All language subtitles for jeeves.and.wooster.s04e04.720p.bluray.x264-ingot

Dear Mr Rogers,
I do hope you can help me.

I'm desperate.
I need fifteen hundred pounds.

We're only a small establishment,
madam.

- I can offer you five.
- But it's worth £5,000!

A thousand is the most
I can possibly go to, Mrs Travers.

Oh, all right.

♪ Pale hands I loved
Beside the Shalimar

♪ Where are you...?

Jeeves?

- Good evening, sir.
- Ah, welcome back, Jeeves.

- Did you have a good holiday?
- Thank you, sir, yes, most refreshing.

There's a letter for you, sir.
Delivered by hand.

Really? Open it up. Let's hear the worst.

Herne Bay as exciting as ever?

Relaxing is more the word
that springs to mind, sir.

The letter is from a Mr Percy Gorringe.

Gorringe? Never heard of him.
What does he say?

Omitting the extraneous matter
and concentrating on essentials, sir,

Mr Gorringe wishes to borrow £1,000
from you.

£1,000? I don't even know him.

He mentions that he is the stepson
of Mr LG Trotter, sir,

with whom Mrs Travers is acquainted.

Aunt Dahlia has asked me to put the
nosebag on LG Trotter this very night.

Dash it, Jeeves, once you allow yourself
to be touched by stepsons,

where are you?

It appears not so much to be a loan
as a speculation, sir.

He wishes to give you
the opportunity of investing

in his dramatisation of
Lady Florence Craye's novel Spindrift.

- Would you back a play, Jeeves?
- No, sir.

Hmm. Keep the money
in the old oak chest, do you think?

That is certainly the course of action
that I should advocate, sir.

Jeeves, while I'm dressing, why don't
you mix me a strengthening cocktail?

Very good, sir.

What-ho, Jeeves.

Something is arresting your attention.
A smut on my nose?

No, sir, on your upper lip.

I thought a caterpillar
had lost its bearings.

You're alluding to the moustache.

As you see, I've not been idle
while you were away.

- Rather natty, don't you think?
- No, sir, I do not.

I had hoped for your sympathy
and cooperation.

I've gone to considerable trouble
growing this moustache.

I do not propose to hew it off
because certain prejudiced parties

don't know a good thing
when they see it. J'y suis, j'y reste.

Mr Cheesewright, sir.

I thought as much.
Swilling cocktails, eh?

I fail to understand you, Officer.

I'm not an officer any more.
I've left the police force.

This is the hour when an English
gentleman partakes of a short one.

- Will you join me?
- No, I won't!

And I've come here to have
a serious talk with you.

What do you suppose those things
are doing to your eye?

For your information, one does not
administer alcohol by the eye.

Or even by the ear.
The mouth is the correct orifice.

Not if one's meant to be in training
for the Drones darts tournament.

Ah, you've drawn me
in the sweepstake. Your money's safe.

The Wooster form
is as devastating as ever.

We want to win this year, Wooster,
not another dratted tie.

I happened to look in at the Drones
this afternoon.

Freddie Widgeon was at the dartboard,

stunning everyone with a performance
that took the breath away.

Cha!

Eh?

I said, cha... scornfully, with ref to
F Widgeon. I know his form backwards.

He's knocked off smoking, you know.

- No...
- He takes a cold bath every morning.

He's forgotten where the hot tap is.

- He never goes...
- Good night, Stilton.

- You'll want to run along.
- No, I won't.

Florence is meeting me here.
We are dining with my uncle.

Oh, really. Well, well. Splendid.

What do you mean, splendid?

I should like her opinion of this.

I could tell you that.

- Revolting.
- You had a moustache at Oxford.

You looked like a man
peering over a privet hedge.

Exactly!

- Lady Florence Craye, sir.
- Hello, D'Arcy. Hello, Bertie...

Bertie!

A moustache? It's lovely.

Thank you, Florence.
How is Spindrift going?

Splendidly.
It's being made into a play.

Yes, I'd heard.

Percy Gorringe did the dramatisation.
Did a splendid job of it.

- Bit of a hitch at the moment, though.
- Oh?

One of the backers has pulled out.
We need another £1,000.

Ha!

Percy assures me
that he can raise the money.

That louse! He couldn't raise tuppence.

I will not have you call Percy a louse.
He's very attractive and very clever.

- Attractive? Who does he attract?
- Never mind whom he attracts.

- Name three people he ever attracted.
- Oh! D'Arcy, please!

