All language subtitles for Sister.Boniface.Mysteries.S04E06.WEB.H264-RBB

Is there anything
better than a weekend getaway?

Pint in the Spitfire and
that date you made me cancel?

Sir, I really wish
you'd tell us what training

we'll be undertaking.

Is this some kind of
top secret training facility?

Yes and no.

But mostly no.

Reminds me of a Girl Guide camp
I went to...

We all got dysentery.

Here comes the cavalry!

Splendid to see you, Hector.

Len.

Welcome, friends.
I'm Len Shepherd,
retired Chief Constable,

active camaraderie guru.

It's my job to turn you
from this, into this.

You'll tackle
several challenges,

earning points
for excellent teamwork.

Each point gives you
a one second advantage

over your opponents
in the assault course finale.

- Wait, it's a competition?
- Even better.

We are in the running
for Police Team of the Year,

and this will decide the winner!

I've always wanted to go to
those posh Police Awards!

I hesitate to ask,
but who are we up against?

♪ Why is it taking so long
when I'm not getting anywhere ♪

Stowington Police,
reporting for duty.

Name's Jack Stagg.

Sure you've heard all the
stories: all true.

Let's get this over with, Len.

You know I don't
wait for anyone.

- Winthrop.
- Lowsley.

That Team of the Year award
is mine.

Think again, Winthrop.
Stowington's going down!

Hi,
I'm Peggy.

Detective Sergeant Thorne.

Er, civilian names please,
Heather.

We're all off duty.

Everyone comfy?

Then let us begin our story
of a small village

and a big investigation.

The dastardly crook,
Billy McCoy,

is terrorising the community.

Two officers join forces
to take him down,

but before they can work
together,

they must first get to know
each other.

So let's follow their lead.
For one point,

can you work out who among us

is professionally trained
in ballet?

Don't look at me-- CC Winthrop
says I've got two left feet!

Well, it's certainly
not one of us,

so I can only assume...

Are lazy assumptions the
foundation of all your policing?

Will the real ballerina
reveal themselves?

The actual term is ballerino.

No, it's--
it's a challenging discipline.

Sorry, but this game is
highly inappropriate.

Oh, sit down.

Sir, he's sharing
out private business.

Fine. You can go
and make the tea instead.

There's a good girl.

So, our two officers forge
their friendship,

together they swoop to raid
Billy McCoy's safe house.

just one problem--
it's awfully dark inside!

Guide your partner
around the booby traps

to gather Billy's loot.

Steady, sir, steady.
Left a bit, left a bit...

Go, go Gillespie!

Straight on straight on...

- Come to me, come to me.
- Well done, Button!

Oh, you're doing great, sir.

- Faster, Heather!
- Will you shush!

I'm trying to concentrate!

And you tell me
you're cut out for leadership?

Ooh, hard luck, mate!

- Oh!
- What are you playing at?!

- Skulduggery?!
- Three, four...

Oh! Bravo, Heather!
Two points to Stowington.

One to Great Slaughter
for a fine display of trust.

Okay, sir, there's a cone
two feet ahead.

- What's that in parsnips?
- Parsnips?

I measure distance
in root vegetables.

- Left, Beagle.
- My left or yours, sir?

- Where are you going boy?!
- I don't know!

Oh no! Man down!

He's fine.

Walking disaster,
aren't you Beagle?

Yeah. Sorry. My fault.

Nonsense. As I always say,
we rise and fall as a team.

Funny. I always say

a chain is only as strong
as its weakest link.

You of all people
should know that.

We'll pause there,
with the scores even.

Dry yourself off, Beagle.

Our story's about
to get interesting.

Good news,
the raid was a success!

Having recovered Billy's loot,

the two officers retire
to one of their homes

to toast their triumph
with a bottle of wine or two.

Or five. Am I right?

Actually Jack, they
won't make it past the second.

At 2A.M., somebody fires
through the window,

injuring one of the officers and
tragically killing the other.

Ooh! Plot twist!

Your task-- examine the scene
of the crime.

But your ranks have
been reversed--

Peggy and Beagle
are in charge.

To assist with forensics,
it's my pleasure

to introduce esteemed
local expert, Sis--

Oh, yes, that's me!
Ta-da!

Oh, sorry, did I miss my cue?
Backstage butterflies.

Oh, dear. Poor chaps.

Right, so, Sarge--
Oh. I mean, Felix.

Yes, boss?

Let's see. Maybe you could
search for footprints?

And Sam could record the items,
and...

