Original subtitles

All well, Bunter?

Good to have you home again, my lord.

- Thank you. - Mr Parker is already here.

- Morning, Peter. - Ah, hello, Charles.

I came round as soon as I got your telegram. Well?

Wow. Well, indeed. Always a pleasure visiting Paris.

This time, Charles, most useful to boot.

Given an ounce of luck it should pay handsome dividends.

- Your Manon theory still hold? - Ah, so you read the book?

Yes, I'm certain of it.

You see, like its hero, Cathcart didn't sow wild oats. He cultivated exotic blooms.

One exotic bloom, to be precise,

and he kept her under glass in a very expensive hothouse on the Avenue Foch.

- For ten years, no less. - Good Lord.

Incidentally, I met your Monsieur Fran�ois who rented the apartment to Cathcart.

An obliging, if somewhat mercenary, gentleman. Sherry?

- Yes, please. - He took me to see it.

- And her? - No, I'm afraid not.

You know, if Cathcart had been able to maintain her in the style to which he'd accustomed her,

she would still have been there to answer the door.

Unhappily he couldn't, poor devil.

So, mixing my metaphors, the bird has flown

and is now known to be nesting with a millionaire called Van Horn in New York.

New York.

My lord?

Bunter, the Mauritania is sailing from Liverpool in the morning.

Book me a suite. Then get me a sleeper on the boat train from Euston.

Very good, my lord. The wireless mentions blizzards in New York, my lord.

Doubtless you will require some warmer clothing.

Then pack my long johns, by all means, but first of all get onto the American embassy.

- I want to talk to the ambassador. - Very good, my lord.

Peter, you can't go buzzing off now.

- Why not? - Well, the trial.

It's cutting things a bit fine, I admit.

But if I come up with the goods, old Impey will just have to arrange for an adjournment.

Peter, this isn't a common court of law, you know, this is the House of Lords.

You can't get all that scarlet and ermine assembled then ask for adjournments.

- Mm, tricky, I grant you. - But it's never been done before.

But there is a first time for everything.

- My lord? - Mm-hm.

- I have the First Secretary. - Congratulations, Bunter.

Hello. That you, Ned?

Ah, Peter Wimsey here.

I know it's late but this is frightfully urgent. I must talk to your ambassador.

When you say, "beyond" your reach, what do you mean? Passed on?

(Chuckles)

Is he, by Jove? Royal command, eh? Well, that is very inconvenient of His Excellency.

Oh, not a bit. No, I'll manage somehow, Ned.

Thank you so much. Bye-bye.

- A taxi, please, Bunter. - Certainly, my lord.

- Did you get the gist of that, Charles? - The ambassador's dining with His Majesty?

So I shall just nip round to Buck House and try and nobble him there.

- What? You can't do that. - Well, I only said that I would try.

- Look here, Peter, a joke's a joke. - Don't be such an ass, Charles.

This ain't no joke! It's important. Damn important.

- A matter of life and death, Lord er... - Peter Wimsey.

- I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. - Well, you haven't, fortunately.

- It's about... - Not yet.

Well, it's about my brother, sir.

- Brother? Now look here, I haven't time... - The Duke of Denver, sir.

- D... Duke of Denver is your brother? - Yes, sir.

I have to go to New York to obtain evidence on his behalf.

I'm leaving on the Mauritania in the morning.

Time is terribly short and unless I get clearance I shall be held up at Ellis Island.

- I thought perhaps you might be able to... - If you can help young Wimsey, Mr Murray...

If not, let us dine, shall we?

Regards to your mother, Wimsey.

It'll be my very great pleasure, sir.

That's extremely kind of you, sir.

Now, tell me just how soon are you due in New York, Lord Peter?

- On Wednesday, sir. - Wednesday.

The day the trial begins.

# Fanfare

(Gavel taps)

The jurors for our lord the King upon their oaths present that the most noble and puissant prince,

Gerald Christian Wimsey, Viscount St George, Duke of Denver,

a peer of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland,

on the 13th day of November,

in the year of our Lord, one thousand, nine hundred and twenty-eight,

in the parish of Riddlesdale in the county of Yorkshire,

did kill and murder Denis Alexander Cathcart.

