Original subtitles

Dribble it! Dribble it!

We'll tackle it, mate, you clever beast!

Daryl, keep your position!

Daryl, you're a winger, not a league guitarist!

Pass! Go on, Gary, shoot!

Shoot, Gary!

Shoot!

lower registers completely knackered, and add for his arpeggios... And out the

fourth, with five days to go before the final, leaving six.

We saw the poster.

They're all over town, but only a few are within reach of vandals.

If it is a vandal defacing them and not... Not the nameless nobbler marking

his successes on street corners for every passer -by to admire.

Yes.

Don't worry, Mrs Mosscrop. We'll have him.

It's his own vanity defeats the criminal nine times out of ten. Just take the

notes, please, Geoffrey. I'll do the theories.

Shall we start at the beginning?

The Blaine Thorpe Music Festival has been going 50 years.

I'm the organiser.

A great responsibility.

More than you think.

If you can't find someone frightening enough to keep the mothers out of the

judges' eyeline, you might as well raffle off the prizes.

What are the prizes?

That's the point.

Usually just certificates, but this year we've the Golden Voice competition.

£500 in prize money and a glittering career beckons. Also, says our

Hardeman's Herbal Healing.

You've certainly done your homework on that poster.

Yes, finalists have already been given a set of Hardeman's Herbal Preparations

for nose and throat in cut glass crystal with 18 -carat gold stoppers.

The winner gets to promote the range countrywide on radio and TV.

And you believe that one of your competitors is nobbling the others?

You're the detective, Mrs. Weintraub.

It's not up to me what to believe.

You're the client.

You're entitled to an opinion.

Mr. Hardiman's the client.

I'm to look you over and take you to him if I'm satisfied.

Which I am. Thank you.

Born to hear the festival started.

By the time he was 15, he'd won 12 certificates with distinction and 10

Born in this house?

Oh, no.

As he likes telling people he's of humble stock.

Not that you could use the word humble in connection with Mr Hardiman. No, he

bought this place 15 years ago when he married.

There's a Mrs Hardiman then? Was.

She left.

We'll use the kitchen entrance.

He's left the door open. Nobody uses the front.

He began with a nasal inhaler that could shift industrial strength at par.

It all grew from that.

Terrible. Of course, everything's terrible. No nasty chemicals. People

anything these days as long as there are herbs involved.

He'll be waiting for us in his office.

He doesn't use much of the house since Mrs Hardiman left.

What's under the dust sheets?

Armour, mainly.

I've had a tape of the finalists made for you, each bit reduced to ten

You won't need more.

Harry Hambra, like Baritone, teaches geography at the local comprehensive.

I'll have to wipe him off the tape now, I suppose.

Beverly Prendergast.

Soprano, single mother, causes of a student, works part -time in a

salon.

Simon Letby, bass baritone.

You don't have to worry about him.

Why not?

Gentleman farmer, doesn't need the money.

Anyway, he's a friend of mine.

In the Poirot books, it's always the best friend who commits the crime.

Glenda Jason, contrato.

A furnace of passion with a husband in a wheelchair.

That's not fair.

Gossip never is.

Brian Boromir, boy treble.

He does a lot of competitions.

There's something about that boy that worries me.

I'll put my finger on it eventually, I always do.

Rita Lockheed, mezzo, single, fashion buyer for a department store in

Manchester. Fairly a passionate fairness.

Nah, she spreads it about too much. She's not banked up like Glenda.

And last, Liz Maynard.

Bass.

Works for an estate agent.

Prime suspect, in my view.

Why? No talent.

Couldn't opt to win without nobbling the others.

If it is nobbling, it might actually be an illness.

A virus.

I do have some medical knowledge, Mrs Moskrop.

Find me a virus which only strikes finalists.

But it's not simple nobbling.

There's no pattern.

I suppose they'd have been practising.

Rehearsal kind of thing.

They'd all be anxious.

They could have overstrained, you know.

Oh, I like a lad who thinks for himself.

If he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't interrupt his betters. I won't have my

associate insulted.

We don't have to accept this case.

No, but you will. The super grand sleuth doesn't refuse a challenge.

Now, there's five days to go before the final.

200 a day plus reasonable expenses.

Freeborn lodging provided here at the manor.

I have a home and husband.

Get him over here if you think you need a chaperone.

I'm hiring you as the detective, Mrs. Weintraub, not a call girl.

I'll phone my husband at the festival office, but may I ask you to fetch him?

