All language subtitles for jeeves.and.wooster.s03e06.720p.bluray.x264-ingot

Now is the time! Repent now!

You may not like it,
ladies and gentlemen,

I may not like it,
Your King of England may not like it,

but it is coming, ladies and gentlemen,
oh, yes.

And do you want to know something?

There's not a thing
that you or I can do about it.

You can look it up for yourselves
when I finish if you don't believe me.

It's a fact proved by science that the
worst spreader of disease and pestilence

since the brown rat spread
the Black Death round Europe in 1492

- is your budgerigar.
- Mr Wooster, surely.

Oh, what ho, Lord Bittlesham!
Going strong?

Yes, I'm in excellent health, thank you.
And you?

In the pink, yes.
Have you seen Bingo lately?

- Bingo?
- Your nephew.

Oh, Richard. No. Since my marriage,
a little coolness has sprung up.

Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.
Lady Bittlesham all right?

Excellent, thank you. Excellent.

I say, you're the owner of Ocean Breeze,
aren't you?

Yes. My wife is interested
in horse racing,

so I now maintain a stable.

I understand that Ocean Breeze is...
fancied, I believe the expression is,

for a race which will take place next week
at Goodwood.

The Goodwood Cup. Rather, yes.
I've got my shillings on it for one.

There's two of them now! Look at them!
Drink them in, comrades!

There we have two examples of the class
which has trodden down the poor.

Idlers. Non-producers.

Look at the tall thin one
with a face like a motor mascot.

Has he ever done an honest day's work
in his life? No. A prowler,

a bloodsucker, and I bet he still
owes his tailor for those trousers.

A gift for expression, these fellows have.
Very trenchant.

And the fat one, don't miss him.
That's Lord Bittlesham, that's who.

What has he ever done
except eat four square meals a day?

I'll leave you with that thought.

I don't oppose the right to free speech,
but I refuse to listen to vulgar abuse.

Good day to you, Mr Wooster.

Today, comrades,
on the verge of the revolution!

The hour is nearly on us

when we shall turn their own weapons
on our capitalist exploiters!

Do I know you?

- What ho, Bertie!
- Bingo!

What are you up to, Bingo?
I thought your uncle would have a fit.

Look, Bertie. isn't she
the most wonderful girl you ever saw?

Bingo, don't tell me you're in love again.

Yes. This is the real thing.

Her name's Charlotte Rowbotham.

Her father wants to massacre
the bourgeoisie, sack Park Lane

and disembowel the aristocracy.

- Can't say fairer than that, can you?
- Yes, George, pink gins.

- Where did you meet this woman?
- On top of a bus.

I fell in love, got her address
and a few days later,

bought the beard,
and toddled round to meet the family.

- Why the beard?
- Well, she told me about her father,

and I saw, to get any footing, I'd have to
join these Red Dawn blighters.

If I did, I'd have to make speeches in the
park, and I might run into people I knew.

It's done a lot of good with Rowbotham.

He thinks I'm a Bolshevist
who is in disguise because of the police.

What are you doing this afternoon?

- Nothing special. Why?
- You can have us all to tea at your flat.

I had promised to take them
to Lyons Popular Cafe after the meeting,

but money's a problem these days.

You er... know my uncle got married?

Yes. Yes.

Hmm... Since he married,
he's been spending money on her

and economising on me. Bought
a racing stable among other things.

- You're going to Goodwood?
- Of course.

Put your last collar stud
on Ocean Breeze.

- I'm going to.
- It can't lose.

I'm going to win enough
to marry Charlotte.

Oh, by the way, about tea...

- I hardly think...
- It'll just be the four of us,

Charlotte, myself, old man Rowbotham
and Comrade Butt.

Who the devil is Comrade Butt?

Small, shrivelled chap.
Looks like a haddock with lung trouble.

He's sort of semi-engaged to Charlotte
at the moment.

Till I came along,
he was the blue-eyed boy.

Oh, well, must push on.

You don't know
how to raise 50 quid somehow, do you?

- Work?
- Bertie!

No, I must think of some way.

I need to put at least 50 quid
on Ocean Breeze.

