All language subtitles for Father Brown (2013) - 05x13 - The Tanganyika Green.MORiTZ.English.orig.Addic7ed.com

Oh, look, they must be here
for the antiques marquee.

It's new this year
at the county fair.

They say they may be having
fully qualified experts

coming from London.
Just think of it!

We might have an undiscovered
fortune right under our noses!

Oh, dear.

I fear Mammon is upon us.

Mrs Coombes at the station

said they'd all sorts
in the luggage racks.

I wouldn't be a bit surprised
if half the thieves in the county

are making their way
to Kembleford as we speak.

They've already had one theft.

I got one of each kind
so we can test them all.

I'm going to try the
Worcester Pearmain first, I think.

Excellent choice.

Welcome to Kembleford.

Are you here for the county fair?
We are, yes.

I'm sorry, I do apologise,
this is my daughter, Grace.

My wife was Tanganyikan.

Oh.

Father Brown.
Hello.

Aldous, Aldous Kemp.

Africa! You must find everything
here very different.

Are you planning on staying?
I'm going to medical school.

If we can find one
that will have me.

Oh, come on, any medical school
will be proud to have her.

I'm sure they would.

Britain has a fine tradition
of scientists

inspired by apples.

Come on, Grace, let's check in.

And yours is this way, sir.

And that was delivered for you
this morning, sir.

Good day.

Can I come in?

One moment.

You see, it has exactly the same
pattern as that old bracelet

they dug up at Chedworth.

Penelope, do you know anything
about antiquities?

Never get anything valued
unless you can afford the insurance.

Oh, yes, just my luck -

the only two people in Kembleford

with no interest in worldly riches.

I wouldn't be so sure about that.

Father, you can't sell that,
it was a gift!

Just curious to see
what it felt like...

..to hold a new church roof
in my hands.

"An early example of Harper's
English futurist style,

"carved in the trenches of Arras."
�300!

300?

Well, I have always said
I thought that oil lamp rather...

ugly.

Clearly, you don't love her enough!

Be careful with that, it's Roman.

I was wondering if it mightn't
date from around the same time

they found all those coins at
Chedworth? We're engravers,

not an auction house. If you
want it cleaned, it's one and six.

It's in lovely condition.

And the pin and hinge fastener has
been in use since Roman settlement.

Well, at least someone knows
what they're talking about.

John here went to art school.

Oh, is that an antique as well?

Oh, yes.

She's a real beauty.

Sorry, no weapons.

How many times do I have to say it?

We do not turn customers away.

If a man wants a sword cleaned,
he gets a sword cleaned.

You think we can afford
to throw money away?

I know how things are.

I came back to help, didn't I?

Let's go back to work, son.

I say, I don't suppose you've come
across the antiques man from London?

The only reason you want to know
is because the innkeeper's wife

has been telling everyone
how dashing he is.

He's staying at the inn!
Thanks, Mrs M! No...!

Hello, may I deposit
an item in your safe?

I'm sorry, sir, we don't have one.

There's woodworm in the bureau and
the sheets have barely been ironed.

Bunty Windermere.
May I assist in any way?

If you know of any alternative
accommodation in Kembleford

other than this hovel,
I'd be most grateful.

Wynford Collins.

From Chapman & Saunders,
the auction house.

Have we met?

You'd remember.

I rather think I would.

So shall I send someone up
to collect your luggage?

Well, you can't stay here.

We'll put you in the Chinese Room.
Wonderful view of the sunken garden.

That's very good of you.

Just give me five minutes to fight
the woodworm off my suitcase,

and I shall return.

You understand?

Look, I'm sorry.

Goodnight.

Hello?

Papa?

Papa?!

I thought the fair was that way?
Ran out of petrol!

Dodgy ticker, poor thing.

You know, Hornby thinks
she might have been siphoned.

Really?

Riff-raff from the fair.

Can we offer you a lift?

No, I'm afraid I am
on official business.

A death at the inn.

Who?

A man called Aldous Kemp.

How dreadful!

His poor daughter.

Did you know them?

I met them briefly
when I was checking in.

I think I met them, too.

Papa goes off to bed,

but the daughter stays and cries
into the tablecloth.

Something was going on.

Toodle-oo, Father.

Requiescat in pace.

Amen.

Is there anything I can do?

Would you like to pray?

I'm an atheist.

I don't want prayers.

I want to know what happened.

If you're done, Padre...

