All language subtitles for S01E09 Gaudy Night; Episode Two IMDB 7.7

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Oh, god!

Oh, no!

No, no, no!

If man will begin
with certainties,

he shall end in doubts,

but if he will be content
to begin with doubts,

he shall end in certainties.

Man that is born of a woman
hath but a short time to live

and is full of misery.

He cometh up
and is cut down like a flower.

He fleeth, as it were,
a shadow...

The German border, Bunter.

You may put away the cognac
and produce the schnaps.

We shall need a clear head

in Berlin
in the morning, my Lord.

A trifle censorious, Bunter.

If I have a good night's sleep,
I will have a clear head.

Think of it as
a medicinal draft,

not something to be enjoyed.

Very good, my Lord.
Two fingers.

Three.

Danke.

Guten Abend, meine Herren.
Also, Sie sind Deutscher?

Ich und mein Diener
sind Engländer.

Dann muss ich
ihre Pässe sehen, bitte.

Ah, ein englischer Aristokrat.

Put like that,
it sounds like an insult.

In Germany,
it is the people who rule.

I see from the paper that
there will be elections soon.

Ja. It is likely.

Chancellor Bruning's emergency
powers will be short-lived?

Vielleicht.

You are interested
in our domestic politics?

If no man is an island, then
assuredly no country can be.

Except yours, Lord Wimsey.

You are here on business?

Yes. A spot of sightseeing,
too, I suppose.

And you occupy
this compartment alone?

I do.

Not everybody's so fortunate

in their travel arrangements.

As I have observed.

This is your manservant?

He is.

Ja. Gut.

Danke.

Enjoy your visit
to Germany, Lord Wimsey.

Thank you.

Auf Wiedersehen.

Did I detect a faint whiff

of germanic disapproval, Bunter?

I thought so, my Lord, though
whether on account of race

or travel arrangements,
I couldn't say.

Both, probably.

An englishman travelling
with his valet

and occupying an entire suite

must be somewhat provocative
to the puritanical spirit.

And, uh, now for the schnapps.

And pour one
for yourself, Bunter.

Thank you, my Lord.

Damn.

Nonsense.

You're doing beautifully.

Light as a feather,

quite in the style
of Fred and Adele, I think.

Your Fred, maybe.
My Adele, no.

My Lord.

Bunter.

Prosit.

Salud.

Would you mark me

for a melancholy man, Bunter?

I would say that every man

has that in him
to be so, my Lord.

That is philosophic and evasive

at the same time.

Full marks for tact.

One does try, my Lord.

Perhaps another schnapps.

It would not be a cure
for melancholia.

But it would make it
more agreeable.

Always a temporary expedient.

Life is temporary, Bunter.

So is the relief.

Well, well, quite the moralist.

Your bed is made up, my Lord.

Do you ever doubt
that we can bring it off?

Affairs of state, my Lord?

I think we are
uniquely qualified

to go where the foreign
office fear to tread.

Hmm. How about
affairs of the heart?

Ah, that is, uh, uncharted sea.

Wracked by storm and tempest.

However, nothing ventured,
nothing gained.

We should sometimes take on

that which we do not understand.

Miss Vane, I'm sorry to say

things have taken a turn
for the worse here.

I need to talk to you urgently.

You are expecting
a lot of me, warden.

I write crime mysteries.

That doesn't make me
a criminologist.

You were at this college.

You know some of the tutors,

some of the domestic staff.

You're intelligent
and observant,

and, well, you are a woman.

You think it's a woman?

Circumstances seem rather
to exclude men

from the inquiry.

Men running about the college
at night isn't likely.

I can't agree with you
there, warden.

Just look at the state
of that book.

Yes, but even so
the difficulty remains.

A man here... conspicuous.

He could always
disguise himself as a woman.

Yes, and he could easily
hide in the grounds

before the main gate
was locked at night

and get away again
in the morning.

Has to be a possibility.

