Original subtitles

(Church bells ringing)

The damage, it seems, is not too extensive, my lord, but...

No buts, Bunter.

Thank Providence we're in one piece and so close to civilisation.

- As you say, my lord. - Nice and brisk, then, my old Sergeant.

Left. Left. Left, right. Left.

(Wind howling)

- Sitting up, is he, Mrs Tebbutt? - And taking notice.

Thank the Lord. The Vicar's with him now.

But he's been ever so bad.

They do say Lady Thorpe's terrible bad. Dr Baines has been up twice today, I hear.

Spanish influenza!

They can call it what they like.

If you want my opinion, Ezra,

that's a visitation for our sinful ways.

Oh, I wouldn't go so far.

Your Jack's no great sinner, and Lady Thorpe's the kindest soul alive.

He's doing splendidly, Mrs Tebbutt!

He'll be up and about in no time.

Ah, good evening, Ezra. I'm only sorry that he won't be fit to ring for us tonight.

(Door opens)

Oh...what-ho!

(Blows out) Seasonable for the time of the year - what?

- It's no weather to be walking abroad. - Oh, not intentional, I assure you.

Good evening. Could we have two large whiskies, if you please, with hot water?

- What about you, Vicar? - That's extremely kind of you, sir, but...

- To keep out the cold. - Well, put like that,

perhaps a small cherry brandy.

Splendid! The old car decided to run off the road about half a mile back.

Oh, forgive me. My name is Wimsey, by the way. Peter Wimsey.

Venables. Theodore Venables. I'm the incumbent here.

- And this is my man, Bunter. - Oh, how do you do?

- How do you do, sir? - And this is Ezra Wilderspin, our blacksmith.

A valued and respected member of the community.

- Mr Wilderspin. What'll you have? - Oh, a pint of bitter, if it's all the same to you, sir.

And a cherry brandy, if you please, and a pint of bitter.

Well, I feel rather like Ulysses, come to port after much storm and peril!

Did you hear, Mrs Tebbutt? The gentleman's car ran off the road.

In this weather, I'm not surprised.

Stuck nose-down in a snowdrift. In fact, I was wondering, Mrs erm...

- Tebbutt. - ..if you could possibly put us up for the night.

Oh, I'm that sorry, sir, but my husband's ill,

and, not taking guests, anyway,

I don't rightly think I could manage.

No, no, no, of course not. Well, I'm sorry about your husband. Nothing serious, I hope.

- Spanish influenza. - Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

A lot of it about. Yes, a perfect curse.

But he's over the worst. He's making excellent progress.

I'm delighted to hear it.

Will you take something yourself, Mrs Tebbutt?

No, thank you very much.

Well, may I wish you all a very happy New Year?

ALL: Happy New Year.

That'll be three and elevenpence.

Yes, of course.

Yes, there we are. That'll be all right.

I say! What a splendid fire!

Excuse me. Well, that still leaves us in a bit of a hole, Bunter - what?

- It does indeed, my lord. - (Gasps)

Lord Peter Wimsey? I knew I knew the name.

Mrs Tebbutt, we are entertaining a celebrity.

- Is that so, Vicar? - It is, indeed!

Lord Peter has written a most scholarly monograph.

Notes On The Collection Of Incunabula.

Now, don't tell me you've read it?

- Indeed, indeed! - Well, I'll be dashed!

I'm a book collector myself.

I fear that my library is rather limited,

but I have an addition of the Gospel of Nicodemus,

which I think would interest you.

Dear me! How delightful, meeting you like this!

We shall be able to exchange impressions.

Well, much as I would like to, I'm afraid...

Ah, but you're staying at the rectory. No question. There's nowhere else.

And please, believe me - I was going to invite you before.

- Then we accept gratefully. Don't we, Bunter? - Very much so, my lord.

And don't worry about your car - Mr Ashton's horses will pull it out in the morning.

Ezra is quite the motor mechanic, too.

Oh, I say! Well, that's no end civil of you.

I don't imagine, Lord Peter, that you've ever been to Fenchurch St Paul before.

Yes, yes, once. Oh, about 20 years ago now. I came here to a wedding, just before the war.

Then you remember my church?

Oh, clearly. One of the finest in the Fens. All transitional, I think.

Except one of the windows at the end of the north aisle.

That's late perpendicular. And, though I say it myself,

we have a really noble ring of bells.

