All language subtitles for S01E06 Have His Carcase; Episode Three IMDB 8.2

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That's peculiar.

I say!

I say.

I say. Aah!

You saw nobody apart from
the woman and the man?

Ain't I telling you?
I never looked.

What were you doing
off the grinders that day?

He is certainly
lying, inspector.

But about what, and why?

Excuse me, sir.

There's a gentleman
here from Seahampton.

A dealer in old coins.

He saw the picture
of Paul Alexis in the paper

and thought you ought
to know something.

Alexis did what?

He drew his last £300
out of his bank account

and bought 300 gold sovereigns.

What kind of man
spends his last savings

on 300 gold sovereigns,

buys a return ticket to Darley,

walks to an isolated rock,
and cuts his throat?

As Bunter would say,
"a very gratifying mystery."

But look here.

I say if he did have £300
in gold sovereigns on him,

it does give someone
a motive for murder.

Hmm. The inspector thinks

that old Pollock
rowed in to the shore,

stole the money,
and cut Alexis' throat.

It would explain why
his grandson went to Ireland...

to dispose of the gold.

Personally, I think the gold

might have a rather
different significance.

I hope I'm not
intruding, Miss Vane,

but I thought you and Lord Peter

might like a nice cup of tea
and some fancies.

That's very kind of you,
Mrs. Lefranc.

Think nothing of it, my dear.

I always say I'm not against

my ladies seeing
their gentlemen friends,

nor contrariwise,

provided there's
no trouble caused.

Mrs. Lefranc, according to
what Miss Vane has told me,

you knew Paul Alexis
pretty well.

Can you think of any reason

why he might have wanted
to commit suicide?

Indeed, my Lord, I cannot.

And you could have
knocked me down with a feather.

Why, only the night before,
he was in such spirits.

Laughing and joking, he was,
and talking wild.

He'd just had one
of them foreign letters.

All stuck over
with foreign stamps

and addressed
in funny handwriting.

He used to get so excited
when one of them came.

He was just like a little boy.

"Ma," he used to say,
"when my ship comes in,

"I'll give you a tiara
stuck full of diamonds

and make you housekeeper
to royalty."

Royalty?

I think that was just
his way of talking.

And one of these letters
arrived just this morning?

It must have been a long one,

for he was shut in this
very room that Tuesday night.

Hours and hours he was,
poring over it.

Oh, thank you, ma.

You know, ma, one of these days

you'll find that I've
spread my wings and flown away.

Drink your tea.

Poor boy.
I can see now

that was just his way
of breaking it to me.

But how could I guess?

He was in such spirits,

and that very morning
he gave me his week's money.

"I know it's early," he said...

because of course
it's not due until Saturday...

"but if I give it
to you now, it'll be safe."

And out he went,
and I never saw him again.

Oh.
Here's your latchkey, dear.

I had a new one cut
because poor Mr. Alexis

took his away with him...
When he went.

Well, drink your tea
while it's hot,

and enjoy your fancies.

Thank you.

My Lord.

High spirits.

Took his latchkey,

to say nothing
of buying a return ticket.

But he did pay her
a week's lodgings

before it was due,
which suggests to me

that he knew
he wasn't coming back.

I'm still putting
my shirt on murder.

I've brought a little
list of suspects.

I thought it might help
to go through them.

By all means.

Um, first of all, Perkins...
thank you... the hiker.

That was his name, wasn't it?

Oh, yes. The man
I met on the road

who was so terrified
of encountering the murderer,

he turned and walked back
with me to Darley.

Unless he was the murderer

and wanted
to keep an eye on you.

I suppose that's possible.

He did appear
rather unexpectedly,

and then disappeared
as soon as I got to Darley

to telephone the police.

You don't think
that he and bright

could be one and the same?

Oh, no.
No, definitely not.

Perkins was think and weedy,
but he was a different build.

He didn't have one shoulder
higher than the other.

Then number two is Mr. Bright,
the itinerant barber,

in possession of the razor,
and gives an unconvincing story

of conveying it to Alexis.

A funny way he had of talking.

Quick and sort of poetic,
you know.

So he put the razor
in his pocket and he said,

"funny we should meet tonight.

Two minds
with but a single thought."

And then off he went.

Have a fancy.

Oh. Um, no, thanks.

Number three?

Old Pollock, the fisherman.

If his grandson ever
gets back from Ireland,

we might found out what he
was doing off the grinders.

You think that's important?

Only if it prevented him
from speaking the truth

about who was on the shore.

