All language subtitles for Clouds of Witness (1972) - S01E03

And that is all, Monsieur Inspecteur.

- How many names have you there?
- 9, 10, 11, 12...13.

Et bien, there are still three cats in stock.

And we know the original number was 20.

- So that means four were sold for cash, yes?
- Exactly.

Er...

One on 31st January,

one on 6th February,

one on 17th May,
and the last one on 9th August.

Thank you, Monsieur Briquet.
You've been very helpful.

I appreciate your cooperation.

- If I can help monsieur any further?
- Yes, there is one other thing, actually.

I wonder if, by any chance,
you recognise that man.

No, not one of our regular customers.

Er...Mlle Chataigneau,
pouvez-vous venir un instant, s'il vous pla�t?

I have a good memory for faces,
it is important in this business.

And this gentleman has not everybody's face.

Ah, Mlle Chataigneau.

- Ma collaboratrice, M. l'inspecteur Parker.
- Monsieur.

Have you ever seen this gentleman before?

Mais oui, Monsieur Briquet. Bien s�r, je l'ai vu.

It is the English gentleman.

The one who bought the diamond cat
for the beautiful blonde lady.

Blonde lady?

Very pretty. Svelte and very well-dressed.

A big hat, I remember, and a dark blue costume.

Quoi encore, heu...voyons,
yes, she was a foreigner.

- English?
- Oh, I do not know.

She spoke French very, very well,
but she had a little accent.

And the cat, you say,
was bought for her by that man?

Oui, monsieur.

Enfin, no.

- No?
- No, I am wrong.

The gentleman did not buy the cat for the lady.

He bought her a diamond
and tortoiseshell comb to wear in her hair.

It was the lady
who bought the cat for the gentleman.

She said she must give him something
pour lui porter bonheur.

- To bring him luck.
- Exactement, monsieur.

She asked me for a mascot
that was good for cards.

I showed her some jewels
more suitable for a gentleman,

but she saw this cat and fell in love with it.

She said she was sure it would bring him
good hands, and he was never to play without it.

Have you any idea how long ago this was?

Ah, mon dieu. �a c'est plus difficile.

Several months ago. But when?

Oh, but there is no problem. We know the month
when the four cats were sold for cash.

We look for the day when a cat and a diamond
and tortoiseshell comb were sold together.

Er...janvier, un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq... Non.

Ah, voil�! Le six f�vrier.

Peignes en �caille et diamant:
sept mille cinq cents francs.

7,500 francs.

Chats en diamant: cinq mille francs.

5,000 francs.

The 6th February.

- Oh, monsieur is not happy?
- Hm?

No, no, I'm very grateful, monsieur.
You've been very kind.

It's just that of all the months of the year,

I'd have preferred it to have been
any one except February.

(piano music plays above)

(Plays lively fugue)

BUNTER: They came up this morning, sir.
They're not quite straight.

- Will you take a drink, sir?
- Whisky and soda, please.

Yes, sir.

You look pale, old Parker-bird.

I feel pale.

The Channel was rough, and the train
was an hour late getting in to Victoria.

You have my sympathy.

What about the photograph of Mary I sent you?

Well, it hadn't arrived by midday today,
so I decided it could wait and I couldn't.

Anyway, I'm convinced it wasn't Lady Mary.

Spoken as a man of heart, Charles...

..but not...as a policeman.

What do you mean?

Because, my dear fellow,
Mary has been lying her pretty little head off.

- She's lied, Charles. Again, again, and again!
(Plays final cadence)

You'll be telling me next
that she murdered Cathcart.

No, all I'm saying is that she has lied.

She knows who did it, Charles.
She's malingering.

Malingering? Come off it, Peter!

That poor girl had a horrible shock!

Yes, no doubt she did.

But not bad enough to make her run
a continual temperature and be sick all the time.

Well, how do you know?

Because she has been using
her hot-water bottle to stimulate her thermometer

and drinking ipecacuanha by the bottleful
to make herself vomit.

- For heaven's sake!
- It is useless to protest, Charles.

Mother caught her at it red-handed.

So you see, malingering is the exact word
in the context.

Mary has been malingering, old lad. She is lying
and shielding the fellow, whoever he is.

Look, Peter, if you seriously think
that Lady Mary had anything...

Not only me, Charles. Lubbock.

