Original subtitles

You mean everything to me.

What the hell was that?

Love Lord in London, scene 28, take three.

I hope we did the right thing, letting those people into the lane.

Film shot girl, Inspector.

Dead.

I've shut down filming for the time being.

What do we know about this film?

Stuart Howard, he and Sandra have bound their careers together.

The nation's sweetheart.

Then there's the honourable Jesse McKendrick.

You're the director.

And the writer.

What about Billy?

Some are destroying to kill me.

He's trickly.

Drop it, it's poison!

Can you think of anyone who might want to kill you?

Take your ready pick.

When are we going to tell him?

Not yet.

It's one of the extras.

It's Norina Bean.

Still rolling, Sandra?

And... Action.

Oh no, God, I'm so sorry, Jesse.

Can I beg 10 minutes?

See, he'll sort me out.

Cut that.

Scene 49, take nine.

Action.

It was dead.

I knew.

Kill the sound, please.

Can we stop the film and take a proper look?

No, we'd burn in the projector.

I think the difference is pretty obvious.

You'll see in just a moment.

Here comes the post.

Oh, God, I see what you mean.

He's lost six inches.

It's just about Sandra Dablin off her gasper.

So, between takes eight and nine, Norina Bean gets her screen break.

An hour later, is that right?

Well, certainly no more than two.

She's on the cutting room floor.

Well, the bottom of the basement steps.

I know who he is.

The postman.

You do?

He was down the line yesterday.

I'll see him in the yard just now.

Would you be so kind?

Yep.

Of course, he hit that step with tremendous force.

Too hard for an accident here.

Did you fall?

Oh, she pushed.

I think John Mills has lovely hair.

And his nails always look so neat.

Rivet in stuff this, Mrs Bean.

Well, who thinks there's something here?

A clue.

We like those.

Only names coming up a lot.

Regular correspondence.

Name and address supplied is a very reliable contributor.

I try to give myself a mole like Margaret Lockwood.

And now mum says I look like a tart.

Hang on.

I've seen a letter from this one before.

Signed.

Bazzelisk.

You're only a good step through the screen.

Oh, right amount to the pitch.

It's really getting to you, isn't it?

It's not that.

Beyond the door, behind that set, there's a flight

of stairs when I think Marina Bean is already dead.

Do you think Mrs Link to the boys and girl?

Special delivery.

Your postman.

Bart Masterson.

Kurt Masterson.

Normally I do landlords.

I've seen a glass pushed in a bloke's face and I've laughed.

See!

Very good.

Robert Newton should watch his back.

But you're not auditioning now, Mr Masterson.

We're investigating the unfortunate death that took place here last night.

Second one, and this production, in fact, after Miss Barbara Markham.

And two, looks like carelessness.

Who's though?

Are you the police?

Inspector Bliss is the police.

Hello.

I'm just helping them.

With their inquiries, with the fiddly bits.

Now, Kurt Masterson, not your real man.

How did you know?

Went home early last night, Mr Masterson.

Why?

Well, I was made enough for a confused, wasn't I?

I knew the lady, Marina Bean.

I read her column.

I always do.

She gave me a father, just to borrow the uniform mine.

So she would go on for me and no one would clock it.

Now... Why would she want to pose as you?

She said she was writing a story.

The poisonous secret at the heart of a loveless in London.

Love, Lord.

Something like that.

She wasn't specific.

But she said she needed one last bit of proof.

I didn't think nothing of it.

I was barely in the shop.

You said a lot of stories to the press, do you, Mr Masterson, about actors here?

No.

Well, nothing nasty, just whether they like mink or fevers or where they drink.

Oh, how much?

All right, thank you.

We'll come and get a statement from you.

That's it?

That's it.

I was a red herring before.

Once, half a one that tapped his pipe and looked all beady at me.

But I never done it.

I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Oh, thank you.

Why would she hear, though, Marina?

Why isn't there the trouble of bribing him and putting on his costume?

The extra security.

She can just hang around in the leg, could she?

So I suppose she needed a disguise.

Tidal had that article there, eh?

Maybe she was onto the poisoner.

So she had to go?

What's that?

Well, suddenly I noticed backwards impression on Marina Bean's hand in ink.

Something she was holding.

Evident that she was sweating and whether from the

exertion of going up the stairs or the heavy costume.

And reversed, it reads...

Ty wins.

Ty wins.

Ty wins.

Ty wins.

To twins.

Hardly.

