Original subtitles

In late Victorian London lived many detectives

who were the rivals of Sherlock Holmes.

Thank you!

"March 6th, 2:30 p.m.

Unknown vessel came alongside..."

All right, all right, I only got one pair of hands.

I'm a-coming.

Good afternoon.

I believe Miss Hester Chapman lives at this address.

That's right. Second floor up.

Well, perhaps you'd ask if she'd be good enough to receive me.

You just wait here, sir.

Thank you.

I'll ask her if she's at home.

Thank you very much.

Cleo? Cleo?

Ou êtes-vous, Cleo?

Oh! A thousands pardons, monsieur.

I was looking for Cleo.

She has disappeared, the naughty girl.

Well, if you mean the housemaid, she's just gone upstairs.

Oh, no, no, no. The housemaid is Millie.

Cleo est ma tortue -- my tortoise --

and I cannot find her.

Um...well, let me assist you.

My profession has given me a certain facility

in locating missing persons and objects.

So, a tortoise should be a novelty.

Ask Mr. Hewitt to come up, Millie.

Where did you see her last?

In the basement downstairs, where we live.

Now, we can assume she didn't come upstairs

of her own volition

since tortoises are not noted for their agility.

Miss Chapman says will you please come up, sir.

Oh, thank you.

I'm afraid I must leave you to search for Cleo unaided.

Oh, lost your tortoise again, Mr. Gowjin?

- Goujon. - I know where she is.

I found her wandering amongst the coal,

and I thought she might end up on the fire.

So I put her in your bed.

Oh, you're a dear, kind, thoughtful child, Millie.

Thank you. Thank you, monsieur.

Pleasure.

Dotes on that nasty, horrible beast, he does.

It takes all kinds, don't it? Will you come this way, sir?

Thank you.

Come in.

Mr. Hewitt, mum.

Thank you, Millie.

It's good of you to receive me

without prior notice, Miss Chapman.

I intended to write, but finding myself in the district,

I thought to save time and trouble.

Don't apologize, Mr. Hewitt. I'm not inconvenienced.

- Won't you sit down? - Thank you.

I confess I'm somewhat intrigued

to learn the purpose of your visit.

I see by your card you're a private investigator.

Yes, and I've been instructed to contact you

by Stubbins and Parsifal, solicitors, Chancery Lane.

As to the nature of our business,

I think we might come to that very quickly

if you'd be good enough to afford me certain answers.

What are the questions, Mr. Hewitt?

- May I use this? - Yes, of course.

Thank you.

You're Miss Hester Caroline Chapman.

Yes.

Only child to the late Reverend Horace Chapman

of the vicarage in Nether Upton and incumbent of that parish?

Yes.

My father passed away five years ago, my mother soon after.

So, it follows, then,

that you're also related in some degree to Mr. Phineas Chapman?

My granduncle.

Uh...

Yes, yes, that's right, your -- your granduncle.

I never actually met him.

His name was never allowed in the house.

My father regarded him as something of a libertine.

He now lives in Australia, I believe.

No, I'm afraid not.

In fact, his present whereabouts

rather depend on the accuracy of your father's assessment,

as your granduncle died six months ago.

Oh, I see.

I'm afraid I cannot pretend sorrow for someone I never knew.

Well, then your feelings will be unmixed

when I tell you that he died a rich man

and that you appear to be his sole surviving heir.

Ici, Cleo.

Ici.

Bon appétit, ma petite tortue.

Ah. Vous-avez faim, n'est-ce pas?

Ooh, ho ho ho!

Vous-avez très faim, hein?

Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!

I think, if you'll excuse me, I ought to see what's happening.

That is hardly necessary, Mr. Hewitt.

It is a tenant from the floor above

descending to the floor below.

He frequently does so by sliding down the banisters.

How very disturbing for you.

Yes, and alarming.

Mr. Rameau is a gentleman of intemperate habits.

He screams and howls in unknown tongues.

He falls asleep on the staircase.

Sometimes I'm afraid to pass.

Once --

It is quite intolerable.

Has no one complained to the landlord?

We all have, several times.

Mr. Styles is only interested in his rents.

And so long as Mr. Rameau continues to pay his regularly,

he cannot be prevailed upon to give him notice.

Well, then, Mr. Styles is extremely inconsiderate.

Um...well, I might be of some assistance.

As a private investigator,

I have many friends in the constabulary.

Perhaps if I mentioned the matter...

You're very kind, Mr. Hewitt.

