Original subtitles

(Clock ticks)

(Door opens)

(Rattle of crockery)

Oh.

Good morning.

(Groans)

Thank you.

Put a stamp on that, please, and make sure that it gets the post.

Yes, Mr Tallboy.

Good morning. A fine day again.

It would be, if only they wouldn't spoil it with income-tax demands.

Oh, don't talk to me about income tax. I'll have to take my holiday in the back garden this year.

Oh, I beg your pardon. I was snooping.

A beastly habit. One picks it up from the messenger boys, you know.

Perhaps you would like to see these?

They are soup headlines that I've just thought up. I think they're rather good.

"A meal begun with Blagg's tomato softens every husband's heart-oh."

Well, how about...

"Fit for an alderman, serve it up quick, rum-ti-dy rum-ti-dy Blagg's turtle thick."

Rum-ti-dy rum-ti-dy?

Yes, I shall have to work on that one.

- Do you want the other one typed? - Well, perhaps I'd better work on both of them.

They always ask for money at the wrong time of the year.

What do they do with all the taxes I pay them?

The whole thing is iniquitous. As for the last budget...

You can afford to chuck your quids about the office, 50 at a time.

I dare say the income-tax johnnies would like to know where that came from.

- (Chuckles) - Why don't you shut up?

Oh, I say, no offence meant.

None taken, I hope?

His Highness got out of bed the wrong side this morning.

Money is a sore point for us all. Let's talk about something else.

There's no need to take on like that. I don't care for Mr Tallboy.

And I don't like his lady friends.

Lady friends?

Well...

I'm not one to talk, but when you see a married man

coming out of a restaurant with somebody who is obviously not his wife...

- No! - My dear, and got up regardless.

One of those little hats with an eye veil,

three-inch diamant� heels, fishnet stockings and all.

And his wife is having a baby, too.

If Mr Pym got to hear about it...

He'd be sacked. So perhaps we'd better stop talking about other people's private lives.

Ooh-ooh!

What's the matter with her?

I still think it's disgusting.

What do you think, Mr Bredon?

Erm... Well, I think I prefer,

"Hubbies hold those wives most dear, who offer them Blagg's turtle clear."

(Sighs)

(Sighs)

Seen anything of that Dean girl recently?

No, darling. Why?

Oh, just curious.

- Me, too. - Hm?

Did you bump her brother off, Todd?

Who says that he was..."bumped off"?

A little bird told me.

Your friend in the black-and-white checks?

Oh, come along. In one of your many expansive and not too sober moods,

you told me all about your little adventure in the woods.

- Who is the fellow and what does he want? - Well, he doesn't want me, at any rate.

All too humiliating, don't you think, Todd?

Yes. It must be.

Then what is he after?

Well, I think he's on Victor Dean's lay, whatever that was.

At least, he said he wouldn't be here, if Victor hadn't popped off.

All too thrilling, don't you think?

Mm.

I'd like to meet your friend.

When is he likely to turn up?

God knows. He just arrives, that's all.

I'd steer clear of him, if I were you, Todd. I think he's dangerous.

Your brain is turning to mush, sweetest,

and he's trading on it, that's all.

Oh, well.

He amuses me and you don't any more, Todd.

You're getting a little tiresome.

I think I'll give up the dope.

Do you think it'll be amusing to go all good?

About as amusing as a Quaker meeting.

Is your friend trying to reform you?

No, I just happen to be looking terribly hag-like tonight.

Dian,

you may be getting tired of men, you may have some thoughts about breaking away,

but...

apart from the fact that I'm damn useful,

you know too much to make a breakaway healthy.

Oh, hell.

What's the odds anyway?

Let's do something.

Yes, all right.

Well...

Why don't you come round to Slinker's?

He's giving a party.

I'm sick of Slinker's parties.

I know.

Why don't we gate-crash something really virtuous?

What?

There's a reception being given for some dreary old ambassador.

Yes.

That sounds different.

Who's the stickiest old cat in London?

Who?

The Duchess of Denver.

Just the right air of mellow decorum. Don't you think?

You know, Mary, I think the reception is going rather well.

Even if I do say so myself.

Oh, Helen, you aren't the only one. Several people have said how good the band is.

