Original subtitles

David and Jonathan?!

The bitch.

Did she really say that, Wimsey?

Her parting words.

Farren and I are old and close friends.

Or, at least we were, until he married that awful woman.

She stifled his talent, sucked him dry, made him second-rate.

I wasn't free to speak my mind. He wouldn't hear a word against her.

And she hated my guts.

Jealousy, of course.

Some women can't stand a friendship between men that excludes them in any way.

And Gilda Farren is one of them.

So...what happened on Monday night?

Farren rang me at home, he was drunk

and making all sorts of idiotic threats against Campbell.

- Like murder? - No, not murder.

Mayhem, perhaps. He's a devil of a temper.

So I thought I'd better go after him.

Why didn't you take your car?

No petrol. It was too late to get any more.

Anyway, I toured the pubs he usually goes to,

and he'd been in all of them, on the warpath against Campbell.

Then I had an idea.

When he wants to get away from things...

..he goes up to the old mine at Foul Bay and broods.

And there he was, sitting on an old heap of winding gear.

I argued with him, but it was no use.

He was in a foul temper and suddenly lashed out at me with his fist.

Hence the black eye.

Yes. Then he was off like a shot and I started after him, but it was getting darker all the time.

And a minute later...I fell into that bloody shaft.

Have you heard from him since?

No.

And, if you want to know, I'm worried sick.

Come on, Strachan.

I'll give you a lift home.

I'll tell you this, Wimsey, one of these days, you'll go too far

and somebody will murder you.

Do you know, I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised.

(Steam train approaches)

MACPHERSON: Oh, no.

I can't believe it.

The blithering London fools.

Yon's not Mr Gowan. You brought the wrong man.

(Whistle blows, then train toots)

GOWAN: I just managed to catch Campbell, one glancing blow

with that spanner, and then he grabbed me, and I was no match for that great gorilla.

And when he produced that frightful cut-throat razor,

I swear to you, Inspector, I was quite certain he meant to cut my throat.

I think we can guess what happened then, Mr Gowan,

for we found a handful of black beard by the roadside.

Alcock, he was an absolute brick.

It was his idea I should stay under cover in the house until I was fit to be smuggled to London.

Of course, that's when the trouble all started.

Oh, poor wee Betty.

I must have seemed like a vampire rising from the grave.

I think we know your movements after that, Mr Gowan,

but er...what made you come forward, once you were in London?

Well, it wasn't until after I arrived there that I discovered that he had been murdered,

when I read it in the paper.

- You already knew he was dead? - Oh, yes.

Alcock told me he was killed in an accident, the day after...

Did Alcock mention I had called to see him?

No, not a word.

Well, I mean, he knew that I couldn't possibly have murdered Campbell myself.

Oh, no, no, no.

And, well, I suppose he felt it was his duty to protect me from any further unpleasantness.

Oh, he is an excellent man.

He won't get into trouble, will he?

(Clears throat)

That is a matter for the Chief Constable to decide.

Inspector MacPherson...

..have I got to stay in Kirkcudbright?

It'll be a help, Mr Gowan.

Morning to you. Landlord in?

Thank you.

I'm afraid, ladies, I am not at liberty to disclose His Lordship's destination

or, for that matter, the reason for his journey.

Suffice it to say that he is, in the language of modern fiction, following a lead.

Poppycock! If you ask me, he's just gallivanting.

Precisely, Margaret.

Deserted his post while on active service, unpardonable.

Particularly as we need his advice so urgently just now.

Advice?

You don't think it was just idle curiosity that brought us here, do you?

No, no, of course not, Miss. Anything but.

Could I be of some help, during His Lordship's absence?

Well, perhaps if we explain the situation, Margaret,

don't you think that Bunter might be able to give us a few small pointers?

You're probably right, dear.

You see, Bunter,

we've just found out that that unfortunate wretch Campbell had no close relations.

And you know as well as we do, he hadn't a friend in the world.

- Except perhaps Gilda Farren. - (Giggles)

So, after a lot of heart-searching, we decided to take it upon ourselves.