Call in Gerald Christian Wimsey, Viscount St George, Duke of Denver,

to appear at the bar to answer his indictment.

(Murmuring)

Wave, dear.

- What? - Reggie.

He's the only duke I know who wears ermine as though it was still on the animal.

Oh. So unfair.

- What is? - About Gerald.

But he's your husband, dear. Don't you think it's unfair?

I really see no reason why he should not be allowed to wear his robes like all the others.

Oh, poor boy. That suit. It makes him look quite naked.

You may rise.

Conduct the accused to his place within the Bar.

My Lord Duke, Your Grace will do well to give attention

while you are arraigned on your indictment.

Gerald Christian Wimsey, you have been brought before this court of peers

charged with the murder of one Denis Alexander Cathcart

on the 13th day of November last.

How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?

Not guilty.

- How will Your Grace be tried? - By God and my peers.

God send Your Grace a good deliverance.

You may be seated.

(Murmuring)

I used to think him handsome in a predatory way.

- Who? - Sir Wigmore Wrinching, of course.

But he's got so dreadfully stern.

You say, Lady Mary, that at three o'clock on the morning in question,

you got up and went downstairs.

Yes.

In consequence of what did you do so?

In consequence of an appointment that I had made to meet a friend.

- So you were not asleep? - No.

I was not asleep. I was waiting for this appointment.

And while you were waiting, did you hear anything?

No. I heard nothing at all.

Lady Mary, I have here your testimony sworn before the coroner.

Thank you.

I will read it to you. Please listen very carefully.

"At three o'clock I was wakened by a shot.

I thought it might be poachers. I went down to find out what it was."

Now, do you remember making that statement?

Yes. Only it was not true.

- Not true? - No.

In the face of that statement, do you still say that you heard nothing at three o'clock?

No. I heard nothing at all.

I went downstairs because I had this appointment.

My lords, I must ask to treat this witness as hostile.

The lady admits to perjury in another place.

I cannot say that I, personally, detect hostility in her manner.

However, your point is noted, Sir Wigmore. You may proceed.

I am grateful to the court.

Very well, then, Lady Mary.

Now, there was no shot, you had no reason to suspect the presence of poachers

and you did not go down to investigate on that account.

You went down, you say, to keep a rendezvous with a friend.

Yes.

You crossed the hall, you entered the conservatory. What, then, did you see?

I could see that the outer door leading into the garden was open

and there was a body lying outside on the ground

and my brother was kneeling over the body.

And what was your immediate reaction?

Well, it was a dreadful shock.

Did you, in any way, express this sense of shock?

Yes, I...

I said, "Oh, God, Gerry, you've killed him."

Now that, at least, accords with your original testimony.

Will you... explain your words to Their Lordships?

Yes. I thought that the body was that of the friend that I was meeting

and that my brother had come across him and tackled him

under the impression he was some kind of intruder.

- And killed him? - Well, no, I didn't know if he was dead or not.

Ah, but you did. You just said so. You said, "Oh, God. Gerald, you've killed him."

No, I saw a body and a lot of blood. That was an instantaneous reaction.

I put it to you, Lady Mary, that this so-called friend

is no more than a convenient figment of an overwrought imagination.

No, that...

What you saw was what you expected to see.

The body of your fianc� Captain Denis Cathcart slain by your brother, the Duke of Denver.

Really, my lords.

It's one thing for the prosecution to treat Lady Mary as a hostile witness.

It's another matter entirely when my learned friend seeks to imply

that she's an accessory before the fact.

Yes, I did rather receive that impression myself, Sir Wigmore.

I apologise to the court. I had no such intention.

With Your Lordship's permission, to clear one further point for the benefit of the prosecution.

Very well.

My learned friend has cast doubt on the existence of the friend

Lady Mary has told us she was going to meet.

I think it will save time and trouble all round if he knows that the gentleman concerned is in court,

can be produced and answers to the name of George Goyles.

(Murmuring)

(Ship's horn)

(Buzzer)

Yes?

Does Mademoiselle Simone Vonderaa live here?

- Have you an appointment? - No.

