Original subtitles

Old Impey doesn't exactly mince words, does he?

I think he calculates his effects.

We've got to do a great deal better a great deal more swiftly

if old Gerry ain't to hang.

Of course he calculates his effects.

He needs a big stage, too. Drawing-room comedy ain't his style.

Well, it may not be his style, Peter, but he's right, just the same.

Well, old Parker bird,

having been cut down to size,

where do you suggest we go from here?

Well, we have three courses to follow.

One, we must try to establish the Duke's alibi from external sources.

Two, I think we should re-examine all the evidence afresh.

And three, well, by this time, with any luck,

the French police may have dug up something on Cathcart's history.

Good, lucid stuff, Charles. And as regards re-examining the evidence,

I think I know exactly where we should start.

Grider's Hole.

Grider's Hole? What, that bloodthirsty farmer that set his dogs on you?

The fellow with the stunning wife, a dark Madonna of the burning south.

- Do you mean he could be jealous of her? - He is, ferociously so.

In fact, the way he behaved when I was there, he definitely had somebody in mind.

I thought it was our Number 10.

- (Laughs) George? - Well, now we know he couldn't be.

So, who have we got left?

Well, practically any bright local lad with a bicycle

and the guts to play Don Juan when he knew Grimethorpe wouldn't be around.

I won't go along with that, Charles.

She thought I was the fella and I ain't one of your local lads.

All right, then. What about the male occupants of Riddlesdale Lodge?

Riddlesdale Lodge?

It's the only other place within miles of Grider's Hole and it was stuffed with chaps that night.

(Giggles)

I can't see old Freddie facing up to a jealous Grimethorpe.

Anyway, if he really is such a ferocious maniac, and wouldn't think twice about cutting her throat,

I don't think she'll play fast and loose with anyone.

Now, wait a moment. There's a certain sort of fella attractive to women,

supremely confident in his own powers,

who, once he'd laid eyes on her,

couldn't rest until he'd made her his mistress.

I'm sorry to say this, Polly, old thing,

but of all the runners in the stable, only one seems to fit the bill.

Dennis?

I know it's a rotten thing to say, old girl, you being engaged to him.

That's all right. As a matter of fact, it wouldn't even surprise me, frightfully.

Dennis was...

We had rather Continental ideas about marriage and that sort of thing.

I don't think he'd think it mattered very much.

Wait a moment. What about the letter he had that night?

Marchbanks said he didn't open it at the time but the writing on the envelope cheered him up.

- Supposing it came from Mrs Grimethorpe? - Arranging a rendezvous?

- Why not? - Your brother said Cathcart was in a temper.

He expected the letter to contain good news, like Mrs Grimethorpe arranging to meet him.

But when he read it in his bedroom, it was bad news.

She's got the wind up because her husband suspects.

- Well then, no rendezvous? - Oh, yes.

She also knows that he's going into Stapley to buy farm machinery.

She knows that he's staying overnight, or rather she thinks he is.

So she wants to see Cathcart again to say goodbye.

Oh, and that doesn't suit Cathcart at all.

So he flies into a rage, borrows your brother's revolver,

and takes it with the intention of killing her?

Sarcasm will get you nowhere, Charles.

He knew all about Grimethorpe from Mrs G. He was simply taking it along to be on the safe side.

All right, what happened next?

Mmm!

Light at the end of the tunnel!

Grimethorpe not only suspects, he knows.

So he's locked her up and lies in wait for Cathcart at the rendezvous.

Jumps him, struggle, Cathcart's taken by surprise...

- Peter, just a moment. - Gun goes off, kills him.

When you met Mrs Grimethorpe, she thought you were someone else?

Well, yes, she said something about "You must be mad coming here".

She obviously thought that I was Cathcart.

It won't do, Peter. She must have known that Cathcart was dead by then.

Damn!

Damn, damn, damn and blast! So she must!

Unless that surly old devil kept the news from her.

Of course. Well, that is exactly what he would do, if he'd killed Cathcart himself.

Grimethorpe says he went to Stapley that day. He says he went on Wednesday,

stayed overnight and came back Thursday.

If he can't prove he was at Stapley...

..and admits he wasn't at Grider's Hole...

- Where was he? - Oh, Charles, you gorgeous man!

Hearts of oak and yeomen of England! There ought to be more like him.

- Bunter! - My Lord?