We went and called on dear Sir Maxwell Jamieson.

An old friend, always very helpful.

Well, he told us that there would be no difficulty in releasing the body,

so everything's fixed, you see.

Releasing the body, miss?

Exactly, so we were able to go ahead at once.

You understand, Bunter?

No, I'm afraid I'm completely in the dark.

For what purpose do you require the late victim's body, Miss Cochrane?

What an extraordinary question.

For the funeral, of course, you stupid man.

We've arranged for Mr Campbell to be buried at the Presbyterian church, tomorrow afternoon.

Naturally, the simplest ceremony, but we do feel your master should be present.

Oh, yes. Yes, you're quite right, Miss Selby.

But you mentioned advice, Miss Cochrane.

Yes, it's a question of ethics, really.

Particularly as we shan't be able to attend the ceremony.

It's not considered proper for women to be present at funerals in Scotland.

MISS SELBY: Not that we for one moment subscribe to such outmoded shibboleths.

No, as far as we are concerned, Bunter, the sexes are equal.

Quite so, and a very good point, if I may say so.

As you are doubtless aware, Bunter,

it is customary for the deceased's relatives to provide some refreshment after the service.

The sherry, Madeira cake, and so on.

Now, as the organisers of the funeral, we feel that we should provide the food and drink.

But where? That's the question, Bunter. Where?

As you know, Bunter, since the murder, the police have kept Campbell's cottage locked up.

Would it be in order, then, for us to invite the mourners to our home?

Or should we take a room in one of the local hotels for the occasion?

Or do nothing about it at all? You see what a difficult decision it is to make, Bunter.

I do indeed, ladies, yes.

Perhaps, under the melancholy circumstances surrounding the death of the late Mr Campbell,

the best plan would be to do without the funeral baked meats, as it were.

Precisely my feeling, Bunter.

I knew we could rely upon you for a sensible decision.

Thank you, miss.

You know we're to take a tour of the Highlands shortly?

Yes, I had heard,

and I was hoping to have a word with you before you left,

because I was going to ask you if you would give my kindest regards to Miss Betty.

Betty's just getting over a very severe shock, Bunter.

I don't think we should upset her any more.

Of course we shall give her your message, Bunter,

and she asked particularly to be remembered to you, most fondly.

(Knock on door) - Just a minute.

Come in.

Hello there, Sergeant.

Nice to meet you. My name's Clarence Gordon.

It's about the Campbell murder.

Oh, please take a seat, Mr Gordon.

I'll just get a pen.

My wife was saying there was a police message on the wireless, the night before last,

asking if anyone travelling by the Bargrennan Road on Tuesday happened to see a cyclist.

That's perfectly correct, Mr Gordon.

- Did you see one? - I wouldn't be here if I hadn't.

(Chuckles)

A bit extravagant with the flake white, aren't we?

Wimsey!

By all that's holy! How the devil did you find me?

If you will go around the countryside, leaving a trail of newly-painted pub signs behind you,

- it ain't exactly difficult. - (Laughs)

"Statement dated 25th October, 1931. My name is Clarence Gordon.

I am a commercial traveller for the firm of Moss and Gordon, Glasgow..."

That's correct, Sergeant. Moss and Gordon - dealers in high-class ladies wear.

Dresses, hosiery, lingerie.

I have a nice new wee line, incidentally, that would be sure to interest a pretty lassie like you.

"..for the firm of Moss and Gordon, Glasgow.

- I travel to Kirkcudbright, alternate Mondays..." - Reinforced.

- You can't spot them from the real silk. - "..where I have a good many customers.

Last Tuesday, I passed through Barrhill at 10.20.

I remember seeing the train go out of the station, just before I got there."

Yes, that's how I knew the time, you see?

"As I left the village, I saw a bicyclist in a grey suit riding very fast along the road in front of me.

I sounded my horn loudly, and he pulled into the side just as I passed him.

I could not see his face properly

and, when I looked back in my driving mirror, he had disappeared.

