All language subtitles for MrSWr1119

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

This place is inhabited by ghosts.

We have a murder each time you visit.

Maybe the luck of the Irish.

A little down payment, Dennis.

In plain language, you're asking me to spy.

Didn't they leave quite a mess

- in the Colorado Rockies? - Not gonna happen here.

- What are you going to do? - I'll do what's best for us.

It's blood, all right. Get everything to the lab in Cork.

You killed an innocent man!

Have you considered the wee people?

What I do on my time is my business!

He cannot be allowed to stand in the way.

- Please be careful. - Tom, look out!

"My dear Jessica,

your letter came only yesterday,

so I hope to blazes this reaches you in time.

Since you're going to London,

I'd consider it an insult to an old friend

if you don't spend your spare week

with Kate and me in Kilcleer.

My current lodgers are a queer lot.

God knows there may be a story for you

here in Kilcleer.

Kate sends her love, as do I.

"Tom."

I'll see you and your precious borough council

go to hell in a basket

before I let you and his bloody consortium

dig up this valley looking for gold!

Take it easy, Tom. I'll remind you

that mineral rights in Ireland are reserved to the state.

You need planning permission from the council,

and you need a license from the Department of Energy.

The council will approve, Tom.

Yeah, with your prodding!

Well, the answer's still no.

Win or lose, this matter will be settled

in Dublin in a court of law three years from now,

and not in your bloody council!

- Mr. Dempsey. - What?

We can appreciate your concern

for the ecology of this valley.

But there've been a lot of technical advances.

The Heap-Leach liner, for one.

Your Heap-Leach liner leaks, Mr. Ickes,

and you know it.

Harold here was telling me

that you're having a bit of difficulty

making ends meet up there at the lodge and fishery.

My company would be willing to subsidize you.

Stuff your money, both of you!

What the hell are you doing here, Dennis?

Supposed to be out on the river.

It's my day off, Tom. And, uh...

he put me on the Citizens' Committee for Development.

We're an urban people now, Tom.

Industry is the future of Ireland.

The engine that'll run the Irish economy.

They got through to you with their bill of goods, too, didn't they?

You're a gillie, Dennis, a fisherman,

not a bloody gold miner.

Well, so much for your Irish diplomacy, Harold.

It'll take a little more time, that's all.

Yeah, and three years from now,

we'll lose it all in the courts?

No, thanks. He cannot be allowed

to stand in the way any longer.

What do you mean by that, Walter?

I read about the Colorado senator

who was blocking your development in San Isidro.

He was killed.

And you know that they found it

to be an unfortunate accident.

Which it was, Harold. Now...

What it is, Jessica,

is the mining industry has a skillful lobby.

Provides a lot of money to those in the government

who favor industrialization and exploitation.

Miranda Mining.

Didn't they leave quite a mess

back in the Colorado Rockies?

San Isidro.

A hundred million dollar cleanup job.

They poisoned 70 miles of streams.

Polluted the water table.

It's not gonna happen here, Jess.

In the meantime,

you have to keep your head above water

at the Lodge and the fishery.

The last time I heard from Kate,

she didn't sound too happy about things.

Ah, you know Katy.

Tom, look out!

Did you see that nasty-looking fellow, Jess?

Aren't we dressed up on our day off?

The Councilman Early asked me to meet Tom

and Mr. Ickes, that fellow from America.

Ha ha! Well, I doubt you had a lot to say in that company.

Don't worry, I put in my shilling's worth, Brigid.

I'll bet you did.

And Mr. Early, he asked about you, by the way.

Well, you know how he keeps after me.

It's nothing a girl can't handle.

Sure, if she wants to.

Well, if that isn't a nasty thing to say!

You know how I feel about you.

And what? I suppose I haven't made

my feelings clear as well?

Jessica! Are you ever a sight for sore eyes, girl!

It's so good to see you, Kate!

Make Jessica comfortable and I'll be in for dinner.

Thank you, Shauna.

Your car came back from the garage by the way.

You didn't settle a thing, did you?

Now is not the time to talk about something like that.

You're gonna spoil Jessica's moment.

