

-That Friday...
-The day after
Mr Paul disappeared.

Yes, of course.
I hid in the lavatory.

I waited till they'd all left.

I came down here,
I opened up, he was
over there.

I was afraid...

I saw that he was dead,

and I thought...

What do people like you know
about me and my kind?

I felt a thrill.

Nobody would find him
until Monday or even later.

But I knew.

I knew all about it.

It was...

I don't go with women, but...

It was...

Why did you move the body?

Oh, no, nothing like that.

I didn't touch him, I swear.

Listen to me.

When you came down here
that night, was this door
open or shut?

It was locked. I told you.

He had locked himself in.

So how could you open
the door?

When I put my key
in the lock, it must have
pushed his out.

When I unlocked the door,
his key was lying on the floor
just inside.

So Mr Brande went into
the room.

Locked himself in.

Why?

Was the safe open?

(STUTTERING)
Oh, I didn't touch anything.

I'm too scared for that
sort of thing. I never steal.

Answer my question.
Was the safe open?

Yes.

And the key was in the lock?

Yes.

But when the body was found,
the safe was locked.

Because I locked it and put
the key in my pocket.

And then you picked up
his key,

the key that belongs
in Miss Curley's desk.

You locked him in again,
put the office key back
in Miss Curley's desk...

And left. Is that right?

Yes.

And from all that followed
in those few moments,

it gave you pleasure to see
a man, Mr Mike, start on his
way to the gallows.

Oh, no. I've told you...

You can't begin to understand.
I was trapped!

Give me the safe key.

I don't have it. I swear.

You took it away.

Back to your sainted parents,
did you?

Along with what?
Netley's lipsticks?

Little Miss Marchant's comb
or stockings?

And you watched while a man
was indicted for murder.

You're right, Riggett, you are
an evil being.

They'll say I did it!

Perhaps you did. I should
certainly go to the lawyer's
tonight if I was you.

Oh, no, you can help me!

I don't think so, but
you'll help me.
Here's a pound note.

You'll leave here now,
this instant,

walk up into Holborn,
and get a cab!

Go home and get the key
to that safe. Return it to me
here within the hour!

Sixty minutes, Riggett!

Before I set the whole
of Scotland Yard on your tail.

Nobody will believe me.

I shouldn't think they will.

Ow!

-You're really awfully good.
-Hm.

And he didn't move the body?

You can be certain?

Well, certain's going a
bit far. I don't think he did.
He's a terrible maggot but...

Mm-mm, nearly done.

But, if he left it
where it was...

It was quite possible for Mike
to have gone to
the strongroom

and not discovered Paul, yes.

Hm, very dim light,
figure huddled up
in a corner...

Exactly.

-However...
-My God!

Mm-hm. Sometime on the Sunday
someone did come down
and did move the body.

And whoever did that was
more or less ensuring
Mike's arrest.

This blows the whole thing
wide open.

Would it be better to say
it changes our point of view?

Ritchie, this is a key
to the safe.

I think Paul had it cut for
an especial reason.

I think he picked it up from
a locksmith that
Thursday night,

and came down here
expressly to open the safe.

He even locked himself in,
secrecy was so
important to him.

He was poisoned by
carbon monoxide in the course
of his search.

Search? Search for what?

Now, current contracts,

fire insurance,

letters.

Oh, letters from
the great and good!
To my uncle, I think.

Let's see.

Arthur Clough!

Look here! Tennyson! Letters!

You've seen it before,
of course.

Only once. At the bank.

Where it should be kept.

Valued at £20,000
on the balance sheet.

CAMPION: "O Sir,
since Lady Flippert
hath a bee in her bonnet,

"you must allow if the bee
is not a queen

"the bonnet is at least
a la mode."

Think you may have
stumbled across the only
clean line in it.

Scandalously...
What's the word? Rude?

Things have moved on a little
since then, Ritchie.

Don't know what you mean.

Paul and your cousin John
were at loggerheads over what
to do with it?

John, most amazingly prudish.

I simply don't believe you.