Bunter, get down the bags! We're leaving for Riddlesdale at the crack of dawn.

- Very good, my Lord. - Ho-ho! And as we pass through York,

we'll pop in and see poor old Gerry at the same time.

(Church bells ring)

Damn you, Peter. First, Impey Biggs comes down here to bully me, now you.

Look here, Gerry, all we want...

All I want is for you to stay out of this.

Didn't Impey give you the message?

Let up, old lad. If we can only prove...

It's not your job to prove anything, nor mine. It's theirs.

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

I'm not bound to say where I was.

But why not, old lad?

Why can't you let up on this alibi of yours? It would help no end, you know.

After all, if a fellow won't say...

- Now, Peter... - I mean it, Gerry!

Why the devil can't you cut all this short, eh?

I don't mean here and now with me, but to old Impey or Murbles, even.

- Then we could all get down to it. - Keep out of this, do you hear me?

If you're so dead set on making a public spectacle of yourself...

Damn it, you're the one making a public spectacle of himself!

It never need have started if it hadn't been for you!

Do you think I enjoy seeing my brother and sister dragged through the courts,

reporters swarming all over the place?

Paragraphs and news bills with your name staring at me from every corner.

And the whole ghastly business ending in a great show in the House of Lords

with people togged up in scarlet and ermine and all the rest of the jiggery-pokery!

Oh, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to let myself go like that.

Now, if only I could make you see that...

Well, if you won't say anything, you won't.

- Anyway, we're all working like blazes. - Leave it to the police.

I know you like playing detectives. If it's games you want...

- My dear Gerry... - ..go and play them elsewhere!

I'm sorry you find me such an irritating sort of person.

I suppose it's hard for you to believe that I feel anything.

But I do,

seeing you like this.

So I'll tell you this, old lad.

In spite of what you think of me,

I am going to get to the bottom of this little mess,

even if Bunter and I both perish in the attempt.

(Key turns in lock)

(Door closes)

Do you know all the pubs in Stapley, Bunter?

There are only three, my Lord.

- I've tried each on different occasions. - Which is the best?

Well, my preference is for the Rose and Crown, my Lord.

A well-kept, very comfortable establishment.

The landlord is a Londoner.

Very talkative, but he knows his business.

And then there's the Bridge and Bottle,

a corruption, I believe, of the Bridge Embattled.

Very erudite of you, Bunter. What's it like?

It's very near the marketplace, my Lord,

and, in consequence, does a brisk trade on market day.

Excellent beer. I can't say the same for the landlord.

He's a very surly, somewhat unforthcoming individual.

Ah, the kind of inn and man, I feel, that would appeal to Mr Grimethorpe.

And the third pub?

Just a small beer house, my Lord.

(Car horn) - And?

They serve no spirits, my Lord.

It's largely patronised by farm labourers and others of the lower orders.

Well, it has a name, hasn't it?

Yes, it has.

Well, come on, Bunter, come on!

The Duke's Head, my Lord.

Thank you, Bunter.

I'd be grateful if you'd start your enquiries there. I'll try my luck at the Bridge and Bottle.

We can join forces later for lunch at the Rose and Crown.

(Door slams)

- Ah, how do you do, sir? - Morning.

- It's a lovely day. - It is indeed.

And when did you last see Piccadilly Circus, landlord?

Oh, that's more than 35 years ago now, sir.

I've always said I'll go back.

I promised I'd take the missus to show her the Holborn Empire. That hasn't happened yet.

- Lots of time, eh? - Well, I hope so, sir, yes.

Well now, what's it going to be, sir?

- Whisky and splash, please. - Right, sir.

Morning.

Excuse me, sir, haven't I seen your face somewhere before?

No, no, no, I don't think so.

Will you have one yourself, landlord?

Oh, sir, thank you very much. Oh, yes, half a bitter will do me, sir.

- How much is that? - That'll be eight pence ha'penny altogether.

- There we are. Keep the change. - Thank you. That's very kind of you, sir.

Tell me, do you know a Mr Grimethorpe, by any chance?

Oh, I know five Mr Grimethorpes, sir. Which one are you meaning?

Mr Grimethorpe...

of Grider's Hole.

Is he a friend of yours?

Oh, no, no, I wouldn't say that. But I've met him, don't you know?

Ah, I've got it!

Of course!