Oh, then I'm afraid...

My name is Wimsey, Peter Wimsey,

and I have come especially from London to see Mademoiselle Vonderaa...

..concerning the death of Captain Cathcart.

Oh, I'm sorry...

I've travelled 3,000 miles to see you, mademoiselle.

WRINCHING: George Goyles.

Now, you freely admit that at 2.45am on the 14th of November last,

you were in the grounds of Riddlesdale Lodge.

Yes.

At whose invitation?

Ah. I repeat, at whose invitation?

- My own. - In other words you were trespassing?

- I had an appointment. - With Lady Mary Wimsey.

Yes.

And the meeting place, the rendezvous was to be?

GOYLES: At the conservatory.

And when you reached the conservatory,

instead of finding Lady Mary, you found the deceased.

At which point, understandably, you panicked and fled.

Thank you for understanding.

WRINCHING: Mr Goyles, what made you panic?

- I heard someone. - And saw someone?

Yes.

Whom did you see, Mr Goyles?

A man.

And would you recognise this man if you were to see him again?

Is it possible that the man you saw that morning is present here today?

It is possible.

If you can see him, Mr Goyles, will you point to him?

It was dark. I panicked.

I don't know.

You are an extraordinary man, Lord Peter.

- I like you. - Thank you, Mademoiselle Vonderaa.

Why extraordinary?

You arrive out of nowhere. You break upon me like a storm.

In the few minutes I tell you the story of my life. Things I would speak of to no-one I know.

You were saying you lived together, you and Cathcart, for a year.

- A wonderful year. - And then?

I was 17, the war had just ended. I was in love madly.

But he was a great gambler, liked the company of men.

I'm not stupid.

I could see there were times when he did not always want to have his mistress with him.

Is that when he gave you the apartment in the Avenue Foch?

Yes.

- Would you have married him? - Then...it was all I wanted in the world.

But he did not ask me. I suffered very much.

Later it was the other way round.

He wanted to marry you?

The last two or three years, when he was no longer sure of me, then it was too late.

Oh, I was still fond of him, I suppose.

But he had left me too much alone.

And when I did see him, he had changed.

Always worries about money, about my extravagance,

about other men, en effet des histoires.

What will you drink, Lord Peter? Manhattan? Dry martini?

Whiskey and soda, if you have it.

- Mr Van Horn has everything. - Without ice.

Do you, by any chance, own a diamond and tortoiseshell comb?

I own much that is of value.

Perhaps a diamond and emerald charm in the shape of a cat?

Denis is dead.

Oh, do not be too severe with me, my friend. I was a good mistress to him.

Honest and very faithful for many years.

But a woman's beauty does not last for ever.

My looks and my body and a way of pleasing men is about all I ever had.

- Prost. - Cheerio.

What I have done now? I am provident for my old age.

One must be sensible.

(Chuckles) My dear Mademoiselle Vonderaa,

if you think that I crossed the Atlantic to pass moral judgment

on anybody as charming as you...

- Why are you here? - Because I need your help.

I have told you.

When you made the final break with Cathcart, how did it come about?

How do these things come about? There was no exact moment.

I knew Van Horn for some months. He was much older than me.

Very rich, very kind and he offered me what poor Denis could no longer give, security.

One evening I found myself writing a letter to Denis. A simple, affectionate letter.

I explained why I was going to New York with Van Horn.

- Did you post the letter? - Of course, what else?

- Where did you send it to him? - Denis was in England.

A shooting party with friends. I sent it to him there.

- Can you remember the address? - No.

- Was it Riddlesdale Lodge in Yorkshire? - Yes.

You know, I cannot say it easily but I do remember it was to that place.

- Did he answer it? - Oh, poor Denis.

What he wrote. All words and drama.

It was strange how nothing he said touched me any longer.

Mademoiselle, I implore you to try and remember what he said in that letter.

I'm so sorry. The thing was finished.

I never bother about something which cannot be helped.

I did not read it all.

This letter...means so much?

I love my brother...and I don't want him to die for something that he didn't do.

IMPEY: You told the court earlier that your investigations had revealed marks of forcing

on the window of the Duke's study at Riddlesdale.