Number four must be
Haviland Martin.

Yes. Your mysterious camper.

He arrived just before the death

and left just after.

Are we anywhere near Darley?

Yes, ten minutes down the road.

First right, half a mile inland.

He deliberately chose
a campsite right by the sea.

With access to a horse

that could have conveyed him
to the flat-iron rock.

Surely I'd have seen the horse
from down on the beach.

Not if he'd slapped it
on the rump and sent it home.

And then,
seeing you approaching,

hid in the niche of the rock.

Why didn't Pollock see him
from his fishing boat?

Maybe he did see him
and he's lying.

So, Haviland Martin
is our favourite so far.

We've yet to establish a motive.

The only person we know
to have had a perfect motive

is Henry Weldon,
who was quite determined

that his mother shouldn't
marry Paul Alexis.

And as far as we know,
he was in Lincolnshire.

However, Bunter,
at my suggestion,

has taken the liberty of
checking up on our Mr. Weldon.

I might beat him to it.

I'm going to do a little
private-detecting myself.

Oh?

Henry Weldon has
invited me out tomorrow

with his mother.

I think he wants to pump me,

but I shall pump him instead.

I shall buy a big hat
and a flowery dress

and high heel shoes
and vamp him.

What an appalling idea.

No, not really.

It's in my interest to establish

whether or not
he's a possible murderer.

You've left out one suspect.

Harriet Vane.

Recently tried
for the murder of her lover

and acquitted
by the skin of her teeth.

Says she saw Alexis dead
at around 2:00

but can bring no evidence
to prove she didn't kill him.

Took three hours to walk
four and a half miles

to telephone the police,

by which time the body
had been washed away.

Claims to have met
Perkins on the road

but can neither produce him

nor any evidence that he exists.

The police suspected her
from the beginning

and probably still do.

I'm sure they don't.

You do realize they searched
my room at the resplendent?

Did they, by god?
I shall have something to say

to inspector Trethowan
about that.

Oh, for god's sake, Peter,
spare me your knight-errantry.

Do you think I don't know why
you came galloping down here

at five minutes' notice?

Do you think it makes it
pleasant for me to know

that it is only the patronage
of Lord Peter Wimsey

that prevents Trethowan
from being openly hostile to me?

I suppose you thought
I was being rather brazen,

getting publicity
out of the thing.

What did you expect me to do,

wait for the newspapers
to drag the juicy bits

out of the dustbins
for themselves?

What did Salcombe Hardy say
when he telephoned you?

"I say, Wimsey, that Vane woman

has got herself mixed up
in another murder"?

And what did you say to him?

Threaten to kick his teeth in
if he didn't show me respect?

No, not... not quite,
but pretty near.

I wish you'd stop
meddling in my affairs.

I know I'm supposed
to be grateful,

and you think if you go on
protecting me long enough,

I'll eventually be
softened and weakened and...

Fall into my arms?
Oh, Harriet,

do give me the credit
of a little intelligence.

Do you think I don't know
I'd stand a better chance

if I was deaf, blind,
maimed, and starving

so that you could have
the fun of being magnanimous?

That's a beastly
thing to say. Is it?

Why do you think I treat
my own sincerest feelings

like something
out of a comic opera

if it isn't to save myself
from the humiliation

of seeing you trying not
to be nauseated by them?

Do me the justice of remembering
that you can hurt me

a damn sight more
than I can hurt you.

I'm sorry. I'm being
horribly ungrateful.

Oh, hell! Am I never
to stop hearing the bleat

of that filthy adjective?
I don't want gratitude.

I don't want kindness.
I don't want sentimentality.

I just want common honesty.

But that's all I ever wanted.

I don't think it's to be had.

Harriet, I do understand.

I know that you don't
want ever again

to be dependent on another
person for your happiness.

That's the truest thing
you've ever said.

All right.
I can accept that.

But you've got to play the game.

Don't force
an emotional situation

and then blame me for it.

I don't want any situation.
I just want to be left in peace!

But you're not
a peaceful person.

You'll always make trouble.
Why not fight it out

on equal terms and enjoy it?

I'm a bonny fighter.

Well, all right.

But it all sounds so dreary
and exhausting.

Harriet, don't say that.

Harriet, darling,
beast, angel, vixen,

don't say that.

Call me anything you like,
but not dreary.

Not like one of those things
you find in clubs.

Here, take this one.
It's bigger and quite clean.

Don't tell me I've been
boring you all this time.

You once said
if anybody married me,

it would be for the pleasure
of hearing me talk piffle.