Oh, well, see you later.

- Jeeves, I'm worried.
- Sir?

About Mr Little. I won't tell you now.

He's bringing friends for tea
and I want you to form your own opinion.

- Very good, sir.
- I will only say it concerns a young lady.

One had surmised as much, sir,
bearing in mind Mr Little's propensities.

I've only seen photographs.
She may have a heart of gold,

but the first thing that strikes one
is that she has a tooth of gold.

- Very good, sir.
- Jeeves, about tea, get some muffins.

- Yes, sir.
- Also some ham, jam, cakes...

scrambled eggs
and five or six wagon loads of sardines.

- Sardines, sir?
- Sardines.

- Don't look at me. It's not my fault.
- No, sir.

- Oh, and, Jeeves...
- Yes, sir?

These friends of Mr Little's
are revolutionaries.

I don't think they'll feel comfortable
with me having a manservant.

- I understand, sir.
- If we make out that we are chums,

it might just ease the wheels a bit.

Chums, sir. Yes.

- Aunt Dahlia! What ho, old relation!
- Hello, Bertie, revolting young blot.

- I thought you were in the country.
- I am. Are you sober?

- As a judge.
- Then listen attentively.

I am supposed to be staying
at Marsham Manor

with Cornelia Fothergill, the novelist.
Ever heard of her?

- Vaguely. She's not on my library list.
- She would be if you were a woman.

She specialises in rich goo
for the female trade.

I'm trying to persuade her to let me
serialise her novel for Milady's Boudoir.

- How is the old mag?
- The old mag's losing money

as fast as any tasteful magazine
for the lady of refinement.

A new serial by Cornelia Fothergill
would just about save our bacon,

but Cornelia's being no help whatsoever.
She doesn't say no, won't say yes.

That's why you're coming down
to Marsham Manor.

- I am?
- In person.

- What on earth for?
- To help me sway her.

You'll exercise all your charm,
give her the old oil.

I don't know.
I'm meant to be going to Goodwood.

Marsham-in-the-Vale is next door.

The starter practically waves his flag
out of my bedroom window.

Oh. That puts
a different complexion on things.

Beg pardon, Comrade Wooster,
some persons to see you.

Oh, Comrade Wooster,
we've heard stories of your exploits

in the fight against capitalism.

- Who are these people, Bertie?
- Well, Bingo Little you know.

- Do I?
- And this, I take it is Mr Rowbotham.

Pleased to make your acquaintance,
comrades.

This is my daughter, Comrade Charlotte,
and he's Comrade Butt.

But what?

Comrade Butt yearns
for the revolution just like you do.

Comrade Wooster never yearned
for anything

except a stone-dead cert at 100-1.

Oh, you will have your little joke,
Comrade Dahlia.

- I think I'd better go.
- Right. Right.

I don't know what you're up to just now,
Bertie,

but I expect you
at Marsham Manor tomorrow.

- There's something I want you to do.
- What sort of something?

I'll tell you when you get there.
Something to help Aunty. You'll enjoy it.

Toodle-oo, comrades.

- Lovely ham, Pop.
- Ham, muffins, eggs...

all wrung from the bleeding lips
of the starving poor.

I say! Please!

I wonder the food doesn't turn to ashes
in our mouths.

- Another sardine, Comrade Butt?
- Very well,

but only to express solidarity
with our Portuguese brothers.

And why aren't you sitting down,
Comrade Jeeves?

The history of the revolution is putting
food on the plates of the proletariat.

- Well said, Comrade Jeeves!
- Never mind about well said.

He's behaving like a servant.

Servant? No, no, no!
We take it in turns.

One day, I do the chores,
then the next day, Comrade Jeeves.

It's Comrade Jeeves's day,
isn't it, old pal?

Indeed it is, Comrade sir...
er... old pal, chum.

Why don't you sit down,
Comrade Jeeves?

- I'll show Comrade Butt how it all works.
- Very good, comrade.

Now, who'd like some more tea?

You'll find it needs some more hot water,
comrade.

Hot water? Right. Yes.

