Original subtitles

Oh, it's that poor little boat again. So vulgar.

Scrabbling about for some dead person's possessions.

And underwater, too.

There seem to be no limits to which men won't go in their insatiable curiosity

and greed.

Now look, we don't want you around here, boy.

So, you come within half a mile of our dive again

and you won't be swimming for a long, long time.

Get lost. There's a good boy.

- Should have given him one, Gareth. - Not worth it, man. Pathetic little bugger.

And if you've got any friends tell them, too!

No, no, Marie. Leave the champagne.

I really don't know why I bother with the newspapers.

Every page is nothing but common gossip.

People should be more discreet.

(CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKING)

What the hell are they doing down there?

Got to go slow. It's mucky and the visibility is poor.

If you ask me, Doc, we're diving on the wrong part of your grid anyway.

I didn't ask you, Steve. This is a scientific expedition, scientific.

- We do it thoroughly and we do it scientifically. - All right. Keep your hair on.

Look, if we don't get lucky, there'll be money coming in anyway.

I gave up my business for this. You didn't. It is your business.

- That's right. And I've led you to the Isabelle. - STEVE: Some of it.

We found the bow so the stern's down there somewhere.

No, but I mean what if there's nothing in it.

There will be. And even if there isn't, we're still going to recover our costs.

- Your big raffle day might not work. - Come off it. It's going to be perfect.

Oh, yes. I know all about your "be a part of history and private enterprise for the public good" shit.

It's all right for you downing your cocktails at The Grand whilst we sweat it out here.

What do you want me to do? Squat in a tent on the beach?

- That would give the punters real confidence... - Look here, Doc...

Ideally, one of the wealthy locals would have come forward by now, but one hasn't.

No doubt deterred by your complete lack of savoir-faire.

Which is why I deal with the press and the public.

I do not possess a boat, Mr West.

And before you suggest it, I am not borrowing yours just so I can go after...

You're Just going to let them get away with it, aren't you?

Look, the sea's a free place, isn't it?

- That is what I've been telling you, Mr West. - Well, those Welshmen don't own it, do they?

- Look, you haven't been harmed, have you? - No thanks to you.

All right. We'll have a word with them, okay? Now do you mind?

- I'm not going to let this drop. - Something interesting going on, Sergeant?

No. Mr West was just about to leave.

All right, all right. You've made your point. And I'm going to make mine.

It's not fair. I'm a rate-payer, you know.

Damn them.

Rate-payer?

It's not just policemen who look younger these days.

- What was he on about? - Oh, that bunch of water-borne cowboys out there.

- Sounds as if they might be onto something. - They haven't found anything, have they?

When are we going see any of this Catholic Treasure they keep telling us about?

They got it right last year with that Spanish supply ship.

I wish they'd stay away from here. This island is crowded enough already.

- Have you read about Deep Gold's latest stunt? - Oh, yeah. I glanced at that.

Pretty canny really, offering potential backers a share of the profits.

What profits? They're going broke, that's all.

- You mean you don't fancy a flutter? - Might as well bet on an egg-and-spoon race.

Anyway, you've got work to do. How's it coming along?

You know, writing a gripping profile of our activities

is like trying to drag a sensational tale out of the annual report

of the Milk Marketing Board. What's the point?

I want to get our work noticed at the highest level.

We need more money and this is a good route to it.

Oh, yeah.

Don't forget, it's going to be your name on the cover.

- Oh, I am pleased. - I want that report on my desk within a week.

JIM: God, I feel almost human again.

- Desk work certainly seems to make you grumpy. - Yeah, well... Do you want another?

- Why not? - We'll go for a ride after lunch, all right?

- Have you got the time? - No. But sod it. And sod Crozier.

(BOTH LAUGHING)

- Hello, Charlie. You slumming it again? - Eh? No, no, just spreading myself about a bit.

Yeah, please. A glass of wine and an orange juice.

- What do you want, Charlie? - Oh, well, I'll just have an orange juice as well.

It were all a bit of a coincidence, really. Just the result of chance meeting.

- Hello, Susan. - Charlie's giving up the booze.

