All language subtitles for Five Red Herrings (1975) - S01E01

(Seagulls cry in distance)

(Man coughs)

Membership terminated.

Ha!

Strachan.

(Scrunches up letter)

(Crashing and banging)

(He sighs)

(Revs engine)

(Gears grind)

(Thud and clattering)

What the Dickens
do you think you're up to, Campbell?

What does it look as though I'm up to?

Don't ask damn fool questions, man!

That's my car you've busted!

Argh! To hell with it!

Lunatics like you oughtn't to be on the road!

You can say that in there. Try saying it out here!

What do you think you're up to now?
Who do you think you look like?

Jack the giant killer! You're a proper fool, man!

But you'll pay for any dents in my car.

Aye, and any scratches on the paintwork.

I'll see you in hell first!

Now see here, Campbell...
Come back here, man!

I have not finished with you,
by any manner of means!

Campbell! Campbell, see here!

(Growls)

Digging your own grave, Campbell?

- It'll not be mine I'll be digging.
- You know the committee's decision.

The committee can go to the devil!

You can't make decisions in my absence.

- You were invited to attend.
- And it didn't suit me to do so!

That's your lookout.
You're banned from this course.

Fore!

Fore!

- Fore!
- Oh!

(Train whistle toots)

Kirkcudbright, here we come.

You know, Bunter,

I can almost smell the bracken.

Hey, hey, hey, what's the idea?

- We're approaching another tunnel, my lord.
- Ah, are we, by Jove?

(Train whistle)

Oh, I say, nice timing!

A combination of soot, smoke and steam

is, in my opinion, one of the disadvantages
of travelling by locomotive.

Now you come to mention it, Bunter,
I'm inclined to agree.

One sets out spotless and arrives besmirched.

- Precisely, my lord.
- I wonder what the answer is?

- Perhaps I should buy an aeroplane.
- My lord?

Well, only of those little Gypsy Moth things,
don't you know?

A journey like this would take no time at all.

Can Your Lordship pilot an aeroplane?

I don't know. I've never tried.
But I can always learn.

You don't seem very enthusiastic.

It's not that I doubt Your Lordship's aptitude.

I simply feel that, though an aeroplane
might be all right in an emergency,

it has not yet reached a stage in its evolution
where it might be considered...

completely reliable.

Oh, you're probably right, Bunter.
It was only a passing thought.

Ah, daylight.

I say! Just look at that view.

BUNTER: Yes. Yes, most agreeable.

We shall be arriving in exactly five minutes,
my lord. So if you'll excuse me?

What on earth is that, Bunter?

A paint box, my lord.

Great Scott! Do you mean to say there is yet
another light hidden under that bushel of yours?

I have a humble talent, my lord.

Well, well, well, well, well. I never knew...

No, no, neither did I, my lord, until you sent me
on that sniping course to Bisley in '16.

Well, I sent you on that to learn to snipe, old lad.

You never said anything
about secret art classes on the side.

No, no, indeed, my lord.

But part of our instruction required us
to make panoramic sketches

to be used as points for the artillery.

My efforts were greatly approved.

And you have been a secret artist ever since?

Well, not constantly, my lord.

I did a great deal after the war.

I developed quite a technique in watercolours.

Yes, my sunsets have been very highly praised.

Of course, since entering
Your Lordship's employment...

My demanding nature
has stifled your creative urge.

Say no more, Bunter, say no more.

No, my lord, it's never been more than a hobby.

When you mentioned
that we were going on holiday

to a place where people painted and fished

and usually combined both,

to put it plainly,
I thought there would be no objection.

None, my dear fellow, absolutely none.

In fact, not only is Galloway a haven for artists -

a sort of St Ives of the North, as you might say -

it also boasts the finest sunsets on Earth.

No, you paint away to your heart's content,
old lad.

Far from the madding crowd. And it is
so peaceful, my dear chap. You have no idea.

(Toilet flushes)
- I gave you warning!

- You gave me no time to get clear.
- I meant no harm!

Meant no harm? You might have killed him!

