All language subtitles for Jonathan Creek S05E01 The Letters of Septimus Noone.English

My God, who did this thing?!

Mathilde, speak to me!

♪ In the darkness, scarce I saw him

♪ Man or beast, I could not tell

♪ Soft his shadow fell before him

♪ Apparition born in Hell

♪ Ghostly, ghastly, through the gloom

♪ He struck me down upon the stair

♪ Then a black abyss consumed me

♪ When I woke he was not there

♪ He had vanished in the air... ♪

But how could he have escaped

through a locked door and a barred
window?!

It's impossible!

♪ What evil creature of the night

♪ Was here and then took flight?

♪ What phantom in this chamber
Yet may hide?

♪ What demon in his dark domain
May yet remain?

♪ What secrets in
The Yellow Room reside? ♪

So, how did that work for you, then,
tactically?

You might know the man would try
and bite you in the neck.

I might know he'd try
and bite me in the neck? No!

Do we have to assume everyone in the
theatre's a vampire now, do we?

Hi, Polly and Jonathan Creek, MMP
Marketing.

We're here to see
Zelda Niedlespascher.

60 quid a throw,
you expect a little decorum.

I'd hate to see where they try
and bite you in the cheap seats...

Can't you ever turn a blind eye
to these things?

It may not be our biggest account,
but very high profile,

and it'll be great to get
their creative input

on the rebranding
strategy for next year.

Yeah, well, The Mystery of the Yellow
Room? I'm sorry, Gaston Leroux?

Only happens to be
one of THE benchmark novels

of impossible crime fiction.

Whereas THAT was just two and a half
hours of complete and utter tos...

Ow! Polly and Jonathan, hello! Hello!

Oh, mon Dieu, quel dommage!

- Mais, qu'est-ce qui s'est passe?
- On va au theatre, c'est comme
la Bataille de la Somme.

I know, I know, you don't
have to say it.

My whole interpretation
in the gondola scene,

it lacked phrasing, it lacked
modulation, it lacked intensity.

It also lacked the gondola.
Did you notice?

Three nights now, Zelda, we have to
walk on water because the man in

the wings with his toy boats can't
pull a screwdriver out of his arse!

What's going on?
Yes, yes, we fix in the morning, OK?

10:30, all the technicals.

And I cast these people!

A leading lady with no confidence,
a leading man with no patience.

You want some true insights
for your campaign?

You should come back tomorrow
and witness the chaos.

Yes, well, tomorrow, sadly,
we're out of town, aren't we?

Sunday lunch at Sharon's with their
little eight-year-old?

Promised to go and say hello
to the new pony.

Or had you forgotten?

No, no, no. I hadn't forgotten.

Hey, Angus.

You all right?
Oh, I've got some post for you.

Thank you. Night-night, sweetie.

Was it a late one?

Sorry.

How was your day?

You all right?

Stop it. Stop it!

Stop it, get off me! Get off!

What, what?
For God's sake, what's wrong?

What's wrong is that I'm not here
any more, am I?

- It's just you and her!
- You're wrong.

It's a sickness, Angus, what's going
on with that woman in your head.

And I swear to God, you are going
to have to deal with it,

because I'm sorry, I can't!

No, well, listen, it works for
Roger.

I mean, an hour on the train each
day, but what's that?

And when you were born and brought
up in the country, it's just...

Cos obviously we've only just
started looking around, but,

no, definitely feeling the time's
right now to make the move.

Anyway, listen. It's meant the world
to her today, you coming over.

Especially after that big
upset this week,

which, I have to say,
she's taken amazingly well.

Upset?

Yeah. Last Tuesday was awful.
Her imaginary friend died.

They were out together
playing in the garden,

and this dragon came down and
just completely burnt her alive,

there on the spot, with its fiery
breath.

I mean, horrible, right?

All that oozing skin, and eyes
melting in their sockets?

But listen - did I tell you?

- Ridley's going to be joining us for dinner tonight?
- Oh!

Managed to sneak
the weekend off from uni.

You know he's been doing this
module in advanced criminology?