- I'll see you this evening. - Yes.

Poor bloke. He's been in London all last month

looking for a loan.

Me, I'd settle for a wee thatched cottage

with geraniums under every window

and let the years slip by.

Brigid, show Mrs. Fletcher her room.

- Thanks. - Dinner's at seven.

Make yourself at home.

I'm home already.

No, it's not your imagination, Tom.

This bearded fellow's been mucking around The Valley all week.

I told you, Shamus. Has he got a name?

Not that anybody's heard.

Flanagan saw him drinking down at the pub,

but he's not lodging there.

Nor is he at any of the bed and breakfast houses around.

He could be camping.

You tell the lads when they see him

to ask his name and what his business is.

And I'll bet he doesn't tell you a thing,

'cause he's got consortium spy written all over him.

My preference at low water

would always be the woolly bugger,

and at high, Ally's shrimp or a general practitioner.

Or, if I'm going wet,

I've had jolly good luck with the blue badger.

How very knowledgeable, Mr. Ruddy.

And how come the impoverished salmon

haven't found you in over a week?

You've lost two guests this past week

over the lack of fish.

I don't blame the fish, however,

so much as the guide you've given me. He's incompetent.

Shamus Riley's the most experienced gillie I've got.

He tells me you won't fish the waters

that he recommends to you.

Ha ha! There you are. You see?

That's Cyril for you.

Won't dip his fly in home waters.

Tom rotates the beats tomorrow, Mr. Ruddy. Don't you, Tom?

Perhaps everyone will have better luck.

Telephone, Mr. Layton.

Tell me about your Freddie, Laura.

Has marriage turned him into a cold fish?

I can't tell, Nellie.

Freddie's not my husband yet.

Ladies and gentlemen...

Now, Kate tells me I'm given to verbosity.

Hear, hear.

So I'm allowed one speech a day, and this is it.

I hold, twixt me thumb and forefinger,

a wet fly, that's caught more ten- and twelve-pound salmon

between Ballyhooly and Delphi than you can poke a stick at.

And it's called, paradoxically,

the black Mariah.

Now, there's the Irish mind for you,

because it's yellow. Look at that.

Anyway, I have a plentiful supply

for each and every one of you tomorrow morning.

And now, may the holes in your nets

be no bigger than your fish!

Slainte.

I take it that salmon fishing

is not your priority, Mr. Pryce.

So what brings you to Kilcleer?

It's Edward. And if you mean am I somewhat underwhelmed

by Tom's black Mariah, you're right.

I teach English, as I think you once did.

But I'm here owing to my real interest, which is botany.

Oh.

It's in USA Today? My God!

What did it say?

I've gotta see this for myself.

I don't know where I'm gonna get a copy around here.

All right. We didn't speak.

You don't have a clue as to where I am.

You've picked a right time to get into a row with him.

It serves him right. I'm not gonna be bossed, Shauna.

I can't believe you didn't tell him. Every time I'm ready to,

he's in a mood that'd spoil it.

Another month and he'll know for himself.

You'll be showing, girl.

Come on, ladies, stop prattling.

Where's the coffee?

So, Mr. Pryce, you'll be tramping all over these hills,

looking for some rare variety of exotic what?

Oh, uh, as a matter of fact, a rare species of poinciana.

But you tell me,

to borrow from Polonius, aside from writing,

what is the whirlwind of your passion?

My passion?

I suppose I'd have to say my roots.

I had a great-grandfather who lived down in The Valley.

And of course, catching up with Tom and Kate.

Nellie, my girl, the gentleman spoke of passion.

Oh, it offends me to the soul

to hear a rombustious, periwig-pated fellow

tear a passion to tatters, to very rags,

- to split the ears of the groundlings-- - Oh, Cyril, do shut up!

He'd go on all night if I let him. Ha ha!

Uh, Mr. Pryce,

I heard you were planning a trip to the village.

Would you take a passenger?

Of course. Come along.

Thank you. I'll just freshen up.

Be back in a mo.

Oh, don't forget your book.

Legends of Kilcleer.

I've been looking all over for this.