The ambassador made a compliment about the wine.

Really? How gratifying.

Still, he would hardly be so undiplomatic as to say otherwise to my own sister-in-law.

I don't think he had the faintest who I was. I could have been anybody.

I think you can take it as a genuine compliment.

Oh, these diplomatic affairs always make me just a little bit nervous.

So much protocol and so many things to go wrong.

And the Dowager Duchess didn't help.

- Mother? - Mm.

She was being rather acid about my spine.

Your spine?

Yes. For my own part, I thank Providence that at my age I've still kept my figure.

Some consolation for having been remarkably flat on both aspects all my life.

Oh, isn't that just like Mother?

- How jolly tiresome of her. - Quite.

But I did choose this dress with some care.

One must be fashionable, without being vulgarly immodest.

I consider I am showing the exact number of vertebrae the occasion demands.

I agree. One less would be incorrect.

One more would be over-modern.

Precisely.

- I'm sorry, sir. I didn't... - Friends of Mr and Mrs Arbuthnot.

Bracket?

Who are those people?

They declined to give their names, my lady.

They what?

Gate-crashers.

(Band plays a waltz)

Peter, did you see those people?

Indeed I did, old thing.

You've caught a pair of right ones this time.

That's the de Momerie girl, with her tame dope pusher.

Oh, how horrible.

Now where's Gerald?

- Not here. He never is when he's wanted. - He's in the library with the ambassador.

Well, Peter, you will have to go and turn them out.

I fly to obey your behest.

(Laughs)

(Glass shatters) - Dian!

For God's sake. Come on down from there.

- Oh, Dian. (Man whistles Tom, Tom, The Piper's Son)

Good evening.

Miss de Momerie, I believe.

Harlequin.

I beg your pardon.

So there you are. I've got you this time, and I'm going to see your face properly, if I die for it.

I think there must be some mistake.

So, this is the mysterious stranger?

I think it's about time that you and I had a few words, young man.

May I ask why you've been tagging after this lady in mountebank get-up?

I fear you're labouring under a misapprehension, sir, whoever you are.

I have been dispatched by the Duchess of Denver on,

well, if you'll forgive me, but a somewhat delicate mission.

She regrets that she does not have the honour of this young lady's acquaintance

nor indeed, sir, of yours and she wishes me to ask by whose invitation you are here.

Darling,

you do it marvellously.

We gate-crashed on the old bird, the same as you did, I expect.

So the Duchess inferred.

I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I must ask you to leave at once.

You know, that's pretty good and I'm afraid it won't work.

It may be a fact that we weren't invited here,

but we're not going to turn out for a nameless acrobat, who is afraid to show his face.

You must be mistaking me for somebody else.

My name is Wimsey, Peter Wimsey.

I'm the Duke of Denver's brother.

And my face, such as it is, is at your service.

But...

Aren't you my Harlequin?

Oh, don't be such an ass. You know perfectly well you are.

I know that voice.

The same mouth, the same chin, besides...

you were whistling that tune.

You know this is very interesting.

Is it possible...?

Do you know, I do believe it is.

I think you must have encountered my unfortunate cousin, Bredon.

Yes.

- That was the name. - Well, I'm glad to hear it.

Sometimes, he uses mine, which makes it deuced awkward.

Dian, we seemed to have dropped a brick.

We'd better apologise and go.

(False laughter)

Sorry we crashed and all that.

No, I'd like to hear some more about this.

- No, I really think we ought to be going. - What will you have to drink? Whiskies?

Oh, well, er...

Yes, I rather feared you might.

The abominable habit of pouring whisky on top of mixed drinks at this hour of the night

is responsible for more ruined complexions and reputations than any other single cause.

Two whiskies, please, Bracket, and a liqueur brandy.

Very good, my lord.

I'll have the Napoleon 1800, if there's a bottle open.

Of course, my lord.

Thanks.

Not at all. Please, sit down, sit down, sit down.

And tell me all about your encounter with my scandalous cousin.

Just a minute.

I think I know the stud book pretty well.

I wasn't aware of the fact that you had a cousin called Bredon.

Well, it's not every puppy who appears in the kennel book.

