All language subtitles for 08 - Campion Mystery Mile pt2

(THEME SONG PLAYING)

CAMPION: Mystery Mile, a remote
village on the east coast of England.

Cut off by the sea
at high tide.

...my cards.

Just the place to hide
Judge Crowdy Lobbett

from the murderous attentions
of the Simister gang,
or so I thought.

But already a visit
from the fortune-teller
Anthony Datchett

seems to have led
to the mysterious death
of the Reverend Swithin Cush.

And now Judge Lobbett himself
has disappeared into thin air.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

George is here, miss.

Anything for the post,
Miss Biddy?

These letters.
Thank you, George.

Would you be kind
and write out a label for me?

-Now, the old Parson's gone.
-Of course.

It's for me son-in-law,
Reg Hatton.

-Two T's?
-That's right.

The Beck Garage,
Canvey Island.

BIDDY: Essex.

Thank you kindly, Miss Biddy.

Sorry to bother you.

(DOOR CLOSES)

Wreathing and writhing
and fainting in coils.

Hardly any of them can write.

Why don't you do something,
Albert?

Well, like finding the Judge.

All you do is sit around
making asinine remarks
and smirking

and telling the Lobbetts
not to call the police,

when it's clear
they're both ill with worry.

I used to be
pretty fond of you.

But now I think
you're just cold and horrible
and callous.

-Rough stuff.
-How dare you?

# The sun has got his hat on

# Hip, hip, hip, hooray!

# The sun has got his hat on
and he's coming out today

# We're over the moon
We're up in the sky

# Not a moment too soon,
we'll... #

-It's good to see you, man.
-Filthy things, trains.

As for that one,
should be in a museum.

Been wandering
round the country
like it was lost.

-Will a drop of the local brew
cheer you up?
-That all depends, dunnit?

-Find that Yankee Judge
you've gone and lost?
-No.

Not too clever that, is it?
For a professional.

Yours is not to
reason why, Lugg.

As long as
I don't have to do or die.

-I got your clean clobber
like you asked me.
-Thanks.

-How far is this Mystery place
you're at?
-Oh, 20 miles or so.

-Twenty miles.
Do the locals still wear wool?
-Just about.

You're not going
to make me go there,
are you?

No.

A messenger boy,
that's all I am.

Left in Bottle Street,
like a discarded toy.

(CASH REGISTER DINGS)

Not bad. A bit thin.
Expect they water it
in this sort of place.

What's the news from your end?
Did you speak to Oates?

The Chief Detective Inspector
begged me to inform you

that Datchett is a con
and blackmailer.

Sometimes he sports
a red beaver,

other times
his chin's as bare
as a baby's bum.

Once upon a time
he worked the oars,
legitimate.

Have I got time for another?

Anything on Mr Barber?

I spoke to your poncey mate.

Him what pawns.
Something to eat, no more.

He says this Barber bloke's
rolling in it. He's got harems
all over the place.

-He says he's an art expert.
-That's right.

The bloke did say
he was connoisseur of art.

Perhaps women don't satisfy
his every passion and desire.

The Simister gang?

(TELEPHONE RINGING)

Look. I've come to warn you.

You are ignorant
compared with me,
you don't know.

They're a nasty lot.
Leave them alone.

Your own mother
couldn't give you
better advice.

(TRAIN WHISTLING)

-There's me train.
-Tell me if you know anything.

Down the club, they say
there's a noticeable absence
of the really nasty customers.

Ikey Todd and that lot.

-I did hear Ropey's back
in the country.
-Ropey?

It is an infamy
that such a bloke should exist
at the peak. You know him.

Hmm.

What do you suggest?

Well, in my opinion, sir,
though you won't take it,
I'm sure,

I'd apply to Thomas Knapp.

I'm hanged if I will.
I do not associate
with Mr Thomas Knapp.

What did I tell you?
It's too late now.

We best go separate,
just in case.

I shall wear the black band
round me head for you and the
funeral card'll cost a bit.

Thanks for the drink.

Here.
Don't forget your clobber.

Thank God you're back, Albert.
They found
the Judge's clothes.

