Original subtitles

PRIEST: For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God in his great mercy

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

we therefore commit his body to the ground...

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Poor blighter, whoever he is.

Well, he won't be disturbed down there.

The situation is not what you might call overlooked, my lord.

Mm?

Well, that cottage, if I'm not mistaken, must be...

Will Thoday's.

BUNTER: And beyond that there's only The Wheatsheaf

and the farm belonging to Mr Ashton.

- Ashton? - One of the churchwardens, my lord.

- Ah. - It was his horse, sir, you may remember,

which kindly rescued the car.

Well done, Mr Ashton...

and his hardworking horse.

What's that over there?

Looks like a well, my lord.

Is it still in use?

There's a saying, isn't there?

Truth lies at the bottom of a well.

Miss Hilary Thorpe, is it not?

BLUNDELL: You live nearest to the churchyard. You can see it from here.

WILL: Hop it, Rosie. - That's right. You go and play outside now.

It's just grown-ups here. And mind you look after the little 'un, now.

But you noticed nothing unusual that night?

How do you mean, Mr Blundell?

You didn't hear anything, see lights moving - anything of that sort?

No. No, the night after they laid poor Lady Thorpe to rest,

I was up all night with Will. He was ever so bad.

I hardly moved from his side.

- And Jim? - Jim had left that morning, back to his ship, like.

- 4th January. - What?

- When he left. - Er...yes.

Have you heard from him lately?

Postcard about ten days ago,

from Hong Kong.

It's nothing but postcards this trip. Usually he's a great letter writer.

They be a bit short-handed, maybe.

When do you expect him back?

- He ought... - Not for I don't know when.

Hannah Brown, she don't make regular voyages. She follows cargo, see.

I see. A tramp.

- And who were the owners, did you say? - Lampson and Blake of Hull.

Set great store by Jim.

He's first mate now.

Anything happen to Captain Woods, they'd give him the ship, wouldn't they?

So he says. It don't do no good to count on nothing these days.

By the way, they buried that poor blighter this afternoon, did you know?

- Me, why should I? - No reason.

That were a bad enough business without going...

That's the influenza, see. It's left him ever so run-down.

You should have heard him when he was real bad.

On and on about those blessed bells.

When it wasn't the bells that was on his mind, that was...the old trouble.

- The Wilbraham affair. - His mind was muddled, see.

WILL: Now, that'll do!

I'm not having her fretting about that old business.

That's all dead and buried. If it come up when I weren't rightly in my senses, I can't help that.

- I'm not blaming you, Will. - Well...

I don't want nothing more said about it in this house.

She told you, she don't know nothing about that fella they buried.

What I said or didn't say when ill don't matter a bag of beans.

No, of course not.

Right, wait a moment. Away we go.

Why should you think the murder was planned beforehand?

Because the rope marks, young Hilary Thorpe, show that the man was tied up before he died.

But the murderer couldn't have thought about it earlier than New Year's Day.

I mean, he couldn't have counted on having a nice, new grave handy.

Of course not, but it could have happened any time since.

Not at any time. Only within a week or so after Mother died.

- Why? - Because Harry Gotobed would have noticed

if anyone had been mucking around after the earth had firmed up properly.

So he would, by Jove.

So it must have happened quite soon after New Year's Day.

As Sherlock Holmes would say,

a colleague after my own heart.

And a very pretty one, too.

- Hello! - Another bite?

Yes, I think so.

Well, well, well. Ha, ha!

- What's going on here, then? - What, ho, Super! Welcome!

- I say, what's the idea? - It was Miss Thorpe's idea, actually.

She has a theory that truth lies at the bottom of a well.

And if evidence is truth, we're doing splendidly.

Did you measure the victim's head, by any chance?

- Of course. - Well, that is probably his hat.

And these are the ropes that bound him.

Uh-uh-uh!

I had no intention of touching the knots, my lord.

- They might quite easily tell us something. - Yes, well, they do.

Effective, you may say. But hardly the work of an expert.

- Sailor couldn't have tied them? - Mm?

Oh, good Lord, no.

But five pieces.

The arms and the ankles each tied separately

and the body tied up to something or other.

Five.

Our murderer gets rid of the rope down here.

But where, I wonder, did he get it in the first place.

HILARY: From the bells.

Well, he might have.

All the bell ropes were renewed in December.

I watched them doing it. They put the old ones in the coat chest.

Come on.

Six...seven.

That's the lot. One missing.

Little Gaude, I'd say.

Just a guess.

She's right. This is where he got his rope from.

