All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S02E01.Widow.Weep.for.Me.WEBRip.x264-ION10

[Jessica] Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

[woman screams]

...and all of this gaudy jewelry
makes you a target for the thief?

Hey!

Who are you? What are you
doing on this island?

Mrs. Eric Brahm, at your service, world.

And so she decides that she's gonna kill
all of his mistresses, one by one.

My loyalty stops at two dead bodies.

Went to the old buzzard's
funeral four years ago.

We are dealing with a professional thief,
who kills his victims to keep them quiet.

No.

The robbery was a cover
for another motive.

[cheerful orchestral music]

[screams]

Good morning, Madame.
Welcome to the Brittany Bay.

Thank you, young man.
Will you see to my luggage?

It consists of
five matched pieces, unmarked.

Please see that I leave
with them in the same condition.

Yes, Madame.

Mrs. Marguerite Canfield,
Lincoln, Nebraska.

Oh, yes, Mrs. Canfield.

My wire specified
your largest and finest suite.

I'm afraid, Madame,
that the King Louis is already occupied,

but I'm sure you'll find
the Bonaparte quite acceptable.

Young woman, I have never found

that little Corsican
even barely tolerable.

Mrs. Canfield?

So nice to have you at the Brittany.

Myrna Montclair.
I'm delighted to meet you.

-Have we met?
-No.

I've seen you somewhere before.

Perhaps the movies, my previous career.

Well, I rarely attend the cinema.

Perhaps I've seen your face staring at me
from some magazine cover.

Well, I do hope you enjoy your stay.

I'm sure I will, miss Montclair,
or it will be a short one.

[woman's voice]
"Jessica, I'm in trouble.

Desperately need your help and advice.

I sense a terrible danger,
but I can't leave the island.

Will explain when you arrive.

Antoinette."

Madame Fletcher.

It is Madame Fletcher, isn't it?

I don't know who you are, Sir,
but my name is--

My name is Chief Inspector
Claude Rensselaer, Island Police.

We spoke on the phone.

Oh, yes.

I believe I warned you not to come here.

Well, Madame, not only do you appear,

but you come dressed in a manner
that can only invite trouble.

Inspector, Antoinette Farnsworth
was a very dear friend of mine.

Her last act, before she was
brutally murdered,

was to write a letter to me,
asking for my help.

Now, I do not intend
to ignore that request.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

Madame Fletcher,

I truly understand your feelings.

Do you? You didn't know her, inspector.

We were like sisters

until her husband died
five years ago, and then

she tried to lose herself
in travel and parties,

love affairs... and drink.

And now she's dead.

Killed by a thief.

But the letter, the one that you asked me
to read to you over the telephone,

that indicated something different.

Madame Fletcher,

we had a similar incident
no less than two weeks ago.

Same forced entry,
the early hours of the morning.

Man dressed in black.

But this time, the victim was lucky.

She screamed,

not only saving her jewels,
but saving her life as well.

I'm sorry, I... I cannot accept the idea

that Antoinette's death was that simple.

Madame, you are being doubly foolish.

Now, it's no secret

that she wrote you a letter
shortly before she died,

and that fact might put you
into a great deal of danger.

It would endanger Jessica Fletcher.

That's why I registered
as Marguerite Canfield.

The famous recluse.

Madame, do you realize
that your assumed identity

and all of this gaudy jewelry

makes you a target for the thief?

Well, I most certainly hope so.

Exactly what have you found out?

Hey, we have no physical evidence,

and those who knew her best
all have alibis.

Who did know her best?

Well, over the past few weeks,

she had been seen
with a half a dozen gentlemen,

some young and some not so young.

Yes, I understand.

But we are very curious
about Mr. Eric Brahm,

the hotel manager.

A charming ladies' man.

He was very attentive to the victim.

But then again, that may not
mean anything at all,

because he was very attentive

to all the unattached females
in the hotel.

There is another young woman
from the United States,

a schoolteacher.

I think her name is Veronica Harrold.

Vingt-deux, noir.

Ah, Mrs. Canfield.

I am delighted to meet you at last.

Eric Brahm, at your service.

Perhaps you'd do me the honor
of joining me later for a cocktail.

A hotel can be so lonely
for a woman unattached.

Well, ask me later,
after I've had a fling at your wheel.