What upsets me most is the way he treats Mr. Goujon.

The Frenchman downstairs. Yes, we've already met.

The landlord employs him to do odd jobs.

He's a quiet, gentle man,

but I've seen him almost driven to madness

by Mr. Rameau and his practical jokes.

May I offer you tea?

Oh, I think I must take my leave now

and report back to Stubbins and Parsifal.

It has been most pleasant meeting you, Mr. Hewitt.

Pleasant and I hope successful,

since I shall be able to tell lawyers

that I've traced their late client's grandniece.

Do you know --

That is, did the lawyers say how much my granduncle left?

Oh, I think Stubbins and Parsifal

would rather tell you that themselves.

But I've no doubt it'll provide you with a decent annuity.

I won't pretend that I don't need it.

A governess-companion has little chance to put any savings aside.

Mr. Hewitt, do you do much business

with the legal profession?

Forgive my curiosity,

but I've never before met a private investigator.

My field of inquiry tends to be wide-ranging,

but I must confess my real interest

lies with the darker side of human activity.

Not criminals, Mr. Hewitt?

In particular, with murder.

Cochon! Canaille! You could have killed me!

Look at the mess of me here!

Cleo, you --

Here. Buy yourself some soap!

No, you take your money back from where you got this!

Voleur!

What did you call me, mon petit homme?!

Voleur?!

You would call Cesar Rameau a thief, huh?!

Bête dégoutant!

I am the best man of this place!

No!

Brother to the prime minister,

général en chef to the président!

Vive Son Excellence! Domingue!

Cleo?

Aah!

Elle -- Elle est morte!

You -- You have killed my Cleo!

You -- You assassin!

What?

You assassin!

I will kill you!

- Assassin! - Help me, somebody!

- I will kill you! - Il est fou!

Goujon! Steady, steady!

You meurtrier!

Cleo. Cleo.

Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Hewitt.

A drink is always acceptable on a parky day.

Yes, it is parky. I quite agree.

What will you have?

I'll have a small port and lemon, if I may.

A port and lemon for Inspector Nettings, Vera,

and I'll have my usual.

So, what do you think?

Well, I don't see

as how there's much to be said about it, really.

I can hardly charge the fellow with murder,

not when the victim is a turtle, if you take my point.

Oh, I do, indeed, but I'm afraid you've missed mine.

I reported the situation to alert you to something

which might eventually lead to extreme violence.

Oh, well, maybe.

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't.

The position is that Rameau is terrorizing the whole building.

Ah. Well, now, I thought, according to your telling of it,

it was your little French chappie

who was terrorizing Rameau.

How much is that, Vera?

That'll be fourpence three-farthings.

Thank you very much.

Chasing him around with a wood chopper.

I suppose I could arrest him for that.

Goujon was provoked by the callous slaughter of his pet.

Mm, yes, the tortoise.

Well, I did look into the matter.

Oh, I'm obliged to you, Inspector.

Item -- Mr. Cesar Rameau has been fined several times

for breaches of the peace.

I believe I told you that.

Possibly, possibly,

but the Detective Department

does not rely on hearsay, Mr. Hewitt.

Item -- Mr. Cesar Rameau is not short of a bob or two.

My inquiries have not established

the exact source of his income,

but I have reason to believe he sells things.

What things?

Articles of value -- jewelry.

He's had dealings with Trussgroves, you know,

the West End jewelers.

Oh, yes, he sold them a quantity of trinkets

for several hundred pound.

Well, isn't that in itself suspicious?

I thought it might be,

but none of the articles was on the stolen list.

So, the fellow can well afford

to indulge his taste for persecuting others.

Well, he won't be persecuting

your little French chap much longer.

The beat constable

is on friendly terms with the housemaid,

and she says that your Mr. Goujon

is leaving next Saturday.

He got a job with some relative in France.

Goujon's leaving?

Mm.

So you've no further need to concern yourself.

No. I'd feel happier if it was Rameau who was leaving.

Mm-hmm, but perhaps your real concern is for some other party,

if I may make so bold?

I'm reliably informed that you presented your card

to a certain Miss Chapman --

thank you -- who resides at the same address.

I'm also informed that she is a most pleasant and handsome lady.

She is both.

And our meeting was by way of business.

Mum's the word, Mr. Hewitt.

He's back again.

Who's back, sir?

That chap across the street -- colored fellow.

He's been standing there three or four times this week.

Here, you have a look, Millie, see if you know him.