From the kettle, Comrade Wooster,
of course.

Naturally, Comrade Jeeves.

Right, well... no sooner said than whatsit.

I'll send you some literature
on the cause, Comrade Jeeves.

- Perhaps we shall see you at a meeting.
- Perhaps indeed, Comrade Rowbotham.

I don't know what you've done
to the cooker, Comrade Jeeves,

but I can't get the gas lit.

- It's electric, sir.
- Oh.

There's something fishy
about your friends, Comrade Little.

You're suspicious of everything,
Charlie Butt.

I am not, but look around you.
Is this the dwelling of a worker?

Full-blown bourgeois decadence,
that's what I call it.

Good grub, though.

Yes, soon have the hot water.
We got a new cooker yesterday.

- I haven't got the hang of it.
- Ahem.

- Electric, you know.
- I can't recall, Comrade Wooster...

What was it Comrade Stalin said
about socialism in that respect?

- Comrade...?
- I think Comrade Butt is referring

to Comrade Stalin's report to the
Congress of Soviets in December 1920,

in which he said
socialism was soviet power

plus the electrification
of the whole country.

Oh...

Well, Jeeves, you did awfully well. Where
did you learn about the revolution?

It is as well to know
what tunes the devil is playing, sir.

- What about Charlotte Rowbotham?
- I prefer not to express an opinion, sir.

Jeeves, Bingo is in love with that female.

So I gather, sir.
She was slapping him in the corridor.

- Slapping him?
- Yes, sir.

Roguishly.

I didn't realise it had quite got that far.
How did Comrade Butt take it?

- He struck me as extremely jealous, sir.
- Jeeves, this is a bit thick.

- Very much so, sir.
- Hmm...

Pip pip.

Why is it that the thought
of the little thing

Aunt Dahlia wants me to do
fills me with foreboding?

Experience, sir?

You must be Dahlia's nephew,
Mr Wooster.

- Yes, absolutely.
- How nice of you to join us.

- I'm Cornelia Fothergill.
- How do you do?

I thought we'd put Mr Wooster
in the gate room, Denning.

- Very good, Mrs Fothergill.
- My husband is in his studio.

Why don't we introduce you
and try to get him to finish for the day?

- Well, I'm game.
- Bertie!

- Madeline, I didn't know you were here.
- Mrs Fothergill's helping with my poetry.

We're trying to persuade Madeline to
give us a reading after dinner one night.

- That's something to look forward to.
- Come along, Mr Wooster.

- You shouldn't have come.
- Oh, well...

You've got to forget me, Bertie.

Let the past die.

Die... Yes... right.

Everard's painting Lord Sidcup
at the moment.

- Really? What colour?
- I don't understand.

- No. No. A portrait, eh?
- On the occasion of his elevation.

This is Mrs Travers' nephew, Everard.

My husband, Mr Wooster,
Everard Fothergill.

- How do you do?
- Yes, yes, yes.

Everard's father's a painter too,
Mr Wooster.

- You'll meet him at dinner.
- Ah.

- I say, jolly clever painting, that.
- You like it?

I know that face, don't I? Ugly devil.
No, no, it looks just like that fellow...

- Wooster!
- Ah!

Damn and blast it!

- I'm most awfully sorry!
- What are you doing here, Wooster?

Oh, you know. This and that.
Hither and yon.

- I say, I like your hat.
- It's a coronet, Mr Wooster.

Mr Spode is now
the seventh earl of Sidcup.

- Good lord!
- Since the lamented death of my uncle,

I'm now touring the country bidding
farewell to my legions

of the Saviours of Britain.

- You're leaving the Black Shorts?
- I'm called to higher government.

Tomorrow, I address
the Marsham Parver Gannet Division,

which will be a moving occasion.

That's how he came to paint
Chelsea Bridge.

My father-in-law's a fine painter.

There's paint in the blood, you see.

Crikey!

I trust you'll all be at the rally tomorrow
to hear my farewell...

Gaskill never got his five bob either.

- Not many people know that.
- Really?

Ah, you were talking of blood.

My movement is dedicated
to founding a new order

based on fairness and equality.