I'd love to borrow it from you sometime.

Of course you may, after tomorrow.

There are some botanical references I want to check out.

After that, I'll let you have it.

Thanks.

Trade places with me.

You take the 18 houseguests every night of the week.

No way.

And I thought writing was torture.

Stop your carping, Harold.

My people have dealt with these environmental blowhards before.

This matter will be over before you know it.

Who exactly is this man of yours you keep talking about?

Someone with influence in Dublin?

Not exactly. He has influence, yes,

but it's subtle, yet very effective.

Never failed us yet.

You just keep thinking about your percentage.

Who are these young ladies?

Oh, there's Mr. Early with the American.

Shauna, no, I don't want to.

He wants us to talk to him.

Brigid, there's no harm if we have a drink or two.

- Shauna, stop it. - Come on.

Kilcleer's monument

to integrity and principle!

Him and that mealy-mouthed American

would like to do a little bit more than just mine The Valley.

Ah, get off it, Shamus.

I was talking to Tom.

I'd be surprised if you didn't, him being the boss and all.

He was asking me what truck you have going with Early.

It's not Tom's business what I do with my life or my politics.

He loves you, boy.

He thinks of you as his son.

Look, I don't need another conscience, shamus.

So if Tom asked you to talk to me--

It's me that's asking!

I'm here on my own hook.

Well, then save it.

There's a lot of old fellas like you

who see no future beyond the salmon,

and that view will be the ruination of Ireland.

Maybe it's an idle question, Nellie,

but what's Mr. Ruddy doing tomorrow?

Fishing. What else?

Well, about lunchtime, I'll be through with my walk.

I'll be down by the riverbank.

Well, aren't you the one!

We can have a picnic.

It's very nice down there by the river.

Yes.

Yes, we could.

Ah, Kate, these Irish breakfasts will be the end of me.

I mean, fruit and porridge

and sausages, eggs, mushrooms,

and then that delectable soda bread

with butter slathered all over it.

And you can't resist any of it.

Well, maybe tomorrow, but not today!

Hold on there, Cyril. Can't have you out on the river

without my black Mariah.

All right. I'll wear it for luck.

Good morning, Jessica.

You'd think this place was going to live or die

on that silly fly of his.

Ah, but the black Mariah, Kate--

If it caught salmon in Ballyhooly--

Ah, go on! It'll be no better than any other.

But these poor fools will believe Tom.

I wish I did.

I'd better get started on the rooms.

- If you're bored... - Ah, don't even think about it.

Tom's gonna take me down and show me the ruins.

All right, then.

- Morning. - Oh.

You're looking at a compulsive straightener-outer.

Oh.

Have a nice day.

Thank you.

There's the moor, Jess.

This is what's left of the old British Garrison.

Torched by the IRA in 1916.

Hey.

They even stuffed a couple of black and tans

down the old well there.

You know, my McGill family history

says that my grandmother had a father

who died somewhere around here.

Bless him.

The Pagan heart and the Christian soul

feed the roots of the Irish temperament.

The Pagans, good Catholics all,

told me this place is inhabited

by ghosts and goblins.

I can believe that.

And the good thing is there's fairies here, too.

You make a wish,

then you drop a penny.

And the wee folk will have your wish come true?

Mine's not so much a wish as a curse, Jess.

Well, you heard Mr. Dempsey.

You don't have one of his black Mariahs.

- I'm sorry. - Can we get by with the flies we've got?

Sure. Give me your Rod. Watch what I do.

Listen, I gotta make a phone call.

I'll be back in a minute.

This bait's no better than any of the others, Riley.

There's no helping you at all, Mr. Ruddy.

Why don't you use one of the black Mariahs Tom said?

You've got one on your vest there.

If a blue badger won't do it, nothing will.

Just get out of my way.

I will.

And roast you!

Ah, princess?

I hope you're in the mood

for a good California chardonnay.

I promise I'll be back in the morning!

What is going on, Freddie?

You shut me out.

Why did you bring me here if we're not even gonna--

A good day's fishing, what?

Isn't he a beauty? Twelve o'clock this morning.

Jolly good.