But I cannot for the life of me think why he bothered to cut them off before he buried him.

(Thud)

- What the blazes...? - Potty!

- Pardon? - Potty Peake.

- What are you doing here? - I'll ask the same question.

I ain't doing nothing. Let go of me.

I'll let go when you tell me...

Who are you going to hang with them there? Them ropes.

Eight of 'em. Hanging up in the tower there.

Vicar don't want me to go up there no more cos they don't want nobody to know.

But Potty Peake knows.

Aye. All hung up by the neck.

But it ought to be nine tailors, by rights.

Eight and one is nine. Nine and one's ten.

But I ain't telling you his name. Oh, no, he's waiting for the nine tailors.

- One, two, three, four, five, six... - Here, you, hop it!

Don't let me catch you hanging about here again.

Who's hanging?

Listen...you tell me and I'll tell you.

There's a number nine a-coming and that's the rope to hang him with, in't it?

Nine of them - the ninth's there already.

Potty knows. Potty can say.

But he won't.

Good day, sir. Good day, miss.

Mister, got to feed the pigs. That's Potty's work.

Them pigs did ought to get fed.

- Poor young devil. - He's got hanging on the brain,

ever since he found his mother hanging in the cow shed when he was a kid.

(Door opens) - Will?

Didn't expect to see you back yet.

Wheatsheaf empty, then, was it?

With his Lordship's gentleman holding court, far from it.

What, Mr Bunter? What did he want?

The same as they all want.

- Talking about him in the grave there. - Oh.

- Asking questions. - What sort of questions?

- Who did it, why, how. - Listen...

(Silence)

I thought that was Rosie, dreaming again.

- Where she gets that imagination from... - She's...

Oh, I moved that chest so she can't see out the window no more.

- She's not still going on... - Found her up there an hour ago.

- Wide awake, staring out over the graveyard. - She got to forget it, put it out of her mind.

She see it, Will. How can she put it out of her mind, any more than I can forget what...

Forget what?

Another cup of tea in the pot.

I'm asking you a question. Forget what?

That money.

Yes.

That money I see in your pocket, New Year's Eve.

I never see so much money before.

Two or three hundred pound, there must have been.

Well, I'd just come back from Leamholt, hadn't I?

- The bank's in Leamholt. - All that money come from the bank?

That's right. That's where it's gone back to. You can go and ask the manager.

If you put it back... why did you take it out in the first place?

I wanted to surprise you.

You done that all right.

- Then when it all fell through... - Fell through? What fell through?

- This bit of land I was... - Land? What land?

It don't matter what land now, does it? Now that it's fell through.

I gave my word that I wouldn't let on about it in case it got around, like.

Then when I felt a bit better, I went back into Leamholt...

And put the money back in the bank.

You don't have to say it like you don't believe me, cos that's true.

Are you in some sort of trouble? Will?

I tell you where she gets her imagination from. She gets it from you, that's where she gets it.

If there's some trouble, I got a right to know.

You'd tell me, wouldn't you?

Of course I'd tell you...

if I could be sure you'd tell me.

(Sighs)

(Door opens)

I thought a good, strong whisky before retiring.

I say, Mrs Venables, how absolutely top hole!

Mr Bunter will remember to bolt the outer door when he returns, do you suppose?

He went off to The Wheatsheaf to make friends with the local population.

- An no doubt ask a lot of pertinent questions. - Yes, he does that very well, I must say.

Particularly without seeming to do so.

Oh, well, we shan't come to any harm whichever way.

Theodore's been known to forget where the door was.

- (Laughs) - I do hope you're all right in here.

- It was the school room once. - Then what better place for solving problems?

- I only use it now on clothing club nights. - Clothing club? Oh, well, appropriate, what?

- Exhibit A. - You surely don't mean... They're not...

Superintendent Blundell kindly loaned them to me.

Oh, my goodness! They surely can't be healthy. You might catch something.

Nothing worse than brain fever. They've been well sterilised.

I certainly hope so!

Do you expect them to tell you anything, Lord Peter?

They've already done so. They've told me that they were made in France.

- Do they tell you anything? - Well...

Yes. Poor man, he had a very good, hard-working wife.

I've seldom seen such beautiful darning.

But why are they French, when everything else he was wearing was made in this country?

Well, I'm not a detective.

All I can think of is that he got his English clothes as a disguise.

You said he came here in disguise, didn't you?

As nobody would see his underneaths, he didn't change them.

- But that would mean that he came from France. - Perhaps he did. Perhaps he was a Frenchman.

The man I met was not a Frenchman.

But you don't know that he was the man you met.