More likely the fragment of two words, wouldn't you say?

I, er, better get back to work.

Work?

I'm standing in for sure.

It's not a profit trade, you know.

Yeah.

Like being a part-time detective.

What's up with him?

Me.

She's dead.

You saw her.

She was at the bottom of the stairs.

Like a broken doll.

Oh god, I mean, she was awful, but still.

How awful.

Oh.

If it was murder, I'd be a lot of suspects.

After British film business.

All of it.

It's true.

Everybody hated her.

You hated her.

What did you do last night?

I drink with that boy.

Nice kid.

I went to bed early.

Did some film start duties.

No.

Yes, you know.

Signing photos, answering questions from fans.

What's your ideal night out?

Would you like your breakfast?

You were just shooting here.

Yes.

You take off the tape.

Simple stuff, really.

How many stars have sat here like me?

Wishing the creases grow.

Have been the flesh group.

The chance.

I met a man once.

He was an astronomer.

Now he knew about the stars.

He was real once, I mean.

Did you know that the stars that we see in the sky aren't really there?

Most of them.

Anyway, it takes so long for the light to reach us.

But they're just echoes.

Ghosts.

Just a memory of what was once there.

Christ darling.

But some of those stars don't go quietly or know towards the end.

Later in life shall we say, they get picker.

Pickers too.

They give out more and more light and need.

Nothing can eclipse them.

Nothing.

I don't want to go quietly.

I want to burn.

Light up the town like I used to explode.

The toplets were injected with one of these.

So what have you got one?

Well, it's hardly a secret, is it?

I bet it, can't I?

Everyone knows that.

Interesting.

So anyone could have gained access to this, for instance.

Hmm?

Well, you might have done it yourself.

Why the hell would I want it to poison Mr.?

Well, that's just the thing, Sonny Jim.

Missed there, wasn't the target.

Then who was?

Beyonce.

Yes, puts a rather different complexion on things, doesn't it?

Mr Howard fired you, didn't he?

Yeah, but not till after the chocolates.

Yeah, but he treated you badly.

You were his whipping boy.

You need to develop a fixed skin in this business, Inspector.

I've dealt with bigger egos as Stuart Howard, believe me.

I wanted to get my own back.

I'd have pissed in his tea, not poisoned his chocolates.

And then there's the late Miss Noreen Bean.

Yeah, well, she was all right.

Oh.

Mustn't speak ill of the dead.

She'd have anything on you.

Like what?

You can account for your movements last night, can you?

Shot right through.

Right.

No coffee breaks.

Yes, of course coffee breaks.

So theoretically, you could have pushed Noreen a bean down the stairwell,

couldn't you?

Yeah, well, theoretically, I could have won

the pools and rung up for a lake for a date.

But I didn't.

What's this?

Tomorrow's pink page.

Rewrite?

Miss the McKendrick's rewrite of scene 34.

Just a little one, but in this business, the details matter, Inspector.

You don't want actors bumping into the furniture.

Have a details man myself.

You know, I'm terrible at the pictures of me.

You know, I always know it done it straight off.

It overtakes the marrow out of Mrs Bliss, but

as I always say to her, the why is the thing.

So why not take her to a Western?

Not all those cowboys getting shot on the chest and falling forwards.

Don't think so.

You never get home, Billy.

If I try hard, Mr. Book, I can remember the daylight.

Can I go now?

Well, we'll need to get this testy.

For insulin.

For striptine.

Basilisk.

Hey?

Bring any bells?

Basilisk.

No, I was spent most of the morning drenching through your back issues.

My head's swimming.

And we finally found what we were looking for.

A Sandra Dair fan who wrote to Bitchagoa a lot.

This one is from two years ago.

For looks talent and sheer screen charisma,

no one can compete with the Divine Miss Dair.

It's low as like that.

In her latest picture, the 43-year-old star

elevates the art of acting to great heights.

But why?

She's wasting her time sharing the screen with Stuart Howard.

I will never know.

A mumbling, soppy-eyed, fop.

Oh, and here's another a year later.

The public's infatuation with Dair and Howard is beyond me.

Miss Dair should be striking out alone.

Not saddling herself with this talentless whipper snapper.

Of course, there is always difficulty when one reaches for the stars.

But the difficulty as I see it is Stuart Howard.

And there's a lot more like that in the same vein.

An all-sign basilisk.

I'll see.

Well, they obviously didn't like to do.

You think they might be the one who sent the chocolates?

