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No need for it at all.

Reasonable foresight, that's all that was necessary.

We change from a primarily agricultural country

to an industrial one

at the very time the colonies fall into our hands.

- And what do we do? - Coffee gets worse every night.

- Steward! - Absolutely nothing.

We pour money down the drain, buying our foodstuffs from all over the world

instead of developing the Empire.

Riordan, you're a doctor.

This coffee's enough to kill a man, isn't it?

With the obvious result.

When we have to pay for a war, we can't pay for our food.

- Riordan! - Oh, sorry.

- This coffee. Shocking - Mmm, terrible.

- Ah, more coffee! - Yes, sir.

Excuse me, Doctor. You forgot to sign your dinner cheque.

Oh, yes.

But still, things were coming along quite nicely,

until Hitler popped up.

He didn't "pop up". He was inevitable.

Well, war was, anyway.

What sort of mentality would have precluded the possibility of war?

Anyway, neglecting the Empire

started long before this government got into power.

Oh, it isn't any specific government I'm blaming.

It's our complacent insularism.

- Oh, Empire! - Allow me, sir.

Knew a man once who went to Australia.

- Really? - Mmm, Ian Pumphrey.

Got into some sort of trouble, packed him off,

back inside a year.

Couldn't hit it off with the Australians.

Sent him to Canada.

No idea what happened to him.

Ever met a Canadian?

- I known Canada well. - Fantastic lingo.

Same as Americans, you know. Met a Canadian once.

Couldn't understand a word he said.

I said, "Look here, young man, if you're going to stay in the Empire,

"you'll have to learn how to speak English, you know."

Took it quite well.

- Good night, gentlemen. - Good night.

Do you realise that we're living on American dollars, sir?

That every mouthful of food we eat costs dollars.

Mmm. Might get some decent coffee.

- Allow me, sir. - Oh, er, thank you.

- Good night, sir. - Good night.

Taxi!

Church Row, Hampstead, please.

Good night.

Oh, it's you, sir!

This is a surprise.

We didn't expect you back for a fortnight.

Torquay's postponed for a few days. An urgent case came up.

We didn't expect you back for a fortnight.

Torquay's postponed.

Mrs Riordan not home yet?

No, sir. Madam said that she might be rather late,

and that I needn't wait up.

- Shall I take your coat? - No, don't do that.

I'll keep it on for a moment. It's a little chilly.

Very good, sir.

I forget, er...

Wasn't someone calling for Mrs Riordan tonight?

No, sir.

Madam left the house alone in a taxi.

I see.

Well, you may as well go back to bed, Aitken.

I'll wait up for my wife.

Very good, sir.

Good night, sir.

- Scotch? - Thanks.

- How about some music? - Mmm, lovely.

Brahms, Beethoven...

Haven't you got any civilised music around here?

Where's that record I gave ya last week?

Somewhere there.

Oh, so it is.

- May I have the pleasure, madam? - I'm busy.

Oh, there isn't any ice.

Bill! What are you doing?

You silly boy!

Look at your tie.

Hold your head up.

Mother used to tie it. Did it for years.

Mmm. You're still a baby.

There.

So that's why you love me.

Maternal instinct coming out.

I'll fetch some ice.

And leave me here all alone?

Let me get the ice. You two carry on.

We mustn't be inhospitable to our American cousins, must we?

Clive!

Uh-oh...

- Er... Hello there, Clive. - Hello, Bill.

Hello.

Bill!

- I thought he'd gone away. - He had gone!

- Well, he's come back, I guess. - How long has he been in here?

Quick, think. Did we say anything?

I don't think so. Did we do anything?

No. Bill, keep your head.

You took me to the Rakovsky concert.

- Margaret couldn't go, so I asked you. - Who's Margaret?

- Never mind about that. Do you understand? - Yeah, okay, okay.

Afterwards we had some oysters at the Savoy. The Grill.

- We didn't dance. - Why not?

For heaven's sake, don't argue.

He doesn't like me dancing with other men.

Oh, Clive, er... Can I help?

I see you've managed.

Yes, I've managed. Thanks all the same.

- Why did you come back, darling? - I changed my mind.

"What did I want with a holiday?" I asked myself.

A holiday away from my beautiful wife!

Your drink, my dear.

And here's yours, Bill.

- Thanks. - And here's mine.

Do sit down, please.

No, no, over there on the sofa.

That's the idea.

- Well, good luck! - Cheers!

By the way, Margaret couldn't go to the concert after all, so...

So you went.

Yes.

Bill happened to phone about something or other

just after Margaret rang off, so...

So I got me a free seat.

Did you enjoy the concert?

- Oh, swell! - They played everything I love.

- Many there? - Overflowing, I'd say.

- They were standing at the back. - Remarkable!

So you saw the house full to overflowing.

- Sure. What of it? - Really remarkable.

And you, my dear, heard your favourite music played,

interpreted by Rakovsky.

Some of it, yes.

Really remarkable imagination.

Such is the power of the master musician.

Even if he isn't there.

You see, there was no concert tonight.

It was cancelled.

Rakovsky was taken to a nursing home

half an hour before the performance was due to begin.

Yes...

I too am sitting here wondering what I'd say

in either of your positions.

But, no, I can't think of anything either.

Bill, please go.

- Yes, I guess if you'll, er, pardon... - Good night, Bill!

Good night, Storm. I...

I don't know what to say.

But I know what to say.

Sit down.

- Put that gun away at once! - Wait a minute! Clive!

Just sit down.

Both of you.

Well, Bill?

Well, you're right, Clive.

We didn't go to the concert.

We went to the Savoy for a bite to eat.

The Grill. We didn't dance.

I was starving as usual.

You know the way she gets.

Yes, yes. I know the way she gets.

I'm afraid it's all my fault.

I persuaded Storm to skip the concert.

Savoy?

The Grill, please. I'd like to speak to Tony.

Bill, you will now see British diplomacy at its best.

They must be busy. Listen to the buzz.

Is that you, Tony?

Good evening, this is Dr Clive Riordan speaking.

How are you?

Fine, thanks.

I've finished a case a little earlier than I expected,

and I told my wife I'd try and join her later if I could,

but I've very stupidly forgotten where she said she was going.

Is she in the Grill, by any chance?

She'd be with that, er... nice young American.

Mr Kronin. Mr Bill Kronin.

No?

Have they been there tonight?

Not?

Oh, well, I'll try somewhere else.

Thanks so much. Goodbye.

Er... Tony sends his regards to you, my dear.

Well, Bill, how was that?

Oh, for heaven's sake, stop this ridiculous nonsense!