- I didn't succeed!
- Can't get rid of me that easily.

Oh, no?

It was you, Strachan, that drove me to fury.

That's your trouble.
You've this ungovernable temper. It's not normal.

- Me? Not normal?
- You're a dangerous man to be at large.

- If I were Graham, the matter wouldn't end here.
- That's for certain.

You can take that tone, if you choose.
There's still time to lay charges.

Gowan and I can bear witness
to what occurred...

- Don't bother. It'll give the club a bad name.
- Oh, dear.

- Let him go.
- Very well, then. But heed me well, Campbell.

After this performance,
if you so much as show your face

or set a foot on those links, it'll be a matter
for the police and damn the publicity!

Where's your pulpit,
you mealy-mouthed hypocrite?

God, you sound as wishy-washy
as one of your stinking paintings!

The same goes for you two as well!

Call yourself painters?

- You couldn't whitewash a bloody wall.
- That's enough! Watch your dirty tongue!

Oh, aye.

You're safe here among your friends.
But I'm warning you...

Warning or threatening, Campbell?

Take it any way you please!

Just hope for your sake
our paths don't cross on neutral territory.

There are some awful lonely places round here.

- That is a threat, a very definite threat.
- The same goes for you, you hairy wee monster!

(Rumble of passing cars)

(Footsteps)

(Thud of man's footsteps)

(Men laughing)

(Silence falls)

Good day, Mr Murdoch.

Is your wife not in?

There's no answer from the side door.

She's away to her sister's for the day,
Mrs Smith-Lemesurier.

It's the jumble sale, you see.
We're both on the committee.

And how are you, Mr Graham?

Fine, thank you.

- Farren, old boy...
- Oh, Mr Farren!

- I thought you had guests?
- Guests?

Well, I've just seen Mr Campbell's car
parked outside your gate.

Well, that does it!

By God, that does it!

Have I said something wrong?

- I say, look here!
- Well, strike me pink!

I don't believe it!

- Mr Bunter!
- Here, of all places! My dear fellow!

What a pleasure to see you.

They can't stand me.

I'm an outcast,
a wanderer on the face of the Earth.

Gilda, if you only knew...

It's the loneliness.

Poor Sandy. You're like a little boy.

You think you can take on the whole world.

That's what sets them against you.

I can't help myself. It's my nature.

If there'd been somebody like you
in my life, Gilda...

- Ah, you're a wonderful woman.
- Not wonderful.

Understanding, perhaps.

Wonderfully understanding.

You're so good, so pure.

Does Farren know his good fortune?

Hugh and I are very happy together.

You sustain me.

If I hadn't you to come to...

But I'm here.

I am here!

And so am I.

- Now, Hugh...
- Quiet, woman!

You, Campbell,

stand up, man!

Good God!

You disgusting, maudlin brute!

Get out of my house!

Do you hear me? Get out!

(Door slams)

Yes, I must say Mr Gowan keeps
the finest cold sideboard in the district.

- And his cellar's not far behind.
- And only you and Mrs Alcock to look after him?

No, no, no. There's Hammond, the chauffeur,
Betty, the housemaid. Oh, here she is.

Oh, Mr Alcock, there's no salmon
and there's no trout.

Oh, trust a Scottish fishmonger
to make a scarcity out of an abundance, eh?

Never mind, my dear girl,
I'm sure we shall manage.

We were just talking about you, Betty.
This is Mr Bunter,

gentleman's gentleman to Lord Peter Wimsey.

It's a real pleasure, Mr Bunter.

I'm very privileged, Betty.

Yes, well, run along, there's a good girl.
Tell Mrs Alcock I'm coming.

- Yes, sir. Goodbye, Mr Bunter.
- (Laughs politely)

- A bonnie wee lassie.
- She does her best.

Yes, I think I can honestly say
we're a happy household, modest but happy.

And considering this is the back of beyond,

you'd be surprised, my dear chap.

We run a very pleasant servants' hall.

- It's small but very pleasant.
- Indeed?

- You must drop in for a glass of port.
- I should be delighted.