-Who are "they"?
-Kettle's daughter actually.

And where did Miss Kettle
make this
interesting discovery?

Saddleback Creek.

Albert.

Do try to be a little less...

Clinical.

-Definitely Dad's suit.
-Soaked in sea water and torn.

-That's blood, isn't it?
-Possibly.

-Nothing in the pockets?
-No, nothing at all.

All the pockets
were pulled inside-out.

KETTLE: I'm wanted in there!
Show me in immediately!

CUDDY: I'll do no such thing.

They're a bereaved family.
They don't want to see you.

-I'll go and send him away.
-Uh, no.

If you don't mind,
I think it might be
a good idea

if we interviewed
old Clever Science ourselves.

Certainly.

Come in, Mr Kettle.

Thank you, Cuddy.

I saw the car turn in
the drive, Mr Campion,

so I've run straight over
knowing you'll be
wanting the truth.

It was my daughter
who's found the remains,
as you might say.

Is your daughter here?

Oh, no, sir.
You can imagine
the condition she's in.

The shock
and the horror of it.

And I may mention,
though I have offered myself,

no one has as yet sent
for the police.

It'll look very suspicious
when they do come.

Even though you're the son
of the dead man, sir,
it will look nasty.

-What dead man?
Have you got the body?
-Me, sir? Oh, no, sir.

No, when we find that,
then I dare say
we'll know who killed him.

-And how was he killed?
-With a dagger, sir.

How do you know that?

Well, it's a question
of deduction,
isn't it, sir?

Look at this jacket hole,
right over the heart.

See these stains?

If you don't know
what that is, I can tell you.
It's blood.

Heart's blood.
The victim was stabbed
to death

with a knife.

And look at these clothes.
Sopping wet.
Now, what does that show?

-That they've been in water.
-Ah, exactly.
You've hit it in one.

Mr Lobbett was taken out
to sea in a boat,
stabbed through the heart,

and thrown in the water.

Where he undressed,
being careful
to remove his braces, yes.

So far I think
that's perfectly clear.

But there are one or two
little matters to be explained

before we call in
Scotland Yard.

First, the knife thrust.
A rather curious incision,
don't you think?

A little hole nicked
with a pair of scissors

and then made larger
with a table knife.

And the blood stains.
The poor man seems to have
bled from outside his clothes.

The inside, you see,
is quite clean.

I wonder if anyone's killed
a chicken lately.

There's something fishy
about this. A whole load
of fishiness you might say.

Someone's been
playing the fool
with you, Mr Kettle,

I should
go back to your post office
if I were you.

I'm sorry about that.
But I had to find out
how much Sherlock knew.

-What do you make of these?
-Whole thing's
an extraordinary bad fake.

Amateur stuff.
Definitely not your father's
New York friends.

Probably local talent.

But that was the suit
Dad was wearing.

That's the only thing
that makes it interesting.

Look, it's getting late now.
But first thing
in the morning,

I think I'd better
do some sleuthing of my own
around the place.

You haven't seen
Biddy anywhere, have you?

-No.
-We arranged to meet in...

To go for a walk together.

She was gonna show me
Saddleback Creek.

-But I can't
find her anywhere.
-Really?

-You haven't seen Miss Biddy,
have you, sir?
-No.

-(CLOCK CHIMING)
-Why?

Well, Miss Biddy said
she'll go down the shop
and get me some baking powder.

Well, that was more
than an hour ago
and I've got the oven hot.

Yes, all right, Cuddy.

I think I've been
rather stupid.
Come on, Marlowe.

You don't think
anything's happened to Biddy,
do you?

-Yes.
-If it has,
I'll commit murder.

That's the spirit.

(BELL DINGING)

What can I do
for you gentlemen?

Um, did Miss Pagett
leave her purse here,
Mr Kettle?

(STUTTERS)
No, no. She left nothing, sir.

Fine. Now we know
where we are.

Is she still in the house?

Oh, don't be a fool, man.
All we have to do is
turn you over to the police.

Where is she?

How dare you come here
threatening me, accusing me!

You call the police, sir.
You call the police. I shall
have something to tell them.