Yet it doesn't quite have
the male touch.

What do you mean by that?

Well, there is a quality
of what one might consider

feminine insight
to these happenings.

But what woman would want
to destroy a book like that?

Oh, unhappily,
all we have is questions.

It occurs to me that if I were
to be of any use to you

as an investigator, I should
need some plausible excuse

for spending time here.

Yes, of course.

Oh, what about
Miss Lydgate and her book?

A very plausible excuse.

She's always in need
of editorial assistance.

She's writing a book
on the metaphysical poets.

It's the long vac,
so there isn't much going on.

Um, well...

Yes, I'm afraid there will be.

We have an event
fast approaching.

My illustrious
predecessor's portrait

is being unveiled in the library

by the chancellor, no less.

I see.

Well...

Maybe I better start
asking questions.

Have you got a list of students
who are still up?

I anticipated that.

I suppose you're here
to look into our little mystery.

Well, no, as a matter of fact.

I'm here to help my former tutor
Miss Lydgate with her book.

Oh, yes?

Imagery and symbolism
of the metaphysical poets?

Riveting.

I suppose it might be if
you're studying boiler-making.

Don't mind brother Haydock,
Miss Vane.

She's just naturally bitchy.

I'll take that as a compliment.

Ladies, ladies,
as our dear warden says,

"behave yourselves."

But seriously, Miss Vane,

a celebrated mystery writer,
well-known companion

of Lord Peter Wimsey...
you have to be interested

in our college poltergeist.

Well, yes,

apart from my research, I am.

A poltergeist
of rather less spirit

and more substance,
if you ask me.

Have you anyone in mind?

If you're looking for suspects,

any member of the senior
common room would do.

Why them especially?

Just because they're
the sort that would.

Every one
a self-selected nutter.

Really, I'd expect
a remark like that

from a male junior common room,
but from Shrewsbury ladies?

Come off it, Miss Vane.
You've met them.

You've got to admit,
they're pretty eccentric.

Is the female
academic world in Oxford

odder than the male?

She does admit they're odd.

Maybe a bit.

Indeed, a friend said the very
same thing only a few days ago.

But being odd doesn't
necessarily incriminate anybody.

For all I know,
it could be any one of you.

Anyway, I can tell you why
I think it's a Don.

None of the letters
have any spelling mistakes.

That doesn't follow.

The writer could be using
a dictionary.

It could be a scout.

Wouldn't that be
a comforting thought to us all?

I don't think it proves anything
either way.

The scouts probably spell
better than any of us.

Well said, brother Layton.

Tell me something.

Next term, you'll all be
third year, won't you?

The light shineth at the end
of the tunnel, as they say.

I remember the feeling.

My point is this.

After two years,
you're as experienced as anybody

about this college
and the people in it,

and you're all perceptive,
so come on now.

What could have happened
to cause these events?

I don't think there has to be
a specific cause.

Why not?

Life isn't capricious.
There's always a trigger.

Maybe I don't understand you.

Nobody understands Cattermole.

It just comes from resentment,

something harboured
which feeds upon itself.

It isn't anything that needs
a specific external mechanism.

Well, yes, the letters
and the willful damage

do suggest resentment.

And they're all against women.

And all I can say is,
"can they be blamed?"

Will you excuse me?

Oh, dear.

Clearly I said the wrong thing.

No. She was speaking
personally.

Someone swiped her young man.

Oh, I see.
Is it known who?

We have a femme fatale
amongst us, one brother Flaxman,

who specializes
in stealing other people's toys.

Cattermole recently lost
her favourite toy to her.

Young Farringdon of corpus.

Whereupon cattermole
put pen to paper,

for which one
cannot blame her, really.

Not a very original story.

But a bit unfortunate
when there are so many

poison letters
flying round the college.

I understand
brother Flaxman tore it up.

Doesn't seem
to have had much effect.

Which is a pity.

It's about time somebody
got even with Flaxman.

And speaking of the devil...