Yes.

Inspector Craikes has expressed the opinion that though there were some significant notches

on the blade of the penknife found on the body of the deceased,

the knife itself would not have been strong enough to force the window.

Have you any views as to that, Inspector Parker?

Yes. I am bound to disagree with Inspector Craikes.

I conducted an experiment with a knife of exactly similar pattern

and I had no difficulty whatsoever in forcing the study window.

Would it, in your view, have been possible

for someone who had a knowledge of the geography of Riddlesdale Lodge

to have entered the room in this manner on the night in question

and availed himself of the Duke's revolver?

Yes.

Thank you.

Now, we have heard from a previous witness, a Mrs Marchbanks,

that towards midnight she heard someone moving around in the Duke's study.

Now, we shall seek to prove that at that time the Duke was not only absent from the house

but some considerable distance from it.

Now, Inspector Parker, following on the initial investigation conducted by Inspector Craikes,

I believe another object was found in the bushes at some distance from the body.

Yes, a piece of jewellery.

Would you describe it?

It was a lucky charm in the shape of a cat.

Diamonds in a gold setting with emerald eyes.

Well, the defence now offers this exhibit.

Now, Mademoiselle Chataigneau, you have told us how on February 6th last year

an English gentleman, whom you have identified as the late Captain Cathcart,

came into the shop in Rue de la Paix where you work...

..accompanied by a tall, fair, foreign lady.

They exchanged gifts.

He giving her a diamond and tortoiseshell comb

and she gave him the diamond and emerald charm which is now before the court.

Yes, monsieur.

- Would you recognise that lady again? - I am sure of it.

Well, then perhaps you'd be good enough to look around the court

and tell Their Lordships if you can see her now.

(Murmuring)

- She is not here, monsieur. - I am obliged, mademoiselle.

However, as Your Lordships already know,

the fianc�e of the deceased - Lady Mary Wimsey -

was in Paris at the time, staying with friends.

And for this reason I want there to be no doubt in the minds of Your Lordships

and so with permission of the learned Attorney General,

I am now going to confront this witness with Lady Mary Wimsey.

The prosecution has no objection.

(Murmuring)

Is this the lady who came into the shop with Captain Cathcart?

No. I have never seen this lady in my life.

- Are you absolutely positive? - I am.

There is the resemblance of height and colour and the hair - but there is nothing else at all.

- Not the least in the world. - Thank you, Lady Mary Wimsey.

(Murmuring)

Thank you, Mademoiselle Chataigneau.

I have no questions of this witness.

The court is very grateful to you, mademoiselle,

for the very clear way in which you've given your evidence.

Merci, monsieur.

- Still no word from Wimsey? - Nothing.

Then we shall have to ask for an adjournment.

- Any luck with the radio, Peter? - Afraid not.

A box full of static so far.

Well, that's it. We'll just have to take the risk.

WIMSEY.; What's that? - We've passed the point of no return.

So it's England here we come!

Thank heavens for that.

- What did you say? - I said thank heavens for that.

I thought you might want to turn back.

It is now nine hours since wireless contact was lost with New Era,

the plane carrying Air Pilot Lucius Grant and his companion Lord Peter Wimsey.

It is known that gale force winds have been sweeping the mid Atlantic

with severe, icy conditions and there is growing anxiety for the two men.

Ships along the route were asked to keep a...

(Wireless off)

You mustn't give in now. Mary?

Anyway, you know Peter. If anyone can pull it off, he can.

Charles, you're such a comfort.

- You've been such a dear through all this. - Nonsense. It's just that I...

Just that I don't like to see you unhappy, that's all.

BUNTER: Excuse me, my lady.

Bunter, I... Is it news about Peter?

There is a woman here with a small child.

A woman? What woman?

Forgive me...disturbing you...

It's Mrs Grimethorpe.

- How's the radio? Still dead? - As last year's mutton.

- How are we doing otherwise? - Tail wind's helping.

- Uh-huh. - But er...

- But what? - Look.

Ice.

I had to come. I couldn't keep silent. It's better my man should kill me.

I'm sure, my dear, it won't come to that.

