Original subtitles

There used to be galleries, you say, above both aisles?

Yes. Hideous, cumbersome things.

Victorian. They ran across the aisle windows.

Blocked the light dreadfully. You couldn't see.

- When were they removed? - I had them pulled down ten years ago.

But, until then, who used them?

Oh, school children, old folk.

- I see. - And, of course, the servants from the manor.

Just before the war, when Sir Henry and Lady Thorpe were married,

- where did the servants sit? - Oh...

Exactly there.

It fits!

It fits, Bunter, between the cherubims in the south aisle.

We've had the painters up there since then.

If anything was there, they would have found it.

Not if my idea is correct, Mrs Venables.

- Here you are, my lord. - Ah, splendid.

Bunter, give Harry a hand with the ladder, would you?

There we are. Thank you.

The... The wood is pegged, sir, is it not?

Oh, yes. Beautiful old work.

Good morning, Super.

- You got my message. - What's going on?

Lord Peter is about to demonstrate where he thinks the emeralds were hidden.

Yes, "were" is right. They won't be there now.

However, we shall soon see.

Now, then...he must have been able to reach it from where he sat.

So... Yes, that will be the one.

Hold tight, lads.

Yes. Here we are.

Now, then...

Wriggle it...gently...

..and away she comes...

..leaving a nice little cache inside the beam.

Now, Deacon probably was sitting up here one Sunday, bored with the sermon...

Oh...sorry, Padre.

He starts fiddling with the peg, it comes away in his hand.

Later, when he wanted somewhere to hide his little shiners, he thought of it again.

Well, it'll be quite a deep hole...

because it's empty.

Hello, it's not.

By Jove.

Well, I'll be...

- I don't believe it. - Well, bless my heart.

And it was all over before His Reverend said, "Here endeth..."

Catch, Hilary.

Yes, old lad, we're wrong.

We've been wrong from start to finish.

Nobody found them, nobody killed anybody for them...

nobody deciphered the cryptogram.

We're wrong. Wrong.

Out of the hunt and wrong.

BLUNDELL: But at least we got the emeralds.

Beastly things.

They killed Grandfather.

They practically killed Daddy.

And they killed Deacon.

They'll kill somebody else before long.

Here. I don't want them.

Well, thank you very much.

Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.

But they do seem to have caused nothing but unhappiness.

Then I think it's time they had a chance to do the other thing.

They're yours, Hilary, beyond any legal doubt.

Your grandfather paid old Maggie Wilbraham their full value.

And once she accepted the money, she forfeited any claim to the emeralds should they turn up.

The question doesn't arise, anyway. She died two years ago.

There were no heirs to the estate, so no-one will dispute possession.

Who did your father appoint as trustees?

His solicitors - Forsythe and Dunbury.

Then they can take care of them until you come of age.

Thereafter you can do with them exactly as the inclination takes you.

Chuck them in the Thames, wear them, or sell them for what they're worth.

Meanwhile, if I were you, I'd put them in a safe place -

the bank, for preference.

The whole village knows they've been found. Once the story gets into the papers...

(Knock at door) - Come in.

- Forgive this intrusion, my lord. - Yes?

It's obviously private - and it's time I was getting home.

No, no. On the contrary, Miss Hilary,

it could well be helpful if you were to remain.

- Has something cropped up? - It could prove so, my lord.

This morning, when I brought Your Lordship your early morning tea,

you informed me that you had - with Mr Venables - deciphered the cryptogram,

- although you weren't clear as to its meaning. - That's right.

Your Lordship, however, did not inform me

that the cryptogram was based on a peal of Kent Treble Bob Majors.

Yes, well, I am sorry about that, Bunter. It was very remiss of me.

I was still half asleep at the time.

Well, it was even more remiss of me, my lord,

because the night I visited Mr Ashton,

I learned from Ezra Wilderspin and Hezekiah Lavender

that Geoffrey Deacon had been regarded

as a very highly talented exponent of the Kent Treble Bobs.

What?

Of all the dull-witted, muddle-brained...

- I do apologise, my lord. - No, no, no.

Not you, old lad. Me.

I have been the most unmitigated and unconscionable ass

that ever brayed in a sleuth-hound's skin.

I knew that little gem of information. The Padre said as much to me.

Well, of all the self-confessed idiots!

The fact that Deacon had been officially proclaimed dead in 1926

in no way excuses my failure to mention the fact,

although it may explain why I didn't attach greater importance to it at the time.

- If you are thinking what I'm thinking... - I think it highly likely, my lord.