Our transport won't take three, and anyway, Geoffrey and I'll be needed in

Blainthorpe. I'll give you a list of things for him to bring.

Fingerprint powder.

Cameras. Bugging devices.

Underwear. An IT, of course. And something for Geoffrey to change into.

Mrs. Mosscrop will take you straight to the manor. Just pick out a couple of

rooms, unpack and wait for us.

Is there a full -time job working for the festival?

Three weeks of the year. I had a degree in media studies. I can't expect much

better. The rest of the time, I live with my grandfather.

He's a herbalist.

It depends, Robert.

It depends what our investigation's on earth.

A herbalist?

Like Mr. Hardiman? Most unlike.

Grandad's a proper herbalist.

People consult him and he prescribes.

Parliament herbal humble getting by over the counter.

I can't say more at the moment.

No, please don't annoy me.

There's nothing on the allotment that can't wait if you're patient.

I'd like the addresses of all the finalists, please.

Even the ones who've withdrawn?

Particularly the ones who've withdrawn.

If I was knocking out the opposition by causing them to lose their power of

speech, a lost voice would be my best disguise.

Then at the last minute, I'd find what was never really lost and sail through

wings of song.

But they've withdrawn, Mrs. Weintraub. What's to stop them withdrawing the

withdrawal? The rules of the competition.

Don't muddle me with facts.

Is this one of your finalists over here?

Brian Borrome? Yeah.

Yeah, he comes with most days. He listens to the classics, gets to know

judges' likes and dislikes. Competitions are his life.

Hey, Brian, this lady's a private detective. She wants to interview all

finally. You being here saved her a pillion ride to Rochdale.

I've just seen you on videotape, young man.

Singing beautifully.

Oh, thank you.

Have you had any trouble with your voice lately, Brian?

Touch of laryngitis?

Anybody offering you sweets with a funny taste?

I never have trouble with my voice.

I never eat sweet, and I never accept guests and strangers.

I'm always extremely careful. That is why I succeed.

And now, if you'll excuse me, the open -entry traditional ballads has just

begun, and I should like to hear it.

How can he lose?

Oh, we might as well start with the closest.

That's... the hairdressing salon and the estate agent.

Mr Maynard?

Right.

Have you come to view?

You might find it's too big for you. I've come to see you.

They told me where to find you at the office.

Shall we go in?

Be a bit more private.

You didn't make the sale, then? How can you tell?

Body language.

Here we have the light and airy entrance hall leading to all downstairs rooms.

You don't mind me doing the patter, do you? It's good to keep my hand in.

They call me Des Res Les.

The truth to tell, I haven't moved so much as a caravan in the last three

months. Mr Hardiman says you're the prime suspect.

Why?

Because you need the money and you've no talent.

That's just his opinion, mind. I wouldn't know myself.

He's right in one respect.

I do need the money.

As for talent, I wouldn't be in the final if I was no good, but it's true,

not the best.

Now, if you want to see the rest of the house, I'll show you.

You're a student?

Yes. Where?

Oh, Open University.

I can't go away to study, not with a five -year -old kid.

How can you study singing by a correspondent?

Oh, I don't. It's pharmacology.

Oh. Be a pharmacist and a chemist. My mum does it.

It's secure and you're always in demand.

But I heard that if you win the competition... Oh, I'll turn

win. That's where my heart is thinking.

Pharmacology is something to fall back on.

You've heard what's happened to some of the others.

Have you had any trouble with your own voice?

Your own what?

She's asking me if I've lost my voice.

Why? What is she, deaf?

No, she's a private detective.

Well, it takes all sorts.

Pharmacist.

Means people come to you asking about their ailments.

Well, I'm qualified. If you wanted to make people lose their voices, what

do the trick, do you think? She's going to be the golden voice of Blaine's

daughter. Oh, yes.

I've got a fiver on her, really. And she's studying to be a chemist. A dancer

I've more sense than poncing about with a camera, spying on folk who want to get

divorced.

I wouldn't know where to start.

I try and help people get well, not make them ill. Of course.

Who God hath joined together, let no private detective put us through that.

Ignore her. She gets notions.

Would they cancel the competition?

It's only four dropped out.

I don't think so. It means so much to me to win, and I really have a chance.

Yeah.

We don't do... Divorce!

I feel as if I'm being manipulated.

Will he belong, do you think, with the food?

Pushed one way to stop me looking another.

There was a place outside town I noticed as we came in.

Gourmet continental cuisine. If one of them nobbled the others, then one for

want of any competition.