No, no, no. That's Just part of something else. Here, look, I'll show you.

- What's that? - My bleeper. Hang on a minute.

See, it's simple.

He knows where I am at any given time and then he waits for a call on this.

- Why? - Well...

I bumped into this public relations man and we got talking about me.

And he reckoned that he could help me to improve my image politically.

The trouble is they take it all so blooming seriously.

But what's it all in aid of?

I told you, politics. It's the way they play it nowadays.

They're all made that way. Presidents, prime ministers, MPs.

- Senators... - Yeah, who knows, my dear? Who knows?

- JIM: You must be mad, Charlie. - No. It really does work.

You see, we agreed that I have a sort of, rather, well,

devil-may-care type of image.

- And so we heighten the levels of awareness... - Of what?

Of me, that is.

By presenting a carefree person who is, nevertheless, caring and has his serious side.

- Must be expensive, Charlie. - Well, I'm not in it for life, am I?

Of course, there are a few simple rules, like never appearing in the media

holding an alcoholic drink in your hand, except for very special celebrations.

And there was me with my glass of wine.

But, in my case, they recommended total abstinence.

Well, it doesn't kill you. Promise.

And, of course, I'm entered for this RNLI fun run at the end of the month.

- I've got to make a good showing there. - That'll be a healthy day for you.

(GROANS) Ten miles. Where's the fun in that?

Oh, dear.

(SUSAN GIGGLES)

- I wonder if anyone will notice. - What?

- His new image. - Whose new image?

Oh, I had an invitation to Deep Gold's fundraising do this morning.

- Are you going to go? - I might.

Deep Gold. The trouble with them is their pockets aren't deep enough.

You can't help hoping they'll succeed, though.

(SCOFFS)

- Jeez! - What?

That is BJ Farrell.

- Who? - BJ Farrell.

- He's a gangster. London property dealer. - I'm a property dealer, too.

Yeah, but you don't have links with organised crime.

No.

If you mention BJ Farrell's name to London CID, they turn purple.

Was he the one in the straw hat?

- Yeah. That's the man. - Oh, he looked rather...

Yeah ,well, don't you believe it. He's one of the nastier products of the welfare state.

Dear little baby found outside some hospital.

He's kept a lot of hospitals very busy ever since, according to our information.

- Oh! - Yeah. I'm going back to the office.

This is going to cause just a little excitement.

I've been on the phone nonstop. Are you sure it was Farrell?

Absolutely no doubt.

I said I'd call back. We've got to find him pretty damn quick.

- I have found him. - Where?

He's staying at The Grand with a couple of his business associates.

It's all open and above board. He's here to look at some property for sale.

I got that from the desk clerk. Oh, plus the name of his estate agent.

He's staying over here for two nights,apparently.

He'll be here when Deep Gold gets its backers then.

Oh, come on. BJ Farrell dabbling in sunken treasure?

- What else could it be? - What he says it is, property.

Everybody gets worked up about treasure hunts.

Look, I've been told carry on as usual, don't make waves.

We'll go and see him this evening. Only to let him know we know.

And you get on with that report.

Oh, I was wondering, could I borrow Peggy to do some of the typing?

Peggy's busy.

(DOOR CLOSES)

(PHONE RINGING)

Hobson & Young.

- Hello, Susan. - Hello.

- Yeah, hello. Look, could you do me a favour? - Yes, if you like.

It's Farrell. He's over here looking at some houses for sale,

but I don't want anyone to know we're interested in him,

so I was wondering if you could Just...

- Who's handling him? - Bellwoods.

- Uh-oh. Could be tricky Jim. - Why? What's the matter?

Well, old Bellwood is frightfully snooty.

- All right. I'll do what I can. - Right.

See you tonight.

- Thanks. Yeah. - Bye.

Bye.

(PHONE RINGING)

Rupert Imison.

No, Miss Broome. I certainly won't see you. We agreed, if you remember.

I know we agreed, but you didn't call.

It's all this waiting, Rupert. It's getting on my nerves.

Not much longer now, Miss Broome. They're here. That's all you need to know.

If you're nervous, do some knitting and drink some hot milk. Stay off the gin.

