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Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap.

In my opinion, a second-rate murder mystery.

Not that I've seen it, you understand.

But it's a whodunit.

You've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

You know the drill.

An interminable prologue
in which all the key players are introduced.

You get a sense of the world they inhabit...

and then the most unlikable character
gets bumped off.

There's been a murder?

Cue the entrance
of a world-weary detective...

who comes in and pokes his nose around.

Talks to witnesses.
Takes a couple of wrong turns.

And then gathers all the suspects
in the drawing room...

and points the finger at the least likely
chump because of the way the guy...

I don't know...

ties his shoelaces.

Now you've seen our play,
you're an accomplice to murder.

And so, we ask you to remember...

that it is very much in your interests...

not to tell a soul outside of this theater...

who done it.

But what do I know?

The Limeys, they just lap it up.

The play's a smash hit.
Not to mention a cash cow.

Right there is the milkmaid in chief,
Petula Spencer.

This lavish affair is a party to celebrate
the 100th performance.

No wonder film producer John Woolf wants to
turn the play into a major motion picture.

Here he is now in the arms of his slightly
paranoid wife.

I sense that death is close at hand.

It's probably just a draft.

This is where I come in.

Leo Kopernick's the name.

Big-shot Hollywood director.

Hired to make the film adaptation
marginally less boring than the play.

Easier said than done when the writer's
a giant pompous ass.

Mervyn Cocker-Norris.

I say, you're rather tall.

Am I? Haven't really thought about it,
to be honest.

Is that what happened here?

Sort of.
I had a bit of an accident backstage.

Sure, he's educated
and he knows a lot of $10 words...

but it's like he's never seen
a film before...

let alone try to write one.

No one important.

You know, at times you do rather overdo
the temperamental Neapolitan.

That's a nice jacket.

Say, why don't you scare me up a real drink,
will you, kid?

Like a pint of rye or bourbon...

or motor oil, if you have to.

Yeah. Hop to it, now.

In England, that actually counts
as good service.

I was stationed here during the war...

and, if anything, the locals are
more uptight now...

than when they had the Luftwaffe overhead.

Mervyn?

Shouldn't you be home?
I thought we had a deadline.

I thought so too.

But then our esteemed director
tore up the screenplay...

and told me to start all over again.

He's of the opinion that
a modern audience will walk out in protest...

if they're not served
at least one violent death...

in the opening frames.

Suffice to say,
we are no longer on speaking terms.

Merv!

London's most sensitive writer.

How is The Mousetrap, huh?

Did they catch the guy who did it?

I will not stand here and be insulted.

Well, I guess he's gonna go over there
and be insulted.

What passes for glamour in these parts.

Sheila Sim and Dickie Attenborough.

Kid likes the sound of his own voice.

Even money, he makes a speech.

I suppose I ought to say a few words.

Not too many.

-When have I ever?
-Our wedding, remember?

-We almost missed the honeymoon.
-Yes.

Darlings, you're ever so kind.

I'd like to ask you all
to raise a metaphorical bat...

to the old pavilion.

The Mousetrap is 100, not out.

-Cheers!
-Cheers!

I tell you what else is 100 not out.

Petula's mother.

The old kook's just crazy about seafood.

They just brought out more langoustines.

Excuse me, I just need to deal with that.

-Mother! Please, you've had quite enough.
-Hi.

Now, I'm not one to tell tales
out of school...

but the girls over here, they go wild
for an American accent...

and the promise of a pair of nylons.

But the husbands...

Right. I think it's time someone
taught you a lesson.

...they're not so easily won over.

It's only fair to warn you
that I learned to box in the RAF.

Yeah? Well, I learned to fly a plane
in Gleason's Gym.

All of which explains...

in an admittedly roundabout fashion...

how I come to be in the theater's backstage
area in need of a change of clothes.

Hello?

Hello?

Aw, jeez.

I guess I should have seen this coming.

It's always the most unlikable character
who gets bumped off.

It's a whodunit.

You've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

We're closed.

Clear off.

Honestly.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.
Inspector Stoppard, sir.

Sorry, I was under strict instructions
not to let anyone in.

Just open the door.

Yes, sir. Of course.
Sorry, I didn't recognize you, sir.

I've actually just been transferred myself.

Thought it was Leeke and Priestley
on rotation tonight.

Careful, sir.

In you come.

-Constable.
-Stalker, sir.

God, you're all wet through, sir.

Hope you don't catch a cold after that.

Yep, after you, sir.

Victim's name is Leo Kopernick, sir.
The film director.

Suspected Communist,
blacklisted in Hollywood...

so he came out here
to work on a picture for John Woolf.

You know John Woolf, the film producer.

He made The African Queen
with Humphrey Bogart.

"Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are
put in this world to rise above."

That didn't sound anything like Bogart.

No, that was Katharine Hepburn, sir.
She's in it too. Wonderful actress.

I go to the pictures quite a lot, actually.

It's the escape, I suppose.

-The romance of the silver screen.
-Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

Signs of a struggle.

Actually, sir, I believe that happened
when Mrs. Boyle was killed.

Mrs. Boyle? Who's...

Yes, sir.
She's that woman in the front row there.

Well, she seems to have bounced back.

Sorry, sir. No, she was killed in the play.
Also strangled.

Not that I've seen it,
although I would like to.

It's an Agatha Christie,
and I do like a good murder.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

A ski did that, sir.

They use it in the play, apparently.

As I said, I haven't seen it.

And then the large dent in the cranium
is a sewing machine.

Seems he was killed
in the costume store initially...

and then he was deposited here.

Staged, so to speak.

Sorry, sir.

Yeah, that's the ski
that he took in the face, sir.

And I'm afraid it was downhill from there.

Sorry, sir.
That one just came out on its own.

Seems he came down here
for a change of clothes.

Why?

It was a party to celebrate
the 100th performance, sir.

The other nought must have...
When the victim upset the sponge.

And he then proceeded
to sit in the assortment of crustaceans.

I'm told he was intoxicated, sir,
as a newt.

This was actually a lot more fun
than I thought it would be.

Then he left. No one saw him again
until the body was discovered.

That's correct, sir.

Perhaps they were all in on it together, sir?