- Why not tonight?
- Well, if His Lordship doesn't require me...

Leave it at that, then. Come if you can.

I shall look forward to it.

� bient�t.

Goodbye, my dear fellow.

Come on, my man. Let's go.

(Tyres screech)

- I say, now look here...
- (Door squeaks open)

Wully, give us a whisky, for God's sake!

A large one, man.
Not one of your English measures.

Get a move on. I'm gonna get drunk tonight.

Bloody drunk! For a change.

All right, Mr Campbell, keep your voice down.
There's no need for shouting.

And kindly remember there is a lady present.

..and dozens of houseboys.

Why, Mr Campbell, I haven't seen you for ages.
Good evening to you.

Dir Mr Farren find you just now?
I think he was looking for you.

Yes, well, I must be going. I've got to...

So must I. What will people be saying -
a lady in a public house?

You've no idea how difficult my position is,
Mr Campbell.

Well, a widow in such a strait-laced
little community can't be careful enough.

But it isn't easy,

especially when one has been used to
all the social life one gets in the colonies.

Now, I do have your promise,
don't I, Mr Graham?

Dinner with me in my little house this week.

Now, I know you bachelors
never look after yourselves properly.

I'm sure you must be half-starved.

I'm terribly busy all this week.
It's very kind of you...

I can't believe it's possible that you're busy
every evening. And you did promise.

- Now, Mr Murdoch will bear me out on that.
- Eh?

Oh, yes. Mr Graham definitely did promise you,
ma'am. There's no doubt about that.

There you are.
Shall we make it tomorrow, Tuesday, 7:30?

Now, you do know where I am?
It's that wee bungalow down by the harbour

called Bangalore.

Now I really must fly.

Goodbye, Mr Campbell.

Au revoir, Mr Graham.

Mr Murdoch, would you let me out the side door?

I think it'll be safer.

Au revoir again, Jock.

(Chuckles)

"Au revoir, Jock."

You poor, starving wee bachelor.

I hope that golf ball didn't do you
any permanent damage.

You might not be asked back
for second helpings.

I think it's disgusting, taking advantage
of a middle-aged woman like that.

A fella of your education ought to know better.

Chuck it, Campbell, you great oaf! It's not funny.

It is not funny! Definite.

You know, there's a name for the likes of you.
Gigolo, that's what they call it. Gigolo!

Will you shut your filthy mouth!
Otherwise I'll damn well shut it for you!

Just remember what I said, Campbell. Chuck it.

Well, bye-bye, Wully. I must dash.

I'm off to do a spot of fishing
in a certain pool I know of.

You stay away from that part of the stream.
That's mine!

(Door slams)

Ah, to hell with him. To hell with the lot of 'em!

(Clattering)

(Bubbling)

That was a superb leg of lamb, Bunter.

- A gigot, my lord.
- What was that?

Oh, yes, of course,
we're over the border now, aren't we?

Likewise this plate. It's an ashet.

By Jove, you pick up the lingo
uncommonly quickly, old lad.

In my opinion, both words are corruptions,
my lord,

dating back to French influence
at the time of Mary, Queen of Scots.

Un gigot, une assiette.

Really?

Yes, well, now you come to mention it...

My dear Bunter,
you are a positive mine of erudition.

Thank you. I trust everything
is to Your Lordship's satisfaction?

- Very much so, thank you.
- Good.

After the fleshpots of London
and the moneybags of Monte,

one requires time off for the simple life.

I intend to sleep long and late,

meditate on my misspent youth,
catch some spiffing trout,

and interrupt the whole glorious monotony
with the odd round of golf.

More to the point, of course,
is everything to your satisfaction?

Yes, indeed, my lord.
Of course, as Your Lordship intimated,

we lack a few modern conveniences.

The kitchen, for instance, is a trifle primitive.

- Primitive?
- Particularly the plumbing.

One single tap in the yard

hardly constitutes what we understand
by the words "running water" nowadays.

Ah, yes, well, I'm sorry about that, Bunter.

A bit like the old days in Flanders, what?