Deacon escapes, he meets a soldier and kills him.

Of course! Some poor blighter on leave from France.

He swipes his uniform and his papers.

He dresses the body in his own convict clothes,

shoves it down the dene hole and gets clean away to France.

- Or are we assuming too much? - I don't think so.

My dear Bunter, it does seem to add up, what.

I mean, here we have a wanted murderer with no military training -

in fact, little or no knowledge of the war whatsoever -

effecting an escape which brings him straight to...of all places, the Western Front.

The shock awaiting him must have been indescribable.

He's wounded. Suzanne Legros finds him.

She hides him, nurses him, marries him, bears him children and he becomes a farmer.

But he is biding his time.

One day he plans to return and get those emeralds,

but it won't be easy because he thinks he's still wanted for murder over here.

And then by some means that we cannot imagine,

he discovers he's officially dead, and that is the beginning of it.

He'd want papers, a passport - a false identity.

So he chances his arm. He gets in touch with Cranton.

Cranton, having been diddled once, demands some guarantee.

The cryptogram.

Blundell showed it to Mrs Thoday and he is pretty certain she recognised the handwriting.

But we've still absolutely no proof that Deacon wrote it.

Er...may I ask, Miss Hilary,

after Deacon's arrest, do you happen to know if he was replaced in the household?

No...he wasn't.

Because of what happened, there was a general cutting down on staff.

He was the last butler employed there.

My lord, a good butler who knows his job always keeps a cellar book and a stock book.

In fact, if called upon to do so, he might even keep the game book up to date.

Bunter, you're a genius.

Well, I'd hardly go as far as that, my lord. But these records are seldom thrown away.

They haven't been thrown away! They're still at home, on the shelf,

in what used to be the butler's pantry.

Come on. Let's go and see.

My hat, Bunter.

If the writing matches, you realise what this will mean?

Only too clearly, my lord.

A very unhappy state of affairs.

Come on.

They match. No question of it.

So, all these years, Deacon has been alive and kicking

and bigamously married in France?

Until the end of last year, when Potty Peake saw Will Thoday talking to him in the vestry.

The bearded mystery man, who most certainly becomes our mutilated corpse.

Ah, this is nasty. Very nasty.

The Thodays are decent people.

Only one thing would drive a decent man to murder -

the shame and humiliation of a public scandal.

A realisation that for 11 years, he and his wife...

as he thought...had been living in sin

and that their little children, so innocently conceived...

..would, in the eyes of the law, be considered...

As you say.

In a city, it wouldn't have mattered so much, but in a small village...

So, when Deacon turns up from the dead, and Will recognises him...

I'm having Will brought in now.

And he's going to come across - judges' rules or no judges' rules.

It's interesting, though.

I mean, if it was Will, he certainly didn't run berserk, as you might say.

I mean, he tied Deacon up but the only injuries we know about were inflicted after death.

And it wasn't Will who buried him in Lady Thorpe's grave four days later,

because he was practically dying himself.

Brother Jim.

The Hull police are pulling him in the minute he walks down the gangplank tomorrow.

(Telephone ringing)

Blundell here. Yes?

I see.

I see.

All right. Get back here at once.

Blast and double blast. Excuse me, my lord.

Not at all, Super. You blast away.

Will Thoday isn't being brought in.

Aha, I noticed he wasn't in church. Done a bunk, I suppose.

With wife and family, on the 11.45 to London.

I was a damn fool to show her this.

I say, that's awkward. London's a big place.

Don't worry. We'll pick him up soon enough.

"Soon enough" will have to be within two weeks. After that, it will be more difficult.

Well, why within a fortnight, hm?

Oh, come on, Super. Ain't it obvious?

Ah, yes, I thought he had a nice easy number.

- May I use your telephone? - Help yourself.

Canterbury 1-2-3, please.

If you wouldn't mind, it's urgent.

In their flight, there is one thing the Thodays almost certainly overlooked.

We have an ally, Blundell.

A haughty prelate. An arbitrary prince.

To wit, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Oh, yes, and Mr Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan!

- Are you all right, my lord? - Perfectly splendid, thanks.

Hello. Canterbury 1-2-3?

This is Lord Peter Wimsey speaking.

I'd like a word with His Grace's private secretary, if I may.

Alec? Oh, my dear fellow!

How are you? I didn't recognise your voice.

Oh, pretty much as usual, thanks -

in the pink and having a spot of bother.

Yes, well, if it ain't asking too much, I wondered if I might have a word with him.

You think so?

Oh, bless your black-buttoned gaiters.