Looks like the killer tried to
pull out the victim's tongue.

Why would anyone do a thing like that?

Excuse me, Chief Inspector.

It's just "Inspector."

Yes. Of course. Inspector.

I hate to interrupt, I do.
There really is nothing worse...

Petula Spencer, sir.
Prominent theater impresario.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Tell me, how much longer
do you intend to keep us all hostage here?

Or is that the idea?
"Let the galled jade wince."

Gather all the suspects under one roof...

and then interrogate each of us in turn
until the mystery is solved?

Mervyn Cocker-Norris, overrated playwright.

Celebrated playwright.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.
I can't read me own handwriting.

Not that we are suspects, necessarily.

Are we suspects?

It was just a reference to Agatha Christie
and her penchant for denouement...

in which the detective gathers the...

I dare say, that's not...

-Please continue.
-Yes, thank you, Mervyn.

Inspector, I want you to know
that I have nothing but the utmost respect...

for the Metropolitan Police.

But, well, do you think
you might be finished in time...

-for curtain up tomorrow night?
-Oh, for goodness' sake.

John Woolf, esteemed film producer.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

This is a murder investigation.
Surely that takes precedence...

sold out or not.

Yes, it's all going to plan for you,
isn't it, Woolfie?

You want the run to end.

I want nothing of the sort.

It's the decent thing to do, that's all.
Close the theater out of respect for Leo.

Such a tragic loss.

Inspector, I implore you not to overreact.

I would hate to have to go
over your head and...

talk directly to your superiors.

We wouldn't want that, now would we, madam?

But I'm afraid that under the circumstances,
as a precaution...

Precaution?

He's already dead.

He is, madam.

But until we have an idea
as to a likely motive...

who's to say this is the end of it?

What is that supposed to mean?

We are no longer merely suspects.

We are also potential victims.

Oh, God, I wasn't in that, was I?
I must look dreadful.

Excuse me, sir.

Stoppard!

My office.

Hello, sir.

What in God's name possessed you
to close down the Ambassadors?

Protocol, sir. It's a crime scene.

No, it's a public relations disaster,
is what it is.

Public what, sir?

-Stalker!
-Sir.

Not to put too fine a point on...

-Yes, please.
-Here.

Not to put too fine a point on it,
Inspector...

but your latest blunder is front page news.

Fleet Street is all over this,
like hot jam on a Devonshire scone.

You are slap-bang in the crosshairs.

Now, we need to do everything we can...

to make sure the bullet doesn't miss you
and hit me.

-Yeah, of course, sir. Yes.
-Good.

Then you'll inform the theater at once.

Well, I thought as a precaution, I...

The Home Secretary is a close,
personal friend of Agatha Christie.

His brother-in-law is Rex Harrison.

-Wonderful actor.
-Yes, thank you, Constable.

Sir.

It's actually worked in our favor
to have the press distracted like this.

It means we can keep a lid
on the Rillington Place murders.

Rillington Place murders. Yes.
What's that?

Blimey.

Haven't you heard?
We have a serial killer on the loose.

You didn't think all of this was for you,
now, did you?

-No, of course...
-No.

Of course not.

Well, have all the resources been allocated
to this other investigation?

No, not all of them, no.

I understand you met WPC Stalker last night?

I did, yes.

-Constable.
-Inspector.

A very capable officer.

Or at least she will be
once she gets the proper instruction.

Sorry, sir, I'm not sure I...
You don't mean you want me to...

Yes, I do.

I'd like you to show her the ropes.

I'm hoping some of her enthusiasm
for police work might rub off on you.

But the bullet, sir. Is that why...

This is not a debate, Stoppard.

I have a reputation as a modernizer.
I have to be seen to keep it up.

I have said in public...

that I think women are
the future of the force.

Absolutely, sir, I agree.

-But we're not looking for stolen sweets...
-Sweets.

...or a lost bleeding bicycle.

This is a murder investigation...

and she is inexperienced.

They were inexperienced in the war.

Ask Jerry how that turned out.

Yes, sir. But...

-That will be all.
-Thank you.

-Commissioner.
-Inspector.

Constable.

Inspector.

-Commissioner.
-Constable.

Sorry again about last night, sir.

-With the rain and everything...
-Water under the bridge, Constable.

No harm done.

You all right?

Yeah. Do we have an address for the victim?

Yep. It is "Laurel Canyon, Hollywood, USA."

Where was he staying in England, Constable?

Right.

If I am honest, Monsieur Kopernick,
he was not a very good guest.

In arrears, was he?

Non, but he did not pay for his room.

Monsieur Woolf did.

What part of France are you from, sir?

Belgium.

Ah, right.

Oh, my, my.

What a bloody pigsty.

They don't clean the rooms at the Savoy?

Hélas, not this one.

The maids, they refuse.

We offer them more money,
but still they say non.

There was an incident.

Always avec Monsieur Kopernick...

there was an incident.

Thank you, Constable.

Sorry, sir.

Did one of these incidents ever turn violent?

Oui. Une fois.

How dare you call me a bad writer!

I didn't say that. I said it's bad writing.

I did the best I could
within the confines of the genre...

and Woolf loved it!

Woolf wouldn't know a good script
if it came up and bit him on the ass.

-It's horseshit!
-No, it isn't! Not all of it!

All right, what I read is horseshit!

You mean you didn't even finish it?

I read enough, pal, to know that
nobody gets killed in the first 10 pages!

You charlatan! Give it back!

-Listen. Listen to me. Listen!
-Give...

We need to go
in a completely different direction!

I'll kill you for this, Kopernick,
you bastard!

That's that then, sir.
It's as good as a confession.

Let's not jump to conclusions, Constable.

No, sir.

The least we can do
is talk to this other party.

Yes, sir. Cocker-Norris, sir.

Tell me, do you write everything down
in that little notebook?

Only if it's important, sir.

How do you know if it's important?

Well, I'll just sort of put everything in...

as we go, and then down the line
when we know what's important...

we'll know that it's already in the notebook.

So you do write everything down.

Yeah, everything.

That's what I thought.

Make yourself comfortable.
You're just in time for elevenses.

You must excuse the désordre...

it's research for the film adaptation.

Police statements, court reports,
newspaper cuttings.

