Original subtitles

Why did I ever start this... ...loudy competition?

Because firm needed publicity, you said.

Why?

Aren't we getting enough entries?

Too many.

And soon.

Awful.

Who does the preliminary report?

Ivy. Yes.

You can usually tell after the first page.

Now, how did you get that one through, Edna?

It seems impossible.

What about the...

The entrance fees. Will they... Will they cover the £5 ,000 prize?

Oh, yes, and more.

Enough to keep me in silk underwear for a while. You look sensational in or out

of silk underwear.

That's what my Graham used to say.

Poor Graham.

What a way to go.

Yes, well, he was accident -prone.

These are possible.

Read on, Macduff.

Oh, hell.

Mr. Oates' office.

It's Mrs. Oates. Is he there?

Yes, he is. Just one moment, please.

Your wife, sir.

Hello. Darling, are you very busy? Yes, very. What is it? Dinner tonight.

Dinner?

Oh, darling, don't say you've forgotten.

Dr. Mellish is coming.

Well, I'll be home, I suppose.

Yes, but Sandra isn't well.

Who the hell is Sandra?

His wife, darling.

So his wife's ill. Does that mean you have to bother me at the office?

Well, couldn't you think of someone else? A woman to make up the foursome.

I mean, after all the trouble I'm taking... What trouble?

The meal I'm going to cook.

Filet mignon en croute.

Oh, what?

Croute. Pastry.

I've tried the family, but no luck.

Well, that's because they know you're cooking.

That's quite funny, but I hope it isn't true.

Oh, can't you think of someone, Walter?

Not offhand. I don't know any other women.

What about that new secretary of yours?

What's her name? Mrs.

Choose -something.

Mrs. Tewsland.

Yes, what about her?

I mean, at a pinch.

Walter?

Yes, Jane?

What about her?

I mean, if she's presentable.

Oh, yes.

She's presentable, all right.

Well, then couldn't you ask her?

It's not unimportant.

After all, you did think Dr Mellish might invest in your company.

Hold on, I'll see what she says.

Mrs Tewsland!

Oh, Mrs Tewsland!

Ah, there you are, Mrs Tewsland. I know it's short notice, but my wife is, uh...

Well, she needs a fourth for dinner tonight. Our doctor's coming and his

can't. I wonder, could you possibly, uh...

Are you free?

Well, sir, actually, my mother was expecting me, but... Ah, you can't put

off.

Well, sir... Jane, I'm sure I can.

If it would help your wife out.

Oh, that's great.

Walker?

Jane?

She says yes, she can.

Oh, good.

Thank her very much, will you?

So when are you going to tell her?

Tell her what?

Your wife.

About her.

Well, not tonight, goodness me.

What's up, huh?

A doctor, then?

No, of course not.

But you promised... Just give me a little time.

I'll get rid of her.

Get rid of her?

What on earth do you mean?

You're sending shivers down my spine.

I'll do more than that.

What do you mean, Walter?

I meant I'd divorce her.

What else would I mean?

Well, since I am acknowledged, am I not, as being an expert on murder thrillers,

it surely isn't strange that I should be a member of the jury. Of course not,

Walter. It's just that Jane says you're rather overdoing it lately.

Working half the night. And not always answering the phone.

Well, even after Mrs. Toothland sips the wheat from the chat, that leaves a hell

of a lot of entries to read.

That takes concentration.

And I still have the publishing side to run. It's a full -time job, I can tell

you.

Especially if Jane is to be kept in the manner to which she's accustomed.

Let me give you a hand, Miss Bates. Oh, very kind.

Oh, it's a competition.

Oh, it'll never end.

Not until the deadline.

No. A friend of mine, Reggie Parrott, the barrister, I was asking him the

day, why so many wife murderers were small, insignificant chaps?

What did he say?

Black or white, Mrs. Bridgerton?

Just the tinge of milk, please.

Well, he said that as a breed, they tended to be husbands who bottled up

emotions and frustrations over the years and then flew off the handle. Sugar?

Yes, please. Brown or white?

Brown, please.