Oh, Lord!

Oh, Lord! Nor I do.

You know, I've been assuming too much. I think we've all been assuming too much.

What a very perceptive woman you are, Mrs Venables.

Ah, Bunter!

Sorry, my lord, if I appear to be somewhat late in returning.

Not at all, old lad. A night off, after all, is a night off.

And I can bolt the door with peace of mind.

Did you find anything out, more to the point?

Well, Mr Ashton proved to be a most hospitable man.

- Ashton? - He insisted on taking me back to his home.

You mean that farm we saw this morning?

- Pleasant dreams to you both. - And you.

Mrs Venables.

Yes. Yes, beyond Will Thoday's cottage.

A more isolated dwelling I've never seen, my Lord.

Yes, well, geography aside, Bunter.

Well, Mrs Ashton proved to be a most talkative lady.

- And the same can be said for Miss Polly. - Miss Polly?

Their 17-year-old daughter, my lord. An extremely pretty girl.

- Too young for you, Bunter. - Yes, the thought had crossed my mind.

Not without a certain feeling of regret.

However, after very long and lively conversation,

which covered a great deal of ground,

two points emerged which I feel are not completely devoid of interest.

Bunter, Bunter, Bunter.

Oh, yes, my lord. Point number one.

Mrs Ashton said that on New Year's Eve,

she and her husband went to the London and East Anglian Bank

to draw out the wages for the farm workers.

When Mr Ashton was counting the money,

she noticed Will Thoday further along the counter.

She thought how ill he looked, but she was much more surprised when he drew out �200.

- (Whistles) - Precisely, my lord.

Very large sum of money for a smallholder in Will Thoday's position. Did she speak to him?

Well, she attempted to but he hurried past without acknowledging her.

- That was that? - Yes, my lord.

Well, point number one is certainly not devoid of interest.

How about point number two?

This was Miss Polly's contribution.

She said late one evening in January,

she saw the Thodays' ten-year-old daughter Rosie

crying in the lane near the church.

The father had sent her on an errand and she was frightened to go past the churchyard.

Now, Miss Polly could get no sense out of her at first.

But in the end, Rosie told her that on the night of Lady Thorpe's funeral,

she saw Lady Thorpe's ghost flitting around the grave.

- What? - Now, this is on the night of the 4th.

Or the early hours of the 5th.

The father was very ill and the noises in the cottage had disturbed the child.

She'd got out of bed. Now, her window looks across to the church.

And she said she saw a light rising from where she knew the grave to be.

It bobbed around for a bit, went back into the grave,

reappeared and then vanished.

The night of the 4th? Did she tell her parents?

Apparently not until her father asked her to run this errand.

- It was dark and she was frightened. - Poor little kid.

Yes, it's understandable why the child didn't want to go.

But she did, bless her obedient little socks,

because now we know beyond doubt the night the victim was buried.

By Jove, Bunter, you've done well.

- Nobly, in fact. - Thank you, my lord.

- However... - My lord?

No disparagement intended, old lad, but there is something else on my mind.

Something that Mrs Venables said to me earlier.

I'm going to try a long shot, Bunter.

Or rather, you are going to try it for me,

tomorrow morning at Leamholt Post Office.

What did you say your name was, sir?

Driver. Mr Stephen Driver.

Sorry, Mr Driver. There's nothing for that name. There's only one from France.

- You're sure you haven't misread the name? - No, it's as plain as print.

It's for a Monsieur Paul Tailor.

Paul Tailor? Ah, my chauffeur. May I see?

Oh, yes, yes, that is he, no mistake.

Lady's writing, too.

He's a devil with the ladies. Always making conquests when we were abroad.

He has to collect it himself, you know. Them's the rules.

Yes, yes, yes, of course, of course.

He's out getting petrol for the car at the moment,

so I'll tell him and we can pick it up on the way back.

Must say, most annoying about my own letter.

That's bound to turn up, sir. You try again tomorrow.

Yes, I'll have to. I couldn't take Mr Tailor's letter for him, could I? Save us the trouble?

Sorry, Mr Driver, I daren't. It's the rules. They're that strict.

I quite understand.

I was on the point of saying don't fall a victim to his charm, but...

for once, I think it may well be the other way about. (Laughs)

If he's anything like his master...

Charming girl. Her name is Angela, by the way.

Has a boyfriend called Harold who sounds a bit wet.

Nevertheless, if I had, so to speak, pressed my suit,

I believe she might have come to the talkies with me.

I deeply regret having placed your Lordship in such an invidious position.

Invidious, my hat!