That sort of thing
palls after a while.

I'm babbling.
I know I'm babbling.

What on earth am I
to do about it?

It's not fair.

It's not fair.
You always make me laugh.

I can't fight.
I'm too tired.

You don't seem to know
what "tired" means.

Stop. Let go.
I won't be bullied.

Please go away, Peter.
Leave me alone.

Do you really want that?

Yes. Yes, I do.

Here you are, then.
Come on, now.

Here you are. Yeah.
Come on.

Good morning.
Is Mr. Weldon about?

You're from the bank, I suppose.

No, I'm not,
as a matter of fact.

Mrs. Weldon, is it?

Mrs. Sterne.
Mr. Weldon isn't married.

I'm his housekeeper.
Sorry.

No, I just wanted
to chat with Mr. Weldon

about his insurance.

Well, he isn't here, I'm afraid.

Was he expecting you?

No, no. I had other
business in the area,

so I took a chance.

You don't know when
he'll be back, then?

I really couldn't say.

His mother had a bit of trouble.

You might have read about it.

A gentleman friend of hers
cut his throat on the beach.

Oh, yes. I read about that
in the paper.

So Mr. Weldon had to go
to Wilvercombe to be with her.

Well, that would explain it.

Farmers don't often
leave the place

in my experience.

Mr. Weldon gets away
two or three days

most every month.

Really?
Business or pleasure?

I couldn't say.

He's quite a sporting gentleman.

He often goes to Newmarket,

and he's very keen
on them point-to-points.

Good rider, is he?

My husband... he's cowman here...

he says there ain't nothing
Mr. Weldon don't know

about animals,

but he don't know much
about farming.

I shouldn't have said that.

Not at all. We can't all
be good at everything.

He leads quite
a social life, then?

Oh, no. They do say he's
quite a one with the ladies,

but I've never seen
any sign of it here.

No, Mr. Weldon
lives very quiet.

His mother used to visit,

but she hasn't been here
in the last year or two.

And there was
that bearded gentleman

came to stay last June.

Bearded, eh?

I wonder if that might be
a colleague of mine.

Tall, slim chap.
Foreign.

Oh, dear me, no.

Quite respectable,
Mr. Field was.

Definitely not foreign.

Wore a dark suit.

More what you'd call
a city gent.

Ah, well.

Mustn't waste any more
of your time.

Would you tell
Mr. Weldon I called?

Certainly.

Oh, uh,

Mrs. Sterne.

Just for my own record,

I could try to contact
Mr. Weldon on... let's see-

the 16th.

That would have been the day
that Mrs. Weldon's friend

was found on the beach.

Oh, no. He was away
from home all that week.

I remember.

He got back here on a Thursday,

then he had the letter
from his mother

and he had to set off again.

I see.

Tragic business, that.

Come along, Miss Vane.

I know ladies like sweet things.

Oh, no, I really shouldn't.

David! Susan!
We're going now!

Thank goodness for that.

You are naughty.

It was one lump of sugar,
wasn't it, Miss Vane?

Oh, yes, thank you.

Come on.

Do it!

I have to do it slowly.

What a nice place this is.

Henry, it really was very
clever of you to find it.

So simple and charming.

It's not the only thing
that's charming.

Oh, Mr. Weldon.

More tea, Henry, dear?

Thanks.

It's a bit quiet for my taste,

though I wouldn't mind buying it

and seeing if I could
make a go of it.

Get a gaming license,
turn that room into a casino.

Build a dance hall
where the stables are.

I think that would
quite spoil the atmosphere.

Don't you, Miss Vane?

I don't really know.
I expect Mr. Weldon knows best.

Gentlemen usually do,
don't they?

You could set up
a riding stables.

I suppose you'd have to know
a lot about horses for that.

Henry knows all about horses.

He wins races and everything.

Goodness. Do you really?

Only the odd
point-to-point, you know.

Do you own a horse,
Mr. Weldon?

No, I cant afford it,
worse luck.

Henry, we're not going
to talk about money.

Miss Vane, do have a jap-cake.

They're just like
the ones they make

in the warming pan
in Wilvercombe.

I couldn't eat another bite.

They don't actually
make them in a warming pan.

Oh, Mr. Weldon.

Oh, Henry, how absurd you are.

You know perfectly well
the warming pan is a tea shop.

He's such a tease, Miss Vane.

Do you know, I believe that's
the first time I've laughed

since poor Paul's death.

I can never forget him,
even for a moment, but...

The pain will get less.
I know it will.