Where is Mr Lobbett?

Why don't you
show them clothes
to the police?

Because you daren't,
that's why!

-Look,
I'm not having this, sir.
-Shut the door.

It's a pity the window
won't open,

you could've gotten rid
of the smell of chloroform.

If she's been hurt,
I'll break my rule
and kill you.

Now, Mr Kettle,
the story so far.

You make a mess
of faking the Judge's clothes.

That not only sets us
buzzing around your head,
but your own dirty employers.

They order you to kidnap
the first of us
that comes in here.

You apply the chloroform...

Innocent sort of delivery van
waiting outside.

Where have they taken her?

If they find out you know
all this, they'll kill me.
Don't let them know.

Where? Where?

I don't know! Honest I don't!
I never seen the men before.

I had to do as they said.

I wouldn't have done it
if I could've helped.

I believe him.

The nastiest thing
we can do now
is leave him to his pals.

Are you all right, sir?

Well, if it isn't
Albert himself.

May I introduce you
to Mr Thomas Knapp.
Mr Lobbett.

But I thought that...
Oh, it was your dad
worked on the punk.

-Pleased to meet you, sir.
-How do you do?

What I've been through
to get here.

I had to pinch this thing
in Colchester or I'd never
have got here at all.

How did you know I was here?
It was Lugg, wasn't it?

Shall we say that
me and Magers
have interests in common.

Your interests.

I happened to overhear
something about you
and this Lobbett business.

-What?
-Confidential.

-Interested?
-I might be.

What did I tell you?
Me and Albert have worked
together in the past.

We're in the same star.
We understand one another.

-Well, what is it?
-Oh, that's not like you, sir.

Ain't I gonna get offered
any refreshment?

All the way from Colchester
on this thing.

That's much better.

Yesterday afternoon
I happened to overhear
a very curious conversation

on one of my new lines.

I should explain. Mr Knapp
used to work for government
on telephone repairs.

Then he and
the postmaster general had
a slight misunderstanding,

and he retired from
public life for a few years.

Since then
I've been on me own.

Using my electrical knowledge
to my own advantage.

If you know the way,
it's easy to listen
on the line.

You'd be surprised
the things I pick up.

Filth in high places,
you wouldn't believe it.

Yesterday...

There was
these two blokes talking.

One said,
"Who sent the clothes?"

And the other said,
"There was no message, only
the handwriting on the label".

"Ooh", says the other.
"That's who you want".

Didn't mean nothing to me
till the first bloke says,

"Who's this Albert Campion,
when he's at home?"

And the other says,
"I'll find out about him".

Then the first bloke says,

"If it was the girl,
get her up here
and we'll put her through it".

Sounds as though
one of your ladies
might get into trouble.

-Miss Pagett
has already disappeared.
-Oh.

How much?

I'll make you
a gentlemanly offer,

what I wouldn't
if I didn't know you.

Oh, come on now, Thomas.
Cut the cackle.

It's no use to us
unless you know where
they were speaking from.

But I do.

Twenty-five quid
for the address and another 25
when we get the girl back.

Now, I can't say
fairer than that.

You're on.

32 Beverly Gardens,
Notting Hill Gate, Kensington.

-You got a scrap of paper
on you?
-Hmm.

I heard the butchers,
they're there, all right.

Two heavies on guard outside.

Now, the house
where I hang out
with my old mum

backs on to Beverly Gardens.
You could make it
your headquarters.

We could nip across them roads
as easy as kiss your arse.

-Who's the boss?
-Calls himself Datchett.

You know, as far as
intelligence is concerned,
Thomas, you're coming on.

It's the picture man back.
He's the limit.

Sir Giles, may I be the first
to congratulate you.

Proof. Proof positive
your Romney is genuine.

I should like to arrange
for the sale with you.
Let us talk to Judge Lobbett.

-He's not here.
-Still not back?

-He's disappeared.
-Oh, you're joking, Sir Giles.

My father's
blood-stained clothes
were found yesterday.

-But this is terrible.
-I'm sorry, Mr Barber.

This is terrible.
I thought he was just away.