We're in luck. He's putting me through.

My dear Watson, haven't you got it yet?

For heaven's sake, man, it is staring you in the... Hello, Your Grace?

Peter, my boy, a delightful surprise!

To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?

You actually mean that the lords temporal

are seeking assistance of the lords spiritual?

Wonders will never cease.

But of course, if it is within my power.

I see.

Indeed.

Then I think you had better tell me all about it.

I hated doing it, Bunter.

But a wife, you know, ain't obliged to give evidence against her husband.

And Will Thoday has gone to town to marry Mary Deacon.

Hundreds of churches in London, Bunter. The banns could be called anywhere.

The Archbishop will find out just where sooner than Scotland Yard.

A rotten business, though.

I wish I'd never started interfering.

I don't care at all for the look of that, do you?

The spring tides are over, my lord.

Well, they're still running deuced high.

Those buttresses look a bit groggy to me.

I understand from Mrs Venables

that the Vicar has been pestering the authorities for years to have something done.

But the ways of progress are both devious and delayed, what?

Oh, well, as long as it don't keep on raining.

Thank you, Sergeant.

What's this all about?

Well, I must say, Mr Cranton, you're looking better than the last time we met.

I told you I never had those shiners last time we met.

- It looks as though we didn't believe you. - Sit down, Cranton.

Most obliging of you to come along like this.

Well, I didn't exactly "come along" as you might say.

I wasn't left with much alternative.

Why shouldn't you come? Nothing to hide, have you?

I'm a sick man.

You ask the doctors down at the infirmary about my heart.

I've already told you everything. Why do you have to keep going on?

Nothing to do with us, old lad. Chief Inspector Parker here.

May I ask you an impertinent question, my lord?

If you don't mind receiving an impertinent answer.

Is it true that you and the Chief Inspector here are brothers-in-law?

As a matter of fact, it is. Yes.

Hence the cooperation. I see.

- Not at all. Simply that my sister, Polly... - We won't go into that.

Righto.

You want to know why you're here? I'll tell you.

- Then perhaps you'll tell me a few things. - I've told them everything.

We sent a photograph of your friend Deacon to the French police.

Suzanne Legros has identified him.

Now, when did you learn that Deacon was still on deck?

I told you the whole story, my lord.

And that's the truth.

Look, any sort of pressure, the doctor said, and it would go very hard on me.

It will go a damn sight worse for you if you don't answer my question.

Now, when did you learn that Deacon was still alive?

Last July sometime.

He wrote me care of the old crib.

The letter was passed on by...never you mind.

Gammy pluck.

I name no names.

But I got it as soon as I came out. It gave me a hell of a shock.

Did he mention how he found out he was officially dead?

Pure chance.

An old English newspaper lining the bottom of a drawer.

If he hadn't found it, he'd still be tilling French soil.

Mind you, he swore he never meant to kill that poor ruddy tommy.

- He just hit him too hard. - Never mind that.

Once he knew he was officially dead, he saw his chance, no doubt.

But he needed help.

So he asked you for money and for a forged passport.

Which you supplied.

Cranton, I'm going to give you one last chance.

Yes.

I must say, you surprise me, Nobby.

I mean, he'd already bamboozled you once.

What made you think he wouldn't do it again?

Well, I thought he might. But the fact that he was wanted for...

you know what, well, it did sort of put him at my mercy.

So you decided to go into business.

I'd already served my time on the moor. I'd earned my share.

All right.

So, you wrote back to Deacon... suggesting what?

Well, that he tell me straight where he'd hidden the stuff.

I'd find it and send him his share. But he didn't think that was a good idea.

You astonish me.

Well, he said he'd come over and find them himself.

So you sent him the passport.

Not until I'd got a guarantee. I was sticking my neck out for him.

And as guarantee, he sent you that cipher.

But you told us you'd never seen it in your life before.

Well, I was sick, wasn't I?

- Confused. - Even more confused when you got that!

All that guff about a tailor called Paul living in Fenchurch next to Mr Batty Thomas.

Yes, well, it wasn't exactly guff now, was it?

I know that now, my lord. You were smarter than me.

Oh, come, come, come.

You were smart enough to realise that without him there would be no emeralds.

Whereas with him, there was a chance.

Yeah, well... I sent him the passport, and the money, and gave him the go-ahead.

Well, he... He phoned me from Dover on 29th December.

Said he was going straight up to Fenchurch St Paul to collect the loot

and that he'd bring it back to London as soon as he'd got his hands on it.

Well, there was no word from him on the 30th, none on the 31st.