He was the only bicyclist I saw on the road until I reached Girvan."

Yes.

Now, they come in all sizes and a wide selection of shades.

- Have you anything further to add, Mr Gordon? - No, that collars it completely.

I know you couldnae see his face, but was there anything to remind you of one of these men?

No, nothing. Sorry, Sergeant.

That's all right, sir. We're greatly obliged for your trouble.

Would you just sign the statement here, please?

Er, you must be a married man, eh, Sergeant.

Could I interest you in a nice, wee inexpensive present for the wife?

- I do a nice line in...you-know-what. - (Giggles)

Anyway, after I'd socked poor old Henry, I started running.

I don't know how long for. In the end, I lost my footing.

I remember rolling downhill, and that's about all I do remember

until I woke up in the morning in a wee hollow full of bracken, quite snug and cosy.

- I felt great. - Did you have a hangover?

Not a thing. I had a bit of a thirst, but I soon quenched that at the first burn I came to.

I can't tell you how good I felt.

I didn't give a hang about Campbell any more, and I certainly didn't want to go home,

so I just walked straight ahead.

I walked for hours and, finally, a fellow in a lorry came along and gave me a lift to New Galloway.

- What time was that? - It must have been getting on for three.

Then I wondered what to do about myself.

My one idea was that...I didn't want to go back.

I wanted to go on being a gypsy.

How on earth can I explain to you what I felt?

It was as if I was free. Really free, for the first time.

As if I'd suddenly escaped from something...terribly oppressive.

And one thing I dreaded was being put in a bag again.

I can't possibly make you understand.

You're not doing badly at all.

Ah, but you're rich, Wimsey.

There's nothing to stop you doing exactly what you want.

Why do you take the trouble to be respectable?

Precisely because there's nothing to stop me doing exactly as I want.

I get my fun out of it.

I know you do.

It's odd. You create an illusion of liberty.

Is it the money or just...just being unmarried?

Yes, well, we're rather straying from the point, aren't we?

You had just arrived in New Galloway.

Then I had an incredible piece of luck.

An Englishman in a Riley stopped to ask the way.

I said to him, if he took me with him, I'd show him all the shortcuts as far as the border.

He was delighted, so we took supper in a pub on the way,

drove through the night and had breakfast in Carlisle.

That's where I bought these paints.

Windsor & Newton.

Had you formed any plans by then?

Not really. I just thought I'd let things unfold.

Anyway, my chum with the Riley finally dropped me in Askham.

I went along to the Bull and I wrote to Gilda.

I didn't put an address.

Postmark.

Yes, of course.

But do you really mean to say she persuaded you to come trundling after me?

Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that.

Well, I can't really blame the poor thing. It was rather a beastly letter.

Farren, on Monday night, you went round looking for Campbell,

- uttering threats against his life. - I know, I was drunk.

From the moment you hit Strachan, you have no alibi of any kind.

Alibi?

And, as Campbell was murdered, you're going to need one very badly.

(Bell tolls)

MINISTER: "I am the resurrection and the life," saith the Lord.

"He that believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live...

..and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."

For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God,

to take unto himself the soul of our brother here departed,

we therefore commit his body to the ground.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life

through our Lord Jesus Christ.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God,

and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.

Amen.

WIMSEY: Six suspects, one murderer...

..five red herrings.

Mm, well, it's not Gowan, it's not Ferguson, it's not Waters and it's not Graham,

so that leaves Strachan and Farren.

As plain as a pikestaff, it must be Farren.

A: the motive, B: we know he went searching for Campbell,

and C: he can give no good account of his movements over the relevant period.

- Mm. Nor can Strachan. - But Strachan came back, Farren ran away.

Why not Ferguson?

- Man, what are you saying? - We know that's not possible.

Look, Inspector, do you have Clarence Gordon's statement there?

My lord, Ferguson took the 7.50 bus, and caught the 8.30 train from Gatehouse.

Reliable witnesses at the station substantiate his story.

SIR MAXWELL: For the sake of an argument, suppose that Ferguson didn't catch the 8.30.