I tell you, it's like this genius
talent he's got for working things out

from the tiniest details
and scraps of evidence.

Of course, that's his big dream,
is a career in forensic detection,

so, obviously, you know, he's
desperate to talk to your husband,

- about how to...
- Yeah. Jonathan's not a detective.

No, no. But all those weird
cases he's solved.

Yeah, are the very thing we're
trying to put behind us, Sharon.

You know, it would be nice to live
in the real world now if we can.

Ripley? What is it? What's happened!

He chopped the head off my pony!

Chopped the head off her pony?

What? What?

I was showing her some pictures
I took of the two of them

and I said, "I'm sorry about that one.

- "Looks like I've cut his head off."
- How could you say such a thing!

Don't you even
think before you speak?

She has a very vivid imagination.

So what does she think I am now,
some kind of hit man for the Mafia?

She's only got to go in
the stable, hasn't she?

- See it's still standing there.
- Why would she go in the stable now,

which she presumably thinks is
swimming in horse's blood?

Ripley, it's OK, he's fine,
he's fine, I promise!

Ripley and Ridley.

No prizes for guessing what her
favourite film is.

♪ Drifting together in a daydream

♪ Floating for ever on a moonbeam

♪ Beneath a dark enchanted night

♪ Where silver stars
Bestow their light

♪ Upon the waters from above

♪ Where on an evening such as this

♪ An angel watching our first kiss

♪ Came down and taught us
how to love... ♪

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

- Oh, my God!
- For God's sake, Zelda!

It's all right, sweetheart, it's OK.

What did I say?

I said we'd not seen the last of that
sweet and sour squid.

Just a touch of mal de mer,
you'll be fine.

It's not that, Darryl, it's me,
I'm rubbish.

The things you read now.

Apparently, I'm just this
third-rate maladroit soubrette.

Blond, bland, and blind
to her own inadequacies.

Critics! It's the public
you should listen to.

Oh, that was the public. That
was in the ladies toilet upstairs.

Written on the cistern, in lipstick.

Today's fan club, tomorrow's
lynch mob. What are they like?

Here. Thank you.

I tell you, there's some really
frightening people out there.

OK, first positions then,
everyone, let's start again!

Bye, Juno. Bye.

You - Juno Pirelli?

I've got a present for you.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!
No, no, no, no!

No, no, no!
No! Oh, no! Oh, no!

What have you done?!

Oh, shit, oh, shit!
Jesus, what have you done?!

Get away from her! Get away!
Open that door!

It's OK.

Mmm, smells great. Lovely.

Oh, now, please, sugar,
don't do that.

That's only on trees, remember?
Come away from there.

- Epitaph, for her imaginary friend?
- No, just likes carving her name.

Which is all very well, but...

Come on, Ripley, think it's way
past your bedtime, so, off you go.

Ah! Here he is,
the man of the moment!

- How were the trains? You have a good journey?
- Yeah, fine.

Ridley, this is Jonathan.

- Hi, Jonathan, a real pleasure.
- Me too.
- Polly, hi.

Hello!

So, I see you're just back
from Reykjavik, both of you?

- Hope you had an enjoyable flight.
- I beg your pardon?

Reykjavik? You never said!
You see? This is what he does.

How, I have absolutely no idea.

Oh, come on, you make me sound like
some kind of sorcerer!

When, as Jonathan knows,

there's no trick to the
art of simple observation.

The abrasions round the side
of your neck, quite recent,

quite deep, and quite nasty.

Something feral at work.

If not feral, then certainly not
happy. A pet, perhaps?

Provoked or antagonised?
Or traumatised?

In your bag, a diary entry,
largely obscured, for yesterday.

A visit somewhere, to a cemetery?
A monastery? A presbytery?

The name, Zelda, a touch too exotic.
More plausibly feline.

A cattery, then,
but boarding or collecting?

Allow room for Zelda. where.
In a car full of bags?

Returning from the airport, surely?

Why drop a cat off more than
24 hours before departure.

And a week or two in a kennel would
explain the feisty behaviour.