- Lubbock?
- The blood stains on Mary's skirt.

He says they're human blood.

And I'm afraid they're Cathcart's.

- My Lord.
- Mm-hm?

- A telegram.
- Thank you, Bunter.

Aha! Now we're getting down to it!

- My jacket, please, Bunter.
- Yes, my lord.

From old Craikes up in Yorkshire.

"Suspect traced London.
Seen Marylebone Friday"?

Our Number Ten, Charles.

Be a good fellow, would you?
Stay here in case anything else crops up.

And if I'm not back in time, Bunter,
serve Mr Parker dinner.

- Very good, my lord.
- And a bottle of the Haut Brion, I think.

- You'll find it rather decent, Charles.
- Where are you going?

Further information, it says, Scotland Yard.

Toodle-oo.

(Big Ben chimes)

So that's how it stands, Peter.

The man was undoubtedly seen at Marylebone
on Friday morning.

- But you lost him.
- For the moment.

But we'll clearly have our hands on him
before long.

- We're not wasting any time.
(Intercom buzzes)

Hello? Who is it?

My what?

Oh.

Oh, um...all right, Miss Gibbs. Tell her to come in.

(Chuckles) My daughter.

Clean forgot all about it.

I said I'd take the wretched child out to dinner.
Well, I can't.

- Hello, Daddy.
- Hello, Cynthia.

Darling, I'm frightfully sorry, but... Oh.

I don't think you know Lord Peter Wimsey.

Don't be absurd, darling! We're simply
bosom friends! But it's been ages and ages.

- Lovely to see you, Peter.
- You too, Cynthia.

- How's Mary?
- Not as fit as she might be.

Worrying, you know, about this murder business
we've got on our hands.

Oh, poor pet! So would I be.

It must be dreadful for you all.

Daddy, my sweet, I've got a confession to make.

- Oh?
- I can't make our date tonight.

- Are you dreadfully furious?
- Naturally.

What could be more important
than dining at your father's expense?

They've called a meeting at the Soviet Club
and I've got to be there.

Mr Coke, the Labour leader, you know,

is going to make a speech about converting
the army and the navy to communism.

We expect to be raided. Isn't it too thrilling?

Do you hear that, Peter?
As though my job here weren't hard enough,

I have the embarrassment of having a socialist
daughter who actively supports the Bolsheviks.

Know what you mean. Damned disconcerting.

You bloated capitalists!
You're all tarred with the same brush.

That's enough of anarchy.
The point is, you're standing me up for dinner.

Oh, yes, I know, Daddy, I'm sorry.

I'd ask you along,
but in the first place, you'd hate it,

and in the second,
I don't suppose they'd let you in.

I don't suppose they would.

- What are you doing, Peter?
- Um...

Well, I think I'll toddle home, get an early night.

No, Peter, I've a simply marvellous idea.

Why don't you come and have dinner at the club
with me?

- Charming idea, but I couldn't possibly presume.
- Absolutely rubbish, darling. You'll hate it.

- But you'll be fascinated by the company.
- I'm sure I shall find it most elevating.

I don't think that quite describes it, but you'll see.

Besides,
I have masses of things to ask you about Mary.

It was a tragedy, wasn't it,
that she had to give up being a member?

Mary?

A member of the Soviet Club?

Don't pretend you didn't know, darling.

She was marvellous, completely dedicated.

Gave herself to the cause, body and soul.

Bye, Daddy.

His Lordship hasn't returned yet, my lady.

Mr Parker is waiting for him.

- Will Your Ladyship take anything?
- No. No, thank you.

Good evening, Mr Parker.

- Where's Peter?
- He went out about six o'clock, Lady Mary.

I don't know what's delaying him.
I expected him back long before this.

- Well, where did he go?
- Er... To Scotland Yard.

Oh. I knew it.

Oh, Mr Parker, what am I going to do?

I...I must see him. It's a matter of life and death.
Could you send for him?

But I don't know where he is.
He can't still be at Scotland Yard.

- Look, Lady Mary, er...is there...
- Look, he's... he's all wrong!

Look, I must see him and explain to him.

I... Oh.

Could anybody ever get themselves...

..into such dreadful trouble?

Oh...oh, dear.

- (Sobs)
- Come along, Lady Mary, sit down.

Come on.