Oh, yes. And I only drink Rothschild '61.

If you don't have it, Mr. Brahm,

get it.

[speaking French]

Four, black. Quatre, noir.

Place your bets.

Cinq, rouge.

What's running?

Not my luck, honey.

That little ball and me have developed
a deepseated animosity for one another.

[both laughing]

You just arrive at this paradise?

This afternoon.

Oh, stay away from the crab cakes
unless you have a strong liver.

Alva Crane.

Maggie Canfield.

[beeping]
-Whoops. That's pill time.

Oh, uh, Pierre?

Send in that boy in the tight pants.

I need a glass of water.

Yep, blood pressure. Oh, nothing serious.

My-- Oh...

My doctor was sure
it would kill me before I was 60.

Went to the old buzzard's funeral
four years ago.

Hell of an affair.

All of his patients were there.

Thanks, Sonny.

[laughing]

Hello!

Hello! Hi.

How's 17 doing?

Hiding out, as I recall.

[laughs]

Let's go, darling.
Don't waste your money.

But 17 is the number on my classroom door.

It's the third door on the right,
just past the cafeteria.

Custis Road Elementary School
in Davenport, Iowa.

[giggles]

"Good morning, miss Harrold."

"Good morning, children."

Seventeen, on the nose, Mr. Croupier.

Champagne.

Vingt-deux, noir. Twenty-two, black.

Twenty-two? Darn.

Oh, well. Just one

I think it's bedtime, darling.

[sighs]

Is this a hunk?

I mean, can you imagine
this beautiful man with me?

[giggles, sighs]

Ladies, eat your hearts out.

[giggles]

My apologies. Have a good evening.

Come on.

You know, I never cared for tall men,
but for him, I could make an exception.

Excuse me.

Mrs. Canfield?

-Yes.
-Michael Haggerty.

Have we been introduced, Mr. Haggerty?

I believe I just accomplished
that formality.

Would you join me for a drink?

The view from the terrace
is beautiful this evening.

Grab that invitation, Maggie.

I've been waiting for this Irishman
to hit on me for two weeks.

A tragic error on my part, Mrs. Crane.

Perhaps tomorrow?

Mrs. Canfield?

Cash me in.

It's been many years
since I've been picked up,

Mr. Haggerty.

Michael, remember? And you're Maggie.

It's a pity you're so shy.

[chuckles]

God cursed me with a natural
gift of the gab

and an unnatural interest
in my fellow man.

Now, you, for example.

A handsome woman by any standard,

and yet it's well known

you've kept yourself
hidden away for years.

You're not by chance a reporter?

You mean work for a living?
No, no, no, no.

Life's too short to endure
the drudgery of steady employment.

Oh.

A man of independent means.

In a manner of speaking.

The British police suspected
a few of the lads and I

liberated the Bank of England
of a million pounds,

and I'd be the last one to disagree

with such a distinguished body
as the British Constabulary.

[laughter]

That handsome young man
with the American schoolteacher...

Sven Torvald.

I've seen him before.

Indeed you have, Maggie.

A few years back, he won two
Olympic gold medals for skiing.

These days, he's, uh,

pretty much a part
of the international jet set,

but there was a time

when he could fly
down a slope like the wind.

[chuckles]

But what is this now?

You walking in the moonlight
with the likes of me

and talking about a young stud
fifteen years my junior.

If I was interested in
Sven Torvald, believe me,

he would be here now instead of you.

[laughs]

I know what I want, Mr. Haggerty,
and I get it.

That sounds like a challenge.

[chuckles]

Did you know

there are some lovely waterfalls
a few miles from here.

The moon is high, the breeze is gentle,

and my car is parked right out front.

I suppose you can be trusted?

Not in the least.

[chuckling]

Hey!

Hey, you!

Watch where you're going, mister!

You bloody fool, you let him get away.

Hey, you bumped into me.

Michael, are you all right?

I'm fine, but I'm afraid this idiot
let that fella get away with your purse.

-It was an accident, pal.
-Was it?

Well, I'm sorry.

I've been watching you all evening

watching you watching me
and I'd like to know why.

Sheldon Greenberg, Mrs. Canfield.

-Hotel security.
-Ah.

And I've been watching you,

because I thought something
like this might happen.

You'd better explain that.