I'm going to bed.

Good night, Bill. I'll see you to the door.

Good night, Clive.

On the sofa.

A little putty and a touch of paint and you'll never notice it.

So, you were not at the concert and you were not at the Savoy.

Let's cut it short, Clive.

I feel like an awful heel.

I should have come to you in the first place, I know.

Bill, don't say anything. Anything! Do you understand?

- Let's get it over with, darling. - Shut up!

Now who could she be telephoning at this hour of the night?

Hello. Betty?

Hello, darling. Storm here.

I knew you'd still be up.

Well, I saw you, but you didn't see me.

At the concert.

Well, we were a good way back.

I never heard the orchestra in better form.

Wasn't Rakovsky terrific?

Darling, how about lunch on Thursday?

All right, I'll ring you Thursday morning for arrangements.

Bye.

Very clever, my dear, but too late.

I'm sorry that you found out tonight.

I was so looking forward to you opening The Times in the morning

and seeing the criticism of the concert.

Do sit down, please.

Then I won't have to keep turning my head.

Well now, er... To sum up the situation,

you, Bill, want to tell me something that I know already, and...

you, Storm, won't let him.

Nobody knows what to do.

Nobody, that is, except me.

I knew what I was going to do yesterday,

and the day before that.

And every day, right back to the first time you both met.

At that cocktail party, remember?

Yes.

I saw you and Storm laughing and chatting together,

and, to my long-experienced eye, flashed the familiar message,

"Storm's under full sail again. The calm has lifted."

You see, I decided what to do with the next one

before you even met my wife.

And you, Bill, are "the next one".

Yes.

I know exactly what I'm going to do.

I'm going to kill you.

- Now, wait a minute, Clive! - Don't be a fool!

He's not a fool.

He's not gonna shoot me like this in cold blood.

Don't you be so sure.

Tell me...

are you interested in thrillers and murder stories?

I was until now.

You know, it's a pity I've got to kill you,

because I really quite like you.

Get up.

All right, Storm, give me the gun. Let's call it a day.

Bill, keep out of this, please.

Well, what are you going to do? Are you going to shoot me?

- Get back! - Storm, darling!

Bill, if you want to avoid a scandal, shut up!

That first cocktail party, was it worth it?

And don't try to be funny.

I know exactly how you're feeling, my dear.

Your pride is hurt, you've been made to look a fool in front of Bill,

and you're dying to shoot me, aren't you?

- Well, why don't you pull the trigger? - Don't come near me!

But I'm only trying to help you.

I'm sure this'll do the trick.

I took these out while I was looking at the bullet hole.

I knew there was only one way to make a woman

withdraw permanently from a situation like this.

A direct humiliation.

Well, now we're alone together, which is exactly what I'd planned.

- You'd planned? - But of course.

You mean you figured all this out?

Oh, but weeks ago. It's part of my perfect murder.

You see, Storm mustn't see us go out together.

That's why I had to get rid of her.

- Er... Clive? - Mm-hmm.

I hope you notice I still call you Clive.

Yes, Bill.

- You're not really serious? - Serious?

Yes, you're not gonna take a harmless little flirtation seriously, are you?

Ah, but that's the trouble, you see.

There've been so many "harmless little flirtations".

You, er...

You've heard of "the last straw", haven't you, Bill?

- Mm-hmm. - Well, you're it.

But you're kidding. All this...

All this nonsense about "a perfect murder".

I'm afraid not.

Er... Would you care for one for the road?

No thanks.

You mean we're going places?

Yes, Bill. We're going places.

Work it out for yourself, my dear fellow.

Ten million Empire acres, on which we spend a pound per acre...

A pound sterling, mind you.

Ten million sterling, right?

- Er... Yes? - Bah! Call that whisky?

That's all. Ten million pounds

yielding a permanent increase in our food supply,

as opposed to paying interest, down the drain, mind you,

on American loans going to buy Argentine wheat. Am I wrong?

- Something wrong with the whisky nowadays. - But that would take

- some considerable time... - Whisky, you say? You're so right, sir.

That's another example that proves my point.

It's dollars all the time, sir.

A stranglehold on the Empire.

I seem to have read somewhere

- that America lent us some dollars. - Yes.

Well, there you are. There's no excuse for this rotten whisky.

- Extraordinary business, that. - What?

Still no news of that American fellow.

"Kronin mystery deepens. Five days missing."

- No clues at all. - There you are again, you see.

We've only got to pick up a London newspaper,

one of our own newspapers, and what do we read about?

Americans, Americans, Americans.

Lot of fuss about nothing.

Perfectly obvious to me what's happened to him.

What's your theory, Colonel?

Fella's got something to do with this atomic contraption of theirs.

Russians have got him.

If you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to Whitehall.

Yes, and even doctors must work.

I hope I haven't given you a wrong impression of him, Doctor.

He's a perfectly normal husband in other respects,

but this thing...

it really seems to have got hold of his mind.

I didn't mind Saturday afternoons

or even Sunday mornings.

But now, every night after his office.

It's too much.

There he goes, with that ridiculous little boat,

straight to the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens.

And he just plays and...

plays and plays.

Well, Mrs Humphries, from what you've told me,

I shouldn't say there's anything abnormal about your husband's behaviour.

Be quiet, Monty.

The last patient's with the doctor now, Mrs Riordan.

Oh, thank you. I'll wait a bit. Come on.

I can never thank you enough, Doctor.

As you say, it might have been worse.

It could have been kites.

Oh!

Hello, Monty. He won't hurt you.

You're a wicked, naughty dog. I'll take him.

Well, er... Good afternoon, Mrs Humphries.

Oh, good afternoon, Doctor, and thank you again.

Not a bit. It's a pleasure.

No more patients tonight, Doctor.

Oh, that's splendid. Well, er...

- You can go, Miss Stevens. - Thank you.

Well, my dear, what brings you down here?

- Can I have some money, please? - How much?

Ten pounds. I lost it to Mar at bridge.

Do you want a lift home?

No, thanks. She's outside with her car.

By the way, I've had a letter from Bill Kronin.

There.

Come on.

So you've had a letter from Bill Kronin?

Yes.

- When was this? - Just before lunch.

- So he's alive, then? - Naturally.

- Where is he? - He doesn't want you to know.

May I see the letter?

I've burnt it.

Well, it's nice to know that he's turned up again.

Isn't it!

Let me see, now, it must be, er...

five days since I scared the daylight out of him.

Frankly, you know, I didn't think you'd hear from him again.

You surely didn't think your petty jealousy would put Bill off?

Yes.