Are we going to dinner or not?

Goodbye, Bertie. Love the moustache.

- Are you Mr Wooster?
- That's right, yes.

- I am Mrs Trotter... of Liverpool.
- How do you do?

This is Mr Trotter.
And our stepson, Mr Gorringe.

Mr Trotter has many business interests.

- That's why we're so late.
- That's all right.

He was talking to your Auntie Dahlia
on the telephone.

About this magazine of hers
she wants Mr Trotter to buy.

Milady's Boudoir?

- Some such name...
- I didn't know she was selling.

No, Trotter! Let the waiter
put the serviette on your knee.

- Waiter!
- Did you get my letter?

Percy, my dear, would you check
the clasp of my pearls?

It feels a little insecure.

One wouldn't like to scatter such
valuable pearls all over a restaurant.

No. Seems fine.

- Is this the best table?
- Oh, I think...

Mr Trotter always has the best tables.

In Liverpool and Manchester!

- I'm sure that's true.
- I want to ask...

Right, well, I'll get a menu,
then, shall I?

Hello.

Brandy, please, George. A large one.

If only I could make up my mind
whether to break your foul neck or not!

Break my foul neck? Why?

After dining with my uncle,
I saw Florence home in a cab.

She was raving about that moustache
of yours. it made me sick to listen to.

- Very upsetting...
- Shut up!

Then she announced that she wished me
to grow a moustache too.

"A nice fool I'd look with a moustache,"
I said.

"You look one without one," she said.

"Is that so?" I said. "Yes,
it is," she said.

Then she gave me back her ring
and said the engagement was off.

- You'd planned this, hadn't you?
- How could I possibly plan it?

Your cunning fiend's brain spotted
what would occur

if you grew a moustache
and let Florence see it.

Certainly not. As a matter of fact,
I haven't got a cunning fiend's brain.

That's exactly what you'd say
if you did have.

No, it isn't.

Well...

if I find my suspicions are correct...

I shall know what to do about it.

I shall break your rotten spine
in three places.

No! No, please!

Further discussion is useless.

You must accept
that my decision is final.

- Good night.
- Who was that, Jeeves?

A tiff with one of the lads
at the Ganymede Club?

No, sir, that was Mr Percy Gorringe
who telephoned just before you entered.

Affecting to be yourself, sir,

I assured him his request to borrow
£1,000 could not be entertained.

- I thought it would save you discomfort.
- Dashed decent of you.

I had to steer him away
from the subject all through dinner.

- Did you enjoy yourself at the club?
- Very much so, sir.

More than I did at mine. After an
unspeakable dinner with the Trotter clan,

I repaired thither for a restorative brandy
and ran into Cheesewright,

who informed me Lady Florence
had broken off the engagement

and that it was all the fault
of my moustache.

I think I'll go to bed
with an improving book.

Lady Florence also telephoned
before you came in, sir.

She was desirous that you should
take her to a nightclub.

- What, tonight?
- Yes, sir.

She specified
a low, garish establishment

with the purposes of research
for her next novel.

No fear, Jeeves. What do you think
Stilton would say

if I took his disengaged fiancee
to a low, garish nightclub?

I imagine he might be
somewhat dismayed, sir.

But, sir, it would afford an opportunity

to persuade Lady Florence against
any abjuration of Mr Cheesewright.

I see what you mean.

The man of the world
experienced in affairs of the heart,

counselling against a rash decision.

Precisely, sir. As long
as Lady Florence is unattached,

there is the danger of her turning
her attentions towards you again.

She becomes what is known
in nautical circles as a loose cannon.

There is much in what you say, Jeeves.
Book us a table at the Mottled Oyster.

Sorry to drag you out, Bertie,
only it had to be tonight.

- D'Arcy Cheesewright had a headache.
- Well...

I'm going to Worcestershire
tomorrow to stay with your aunt.

Aunt Dahlia?
Oh, you'll like Brinkley Court.

Fresh air, gravel soil...
Company's own water.

- Daphne Dolores Moorhead is there.
- Daphne...?

Dolores Morehead, the novelist.
She's doing a serial for Milady's Boudoir.

How your aunt can afford it,
I can't imagine.

Daphne is frightfully expensive.

The old mag must be doing well.

I heard tonight
Aunt Dahlia was trying to sell it.

This is wonderful!

And what horrible people!
Are all nightclubs like this?

This is about average
for unlicensed places.