- Few finer in the county. - Will you be ringing in the New Year?

Not merely that, but we are aiming for a record.

No less than 15,840 Kent Treble Bob Majors.

- Bless my soul. - Oh, I say! That'll take a bit of time.

Nine hours. And what is more, but for the little help that I can give,

we shall be obliged to ring the whole peal with only eight ringers.

It's this terrible influenza. Four of our best men are laid low.

(Engine rumbling) - There's the bus from Leamholt.

It seems to me you'll have your work cut out.

Oh, it will be exhausting!

But what a triumph if we succeed!

There are tablets in the belfry commemorating all the famous peals of former times,

but it's many years since we added a new one.

Will.

- What is it, Will? MRS TEBBUTT: What is it, he asks!

Spanish influenza - that's what.

Same as my poor Jack.

Come you on, Will. Get this inside you.

(Sighs) I know I...

I've been feeling a bit queer all day, but...

on the bus just now, coming back from Leamholt, I come over something terrible.

So much for vaulting ambition.

- One of your eight ringers? - Yes.

But we mustn't think about that. We must get poor Will home to bed.

Can I be of some assistance, Vicar?

That's very good of you, Mr Bunter. My car is outside.

If we could just get him into it...

WIMSEY: Come on, old lad! We'll give you a hand.

We can go on to the rectory after we've got poor Will home.

Splendid.

We'll get him straight home to Mary, Mrs Tebbutt.

- Over there, in my bunk. - Are you sure, Jim?

- It's the only warm room in the place. - They're damp, these cottages, ever so damp.

There we go.

Down you go, Will, lad.

By Jove! You've obviously had experience heaving weights about - what?

Aye. The sea's a hard master, but a thorough one.

Ah, yes, I should have known. Royal Navy, are you, Mr...?

- Nothing so grand. - Forgive me.

Jim Thoday, Will's brother. Jim is a merchant seaman.

Enjoying Christmas leave, Mr...

- Wimsey. VENABLES: Lord Peter Wimsey.

And this is Mr Bunter.

- How do you do? - They've been very helpful with Will.

- Very grateful. - Lord Peter Wimsey?

That's right. Er...Mrs Thoday, is it?

I might forget a face, but I never yet forgot a name.

I'm sorry. With me, it's usually the other way round, but this time, you'll have to forgive me.

Oh, you wouldn't remember me. I was parlour maid up the manor,

when that lady's emeralds were taken - the time Sir Henry got married.

By Jove! That's quite a time ago.

You were the gentleman had the fast motor. Drove after Cranton.

Perfectly correct. It didn't catch him, though.

That was quite enough, my lord. It brought Cranton to prison. And Geoff Deacon.

- I managed to get the number of Cranton's car. - (Sharply) That's what I mean.

Astonishing coincidence. I had no idea.

Jim, I think you'd better call Dr Baines.

I will, Mr Venables. Don't you worry. I'll go to the post office and knock up Miss Higgs.

- I'm sure that's sensible. - Are you staying long, my lord?

No, no, no. Just for the night.

Bunter and I are stranded wayfarers. The Vicar's very kindly putting us up.

Take good care of him, Mary, my dear. It's the nursing that counts with this influenza.

- Good night, Jim. - Thank you, Vicar.

And be sure to let me know if there's anything I can do.

Night, gentlemen.

If you're going to the post office, you'd best go.

Ah.

The sooner the doctor gets here, the better.

Mary...

Is everything all right? Between you and Will, I mean.

All right? What do you mean? Why shouldn't it be all right?

In all these years, it's the first time I've heard you say your husband's name.

- Will's my husband. - Will's your second husband.

Geoff Deacon were first.

Geoff Deacon's dead.

That was a shock, like -

seeing Lord Peter again.

That brought it all back.

(Tearfully) Wretched old business!

- Mary... - There's only one man that I care about,

and he's too ill for you to be stood there gabbing.

Now, will you go and get the doctor?

(Will groans)

I remember Deacon breaking out of Maidstone and killing that warder.

It was in all the papers when I was in hospital.

There was quite a manhunt on at the time. Looked as though he'd got clean away.

Then erm...I believe a body was found.

Two years later.

In Kent.

Some schoolboys exploring a dene hole.

They found a skeleton, still wearing remnants of convict clothing.

The police were quite satisfied it was Deacon.

That meant Mary was free to marry Will Thoday.

It was 1920. It was the year we moved here.