He couldn't possibly have dumped Campbell's body and caught the only alternative train.

MACPHERSON: And we know that nobody went from Barrhill.

We can't rule out Ferguson, you know.

By Jove, we can't.

MACPHERSON: Oh, come now, my lord.

Can you give one good reason for this strange conviction?

I can give you two, but I don't think you'll find either of them as convincing as I do.

Let me have a shot at proving it.

- How will you set about doing that? - Reconstruct the crime. We could start tonight.

Inspector, would you be kind enough to go to Ferguson and ask him for his help?

Tell him that we want to use Campbell's cottage exactly as it was on the actual night.

I don't see how he can very well refuse.

Now, look here, Inspector, when I agreed to participate in this business,

I had no idea it meant staying up half the night staring at your back.

I mean, when does your blessed Chief Constable intend to show himself?

It's gone midnight.

Not quite, Mr Ferguson. There are still two minutes to go.

Very well. Two minutes to.

And absolutely nothing has happened.

I think it's dashed inconsiderate of him.

I've had a hard day, I am tired, and I would like to go to bed.

I'm certain, at any minute now, sir.

Are you still sure?

I'm on duty.

Duty.

Honestly, MacPherson, what on earth do you hope to prove by this charade, hm?

Well... (Clears throat)

I bet you one thing, though. This is none of your local lot's doing.

I'll give you 10:1 that idiot Wimsey's behind this.

He's the one who's talked the Kirkcudbright constabulary into playing at Scotland Yard.

(Vehicle approaching)

Oh, that'll be His Lordship now.

Evening, Ferguson.

Very kind of you to co-operate.

Only too glad to help.

I wish I knew what it was all about, though.

Well, we're trying to find out who Campbell's midnight visitor was.

It seems pretty certain that he'll have been our murderer.

Anyway, we'll go about our business.

MacPherson'll stay with you and, if we go wrong, you can prompt us, what?

Yes.

Quod erat demonstrandum, MacPherson. (Chuckles)

Right, we're still off-duty, so make yourselves comfortable while you have a chance.

We have a long 12 hours ahead of us.

Well, now, first of all, we don't even know where Campbell was actually killed.

All we do know is enough about him to guess that there was a row and a fight.

We also know that he owned a bicycle as well as a car,

and that that bicycle has been missing since the day of the crime.

Have you replaced it, Sergeant Dalziel?

Aye, I borrowed Wully Murdoch's old crock. It's in the garage now.

- And what about his painting paraphernalia? - I stood that out in the garage too.

Stout fella.

Now, at this stage, Sir Maxwell, it is my guess that our activity may be worrying Ferguson a bit.

If he has a guilty conscience, he may feel a bit unnerved at being left in the dark,

so I have a feeling that he may ask to come along with us tomorrow morning

and, if he does, well, I think we should let him.

Very well, Wimsey.

It's four minutes past midnight and you've been asleep in your bed for nearly two hours.

Would you mind at least sitting on the bed, Mr Ferguson?

(Coughing)

And here comes our murderer.

(Coughs)

And that's the knock that wakes you.

Not much of a sound. You're a light sleeper, Mr Ferguson.

Yes. Yes, I am.

Mm.

Now, Campbell's letting him in.

He enters.

The door closes.

- And that's that. - What do you mean, "That's that"?

You can go to your bed now, Mr Ferguson.

- But I understood that... - It's all right, sir.

We won't be needing you any more.

Pleasant dreams, Mr Ferguson.

Bang!

- You're dead, Bunter. - Very good, my lord.

Ah, hello. Come in, Inspector.

How is he?

He's a wee bit nervous perhaps.

Yes, I was rather hoping he might be. Well, as you see, I have just killed Campbell.

- What with, my lord? - Ah, I wish I knew.

But that don't matter at the moment.

Aren't you afraid that Ferguson might try to decamp?

He'd be a fool if he does. But you're quite right, Sir Maxwell. Better not take any chances.

Sergeant, you and the Constable take it in turns.

Very good, Inspector.