Especially if dear Lord Peter
can discover who murdered him.

Yes, mother.

Would you like a game
of ping-pong, Miss Vane?

Mother will settle up,
won't you?

Oh, no.
We can't leave Mrs...

oh, nonsense. You young people
go and enjoy yourselves.

Waitress.

I think it's
perfectly splendid of you

to stay with your mother
when she's in such trouble.

It can't be easy
to leave a farm.

No, it's a beastly nuisance,
as a matter of fact.

Still, it makes
such a difference

to have somebody kind
and sympathetic to talk to.

I'm glad you
find me sympathetic.

Mr. Weldon, I was
talking about your mother.

Only Dukes and lords
for you, eh?

I bet you find me
a bit different from Wimsey.

Yes, rather.

It's a dashed
awkward hat of yours.

Don't you like it? Yes, topping.
Suits you down to the ground.

It does keep a fellow
at a distance.

So I should hope.

We are supposed to be
playing ping-pong.

Fine.

Shall we have
a little practice first?

Here goes.

Sorry.

I say, talking of Wimsey,

I want you to
do something for me.

Yes, anything I can.

Well, do see if you can
persuade him to drop it.

Drop it?

Yes. All the time
my mother thinks

there's anything in this idea
of Alexis being murdered,

she'll hang on in Wilvercombe
like grim death.

Besides, she's making
a complete ass of herself.

I want her to put
the whole thing behind her.

Yes, I do understand.
I'll do what I can.

Though I doubt whether I'll be
able to persuade Lord Peter.

You know what men are.
I'll bet you know, all right.

I'm not very good.
I have to take my hat off.

Good idea.

You know, the truth is...

I don't think you're
holding your back quite right.

Let me show you.

You know, you're
a dashed attractive woman.

No, Mr. Weldon!

Dash it, you might let a fellow!

You see, that's what
I remembered

about the camper, Martin.

That he had a red and blue snake

tattooed on his arm.

Henry Weldon and Haviland Martin

are one and the same.

I've been kissed by a murderer.

Did he know you'd spotted it?

I don't think so.
He was trying to kiss me,

so I screamed
and boxed his ears very hard.

I'm delighted to hear that.

And then we went back
to Mrs. Weldon.

We said that the children
had lost the ping-pong ball.

Then Henry drove us back
to Wilvercombe very badly.

And then I dropped
the message at your hotel.

I'm very glad you did.

I'm sorry I provoked
that stupid quarrel.

It was all my fault.

You're in an awkward situation.

I'm in an awkward situation.

I'd like to make
a proposal to you.

No, not that one.

I'll try not to say
silly things,

even if I think them.
And you...

I'll try not to be
stupid and ungracious

just because you want
to save me from the gallows.

And together, in a free
and equal partnership,

we will endeavour to solve this
singularly fascinating murder.

That a bargain?

Should I spit on my hand?

If you've been
kissing Henry Weldon,

I'd rather you didn't.

But look here,
surely the murder's solved.

We're agreed Henry Weldon
had the motive.

He didn't want Alexis to get
hold of his mother's money.

Now we discover
he's disguised himself

as Haviland Martin.

Planted himself on a campsite

not far from
the scene of the crime.

The case is solved.

Shall I tell the police, or you?

I think you should,
but not quite yet.

I'd like to give Henry
a bit of a surprise.

Are you feeling brave?

Not very.

Good evening, Weldon.

Uh-huh.

Would you mind joining us?

You gave Miss Vane
quite a shock.

What business is it of yours?

You ought to have told us
you'd met Miss Vane before.

What are you talking about?

Last Wednesday, at Hink's Lane.

If you wish to remain
incognito, Mr. Weldon,

I suggest you get rid
of that tattoo.

Well, I suppose
the cat's out of the bag.

You're not denying that
you were in Wilvercombe

the week of Alexis' death?

Not much point, is there?

So you came down here
in elaborate disguise

to prevent your mother's
marriage to Paul Alexis?

Not exactly in disguise.

To be perfectly frank,
I've a lady friend in Cambridge.

Miss Vane won't mind.
You're a woman of the world.

Oh, certainly.

Nice little woman,
devoted and all that.

Husband won't divorce her.
Suits me all right,

but if my mother
ever found out...

So, whenever I want
to nip over for a spot of, uh,

domestic bliss,

we're Mr. and Mrs.
Haviland Martin,

all perfectly respectable
and right as rain.

Besides, it saves gossip
and so on.

How very convenient.
Yes, isn't it?