The very first ceremony that Theodore ever performed in Fenchurch St Paul.

It can't have been at all easy for the poor girl,

what with the theft, and then Deacon being sent to prison.

Not much fun, I don't suppose, in a small village, being married to a convicted criminal.

Naturally, what we know is mostly at second hand. There was a lot of gossip.

It was hinted that Mary had helped Deacon in the theft.

All complete nonsense, of course. She's a most respectable girl.

Her only mistake was falling in love with him in the first place.

Deacon was a very personable young man. I remember that quite clearly.

- And pulled a very good rope, what's more. - Pardon?

I remember Hezekiah Lavender used to say that he, Deacon,

was the quickest chap at learning the Kent Treble Bob he'd ever met.

Oh, I see! You could do with him tonight, then, Padre - what?

Oh, indeed, indeed.

Well, you'll have to excuse me, Lord Peter.

I must go and break the news to the lads.

They'll be bitterly disappointed. I am myself.

It means we shall be reduced to ringing minor.

Look...I've been thinking about this, Padre.

- Forgive me. About what? - About tonight's peal.

I used to pull quite a pretty rope, myself.

You did, Lord Peter?

Well, not wishing to boast and all that, don't you know?

- Not Treble Bob? - Treble Bob. Mind you, it's a long time...

It'll come back to you. Half an hour with the handbells.

Oh, no, Theodore. Lord Peter has had a tiring enough day...

No, look, look. It was my suggestion.

If I can get a few hours' sleep before midnight, I'll pull bells like billyo.

Oh, but you shall! How splendid! I must tell Hezekiah at once.

He can call the lads together for a practice ring on the handbells.

You know, I cannot get over the amazing coincidence of your arrival here.

It's as though heaven itself had intervened on our behalf!

I can't tell you how grateful I am! You can't guess what it means to him.

Well, I just hope I can get through without making a hash of things.

Oh, I'm sure you'll manage very well.

Tell me, Mrs Venables - how are the Thorpes? Are they still living here?

Oh, yes, but I'm afraid things aren't at all easy for them.

All that money gone,

and then Sir Henry getting so badly wounded during the fighting in the salient.

He still has to use a wheelchair, you know.

Oh, I say, I am sorry. I had no idea it was as bad as that.

- And now Lady Thorpe's very unwell. - What, flu?

Yes. Such a pretty woman...

though not, I think, particularly strong.

Must be a very anxious time for them.

You really must stop worrying, Sir Henry.

Lady Thorpe is going to be as right as rain in no time.

(Sharply) Yes! Yes. Get me another whisky, Mrs Gates.

- Do you think you really ought to? - Yes, I do.

A large one.

Yes, and not too much soda.

I'm not at all sure that Dr Baines would approve.

(Sighs) Well, ask him, if you want to. Here he is.

You know I was only teasing.

Mrs Gates, I want you to go and sit with Lady Thorpe.

Yes, yes, of course, Doctor.

I can't stand that woman.

No, neither can I. However, things being what they are,

we learn to be grateful, my dear Alec, even for the Mrs Gates of life.

- Cannae be very easy for you, though. - No, and nor for Mrs Gates.

Let's not forget that.

I mean to say - do you remember the staff this house carried in the old days?

My good heavens. With the under-gardeners, it was up to 14 at one time.

Now she manages almost alone.

Is it any wonder the garden's a wilderness?

Aye, well, you'd best get young Hilary a pair of secateurs for Christmas.

- Yeah, poor darling. - What? Is she ailing?

- No, no. - Now...

- Yes, I know. I know. - I brought the child into the world, remember.

There's spirit there.

The fact remains she is an only child, Alec. We are all she's got.

And resilience she's got.

Well, I can't help wishing I had more to leave her.

Ah, bosh, man. Your father left you precious little.

My father had nothing to leave, after what happened at my wedding.

Aye.

Aye, one forgets with the years.

Yeah, �60,000, that cost him.

That was the value of the stolen emeralds,

and he insisted on paying Lady Wilbraham every penny.

But you know the story by heart.

And I still say that was carrying chivalry too far.

Chivalry, Alec? Honesty, if you must.

Dignity, I think, is nearer the mark.

A noble sentiment, Henry. Neatly phrased.

But, define it how you will, I still maintain some of the blame should have been laid at her door.

I mean, to hide a valuable necklace like that under the bed in a...

Yes, yes, yes. Well, in any case, it's...