Precisely my feelings, my lord.

However, it is merely one of the hazards
of rented accommodation.

I'm sure I shall be able to manage all right.

Well, I shall be astonished if you don't.
But now, why don't you travel round

and take that glass of port off your friend?

What's his name? Um, Alcock!

- You're sure, my lord?
- I'm positive. I have my own plans.

I am going to renew my acquaintance
with local society.

I am off to the Selkirk Arms
to sample Mr Wully Murdoch's best bitter.

- Oh, come now, I can't possibly accept that.
- It's true!

Your average Scotsman is no more capable
or intelligent than your average Englishman.

So, how are all the big administrative posts
in London held by Scotsmen? Tell me that.

Well, I suppose it's something to do
with what Dr Johnson said.

- Don't quote that blithering old windbag to me.
- "Sir, let me tell you,

the noblest prospect a Scotchman ever sees
is the high road that leads him to London."

- That's Michael Waters.
- The one on the right?

Aye. They say he's a very fine artist,
but I haven't seen his work.

- And the other one?
- That's Campbell, the landscape painter.

- ..by God, we'll take it!
- Here we go again.

- Is he always like that?
- Oh, too often. He abuses the whisky.

Ask anyone, anyone who was in the war.

Hey! You.

- It's true, what I'm saying, innit?
- Well, I wouldn't go so far...

(Imitates him) "Well, I wouldn't go so far!"
Another bloody Sassenach. Might have known.

Hey, look, man, it's true.

What happened when a whole English regiment
started going to pieces at Ypres?

The High Command sent in Scottish officers
to take control.

By God, they did the job.
They were ruthless but they did it.

The trouble with you Scots is that
you suffer from an ingrown sense of inferiority.

Say that again.

I'll make it simpler.

When a man brags about his country the way
you do, he's not concerned with anyone else.

It's himself he's trying to convince.

You sneering, south-born bastard!

- Take your hands off!
- I'll break your blasted neck!

Here, here!

(All talk at once)

Come away now! This is no way to behave.

This ain't the League of Nations. A plague
on both your houses. Have a bit of sense.

- He chucked his blasted whisky in my face.
- A waste of good whisky, too!

That's quite enough, Mr Campbell!
I won't have these disturbances in my bar.

- And you will be served no more tonight!
- I'm not staying.

I'm not running away either. You'll find me,

if you want to.

Now just hold on.
I'll get someone to give you a lift home.

I've got my own car.

Mr Campbell, I don't think
you should be driving your motor.

Just try and stop me.

Dear, dear.

- Sorry about that, Mr Waters. Are you all right?
- Yes, I'm fine.

I'm sorry if I was rude about the Scots,
but really that fellow ought to be annihilated.

Dinnae worry.
I'm quite sure you didn't mean what you said.

I didn't. All the same, I think I'll be getting back.

Oh, now, I wouldn't be
in too much of a hurry about that.

Best let Campbell get away and sleep it off.

Ha, ha! He won't remember
a thing about it in the morning.

You're quite right, Wully. Come on, old lad,

drown remembrance of the insult
in the wine of the country.

Let's have your glass.
My name's Wimsey, by the way.

But, Hugh, that's what's made
our life together beautiful -

mutual trust and respect.

Aye, and both go flying out the window when that
dirty dog comes sneaking in behind my back!

He's a friend. Do I question your friendships?

Your particular friendships?

If you're talking about Henry Strachan,
he and I are fellow painters.

But you and Campbell have
no such thing in common. Good God!

You don't think he's coming round
for tea and scones? There's one thing...

- Hugh, how can you be so insensitive?
- Insensitive! Where he's concerned?

You're quite wrong. I pity him with all my heart.

Aye, that's what he's counting on, your pity.

He'll play on it for all he's worth and, in the end...

You can be awful stupid at times.
Letting him in like that!

- But he often calls.
- I'll listen no more!

He'll not enter this house again.

- Hugh, what are you doing?
- I'm settling this once and for all.

- You're not going to see him?
- I'll have it out with him.

And what about Farren? Is he good?