My commission,
all the work I have done.

Just send me your account.

Thank you.
If I can be of any help.

(DOOR CLOSES)

(BRAKES SCREECHING)

Ah, my friend, I...

Giles.

Biddy's been kidnapped,
taken to London.
We think we know where she is.

We've got to get
there quickly, all of us,

without the whole
village finding out.

-But, Isopel?
-She'll be safe in my flat.

Mr Barber, we'd be eternally
grateful if you could give
three of us a lift to London.

A pleasure!
I'm an excellent driver.

And if you can persuade
Sir Giles to let me handle
the sale of his picture,

-the gratitude would be
entirely mine.
-Thank you, Mr Barber.

(BICYCLE BELL RINGING)

If you get hungry
just shout down the lift.

If you get scared,
just shout at the policemen
out of the window.

(DOOR CLOSES)

And if anyone calls, don't,
whatever you do,
open the door.

Especially not
if it's an old gentleman with
an aerial to this top hat,

and natty black gators.
That's my wicked uncle.

(CHUCKLING)

Oh. You won't let Giles
do anything silly,
or Marlowe either.

-You will look after them?
-As if they were
my sons, madam.

Both young gentlemen
will be under the direct care
of matron.

You see, you don't know
how worrying it is
to be in love.

That's all you know,
young woman.

KNAPP: Make room on the bed
for Mr Barber, Mum.

-(BABY CRYING)
-He don't look too happy
in the corner there.

(WHISTLES)

Think you're clever,
don't you?

Just when you're going into
a really nasty business,
who do you get around you?

Two ready amateurs
and something out
of a carpet shop.

Gold.

Oi, Thomas.

Don't lean against that wall,
it's me who looks after
your clothes, remember.

-Did Mr Barber come willingly?
-Bit of gentle persuasion
you might say.

He knew too much.
Besides,
we might need his car.

Mother will keep him quiet.
She's as good as a bull pup.

Up here.

All given to me
by the government

in unconscious recognition
of my services.

Over here, Albert.

That's 32 Beverly Gardens.
The one with the new chimney.

KNAPP: Just to the right
of the big green skylight.

Just stay with me, deary.

KNAPP:
...rubber shoes all round.

It's no good
till it's dark anyway.

(MUSIC PLAYING ON RADIO)

I'll buy for a thruppence.

I'll see ya.

(SIGHS)

Look, Mother, argue as much
as you like,
five queens is five queens.

-Are you accusing me
of cheating?
-All right.

If these gentlemen will accept
the fact that packs
may have got mixed up a bit.

-Time we went.
-Right, gentlemen.

Well, so delighted
to have been of service.

MAN: (ON RADIO)
The weather forecast
and news summary

will follow at once.

Here. A nice drop of rum.

Don't breathe a word, no one.
If I whistle, drop.

-Just on the other side
of that big skylight.
-All right.

(BABY CRYING FAINTLY)

London telephone service,
madam.

Breakdown gang.

Tracing a fault.

MAN: I'm sorry that
our conversation hasn't been
more fruitful, Miss Pagett.

I've a little work to do,
so I'll leave you with
Mr Ropey here for a while.

I'm sure we'll
speak again soon.

Come on, love, spit it out.

Where is Judge Lobbett?

We're sure you know.

I don't want to play
noughts and crosses
on your pretty face.

I don't know.

I've told you.
I swear, I don't know.

(OPERA MUSIC PLAYING
ON GRAMOPHONE)

(MUFFLED STRUGGLES ABOVE)

Ugh!

(GRUNTING IN DISTANCE)

-Emergency?
-(CRASHING)

Fire.
Number 32 Beverly Gardens,
Notting Hill Gate.

It's well ablaze.
Could you send someone
round to see it?

Thank you.
And the police too, of course.

(GRUNTING)

CAMPION: Fire! Fire! Fire!
Help! Fire! Police!

Fire! Fire!

Get Biddy out quickly.
The way we came.

This way, this way.
Trust uncle.
Return tickets, please.

Come on.