What about Isabel?

I've known you too long to beat about the bush.

She's bad. Damn bad.

- There's pneumonia now... (Door opens)

- Hilary, dear. Hello. - Dr Baines.

I heard you leave Mummy's room. How is she?

Not very well, I'm afraid.

(Telephone rings)

I daren't risk moving her to hospital.

I'll ring Leamholt, ask them to send round a nurse.

You don't think she has much chance?

She has a chance...

That was Miss Higgs from the post office.

Will Thoday's got it now.

I'll look in there on my way back.

Poor old darling.

What a rotten New Year.

WIMSEY: I said I remembered.

That's not true.

I'd forgotten how beautiful it was.

"He rode upon the cherubims and did fly.

He came flying upon the wings of the wind."

I'm... I'm sorry...

Who is this bloke that's gonna...

Oh, I don't know nothing of him.

Here comes the Reverend now.

Ah, here you all are! Splendid.

Now, this is Lord Peter Wimsey,

sent to us by Providence, as you might say.

Now, let me introduce you all.

Hezekiah Lavender. He has pulled Tailor Paul for 60 years.

- Hello. - Ezra Wilderspin.

Of course, Ezra Wilderspin you know.

- Yes, yes. - Our biggest man pulls the smallest bell.

But that's often the way of things, isn't it?

- Jack Godfrey. - Hello.

Jack has the honour of ringing our oldest bell.

Batty Thomas - cast in 1338.

- I say! - Mr Donnington.

He takes charge of number six.

Joe Hinkin, my gardener - number five.

- How do you do? - Harry Gotobed - number four.

Our sexton, incidentally. Rather a good name for a sexton!

- (Laughter) - And Walter Pratt, our youngest recruit.

- Hello, Wally. - He takes number three.

Well, that's all of us, I think.

You, Lord Peter, will take number two, poor Will Thoday's bell.

- Oh, righty-ho. - Now, the object of this practice

is to let Lord Peter have a chance of getting his hand in again.

30 minutes, I think, should be quite sufficient.

So, er...Hezekiah...

Right, boys. Now...

If you be ready, we'll ring a little touch of 96, just to put this gentleman in the way of it.

And remember, my lord: you start by making the first snap and lead with the treble.

Then you go into the slow hunt, till she comes down to snap with you again.

- And after that I make the thirds and fourths? - That's right, my lord.

Then it's three steps forward, one step back,

till you lie at the blows behind.

Right.

Well, carry on, Sergeant-Major.

Ready, boys? Go.

- Treble's going, treble's gone. (Ringing starts)

Church... I must go down to the church.

- Take it easy, Will. - The Vicar's...

You're not doing any ringing tonight.

- I must get down to the church. - Ah, shhh, shhh.

On and on about the blessed ringing. Reckons he's let the Vicar down or something.

That's fair preying on his mind, Doctor.

Mr Venables is a very understanding man.

Try and get it into his head there's nothing to fret about.

- We'll try. - Keep him well covered, meantime.

The more he sweats, the better.

And a tablespoon of this every four hours.

It'll help bring the fever down.

Bad luck, this happening on your leave, Jim.

Just so long as he gets better.

Do what I said. I'll look in tomorrow.

(Ringing finishes)

Well rung, every one of you!

Hezekiah, I think our new recruit will do us credit.

Aye, he'll keep his place, all right.

And after tonight, we shall hope to be able to put up a new tablet.

Well, I only hope I don't do anything to prevent it.

Now, then, where's this bell of mine?

Ah.

- We'd better let you get the feel of it. - Here, my lord.

Better adjust them tuckings for His Lordship.

Let him raise her first... unless you'd like me to raise her for you.

(Chuckles) Not on your life.

It's a poor ringer that can't raise his own bell.

(Bell ringing repeatedly)

(Ringing continues)

Splendid, Lord Peter.

Right, boys. Now, listen. All of you.

You comes here sharp at a quarter to eleven. See?

And you rings as usual for service.

After Vicar's finished his sermon,

then you comes up here again, quiet and decent, like, and takes your places.

Then, when they're a-singing their hymn,

I ring the Nine Tailors and the half-minute passing stroke for old year, see?

Then you waits for the clock to strike.

And when her's finished striking, I says, "Go."

And mind as you're ready to go.

(Bell chiming)

(Chiming continues)

That's the Nine Tailors they're ringing.