And you thought he'd pocketed the emeralds and nipped smartly back to France.

Or he might have been pinched.

I didn't rightly know what to think.

Anything was better than sitting around not knowing,

so I took the train up to Leamholt and started walking from there.

And that's when we ran across one another.

If I'd known who I was having the pleasure of stopping,

I'd have turned round and walked home.

Instead, you got a job at Ezra Wilderspin's and started making enquiries about Paul Tailor.

- Bleedin' bells. - Never mind about the bells.

Tell me about Deacon.

There was no sign of him.

But the more I thought about the bells, the more I thought there might be a connection.

Trouble was, I couldn't get in the belfry - locked.

But you did get into the belfry.

So it was you who borrowed the Rector's keys, was it?

Keys? I made a couple of picklocks.

Well... Old Ezra's forge came in handy, you see.

I went out on the Saturday, a little after midnight.

First thing I find - the church door's open.

Well, naturally I thought it must be Deacon.

"I'll just give him a bit of my mind", I thought, "for not keeping me posted."

So in I went,

quiet-like,

and I found my way into a place with a lot of ropes in it.

Very nasty they looked.

And then there were some stairs leading up into another room with more ropes.

And then some more stairs leading further up.

So up I went.

And when I got there... Well...

I don't know how to describe it.

There was a queer feel about it.

Pitch black - beast of a night it was - and it was raining like hell.

But I have never met anything like the blackness in that place.

I felt as if there were hundreds of eyes watching me.

- You've got too much imagination, Cranton. - No, no, no.

You wait, Charles.

Wait till you get stuck in a belfry alone in the dark.

Bells are like cats and mirrors, they're always queer.

It don't do to think too much about them.

Go on, Nobby.

Well, I didn't know where to begin.

I don't know about bells - how to get to them or anything.

All this time, there was no sign of Deacon?

No. I couldn't think what had happened to him.

I was taking a look round with the torch and... there he was.

- Dead? - As a doornail.

He was tied to the bell frame.

And the look on his face... I never want to see a face like that again.

- Like what? - Like he'd been struck mad and dead - at once.

- There was no doubt he was dead? - You've never seen anyone deader.

And cold. I just touched him...

I don't know what killed him.

I was looking to see, when I heard someone coming.

I didn't wait.

I legged it up the ladder.

There was a hatch at the top leading onto the roof.

I squatted in there and sat tight and I heard this fella...

Well, who was it?

How the hell do I know? I was up on the roof.

But I could hear him shuffling about.

And once or twice I heard him say, "Oh, my God," in a moaning sort of voice.

And then there was a bump

and I reckon that he'd lifted the body and was carrying it down the stairs.

Whoever he was, I didn't envy him the job of getting that stiff down the tower.

What happened then?

Well, I waited till I couldn't hear him any more.

And then, below me, up the far end of the graveyard,

I saw a light.

"Hello," I thought,

"there's dirty work going on here."

So down I came...and I ran.

Golly, how I ran.

And I stumbled and fell into that blasted dyke.

Cold? It was like an ice bath.

But I got back to Leamholt in the end and I caught some rotten milk train back to town.

And that's it, is it? The whole story.

Well...

Yes. Except that later, I couldn't find the cipher.

I thought I'd dropped it on the road but...

if you found it in the belfry, it must have fallen out of my pocket when I pulled the torch out.

All right, Cranton.

- Take him away, Sergeant. - You're not charging me?

We'll have to see about that...

while we're considering a few other little irregularities you'll have to answer for.

Bring the other two up, will you?

He's a great talker.

Meaning you don't believe a word that he says?

Well, let us just say, Peter, that I will hold my own council until I've spoken to these two.

Incidentally, old Parker bird, I haven't thanked you for all your invaluable help at this end.

There's no need. It does help having an archbishop on the side.

Now, they haven't been allowed to meet, these two?

No, they've seen each other but we've kept them apart.

Then I think it's time for a spot of dirty work, don't you?

Well, it's all set up. Let's go, shall we?

- After you. - Thank you.

(Buzzer in distance)

Come in, gentlemen.

It's...James and William Thoday, right?

Thank you, Sergeant.

Well, sit down.

- We've got a lot to talk about, haven't we? - (Buzzer)

Yes?

Well, it's a bit inconvenient.

Um...all right, I'll take it in my office.

Sorry about this. It won't take a moment.

Here, help yourselves to a cigarette.

- Well, William? - Well, James.

How much do they know?

I don't know, but... I've got a feeling pretty well everything.

In that case, let me take the blame.