I don't know.

Is it too much of a stretch to go from

disliking a film star to sending them strictly?

Sometimes the discussions can get very heated at the meet-ups.

Meet-ups?

Oh, yeah.

We meet up and have chaps in that.

Sometimes the studio will send a stardown to open a fate or something.

Let's have our first mitt Barbara.

And you've never come across this basilisk.

Now, how would I know?

They've never used their real name.

Anything Mr. Howard's room's as bare as George's or co's Pete.

Oh, what about Mr. Ayers?

Same.

Probably.

Who's next?

Soundproofed?

Naturally.

Now, we know your movements last night, Mr. McKinley.

I should think so.

The director never has a moment to themselves.

In the tea break, I went to my office, just a minor change for tomorrow.

A pink page, yes.

You can check with my secretary.

These stairs, where do they lead?

A prop store?

Offices?

It's a war on this place.

Film vault, down there.

Nice place if you like its best, us.

The treasures are pretty similar.

Not really.

What, then?

Well, a film opens in Leicester Square and it goes out across the country,

then to the second-run houses in the flea pits, and when it's so scratched that

every scene looks like it's happening in Antarctica, it comes here.

Back here.

It's taken to the tank.

The tank.

What happens there?

It's put out of its misery.

It's dissolved.

Sodium hypochlorite.

Why, back here?

At a fumes, Mr. Book.

A fumes.

He goes some of Tath starring a terrible

provincial comic, and I've come something useful.

Waterproof paint.

And silver halide.

What an odd little cottage industry.

It's valuable.

I'll evaluate all the mods on the films themselves.

It seems a lot of effort to go to.

No, it's a simple process.

The chemical solution does the work.

No, we make an emotion picture, you know.

Stars and the lights, you know, and shooting all those scenes,

and then just to melt it all down for scrap.

British cinema is mainly stupid, Inspector.

It's never been about anything.

That needs to change.

When it does, I'll make movies that won't end up here.

Good evening.

Good evening.

Mr. Howard.

Mr. Book.

A moment?

Of course.

For the horial query.

Who is?

What were you doing last night?

Well, after drinks with your Jack, I went to bed early.

But I couldn't get off.

I spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling, contemplating mortality.

As you can imagine.

Any witnesses?

Sorry to sound so official.

Of course not.

Sandra and I are engaged, don't you know?

I had heard something of the kind.

And Lorena Bean?

And she blackmailing you.

About prison?

I've been very careful.

Incredibly, I don't think she ever got a sniff of it.

Mustache.

TTFN.

There's been a smash and grab in Crystal Palace.

A tray of missing wedding rings and a cracked skull pool.

Very much a B-movie crime.

Right, you stick around here.

Keep in mind the beautiful people.

They are beautiful.

What else are they?

Come on, Sergeant.

Let's go.

Clippings.

We found your trail book.

Oh, excellent work.

Oh, this is a book.

I couldn't expect to see you here.

Mr. Howard said we should visit and I've thought something for my husband.

Lunch?

Clues.

Very interesting trail here.

And I thought I saw something earlier too in the note.

Repeated phrase.

And these are all signed basilisk.

What?

It's a mythological creature.

Could kill you just by looking at you.

Rather the way Miss Dair is looking at me now.

Do you excuse me?

Not that lie.

Do you like a little?

Look around.

Mrs. Book.

Oh, I'd be delighted.

So, uh... War paper didn't suit your story then.

Well, no.

Because the hero, Tony, he desires pleasure.

But he's afraid of it.

He's... repressed.

That's Freud, you know.

Oh, so I understand.

War paper.

It simply doesn't give us that.

War paper is about covering things up.

I thought cakes.

Cakes are the opposite of books, really.

I must miss that bit, old Freud.

Oh, yes.

Break.

Please.

Skirts gathered ready for the pursuit of art.

Yes, I suppose so.

Well, before you write off, perhaps I can check some details.

Hmm.

How do you help the police exactly, Mr. Book?

I check details.

You must be relieved to know the chocolates weren't intended for you.

Naturally, but also terribly worried for Stu.

Of course.

Now, I know where you were last night, Mr. Dan, because I've seen the rushes.

You were doing that scene where you looked through the

window and think about the resilience of your love.

Yes.

With Marina Bean amongst the background artists.

Marina?

Was she on the set?

In the shot?

Yes.

Moments later, she was on the stairs.

Yes.

Yes.