Looks like he was planning to get
something valued at the fair.

But you found nothing in the room?

Someone could've taken it. There's
only three rooms on the landing.

His daughter's in that one,

and the one at the end
of the corridor is empty.

Wouldn't have been difficult.
Yes, thank you, Goodfellow.

I hope you're not interfering
with a murder weapon, Padre.

I don't think it is
a murder weapon, Inspector.

It hasn't been fired.

And he wasn't struck with it.

But it's rather old.

Perhaps that was what he was
taking to the fair to be valued.

You may know about many things,
Padre, but guns aren't one of them.

Colonial handgun, popular with
civil servants stationed abroad.

Not exactly a surprise,

considering our victim worked for
the East African Postal Service.

But it is a surprise that it's
out here in an herbaceous border.

Goodfellow, collect the evidence
and search the area.

Father.
Thank you, Sergeant.

Have they found something?

Your father's handgun.

My father didn't have a gun.

He abhorred violence.

He threw his in the river
the day we left Tanganyika.

This is all so...

I keep imagining he's simply going
to walk in and sit down beside me.

As long as I don't leave this table,

he's just late for breakfast.

And I can't leave,
because if I leave...

it will make it real.

I said some awful things.

You were angry?
Selfish, stupid.

I just couldn't understand.

How could he suddenly not have
the money for medical school?

It's what we'd come here to do.

We made up before he went to bed.
I managed that much, at least.

I'm so ashamed, I should never
have... No, no - sh, sh.

Keep it safe.

I'll explain everything tomorrow.

Just now... I've got to rest.

Did you open the envelope?

Should I have?

Please can I have a hot whisky
with honey and cloves

and two sticks of cinnamon?

Yes.

I asked them to make your drink.

Shall I bring it in?

You don't need to apologise, Grace.

But if you leave it by the door,
I'm sure it'll find a home.

I've put it outside.

Usiku mwema.

Lala salama.

These were found
by your father's bed.

Can you confirm they're his?

They are.

Chloroquine.

He took them for malaria.

Grace Kemp, I'm arresting you
for the murder of Aldous Kemp.

You're not obliged to say anything
unless you wish to do so,

but whatever you say may be taken
in writing and given in evidence.

Me?
I've just come from the pathologist.

He believes your father's death
was caused by sleeping pills

interfering with his
malaria medicine.

And what appears to be sleeping pill
residue was found in the drink

beside his bed.

You took him this drink,
did you not?

I did, but...
And you're a student of medicine.

I believe you put those pills
in his drink,

knowing they would react with his
malaria medication and kill him.

Anybody else could have had
the same opportunity.

Why would I do that?
He's my father.

Several witnesses saw you arguing

shortly before you made him
the drink.

You were reported to be weeping
inconsolably after being told

you couldn't go to medical school.

And we both know how generous
Colonial Service death benefits are.

You think I'd kill my father
for that?

What kind of monster do you think
I am? We'll soon find out.

Inspector! You stick to your
business, Padre, I'll stick to mine.

I placed my salvation
in a rational world,

in books - but now I place it
in the church.

Please, Father, help me find it.

Yes. I will.

"Rational World."

More coffee, please.

And none of that powdered stuff
this time.

Next.

It's real gold.

It came into my family from a doctor
in Blackfriars, but I believe...

It's a mass-produced costume piece.

Worth no more than five shillings,
I'm afraid.

No, no, I think
you must be mistaken.

You see, my grandmother told me
that Great-Grandpa Roberts

sold his best horse to buy that.

Well, then, he was either robbed
or extremely stupid.

That is downright... disrespectful.

They're always the same,
these yokels,

getting worked up over
their cheap trinkets.

Next.

Or they got caught up in an opium
ring at the governor's house?

The colonies are rife
with that sort of thing.

Mm.

Aldous Kemp didn't seem the type.
I suppose you're right.

Blackmail?

Ah, Boudica herself!

Do tell, do we have
a Roman horde on our hands?

Boudica wasn't Roman.

Come on, Mrs M, spill the beans!

I shall be seeking a second opinion

from someone who has time
to examine it properly.

Mrs McCarthy,
can we enlist your help?

Grace Kemp has been arrested.

Oh, now, why doesn't that
surprise me?

I mean, it isn't exactly natural
for a young woman to be interested

in cutting up bodies, now, is it?

And her being godless, too.

But the Father doesn't think
she did it.

Oh?