I'm not married and there's Mary and the little 'uns to be thought of.

In God's name, couldn't you have got rid of him without killing him?

I was going to ask you the same thing.

You mean it wasn't you?

Well, of course it weren't me.

I'd have been a fool to do it.

I'd offered the brute �250 to go back to where he came from.

If I hadn't have fell ill, I'd have got him away. I thought that's what you'd done.

When I saw him coming up out of that grave, like Judgement Day,

I wished you'd killed me alongside of him.

But I never laid hands on him.

Not until after he was dead.

I saw him there, the devil, with that ghastly look on his face.

But I never blamed you for what you done, Will.

I swear, I never blamed you. Only for being such a fool as to have done it.

And when I come to bury him, I...

..I've broken his face with my spade...

..and...

..and I cut off his hands with my jackknife.

That was the worst part, but...

I couldn't risk leaving him with that mark in case he was found.

Aye, he was found, all right.

Ah, it were just cursed bad luck that grave being opened so soon.

I might have done better to throw him in the 30-foot drain,

but it's a long way to go, humping a dead man.

See here, Will...

If you didn't kill him and I didn't kill him,

well, who the devil did?

(Door opens)

Well, gentlemen, we've been...eavesdropping on your conversation.

I left this intercom system switched on.

We heard every word.

Just as well, really. Sit down.

It seems that you two have been suspecting each other and shielding each other.

Now that we've got that clear, I think we ought to hear your stories.

Yours first, Will, I think.

I don't know where to start.

Why not start with the night of December 30th?

I went outside to tend a sick cow.

I thought I saw a light in the church so I went to have a look.

There was somebody there in the vestry.

So I crept up on him very quiet like

and I see him put something down on t'vestry chest.

It were a revolver.

And then he tried to lug out Harry Gotobed's ladder.

And since he was obviously up to no good,

you grabbed the revolver and said, "Hands up" in the approved style?

And the man was Geoffrey Deacon.

He carried this great scar on one hand, see,

where he fell down one day when he was carrying a tray with a glass jug on it.

I knew it was Deacon, all right.

He knew me.

He laughed.

"You're the bloke what's married my wife," he said.

Well, I knew what he meant by that.

So I struck a devil's bargain with him. I...

I said I'd hide him and give him some money to get out of the country.

But it takes time to draw out �250...

and...well, Deacon was a murderer, so...

temporary, like, I locked him in the cupboard where they hang the surplices.

Then you had the idea to hide him in the belfry.

So you went visiting Mr Venables,

borrowed his keys while he was getting you a glass of port,

and went back to the church?

I unlocked the tower, got a bit of old bell rope,

and got Deacon up into the belfry at pistol point.

And then?

Well, then I tied him to the bell frame,

tied his legs, tied his arms above his elbows so he could move his hands -

I didn't want him to starve, see.

A bit later on, I brought him some bread and a couple of bottles of beer.

How were you going to get him out of the country?

Well, I fixed that the next day.

The skipper of a small Dutch freighter...

a man I knew through Jimmy.

That was New Year's Eve, the day that I turned up like a bad penny.

And the night that he got taken ill.

It were two days before I were well enough to talk to Jim.

Mary were out.

Even then, I didn't mention it were Deacon.

Aye, he just said there was a poor wretch in the belfry...

starving and bitterly cold and that I was to get him away.

So...up the tower I went that night...

..and I found Deacon...dead.

- You recognised him? - Like Will says, by the mark on his hand.

That must have been a bit of a facer for you.

You know, leave just up, due to rejoin your ship.

Blood is thicker than water, my lord.

I knew that Lady Thorpe was being buried the next day - Saturday - so...

the next morning, I packed my things, said goodbye to Mary and...

pretended to go off to Hull.

Instead, I caught the train to King's Cross.

I'd emptied Deacon's pockets.

I burnt his passport and everything in the fire in the waiting room.

Then I sent a telegram to my company saying I'd been ill

and I'd be a day or so late joining the ship.

That evening, I caught the train back and...

..that night, buried Deacon in Lady Thorpe's grave.

Doing your best to make the body unrecognisable?

Yeah.

I chucked Deacon's hat and the pieces of rope Will had used to bind his hands down the well.

And forcing, with the tip of your jackknife,

the very simple latch on the Venables' scullery window,

you dropped the keys back onto the shelf inside.

All of which - the whole operation, I mean -

must have taken the very greatest courage and devotion between brothers.

A rare...in fact a very rare thing.

Mary and the little 'uns are...