I'm going to get you a glass of brandy. Take this.

You're going to make yourself ill
if you cry like that.

Allow me, sir.

(Sobs)

(Sniffs)

How dare you, Bunter! Go away at once!

I think Your Ladyship
should take a drop of brandy.

This is the 1800 Napoleon brandy, my lady.

Please don't snort so.

And if I may make a suggestion,

His Lordship would be greatly distressed
if any of this was wasted.

Did Your Ladyship dine on the way up?

Most unwise, my lady, to undertake
such a long journey on a vacant interior.

I shall prepare you an asparagus omelette.

- Are you feeling better, Lady Mary?
- Yes.

I'm very sorry, Mr Parker,
that I was so foolish just now.

It's a horrible journey up from Riddlesdale
if you aren't feeling up to it.

Yes, of course.

Um... I suppose you and Peter
do everything together.

Well, I think it's fair to say that there's nothing
either of us knows about this investigation

that the other one doesn't know.

How far have you got in your investigations?
What have you discovered so far?

Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you that.

You see, a lot of it's only suspicion.

I mean, I might do, accidentally,
great mischief to the wrong person.

You mean you definitely suspect somebody?

Well, indefinitely would be a better word,

but if you have anything to say, Lady Mary,
I beg you to say it.

Because we may be suspecting
a totally innocent person.

Oh, I shouldn't be a bit surprised.

Well, I don't know. What do you want to know?

You er..

..you were in Paris last February?

- Yes.
- Yes.

Do you remember going with Captain Cathcart?

- Oh, by the way, you do speak French?
- Yes, fluently.

Do you remember going with Captain Cathcart
on the 6th February

to Cartier's on the Rue de la Paix

and buying, or his buying for you,

a tortoiseshell comb set with diamonds
and a diamond and gold cat with emerald eyes?

That's the cat they've been making enquiries
about in Riddlesdale and Stapeley.

- It was found in the shrubbery, wasn't it?
- Had you lost it, or was it Cathcart's?

Look, if I say that it's his...

I would be prepared to believe you. Is it his?

Actually, I don't know.

But you were with him when he bought it?

- No, I didn't say that.
- You were not in Paris?

- I was in Paris.
- This was bought in Paris in February.

- Well, it wasn't bought for me.
- You mean he bought it for himself?

- I...
- Was it his?

- Was it his?
- Yes!

(Sighs)

Why, Lady Mary, did you not tell us that before?

Because I was afraid.

And now?

All right, well, now I am going to tell you the truth.

Well, we'll be glad of that.

I think there were one or two points
at the inquest where you didn't tell the truth.

The er...the shot, for instance,
you say you heard at 3am.

- There wasn't one, was there?
- No.

- Did you hear any shot at all?
- Yes.

At about ten to twelve.

And you didn't go down to investigate
till three hours later?

Why should I?
I thought it was probably poachers.

All right. You went downstairs
and went out at 3am.

What for?

- To meet Cathcart?
- Yes.

Not the other man?

- What other man?
- The other man!

That was standing in the shrubbery.
A tall fellow in a Burberry coat.

- There was no other man.
- I beg your pardon, Lady Mary,

we found his footprints
from the shrubbery to the conservatory.

It must have been some old tramp.
I don't know anything about him.

But we have proof that he was there,
of what he did and how he escaped!

Now, for heaven's sake...!

For your brother's sake,

you have got to tell us the truth.

Now, the man in the Burberry
was the man who shot Cathcart.

Oh, no! That's quite impossible.

- Why is it impossible?
- Because...

Well, because I shot Dennis myself!

(Plays gentle music)

Did you ever know a serious emotion
to express itself in a subordinate clause?

Oh, I agree. Joyce has freed us
from the superstition of syntax.

Scenes which make emotional history
should ideally be expressed in a series of...

animal squeaks.

The D H Lawrence technique.

- Or even Dada.
- Oh, yes.

- We need a new notation.
- We need it now, Jocelyn.

- Yes.
- Now! Now! Now!

I mean, really, Peter!

With the Labour leader arriving at any moment,
what a time to choose!

Your beads are in your soup.

Oh, are they? Oh, thanks awfully, Peter.
They're wooden and the colour runs.

I do hope it isn't arsenic or something.

- What you were saying in...
- Do you notice that couple next to us?