We'd know at once that he or she was the knobbler. You're right. Select dinner

parties of speciality.

Expect he's gone there.

How's it done?

That's the problem.

Find that out and we'll know who's doing it.

Eileen Hargreaves' face swelled up. She still looks like a boiled beetroot.

The others have just got coughs, sneezes, sore throats that anybody could

But nobody else has.

It could be a different motive altogether.

What?

Someone out to spoil the festival.

Why? It's been going for 50 years.

Not the prize in the promotions.

You're right.

Might be some business rival out to discover the sponsorship. He hasn't got

business rivals.

Ooh. It says on the label, Hardeman's herbal healing is unique.

Some enemy there. Somebody doesn't like him.

He's back.

Come on, move over.

It's just people who don't like him. I never get through them all by Sunday.

Hey.

Pie and chips.

Northern food for northern folk.

No bread?

No afters?

I brought some lettuce if you want a salad.

Men don't eat salad. Only women and pups eat salad.

My wife ate salad.

You don't need plates.

When did she leave, your wife?

What's it to you? I'm not one of your suspects.

Only making conversation.

Must have been ten years ago. She was never right after the boy was born.

Some postnatal rubbish.

Nothing pleased her.

A year of that and off she went. Good riddance of them both.

She took your son with her?

Why not?

Sickly little devil. Just as well to let him go.

He could never have run a business like mine.

You're not eating?

Well, I think I'd like some salad.

You're going out again.

That car's done 80 miles since Monday.

Checking up on me, are you?

You bet your miserable, stunted life I am, woman.

Worried I might find myself a toy boy or something?

More likely to be your something.

Even toy boys have their pride.

To find a man without pride or self -respect is bound to wear the tyres out

put a few thousand miles on the clock.

I might be late again tonight.

Don't wait up.

This is good.

What's the extra taste?

Berberis and Aquilegia.

Aquilegia. A cure for the plague, which never worked.

No valerian.

Why? Do you want to be put to sleep, Grandad?

Why not? If I can ever teach you enough to take over, I'd go to sleep happily

and never wake up.

Who is this Betty Maincrop?

Hetty Waynthrop.

She's a private detective.

Could we start?

I may have to go out.

I'm a 65 -year -old woman with asthma and arthritis.

My voice has started to go because of the beclomethazone I've been taking for

the asthma.

What do you prescribe?

Hardiman's herbal linctus to lubricate the throat.

Don't wind me up, lad.

It's all herbs, isn't it? Herbs?

What herbs?

Two drops of menthol.

A tincture of comfrey and let the problem solve itself.

That's what you always say. Help the disease to cure itself.

If I say that, it's out of knowledge.

With Oliver Hardiman, it's pig ignorance.

My hope is whoever's doing it will stop the moment they know we've a detective

on the case.

Mrs Mosscroft said you were quite a whiz at these competitions yourself.

I was.

A boy wonder.

At 18, I was all set for a music school in London.

Then I started getting more colds than were good for me.

I realised the potential for nose and throat remedies.

Winter and summer, there are more blocked snouts in Lancashire than there

pie and chip dinners.

And you stayed with the pie and chip dinners?

Oh, no, Leslie, no.

Can I get the code now?

Do I need the money so bad?

Jeffrey was asking who's this Mr. celebrity judge.

I wish I knew.

From Dame Joan Sutherland down, they keep refusing.

Oh, aye.

It was the smallest

bedroom I could find.

Dust.

I don't think we have to draw the curtains of the four -poster.

Unless we want to.

Didn't they ever complain about the way you reacted to spiders in the bath?

Now, would you please stand exactly where the burglar stood?

Thank you.

Now, standing where I am, what was the first thing you noticed?

A hat with a feather.

Big, like a plume of smoke twirling round.

And a huge lace collar.

Lots of it.

Very pretty.

Sounds like Prince Rupert of the Rhine without the horse.

How did he get in here?

The friend of Philip's lock.

Anyone can open a Philip's with a piece of plastic.

She hadn't locked up properly because I... Because you hadn't gone yet.

What happened next?

He turned and shone his torch on me.

I was dazzled. It was all so confusing. He knocked over a glass and ran off

downstairs. How did he do it?

Did you see his face?

I don't know. I suppose I must have, but it wasn't a proper face. Thank you for

letting me know.

It all happened so fast.

Right, we'll change places.

Those men have lost his voice. We've had five contestants.

Oh, I may win yet then.