We certainly didn't come here to go fishing.

That guide of yours, Dennis...

He came back saying you walked out on him.

Where'd you go?

I went to make a phone call. Now drop it.

Sure.

Ladies and gentlemen, the long drought is broken.

Mr. Ruddy is credited

with the first salmon over ten pounds in four weeks.

Oh! Well done! Bravo! Bravo!

Thank you. And I may say it was off a blue badger.

Not your fabled black Mariah fly.

Cyril.

Tom, what happened to Mr. Pryce and Mr. Layton?

- I don't know. - Freddie took the car into Cork.

He had an errand there.

Mr. Pryce left a note on the kitchen board

saying not to expect him for dinner.

Thank you, Shauna.

Well, I can tell you, he won't go hungry.

He went off this morning

with a picnic big enough for a horse!

Was it a cozy little picnic, you and Mr. Pryce?

Oh, it could've been quite beautiful

if the blighter had shown up!

Oh, Cyril, do stop drinking.

You'll embarrass us both.

Find anything fun to read here, Laura?

I'm not sure. It says in here

they fed a trial batch of trout fry hormone-treated food,

and the milt from the sex-reversed "masculinized" females

was used to fertilize sea trout ova.

How the heck do you masculinize a female?

Well, I thought that was a major operation.

But do you suppose they sew a wee Irish vest and pants

for the wee fishy?

You hid the electric bill in the spoon drawer.

Shh. I just didn't want to bother you, that's all.

- Meaning we haven't the money. - Sure we have.

Just wait till this group's checks clear.

Meantime, the lights will be cut off.

Or the lamps. We're out of kerosene.

Richie Donald said he'd stay open. I'll see you.

You represent the future of Ireland.

We're asking you to keep an eye out, that's all.

In plain language, you're asking me to spy, Mr. Early.

Dennis, in a couple of years, with on-the-job training,

you'll be qualified in resource management.

You'll be making ten times what you do now.

And major companies like Mr. Ickes'

are prepared to invest in those who qualify.

Young men like yourself!

A little down payment, Dennis, against the future.

All I'm asking is you let me know

what Dempsey is doing, what he plans against us.

I'm sorry, man. I'm with you in principle,

but this, I--

Oh, for goodness' sakes!

Brigid keeps telling me

you two want to put away enough to tie the knot.

And this'd be enough for a down payment

on that cottage of Dempsey's you've been looking at,

and then some.

Into your pocket with it.

If you change your mind, no harm done.

I know I'll see it back.

Always nagging about money.

Whew. Women.

What?

It was a blatant attempt on my life, Boyle!

Look, the car had just come back from a checkup at Mulroony's.

Now, don't you--Oh!

If there'd been a problem with the ball joints,

don't you think he'd have seen it?

As I said, it'll be checked thoroughly.

Though I doubt we'll find anything more

than evidence of normal wear and tear.

- Wear and tear my-- - Tom, sit still.

When you do check the car, sergeant,

on the off chance that Tom's right,

there'll be fingerprints that don't belong.

I'm sure I don't need to be reminded

of the fundamentals of police procedure, ma'am.

A word of advice...

Stop making damaging accusations against Councilman Early.

The laws against libel here in Ireland

are much more severe than in America.

You gave me quite a turn!

I'm sorry, Jessica.

I didn't mean to startle you.

It is kind of spooky.

Have you seen Tom this morning?

Yes. And, aside from a bad bump on his head,

he's okay.

He was out early, as usual.

Certain times of day,

you get the most incredible contrasts

in sunlight and shadow.

It's like some people I know.

I thought Freddie had whisked me off to Ireland to propose.

Maybe we'd even get married someplace.

Wrong?

Oh, right.

He's got some problem he won't tell me about.

Oh.

Well, in that case, you need a wish.

Now, legend has it that if you drop a penny down here,

the fairies will see that your wish comes true.

Really?

Well, when all else fails...

Okay, fairies, do your thing.

I happen to know you were having dinner

with that creep Early, last night!

And who the hell told you that?

The bloody bartender, that's who!

Mind your own bloody business!