I wish I hadn't burnt that letter.

Then you could have read what I read.

Go on. I won't tell anyone.

Bill's waiting for me, do you hear?

Bill's waiting for me.

He loves me, and wants me to divorce you.

He's waiting for me, and loves me as you've never loved me.

When are you off, my dear?

Oh, by the way...

What did Scotland Yard say?

Scotland Yard?

Yes, weren't they pleased?

You surely told them of your letter.

Why should I?

Well, really, my dear, the Yard have spent the most strenuous few days

searching high and low for Bill Kronin,

dead or alive.

The police on the Continent in the States,

they're still searching for him.

And you know where he is?

But you must tell them at once.

It was a private letter.

Now, now, just a minute. I come into this too, you know.

- You? - But of course.

Since you told me about the letter,

I'd be an accessory if I kept the knowledge to myself,

and there's a most awful penalty for that.

Hundreds of pounds, or jail or something.

My course is plain.

Who are you phoning?

Scotland Yard.

Put that down!

Put that down!

So...

He's waiting for you, and...

he loves you as I have never loved you.

Well, well.

I hate you.

Bless you!

Thanks, friend.

Well, I see I still make the front page.

Yes, Bill, I've made you famous.

Thanks, pal.

"Yard investigates loss-of-memory theory."

Hmm. It appears I've complained of headaches recently.

Yeah, that was my Scotch.

And I have no enemies...

it says here.

Um...

I don't mean to appear too inquisitive,

but would you mind telling me what's in that room?

Just a sort of bath.

But I have a bath, back in there.

Yeah, this is another sort of bath.

This isn't going to be another "Brides in the Bath" case, I hope?

I'm no bride, you know.

You know, I can quite see what Storm liked about you.

- How is Storm? - She's fine, just fine.

By the way, she's had a letter from you.

She has? Mmm, that's darned clever of her.

Yes, wasn't it?

Hungry?

Yes, I could eat.

How did you sleep?

Okay, considering the cold.

How about something warmer to wear?

Yeah, I'll get you something.

- Everything all right in the bathroom? - Sure.

Care to make a personal inspection?

Some other time.

I, er...

I'm sorry there's no hot water.

Oh, don't apologise, old man.

It's nice of you to worry about hot water,

how things are in the bathroom,

how do I sleep?

You're too, too kind. You really are.

Still...

and I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful, but...

there are one or two more important things

that I'd like to get cleared up.

Such as, where am I? What am I doing here?

How much longer do you expect a man to eat this garbage?!

I'm sorry about the food, I...

I really am, but it's very difficult for me.

Difficult for you?

Look, a gag's a gag.

You've scared me. Is that the general idea?

Okay, so I'm scared.

I'm sorry about Storm, I won't take her to dinner anymore.

And now, can I please go home?

You don't seem to realise

there's more in this than me just trying to scare you,

or your being sorry.

A sensible and civilised husband

doesn't object to other men admiring his wife.

He can even understand her returning the admiration.

But when this, er... mutual attraction becomes a habit,

and it's flaunted repeatedly under his very nose,

under the impudent assumption that he's being deceived...

why, then, the...

the intelligence of the sensible and civilised husband is insulted,

and he's reduced to the most insensible and uncivilised behaviour.

So, you see...

through you, I'm going to make my wife suffer

for a long list of calculated insults.

Yes, I'm going to kill you, Kronin.

By boring me to death.

And my wife's going to suspect that I killed you.

She may even be certain of it.

But she'll never be able to prove it.

You're breaking my heart, Clive.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Hey, wait a minute.

Aren't you gonna explain some more about what I'm doing here?

No.

See if you can work it out for yourself.

Why I'm keeping you a prisoner, instead of killing you right away.

I did.

It'll help you to pass the time.

Well, good night, Bill. Sleep well.

Clive!

Clive!

Oh, hello, my dear.

I want to talk to you about that letter.

Letter?

That letter from Bill Kronin.

Oh, that letter.

You knew there couldn't be a letter.

- Or any letter. - Did I?

Because you've killed him, haven't you?

You killed him that night I left you alone together in the lounge.

So, you see, I have no alternative

but to tell all I know to Scotland Yard.

My dear Storm, whether you believe that Bill is alive or dead,

in Mexico City, or whether I killed him,

one thing is quite certain. You won't go to Scotland Yard.

- Why not? - You know that any investigation

into my relationship with Bill Kronin,

will inevitably uncover your own indiscretions.

And, as you love your reputation more than your sense of duty,

you won't jeopardise it by going to Scotland Yard.

You're quite sure of that?

I've never been more certain of anything.

Help!

Hey!

Hey!

Holy...

Yeah, I suppose you think I've gone nuts, huh, Joe?

Well, I haven't.

I might if you don't learn how to talk.

You'll hurt yourself.

I, er...

- I brought your martinis. - Mmm. Dry?

Very. Er, and ice. They're in the white thermos.

Much obliged.

And, er...

- a chicken. - Mmm!

And the, er...

indigestion tablets you asked for.

You're too, too kind!

Oh, and, er... the paper.

Looks like we're in for a hard winter.

- Where am I? - Page four, bottom of column six.

- Oh, slipping! - You're just a nine-days wonder.

Twenty-six, to be exact.

Oh, dear, dear!

I see the tall, dark, mysterious stranger with the American accent in Wigan

came to nothing.

Too bad.

Thought they had something there.

How about books to pass the time?

- Sure. - Anything in particular you'd like?

Well, it depends.

If I had a broken leg, how long would it take to mend?

Oh, about six weeks. Why?

Well, I heard that, er... one of the greatest delights in life

is to break your leg

and read Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson in bed.

How about it? Have I got six weeks?

I'll bring you the first volume tomorrow.

Wait a minute! You're not gonna leave yet, are ya?

Well, er...

Can't you stick around a little while, and talk?

Gets kinda lonesome.

Oh, all right. Just for a few minutes.

But I must stick to my timetable.

What shall we talk about?

War of nerves.

What, politics?

No, no.

This war of nerves.

- You, me. - Oh.

That perfect murder plan of yours. I've got it all figured out.

- You have? - Mmm.

You haven't got one.

Maybe, one day, you thought you had one.

But now that you've gotten me here, it doesn't look so good.

So, you're stuck with me.

So what do you do?

You go ahead and kill me anyhow?

No. Oh, no, you're too smart.

You switch, and you hope I won't notice.

A cold war, the war of nerves, that's what you switch to.

The mysterious hot water bottles,

the dark room with the green light, the rubber gloves, the works.

Fairly nicely staged, Clive, but it won't work.