Oh, there's no camera.

I'm happy to create
sketches of the scene, ma'am.

Wonderful delegating,
Great Slaughter!

What's the meaning of this?!

Sorry Constable, if, er, if
you can't handle the demotion,

then maybe you should go
and make the tea.

Someone's enjoying herself.

Well, without a real-life
victim,

I must admit--
nothing beats a good murder!

Okay, have you read the
surviving officer's statement?

Not yet.
Have you found something?

Well, I'm merely an observer.
I couldn't possibly say.

A-Ha!

Impressive, right?

Compromising the scene?

- Extremely.
- Heather's right.

I must dock Stowington
a point...

and then award you two!

Jack's just found the
spinning top.

Calling card
of Billy McCoy.

Enough!

You're an embarrassment!

I've just bagged us
a point.

What are you two
whispering about?

Oh, er-- this bullet hole.

Sister Boniface says
it contradicts

the eyewitness account.

Well, erm, actually,
physics says it.

If you observe the angle of--

I knew it!
The nun's one of them!

This competition's rigged!

Don't be absurd!

You're even worse at this than
you were as Chief Constable.

Fetch our room keys,
the day is over.

Bet you're wondering
why you got stuck with me.

Er, we--
we could talk, or--

play a game?

I don't know what mind
games you're playing, Peggy.

But I'm going to
that awards ceremony

and impressing the bigwigs.

And nobody is getting in my way.

Sir, are you in there?

Morning.
Everything alright?

It's CC Winthrop, sir.
He's not answering.

Well, some of us enjoy a lie-in.

In Stowington, we don't squander
the best hours of the day.

Are you
in there, Chief Constable?

Ah, Len. Can we get
the spare key, please?

Erm, I'm afraid the only copy
fell victim to rust.

Stand back then.

They don't call me
The Wrecking Ball for nothing.

What have you got for us,
Sister?

Cause of death-- a rather nasty
blow to the back of the head.

Consistent with--

an equally nasty bedpost.

So he fell and hit his head.
Drunk, perhaps?

As a skunk.
Sister Reg's expression.

Bloodshot eyes indicate
inebriation;

blood tests should confirm.

And the key was on the
chest of drawers when I came in.

The groundskeeper confirmed
that's the only one.

Lock hasn't been tampered with.

Winthrop must have locked
the hut from inside.

Is there any other way in?

The window was securely bolted.

No trapdoors or loose panels.

Well. I can't say
that I warmed to the chap,

but it certainly is
a tragic accident.

Perhaps we should reserve
our certainties.

Billy McCoy's calling card.

As left beside his
victims' bodies.

Like Len's fictional story.

It must have dropped
when he fell.

Well-- let's see, shall we?

Blood loss would have been
gradual,

pooling gently
around the spinning top...

Observation--
blood spatter around the pool--

and on the spinning top itself.

Deduction-- the blood had
settled before it was impacted.

Meaning Winthrop
was already dead

and someone else
dropped the spinning top?

Well, people seldom fall
backwards unaided.

More likely,
somebody pushed him,

left the spinning top and fled,

contriving a locked room
to cover their tracks.

Stowington's
Chief Constable was--

-Murdered?!
- I'm sorry, sir.

Local rivalry aside,

I'm sure CC Winthrop meant
a great deal to you.

Don't be ridiculous. It's
the politics I'm worried about.

I'd better go
and inform Winthrop's

Deputy Chief Constable.

Well, in the meantime,

we'll handle this
like any other murder.

You will not!

Until you have
overwhelming evidence,

Winthrop's death is
an accident,

officially speaking.

But how are we supposed
to investigate?

Unofficially.

That lot will be
far more cooperative,

if they don't suspect
they're suspects.

I'm not answering to you.
We're the same rank.

Relax.
No one's answering to anyone.

We're just trying to establish
how this accident happened.

How can we help, Sam?

We found this
in CC Winthrop's hut.

And you think he was killed
by a fictitious villain?

Actually no, no we think that
he might have slipped on it.

Did anyone hear a crash?

Obviously not, I'd have been
there in five seconds flat!

Was your boss a big drinker?

Seems like he was on the vodka
last night.

Insubordinate
to his final breath!

I gather you two had history?

Ancient history.

Winthrop knew about my
no alcohol policy

he insisted on hut inspections
to enforce it.

Really?
Well he didn't inspect our huts.

Because nobody grassed you up.

I would never!

Look, I think everyone's
still in a bit of shock

Why don't we wrap this
up elsewhere?