Yeah. The death of the old year.

(Will breathes raspingly)

(Chiming continues)

Or the death of a man.

(Clock chiming)

(12 chimes begin)

(Clock chimes continue)

(12th chime)

Right, boys? Go.

Treble's going, treble's gone.

(Bells chiming descending notes)

Go, Kent Treble Bob!

(Chiming continues)

Come in.

Ah, Mr Bunter. Is everything all right?

Yes, madam. I have the beer and the nine tankards prepared.

May I take this opportunity of wishing you a very happy and prosperous New Year?

Thank you, Mr Bunter. And I wish you the same.

Well, they seem to have made a good start.

Yes, indeed. A very cheerful sound.

To tell you the truth, I've never really cared for bell music.

It's too clamorous for me.

I should never dare to say so to my husband.

He's quite passionate about it.

I shall respect your confidence, madam.

I'm sure. Now, let me fetch my coat, and I'll take you over to the church.

There's really no need, you know. It's very cold outside. I can find my own way.

Oh, it's no trouble. I'm going, anyway.

Mr Venables always expects me to put in an appearance.

(Chiming continues)

Thank you, Bunter.

- Not too exhausted? - Oh, good Lord, no! No.

No, just feeling a bit thirsty.

This goes down a treat. How does it sound outside?

Oh, beautiful. Surprising how soft and mellow it sounds in here.

But of course, there's another floor between us and the bell chamber.

Erm...look, I say...

No shirking or anything, but do you think he'd mind frightfully

if I popped downstairs and listened to it outside?

Oh, no, of course not. He loves it. Don't be too long.

No. (Chuckles)

(Chiming continues)

I'll take over now, Mary.

You go get some sleep.

- When's he due for his next medicine? - Four o'clock.

(Chiming continues)

WILL: Them bells...

They... They've got to stop ringing them bells.

Steady, Will, lad. Take it easy.

I ought to go down to the church...

There, there, there...

They've got to stop ringing them bells!

They... They... They've got to stop... stop ringing...

That's better, now.

JIM: Yes, they'll stop soon.

- Jim... - What is it, girl?

It's money, Jim. Look.

I've never seen so much money in my life.

(Chiming continues)

Stand next time.

(Ringing stops)

Very good.

Magnificent! You've done it, lads, and it couldn't have been better done.

It weren't bad. We done it!

(Laughter)

Well done, Wally!

You can call yourself a real ringer now.

And you, Lord Peter - we owe you a great debt of gratitude. Every one of us.

(Murmurs of congratulations)

Perhaps now I can get your old car repaired, my lord.

- Oh, take at least ten minutes' rest, old chap! - (Laughter)

We shall be able to put up that new tablet now, lads - what?

- (Murmurs of approval) - Yes, but first things first,

and I think breakfast.

- Delicious thought. - It's all waiting for us at the rectory.

Come along, then. Sausages, bacon, hot coffee...

If that's Batty Thomas you're looking for, you'll find him up the loft!

No, I... I appear to have mislaid my keys to the belfry.

Oh, well, never mind. Jack, you've got the other set.

- Aye, Vicar. - Are you all ready?

Personally, I've never felt readier.

- Agnes, my dear. What...? - A message from the Manor House, Theodore.

It's Lady Thorpe. She...

Sir Henry is anxious that she should receive the sacrament.

(Door opens)

BAINES: Oh, you're too late.

I gathered as much from Mrs Gates.

It was very sudden. Not ten minutes ago.

She died peacefully.

God rest her soul.

She was a good woman.

Aye, you can say that again.

It's her that's kept poor Henry going all these years, not my medicine.

She and young Hilary.

- How is he? - Shocked, I'm afraid.

Oh, I've given him a strong sedative. He ought to sleep for a few hours.

- And Hilary? - Very composed.

Too composed by half. It'll hit her later, no doubt.

BUNTER: It does, as you say, my lord, afford a desolate aspect.

WIMSEY: (Chuckles) You should see it when the floods are out, old lad.

All this higher ground, you see, is cross-dyked and drained,

and the drain water is fed into the river.

Well, Mr Venables did try to explain.

The waters meet at different levels - does it not?

Hence the need for this - Van Leyden's Sluice.

You see, if it wasn't for those, the river being tidal,

the drain water would run back and flood the whole bally area.

BUNTER: That accounts for his concern... (Church bell chiming)

(Chiming continues)

Six.