Oh, he's a fine painter.
His work has great power.

Not, of course, according to Mr Campbell.

As far as Campbell is concerned, there's
only one painter of genius, and that's himself.

Do you know,

he actually had the nerve
to get up at the Edinburgh Arts Club

- and attack Matthew Gowan.
- Is that high treason?

Well, I suppose all of us are a bit sensitive
to criticism at times, even when it's honest.

But what Campbell said was palpably untrue.

He said that Gowan's work was sentimental...

What did he say?
Sentimental, anaemic and superficial.

I wouldn't have thought a man
of Gowan's reputation would have given a hoot.

Ah, yes, but The Gazette made a story of it

and printed what Campbell had said
almost exactly.

When you label people's work like that,

the public, who don't know,
are apt to take it for gospel.

It's hard to hit back
without seeming to defend oneself.

Absolutely right. No, thank you.
Anyway, they're not on speaking terms.

What's your estimate of Campbell's own work?

Well, he can use a knife.
And at first sight, he's damned impressive.

But the more you look, the shallower it gets.
It's all tricks.

I could knock off a perfectly good Campbell
in half an hour.

"A commercial traveller,"
that's what Gowan calls him.

A drunken commercial traveller, that's what he is.
I can't stand the fellow at any price.

Now, come on,
surely he can't be all that dreadful, eh, Wully?

Oh, he's not a popular man, Campbell.

- He's a troublemaker, my lord.
- Troublemaker?

He's behind every quarrel in Galloway.

Do you know... What was that row
over fishing rights, for instance?

He'd still half-kill Jock Graham
if he could lay hands on him.

- I thought the river was free in these parts.
- Aye, but you see, Campbell...

Campbell believes that pool by his house
belongs to him.

And, of course, as you well know,
young Graham pays no heed to anyone.

He will keep fishing the pools
and that's why they're at daggers drawn.

In fact, they were at it earlier on.

But do you know
what that blighter Campbell tried to do?

He actually tried to duck Jock Graham
in that wretched pool.

- Did he, by Jove?
- But he got a good ducking himself.

Young Graham fishes the pool every night.
I wouldn't be surprised if he's there now.

If I was you, old chap, I would let Campbell be.
He ain't worth bothering about.

(Car pulls away)
- Ha! And that's him just leaving now.

He's been waiting out there all this long time.

Oh, you did well to wait, Mr Waters.

You don't imagine
I'm afraid of Campbell, do you?

WIMSEY: Of course not. But it's bad form

for sober men to hit defenceless drunks.

Where are you living, Waters?

I've got digs just up the street near the toll booth.

Oh, that's handy for me, too.

- We'll walk together, shall we?
- Fine.

You wouldn't happen to know two delightful
old chums of mine, I don't suppose? Thank you.

- The Misses Selby and Cochrane?
- Yes, they live a few doors up from me.

Do they really? I say, what a small world.

Well, thank you so much, Wully, old lad.

- Good night, my lord.
- Good night to you.

- Good night.
- Oops-a-daisy. Steady the buffs.

Good night, Mr Waters.

(Bolt slides across)

(Laughs drunkenly)
- Good night!

Oh.

Can you manage?

Yes, thanks, old man.

- Good night.
- Good night.

Hugh, is that you?

Gilda!

How am I supposed to know?

It's not my fault they were...stupid English swine!

(Driver toots klaxon)

What the hell do you think you're doing?

You might have killed us both!

Oh, my God, Campbell.
Of course, it had to be you.

Move that damn car out of the way
and let me pass.

And let you escape? Not likely.

You rotten, little bearded gnome!

Get that thing out of the way!

I'm in the mood for a scrap, Mr bloody Gowan!

I'm gonna smash you to smithereens.

A-ha, ha!

Come on, then.

(Laughs)

Argh!

Hey!

Argh!

Try to murder me, would you, eh?

- That was a big mistake.
- Now, Campbell!

This is the end of the road for you, Gowan!

Campbell, you're mad. Look here, you're
out of your mind with drink. Now let me up!