And it means that I could come
and snoop around here

and see what I could find out
about this gigolo's plans

without my mother knowing.

Buy him off?

Persuade him
it would be a good idea.

And did you see him
in pursuance of this scheme?

No. He cut his throat first.

Bit of luck, that.

So, first thing
Thursday morning,

I packed up and left.

First thing Thursday morning?

How did you know
Alexis was dead?

Oh, no, you don't catch me
as easy as that.

I went into the feathers
on Wednesday night,

and they were all full
of the dead man on the shore.

Then the local Bobby came in

and said they'd
identified him as Alexis.

So I thought I'd better
nip off home

in case my mother
wrote to me, which she did.

Miss Vane, you won't
tell her all this, will you?

That depends.

The police will have to know.

I have nothing
to hide from them.

Johnny, where's that scotch?

So, perhaps you wouldn't mind

giving an account
of your movements

on Wednesday last,
October the 16th.

Oh, no, rather not.

All the details, as they say
in the tec stories, eh?

Well, let's see.

I had breakfast
about 9:00.

Eggs and bacon,
if you want to be particular.

And then I thought I'd better
be getting into Wilvercombe.

I couldn't get that nasty
little car to start again,

so I thought
I'd better get a lift.

Did you have any luck,
sir? Almost at once.

Very decent sort of woman
in a big red open Bentley.

Do you know her name,
sir? I never thought to ask.

I do remember
the number of the car.

Oh, really, sir?

It was rather a funny one,
as a matter of fact.

OI-O1-O1.

I remember saying to this woman

it was rather unlucky
to have a number like that.

If you were wanting
to do a bit of speeding,

it might stick
in a Bobby's mind...

oy-oy-oy.

We both laughed about that.

Oy-oy-oy.

Very amusing, sir.

So you got to Wilvercombe
about what time?

I flagged the lift
just after 10:00.

The good lady dropped me
in the market square

and asked if I'd like
to be taken back to Darley.

That was very civil of her, sir.

Well, we hit it off
pretty well, you know.

Dashed fine-looking woman.

Anyway, she said she had
to leave just before 1:00

because she had a tennis party
to go to in Heathbury,

so we arranged to meet
in the square at ten to 1:00.

So you got to Wilvercombe
between 10:00 and 10:30?

And then?

I wandered down
to the winter gardens.

I knew my mother was
in the habit of going

to the concert,
and I wanted to make sure

I'd be in the clear
up at the hotel with the gigolo.

Sure enough, there she was,
so I dodged in the back row.

Dodged? But you were
in disguise, sir.

Ah, well, dark glasses
and a wig and a moustache

might be all right
for other people,

but I couldn't chance it
with the old mother-love.

So you didn't stay
for the concert?

Oh, yes. I stayed
for the first half.

I bought a program.
I've got it somewhere.

Won't do you any good.

It's all that silly
classical nonsense.

Just as the first half
is supposed to be finished,

dashed if they didn't
play something extra.

Bach's air for a "g" string
or something.

Anyway, at half time I made sure

my mother was going to stay on,

and then I disappeared
off up to the resplendent

to look for the gigolo.

And did you see him, sir?

No, he never showed.

I waited for some time,
but he never made an appearance,

so I decided to call it a day.

And met the lady
with the big red Bentley.

Right. I got there early,
so I bought some collars

at a shop in the market square

near the war memorial.

Half a mo'.
I've got the receipt somewhere.

You know how one
puts these things away.

Ah, here it is.
Yes.

"Gents outfitter,
Wilvercombe."

It's even got the date on it.

So, the lady drove you
back to Darley.

You wouldn't know what time
you arrived there?

As a matter of fact, I do.

I remember the church clock
striking 1:00

and saying that I hoped she
wouldn't miss her tennis party.

Quick thinking, sir.

So then I had lunch
at the feathers.

I thought I'd better
get back to the campsite

and have another go at the car,

but I never got
a spark out of it,

so I got hold of the garage man

and he traced the trouble
to a fault in the h.t. lead.

And what time would that be?

Blessed if I know.
3:00, half past.

The garage man can tell you.

Yes, I'm sure
he probably could, sir.

Thank you.

Watertight, watertight.

Damned suspiciously watertight.

Do you know what
worries me? What?

The woman who gave him the lift

and, incidentally,
his entire alibi.

Why should she have a car number

that's so remarkably memorable.

Who ever even notices
a car registration number?

Oi-o1-o1.
I don't believe it.

Nor did I,
but unfortunately it exists.