- Unlicensed?
- You said somewhere low and garish.

Oh, I'm not complaining.

This is just the sort of place
I pictured Rollo coming to.

- Rollo?
- The hero of my novel.

Rollo Beaminster. He's in a wild mood,
reckless and desperate.

He's lost the girl he loves and he comes
to this low nightclub, trying to forget.

But it's useless. He looks round
at the glitter and garishness

and he feels how hollow it all is.

Yes...

- I saw Stilton at the Drones tonight.
- Oh, yes?

Yes, he was in a wild mood.

He looked
about the Drones' smoking room.

I could see he was feeling
what a hollow smoking room it was.

Bertie...

Hello.

Bertie, all this nonsense you're talking,
trying to reconcile me with D'Arcy,

I think it's rather wonderful of you.

You want to marry me yourself,
don't you?

Rather... Of course.

I mean to say, who wouldn't?
Good Lord.

All right. Everybody keep your seat.
These premises are being raided...

- Bertie!
- No need to get the wheeze-up.

- Just the usual thing.
- Won't they arrest us?

No, no! No danger of that whatsoever.

- How do you know?
- All of this is old stuff to me.

We give our names and addresses,
exercising a certain latitude.

I, for example, generally call myself
Ephraim Gadsby of Streatham Common.

Don't know why. Just a whim.

Formalities concluded,
we shall be free to depart

leaving the proprietor
to face the awful majesty of the law.

- I'm sure that's not what happens.
- It is.

- Unless they changed the rules.
- You have to appear in court.

- No, no, no.
- Well, I'm not going to risk it.

Good night.

Oi! You!

Right, you're nicked.

The constable says you
deliberately tripped him... Mr Gadsby.

No, Your Honour, I had a touch of cramp.
You know how you want to stretch?

I'm strongly inclined to give you
a good, long stretch.

- Very good, Your Honour.
- Silence!

But in consideration of your youth,
I will exercise clemency.

- Oh, fine.
- Precisely! Pay £10. Next!

Did you know that magistrates
are really professional comedians?

No, sir, that fact
had not been drawn to my attention.

One gag after another, the whole court
roaring with laughter at my expense.

A most galling experience, sir.

Mrs Travers telephoned an hour ago.

She was most desirous that you call
round to Eaton Square.

That's probably that magistrate
wanting to sign me up as a straight man.

- Bertie!
- Aren't you going to Brinkley?

I'm on my way to the station.
I thought I'd see how you got on.

- Constabulary scooped me in.
- You said they wouldn't arrest anybody.

They did. I had a testing time
with a Vinton Street magistrate.

- Did you say Vinton Street?
- That's right.

- The magistrate there is D'Arcy's uncle!
- The one you dined with last night?

Imagine if I'd had to appear
before him in the dock.

- D'Arcy would break the engagement.
- I thought you'd done that.

He telephoned me and climbed down.

He's started to grow a moustache.

Mind, don't breathe a word to him
about me being at that place.

- D'Arcy is so jealous.
- Mum's the word.

Uncle?

D'Arcy! Good of you to come.

How are you? Jolly nice dinner
you gave us last night.

What I called you about was...

I called about a fellow I had in front of
me you were at Oxford with. Wooster.

He gave a false name but I remembered
him from a scrape over a blancmange.

- Bertie Wooster. Oh, yes.
- Not a friend of yours?

One has to be careful
who one keeps up with.

Good Lord, no!

- What was the charge?
- Nasty business in a nightclub.

Some girl. An assault on a police officer.

Really? And this happened last night?

Mmm.

Tell me about it.

Bertie! You unspeakable one!
You very nearly missed me.

- I want you to come to Brinkley.
- Can't be done.

What do you mean? Have you been
asked to form a government?

You've got to come and be charming
to the Trotters.

I took them to dinner,
done my bit for Aunt and Country.

But more is needed. I want Trotter
to take Milady's Boudoir off my hands.

You've loved it like a son.

Bertie, if magazines had ears, Milady's
Boudoir would be up to them in debt.

I've got nasty little men in bowler hats
at my door.

I can't come to Brinkley. if I'm seen near
Florence Craye, I'll get my spine broken.

You're so selfish. You don't know
how important this is.

You don't know how important
my spine is. I'm attached to it.

More's the pity.

If your uncle finds out about this,
an aunt's curse be upon you!

Good afternoon, sir.
Mr Cheesewright is here to see you.

Oh, no.

Where were you last night,
you blighted louse?