Six Tailors for the death of a woman.

Lady Thorpe? Rest her soul.

As you say.

Time we were moving on, Bunter.

I think this is one New Year Your Lordship is not likely to forget.

For more reasons than one, old lad.

We appear to have some company, my lord.

WIMSEY: Oh, good egg. Let's wave our hats.

I'm all for scattering sunshine as we pass.

Morning. Happy New Year to you.

Excuse me for stopping you, sir.

Am I right for Fenchurch St Paul?

Quite right. Straight on, till you come to the bridge.

Cross over, turn left, until you reach a signpost.

- About how far, sir? - Er...ooh, about five miles.

You've got a cold walk, I'm afraid.

Yes, sir. Not a very nice part of the country.

(Chuckles) No, no. No, indeed, no.

- Like a fag? - Yes, please, sir.

Here we are. Look...have a handful.

Thank you very much.

There we are.

You er...don't belong to these parts?

No, sir.

- Looking for work? - Yes, sir.

- Labourer? - No, sir. Motor mechanic.

I see. Well, good luck to ye.

Thank you. Good day to you, sir.

Toodle-oo.

(Engine starts)

Motor mechanic, my lord?

Possibly, Bunter, but not recently, I think.

Hard labour's more about the size of it.

The daffs are fantastic this year.

I've got practically a carload to take to the church.

- Hilary, my dear... - Yes?

Come here a minute.

It was a lovely day. I don't want to cast a blight on Easter...

- Well, then, don't. - But there is something that I must say.

Now, if I should go west this time...

- Oh, darling... - We must face the facts.

Is that why you...

- Why I what? - Nothing.

Please... please.

It's three months since Mummy was buried.

There's still no headstone on the grave, and I... Oh, Daddy...

Let's be sensible, now.

When I do go, I'm afraid I'm going to leave you pretty badly off.

Don't talk such rot. Please.

You're not going west, and even if you did...

Oh, there'll be enough to send you to Oxford. Girls don't seem to cost much there.

And I'm bound to get a scholarship, anyway.

Miss Bowler says.

Then, when I've taken my degree, I'm going to be a writer, so...

Oh, what are you going to write? Poetry?

No. Bestsellers.

Not just bosh, but stuff like The Constant Nymph.

Miss Bowler says I have heaps of talent.

I'm delighted to hear it. Nevertheless, we must face the facts...

Golly! Look at the time. I'll miss my date if I don't hurry.

I'll be back in time for tea. Just try and be good while I'm gone.

I'll try.

Bye, Daddy.

(Door closes)

- Hello, Mrs Venables. - Oh, they're glorious. Do thank your father.

Yes, of course. Is Jack Godfrey here?

Yes, he's in the tower, greasing the bells.

Super. He said he would be. I'm going up to have a look.

Do mind those dreadful stairs.

(Approaching footsteps)

- Hello, Mr Godfrey. - Hello, Miss Hilary.

Can I pop up and have a look? I've never seen any of them really close to.

(Chuckles) All right.

Wait a minute.

Now, up you come.

That's it.

Steady on.

There we are.

- This is Tailor Paul? - That's right, miss.

- Isn't she a monster? - Aye, pretty fair.

She's done her bit in her time.

Mr Venables told me there was an inscription.

Oh, here it is.

"Nine tailors make a man. In Christ...

..is death at end in Adam yet began.

1614."

I find that rather a complicated sentiment.

But I don't suppose it was to them.

- Which are the others? - Well...

Gaude, Sabaoth, John, Jericho,

Jubilee,

and Dimity.

And this here is Batty Thomas -

what Abbot Thomas once put up.

No, don't come no closer, miss. No, she's an unlucky bell.

She have her fancies, and I wouldn't care to risk it.

What do you mean?

Well, you see, she's my own bell.

I've rung her close on 15 year.

She's no quarrel with me, but she have killed two men in her time.

She come down on the head of one of Cromwell's soldiers.

And then there was a lad in the old rector's time.

Well, he tried to raise her, and he got himself hanged in the rope.

So, if you don't mind, miss,

I don't fear to take no chances with Batty Thomas.

All right, Mr Godfrey. If she's a killer, she's all yours.

- Mr Godfrey... - What is it, Miss Hilary?

I've found something funny. Come and see.

Hold on a minute. I'm right with you.

"I thought to see the fairies in the fields,

but I saw only the elephants with their black backs."