Look, it's my business
to check out new guests,

especially the ones that are dumb enough -

excuse me, ma'am -

to wear that kind of jewelry
out in plain sight.

I mean, it's an invitation to trouble,
and we've had plenty of that lately.

All I can say is,

you're lucky something worse
didn't happen.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I got to report this to the police.

Inspector Rensselaer?
It's Jessica Fletcher.

Is there anything wrong, Madame?

No, no, no. I'm fine, believe me.

I'm calling to find out
if the house detective, Mr. Greenberg,

reported the theft of my purse.

No, he didn't, but I thought
you told me everything was fine.

Well, you asked about my well-being,
not about my purse.

What do you know about this Mr. Greenberg?

Well, enough to know
that his credentials check out.

He's been a New York City policeman
for over 20 years with a good record.

Why do you ask?

Oh, nagging suspicion.

I'll let you know.

Oh, thanks so much, Inspector.
You will excuse me. Bye.

Madame Fletcher? Madame Fletcher?

Hello!

Oh, good morning.

I see that you're an exercise buff too.

We met last night.
I'm Marguerite Canfield.

I remember, sort of.

Sven said I made
a terrible fool of myself.

Oh, not at all. Look, I am bushed.

Shall we go and have
a nice cold drink together?

I was afraid you'd never ask.

Oh! Another vacation like this one,
and I'm gonna be totally out of shape.

All I do is eat.

May I help you, ladies?

Um, I'd like a lemon frosty, please.

Oh, that's not even civilized.

We'll have two iced teas,
please, with lemon.

No sugar or chemicals.

Good for the blood. Very invigorating.

Oh, I'm not cut out
for this fancy lifestyle.

Give me Davenport any day.

Oh, yes, the Custis Road
Elementary School, right?

Oh, dear. I did get windy.

Next time I win one of these
so-called trips of a lifetime,

I think I'm just gonna say no.

You won this trip? How exciting.

Some supermarket giveaway.

To tell you the truth,
I don't even remember entering.

-Thank you.
-That's very nice for you.

And your, uh... Well, whoever he is.

Mmm. Sven?

No, I just met him here.

Nope, this prize was a vacation for one.

Did you ever hear of anything so crazy?

For one.

I almost didn't come.
But I'm awfully glad I did.

[chuckling]

Folks here have been real friendly.

Especially that French lady, Antoinette.

She was a doll.
What a terrible thing to happen.

Yes. She was the one who, uh...

You know, she came up to me
on my first day here.

Made me feel a part of the place
right away.

How very nice of her.

Mmm. It was kind of strange though.

It was sort of like she singled me out.

I don't know.

Maybe she was alone too.

We sure did get along though.

Can't say the same for her and Sven.

Oh, gosh. There she is.

Now there is a star.

And she is so beautiful.

Oh, yes, miss Montclair.

Do you know

that when I was 15 years old,

I sat through
The Sin Of Andrea Crown six times.

Gosh, did I cry.

I'm afraid I'm not much of a moviegoer.

Oh, you must have seen this movie.
It's the one where she plays this woman

whose husband is cheating on her,
so she decides that she's gonna kill

all of his mistresses, one by one.

Hi, Princess.

Hi, Sven. How was the tennis?

The courts were booked all morning.

Ah.

Do you remember Mrs. Canfield,
from last night?

-Good morning.
-Good morning.

Look, I've reserved a boat
down at the marina.

I thought we might
do a little scuba diving.

Oh, I'd love to.

It was awfully nice to talk to you again.

I'll talk to you later.

Oh, absolutely.

Oh, thanks for the tea.

[phone ringing]

I took the liberty
of checking your credentials.

Strangely,

There is no Michael Haggerty
of Dublin, Ireland

associated with the whiskey
importing business.

Really?

Which puts me
in a most distressing position,

since you've run up a casino obligation

of more than 10,000 pounds
on what are obviously false credentials.

-Perhaps you'd care to explain.
-Perhaps not.

My real name
and occupation are immaterial,

and the fact that I prefer
to invent alternate identities,

is a quirk of my personality.

I trust this will ease
your misgivings, Mr. Brahm.

Draw on it as you like.
I trust your bookkeeping.

Thank you, Mr., uh, Haggerty.

[knocking at door]

Yeah, come in.

Oh, Mrs. Canfield, good morning.

Good morning.