Are you? In any case, I couldn't bear it. Gerald to hang for something he never done.

As well, I think, that Helen isn't here.

He was kind. I was desperate, miserable, that's the truth.

I'm only hoping his lady won't be hard on him when she knows it all.

Oh, don't worry about that now.

You see, she's burnt her boats pretty well by coming at all.

The question for us is, is it worth the risk?

I'm ready to take the risk.

I quite appreciate that but it's the risk to our client we have to consider first.

What risk? Surely this is going to clear Gerry?

Mrs Grimethorpe, will you swear absolutely

to the time His Grace of Denver arrived at Griders Hole?

It was a quarter past 12 by the kitchen clock. 'Tis a very good clock.

- And he left you? - About five minutes past two.

And how long would it take a man walking quickly to get back to Riddlesdale Lodge?

Oh. Well nigh an hour. 'Tis rough walking and a steep bank up and down to the beck.

I see.

Well, if we do call you as a witness, you mustn't be put out by the other counsel

because they're going to try and prove that he had time to kill Cathcart

either before he started or after he returned.

And by admitting that the Duke has something that he wants kept secret,

we are supplying the one thing that the prosecution lack -

a motive for murdering anyone who might have found him out.

Now, may I ask, has anyone any suspicion?

My husband guessed, I'm sure of it. I couldn't prove it but that very night...

- What night? - The night of the murder. He tried to lay a trap.

He came back from Stapeley in the night hoping to catch us and do murder.

He won't do murder here. I won't have it.

Bunter, fetch a taxi, and, Mary, bring the little girl.

You are coming round to stay with me.

Mrs Grimethorpe...

She's all right, really. She'll spoil you, you'll see.

I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

We don't know what, if anything, Wimsey's evidence amounts to.

And quite frankly, I fear by this time his chances of survival are very slender.

- I think we must put this evidence in. - Yes.

And we must find some kind of protection for Mrs Grimethorpe.

(Train whistle toots)

Remember, my lords, that medical evidence has clearly shown that death was not instantaneous

and the deceased could have crawled to the place where his body was found

by my noble client.

Weigh carefully this vital factor and if, after due consideration,

doubts as to the innocence of my noble client still persist,

they can, indeed, they must be dispelled.

In order to do so, however, I must crave the court's further indulgence

and request that the court be cleared of all persons...

Really...

..so that my final witness may give her evidence under the veil of complete secrecy.

My lord, my noble friend knows there is no precedent for this.

It really is most improper.

Unusual, yes. Improper, no.

I can only assure the court that the evidence that this lady will give is of so vital,

so personal a nature,

that its publication would be such as to place her very life in mortal danger.

What the devil?

Evidence? What evidence?

Would you like a cup of tea, Helen?

Whilst the court appreciates the delicate feelings that may be involved, Sir Impey,

we must not lose sight of the fact that murder itself is possessed of a certain indelicacy

which we believe can best be answered by the frank publication of the whole truth.

Just so, my lord, but with respect, there remains...

The question of the lady's safety

and in this we have the utmost confidence in the members of His Majesty's constabulary.

She will have my personal assurance of safe conduct at all times. Request dismissed.

I am obliged to Your Lordship.

In that case...

I have no alternative but...

My lords, in view of the message I have here,

I think it unlikely in the extreme

that the defence will require to call the testimony to which I have just referred.

Instead... Instead, I am happy to call Lord Peter Wimsey.

(Murmuring)

(Big Ben chimes)

And in consequence of the writing on this bit of blotting paper, I found the lady.

A Mademoiselle Simone Vonderaa, who had, in fact, left Paris with a certain Mr Van Horn

and gone to live with him in New York.

I followed her there

and asked her to let me have the letter that Cathcart wrote on the night of his death.

- And did she? Do you have the letter? - I have.

With Mademoiselle Vonderaa's signature in the corner so that it can be identified,

just in case old Wiggy tries to put one over on you.

(Some peers laugh) - Really, my lords, I must protest...

The witness will remember that this is a court of law and show proper respect.

Yes, I'm sorry. I beg your pardon. It's all been rather a rush and I'm feeling a bit fagged.