Oh, no.

I've been through all that before, at college.

Only we do it much better.

Kill me, Clive?

You can't even get off the ground.

Don't you kid yourself.

The way I'm going to kill you is immaterial.

And the manner in which I dispose of your body presents no obstacles.

- Keep whistlin'. - My plan is roughly this.

I've taken out an insurance policy against being hanged.

The premium being your captivity here for a few months.

You're missing, there's been a hue and cry for you.

But, so far, I haven't come into the matter at all.

But supposing, unbeknown to me, I am a suspect?

Supposing, even now, they're building up a case against me,

and one day they find that I'm responsible for your disappearance.

You see at once how awkward it would be if I had already murdered you.

Doesn't bear thinking about.

In theory, you're as good as dead.

But, should the necessity arise,

you can be produced alive, at any moment.

And now, Bill... and this is most important.

Your transition from the living state to the dead

won't add any further clues

to those surrounding the mystery of your disappearance.

It's a great load off my mind.

So, if the authorities can't solve your disappearing act,

I assure you they won't solve the mystery of your death.

Oh, I congratulate you, Clive.

- I really wanna hand it to ya. - Oh...

Thank you.

Oh, no. Well, er...

Do... Do you like my plan?

Yes, not bad. Not at all bad.

Well, I suppose I can learn Boswell's Life of Johnson by heart then,

for all the good it'll do me.

Yes, I mustn't forget the first volume tomorrow.

Thanks, pal.

Clive, just one little thing.

- What? - When it comes down to it,

you won't kill me.

You're not the type.

You hang on to that, Bill.

- Good night, Miss Stevens. - Good night, Doctor.

Monty, come here.

Monty, come here!

Monty!

Monty!

Monty!

Monty!

Monty, come here!

Monty!

Monty!

Monty, come back here at once!

Monty, where are you?

Monty?

Monty!

Monty, where are you?

That was smart work, Monty.

You're a clever little dog, aren't you?

Monty!

Why, you old son-of-a-gun! What a surprise!

Come here, Monty.

Come on, boy! Come on! Come on!

Come! Come on!

Come on, Monty! Come, come, come, come, come.

Oh, that's a good boy!

Nice old fella!

You've come to visit old Monte Cristo, huh, pal?

- Miss Stevens, have you seen Monty? - Good evening, Mrs Rior...

No, Monty hasn't been here.

- Is my husband still working? - No, he left about five minutes ago.

Five minutes?

Did he have a car here, do you know, or in the garage?

I really couldn't say.

Thank you, Miss Stevens.

Good night.

Good night.

Good old Monty! Good dog!

Clive, you couldn't have brought me a nicer present.

I haven't talked to a human being in four months.

Thanks, pal!

Hey, Monty, what goes on in that room, huh?

Go see what's up, and come back and tell me.

Go on. Go!

Go!

Hello, Monty.

You're going to be quite a problem.

Come, Monty. Come on, come, come!

Attaboy! That's a good boy!

Come on, now, tell us. What's it all about in there, huh?

What'd you see?

You gonna leave Monty with me, Clive?

Oh, you're not leaving already?

We've got a lot to talk over, haven't we, old man?

No, as a matter of fact, I've got half an hour to fill in

before I'm sure the coast is clear.

"Coast is clear"?

News of the outside world, Bill.

Storm nearly followed me here, thanks to him.

Mmm, good boy! Better luck next time!

I see you've nearly finished Boswell.

- Would you like something else? - Yes.

How about a Spanish dictionary and grammar?

I've always wanted to learn Spanish.

This seems like as good a time as any.

Who knows, I may go to Spain one day.

Let's see now, er...

You've been here four months,

and you've read Boswell in four volumes.

I should now recommend something in one volume.

One thin volume.

Tell me...

Do you believe in a life after death?

In a vague sort of way.

Yeah, I suppose I do.

I never banked on it though, until recently.

I take it you're not particular

about what happens to your body after you're dead?

No.

No, I suppose the guy that gets blown to bits by a bomb,

and there's no remains to preserve afterward,

will make it, if there's anything to make.

The disposal of the body's always been one of the greatest problems

facing the would-be murderer.

Many excellently conceived and meticulously planned murders have failed

when the moment arrives to do the disappearing trick with the remains.

Burning would seem a very simple and tempting way out,

but it usually fails when, to the murderer's horror,

his victim's body simply refuses to turn to ashes.

Burial in the garden, in the cellars or the like,

too often proves but a temporary hiding place.

Taking the body to sea in a little boat

and throwing it overboard, well weighted,

is not really to be recommended.

Oh, there must be plenty of quiet places in England.

Why not dig just a sort of big hole and put me in?

Burial in some secluded spot? Definitely no, Bill.

Well, why not?

Well, you see, fate usually seems to decree that the, er...

spot which has remained secluded for centuries

suddenly becomes the Mecca of picnic parties,

with dogs that dig holes unerringly in the grave.

Well, why not chop me up into little pieces

and sort of, er... sprinkle me around?

Oh, no, I can't feel remotely attracted.

Didn't I read of the case of a guy who, um...

shoved his victim into a trunk and, er...

checked the trunk in a cloakroom? How about that?

No, no, most old-fashioned!

It's almost an English institution.

And the percentage of failures is most discouraging.

You can see I've given the matter

quite a considerable amount of thought.

And you're stuck with it, and no way out.

Oh, too bad.

On the contrary.

I've found a unique and effective way out.

Oh?

The answer to my problem was in those rubber water bottles.

In there is a concentrate which I guarantee

will dissolve every atom of flesh and bone

in the human body within a few hours.

Congratulations!

The formula's not complex.

Should have quite a sale.

My main problem was to assure that the solution

had the desired effect upon the flesh,

without reacting in a similar fashion towards iron, steel, brass, lead,

and other metals used in plumbing arrangements.

So I'm to be poured down the drain, is that it?

Exactly.

You will appreciate the convenience.

- Any questions? - No.

Yes!

What goes into that concoction of yours?

You did say "body",

meaning "dead body"?

Yes. Pieces of dead body.

I suppose you've thought of some way

of causing the body to become dead?

Oh, yes.

Old age, perhaps?

No, something quite humdrum.

Oh, you could do better than that, Clive.

I don't want you to think that I'm trying to

poke holes in your little scheme,

or trying delaying tactics, or anything like that...

How do you mean?

...but are you sure this mixture of yours really works?

Oh, dear. I wish you hadn't reminded me of that.

You see, our little chat has quite made me forget

a very unhappy decision I've been forced to make.

Here! Monty!