- I've got it! It's here. - Oh, splendid.

Lord Peter Wimsey.

Of course, I knew I knew your face.

- You're living over at Riddlesdale. - Just staying there, you know.

Of course you are.

"Lord Peter Wimsey,

the Sherlock Holmes of the West End,

who is devoting all his time and energy

to proving the innocence of his brother, the Duke of Denver."

I know you won't mind my saying how very proud I am to have you in my bar, my Lord.

- Thank you. - Your Lordship!

Oh, bung-ho! Bung-ho.

Look, old thing, seeing that Felix seems to have slipped out of the bag, so to speak,

could we talk somewhere more privately?

Yes, yes, of course, my Lord.

Jem, look after the bar, will you?

- Will you come this way, my Lord? - Thank you very much.

We shan't be disturbed. If you hold that. OK?

- There we are. Will you sit here, my Lord? - Thank you very much.

- And shall I freshen that whisky? - No, no, that's top hole, thanks.

Well, my name is Watchett, my Lord. Tim Watchett.

And if there's anything I can do to help you, I shall be only too happy.

Well, I'm much obliged, Mr Watchett. Information is what I'm after.

I don't mind saying my enquiries over the road at the Bridge and Bottle weren't a roaring success.

Oh, no! Old Greg Hardcastle? No, I bet they weren't.

Oh, he's a proper case and a half, that one. Never mind, sir.

You go ahead and ask what questions you like.

About Mr Grimethorpe of Grider's Hole...

Aye, he comes here but not often.

He were in last market day with Zedekiah Bone.

But on the day you mean...

Oh, come to think of it, Mr Bunter,

you could do worse than have a word with Ned Rowbottom.

And who is this Mr Rowbottom?

He runs a carrier service, lives in Windon Street.

Do you remember if he came into Stapley on the 13th? That's the Wednesday before last.

Yes, yes, I recollect, my Lord.

I recollect thinking it was funny him coming in that day cos it wasn't a market day.

He said he'd come to see some machinery, seed drills or something.

Do you remember what time he came in?

No. Excuse me, my Lord. I'll find out.

Bet!

- How do you do? - Bet...

Will you tell His Lordship here

whether you remember Mr Grimethorpe lunching here

on Wednesday November 13th last?

- Grimethorpe of Grider's Hole? - That's the one.

Aye, he took his lunch here and he come back to sleep.

- You're sure about that? - Aye, I'm not mistook.

I waited on him and took his water up to him in t'morning. And he only gave me tuppence.

Monstrous. But you're certain it was Wednesday night that he slept here?

Aye, that's for sure.

I remember they were talking about t'murder in t'bar next morning when Grimethorpe came in.

That sounds conclusive.

And what did Mr Grimethorpe have to say about that?

'Tis strange you should ask. Everyone noticed how queer he acted.

He went all white like a sheet.

And then he looked at both his hands, one after t'other.

And then he pushes his hair off his forehead, dazed like.

We reckoned he'd not got over t'drink from night before.

- Does he drink a lot? - He's more often drunk than not.

- Though folk do say... - What?

'Tweren't always so.

He were gentler once, they say.

But jealousy - all in his mind, they say - has turned him so.

I wouldn't be his wife now for �500.

Do you remember what time he went to bed on that night?

Close on two in t'morning.

Two in the morning?

Aye, he were locked out. And Jem had to come down and let him in.

Drunk as a lord, he were, and all plastered with mud.

- You ask Jem. - I will.

Well, I'm uncommonly grateful to you, Miss Elizabeth.

And I shall be even more grateful if you would regard our conversation as confidential

and keep it to yourself.

Sir, I can stay mum for those as please me.

Splendid, splendid, splendid.

Well, I'm expecting Bunter, my man, to be joining me here for lunch, Mr Watchett.

- Do you think we could eat in here? - Yes, no trouble at all. How soon?

- 45 minutes? - Yes, that's all right.

I'd like to have a word with Jem and then I have one other call to make.

Do you know who sold the seed drills to Mr Grimethorpe?

There's only one place in Stapley that sells agricultural machinery - Gooch's.

- Ask for Tom Gooch. - I am no end obliged to you, Mr Watchett.

A pleasure, my Lord. I'll send Jem in.

Some more treacle tart?

- Er, no, thank you, Elizabeth. - No, thank you.