What I do on my time is my business!

Dennis, what in the hell is happening to us?

You think you own me, Tom.

I can't be beholden to you all me life.

All right! What kind of blood money they paying you?!

Hi, Jess.

I'm sorry you had to hear that.

Jessica and every Tom, Dick and Harry in the village.

Somewhere I went awfully wrong with that boy.

Oh, just listen to the poor creature.

In case you hadn't noticed, Tom,

he's a grown man.

You know, it sounded more to me as if he just wanted

to make up his own mind about a few things.

Before you go off,

I was worried about Mr. Pryce.

He hasn't been back since last night.

I rang Sergeant Boyle--

Boyle? What do you want with that blithering idiot?

Tom, if it's the same Sergeant Boyle

that I met last time I was in Kilcleer,

he's no idiot.

And, nevertheless, I rang him,

and he's going to have his men out looking.

Pryce.

Pryce is as randy as all get-out.

He's probably taken up with some little girl in the village.

Good-bye, Kate.

Tom.

Oh, now. What is it, girl?

I'm frightened for you, is all.

For us. Please be careful.

Of course. Everything's gonna be all right.

I wanted landscapes without people,

but here and there somebody I didn't see through the wide lens

turns up like Waldo.

Here, look.

Oh. Now, that Waldo looks like the man

that Tom and I saw on the road from Cork day before yesterday.

Isn't that Ed Pryce down by the river?

Laura? I'm back.

Late but great. Just gonna take a shower.

I'll see you guys later. Hi, Jessica.

Hello.

- Have him come here, get him down now. - Okay.

It's blood, all right. Get everything to the lab in Cork.

And it'd be nice if you could find whoever spilt it.

I must emphasize

that all we've found thus far

is possible foul play. Pray it's nothing more than that.

I'm suggesting that it's not in your best interest

at this point to alarm your other guests.

Your sensitivity overwhelms me, sergeant.

But it's as plain as the nose on your face.

Something's happened to Pryce.

Tom, the sergeant's doing all he can.

More coffee, Sergeant Boyle?

Oh, yes. Thank you, Shauna.

Brigid and I had a thought.

The ruins being so near,

have you considered the wee people?

The wee people, Shauna?

They're known to carry people off, aren't they?

Heh. I think you're being

a wee bit cheeky with me, Shauna.

Sergeant, wait.

Shauna has just reminded me

of something very important.

Ding, ding, ding, and then nothing.

Ding, ding, ding?

Have you partaken of a drop or two, Jess?

No. No, but I think I know

where we'll find Mr. Pryce.

I remembered the sound, Tom.

Yesterday, when we dropped our pennies down the well

there was a distinct splash.

That means there was water. There always is.

Right. Except when Laura and I did it this morning,

there was no splash.

An obstruction. Good for you, Jess.

Here comes the genius.

Coroner O'Hara believes Mr. Pryce died

from a savage blow to the head,

and his watch got smashed, probably in the well, at 3:18.

So the murder must have occurred sometime before then.

At least as long as it took to bring the body up from the river.

Is it my luck or yours that we have a murder

each time you visit Kilcleer, Mrs. Fletcher?

Maybe the luck of the Irish, sergeant.

I'll be needing to see your guests and staff.

All right.

No, I'm the chief accountant

at the Overhill Corporation of New York.

I have a card here.

This has my phone number and address.

Although I'd appreciate it if you would not call the company.

I never know what they might think.

We'll do what we have to, Mr. Layton.

I understand.

Thank you for your time.

I don't care if you're the Lord Mayor of Dublin,

I'm accusing you, and that sleazebag, Ickes,

of an outright attempt on my life!

Is that the best you can come up with, Dempsey?

You killed an innocent man

in your maniacal belief

he was some kind of spy for the consortium.

Gentlemen, please.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Can you tell me

what the hell he's doing in my house, Boyle?

There's been a murder, Terence,

and as councilman, it's my duty to be here.

Furthermore-- Furthermore... these are my premises,

and it's my duty to see you the hell out of here.

If you don't do it, he's gonna feel the toe of my boot.

Uh, Mr. Early, better do as he says.