Now you come to mention it, yes.

He is Jocelyn Peake.

The liberated verse man.

What are you going to have now?
Goulash or boiled mutton?

Oh, the mutton's off.

And she is Erica Heath-Warburton.

No, no, darling, not her. Her.

- Oh!
- Two goulash, Jenny, darling,

and half a carafe of red biddy.

Need something to wash it down.
The food is ghastly, isn't it?

I can only speak for the soup.

Mind you, what can you expect
with a subscription so low?

- Now, do tell me all about Mary.
- What?

We do miss her so terribly.

Her enthusiasm!
And she spoke so well at meetings.

She had such a real sympathy with the workers.

It seems astonishing, seeing Mary's
never had to do a stroke of work in her life.

But she did work. She worked wonderfully.

She was secretary to our Propaganda Society
for almost six months.

It's because she did so well
that Mr Goyles took her on.

- Who's Mr Goyles?
- Oh, he's one of our leading speakers.

He's quite young, but immensely gifted.

The government is terrified of him.

But do you mean to say that Mary never told you
about working for him?

The name rings some sort of bell.

I've been abroad a lot, you know.
I haven't been much in touch with Mary.

That must be it, cos at one time
they were so very friendly.

We were sure Mary was going to marry him.
Then it all sort of fell through and she left town.

Ah, I've got it now, yes. There was
quite a family row about that at the time.

Yes, my mother and my brother didn't really
relish the idea of having Mr Goyles as an in-law.

The absurd tyranny of parents. You wouldn't
think it was still possible, would you?

Hardly tyranny. In fact,
my mother's pretty tolerant, in her own way.

No, I rather fancy it was Gerry
who put his foot down.

- Well, what business was it of his?
- Well, nothing, really.

But owing to my late father's circumscribed ideas
as what's owing to women,

Gerry has the handling of Mary's money
until she marries with his consent.

But that's simply feudal!

I mean, after all, what's money?

Oh, nothing, of course.

But if you've been brought up to having it,
it's a bit awkward to drop it suddenly.

- Like baths, you know.
(Laughter)

Oh, I say, there he is!

- Who?
- Goyles.

I knew he'd be here this evening,
with Mr Coke making his speech.

Isn't it funny? Just as we were talking about him!

Put it on the slate, Stefan,
I'll give it to you when I get paid.

Hello, Freda!

A personable looking fellow. I'd like to meet him.

Of course! I'll introduce you. Hang on.

I say, George! Excuse me.

Hello, darling!

I've got a fearfully good chum
who's simply dying to meet you.

- Who is it?
- Lord Peter Wimsey. Do come and see him.

- George!
(Woman yelps)

How extraordinary! As soon as I mentioned your
name, he said he had another appointment.

Peter, where are you going?

Awfully sorry, otherwise engaged.

VENDOR: Bootlaces, shoelaces. Brown or black.

Watch it, guv!

PARKER: "I think he was quite out of his mind.
Said he'd shoot me and himself.

He pulled out a revolver, I caught his hand,
we struggled.

I got the muzzle right up against his chest

and either I pulled the trigger
or it went of by itself, I'm not clear which.

I was all in such a whirl.

He wasn't quite dead.

I helped him up, we struggled back
nearly to the house, he fell once..."

Why didn't you leave him
and go up to the house and fetch help?

Er... It didn't occur to me.

I mean, the whole thing was such a nightmare,
I could only think of getting him along.

Besides, I think I... I think I wanted him to die.

Go on.

Well, he did die.

He died at the door of the conservatory.

I went into the conservatory
and I sat down and tried to think.

I sat there for hours and hours, and...

I hated him, you see,
for being a cheat and a scoundrel!

Well, I'd been taken in, don't you see?

I'd been made a fool of!

I was glad he was dead.

I...must have sat there for hours
without a coherent thought, and then...

Well, it wasn't till my brother came along that
I realised I could be suspected of murdering him,

and then I was simply terrified.

And I made up my mind all in a minute
that I'd just pretend I knew nothing,

- and I'd heard a shot and come down...
(Telephone rings)

Why, Lady Mary, did you say to you brother,
"Oh, God, Gerry, you've killed him"?

No, I never ever said that. What I said was,

"Oh, God, Gerry, he's killed, then."
I never meant to suggest anything but suicide.