However, our compliments to Mrs Watchett for a capital lunch.

- Well, hardly a wasted morning, Bunter. - No, my Lord.

In fact, I think we've really done remarkably well.

Grimethorpe's movements on the 13th and 14th October.

Arrives Rose and Crown, 12.30pm, Wednesday.

Has lunch at one.

Three o'clock - calls on Gooch and orders two new seed drills.

4.30 - has drink with Gooch to clinch the bargain.

5.00 - calls on Ned Rowbottom, the carrier,

about delivering cattle cake and...dog food.

Rowbottom absent, and still is.

But not for much longer, I hope.

Mrs Rowbottom expected him home at one o'clock for lunch, my Lord.

- But she said that she'd tell him to join us here. - Splendid.

At six o'clock, he has a drink with...

- ..ZB? - Zedekiah Bone, my Lord.

Of course. At the Bridge and Bottle.

6.45 - calls on Mrs Rowbottom.

Ned Rowbottom still not at home.

At seven, he is seen by Constable Z15

drinking with several men at the Bridge and Bottle.

He's heard to use threatening language in respect of some...

- ..person unknown. - Thank you, my Lord.

7.25 - leaves Bridge and Bottle.

And now comes the yawning gap, Bunter.

At 1.45am on the following morning,

Jem, the potman, admits Grimethorpe to the Rose and Crown.

That's 7.20 on the Wednesday evening

to 1.45am the following morning.

Six hours, Bunter.

Then, at 9am,

he is woken by Elizabeth Dobbin, bringing him a can of hot water.

10am - in bar of the Rose and Crown.

And he behaves suspiciously on hearing a man has been murdered at Riddlesdale.

10.15 - he cashes a cheque for �129.17 and ha'pence at Lloyds Bank.

And at 11.05, he leaves the Rose and Crown for Grider's Hole.

How far is Riddlesdale, Bunter?

About 13 and three-quarter miles.

7.20 to 1.45.

And the shot was heard at ten minutes to midnight.

Well, he hardly had time to make the journey there and back on foot even if he did go.

So how the devil...?

- You wanted to see me, sir? - Hm?

Rowbottom, sir. Ned Rowbottom.

Ah, Mr Rowbottom!

Tim told me to come on through, you know, him being busy in t'bar.

Yes, yes, splendid, do, do, do. There we are now.

Sit down. Yes, deuce good of you. Yes, most welcome.

Would you care for some cheese?

Oh, thank you, no, sir. I've just had a bite of lunch.

To be honest, I've got a cartload of deliveries waiting outside.

So you'll want to be getting on. Of course. Yes, well, my name is Wimsey, by the way.

- And this here... - Mr Bunter, according to my missus.

Right.

- She said you wanted a word with me. - Right again.

- About what, sir? - The events on the night of November 13th.

- Now, that was the... - Night of the murder.

- Correct, correct. - Oh, I remember it very well, sir.

Yeah, that were the night I were late getting back home.

- Oh, really? - I was reckoning to be home about 11.

But the horse cast a shoe, you know, between King's Fenton and Riddlesdale.

Well, it were too late to go and get a blacksmith that time of night.

So I had to walk the horse all the way back to Stapley.

- What damn rotten luck. - Aye. "Not 13 for nothing, you know,"

my missus says to me when I got home.

Indeed not.

No, it were a bad night all round, sir. It was a bad night.

The only good thing about it were, you know,

getting to the Lord and Glory before closing time to have a pint with t'landlord.

- Is that in Riddlesdale? - Riddlesdale, that's it.

A-ha. Yes, so there is some justice. And after that?

Well, I walks home, don't I?

Until I get about a mile on the road to Stapley and I see him.

Who?

Grimethorpe.

Right sorry mess he were in, an' all, and anything but sober.

Well, I couldn't leave him like that, you know.

No, I couldn't, could I?

So, "Hop on," I says

and I gives him a lift straight back here.

- What, here? - Aye, Rose and Crown, aye.

What time was this, Mr Rowbottom?

Oh, I don't know.

Jem'll tell you. Yeah, cos he opened t'door for us.

Half past one, quarter to two.

I didn't stay.

I went on home, and right glad to see it an' all, I were.

By Jove, not half, eh?

Mr Grimethorpe, did he say what he was doing out on the road, why he was in such a mess?

He said nowt, he didn't, no.