I'll fill you in on my investigation, don't worry.

Right.

You are flipping daft, man.

Treating a borough councilman like that.

Is that the uniform talking,

or the 300 acres you own north end of The Valley?

How much did Mr. Ickes offer you for that, sergeant?

Ah, good evening, Sergeant Boyle.

Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher. If you don't mind,

we've been having a bit of trouble

pinning down just who or what Edward Pryce was.

There's no identification, no personal papers of any kind.

He said that he was an English teacher-come-amateur botanist.

- But you have your doubts? - Yes.

On my first night here,

he attributed a very well-known speech of Hamlet's to Polonius.

Anybody claiming to teach English would know better.

He also fared very badly as a botanist.

Well, I'm neither a Shakespeare scholar nor a botanist, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, he said that he was searching

for a rare species of poinciana,

which happens to be a tropical plant.

I'm sure you'll not find it anywhere in Ireland.

There was a book that Mr. Pryce promised to lend me.

It was called The Legends of Kilcleer.

You didn't happen to find it among his belongings, did you?

There was precious little of anything.

No. No such item, I'm afraid.

Well, I'll be saying good night.

I thank you for your time.

- Good night, sergeant. - Good night.

So let me summarize it for you, sweet thing.

Men are good first for sex--

Well, depending on who, you know.

Then cash in the old handbag next,

and permanency comes last.

You have merely reversed the procedure.

I've been looking all over for you.

I thought you'd jumped a plane or something.

- You two want to be alone. - No, Nellie.

Yes, you do.

Speak with your heart,

if you have one.

Laura tells me it's withered

in the world of commerce and industry.

She loves you.

It's to your credit.

God bless.

I love you.

I don't think I give a damn anymore.

Listen, the only reason why I went to Cork

is because they have a newsstand there that carries USA Today,

and I had to wait for the morning delivery.

- Why on earth would you need-- - My picture is spread

all over the Thursday edition.

There's a bunch of money missing

from one of the accounts I supervise.

I swear, I had nothing to do with it.

But they're accusing me and saying I skipped.

Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?

I didn't want to spoil anything.

I wanted this to be what you wanted it to be.

A surprise marriage and honeymoon

rolled into one, and I--

We'll go back tomorrow and you'll clear it up,

and we'll carry on from there.

I'll make it up to you, I promise I will.

What's going on?

Mr. Layton, I have to ask you

to accompany me to the station.

Can I ask why?

Some questions. Among them,

how your fingerprints appeared

on the stone that killed Mr. Pryce.

I was fishing by the river.

I could've touched any number of rocks.

Your gillie McSorley says you left the beat

to make a phone call,

and you were alone with no witness on the road to Cork

about the time that Mr. Pryce lost his life.

New York says you're in grave trouble there, too.

We need to have a chat, Mr. Layton.

Sergeant, I'm quite sure that Mr. Layton will return to New York

and face whatever charges they have,

but none of this warrants his being arrested here in Kilcleer.

Oh, I'm not arresting Mr. Layton.

He's just coming in for questioning.

On your own volition, isn't that right?

I'll be back soon, doll.

Still no luck identifying Mr. Pryce.

But I'm told the Overhill Corporation

sent a private investigator after Layton,

and he hasn't been heard from since early yesterday.

You think the investigator was Pryce?

That Freddie killed him to get him off his trail?

Laura, I want another look

at those photos that you took.

You remember this one with the strange man in it?

I took that at noon, day before yesterday.

And this is the one I took yesterday

around three o'clock, with no people in it.

Ah, very nice.

But three o'clock, are you quite sure?

It had to be, because it was just before

I wrapped up and came in for tea.

Yes, but look at the two pictures together.

The angle of the sunlight and the shadows...

I mean, they're almost identical.

Are you sure you took the first one around noon?

I might've goofed a little on the time.

What does that have to do with anything?

Laura, it means that this first photo

would've been shot around three as well.

So that means Mr. Pryce was still alive at three o'clock.

Well, let's get a good night's sleep.

We've got lots to do tomorrow.

But why in God's name didn't you tell me, Bridge?