(COUGHING)

(AMBULANCE BELL RINGING)

(MAN COUGHING)

Good night, Mr Datchett.

(DOOR OPENS)

Oh, my God!
Darling, are you badly cut?

Uh, a few stitches.
Lugg knew a jolly good doctor.

Good? Doc Rafton's a marvel.

You'd be walking around
in four separate bits,
if it wasn't for him.

Now it's all over
I think I'm going to cry.

Now, now, don't cry.
Here, have a big swig of this.

-Thank you.
-And imagine we're
a Sunday newspaper.

Spare us nothing, not one
single gruesome detail.

Well, there's
not much to tell really.

When I came to,
I was in that house
with those awful men,

That nasty little creep
of a fortune teller
seemed to be the boss.

Well, he won't trouble us
for some time.

They aren't the lot that
kidnapped your father.

And they seemed quite sure
I knew where he was.

But how could you?

It's 'cause of my
writing the label, that
address for old George.

They thought I had
the Judge's clothes.

George couldn't possibly
have had the clothes.
It's ridiculous.

You do realise, don't you?
This is a death game.

That was quite clear.

In the end,
either their leader,

whom I didn't see,
or Mr Lobbett,

is bound to die.

I've known it all along.

Right. Duff's up!

I'm afraid the British burger
is not a gastronomic success.

What is it?

-Herrings and tomato sauce.
-Mmm, delicious.

Bloaters in blood.

Good for the brain.
I nipped out
and got the first edition.

We don't get
much of a mention.

"Mysterious outbreak,
arson suspected.

"Several men removed
from the house in
unconscious condition,

"helping police
with their enquiries."

LUGG: I could have done
better me self.

Hey, that looks like Dad.

"Giant Diplodocus
found in Suffolk.

"The well-known amateur
archaeologist,

"the Reverend Alaric Watts
of Reading Knights."

-Reading Knights?
-It looks damnably like him...

It is Dad. It must be.

It is, of all the utterly,
improbable and wretched
pieces of bad luck.

It is your father,
I put him there.

-You?
-Mea Culpa.

Well, me and your father,
not forgetting George, a good
old fashioned put up job.

-But if you...
-Things were getting too hot.

They pinked us
the first evening
when Datchett turned up.

Then poor old Swithin
pointed the way.

With this. Reading Knights
were safe with Alaric Watts.

But he disappeared
in front of us.

Mystery Mile magic,
into the maze down the ditch,

change into rougher clothes
in the hut in the beach.

Henry George's brother waiting
in a boat, Reverend Watts
waiting down the coast.

George was told
to destroy the clothes.

But George said
"waste not, want not",

and posted them all
to his son-in-law.

And Mr Kettle intercepted
the parcel which caused
no end of bother.

Look, they are bound
to get word of this,
so speed is of the essence.

I guess we've got
a few hours' start.

You're all going to stay here
under Lugg's avuncular wing,
while I return to Suffolk.

I'm not.

You are.
You haven't even got a wing.

I'm coming with you.

Yes, all right, Giles.

No, you stay here, Giles.
Keep an eye out.

Anything suspicious.

I'm not sure.
I really am not quite sure.

I would say that
it had never been used.
What do you think?

Campion?

No panic, your family's
all right in London.

I've got Giles with me.

What's wrong?

This.

"Our special photographer
with a long distance camera
manages to get a picture,

"archaeologist at work."

Disgusting newspaper people,
spying on us. No privacy left.

Anyway, it's an Ichthyosaurus,
not a Diplodocus.

They won't spell
their own names right next.

Will you excuse me?
I really must warn the museum.

Such a darn fine portrait
of yourself,
that's the trouble.

Yeah.

As we say, my cover's blown,
blown sky high.

Even higher.

Yes, and this messes up
your whole plan,
Campion, I'm sorry.

I've been a fool.
Look at it.

You must drop
this whole thing.

You know this just might
be our chance to bring the big
fish himself to the surface.

No, I don't see that.

We had a little bit
of a shindig in London.

A schlimazel with
some of Simister's people.

It gives us the blessed
possibility that
the big bezesus himself

will turn up and
make a personal affair of it.