- Eh? - I found this on the floor.

It's absolutely loony.

"The elves danced all around..."

GODFREY: "..while I heard voices calling clearly.

I tried to see, but no blind eye of mortal

was permitted to spy them."

Do you think it could be Potty Peake?

What's this 'ere Erebus mean?

I think it's kind of an old name for hell.

Well, Potty ain't no scholar.

He wouldn't know names like that, and he couldn't write so pretty, neither.

But...that's mad enough for him.

- Jolly weird, isn't it? - Yeah, that is.

- Quite creepy. AGNES: Hilary? Hilary, dear, come quickly!

Sir Henry Thorpe, Bunter -

he's dead.

"After a long illness. At the Manor House, Fenchurch St Paul."

I am sorry, my lord.

Will you be attending the funeral?

Well, I deputised for my brother at his wedding, 20 years ago,

but I haven't seen the fella since.

To turn up now at his funeral...

Not quite the thing, I think, Bunter.

Aye, it's always the same, Wally.

When a man wants to be buried with his wife,

you can't do a decent job.

- (Chuckles) - If I'd had my way,

I'd have dug a new grave alongside.

This way, it doesn't give a chap a chance for measuring and shaping up.

Still, there it is.

It was Sir Henry's last wish - so Vicar said.

(Thud)

Oh, my good Lord!

What is it, Wally?

I don't know.

But it didn't ought to be there, Mr Gotobed. Something horrid.

Yeah...

You're right, boy. It didn't ought to.

- You rang, my lord? - I certainly did, Bunter.

Pack our bags and cancel my engagements. We're going to an inquest.

Certainly, my lord. May I enquire where?

Well, Fenchurch St Paul, of course. Where else?

"Wally," I says.

"That's a sleeve.

And what's more, there's an arm inside it."

So, we gets to shovelling away again,

going very careful.

And after a while, we sees a leg.

So, I tells him to get rid of the shovel and use his hands.

He says he doesn't like to.

But I told him not to be a fool...

..cos he can always wash his hands when he's done.

(Chuckling)

So, we clears away...

very careful.

And then at last we sees him plain.

What precisely did you see?

A man's corpus.

Go on.

Well, he were wearing an ordinary suit of clothes,

and it looked to me as though he'd been a-lying there a goodish while.

Did you notice anything else, Harry?

Yes. He... He ain't got no hands.

And his face...

Well, it's my belief his own mother wouldn't...

But you can't say for certain you recognised the deceased?

If I did, I should be telling a lie.

But it's a fact: he ain't unlike the chap that come to me New Year's Day, looking for a job.

Said he was a motor mechanic, out of work.

I give him a trial, and he done his work well...

..for three days.

- Where was he living during this time? - My house.

And all of a sudden, off he goes in the middle of the night. Never seen him no more.

- What day was that? - Same day as they buried Her Ladyship.

Saturday, 4th January.

Hm. What was the name of this man?

Called himself Stephen Driver.

Is there anything more you can tell us about this man?

I don't know as there is, sir.

Ezra, don't you remember?

What about all them funny questions you told me he asked you?

Oh, arr.

I was clean forgetting.

Yeah. He said he hadn't ever been to this here village before,

but he knew a friend as had.

And this friend told him to ask after a Mr Thomas and a Mr Paul.

Said Mr Thomas wasn't quite right in the head, and Mr Paul was a tailor or something like that.

Well, it come to me straightaway. I said, "They're having a game with you.

They ain't men's names. They're bells in the church.

Batty Thomas, Tailor Paul."

After that, he asked a sight of questions. Did the bells have writing on them? And so on.

I said, well, some of them did, but if he wanted to know more, to ask the Vicar...

Did this man Stephen Driver ask you about the bells, Mr Venables?

- On no occasion. - Did you meet him?

I think I saw him once, at the forge.

I was delivering the parish magazine. But I didn't speak to him.

I see. Now, your own keys of the church - they're always in your possession?

Well, erm...yes...

You seem not quite certain.

Well, it's merely that I'm very absent-minded.

I do mislay things from time to time.

- Have you ever mislaid the keys? - Yes.

I did at New Year. I remember very clearly.

We had just rung 15,840 Kent Treble Bob Majors.

Nine hours' ringing.

And I realised it when I wanted to lock up the belfry.

But as Jack Godfrey had the other set,

I didn't really bother.

But you found them, your own keys, subsequently?