How conspiratorial we all look.

I feel my ears burning.

Please, don't let me interrupt
the conversational flow.

May I present
the notorious brother Flaxman

to you, Miss Vane?

Not the Miss Vane?

I'm afraid so, Miss Flaxman.

And sleuthing, no doubt.
How fortunate.

And just when I've received
yet another letter.

Oh, really?

Yes, a beauty,

all about there being
a reward in hell

for women
who "go my way."

Have you got it with you?

Regrettably, no.

I forwarded it
to my future address...

By way of the fireplace.

Hello, Annie!

Oh, hello, Miss.

Just the person I wanted to see.

Really, Miss?

Can I have a word
with you sometime?

Of course, Miss.

When would be convenient
for you?

Well, it's my break now.

Excellent. Let's go
and sit in the gardens.

Oh, no, Miss.
What?

Servants aren't permitted.

The warden won't mind.

It's for members
of the college only, Miss.

That's the rule.

And their guests.

I'm not standing
round here chatting.

You're my guest.
Come on.

But surely, Annie,

you must have thought
about it a bit.

Oh, yes, I have had many
thoughts about it, of course.

All us scouts have,
as you might expect.

Any conclusions?

Well... not really.

There's so little to go on.

I mean, they're all so peculiar.

The fellows I take it
you're referring to?

I'm sorry, Miss.
I really shouldn't.

It's all right, Annie.
I do know what you mean.

They are a little bit
removed from ordinary life.

But have you noticed
anything in particular?

I'm not sure
it's right to say, Miss.

You see, I've undertaken
to make some discreet inquiries.

I've nothing to go on, Annie.

I will respect your confidences.

Well, the servants have noticed

that all the strange
happenings have occurred

since one particular person
came to the college.

Which one?

Who?

Annie...

I think I've already said
too much, Miss.

Somebody here is doing
some very mischievous

and potentially
dangerous things.

We've got to get to the bottom
of it before it's too late.

That's as may be, but I'm
just a college servant.

I see nothing, I hear nothing.

I go about the business
I'm paid to do.

That's not true, Annie.

You do see things,
you do hear things.

I have to go.

I'm asking for your help.

If you know anything,

I think you have
a moral duty to tell.

Tell me, anyway.

The one who was provost
of Flamborough.

It's since she came here.

I must go.

I hate scandal.

When I started work on it
at Flamborough, I thought,

"what an uncomplicated
subject for research."

I do so sympathize, Miss Devine.

I know it's a little
after your period,

but wasn't it Lytton Strachey

that said the contradictions
of the Elizabethans

baffle one's imagination and
perplex one's intelligence?

Yes, I think it was.

Speaking of perplexing
the intelligence,

how is your own research
going, Miss Vane?

My... helping Miss Lydgate
with her book?

Or do you mean
more recent perplexities?

I meant the latter.

Well, as far...

savoury, Miss Lane?

I rather think
the prunes and custard

conclude an elegant sufficiency.

Thank you.
Thank you.

What is it?

Welsh rarebit.

I think I could manage that.

Second time this week
we've had prunes.

Like being back
at boarding school.

And for the same reasons,
I shouldn't doubt.

How do you mean?

Antidote to costiveness.

Somebody obviously feels that
all the trouble we're having

arises from irregularity
of the bowels.

Glad to see you polished off
your prunes, Miss Lydgate.

They're good for you.

Just what I was saying.

I believe the kitchens
have been given instructions.

A clean mind in a clean body.

Good heavens, Miss Burrows.

Isn't that rather
a swiftian view?

Sound physiology, Miss Lydgate.

Somebody evidently has taken
a very practical approach

to the hysteria
which is afflicting us.

Was the savoury
for you, Miss Devine?

It was, Emily.
Thank you.

Miss.

Emily, why do we
keep getting prunes?

I really don't know,
Miss Burrows.

Well, ask the cook.
There's a good girl.

Very good, Miss Burrows.