I don't knit.

All right, so we do find the stern, maybe even tomorrow,

and there's nothing bloody there. What then?

If it happens to be intact, we break it up and scatter it.

And then we find the sodding thing all over again.

Piece by piece. We can then declare the dive is an unfortunate washout, right?

Right, Cliff? Ray? Steve?

But not until we've recouped our losses.

The Doc's right. We stay here, smack over the site, until we're solvent.

Right, boys?

Just one copy, Martha. It's awfully kind of you.

- Good afternoon, Susan. - Oh, hello, Mr Bellwood.

I wasn't aware you intended a change of address. Of course, were that the case,

I'd be only too happy to afford you the benefits of our service.

But if, as I suspect, you're here simply to gossip,

we frankly haven't the time at Bellwood and Langlois.

Oh what a pity. I do so love our little chats.

No, as a matter of fact, I'm here to beg a favour from Martha.

Feminine matters, you know.

No, I do not.

While you're here, Mr B, I would like a word with you.

You see, we've a new trainee starting very shortly

and I thought that perhaps I could teach her the right way and the wrong way to sell property.

I don't quite follow.

Well, I remember old Mrs Spencer. You sold the house for her, of course.

And I thought perhaps, if I could show this woman your layout as opposed to mine

on the same property...

- Ah, yes. We did a very fine job there. - Mmm.

Yes, well, I don't think that would be breaking any confidentiality.

No. Of course not.

SUSAN: There was one marvellous phrase I recall.

"Refurbished to the most exacting standards

"whilst still maintaining inherent traditions and values."

- Something like that. A real stunner anyway. - Yes.

Presentation is a knack you either have or you haven't, I'm afraid.

I'm almost looking forward to this.

Hello.

Chief Inspector Crozier. Detective Sergeant Bergerac, Bureau des Étrangers.

Yeah? Come in.

Ah! Chief Inspector.

- Sergeant. - Mr Farrell.

Well?

- We're here unofficially of course. - Oh, yes. Of course.

- Do you want a drink? Tony... - No, thank you, Mr Farrell.

Never when off-duty, eh?

All right, Tony.

Feeling more comfortable?

We just wanted to know what you're doing in Jersey Mr Farrell.

Ah, that's better.

Well, I'm a property magnate.

Property's always been attracted to me.

I'm here on business with employees of one of my companies.

Is that all right?

Isn't it a rather long way to come for the chairman of several large companies,

- just to see a few houses? - No.

Well, if you don't want a drink you might as well leave.

- I should remind you you're a guest in Jersey. - No. I should remind you of that.

Don't get overzealous. You know what I mean?

- I don't take any notice of threats, Mr Farrell. - Nor do I.

Now, be good boys and peddle off, will you?

(SIGHS)

- I don't know. It looks very straightforward to me. - It wasn't easy to get, you know.

Oh, yeah. I'm sorry. Thank you.

So he's got five more houses to see in all and then, presumably, he's going home.

Two of them are on my books. Nothing special, bit pricey.

But this last one I knew nothing about. Miss Broome, that's new.

Oh, Miss Broome. We know a bit about her.

Hasn't lived on the island very long. She had a cook

who accused her of assault two years ago. Her case was settled out of court.

She's old, eccentric and a drunk.

She's the only one that's arranged for an exact time for Farrell to visit. No one else has.

Well, maybe she's just neurotic about visitors. Still, it's interesting.

You know, what I'd like to do, if I can get the bloody time,

is to check up on all the house owners and maybe go around all the houses as well.

Just to get a feel of it all.

See, maybe Farrell wants a certain design or a certain location for a particular purpose.

Like what?

Oh, search me.

I'm going to bed.

Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.

- Are you coming? - Yes, please.

- Did Stevie tell you? - I don't believe it.

- Can't be sure, Cliff. - Go down and have a look yourself if you want to.

The stern is intact on a flat and level surface. The water's calm and there's nothing there.

- Nothing. - There must be.

- There has to be something down there, man. - That's the whole bloody point, man, isn't it?

There might have been when the Isabelle set out,

but it must have been transferred to another vessel when they were at sea. Must have.