The watch on your wrist,
still set for a previous time zone,

is one hour behind, which leaves us
only Iceland or north-west Africa.

Yet no discernible suntans and that
faint reddening of the left eyelid.

What else but a biting Arctic wind?
So, you see,

really very simple.
Anyway, if you'll excuse me a sec
while I just, erm...

Should I tell him it needs a new
battery?

Oh, God! Oh, my God, no!

Sharon? What is it?
You OK? What's happened?

It's my dad. He's dead.

What do you mean he's dead?

It just says,
"I'm sorry to let you know,

"he just peacefully slipped away,
about half an hour ago."

- Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!
- Oh, Sharon, I'm so sorry.

Oh, no!

You know what?
This isn't my phone!

It must be your phone!
Oh, thank you, God!

Thank you so much!

Cos I just naturally picked it
up off there and...

What a relief! I mean, that really
scared me to...

...death.

Oh, yeah, so that's, erm...

You'll...

...probably want to...

It's OK, you're going to be OK.

Doesn't look like it's deep at all,
as far as I can tell.

It's just a flesh wound.

Thank God.

The thick coat, I think,
took the worst of it.

Why, Angus? Why?

Y-You have to try and understand...

She's in this really bad place
at the moment.

16 months.
It's not getting any better.

16 months since...?

He was barely four weeks old.

Emotionally, she's like...

Everything's a conspiracy,
everything's a threat.

I try and tell her it's all in her
mind, this morbid insecurity.

I didn't mean to hurt you!

Oh, God, what have I done?!

More time. She just needs more time.

No, no, you've done a wonderful job,
Mr Partridge, thank you.

It's just...

I think any more red in the cheeks
and we'll be getting

- a bit Prince Harry.
- Yes.

He just looks a bit...
sad, I suppose.

- I suppose you would be.
- We can cheer him up if you'd prefer.

Could you? Yes. Just perhaps, erm...

Oh, God.

Things hadn't been good
for some time, but...

Just seemed to go downhill so fast.

It seems like only yesterday
he was here

making arrangements
for your dear mother.

11 years.

Is it really?

And so, great big empty house
there, now.

What will you do, will you put
it on the market, do you think?

Oh, who knows?

Why is everything so hard?

Rigor mortis, I think you'll find.

How can a house die?

It doesn't have to.
It's whatever we put into it.

I'm sure they'd both have wanted
that.

And for the life of me, I'm still
not getting this.

You won't go to the hospital,
or the police?

Bloody woman needs locking up!

- She needs help!
- Darryl, if you'd been there...

And all I could think was,
what would it do to me, you know?

It's like,
where is the justice in her life?

Come on, I turn up at A & E now,
with a stab wound?

It's going to be a bit tricky
to explain.

God forbid
we ever let a jury near this -

they're the people that
write on toilet cisterns.

Well, you need to get that
looked at, young lady,

and by someone who's handy
with a needle.

I might know someone. Meantime...

Meantime...

...you think you might have
something?

For you, my sweet, always.
I'm a magician, you know that.

When was it, you said,
last year in that Joe Orton,

a certain well-known young actress
with a Caesarean scar?

You had to come up with this
special prosthetic. See?

You star turn!
We'll make this work, won't we?

Cos I promised him, you know?
For her.

Two minutes for the pasta.

I managed to cobble a sauce
together, of sorts. What's that?

No, just having a nose around.
Found it in one of those books.

Oh, yeah, from the local paper.

Used to keep this next to him,
just there on his desk.

Shame about the blasted
coffee ring.

Got the look of a halo...

Yeah, well. To him,
she was always a saint.

Oh, God, yes.
Ironic after yesterday.

Me with my imaginary friend.

Polly and Orez. "Oreth"?

Name my mum came up with
because she was half Spanish.

Tickled me at the time, all those
funny little Latin references

when I was growing up.

Oh, God, it was never going to be
easy, was it?

Come on, shall we... shall we go
and eat?

♪ Some mysteries our hearts
Cannot conceive

♪ And when the story-teller's
Tale is spun, and we are one

What secrets will
The Yellow Room reveal? ♪

I'm in front of 1,500
people back there for God's sake.