I must say I am looking forward
to getting away next month.

I'm going to have a look
at the tumulus at halos,

though I'm told it's untypical.

What about you?

France with Cedric.

Oh, a fellow
of Shrewsbury college

going to France with a man.

Early liturgical music
in manuscript.

Not terribly carnal, I'm afraid.

I sometimes think
that's what's needed here...

a good dose
of old-fashioned carnality.

I say, that's a bit
down to earth

for a classicist.

Oh, no. Ancient Greece
by no means disdained the flesh.

Puritanism has its roots
deep in the northern mists.

Now, that is interesting.

James Hogg and confessions
of a justified sinner.

All that heady Calvinism.

In fact, didn't you
touch on the subject

in one of your
crime stories, Miss Vane?

The Albigensian factor, yes.

It was set in a closed
religious community.

Rather strange material
for light fiction...

early Christian heresy.

Why? Surely
all human activity

is legitimate material
for the novelist.

Oh, and is that
why you're here, Miss Vane?

I think you know
why I'm here, Miss Burrows.

I must say, one does feel

a little like a goldfish
in a bowl.

Do you see yourself
as the cat looking down at us

as we swim around?

Nothing so predatory,
I'm glad to say.

Except in the sense
that, of course,

writers are predatory.

Writers, like academics,
pick over other people's bones.

Otherwise, how should any of us
make a living?

By the way, I chanced to look
into the fellows' garden

just before lunch.

I saw you.

Yes? Talking
to Annie Wilson?

Precisely my point, Miss Vane.

The servants
aren't permitted there.

I realize that.

And one should not embarrass
them by inviting them.

The Dean will tell you that.

Brutal.

It was intended to be.

It is a custom
more honoured in the breach

than the observance.

I actually saw a couple
of male students there.

Who said that?

Hmm? Me.

No, no. That saying
one knows so well.

Oh! Oh, the prince
of Denmark, I think.

Oh.

Just one minute.

Miss Barton.

I hope I'm not disturbing you.

Not at all.
Come in.

I can only stay for a moment.

I just felt I had to apologize...

firstly, for some
of the comments

of my colleagues over lunch.

They were quite unforgivable.

I have the feeling

some people aren't happy
at my presence here.

No, and may I say
I'm not one of them.

Secondly, for my own
indiscretion.

Last week, when we met
before the gaudy,

I'm afraid I was
rather abrupt with you.

My comment
about your having helped

to send a man to the gallows
was impertinent.

I'm really very sorry.

All I can say
in all our defences

is that the senior common room

is under considerable stress
at the moment

as the result of all these
recent happenings.

Of course.
I do understand that.

And can I say
how very shocked I was

about the attack on your book.

It must have hurt you
a great deal.

Ah, I see you have it here.

Yes, it did hurt...
Deeply.

Collegiate life implies a
fellowship of mind, Miss Vane,

so that vandalism
of this nature in our midst

is doubly shocking.

One no longer knows
who one can trust.

No. And then I suppose
at the same time

it must be very difficult
not to speculate

as to who might
or might not have done it.

I think we are all of us
speculating continually

with considerable anxiety.

And of course this leads
to rumour and gossip.

For instance?

Well, currently,
everyone seems obsessed

by the fact that these outrages

only began shortly after
Miss Devine arrived here.

Personally, I don't hold
much store by that.

Mm.

To get back to your book...
do you think

there's any significance
in the subject matter?

Place of women
in modern society?

Well, the contents could
certainly provoke a man,

but a regular male intruder
in a woman's college?

That seems very unlikely.

Yes, I'm afraid I do
have to agree with you there.

Of course,
Padgett hardly fits the bill.

No.

Well, I must be on my way.

Would it be in order

to ask how your inquiries
are proceeding, Miss Vane?

Well, there's nothing
conclusive as yet.

Forensically, I've not got
very much to go on,

and I can hardly expect

to police the entire college
single-handed.