Know him? I can't even see him.

Oh, the other end, Millie.

I can't see anybody.

Just across the street. Here, let me.

Well, that's funny.

Hey. He's gone.

Hmm!

Black man, was he?

Might be looking for old Rameau.

Come to change your towels, Mr. Rameau.

Morning, Millie.

Morning, Mr. Gowjin.

Goujon, eh?

How many more times do I have to tell you?

Goujon.

Not many more, I'm sorry to say. You're off tomorrow, anyhow.

And I shall miss you, Millie,

and the charming Miss Chapman and the Captain Cutler, huh?

But not that pig in there, huh?

I am glad to be carrying

the last scuttle of coals for that one.

Old Rameau -- just took his towels in.

Very particular he is about having clean towels.

Wish he was this particular about the state of his room.

Oh, well, can't stand here talking.

Old Styles will be around for the rent,

and I expect he'll do a tour of inspection

to see if I've done my work.

Who put that in my room?! Who pay you, huh?!

Méchanceté! Wicked!

What's he on about?!

La poupée, the doll, la poupée diabolique!

Leave her alone, will you?!

Clear, you!

Ohh!

Ohh. I will kill him. I will.

Hello.

Foreign vessel returning to port,

and with a cargo.

Now, I wonder where he's been.

Yeah, but you can't take her with you,

not all the way to France.

I mean, it's not decent.

Where can I bury her?

Well, they're digging up the roads along at the corner.

Maybe if you ask them. God knows the hole's big enough.

Eh? What's this, Millie,

gossiping when you should be working, eh?

No, Mr. Styles, just popped in to say cheerio to Mr. Gowjin.

Goujon.

That's right. He's leaving today.

Yeah, well aware of it. Most inconvenient.

Well, get about your business, girl.

I've been trying to.

I've been up at Mr. Rameau's three times

to change the sheets,

but I can't when he's laying in bed, snoring his head off.

Then find something else meantime.

Change them later.

Yes, Mr. Styles.

Oh, goodbye, Mr. Gowjin and...

- Goujon. - ...good luck.

Au revoir, Millie.

Now, Goujon, I won't give you a reference.

Work not at all satisfactory.

I'll give you your wages. You give me a receipt, eh?

Eh?

You up yet, Mr. Rameau?

Oh, God, drunk again.

It's Millie! It's Millie!

Millie!

He's been done for! God, he's been done for!

Murder! Aah!

Oh, God, I won't go into that room again.

I don't want to see his horrible, dead face.

Compose yourself, Millie. No one's asking you to go in.

Well, it certainly looks as if murder's been done.

There's blood on the carpet with a chopper beside it.

There's just one thing missing.

And what's that?

Well, where's the body?

And how long would you say

the maidservant was unconscious, Miss Chapman?

Well, about 10 minutes, I should think.

But then she had hysterics for another 5.

I suppose it was 15 minutes

before we managed to get out of her what had happened.

Your constable just happened to be passing by.

Yes, yes.

You teach languages, I'm told.

Amongst other things, yes.

I found this lying on the floor.

My French is a bit rusty.

I wonder if you'd mind translating it for me.

Yes, of course.

"Punished by an avenger of the tortoise."

Yes. Thank you.

Must have been very fond of that pet.

Pet.

Oh, no!

It can't mean that, not Goujon.

Who else, miss? Obvious, isn't it?

It was good of you to come so quickly, Mr. Hewitt.

Well, your note did contain a sense of urgency,

and from what Millie's told me,

I gather it's something to do with today's events.

Yes.

I believe the man to be charged with the murder innocent,

no matter what Inspector Nettings says.

Nettings? He's in charge of the investigation?

- Do you know him? - We're acquainted.

I'm sure he's a very worthy officer.

It's just he strikes me as being ra--

I've heard the opinion expressed that Inspector Nettings

couldn't find an omnibus in Oxford Street,

but I don't share that opinion.

On the other hand,

I'm not convinced he could find the one he was looking for,

as he tends to look little beyond the obvious.

Mr. Hewitt,

you said last time we met

that you sometimes undertook criminal investigations.

When the circumstances interest me, yes.

I should like to engage your professional services

in this matter.

Well, you may uncover some piece of evidence

which could prove Goujon innocent.

May I ask the reason for your concern?

As you know, my expectations from the will

have been fully realized.

I feel I should like to share my good fortune

with someone in need,

and I did like Mr. Goujon.

Your feelings do you great credit, Miss Chapman.