And it rather suits me, too, don't you think?

It's all highly unorthodox, my lord, to say the least. And illegal, naturally.

Well, legalities, as you so put it, do sometimes have to be bent a little

to achieve the impossible - and there it is.

We have taken possession of a letter addressed to a Mr Paul Tailor.

The contents are bound to be momentous and for that reason alone

I feel sure that Bunter and I can rely on you to protect us from the rigours of the English law.

Mitigating circumstances. I dare say something can be managed.

You notice, of course, that we have refrained from opening it.

The suspense, however, is killing me.

And unless you do something about it very rapidly,

I will not hold myself responsible for my actions.

Well, it's in French.

Ici, on parle fran�ais.

- Permit me, my dear Super. - You're welcome, my lord.

I never could parlez-vous.

Well? Go on, what does it say?

I beg your pardon.

"Mon cher mari" - my dear husband.

- My dear what? - Husband.

But Cranton was never married.

We don't know for sure that friend Cranton even comes into it.

- Shall I go on? - Oh, yes, by all means.

"My dear husband. You told me not to write to you without great urgency.

But three months are passed and I have no word of you.

I am very anxious, asking myself if you have not been taken by...

..the military authorities.

You have assured me that they could not now have you shot, the war being over so long,

but it is known that the English are very strict.

Write, I beseech you, a little word to say that you are safe.

It begins to be very difficult to do the work of the farm alone

and we have had great trouble with the spring sowing.

Also...the red cow is dead.

Little Pierre helps me as much as he can but he is only nine.

Little Marie has had the..."

Oh, dear, erm...

Whooping cough, I think.

"And the baby also.

I beg your pardon if I am indiscreet to write to you but I am very much troubled.

Pierre and Marie send kisses to their papa.

Your loving wife, Suzanne."

Little Pierre, nine years old. Kisses to their papa and the red cow's dead. It's insane!

Cranton was in jail nine years ago.

Stepfather, do you think? Though as I said just now...

Spring sowing? Since when did Cranton turn farmer?

And all this guff about military authorities. He was never in the army, never in the war.

Look here, my lord, this can't be Cranton.

No, but I still think it was Cranton that I saw here on New Year's Day.

However, it seems to be a case of cherchez Suzanne.

Well, there's no address on the envelope or the letter.

No, but there's a nice, clear postmark. Chateau Thierry, D�partment de Marne.

Now, I suggest you contact the S�ret� without delay

and request their urgent help in tracing saucy Suzanne.

There must be hundreds of Suzannes in the Marne district.

True, but there can't be many French women married to an Englishman,

- farming in the Chateau Thierry area. - That's true.

Mind you, his name ain't Paul Tailor.

No, an obvious alias.

Chosen because whoever he is...

or was...

..he knew about the bells at Fenchurch St Paul.

I would have given it to you ages ago, but I thought Mrs Gates had thrown it away.

"I thought to see the fairies in the fields,

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

-Where did you say you found this? - In the belfry on Easter Saturday.

I was watching Mr Godfrey greasing the bells.

Is it important?

Probably of the very first importance.

- Complete jabberwocky, but... - Which reminds me: any news yet from France?

No, I'm still waiting to hear...

- How the devil...? - It must be a week or more since Mr Blundell...

Never mind Mr Blundell. Would you mind telling me...?

In a village like this, everybody knows everything, especially when it's murder.

And even more so if you've got a postmistress like Miss Higgs.

- I see. - Does that remind you of anything?

- Well, since you ask... - Sheridan Le Fanu?

Confound it, yes!

Wylder's Hand.

That weird passage about Uncle Lorne's dream.

It's not, of course, but whoever wrote it had the same ear for cadence.

Same paper, same violet ink.

Different handwriting.

But if it's nonsense, how can it be important?

Deliberate nonsense, I suspect.

- I think this is some kind of cipher. (Phone rings)

Hello, Hilary Thorpe here.

Oh, hello, Mr Blundell. Yes, as a matter of fact he is. Hang on.

Thank you. Wimsey here.

Sorry, my lord. They said at the rectory you were here.

That's all right, Super. No trouble.

Would you mind very much? It's er...rather crowded.

No, not you, old lad.

Yes, go on, do.

You what?

I say, how absolutely splendid. And?

- You don't say! - Developments?

Happen to know the nature of the case?

- Sounds a bit fishy. - The girl nursed him, eventually married him.

They had three children.

Three months ago, he disappeared.

The wife's name, you may be interested to know, is Legros.

Suzanne Legros.

If your husband left France to visit Belgium, Madame Legros...