All he did was curse t'bicycle

- for tipping him off. - Bicycle?

Oh, aye, that were a right wreck, aye.

- Handlebars all bent, wheels all buckled. - Whose bicycle? His own?

I don't know whose it was, but there it were in t'ditch, sir.

And there it stayed.

By Jove.

That's why I wanted to go home, too, and get to bed.

Well, bless you, Mr Rowbottom. I know you're a busy man. I won't keep you a moment longer.

I'm uncommonly grateful for your help.

Oh, I don't know about help, sir. But if there's nothing else...

No, you shuffle along, by all means.

And once again, Mr Rowbottom, most grateful, most grateful.

- Oh, there's just one thing, sir. - What's that?

Well, er...

- I suppose it's not important. - Mr Rowbottom, er...

I simply must hear.

Oh.

Well, there's a old lad called Groot.

And he lives in a hut on Whemmeling Fell.

I were round there last week, letting off a parcel, you see.

And he said summat to me about a gentleman knocking him up in t'middle of t'night.

Said he was lost, wanted to know t'road to Riddlesdale.

He thinks it were t'night of t'murder, an' all.

Time? Ha! Time means nowt, lad, up here.

And you can't remember for certain whether it was the night of the 13th?

Not for sure, but, aye, it were about then.

Do you remember what sort of clothes he was wearing?

Soft hat, top coat.

- Aye, he wore leggings. - Leggings?

- Not riding a bicycle, by any chance? - Bicycle?

Obviously not.

How did he speak, this chappie?

- He were a southerner. - Southerner?

Like thee, lad.

What happened then?

Well, the clouds were thickening, like they do this time of year.

I pointed out way down to t'track to Riddlesdale.

He gave a shilling in my hand.

The last thing I saw of him, he was walking off into t'mist.

Would you recognise him again if you saw him?

Nay, it were a dark, rough night.

His collar were up, his hat were down. Nay, I wouldn't swear to it if he passed here now.

But if Mr Grimethorpe passed?

- Grimethorpe? - You'd recognise him?

Aye, I'd recognise Grimethorpe, I would.

But would you say?

Thank you, Mr Groot. You've been most helpful.

Good day to you.

Half a crown!

Southerner, eh?

Not a bit helpful, really.

In fact, he's only added to the puzzle.

Perhaps we should be returning to Riddlesdale, my Lord?

The more I think about it, Bunter...

..the more abso-bally-lutely positive I am

that the answer to this whole ghastly mess...

..lies over there.

In Grider's Hole, my Lord?

Yes, Bunter. Come on.

(Dog barks)

- Bunter! - Here, my Lord.

Oh, thank God, I thought I'd lost you.

I'm afraid we haven't been too clever, have we?

My fault, my Lord. Mr Hardraw warned me of these fogs suddenly descending in the fells.

Did he say how long they lasted?

No regular habits, I believe.

Sometimes it moves, other times it stays for days in the one place.

We're not staying for days in the one place.

It's too damn parky, for a start.

When you feel my stick, Bunter,

grab it and move in, all right?

- Yes, my Lord. - Here it is, coming round now.

- Yes, I have it! - Good. In you come.

Splendid, old thing. Now, let's have your belt.

Don't worry, it's not the blind leading the blind.

I took a bearing on the farm before this thing swallowed us up.

(Sheep bleating)

Splendid. Righty-ho.

Forward, men!

(Gurgle of stream)

Can't be far now.

(Horse whinnies and squeals)

A horse, my Lord.

Poor brute.

Come on, Bunter.

(Horse whinnies)

No! No, don't!

For God's sake, my Lord! The bog!

Keep away! Don't move! It's got me!

I stepped right into it.

Better not come near or it'll get you, too.

Look, we'll yell for a bit.

Can't be far from Grider's Hole.

If Your Lordship will do the yelling, I think I can get to you.

Ahoy!

Help!

Ahoy!

I wish you'd keep away, Bunter.

Where's the sense of us both going down?

Keep shouting, my Lord.

- Help! - I'm coming.

I'm up to my thighs already.

(Mud slurps) - Help!

Help!

Keep on shouting, my Lord!

Help!

- I won't be long! - Help!

Shout again, my Lord!

Here!

I'm sorry I'm taking so long, my Lord.

I daren't come any faster.

Over here!

Help!