But I expect chaps who write for your competition aren't really interested in

reality, eh?

It's more James Bond stuff, right?

Sorry to disappoint you, Herr Doctor.

Coffee, Doctor Maynard. Thank you, yes.

But their creators are just like their characters.

Insurance men, bank clerks, civil servants, doctors.

They suffer in silence for years.

And then suddenly something snapped.

Now, hang on a minute. Is this fact or fiction?

Fiction. No, thank you.

Thank you, my dear.

Yes.

Fiction or... Or rather what they dream of.

Burial. in the middle of the night in the cabbage patch.

But they don't fool anybody.

That's why I call them midnight gardens.

Midnight gardens?

Hmm.

How to get rid of your wife?

Bop her on the head and bury her in the vegetable patch on the stroke of

midnight.

Bong.

Now, that wouldn't even fool Jane.

Well, I know the rules of our competition, and I must say I find it

difficult to think of anything.

Yes.

No psychopaths allowed.

No crimes of passion, no killing in self -defence. And what does that leave?

Murder premeditated.

That's the only murder one's likely to get away with.

Coffee, Walter? And to win the competition, it must be foolproof.

No, thank you. But what if the police suspect in the story? Oh, yeah, yeah,

suspect, all right, but they must be unable to prove anything.

That's the whole point of the competition.

Otherwise, no 5 ,000 pounds.

Of course, it could be happening now.

What do you mean, Jane?

Poison in the coffee, that sort of thing.

Well, that's as original as using a blade of ice as a dagger or electrical

in the bath.

And there'd have to be a motive.

What? Might that have been a bloody tough beef that Jane cooked tonight?

Yes, well, I'm sorry about that.

Hardly a motive for murder.

Or else there'll be a lot of dead housewives.

Or a lot of dead butchers.

Besides, premeditated can't mean in half an hour.

I think Mr Oates was joking.

Walter, joking?

Isn't he what, don't you?

Why didn't you write a story?

What?

Why don't you enter the competition?

What are you talking about?

You are the expert.

Well, thank you for the compliment, but I do happen to be on the jury.

Well, couldn't you stand down?

Who'd replace me?

Do they need to replace you?

Three judges are surely enough.

I think it's a very good idea.

Yes.

Why not have a go?

Hmm? Oh, yes, darling, you know all the plots.

I'm sure you could come up with something really original.

I could help you, Pat.

Well, I do know all about

South American poison, but no antidote.

And embolism by injection.

Sounds painful.

Yeah.

Yes, I'll have a go. I'll resign from the jury and have a go

at winning my own competition.

Of course, if you did win, it could smell of malpractice. No, no, no. I'll

sputum and then... And then the jury won't know which is my entry.

Fair enough.

And I must be thinking of going home.

It looks like I'll be extra busy in the office tomorrow.

Perhaps.

I can give you a lift, Mrs. Chisholm. Oh, thanks, but I wouldn't dream of

breaking up for tonight. I'll get you a taxi.

We have a number.

Do we have nothing serious with your wife, Doctor? No, no, just a bad back.

gives out from time to time.

We weren't really built to walk upright.

Hello, yes, my code number is W03635.

I'd like a taxi, please, to 23 Upper Sheen Avenue.

Yes, the account is in the name of Stanley Strange Limited.

Yes, to go to 14A Fairhaysville Mansions.

North West 1, yes.

As soon as you can.

Thank you.

Hello.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. I've had to give up the jewellery, Lark.

Yes, too busy sifting the wheat from the chaff.

Yes. Yes, of course.

Uh, Edna.

Uh, Edna.

Yes. Yes, I have.

Yes, I've got it. Thank you.

What'll I do with the cash?

Same as with the wheat. Pick one out of fifty and bung it to the jury, of which

I am no longer one.

Then chuck the rest in the bin.

Clever, dear.

Now, if I can have a bit of peace round here, I can get on with that five

thousand pounds.

And then?

And then what?

You and me.

We're on 5 ,000 pounds. You must be joking.

They'll be lapped up like a cat with a saucer of milk.

Oh, you know that wasn't what I meant.