The Mousetrap is actually
based on a real-life case.

Nettle tea?

I appreciate you've not yet had time
to come to terms...

with the death of Mr. Kopernick, but...

Is it true his tongue was pulled out?

I'm afraid I can't divulge details
of an ongoing investigation.

It was disgusting.

What?

That's Gio. Nephew of mine. Very hotheaded.

I wonder if it isn't all the fumes.

You know, from the chemicals.

He's an amateur taxidermist.

He has a fascination with the macabre.

I call it his Stymphalian Bird series.

Macabre in a strictly "ornithological" sense,
that is.

You wanted to ask me about Leo?

We heard there was an argument
at the Savoy...

and I noticed you had the other half of this.

Inspector, that was a contretemps,
nothing more.

Read that part. Yeah.

"I'll kill you for this, Kopernick,
you bastard."

Well, obviously, I...

Taken out of context, I...

Those words were spoken in anger
and under extreme provocation.

We had creative differences, that's all.

How did you like The Mousetrap?

Oh, yeah, the play?

Yeah, I didn't see it yet.

-Well, if you'd like, I can précis this...
-No, no, no.

I got the basics. It's a whodunit, right?

So, you got a dead body, a detective...

and then all the suspects
rather conveniently...

end up in a remote country house together.

In a nutshell.

Our task will be to present
this improbable series of events...

to an audience of moderate intelligence...

in a manner that does not cause
too much offense.

Easy.

Flashbacks.

No.

No what?

No flashbacks.

They are crass, lazy, and they interrupt
the flow of the story.

In my opinion, they are the last refuge
of a moribund imagination.

Whatever next? A caption that says,
"Three weeks later"?

Merv. Merv, will you come on?

This is crazy. Will you open the door?

I'm not coming out until Woolf gets here.

What is it this time?

I'll tell you what it is.

I pitched a new ending...

Cockamamie-Novice over here
locks himself in the bathroom.

Is this instead of the car chase?

As well as. I think he thinks "denouement"
is French for "shootout."

Will you at least hear me out first,
and then tell me you don't like it?

Come on, I storyboarded it for you.
Come on, have a seat.

Why can't we just have the detective
gather everyone in the drawing room...

and then reveal to them who did it?

Why? 'Cause it's old, it's tired.

It's been done a thousand times.

So then who explains to the audience
what on Earth's going on?

No one.

I don't know. The killer.

Now you see what I have to put up with?

Will you please have a seat?

So, a remote country house.

We got all the suspects gathered
in the drawing room, right?

So far, soporific.

Suddenly, the lights go out.

Our hero grips his Colt Special,
edges into the hall.

The killer's got a hostage,
can't get a clear shot.

Suddenly, kaboom!

The place goes up in flames.

Blam! Blam!

Our hero plugs the killer.

One in the gut!

One in the knee!

Then, all of a sudden...

His goddamned gun jams.

He's a sittin' duck.

Sorry, not that one.

I'm sorry about this.

He's a sittin' duck.

Our killer, dying but not dead...

takes aim.

Boom! He fires.

Out of nowhere...

our hero cop's partner dives in slow motion!

Takes a bullet!

Our hero cradles his partner
like a father would his child.

His face a gumbo of emotions.

We hold on the inferno...

and we pan left, to a dead butler.

Hank Williams plays us out.

"I Saw The Light."

You hate it.

No, no, I don't hate it.

But you don't love it.

Of course he doesn't!

It's preposterous...

and totally out of keeping
with the rest of the film.

Oh, who cares?

The audience only ever remembers
the last 20 minutes.

Oh, poppycock.

Hitchcock, actually.

How does he get the gun?

He's a cop!

Police are not armed in England.

What?
How do they kill the bad guys?

They don't. They ask them
to stop in the name of the law.

Well, he fought in the war,
so he kept his service revolver.

God damn it, we're gonna have to
pick this up another time.

Say, Merv.

You wouldn't want to lend me this pad,
would you?

Just for the night.

Only I got this dame parked outside
I wanna impress.

As in, she actually is a dame.

And, well, you know.

My place ain't exactly the Savoy.

I thought his place exactly was the Savoy.

No, he didn't take up residence there
till a month later.

And the production company footed the bill
when he did.

How he finagled that,
I'll never know.

Either I need a new agent,
or he had dirt on Woolf.

Did you ever meet these women?

Who were they?

Girls he met during the war
who had low standards...

and even lower self-esteem.

I never had the pleasure.

Oh, wait.

Tell a lie.

Merv! Come on.

When I said we should tear up the script,
I didn't mean literally!

Hello, Leo.

What is that doing here?

He was Kopernick's son!

Peas in a pod.

And the mother?

I didn't get a good look.
A plain girl, rather homely.

Dark hair, glasses...

thick lenses.

So there we have it, sir.
Cherchez la femme.

What?

It's Belgian, sir.
It means, "Look for the woman."

I know what it means, Constable. What woman?

The mother of Kopernick's illegitimate son.

Cocker-Norris couldn't remember her name,
but I bet it's in that little black book.

You know, the one that you found
in the hotel room, sir.

If we find her, we have our answer.

We need to get a police sketch artist
down here at once...

before he forgets anything.

I'm doing it again, aren't I, sir?

-Jumping to conclusions.
-Conclusions, yeah. Little bit.

Sorry.

Constable.

I have a very important mission for you.

I need you to find a telephone box.

Call the station.

Get an address for John Woolf,
the film producer.

And I'll wait for you here.

"Romulus Films, Soho," sir.
I wrote it down.

-You did?
-Mm-hmm.

Right.

Well done.
Thank you.

Shall we?

Telegram came for you.

Bad news?

It's the studio.

Grace Kelly's doing a Hitchcock picture
for Warner...

so it's Dial M for Maybe Next Time.

-Grace Kelly?
-Yes.

For the part you promised Sheila?

Yes, that's right.

Which is why this is such good news.

Ann?

Darling, what's the matter?

You do know a promise is only a promise
if you keep it.

What do you mean?

I mean you promised me a night out
months ago.

I have been so busy lately.

Yes, I know. I am your assistant.

I promise,
as soon as I have a moment to spare...

Well, you're free on Wednesday.