-Have a seat.
-Thank you.

[chuckles]

It's crazy.

You know, they tell me a five-year-old
can perform magic on a computer.

Guess I should hire a kindergarten kid
to work this thing.

Mr. Greenberg, I'm curious.

Have you or the local authorities
managed to recover my purse?

Funny you should ask.

I was just getting ready to call you.

I spent a couple hours this morning
scouring the grounds.

It's full of cash,
so I guess it's all here.

How convenient.

Especially as I just saw you chatting
with the young man who took it.

Now, before I call Mr. Brahm, the manager,
suppose you tell me what is going on.

It's a coincidence.

I was gonna ask you the same question.

J.B. Fletcher.

Who'd you think you were
dealing with, some dummy?

Well, if you knew who I was,
why take my purse?

Because I wasn't 100% certain.

Because I wanted to look at your passport.

Mr. Greenberg,

there is a logical explanation
for my presence.

Yes, and I know what it is.

You got a letter
from Antoinette Farnsworth.

I heard that from the desk clerk.

So you decided to come down here,

see if you could scrounge up
some stuff for your next book.

Or maybe you just
decided to come down here

and make Shelly Greenberg look bad.

This is ridiculous. I don't even know you.

I know I don't have
J.B. Fletcher's reputation,

and maybe I wasn't exactly
a detective on the New York police,

but in 20 years, even as a desk sergeant,
you learn a few things.

Mr. Greenberg, Sheldon,

believe me, I did not come here
to embarrass anyone.

I'm quite sure, left to your own devices,
you'll get to the bottom of this.

Yeah.

Anyone can see that you're
a bright, perceptive man,

I mean, a fascinating personality.

Why, I can even see you...

inspiring a character in my next book.

No kidding.

I just gotta say, Mrs. Fletcher,
I mean, your books, I mean,

uh, they're okay. I've read 'em all.

So, if there's anything I can do to help.

Thank you, Sheldon.
That's a very kind offer.

[intercom buzzing]

Yes?

Mrs. Canfield on line one, Sir.

Oh, I'll take it.

-Madame Fletcher.
-I think we should talk.

All right. I'll come and pick you up.

No, let me meet you
someplace where we won't be seen together.

I know a place near Turtle Bay
that overlooks the ocean.

I'll be there, say, 30 minutes.

Well, where was I?

"Expect to see you
on the evening of the third."

Yes, uh... My regards
to your beautiful wife.

Oh, Eric, darling,
I simply have to talk to you

about Sheikh Hassani Faud.

I'm terribly sorry, dear,

but this is an absolutely
disastrous situation.

Give us a minute, will you, Grace?

That dreadful man has arrived
with six wives, four dozen children,

and the chef just received a special menu.

Now, what was that all about?

I wanted to see you.
The sheikh was a good excuse.

-Myrna.
-Eric, I'm worried about you.

This morning you looked
absolutely dreadful.

Marriage is supposed to rejuvenate you.

Prudence, my garrulous wife.

This office just may be bugged
by the home office.

Who cares?

I want to shout it from the rooftops.
"Mrs. Eric Brahm, at your service, world."

Well, one of these days
we'll shout it together,

but as of now, uh-uh.

I know. Company policy.

Do you know what I say?

To hell with company policy.

Why don't we just quit?

And live on what?

Give me time. It won't be long.

Another few months at the most, I promise.

-Taxi, Madame?
-Yes, please.

Mrs. Canfield, morning.

Good morning, Mr. Haggerty.

I'm just out for a little spin.

Can I drop you somewhere?

-Thanks, no. I'll take a cab.
-Oh, come on.

It's no trouble. Hop in.

-Very well.
-Let me help you, Madame.

Thank you.

I'm headed for the Turtle Bay overlook.

-Do you know it?
-I do.

Am I driving too fast?

I'll let you know, Mr. Haggerty.

Uh, shouldn't we have turned there?

If it's a view you're looking for,

I know a grand spot
even the locals haven't found yet.

Mr. Haggerty, please stop this car.

Might not be a good idea, Mrs. Canfield.

We're being followed.

A temporary situation.

[tires screeching]

[tires screeching]

-Come on. Stretch your legs.
-Thanks. I'll wait here until you're ready

to drive me to Turtle Bay.

You know, ma'am, I worry about you.