Congreve was
a very accomplished
playwright,

surely our ideas of what
is and isn't indecent
have changed since then.

John absolutely incensed by
the suggestion it should
be brought to the public,

under any circumstances.

Yes.

(CHUCKLES)
It's wonderfully funny.

-Where's the rest?
-Is it Congreve?

Ah, written well before,
The Way of the World,
would you say,

but not included
in the collected works.

It's quite a find, Albert.

In his handwriting?

Oh, dear.

Thanks. I'm afraid Albert was
an errant sort of scholar.
We were at school together.

No, it's hardly likely to be
in Congreve's hand.

It would be worth a fortune
as such.

You know, it could date later
than The Way of the World.

After all, he wasn't
an old fogey when he died.

Sandy, you can quite
definitely say it is not
the original manuscript?

The Way of the World
was published in 1700,
old thing.

Paper, Albert. Ink.

Mr Barnabas here
is a publisher...

Rather, a sleeping partner.

Oh, I see.

Well, this is written on
machine-made paper,

probably less than
100 years old.

Good heavens!

By which time Mr Congreve
had been buried in
Westminster Abbey

for well over 100 years.

The ink is probably
commercially produced also,
but I'd have to test that.

This is useful, Sandy.

The British Museum is open
to all for study.

We do make house calls
in exceptional circumstances.

Good of you to come
round here so late.
Another glass?

No, thanks. I must go.
Bye, Albert.

If your family owns this
manuscript, Mr Barnabas,

I should encourage you
to publish it.

It would cause a sensation.

Of course, if you could
turn up the original...

CAMPION: Lugg will
see you out.

Thanks.

Chin up!

(SIGHS)

What's it mean?

It means we have
a second motive for
the death of Paul Brande.

Supposing Paul was on
the verge of discovering
that the Gallivant manuscript

was not quite all
it was cracked up to be
at the bank.

Not in the master's own hand,
but a 19th century copy.

-But the original?
-Yes.

The integrity
of the whole firm
hangs on that.

Where is it?
Does it still exist?
Can it be produced on demand?

-Perhaps Paul found not.
-Great Scott!

You know nothing
of why the copy was
in the office safe?

I told you, Campion,
I'm not very good at that.

Curley will know.
Knows everything.

Perhaps...

Ritchie, we are party
to a secret.

I can keep mum, you know.
Quite good at that.

Where is John?
I'm gonna have to go
without him.

There's plenty of time.
The cab will wait.

I want to do everything right
to support him.

I want to show him.

And so you will.

The legal process is stern
but just.

As far as the case against
Mike goes, you have nothing
to worry about.

I promise you,
he'll be acquitted.

It's time to be
stout-hearted, Gina.

-I am terrified.
-Don't be.

You may not even
have to give evidence.

Then can't the trial
be stopped now?

It's one thing
to walk away innocent.

Quite another to have
the whole world know
you're innocent.

Remember, he and you too have
a point to prove to the press
and the general public.

It's better this way,
believe me.

I think I shall faint when
I see him in the dock.

-Oh, no you won't.
-Campion, good morning.

Good morning, my dear.

This is a most terrible day.

Good standing of the firm,
such a long
and honourable tradition.

But we are going to fight.

My word, we are going
to fight for him.

Gina, we must summon up
all our courage,

all our fortitude.

This is for you.

For me?

Aren't you coming with us?

I have one or two
loose ends to tie up.

Should I open this now?

They heavy object inside
is a key.

Good luck.

So. You're the real
Dora Netley, are you, miss?

That is my honour.

And speaking as a lady,
I'm in the mood to come
round behind that counter

and put my fist up
your throat.

What do you
want to know, Dora?

Who paid in £2.10

to my account, here,

on Jan 13th.

Well, if it wasn't
the Archbishop of Canterbury,

it was someone very like him.

Your father, perhaps.

Oh!

Keep talking riddles, you
horrible little itinerant.

Tubby geezer.
Lah-dee-dah voice.

No hair and a brandy nose.

-Come far, had he?
-He don't live round here.