..why did you write to him in England?

You did write to him.

Under the name of Paul Tailor.

Now, you won't deny your own handwriting.

Or the names of your three children.

Or the death of the red cow.

Lord...

You knew that your husband was English from the start.

- You knew that he'd never lost his memory. - I implore you, where is my husband?

I am greatly afraid, madame...

that your husband is dead.

You are not laying a trap for me.

We don't know whether the man who wore these garments is your husband

but on my honour, madame, the man who wore them is dead.

And they were taken from his body.

Oh, mon dieu!

Je le savais bien!

If he had been alive, he would have written to me!

You recognise them?

They are his.

I mend them myself.

I understand that he is dead.

In that case, you can do no harm to him by talking to us.

Now, tell me, how did you first meet him?

In the last year of the war...

..early one morning I...

..I found this English soldier, wounded...

in the cow shed.

He was exhausted, his nerves shattered.

He did not want to fight any more.

I hid him.

I nursed him until he was well.

Then we...arrange...what we should say.

Le dommage c'est d'h�berger un d�serteur.

It was wrong to harbour a deserter.

Mon p�re, mon fr�re, sont morts � la guerre.

Jean Marie, who was to have married me... is dead also.

And suddenly...

..into my life...

..came this man.

I grew to love Jean.

I did not want him to go back to England.

Because they would have thought him a coward and shot him.

- Is that what he made you think? - And he thought so too.

So we...

arranged to...

pretend that...

he has lost his memory.

And since his French accent was not good...

..we decide to say that his speech was affected by his injury.

I burnt his uniform...

..and papers...

..in the copper.

Who invented the story?

- You or him? - Oh, he did. He was very clever.

He thought of everything.

- Even the name, Jean Legros? - Oui.

What was his real name?

I do not remember.

It was on the papers, but...

..it was so long ago.

He never told me anything about himself.

- The name Paul Tailor... - Was not his.

He adopted that name when he went back to England.

What did he go to England for?

We are very poor, my lord.

Jean said he had...property...

in England.

If he could get hold of it without making himself known, he...

..he thought he could sell it for much money.

But he was frightened of being discovered and shot as a deserter.

There was a general amnesty for deserters after the war.

Nothing would have happened to him.

He did not believe that.

And also...

..there were other difficulties he did not explain to me,

about selling this property.

And for that, he need the help of a friend.

He wrote to this friend...

..and presently, he receive a reply.

- You have the letter? - He burnt it without showing it to me.

This friend ask him for something.

I do not quite understand what, but...

..it was some kind of a guarantee, I think.

Jean shut himself in his room for several hours next day

to compose his answer to the letter.

He did not show that to me either.

Then this friend wrote back and say he can help him,

but it would not do for Jean's name to appear.

And neither his own name, nor the name of Legros, you understand.

So he chose the name of...Paul Tailor.

And he laughed very much when the idea came to him.

Then this friend send him papers,

made out in the name of Paul Tailor, British subject.

I saw those.

There was a passport and a photograph.

It was not a very good likeness.

But he said they would not pay great attention to it.

The beard was like his.

Had your husband a beard when you first knew him?

No. He grew it when he was ill.

It changed him very much.

Did he take luggage with him to England?

No. Nothing.

He said he would buy clothes in England

because then he would look again like an Englishman.

And you know nothing of this property of which he spoke?

No.

I ask him often but he would never tell me.

And you would swear on oath that you don't know your husband's real name?

I swear.

It is true, I saw it on the papers.

But I burnt them.

And after all these years, I have forgotten.

Look, I want you to think very hard, madame.

Try and remember. Was it Cranton?

I do not think so.

Is this your husband...as you first knew him?

But that is not my husband, my lord.

That is not in the least like him.

You have deceived me.

He is not dead and I have betrayed him!

He is dead, madame.

It is this man who is alive.

Legros can't be Deacon. Deacon is dead.

Supposing, after he escaped from Maidstone but before he died,

he communicated with this fellow, told him where the emeralds were and gave Cranton's name.

That was 16 years ago. Seems a long time to wait.

But Legros, so called, was obviously more than a deserter.

He must have been a criminal and frightened of coming back to this country.

Finally, he decides to chance his arm, writes to Cranton

and proposes a partnership to look for the jewels.

Cranton wants proof that he really does know something.

Then this incomprehensible piece of purple prose that young Hilary found

must be the guarantee that Legros provided.

It's the same violet ink, the same paper the wife used.

So Cranton's satisfied, he procures a passport for Legros in the name of Paul Tailor

and Legros comes to England.