Here, boy!

You see, I've no alternative.

Our little friend followed me here once.

He'd do it again.

If that's your idea of a gag, you've sure got a corny sense of humour.

Come along, Monty.

Oh, Clive, for Pete's sakes!

Come here, Monty! Come here! Come here! Come!

Here, Monty! Come! Come on! Come on!

- Monty! - Clive, you wouldn't. You-You couldn't...

- Here, Monty! Come here, boy! - Monty! Here!

- Come here, boy! - Monty! Come on!

Come, Monty! Come on! Come on! Monty!

- No! - There's a boy.

Oh, no! Clive!

Oh, Clive!

Here, Monty! Here, Monty! Come on!

Monty, come here! Come here, boy!

No, Monty, no!

Monty, Monty, come here!

Come on, Monty! Come on! Monty!

Come, come, come, come!

Monty, come here, boy! Monty, please, please...

Come on, you fool! Monty!

Attaboy! Good dog! Oh, you dumb dog, you...

Give me that dog.

Come and get him!

Good boy! Aah!

Ah, good boy!

Well, I understood that any dog that is lost

is taken to Battersea Dogs Home immediately.

Aitkin! Aitkin, come here.

Well, you have his description.

Please phone me the moment you find him.

Did you do that?

The advertisement will appear in tomorrow morning's Times and Telegraph

and in the Evening News, Standard and Star tomorrow night.

- All right! All right! - The cost of the...

- Where's Monty? - Monty?

Yes, where is he? He's with you, isn't he?

Well, why should he be with me?

He slipped his collar and ran after you to the garage.

Well, let's call him, then.

Not this garage.

At your rooms.

Oh, that garage?

Well, where is he?

My dear Storm, I quite understand you being overwrought

if you've lost your dog, but why take it out on me?

He wouldn't run away from me for nothing.

He saw you and ran after you. You must have seen him.

May we have dinner? I'm hungry.

Aitkin! Aitkin!

- Dinner! - Yes, madam.

If he's really lost, you'd better try Battersea.

Thanks.

Or you might think of putting an advertisement in one of the papers.

I do wish you wouldn't put your coat on my bed.

He's a dear little chap.

Don't worry, he'll probably turn up.

- Oh, Dr Riordan? - Yes.

My name's Finsbury.

I'm sorry, but I don't see patients after hours.

No, I suppose not.

Perhaps if you'd care to telephone in the morning for an appointment?

I'm afraid we're at cross purposes.

I'm sorry if I misled you.

So you're not a patient?

No, I'm afraid I'm not.

What a pleasant room. May I sit down?

Yes, of course.

I expect you'd like to know what I'm doing here.

Quite.

Well, it's about a dog I believe you lost.

A dog answering to the name of, um...

It's here in your advertisement.

Yes, here it is.

"Monty." That's the name.

"White, no markings."

Oh, I say, I do apologise for breaking in on you like this.

Have you found the dog?

No, I haven't, actually.

Well, then, I don't understand.

I was wondering if you could elaborate on this description.

No, I'm afraid I can't.

Or perhaps give some more details as to how the dog was lost.

Do I understand that you're proposing to search for the dog?

In a sort of way.

It's part of my job, you see.

- Your job? - Yes.

I'm from Scotland Yard.

We get the silliest jobs sometimes.

Scotland Yard, looking for a lost dog?

I wondered myself, but I suppose strings were pulled.

You know how these things are handled sometimes.

And I was given my instructions and the statement made by Mrs Riordan.

My wife went to Scotland Yard?

Why, yes. Surely she told you?

No.

Have you my wife's statement with you?

I have, as a matter of fact.

- May I see it? - Certainly.

No, I'm afraid I can't add anything further.

Oh, that is disappointing.

- You were our last hope. - Yes, it's a pity, isn't it?

- He was a dear little chap. - Mm-hmm.

Well, it's awfully nice of you to have taken so much trouble.

Not at all.

And, er... perhaps you'll thank your superior at the Yard.

Of course. I'll certainly thank my superior.

Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be patronising,

but I take it that you're a comparatively new recruit?

Oh, dear. And I try so hard to look wise and worldly.

By the way, what is your rank? Is that the word?

Yes, that's the word.

I'm a superintendent.

You're the Superintendent Finsbury?

- Yes. - Really?

I've always wanted to meet a crime specialist.

Interested in murder, Doctor?

Well, in an amateurish sort of way, yes.

Don't be modest.

All murderers are amateurs, you know.

Nobody makes a profession out of murder.

In fact, the only professionals in the game are...

those who try and catch the murderers.

Perhaps you hadn't thought of that.

No, I hadn't.

Goodbye.

I say, I'm most frightfully sorry to worry you again like this.

I see you're interested in my trains as well as my dog.

Yes.

There was one small point I completely forgot,

and I really didn't fancy

worrying you again in your consulting room.

Well?

It's really frightfully unimportant, but, as I'm here...

Carry on.

Well, you remember a young fellow...

What was his name? Disappeared some months ago.

Friend of yours. What was his name?

Kronin. Bill Kronin.

That's right, Kronin.

We made several enquiries about him, didn't we?

And, as far as I remember, you couldn't help us much.

No. Poor old Bill!

"Poor Bill"?

Well, I suppose something pretty awful must have happened to him, don't you?

Oh, I don't know.

Might have got himself into some sort of a jam, and...

thought the best thing to do was to disappear.

Bill in a jam?

Yes.

With a girl, for instance.

Married woman, perhaps.

Oh, no, not him.

You think that's so impossible?

Well, not impossible, but extremely unlikely.

Really?

Well, not everybody shares your high opinion of Mr Kronin.

How do you mean?

I was thinking about an anonymous letter we had at the Yard,

soon after Kronin disappeared.

I wouldn't have brought it up, actually, but, as I'm here about the dog...

I hope you won't think I'm meddling in your private affairs.

- What on Earth are you talking about? - Well, someone or other wrote to us,

and said that Kronin had been having an intrigue with a married woman.

- Even mentioned the lady's name. - Oh?

You'll be awfully annoyed.

The lady in the case was your wife.

- My wife? - Yes, I know. I'm sorry.

Well, this chap, you know, the letter-writer,

went on and hinted that, because of this,

you had something to do with Kronin's disappearance.

My wife and Bill?

Fantastic. May I see the letter?

Oh, I don't carry that sort of nonsense about with me.

Well, why didn't you come to me at once?

Oh, no. We're reasonably circumspect.

We don't necessarily believe all the tales we're told in anonymous letters.