Better get out while there's still chance.

I'm up to my chest now!

Oh, what a rotten way to peg out.

You won't peg out.

Now keep still!

Stretch out your hand

in the direction of my voice.

Help!

Keep still, my Lord.

Thank God.

Hang on.

You'll have to keep shouting, my Lord.

Help!

Bunter, old thing,

I'm beastly sorry to have let you in for all this.

Don't mention it, my Lord.

Let me...let me release my left hand.

Help!

Hello! Where are you?

Over here!

Follow the direction of our voices!

Ahoy!

- 'Ey up, is this your stick? - That's it, that's it.

There's a string. Follow the string.

But hurry, for God's sake!

Aye, all right. Hang on.

Jess, bring up the hurdles.

How many of you?

Two!

- Are you deep in? - One nearly up to his neck!

Have you got a rope?

Oh, aye.

Right, Jess, lad, keep close.

We're coming!

Here, lad, take that.

It won't be long now.

Right, hold it, lad, hold it.

Right - one, two, three! Heave!

Right, again!

All right. He's coming!

He's coming!

(Breathes deeply)

Beastly place.

Oh, aye. There's not many as falls into Peter's Pot and lives to tell the tale.

Peter's Pot? (Laughs)

Nearly potted Peter.

(Gasps)

(Birdsong)

MAN: Mary!

Let the horse out!

Oooh!

Oooh...

Morning, my Lord.

- Hello, Bunter. - I trust Your Lordship is rested?

Oh! A bit sore, you know.

Otherwise all right.

Thank you. Thank you, Bunter.

The room, my Lord, is theirs - the Grimethorpes.

- Great Scott! - He was very much opposed to us having it.

- I can imagine. - But she - Mrs Grimethorpe, that is -

showing great courage and kindness, insisted on it.

Then the man Jake pointed out that it might be to Mr Grimethorpe's advantage

to treat him and us with consideration.

Argh!

Then he gave in, but with very ill grace, my Lord.

She was standing over there when I woke up, Bunter.

A positive vision.

- Vanished like a vision, too. - A very comely woman, my Lord.

Well, how are you, Bunter, anyway?

My arms are a trifle fatigued, my Lord.

I'm surprised they weren't pulled out of their sockets.

This business of you saving my life, Bunter, has become a bit of a habit, what?

It's the third time since Passchendaele.

Well, I won't embarrass you with words, old lad. You know how I feel.

- Thank you very much, my Lord. - Thank you.

Well, I hoped they looked after you last night.

I wasn't exactly sitting up and taking notice myself.

I slept extremely well, my Lord.

What, on that?

In the circumstances, I felt it would be better to remain with Your Lordship.

It was not a question of your health.

I was a bit uneasy about Mr Grimethorpe's intentions.

- He was not too sober last night. - Have you seen him this morning?

No, my Lord, but he won't be far away. You can depend on that.

It strikes me that frightful fellow has only got to spot an unfamiliar pair of trousers

and he unleashes the wolfhounds.

How about my clothes?

Mrs Grimethorpe washed your shirt and undergarments, my Lord.

And I brushed and dried your suit, to the best of my ability.

It is not as I would wish it to be, but I think Your Lordship will be able to wear it to Riddlesdale.

Oh, well done, Bunter.

I fear there's very little chance of a hot bath, my Lord.

But I shall try and procure some hot water and a razor.

Stout fellow!

(Breathes deeply)

Ooh...

(Chopping outside)

Morning!

It appears I'm no end in your debt.

No, don't let me disturb you.

I'll just get some bags on and I'll come down.

Bunter!

Bunter, I am without doubt the biggest ass in creation!

- My Lord? - When something is right under my nose,

I get a telescope and look for the answer in Stapley.

Well, I honestly deserve to be dangled upside-down as a cure for anaemia of the brain.

- Indeed, my Lord? - Indeed. My Lord!

My Lord. Gerry! Gerry!

Oh, you rotten ass, Gerry, you silly old bugger! Why couldn't you have told Murbles or me?

Look at that, Bunter, look at it. There, stuck in the window frame for anyone to find.

My brother, my kind, stupid, stubborn brother!

And his English gentleman's ideas of honour.

Good gracious me! It's His Grace's letter from Egypt.

- It's from that Mr...Freeborn. - Just like Gerry.