Last night? Let me see.

You were in a low nightclub
with Florence Craye, my fiancee.

This morning you were in the dock
at Vinton Street court.

- No, no, no.
- Don't say "No, no, no."

My uncle told me. He's the magistrate
there and remembers you from Oxford.

London's full of chaps who look like me.

Ephraim Gadsby is my absolute double.

He said you were arrested for tripping up
a policeman while he was chasing a girl.

Personally, I'd attach little credence
to the word of a policeman

who spends his time chasing girls
in nightclubs like the...

- What did you say its name was?
- I didn't.

- It was the Mottled Oyster.
- Ah, the... yes.

I've heard of it.
Not a very nice place, I understand.

Would an intellectual girl
like Florence go to a place like that? No!

Jeeves, when I came home,
do you recall my saying

I was going to bed
with an improving book?

- Certainly, sir.
- Thank you, Jeeves.

I rest my case. if that doesn't leave me
without a stain on my character

then I don't know what it does
leave me without a stain on.

If I find you haven't been telling me
the truth,

I shall break your spine in four places.

- You said three last night.
- Four now.

Luckily, Florence is
out of your slimy reach for a bit.

She is staying with your aunt
in Worcestershire.

- Are you going too?
- No, I'm not. Talk sense, man.

I'm growing a moustache.
I'm not going out while it's sprouting.

Don't forget what I said
about your spine.

With Stilton Cheesewright still raking
around for evidence of my perfidy,

if perfidy's the word,

then Brinkley Court,
even with the Trotters, seems a safer bet.

It seems, sir, from your point of view,

Mr Cheesewright incorporates
three highly dangerous characteristics.

Great physical strength,
a certain slowness of wit,

and an unreliable temper.

You've said a mouthful, Jeeves.

- Good afternoon, sir.
- Good afternoon. How are you?

Ah, what-ho, Trotters all.

Go away!

What-ho, Aunt Dahlia.

Too late, Bertie. I'm beyond salvation.

- Mr Burwash is coming.
- Burwash?

- Going to look at my necklace.
- Your necklace?

Please, Bertie, I'm not in the mood
for your parrot imitations.

Uncle Tom always suspected
that Aspinall's overcharged him

for my pearl necklace.

The Burwash creature
is some sort of pearl expert.

- That's good, isn't it?
- It's not good, you blasted lamebrain!

That's an imitation.
I pawned the real one.

Oh, Lord, what did you do that for?

I pawned the pearls because I needed
the money to salt the mine.

The first I've heard of any mines.

Salting mines is
a recognised business procedure.

If you've got a dud mine
you want to sell to a mug,

you sprinkle an ounce or two
of gold over it.

I used the money to buy a serial
from Daphne Dolores Morehead.

She's arriving tomorrow.
LG Trotter will meet her,

hear she's writing the serial and think

"Gosh! Daphne Dolores Morehead!
Milady's Boudoir must be hot stuff!"

Go away!

- Have you seen Florence?
- No, we have not seen Florence!

- I thought she might be with you.
- Well, she isn't.

If you find her,
that telegram arrived for her.

All right.

God!

He looks like a dying duck in a storm.
He's madly in love with Florence.

Try and cheer him up a bit.
He casts such a pall.

No fear, he tried to touch me for £1,000.

I turned him down... like a bedspread.

You're safe. Florence tells me
he raised the money elsewhere.

Really?

Joy! Joy! Joy in the morning!

Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!
Joy in the afternoon!

- And when it's time for supper...
- What-ho, Percy.

- Hello, Wooster. Taking a stroll?
- Absolutely.

- You seem cheerful.
- That was a new poem.

Has your aunt told you
that I love Florence Craye?

Yes, she did mention it.

She asked me why I was walking around
like a dead codfish.

I was forced to confess that I loved
Florence with a consuming passion

and had discovered that she was
engaged to the oaf Cheesewright.

- You seem more cheerful now.
- Oh, I am!

I am!

You know that telegram
your aunt gave me for Florence?

It was from Cheesewright.
Breaking the engagement!

What?

What's all this I hear
from Percy Gorringe?

- What?
- Stilton's broken off the engagement!

He has, and I'm delighted.

D'Arcy Cheesewright is
a low, mean, creeping, crawling,

slinking, spying, despicable worm!

Do you know what he did?

He sneaked to that nightclub,
bribed some people

and found that a table was reserved
that night in your name.

This confirmed his degraded suspicion
that we'd been there together.

