Original subtitles

Good evening. It's good to be back with you once again, isn't it, Raleigh?

Indeed it is. And in a packed program tonight, I shall be meeting Elasto,

Britain's most depressed contortionist, who last week tried to bend it all.

And then I'll be looking at three landscape paintings.

Paris, seen through the eyes of a Paris artist.

Madrid, seen through the eyes of a Madrid artist.

And Pisa...

Seen through the eyes of Dean Martin.

But first, the news.

In Parliament today, opposition members claimed that the government's enthusiasm

for law and order could lead to innocent people being punished by an act dating

back to 1729.

Paul Daniels.

On the industrial front, Arthur Scargill admitted tonight that he is a three

-shredded -wheat -a -day man.

He eats two and wears the other one on his head.

The workforce at Bryant and May's matches were amazed today when executive

director Mr. L .F. Sprott was discovered wearing women's clothing.

He later admitted to being a scorned vestite.

Claims that modern technology is destroying traditional sheep farming

confirmed today when in the one -man -and -his -dog finals at Windermere,

portions of frozen lamb cutlets were rounded up by a radio -controlled pyjama

case.

The Naskets, featuring Mr. Ronnie Corbett, direct from his first

triumph in The Merchant of Venice as the pound of flesh.

for a party, isn't it, darling? The great comedian.

Terrific idea.

I love it.

It certainly is.

Thank you, Groucho.

Oh, that's good. Oh, that's very, very good. Yes. I don't think we've got a

sooty.

Haven't come a sooty? Oh, haven't you? No, certainly not. Oh, well, it's just

well, isn't it, really? I mean, you don't want to spend the rest of the

with someone's hand up your jumper all night, do you?

Nonetheless, is that French maid over there? Oh, no, that's supposed to be

Marilyn Monroe as a French maid. Ah, well, she can dust my knick -knacks any

time.

So, which famous comedian have you come as, then?

Isn't it rather, you know, isn't it rather obvious?

No, no, can't place you, no, no.

You know, I work on the telly a lot. Oh.

Work on the telly. Oh, I see. Single act.

No, no, no, no. Oh.

There aren't seven of you, are there?

No, certainly not. No, I work on the telly a lot with my big partner.

Oh, your big partner, yes. Oh, call her. Of course I should have realized that.

Basil Brush.

How can you be so stupid? Do I have a bushy tail?

I shouldn't do that about you. There's a chap over there. Come as Larry Grayson.

He likes you.

Now, I'll give you a little clue.

A little what? A little clue.

Oh, yes.

My second name begins with C.

C. Oh!

Of course, yes.

The chirpiness, yes, of course.

Give a little whistle.

Jiminy Cricket.

No, no, no. I'll give you a further clue. Right. Not just C, Corbett. Oh,

Corbett. Second name Corbett. Corbett. Harry Corbett and Sooty. Oh, two of

We shall get your Harry Corbett later in the evening, shall we? No, you will not

get my Harry Corbett because I have not come as Harry Corbett or Sooty or Basil

Brush or Jiminy Cricket or one of the seven dwarves. I have come as Ronnie

Corbett.

Nothing like him.

If I told you one of his stories, would you believe me in that? Yes, go on, tell

me one of his stories. Well,

tonight's story... My producers suggested this story, by the way. And

story concerns a little BBC party we all went to. It was one of these economical

parties, you know, where they take away the barman's hearing aid.

Nothing like him.

Nothing like it. No, no, Mike Yarwood doesn't matter that.

Look, mate, I will tell you, not only have I come as Ronnie Corbett, but I am

Ronnie Corbett. You can't be. Why not? Because the real Ronnie Corbett happens

to be over there.

Good heavens.

There you are, you see.

Basil Brush.

I am not Basil Brush.

Basil, my favourite.

I always... Take my little battle breath doll to bed with me every night.

Look, I don't care if you take it. Really?

Really? Oh, yeah. And cuddle up to him. And mmm.

Want to come to my place for coffee?

Some like it hot.

Ha, ha, ha.

When I feel things, a very big Motown hit of the 60s, taken from his second

successful solo album, Hello, I Must Be Going. Ladies and gentlemen, Phil

Collins with You Can't Hurry Love.

I need to find time, someone to call mine. My mama said, you can't hurry

No, you'll just have to wait.

She said, love don't come easy.

But it's a game of faith I take.

You can't hurry love.

No, you'll just have to wait.

Just trust in my good time.

No matter how long it takes. How many heartaches must I say?

Before I found the love to let me live again.

Right now the only thing that keeps me hanging on.

When I feel my strength.

It's almost gone. I remember mama said. I know you'll just have to wait.

She said love don't come easy.

It's a game I'll play and take. How long must I wait? How much more must I take?

Well, it's a game of give and take. You can't hurry, love.