Write it down then.

Vodka was mine.
Who cares?

Well, I'm sure your boss did.

Winthrop wasn't bothered
about rules.

He was waiting for an excuse.

Careful, sir! That cologne's
imported from Djibouti.

Oh dear, Jackie Boy.

Look--
We can share it.

And you were so close
to that promotion.

Let's have it, then.

"Bet you're glad he's dead?"

I'd be relieved, too.
He sounds like a nightmare.

Couldn't handle a superstar
climbing the ranks behind him.

That's the old guard for you.

So your gaffer's the same then?

What Lowsley?
I can't stand the sod.

Guess the grass isn't
always greener.

Least you've got
that Button girl.

She's a bit of alright, eh?

- Careful.
- Relax, mate.

I'll let you keep her.

Thanks.

Right.
We ducking out for a pint then?

It's 10 A.M., Jack,
how thirsty are you?

You saying I've got a problem?

What?

So I like a drink
to unwind.

It's not easy being
everyone's hero.

So. We had to relocate Sister
Boniface, to avoid suspicion.

Yes alas,
before vanishing into thin air,

the killer cleaned up expertly.

Leaving no trace
but the spinning top.

Which Jack and Winthrop
clashed over yesterday.

Maybe Jack killed him and
then left it there out of spite.

But why would he make
it look like an accident,

only to leave a clue?

Good question.
Okay, what else have we got?

I found a letter in a bin
outside the hut.

Well, at least I think
it's a letter.

Secret investigation
and a jigsaw puzzle.

Must be my birthday!

Knock-knock.

Hope I'm-- not interrupting.

Oh, no.
We were just team bonding.

So, er, we're all agreed?
The contest will resume.

One of our opponents just died.

I mean, Stowington are
a persuasive bunch,

and they really want that award.

Well, I'm sure it won't be
that bad.

Following the shooting,
the police swoop on Billy McCoy.

But unwilling to come quietly,

he takes a hostage--

kindly played by Felix.

I didn't exactly know
what I was volunteering for--

To arrest Billy
and free his hostage,

you must find a way
past his vicious hounds.

This one's mine.

Makes no odds who I take down.

Ah, steady, Heather.

One simple touch sends them
back to the start.

Ready?

Right. You go left,
I'll go right?

Alright. Just don't do anything
to antagonise our suspects.

I said stay out my way!

Wonderful!

That's a point to
Great Slaughter.

Let's see how Stowington fare.

Chin up, Sammy-boy.
No shame in being runners-up.

Ready!

No, wait, wait, wait!

Something's wrong.

Hey, it's just a game.

I'm alright--

just-- need a break.

Right, everyone, take five.

It's not so easy playing
the victim, is it?

Should be used to it.

Just thought things
might be different now.

Without CC Winthrop?

That wound looks fresh.

When we arrived yesterday, he
was in a worse mood than ever.

Chop-chop, Beagle.
We'd like to unpack
sometime today.

Let me carry mine, sir.
I can't watch.

I'm happy to do it!
It'd be quicker in two trips.

Where's the entertainment
in that?

Almost tore my hand to
shreds, but I didn't crack.

I never cracked.

Please--

Allow me.

So do you know why he singles
you out for mistreatment?

I'm sure all recruits
get picked on.

This is bullying.

And he runs the risk of losing
a very promising officer.

Policing's in my blood,
I'd never quit.

No matter how miserable I am.

If I could give you some advice,
as a friend?

What's this,
first aid or another trick?

It's alright, Felix was just--

Pretending to be your best mate,
to throw you off your game?

Yeah. Just had that shtick
from his partner.

That wasn't my intention at all.

Do you know what,
I didn't fall for it.

Can't trust anyone but yourself.

Is it possible
Winthrop locked himself in

after he was attacked?

No. He died instantly.

Plus that doesn't explain what

the spinning top was doing
there.

So we don't know how it was
done, but we have two motives--

Winthrop was blocking
Jack's promotion,

and he was equally bullying
his new recruit.

It's a beagle.

Oh right, right!

But why would you kill your boss
with six other officers around?

You wouldn't.

This was probably an argument
that escalated.

Until one of them snapped.

Am I the only one who
feels sorry for Stowington?

They all seem so lonely.

Well, little wonder,

when their Chief Constable had
them spying on each other.

It's a report.
Addressed to the victim.

"Gained access to their baggage.
Beagle packs light.

Unexplained rag may be
infantile comforter..."

Aww, he's got a blankie!