I have seen many people mourn their
parents. Her grief is genuine.

Her chief defence is the gun.

If Aldous Kemp did not own a gun,

then someone else must have
been involved in his killing.

Someone who owned a Colonial
Civil Service handgun.

Oh, don't mind us.

We can ask the gunsmith.

If it was someone local, then they
would have bought their rounds there

and it's the only one for miles.

Thank you.

Who?
Frank Hammond.

Stuck in his mind because he usually
orders cartridges for his shotguns.

Partial to rabbit stew, apparently.

Duck!

No, rabbit.

Sorry, Father.

Magnificent creatures.

Although I've never understood
how killing them could be a sport.

Me neither.

Though it must take enormous skill
to get close to an animal like that.

Hmm. Rather different than rabbits,
I suppose.

Rabbits can be wily beggars
when you're onto 'em.

Frightful pests, too.

Daddy used to defend our lawn
with a handgun.

I think I've decided on this one.

The Father tells me you have
quite the collection of shotguns.

Have you thought about showing
any of them to the antiques man

at the Fair?

Shouldn't think he'd be that
interested in a load of old guns.

Oh, the older the better.

A farmer brought one in, he was
using it for foxes but turns out

it was a Boswell worth �50!

�50? For an old shotgun?

There are plenty of rich
collectors out there.

I must confess, I'm a bit
of an expert myself.

Would you like me to take a look
at yours?

If it's not too much trouble.

Just through here.

Mr Hammond?

Excuse me. Customer.

Fascinating.

I'd love to talk to your son
about his work.

John's out.

Please.

Thank you.
Not at all.

Well, guilty if ever I saw one.

You forget the giraffe.

A skilled engraver in this family
has spent some time in Africa

and it is not Mr Hammond.

What was all that about, then?

Well, I would imagine that he saw
that his son's handgun was missing

and then discovered that some shells
has been recently ordered

and he's trying to protect him.

John?!

I doubt he'd hit
anything that night -

he was practically on the floor
of the Red Lion when I saw him.

Oh!

We need to find John.

Do you think he knew the Kemps
in Africa? Forbidden romance!

You've got five minutes, Father.

Did you find it? What did it say?

I don't know what it means.

Do you know a man
called John Hammond?

He worked with my father.

Last year, in the
East African Postal Service.

He owned the gun.

The one your father
threw out of the window.

Is the Father here? Not unless
he's hiding under a table.

Which I wouldn't put past him.

Did he go with Grace?

You have released her,
now you know it was John's gun?

Whose gun?

You are aware that withholding
evidence is a criminal offence?

Yes. Which is precisely why
I came to alert you...

after I had ministered
to Grace Kemp.

The atheist.

Of course.

I'll deal with you later.

I've found him.

Bad day?

Busy.

You remind me of another
young person I know.

I think you know her.

Grace Kemp.

You worked with her
father in Tanganyika.

Must have been a surprise... when
he came into the shop yesterday.

I suspect you had
a lot to catch up on.

Or did you wait until later,
when you went to visit him?

Why did you take your gun with you?

N-no...

The police found it. At the inn.

I didn't do it.

I didn't kill him.

He was my friend.

If that's true, you have nothing
to fear by confessing

what happened between you.

Your gun wasn't fired,

it didn't kill him.

It's got my fingerprints on.

It was found where he died.

If they print these...

they'll say I did it.

Ah. Good afternoon.

May I help you, Inspector?

Yes.

By not interfering
with our investigations

and letting our murderer get away.

But we don't know that yet, do we?

The prints we found on his gun
match the ones in Kemp's room.

Your friend was there.

I'm afraid you've let your faith
in people fool you again.

Why did you let him escape?

Oh. You don't think he did it,
do you?

Why did John leave his prints
on the gun

in the room

if he wanted to steal something?

Why not wear gloves?

George, is John a regular here?

Never even seen him
before yesterday morning.

Drinking in the morning?

No, delivers his parcel,
heads back to work,

never even glances at temptation.

Who was the parcel for?

Well, the, uh... You know.

Mr Aldous Kemp?

But the police didn't even find
the parcel in his room.

Or any packaging.

It's just a cat.

Sweet Jesus,
what on Earth are you doing?

Antique hunting.

In a dustbin?

Is that alcohol
I smell on your breath?

It's just the general ambience.

And what exactly are you
expecting to find?

I don't know.

Well, it's just as well
you're both here.