A wealthy widow.

This island may not be safe.

That sounds vaguely like a threat.

[chuckles] A threat, is it? No, no.

More like a warning
from a concerned friend.

May I assume that you were also a friend
to Antoinette Farnsworth?

We talked a few times.

She was a neurotic woman, twice divorced.

Like you, she flaunted her wealth.

May I correct you, Mr. Haggerty?

I understand from the papers
that she was married only once.

There was an earlier marriage

to a young, struggling
Greenwich village poet.

Technically, I suppose you're correct.

Her father paid for it to be annulled.

Hmm. You seem well informed
about her past.

Particularly since Antoinette's
first marriage to Leon Savitch

was a secret that she shared with no one.

Leon Savitch?

Interesting you should know his name.

Tell me, ma'am, just who the hell are you?

You know perfectly well
who I am, Mr. Haggerty.

I had the pleasure of meeting
Marguerite Canfield

before she became the world's
most notable recluse.

And unless you've grown five inches
in the intervening time,

you are most definitely not her.

Now, who are you?

What are you doing on this island?

Mrs. Fletcher, are you all right?

Oh, yes. I'm fine.

Fletcher?

Sergeant D'arcy.

Will you please come with me
at once, ma'am?

The inspector wants to see you
at the hotel.

Why? What's happened?

There's been another murder, ma'am.

I want you to check
with the household personnel.

Find out if anyone suspicious
was observed on this floor,

both last night and this morning.

-Inspector?
-Oh, that's all right.

Madame Fletcher,

I must apologize
for not keeping our rendezvous.

No apology needed.

Luckily sergeant D'arcy caught up with me.

Mr. Haggerty did a masterful job
of losing him.

Luck was not a factor.

I took the precaution
of having one of my men

put a homing device in Haggerty's car
before you drove off.

Of course. The doorman.

Well, let's keep that
our own little secret.

And by the way, Madame, as I told you,
this is a very dangerous business.

Madame Crane, she was murdered
in the early hours of the morning.

I would say about 6:00,
give or take one or two hours.

The lock to the balcony was forced.

She was stabbed here in the bed.

The room was ransacked,
and her jewelry stolen.

Now, there is no question in my mind

that we are dealing
with a professional thief

who kills his victims to keep them quiet.

-I'm sorry, but I disagree.
-Madame Fletcher, please.

Inspector, I am now more than convinced
that the motive was not simple robbery.

I was at the roulette table
with her last night,

and she was dripping
with jewels, all right,

but they were all fakes
and very good fakes

but if I could spot them,

an experienced jewel thief
could not be fooled by them.

No. The robbery was a cover
for another motive.

-If the jewels were fake--
-Oh, they were.

Which means she either wore the duplicates
to keep the real ones safe,

or, despite outward appearances,
Alva Crane had really very little

that was worth stealing.

That is an interesting notion.

Suppose we check that out.

The key to her hotel safe deposit box.

Passport.

Airline ticket.

Envelope with about a thousand
american currency.

But no jewelry.

The problem is, you got fakes on the mind,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Like that stuff you been wearing, glass.

Spotted it right away.

Madame Crane's jewelry,
you are certain it was genuine?

It looked real to me.

Mr. Greenberg, earlier you said

that you were working
on a theory of your own.

Maybe you'd share that with us.

I been thinking
about what you said about Brahm.

Your employer?

Hey, my loyalty stops at two dead bodies.

It's one person connects
these three robberies,

and it's him.

He was all the time
sucking up to these women.

All three? You're sure?

It's my job to be sure.

And another thing.

He was always trying to hustle money;

calling this guy and that guy,

trying to put together a scheme
to make himself a bundle.

And of that, I am also sure.

Well, Mr. Greenberg,

that is a very interesting theory,

but do remember that
this is a police investigation.

And yours truly is hotel security
which makes me a player.

-Yeah.
-Mr. Brahm?

Mrs. Canfield, good afternoon.

Oh, sorry. I should say Mrs. Fletcher.

Ah. You know.

As of now, everyone knows.

Well, do, please, forgive me.

I do so dislike deceiving people.

Actually, it was probably
a wise precaution.

Never mind.

I'm delighted to know you
no matter what your name.

[laughs]

I understand you're assisting the police.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Inspector Rensselaer
doesn't need any help from me.