Constable Ormonde recognized it.

It belongs to Mrs. Morecambe.

She owns a red Bentley
and comes here every year

to visit the vicarage
at Heathbury.

The vicarage?
Afraid so.

Every year?

School friend
of the vicar's wife.

Oh, dear.

Oh, dear, indeed.

But I have had a notion

for an identification
confrontation.

When Mrs. Morecambe
picked him up, if she did,

Henry Weldon was disguised
as Haviland Martin,

with his ginger wig,
dark glasses,

moustache, and so on.

If I bring them together
unexpectedly

and she recognizes him
without his disguise...

even the faintest flicker
of a recognition...

then you'll know
they were in cahoots.

But do you think they were?

Not really.
But we have to make sure.

Do you think you could

keep Mrs. Weldon
out of the way tomorrow?

Oh, yes, certainly.

She's suffered enough as it is.

If Henry Weldon
really is the murderer,

I'd rather not be there
when she finds out.

You say that you and Lord Peter

have discovered something.

Can you tell me yet what it is?

Yes.

It hasn't yet
been publicly announced,

but I don't see why
the police would mind.

After all, we were engaged.

Yes.

It appears that poor Alexis

had £300 in his bank account,

and that just a few days
before his death,

he drew it all out
and bought 300 gold sovereigns.

Rather...

Rather an extraordinary
thing to do.

Of course.

I see it all!

Really?

Oh, yes.

My dear Paul was always
so conscious of the fact

that I had more money
than he did.

He was such a child.

He drew out all his money
and bought that gold

as a wedding present for me.

That's why I wanted
to see you privately.

I've had a word
with inspector Trethowan.

He thinks there's no reason
why your mother

should be told about
your little masquerade.

You haven't done anything
against the law,

and since you've never
actually met Alexis...

Jolly decent of you, Wimsey.
I do appreciate it.

We men must stick together, eh?

Good Lord.

What?

I thought I recognized...
yes, it is.

Good morning.

Good morning.

I dare say you've forgotten.

You gave me a lift
the other day.

Did I?

Why, yes, I believe...

you were wearing
dark glasses, weren't you?

You looked different then.
Didn't you have a moustache?

I shaved it off.

Oh, well, that explains it.

I hope the Morgan
has recovered itself.

Yes. The garage people came
and they discovered the fault.

Well, I'd better not delay.
The police want to see me.

Something about fixing
the time of death

of that poor man
who cut his throat.

I had to be in Wilvercombe
this morning for some shopping.

I go back to London tomorrow,

so the inspector suggested
that we should meet here.

Better than
the police station, eh?

Oh, yes.
I was quite alarmed

when this nice young constable
came to the vicarage.

Afraid they were going
to have me up for speeding.

Oy-oy-oy.

Oh, yes.

Oy-oy-oy.
Too silly.

Well, good morning.

What an extraordinary thing.

Why didn't the police
tell me they'd found her?

I expect they wanted
to speak to her first.

Check on my alibi, eh?

Oh, well, no trouble about that.

Oh, no, inspector,
no doubt at all.

That's the gentleman I gave
the lift to last Wednesday.

He was wearing dark glasses then

and he had whiskers,

but as soon as I looked
at him more closely...

And besides, he made
some silly joke

about the number of my car
and we both laughed at it...

you know how one does...

and he mentioned it
again just now.

No one else could have
known about that.

Yes. And you picked him up
just outside Darley at...

Must have been
about 10:00.

And I dropped him in Wilvercombe

and arranged to pick him up
again at a quarter to 1:00,

which I did.

And dropped him again
in Darley at...

At 1:00.

I know that because I was
going to a tennis party

at colonel Cranton's,

and I remember
I looked at my watch

and decided that I had
just enough time

to get back to Heathbury,
have luncheon, and change.

Yes. Well...

Thank you very much, madam,
for your assistance.

Perhaps you wouldn't mind

giving me your address
in London.

No, of course not.

It's 70 Park Grove, Kensington.

Well, I suppose I'd better
get on with my shopping.

You haven't found
that poor man's body yet?

No, madam, not yet.

The body was wedged
into a deep crevice

at the far end
of the grinders rocks.

Normally it would
have floated free,

but it was heavily weighted down

with a cash belt
containing £300 worth of gold.

Was anything else
found on the body?

There was a passport, sir,
recently visa'd for France.

And in the breast pocket
of the deceased,

there was a leather notecase
containing three £1 notes,

the return half
of a railway ticket

from Wilvercombe to Darley halt,

and there was a photograph.