My elevation to the peerage because of
an accident of blood is grossly unfair.

Did you have a nasty accident, Uncle?

We will bring in legislation to ensure
every citizen has the same right.

A dustman's son will have a guaranteed

and inalienable right
to become a dustman.

- What a clever idea!
- And so forth.

It would be written into
the law of the land.

I trust that you will be able to hear

my farewell to the gannet division
at Marsham Parver.

Yes, yes, I've got to polish
the golf clubs, you know.

- Comrade Butt, is it not?
- What?

- May I join you?
- Oh, yes. All right.

You're that Jeeves, aren't you,
that friend of Comrade Little?

- Indeed, Comrade Butt.
- I don't care if you are.

I speak my mind.
I don't trust that Comrade Little.

Indeed, comrade?

Indeed.

- Oh, sorry.
- Oh, Bertie...

- I need someone to turn the pages.
- I'll go and find someone, shall I?

Don't be silly, Bertie. You can do it.

Ah. Mmm. Right.

Isn't it beautiful?

Well... mmm... yes.

Don't you think George Sand had a
beneficial influence on Chopin's work?

Didn't know he knew him.

Oh, Bertie, I'm nearly at the bottom
of the page now.

Bertie!

My dress is very wet!

Wooster!

- Get on your feet, you swine!
- I... Now, look here...

I have had to talk to you before
about pestering Miss Bassett.

I shall not tell you again.
Do you understand?

Miss Bassett does not welcome
your attentions.

If I catch you, just once more,

trying to force yourself
on the poor, harmless girl,

I shall tear your head off and make you
carry it around in a bag.

- Do I make myself clear?
- Yes, but...

No buts, Wooster. No wells.
You will keep your attentions to yourself.

- Do you understand?
- Yes, Spode.

- Lord Sidcup to you!
- Lord Spodecup.

Sidcup! Right, yes.

- Bertie...
- What?

- Come with me.
- You didn't tell me Spode was here.

Just be quiet and listen.

Did you notice anything odd
about Everard Fothergill at dinner?

- Well, he was groaning a lot.
- I'm not surprised. It's because of this.

Everard's father painted that.

He gave it to Everard
as a wedding present.

Ah... thus saving money
on the customary fish slice. Shrewd.

- Very shrewd.
- Well, as you can see it's a mess,

but being devoted to his father,
not wanting to hurt his feelings,

Everard can't have put in the cellar,
so he's stuck with it.

Has to sit looking at it every time he puts
on the nosebag, with what result?

- The food turns to ashes in his mouth.
- Exactly. it drives him potty.

Everard's a real artist.

His stuff's good.
Some of it's even in the Tate.

Look at that. That's one of Everard's.

- Oh, I like the patina.
- You don't even know what a patina is.

Well, no, but it's generally safe to say
that when confronted with a bit of art.

Cornelia wants her father-in-law's terrible
picture destroyed.

She'd be so grateful to anyone
who accomplishes this,

she'd be unable to refuse them anything.

You're going to pinch it for me.

- But...
- There, I knew you'd want to help.

What a dear, helpful boy he is.

- Oh, he looks lovely, doesn't he?
- The bookies are offering 7-2.

- Oh, lovely!
- He's a fine animal, Lady Bittlesham.

Do you like our colours, Mr Wooster,
yellow and black stripes?

As long as he doesn't think
his jockey's a wasp.

Ahem. Beg pardon, my lord.

A person called at the door and asked
for this to be delivered to you.

- Who was this person, Watkins?
- I couldn't say, m'lady.

A youngish person with a big beard.

- Good God!
- What is it, my dear?

- A most dastardly, threatening letter.
- Threatening letter?

"Unless you leave �50 under the large
white stone

"at the back of the main stand
at Goodwood...

"..you will live to regret it."

Oh, Mortimer!

- Oh, my dear.
- What ho, Uncle! Auntie!

- Hello, Bertie. Jeeves.
- Richard, thank heavens!

- Look.
- Good lord!

- When did this come?
- A few moments ago.

Delivered by a youngish person
with a big beard.

Good Lord.