It's a wise man who knows all his cousins.

- I see. - But no matter.

My regrettable cousin, Bredon,

having no particular right to any one family name more than another,

makes it his practice to use each one, in turn.

Thus, displaying a happy absence of favouritism.

Do I make myself clear, Mr...?

- Milligan. - Mill...

Milligan?

Ah, the famous Major Milligan.

You have a house on the river, I fancy.

A beautiful, retired spot. Its fame reaches me, from time to time, from my brother-in-law.

Chief Inspector Parker of Scotland Yard.

Oh. Well, I had the pleasure of entertaining your cousin there one night.

Did he gate-crash on you? Yes, well, that's exactly what he would do.

So, you have retorted on my dear sister-in-law.

Poetic justice, of course.

I appreciate it, but...possibly the Duchess may take a different view of the matter.

No, he didn't gate-crash. He was brought there by...

a lady of my acquaintance.

Oh, well, he is improving.

Painful, though it may be to me, Major Milligan,

I think it my duty to warn you against this cousin of mine.

- He has been warned. - Really?

Well, he is definitely not nice to know.

If he has been forcing his attentions on you, it is almost certainly with some ulterior motive.

Not that any man would require an ulterior motive for such attentions.

Miss de Momerie is, indeed, a sufficient motive in herself.

Thank you.

But I know my cousin well. In fact, few people know him better.

I confess that he is the last man to whom I would look for a disinterested attachment.

No, I am unhappily obliged, in self-defence, to keep my eye on Cousin Bredon's movements.

In fact, I'd be grateful to hear the details of his latest escapade.

All right.

I'll tell you.

Bracket, have you seen Lord Peter anywhere?

His Lordship is on the terrace, with the lady and gentleman.

Hasn't he got rid of them yet?

No, my lady. He's ordered drinks for them.

Oh, my God.

Diving into the fountains dressed as a Harlequin? What vulgar ostentation.

How many times have I implored Bredon

to conduct himself in a quiet and reasonable manner?

I thought he was absolutely marvellous.

I've met him a number of times since then and he always whistles Tom, Tom, The Piper's Son.

So, when you came along whistling that tune, I thought it was him.

- Disgusting. - Besides, you're so much alike

having the same voice, except... he never took off the mask.

Oh, well, I mean, no wonder.

The police are interested in my Cousin Bredon.

How thrilling.

- What for? - Impersonating me, amongst other things.

I cannot tell you the distress and humiliation that I have been put to on Bredon's account.

Bailing him out of police stations, honouring cheques drawn in my name,

rescuing him from haunts of infamy.

I tell you all these distressing details in the strictest confidence, of course.

Ah, thank you, Bracket.

Yes, he copies my habits,

smokes my favourite brand of cigarettes, drives a car like mine.

He even whistles my favourite air,

one I may say particularly well adapted for performance upon the penny whistle.

He must be pretty well-off, then.

Well, that is the most unfortunate fact of all.

Quite frankly, I suspect...

No, perhaps I'd better not say any more about that.

Oh, do tell. It all sounds terribly breathtaking. We won't split.

Well, frankly, I suspect him of having something to do with drug smuggling.

- I mean to say, dash it all, drug smuggling? - You don't say.

I have no proof, of course,

but I have received warnings from, well, er...

a certain quarter, if you understand me.

I think you're talking rot.

- I mean, you can't even... - Dian.

- Drink up. - All right.

I don't say that he is an addict himself.

It would almost be more respectable if he were.

A creature who can batten on to the weaknesses of his fellows, without sharing them,

is, to me, a singularly disgusting object.

I may be old-fashioned, but, well, there it is.

Quite so.

I feel it only fair to tell you that Bredon is the sort of person whose acquaintance may well prove...

well, shall we say, embarrassing.

That is, to anybody who prefers to live a quiet life.

I need hardly say any more, need I?

Not at all. Do you know, I'm really most grateful to you for your warning,

but I think we have trespassed upon your hospitality for long enough.

I think your cousin sounds a perfect lamb. I like him dangerous.

Pompous people are too terribly moribund, don't you agree?

My dear young lady, your choice of friends is entirely at your own discretion.

Oh, that disgusting woman.