No, you just have to wait.

Just trust in the good times.

No matter how long it takes. And I'm free.

Now, love, love, it don't come easy.

But I keep on waiting on this love.

of stealth and total obscurity with special responsibility for limbs and

And I'm here tonight to talk to you about your bodies and what can be done

improve them. Now, here is a photograph of my secretary, Miss Bedtime.

Now, what could be done to improve her body? Well, not a lot.

But let us face it, which I do quite frequently, couldn't it be better if her

bosom was round at the back? I mean, think of the advantages.

dancing would be given an added pleasure.

It would certainly liven up page four of the Sun.

And it would be a shot in the arm for the British haversack industry.

In fact, Hollywood has already signed Dolly Parton to have the operation and

play the lead in the remake of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Technology already exists to bring about these changes. I myself have had

several parts of my body attended to.

as my secretary, Miss Bedtime, will attest.

Now, you might think I'm talking out of the back of my head, but I'm not.

But I could do if I wish, because that's where I have my extra mouth.

An alternative place for the mouth, of course, is in the top of the head.

This means you can put your breakfast in your hat and eat it going to work.

Now, here is someone else who has an extra mouth.

I am not at liberty to say where it is.

on mouth and trousers.

Let me give you a few examples of the improvements we are capable of.

Now, what is odd about this man?

That's right, he's an Australian.

And he has three legs.

But what uses a third leg? Well, over here is a composite picture of Mr.

Bird, the famous English umpire.

That does away with the need for wickets.

The idea is to try and hit one of his legs and knock his bales off.

No more will you be able to make the excuse that you've only got one pair of

hands because now you will be able to have two pairs of hands.

Boon for the man whose wife tells him he doesn't appreciate her. Now he will be

able to show his appreciation by giving her a cuddle and a round of applause at

the same time.

a lot of conjecture about the best place to put the third eye.

Now, many people suggest that the navel is simply begging for an eye.

Then, of course, where would we put the salt when we were eating our crisps in

bed?

Many people have suggested that the best place for a third eye would be the end

of this finger.

And I can see the advantages.

What about the benefit of hindsight?

would be perfect for keeping an eye on the bathroom door whilst searching for

the soap.

Now, what about an extra ear, I hear you say? Although, of course, if I do hear

you say that, why do I need an extra ear? Well, I don't. But consider someone

who is using a Sonny Walkman. Here we are.

Now, thus rendering themselves oblivious to all that's going on around them.

But if they had an extra ear, like so...

could still listen to their Sonny Walkman with the added benefit that they

also be able to hear the juggernaut just before it hit them.

Now, for those desiring additional limbs and organs, special hospitals have been

set up throughout the country to accommodate you. For instance, anyone

extra hands will be dealt with here at Handsworth.

And we have additional specialist hospitals here at Neasden, Henley,

Liverpool, Musselburgh.

And, of course, Hampton Wick.

Excuse me.

Yes?

Where are you speaking from?

Oh, don't be silly.

Someone talking through their hat.

Now, turning to the nose...

realise that we spend over ten million pounds a year on disposable tissues, so

we propose to save all that money with the disposable nose.

These will come in convenient boxes here of ten, or one if you happen to be

Barry Manilow.

And there you have it.

Good Lord, is that the time?

why he lived in paradise.

You don't like women, do you?

Not a lot.

You was married, though, wasn't you?

Oh, yeah, yeah. My wife came from a fine old English family.

Unfortunately, she brought it with her.

Is that why you took the road then, was it?

No, no. I took the road because she was stupid.

That's why I told her my great -grandfather was killed at Waterloo, and

said, which platform?

And so and so, as if the platform mattered.

Exactly.

And she was kind of blind and all, and never told me.

Well, how do you find out?

Well, she made a rhubarb pie...

flogged ten seamen today, keelhauled four, clapped three in arms.

Quite a light day, really.

But I hear mutiny.

I know that the first mate, Fletcher Christian, plans to take over the ship.

Come here.

What is it, Mr. Christian? Captain Bly, I am to tell you that I am to relieve

you of your command and take over the ship.

You mean you're going to mutiny? Yes.

You and the members of the crew loyal to you will be put in the longboat. With

such provisions as we can spare, I and the remainder of the men shall set sail

for a new life on the high seas.

You mutinous dog!

This day will live in infamy.

The name Fletcher Christian will forever go down in history as a disloyal

traitor. Nay, the name of Captain Bly will go down as a cruel despot.

high seas. That's as may be. One thing is certain, that this incident, this

shipboard rebellion, will forever be known and renowned as the mutiny on the

Skylark.

So be it.

But no, wait.

What? We can't, this is awful. You're not going to mutiny?

No, no, no, we're going to mutiny. Yes, of course mutiny, but mutiny on the

Skylark. I mean, so wet, isn't it? Well, it is, yes.