So all I can do
for the time being

is absorb the atmosphere,
be around, talk to people.

By which you mean
we are all under suspicion.

May I say one thing?

Behind these outrages

lies a bitter mind, Miss Vane,

a very bitter mind.

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Oh, Miss Barton.
Yes?

I'm sorry. Stupid of me.
I meant to ask you.

You are the librarian,
aren't you?

Could you tell me the situation
as regards the keys?

There are three sets...
mine, the Dean's,

and Padgett keeps one
at the Porter's lodge.

Whoever got in must have used
one of those keys

unless the windows
were left open.

Oh, but they weren't.

We're most careful
in matters of security.

The library contains
some priceless manuscripts.

And there's the new portrait
of Dr. Baring's predecessor,

Dame Agatha Browning,
in store there.

Oh, yes. The warden did say
something about that.

Look, Miss Barton,
would you have any objections

if I were to use the library
from time to time?

I gather Miss Lydgate keeps
her research notes there.

Yes, that's so.

I can begin to familiarize
myself with them

and at the same time
keep an eye on the library.

I might even go there
later tonight.

Well, I would have no objection,

but remember you'll need a key.

Thank you.

Afternoon, Miss Vane.

Good afternoon. I was
just coming to see you.

Something I can do, Miss?

I wondered if I could have
the key to the library.

Well, it's open now, Miss.

No, I mean later tonight.

Oh...

I just don't want
to disturb anyone's studies.

I see.

I could bring it to your room
later this evening, Miss.

If you would,
that would be kind.

Thank you.
Very good, Miss.

I trust today has
so far passed without event?

Is lunch an event?

What was lunch?

Stuffed breast of lamb
and, dare I say...

Not prunes again?

What else?
Tea, warden.

Thank you.
I really must speak to cook

about this absolute deluge
of dried plums.

It's quite like
one of the biblical plagues.

Clearly a mistake
by the suppliers.

A mistake which we are forced
to remedy by devouring.

Would that all mistakes
were so easily dealt with.

I had luncheon at Somerville,

where, happily, prunes
were not in evidence.

Miss Hillyard.

Thank you.

Oh, um, talking of events,

do either of you know

how Miss Vane's
inquiries are going?

Oh, a touch irksomely.

Oh, really?
I hope not.

Having someone
around the place observing

is bound to get
under the skin a bit, warden.

Depends how sensitive
one's skin is.

That's true.

Does Miss Vane get under
your skin, Miss Hillyard?

In general, no,

but an outsider
in a community like this

is bound to be something
of an irritant.

Miss Vane is one of us.

Is that a fair assumption?

What is it you're trying
to say, Miss Hillyard?

I'm not trying to say anything,

but if you wish me to amplify,
I will say this.

Miss Vane is so far
from being one of our number

that she does not know
or has quite forgotten

basic college proprieties.

Oh, I say,
for such a trivial matter,

aren't we making
rather heavy weather of it?

Since I don't know
the substance of it,

I can hardly advance a view.

I do not accept
that the conventions

of a civilized community
are trivial.

Ladies, what is this convention

that has been
so grievously flouted?

The disregard
of customary observances

leads to social friction.

We're not discussing the decline
and fall of the Roman empire.

What is it
that has so vexed you?

Oh, dear. This is going
to sound awfully petty now.

I happened to observe Miss Vane

with one of the college scouts
in the fellows' garden.

I merely pointed out
that it was not the done thing.

Good heavens, Miss Hillyard.

Was it the convention
or you who was outraged?

It's easily dismissed, I know,

but Oxford is none the worse
for such customs.

Oh, I sometimes wonder
about that.

Well, I'm more concerned
about Miss Vane.

She is our guest.

Does one preserve one convention
by outraging another, I wonder?

Is that a reprimand, warden?

Oh, come now.
I merely air the question.

Intellectual honesty
can surely permit that.

Yes, but it is so easy to laugh
old customs out of court.