How on earth did they get in?

- Peter. - Hm?

Do you know those people?

Not officially, no.

Officially?

I think what Peter means is he knows them by reputation.

Oh.

Oh, yes, of course.

But then you know so many impossible reputations, don't you, Peter?

All the same, it's a bit of a coincidence they should choose this party to gate-crash.

It's not a coincidence, Polly.

I send the fair Dian an anonymous letter, solemnly warning her against me

and telling her that if she wanted to find out the worst about me,

she had only to inquire at this address.

Peter, you are a devil.

You know, it's a curious thing, but people cannot resist anonymous letters.

They are like free-sample offers. They appeal to all one's lower instincts.

Still, was the fly too big and gaudy, I wonder?

Will he rise to it?

We shall see.

Echo!

Echo!

- Here you go. - Thank you, guvnor.

(Cash register bell)

- Same again, sir? - Thank you.

Nasty business, that warehouse fire down in the city, sir.

Mm, very nasty. I was there.

- Were you now, sir? - I'm with the Echo.

Puncheon. Hector Puncheon.

The editor gave me a by-line, because I managed to get an exclusive.

Congratulations, Mr Puncheon. I thought the other papers had the report.

- Not about the cat. - The cat, sir?

The cat was the first to notice the smoke. She alarmed the night watchman.

Saved three or four lives, I'd say.

- Well, who'd have thought it? - Me.

The angle, I mean.

The cat is expecting kittens. I've managed to get them for the Echo, when they arrive, that is.

What would they want them for, sir?

Well, the readers will write in, offering them good homes. It's a great circulation stunt.

- Dogs. - Pardon?

Dogs.

They have their off-days, same as you and me. What's more, they have their fancies.

I had a dog once. It couldn't abide the sight of goats.

You show him a goat and he got a fit of the trembles. Oh, I could tell you about dogs.

'Ere, I remember one time when I was bringing him up to run at the White City.

There was this bloke, leading two goats on a string.

- Two goats? What did he want two goats for? - How should I know what he wanted goats for?

Well, there was that dog of mine, he couldn't run all day.

Nerves is nerves. A thing like a goat could upset anybody.

A funny thing, you know, this business of nerves.

Now, my old aunt had a parrot.

You seem to have had a wide experience of livestock.

Oh, I have that. As I was saying, that bird had fits of nerves that would surprise you.

What do you think we had to give it, to pull it round?

- No idea. - Ginger.

Birds are marvellous on ginger. It stimulates their innards.

- Better than Nutrax, eh? - What?

Nutrax. "Nutrax for nerves."

Oh, Nutrax nothing, nor none of your patented slops.

No. Strong coffee with cayenne pepper in it, that's what the bird likes.

Pardon me, gentlemen, pardon me.

Thank you very much.

A Scotch and soda.

(Slurs his words) A double Scotch and not too much soda.

Oh, that's quite all right, landlord. I know what you're thinking, but I am not drunk.

Not a bit of it.

Nerves? Just a little bit out of order, that's all.

A large Scotch and soda, sir.

And what are these two brave gentlemen drinking?

Oh, that's very kind of you, sir. I'll have a pint.

Not for me, thanks. I'm just off.

Been up all night.

Oh, no, no, no. You mustn't say that.

It's not time to go home yet. The night is still young.

And do you know what?

I like your face.

You're just the sort of fellow that I like.

Well, thank you. Very nice of you to say so, but I really must be off.

- Oh, what a pity. - One and sixpence, please, sir.

- One and what? - Sixpence, please, sir.

Oh, very well.

There you are, my good man.

Thank you.

Thank you very much, sir.

- Your good health. - Cheers.

You just found this in your pocket, you say, Mr...?

Puncheon. That's right.

Yes, it's cocaine, all right.

What made you think it might be dope?

Well, I don't know.

I thought about it for a couple of hours and the more I thought about it, the odder it seemed.

So I took it to an all-night chemist and he told me what it was.

You can't say, for certainty, when you received it?

Not with certainty, no.

All right. Let's go about this another way.

Why do you suppose that somebody chose you to take charge of that rather hefty dose of dope?

Well, I thought whoever it was must have mistaken me for somebody else.