-Am I? Are you sure?
-Yes.

-I thought I was...
-No.

No, well, you should know.

You are my assistant, after all.

Well, that's settled, then. It's a date.

I promise I will take you out.

I'm afraid, Mr. Woolf,
you really must be going now...

otherwise you'll be late.

Right. Thank you.

No, I'm serious.
You do actually need to get back to Romulus.

-Right. Okay. Yes.
-Yes.

This is exciting, isn't it, sir?

I'd say this is the type of thing...

that made you want to
become a police officer, was it?

Me? I just sort of fell into it, really.

They needed people after the war,
and I needed the money, so...

No, it's true.
The hours can be unsociable...

but I can't type
or stand the sight of blood...

so that ruled out secretary for me.

You don't mind if I pick your brains,
do you, sir?

Only I have sergeants' exams in a month...

and I just have one or two questions
that I'd love to run by you.

Actually, Constable,
I've just remembered that I have a...

dentist appointment.

Sorry, sir. I didn't know you were suffering.

Just a routine checkup.

-What shall I do, sir?
-Wait here.

But what if Woolf turns up, sir?

Won't be long. And you have your...

notebook.

Keep your eyes peeled.

Yes, sir.

-Gin.
-Gin?

Yeah, please.

You're joking.

Oh, no.

Oh, God.

Follow this up with another, please.

There you are, Constable.

I've been looking all over for you.

So, I gather it was you...

that paid for Mr. Kopernick's
rather extravagant hotel suite.

Nothing unusual in that, Inspector.

I'm afraid a producer is expected to
indulge the whims of the talent.

Especially when they're American.

But still, a pretty penny,
a room at the Savoy.

Par for the course.

When I was in the Congo...

for The African Queen...

Huston and Bogart refused to drink the water.

Insisted on bourbon...

even to brush their teeth.

Not so easy to get hold of in the jungle,
I can assure you.

You know, Constable Stalker here
is a great admirer of that film.

Aren't you, Constable?

It's a marvelous film, sir.

Why, thank you, Constable.

Encyclopedia.

Cinematic encyclopedia up there.

-I wouldn't say that.
-Yeah.

Right.

Being humble.

I'm not.

So, it's not true
that Kopernick had dirt on you?

Who told you that?

Well, now what do we have here?

Woolfie?

Sittin' in a quiet corner,
all very nice and intimate.

Say, you wouldn't mind if I joined you,
would you?

Not at all, old boy.

And you must be Mrs. Woolf, huh?

Swell to make your acquaintance.

No, no. Leo, this is Ann.

She's my assistant.

Workin' late, huh?

If you'll excuse me...

I'm sorry.

You have a nice night, now.

Well, now.

This puts me in a tough spot.

That I'm afraid I'm gonna have to
take advantage of.

He asked to be put up at the Savoy,
and I agreed.

I knew it wouldn't be for long.

That is, just until I found
the right moment to...

tell my wife.

I see. Well...

we'll be in touch if there's anything else.

Constable.

Shall we?

But, sir, Woolf killed Kopernick
to hush up the affair. Case closed.

I think if that was the case,
he wouldn't have volunteered the information.

So, then he's in the clear?

No, not necessarily.

He might have killed Kopernick
for another reason entirely.

I tell you...

I'll never get the hang of this
in time for sergeants' exams.

Constable, about earlier.

I know it looked like
I'd just come out of the pub.

You had just come out of the pub.

That's right.

But I'd only gone in there
to get rid of the taste of the mouthwash.

So you had a gin, sir.

It's an antiseptic. I had a filling.

I thought you said it was a routine checkup.

I see we've read the chapter
on interrogation techniques.

Sir...

I know I haven't done anything yet
to impress you...

or to inspire any confidence, and...

I know you'd probably rather
that I wasn't on the case.

But I didn't ask
to be put on this case either, sir.

I was nervous, and I still am...

and I'm probably trying a bit too hard.

But, you know, even if I do make mistakes...

or if I jump to conclusions...

or talk a little bit too much,
that has been said...

I just want you to know
that you can trust me.

Sir.

Okay. Good.

You're joking.

-Constable.
-Commissioner.

Stoppard about?

No, sir. He's not yet made it in
this morning.

It's almost eleven o'clock.

He had a dentist appointment, sir.

A filling, I think he said it was.
A molar, it might have been?

I have been summoned to the Home Secretary.

He wants a debrief.

I said I had good news.

Have you seen the play, sir?

Yes.

I'm afraid I took the wife for her birthday.

Of course, it didn't fool me for a moment.
I knew who did it right away.

She was baffled, though.

Even after the chap explained everything.

It was a trying night for all concerned.

I'll stick to flowers in future.

Yes, always a safe bet, sir.

Sorry.

Police.

Please try to be more careful, sir.

Good morning.

-Commissioner.
-Inspector.

Is it wise to eat so many mints?

How do you mean, sir?

Well...

haven't you just been to the dentist?

Yes, that's right, sir.

Yeah. It was just a checkup.

Although I did have a filling as well.

Since I was there.

I've come down here for an update, Inspector.

-We have good news, sir.
-We do?

Yes, sir. Isn't that what you told
the Home Secretary?

Yes, that's what I told the Home Secretary
on the telephone.

I came down here to get it.

So we don't have good news?

We do have a witness, sir.

To the murder?

Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it?

No. One of the ushers
saw a suspicious character.

He's waiting for us inside.

Very well.

I'll tell the Home Secretary
we have a promising lead.

And I'll rely on you
not to make a liar out of me.

-Constable.
-Commissioner.

Inspector.

Commissioner.

Constable.

Inspector.

So, Dennis...

I understand that you saw something
the other night.

-Yeah.
-What'd you see?

Well, I'd gone to get a bottle of Scotch
for the dead man.

This was before, you know, he died.

And then you came back...

and that's when you saw
the suspicious character?

Exactly.

Well, sort of.

I didn't get a very good look, if I'm honest.

He had on, like, a darkish overcoat.

I see. Anything else?

A pair of trousers.

And a hat.

It was on his head.

Right. Yeah.

Yeah. A soft, felt hat.

What about a physical description?

Was he a tall man? Short? Thick set?

Just average, I'd say.

Average height or average build?

Both?