You don't suppose it was the fellow
you were telling me about,

the one who insulted you
at Speakers' Corner?

- It could have been, I suppose.
- I thought as much.

- Did you now?
- This is political.

Give me the �50, Uncle Mortimer.
I'll deal with this.

- Oughtn't we to go to the police?
- No. They'd... hamper my investigations.

Don't worry, Aunty.

Bingo... Silly to ask,
but you did write that letter, didn't you?

One of the best gent's threatening letters
I ever wrote.

With a bit of tact, I get what I need

to put on Ocean Breeze
to finance my marriage to Charlotte.

By the way,
what did you think of Charlotte?

- Well...
- I know, old man.

Don't try and find words.
Left you speechless, eh?

She has that effect on everybody.
Oh, well, toodle-oo.

I hope Lord Sidcup won't embarrass us
with his silly meeting.

The man's an idiot.
His mother was an idiot too.

We won't go into that, thank you,
Father-in-law.

Goodwood's always a big day for us,
eh, Charlotte?

Oh, it is, Pop. Yes.

I mean, 90% of them
put their money on losers.

Then they see the capitalist system
exposed for what it really is.

Capitalist hyena!

I wonder if Bingo and that woman
are here, Jeeves.

They're in the vicinity. I saw Comrade
Butt in a local alehouse last night.

At 2-1, Ocean Breeze. 2-1, Ocean Breeze.

6-4, Ocean Breeze. 6-4, Ocean Breeze.

Ocean Breeze looks the part,
don't you think, Jeeves?

I must confess I find something
disquieting in the gait, Mrs Travers.

- I see nothing wrong.
- I can't put my finger on it.

Perhaps a certain maritime roll. it brings
to mind the old bookmaker's adage,

walk like a sailor, run like a walrus.

Oh, apple sauce, Jeeves.

Oh!

Hasn't that horse got a sweet little face?
The one with the jockey in pink and blue.

I'm going to bet all my money
on that one,

Romeo Lad.

Has anyone told you
you're not safe to be out, Madeline?

At 66-1, Romeo Lad. 66-1.

No danger of Comrade Little
helping here, I suppose.

- Do give it a rest, Charlie Butt.
- Comrades, comrades,

I hope nobody else
is holding a rally here today.

Right, I'm just off to put the money on.

Keep your fingers crossed, darling.

If Ocean Breeze wins,
it's wedding bells for us.

6-4. Come on, gentlemen, 6-4.

�50 on Ocean Breeze to win.

I'm deeply troubled
by that letter this morning.

- Oh, just some crank, Morty.
- I should never forgive myself...

It's him!

- Who?
- The man with the beard.

Ah, have we all got our sixpences
on Ocean Breeze?

As far as I can see, the race is a formality,
a ceremony that has to be gone through

before we saunter over
with a wheelbarrow to get our winnings.

When I win,
I'm going to take a holiday in Tahiti.

- What about you, Madeline, dear?
- No.

- I put five shillings on Romeo Lad.
- At 66-1.

It had a sweet little face.

Yes, and as I looked at him,

I thought I heard a little fairy voice
say his name over and over.

...Goodwood Cup.
We hope it's going to be an exciting race.

They're coming up to the line.
They're under starter's orders.

Can you see?

And they're off!

...is in the lead, followed by
Happy Dancer and Red Admiral.

Ocean Breeze seems to be left
at the start.

Poor old Ocean Breeze seems
to be making a little ground now.

Happy Dancer, Red Admiral
followed by Tickaflor.

And Romeo Lad
really looking the business.

Coming up fast on Happy Dancer.
Red Admiral still hanging on

and Ocean Breeze trying desperately
to get into the race.

As they come to the final furlong,
it's still Happy Dancer, but he's tiring.

Fair Wind goes ahead.

And in the final stretch,
Fair Wind still there,

but Romeo Lad's making
a tremendous run.

And it's Romeo Lad from Fair Wind!
Romeo Lad goes past the post,

followed by Fair Wind, and Red Admiral,

then Silver Fox and Happy Dancer.