Will you undertake the commission?

Well...

Well, it's Mr. Hewitt.

It would seem you've got your murder.

So I've been told, Inspector.

Do you mind if I look around?

By all means.

Perhaps you can spot something I've overlooked,

though it's not a case there can be much doubt about.

You think it's Goujon, don't you?

Think? Well, rather.

Look at this.

Settles the matter, doesn't it?

"Puni par un vengeur de la tortue" --

"Punished by an avenger of the tortoise."

Well, that sounds odd.

There's a pinhole here.

Yes, I did notice it. Pinned to the body, most like.

The murder weapon?

A wood chopper -- Goujon's -- killed him on impulse with this.

Well, hardly on impulse.

As you'll have noticed,

the ink and notepaper don't match those in this room.

So it follows, therefore,

that the murderer must have prepared the note elsewhere,

before committing the murder.

Or after.

Yes, possibly.

Why do you think Goujon removed the body?

Oh, well, he just had second thoughts, that's all,

and the noted dropped off while he was doing it.

Have you compared this

with other specimens of Goujon's handwriting?

Yes, I did think of it, but there isn't a specimen to hand.

Anyway, it's not all that important.

There it is -- "avenger of the tortoise,"

and in the man's own language.

That tells everything.

And besides, handwritings are easily disguised.

It may not be Goujon, you know.

Come, come, Mr. Hewitt.

The facts are as plain as the nose on your face.

Who else could it be?

Oh, that's a question I'd have to...think about

before answering.

But to begin with,

how do you suppose the murderer got the body away?

Step this way, Mr. Hewitt, and I'll enlighten you.

That's how. Easy as winking.

There's a lift door on each floor,

and all these basements communicate, one with another.

No one saw him leave?

No. No, I've made particular inquiries.

No news, Inspector, eh? Found out nothing else, eh?

We are pursuing our inquiries, sir.

Terrible thing for my property, terrible.

It comes of having to do with these bloodthirsty foreigners.

Mustn't waste time, Inspector. Mustn't hang about here.

Should be out and about, hunting high and low for the malefactor.

With respect, sir,

I am conducting an investigation as to his whereabouts.

Well, it doesn't take two of you, surely.

This gentleman

is not attached to the Detective Department, sir,

nor, for that matter, to the constabulary.

Allow me to introduce myself.

Martin Hewitt, private investigator.

Ah, private, eh?

Usual story, I suppose -- police baffled.

Sorry state of affairs, eh?

I am far from being baffled, Mr. Styles!

Well, it must be Goujon.

But look around if you like,

and if you see anything likely to serve my interests,

well, tell me.

Did you manage to get a specimen of Goujon's handwriting, sir?

- Oh, yes, yes, I have it here. - Oh, good.

Receipt for his wages.

Let me see.

There's his signature.

Mm-hmm.

The handwriting appears to be quite different.

Disguised, Mr. Hewitt, as I said.

Tell me, Mr. Styles, what was your opinion of Rameau?

Rameau? Well, he paid his rent regularly,

came here on a banker's reference --

St. Martin's, Chandos Street --

man of substance.

Well, let me know what you find out, Hewitt.

Then I'll think about hiring you. Good day.

Likes to see what he's getting, does Mr. Styles.

Let him know what you find out.

Nothing else to find out, is there?

Perhaps not.

But we must make the effort.

A splendid vessel, Captain.

You must have been very proud of her.

Yes!

The Oriana.

I suppose I've been around the Horn in her

more times than you've walked down the Mall.

Well, the sun's over the yardarm.

Will you care for a tot, Mr. Hewitt?

Oh, no, thank you.

I shall need all my wits about me on this case.

Mm.

It wasn't Goujon, you know.

He's a decent little fellow. Wouldn't hear him hurt a fly.

Yes, that seems to be the general impression

of his character.

Perhaps you have some thoughts on who did kill Rameau.

I told the inspector, but he wouldn't listen.

No, it was that chap who has been hanging around

for the past week,

about the same size and build as Rameau.

I thought it was Rameau at first.

You thought -- Then the stranger was a Negro?

Hmm?

Oh, didn't I say? Yes, he was.

Yes, he was there Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.

I put all the times down in the log, too.

You keep a log?

Habit, Mr. Hewitt, habit. Been doing it for years.

Yes, it's all down there, the times I saw him.

Yes, he'd stand staring up at Rameau's room for hours.

It's possible he was some compatriot?

No doubt of it.