This bloody thing keeps coming
back on.

Look, it's ridiculous!

- Darling, can I leave these with you to sign?
- OK.

- Some children from my old ballet school.
- Just a sec, Zelda.

They thought you were sensational
tonight! When you have the time.

- Yes! Surely.
- Bye, my darling.
- Night, Zelda.

Oh, Chloe! Tu etais parfaite
ce soir...

Juno? Are you all right in there?

Mon Dieu! Oh, my precious one!

What in the name of God?

Someone get an ambulance
and ring for the police!

- What happened?
- She's been stabbed!

But how? No-one came in or
out of the room, I would have seen!

We all would have seen!
There was nobody here!

The whole thing is impossible!

Why am I remembering that
Conrad Veidt silent classic,

The Man Who Laughs?

You think they might have gone too
far now, in the other direction?

Yes, I know, I know.
Oh, Jonathan. This is Hazel.

- Auntie Hazel.
- Hello.
- My mum's closest friend.

Just always been around,
haven't you?

For my dad, especially these last
few weeks.

I'm so grateful.

And listen, Polly. One word,
if I may, at this difficult time?

Hope.

You know, it's only a week since I
lost my mother who was 86, but...

Doesn't make it any easier.

And all I'm saying,
and I want you to think about this,

the end can actually be
a beginning

if you open your eyes and your
mind to other possibilities.

- What are these?
- Well. You tell me, Polly, what you see in them.

Angels, ghosts. The spirits of
departed souls who just happen

to have been caught on camera.

This one just takes your breath
away.

You see there, in the fountain?

This was my granddaughter,
Gracie, who I swear,

had no idea the angel
was behind her.

Although she does say that she
felt like a cold shiver

- on the back of her neck as she was sitting there.
- Go on?

Then there was my Auntie Norma here
saying a prayer in the sky.

OK, yes,
with her hands pressed together.

That was taken ten years to the
day after she died.

Jonathan Creek.

Now obviously I know, there's
a lot of people who just think this is

all completely cranky, but...

My God! No, that's erm... Yeah.

Distinctly odd.

Hang onto those, I've got copies.

And I'm just writing you a link now
to a website,

- that just gave me so much comfort.
- Thank you.

Well, weird or what? That was Zelda.

Yellow Room producer?

Juno Pirelli, the star of the show,
is in hospital in a coma.

They found her last night in her
dressing room

after the performance,
stabbed in the stomach.

And from what she's just told me...

Please don't say it.

Not a bloody impossible crime.

Ooh, now, then. Do I hear the words
work experience?

They are thinking perhaps some
kind of crazed fan

with an obsession about the story
in the show.

But in the show, of course,
we explain...

The injuries had all occurred before
the character went in the room.

Yes, but here only ten minutes
before, not a mark on her body.

I saw with my own eyes!

Morning! How are you today, Polly?

- Wasn't sure if I'd still find you here.
- No, well...

We were overdue some downtime from
the office, so.

Question is, I suppose,

whether I can bear to imagine anyone
else living here.

Or whether it's fate, in a way,
that's brought us back...

You all right today, Hazel? You look
as though you've seen a ghost.

Okay... okay.

Early intimations only, but...
A crime of passion,
we can fairly assume.

A lover, very much her senior,
age 50-51, possibly 52.

A tall man. Somewhat simian in
appearance. In excess of 6'.

Disproportionately long arms
and big hands.

And, dare I venture, no mean athlete
in the bedroom department.

We know from the angle of
penetration the blade was
inserted from below.

The victim's in a state of undress,
yet comfortable with her

assailant's proximity.
They were clearly embracing.

The force of the blow implies
recoil. Witness three grey hairs

on the door where the back of his
head made contact.

The position gives us his height.
The colour, his age.

Very early 50s. Any older would
make the liaison improbable.

A dead wasp in the saucer -
has to be recent.

But swatted against the wall
too high up,

too far across, for all but our
elongated giant to reach.

The thickness of the magazine
he rolled up bears testament

to the girth of his grip.

His sexual prowess?