Dora.

Most helpful.

I'm afraid I should
have knocked.

-Not at the trial?
-No.

Please don't stop
on my account.

What? Oh, the...

Pure nonsense.

Office carpentry. Door wedge.

Poor little Miss Marchant
off at the trial,

and obliged to call downstairs
for my own coffee.

I know what you've come for.

I'm very sorry, Ritchie.

Worked it all out last night.

Sat down with a bit of paper.

Cold logic.
Put the memory to the test.

This business about
The Gallivant.
That's it, isn't it?

The original no longer exists.

Well, John doesn't have it,
you know.

Now our uncle, very secretive
sort of chap...

I don't think
it does exist either.

I think it was lost
or destroyed or sold.

Long time ago.

We've been living a lie.

Paul suspected.

And you? Never?

Racking my brains.

Could John still have it?

Or could he have benefited
in some way from
its disappearance?

It seems inconceivable to me.

(SIGHS) This business means
everything to him.

(SCOFFS) He's not like me.

Not like Mike.

His whole existence
is bound up

in the greater glory
of Golden Quill publications.

And in his position among
his fellow publishers.

You never suspected
the Gallivant manuscript
to have disappeared?

Well, didn't matter to me,
you see. Not that keen.

But would it be sufficient
cause for your cousin John
to murder Paul?

What a question.

It's the rest of Mike's life
we're talking about, Ritchie.

Yes, I know!

I think John did kill Paul.

But I don't know
how he did it.

The very idea!

And Master John not here!

-In any case I can't spare
the time.
-Mrs Peel...

Peelie.

And don't you Peelie me,
Master Richard.

I haven't time for it.

All highly irregular.

-(CAMPION CLEARS THROAT)
-This is a friend, Peelie.

He's here to help Mike.

The disgrace.
A Barnabas on trial
for murder.

Just two minutes
of your time, Mrs Peel.

For one of your
favourites, Peelie.

-I've told you...
-Thank you so much.

Thank you.

You won't find a thing
out of place in there.

MRS PEEL: Here!

The blind impudence.

I don't know what
the neighbours will make
of this, I'm sure.

Mrs Peel...

The night the police have been
asking all these
questions about.

The Thursday night. Yes.

Mr John was going
to a banquet.
You laid out his clothes.

I should think he was ill,
if he tried to dress himself.

In he comes on the dot
of 5:30 and asks me
to run his bath.

-Which I did.
-That was your daily habit?

I should certainly think so.

But Peelie,
perhaps on this occasion
something happened?

I'm sure I don't know
what you mean.

Maybe...

Maybe he was in his bath
a very long time
on this particular day.

Ah! Just the contrary, see.

All the time that I thought
that he was in the bath,

he'd fallen asleep
in his room.

Come quarter to seven,

he pops out in a fine old rage
and said his water's
gone cold.

So, I run another one,

which he takes
in a real state,

then jumps into his
dinner clothes and scoots off.

Without so much as
having time to shave,
if you please.

Most unusual for Mr John.

Just goes to show.

It does indeed.

MRS PEEL: Lord! Oh mercy,
whatever does he think
he's doing now?

The car. Ignition on.
Foggy night.

But close the door carefully,

don't bang, the hose over
the end of the exhaust.

The grating! God!

Was he mad?

Any one of a dozen
or so things could go wrong.

No, no.

He looked through
the grating first.

(RITCHIE CLEARS THROAT)

How did he know Paul
was down there?

He waited in his bedroom,
watching the street.

The Netley girl
wasn't blackmailing Paul,
she was spying for John.

Maybe... Maybe the letter
saying the new safe key was
ready didn't burn after all.

Maybe...oh!

Enough to convict?

John could have done it.
I think he did.
But look at it.

More holes than a string bag.

There's hardly enough concrete
evidence for the police to
make a charge even,

let alone get a conviction.

Mr Campion, a telephone
call from the court.

It's Mr John.

My dear fellow, thank you
for coming.

And thank you for
the envelope you delivered
this morning.