Anyway, here is the letter.

It's in French, so I suppose you'll need somebody to identify the handwriting

and then swear in an interpreter.

However, my own French is pretty good

and as I've been to quite a lot of bother getting the bally thing here,

I think it will be rather sporting of you all if you let a chap have the satisfaction

of offering his own version of the meatier bits as they affect poor old Gerald over there.

My lords, this is most improper.

The circumstances are unusual, Sir Wigmore.

I think perhaps it might be generous

if the Crown were to allow Lord Peter the satisfaction he asks.

As Your Lordship pleases.

Thank you, Sir Wigmore. Lord Peter, you may proceed.

It's jolly decent of you, one and all.

I won't read you the whole shebang. There's an awful lot of it.

Those of you that have read a book called Manon Lescaut will know the story already.

You see, like the chappie in the book,

poor Cathcart was absolutely barmy about this particular girl and had been for years.

And having met her myself, I quite understand his point of view.

She really is, you know, an absolute stunner.

(Laughter and murmuring) - I'm sorry.

Anyway, to start with, he didn't want to marry her but much later on when he did,

he'd lost most of his money and was unable to offer her the security that a girl requires.

She wrote to him, therefore, calling off the relationship.

He got that letter at Riddlesdale Lodge on the night of the 13th of November last.

This is his reply.

I'll just read you the last bit.

Your American can offer you cars, diamonds, Aladdin's cave, the moon.

I admit that love and honour look pretty small by comparison.

Ah, well, the Duke is obligingly stupid. He leaves... I'm sorry about that, Gerald.

He leaves his revolver about in his desk drawer.

Besides, he's just been in to ask what about this card sharping story.

So you see the game's up anyhow.

I don't blame you. I suppose...they'll put my suicide...

(Murmuring)

My lord, this letter's not even been proved.

My lords!

I suppose they'll put my suicide down to fear of exposure.

All the better. I don't want my love affairs in the Sunday press.

Goodbye, my dear. Oh, Simone, my darling. My darling, it's all done with now.

I am mad, mad with misery and grief.

You'll never break my heart again.

Sorry, sir, public not admitted.

- What? - There's a trial going on, didn't you know?

It must have been absolutely ghastly, Peter.

I shall go ahead, my lord, and prepare some coffee and sandwiches.

Oh, well done, Bunter. For about nine or ten, I'd imagine.

- I didn't think you were going to make it. - Well, it was pretty bumpy.

Pity he didn't shave.

Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!

Our sovereign lord the King strictly charges and commands all manner of persons

to keep silence, upon pain of imprisonment.

How do Your Lordships find the accused? Guilty or not guilty?

LORDS: Not guilty, Your Honour.

Well, I didn't know what you were playing at half the time but thank you all the same.

- Congratulations, Your Grace. Congratulations. - Gerry.

- Ah. - I'm so terribly sorry.

And I'm so glad. I'm so very glad.

- Peter. - Well faced, Gerry, old son. Well faced.

Well, I don't know what to say except thank God you're fond of travelling.

(Chuckles)

Gerald darling.

I really do think now it would be wise to forget all about shooting, don't you?

Chess is a much safer game and very absorbing, so they say.

Helen, old thing! Well, well, well. Real family outing, this, what?

It's cold outside. I... I thought you might like your coat.

- Shall we go? - Yep.

Mrs Grimethorpe!

Oh, I beg your pardon.

Mr Grimethorpe, bless my soul. What are you doing down south, sir?

Out of my way!

They let him go free and her too, the wanton bitch!

All right, Constable. Peter Wimsey. I'll look after the lady.

(Bunter and Grimethorpe struggle)

Come on, quick. Taxi!

(Gunshot)

(Police whistle)

Off you go!

Poor old Cathcart. She really was quite a girl.

For the matter of that, probably still is.

Why do I talk about her as if she died away the moment I took my eyes off her?

- How terribly self-centred you are. - I know. I always was from a child.

How horribly true.

Ah, suicide.

You know the trouble with this case?

- There were too many clues. - Indeed.

Dozens of people with secrets and elopements barging about all over the place.