Signs his name to the business in letters a foot high,

then goes off and is chivalrously silent in order to safeguard a woman's reputation.

I know nothing about your brother.

- I'm sorry, but that's not true. - I know nothing. If you know what's best, leave.

- My husband doesn't like strangers. - Mrs Grimethorpe...

Mrs Grimethorpe, you know that my brother is in prison awaiting trial for murder.

- If my husband sees us together... - A murder which took place on 13th November.

I've already told you, it has nothing to do with me.

He has, in the most determined manner,

refused to say where he was between the hours of 11 and three on that night.

If he goes on refusing, he will be in grave danger of losing his life.

I'm afraid I can't help you. You're wasting time.

Mrs Grimethorpe!

Mrs Grim...

Mrs Grimethorpe, I know my own brother.

He feels in honour bound not to disclose his whereabouts.

If the Duke will not speak, you should respect his reasons.

If he chose to speak, Mrs Grimethorpe, he could bring a witness.

Will you please go?

Very well. You leave me no alternative.

I shall have to produce the proof that I have and let matters take their course.

- What do you mean, proof? - I can prove that, on the night of the 13th,

- my brother slept in the room I was in last night. - It's a lie!

- It's the truth! - I shall deny it.

- He will deny it. - Are you saying he didn't sleep there?

Yes.

Then how did this letter become wedged in the bedroom window?

Oh, God help me! God help me!

All right, all right.

All right, now don't worry. Tell me the truth, all of it.

Then we can see about getting you out of this.

Now, he was here on that night, wasn't he?

- What time did he come? (Door opens)

- Morning. - Morning!

- Have you recovered, then? - Fit as a fiddle, thanks.

Come to think of it, why a fiddle?

I have got to know. When did he come?

- At quarter past twelve. - And who let him in?

- I did. - What time did he leave?

A little after two.

Yes, that fits in. Three-quarters of an hour to get here and the same to get back.

He stuck that in the window to stop it rattling?

I was so frightened, I thought every sound was my husband coming.

- But he was staying in Stapley. - He said he was going to, but I didn't trust him.

I knew he'd suspected something for some time.

Oh, he didn't have real proof.

But if he ever got it... Don't you understand?

(Chickens cluck excitedly)

He'd kill me. He'd throw me into Peter's Pot and there wouldn't be anyone to pull me out.

Mrs Grimethorpe, I am deeply sorry for you.

If I can get my brother out of this without bringing you into it, I promise I will.

If you call me to give evidence, he'll know.

And he will kill me.

If I'm obliged to use your evidence,

I will ensure that you have police protection.

For the rest of my life?

Once we get to town, we'll set about freeing you from him.

- If you call me, I'm done for. (Door opens)

Ah, morning, Mr Grimethorpe.

Just thanking your wife for all you've done. Extraordinarily kind.

I'm afraid we will have to be getting along now. Enormously grateful.

Incidentally, I understand that you lost a horse in that frightful bog last night?

What business has thee coming here on my property?

Oh, none, none, absolutely none. Got lost in the fog and dropped in the bog.

Sounds rather silly, put like that, doesn't it?

Anyway, my dear chap, I don't want anybody to suffer on my behalf.

So here's one, two, three rather bedraggled tenners.

Still a bit damp, I'm afraid.

But I'm sure they won't worry about that at the bank. With my most grateful thanks.

- Now get off my land. - Certainly.

And thank you once again for your most kind hospitality.

And don't show thy face around here again!

I think you can depend upon that, Mr Grimethorpe.

Nasty, damp thing to keep outside the front door, what?

Of course, I realise it's very disagreeable, having to give Mrs Grimethorpe away.

- Disagreeable? - But this has to be done.

- But Charles... - Peter, you have no alternative.

As from now, your brother is headed straight towards the gallows.

- Who knows? Perhaps with this... - But is that enough?

You know as well as I do, old lad, without a disinterested witness,

an alibi is the hardest form of defence to establish.

- Yes, but we have the letter. - But who is to say I didn't put it there myself?

You know, and then pretend to find it.

- But Bunter saw you find it, didn't he? - Oh, no, he didn't.

At that moment, he was out of the room fetching shaving water.

- Oh, was he? - Moreover...

only Mrs Grimethorpe

knows the really important point.

The time that Gerry arrived and departed.

In that case, we'll have to keep her up our sleeves for a while

and concentrate on finding the real criminal.