Now, then, I have had a scrap with Campbell. He is dead and I am stuck with the corpse.

A very sticky position.

But no panic, because I know he plans going up to the Minnoch, painting, in the morning.

The perfect place to stage an accident.

It won't be easy, however, because somehow I have got to get myself to Glasgow,

which is going to mean an early start.

So...idea!

I will use Campbell's car and I will put Campbell's body into the dicky.

Now, if you'll just talk amongst yourselves for the moment, I won't be a second.

Right, the coast's clear.

I have opened the garage doors and ditto the dicky.

So, up you get, Bunter.

And off we go.

Right, down you go.

- Comfortable, Bunter? - Tolerably so, my lord.

Splendid.

One painting bag.

And one canvas.

Now, my plan requires a bicycle.

And, as we all know, Campbell obligingly possessed one.

That seems a fair fit.

But I don't want it to be seen.

So...we need a rug.

And here is the very thing.

But first of all, we'll put the easel on top, with the end sticking out,

which will give us a nice, realistic touch.

Wrap it all up like a Christmas parcel.

And there we have it.

Voil�.

Thank you, Bunter.

And out you come.

In she goes.

And that's it.

Now, I have just remembered that Farren is on the warpath for Campbell.

He may come back. Don't want him nosing about.

So...close garage doors.

Lock 'em.

And...pocket the key.

Let's go inside now, shall we?

Well, would you like to brew up some tea, Bunter?

- If you can find a clean pot, or six. - Very good, my lord.

Well, I'm sorry to be doing all the talking, but there's not a great deal more.

Well, now, sit down, gentlemen. Sit down. Sit down. Sit down.

Well, now, at this stage, assuming that Campbell was killed in here,

and assuming that Ferguson was responsible,

I think that he would now lock up and return to his own place.

He'd then have got a lot of thinking and planning to do.

First of all, there's this business of getting himself to Glasgow after staging the accident.

Now, he has told his friends that he intends driving to Dumfries to catch the 7.35

which, of course now, is clearly impossible.

So he will need a pretty convincing reason for not doing it.

So..."Thinks," as Felix used to say in one of those convenient little bubbles.

Car won't start. Something wrong with the magneto.

So he removes the mag and he packs it in his overnight bag that he is taking to Glasgow.

He can create the fault in the armature himself and leave the thing to be repaired in Glasgow.

It will all help his alibi. Well, having settled that,

he spends the next hour studying a road map in conjunction with a bus and a railway timetable.

I noticed that he had all three of them in his studio, by the way.

He then rests.

He wouldn't dare to sleep. He probably couldn't, even if he wanted to.

He makes sure that his bed looks as though it's been slept in

so Mrs Green who chars for him and Campbell won't notice anything out of the ordinary.

At 5.00am, he is back in here, and he does the same to Campbell's bed.

He then brews a pot of tea, cooks himself a breakfast of bacon and eggs,

eats it, and leaves the whole thing for Mrs Doings to clear away afterwards.

He then packs the car, as I have already demonstrated and drives off with the body.

Is he wearing Campbell's hat and cloak?

Yes he is. You're a bright lad.

- And where does he leave the car? - That will be demonstrated, Sir Maxwell.

Incidentally, on this first run, I shan't force Bunter into the dicky.

He is going to suffer enough later on.

(Birdsong)

Morning, Ferguson.

I say, you're up bright and early.

Mm, not really. You threatened to keep me up half the night,

so I got a couple of hours' sleep in before MacPherson showed up.

Oh, I see. Yes, I'm sorry about that.

I thought we'd need to disturb you more than we did.

Doesn't matter a bit. When does the balloon go up?

Hmm?

I mean, when does the reconstruction of the crime start?

It's already started.

May I come along, for the ride?

Good Lord. Do you really want to?

Well, in a sense, you've involved me.

And er, I'm fascinated to know how these things are done.

In that case, my dear chap, you are more than welcome.

Thank you very much.

- All fed your faces? - Yes, indeed.

- Bunter's done us proud. - Splendid.