"Concealed alcohol
in Jack's suitcase.

Probable rule violation."

So Heather was the grass?

I sneaked a peak
at her pocketbook;

the Fs are unmistakable.

Did she write anything else?

Oh, only some cursory
observations...

...about the three of you.

Well, don't leave us hanging!

Er, well, erm--

It appeared to
Sergeant Thorne that, erm--

"Peggy is a doormat, Felix has
no discernible talents..."

Ouch.

And, erm, "Sam's staggering
lack of intelligence

is mitigated only by
his boyish good looks."

That is outrageous!

- Oh, spare us.
- What? I'm as insulted
as you two.

Anyway, the important bit is

why Winthrop felt the need
to spy on his own team.

Button, we need to have
a word with your room-mate.

Do we have to, sir?

It's true. That ogre made
me do his bidding.

Shameful waste of my talents.

There must've been
a reason.

I assume that was the reason.

They try and break our spirits;
we dig our heels in

and work twice as hard
as the lot of them.

Are you talking about men?

Clearly I've misjudged
your sparkling intellect.

I'm sorry that
your boss treated you badly,

but Inspector Gillespie
respects everyone.

If he did,
he'd drop the pretence

and admit this is
a murder investigation.

Very well. But you're capable
of standing up to anyone.

Winthrop had something on you.

If there was a secret,
why on earth would I tell you?

If this was a murder
investigation, you wouldn't
have a choice.

I know the law.

This line of enquiry's
a dead end.

Sorry, Heather.
The inspector--

Sam doesn't want to invade
your privacy.

Do you?

No, I just--
need to know

if it's pertinent
to CC Winthrop's death.

Fine.

Winthrop had information that
could destroy the only thing

that matters.

My career.

But it's not relevant,
you have my word.

Sam.

Now, stand aside.

I have a competition to win.

Do you reckon she'll tell
her colleagues

they're all murder suspects?

Oh, I'm sensing
some tension.

This does happen sometimes
in team building.

On the bright side, Billy McCoy
was successfully detained.

Alas, his girlfriend
gave him an alibi

for the night of the shooting.

Further evidence
must be gathered.

Twenty items,
scattered around the grounds,

each worth a point.

Let's split up.
We'll find them faster.

That's not in the spirit
of unity!

I've been thinking.

Remember how
uncomfortable Heather was

when Len started sharing
our secret talents?

Oh, yes. Ballet!

Please continue.

Well, there's only one way
Len had that information.

He's got our personnel files.

Of course!

Anything the suspects are hiding
must be in their files.

Where's a lock pick
when you need one?

Ah! Bravo, Sister!

Sorry for adding to
your list of sins.

Well, I'm sure the Lord won't
begrudge me one weekend of fun.

In the pursuit of justice,
of course.

Okay, I've found our files.

And here are
the Stowington ones.

Empty.

Looks like someone
beat us to it.

It's just full
of dusty old case files.

I'm sorry, sir. We're trying
to investigate discreetly,

but the thing is, the suspects
are all trained detectives.

Well, at least tell me we're on
course for Team of the Year?

I believe that's
every last item.

Unprecedented!

I only wish you'd worked
together.

Winning's what matters, right?

We get the points?

Your head start in tomorrow's
assault course

appears insurmountable.

Ah.
There's always next year, Sammy.

I--
Sorry.

Sit, Peggy please.

I feel I should say thank you

for calling off
your inspector earlier.

Oh.
You're welcome.

The observations
I made about you were unfounded.

If you wish to rebuke me,
you have fifteen seconds.

Don't be daft.

I forgive you.

My dad always says,

only take criticism
from those who know you.

You're one of the
most impressive officers

I've ever met,
let alone female ones.

But-- well, we don't actually
know each other, do we?

Before I joined the force,

I made a brief foray into
the racy modelling industry.

And now I live with that regret.

A detective and a model?

You're like a superhero!

Of course, I understand why you
wanted to keep it to yourself.

I thought I'd burnt
all the photographs, but...

nothing got past Winthrop.

I come from a family
of policemen.

I know how their vulgar
boys' club operates.

We do what we can to survive.

They're not all like Winthrop.

Even your colleagues
might surprise you,

if you give them a chance.

I see enormous potential in you,
Peggy Button.

But be careful.

Your trusting nature
may be your downfall.

Oh!

It was right in front of us!

The living room, the two
officers, the calling card.

Did you steal a file
from Len's office?

Well in my defence, you did
commission me for a burglary.

Sorry, I'm not following.