And eighth and last,
the favourite, poor old Ocean Breeze.

Good Lord!

Good Lord!

I mean to say, good Lord!

Did I win?

- Yes, dear, you won.
- Isn't life glorious?

This is a sad occasion.

Fate has decreed
that I must leave the Saviours of Britain

to take up the reins of the ship of state
in another place.

Oh, shut it!

Other hands
will tread the path before you

that these eyes have mapped out.

How did we get on?

I lost everything.

One of the measures
I intend to introduce

into the House of Lords will be a bill

widening the gauge of the British
railway system by eight inches

to facilitate
the transportation of livestock.

The dismal Jimmys will tell you

that we cannot afford to replace

the 27,000 miles of track
necessary for the task.

They have not looked at it scientifically.

It will be more than paid for

by the fact that sheep
will be able to stand sideways!

- Hail, Spode!
- Oxford University will be abolished!

- Hail, Spode!
- We must have progress!

Hail, Spode! Hail, Spode!

Oh, well, better get on with the meeting,
I suppose.

How can we
with him shouting his head off?

Let Richard start.
He'll soon see off Spode.

These men have told me that the lobe
of the average Englishman

is shorter, more clearly defined

and better adapted to the work
that every lobe has to do

than the lobes of any other race!

Hail, Spode!

Comrades,

we stand here united
against the forces of Wall Street

and the City of London.

In our march towards a new Britain,

we will be fearless
in the face of the Bolsheviks.

We stand for ownership
by the proletariat

of all means of production
and distribution.

I do not believe...

You don't suppose there's anything
in this fairy voice thing, Jeeves?

Possibly, sir, but I received
the same information

from a spotty stable lad.

Good Lord, Jeeves! Do you mean...?

Just a small wager, sir,
to make the race interesting.

Good afternoon, Lady Bittlesham.
My Lord.

- How much did you drop?
- Drop?

- On Ocean Breeze.
- I didn't bet on him. I never bet.

- Never bet? You look rattled.
- That bearded fellow's here.

I'm looking for Richard
to get him to apprehend the creature.

We shall rely
on the good old English fist!

Hail, Spode! Hail, Spode! Hail, Spode!

- Hail, Spode!
- Go on, Richard, tell them!

I tell you, comrades,
we have here today at Goodwood

a perfect example
of another unholy alliance.

I mean the unholy alliance

between the plutocratic racehorse
owners and the bookies,

another alliance
against the British working man!

The capitalistic owner

together with his chums, the bookie
and the newspaper magnate

would have the honest working man
believe that his horse is the real goods,

when the reality is that it couldn't even
trot the length of the stable yard

without crossing its bally legs
and sitting down for a rest!

My friends, my friends...

the Bolsheviks might appeal
to your lower instincts

of greed and envy...

We've all lost hard-earned money today
to the bookies on Ocean Breeze.

Yeah.

But what does Lord Bittlesham care?
There he is, comrades.

I tell you, this country won't be a
fit place for honest men to live in

till the blood of Lord Bittlesham
and his kind

runs in rivers
down the gutters of Park Lane!

I know Comrade Little won't mind
me intervening, comrades, to tell you

that our own movement
is also being infiltrated by our enemies.

Even in our own little band,

we have the nephew
of the very same Lord Bittlesham,

whose name you were hooting
a moment ago!

Richard!

Lord Bittlesham's nephew?

You! Get off!

My friends, is this not typical
of the Bolshevik behaviour?

Go on! Go on! Hit him!

Here, my lord.

You swine!

Go on, get him! Get him!

Coming through, gentlemen.
Coming through, gentlemen, please.

- Excuse me.
- Oh! You horrible beasts!

Stop shilly-shallying, man! Get him!

Ha-ha! That's right! Well done!

- I'd drink too if I owned a horse like that.
- No, he's been in a...

Bertie, when we get back to the house,
I must talk to you about The Painting.

The painting?

You! Get off him! And you!

The Garden, by Madeline Bassett.

"In the garden of my heart,
The blossoms o'erhang the leaves,

"The skylark sings from morn till night
High in the sleepy jacaranda tree.