They're quite safe, Will. Rest assured.

There's... There's nothing I'd like better than to make an honest woman of her.

And so you shall, Will lad.

With Chief Inspector Parker's kind permission,

I'm sure that - with a special licence - the ceremony can be arranged tomorrow

at St Andrew's, Bloomsbury.

At which time you gain a legal wife and we, for our part,

are still left with the intriguing question...

..precisely who did kill Geoffrey Deacon?

Staring at the rain won't stop it from falling, Theodore.

Hm?

Oh.

No. No, dear, it won't.

Sit down, dear, do.

Did you say something?

You're really worried, aren't you?

- No, no. - Theodore.

Three years I've been trying to spur that conservancy board into some kind of action.

- Yes, dear. - Not to mention the waterways commission.

I know, dear. I've been all through that with you.

- Have you seen those timbers? - Timbers?

Holding Van Leyden's sluice.

And the buttresses almost falling apart as you watch them.

And now, with a deluge like this,

if the sluice gates collapse, it will be grave, my dear, it will be very grave indeed.

Now, now, Theodore, you know that if the worst comes to the worst

- we do have a master plan. - My dear...

If there's real danger, everyone will know exactly what to do, will they not?

I... I mentioned the danger from the pulpit last Sunday

and I've published a warning in the magazine.

The entire parish has been alerted, as it were.

And if the floods do come?

Well, the church, being on high ground, will be our sanctuary -

our ark, as you might say.

And do the animals come in two by two?

Oh, the cattle, sheep and pigs will, I fear, have to take advantage of the graveyard.

The grazing is very good.

I think you're doing magnificently.

Men's sleeping quarters on that side.

Women and children on the other side.

As you see, my wife's the real manager.

A marvellous head for organisation.

Hilary, dear, did you get hold of Mr Tebbutt?

Yes, he's bringing up six casks of beer and all the bottled stuff he's got.

Lord Peter!

I was going to ask if you could possibly spare Mr Bunter.

Yes, of course. Bunter!

Here, my lord.

I had suggested to Mrs Venables that erm...

under the circumstances,

I might be of some assistance with the commissariat.

Why not, Bunter? Go to it, old lad.

I already have, my lord.

The manor house is supplying all the vegetables that we're likely to need

and I've had a word with the butcher and he is preparing a quantity of steaks

and other meats so that stews and soups can be made in the preserving pans.

That reminds me. I must just go and have a word with the grocer.

I have seen him, madam.

Half of his entire stock is already loaded on his van

and can be here in ten minutes.

And I've talked to Mr Gotobed and Wally Pratt

and asked them to get the tea urns from the parish hall.

Oh, splendid, Bunter.

With all those cows about, we shall hardly go short of fresh milk, shall we?

You know, if our chiefs of staff had cooperated like this,

the war would have been over in about ten days.

Ezra... All personal belongings are to be stowed in the nave.

Documents and valuables up in the tower.

And the church plate, Vicar?

Ooh, goodness me.

Right up in the belfry. It'll be out of harm's way there.

- Right you are. - A master plan indeed.

There's only one thing, you know, Padre.

When the deep waters come and call with the noise of cataracts, they move fast.

- Can your parishioners move faster? - Not faster. But in time.

If things look bad - and I fear they do -

the foreman in charge of the sluice gates calculates that he can give us six hours' warning.

That is the signal for the stand-by.

- We ring John and Jericho. - Of course, the bells.

If nothing can save the sluice gates,

the foreman reckons he can still give us two hours.

And that is the signal for a general alarm - I mean to say, all the bells.

Tailor Paul, Batty Thomas...

Issuing forth one last final plea for life.

And at that moment, the whole population move in on us here.

- The emergency plan goes into action. - (Running footsteps)

- Have you a message for me? - From Mr Johnson.

Go and get yourself dry, boy.

Hey!

Aye?

Get hold of young Wally and ring the stand-by on John and Jericho!

Right you are, Vicar.

Wally, to the tower, boy!

Trouble, Padre?

From Van Leyden's.

So you've got about six hours, did you say?

At the very most.

I hate leaving you at a moment like this but it is urgent I see Superintendent Blundell.

- I'll nip over to Leamholt and be back soon. - Lord Peter!

On your return, be our Mercury.

- Bring us the latest news from Van Leyden's. - I will.

Good luck!

According to this latest report, Cranton left Scotland Yard at 3.45 pm on Friday 24th.

- The day we talked to him. - Hm.

Made his way back to his lodgings where he appears to have remained ever since.

He's made no attempt to communicate with anyone?