However, I am curious about one thing.

Very puzzling.

I'm sure that Mrs. Crane
was wearing paste jewels,

and it occurred to me

that perhaps her financial circumstances

weren't quite what they seemed.

Are you asking me
was she financially embarrassed?

Well, it wouldn't be the first time

that an older woman

had been forced to sell her jewels

to maintain a facade of wealth.

Mrs. Fletcher,

you have a fiendish imagination,

but I can assure you,

Alva Crane was more than solvent.

Her security holdings are worth millions.

And not only that, her checks were good.

You will excuse me.

You looking for these?

How did you get in here?

Another of my talents...

best left unexplained,
Mrs. Jessica Fletcher.

You know, I'm a bit annoyed with you.

Well, that's nothing compared
to what I feel for you,

Mr. Haggerty.

You gave me a very nasty scare
earlier today.

Now I feel merely angry.

But no longer frightened?

That makes you either very brave
or very foolish.

Why were you hiding these letters
from Antoinette Farnsworth?

They weren't hidden. They're my property.

And now I'd like to ask you
a question, Mr. Haggerty.

Who are you?

And how did you know
Antoinette Farnsworth?

That, Madame, is my business.

You'll understand if I make it
inspector Rensselaer's business.

I didn't know her.
I knew of her through her father.

Eduoard Martine. As you know,
one of the foremost vintners in France

and a very wealthy man.
Let me emphasize the word "very."

You know, I don't think
this is an appropriate place to talk.

It was Eduoard Martine

who arranged for the annulment
of his daughter's marriage

to the poet Leon Savitch.

What I'm about to tell you now,
you may already know.

If not, you must promise to keep it
completely confidential.

But I can't promise that,
not with two unsolved murders.

[sighs] All right, then.

A child was born to Antoinette Martine
six months after the annulment.

The old man was furious.

He refused to recognize
the issue of a marriage

that never existed,

and he warned Antoinette

that he would cut her off without a sou

unless she put the child up for adoption.

I did not know that.

She was terrified
of the old man in those days,

so she agreed.

Now the old fellow's got the hot breath

of his maker warming the back of his neck.

He's looking for a way
to atone for past sins.

Which means he's not only
seeking the forgiveness of Antoinette,

but also the grandchild
that he shut out of his life 28 years ago.

And that would be Veronica Harrold.

Very good, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, it did seem strange
that a young teacher

should win a trip to this island

in a contest
she doesn't remember entering,

and then suddenly being befriended
by a woman that she hardly knew.

The contest prize was the old man's idea.

He is dying, but he still
has his wits about him.

How long have you worked for him?

Off and on for ten years or more.

Various assignments

that require discretion
or involve some risk.

[chuckles]

Like robbing the Bank of England?

[chuckles] You may well laugh, ma'am,

but I actually had to do that once

some years back by order
of the Prime Minister.

-I was attached to MI5.
-British intelligence.

You really are a man of surprises.

Michael...

Michael, is it now? Have we come that far?

Michael, did Veronica indicate to you
that she knew about her roots?

No. Her father had
sworn Antoinette to secrecy.

But what do you suggest?

That she knew, and that she killed

her own mother to inherit
Eduoard Martine's fortune?

No, but...

We must go to the marina at once.

-Why? What is it?
-I'll explain on the way.

Have you read these letters?

Well, I skimmed over them, yes.

Several of them were mailed
from Alpine ski resorts.

Just the sort of place that Antoinette

might have met a handsome
young man like Sven.

-What?
-Now, listen to this.

"I've just met
the most delightful young man.

We've been seeing each other every night,

sharing secrets and shutting out
the rest of the world.

Don't ask his name,
because if I told you,

you really would think me crazy.

Just wish your old pal luck."

-Sorry. I don't follow.
-But don't you see?

If they were sharing secrets,
she might have told that young man,

maybe in a drunken moment,
about her daughter.

Well, possibly, but...

And if, somehow, Sven had discovered

Veronica's true identity,
that would explain how

a handsome, young, international playboy

would suddenly become
attracted romantically

to a very simple,
young, Iowa schoolteacher,

even though they'd only met
two weeks previously.

No. Antoinette would have
put a stop to it.

Not without revealing who she really was.

Oh, and there's something else.

Veronica told me that Antoinette and Sven
were always baiting each other.