Yes... He didn't hint in the telegram
at any plans he had with regard to me?

He said he was going to break
your spine in five places.

Five places?

Good evening, Mr Cheesewright.
Nice to see you, sir.

Hello, Seppings.

Mrs Travers did not warn me
of your arrival, sir.

No, she thought I wasn't coming.

- I had a change of plan.
- Very good, sir.

The other guests are at dinner, sir.

I'm sure Mrs Travers
would be glad if you joined them.

I had something on the way, thanks.

I'll go to my room and get an early night.

As you wish, sir.

It's a scandal, of course, that Mr Trotter
has never been recognised.

I recognised him straightaway.

No... In the honours list, Mr Wooster.

You only get tuft-hunters in that
nowadays.

Trouble today is that everybody's out
for what they can get.

Mr Trotter gives an incredulous amount
to charity, though.

Blasted tradesmen are as bad. Look
at those pearls I bought Dahlia last year.

I'm not going to tell you how much
Aspinall's charged me for them.

Oh, pearls are such a price these days.

Even Mr Trotter mentioned it
when he bought me these.

I'm getting one of the world's top
pearl men to look at them tomorrow.

Then we'll see.

It would appear there is only one
solution to the problem, Mrs Travers.

If, as Mr Wooster informs me, madam,
the jewellery expert is with us tomorrow,

it would seem that some sort of
a burglarious entry is required,

as a result of which
the necklace is abstracted.

If the gentleman coming to examine
the necklace finds there is no necklace...

You don't have to explain in words
of one syllable!

Even Mr Wooster could understand that!

Jeeves, this really saddens me.
Has that mighty brain come unglued?

Where will Mrs Travers find
a burglar at this time of night?

The Army & Navy Stores?

I was thinking you might be persuaded
to undertake the task.

- Me, Jeeves?
- Gosh! Jeeves! What a wonderful idea!

Hold on a minute.

I'll put the pearls on my dressing table,
Bertie.

All you need do is get a ladder,
prop it against the windowsill.

- My room's the end one on the right.
- No! No, Aunt Dahlia. No!

No!

No...

It's all right, it's only me.

Oh, Bertie! You shouldn't have.

Erm... Hello, Florence.

Sorry about this. I went for a breather
in the garden. Found I'd been locked out.

So I thought my best plan
would be not to rouse the house...

Oh, Bertie! What a romantic you are.

Eh?

Isn't this just the sort of thing
that you would do?

I told you I was no longer engaged
to D'Arcy and you just had to fly to me.

Oh, good lord, no.
As I said, I went for a breather...

You don't think I'm angry, do you?
Of course I'm not.

I'm very touched.
Your Aunt Agatha was quite wrong.

What's Aunt Agatha got to do with it?

She keeps insisting
you're a vapid, irreflective nitwit

who ought to be put
into some good mental home.

- Well, of all the nerve!
- I know that I can mould you, Bertie.

Instead of leaving you in the darkness

to do nothing but smoke and drink
in that awful Drones Club...

Who's there?

Me, D'Arcy.

Let me in.

D'Arcy, I didn't know that you were here.
What do you want?

- I want to return your letters.
- Leave them on the mat.

I want to see you.

- It's gone.
- I must see you.

At this time of night? How ridiculous!

- I'm coming in now.
- You're not coming in here.

That is where you make your mistake.

- I'm coming in now.
- No!

Here are your letters.

Thank you.

You notice I have shaved off
my moustache?

No.

Well, I have.

It was my first action on finding out that
you'd been sneaking off to nightclubs

with the lout Wooster.

I'd be grateful if you would take
that pumpkin head of yours out of here!

Do you think I can't see
through your subterfuge?

"How can I get rid of Cheesewright?"
you said to yourself.

"I have it!" you said,
"I'll tell him to grow a moustache.

"And he'll say, 'Like hell
I'll grow a bally moustache.'

"I'll say, 'Oh, you won't, won't you?
All right, all is over between us.'

"That'll fix it."

The door is just behind you,
Mr Cheesewright.

- It opens if you turn the handle.
- Never mind about the door.

I'm talking about you
and the leper Wooster.

I suppose you will now
hitch yourself to him. Am I right?

Absolutely right!

Is your intention to marry
that human gumboil?

It is.

Who is that?

- Oh, hello, Stilton!
- Come out of there, serpent.

You are, doubtless, surprised.

I will not sully Lady Florence's room
with violence, Wooster.