Len's story isn't so fictional,
after all!

Remarkable.
An inch-perfect reconstruction.

So ten years ago, you were
Stowington's Chief Constable,

when two of your officers
were shot.

And this happened
in Sergeant Harrison's home.

Where he sadly, died.

Harrison was a good man.

But his partner survived--

Inspector Winthrop.

The spinning top left
at the scene.

That wasn't the calling card of
Billy McCoy, a figment of
your imagination,

but of the very real
Jimmy McGraph.

Yeah, well, his--

His alibi was paper thin.

But so was our evidence.

Just the patchy testimony
of that drunkard.

All this team building twaddle
just to mess with me?

I hoped it might jog
your memory of that night.

- Don't you want justice?
- Of course I do.

But you screwed up
the investigation.

Because of your
unreliable narrative!

- Sister Boniface said--
- She's a nun, Len!

Be honest.
Did you take a bribe?

Move on with your life.

You're not a copper any more.

I'll always be a copper.

I didn't retire.

Winthrop had me pushed out,
for failing to protect my team.

The case went unsolved.

So you spent the next ten years
raking over every detail,

challenging scores of detectives
to find a breakthrough,

under the guise
of a team building course.

But why invite Winthrop now,
after all these years?

Jimmy McGraph's on his deathbed.

This was my last chance
to nail him,

so I brought in the best
of the best.

And the man you always blamed.
The man that took your job.

I was the failure,
he was the hero--

wounded trying
to save his dying partner.

Our paths were
on different trajectories.

Trajectories...

Am I in Heaven or Hell?

One can only speculate.

But your present injury is
barely a graze.

Your partner wasn't
so fortunate.

I tried to save him.

Threw myself
in front of the gun.

Your blood spatter tells
a different story.

I've been drinking.

Might be a bit fuzzy
on the details.

Like the gunman in the window?

No, that bit's true.

Curious how his bullet
changed course in mid-air,

entering the wall
at an angle defying all physics.

Well, maybe it ricocheted.

Or maybe the shooter had
extraordinarily long arms.

How else can one explain
your gunshot residue burn,

from a gun fired
at point blank range?

You don't know what
you're talking about.

You weren't there!

No.

And neither was the gunman.

Oh, bullet holes!

Sister?

I'm sorry, Len.

The evidence against
your suspect was weak,

because he was innocent.

Winthrop planted the
spinning top and shot himself

to cover up the truth--

that he killed his own partner.

No. No, he wouldn't have...

So Len had no idea?

Apparently not. But he already
blamed Winthrop for costing him
his career.

- So he had a motive.
- So did Heather.

Winthrop was blackmailing her.
Her secret's not important,

but if you must know,
she'll understand.

Well, any motives remain
academic,

until we determine how
the killer escaped a locked hut.

Could they have duplicated
the key?

Not without planning.

And this wasn't premeditated.

Perhaps the killer stayed
in here the whole night?

No, all the suspects were
present when I opened the door.

What if they pumped a toxic gas
through the air vent,

so Winthrop passed out,

then a special contraption fired
the spinning top?

Yes, well, erm...
there's certainly something

to be said for thinking
outside the box.

Ah! There you are!

Good morning, sir.

I believe we are
on the cusp of a breakthrough.

What? This is no time
for a murder investigation.

The assault course is about
to begin!

Go! Go! And go!

Bit of a head-scratcher,
this one, isn't it?

Even I can't figure out how a
key passed through a solid wall.

- Sorry, a key?
- Mm.

Well, clearly the killer locked
the door on the way out,

and then came up with this
fiendish plan to return the key

to the top of the chest
of drawers.

But that's the obvious part.

Yes. Obvious...

Well, here we are.

The final showdown.

First team
to cross the finish line wins.

First full team.

I'll carry these two,
if I have to.

Places, please.

I've been thinking.

When the dust settles,

there may be a place for you
in Stowington.

Are you serious?

Those buffoons in Great
Slaughter are holding you back.

What do you think?

I'm flattered, Heather.
Thank you, but--

if I have to choose between
my career and my friends?

I'll choose the buffoons.

Understood.

This will have no bearing
on the humiliation

you're about to endure.

I'd wish you good luck,

but you've got more chance of
catching your phantom murderer.

- One, two, three--
-Great Slaughter!

Oh!

CC Winthrop's death
feels like a contradiction.

An unplanned attack made
to look like an accident,

but yet leaving
the spinning top feels--

Premeditated.
Which clearly indicates murder.