Perhaps you would
describe the photograph.

Yes, sir. It was
of a lady in evening dress,

wearing diamonds and a tiara,

and it was inscribed

"with my love,
Feodora."

You don't know
the identity of this lady?

Enquiries are proceeding, sir.

Quite.

There was one other
document in the notecase...

a single sheet of paper

covered with writing
in purple ink.

Purple? Hmm.

It is badly stained
with blood and seawater

and appears to be
written in code.

Code. I see.
Thank you.

I take it
you've not yet succeeded

in deciphering this code.

No, sir.
Quite.

Thank you, sir.

I gather we have a witness
to the original discovery

of the body on the shore.

You said that when
you examined the corpse,

which was soon after 2 p.m.,
the blood was liquid.

Yes. I handled the sleeves
and the front of the coat

and the gloves,

and they were soaked in blood.

They felt limp and wet.
They weren't stiff at all.

Were they sticky?

No. They appeared to have been
soaked in fresh blood.

In your opinion,
Dr. Fenchurch,

what was the cause of death?

Acute haemorrhage,

coupled with the severance
of the respiratory tract.

Now, you've heard
Miss Vane's account

of her discovery of the body

and her statement that
at ten minutes past 2:00,

the blood was still liquid.

What inference do you draw
as regards the time of death?

It would have occurred
within a very few minutes

before she found the body.

Certainly not earlier
than 2:00 at the outside.

In your opinion,
would it have been possible

for the deceased to have
cut his own throat?

Oh, yes.

In my opinion,

taking all the circumstances
into consideration,

it would appear probable
the fatal injury

was self-inflicted

in spite of the absence
of prior surface cuts.

It is rather rare
for a suicide by this method

to be completely successful
at the first attempt,

but it is by no means unknown.

Thank you,
Dr. Fenchurch.

Oh.

It is unthinkable
that Mr. Alexis

should have taken his own life.

He and I were engaged
to be married.

Can you... ahem...
can you tell us anything

about the photograph
signed, uh, "Feodora"?

No. But...

I know that Mr. Alexis had
had a very unhappy early life,

chiefly because
of the Russian revolution.

This lady may have been
his sister, or...

in my opinion, Mr. Alexis
was murdered by Bolsheviks.

Have you any evidence

to support that opinion, madam?

I think that is for
the police to discover.

Quite.

Thank you.

I let him take the razor
and put it in his pocket.

I'm sure if I had known what use
he meant to make of it...

You said this meeting
with the deceased

took place at midnight

with the water lapping
against the esplanade.

Yes, sir.

Would it surprise you
to know that at midnight

on that particular night
it was low tide,

and the water would
have been nowhere near

the wall of the esplanade?

I could have been mistaken.

There. What did I say?

I mean about the water,
the waves.

I'd been there a long time.

But everything else happened
just as I said.

I gave the razor to the man

I now know
to have been Mr. Alexis.

I'm very sorry
to say it, but I did.

Very well.
You may stand down.

Members of the jury,
you have heard the evidence.

I won't disguise from you
my own opinion

that the deceased
took his own life.

No. No!

As to why
he should have done this,

it is not your business,

nor will it be
my purpose to speculate.

Well done, inspector.

I never saw an inquest
better handled.

Such a tasteful combination

of disclosure and suppression.

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

No, our big problem now

is keeping track
of that fellow bright.

I'm putting my faith
in Salcombe Hardy for that.

Ah, Mr. Bright,

can you give me an address
where I can reach you?

The reward, old man.

Surely you'll want to claim
the reward my paper is offering.

Oh, yes. Of course,
in my situation,

the money would be very welcome.

That's what I thought, old chap.

So, where can I reach you?

How could they bring in
a wicked verdict like that?

How could they?

I'm so sorry,
Mrs. Weldon.

It's very upsetting, I know.

I suppose you'll
be leaving Wilvercombe now.

It'll always have
such distressing memories.

Indeed, my dear,
I certainly shall not.

Nothing in the world
could persuade me to leave

until the cloud is lifted
from my dear Paul's memory.

He did not commit suicide.

He was murdered,

and I know that you
and Lord Peter will prove it.

Come along, mother.

Thank you, Miss Vane.

She can't know
that if we are to clear

Alexis' name of suicide,

we have to break
her son's alibi.

No, poor woman.
Do you think we can?

We'll do our damnedest.

What I can't understand
is why Henry looked so surprised

when the time of death
was given as 2:00.

Mr. Lundy, I see you keep
your clock ten minutes fast.