Yes, the first time I saw him,

I thought he was looking for Rameau.

So, I asked Rameau later on if he was expecting any visitors.

And what did he say?

Not a word.

Just stood staring at me with his mouth gaping open.

Then he bolted upstairs, and I heard the key turn in his lock.

Now, that was before the business with the doll,

of course, the voodoo doll.

He accused young Millie

of planting it in his room, you know.

So, Rameau was from the West Indies?

Yes, you know the --

Here, now.

I have a chart here.

Now, this is the Caribbean here, the West Indies.

And just down here, past the Caicos bank is Hispaniola.

That's the biggest island of the lot, barring Cuba.

- And this bit here is Haiti. - The Black republic.

You've been there?

No, but I've heard the country

is in a degenerate state of extreme savagery.

And you've heard right.

Never put into Port-au-Prince

when they've got a rebellion on the way.

You'd be lucky to get out alive.

Well, I shall certainly remember your advice,

though Haiti is not on my immediate itinerary.

Very wise, Mr. Hewitt.

Tell me about the voodoo doll, Captain.

Well, it's...

I'll tell you this,

anybody that gets one hasn't got long to live.

You wanted to see me, sir?

Yes, my lady.

I understand it was you who found Mr. Rameau's body.

Why did you come to his room?

I come to change the bedding, didn't I?

Not his towels?

No, I changed them the day before.

Because there aren't any in the bedroom. Are you sure?

I remember particular 'cause one had a hole in it,

and I thought,

"Hello, old Styles is gonna have to dip his hands in his pocket."

And did you change the bed linen?

How could I when he was laying in the bed?

Three times I come up,

and he was always laying there, snoring.

When was the last time you saw him alive?

Be about half past 1:00, I'd say, sir.

I guessed from the appearance of Mr. Rameau's bedroom

that he wasn't a creature of tidy habits.

Him? He gave me more work

than all the other tenants put together.

I was never done putting his clothes away.

Yes, I can well imagine.

Yet his wardrobe appears to be rather extensive.

Oh, always buying new clothes, he was.

Some of them he hardly wore more than once,

except for that funny jacket of his, the one with the medals.

Yes.

It seems odd, in view of the rigors of the English climate,

that he never saw fit to buy an overcoat.

Oh, he had one, all right, one of them ulsters,

and he used to go about

with the collar turned up when the weather got parky.

There's nothing of that description in the wardrobe.

Will that be all, sir?

Not quite, no, no, no. Tell me about this doll.

Not your taste, Mr. Hewitt.

Well, I admire the craftsmanship,

but, no, I don't think I'd like to have it

staring back at me from above the mantelpiece.

I have no such qualms.

I am protected.

There is little of the occult or supernatural

which is not contained within my collection.

I am protected by knowledge.

By the knowledge that it is all superstition?

The truth is what we believe to be true,

but I will forgive the skepticism

of an old and valued customer.

What brings you here today, Mr. Hewitt?

This.

This was sent to you?

No, to someone else. I found it in his room.

I'm relieved to hear it.

Be rid of it, Mr. Hewitt.

Well, I think I'd like to know a little more about it first.

It belongs to the cult of voodoo,

and the voodoo doll carries evil and death.

Would you care to examine it?

Oh, come, come.

You said your knowledge was your shield.

My knowledge of Obeah or candomble or macumba,

but voodoo -- with that, I am less familiar.

I have seen the like before, of course.

Oh? Where?

In Haiti. That is where the cult is at its strongest.

You've been there.

I have traveled extensively in pursuit of my knowledge.

Yes, men have been known to die of fear

after receiving one of these accursed things.

Can the curse be removed?

By the priest who placed it

or by someone who understands the mysteries.

How did you come by this abomination?

It was sent to a man called Rameau, Cesar Rameau.

Rameau?

You know the name?

Perhaps.

I believe that I've heard it before.

If you can recollect when, I'd be grateful.

It was just a bad dream, Millie.

There are no such things as ghosts.

Cross my heart and hope to die, mum.

God, I nearly did.

Old Rameau's come back to haunt us.

I heard him moving about.

What did you hear?

Well, I was lying in my bed,

and I heard this noise from the room below -- old Rameau's room.

So, I gets up and puts my ear to the floorboards,

and there he is, banging about and thumping.

Sheer imagination, Millie.

That room is above this one, and I heard nothing.

But you was asleep.

Millie, please go back to bed and forget all this nonsense.

Ah, Inspector, my housekeeper said you were here.