Our so-called antiques expert
told Mrs Trevithick

that her necklace was worthless!

And the same for
Sergeant Goodfellow's sword!

In fact, I've yet to meet anyone

who's been offered more than
a few shillings.

So it is quite clear!

Wynford Collins is a charlatan!

Oh, well, perhaps we should
call Scotland Yard and set up

a sting operation to expose him(!)

That's exactly
what I was thinking.

Well, I can see I am going to have
to find justice on my own.

Gun oil?

Yes, well, that explains how
the gun got into Mr Kemp's room.

But why did John give him a gun?

John?

John!

What have you done? The police said
that dead man's from Africa!

Just keep yourself out of this.
I warned you, didn't I?

But, no, you had to have
your foolhardy job in Africa!

Which you made me leave to come
back here to save your business!

Like you've spent my entire life
trying to make me stay here,

rather than working on my art,
pursuing a career!

Career?! A career's something
you get paid for!

And that's what it's always about,
isn't it? Money!

Not me. Not even you.

We've spent our entire lives
trapped by it.

And finally - finally! - I get the
chance to pay off the mortgage

on the workshop and free us both.

You killed a man for that?

I'll turn you in myself!

I didn't kill him!

I was protecting him!

And now I have to save myself.

John, no.

Do not come after me!

Excuse me.

Ah, World War I trench art.

Popular way of passing the time
between being shot at.

Not particularly valuable in itself,

but it's an interesting design
and I do collect such pieces.

I could offer you...
15 shillings?

You know very well
it's worth more than that.

�300 more, in fact.

And I am not the only person around
here that you have tried to cheat.

If I could have a penny for
every person who's brought me

the purported "early work"
of a famous artist.

Tell me, have you even
heard of provenance?

Of course I have!

It's in the south of France.

Provenance means a chain of title,

proving that a piece is by
who it claims to be by.

Without proof, a work like this
could be by anyone.

Which, in this case, it probably is.

If you observe...

perfectly reasonable detail
on the front...

Hello, Freya. Hello, Evie.

Hello, Father Brown.

Wherever have you two been?

Penelope, you need to make enquiries
about that man immediately!

What man? He has been swindling
people right, left and centre.

Am I right in thinking
you're referring to

our esteemed antiques expert,
Wynford Collins? Yes, your guest!

And that you have borrowed
our treasured oil lamp

to solicit a valuation.

Well, I didn't think you'd mind,
seeing as criminality was involved.

Well?

He actually tried to cheat me.

He made out that your oil lamp
wasn't by Robert Harper at all,

as if Robert hadn't given it to you
with his own hand.

But no, Mr Collins said there was
an insignia at the back.

Post Office Rifles.

And he was certain of it
because he had started out

as a Postal Services clerk before
he went into the auction business.

And he knew that no Robert Harper
had ever served in that corps.

Then he had the temerity to say

I should check my facts!

Yes.

Postal Service.

I'm sorry, we're closed.
This won't take long.

Very well.

Have you ever been in Tanganyika?

What's this about?

Do you know anything about this
party at the governor's residence?

I've never been to...
whatever country that was,

let alone any party there.

I thought so.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

Turn yourself in!

He's a thief and a liar!

And if the law won't force the truth
from him, then I will!

Father, if you let him
get away, they'll hang me.

You need to tell me the truth.

I've seen your engravings.

You and Mr Aldous Kemp used to work
for the East African Postal Service

in Tanganyika, didn't you?

And you engrave stamps.

Among them the Tanganyika Green
which is worth, well,

enough for one - or two men -

to live comfortably
for the rest of their lives.

How do you...?

Was it yours or Mr Kemp's idea?

It was all for Grace.

He'd never have done it for himself.

He was a clever man,
but his family had modest means.

It was hard for him,
watching lesser men rise above him

because of their money
and connections.

He didn't want to fail her.

But she was set on medical school.

That's the only one?

I've changed the plate
so it's up the right way now.

How much do you think they're worth?

Depends on the collectors.

So...

..four for us.

Good job.

'He said we should wait a year. Sell
them through a provincial dealer

'back here to avoid attention.'

As agreed, Mr Kemp
returns to England,

and after hearing about thefts
at the inn,

you left your gun there
for him to protect himself.

But then something went wrong.

He saw Wynford. At the inn.

And Mr Wynford Collins
recognised Mr Kemp,

because they used to work together
at the British Postal Office.