What's your idea?

I want you to come back
to Mystery Mile with me.

It's our home ground,
so to speak.

They'll have to attack us.

Either we get them
or they get us.

Any development will be pretty
speedy, certainly sensational
and probably final.

What do you say?

You're on.

CAMPION: Should be someone
here on guard.

Henry!

-Always did drink a bit.
-It's not drink.

If the coast is clear
I'll give you a signal.
In the meantime, wait here.

Campion, I think
I better come clean with you.

-Later.
-No! Now.

Just in case.

After I retired, I worked on
a state prison commission.

One day I was called
in to interview a man
named Colson.

He was serving a big sentence
on a dope smuggling rap.

He was a Simister man.

He was dying of cancer.

I got him out so he could
spend his last few days
with wife and family,

and in gratitude he gave me
a clue to who Simister was.

He'd never seen
the man himself.

What was the clue?

This little fairy tale book.

I remember old Sindbad.

Comfort me with apples.

I think your dying crook
was having you on, Judge.

Oh, I don't think so.

I read this damn nonsensical
little book through 20 times
and I cannot find the clue.

But it's in there some place,
now I'm sure of it.

Well, this is
not quite the time for
a literary discussion.

Keep your eyes skinned,
both of you.

(SIGHS)

The universal Mr Barber.

It's only me
from over the sea.

They've beaten us
to it, chums.

Barber and Mrs Weibrow
are both drugged in the house.

-What?
-We're in a trap.

We've gone and put our
little necks into it
like bunnies in a snare.

Back in the car?

Hopeless. That's their bright
idea, I fancy.

We'll have to try
the Lobbett way.

I told George to leave a boat
on the mooring all the time.
Come on.

-Come on, Albert.
-Off you go.

I'm not coming.

Don't be an idiot. Come on!

Look, boy, you cannot do this.

Pull away, Giles!
That's an order. Or you'll
have us all murdered.

It's no good arguing
with him, Judge.

"Kiss me, Hardy."

Tell Lugg to lay me out proper
and put pennies on me eyes.

"So that all his life he might
have reason

"to remember the adventures
of Sindbad the sailor."

(SIGHS)

"In a certain town in Persia
there lived once upon
a time two brothers.

"Their names were
Cassim and Ali Baba."

I've gone mad.

Good evening, Mr Barber.

Or do you prefer
Mr Simister?

You are alone.

Judge Lobbett
sends his apologies.

He was called away
on urgent business.

I am not interested
in that gentleman.

I shall have no difficulty
in picking him up
whenever I wish.

At this moment,
my chief interest is in you.

You are a very clever man,
my friend.

Very clever.

I have here a most
interesting dossier.

I assure you it contains
some very remarkable reading.

You and I have both
made the same mistake.

We underestimated each other.

Please sit down,
make yourself comfortable.

Try the soap box.

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

I have come to admire you,
Mr Campion.

So much so that it may
interest you to know

that I now consider it
worthwhile to offer you a
position in my organisation.

Sign along the dotted line.

Please tear carefully,
nothing genuine
without this signature.

(LAUGHING)

Always you like a little joke,
eh, Mr Campion?

I suppose I should live in.
All found.

Washing done by the firm.

Perhaps a Circassian slave
or two thrown in
when times are good.

You would be well advised
to take my offer seriously,
young man.

The alternative hardly
bears thinking about.

No, Mr Simister.
No little Albert on the staff.

Foolish!

I must say
you've got some cheek.

I mean here you are chucking
your weight about in
the middle of a marsh,

miles away from home,
and mother.

Suppose I bang you
on the head and go away
and say no more about it?

I don't think you'll do that,
I've studied
your record closely.

I think a body would
be very difficult to explain.

Your friends at Scotland Yard
would not like it.

I'd very much liked to know,
as one of us is going
to cop it shortly,

how you've managed
to keep so quiet about
yourself all this time.

Ahh!

I am glad this opportunity
has occurred.

The desire to confide
is very strong in a man
of my temperament.

I have never before found
myself in a position
where it was quite safe

to indulge in that desire.