Close your eyes.

Open.

Describe the face you saw.

Cat -like.

Cat -like.

Smiling.

How tall?

About your height. And one hand out towards the bathroom cabinet.

Oh, nothing in here of any value.

The presentation case.

Valuable. Cut glass with 18 caracol trimmings. Meant to be handed down from

generation to another. And refilled from plastic bottles.

Have you used any of these yet?

No.

I've no reason.

Then you can take that scarf off. You're not losing your voice. It's just shock.

Don't touch these.

Geoffrey, get me the presentation case of a finalist who has lost his voice.

Let me know. He's just been strong. Don't touch the contents.

OK. And you can make yourself useful by phoning the rest of the finalists.

and warning them not to use any of Hardeman's herbal cures. Hang on. I

you have a lab somewhere in your factory that can make a chemical analysis of

the contents of Les Maynard's presentation case.

Ammonium phosphate.

Ammonium sulfate.

That's a lot of ammonium you've got there.

Is it that choking stuff they put into smelling salts?

Potassium metabytes.

Oh, isn't science wonderful?

I told you, she's at work.

Who'd have thought you could make wine from peeled bananas and marigolds?

Oh, what's this other one again?

Birch sap.

It's a hobby.

It'd have to be.

Who drinks it? Me and Glenda.

And call winter nights in front of the fire.

And she hasn't had any trouble at all with her voice. It's top class.

She'll walk away with that cup. Then she'll be singing for our supper.

All those radio jingles for chest rubs.

Hardiman Herbals proudly presents Glenda Jason, the Blainthorpe Nightingale.

Down to five?

Seems so.

Your grandson tells me you need the money.

I do?

Good luck, then.

There are only five finalists left, and two of them have to be present when the

mysterious Cavalier made his nefarious attempt.

Leave three, one of which is a 12 -year -old boy.

So it's Beverly Prendergast or Glenda Jason?

Beverly's training to be a pharmacist, which means she knows all about

medicines, and Glenda's house is chopped. full of chemicals.

Interesting that the cat burglar dresses as a cavalier and Mr Hardiman's name is

Oliver.

Maybe Oliver beat this cavalier first in a singing contest when they were both

young at Marston Moor.

Just concentrate on the fry -up, will you, Robert?

No. The cavalier costume's easy.

Floppy clothes, long hair, feather in the hat to make you look taller.

Much better than a polo neck pullover and a balaclava if you're trying to hide

any feminine bits and pieces.

What about Rita?

Wanted to back out.

She says what's happened was a warning and if she competes she'll be punished.

Down to four.

Can't have that.

Talk her round.

You know the whole thing's on local radio.

It can't be.

I'm a major shareholder.

Was? They had a lot of fun with it.

I think we need to delve into Oliver Hardiman's past.

There were some scrapbooks in his office.

And there'd be yellow pages by the phone.

We need to find out where around here you'd go to hide a theatrical costume.

Better a journalist meet into his office before he goes back.

Don't tell me you don't know. You're paid to know.

Who released that information to local radio without my sanction?

It's not a secret, Mr Hardiman.

Everybody in Blainsport knows.

There's that poster where someone keeps crossing off the faces.

He's got everything here from the age of eight.

He went all over, like young Brian. Theatrical costumes, the fancy dress.

He won it all.

Suppose if he didn't win it, he didn't keep the programme.

Fancy dress.

There's hundreds.

Manchester, Preston.

All over.

Medieval mantles from Macclesfield with guaranteed genuine fake fur.

He had a restricted repertoire, I'll tell you that.

How do I just start?

The nearest.

P -A -G's you, P -A -G's you.

Panis Angelicus. Now, there's something tickling my memory buds.

Horse, come in. Out!

thought from the lab.

No alien substance, whatever, has been added to the herbal preparations in Les

Maynard's presentation case.

Could they have done the analysis too quick and made a mistake?

My full technical team has been working flat out, Mrs. Weintraub. They've

checked and double -checked. So since your team is now back at first base,

perhaps you'd like to stop lounging about in my kitchen and get on with your

work.

Watch out, the Siblandesses are creeping in again.

I'll be late again tonight, you know that, don't you?

You'll be the death of me, you really will.

Lookie, Heather.

Oh, thank you.

And don't let the buggers get you down.

Ender? I'll be in there rooting for you, baby.

If only we had enough singers left to make a show of it, the publicity would

wonderful for putting bums on things.

What's the position with regard to your celebrity judge?