And then at the bottom of the stairs.

Yes.

Well, I know about that.

Perhaps she was killed because she knew who'd sent the poison chocolates.

So, how would you think?

It's a working hypothesis.

Oh, wait a minute.

You don't think that I...

No.

I love Stuart.

We're everything to each other.

Everything to the box office at any rate.

Oh, and someone's been telling tales.

Well, if that were the case, I'd have even less motive for killings, too, wouldn't I?

But joined at the hip.

When you finished filming, you went back to your dressing room, how much?

Yes.

Oh, Billy darling, you wouldn't get me a coffee, would you, please?

Of course, Mr. Flash of milk.

Me too, Billy.

Good strong one.

Do you think so?

Your work's such long hours.

We liked to sign it by 30.

Oh, my dear.

Well, in the croat of Quikie Days, there was

one picture shooting here during the day.

And one at night.

When that door opened with a ten o'clock turnaround.

Oh, no idea.

It's still beer orange field gas.

Thank you, darling.

Oh, the 1930s.

Those were the days.

Oh, no.

Sugar, sir.

What?

There's horrible, it's a bitter.

Would you like some milk, sir?

No.

Billy, get me some water.

Oh, my Lord.

Jesse.

Same sentence.

Oh, my Lord.

Jesse?

Same sentence.

Oh, my Lord.

Oh, my Lord.

He didn't.

That's one of those croaties again.

I don't know what you're doing, Tim.

Trying to save his life, I think.

But perhaps someone should call an ambulance in case I've got it wrong?

Ambulance quickly!

What's up?

Take it with us.

You love me.

Oh, no.

Look at me.

Look at me.

We didn't even get to the top of the hill.

See it hurt.

It's largely cosmetic.

There's so much stuff around his mouth.

It's largely cosmetic.

Mascara.

Oh, charcoal.

I believe that's what mascara is.

Oh, and petroleum jelly.

The rest of this book is charcoal's good for strengthening.

But I'm still waiting for the report on what was in Barbara Morgan's chocolate.

Couldn't be anything.

Mr. Kendrick Twitched, though.

Strickling gives you the twitches.

That's right.

Great presence of mind is my way.

Oh, my thought still, Jesse.

Yeah, it's you.

Oh, wait.

My bag.

I need my thing.

Oh, allow me.

Oh!

See, leave me.

Thank you, Miss.

Oh, it's in the coffee.

Everyone else is drunk.

They seem to be fine.

Who did it?

No!

Not entirely awful.

Oh, so?

It's in the cup that I did afterwards.

You think so, wouldn't you?

It's so indiscriminate.

I just heard it.

Jesse?

Oh, he's certain.

Oh, God.

He's a member of me.

I don't know.

The new schedule.

Miss Howard?

He's dead.

You can go, Jack.

It'll be the end of shooting for the day.

Okay.

Okay.

Quite.

It's cold today.

Are we trying?

What's the matter with him?

No.

It's rather off with me all day.

Laura, are we diversifying?

Just catching up on my reading.

He is muding your right.

I'm still a child.

Your uncle had my guts for garters.

I'm going to bed.

Oh, you're right.

Long day.

What's wrong with your usual diet of blood and guts?

Gobbit board.

They're starving a woman to death and pinge.

Laura, a favor.

Where are those film, Olmonex?

You mean the magazines, that girl, but...

Olmonex, early films, from when they still call them flickers.

If memory serves between William Free's Green and How Green Was My Valley.

Where are you?

There she is.

Kristiana Edmonds.

And an astra.

Yeah, that's for her.

What?

Hi.

Where?

I'm sorry.

These people never go upstairs.

So I was like home?

No ceiling, though.

The rooms and films never have ceilings.

Why is that, eh?

It's not the light getting in.

Containuity.

Miss the book.

Oh.

Sorry.

How is the life of a standing?

Static.

Jack, a word in your show like.

Jack.

Jack, back into a light.

Is it?

Ah.

Mr. McKendrick.

Glad to see you looking hail and party.

Will you recover, though, who?

Yes.

Thanks to Mrs. Book.

I went into the picture business.

I never thought it would be so bad for my nerves.

It's exhausting.

I'm exhausting and running.

So much more.

Maybe I'm there now, aren't we?

Yes.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Book.

Would you excuse me?

I'm rather busy.

Of course.

Oh, what is the, uh, story so far, Mr. Howard?

We've been having a passionate affair of the intellect.