(THUNDER CRACKING)

I am the only man in the world

who has ever turned
my particular business

into something as
pleasurable as other
more legitimate concerns.

I go where I like,
live as I choose.

I have many friends
in high places.
I am universally respected.

If I made my money out
of oil or motor cars, it would
be exactly the same.

You buy the brains on one
side and the executive
power on the other.

Exactly.

It is a pity I should have
to kill you, my friend.
I find you intelligent.

Ah!

The secret of my success
is simple.

My father was
the original Simister.

Good Lord, you inherited it?

Why not?

As I have been remarkably
frank with you, Mr Campion,

perhaps, before we part,
you could be frank with me.

How did you stumble upon
my true identity?

The clue was in a copy
of a children's book.

Completely harmless in itself,

and utterly unintelligible
to anyone who did not
already suspect you.

The book is in my pocket now.

-May I have it?
-No.

Please?

I'm inclined to dot you one.

I'm younger than you are,
and probably more gifted
when it comes to biffing.

But you are not so well armed.

Let me explain.

I read in your dossier
that you sometimes carry
a child's water pistol

which looks like
a real revolver.

I confess I was amused
when I read that.

So amused I thought I too
would have my little joke.

My pistol contains
a particularly
corrosive fluid.

So you planned this
little conversatione?

Most carefully.

Page one, I think.

Ah, I had forgotten.

Do you always
do your murders like this?

Me? Ho, ho, ho! Never before.

It was only because
Judge Lobbett
was foolish enough

to write for an art expert
that I decided
to act personally.

I am enjoying myself
immensely, such a delightful
conversatione.

What a pity
it should have to close.

Don't think me crude,
but, um...

The body question
is still a worry.

Your body? Not to me.

You may have noted my people
have drugged the servants.

I shall return to
where you found me,

drug myself properly
this time.

Your friends will find
the amiable Mr Barber,
the art expert.

My alibi will be perfect.

And I shall have
a beautiful Romney
as a memento of my visit.

As a last favour,
will you have my epitaph
put on my grave stone?

If it's short.

Oh, yes. No text just this...

Neatly inscribed.

Here lie I,
poor Albert Campion.

Death was bad...

But life was...

(SPRAYING)
Aah!

Here is your epitaph for you.

(GROANING)

Campion! Help me!

Campion! Hurry!

Campion, I'll give you
anything in the world.
Campion!

Campion!

(SCREAMING)

(CHURCH BELL TOLLING)

(APPLAUDING)

-(MAN LAUGHING)
-Oh.

CAMPION:
That's the only mystery left.

Why did that dear old man
take his own life?

-Perhaps we shall never know.
-I can tell you why.

I'm sure he won't mind
you knowing,
now it's all over.

Swithin wasn't
a parson at all.

Someone's been
pulling your leg.

Swithin had a brother,
a year or two older,
but much alike.

Both orphans and poor.

Swithin's brother
became a priest.

But there wasn't enough money
there for Swithin to take
the necessary varsity degree.

One summer they
were rock climbing
together in Austria.

There was an accident,

and the brother was killed.

In spite of the shock
and the grief he kept his head
and swapped roles.

The right man was buried
under the wrong name.

And Swithin took the curacy.

An impersonation story
50 years old. Good Lord.

Last year he wrote to me
telling me all about it.

I suppose he wanted
to confess to someone
in writing.

Unfortunately, that nasty man
who kept the post office...

Kettle.

He must have read the letter
and passed on the glad
news to the gang.

Blackmail, of course.

They tried to make
him work for them,
but he wasn't having any.

As perfect a parson as
ever lived, and a damned
old fool at the same time.

God bless him.

Lugg, suppose I retire?
This profession of mine
puts people off.

You've had a relapse,
better get you home.

No, I'm serious.

That's unhealthy in itself.
Look.

If you must
have a woman about the place,

find a nice sensible, homely,
hospital nurse.

Someone
who'll do
the washing up.

(LAUGHS)

But we don't want that, do we?
Wouldn't be the article,
would it?

Push away, Lugg, or we'll miss
our piece of wedding cake.

(ENGINE STARTING)