I mean, it's so sort of...

Sissy, really, isn't it? I mean, it's like a bunch of office cleaners on a day

trip round the lighthouse.

I never liked the name myself.

No, we were never taken seriously. I mean, even when they launched the ship,

they used a bottle of orangeade.

In history, when the incident is mentioned, mutiny on the Skylark, people

simply snigger, you know.

Snigger. Oh, poof.

It's your fault, really.

I mean, why did you call it the Skylark? It was my wife's favourite bird.

Why didn't you choose her second favourite bird? That's the great tit.

But you're right, Christian. Our names will forever be a historical laughing

stock. Like Ethelred the Unready and Alfred the Cake.

Yes. I did so want to be a romantic hero.

We could change it, of course.

Could we? Why not? If we change it before you mutiny, then it won't be the

mutiny on the Skylark, will it? It'll be mutiny upon the whatever.

What a good idea. What could we change it to? Well, let's see. I mean, there

must be millions of names, mustn't there? Millions. I mean, there's...

what do they call ships these days?

Usually after women. Women's names.

Well, there we are. What women's names do we know, then?

My God, we have been at sea a long time.

What about your wife? You call it after your wife? Yes, yes. What about that?

Mutiny on the mural.

What about that little bit you met in Tahiti? That Polynesian piece, what was

her name?

Tahoa Aloa Aloa Wagga Wagga Ala Woo.

Yes, well, in years to come, that should certainly sort them out at O -level.

I like calling it after the cabin boy.

Jim Hawkins.

Mutiny on the Jim Hawkins. Jim Hawkins is not a woman.

No, no.

But on a Friday, he puts on a pretty little dress and a hat.

Don't want any of that, thank you, Christian.

None of that on my ship. What we can do is call it anything we like. It doesn't

have to be a woman's name. The very next thing that we think of, that's what

we'll call it. Agreed? Agreed.

Come in. Mr. Christian, sir, have you taken over the ship? No, not yet. Not

In the meanwhile, will you put such provisions as we can spare in the

for the captain?

We have very long provisions, sir.

Well, I have some of those new chocolate bars in my locker.

Put them in as well, just for the time being.

Oh, yes.

That's it. Chocolate bars.

That's what we'll call the ship after. Your new chocolate bars.

Indeed, then, in history, we will go down as serious and important people. Of

course. Captain Bly, Fletcher Christian.

And the mutiny. On the crunchy.

As soon as he copper -plated a suspender and bra, you should have mighty caned

his gerbils, shouldn't you?

Of course you could, yeah.

Cooked him on a Fagans and left him denture and truss.

Yeah. Eh?

Well, it's obvious, isn't it?

Yeah. Not at all.

Kipped her down the trousers, me old love.

What was that all about, then? I haven't got a blind idea.

Probably a wrong sandwich.

You mean a wrong cucumber?

Yeah, a wrong cucumber sandwich, yeah.

He probably just wanted the Ilton.

What, you mean a Milton?

Milton Keynes.

You know, Huey Greenes. No, no, no, he just wanted Hilton. You know what they

say. I know, it's confusing, isn't it?

It's all beyond me, all this modern rabbit.

A policeman's lot is not a bowl of cherries. Tom and Jerry's. But the

isn't rounding up a gang. Let them hang.

For today's police, the thing that really worries. Chicken curry.

Is a keeping up with all the rhyming slang.

Who is it prank?

For your average modern rosa watches minder.

Organ grinder. Just the Sweeney. Juliet Bravo and the Bill. Jimmy Hill.

A young 'un's talk is a reminder.

Play the blinder. That you lack the modern conversation skill.

Pebble mill.

Get a modern cockney copper. Give the verbal.

Dr. Goebbels. In a language never uttered by the Queen. Know what I mean.

And the more mature policeman's blood just curdles. Latex girdle. And the

sibling back Dixon of Doc Green.

Mr. Clean.

For the young.

Longer generation copies able.

Coffee table. Two converting slang drivers up the pole. Bake and roll.

So the station sounds just like the Tower of Babel. Benny Grable. When the

blokes all talk like Waterman and Cole.

Down the old.

Calling all jam jars. Calling all jam jars.

Proceeding once to the M40. Naughty, naughty.

Junction 5. Duck and dive.

Where punch -up is taking place between owner of a Ford, four wheels and a Ford,

and an inarticulated lorry driver. Don't forget the diver.

trucks have given the breathalyzer.

That doesn't work. Try fertilizer.

Roger and out. The big boy's out.

The policeman's lot is not for beer and skittles, peanut brittles. When a

perlin's called, he seldom does his bird.

Richard the third.

And the reason he keep getting these acquittals, large and little, is the

can't understand a blinking word.

Deaf old turkey.