I've been making several calls.

I hope I haven't kept you waiting.

Not long, Mr. Hewitt, no.

And to what do I owe the pleasure?

I just thought you'd like to know we've got Goujon.

Picked him up at Newhaven on his way to Dieppe.

Oh. You are to be congratulated on your efficiency.

Am I? He's got an alibi.

Rameau was last seen alive by the housemaid at half past 1:00.

Then she found him dead at 3:00.

Goujon's got two friends.

All swear he was with them

from 12:00 till 4:00 in the afternoon.

And you're satisfied they're telling you the truth?

I suppose so.

Men of good character, both local costermongers.

It seems one of them offered to wheel Goujon's trunk

down to the station on his barrow.

Then they had a few drinks together

by way of seeing him off.

Which I take it they did.

Right on to the blessed train,

after which they stood there on the platform,

a-waving of their handkerchiefs till it was out of sight.

How very fortunate for Mr. Goujon.

Oh, let's leave his poor, demented soul.

Cor! Somebody's been here!

- Aah! - Shh!

To be plain, Mr. Hewitt, I've come here to get a hint

of where I might look for the murderer.

Can't say I've thought much

about the Negro who was seen hanging around.

Well, I think the presence of the Negro

might be the key to the whole mystery.

The West Indies, Inspector.

Now, look at them carefully.

Ah, very interesting, Mr. Hewitt,

but I haven't got time for a geography lesson.

Well, I think you might profit from this one.

Haiti, which is there, is in a perpetual state of turmoil.

There are revolutions all the time.

President after president of the vilest sort

forces his way into power

and commits the most horrible

and bloodthirsty excesses to retain it.

Whole families -- men, women, and children --

are murdered at the instance of these ruffians.

Mm. Shocking, I'm sure,

but no more than I'd expect from foreigners.

It's the murder I've got that worries me.

Well, I think there may be a connection,

as I have today made certain inquiries

of an acquaintance who knows the Caribbean.

And he tells me that the very worst of these presidents

in recent times was Domingue.

You may have heard of him. He was quite notorious.

No, I can't say I find the name familiar.

Oh, he committed the cruelest bloodshed.

Many of his opponents sought refuge

on a small island lying just to the north of Haiti.

But they were sought out and almost exterminated.

No, no, no, no, no, this island here.

Now, Inspector, what is its name?

"Torchiga."

Tortuga.

However, that's only its old Spanish name.

The Haitians speak French, Creole French.

They don't call it Tortuga.

- What do they call it? - La Tortue.

Oh, La Tortue.

Blimey! The tortoise!

Precisely. "La tortue" is French for "the tortoise."

Now do you see the drift of that paper you found?

Punished by an avenger of, or from,

La Tortue, or The Tortoise!

The dead man had something to do with these massacres,

and somebody from that island is avenging it!

I declare, Mr. Hewitt, this is a most extraordinary thing!

Now, listen -- the name of Domingue's nephew,

who was chief minister, was...

- Rameau? - Septimus Rameau.

Cesar Rameau was, in all probability, his brother.

So, Inspector, what do you say now?

Well, there's not much I can say.

I just took it for granted the note referred

to that wretched tortoise in the basement.

Yes.

I also called at Rameau's bank.

It seems that Rameau called there

the day before he was attacked

and removed some valuables from a deposit box.

Now, from this, I'd infer he was preparing to leave.

Valuables? You mean those trinkets he was selling?

Presumably, since they're nowhere to be found in his room,

it seems likely his assailant took them.

Well, Mr. Hewitt, I've made a right fool of a start,

but I'll be after the right man now.

Yes, I'll be after that Negro.

And I shall be after the man who removed Rameau's body.

You mean there was two of them?

Oh, I think I should keep that little secret to myself

for the time being.

You shall know soon.

- Wotcher. - Oh, hello.

Trade's slack for this time of day.

Slack?

Why, it's so bad I had to keep on kicking the old nag

every 10 minutes just to keep him awake.

Yeah, same with me.

I got a growler up in the Holborn rank.

Ah, I thought you was a cabby.

- Having holiday? - Not exactly, no.

I'm looking for a bilker what done me out of a fare.

Oh, yeah, there's a lot of them about.

As if it wasn't hard enough earning an honest trust.

What'd he do?

Well, I picked him up in Piccadilly,

and he said as how he wanted to come here.

So he gave me an address just up the road.

But when we got here,

he runs off and disappears behind one of those doors,

leaving me whistling for my fare.