Nobody's nobbled him, I trust.

Her.

We had a bit of trouble finding one, and we ended up with the resident contralto

from the Winter Garden Filthy.

Now, she's cancelled because of the bad publicity.

It puts her in rather a spot.

I'd better get out of your hair and on my way. You've a lot to do.

Sorry, I'm late.

Errand's for Grandad.

She's talking about protection for the remaining finalists.

I don't know how she's going to manage it with just the one school team.

What

class

is this?

12 to 16.

Songs from the shows.

All waiting to perform?

Nervous?

Think as you go through that door, I'll enjoy it even if they don't.

What are you going to sing?

I'm not.

It wouldn't be fair on the others when I'm a golden voice finalist.

Also, my mother doesn't like me doing songs from the shows.

She says... Adult emotions sung by children are thick -making.

What about your dad? Does he throw up easily as well?

I don't know.

He hasn't lived with us for years.

Do you know how many years?

I'm afraid not.

He doesn't often come up in conversation.

Stop that, Colin.

What? Winding Georgina up just before she has to go on and face the public.

It's not professional. In fact, it's almost cheating.

Pardon me for living.

There's a picture on a poster in the office. When did you last see your

My son used to have the jigsaw.

I've been wondering exactly when your last saw yours.

I'm never rude to older people, Mrs Weintraub, because one never knows when

might need them.

So I'll just say au revoir for the present.

I'm sure I'll see you around.

She bumps out behind the bar at the Green Bay tree and does a cabaret for

dinner guests. We've come to protect her. It is not necessary.

They're all friends there.

Why don't you come in for a glass of homemade wine?

Oh, thank you.

Not for Geoffrey, he's driving.

Thank you.

It must get a bit lonely in the evenings with Glenda out.

I know where she is.

What time does she leave the restaurant?

About eleven.

But sometimes she's a bit late getting back, I dare say.

She was late last night.

How the hell do you know that?

Has someone been talking?

That Mavis at the Baytree, well, it's no business of anyone else's. So you want

to keep it quiet?

There are no people talking about it. Who would?

Trust me.

Not in front of the lad.

Oh, right.

Geoffrey, would you wait outside, please?

She'd seen some play in Manchester at a cultural evening with a town's

women's guild.

It were about husbands and wives pretending to be other people.

Lovers, toy boys, scuba divers.

It were all pretense, but it raised the temperature, like.

She and me were going through a rough patch at the time.

We gave it a whirl.

Well, never since.

So she comes home late and pretends you're her lover?

It goes all through the day.

As a married woman yourself, perhaps you'd understand.

Well, what I can't get into my head is how you could know.

Who told you?

Nobody.

I was just fishing.

If you'd said she always comes home on time, I'd have believed you.

I'd sacrifice anything, come what might, for the sake of having you near

in spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats and repeats in

my ear.

Don't you know, little fool, you never can win.

Use your mentality.

Wake up to...

But each time that I do, just the thought of you makes me stop.

Before I begin.

Because I've got you.

Hey, I want to work with you.

You're late.

We're out in town.

I've got work to do. May I use your study?

I'd like to have a look at those scrapbooks of yours, if you don't mind.

Am I to rescue your husband from a police cell?

Eh?

He's a bit the worse for wear, as you can see.

I'm all right, love. Just a bit of a misunderstanding, that's all.

Robert! You get on with what you've got to do, please!

Be you up, did they?

I should never have tried to run.

Coco.

What's this North West Young Singer of the Year competition? It doesn't seem to

have been a festival as such.

More important.

That's when everyone decided that I had a career in music.

Oh, Oliver Hardiman, P -A -G's you yet again.

Do you ever see any of the other finalists?

Eric Leaveston, Mary Ann Winterbottom, Ethel Warders,

Michael Moroney? Too long ago.

So much has happened since.

Robert and Geoffrey are packing. We're going home. Giving up on the job? I'm

not. You won't get paid.

It's my professional opinion that there'll be no more trouble before the

I forbid that, of course, as I want to make sure that it all goes off safely.

And I should like you to invite a few people round here afterwards.

Why? Because that's how it's done in the Poirot books.

He gets all the suspects together and then puts his finger on the murderer.

I've not had the opportunity in any of my cases up to now.

Now, I'll have a quick bite, and then I'll pop round to Les Maynard's and pick

up a tube of toothpaste.

You're not so green as your cabbage, are you, Mrs. Weintraub?

Nothing like Mr.

Hardiman.