I wanted to know that you were marrying me

because you loved me, not because you had to.

What a little fool you are, hmm?

You didn't know it could only make me love you more.

Well, it's a simple thing. We will be married

in Newport next weekend.

Sure, and then what?

The wee man will be arriving in October.

And how do you know it won't be a girl,

as pretty and as clever as her ma?

I saw Dr. McDowell today. He did a test.

He'll be a boy,

as handsome and intelligent as his da.

Bridge... what would you say

if I had in my pocket right now

money enough so you could quit working,

and we could put a down payment on

the Dempseys' cottage, with a little left over?

I'd say you were clean bonkers.

Where would you get that kind of money unless it was--

What are you saying, Dennis?

It's from Mr. Early, so I'd spy on Tom

for him and Mr. Ickes.

Oh, Lord.

What are you going to do?

I'll have to think it out, Bridge.

But I'll do what's best for us. I will.

If you're looking for Laura, she was up with the birds

and went to see Freddie at the police station.

Oh, good for her. Actually, I was looking for a book

that Mr. Pryce had.

Legends of Kilcleer?

No, sorry, I didn't see it.

Sergeant Boyle's news

about that investigator following Freddie--

It changes things, doesn't it?

No, I don't think so.

You must know something we don't.

Or is it simply one of your intuitions?

Jess?

What is it?

Oh, nothing.

I just phoned London, and I'm expecting a callback.

Let me know as soon as it comes in, all right?

Get on with it, the pair of you!

The more you know that lady, the less you'll know,

and that's the truth.

Bingo.

Kate said you were up to something.

What have you got there, Jess?

Edward Pryce's book.

Oh. Well, if it concerns his murder

or the survival of something I hold very dear,

could you share it with me

before you give it to that ass, Boyle?

Of course, Tom. It seems that Edward Pryce

followed quite a strange itinerary,

from San Isidro in Colorado.

You know, I believe a state senator

was blocking Miranda Mining's development there

when he met a rather unfortunate accident.

Hotel here. Hotel there.

All the way through England and on to Glasgow.

Until he ended up here at your Lodge.

If Sergeant Boyle is right,

he was following Freddie Layton.

But that doesn't fit with the facts.

I mean, what was his purpose?

And what was so much at stake

for a man to be murdered over?

It had to be about the consortium.

Perhaps.

Tom, I'm gonna trust you

to see that Sergeant Boyle gets this,

and I'm sure that it will help to clear Freddie Layton.

Sure. Of course, Jess.

When the geological survey comes in, we'll be fine.

Dennis. Can I buy you a pint?

No, thanks.

I've thought about your proposal, gentlemen.

And with all thanks for your largesse,

I'm declining.

But why, for God's sakes?

This money is a beginning for yourself and Brigid.

The money wouldn't be a beginning, Mr. Early.

It'd be an end.

You see, for all Tom Dempsey's faults,

he's still too good a man to be betrayed.

You're going to abandon the future of your country to that idiot?

What does Brigid say? I'm sure she--

It's not about Ireland.

And Brigid understands that view.

You see, we're-we're going to be parents.

And whatever our difficulties now,

we don't want to start our boy off on blood money.

He'll understand that when he's old enough

to look his pa in the eye.

And as for my country, it's yours and mine, Mr. Early,

not Mr. Ickes', nor any consortium's.

Now, I'm still for Ireland,

but not at the price you're asking.

That's lovely.

Yes, Jerry. As a matter of fact, I am fishing.

So it was the Shropshire Repertory Company.

Go on.

And one of those three names is Edward Montgomery.

Yes, I've got it. Oh, God, you're an angel.

Listen, I'll be in London day after tomorrow.

We'll definitely have lunch, and it's on me.

Right. Bye-bye.

Well, it's adieu to the Ruddys.

Off to the warm Antilles, huh?

Hey, listen, bon voyage, Cyril.

Nellie. You'll be back next year, God willing,

to catch some salmon.

Not bothering about catching murderers, of course.

Speaking of which, Mrs. Fletcher,

who is very experienced in this kind of thing--

Is convinced that Freddie Layton is not the guilty party.