No, don't ask me.

I don't know. I'm asking you.

Average height...

medium build.

Would you say like the Inspector?

Yeah.

Suppose so. Pretty much.

So what did he do that made you suspicious?

It wasn't so much what he did...

it was more, you know, the way he did it.

Right. How'd he do it?

Well, sort of...

suspiciously.

This has been great.

Off you go.

-Thank you.
-Thank you.

Thank you.

That was good.

Do you think that went well?

I think it's time we talk to that actor
who had a fight with Kopernick.

Mr. Attenborough, sir?

That's the one.
Famous, is he?

You're pulling my leg, sir.
You've never heard of Dickie?

Richard Attenborough? Pinkie Brown?
Brighton Rock? You must have.

"You wanted a recording of my voice.
Well, here it is.

"What you want me to say is 'I love you.'"

Keep in mind...

that we're here to conduct an interview
as part of a murder investigation...

not an article for Sight & Sound magazine,
yes?

Yes, sir.

Come in, darling.

Inspector Stoppard.

I say, a real-life detective.

Scotland Yard and everything.

And you are?

This is...

-Constable Stalker.
-Stalker.

I like the way you did that.

Very natural.

I hope you don't mind, sir,
but I just want to say bravo.

And encore.

All right, thank you, Constable.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Are you a lover of theater?
I can get you tickets if you like.

I would like, sir. Yes. Very much.

It would be good to get
a professional take on it.

Yeah. I have so many questions.

I have one or two of my own.

I dare say that you do.

I understand that you and Kopernick
came to blows the night in question.

Was there a particular reason
for the ill feeling?

Tell me, Inspector,
did you get your limp during the war?

It's very slight.

I noticed it the other night
when you were on stage. I...

Well, I thought I might borrow it,
if you don't mind.

It's always good for the lead character
to have a physical defect.

Speaks to a troubled soul.

It was me, Inspector.
You need look no further.

-I arrest you for the murder of Leo...
-No, no, no.

No. Not yet.

Sorry, sir.

I was the particular reason
for the ill feeling.

Yes, well, Leo had his eye on Sheila,
you see. And I took exception.

He was a real hound, Inspector.

Come on, play nice.

Maybe I can help you.

Help me?

To do what?

Bag the lead role in the film
of The Mousetrap.

Top billing.

Make you a star.

But I have bagged the lead role.

Yeah, who told you that, Woolfie?

He is the producer.

Honey, he just cuts the checks.

I'm the director.

Without me, there is no movie.
You understand?

You got a problem, buddy?

Keep the change. And the glass.

And the studio, don't they have a say in it?

Rumor is they want to put a name
in the picture...

that people have heard of.

Bona fide Hollywood star.

They like Grace Kelly. You ever heard of her?

Don't worry.

They can be talked round.

I've got a very silver tongue.

I won't lie, Inspector.

I was not entirely sorry to learn
of his demise, but I had no part in it.

Much like the film adaptation
of The Mousetrap, it would seem.

Come now, darling, you don't know that.

Woolf promised you the role.

He's a man of his word.
He went to Eton.

Wake up, Dickie.

He's a man of whatever word
will get his film made.

And that contract business with Choo
is coming apart at the seams.

-Choo?
-Bless you, sir.

No, as in Petula Spencer.

She sold Woolf the film rights.

Well, about those tickets.
Is there a day that suits you better?

I'm generally free
on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

And Thursdays.

Well, thank you, sir.
Thank you, madam.

No, no, not at all.
We'll be sure to let you know...

if anything else springs to mind.

I'm sure it's always
the insignificant detail...

that catches the killer in the end.
Isn't that so, Inspector?

I don't usually have a lot on
on weekends either.

Or Mondays. For the tickets.

-Constable.
-Sir.

Right.

She'll see you now.

So, you own this theater?

Yes. Humble beginnings.

You'll have to excuse Mother.

She's not been herself since Father died,
in the first Great War.

It's been a long 30 years.

It's nice that you gave her a job.

Well, how else is she gonna pay the rent?

I let her have the spare room
at a discount as it is.

Yes, no. You can stop there.

We get the idea. Bravo.

I understand that you handled the sale
of The Mousetrap film rights to John Woolf?

Yes, that's right. I did. Wait... Why?

What's he been saying?

Oh, he's such a crybaby.

Honestly, he acts
as though I put a gun to his head.

Hang on a minute. Is this important?

I doubt it. What does it say?

"No motion picture based on the stage play
The Mousetrap...

"is to enter into production
until a minimum of six months have elapsed...

"since the end of its first theatrical run."

Oh, you don't need to worry about that.

It's a whodunit.
As soon as word gets out who did do it...

audiences are bound to drop off.

Come on, sign on the dotted line,
and I'll make a toast.

Ann, darling, the next contract I sign
will be our marriage certificate.

Well, first it'll be the divorce papers.
But then our marriage certificate.

Edana, darling.

What a pleasant surprise.

You know Choo and Ann.

I do.

Dear girl, what on Earth
are you doing down there?

I just fell over. Excuse me.

Honestly, it's like having Buster Keaton
for an assistant.

Now, I've just come from Madame Zena...

Darling, I really wish
you wouldn't see that...

Please don't call her a charlatan.

I was going to say "crackpot."

-What's this?
-It's a Tarot card.

I can see that. What does it mean?

Betrayal.

Betrayal as in his affair, not the contract.

That was above board. Is above board.

Agatha insisted on that clause, not me.

No, she's fiercely protective
of her own work, you see, because...

Well, she has to be.

People get so riled up.

She's had death threats, you know.

Poor girl can't write
so much as a letter to The Times...

without a deluge of legal action...

and spurious claims she stole this plot
or that character.

Isn't that what happened here, though?

Isn't The Mousetrap based on a true story?

Yes. Well, originally. I mean, tangentially.

In any case, that's the reason...

Woolf was so keen
to shut the theater the other night.

He can't make his film
until the play ends its run in the West End.

As it is, what with the play
being such a phenomenal success...

he's stuck in theatrical purgatory.

He's a ruthless customer, is Woolf.

He'll stop at nothing to get his film made.

It's definitely Woolf, sir.

Well, not 100%.

More like 73-74%, I'd say.