And yet you admitted to those words
at the inquest.

Yes, I know. I...

Well, by then, you see,
I'd decided on the burglary story and I...

Lady Mary, I've just had a call
from Charing Cross Hospital.

Lord Peter has been shot.

And you, Peter, if you will haunt low places
full of Russians and unkempt socialists

taking themselves seriously,

you ought to know better
than to encourage them by running after them.

I am perfectly all right, Mother.

A mere flesh wound. No bones broken,
and everything in working order.

Really, the way those medicos dramatise things,
they ought to be appearing at the Lyceum.

And you, Mary, if you must run off to London,
why do it in that unfinished manner?

So that I was left without the car,
and couldn't catch anything

until the midnight train at Northallerton.

It's so much better
doing things neatly and properly,

even stupid things.

And as for Mr Goyles,

I could have told Peter all about it myself,
if he doesn't know already, as he probably does.

Well, no, actually. Lord Peter and I
haven't had time to discuss anything yet.

Lest it should ruin my shattered nerves
and bring fever to my aching brow.

Now, don't try to be frivolous, dear.
Save your strength.

All right, to be serious,
how did you two get on last night?

- Polly, did you tell him you'd done the murder?
- Yes.

Perfectly hopeless trying to do anything.

It's perfectly true.

Your precious case is finished, Peter.

You must allow your brother to be the best judge
of his own affairs, my dear.

As a matter of fact, I rather fancy Polly's right.

If this is anything to go by, Mr Goyles has...

I tell you, George Goyles was never within
a hundred miles of Riddlesdale!

- Oh, for heaven's sake, Mary!
- I killed Dennis!

Don't be such an ass!

Odd, as things have turned out,

because I was going to suggest to you, Peter,
that this Mr Goyles...

Oh, such a terrible name, Mary, dear.

I can't say I ever cared for it,
even if there was nothing else against him,

especially as he would sign himself Geo Goyles.

G-E-O, do you know, Mr Parker, for George.

I never could help reading it as "Gargoyles."

Yes, I did very nearly write to you, dear,

because there was something, when
I came to think of it, about that ipecacuanha

that made me feel
he might have something to do with it.

- You always did find him a bit sickening, Mother.
- How can you?

- What?
- At a time like this!

Well, confound it, he is sickening!

- If you can't be a gentleman...
- Oh, damn it all!

Here is a man who, without
the slightest provocation, takes a pot shot at me,

then vamooses,
leaving me bleeding like a stuffed pig.

And when, in what seems to me to be
jolly mild parliamentary language,

I call him a sickening fellow,
my own sister says I ain't a gentleman!

Well, really! And in my own place, too!

Silly boy! Don't get so excited.
And Mary, would you ring the bell?

Pete...

Ah, Bunter, it's time for my son's medicine.

Oh, he forestalls one's smallest wish.

There are moments when I find you
quite deflating.

Thank you, Bunter.

Let's have another pot
of your incomparable coffee.

- Yes, my lord.
- Peter.

I give you my word that he wasn't at Riddlesdale.

- I'm sorry, old thing.
- But it's true, I tell you!

- George Goyles...
- Was there!

You know he was there,
and you think he's guilty.

- No!
- Mary! Have you thought what you're doing?

Why should you perjure yourself
and put Gerald in peril of his life

in order to shield a man
who you suspect of murdering your fianc�

and who has most certainly tried to murder me?

Never mind about him!

Do you really think you're doing the right thing,
Polly?

Do you?

All right...

..I'll tell the truth.

Good egg.

Damn you, Impey!
I think you've just come down here to bully me.

- My dear Denver...
- Well, I'm not having it!

It ain't my job to prove anything.

They've got to show I was there,
murdering the fellow.

Look, I must ask you again.

I am not bound to say where I was.

I'm presumed innocent, aren't I?
Innocent till proved guilty.

What about George Goyles?

- What?
- George Goyles.

- Why should you...
- Look, Denver, if I'm to defend you...

If you want to know about George Goyles,
you ask Mary.

According to Murbles, she was in love with him,

wanted to marry him.

- When she told you...
- I said I'd stop her allowance.

As the head of the family, I had the right.

And quite right, too. Damned socialist.

It didn't come to that, fortunately. He lost his job.

Job! Do you know what it was?