Come on!
Up you get, up you get!

Pull yourself together, Beagle!

The spinning top was
no coincidence.

This must be about
Winthrop killing his partner.

But only Len was
around ten years ago,

and he never knew the truth.

Ah!

Oh, my hand's killing me. Help!

You know I don't like
physical contact.

Ugh!

Stringo!

Get off me!
I can manage.

Oh there's nothing more manly
than stubborn pride.

- What did you say?!
-Stop fighting,
we're all on the same team.

Come on Great Slaughter!
Get stuck in!

What's she doing back here?

No!

Sister,
so I don't think Len did this.

But who'd leave a spinning top?

Well, it was only a tool.
To engineer the locked room.

The perpetrator had to abandon
the top itself,

but they absconded
with the string.

After using it to transport
the key back through the grille

and onto the bedside table.

That's, er, kind of brilliant.

I mean, I myself couldn't pull
the string swiftly enough

to release the top.
Not without injury anyway.

Whoa-oh!

Oh! Oh, sir--
are you alright?

Yeah, I'm fine.

I'm fine.

Just a bit of rope burn.

Wait--

Oh! He must've heard us!

Don't come any closer!

Wait, wait!

Look-- you said
policing was in your blood.

Is that why you stole
the personnel files,

are you related
to Sergeant Harrison?

The child's spinning top

that Winthrop found at two
in the morning--

it was yours.

Was Sergeant Harrison
your father?

That living room was
so familiar...

It didn't click
'til hours later,

but the spinning top...

I used to have one just like it!

And then you saw the way
Winthrop reacted

when Boniface poked holes
in the evidence.

-Is that when
you confronted him?
-He was drunk.

Said he hadn't touched
a drop in ten years.

Not since the night
he shot my dad.

- His son?
- There was no one else there.

Tell me the truth!

We were joking around.

I didn't know my was pistol
was loaded.

- He was my best friend.
- You're a monster.

Breathe a word of this
and I swear I'll kill you too!

You didn't mean
for him to die.

I should've called for help.

I should've, but--

instead, I did the same
cowardly thing he did back then.

So you cleaned up the
evidence and staged the scene.

Yet the spinning top
betrayed you.

I only ever wanted to help
people.

But all I do is
make things worse.

No!
That's not true!

We need you, Beagle.

She's right, mate.
Listen!

Rupert-- whenever
Winthrop squandered his talent,

chasing personal glory,

your father forgave him.

He was a true team player.

And I've let him down.
I've ruined my career.

I disgraced the uniform!
Dad would be ashamed of me.

Actually, actually I think
he'd be proud of you.

Oh, yes! Yes, agreed.

If he forgave Winthrop's flaws,

he could forgive
your mistakes, too.

If he could what a fine
officer you've become--

one that believes in doing
the right thing.

PC Beagle--

I need you to come down
and make things right.

- How can I?
-By working with me.

You know it is my duty
to uphold the law.

You know this, because
you took the same oath as me.

Show me that it still means
something to you.

I just wanted to let you know,

everything you told us
stays confidential.

Thank you, Peggy.

Though I'm not sure keeping
secrets has helped my cause.

Bravo, dream team!

You've finally put my mind
at rest.

If only I'd instilled my old
gang with your esprit de corps!

So what are you going to do
next, old chap?

Now the case is solved,

I shall have to find
something else to live for.

I believe you've
already found it.

You make a splendid
camaraderie guru!

Agreed.
You're a natural, Len.

Really?

You don't think I'm
an embarrassing old cheese-ball?

- No, you're a natural, Len.
- No.

Hear, hear!

Oh! On that note,

as neither team finished
the assault course,

I'm afraid I'm going
to have to crown Stowington

the champions on points.

Well, they may need
a couple of minutes.

Right.
Ready to go home?

Oh, fine, fine.

Sir, you're not still moping
about

the Team of the Year
thing, are you?

Losing an award I can accept,

but losing it to Stowington?!

I'll never be able to show
my face in the clubhouse again.

Well, we did solve
an impossible murder

and rectify
an historic injustice.

Yes, well I suppose two out
of three isn't too disastrous.

Oh! And we discovered a
ballerino in our ranks.

Honestly, Felix.

Did you lie about being a
ballerino

just to liven up the
old CV?

Bravo!

Did you wear a tutu, Sarge?

Those tights must be
terribly restrictive.

And this is
why I don't share my hobbies.

I'm all for it.

I just want you
to introduce me to

some of your ballerina friends.

You are all philistines!