And you think that's more likely to have happened at the White Swan?

Yes. Well, unless it was one of the crowd at the fire.

In the other places, in the office and when I was interviewing people,

everybody knew me or I knew them.

- Sounds sound enough. - Well, I think so.

You see, in the pub, I had my Burberry open.

Three or four people barged up against me, you know, carters and porters.

There was a man who looked like a bookmaker's tout.

Oh, yes, and a drunken chap in dress clothes.

Have you ever been to the White Swan before?

Once, I think, ages ago.

Well, either you must be the dead spit of some habitual dope peddler

or you led them to believe, in some way, that you were the person they were expecting.

What did you talk about?

Dogs

and parrots.

Chiefly dogs.

Oh, yes, and goats.

Dogs, parrots and goats.

I see.

Well, er...thank you, Mr Puncheon.

We'll take care of this.

You go home and get some sleep and if we need you again, I'll let you know.

You er...don't want this story to go in, I suppose?

No, I'm afraid not. You mustn't say anything about it.

We're indebted to you and, if anything does come of it, I'll make sure you have the story first.

Very well. I don't suppose you can say fairer than that.

- Good morning, Mr Parker. - Mr Puncheon.

Dogs, parrots...

..and goats.

Oh, excuse me, I thought Mr Tallboy might be here.

He's in conference with Mr Armstrong and a client.

Oh.

- What's up? You look worried. - Well...

There's a woman asking for Mr Tallboy. I don't know how she got past reception.

- Put her back there and tell her to wait. - That's just it. I tried.

She said I was just putting her off, whilst Mr Tallboy got out of the building.

She took on terribly, said she was going to speak to Mr Pym.

She's...

She's the one I saw with Mr Tallboy, coming out of the restaurant.

I don't think Tallboy would care to have her meet Pym.

- Where is she? - I put her in the conference room.

Hello, hello, hello.

I understand you're waiting for Mr Tallboy.

Well, unhappily, he is in conference with some clients at the moment,

so I thought I'd just come down and entertain you till he gets here.

Will you smoke, Miss...?

Vavasour. Miss Ethel Vavasour.

- Are you Mr Pym? - Oh, good Lord, no.

No, no, no. I'm a very unimportant person.

- Just one of the junior copywriters, that's all. - Oh, I see.

You're a pal of Jim's.

Mr Tallboy's? No, no, no. Not especially.

They told me there was a very beautiful young lady waiting for him,

so I thought, "What ho, why not buzz along and cheer her weary hours of waiting."

I'm sure that's frightfully good of you.

What I expect you mean is Jim sent you along to see if you can talk me round.

But I can tell you this,

if Jim Tallboy thinks he can get round me by sending his flash friends...

My dear Miss Vavasour, I'm not here to forward his interests, in any way,

except perhaps by offering the suggestion

that this room is not the most suitable spot for interviews of a personal nature.

Is that a fact?

But if a fellow won't answer your letters or come to see you and you don't know where he lives,

what's a girl to do?

No! Oh...

How unkind. How abominable.

There.

When a fellow is telling the tale, it's one thing, and when he's got her into trouble, its another.

I see.

A girl doesn't hear so much about him marrying her then.

Well, you tell him he's got to do it. See?

Or I'll scream my way into Old Pym's office and make him.

My dear, even Mr Pym, the great autocrat that he is, couldn't make Mr Tallboy marry you.

He is married already.

Married?

The dirty beast!

I don't care, though. He's got to do it.

His wife can divorce him.

Goodness knows, she's got cause.

I've got his letters.

And you brought them with you.

How very far-sighted of you.

I don't know what you mean.

Your idea was to threaten to show those letters to Mr Pym, if Tallboy didn't cough up.

Or are you so devoted to him that you always carry his correspondence with you?

Yes. No.

- I never said I had those letters with me. - No, but you've admitted it now.

Now you take the advice of somebody double your age.

If you cause trouble,

Tallboy will probably get the sack and then there'll be no money for you or anybody else.

- Now, listen, you... - If you try to sell him those letters,

there's a word for that and it ain't a very pretty one.

That's all very well. What about this trouble he has got me into?

Are you sure you're not mistaken about that?