You will find me waiting in the corridor.

You can't stay here all night.

- So...
- One moment, Cheesewright.

- What?
- Before you do anything you may regret,

remember you have drawn me
in the Drones Club darts sweep.

What?

In what condition shall I be to win
the darts and put £60 in your pocket

if you pull the strong-arm stuff
which you are contemplating?

- What?
- Good night, Stilton.

Bertie, do you expect me
to wait up all night

for you to accomplish
a simple, easy task

that a child of six could've done
in a quarter of an hour?

Before I answer, old kinswoman, why did
you tell me your room was on the right?

- It is on the right.
- Pardon me...

- Looking from the house.
- Looking from the house?

Don't tell me
you climbed into the wrong bedroom.

It could scarcely have been wronger.
Florence Craye's.

- You'll have to marry her.
- Exactly what she has in mind.

Dahlia, I thought I heard your voice.
What are you doing up at this hour?

Mr Wooster had a headache, sir,

and I was forced to rouse Mrs Travers
for medicaments.

- You're out and about a bit late.
- Taking my stroll in the garden.

I saw a blasted ladder propped up
against a window.

Put it out of the way in the nick of time.
A minute later, we'd have had burglars.

Probably just a ladder
one of the gardeners was using.

If I may say so, Mrs Travers,
there is always the danger

of the criminal element having heard
about your pearl necklace.

- I'd forgotten that.
- I hadn't.

I went straight up to your room
and got it.

I've locked it in the safe. A burglar will
have to be pretty smart to get it out.

Good night.

Hell's whiskers!
Now what are we to do?

Wooster, Lady Florence has just told me
that she is engaged to you.

Has she? Well, yes, of course, quite.

Only yesterday,
she was engaged to Cheesewright.

It's very confusing.

What on earth's the matter?

You're not wearing a hat.
You might get sunstroke.

What it's got to do with you?

Your health is naturally
of very great concern to me

now I've drawn you in the darts sweep.

No, no, no, Stilton Cheesewright
has drawn me.

There's a lot of hidden good
in Cheesewright.

He told me that this darts contest
is usually a tie,

but that you were the certain winner.

Yet he offered to sell me
the ticket bearing your name.

He's looking for you, by the way.

Wooster?

Wooster?

Stilton sold the sweepstake ticket
to Percy Gorringe.

I have no time for your tongue-twisters.
Read this.

"Regret unavoidably detained London.
DDM." Who's DDM?

Daphne Dolores Morehead, pudding!

All I had left was that Morehead
would impress Trotter so much,

he'd buy Milady's Boudoir,
no further questions asked.

I'd get the money, redeem the pearls
before this Burwash creature arrived.

- I'm finished, Bertie.
- Pardon me, Mrs Travers.

No, Jeeves, this is beyond
even your powers.

Perhaps so, madam,

but if you could find someone
willing to impersonate Miss Morehead...

Tosh, Jeeves! Who could possibly...?

No! No, no.

Seriously and definitely no. I'm prepared
to do many things for you,

but not putting on earrings and a frock,
pretending to be a lady novelist.

- Besides, I've got a moustache.
- With a lady novelist, that's an asset.

Aunt Dahlia, Jeeves gets these wild ideas

about dressing up as lady novelists
and climbing through windows.

You seize upon them without a thought
and I'm the one who's expected...

Jeeves.

Wooster! Wooster!

Come here, Wooster,
you snake in the grass.

- If I catch you, Wooster...
- Oh, Bertie!

- What-ho, Florence.
- D'Arcy?

D'Arcy Cheesewright,
are you chasing Bertie?

I... l wanted to tell him something.

D'Arcy, I'm surprised at you!

Now, I want you both to shake hands
and to promise to be friends.

Oh, all right.

There. Doesn't that feel better?

Wooster, the homebreaker.
Wooster, the snake in the grass.

- Six places, was it?
- Five at the last count.

Agh! It's up to you, of course.

Why, hello.
I'm Daphne Dolores Morehead.

- I'm here to see Mrs Travers.
- Oh, the novelist, yes.

- Yes... She told me about you.
- Why are you holding hands?

Is that some English custom?

- I am D'Arcy Cheesewright.
- Mr Cheesewright! Heavens to Betsy!

I thought your face was familiar.
You used to row for Oxford College.

Somebody pointed you out to me
at an eighth week ball one year.

You had a moustache then. I do declare,
you look much handsomer without it.

Moustaches really are the end,
are they not?