So we do, milord.

All our clocks
are kept ten minutes fast,

but we set them
by the wireless every day,

so we always know
what the right time is.

Excellent, because we were
just discussing the time

that Mr. Alexis
killed himself.

It's a shame about
that poor gentleman,

but it has put Darley
on the map at last.

Daisy! So it has, Mrs. Lundy.

You had Mr. Martin
in here that day.

Mr. Martin?

Gentleman with the dark glasses
camped up in Hink's Lane.

Oh, yes, so he was.

He had a nice lunch
of boiled leg of mutton.

I say, that does sound good.

I don't suppose you remember
what time he arrived.

Oh, no, miss, I wasn't...

Mrs. Morecambe
dropped him off

in that big red car
of hers at 1:00.

You know Mrs. Morecambe?

The wife's sister obliges
at the vicarage at Heathbury.

Ah. Oh, really.

And you don't remember
what time Mr. Martin left?

He left about
half past 1:00.

Well, as near
as makes no difference.

I remember because I'd arranged
to meet my sister...

so he hate his lunch
rather quickly.

He had to get back
to Hink's Lane

to have his car fixed.
So half past 1:00, off he went.

Oh. Thank you, Mrs. Lundy.

We must come and try some
of that boiled mutton one day.

Thank you, my Lord.
Thank you, miss.

And rename it humble pie.

Unless the entire community,

including the childhood
friend of the vicar's wife,

is lying, Henry Weldon,
alias Haviland Martin,

has a cast-iron alibi
from 10:00 to 1:30.

You've always said you
mistrust a cast-iron alibi.

I have, and so I do.

If I could break this one,
I would, but I can't.

There's still the half-hour
between when he left here

and 2:00,
the time of the murder.

Right. But is it enough?

And would it give him time
to get to the flat-iron rock,

commit the murder unseen,
and get away?

Or hide in the niche
while I examine the body.

An alarming,
yet encouraging thought.

Now, means of transport...
horse or car?

We only have his word for it
that the Morgan wouldn't start.

Isn't that putting the car
before the horse?

All right, let's say

he dashed to the campsite
in Hink's Lane.

Well, that's 15 minutes gone
to begin with.

And let us suppose
he jumped into the Morgan

and drove like mad
along the coast road,

scrambled down the cliff,

dashed along the beach
to the flat-iron rock...

leaving no footprints
in the sand.

Let's deal with one
impossibility at a time.

There is that place where that
rivulet runs down the beach.

Right. He tiptoed
down the rivulet,

sploshed through the waves,

and leapt onto
the flat-iron rock

to keep his assignation
with Paul Alexis.

All right,
so that's five minutes.

So if he left here
at 1:30,

and given the 15 minutes
it takes

to get from here to Hink's Lane,

he must have driven
from the campsite

to the cliff top in ten minutes.

A test-drive, milord?

Ready, Bunter?

Ready, milord.

Go!

Twelve minutes, twenty seconds.

At an average speed
of about 30 miles an hour.

Which is all very well
if you're in a Lagonda.

Quite. That rules
the Morgan out.

The coast road is hardly
the shortest distance

between two points.

But the direct route
across the sands.

Yeah, but the wheels
would sink in.

Which brings us back
to farmer Goodrich's horse.

Fast becoming my firm favourite.

Who will oblige?
Shall we toss for it?

You'll have to
leave me out, I'm afraid.

I could only manage
the falling-off bit.

Head or tails, Bunter?

Um, heads.

Heads it is.

And without a saddle.

Very good, milord.

All right, Mr. Bunter.

Thank you, Mr. Goodrich.

Come on, gee-up!

Gee-up there!

Can you see him?

Not yet.

Harriet.

Yes?

We know there is a flaw
in this theory.

We do?

On the fatal day
you arrived at 2:00-ish.

Yes.

And the tide was right out
and starting to come in.

Yes.

And you could see the dead man's
footprints on the sand.

Yes.

Hoof marks from the water's edge

to the bottom of the rock.

There weren't any, were there?

There he is!

Well done, Bunter.
Well done.

There rides the man
who fills my hot-water bottle

and cooks like Escoffier.

Whoa!

Whoa!

What happened?

I don't know, miss.

He just pulled up sudden
as we approached the rock.

Come on, boy.

Come on.

Come on, boy.

Don't. Please don't.

Ahh!

Please don't make him, Peter.

I won't. I won't.

Come on, boy.
Come on.

Well, hoof prints or not,

this horse witnessed the murder.

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