He killed Kopernick in the theater
to force it to close down...

so that he could make his film.

He could marry his mistress.

And then he could get shot of a blackmailer.

It's not Woolf. It's too elaborate.

Burn the place down, if that's what you want.

Besides, doesn't he need a director
to make a film?

Well, then it's back to Cocker-Norris.
Process of elimination.

No, it's not Mervyn.

Yeah, but the tongue business.

And he clearly didn't like Leo, did he?

People don't rip out other people's tongues
because of creative differences.

They do it out of revenge...

or rage because they've lost a loved one.

They can't forgive or forget...

so they just stew and fester
alone in the dark...

until finally it all comes out
in a sudden, frenzied act of violence.

How did you get the limp, sir?
If you don't mind me asking.

In the war. Got shot in the Italian Alps.

Sounds painful.

What do you...

Sorry, sir.

No, that's very funny.

Is there a Mr. Stalker, Stalker?

I'm afraid he died in the war, sir.

Children?

A boy and a girl.

Can't be easy.

What about you? Do you have any family, sir?

I came close, once.
Yeah, I had an unfaithful wife.

She was eight months pregnant
when she told me I wasn't the father.

I'd made a cot and everything.

That's awful, sir. I'm sorry.

-Landlord.
-Yes, sir?

Another round.

Oh, I don't know.

Should we maybe get going, sir?
Got work tomorrow.

Go on, steer off before I call the police!

Sorry again. Thank you.

Are you sure you're all right to drive, sir?

Absolutely.

I could run you home if you like.

Now. Just gonna pop you there.

I can take it from here, Constable.

Sir.

There we go.

Morning, sir.

What do you want?

The other night, sir. The dead Yank.

Inspector Stoppard got the call
and not Leeke or Priestley.

So?

Leeke was in Skegness on his honeymoon,
and Priestley took the Rillington Place call.

What time?

Half-past 11:00. Book at Bedtime was on.

Did you ever meet Stoppard's wife, sir?

I did.

You don't happen to remember her name,
do you?

It was...

Mrs. Stoppard.

Brilliant.

Hello, is this Abigale?

Hello, is this Beryl?

I am a friend of Leo Kopernick's.

Beryl?

Is Geraldine there by any chance?

-Oh, Constable.
-Sir.

Did Dickie ever come through
on those theater tickets?

I thought of going,
and maybe the play's the thing.

Ties this all together.
Would you like to tag along?

Yes, sir.

What is it, Constable?

Nothing, sir.

Do you want a cup of tea?

Listen to me, Stalker.

No one is ever going to
take you seriously as a police officer...

if you act like a tea-lady, do you hear me?

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Milk and two sugars.

Commissioner.

I said, "Who do you want? Agatha Christie
or Mervyn Cocker-Norris?

"Anyone can do her, but only I can do me."

The Mousetrap in the house style, as it were.

I'll take the bare bones of the story,
a rather mundane tale of child abuse...

and make it my own.

Here we are.

These aren't together, sir.

Well, we can cover more ground that way.

Keep your eyes peeled.

Yes, sir.

Cheers.

Hello?

Hello?

Is anyone there?

Who's calling at this late hour?

Yes?

All right then.

That was Scotland Yard.
They're sending out an inspector.

In this unseasonable blizzard?
What on Earth for?

Good Lord.

-Inspector.
-Thank you.

Good evening.

I am Detective Sergeant Trotter.

Please excuse the limp.

An old war wound playing up in the cold.

I'm assuming you were warned of my arrival?

Apropos of nothing, I'm a magistrate.

Also, he looks too young to be an inspector.

Well, I'm old enough to
remember the Corrigan Case.

Yes, a dreadful business.

Two brothers who put their faith
in the British social services.

A sorry tale of abuse that ended in tragedy.

Yes, it was in all of the papers.

Gio, I can't sit through this again.

I'm sorry. Will you excuse me?

One died, the other left traumatized.

I shudder to think what an ordeal like that
might do to a vulnerable mind.

Won't be a moment.
I'm just going to try and catch Mervyn.

Oh, bother. I forgot the tea.

By God,
that has to be the worst cup of tea...

I've ever had.

I agree.

Did you make it in a teapot or a plant pot?

-Pardon me. Excuse me. Thank you. Sorry.
-Oh, dear.

-Pardon me. Excuse me. Sorry.
-I've already had another disaster...

in the kitchen.

I left out the steak pieces
in my steak and kidney pie.

Gloves.

Kidney pie just doesn't have
the same ring to it.

Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me.

Excuse me. Terribly sorry.

Bleeding gloves.
I'm so sorry.

There they are.
Thank you. Sorry. Sorry. Terribly sorry.

I'm beginning to think
it was a dreadful mistake to skip lunch.

Excuse me.

I'll open a tin of peas.

We interrupt Book at Bedtime...

to warn residents
in the Colney Hatch area of London...

to be on the lookout for an escaped lunatic.

You startled me.

You startled me.

Turn the lights on.

Stop in the name of the law!

Bollocks!

Well, that's a good thing.
The limp, was it too much?

Oh, God.

Oh, sorry, sir.
I thought you were somebody else.

No, no, it's all right.

And thank you for the tickets.

Very welcome.

There ya go.

Bottoms up.

Cheers.

What brings you
to this neck of the woods?

Oh, a murder investigation.

Yeah? Anyone I know?

You.

I'm sorry, I thought...

No, no, no. It's all right. It's all right.

Say, Inspector.

Tell me, was anyone...

you know, sad to see me go?

Figures.

I'm sorry, sir, you can't go in there.

You can only go in if you have a ticket.

I had a ticket. It was in my pocket.

That's... I could have sworn
I had on a pair of trousers.

I had trousers on.

Where's my ticket?

I'm sorry, sir. I can't let you in
unless you have a ticket.

I had a ticket.
I just don't have it on me.

Let me in!
Stop mucking about.

-I've gotta go in.
-No, please, sir.

You. I know you.

What are you doing?

Sir. Sir.

I've got a ticket!

The hell is going on?

What am I doing here?

What happened to my trousers?

You asked me to press them, sir.

I did?

Yes, sir. You were adamant.

How long have I been here?

Eighteen hours.