A King Dick spanner.

I could smash your skull like an eggshell!

There's nae subtlety in that.

Not enough pain.

I carry it for sharpening pencils.

- For God's sake, mercy.
- I'm afraid the edge is a bit rough, Gowan.

Hey... (Chokes)

(Laughs)

BUNTER: And there we had
this extraordinary situation...

Oh, thank you, my dear chap.

His Grace, the Duke of Denver,
on trial for his life

in the House of Lords with the defence
lacking one vital piece of evidence.

Which is what
Lord Peter was seeking in New York?

Yes.

I shall never forget the drama of His Lordship's
entrance before the bar of the House.

48 hours without sleep,

utterly exhausted,

but able to provide the evidence
that saved his brother's life.

ALCOCK: Remarkable.

I remember the whole case vividly, of course.

But to hear it told from the inside, as it were,

you've provided us
with a rare privilege, Mr Bunter.

- It calls to mind...
- (Ringing)

Front door, Alfred.

Whoever can that be, at this time of night?

I expect the master's forgotten his keys.
Excuse me.

- Of course, my dear fellow.
- Oh, do help yourself to the port, Mr Bunter.

Oh, thank you, Mrs Alcock,
I've had ample sufficiency.

- However, may I do the honour for you?
- Oh, well, I won't say no.

Thank you.

Oh, don't tempt me, Mr Bunter.
I'm a wee bit tiddly already.

Yes, please.

I seem to remember from the newspaper report,

weren't you involved
in some sort of fracas at the time?

Some fella tried to shoot you.

- That's another story.
- Oh, do tell, Mr Bunter!

- What is it, Alfred?
- Nothing, dear.

- Was it the master?
- No.

Well, I'd better be getting along.

- It's still early, my dear chap.
- No, no, it's past my bedtime.

His Lordship's Bentley is due on the morning
train. I have to be up early to collect it.

We won't pressure you.
It's been an honour having you here.

You must come again, Mr Bunter.

The pleasure has been all mine, Mrs Alcock.

Betty, why don't you show Mr Bunter
the shortcut back?

Oh, may I?

I wouldn't dream about it, really.

No, I insist,
and so does Betty, don't you, my dear?

If you say so, Mr Alcock. Come on, Mr Bunter.

Well, who am I to disobey
such agreeable orders?

Oh, thank you again, Mrs Alcock.

Good night, Mr Hammond.
Good night, old fellow.

- Good night, old chap.
- Good night.

- I want to hear that other bit next time.
- Yes, yes, of course.

I thought I'd best get rid of the girl.

Never mind her. What's happened?

Something so appalling,

I don't know how to tell you.

(Car pulls up)
- That sound is music to my ears.

How is the old lady, Bunter?

In superb condition, my lord.

- No scratches?
- No.

The LMS have treated her like a queen.

Which is no more than her due.

As far as I'm concerned,
this motor has royal blood in her veins.

Yes. May I enquire
what Your Lordship's plans are for today?

- Our plans, Bunter.
- My lord?

I am going to take you on one of the most
splendid jaunts in the world,

by way of Gatehouse, Kirkdale,

and finally out into the hills
beyond Newton Stewart.

A perfect day for a perfect occasion, what?

Yes, indeed, most clement weather.

And when we get there, Bunter,

I shall proceed to whip the burn with a cardinal

while you set up your easel
and prepare to paint a masterpiece.

"Waters of the Minnoch
with fisherman in foreground."

Certainly, my lord.
Will you require a picnic hamper?

We shall, Bunter.

I'll procure a loaf still hot from the bakery

and some fresh dairy butter.

One hardly needs more.
However, to paint the lily, as it were,

may I suggest some p�t� de foie de Strasbourg

followed by some cold roast capon
and a green salad,

to be washed down by a bottle of Muscadet
cooled in the very same said minute.

A suggestion of genius. Act on it instantly.

- Oh, and Bunter?
- My lord?

Bring the spirit stove and frying pan.

If my luck matches my skill, I think we can expect
two fat trout twixt the foie gras and the capon.