Madeline and I.

But then this telegram comes, telegram of doom.

And what do you know?

A husband's been found in a Japanese POW camp.

Oh, bad luck.

Yes, and he's on his way back to Blighty with his ribs

sticking out, but still very much a going concern.

Love-wise.

And so she tells me she has to leave me.

And what do you say?

Nothing.

Of course.

Writers never want to write those bits.

They're like a nice, clean reaction shot.

Something swelling in the soundtrack.

Positions, please.

But credit to you, Jesse listened.

So instead of standing there catching flies,

I gird my loins and go stoically back to work.

My uncle, Vanya.

I'm sure that's what Jesse had in mind.

Ask him.

Am I at that?

What did you do today?

What did you do today?

Oh, look Billy.

What did you do today?

What did you do today?

What did you do today?

See, 34, take one.

Ah.

Action.

Now the telegram is here.

When I think when you would always come.

Is this the end of the affair?

Don't say that word, Stuart.

You know that it hurts me.

I shall think about it.

Is that Stuart?

You said Stuart.

Is that Stuart?

Cut.

Let's go again.

First position, please.

First position, sir.

Billy.

Yes, Mr. McKedrick.

Wrong, this one.

Would you call of need?

Buddy.

What, please?

Don't say that.

I'll have to tell you.

There's still time, you know.

Time for what?

To do the right thing.

Stop the filming.

I've been aware for a while about a certain secret relationship in your life.

Oh, we are not.

Gee, isn't.

I'm not with Sandra.

With strict mean.

I've read those grave little paragraphs in the Farsity Sporting Review.

How you took it as a stimulant to get you

through those last agonizing yards of the race?

Well, the reckless, really.

My father wasn't very pleased, was he?

No.

So I got into trouble?

So what?

A member's Christiane, Edmonds.

The heroine of your new film scripts.

Household name was.

Better love with her doctor and believe that he was in love with her pure fantasy.

And she thought she could help him escape from his wife by bringing her a box of

poisoned chocolate creams, which the wife spat out just in time.

And her poison of choice?

Strict mean, of course.

Bit of a light motif, isn't it?

I've had a lot of time to think too much, I don't say.

And I think we've been living in a kind of a dream.

It's time for that dream to end.

You, you must stay here with your books.

I...

I must get back to my husband.

I certainly must.

You didn't mean to kill poor Barbara Markham.

And that might save you from the callows.

But you couldn't make the same argument about what's happening here, could you?

This is your very last chance, Jesse.

Oh,

Dan, Dan, Dan, you book.

Ow!

How was that funny thing?

Well, well.

Too late now.

You all right, Stu?

I was on the cash register.

It went right into me when I pressed the button.

Oh, my God.

You.

I have a name, Mr. Howard.

This is what happened to that girl.

No, Barbara Markham swallowed Strychnin.

This time the poison was on the pin of the cash register.

So it would go straight into the blood streak.

If Jack and Billy hadn't followed my instructions

perfectly and swapped it with a clean one.

The thing page told me where to look.

There was Billy who found it.

You should be grateful he's so diligent, Mr. Howard,

considering how bloody rude you are to him.

You should thank him too, Jesse.

One less name on the chance sheet next to little Barbara Markham.

It was for you, my love.

All for you.

What?

So we could be together.

And I could make you a bigger star than ever.

Not a cheap trash like this, but in a real film.

One masterpiece.

What the hell are you talking about?

He's been obsessed with you for years, Mr. You used to

write letters to picture girl under a pseudonym, of course.

Basilisk, his family crest.

And all those books he read in the shop last year.

That's how he came up with his magnum opus.

Unfortunately, he left a little trace behind.

He saw that we were getting a little too close to the truth, and that's why he

suddenly tasted something strange in his coffee.

Faked the poisoning.

He could have said, Bitter almonds, like people do in the films.

But you chose to twitch, because you knew that

Barbara Markham had been killed by Strickney.

You were familiar with the effects.

They're pretty ugly, aren't they?

Yes, spasms are sort of breathless, agitation.

I'll never forget it.

He put in a good performance, Jesse.

But let me give you a note, Mr. Director.

It takes a few minutes for the spasms to start.

Your timing is out.

At Astra, pair Aspera.

Through hardship to the stars, your family motto.

You got to the stars, didn't you, Jesse?

What are the only stars that mattered to you?

Sound dare.

My family has money.

So much money.

That's how I bought my way into this filthy industry.