Peter, I hate you.

(Chuckles) Anyway, Gerald's safely restored to Helen's bosom, poor old chap.

- Don't be so beastly. She isn't as bad as all that. - Don't worry, Polly.

The arrows of my malice never pierce that adamantine corsage.

Oh, Peter, you're impossible.

- Mr Parker, telephone for you, sir. - Thank you, Bunter.

Excuse me.

Hello. Yes. Yes, it is.

I must say you're looking jolly scrumptious, Polly.

Out to impress someone?

- Me? - Mm-hm.

- I don't know what you mean. - Good show, old thing. Keep it up.

That's fine. Thank you very much, Doctor. Most grateful. Goodbye.

Congratulations, Bunter.

Sir?

A damn fine show tackling Grimethorpe. But my present congratulations are aimed elsewhere.

- Indeed, sir? - The way he made him aim the gun.

A lovely self-inflicted wound, apparently, that's going to keep that brute flat on his back

for the next two months at least.

I say, how absolutely splendid. Well done, Bunter.

Thank you, my lord, but I hardly feel I can take the credit.

We're giving it to you, and jolly well deserved it is too.

Thank you very much, my lord. Mrs Grimethorpe is here from your mother's, my lord.

- Is she, by Jove? - Oh.

Well, in that case, perhaps we better...

No, no, no. There's no need to buzz off.

Well, she'll be much happier without us hanging about and besides, I...

You will be much happier without me hanging about. That it?

What? I don't know what you mean.

Well, that makes two of you, don't it?

Peter, Charles has offered to give me smoked salmon and grouse at The Berkeley.

What an absolutely splendid idea.

Well, we'll keep the fire made up for you in case you want to come back here later and...

Well, you know, Bunter and I will both be in bed so...

Peter.

- Good night, Charles. - Good night, Peter, and thank you.

Ah, Mrs Grimethorpe, come in. Can I get you something to drink?

Thank you, no, sir.

Please sit down. I hope they've been looking after you well.

Wonderfully well, sir. Your mother is a great lady and very, very kind.

I have good news for you.

Your husband won't be out of hospital for at least two months.

By then, if you'll agree, we will have you and your little girl safely out of harm's way.

I don't see what you can do. He'll get me in the end.

I don't think so.

- You're half Italian, aren't you? - Yes. My mother.

Well, I'm in the throes of buying a villa in Sorrento.

It's a nice place and a beautiful house.

I shall be using it from time to time and lending it to friends for holidays.

But I'd feel much happier if there was somebody down there that I knew

looking after it all the time.

If you were ready to take on the job as housekeeper at say, �150 a year,

and go and live there with your little girl, I would be very grateful.

You're very good, sir, like your mother, but it's no good. He'd still find me one day.

I don't think so. By the time he comes out of hospital or even prison,

you will have vanished without trace.

Will you do it?

Yes. I will do it.

An excellent decision.

Now, here's an advance on your wages.

I expect you'll want to do some shopping for yourself and your little girl.

Then go home and pack.

Bunter will make all arrangements about your passports. The sooner you leave, the better.

- A taxi for Mrs Grimethorpe, please, Bunter. - Certainly, my lord.

Goodbye, Mrs Grimethorpe, and good luck.

I'm sure you will find that Sorrento has a happier climate than Griders Hole.

Goodbye.

(Snorts)

# CHOPIN: Opus 28, Number Seven

What would you say, Bunter? A satisfactory conclusion?

Yes, indeed, my lord. Satisfactory in almost every respect.

- In what respect not satisfactory? - Something entirely personal to myself, my lord.

There is a saying to the effect it is better to journey than to arrive.

Yes, I feel exactly the same.

Only this time it's been a lot more exhausting than any I can remember.

Too near home, I suppose.

My sentiments precisely, my lord.

Then let's get away from home, Bunter. A change of scene, a trip to the sun.

# Jaunty tune

I've got it, Bunter. Old Tom Freeborn.

My lord?

Well, he virtually started this thing by spilling the beans about Cathcart cheating at cards.

We will take a trip down the Nile, Bunter, and we'll try and find him.

I wonder if he plays poker.