And finally, Michael, her last letter.

I mean, she desperately needed
my help and advice.

But she couldn't get off the island.

I think we now know why.

By God, Jessica, I think you're right.

But she's in no danger.

Torvald's got no reason to kill her.

Perhaps something worse.

[horn honks]

[boat horn honks]

There she is.

Hi! Mrs. Canfield, hi!

How was your outing?

Oh, it was absolutely terrific.

Oh, I guess it's not
gonna be a secret much longer.

Sven and I are gonna get married
first thing tomorrow morning.

I see. Something worse, indeed.

Isn't it great?

For us both, darling.

-I'm a very lucky man.
-Mmm.

And are you by chance
planning to honeymoon in St. Moritz?

It does seem appropriate, Mr. Torvald,

considering you spent so much time there

with Antoinette Farnsworth.

What are you saying?

No, that's not true. They just--

We're saying we're sure
the Swiss authorities

will turn up a relationship
between you and Mrs. Farnsworth

that was considerably more than casual.

That being the case, boyo,
the wedding will have to wait

till after you've had a chat
with the police about a murder.

Hey!

-Sven?
[coughing]

Okay, yes. I knew Antoinette Farnsworth.

We met in Europe.
But I meet many people.

The gentleman here seems to think
your relationship was more than casual.

Well, this gentleman is wrong.

I suggest you be as candid as possible.

All right. I knew her...

well.

And she told you about her daughter.

It slipped out one night
while she was drunk

and feeling sorry for herself.

Back then she didn't even know Veronica,
where she was, who she was.

[sighs]

Then I ran into Antoinette
here again on the island.

I saw her with Veronica.

I put it together. I confronted her.

She denied it, but I knew she was lying.

And so you pursued the daughter

knowing that one day she would
be the heir to a huge fortune.

A man seizes his opportunities
where he finds them.

Madame Farnsworth could not
have liked that too much.

Look, gentlemen.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but...

I did not kill her.

Even though by her death,

Veronica became heir
to the Martine fortune?

Believe what you like.

I'm telling you the truth.

My mother?
[sniffles]

-She was really my mother?
-Yes.

[sobs]

I don't know which hurts more about this:

the fact that we had
so little time together,

or the fact that Sven was only after
this fortune I might inherit.

I loved him.

I know that he can be very charming.

I'm so sorry.

Yeah. So am I.

Mrs. Fletcher, wait. There's one thing
about these killings

I mean, I know that you all think
that Sven pretended to be a jewel thief

to hide the fact that his real motive
was to murder Antoinette,

but you know, that's not possible.

Oh?

No. The first attempt,
the one that failed,

that happened the day after I got here.

But Sven didn't show up
until two days later.

He was in California when
that first woman was robbed.

You were right.

His entry visa is stamped

three days
after the first robbery attempt.

Could have told you it wasn't him.

I know who killed these women,
Mrs. Fletcher.

-Oh, you mean Mr.--
-Ixnay.

It's our secret, remember?

Now, take this key back to your boyfriend.

Tell him not to sweat it.

The cops are chasing down the wrong alley.

Thank you, Mr. Barnes.

You'll have our complete cooperation.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher. Come in.

-If I'm interrupting, I--
-No, not at all.

This is Mr. Barnes,
from the insurance company.

-Mrs. Fletcher.
-How do you do, Mrs. Fletcher?

You're here about Alva Crane's jewels?

When 800,000 is involved,
the company does like to be sure.

About Torvald's room...

As soon as the authorities
issue the warrant,

you may proceed with your search.

Thanks. A pleasure
meeting you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Thank you.

I'm afraid you won't find
anything in Sven Torvald's room.

Oh?

Well, his passport puts him in California
at the time of the first robbery attempt.

I see.

And if it wasn't Torvald, then who?

Me, perhaps, Mrs. Fletcher?

You might as well know that

I've decided to fire Sheldon Greenberg.

Not only is he a total incompetent,

but I'm well aware of his
accusations against me.

He makes one good point, Mr. Brahm.

You were attentive to all three ladies.

Because that is my job.

Would you like a verification
of his innocence, Mrs. Fletcher?

I've had about all I can stomach
of that petty little man

and his snide insinuations.

Eric had nothing to do with those murders.

Myrna, be quiet.

So you can be crucified
on a cross of innuendo?