According to Chief Inspector Parker's man, he appears to have remained in the house.

Hold on a minute. He's had a caller.

- That's more like it. - Just one. Visited him twice.

- Name? - Doctor Merriweather, general practitioner.

(Chuckles)

Oh, authentic.

Law-abiding.

Issued a prescription in the name of Thomas Cranton for the treatment of a heart condition.

I wish to Hades he'd issue a prescription for me.

Come to think of it, nothing could remedy bafflement of the brain.

So...friend Cranton, it would appear, is telling us the truth.

And I have got wet through for nothing.

Which brings us back yet again to Will Thoday.

(Tuts)

He's not out of the woods yet, not by a long chalk.

He admits compounding a serious felony by helping a murderer to escape justice.

As a policeman, I'm shocked.

And as a human being?

Brother Jim's plight isn't much better.

Attempting to conceal a murder by burying the victim and failing to report the facts to the police.

So what's going to happen to them?

Oh, they've been released.

Yes, I discussed it very thoroughly with Chief Inspector Parker.

The case will remain on the files and we'll continue with our investigations.

The public memory is very short.

Once it stops being a sensation in the papers, we can get on with our job in peace and quiet.

How's things over at Fenchurch, by the way?

Hm? They're expecting trouble and getting ready for it.

Blasted floods.

You know, there are two only good things that have come out of this whole business.

The emeralds have been found and that swine Deacon got his just deserts.

It ain't satisfactory, all the same, old lad.

In fact, it is highly unsatisfactory.

I have a particular aversion, I'm afraid, to unsolved murders.

(Distant bells)

Thank God you're here, my lord.

- The sluice gate, she's going. - What?

Warn them at St Paul. There's no time to lose.

- Can I send you more men? - No.

A regiment wouldn't do no good now, my lord. Please hurry.

My word, Bunter, it's delicious.

Here, Ezra, try some.

Ah! Vicar's right.

You must show my missus how that's done, Mr Bunter.

A very simple recipe, Mr Wilderspin.

- What is this? - The electoral roll, dear.

You'll need it when those poor souls start taking refuge.

Whatever would I do without you?

Hello, Harry. You'll find Mary over there by the lectern.

Ah, our Mercury.

- Lord Peter, what news? - Bad, I'm afraid.

We'll be lucky if the sluice gates last an hour.

Good heavens! We must sound the alarm.

- Padre! - We've not a moment to lose!

You must go back, get the men away quickly.

They must not sacrifice themselves!

My lord!

Did you see Will? Is he safe?

- For the moment, Mrs Thoday. - Oh...

We thought we'd best come back, see.

In the circumstances, that was brave if not wise of you.

All went well in Bloomsbury, did it?

Well, that's real...this time.

You knew all along, didn't you, that the dead man was Deacon?

Well...I-I knew that was Geoff's handwriting when Superintendent Blundell showed me the letter.

You knew he was dead.

- That's why you insisted on running away. - To be married, that's all.

- To protect Will? - Will's a good man.

- He hated Deacon. - Oh, for what he'd done to us.

- You hated him too. - Me?

What are you trying to say, Lord Peter?

Later, Mrs Thoday. We'll have time to talk later.

(Straining and groaning)

Carry it along, then.

(Grunting and straining)

Keep it coming.

Get out, sir!

- You shouldn't be here, my lord. - You're all to get out, do you hear me?

Everybody out of here and that's an order!

No. Look out!

Charlie!

(Cries out)

MEN: Charlie!

(Men call out)

Charlie!

Charlie!

No!

No, Will!

All right, come on, out of it!

Quick as you can! Pick your feet up. Come on!

Louisa Hitchcock?

- Obediah Holliday? - Yes.

- Evelyn Holliday? - Here.

- Alice and Kenneth Honeywood? KENNETH: Here.

- Hilda Ibbert? - Yes, I'm here.

- Jocelyn Innocent. - Here.

- Frances Iund and family? FRANCES: Here.

Miss Farley Jarrett?

- Over to the stove, lads, and get warm. - James Jaycock?

Here.

- Elizabeth and Sarah Jennings? - Yes.

Peter, whatever's happened?

Will Thoday has drowned.

Oh, no.

- Jeremiah Johnson? - Here.

Ernestine Judd?

No, no. I'll break it to her.

- Millicent Keats? - Here.

- Oscar and... - My lord?

Will Thoday has drowned.

(Mary screams)

- Peregrine and Mary Lacey? BOTH: Here.

Jane Maddox?

The sluice gates will collapse at any minute. Let the Vicar know.