We checked up,

and, as we could find no confirmation of any such...

shall I say "surreptitious friendship" between Mrs Riordan and Kronin,

we decided not to upset you needlessly.

That was very nice of you.

Do I take it, then,

that, as far as you were aware,

there was no intrigue between your wife and Kronin?

But of course not.

You had no reason to...

threaten Kronin or desire his death?

Certainly not.

Well, good night, Doctor.

Hi, pal!

Bizonia.

No eats tonight, Monty.

Don't like the looks of that, old son.

Clive!

Clive?

I say, Clive!

Is this it?

Tonight?

I'd rather know.

Oh, I see what you mean.

No, this is not "it".

- On the contrary. - Oh?

The unexpected has happened.

The alert continues.

You have, in fact, been granted a reprieve.

- I have? - Temporarily.

- For how long? - Well, that depends.

On what?

On my assumption being correct that, er...

Scotland Yard is bluffing and knows precisely nothing.

Scotland Yard?

Are they in on this?

They are.

Well, whaddaya know?

Boy!

Monty, Scotland Yard! Did you hear what he said?

As a matter of fact, their representatives

were not fifty yards from this place just ten minutes ago.

They were?

And when you came on down here anyhow,

- they'll follow you, won't they? - Well, why should they?

Don't you realise that I'm acting on the assumption

that they know nothing?

They'd hardly imagine that I'd pay daily visits

to a man that disappeared five months ago, would they?

No, I guess not.

You sure got nerve, Clive.

The important thing at the moment is not to deviate one iota

from my plan, not to panic,

or to make the mistake so often made by murderers.

What's that?

Of assuming that the police know more than they do.

Crippen was a classic case in point.

It was only because he fled from the country,

that he attracted attention to himself.

I'll bid you good night, in complete confidence

that I shall hear no more from the gentleman from Scotland Yard.

You hear that, Monty? We got some more time.

Come on, old boy. Now, school's in.

Let's see what you can remember now.

Just sit down, sit down. Here.

Hold. Hold, Monty. Hold.

Good boy! That's a good boy. You're learning fast.

Now, once more. Once more. Sit down, sit down.

Hold it! Hold, Monty.

Oh, hello, Doctor.

I really can't apologise enough.

My mind, you know. Definitely going.

There was another little point I forgot.

- Yes? - Could I see your gun?

How did you know that I had a gun?

Oh, some young fellow at the Yard was checking over licences the other day.

Nothing better to do, you know. May I see it?

Of course.

Ah, thank you. You keep this fully loaded?

Naturally.

- Have you fired it lately? - No.

When did you last fire it?

Oh, I don't know. Weeks ago.

Well, try and remember.

I've been very patient with you so far, Finsbury.

But I warn you, I'm getting sick and tired of your investigations.

It's a nice state of affairs if a man

can't accidentally fire his own gun, in his own drawing room,

without Scotland Yard pestering him as if he was a criminal.

It's outrageous.

- Where's the bullet? - What bullet?

The one you accidentally fired when you were, er...

If you've got so much time to waste,

why don't you go and get a warrant and search for the bullet?

I don't think that will be necessary.

Yes, there we are.

Now for the bullet.

How's that?

Well, I think this clears matters up, Doctor.

I'm terribly sorry if I've upset you

by appearing to hound you from pillar to post all day,

but I have to check up on these silly little points,

or I get a rap over the knuckles.

Pure routine, you know. Red tape.

Red tape!

May I, um... borrow this for a few days?

- Yes, yes, yes, yes. - Thank you.

- Let me show you out. - Oh, thank you.

Exceptional weather we've been having lately.

Exceptional.

Well, thanks again, Doctor.

I'm so glad we've been able to have our little chats

without dragging your wife into them.

- Quite, quite. Well, good night. - Good night.

Monty, no, no, boy. Not now. Not now.

- Clive? - Mm-hmm.

Tonight?

You know, you don't seem to realise...

All right, all right, man! I don't wanna speak, I just wanna know!

Is it tonight? Yes or no?

No.

Not quite.

You know, I don't expect you to believe me, but...

these few last months have been getting me down

almost as much as they have you.

I, too, will be glad when it's all over.

Thanks, pal.

Well, at least I taught you to make a decent martini.

Any more visits from the Scotland Yard guy?

No.

He must have been onto something. He must have.

I thought so, too, at first.

At first? Not now?

No, not now.

Why not?

Because now I know exactly where I stand.

Well?

Well, go on.

Well, you always want to make speeches. Go on, speak!

You see, it's just a question of logic.

Reason told me that "the Scotland Yard guy"

made a leading mistake when he came to my house.

There were only three people who knew the location of the spent bullet.

You, myself, and Storm.

Yet Mr Finsbury went straight to the filled-in hole.

Now, who could have told him?

I didn't and you didn't.

- Well, is that all? - No.

Consider the anonymous letter which he "almost forgot to mention".

Now, you and Storm had been much too smart

to let anyone else know about your secret intrigue.

Yet Finsbury knew all the facts.

Who could have told him?

- Storm, huh? - Exactly.

My underestimation of her feelings towards me

might have been a serious mistake.

But instead, thanks to her,

I've stood the test of a Scotland Yard enquiry.

They checked up on her story and found precisely nothing.

It'd be just her word against mine.

And, you know, you ought to be very grateful.

You got a few weeks' reprieve,

which, er...

I regret to say will soon come to an end.

Clive...

Clive, you've forgotten one thing.

Mmm, what's that?

You haven't got it back yet.

- What? - The gun.

They haven't given it back to you. It's still at Scotland Yard.

But there's no further interest in the gun now.

That's what you think now, but you're wrong.

They're not hanging on to it for nothing, you know.

They must have a reason.

Don't kid yourself. This case isn't closed.

They haven't given it back yet.

Good night, Bill.

The gun! The gun, Clive!

Why didn't they give you back the gun?

Come on, Monty, boy.

We haven't very much more time.

You've done it once before, buddy. You better do it again.

Come on now, boy. Good dog. Good dog!

Now, hold!

Hold!

Look, come on, don't just sit there and look at it. Hold!

Attaboy! Attaboy! Good... Good boy!

Tug! Tug! Attaboy!

Oh, look out!

Oh, no, no! Boy!

No, no! Bad dog, Monty!

Bad dog! Never fall in! No!

Hold, but never fall in! Never!

- Yes? - Excuse me, sir.

- There's a gentleman to see you. - Who is it?

A Mr Finsbury, sir.

- Ask him to come down. - Very good, sir.

- Oh, hello, Doctor. - This is a pleasure.

So this is how you spend your Saturday afternoons.