Mrs Bunter.

My lord... Your Lordship...

Mr Bunter?

This is my wife.

What's that you're saying?

Oh, nothing, Mrs Alcock.
I was just talking to myself.

Bless my soul, they do say
that's the first signs of madness.

You were a long time showing Mr Bunter
the shortcut last night.

Aye, well, we were talking.
He's a wonderful talker.

I'll bet. Still, give the man his due,
he also has a roving eye.

If you were a daughter of mine, I wouldn't
let you out of my sight with him for a moment.

Yes, ma'am. Shall I get Mr Gowan his breakfast?

- There's no need.
- But... Oh, is he ill?

Certainly not!

That was a messenger came last night.
Mr Gowan's mother is ill.

Mr Gowan took the train to London.

I'm sorry, ma'am.

Of course, Betty, we all are.

There's another thing.

Betty, will you listen?

He wants no-one going up
to the top floor of the house in his absence.

- Why ever not?
- Well, that's his business, not ours.

Just you remember now.

No staff ever had better employment
than we do with Mr Gowan.

But he's very strict on obedience.

So remember, those are orders.

Yes, ma'am.

What did I tell you, Bunter?

That's two for lunch.

Anything hereafter may be regarded as a bonus.

Excellent, my lord.

Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.

I say!

- Well, that's rather remarkable.
- Thank you, my lord.

But it's only 10am, old chap.

A bit early for a sunset, what?

It's what we call artistic licence, my lord.

Sunsets, by their very nature, are transitory.

So I like to get in early, so to speak.

Do you really?
I say, how uncommonly interesting.

Now, having put your lord and master
firmly in his place,

kindly tell me what knotty problem
furrows your brow.

It's not so much a problem as a puzzle.

Do you see the promontory above the waterfall?

I do.

Does Your Lordship observe
anything unusual about it?

Well, I can see a two-seater on the skyline.

Ah, yes.

Yes, near to the edge,
there is an easel with a canvas on it.

Well, I have already told you,
the whole district swarms with your fellow artists.

On yonder promontory is one of them.

There is nothing unusual about that.

No, no, my lord, I see exactly what you see.

I see the car and the easel with the canvas on it.

I do not, however, see a fellow artist.

Well, that hardly constitutes a mystery.

No doubt you could explain
a dozen reasons for his absence.

Most probably a call of nature.

It's unlikely.

It's over an hour since we arrived here.

I noticed that easel immediately.

There's no sign of life, my lord.

It is, I agree, rather odd.

But not sufficiently so to warrant
any interference on our part.

- Where are you going, Bunter?
- Oh, I'm not going to interfere, my lord.

I do, however, intend to satisfy my curiosity.
I can walk there and back in half an hour.

- No, Bunter!
- My lord?

Bunter, I am enjoying myself
and I want to go on enjoying myself.

Let's not satisfy your beastly curiosity.

As Your Lordship wishes.

Now, just you listen to me.

The idea of walking over there is quite absurd.

We'll go in the car.

Not bad.

Not half bad.

Careful, my lord.

Take him up there, men.

He's dead, beyond a doubt.

Has been these 12 hours, I'd say.

- The rigor's well developed.
- But Dr Cameron...?

Aye.

I know, Sergeant.
Obviously, he was painting here this morning.

Very well, there's a possibility

that the coolness of the water
brought on an early rigor.

Was he drowned?

I haven't decided that yet.

But in my opinion - and, mind you,
it's only my opinion - he was not.

The bones on the temple are fractured

which inclines me to say
he got his death in falling.

The bump on the head might have
only made him unconscious.

The actual cause of death
might still be drowning.

That's true.
He was lying with his face in the water.

There are abrasions here and here

which look like post-mortem injuries to me.

And here's where he got the big dent.

Nature has not protected the brain in those parts.

The skull there's remarkably thin.

Quite a trifling blow would crush it
like an eggshell.

Aye. You'd make a fine surgeon.

Providence has given you the hands for it.

But not the head.

He's certainly been knocked about a bit.