My head is killing me.

It's bloody freezing in here.

Did you make an arrest?

We did.

Who was it? Was it Gio?

Gio?

Yeah, Gio. The Italian chap, the killer.

The man in a darkish overcoat,
soft felt hat...

I chased out the theater.

Inspector, that man was you.

What?

You are the man in the darkish overcoat...

and the soft felt hat
that Constable Stalker here...

chased from the theater.

I'm sorry, I'm not following.

I think I might have a concussion.

Or the shakes?

No, this is ridiculous.

What possible reason could I have
for strangling a playwright?

I haven't seen anything he's done.

No, but Mervyn saw the woman
who visited Kopernick at the Savoy.

So?

Inspector...

have you spoken to Joyce lately?

Joyce?

Your wife.

Ex-wife.

Yes. I met her once at a police social.

A plain girl.

Very homely.

What does Joyce have to do with anything?

Her name was in Leo's little black book, sir.

Oh, come on.
You don't seriously think that Leo and...

Didn't your wife leave you for a Yank?

Leo was an American G.I.

Will you listen to yourselves?
You hear what you're sayin'?

Constable.

"They do it out of revenge or rage...

"because they have lost a loved one...

"and can't forgive or forget.

"So they just stew and fester...

"until it all comes out
in a sudden, frenzied act of violence."

You wrote that down.

That was a private conversation.

Well, I thought it could be important, sir.

Unbelievable.

We found her.

-Who?
-Joyce.

Joyce. Joyce is here?

Constable.

That's not my wife.

I'm sorry?

I said that's not my wife.

But it is your ex-wife.

Never seen that woman before in my life.

But your name is Joyce?

Well, it's a common name.

-'Course it is.
-Yeah.

'Course it is.

Well, Inspector, in that case, I believe...

you are owed an apology.

Constable.

Yes, sir. O' course.

I'm so sorry, sir.

I just got the wrong end of the stick,
and I have no excuse. I just...

I jumped to conclusions again. I'm so sorry.

Commissioner,
why don't you run along back to the office...

look over the quarterly accounts.

Let me handle the murder investigation.

Inspector.

Sorry.

It's Dickie and Sheila.

Hello, Woolf. Didn't expect to see you here.

Perhaps, it is...

Miss Rams... bottom.

Get that...

If you have broken down,
there is a garage not 15 miles from here.

No, we're here for dinner.

I don't think so, sir.

This is Winterbrook House?

The Christie residence?

It is.

We have an invitation.

We do, yes.

Richard Attenborough.
Friends call me "Dickie."

I do hope you haven't traveled far.

Fellowes! Who is it?

No one, sir. Tinkers.

What, in this unseasonable blizzard?
Come on, man. Open sesame.

Richard Attenborough.
Friends call me "Dickie."

Max Mallowan, eminent archaeologist.

Good God, man, you're frozen solid.

-It's cold. It's cold, yes.
-Come in.

-Hello, Sheila Sim.
-Hello.

-John Woolf.
-How do you do?

Ann Saville.

We're friends of Petula. Spencer.

Oh, yes. I know Choo.

We thought we'd been invited for dinner.

Yes, we received this...

but apparently, not from you.

Extraordinary.

You know who's going to love this? Agatha.

It's just like one of her confections.

She's in the kitchen now
trying to figure out some new ending.

It helps to do the dishes, apparently.

Hello. Who else didn't we invite to dinner?

Ah, it's Petula.

Why, so it is.

Come in out of the cold, Choo!

What on Earth have you got there?

It's not Mother, is it?

'Fraid so.

Oh, God.

Better make that eight for dinner, Fellowes,
and let Agatha know.

Yes, sir.

And get a shovel to clear the path.

Yes, sir.

And do we have enough coal?

Yes, sir. Three bags full, sir.

-Hello, Maxie.
-Hello, darling.

Oh, it's a full house.

Yes.

Mother.

Come on in.
Straight through to the drawing room.

-Here.
-Now...

I have a rather potent
Mesopotamian aperitif...

that'll have you thawed out in a jiffy.

I'm sorry again
that you had to find out like this.

Oh, I can't say it came as a surprise.

Leo was a bad seed.

Always in trouble, he was.

He picked a fight the night he took us out.

Mervyn Cocker-Norris at the hotel.

No. At the pictures.

He turned on this tall fella
who came in after us and shouted...

"What are you following me for, buddy?"

And... Did he know a good dentist,
'cause he was about to lose a lot of teeth.

Right, who's ready for a top-up?

No.

Where's the old girl?
Not gonna play the recluse card, is she?

Oh, no, no, no. She'll be down soon enough.

That will be Fellowes.

The man's an oaf.

A tall fella, you say?

Had a funny accent.

Italian?

No, not that funny.

More like...

a village idiot.

I'm sorry, but you have to get out.

No. Good heavens. No.

Scotland Yard, Sergeant Bakewell speaking.

Yes, Stoppard here.

Police, stand back.

He keeps a key...

under the mat.

Let me guess, Inspector.

You're after an address.

How did you know that?

Constable Stalker, sir. She called just now
for the same information.

Stalker?

Agatha?

Gosh, is she all right?

Where's Agatha? What have you done with her?

-It was the usher, sir.
-I know.

He was under our noses all this time.

-Is he in?
-No, sir. But I found this.

-If we get going now, sir, we can...
-I can take it from here, Constable.

Oh, right. And me, sir?

Go back to the station.

Yes, sir.

Oh, and, Constable?

Yes, sir?

Make a start on the paperwork.

Yes, sir.

Is it me, or does he look awfully familiar?

It's Dennis.
He's an usher from the Ambassadors.

Oh, Dennis!

So nice to see you.

This is a strange coincidence.
What are you doing here?

Well, I invited you.

Oh, my God.

You killed Leo and Mervyn!

I did.

I wanted to stop the film and the play.

What film? What play?

The Mousetrap!

Now, look here, Dennis.

We all have strong opinions on the theater.

In a sense, that's what it's there for,
to provoke emotion.

And I appreciate
you don't care for The Mousetrap.

I'll be the first to admit
it's not exactly Hamlet.

But you must see...

that this is a bit of an overreaction.

That's not what this is.

Then, what is this?