Such an ungainly man surely had
some allure.

As for his means of exit...

Of course.

She could have climbed on
a chair and used both hands?

And I've seen a grey angora sweater
hanging on that hook in there.

But then, what do we know?

Have to make a start tomorrow,
I suppose, on the dreaded clothes.

If anything's guaranteed to
finish me off...

All these people who talk about
catharsis and closure.

I know. As if grief can be just
stuffed into a black bin liner

and sent to Oxfam.

You've had a long day.

Come on.

So how did all that go this morning,
at the theatre?

Are you any the wiser
about what happened?

Oh, I dunno.

What's that about the torch being
passed to the new generation?

Think I may just be getting very
old.

Yeah, well, I wasn't going to
tell you this,

but while you were there I had
another visit from our friend Hazel.

And if you thought those photographs
took the biscuit...

It's like she had this weird story
she absolutely swears is true.

You remember last week
she told us her mother died?

86, apparently,
but still had her own house.

And after she left here yesterday,
she went up to the crematorium

to collect the ashes. Took them back
there to scatter in the garden.

Suddenly, her phone rings...'

- ..and they go everywhere.
- Oh, no!

- Hello?
- The phone call's from her next door neighbour

to say that the cat has got out of
the house onto a busy main road,

so in a mad panic, she has to dash
straight out again.

Couple of hours later
she comes back

ready to clear it all up.

Except now they've gone.

They've completely vanished from
the room,

and she's absolutely adamant
there was nobody else in the house,

it was all locked up,
she was the only one with a key.

There were no windows open,
no draughts or breezes,

or anything that could
have got to them.

It was like, in her words,
it was just as if...

God must have taken her...

...to heaven.

So is that it then, do you think?

It's a terrible thing
when your mind starts to go.

And to think what a loyal friend
she was to my mum.

And such a tower of strength, at the
end, when she...

♪ Apparition born in hell

♪ Ghostly, ghastly

♪ Through the gloom... ♪

OK, time to dive in, I suppose.

Is it me or is there something
different here?

This was her last performance,
same night as the stabbing.

Off someone's phone in the audience.

Dunno. Maybe not quite the same
passion?

Bit of an off-night, maybe.

Hmm. I'll come and give you a hand
in a bit.

No rush.

How you getting on? OK?

What have you found?

I dunno. Looks like a note from my
mum just before she died.

Virtually unreadable.

I remember she could barely hold
a pen by that time.

"My Dearest Peter,

"I have just one final heartfelt
request..."

I think that is.
"Under the...

"something, something or other
you'll find a box.

"Please, please destroy without
opening. Cathy."

"Under the thin backroom."

Bedroom, is it?

Bedroom! Bedroom...

Flowerbed?
Floorboard, maybe?

Er...

"Under the third bedroom floorboard,

"you'll find a box."

Hello?

Oh, hi, Hazel, how are you?

This afternoon?

Erm... Well, I suppose I could.

What time?

Third bedroom floorboard.

Third floorboard, but from which end?

Or try both...

Ahh!

Oh, my God!
Is that you in there?

Yes!

God Almighty, you scared me to
death!

Sorry, I was just under the
third bedroom floorboard.

This is the third bedroom and
this has got to be the floorboard.

It's the only one that's not
nailed down. Fairly obviously.

Maybe he did find it, and did
exactly as she asked him to...

Hang on a sec.

What did she say? Please destroy
without opening?

Yes, bugger that.

I'm so sorry.

Not really what you wanted
on top of everything else.

Two years...

- looks like this was going on.
- Thank God he didn't find them.

Sounds as if it got pretty heavy,
on both sides.

You imagine?

Behind his back...

for two years. God, I...

I can't believe it.

And Septimus?

- Who the bloody hell is Septimus? Septimus who?
- Hmm.

These all her books in this room,
I take it.

What?

God, you think you know people.

Someone you grew up with
your whole life!

And you realise you actually never
knew them at all.

Oh. I didn't hear you go out.

Yep, just up the road.
Had to get an orange, so...

Right. For any particular reason or
just...?