Yes, it is,
but I'm not doing that.

At least, I hope I'm not.

But Miss Vane is here
because convention was outraged.

Does it make sense to censure
her for a minor infraction

when her whole purpose
in being here

is to investigate
major affronts... To the senses?

I'm sure Miss Vane
is far too level-headed

to take exception
to a perfectly proper reminder

of college rules.

I accept the reprimand,
Miss Devine.

I didn't mean it as a reprimand.

But I accept it,
with good grace.

I hope Miss Vane will, too.

Hello, Miss Burrows.

Miss Vane.

Mind if I join you?

Do, please.

I'm afraid the teapot's empty.

I don't want any.
Thanks all the same.

How's the Charnel house?

I beg your pardon?

Your stirring over
other people's bones.

Oh. A slow and dusty
business, I'm afraid.

You're used to that, of course.

Am I?

In your capacity as a writer.

Do you mind
my being about the place?

Why should I mind?

I've no idea. I've just
sensed a lack of warmth.

I rather wondered why.

Another one
who wants to be loved.

No, just to get on with a job
I've been asked to do.

Does your professional
curiosity as a writer

qualify you to understand
what's going on here?

I had hoped that
my writer's imagination

might lend some insight into it.

That's an aspect
of make-believe.

I don't think
you should underestimate

the imagination's ability
to make sense

out of disordered reality,
Miss Burrows.

And I don't think
you should underestimate

the academic world's ability

to understand its own disorders.

I'm not patronizing you.
I didn't ask to come here.

I just hoped
for a little cooperation

rather than
thinly veiled hostility.

Have you something to hide?

Miss Vane, I don't question
the special attributes

of a writer of popular fiction.

Indeed, it would be
an impudence to do so

since I know little
of your work.

But allow me to say it is
dangerous to approach reality

as though it were
a work of fiction.

You say you're not
being patronizing.

That's just what you are being
in poking around

as if you had some key
to the situation.

I don't pretend that at all.
That's quite unfair.

What do you know of our lives?

A limited association
as an undergraduate

several years ago?

What do you know of her life?

An even slighter association,
I should think.

Your participation in art
may be considerable,

but what of your
involvement in life?

Oh, Miss Burrows.

Now, if you'll forgive me,
I have work to attend to.

Happenings like
this at a ladies' college...

it's hardly surprising, is it?

Ladies' college?
What do you mean?

Academic ladies
cloistered together,

celibate,
some sexually ambivalent...

Bound to throw up
the odd hysteric.

I don't believe
what I'm hearing.

Harriet... no.

This mighty male attitude.

I knew I shouldn't
have told you.

I express no male bias.

You must know me
better than that.

I'd say the same
about public schools,

monasteries, any closed society.

I'm sorry. Maybe I'm
oversensitive on the subject.

Well, of course, uh,
if it comes to it, I'll help,

though I do have to go away.

Is this the foreign office?

Of course, if you need me,

you can always get me
through the embassies.

Who's for an after-dinner stroll

in the garden?

I have some letters
I must write.

Miss Vane,
would you like to come?

No, thank you.

I thought I'd go to the library.

At this time?

That shows great devotion
to scholarship.

No, I just work better
in the evening.

Maybe tomorrow.
Good night.

Good night.

Good night, Miss Devine.

Good night.

Oh, that is a nasty bump.

But don't worry.
You'll be all right in no time.

Oh. What a fright
you gave us.

Who found me?

I did. I came over to do
some organ practice.

What... ow!

I'm afraid you will have

a bit of a headache.

What on earth was it
that knocked me out?

Some sort of bolster thing

dressed up in a cap and gown.

Whose gown?
Was there a tag?

It had been cut out,

but there was a note
pinned to it, in Latin.

In Latin?

Yes, it's from the Aeneid.

Roughly translated, it means,

"no monster more
baneful than these,

"no fiercer plague
or wrath of the gods

"ever rose
from the Stygian waves.

"These birds have maiden faces.