- I'll be acting as lookout at the tower. - My lord.

The little 'uns.

(Sobs) What shall we do?

Eleanor and Ruth Newell?

- Yes! - Paul and Elizabeth Nulty?

(Sobs) He didn't want to live.

He didn't want to live!

- Ezra Wilderspin? - (Sobs)

Ezra Wilderspin?

Oh. Of course.

John and Sarah Yorath?

Might I have a word, Vicar?

(Bells ring out)

God rest their souls.

What a terrible thing.

(Mary continues sobbing)

We must ring the Nine Tailors for them.

Poor, brave fellows.

Excuse me.

(Continues sobbing)

(Bell tolls Nine Tailors)

(Creaking)

(Bells ring out)

(Low chatter)

Bunter, when you see Lord Peter,

would you be kind enough to tell him we've managed to settle Mary Thoday?

I shall indeed, madam.

(Clamorous din)

(Bells continue ringing)

I cannot tell you, Lord Peter, how relieved I am to see you looking your old self again.

And feeling it, I must say.

Though you were wise, I think, to decide against coming to poor Will's funeral this afternoon.

I'd liked to have paid my last respects.

Oh, I'm sure he would understand.

You know, Padre, I have a feeling he may have guessed how Deacon died

and in some strange way felt himself responsible.

He had no need.

No, as you say.

Well, at least we don't have to look for Deacon's murderer any more.

They're hanged already.

And a good deal higher than Haman.

Gaude, Sabaoth, John and Jericho,

Jubilee and Dimity...

Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul.

And if I'd been up there five minutes longer, they'd have killed me too.

I don't know how exactly -

stroke, apoplexy, shock, anything you like.

I must confess, when I saw you, both you and Mr Bunter,

brought out of the bell chamber that night...

(Chuckles) Have no fear about us, Padre.

Bunter and I, I am afraid, are indestructible.

I have no doubt that the City of Jericho thought itself indestructible.

But you may recall that the sound of a trumpet laid flat the walls.

And the note of a fiddle can shatter a glass.

Yes, you're quite right, of course.

No human frame could bear the noise of those bells for long.

You say that, Lord Peter, as if you've known it all along.

Oh, my dear Padre, if only I had.

But I did remember quite late in the day, I'm afraid, a story about St Paul's Cathedral.

It's said to be death to enter the bell chamber when a peal's being rung.

All the same, it was not our bells, Lord Peter.

They were but the instruments of death.

Yes, I was rather hoping you wouldn't think of that.

It was my vaulting ambition that killed Deacon.

Nonsense.

Every one of us who laid hand to rope that New Year's Eve killed Deacon.

Roped and tied up there for nine interminable hours.

What a fearful death.

Lawful execution may have been speedier, I grant you,

but at least he didn't have to endure the waiting.

He wasn't expecting death and when it came...

Well, he was unconscious within minutes.

(Knock at door)

Hello, hello. Hello, Bunter. What's this, then? Stealing a march on me, what?

I thought a brisk walk down to the village.

Beginning to look like its old self again, now that the flood waters have almost gone.

The resultant odour, I thought, was not the most agreeable of sensations.

Tommy rot, Bunter. If this were Southend, you'd call it ozone and pay a pound a sniff for it.

(Door opens)

- Theodore, we must get back to the church. - Oh, yes.

- Excuse me, there's still a great deal to be done. - Yes, of course.

- Well, Bunter? - Well, my lord.

A clear night.

And the forecast on the wireless was good.

Give it a few more days.

WIMSEY: ..it came to pass at the end of 40 days

that Noah opened the window of the ark which he had made.

And he sent forth a raven, which went forth to and fro,

until the waters were dried up from off the earth.

Also he sent forth a dove from him,

to see if the waters were abated from off the face of the ground;

But the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and she returned unto him into the ark,

for the waters were on the face of the whole earth.

And he stayed yet other seven days;

and again he sent forth the dove out of the ark.

And the dove came in to him in the evening;

and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf plucked off.;

so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth.

And he stayed yet other seven days; and sent forth the dove;

which returned not again unto him any more.

And Noah removed the covering of the ark, and looked,

and, behold, the face of the earth was dry.

And God spake unto Noah, saying,

"Go forth of the ark, thou, and thy wife, and thy sons, and thy sons' wives with thee.

Bring forth with thee every living thing that is with thee, of all flesh, both of fowl, of cattle,

and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth;

And they may breed abundantly in the earth, and be fruitful, and multiply upon the earth."

(Bells ring out)