No. Just when I was in that
dressing room I saw something.

Corner of my eye...
Didn't sit right.

Sometimes if you can
get back in the moment

and recreate the association,
one thing'll trigger the other.

So where is it you're going again?
You did say.

Oh, this Hazel woman.
What was that all about again?

Her mother's ashes.

She went to collect them the other
day, from the crematorium

- and when she got back...
- That was it.

That was it.

- Sawjoy. On the picture.
- What?

Signature of an artist on a big
abstract painting

that was on her wall.

You have to say, that was odd.

Sawjoy? Does sound very made-up.

What's that got to do with anything?

Erm, no, the fact that it sounds
made-up is not what was odd.

Sorry, you were saying?
About Hazel.

I'll tell you when I get back.

I mean, no, when you think

I knew her probably better than
anyone, but Septimus?

No, I never heard her mention that
name before, ever.

- Septimus who?
- Well, exactly! And it's all there, in black and white.

Stuff they got up to,
you've no idea.

Talk about a shock to the system.

Anyway, look, thanks so much
for popping round.

I do appreciate it. Erm, shall we?

So, when you said on the phone about
grasping the nettle this afternoon,

what exactly did...?

Sorry, has there been a power cut?

Patience, I think, Polly,
is all that's required.

You see...

...I know she's here.

Jonathan!

Hi, is this a good moment?
It's Ridley.

Yeah. Hi, Ridley, How you doing?

Surprisingly well,
surprisingly well.

Though hobbled for a while,
I must admit,

by the ingenuity of a master
strategist in this case,

who relied upon us all accepting
the prima facie evidence

of an attack that took place within
the woman's dressing room.

Crucially, the upward incision of
the blade,

which meant the assailant had to be
standing close against the victim.

But did it?

Take the pieces of this puzzle
apart. The direction of the wound,

the copious bleeding on the floor,
and put them back together again,

and a very different picture
emerges...

...of a lithe young singer-dancer,
we know looks after her body,

and with her nightly work-out
presents the perfect inverted target

for a weapon with a disappearing
missile.

Oh!

Coolly constructed in every sense,
who would suspect a crossbow

firing a shard of frozen blood?

Designed to kill and then instantly
melt away without trace.

OK? Yeah, er...

I see where you're coming from,
Ridley. I certainly missed that one.

Elementary, my dear Holmes.

And, based on some other research,
I've a pretty good idea now

about the identity of the
perpetrator,

which, with everyone's indulgence,
I was planning on, erm...

Holmes...

Holmes!

You know what, Hazel, I really will
need to be getting along in a minute,

- because...
- Wait!

What's that?

A presence!

You feel it, Polly?

Like a kind of faint vibration,
almost. In the air.

Oh, God, are you serious?

Actually I was thinking I might drop
by there again,

so if you were going to be around
then maybe...

Yeah, OK.

Thanks, Zelda, bye.

Oh, hi. You were a while.

Things all seem to be hotting up,

apparently, on the Yellow Room
front, so...

Yes, well, we've cleared up one
mystery there at any rate.

An urn full of ashes she spills all
over her mother's carpet,

went away for a couple of hours

and when she gets back they've
just disappeared.

Without any explanation.
And do you know what it was?

Robot vacuum cleaner?

Pardon? A robot vacuum cleaner!

Do you not think that's the most
absurd unlikely scenario

you could possibly imagine?

So... was it?

Yes.

Programmed for half past three, as it
turns out, by the old dear

- every afternoon.
- Makes sense.

OK.

OK, well, maybe you can
make sense of this.

On a tombstone in the churchyard
directly behind my mother's grave.

I mean, it can't just be a
coincidence.

Except that he died at least three
years before those love letters

- were written.
- Septimus Noone.

No, I'd say that
far from being a coincidence,

it fits in with everything else here
absolutely perfectly.

Only, one thing at a time,
I'm afraid.

I'm going to need you to run me back
to the theatre, if you would.

Our young friend Ridley's asked them
all to assemble on the stage

at six cos he wants to
announce his big solution,

which, as you can imagine,
is completely preposterous,

but arguably no more preposterous
than the real solution,

which, unfortunately, there's only
one way to confirm now.