I want you to keep your promise. Edna.

Don't get heavy. Listen.

I fell in love with you. You fell in love with me. What's wrong with going on

the way we are? We?

Fine for you.

You know that Jane holds the money bag.

to be played with finesse.

Well, you'll have to hurry the finesse.

Because I'm pregnant.

I see.

You're going to ask me how do I know it was you?

Well, how do you know it was me?

Now you're that sort of bastard.

Darling? You scared me. I heard you come in. Do you know it's after two?

Yes, I had a bit of trouble with my story.

I was reading something very interesting in the paper that... Yawn, yawn.

No, seriously, it was very intriguing. Well, I can see nothing is going to stop

you. It was to do with anthrax spores. Yes, well, the public health people know

all about those.

Yes, but if a chap cultivated, well, say, orchids in his greenhouse and

contaminated the soil with anthrax spores... Hang on, hang on. Where's he

to get them from?

He... works at Porton.

Porton. Portondale Research Station.

Chemical warfare. You're asking our jury to believe that this chap who just

happens to work at Porton just happens to grow orchids and he just happens to

bring home a sample of poisoned soil.

Why?

To kill his wife.

No. Not very likely.

I see now.

Oh, look.

Go back to bed, will you?

Let me get on with it.

Yes, of course.

Sorry.

Good night.

Nice and gently.

And out.

If I can just have you around this way.

Nothing to worry about.

Overwork. A touch of indigestion.

A bit too much of the hard stuff, perhaps?

Just try to take it easy.

Stick to water and you'll be as right as rain. Of course, Jane will look after

you. You know, I've never understood what is particularly right about rain.

for God's sake, stop trying to be so bloody clever.

I'm sorry, darling. I was only trying to cheer you up. Thank you.

You will be all right. Oh, yes,

if he takes care of himself, yes. Get into bed now and don't worry.

I'll look in again later.

I nearly didn't come in today.

I'm fed up with you and your promises.

And how

long

have you and your husband been patients of Dr. Malish?

Since we moved here.

Five years.

But the doctor said nothing to you of any serious illness in your husband.

Nothing, no.

Oh, the usual. He drank a bit too much.

He's working too hard, you know. Yes, yes, of course.

Do you know if your husband took any drugs, Mrs Oates?

Drugs?

Water?

He thought I...

He thought aspirin should be on prescription.

You really will have to ask Dr Menish for that sort of thing. Yes. Yes, of

course.

Mrs Oates tells me that Mr Oates was in the habit of staying late in the office

almost every night.

Well, I was left sharp at 5 .30.

What would keep him late, would you say?

Almost every night, I mean.

Work, I suppose.

Oh?

It's hardly a hive of industry.

Was it?

He was writing a story.

Well... It takes long, does it?

Writing stories?

Depends.

Yes, I suppose it does.

The only story we found here was one on anthrax spores.

It's not bad.

You could say a lot of coincidences, but I like the general style.

Would you say that Mr Oates was, generally speaking, in physically good

You'd better ask his doctor about that, hadn't you?

Oh, I shall.

I shall.

Bring me some champagne, Vincenzo. Si, senora, subito.

Oh, and, uh... Bring two glasses, why not?

Si, senora.

It's from Edna.

You seemed in such a hurry to get away after the inquest and the open verdict

poor Walter.

Everybody fussing round you with their sympathy.

It made me quite sick.

He loved me and wanted to marry me.

I suppose you guessed about her even before that night at the dinner party.

When he ordered me a taxi and knew my address by heart.

He only stayed with you for your money.

I know that wasn't Walter's story they found on his desk.

The one about the anthrax balls.

Walter's idea involved injections of a drug that induces a heart attack and

can't be detected.

They'd have jumped on me if I'd said I knew.

And I'm not such a fool as people think.

I know that's how Walter died.

And I know who was responsible.

What I'd like from you, after you substituted your story for Walter's,

so ingenious, the perfect murder, he would have won the prize for it.

How you got your hands on the drug and injected it into him.

Darling, I thought you were never going to get here.

Discretion, my love, if I had followed you too soon.