It's pretty strenuous.

- Terrific collection you have here. - Not bad.

My word, you have gone to town!

Oh, while I think of it...

My memory, you know. Your gun.

Sorry we kept it so long.

Oh, thanks.

Then you're not going to hang me or anything dreadful like that?

Oh, good heavens, no.

It's been floating round my office for weeks,

but I've been up to my eyes in the Lawrence murder.

- Any luck? - Yes, as a matter of fact.

I made an arrest this morning.

Oh, may I?

Mmm, Royal Scot 4-6-0.

Nice jobs, weren't they?

I say, this isn't right.

What isn't?

Tender. Those flares shouldn't be there.

- Sides should be straight. - No, they shouldn't.

- I think you'll find... - I assure you, you're wrong.

You see, 1927, when the Royal Scot came out,

they did have those straight-sided tenders.

- Mmm. - But, in 1937...

they introduced those curved ones.

Mm-hmm.

Sorry, my mistake. Not bad for a psychiatrist.

Thanks, pal.

Would you, er... care for a drink?

Well, I'm off duty.

Yes, I'd love one.

You know, I've never gone in for any strenuous form of exercise.

I've always got my relaxation in a complete mental change, like this.

Good idea.

All the same, I've been feeling a bit run down lately,

so I plan to take a holiday in a few days, when I've got, er...

one or two things cleared up.

Half your luck!

- Well, cheers, Doctor. - Cheers.

Where were you thinking of going?

Oh, I don't know. Cannes, or somewhere where it's sunny.

I, er...

I suppose it's all right for me to leave the country.

Hmm?

I mean, you won't think I'm running away,

a guilty conscience or anything, like Crippen.

Oh, I see what you mean.

No, you can go to the North Pole if you feel like it.

Thanks, pal.

Well, if you'll excuse me, Doctor.

I mustn't keep my chaps waiting any longer.

Oh, don't bother. I can find my own way out.

Well, er... Goodbye, Superintendent.

Cheerio, Doctor, and have a good holiday.

Thanks.

Well, you can go back and book off. I'm walking home.

- Very good, sir. Good night, sir. - Good night.

Five bucks. Oh, for cryin' out loud.

Listen, pal. Only five bucks.

There's a lifetime of work gone into a book like this.

It set me back twenty bucks a year ago.

But it's yours for five bucks, on account of I'm goin' home, see.

Thanks, pal.

The finest address book in the European theatre.

Hey, let me give you an idea of the material.

Betty! Yeah, Betty...

Oh, when I think of Betty.

Her eyes, blue.

They bore right through ya.

And when you're dancing...

Why, Betty alone's worth the five bucks.

Thanks, pal!

Rita, brunette.

That's Rita, brunette. That's her best feature

- Her gorgeous hair. - Thanks, pal.

Maybe you don't appreciate the spadework that's gone into a book like this.

Hello?

Yes, Mrs Riordan speaking.

Superintendent Finsbury here.

"Thanks, pal."

Yes, "Thanks, pal."

"Thanks, pal"?

Well, no, it doesn't sound like Clive at all.

It doesn't, does it? Just sort of struck me.

You know how these things do from time to time.

Your husband's English vocabulary seems quite adequate, you know.

I mean, it did seem so odd

to hear him borrow from our cousins across the sea.

Does he know many Americans?

No, I don't think so.

Except...

Well, the only person I can think of who used to say "Thanks, pal" a lot

was Bill, Mr Kronin.

Well, I can't explain it all on the phone.

In fact, I really can't explain it at all.

It's only a hunch, and I may be chasing my shadow,

but it does strike me that a man who is so precise in his speech

doesn't start using Americanisms

unless he's seeing rather a lot of at least one American.

But he hasn't seen Bill for months, as you know.

I'm not so sure.

I have a hunch that Bill is still alive.

Alive?

Bill, alive?

Yes, well, as soon as you can. I'll be waiting.

Yes, I'll be there.

I don't know whether I can get there immediately.

I'll have to see what Clive's doing.

I can't wait to see you. Goodbye.

Storm!

How about a drink before dinner?

No, thanks.

Well, don't just stand there. Come and sit down.

I'd like to talk to you.

Who was that on the telephone just now?

Hmm?

I said, who was that on the telephone?

Oh, Jane.

- Jane? - Jane Halsey.

A very masculine voice, hasn't she?

I see.

You listened, of course.

How much did you hear?

Just enough to know you're about to sneak off

to keep a secret rendezvous with...

some man or other.

You're quite right.

It wasn't Jane.

Now, who was it?

Michael or John?

Perhaps it was Robert?

So difficult for you, isn't it?

It wasn't Bill, though, was it?

I said, it wasn't Bill, though, was it?

It could have been.

But surely you remember you said I'd killed him.

I thought you had.

But you've killed Monty instead.

I really don't see the connection.

You, kill a man?

You, take a risk?

Oh, no. You'd sooner take it out on a poor, defenceless dog.

You fooled me for a while,

until you got hold of Monty that afternoon,

and I saw right through you.

You bribed or scared Bill away,

and then took it out on my dog.

Very brave. Very brave!

But Bill's still alive. I know he is.

- So that's it. - That's exactly it.

I see.

I see you need convincing.

Superintendent Finsbury, please. And please hurry, it's terribly urgent.

Well, can you get a message to him? It's a matter of life and death!

This is Mrs Riordan speaking.

Yes, that's right.

Tell him to come here to my house at once.

Yes, as fast as he can.

Thank you.

- Something happened? - You're right. Bill's alive.

But my husband's just gone off in his car. He's going to kill him!

Oh? Really? Are you sure?

We had a quarrel about you.

My husband thought that you and I were...

Oh, for heaven's sake, do something!

Well, can't exactly follow all that, but you can explain it later, eh?

Let's concentrate on finding Kronin, shall we?

What are you going to do?

The quickest way to find Kronin,

if my hunch is right,

is to find your husband.

And the quickest way to find your husband

is to find his car.

Hello? Superintendent Finsbury here.

Send out a general call. Find a grey Austin saloon,

registration number...

What is the registration number, Mrs Riordan?

- I haven't the faintest idea. - Can you find it?

I should think so.

It ought to be among his papers in his desk.

Hang on a minute.

These look like car papers.

Yes, that's right. There's an insurance certificate.

- "AYT 186." - That's it.

- Is that an extension? - Yes.

Hello. Still there?

Send out a general call. Find grey Austin saloon,

registration number AYT 186.

You're late.

It's Saturday. No office hours.

Is it? Saturday again?

Hungry?

Yeah.