By going back into that dressing
room. So...

...whenever you're ready.

Jonathan?

OK, you know what to do.

I just need three minutes.

I can't! I can't do this sort
of thing!

How am I supposed to just suddenly
pretend to scream in agony?

I don't know.

Remember when you got halfway
through Piers Morgan's memoirs?

Just go on some of that.

Go on.

Aaaaah!

Oooh!

- Oh!
- Oh, my God, are you OK, madam?

Yeah, I just fell down the stairs.
Ooh! Aahh!

Let me take your weight. It's OK.

Steady. Up on the step.
Let's have a look. OK.

I can't believe we're all
taking this seriously!

And who is this Ridley
person anyway?

Well, he seems to be making more
progress than the police over here,

but we have to wait and see.

From what they're
saying at the hospital,

this could soon be
a murder inquiry.

What are you doing here?

Rachel, come on!

Come on.

This is scary.

Did you hear what she said?

A murder inquiry.

I don't think it's broken.
Let's just...

- Let me just feel.
- Ooh!

My husband's here, thanks
ever so much.

- Yeah, that's great.
- Oh, my pleasure. Just take it easy.

- Thank you.
- Yeah, bye.

And now we're looking for...?

Make-up artist named Darryl Kimble,
I think, has to be our man.

Hi, sorry, I wonder if you have a
minute. My name's Jonathan Creek.

Oh, right, yes. The amateur sleuth
who's come to enlighten us all

about the other night!

Goodbye!

Erm...

Yes...

It's Darryl, isn't it?

Fairly obviously there's someone
here that you and Juno

were both really
desperate to protect.

I just wondered how sure you are
still you made the right call.

Everyone, can I have your attention,
please?

Let me introduce you Mr Ridley,

who is here very kindly to help us
resolve Juno's attack.

Thank you very much.

OK. I know this is a little
irregular.

But Zelda's very kindly said I might
present a few thoughts to you

tonight, about how I think that
attack on Monday really took place...

and, more importantly,
who was responsible.

Someone, I would venture to suggest,
who is here with us today

in this very building.

In the original story of
the Yellow Room,

the whole solution revolves around
an injury sustained

before the victim entered
the bedchamber.

No way that could have
happened here

because Juno Pirelli had been
clearly seen by her director

minutes earlier,
completely unscathed.

Or was there something already
troubling her that night?

Enough to slightly put her off her
game in one or two arias,

something potentially
life-threatening that had been

very skilfully covered up.

The name on that picture, Sawjoy.

OK, slightly unusual, but not
as unusual as the position

in the top left-hand corner instead
of the bottom right.

Made me wonder how easy it would've
been for someone in a hurry to have

taken it down at some point,

and then put it back again
the wrong way up.

I imagine the artist,
Beverley Holmes,

might have been a little put out,
but...

After that, there was no way for you
to get back in there without

being seen, so whatever it was had
to still be there.

She'd convinced herself...

she'd convinced me
that it was just superficial.

We'd get it patched up,
it would heal.

Maybe...

Well.

Guess now we'll never know, will we,
whether something else happened
that set it all off.

Yes, she was stupid, yes,
she was mad.

But she was mad for the right
reasons.

And thank God for people like that
sometimes, you know?

God bloody bless her,
is all I've got to say.

I'm sorry.

Any more than that, you're not going
to get from me.

...that would find its target and then
simply melt away,

completely undetected.

More to the point,

who would have a grievance strong
enough to construct such a plan?

Someone, we may suppose,

on the verge of hysteria.
Emotionally unbalanced,

who was prepared to go to any lengths
to wreak their revenge.

A crime of passion, love spurned,
recriminations,

irrational and real, nausea, jealousy
and hate.

Who else could it point to, but the
tuba player, who she'd already...

Rachel!

Yeah, I'm sorry you had to see that.

Sorry I had to see that?!

I sometimes wonder, Jonathan,
exactly what I married!

Free admission for life to the
Twilight Zone?