Shocking.

Here, what'd he look like? I'll keep an eye open.

Yes, you better, 'cause I'm told

that one of the blokes off this rank carried him recently.

Saturday, I think.

It's likely he'd try the same dodge again.

You see, he was a tallish chap, muffled up a lot,

with a long, black overcoat.

Here, now, wait a moment.

Muffled up in a black overcoat.

Yeah, and he had a soft wide-awake hat

pulled down over his eyes.

You carried him, did you?

No. No, but I can tell you who did.

Now, Millie, you're quite sure

you understand what I want you to do?

- Oh, yeah, I got it now, sir. - Good girl.

Well, here's...

here's a sovereign for your trouble.

Cor. Thank you very much, sir.

I'll do it right. Believe me, I will.

Well, she might understand, but I'm blowed if I do.

Oh, you shall presently, Inspector.

Have you got your murderer yet?

No, unless -- Well, Goujon is still under remand.

He might know something.

Oh, nonsense. You must let him go.

Now, now, Mr. Hewitt, I won't be bullied.

Besides, he's all I've got to show for my trouble.

Then perhaps I can give you something else.

What?

The man who carried Rameau's body away.

Rum sort of place.

I thought you said your friend was in the spirit trade.

Ah, you may have misunderstood me.

Ah, Mr. Hewitt.

Inspector Nettings, this is Mr. Perroquet.

Good day, sir.

I'm informed that you can help me with some inquiries.

I have already rendered such assistance as I can.

Successfully?

Yes.

But had this been the genuine article, who knows?

Mr. Hewitt, might I ask what all that was about?

Hmm?

Oh, the doll?

Oh, I thought it was genuine

until an expert assured me it was a fake.

Very interesting, I'm sure,

but I thought you brought me here

to find the man who carried Rameau's body away.

Yes, indeed, I did.

Inspector Nettings, allow me to introduce Cesar Rameau.

You're supposed to be dead!

Hardly, Inspector.

My observations led me to the conclusion

that no murder had, in fact, been committed.

What observations?

There was a considerable quantity of blood

lying just below where Millie found Rameau's body lying,

but no traces between that point and the door.

And no body could have been dragged or even carried

without leaving a trail of bloodstains.

You might have said something.

Well, I wasn't certain

until I discovered that the towels were missing.

And when I found that his overcoat, too, was gone,

the conclusion was inescapable.

Mr. Rameau had recovered, his first thought was flight,

and he walked out of that room on his own two legs.

Is that not so, Mr. Rameau?

Yes. When I waked, there's blood all over me.

So I get the towels, and I wrap my head.

There you are.

But my enemy -- he may return to make sure I am dead.

Nonsense.

My enemies, my great enemies politiques --

They put the voodoo curse on me.

I am a great man in my country.

You exaggerate your danger and your own importance,

not to mention your enemies' abilities,

though I daresay you've quite a few.

However, you're safe enough here.

So, you let yourself down into the basement by the coal lift.

Yes, they might have seen me leave by the stairs.

So I hide in the basement until after dark,

and then I run to the cab rank at the end of the street.

Yes, I know.

He had some idea of hiding in the East End,

which was where I found him after several hours' search.

I have passage booked to America on a ship which sails today.

I want to be near the docks, huh?

What's he doing here, then?

I was able to persuade him

that while it's possible to run away from an enemy,

a curse has to be lifted.

My good friend Perroquet obliged.

And I don't quite follow, Mr. Hewitt.

Well, no matter, Inspector.

You have your murder victim.

Well, I won't deny

you've been of some assistance on this case, Mr. Hewitt,

but I think I can take over from here.

Now, my good man, this enemy who attacked you --

I want a complete description.

I not see him.

I lie in bed asleep, and I hear a noise in the other room.

When I go through, he attacks me from behind,

and I faint, unconscious.

Unconscious, yes.

Well, I intend to lay hands on the man who tried to kill you.

It's just possible, Inspector,

that you may do that very thing tonight.

That should see you warm enough, Captain.

Oh, much obliged to you, Millie.

Off to your bed now.

Gord, not before time.

- Captain. - Hmm?

Something's been bothering me.

What's that, Millie?

Well, the day before old Rameau got murdered,

I went to his room to tidy up.

And there he was with the carpet out.

He'd rolled it back to the window,

where the loose floorboard is.

Now, that was a funny thing, wasn't it?

Hmm. Very odd.