Would you like me to show you
round the grounds?

That's very sweet of you,
Mr Cheesewright.

- I ought to say hello to our hostess.
- Mrs Travers wouldn't mind.

Oh, I think she would.
Wouldn't she, Mr Wooster?

No, not at all. Nothing she'd like better
than for you to see the grounds.

- There, you see.
- Well, if you say so, Mr Cheesewright.

What do you mean, Cheesewright's
taken a fancy to her? She's Jeeves.

You know how impressionable
these young chaps are.

Jeeves can't waste
his time with Cheesewright.

We've got to get him together
with Trotter.

- You're a dashed handsome woman.
- You really shouldn't say such things.

Tell me more about this Mr Trotter.
He sounds absolutely fascinating.

I could think of other things
I'd rather tell you.

Now, now, I warned you,
Mr Cheesewright.

- You mustn't be naughty.
- Aren't you sometimes?

- I'm not that kind of a girl.
- What sort of a girl you are, then?

I think you might be awfully surprised.

Oh! Please, don't do that,
Mr Cheesewright!

I know all about you artistic girls.

- Mr Cheesewright.
- Oh, come on, just one little kiss.

Mr Cheesewright!

Some men simply won't be told.

Daphne's last three novels
have all been absolute bestsellers.

Tell Mr and Mrs Trotter about the serial
you are writing for Milady's Boudoir.

Well, it's the story
of a young, innocent American girl,

just like me,

coming to London for the first time.

Oh... London?

Well, I suppose it could be anywhere,
couldn't it, Daphne?

Well...

In fact, it might make it
rather more interesting if it were...

Well, I don't know... Liverpool, perhaps?

Why, what a wonderful idea, Dahlia.

Anyways, on her very first day...

Are you familiar
with our own great Liverpool writers?

Maisie Fazerkerley, for example.

Why, no, Mrs Trotter. That's one of the
little treats I've been promising myself.

More tea, Trotter?

Ah! I say, Wooster, what a corker,
that Daphne Dolores Morehead!

Well, she has a certain something,
I must say.

She likes me too, you know.
You can always tell, can't you?

I don't think she's all that wonderful,
I must say.

How did it go with the Trotters?

You made a big hit with Stilton.
Get your trousseau ready.

Thank you, sir. Most amusing.

If I might have a word with you,
Mrs Travers.

Mr Cheesewright's heard something
from his uncle in the Home Office,

which I feel may unlock the quandary
in which you find yourself.

Tell me.

It appears that Mrs Trotter
is socially ambitious.

She yearns to be the toast
of her native Liverpool.

But she feels
she can only realise her ambition

if she is addressed as Lady Trotter.

But Mr Trotter shrinks from the prospect
of being addressed as Sir Lemuel.

Lemuel, Jeeves?
His name's not Lemuel?

- I fear so, sir.
- He could use his second name.

Hardly, madam.
His second name is Gengulphus.

By George, there's some war-work
pulled at the font sometimes.

Mind, I don't see where all this gets us.

If Mr Trotter were made aware the only
alternative to buying Milady's Boudoir

might be the unfortunate discovery
by Mrs Trotter

that he had already been
offered a knighthood and declined it,

he might become
somewhat more malleable.

He's turned down a knighthood?

- She'd never forgive him.
- We've got him cold.

Here comes Trotter now.

Aunt Dahlia is just sitting there
reading her newspaper.

How do you broach the subject
of blackmail? Rather tricky?

Yes, sir. Always a danger that
the victim might become obstreperous.

- Or even violent.
- He's sitting down now, too.

Seem to be chatting quite amicably.

No, Jeeves. He's on his feet.

Waving his arms. He's stalking off.

- He'll come back, sir.
- I don't think so, Jeeves.

He's coming into the house.

Aunt Dahlia doesn't seem bothered.
She's reading her paper again.

Mrs Travers is no stranger
to these negotiations, if you recall, sir.

No, indeed, Jeeves. No.

No, you're right. He's coming back.

Aunt Dahlia won't talk to him.
She's just going on reading The Times.

He's pleading with her. Oh, yes,
she's looking at him now, all right.

Jeeves, he's writing out a cheque!

Perhaps there will be a happy end
to this story after all, sir.

He's handed her the cheque. She's
standing up too. Yes, it's all smiles now.

He's kissed her on the cheek. Good Lord.

She's slapped him on the back.
Now she's helping him up.

Dusting down his suit.
She's done it, Jeeves!