If it's not phantom knife-wielding
stalkers or ghostly human remains

suddenly vanishing in the...
Now what are you looking for?

Ah! I did see it here,
I thought I had.

That web link she wrote down
for you.

If I'm not mistaken, it tells us
everything we need to know

- and all that other.
- Oh, God. What?

A little slower, please,
would be nice.

The letters of Septimus Noone.

The name, you know I said

fitted in perfectly well
with everything else here?

Everything from a book collection
that includes

the works of Dylan Thomas and
Samuel Butler,

to that imaginary friend of yours
you had when you were a child.

Easiest thing, I think, would be to
make one brief detour
on the way back.

No. My gosh.

I'm impressed.

Considering the time it took

and all the trouble I went to to
disguise the writing.

Of course, I was rather pleased
with myself at the time.

The writing, oddly, I never
questioned.

It was the paper.

Most people, if a letter's too
wide for the envelope,

fold it a couple of times down the
long way and then across.

Your way's more distinctive.

I'd say it's verging on unique.

I'm just writing you a link now to
a website that just gave me

so much comfort.

Why, Hazel?
For what possible reason?

You don't think we argued?
My head against her brick wall.

And how could I refuse her anything
at that stage?

As soon as she knew her time was
running out...

Believe it or believe it not,
the whole idea

was to try and lessen the grief.

He'd find the letters, and...

She just had this horror, you see,

of him moping about over her memory,
for the rest of his days.

If she could somehow discredit
herself in his eyes,

at the very end, she just thought...

...well.

Thank God it never came to anything.

So, Erewhon by Samuel Butler,

a place he famously invented,
as "nowhere" spelt backwards.

And Llareggub backwards,
the village in Under Milk Wood.

"Bugger all."

I know, but how you could just zero
in on those two titles,

out of all this lot.

Yeah, the rule of three that
made it just about plausible.

Zero. Imaginary friend, whose
name, in reverse, meant "nothing."

She loved words. And playing with
words, but...

trust you to make that connection.

A name she must have seen God knows
how often in that churchyard.

If she's wondering what to call
this non-existent lover...

Septimus Noone...

Was actually Septimus No-One.

So, he'll be back at uni then,
now, Ridley?

I trust he didn't find the whole
experience a waste of time.

Oh, no way. No, no.

Admits he's still got a lot to
learn, but...

- No, he'll be back.
- Oh, good.

And you've made the right decision,
I'm sure, about this place.

Why would you want to live
anywhere else?

Yes, well, I wasn't too sure
at first.

There's been one or two very creepy
moments round here, I have to say.

Oh, finding those old love
letters of your mother's.

And what was even weirder,
the very next moment

- that halo suddenly vanishing from her photo.
- That was creepy.

Like, a coffee ring on the page
that was there one minute,

and then miraculously gone.

But you know what, some of that
lateral thinking must be rubbing off,

because it was when I thought about
that painting being the wrong way up,

I suddenly remembered that's a,
a partner's desk in there,

which means the back of it's exactly
the same as the front.

And what if the top section had
somehow been turned around

to face the other way?

Which, guess what, when we checked,
is exactly what we found.

At some point in the past, evidently,

the desk had been moved around the
room, and that page from the paper,

he put in there to save had just
ended up against the wall.

The one with the ring on it,
obviously another copy altogether,

we just happened to find in that pile
of books.

Except, who would have gone in there
to move the top of a desk around?

We couldn't imagine.

I mean, there's been no-one
else in the house.

Apart from people like yourself,
at the funeral the other day.

Ridley? I can't find Ripley.
We'll have to go. I'm so sorry.

We'll have to go.

Ripley?

Ripley?

Stay there.

What shall we do?!
We switch the desk. What?!

We take everything off, turn it
round, and then it's done.

We put everything back. Fine.

This side's exactly the same
as this side. Right.

Three, two, one!
Oh! Oh!

Oh, God.

Polly...

Jonathan...

What can I say?

Listen, I don't know when you're
thinking of starting a family,

but, you know what they say about
space.

No-one can hear you scream?

Make the most of it?