Despite the opinions of our paradigm of constabulary--

Sergeant Boyle.

Who is it then, Jessica?

I haven't the faintest idea,

except to say that the police

have concentrated their investigation at the river,

and I believe that the proof will be found elsewhere.

Oh? And where would that be, Jessica?

At the ruins, Nellie. And oddly enough,

it has to do with one of those black Mariah flies

that Tom put so much stock in.

Well, after-dinner refreshments in the library, folks.

Telephone for you, Mr. Ickes.

Ickes.

Yes, yes.

Well, then you do what you must!

Oh! Goodness' sakes, Tom.

You scared the life out of me.

Kate was worried when you left the Lodge.

What the hell are you doing, Jess?

I'm looking for something,

though I don't expect to find it,

but I think that Pryce's killer may believe that I might.

You're not making any sense, Jess.

When they brought Pryce up yesterday,

one of your precious black Mariah flies

was hooked to his jacket.

Pryce isn't a fisherman. Oh.

You mean the killer wore the fly,

and it got hooked on Pryce's jacket?

It was snagged accidentally

when he was carried up from the river.

According to Dennis, Freddie Layton didn't have the black Mariah, either,

but I think I know who did.

Yeah? Go on.

Your bearded stranger, Tom.

A photo Laura Maples showed me

confirmed that he was very close to the scene at three o'clock,

the afternoon that Pryce was killed.

A call from London tonight

told me who it was that Pryce followed

from San Isidro to Kilcleer.

Then the note Pryce supposedly left in your kitchen

to say that he wouldn't be in for dinner--

It didn't match his own handwriting,

convincing me that it had to be one of your staff

or your guests who killed Pryce,

and a second one who carried his body up from the river.

You're still talking riddles, Jess.

This bearded fella, he's not one of my staff,

and he's not one of my guests.

I'm afraid she is.

Hello, Nellie.

Or should I say Mrs. Edward Montgomery?

Well done, Jessica.

Top hole all the way.

I heard you make that first call

to Jerry Hardwick in London.

I assume that's how you found out

about my husband's tour with the Shropshire Rep?

Playing Polonius in Shakespeare's Hamlet.

A tour Edward Pryce followed very closely,

uncertain as to which actor

was the assassin that he was after.

Yes, you had to find his bloody book, didn't you?

He'd been on our tail since that incident in San Isidro.

So there was a murder there, too.

Pryce's real name was Bond.

Interpol agent,

investigating the consortium's dirty little secrets.

But where's Mr. Montgomery, Nellie?

You're not big or strong enough

to have carried Pryce's body up from the river.

Right here, Mrs. Fletcher.

Now, we've got a plane to catch.

Say, if you'll both get over by the well,

there's room enough in there for two more.

Police! Hold it right there, Montgomery!

Well, you cut it a bit thin, sergeant.

Amen to that, sarge.

Oh, well, Shamus Riley called as you asked him to,

but talk about luck of the Irish.

I had a flat tire on the road.

I talked to Laura on the telephone.

Does it sound like Freddie's getting things straightened out back there?

Oh, yes, he is, and better still,

he and Laura got married yesterday.

Speaking of which...

Hello, Dennis. You two are off, are you?

We've the drive to Newport...

and the priest will be waiting for us at five.

That's great. Listen, Kate and I have been thinking long and hard

about a wedding present for the two of you.

And... well, why don't you tell them, Kate.

It's no secret that you've been looking at our rental cottage.

And, well, it's not something

we'd like to let out of the family.

What she's trying to say is,

we know you turned Early down, and we're proud of you.

The cottage is yours if you want it.

Do we want it?!

Oh, wait a minute! I'm thinking of running

for Early's empty council seat,

so I'm gonna need a manager here.

And that job's yours, too. I mean, if you want it.

Ah, Tom. Do you even have to ask?

That's me boy!

Come on, darling, let's have a jar for the road.

Can't blame me for being jealous, Jessica.

It's a very pretty little place.

A wee thatched cottage with geraniums under every window.

Just the place to let the years slip by.

Ah, Kate.