Must have sunk the sodding boat as well.

Well, Doc's theory was right, but it wasn't the whole story.

I'll get back to the Doc. Stick with him. Act confident, happy like.

I'll take this. I'll say, "Hooray! We found some pieces of it."

Everything's fine.

- Morning. - Morning.

Had the morning off?

Hardly. I've been checking up on the people who own the houses that Farrell's looking at.

- Oh. And? - Nothing.

And his companions have no criminal record as such.

Possibly because nobody's ever brought any charges.

- Remember, we leave him alone. - Yeah. It's a pity though, isn't it?

It's got to be Deep Gold.

- No. - Look, just get on with that report, all right?

Yes, that's right. 5-9.

Right, thank you.

(PHONE RINGING)

I'll get it, Thomas.

Rupert Imison.

Don't tell me. It's BJ Farrell!

Where are you, old chap? Here?

Well, for heaven's sake, we must...

Well, fine. Splendid.

Dinner tonight at the L'Horizon.

I was going to contact you about that factory in Northampton anyway,

so it couldn't be better.

Marvellous. Bye.

Marie! Marie!

There is a man in the garden, Miss Broome. Should I not call the police?

Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter!

Look at my dressing table, Marie. It's a disgrace again, a disgrace!

(DAYDREAMING AND I'M THINKING OF YOU PLAYING)

FERNS: I told you!

Of course, we can't be sure yet. At least you can't, but I am, certain sure.

Splendid duck. I must come here more often.

- Do you want to talk about London? - No.

No matter.

Frankly, I don't care how much your photographer's costing you.

You shouldn't have come. You're exhausted.

- Who's that with him? - I've no idea.

But the thing is that Imison is taking a hand in this fun run.

So it's a perfect opportunity for me to build up interest in my participation.

You don't even know him.

Well, we know that but no one who sees a picture of him and me together

is going to know it, are they? Now, hang on.

Hello, my name is Charles Hungerford.

Absolutely delighted to be taking part. Hello, who's this?

- Reformation, you say? - No doubt about it, Tony.

- Why not announce that you found it? - We were going to tomorrow.

Make a big dramatic thing of it on the day.

- Maximise the effect. - I see.

Would you two step outside for a moment? I'd like to confer with my colleague.

Oh.

Yes.

Fair enough. Come on, Gareth.

- You're taking a chance, aren't you? - We talked for an hour.

They're just what we're looking for.

- I don't like it. - I don't like it, either, but it's necessary.

- Well? - We'll back you. Just us, nobody else.

Fine by me.

We'll cancel the arrangements for tomorrow evening.

There's 200 to 300 pounds there.

I trust you and you trust me, all right? It's a gesture.

- We'll get the big stuff tomorrow. - Good.

Good to have you aboard, Tony.

- David. - Yes.

See you on board tomorrow.

I'm alone.

There isn't anybody.

God help me.

Please help me.

(VIDEO GAME BEEPING)

- You were late last night. - We work all hours in public relations.

Hmm.

- Oh, God. - What?

Talking of public relations, Charlie's in the paper.

"Shady character in the light.

"A rare picture of BJ Farrell, the shy millionaire,

"whose business interests are a continual subject of police speculation."

"Farrell was seen having dinner last night in St Helier"

"with the Jersey based property tycoon Rupert Imison and an unknown friend."

Charlie's PR man sold him down the river, has he? Still, he left his name out of it.

- That explains what Farrell's doing here anyway. - Do you think so?

Nevertheless, I'm still going to see Miss Broome and her house this morning.

She's lived here for three years. She's entitled to a visit, isn't she?

- Persistent, aren't you? - That is one of my better qualities.

FERNS: We can string them along for a couple of weeks

and in that time, get them interested in a new project.

- Draw them in, now they've got the bug. - What about the chalice?

When we get the money, I'll have to go over to France and exchange it for the genuine article.

They're very similar.

- Suppose they get heavy? - Sort them out then, won't we?

It's the best way to break up a partnership.

I'll tell you what, boys. They looked a bit tidy to me.

- You're not afraid, are you, Gareth? - Do me a favour, Cliff.