My God, the whispers can be
heard clear to the States.

What time was Mrs. Crane
killed this morning?

The police believe
it was just before daybreak.

At which time, this gentleman

was sharing both my bed and my affections.

Myrna, don't be a fool. Stay out of this.

If you're shocked, Mrs. Fletcher...

Oh, I'm not.

Eric is not trying to protect
my reputation.

It doesn't need it.

We've been married for nearly a year.

And the company be damned.
I don't care who knows it.

Well, my congratulations
to you both, belatedly.

Oh, I can't wait
to get away from this place.

Which may now be sooner than we'd planned.

Eric's been trying to put
something together for months,

a hotel on the Mexican Riviera.

The only thing holding it up is money.

The key to everything.

Isn't it always?

Oh, yes. Yes, it is.

-Mrs. Fletcher?
-I'm so sorry.

I must go and call inspector Rensselaer.

We are telling you the truth.

Oh, I'm quite sure you are.

And I wish you both
many years of happiness.

Mr. Greenberg?

Guess you heard, huh?

Looks like the bear got me
before I got him.

This is mine.
I paid for it with my own money.

Mr. Greenberg, the case against
Mr. Brahm isn't quite closed.

There is one question that I have to ask.

Did he by any chance

have a master key
to these safe deposit boxes?

No way. I got the only one right here.

Never leaves my sight, which reminds me.

-Just what I thought.
-Huh?

It wasn't Eric Brahm or Myrna
that killed those women.

Nor was it Sven Torvald
or Veronica Harrold.

In fact, Veronica's inheritance
wasn't even the motive.

Hmm? What was the motive?

Greed, Mr. Greenberg.
Plain, old-fashioned greed.

What the hell are you talking about?

Oh, I think you know
what I'm talking about.

Theft.

The theft of over
a million dollars in gems

by a man who spent
the past couple of years

watching others live the good life.

Being close to it, but never a part of it.

Well, if that's an accusation,

you're crazy.

Alva Crane owned nearly

a million dollars worth of jewels.

They were insured.

The company investigator

was here earlier to file a report.

I met him. So what?

Well, it means that Alva's
jewels were real, not fake.

Yeah, I already told you that.

Yes, but the jewels
I saw her wearing were paste,

so she must have kept the others
elsewhere for safekeeping.

And where else but here in your office?

Lady, when we opened the box,
there were no jewels.

Because you'd already taken them.

You killed her.

Took her safe deposit key, opened the box,

and after you removed the jewels,

you returned the key to her room.

I suppose you think
you can prove all that.

Yes, I think so.

You see, at the roulette table,

I noticed that Alva
kept her safe deposit key

in a small change purse
inside her handbag.

Yet, when her body was discovered,

the key was out of her purse,

lying on the dresser in plain sight.

Someone had used it.

And since you didn't mention that fact,

the user must have been you,
Mr. Greenberg,

because no one could have gotten
into the box without your key,

which, as you just pointed out,
you kept with you at all times.

I'll say this.

You've got one hell of an imagination.

It's more than imagination, Mr. Greenberg.

Based on Mrs. Fletcher's deductions,

the authorities have obtained
a search warrant

and went through your luggage.

Even though these beauties

have been removed from their setting,

I doubt we'll have
any difficulty identifying them

as having belonged to Alva Crane
and Antoinette Farnsworth.

I really wouldn't do that
if I were you, Mr. Greenberg.

A million bucks.

Thanks, lady.

I could have lived like a king.

Oh, gosh, Mrs. Fletcher.

-I'm so nervous.
-Don't be.

Michael tells me

that your grandfather
has mellowed like a good wine.

And even if he hasn't,
who needs $40 million anyway?

[all laughing]

I like your spirit.

I don't suppose Mr. Torvald
is going to be tagging along.

Sven?

Thank you for everything.

Now, keep in touch.
I really want to hear from you.

I promise I will.

Might I hope for the same sort of goodbye?

-You might.
[laughs]

Ah.

Well, now, what's this
I've always heard about

crusty New Englanders?

Oh, it's just a rumor
started by our forefathers

to keep out the tourists.

I see.

And if someday I should show up
on your doorstep?

An exception might be made.

Well, in that case, Jessica,

the question is no longer
whether, but when.

[cheerful orchestral music]