It's not your story to tell, is it?
It's mine.

Oh, I might have known.

A disgruntled writer.
Don't tell me, you had the idea first?

No. It happened to me.

I'm sorry, I am completely lost.
I don't have a theatrical background.

You're not Dennis Corrigan, are you?

Oh, you poor boy.

How do you mean?

He lost his brother in real life.

Dreadful business, it was.

It was years ago, now.
I told you about it.

It was the case The Mousetrap was based on.

Inspired by, Mother. And loosely.

Oh, but you're an usher.

You had to watch that play night after night.

It must've been torture.

I thought it would help.

He was only six when he died, my brother.

The Mousetrap is actually based
on a real-life case.

Neglected and left for dead by the people
who were supposed to look after us.

It sold a lot of newspapers,
but no one cared about us.

I thought the play would be different.

A famous writer was going to tell our story.

Two brothers who put their faith
in the British social services.

But when I saw what Agatha Christie
had done...

used our pain and suffering as a motive
for a deranged killer...

my brother's death reduced
to a cheap sideshow...

There's been a murder?

...I knew he wouldn't be able to rest
in peace until the play ended.

But it didn't.

It just went on, and on, and on.

The Mousetrap is 100, not out.

When I heard about the film adaptation,
I just snapped.

Without me, there is no movie.
You understand?

You got a problem, buddy?

I killed the director to stop the film...

and thought a corpse on the stage
would put an end to the play.

But they didn't even close the theater.

Do you think you might be finished in time
for curtain up tomorrow night?

And Mervyn's new ideas for the film
made me sick to my stomach.

I'll take the bare bones of the story,
a rather mundane tale of child abuse...

and make it my own.

He left me no choice.

You startled me.

I had to kill him, too.

I thought that would be the end of it.

But you all just carried on like nothing
had happened.

Shame on you.

Well, maybe you'll take notice if I kill
Agatha Christie herself.

Oh, I think she's tryin' to say something.

Oh, for God's sake, let her out.
I'll stop the film.

And the play. This is barbaric.

Fine.

Edana?

Darling, what are you doing here?

I followed you.
I suppose I was going to make a scene.

Hello, Ann.

Then this beanpole assaulted me,
and I woke up in a carpet.

If you're not Agatha Christie,
where the hell is she?

Good God, man. You mean you don't know?

What kind of a bumbling,
half-witted psychopath are you?

Will you be quiet! Please!

Let me think!

Yes, of course!

Of course.
Why don't you come in and sit down, Dennis?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Have a little moment to yourself.

What?

Well...

I, for one, believe that...

Dennis here is owed an apology.

-Yes.
-He's right, of course.

The truth is the truth.

It is not to be manipulated or played with...

and certainly not for entertainment.

-No, no.
-No, no.

-Art is supposed to reveal the truth...
-Yes.

-Yeah.
-...not pervert it.

How would Agatha Christie like it
if someone took one of her stories...

and twisted it and corrupted it
just for the hell of it?

She wouldn't.

I think that we should all feel
thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.

Oh, here we are.

Tea for everyone.

There you are, my dear.

Sorry to have kept you.

No, no, please don't get up,
not on my account.

There, there.

-No, no, no, it's fine.
-Be careful.

Just as it was.
I think it was that way.

It is so nice to see you again, Agatha,
in spite of the circumstances.

No, no, no, not that one.
No, that's for Dennis.

It is Dennis, isn't it?

There we are.

I put an extra lump in.

Thank you.

Everyone else, help themselves.

Now, Dennis.

How can I help?
Why don't we sit here and drink our tea...

and discuss the matter like civilized people?

I want you to stop The Mousetrap.

Oh, I am sorry, but that I cannot do. No.

I'm afraid it goes against
everything I hold dear in life.

Yes. I'm a writer, you see.

I can't be told what to write
or what not to write.

It would be a denial of one's freedom.

Do you see, Dennis? Do drink up.

Good God, Fellowes.

Get up. Get up.

Now, look here, young man, I...

Max!

-Yes, good idea...
-Yes.

Oh, my God. Now what's happened?

Dennis.

Put the popular author down, please, Dennis.

No.

Sheila, darling, now's hardly the time.

Dickie, I need a light.

But you don't smoke.

Dickie.

Look out!

No, Dennis!

Don't do it, please!

Darling!

It's all right. He's dead. It's over.

Sir...

I'm bleedin'.

Hang in there, Constable.
Sergeant's exam's in a month.

It's funny, sir.
I actually... I don't feel anything.

I think it mighta just been a nick.

Yeah. Just the nick of time, I'd say.

Very good.

I'm sorry, Constable.

I haven't been altogether honest or open
or loyal or fair to you as a partner.

Truth be told,
I haven't been a partner at all, you know.

Sir, you don't have to say that.

No, I want you to know...

I do trust you.

Thank you, sir. That does mean a lot.

But when I say that I can't feel anything,
I think what I mean is that...

I don't think the bullet hit me, sir.

What do you mean?

Did you...

-Oh, I see.
-Oh, no. Yeah.

Oh. Well, you're right again, Constable.

Are you all right, sir?

I think you better call an ambulance.

Yep.

Yes, I don't feel so good.

A shoot-out and a big explosion.

Perhaps it's for the best
that Mervyn wasn't alive to see it.

Quite.

It's okay, everyone, I'm fine.

Now that's what I call
a Leo Kopernick ending.

But before we go our separate ways...

you'll be wanting to know what
became of the heroes of this tale.

Constable Stalker, as advertised, sat
her sergeant's exams in the spring of 1953.

She aced them.

Detective Inspector George Stoppard.

Inspector Stoppard was awarded
the King's Police and Fire Services Medal.

Harrold Scott received a Knighthood.

The play, if you can believe it,
is still going strong in London's West End.

Over 10 million people have sat through
The Mousetrap.

Two brothers who put their faith
in the British social services.

A sorry tale of abuse that ended in tragedy.

Well, now that you've seen our film...

you are an accomplice to murder.

And so we ask you to remember
that it is very much in your interest...

not to tell a soul outside of this...

Sir.
Sorry.

But I've missed the endin' once.

I don't wanna miss it again.

No, of course not. I'm sorry. Sorry.