- By the way... - While I remember... What?

- No, no, after you. - Well, while I was in Riddlesdale,

I discovered something.

The study window had been forced.

- What, the Duke's study? - That's right. There were distinct marks on it.

I know it was a long time since the murder,

but there were scratches all over the catch,

the sort that a penknife might make.

Damn, I shouldn't have missed that.

Well, at the time, there was absolutely no reason to look for anything.

Anyway, I had a word with Fleming.

As far as he could remember, the following morning, the window was open.

- What were you going to say? - Hmm?

Oh, just that I haven't been exactly idle myself since you've been gone.

What's that?

Telegram. The S�ret� have traced one of Cathcart's notes.

- Where to? - A Monsieur Fran�ois

who owns some property and lets it out in apartments.

Apartments!

Manon Lescaut!

Well, boil my brains!

Here we have been worried about Gerry and Mary

and hunting after Grimethorpes and Goygoyles...

Goygoil...what's the fella's name at the Soviet Club?

And all the time...

Oh, really! Manon! Manon, Charles!

If I had the sense of a louse, that little book would have told me everything.

I have never read Manon Lescaut and I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.

I don't suppose you have. Come over here, old lad. Now, you have a look at this.

This is the blotting pad out of Gerry's study in Riddlesdale.

You study that carefully and let me know what you find.

Well...

Now...

A couple of ink blots. And the Duke's signed his name underneath two or three times.

All right, there's no mischief there.

There's some sprawling message about "five something of find".

Yeah, well, the five may have some Cabbalistic meaning. I admit I don't know what it is.

Hang on, there's a little fragment here.

O-E on one line

and "Is F-O-U..." below?

"Is found," I suppose?

Found?

Well, or "his foul" something or other. I say!

Do you think the Duke was talking about Cathcart's foul play?

- No, no, that ain't Gerry's writing. - Well, whose is it?

Well, I can but guess. Look, try the line above.

Well, it's just O-E.

- What do you make of that? - I don't know.

Poem, poet, manoeuvre... Could be anything.

Ah, manoeuvre's getting warmer. There's not lashings of English words with O-E in them.

- They're written close together like a diphthong. - Perhaps it isn't an English word.

- Exactly. - French?

- Oh, you're inspired, Charles. - Let's see. Soeur, oeuf, boeuf...

- You were warmer the first time. - What, with soeur? Coeur...

Coeur! Now, hold on a moment, just a second. Have a look at the bit that follows it.

No, no, the bit that goes before.

Er... E-R...

..C-E-R.

"Ercer." Ercer?

Ercer? "Air-cer."

C-E-R. "Air-say." How about "percer"?

Yes, you could be right.

Probably "Perceras le coeur".

Now your "Is found" bit.

Well, it's...

"Is F-O-U..."

- Is fou. - Who?

- No, I didn't say "who," I said "fou". - Yes, I said "who".

- Who? - Yes, who? Who is "fou"?

Wait a minute. Not "is".

Something "..is".

A-ha!

S-U-l-S.

Suis! "Je suis...

Je suis fou."

And I will bet that the next two words are "de douleur".

- Hang on, you've lost me. - "Je suis fou de douleur." I am mad...

I am crazy with grief.

- If you're right? - It tells us everything. Everything, Charles!

That was written the day Cathcart died.

A passionate love letter in French.

Who in that cold Yorkshire house would have been writing phrases like "pierce the heart"?

Not Gerry. I've told you, it ain't his fist.

Marchbanks? Not Pygmalion likely.

Freddy? He couldn't write a passionate love letter in English, let alone French.

- You're trying to prove it's Cathcart? - Well, it ain't Mary!

Not unless she changed her sex. A girl would have to write, "Je suis folle."

- Then I suppose... - It's Cathcart, Charles! Cathcart, Cathcart!

Bunter! Cathcart, the romantic Francophile.

He spent nearly all his life in France. His attitudes were French.

- But, Peter... - My Lord?

- What time's the next train, Bunter? - Where to, my Lord?

- Paris, you ass. - 9.22, Victoria.

- Pack my toothbrush and call me a cab. - Very good.

9.22. Just got time to catch it.

What light does this throw on Cathcart's murder?

No time now, old lad. Manon. Read it for yourself- Manon Lescaut.

Manon Lescaut.