Now, take it kindly if you'd give Robert a lift.

Please do.

And there's just one thing I'd like you to do for me.

You're looking at yourself at his age, aren't you?

He's your son.

That being so, I don't think I should give him the prize.

And the cup and the check for £500 goes

to...

Miss Beverly Prendergast.

Well done, darling.

Don't worry, lad.

You don't need a cup.

You have the whole of the Hardiman Empire to inherit.

Mostly it was to do with...

Wrong trails.

I never really believed that one of the finalists was nobbling the others.

But I did swallow the idea that it was the bottles in the presentation cases

being spiked. Why?

Some business competitor trying to damage your firm?

We have no competitors in the North West.

Someone trying to show you up, then.

Someone who doesn't believe that Hardiman's herbal healing actually

What caused them to lose their voices, Mr Hardiman? That's the knob.

How should I know?

Aren't you an expert on herbs?

Mr Slater.

Has to be something like cinchi leaf, a Chinese herb. In substantial amounts

over a period, it causes inflammation of the nose and throat. How long a period?

A week or so.

I give it my patients homeopathically, in tiny doses, to stimulate the body's

own defenses against A -fever.

How would you give it in substantial amounts without anybody knowing?

Add it to something with a strong taste where it wouldn't be noticed.

Tea caddy, instant coffee.

Or made wine.

If you like.

Make a tincture and inject it into the... Touche paste.

Les Maynard's wife has dentures, so she doesn't use it.

Does your grandson, Freddy...

Have access to this herb and know its properties?

It's me, Mrs. Weintraub. There's no manner of use for this quack Oliver

Hardiman. Not me grandson.

Are you saying you did it?

I'm not saying I didn't. I'll have you a tin -pot herbalist in a country town.

I'll ruin you.

That'll do, Oliver Cromwell.

You can bully your way around Blainthorpe, but I'm in charge of this

Anyway, Mr.

Slater was never the cavalier.

Breaking and entering.

Bolting downstairs at his age?

You're enjoying this?

Of course.

Shall I go round with the champagne for refills?

Not yet. I'm just reaching the best bit.

Step forward, the wardrobe mistress of the Blainsorpe Amateur Operatic, a .k

.a. Marianne Winterbottom.

Is this the bit in the Poirot stories when the criminal makes a run for it?

You.

Me.

When did you last see your father?

Cavaliers and roundheads.

Why?

Revenge.

Robert was right.

The Cavalier was getting his own back.

I've never harmed you.

I think you have.

Mary Ann.

Annie.

Married name Mosscrop, born Winterbottom.

In every one of your scrapbooks, she was one of the contestants.

And suddenly, she wasn't.

Northwest Young Singer of the Year Competition, 1960.

You were 12.

I was 14.

You winked and smiled at me.

And you whispered it was a two -horse race.

You sang, she moved through the fair.

It was beautiful.

And it moved me through to the final.

You joked about the obsessive way I wiped and blew my nose just before going

stage. And while I was in the loo, You opened my purse and put sneezing powder

onto my hanky.

You must have planned it or you wouldn't have had the sneezing powder with you.

Dad. I had to walk off in the middle of my second verse. They couldn't even give

me a merit mark.

After that, Aunt Amy changed her mind about paying for my musical education.

I scraped a place at a third -rate university.

Then marriage.

Divorce. Finally, revenge.

I'm proud of what I did.

I'd have pulled it off completely if Mrs. Weintraub hadn't come a bit too

Even so, a final with only five golden voices can't have done Hardiman's herbal

healing much good.

You won't get away with it.

I'll sue you for every penny you've got.

No, Dad. We don't want the publicity.

If I finally, nobbled, robbed of the chance of fame, they'll do the suing and

I'll pay the lawyers.

Would you?

Les, Harry, all of you?

Even if he pays out, would you sue?

It looks stupid.

We all knew we didn't stand a real chance.

It was always going to be Beverly or Brian. That's right.

I won't give you the satisfaction, Mr. Hardiman.

What really hurt was that after you'd stolen my chance of fame, you threw your

own away, just to make money.

I would have liked, just once, to sing in a really big hall

with a full orchestra.

Geoffrey, we'll have that refill now.

A good job well done.

Mr Hardiman's found a son.

Young Brian's got the dad he probably deserves.

Beverly's won the prize.

Annie's got her own back.

And nobody hurt at the end. That's the way I like it. The one thing I don't

for in these parrot books is somebody always ends up being hanged.