Well, I did not, but Emily did.

She's our maid.

They were on the shelf in our scullery.

The deceased was wearing a suit of navy-blue serge.

It was of poor quality and much deteriorated from its burial in the earth.

On the other hand, sir, it wasn't old.

Could you say where it was purchased?

Yes, sir. Max Brothers of London, a big firm of cheap outfitters.

I've been onto them, but they weren't much help.

They sell hundreds of suits like this. Same goes for the shirt and tie.

- Anything else? - Er...the deceased was also wearing

a pair of working men's boots, almost new.

And this may strike you as curious.

The vest and the underpants - well, they were very worn and darned.

But the labels were still on them - they were manufactured in France.

You examined the body of the deceased and made an autopsy.

What were your findings, Dr Baines?

I should judge the subject to be...

an Englishman between 45 and 50.

He appears to have been well nourished, healthy.

The extent of decomposition suggests that the body had been lying in the grave

between three and four months.

The internal organs and soft tissue generally

were fairly well preserved.

I could discover no signs of any external injury,

except upon the head, arms,

wrists and ankles.

The...face appeared to have been battered in with some blunt instrument,

with the result that the whole of the anterior -

that is, the front portion of the skull -

had been reduced to splinters.

I could form no exact estimate of the number of blows,

but they must have been numerous and heavy.

Er...on opening the abdomen...

One moment, Doctor. I take it that we may assume

the deceased died in consequence of these blows.

No. No, I do not think they were the cause of death.

- Why do you say that? - Because, to the best of my knowledge,

all the blows were inflicted after death.

The hands also were removed after death,

apparently, with a short, heavy knife - probably a jackknife.

CORONER: Why on earth should anybody inflict such severe injuries on a dead body?

That is outside my province. I'm not a specialist in lunacy.

No, quite so. Quite so.

Well, in your opinion, Doctor, what was the cause of death?

I do not know.

On opening the abdomen...

the stomach showed no signs of any disease or injury by poison.

I did, however, remove certain organs,

and these I sent on to Sir James Lubbock for expert examination.

I hope to receive his report in about ten days' time.

You spoke of injuries to the arms and ankles.

The skin round the ankles seemed to be very much broken and abraded,

as if they had been tightly bound with a cord or rope.

The arms bore similar injuries above the elbows.

These injuries were undoubtedly inflicted before death.

CORONER: You are suggesting that someone tied up the deceased and then, by some means,

brought about his death?

He was certainly tied up before death. I won't go further than that.

Thank you very much, Dr Baines.

Well, under the circumstances, Superintendent Blundell,

I think we will adjourn this inquest for a fortnight.

That will give you a chance to continue with your investigations,

and by then we shall have received Sir James Lubbock's report.

- Does that suit you? - Yes, sir...

Oh, one further point.

Is there any reason to delay the burial of this unfortunate man?

None, sir. The sooner the better.

A beautiful case. Quite charming. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Uncommonly good of you to tell me about it.

It was uncommonly foolish of me not to know of your reputation as a detective, Lord Peter.

I only heard about it after you had left us, quite by chance,

and when I told the Superintendent...

And you don't mind me sticking my nose in?

Oh, quite the contrary, my lord. I know all about you from Chief Inspector Parker.

- Cheers. - Good health.

Well, let's sit down.

- Thank you. - Now, my lord...

Tell me all about this fellow you met on the road on New Year's Day.

He's the chappie Ezra Wilderspin took on. No doubt about it.

Could that be the chap?

- Yes, it could. Quite easily. - Nobby Cranton.

Cranton? Do you mean the Wilbraham emeralds?

Mm-hm. He came out of prison at the end of summer.

Just done four years for receiving stolen goods.

Failed to report in September, and we haven't seen him since.

Taking a recuperative holiday abroad, perhaps.

France can be most pleasant in September.

At the moment, my lord, that is mere speculation.

As you say, Superintendent.

What we now know is that, by December,

friend Cranton was back here in Fenchurch St Paul.

Looking for the emeralds?

Why not? They've never been discovered.

Loud cheers! I'm all in favour of a treasure hunt.

So, you think that the body was that of Cranton?

Could be, Mr Venables.

And if it was, and if somebody thought it worthwhile to kill him,

smash him up, bury him,

and cut off his hands, where he keeps his fingerprints...

there is somebody in this village who knows something.

Dear me!

What a very distressing thought!