"But the garden of my heart
ls watered only by my tears

"Under the wise, old, gnarled oak
lnter me when my time appears..."

"And on the mossy stone above,
Carve these words without lament

"She lived, she loved,
She breathed her last

- "Here lies one who rests in peace."
- Now, look here, Spode...

Even if you cannot remain awake,
you could at least refrain from snoring.

- Well, yes, but...
- You're a philistine, Wooster.

Ow...

Jeeves?

Oh, blast it.

- Oh, there you are, Jeeves.
- I'm sorry, sir.

- I had to go down to the larder.
- What's that?

- Brown paper, sir, and treacle.
- Do you know what puzzles me, Jeeves?

- No, sir.
- How did Comrade Butt know

that Bingo
was old Bittlesham's nephew?

I fear I may have disclosed Mr Little's
identity to Butt in the public house, sir.

Thus scuppering Bingo's romance
with Charlotte Rowbotham.

I fear so, sir.

I understand Miss Rowbotham now
looks on Mr Little as a traitor.

Poor old Bingo. Y...

- Treacle, Jeeves?
- Yes, sir.

The approved method
is to cut a small square of brown paper

equivalent to the pane of glass,
smear it in treacle and then...

- What on earth are you talking about?
- The way to break a window silently.

Who wants to break a window silently?
Or noisily, if it comes to that?

Mrs Travers gave me to understand
that you intended to steal a painting.

Oh, well, let me give you
to understand this, Jeeves.

I have no intention of stealing
any painting with or without treacle.

Very good, sir.
Mrs Travers will be... disappointed, sir.

Oh, will she? Well...

- Are you ready?
- No, I am not, Aunt Dahlia.

I am taking no part
in your harebrained scheme.

I don't know why you're looking
like a stuck pig.

You're always pinching
policemen's helmets and things.

Not always. Only as an occasional treat.

Anyway, pinching a painting
is much easier.

- Just cut it out of the frame with a knife.
- I haven't got a knife.

- Yes, you have.
- Oh, now look here...

Ah!

Yes, well...

Well, I was er...

Why don't I just pour you a...?

You all right?

- Who on earth is that?
- It's Mr Fothergill senior, Aunt Dahlia.

Don't tell me you've messed up.

If I might put him down
before I submit to your interrogation...?

- What does he want?
- I think he wanted to ask,

not unreasonably, why I was in his
dining room at one in the morning

- covered in treacle.
- But you didn't tell him?

No, Aunt Dahlia, I didn't tell him
I was hellbent on stealing his painting

in order that his son might be cured
of chronic dyspepsia

so that his daughter-in-law
would allow my aunt

to publish said daughter-in-law's
latest novel in her magazine for ladies.

For one thing,
I didn't think he'd believe me,

and for another thing,
he'd already fainted.

He's messed it up again, Jeeves. He's
as bad at this as he is at racing tips.

- Well, of all the dashed nerve!
- You don't know what this means to me!

Well, you don't know
what it means to me.

Call me old-fashioned, but I hate bars
on the window and tin plates.

You go and get that painting,
Bertie Wooster!

If you think I'll get involved with treacle
again, you've got another think coming.

All right, Bertie,
you don't have to use the treacle.

- Does he, Jeeves?
- It would lend verisimilitude.

He doesn't have to use the treacle,
Jeeves.

He doesn't have to do
anything he doesn't want to.

You got it! He's out cold.
Give me the scissors.

You hold, I'll cut.

- Right. Where's Jeeves?
- I sent him for whisky.

Ah, what ho, Jeeves! I did it.

Yes, sir.
With soda for you, Mrs Travers?

- Just a splash, Jeeves.
- Same for me, Jeeves.

Should I pour some
for Mr Fothergill, sir?

It might revive him
if I were to rub a little onto his lips.

We don't want him revived just yet,
Jeeves.

I say, this oil paint burns nicely,
doesn't it?

Oh, how this brings back memories
of the dear old school

and our girlish cocoa parties.

Happy days. Happy days. Cheers.

Ahem.

Excuse me, madam.

Did you say Mr Fothergill Senior's name
was Edward?