They find the jewels, Cranton kills Legros and keeps the emeralds for himself.

It's all very plausible, I admit. But there's one snag.

- What's that? - Smart burglars like Cranton,

it's very rare they go off the rails and turn to violence.

He's never been suspected of killing anyone. Doesn't even look like a killer to me.

Oh, excuse me, my lord.

A message for Superintendent Blundell.

Yes, I see what you mean, old lad, but...

Well, hang it all, with a fortune in emeralds at stake...

BLUNDELL: Well, well, well...

Guess who they've found in London.

Well, if your Lordship recognises me, that's torn it.

I shall have to come clean, as the sheet said to the patent washer.

Of course I recognise you, Mr Cranton. You were in Fenchurch St Paul on New Year's Day.

And a lovely place to start a happy new year, that is.

Why did you go there? Anything to do with the Wilbraham emeralds?

Well, to be frank, gentlemen...it was.

But I said at the trial, I never had them, and that's the truth.

So back you go to Fenchurch St Paul to try and find them.

Yes. Because I knew they must be there.

That... That swine...

- You mean Deacon? - Yes, Deacon.

He never left the place.

He couldn't have got them away before your lot pinched him.

You were too quick off the mark, thanks to me.

What made you think that you knew where to look for them?

Something Deacon said at the trial.

"Want to know where those shiners are?

Ask Paul Tailor or Batty Thomas."

That's what he said.

And I said, "Who are they?"

"You'll find them in Fenchurch," he said.

And he grinned. And no wonder.

No such people.

Just a lot of rubbish about bells.

I dismissed the matter from my mind and sneaked off.

Just like that, eh?

Well...to be honest, there was an individual there I didn't much like the look of.

I got the idea that my face struck a chord in her mind.

Was it Deacon's wife, by any chance?

She saw enough of me at the trial.

Always there, she was, in the public gallery.

I had no wish to renew the acquaintance.

To be honest, my lord, I was surprised to see her still living in Fenchurch.

She went back there when she married a man called Will Thoday.

Married again? Oh. I see.

Why the surprise? Did she have anything to do with the theft of the emeralds?

I think Deacon used her to find out where the old woman hid the stuff, but that was all.

- She didn't know what he was up to. - You don't think she knew where he hid 'em?

- I should stake my house she didn't. - What makes you so sure?

Well, if she was straight, she'd have gone to the police.

If she was crooked, she'd have come to me or one of my pals.

Which she obviously didn't.

All right, then, so you cleared off.

(Weakly) Well, like I said...

I wanted to get home and think things over, like.

And then I had to go and fall in one of those bleeding dykes up there.

I damn nearly died in it.

It's laid me up with rheumatic fever and it's left my heart a bit dicky.

What rotten luck.

So you never investigated the matter of Tailor Paul or Batty Thomas any further?

I am referring to the bells.

No.

You didn't, for example, pay a visit to the belfry to see if he'd hidden them up there.

- How could I? It was locked. - So you did try.

Well, I...I might have laid my hand on the door, so to speak.

But you never actually entered the belfry.

Not me.

Then how do you account for this being found in the bell tower?

That... (Groans with pain)

Give me that stuff in the glass.

That's better.

- I've never seen it before. - You're lying.

Jean Legros sent it to you.

I've never heard of him.

How much money did you send to get him to England?

I tell you I've never heard of him.

What don't you leave me alone? Can't you see I'm ill?

I know you are, so why not give us the truth and save us bothering you?

I know nothing. Nothing.

I've never seen that... that paper before.

I've never heard of this John whatshisname before.

- Does that satisfy you? - No, it doesn't.

- You charging me with anything? - Not as yet.

Then you'll just have to accept my answer, won't you?

That's the best we shall do for the moment.

He's not shamming, you know, he really is ill.

He's also holding out on us.

Ominous-looking brutes, my lord.

All this weight of metal around, it's... somewhat oppressive.

I find the whole bally thing somewhat oppressive, Bunter.

And yet the secret of the whole jolly business lies up here.

Or it did.

You think so, my lord?

I'm pretty well certain of it.

- Cranton says he wasn't up here. - Ah, but he was, old thing, he was.

And he dropped that piece of paper young Hilary Thorpe found.

In that case, if the emeralds were hidden up here,

perhaps he and Legros did meet that night.

- Yes, up here. - Now, they were together

when Legros took the emeralds from their hiding place.

He was the only one that knew where they were.

Mm.

The moment that Cranton saw them, he bumped him on the head.

Much too hard, as it turned out.

All he meant to do was to knock him out and then move off with the loot for himself.