Of course I'm sure. What do you take me for?

- An innocent? - Most assuredly not.

Well, no doubt Tallboy will be prepared to make some suitable arrangement,

but if I may presume to advise you, no threats and no disturbances.

And, forgive me, but there are other people in the world.

Ah, Tallboy. I've been entertaining the young lady in your absence.

Thanks very much.

Oh, my dear fellow, don't you thank me.

The gratification is entirely on my side.

Miss Vavasour.

Well?

- Bredon. - Yes, Mr Willis? What can I do for you?

Hm?

I've been speaking with Pamela - Miss Dean -

and it seems that I owe you some sort of an apology.

I appear to have been mistaken about you.

What exactly did you have against me? I never could make out what it was, to tell the truth.

Well, I thought you were one of Victor Dean's dirty crowd and you were trying to get Pamela,

Miss Dean, in among them again. She tells me that's not the case.

I made Miss Dean's acquaintance on a matter concerning her brother.

I never did actually meet him.

You took her to that disgusting place, down by the river.

Not all together true. I asked her to take me.

There were some people there that I wanted to meet.

It sounds damn queer to me.

What a strange way you have of making an apology.

Yes, well, I'm afraid I put a rather different interpretation on it and...

Well, she asked me to apologise to you and to tell you...

to ask you...erm...

Well, to put the whole matter right.

You've been trying to say all this to me for some time, I believe.

- For several days, yes. - Since the day of the tea party, shall we say?

Is that what you came round to my place that night to tell me?

You lost a pencil on that occasion, I believe.

A pencil?

No.

My mistake.

But you did come round that night to apologise?

No.

I came round to bash your face in, if you must know.

Oh, indeed?

You see, I looked in your letterbox and I saw a letter there from Miss Dean.

I... I didn't dare go up to your flat after that. I was afraid I might let myself go.

I felt like murdering you.

So I went off and I wandered about until I was too done up to think.

- How long did you stay in the hall? - Only a few minutes.

In the front hall, downstairs, all the time?

Yes.

I see.

I wonder if you could tell me something about Victor Dean.

What?

Suppose he discovered that somebody in this office had a...

..well, a skeleton in the closet, to use the pretty old metaphor.

Would he be the sort of person to dispose of their skeleton to an anatomist?

Blackmail, you mean?

Oh, well, that's a strong word, but, well, call it that.

Well, I don't know.

I mean, it's a devil of a thing to suggest about anybody, isn't it?

- I can only say that... - The question causes you no shock.

No. No, so I see.

Got up regardless, she was. You should have seen his face when I told him she was here.

I'm not surprised. She looked a real tough Jane.

Would you see that that gets the post, please, Miss Parton?

Yes, Mr Tallboy.

His stockbroker again. As regular as clockwork, every Tuesday.

Still, he'll need all the money he can get to keep up with that little lady.

Oh, Bredon.

I'm very much obliged to you.

Miss Vavasour. I'm sure I can rely on you not to let the matter go any further than it has already.

Yes. Absolutely. Just so. Much ado about nothing.

No real necessity for me to have butted in at all,

but, well, you never know, if you had been detained

and Miss Vavasour had got tired of waiting.

- You know what I mean? - Yes, yes.

Yes, the whole thing could have been very awkward.

I've been a bit of a fool, as you probably gathered, but I'm cutting it out now.

Well, you're not the first one, by any means.

No.

Well, so ends an exhausting day.

- Nutrax proving troublesome? - No more so than usual.

Pity we can't cure ourselves with our own nostrums, what?

Hello, ladies.

No hurry, Miss Parton. Any time within the next five minutes will do.

(Tom, Tom, The Piper's Son on recorder)

Well, since my virtuous cousin Wimsey seems to have let the cat out of the bag,

I may as well take this off.

I'm afraid my appearance will disappoint you,

except that I am handsomer and less rabbit-looking.

Whoever has seen Wimsey...

has seen me.

It's absolutely incredible.

Yes, well, you needn't come too close. Even a face like Wimsey's is better than yours.

Yours is blotchy. You eat and drink too much.

(Dian laughs)

Well, I take it you want something out of me. People of your sort usually do.

I've got no objection to being frank with you.