So...

he cancelled the planned meeting

and came to tell you that
the sale was off.

Listen, their valuer knows
I work for the Postal Service,

so if he catches even
a whiff of that stamp,

he'll know what we've done.
It'll be worthless to us.

Let me sell it to him, then.
Well, that's not suspicious,

me cancelling our meeting one day,
and you offering him

rare stamps the next(!)
No, we'll have to wait.

Find another buyer. I can't wait any
longer. They're going to take this

place unless we pay the arrears
this month.

You're not the only one
letting down someone you love.

Clearly you don't love her enough!

But you went to Mr Collins, anyway.

What sort of stamp is it?

A Tanganyika Green.

Obviously, I'd need to see it.

If it's damaged, that may diminish
the value significantly.

But if you'd like to bring it
along tomorrow,

I'd be happy to examine it.

Ten o'clock?

Ten o'clock.

I couldn't find the stamps.

Codswallop.

So you just sat at the bar

for the rest of the night
while some mystery thief

happened to hear about the stamps
and drug Kemp to get them?

It's the truth.

But there was someone there
who knew about the stamps

and wanted to take them
for themselves.

And knew that his victims
could not complain

for fear of revealing their fraud.

Mr Collins?!

You've gone off the deep end
this time, Padre.

The innkeeper told you that the room
next to Mr Kemp's was empty,

but that was exactly
when Mr Collins was packing,

and when Grace Kemp left her
father's drink outside his door.

Nice try, Padre.

But no sleeping pill I know
would've had time to work

before he'd left for Montague,

where, I have it on good authority,

he stayed that night.

And where Miss Windermere's
car suffered

a mysterious loss of petrol

that night.

Thank you so much for waiting
till now to share this

He'll be miles away.

Inspector, I think
his getaway vehicle is, uh...

..unreliable.

They must have emptied the whole
tank last night, damn them!

Only a woman wouldn't carry
any spare.

There's a garage about
half a mile down the road.

Whatever does he want?

I believe he's coming
for your confession.

Is this some sort of practical joke?

I assure you not.

I urge you to confess
to the murder of Aldous Kemp

and save an innocent young man
from the gallows.

Ah, the drunk with the shotgun.

Provincial fairs. There's always
one disappointed customer

who's spent too long
in the cider tent.

Although I've never been
accused of murder before!

The Tanganyika Green
is a very valuable stamp.

I'd expect any dealer
worth his salt to recognise it.

But when I showed you four
on an envelope, you said nothing.

Because you are the one who broke
into the room to steal the stamps,

and killed Aldous Kemp.

I think your friend's
been in the cider tent, too.

I'll get the garage to send someone.

Sorry, Father.
I don't think I've dented it.

Always happy to help, Inspector.

I-I didn't kill him!

Oh? So what did you do, then?

It was an accident!

They brought me the stamp.

A postal services officer
and an engraver.

Of course I realised
what they'd done.

I didn't plan to take it, but...

I've put it outside.

Usiku mwema.

Lala salama.

What can I say?

All men have their weaknesses.

You waited for the sleeping pills
to take effect....

..and then you returned
in Miss Windermere's car

to fetch the stamps.

He should have been asleep.

What are you doing?

Let's keep this simple.
I know what you did.

So you give me the stamps or I tell
every auction house in the country

and nobody makes any money.
Get out!

They're not there.
I haven't got them.

He was alive when I left him.
That's all I know.

But you did not know
that your sleeping pills

were reacting
with his malaria drugs.

And that would kill him.
You see, it was an accident.

It might not be murder,

but you're still looking at
manslaughter, in my book.

And worse

for his unrepentant soul, I fear.

I don't have them! The priest does!

Yes, he's a big stamp collector.

Your inheritance.

I can't take them.

Those tiny scraps of paper are
the difference between my father

being dead or alive.

Or the difference between
a life fulfilled

and a life frustrated.

Grace, take them.

The patients whose lives
you will save will be glad you did.

But she can't sell them!
I mean, that would be fraud!

Nonsense! They're genuine stamps.
And I could introduce you

to genuine buyers.
If that's what you'd like?

I never imagined I'd be persuaded
of anything by a Catholic priest.

But there's something
I must do first.

I always had my father's
support for my ambitions.

He's come this far with none.

The Lord sets a hard road for those
he entrusts with a talent.

But a hard road

is easier with a friend.

It must be nice,
to excel at something.

You do excel at something -

getting into trouble. Just like him.