But now he finds he's killed the poor blighter.

- No, no, no. - No, my lord?

The fellow was not killed by a blow, Bunter.

And then there's the bonds.

The bonds!

- Our victim was bound, hand and foot. - Yes.

It simply does not make sense.

Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul, speak now, or forever hold your brazen tongues.

Bells can't speak...

but Potty can. Potty knows.

VICAR: Poor lad, he does have strange fancies.

Particularly in respect of ropes and hangings.

At the same time, he does, I think, speak the truth as far as his understanding allows.

Oh, to be sure, I didn't mean to sound unjust to the boy.

He said that he saw Will Thoday talking to a bearded stranger in the vestry.

Oh, dear me!

Did he give you any idea when he saw them?

He had boiled pork and greens, he said, on the Sunday,

and the parson told him to be thankful.

So he went down to the church to be thankful in the proper place.

When he had the same meal the following day, he went down again.

It must have been the evening because there was a light on in the vestry

and that's when he saw the two of them, but he took fright and ran away.

The point is, Padre, did you preach a sermon on thankfulness the Sunday after Christmas?

Well, now...some of my sermons I have been known to forget.

But my theme always, the first Sunday after Christmas, is thankfulness.

- It's a time for thankfulness, after all. - Then that's it. Sunday was the 29th.

So Potty Peake saw Will Thoday speaking to the bearded stranger

on the evening of Monday 30th.

- On Monday? - Hello, what's this, then?

- No, I, I... - Say on, Padre. Come on, out with it. What?

Well, it's just that Will Thoday came to see me that Monday night.

- Did he, by Jove? - About nine o'clock.

He wanted to ask some question about the New Year's peal.

I must say, I was rather surprised because it was something which could have waited till morning

and, poor fellow, he did look so very unwell.

- I remember sitting him down... - Excuse me, did he stay long?

Ten minutes, perhaps.

- No, no, it would be more because... - Monday 30th.

Then it couldn't have been Cranton he saw with him

because Cranton didn't get here until New Year's Day.

But it could have been the one who called himself Legros.

You mean...the victim?

By Jove, yes! It could have been Legros!

If only I could make sense of all this.

Dear me, you have been busy!

My dear Padre, thank you so much.

- You've been no end helpful, I can't tell you. - Are you pricking out a peal of bells?

No, it's that wretched cipher young Hilary found.

I thought to see the fairies in the field.

I see now. They're letters. I thought they were figures.

Oh, forgive me. I have no business to be prying.

No, not a bit, Padre. It does look a bit like a peal, at that.

Great Scott!

I wonder!

Look, I laid it out in columns of eight

because I found that the numbers made a multiple of eight

but I haven't been getting any forwarder.

But if it was a peal and we followed the movement of one bell...

- Have you tried? - No, because you've only just given me the idea.

It would have taken a ringer to write it. We've no reason to suppose that Legros was a ringer.

He was English.

Have we any reason to suppose he was not a ringer?

Absolutely none.

Come on, Padre, let's try.

I should never have thought of the possibility

that one might make a cipher from change ringing.

- It's most ingenious. - There.

Now, then...

when Cranton came here, he asked for Paul Tailor,

because Deacon had told him that Paul Tailor or Batty Thomas knew where the emeralds were.

So let us ask Paul Tailor first.

Ah, but the question is, what method was he using?

If the method is Grandsire triples,

it cannot be Tailor Paul, for the tenor would be rung the whole way behind

and we should find the message running down the last column.

- Which it obviously isn't. - And it's not likely to be Grandsire major

for we never ring that method here.

What about Batty Thomas? Now, she starts in sixth place, doesn't she?

One, two, three, four, five, six...is a G.

- Er...to seventh. - To seventh is H.

- To eighth. - Eighth, I.

- Eighth again. - L.

- To seventh. - S.

- To sixth. - T.

- To fifth. - E.

- To fourth. - Fourth, T.

- To... - Now, just one moment. Hang on.

"GHILSTET".

That's not very encouraging.

Could he have possibly started off with a bob or a single?

Oh, surely not!

It's just that he's not pricking a peal, he's making a cipher.

He might have done something unusual. Let's try a bob.

That's treble starting in third place. H.

Third to second...to first.

To first again.

Then to second...to third.

No, that don't do a thing.

And the single would be the same.

Except the bells which are second and third at the lead end are changed over.

Yes, wash out Grandsires.

Wash out Stedmans, too. That would leave the significants too close together.

- What about Kent Treble Bob? - Almost certainly our best bet, Lord Peter.