Have you told the inspector?

No. Think I should?

I think you should.

It'll wait till the morning.

- Good night, dear Millie. - Good night, Captain.

Good evening, Mr. Styles.

Hewitt. What you doing here?

Waiting for someone to come in, as you did.

No law against a landlord visiting his own property.

True.

But it's not done for him

to strike a tenant over the head with a wood chopper.

You are, I assume, making another attempt

at finding Mr. Rameau's valuables.

That damn girl said she saw Rameau

hiding something here under the floorboards.

Yes, on my instructions.

She told the same story to everyone in the house.

But you were the only one

who knew what he might have been hiding.

So, it's a trap, eh?

Ah, well.

Nothing for it but to own up and come quietly, eh?

Evening, Mr. Styles.

I'm informed that you can help me with some inquiries.

Yes, yes, I admit it. I was tempted.

We all get tempted, eh?

Went into the room to collect the rent,

saw him sitting at the table, drinking,

masses of jewelry spread out before him.

I knew he'd be blind drunk before long,

drunk and sleeping it off in the bedroom.

Which you took to be

an excellent opportunity to rob him.

Well, pretty far gone as he was,

he kept babbling about some enemy who was gonna kill him.

Guessed it might be something to do

with the Negro that Cutler said he'd seen.

You nearly killed him.

Well, I didn't mean to, Inspector.

You see, I was searching the place

when Rameau suddenly appeared at the bedroom door, didn't see me.

I picked up the nearest thing to hand, hit him,

then heard that damn girl at the door,

hid in the bedroom until she'd gone,

then got out as fast as I could.

Without finding what you'd come for.

You must have been in considerable panic, Mr. Styles.

Panic. Yeah, I'd say I was.

Panic, eh?

You were sufficiently self-possessed

to write that note, sir.

Eh? I didn't write that note.

And I say you did.

Pinned it to the body in an attempt to mislead us.

Nothing of the sort, not me.

Then who did write it?

Inspector, might I suggest

that the note would be best forgotten?

It isn't really essential to your case.

Oh, I don't know about that, Mr. Hewitt,

seeing as all the trouble it's caused.

Well, then I must leave you to pursue that matter on your own.

Yes, I'll get to the bottom of it.

Oh, doubtless.

In the meantime, if you'll excuse me,

I'll report back to my client.

Righto.

Client?

You don't imagine

I've been pursuing this case out of curiosity.

Now, about this note you left...

A most satisfactory conclusion, Mr. Hewitt.

I should be happy to settle your account in due course.

Oh, there's no hurry.

But I do wonder about that note myself.

Styles denies its authorship.

Presumably it has some connection

with the Haitian who was pursuing Mr. Rameau,

the one Captain Cutler saw.

Oh, I doubt it.

You see, I don't think he exists.

Captain Cutler imagined him?

It occurred to me that since Rameau was making

such an infernal nuisance of himself

and since Styles refused to evict him

that one of the other tenants might take some action.

The voodoo doll prompted that thought.

How so, Mr. Hewitt?

Captain Cutler has some knowledge of the Caribbean

and its customs.

He would well know how to frighten Rameau into leaving,

especially if he concocted some story

about a Black stranger lurking in the vicinity.

A very ingenious theory, Mr. Hewitt.

But I, too, saw the Negro watching the building.

Then my theory crumbles in ruins.

There remains the question of the note.

The handwriting told me little.

The ink and notepaper, however, were quite distinctive.

The ink was violet,

and the paper was of a fine parchment, slightly scented.

I imagine both must be quite common.

Oh, indeed, yes.

The note you sent summoning me the other day

matches the combination exactly.

What will you do now, Mr. Hewitt?

With your permission, take my leave.

Mr. Hewitt.

- About the note -- - Ah, yes.

Its author can take comfort from the thought

that Inspector Nettings

is actively investigating its source of origin

and will, in all probability,

be doing so until the day he retires.

Thank you.

Oh, there's one other thing.

I thought you might like to keep this

as a souvenir of the affair of the tortoise.

Good night, Mr. Hewitt.

Good night, Miss Chapman.

Well, Styles still denied he wrote it.

I don't know.

I seem to have made a lot of mistakes on this case.

Your mind can't be expected

to work at concert pitch all the time, Inspector.

That's a fact.

I've got it!

That note was written

by the chap who's been seen watching Rameau's rooms

for the past week!

Why, once I've got him, I've solved the case!

Congratulations, Inspector.

You finally struck form.