"Foulest filth they drop.

"Clawed hands are theirs,

and faces ever gaunt
with hunger."

Not the most attractive
passage, I'm afraid.

Oh, my Lord.

What's the matter?

Did anybody find the key?

What key?

To the library.

I had it in my hand
when I was attacked.

Oh, no!

I'm sorry to have
kept you all waiting.

Miss Vane,
do please take a seat.

Well, you all know
of the events of last evening.

We are indebted to Miss Vane
for her efforts on our behalf,

and I'm sure we all share
a sense of outrage

at the assault upon her.

It is clear
that whoever is responsible

for the mischief with which
this college has been afflicted

for the past two months

intended a particularly
damaging occurrence,

and it is due to Miss Vane that

that plan
has largely been frustrated.

Now, tomorrow we honor
Dame Agatha Browning.

Apart from what she did
for Shrewsbury college

during her almost 22 years
as warden,

Dame Agatha was a guiding light
in the cause

of university education
for women in this country.

Now, for that occasion
to be dishonoured in any way

would be both a personal insult

and an affront to all
that this college stands for.

As you know, the unveiling
of Dame Agatha's portrait

was to have taken place
in the library, but...

Now that cannot be.

The bursar
has consulted decorators,

but there just isn't time
to put things to rights.

So I have decided

that the ceremony
will proceed as planned,

but in the fellows' garden.

I understood the painting
had disappeared.

Again we have Miss Vane
to thank.

One should never take them
at face value.

Some of the mythology

doesn't bear
too close examination.

Oh, you mean Europa
and the bull and all that?

Not to mention Lucius Apuleius...

quite a te fait rougir!

Yes, of course,
I do agree, absolutely.

Mind you, the Ambrosian rite
can still be heard.

Of course, Ambrose and Gregory

were both so very much
influenced by Constantinople.

Don't remind me.

I remember looking
into that garden

with awe and trepidation
the summer before I came up.

It must have been 1920.

People still quaked at the name
"Dame Agatha Browning."

Oh, yes, Dame Agatha Browning.

One didn't leave out
the surname lightly.

Not twice, anyway.

Can that be the Cedric?

Looks quite personable.
A touch overbred, perhaps.

Really?
Oh, yes.

Look at the receding chin.

Can anything be done?

Put him to some common stock.

Good healthy country girl.

Like sweet Fotis
in the golden asse, perhaps.

He's an Oxford man
himself, of course.

Oh, is he? I heard him
give a lecture

at kings college London
about two years ago.

In the "music that has meant
much to me" series, I think.

Yes, he's very
knowledgeable... musically.

Yes, and very much

a man of the world, too,
I should say.

Too much so.

At the moment,
he's working abroad somewhere.

Car all right outside,
Mr. Padgett?

Perfectly safe,
Mr. Bunter.

Would you look favourably
on a cup of tea, Mr. Bunter?

Very favourably,
Mr. Padgett.

Thank you.

But isn't that...

it most certainly is.

Ladies and gentlemen,

it gives me great pleasure

to invite the chancellor
of the University of Oxford,

Lord Tintagel, to unveil
in her distinguished presence

a portrait
of Dame Agatha Browning,

sometime warden of this college.

Lord Tintagel.

Dr. Baring.

Ladies and gentlemen,

university chancellors
are called upon to officiate

at many and varied occasions,

but none gives me so much
personal and public pleasure

as to do so here today.

Dame Agatha Browning was...
is responsible

for the first generation
of women students

to be awarded the degree
of bachelor of arts

of this ancient university.

They and we are the richer
for her wisdom,

her integrity,
her sense of purpose.

Hear, hear!

Without her, the cause
of higher education for women

could not have been so smooth.

And so, colleagues and friends
of Dame Agatha...

I knew when I saw him

his lordship was one
of our young gentlemen.

Yes, Balliol, before the war.

History.
Got a first.

Lot of them sort
didn't bother, you know?