It doesn't matter about the picture in the newspaper. It doesn't mean a thing.

You go ahead exactly as arranged or you know what the consequences will be.

Have you got that?

Exactly as arranged.

Mademoiselle.

- What do you want? - There's a police sergeant downstairs.

No. No!

Go away. Get out!

- But, Miss Broome. I... - Get out of my house!

- Get out! You can't come in! - Look, I only...

Leave at once! I shall report you. Leave my house at once!

- I only... - Leave my house at once!

Out! Out! Out!

Oh, Marie. You gave me quite a fright.

(LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)

I could strangle you.

- You've been a bit silly, have you? - Yeah.

Here. That's it.

Oh. Well, it's a good exposure.

- Much light, was there? - No, not a lot.

This man you consulted, is he a genuine expert?

No doubt about it, BJ. Says it's a fake.

(SCOFFS) Why do I bother with you?

- They, uh, got Tony's money, BJ. - It's not that, David. It's the principle.

Yes, well, now. I don't want you around with me this morning,

as it happens.

I'm not involved and I won't pick up any of the pieces, okay?

It's all right, then.

Whatever happens this incident makes me look bad. You should have consulted me.

I'm cross with you.

Sorry, BJ.

Well, all right. Go on with you.

SUSAN: Hysterical, was she? JIM: Yeah.

- And it occurred to me... - Yes?

- Where do you hide a meeting? - I don't know. Where do you hide a meeting?

In a series of meetings.

Tony.

David.

We're arranging a little celebration for you down below, but...

Right! I'll have you!

You're mad!

All right, you bastard.

Tore my suit.

- (MIMICKING BUGS BUNNY) Eh, what's up, doc? - Bastards.

Can't you find the keys, huh?

Is there a problem, gentlemen?

Oh, Peggy, love, could you give us a hand with this typing?

Sorry. The Chief Inspector said you'd ask.

(TELEPHONE RINGING)

Yeah?

You'll be doing yourself a favour if you show some cooperation. Think about it.

- When did you first meet Farrell? - Mr Farrell? He doesn't know a thing about this.

These thugs launched an unprovoked attack on us.

- Ask him if he's prepared to press charges. - Well?

Well, perhaps there was an element of misunderstanding.

All right, I see. We'll sort this out elsewhere.

- What sort of circus do you call this, then? - Oh, hello, Charlie. Not running today?

- No. A man can have too much fun. - Yeah, so I noticed.

I saw your picture in the paper, with Farrell.

I fell among thieves, Jim. Where were you lot when I needed you?

Would you like me to prefer charges against the PR man?

No. It takes a big man to admit he's made a fool of himself.

Take care of yourself.

(KNOCKING AT DOOR)

I...

Take your time.

Won't you... Won't you sit down?

You don't look well, Mother.

I'm worried about you, Mother.

- Sit down, please. - I think it's you that needs to sit down.

No, no. I'm... I'm perfectly all right. It's Just that I'm... I'm very excited, darling.

It's wonderful to see you, Mother.

(LAUGHING NERVOUSLY)

Yes.

Mother, I've had a very dull few days

trying to look interested in some very dull houses, because of you.

I'm here because you wanted me here. So, come on now.

Why don't you come and sit over here, darling? In the light, where we can see each other.

Who was he, Mother?

He... He was...

It was a set-up.

- Who? - It was a man called Rupert Imison.

I didn't know this was going to happen. I promise, son.

- I didn't... I didn't know. - Why? Why did you do it?

Well, I had to.

He knew I was your mother, you see. I got a bit merry one night and...

He got private detectives, just like you did, when you found me all those years ago,

and he knew that I was a lady of easy virtue and...

Listen, Mother, Mother, you mustn't ever think you sold yourself for money.

You were just a bit lively when you were young, and hard-up, that's all.

Yes. But I couldn't argue with him, you see

'cause he would have ruined my position here. My life.

You do understand that, don't you?

I mean, everybody would have known that you were my son

and that I wasn't even married or...

And, of course, you couldn't let yourself believe exactly what was going to happen.