Ministry of Information.

A less informed Bolshie I've yet to meet!

And then?

Then? Oh, he got some grant or other

to go and study socialism and labour problems
in Germany.

Well, that was that.

Or so I thought.

Until Cathcart appeared on the scene.

Where my sister gets her taste in men...

But this time you agreed.
You agreed to the marriage.

Well, he looked like a gentleman,
had some sort of breeding.

Is that all?

Oh, she found him charming.
To begin with, anyway.

The fact is, they had not one single idea
in common. Not one.

She told you that?

- Then why did she agree to marry him?
- Rebound.

Oh, yes, she really loved Goyles.

I don't know.

- So the marriage of Cathcart was...
- A convenience - mutual.

They planned to live in Paris,

each go their own ways.

- To spite you, do you think?
- Spite me?

Why, I never gave it a thought.

But now that you've mentioned it, yes.

Yes, it could have been.

I just couldn't go through with it.

Oh, I can't explain, Peter, but honestly,

Dennis could be quite frightening,
in a special kind of way.

He's so extraordinarily reserved.

I... I mean, I know I said I wanted to be left alone,
but this is quite uncanny.

He was... Do you know, he was so correct.

Even when he went off the deep end
and got passionate,

which didn't happen all that often,

he was so correct, almost fastidious about it.

Just like one of those French novels.
You know, frightfully hot stuff, but...

absolutely impersonal.

I say, am I making your head ache frightfully?

Frightfully. But I like it. Drive on, Polly.

Well, I suddenly heard from George again.

He came back from Germany and he got a job
on the Thunderclap, that socialist weekly,

at three pounds a week.

He said that if I'd chuck up everything and join
him, he'd get me a secretarial job on the paper,

and we'd be making about four pounds ten
a week, which would be heaps to live on.

Oh, heaps. Go on.

Well, I was getting more and more terrified
of Dennis, so I told George I would.

I knew there was going to be
the most frightful row with Gerry.

I have to admit, I was a little bit ashamed.

I mean, the engagement had been announced,

and I knew there'd be a lot of ghastly talk
and people trying to persuade me.

And I even had a sneaky feeling
that Dennis might do something beastly,

make life horrid for Gerry.

So, George and I decided the best thing to do
would be to just run away.

Get married first,
and worry about trouble afterwards.

So the romantic Goyles planned to
whisk you away from Riddlesdale in his sidecar.

Why Riddlesdale?
It would have been twice as quick from London.

We didn't want to wait. George had a meeting
up north and we were going to drive all night

and get married by special licence
in the morning.

So, at 3am you came downstairs
to see George Goyles.

Outside the conservatory, that's right.

Only when I got there...

What you saw was a body.

Yes. And Gerry bending over it.

PARKER: And you thought it was Goyles' body?

Yes.

I thought Gerry had killed him.

Until he turned him over
and I could see it was Dennis.

Was there any sign of Goyles at all?

No.

Only, I could hear somebody moving
a long way off in the shrubbery,

twigs snapping.

Well, I knew it had to be George.

Goyles?

You think Goyles killed him?

Is that what Mary thinks?

- She may have done at the time.
- But not now, eh?

- According to Murbles...
- She thinks I killed Cathcart.

He had already told you that same evening
that he intended casting your sister aside.

- Outraged pride, eh? Is that what she thinks?
- It's not unreasonable, after all.

The family good name must be kept at all costs.

Only one way. I killed Cathcart.

Did you, Denver?

Give my love to Helen and my mother
when you see them.

- Denver, I must ask you again.
- Damn you, Impey!

- And for the last time!
- I did not kill Cathcart!

Then how did you revolver come to be found
in the shrubbery?

- You were out at three o'clock in the morning.
- I've admitted that.

- Abroad on the moors at 3am.
- Yes.

- Doing what?
- Whatever you choose!

How can I make you understand?

It's what the jury chooses to think.
They're the ones you have to convince, not me.

- Your brother seems to think...
- He's to keep out of this!

It's hideous enough
without him playing Sherlock Holmes.

He's only trying to help.

Making a public spectacle of himself, of all of us?

Now you tell him from me...

I'm sorry, Denver, but one member of your family
at a time is as much as I can cope with!

Especially when he's so perversely stubborn
as you are!

Now, for the last time!

I have nothing to say.