Swanning around in fast cars,
parties, and that.

No need to work.
Know what I mean?

I didn't mean to imply
that Lord Peter...

do not be fooled by the eyeglass

and the manner.

I wasn't suggesting...

no, but many's the time
I've seen that mistake made.

Mind like a razor, he has.

More tea, Mr. Bunter?

Thank you, Mr. Padgett.

Oh, uh, Miss Vane!

Ha ha ha ha!

I do so want you to meet
Dame Agatha Browning.

You won't know
Harriet Vane, I think.

Rather since your time.

Miss Harriet Vane,
Dame Agatha Browning.

Good afternoon,
Dame Agatha Browning.

And what do you do, Miss Vane?

I write novels, Dame Agatha.

What sort of novels?

She writes mystery novels.
And very good they are, too.

Oh, uh, Lord Peter
I believe you know.

Good afternoon, Miss Vane.

Lord Peter.

First time I come across him...

well, fell across him,
to be exact...

was in a shell hole in France,

up to his neck in mud

and choking from cordite fumes.

"Sergeant," he says.

"Sergeant, war is
a damned noisy business."

Utmost composure.

What the Froggies call
"sang-froid."

Yeah.
Always remember that.

Bet they don't teach that
here, eh, Mr. Padgett?

Composure?

Bred in you, isn't it?

I quite thought you
engaged elsewhere.

I was, I was,

but then I thought affairs
of state should give way

to the former warden
of Shrewsbury, don't you know.

Oh, uh, permit me, Lord Peter.

Dame Agatha, I do so
want you to meet...

Explain yourself.

Have you been an old lady's
companion for long?

Oh, no, not very.

Um, flew back only yesterday.

Telephoned from town,
but you were out.

Didn't like to leave
my name, somehow.

And?

Well, it so happens
that the chancellor

is the expert on the background

to the knotty little problem

I'm looking into
at the foreign office.

So, um, two birds
with one stone, I thought.

I mean, I didn't know

how delicate things had got
here for you, and, uh,

I thought a ceremonial entrance

would look
sufficiently unsleuthlike.

Forgive me, but, um, you are
looking a little delicate.

There speaks
the great detective.

As a matter of fact,
I was attacked last night.

Forgive me for interrupting,

but I do feel I should be
looking after you, Miss Vane.

Have no fear.
I am in good hands.

May I introduce you?

Lord Peter Wimsey,
Miss Martin, the Dean.

Dean Miss Martin, how do you do?

Lord Peter. I do hope you're
not wearing Miss Vane out.

She has had a most
shocking experience.

So I've been hearing.

Not so much upsetting
as ridiculous. It was nothing.

She was knocked out, poor thing.

I'm all right, really.

Good.
Yes, indeed.

Lord Peter, may I ask...

were you intending
to be in Oxford

for any length of time?

For a few days, yes.

Capital.

Then I am instructed
to convey to you

the fellows' invitation
to high table tomorrow evening.

Shall you come?

An invitation to dinner

and in the future
interrogative mood...

a most challenging form.

And I shall...
Come, that is.

Till tomorrow, then.

What happened exactly?

I'd gone into the chapel.

I'd heard somebody in there
messing around, I thought.

Suddenly I was knocked
to the ground

by this absurd thing
dressed up as a Don.

Nothing, really.

The important thing is
that attached to it

was yet another note,
in Latin this time,

which does rather
narrow the field,

it being highly unlikely
that the scouts

should express themselves
in Virgilian hexameters.

Hmm.

Things are looking rather bad
for the senior common room.

Very possibly.

Well, now short of watching
at windows

for creeping figures
in the quad,

I'm not sure
what my next move is.

Look, I'm bidden for sherry

and then dinner
with the chancellor.

I'm staying at the mitre.

I'll telephone you, if I may.

Do take care.

Uh, I intend to take a punt
on the river in the morning.

Shall you come?

I never resist a challenge.

That's why I love you.

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