- I mean, you'd never let yourself believe that? - Of course not, no.

I didn't think. I just didn't think.

And it was so awful.

Just one more question, Mother. It's why I came here.

Yes.

You were going to tell me.

Who was my father?

You don't know, do you?

- No. - You don't know.

Well, well, well.

Up you get, Mother.

- I don't think I can. I don't feel very well. - Give me your hand.

Don't you worry. We'll get an ambulance. There's no problem.

- But listen, Mother. - Mmm?

- Don't open your mouth until I say, all right? - All right.

You're not to worry about a thing.

- From now on, I'm going to look after you. - Yeah.

You can have whatever you want, but you're going to be with me, where you're safe.

And I'm not taking no for an answer this time. Being ashamed of your own son.

(BOTH CHUCKLE)

- Did you get anything out of him? - Only his name. John Causebrook.

- Does that mean anything to you? - No.

Someone must have heard about Mother's little charade probably at my end,

and taken it from there.

Oh, she's a darling.

Oh, yeah? I noticed. I called round earlier. She was hysterical. She chucked me out.

Well I'm afraid that's down to me, Sergeant.

I've always told her not to talk to strange policemen.

- Have you? Come on. - You don't mind if I take my own car, do you?

After all, I am the injured party, when you come to think about it.

JIM: All right. Stay close.

BJ! What a pleasant surprise.

Now, listen, you grubby little... Don't talk, listen.

I've had enough of you sticking your mucky little businessman's fingers into my pies,

trying to pull out the plums.

You want my Wandsworth site, you pay 5 million over the odds,

- only I'm not selling now because... - I...

Shut up!

Because I don't like you trying to smear me all over the place

and I especially don't like you messing my mother about.

All right, that's the law.

Now, listen hard. You relinquish your business interests, over time,

you put your house up for sale tomorrow

and you leave the UK and its environs within three months.

This is the interesting bit. You're dead if you don't.

Call the police and you're inside.

Okay?

Now straighten your tie and be nice to the man.

All right. What is all this?

,I didn't know how much longer you'd let me stay in Jersey, Sergeant,

so I gave in to the impulse to visit my old friend here. Say goodbye.

- Is that true, Mr Imison? - Quite true.

We were talking last night

and Mr Farrell wanted to finalise some important business before he went.

- Good of you to call, BJ. - Any time.

Well, shall we go, Sergeant?

- Are you all right, Mr Imison? - I'm not well, if that's what you mean,

but it's nothing that I'm not accustomed to.

- Oh, you should have told me. - I thought you knew.

I wouldn't have intruded.

Goodbye, Rupert.

I'll be in touch. Promise.

- I'll call again, Mr Imison. - Do.

Quite the place, Jersey. I'm almost sorry I'm leaving.

I'm not.

(SIGHS LOUDLY)

Well, that's the last of that little lot. Everyone's on the plane.

Jersey once more a safe place to live in.

Farrell says to tell you a big thank you.

- (LAUGHS) Oh, did he? - Mmm-hmm.

Has it occurred to you that all we've achieved at the end of the day

is the handing-over of one very professional assassin

- with a highly developed gift for silence? - So far.

- Anyway, Deep Gold's out of our hair. - Didn't get the whole story there either, did we?

I mean, all we've done is scrape some problems off our plate onto somebody else's, right?

You're learning.

Well...

Oh, Susan tells me that Imison's got his house up for sale.

Yes, he's under investigation, but they're getting nowhere with him.

It seems that he and Farrell have their own private game of Monopoly going on in South London.

There's one site that's the key to it

and Imison can't pass Go or put up hotels without it.

Farrell just grins when you raise the subject.

- So end of story as far as we're concerned. - That's bloody marvellous, isn't it?

I tell you one thing.

I'm very glad I haven't had to cover the last few days in this PR report of yours.

- It was a right, wasn't it? - Yeah. Lucky you got a move on. Thanks.

You never know, I may be able to use this to placate Charlie.

He seems to think we should have told him about Farrell the moment we knew he was here.

- Typical. Hey, that reminds me. - Yeah?

- At the airport... - Yeah?

Did you get your picture taken?