And you can stand there
till you go blue in the face.

You'll get no more out of me!

Well, he didn't say a thing.

Gerry?

He was so stunned, I think, with finding the body.

- There was I, stuck in the doorway...
WIMSEY: All togged up, carrying a suitcase.

Which he didn't notice,
cos I shoved it behind the plants.

- And dumped it later in the chest on the landing.
- What?

I found silver sand there.

- Silver sand?
- Out of the conservatory.

From the bottom of my case.

- So what did you do?
- I didn't know what to do. I had so little time.

My idea was that no-one should suspect
George had been there,

- so I needed a reason for being there.
- You knew if there'd been a shot

the Arbuthnotts and Marchbanks
would almost certainly have heard it.

Yes.

So I pretended that I'd heard it too,

and come down to...well, to look for burglars.

A bit lame.

Well, it was the best I could think of
on the spur of the moment.

- A telegram, my lord.
- Thank you, Bunter.

And then?

Well, then Gerry seemed to come to.

He... He told me to go upstairs
and raise the alarm.

So you dumped the case upstairs, changed your
clothes and woke the rest of the household.

And by the time the inquest came along,

you'd stuck yourself with a story
which simply did not fit the facts.

Hence the ipecacuanha.

But I got in such a frightful tangle!

I take it we may now disregard
the whole of last night's elaborate confession?

Yes, Charles, I think we may.

By the way, did Goyles know Cathcart at all?

I don't think so. Why?

Charles and I had a little theory, that's all.

Bunter!

Blackmail. Followed by suicide.

Oh, look, you can accuse George of
a whole lot of things, but he is not a blackmailer!

Nor very imaginative, either.

(Chuckles) I mean to say,

taking the night ferry to Boulogne?

Even Scotland Yard could hardly muff that one.

TARRANT: This is a purely friendly,
private interview, Mr Goyles.

As you see,
no representative of the police is present.

We simply ask for your help.

Er... I should, however, warn you

that whereas it is fully competent for you
to refuse to answer any of our questions,

a refusal might leave you open
to the gravest imputations.

- In fact, it's a threat.
- Dear me, no, Mr Goyles!

But if I don't tell you, you'll have me arrested
on suspicion of murder.

We should merely place what information
we hold in the hands of the police...

- It's a threat. Call it what you like.
- ..who would then act as they saw fit.

God bless my soul!

Anything like a... a threat
would be highly irregular.

In the matter of the assault
you made upon Lord Peter,

His Lordship will, of course,
use his own discretion.

- I don't know how you could, George.
- I suppose you gave me away.

My sister has been extraordinarily loyal to you,
Mr Goyles.

- You told him all about it, anyhow.
- But we'd much rather hear it from you.

Now, we know you were present at Riddlesdale
Lodge the night Captain Cathcart was shot.

All right, so I was at Riddlesdale.

What time were you there?

You will no doubt be called as a witness.

You would greatly assist justice
by making a statement to us now.

Assist justice, would I?

Well, let's see. You arrived,

you parked your motorcycle in the lane,

you climbed over the wall,
and walked into the shrubbery.

Between 2.00 and 2.30.

I see.

Where were you at 11.50?

11.50?

WIMSEY: You don't remember?

But you do remember getting to Riddlesdale
between 2.00 and 2.30. That's something.

So, you entered the shrubbery.
Did you notice anybody?

You saw nobody,

alive or dead?

WIMSEY: Well, did you notice anything?

Blood? Footprints?

I suppose that's what you'd be looking for in the
small hours of the morning when meeting a girl.

Touch�.

So, you advanced to the conservatory door.

Yes.

And?

Never mind her, Mr Goyles.

When I got to the door, I fell over something.

A body.

I got the wind up.
I thought it was Mary ill, or fainted.

But it was Cathcart. Mm-hm.

Dead?

Are you sure he was dead?

Well, his eyes were fixed and staring,

his mouth was open,
there was blood on his chin.

I didn't bother to take his pulse.

And?

- Then I thought I heard someone coming.
- Who? Who was it?

How do I know?

- You didn't wait to see?
- Wait?

You cleared out?

- You expect me to wait at a time like...
- You cleared out...

leaving the girl you planned to marry

to discover a hideous corpse
and possibly face its killer alone?

She wasn't there!