The tenor is the usual observation bell for that method.

All right, now, then, that starts in... in seventh place.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...is an H.

- To eighth. - To eighth is an E.

- Back to seventh. - Aha.

- To sixth. - Sixth.

- To fifth. - Just hold it there one moment.

HESIT.

Oh, well, at least it's pronounceable.

- Dodge up into sixth again. - Yes, T.

- Back to fifth. - E.

- To fourth. - T.

- To third. - Hold it.

HESITTETH.

Hesitteth.

By Jove, Padre, you are absolutely right! Look!

Two words! "He sitteth"!

That's a lie!

That couldn't have been Will. He was ever so sick.

Not on Monday 30th December. On Tuesday. But on Monday...

- Who said that? - Do you deny talking to a bearded man

- that night in the church vestry? - That's a lie.

Will, you were seen.

I did go down to the church to see the Rector, I told you.

- About what? - About the New Year's peal.

- To ask him. - What?

How long he'd reckon it'd take, for one thing.

Was it that important it couldn't wait?

Well, like she says, I wasn't feeling very well and...

I didn't know how long I could ring for.

I didn't want to let the Rector down, so...

You didn't happen to see his keys while you were in the rectory, I suppose?

- What keys? - To the belfry and so on.

They hang on a nail by the door, I understand.

I didn't see no keys.

Sorry, you were saying. The two of you were alone together.

- That's right. - The whole time?

- Except for... - What?

Well, I were looking so bad, the Rector said he thought I ought to have a glass of port,

so he very kindly went down and got me one.

Then you weren't together the whole time.

- What are you trying to get at? - You were seen, Will. That's what I'm getting at.

- But... - Seen by someone other than the Rector.

I'm not going to be stood here and called a liar.

Why can't you believe him?

If Will says...

Let's forget Will for the moment, shall we?

Let's talk about a man called Stephen Driver.

Do you remember Stephen Driver?

Well, him that was at Ezra Wilderspin's.

I seen him a couple of times.

Oh, they did say at the inquest that the body might have been him.

- It wasn't. - Oh.

No, we found the man Driver in London.

Had you ever seen him before he came here?

Can't say as I did.

- He didn't remind you of anybody? - No.

Mm, that's odd.

Odd? What's odd about it?

He says he ran away because he thought you'd recognised him.

It was Cranton, Mrs Thoday.

You'd no idea of it?

What would Cranton want to come back here for?

To look for the emeralds.

Then he saw you and thought you'd spotted him and ran away in fright.

Yes. Yes.

What is it, Mrs Thoday?

Well, if that's the case, Cranton's still alive...

..who'd that poor dead man in the grave be, then?

There's just one last question.

Have you ever seen that handwriting before?

You didn't say it was Potty Peake who saw him, I hope?

You'd never get a charge to stick if poor old Potty was your only witness.

Your prayer book, my lord.

- And Hymns Ancient And Modern. - Thank you, Bunter.

- You're not coming to the service, I take it? - It being a working day for the likes of me...

Also, I'm hardly dressed for the occasion.

You think Mrs Thoday recognised the writing?

I'd swear to it. There's one other point that might be of interest.

I got on to Lampson and Blake.

They're expecting the Hannah Brown to dock at Hull tomorrow or the day after.

Hannah Brown? Well, that's Jim Thoday's ship, isn't it?

They also tell me he didn't report to the ship until the day they sailed, January 6th.

The 6th?

- But he left here... - On the morning of the 4th.

How very interesting.

Yes, I thought your Lordship would find it so.

Oh, I do apologise, my lord.

That's all right, Super, no harm done.

I've already deciphered it, thanks to the Vicar. Quotations from the Psalms.

"He sitteth between the cherubim", Psalm 99.

"The isles may be glad thereof," Psalm 97.

"As the rivers in the south," Psalm 126.

And what's all that supposed to tell us?

Alas, Super, it rings no bell.

Neither Tailor Paul nor Batty Thomas.

# Holy, holy, holy

# Lord God almighty

# Early in the morning

# Our song shall rise to Thee

# Holy, holy, holy

# Merciful and mighty!

# God in three persons

# Blessed Trinity

# Holy, holy, holy

# All the saints adore Thee

# Casting down their golden crowns

# Around a glassy sea

# Cherubim and seraphim

# Falling down before Thee

My sainted aunt!

The cherubims!

"The isles shall be glad as to the rivers in the south." That's it. It's got to be it.

The emeralds. They're up there. Or they were up there.

Between the cherubims in the south aisle.

# Holy, holy, holy

# Lord God almighty...