So would you have been, my lord,
if you'd stepped back on the cliff yonder.

Indeed.

Do you know, I don't mind betting this was
the most popular thing Campbell ever did.

"Nothing in his life became him
like the leaving of it," eh, what?

Constable, you get down to the road
and hail the ambulance when it gets here.

Let's have another look at that painting.
Come on, Bunter.

WIMSEY: Yes, he certainly knew
how to use the knife.

I think that was just sour grapes on Waters' part.

Waters, my lord?

Another artist who spoke to me last night
in somewhat disparaging tones

about Campbell's technique.

Now look at this, Bunter.

A simple palette with two colours.

Economy of means allied with a richness
of result. You know, I like that.

Highly professional.

Let's see what he's got over here.

Now, then...

Brushes.

One tube of vermillion spectrum,

almost unused.

One tube of ultramarine number two,

half empty.

One chrome yellow.

Another of the same, practically empty.

One handkerchief.

One lead pencil.

One corkscrew.

And one packet of cigarettes.

And that's all?

In that compartment, yes.

Now, then, let's see.

One battered dipper.

One small sketchbook.

One tube of viridian cobalt.

One crimson lake.

One rose madder.

What's this?

One Hardy's catalogue.

One box of matches. One banana.

One half-pound of lemon yellow.

Partly used.

And finally, one small bottle...

..of quick-drying medium.

Are there any pockets in this cloak?

Not usually, my lord.

Merely slits

to enable the wearer to put his hands through
to get to the pockets of his inner garments.

I see.

Or rather I don't see.

Ah.

- They've come for the body.
- Have they, by Jove?

Sergeant Dalziel!

Aye, my lord?

Before they take him away,
do you mind if I sort through his pockets?

- It's already done.
- Oh, good man.

- Have you itemised the contents?
- Aye.

That's everything he had on him.

Everything?

Aye, my lord.

How very strange.

Can they take him away now?

Yes! Yes, yes, of course.

That's all right, then, lads!

Something on your mind, is there?

Yes.

There is something funny about this, Sergeant.
At least, there may be. Something's missing.

Get your people. We must hunt for it now.
We mustn't waste a minute.

- But what are we looking for?
- Oh, for heaven's sake. Ain't it obvious?

A tube of paint about that size.
Certainly not smaller, just conceivably larger.

It'll be important, then, to your way of thinking?

Yes, Sergeant.

Incredibly, urgently, desperately important.

He might have gone over the cliff with it,
in which case it may be lodged in a rock cleft

or lying in the shallows at the bottom.

Would you and the constables be kind enough to
have a look? Literally, leave no stone unturned.

- If you say so, my lord.
- Thank you. I'll search his car.

Come on, Ralph! Menzies!

There goes the ambulance.
I'd best be getting along.

Look, can you wait a few minutes more?

If there's a reason, I dare say my patients
will survive without me for a quarter of an hour.

And if there is no reason, you can blame me.

Bunter, I need a hand.

(Rumble of thunder)

(Thunder)

Tar.

There was a small tar mark
on Campbell's jacket.

There's a smear on the rug, too, my lord.

Any luck?

We've scoured the cliff face and searched
the shallows. It didnae go over with him.

- It's too big to miss.
- We've drawn a blank here, too.

Dr Cameron.

How often in your experience have you known
cold water produce an early rigor?

Not in my experience.

I only know it's a possibility. In the
circumstances, I was forced to the conclusion...

Yes, well, I do not submit to force.

If that tube of paint had turned up,
I could have believed in the notion

of Campbell stepping backwards over that cliff.

I could have believed, however unlikely,
in an early rigor.

And I could have believed in that painting.

But no tube of paint.

Therefore Dr Cameron was right
in his original estimate.

Campbell died at about midnight.

And that picture ain't telling the truth.

But it's still wet.

That is why it ain't telling the truth.

I'm sorry, Sergeant,
but you must go to your coroner.

- Who, my lord?
- My mistake.

You don't keep them in these parts, do you?
Your procurator fiscal.

Tell him that Mr Campbell has been murdered.