What's happening?
Aren't they in session?

The judge called a recess,
which ends in two minutes.

We haven't much time.

-I'm sorry.
-I can quite understand
your suspicion.

May I take it that Ritchie
has been helping you?

It all hangs on The Gallivant,
is that your understanding
of the matter?

-Um...
-Well, of course it does.

The Gallivant. The whole firm,
not just the good standing
of our reputation,

but the continued
existence of our company.

How can someone like Ritchie
begin to understand
a thing like that?

CAMPION: And does
the manuscript still exist?

What are you saying,
my dear chap?

John, a man is on trial
for his life.

Wouldn't it be better to be
frank at this point?

What in God's name
has that fool Ritchie
been filling your head with?

The Gallivant is
utterly crucial to our funds
and assets.

How many times must I explain?

Ritchie believes it to have
been destroyed or disposed
of in someway in the past.

-If Paul Brande had been...
-If, if!

If! Of course the play
in the safe is a copy.

Brande? Ritchie?
Do you realise what harm
this sort of thing can do?

-Theories, suspicions.
-And...

I'm afraid I've been
most stupid.
The original does exist?

My very reason
for summoning you here.

It's in our warehouse
in Vauxhall. I have it
hidden in the building.

JOHN: Go there
and satisfy yourself,
bring it back with you.

I'll tell you exactly
where it's hidden.

One glance tells you
it's a frame!

Haven't you always taught me,
Lugg? Frames is evidence?

Don't do it.

I think I will, all the same.

(SIGHS)

"Top shelf, under ledger."

So far, so good.

Well, perhaps I have you
wrong after all, my dear John.

Go on! Up you go.

Use your feet. Use your feet!

You can do it. You can do it.

Frames is evidence,
right enough.

You can't speak to him now.

He's come back from the courts
in a black mood.

-I'm really not...
-He's in the bath!

He wouldn't speak to me,
he wouldn't let me help.
You can't go in!

I'm really getting awfully
good at this, Mrs Peel.

So to save you
threatening it, why don't you
call the police.

Mr John! Mr John!

(GAS HISSING)

Turn off the stove and
anything else with
a naked flame.

RITCHIE: (ECHOING)
What? Oh, the...

Bit of nonsense.

Office carpentry. Door wedge.

Well, with little
Miss Marchant
off at the trial,

I'm obliged
to shout downstairs
for my own coffee.

Oh, Ritchie.

CAMPION: Perhaps I haven't
made myself clear.

Perfectly clear.

He'll walk away a completely
free man. I came here
to bring you to court.

And then what?

Gina, he proved his innocence.

In a court of law, perhaps.

How many press are outside
now, 20? And in the court?

It will be painful.

I can't!

I just can't face
any more of it.

First Paul, then John,
now Ritchie.

I gather he's just vanished
into thin air.

I suppose the hunt
for him is on.
Perhaps I was his lover.

Does it help to say
that Mike needs you?

Later.

When all this has blown over.

He loves you, Gina.

I have to have time.

I have to think.

Do you believe in
happy endings, Mr Campion?

What will you do?

I'm so ashamed.

Not to be able to just
run to him.

CAMPION: Happy endings?
I wonder.

Michael certainly
had reason to believe in them.

After the discovery
of John's body, the case
against Mike was thrown out.

The general opinion,
of course, was that John
committed suicide.

And the police were content
to leave it at that,

so long as Ritchie
didn't reappear on the scene.

As for Ritchie's part
in the whole affair,
well, let's just say

he had assisted
the course of justice
in his own inimitable way.

I often thought about him.

And then last year,
on a fishing trip to Ireland,

Lugg, as usual,
having completely lost
his way...

Lugg?

Murray's Circus.
Friend of yours!

Not Jedda Murray, surely.
He must be in his 90s.

Want to go and have a look?

Love a duck!

Sleeping dogs, Lugg.

(CLEARS THROAT)

But I did write
to Mike and Gina Barnabas
about Ritchie.

And yes, there are
such things as happy endings.

(THEME SONG PLAYING)