Oh, how nice to hear anybody say that.

It always prepares one for a lie to follow.

If you choose to think so, but I think you'll find it to your advantage to listen.

- Financial advantage? - What other kind is there?

I'm beginning to like your face a little better.

Hm.

How do you know Pamela Dean?

Pamela?

A charming girl, is she not?

I obtained an introduction to her, through what the great public calls "a mutual friend".

My object was purely a business one, I admit.

I only wish that all my business acquaintances were as agreeable.

No, thank you.

What kind of business?

Business, my dear fellow, connected with another mutual friend of ours,

the late Victor Dean,

who died, deeply regretted, upon a staircase.

A remarkable young man, was he not?

Really? In what way?

Well, I thought you would know, otherwise why am I here?

You two idiots make me tired.

Where is the sense in going round and round each other, like this?

Your pompous cousin told us all about you, Mr Bredon. He said you were a dope runner.

Where my cousin Wimsey gets his information, I am blessed if I know.

But sometimes he's correct.

You know perfectly well one can get what one wants from Todd's place, so come to the point.

As you say. Is that the particular facet of my brilliant personality that interests you, Milligan?

Is that the particular facet of Victor Dean's personality that interests you?

One point to me. Up until this moment, I wasn't aware that it was a facet of his personality.

(Dian laughs)

Dear me, how interesting it all is, to be sure.

Did Pamela Dean tell you what her brother's job was?

Well, of course. He wrote advertising copy at a place called Pym's. No secret in that.

But that's just what there is.

If the young fellow hadn't got himself killed, we might have found out what it was.

- You were afraid of him finding out too much. - Shut up.

But I don't follow all this. He was the one responsible. Surely?

Do you know, I don't think that you know as much as I do about him.

I don't. I never met him in my life.

But I know a good deal about Pym's Publicity.

Oh? How?

I work there.

- What? - I work there.

Since when?

Since Dean's death.

- Because of Dean's death, you mean? - Mm, yes.

"I obtained information",

as my dear Cousin Wimsey's police pals would say.

Dean was onto something pretty fishy at Pym's

and since most fish have gold in their mouths, like St Peter's,

I thought it wouldn't do any harm to make a cast or two over that particular pool.

What did you find out?

Ho-ho-ho.

My dear Milligan, you would make a cat laugh.

I don't give information away.

I dispose of it, advantageously.

(Dian laughs)

But I'll tell you this. Dean was bumped off, in order to prevent him talking.

So far, the only person who I have been able to discover

wanted him out of the way was yourself.

The police might be interested in that fact.

- The police? - Oh, I quite agree. I don't like the police.

They pay very badly and they ask a heck of a lot of questions,

but it might be useful, for once, to get on the right side of them.

You're barking up the wrong tree. I didn't kill the fellow.

I didn't even want him killed. No, Dean had found out who was working the thing at Pym's.

He might have even found out the way that it's worked.

Is worked?

It's still worked the same way?

Well, as far as I know.

Tell me,

how much do you know about the way your operation works?

Enough.

Perhaps you would like us to supply you.

Hm?

If you're not satisfied with your own distribution,

you have only got to inscribe your name upon my list of customers.

Delivery...

on Thursdays and Sundays.

Dian, my child,

would you run away and play?

I want to talk business...with your friend.

Well, that's a nice way to treat me in my own house, isn't it?

Right.

Now I'm going to tell you all I know.

If you double-cross me, it's at your own risk.

But if we can find out how this thing works and who works it,

we can get in at the top, where the big profits are.

Now, the whole thing is being run from that advertising place of yours.

- At Pym's? - Mm.

I found out from a chap who is dead now.

It's a long story, but...

Well...

I was dining with him one night at the Carlton, and he was a bit lit up.

Old Pym came in with a party.

My man recognised him and turned to me and said,

"If Old Pym knew what was going on at that precious advertising place of his, he'd have a fit."

Well, I asked him what he meant.

And he told me that the dope traffic was being run from there.

Did he say how he knew?

When I questioned him further, he got an attack of caution and became all mysterious.

Yes, I know that brand of drunkenness.

But I met him again later.

Sober.