Well, it's first light and time to move.

- Bunter, you ride with me. - Very good, my lord.

And I suggest that the rest of you follow in the police car.

Incidentally, you have an extra passenger, Sir Maxwell.

- Ferguson? - He's asked if he can come with us.

Thank you, Bunter.

I'm pretty sure that this is where our murderer parked Campbell's car.

It's well hidden, and it's nice and close to Gatehouse Station.

As the ground's soft up there, there are some pretty convincing tyre marks.

Yes. Yes, indeed, my lord.

What now?

Well, now, I walk a brisk six miles back to where we started.

But that's absurd.

Why?

Because I saw Campbell drive off just after 7.30.

So you did.

Feel like a walk, Inspector?

Well, er...

Well, I've got to do it, and I'd enjoy a bit of company.

- Very well, my lord. - Splendid.

You stay here, Bunter. See the rest of you back at the cottages.

(Indistinct chatter)

WIMSEY: Quarter to eight.

Well, now, you, Ferguson, had had your breakfast by now

and you said good morning to Mrs Green, who is at this moment clearing up at Campbell's place.

You're all set with your overnight bag to catch the bus, due in five minutes,

to take you to Gatehouse Station, where you will catch the train to Glasgow.

Now, I am going to be you for the moment, if you don't mind.

Into the car please, gentlemen, and turn round.

Now, Sir Maxwell, I would like you and the Inspector to come and see me off.

(Whistle toots)

One first-class return to Glasgow, please.

There we are. Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Well, goodbye, Sir Maxwell. Goodbye, Inspector.

Thank you so much for having me. Do keep in touch.

He can't seriously...

The cunning, wee devil. Come on, sir.

- It's the oldest dodge in the whole bag of tricks. - (Whistle toots)

In at one side and out the other.

That's the way he went.

- Right, Inspector, back to the car. - Sergeant.

You get that side, all right.

- My lord. - Yes. There we are.

Next stop, the Minnoch, sir.

I have Bunter safely stowed away.

But the roads are bad, my tyres are worn, and I can't afford a puncture,

- so I shall proceed with caution. - We'll be right behind you, Wimsey.

Right, that's enough painting time.

Coast clear. Now for the disposal of the body.

Right, up you get, Bunter. We're cutting it a bit fine.

Over you go, Bunter.

Only, please don't.

- Your ordeal is now over. - I'm delighted to hear it, my lord.

9.30. If I ride like the devil, I can just catch the 10.18 from Barrhill.

Good man. Hang onto this for a jiffy, would you?

I made it.

The station is down the side road there. And the 10.18 is due in two minutes.

But nobody caught the 10.18 from Barrhill. You've proved nothing, my lord.

WIMSEY: Now, this is where I'm going to have to guess.

Something went wrong, Ferguson.

This was the train that you intended to take.

In fact, your whole plan depended on it, and yet you missed it by the skin of your teeth.

It's a stopping train as far as Girvan.

And, with only a bicycle, you hadn't got a hope in hell of catching this after it'd left Barrhill.

After Girvan, it's an express. You'd have been in Glasgow in time to establish your alibi.

You must have been pretty desperate.

And it was desperation that made you ride on in the face of all odds.

Which is exactly what I intend to do now.

Who's the fellow up ahead?

Our friend Clarence Gordon.

But...you stick with me, Sir Maxwell.

Thank you, Mr Gordon. Give me three minutes' start.

Oh, Your Lordship, my card.

In case you should require any ladies wear.

Oh. Well, you never know.

"And, when I looked in the driving mirror, he had disappeared."

Very neat.

You've plenty of time, sir.

Here, laddy. Label this bicycle to Glasgow.

Don't bother. I'm not going on the train.

- But I thought... - Now, I want you to think very carefully, Porter.

Do you remember another gentleman with a bicycle,

taking this same train last Tuesday week?

(Train approaches)

Aye. Now you mention it, I seem to mind a bike.

Campbell got back when I said he did, but he didn't go into his own place.

He barged in here.