Welcome back, Jeeves. Come on.

Jeeves, take Trotter's cheque to the bank
and pay it in.

Then cash this cheque for £1,000
and take it to the pawnbroker's.

- The address is on the ticket.
- Very good.

This valuer fellow is due at 4:00.

Can you do all that
and get the pearls here by then?

- I shall do my very best, madam.
- Splendid.

Bertie, it's Burwash, the pearl expert!
He's arrived early!

- Burwash! Good of you to come.
- Not at all, Mr Travers.

I caught an earlier train.
It won't inconvenience you?

Not at all, not at all. Let me show you
these pearls I was talking about.

I bought them from Aspinall's
about a year ago, you understand.

Tom! Tom! Tom! A burglar!

Tom, upstairs! Quickly, I saw him!

What, another one? The devils!
In broad daylight too.

- Seppings!
- How do you do, Mr Burwash?

- I'm Dahlia Travers.
- How do you do?

Do you have a lot of burglars
in these parts?

Oh, any amount!

They're... they're quite a... blight
on the area, you know.

It's bad enough in London.

It's such a catchy tune, isn't it?
I simply can't get it out of my head!

I can't get it out of my head!

Look, there's Tom now.

Help! Help!

He's fainted. Tom?

Don't you understand the simplest thing,
Bertie? Never mind. Only one thing for it.

We've got to steal Mrs Trotter's pearls
and pretend they're mine.

- What? What?
- He's fainted.

Good God.

Joy! Joy! Joy in the afternoon!

Bertie...

- Hello.
- Are you waiting for my mother?

- I beg your pardon?
- That's her room, isn't it?

No, no. Yes, that's right. it is.

I am. What a charming woman she is.
I'm just...

I've got them.

- Ah!
- What's going on?

- Erm... well... funny you should ask that.
- No, it's no good.

Mr Gorringe, we are just borrowing
your mother's pearls.

- Without her knowledge?
- Yes.

My pearls have gone missing. I need
something to show that expert.

- You can't show him those.
- We'll put them back.

They're not real.

Look, Mother asked me
to take her necklace to be cleaned.

I needed £1,000 urgently
to put into Florence's play.

I pawned the necklace
and had an imitation made.

What?

Well, I must say! I don't know what's
happened to this younger generation.

Percy, you did that for me?

And I'd do it again.

Oh, Percy!

- That's all very well.
- Seppings! Get the police.

Seppings! Where the hell are you?

- What on earth's the matter, Tom?
- Your dashed pearls have been stolen.

I gave them to Burwash and he fainted
and now they're not here.

Are there any sadder words
in the English language, Jeeves?

- "Too late."
- None, madam.

Can't we just say
we found them lying somewhere?

Where?

Well... What are you doing
with that razor, Jeeves?

There is, unfortunately, only one answer
to Mrs Travers's problem, sir.

If them pearls is in this 'ouse,
my men will find 'em, sir.

- My men is like 'awks.
- Auks?

'Awks, from the eyesight.

- What is everybody waiting for?
- My pearls have been stolen.

Yes, Jeeves? What is it?

I regret to say, madam,
that one of your maids has confessed.

- Confessed?
- It's little Beryl, madam.

Beryl, how could you?

I was tempted, ma'am. I only done it
cos we was so poor, ma'am.

I only took her on this morning
out of kindness.

- She's not very bright.
- Right, my girl.

- It's down to the station for you.
- No, sir! Please!

- Oh, lnspector, do you have to?
- It's up to you, madam, to bring charges.

Oh, I couldn't, lnspector, I should have it
on my conscience always.

You see, she's in trouble.

Disgraceful!

Ooh...

Well, gentlemen!

Once more,
for the 17th year in succession,

there is no outright winner
and once again, for the fourth year,

the prize is shared by Mr Freddie
Widgeon and Mr Bertie Wooster!

- Ah, Jeeves!
- I trust you were successful, sir.

Another split decision, I'm afraid.
Mr Widgeon threw a beautiful dart.

Well done, got to fly,
catching the boat to New York.

- Oh?
- I found out that's where Daphne lives.

Oh, quite.

Well, good luck, Stilton.

I can't help thinking,
somewhere at the back of my mind,

there must be a better method
than playing the best of six games.

It does seem likely, sir.

- Perhaps the best of eight would do it.
- Possibly, sir.

Ten? Exhaustion might then result,
if nothing else.

I'm sure the Sports Committee
will find a way, sir... given time.