I could have financed a picture, Sandra.

But he was spoiling it.

Him.

What better publicity?

Tragic widow overcoming her grief.

Tackling the part of a lifetime alongside the brilliant young writer.

Writer, director.

Writer, director.

Who consoled her.

It's a seed.

Do range.

Oh, you're poor fool.

Book your whole new sunda dare, my darling.

Playing your own age.

Then make up a true character part to show your real range.

Don't make up.

Are you mad?

I'm Sandra Dare.

So was him.

He killed that poor girl.

Yes, an arena bean.

No, not an arena bean.

What?

Not an arena bean, the girl with the poison pen.

Jesse has a cast iron alibi.

He was in his office, his secretary by his side, passing him a carbon paper,

typing out a way to murder you, Mr Howard.

Then who did do it?

Where did we find her?

What I'm on the stairs.

Which lead where?

The prop store.

Offices.

The vault.

The vault.

Yes.

We're in lies, I'm at the forgotten remnants of British cinema.

And one film in particular.

I've found the reference in an old movie or maniac back in Archangel Lane.

What film?

Kitty wins the Calcutter sweep.

The hell is that?

It's the film I found in your room.

Sandra.

Billy, call both of you.

Get bliss here.

Yeah, Mr Boat.

You never loved her, stupid.

Not like I did.

It's a long time since I've done this for real.

Sandra,

it's all over.

Why don't you come out and explain?

I

Wasn't Sandra Dea back then.

I was... dear Drew Hijock.

It was so long ago.

The film was lost, and then Marina discovered it.

And then I discovered her.

It was pure chance.

I was going back to my dressing room and I saw this person an extra.

And then I recognised her.

And I saw what she had in her sweaty hands.

I had never meant so.

I agree not in all my life.

She hit that

step like a fair-ground coconut she died instantly.

But it was an accident.

I swear.

It was an accident.

But there it was.

The monster print.

This business will forgive you a lot of things, but...

not getting old.

Are you smoking, Sandra?

When nitrate film burns, Sandra, it makes its own oxygen.

You think I don't know that, Mr. Buck?

I'm a veteran of the silver screen.

That's why they keep it in an asbestos bolt.

If you drop that cigarette, Sandra, it'll go up like a torch.

And Trotty and I won't escape unscathed.

And neither will Stewart.

Stewart.

Darling, it doesn't have to be like this.

She would have told them all my secret.

That I was making films when Lenin was in office.

They would have made me box office poison.

And I've told you.

I want to go on and off and light up the town explode.

Sandra, that script that Jesse wrote, I read it.

It's about a woman who makes a terrible moral mistake.

But she faces her fate with dignity.

Inspector Bliss will be here soon.

And you'll be under arrest.

But before he arrives, I could save you a little bit of humiliation.

What do you say?

Let's go out to the tank.

Bring that film.

The one with you is a 17-year-old with your whole life ahead of you.

Before this business made you what you've become.

Oh, no, Mr. Buck.

I've always had it in me.

I've always been a star.

I think that's what the cameras saw.

And why they've always loved me.

Hm.

Just give me a moment, will you?

Not bad.

That's long enough.

I'll kick a bloody door in.

It's a tragedy, really.

Well, they...

Well, they hang.

Jesse McKendrick, undoubtedly.

But I'm sure the jury will be kind, Miss Dair.

Wasn't excellent.

After all.

Now you're a free man, Mr. Howard.

Just what I wanted.

Wanna cost?

Mind you.

Tragic exfiance.

Brokenhearted leading man.

Suddenly single.

What is it?

Of course.

It was an accident, wasn't it?

Marina Beanster.

Well, we shall never know Inspector.

After all, Sounded Dair is a terribly good actress.

Hello, Jack.

What's up?

Jack, we need to tell you something.

I'm sorry, we didn't say it before.

I wanted to let you settle in and it's a delicate matter.

It's about our relationship.

Oh.

I think I guessed it.

Isn't it that obvious?

Well, it wasn't the first, but...

Yeah.

I found a photograph.

Photograph.

My dad.

You have a photo of my dad.

It's just like the one that I have.

And this.

I know I shouldn't have taken it.

I'm sorry, but... With the picture, I...

Eric Percival Banks, your first husband...

Is this him?

Try.

You're my mother.

Oh, my dear.

Not at all.

I'm so sorry.

But what's all this about?

Jack.

We have rather a lot to tell you.

I'm so sorry.