Thirsty, too.

Here are the martinis.

Thanks.

I, er...

brought you a cold chicken.

I know it's your favourite.

Thanks.

"The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast," huh?

Where are the indigestion tablets?

Oh, er... I'm sorry. I forgot them.

Fine thing.

Papers?

They're outside. I'll get them in a minute.

Service is deteriorating around here.

Well, martinis seem to be holding up, anyhow.

Care for one, Clive?

No, not tonight.

I must say, I admire your husband, Mrs Riordan.

Amazingly bright idea.

Most original.

And ingenious.

I think I can see it all now.

Except...

I wonder what he proposed to do with the body when the time came.

How can you just sit there?

My dear Mrs Riordan, what else can I do?

Are you sure my pipe isn't worrying you?

Is this really Scotland Yard in action?

Once the wheels are in motion,

some of us serve who only sit and wait, you know.

Not much point in my charging around,

all over London, by myself.

Big place, London.

I must show you London sometime.

You'd be astonished.

What's the matter, Clive?

Not beating your chops like you usually do.

What goes on over there?

More preparations for the big night?

Bloodstains, you know, are an awful giveaway.

Dismemberment is a terribly messy business.

- Are you feeling groggy? - Yeah, I, er...

How about another martini?

I guess I will.

There have been two authenticated and three hypothetical cases

of a murderer taking the perfect precautions against bloodstains.

If one takes off all one's clothes before starting work

and there's a bathroom handy for afterwards,

the menace of bloodstained clothes is obviously removed.

How are you feeling?

Kinda woozy.

The martinis sorta hit me.

I taught you too well.

You know, what I need is a little...

exercise and fresh air.

How about a little walk around the block, Clive?

Coming?

Oh, no. No, you don't worry me.

You won't do anything until you get that gun back.

This gun was returned to me within the last hour.

It was?

Hello!

There's a nice pussy, eh?

What's your name?

"AYT 186."

Keeping the victim alive for a few months,

until one sees which way the wind is blowing,

before actually finishing him off.

That's a jolly good idea, you know.

Sort of insurance policy.

How can you sit there and do nothing?

Hello?

Yes, speaking.

Okay.

Yes, I've got it. I'll be right down.

Send another car along.

Oh, and you'd better have them take a surgeon.

There you are. How's that for service?

- Where is he? - His car's in his own garage

in Culross Mews.

- Full of surprises, isn't he? - Shall I come with you?

No, you'd better stay here if you don't mind.

So you finally got the gun back, huh?

So your great Scotland Yard finally threw in the sponge, huh?

You got everything figured out,

right down to the last detail, haven't you?

Yes, Kronin.

In all humility, I honestly believe I have.

Well, what are you waiting for?

You got everything figured out...

except for one little thing, haven't you?

And that's... that's how to do it.

You can't do it, can ya?

When it comes down to it,

you're nothin' but a blowhard and a big talker.

You haven't killed me yet!

Oh, yes, I have.

It was in the martinis.

The martinis...

No!

Oh, n...

No!

No, I won't!

Keep walking...

Get rid...

Joke's on you, pal.

Take a look at the bath.

You've...

got a body on your hands.

Not for long.

- Evening, Constable. - Good evening, sir.

This is it, sir.

- I locked it, sir. - Was it open?

It was open, sir. I pulled it to. I thought the owner had forgotten.

- Where's the car? - Inside, sir.

You locked the car... inside?

Yeah. Yes, sir.

- Well, where is it? - In there. He locked the door.

And now he thinks the car's inside, but he's not sure.

Break in!

- Well, the doctor's not here. - Well, what do we do?

Clear our cars away,

and hang around here in case he shows up.

I'll go and take a look in his consulting room.

That's funny.

This is the switch here.

- Well, what's this one for? - Power, I suppose.

Amateurish looking job, isn't it?

Where do you suppose those lead to?

Let's have a look.

Constable? Give me a torch.

Come on, chaps. Break in!

Doctor!

Excuse me, sir. Will there be anything more tonight, sir?

No, I'm waiting for someone.

Oh, show that gentleman over here, will you?

That's all right.

Good evening, Mr Finsbury.

You're late.

I'm sorry.

I was detained.

Do sit down, please.

Thanks.

You see, I was expecting you.

I'm on duty, I'm afraid.

We found your dog.

Congratulations.

One moment.

Don't worry.

If that were my intention...

one quick bite.

Much easier.

So you win after all, Mr Finsbury.

I still think it was a good idea, though.

They always are... to amateurs.

Mmm.

You know, now that it's all over, I can see my mistake clearly.

- You can? - A fundamental mistake,

that grew into an obsession.

I felt the only way out of the situation between my wife and myself

was to kill the next man that made love to her.

Are you married, Mr Finsbury?

No.

I've often thought about it.

The trouble is, I've thought about it so long, I'm...

afraid I've missed the bus.

Just one of life's little jokes, isn't it?

Mm-hmm.

It points out our mistakes too late for us to profit by them.

Thanks.

It might interest you to know

that you're the only clever would-be murderer I've come across,

who's in a position to profit by his mistakes.

It'll be interesting to know how much you've learned.

Bill Kronin is alive.

Just barely...

but alive.

- Oh. - Shall we be getting along?

I forget, er...

What's the penalty for a near miss?

Oh, it varies.

In any case, they won't chain you up, you know.

Some visitors for you.

- You may go in, Mrs Riordan. - Thank you.

Well, hello, there, Storm. This is a surprise!

- Hello, Monty! - How are you, Bill?

Oh, coming along fine.

Should be out of here in a few days.

I'm so glad.

Bill...

I expect you've wondered why I haven't been in to see you before.

- No, I haven't been wondering. - With the shock, and everything.

- Oh, sure. - Clive, you know.

Yeah, sure.

I thought I'd like to drop in to see how you were.

Oh, I'm fine.

And to say goodbye.

Goodbye? You're going away?

My doctors want me to have a holiday, so I'm going on a long sea trip.

Oh, swell! Where are you going?

South America, Mexico...

Oh, you'll love Mexico!

Are you going alone?

No...

Well, Monty's coming with me, of course.

Oh, yeah, Monty. Yeah!

You'll find he's a wonderful companion.

When we get back, we really must get together again.

Yes, we must.

I'll leave it to you to get in touch with me.

Yes, you leave it to me.

I'll, er... I really must go now. I have a hair appointment.

Mmm, mustn't be late for that!

- Bye, Bill. - Goodbye, Storm.

Think of me sometimes.

I have an idea I'll never forget you as long as I live.

Monty!

Monty, come here!