Edward. Yes. You may think of him
as Eddie if you wish. Why?

It is merely that the painting we have
seems to be signed Everard, madam.

I thought I should mention it.

Looks like Edward to me.

It's Everard.

- It's Edward.
- Everard!

Bertie, you curse of the civilised world,

if you've burnt the wrong picture,
Cornelia will kill me!

What do you mean?
Why is it always me? It's always me!

All right, if you don't believe me,
we'll go down and have a look.

But... They've both gone!

- We can see that, you idiot.
- Someone's taken the other picture.

If you'll pardon me for saying so, sir,
I think I may know who that person is.

Hand it over, Sidcup.

What?
How dare you burst into my room?

- The painting.
- I don't know what you're talking about.

- Why should I take Fothergill's painting?
- Ah-ha!

- What?
- You said, "Fothergill's painting."

Oh, well... I...

I was just going to borrow it.

Ah, yes. This is it all right.

Stout females unclothed, one,
in conference with doves, one.

- How dare you?
- Hold on a minute...

- Why should Spode steal the painting?
- Yes, why did you?

But I didn't, and I wouldn't!

I... I... it was nice.

It would seem wiser, Lord Sidcup,
to reveal the background to the picture.

But I don't want to! Why should I?
You'll only tell everyone! Ooh!

It's my mother.

- What is?
- Are you trying to be funny?

That is the woman in the painting.

Lord Sidcup's mother was, for a time,
Mr Edward Fothergill's model, sir.

- Good Lord!
- How could I sit in the House of Lords

- with that hanging over me?
- Well, hanging over the sideboard.

Well, Spode,
you've caused us a lot of bother,

but you wanted the Venus expunged,
Cornelia wanted the Venus expunged

- and it shall be expunged. Voila!
- And when she finds

that due to your fatheadedness,

Everard's valuable painting
has also been expunged...?

- Ah, yes, well, there is that...
- if I might make a suggestion, madam...

- Yes, Jeeves?
- If the window were broken

and both pictures removed,
Mrs Fothergill could be persuaded

that miscreants
had made a burglarious entry

and that Mr Wooster had attempted
to protect her property.

- She would, one feels, be grateful.
- I see what you mean, Jeeves.

Hold on. Why should Mrs Fothergill think
anything of the sort?

The details of the plan demand
that you be discovered

lying stunned
on the floor of the dining room.

Ah, well, far be it for me to be
a wet blanket, Jeeves, but there is a flaw.

I am not now, nor ever intend to be lying
on the floor of the dining room stunned.

- You mean you won't play ball?
- I do...

Ba-doing!

Here. Put him here.

- Right, Jeeves, take this and get rid of it.
- Very good, Madam.

- Oh, break the window first.
- Let me do it! Let me do it!

Ah... what a headache...

Very nice, Roderick.
You'd better get to bed now.

Oh. All right.

Help! Burglars! Help!

Where am I?

Mr Wooster's room, sir.
You were taken ill.

That's right, in the dining room.

He ah... What's that?

A painting, sir.

Painting? What painting?

What are you doing with that?

Er...

A gang of international art thieves
attempted to make off with it, sir.

Mr Wooster gallantly intervened
to save it.

What a damn fool! I hate that picture!

It's the worst thing I've ever done.

Oh, throw it on the fire for God's sake.

I fear I may have misjudged you.

You've been positively intrepid,
Mr Wooster.

Bertie has always been so brave.

I'll call the police.

Damn shame
about Dad's painting, though.

So, if Everard and Cornelia hadn't kept
saying how wonderful the painting was,

- it could have been cleared up in a trice?
- Precisely, sir.

It's often the way with families,

but it enables Mrs Travers to purchase
Mrs Fothergill's novel for her magazine.

I don't think you're thinking
of the readers.

- You have to take the wider view.
- Very good, sir.

If you ask me, art is responsible
for most of the trouble in the world.

An interesting theory, sir.
Would you care to expatiate upon it?

As a matter of fact, no, Jeeves.

The thought just occurred to me,
as thoughts do.

Very good, sir.