Even if she had been, Mr Goyles,
and needed help,

her gallant wooer, far from being on hand
to give her assistance,

would already have been well on his way!

- You can sneer.
- Sneer?

It didn't happen to you!

- Look here.
- You weren't there!

- You've no right to pass judgement on me now!
- Your conduct gives us a perfect right...

- Perfect right to nothing!
- ..by accepted standards of behaviour!

Bourgeois conventions.

Ah, now come the clich�s.

I fancy that on top of everything else,
you are now going to prove a bore, Mr Goyles.

- No, that isn't fair.
- You keep out of it!

I've been trying to protect you for a whole week!
You didn't let me know where you were!

It's because of you I'm in this mess! Shut up!

- My Goyles!
- Oh, Peter!

I shouldn't waste any more time on him.
I'm certainly not going to.

Oh, so blood is thicker than water, after all, is it?

It's very funny, George.

I didn't mind thinking that you were a murderer.

I just can't bear thinking of you
as a sanctimonious ass!

God, it's plain to see
why you people breed class hatred.

Ah, Officer.
Would you kindly see this gentleman out?

Would you follow me, please, sir?

Mr Goyles, we make no charge against you.

But you must not attempt to abscond
before the Riddlesdale case comes up for trial.

Oh, and if you want to know where I was
at 11.50, I was on the road from Sunderland.

- Sunderland?
- I'd been giving a lecture.

The meeting didn't finish till half-past 11.

There are plenty of witnesses,
if you don't believe me.

And if His Lordship thinks
that a man on a motorbike and sidecar

can get from Sunderland to Riddlesdale
in less than an hour and a half,

then get out of your flash car and go and try it!

George!

That's your ring.

When you next make a public speech

calling for decisive action...

..I might even come and applaud it, because you
do speak so very well about that sort of thing.

But I can't think of any other circumstances
under which we're really likely to meet again.

Neither can I.

Oh, I don't blame you, Mary.

You're a victim of your own class decadence.

You were bound to betray me in the end.

Come on, pretty Polly.

Mr Murbles and old Parker-bird
are joining us for sherry.

So is Impey Biggs.

It... It's awfully sweet of you, Peter...

- ..but I really don't think I could manage that.
- Yes, of course you can, old thing.

Old Impey's some celebrity, you know.

And perfectly topping, in a marble sort of way.

- He'll tell you all about his canaries.
- (Laughs tearfully)

I really must congratulate you, Lord Peter,

and you too, Inspector Parker,

on a great deal of industry and ingenuity
in working the matter out.

I think we can say we've made some progress,
even if it's a bit on the negative side.

Negative? Exactly!

By heaven, negative indeed!

Have you the faintest idea how seriously
your activities have succeeded

in damaging the case for the defence?

Well, that's a nice thing to say!
We've cleared up such a lot of points for you.

I daresay. Points better left muffled up!
Light where there was better darkness.

But damn it, we only want to get at the truth!

Do you? Well, I don't!

I don't care tuppence for the truth.

I want a case.

It doesn't matter to me who killed Cathcart,
provided that I can prove that it wasn't Denver.

It's really enough if I can find reasonable doubt
that it was Denver.

Here's a client who comes to me
with a story of a quarrel, a mysterious revolver,

a refusal to produce evidence of his statements,

and a total inadequate and idiotic alibi?

I arranged to obfuscate the jury
with mysterious footprints,

a discrepancy as to time,

a young woman with a secret,

and a general vague suggestion of something
between a burglary and crime passionel.

And here you come! Explaining the footprints,
exculpating the unknown man,

abolishing the discrepancies,
clearing up the motives of the young woman.

And throwing back suspicion
to where it rested in the first place.

I always said the professional advocate was
the most amoral person on the face of the earth.

I'm certain of it now.

I saw your brother in York prison this morning.

He urged me to take steps
to curtail your activities on his behalf.

- Gerry did?
- Yes.

On the grounds that you were making
a public spectacle of yourself.

That's Gerry all over. What did you say?

I declined, naturally.

I was quite unaware at the time, however,

of the lethal extent to which your enquiries
had succeeded.

- If you're telling me to opt out now...
- It's too late for that.

All I am saying is this.

That you've got to do a great deal better,
and a great deal more swiftly,

if the Duke of Denver is not to hang.