He was in one of his filthy, drunk, aggressive moods.

When he started bragging about what he'd done to poor Gowan, I told him to clear off.

He wouldn't go.

I opened the door and gave him an almighty shove.

He crashed against the wall there and came back, fighting like a maniac.

Well, I am stronger than I look.

And, besides, he was none too steady on his pins.

I landed one good punch to the jaw.

Too good.

He hit his head on the stove there, as he fell.

He just lay there.

And, when I went to pick him up, I found he was dead.

Well, I was scared.

I never could stomach the fellow.

And sometimes, when I've had a few, I've threatened to do him in.

Not meaning it for a second, but I've been heard to threaten him.

And here he was, dead on my floor, and not a single witness to back up my story.

So...I tried to make it look like an accident.

SIR MAXWELL: Very nearly succeeded.

But how did you come to miss the train at Barrhill?

Well, that was my big mistake.

Once Campbell was dead, I had a lot of planning to do.

And the one thing that I forgot to do was to wind my watch.

When I was up at the Minnoch faking the painting, I checked the time. It said 8.55.

There seemed no hurry, so I went on working.

And, about, oh...ten, 20 minutes later, I checked again.

It still said 8.55,

and I knew my watch had stopped.

And that's when the panic really set in.

I booted the body over the cliff and packed up as though the devil was after me.

It was no good. I missed the train by a hair's breadth.

You were quite right, Wimsey.

Desperation drove me on.

And then I had that incredible bit of luck, when the fellow in the Humber passed me.

Well, it seemed like incredible luck at the time, because it made my alibi that much better.

On the face of it, you couldn't possibly have caught that train from Girvan.

There was only the one possibility, and you spotted it.

You have a long head on your shoulders, for all your blether.

But, in fact, you suspected me from the first time you came to see me. Why?

You buy your paints from Roberson's.

And?

Campbell bought his from Windsor and Newton.

I noticed a half pound tube of Windsor and Newton flake white amongst your own.

I also spotted that you had a habit of slipping tubes into your pocket while you were working.

You'd obviously done just that with Campbell's flake white when you were painting the forgery.

Obviously.

Damn careless of me.

There's just one thing that I didn't follow, though.

What happened to the bicycle?

Simple.

When I got to Glasgow, I had it forwarded to Euston.

It's still there, waiting to be collected.

Well, Sir Maxwell..

..you must do what you have to do, but it wasn't murder.

I swear to you.

It wasn't murder.

The weather holds fair, Bunter.

- And we still have two weeks in hand. - Yes, my lord. Most satisfactory.

From now on, I intend to catch mammoth trout

while you, doubtless, perpetrate more masterpieces.

BUNTER: I shall do my humble best.

However, I must say, I can't help feeling a certain sympathy for Mr Ferguson.

WIMSEY: Yes, I second that remark. He had rotten luck.

How does Your Lordship foresee the outcome?

Gentlemen of the jury.

You have heard evidence of the character of the deceased,

of his habitual drunkenness and savage temper.

You have heard how, on the day of his death,

he drove a golf ball, at almost point-blank range, at the witness Jock Graham.

An action which might well have had fatal consequences.

You have heard how, in the presence of the club committee,

he threatened the witnesses Strachan and Gowan with actual bodily harm

if they chanced across his path again,

and how, that evening, he entered into a violent argument with the witness Michael Waters,

threw whisky in his face, and fought him in the bar.

You've heard also of the far more monstrous attack upon the person of Matthew Gowan -

an act of unspeakable barbarity, which must stir in every one of us the deepest revulsion -

not to mention his most questionable advances towards the wife of the witness Hugh Farren.

In the light of what you have heard, is there a single one amongst you

who would dare to return a verdict of guilty against the accused, John Ferguson?

I say, with absolute confidence, that there is not.

And, of course they won't.

It'll be self-defence or justifiable homicide.

- I'm delighted to hear it, my lord. - So am I, Bunter.

WIMSEY: Ferguson's a good egg.

It was his misfortune to suffer from a rotten neighbour.