And he got the shock of his life when I told him what he'd told me,

but he admitted it was true and implored me to keep quiet.

That was all I could get out of him then and later the same evening, he was run over by a car.

How remarkably well timed.

Yes. That's what I thought.

It made me rather nervous.

How did Dean get into all this?

Oh, well, about a year later, Dian brought him around one evening

and when he happened to mention that he worked for Pym's, I thought...

Well, he must be the man.

But, apparently, he wasn't.

No.

I dropped a bit of a brick.

In fact, he got the idea of the thing from me.

Then I found out that he was trying to get in on my share, so I told Dian to shut down on him.

And, shortly after that, he fell down a staircase.

Yes.

Oh.

But I didn't push him. No, no, no.

I only wanted him out of the way.

Well, you know how Dian chatters, when she's all ginned up.

I see.

What you want out of me is the way the trick is worked and the name of the man who works it.

Let's discuss terms.

Later.

When we have the reins in our own hands,

it will be time enough to decide which one of us is going to crack the whip.

Sorry.

(Car drives off)

Well, he's gone.

You'd better leave that man alone, Todd.

(Chuckles)

I warned you.

Not that I give a damn what happens to you.

It would be great fun, seeing you come to smash.

Keep off that man.

You really have lost your head over this theatrical gentleman in tights, haven't you?

Why do you have to be so vulgar? I'm frightened, that's all.

- Unlike me, isn't it? - Frightened of that crook?

Really, Todd, you are a fool sometimes.

You can't see a thing when it's under your nose, can you?

It's written in letters too big for you to see, I suppose.

Just because you couldn't get off with him.

Get off with him? I'd rather get off with the public hangman.

Yes, I daresay you would.

Any new sensation for you.

Oh, come on.

What do you want? A row?

If so, I can't be bothered to oblige.

No, I don't want a row.

I'm finished with you, that's all.

I'm cold.

I'm going to bed.

Todd.

What?

Did you kill Victor Dean?

You were taking a devil of a risk. Suppose Milligan had recognised you?

I had already prepared his mind to accept a striking resemblance.

Still, I wonder he didn't see through it. Family resemblance doesn't extend to teeth and so on.

I never let him get near enough to study details.

That should have made him suspicious, for a start.

No, no, no. I was rude to him about it. He believed me, simply because I was rude.

Everybody suspects an eager desire to curry favour,

but rudeness, for some reason, is always accepted as a guarantee of good faith.

The only man who ever managed to see through rudeness was St Augustine.

And I don't suppose Milligan reads the Confessions.

Well, no doubt you know your own business, Peter.

But have you traced everyone with whom Puncheon might have been in contact?

Everyone. Except this drunk gent in evening clothes. He hasn't been back.

For the past week, I've had tactful, discreet and experienced men

draping themselves all over the bar of the White Swan,

chatting to all and sundry about dogs, parrots and goats and other dumb friends of man.

Not one of them has been given a mysterious packet.

I say, Peter, do you really believe that the head of this particular dope gang is on Pym's staff?

- That sounds quite incredible. - Which is an excellent reason for believing it.

All the same, Charles, I find it difficult to go along the whole way with Milligan.

I have carefully reviewed the whole staff.

I have failed to uncover anyone who looks the least like a Napoleon of Crime.

Let's get back to Dean's murder.

Could it have been an outsider?

Some member of the gang who thought that Dean was on the point of splitting on them.

An outsider could easily have obtained access to the roof,

but that does not explain how he got the catapult out of Miss Rossiter's desk.

No. Or the attack on me.

Not if the same person who murdered Dean also attacked you.

Meaning it could have been Willis all along.

(Rings)

Chief Inspector Parker.

Who?

Mr Puncheon?

Where was this?

Fleet Street?

Look, are you sure it was him?

I see. Where is he now?

Good. Stay with him.

Right. Come on, Peter.

- Where are we going? - The Natural History Museum.

Wait here. I'll go and make contact with Puncheon.

- Mr Puncheon? - (Groan)

Oh!

I'm so sorry. I beg your pardon.

(Screams)

(Screams)

Oh, my God.

(Bell alarm rings)

MAN: How horrible. - Stand back.

WOMAN: Oh!

(Bell continues ringing)