Bingo may be kosher on the telly. Barbara Kelly.

But it hinders the custodians of the law. Roger Moore.

Do we know what's going on? Not on your nelly.

Botticelli. No, we can't keep up with Waterman and Thor. Shut that door.

with tit for tat and ours your father nicely thank you we can understand a

genuine old lag oily rag but the latest one just gets us in a lava so I garver

when they're uttered by some wily little wag Melvin Bragg now anything

we fail to understand kiss me hand either me or my diminutive chum Thomas

three wise monkeys we've agreed to imitate Kiss me, Kate.

And be completely blind and deaf and dumb.

Kiss me quick.

And be completely blind and deaf and dumb.

Evening all...

Can you suggest something for a headache?

I haven't got a headache.

No, no, for my headache, dear. Oh, don't worry.

Will you send in a cup of herbal tea, please?

And the next patient. Thank you.

Very good, sir.

to be the trouble.

I have got a hatchet in my head.

Good Lord, is it? Dear me.

Funny enough, I noticed it, but I thought it was some sort of, you know,

sort of hat.

It is some sort of hat.

Yes, indeed it is. Sorry, what sort? The painful sort.

I'm sorry, good Lord, is it causing you some discomfort? Of course it is, of

course it is.

Oh, dear, yes, it does look... It does look rather sore, I must say. You see,

you've got it bang here, haven't you? Right in there. Right between, you know,

your sexual drive and your ability to sew on buttons.

Will you do something about it, please?

Certainly. First things first. Now, your name, please.

Spat.

Initials? TK. Look, I failed to see what... Excuse me. Excuse me, Mr. Spat.

Your date of birth, please?

August the 4th, 1930.

Ah, well, that's it.

What's it? Typical Leo.

Typical what?

Typical Leo, you see, the fire sign.

Fire, metal, hatchet. It is a fireman's hatchet, isn't it? Yes, it is.

And, of course, it's the 11th of the month. Of course. You are bound to get a

hatchet in your head.

Strangely enough, I've written a paper on the very subject. Would you care

Yes, I don't feel like reading at the moment, thank you very much. I've got

headache. Yes.

Yeah, but I've got a hatchet in mine.

Excuse me, to the outward eye, the untutored eye, you have outwardly got a

hatchet. Yeah, some of it is inwardly and all.

It hurts.

Excuse me, Mrs. Bass, I am the doctor.

Please allow me to decide what hurts and what does not.

Will you please remember? Tell me, are you getting any tingling at the end of

your fingers? No, no, none whatsoever.

No, all the tingling is in my head. That is possibly due to the fact... Let us

not jump to conclusions, Mr Spat. That hatchet in the head could possibly be

symptom of something very much worse. Worse? What could be worse? What could

worse than that? Look, it's an emergency. Will you do something? It's

emergency in my head here. If only you'd come to me ten years ago.

I've come to you ten years ago. I've only just got it in my...

A lifetime husband is sitting in the wrong position.

Diet of red meat. I mean, you don't even know your birth sign. Of course you're

going to get a hatchet in your head. Look, just pull it out, will you please,

Professor? We have to treat, don't you understand?

We have to treat the whole man.

What about the hole in the man?

What sort of doctor are you?

Mr. Spat, you're living out of accord with nature, you see.

Do you understand?

Your ying and your yang are slightly imbalanced. Of course you feel

You feel violent. I didn't put it in my head.

The man upstairs was violent.

Listen, the man upstairs obeys forces from higher planes as well. Oh, I'm

I'm sorry. I'm just going to the nearest National Health Outpatient Department.

Thank you very much. Oh, you ignorant amateur. You have no idea, have you, of

the cosmos.

Look, you're a crank, you're a windbag, you're full of hot air, and I hope you

sit on your own acupuncture needles.

Ingrate. Good gracious, my headache has completely gone.

Thank you very much for that spontaneous applause.

And we'll...

Not my fault you couldn't get tickets for Cracker Jack.

Now, tonight, I... Cracker Jack!

Oh, thank you, ma 'am.

A bit late, but very good. Now... Tonight... Tonight, some of

you may have noticed a slight addition to the picture on your television

I better explain.

This is due to a new law.

The TV Viewers Protection Act.

brackets, comedians of limited growth.

I don't know why that should include me. Which makes it compulsory for all

comedians under five foot with big back glasses who sit in chairs telling jokes

to carry a government health watch.

Well, it is fair enough, I suppose, because research does show that the

I tell can lead to fatal illness.

People get sick to death of them.

So that is why we have to put up this sign. Now, incidentally, to be honest, I

have been a bit off colour myself all round lately.

My imagination has been playing little tricks on me. The other day I was in the

garden trimming the big cockerel on the front edge, you know.

And as I had picked up the shears, I swear I heard the cockerel say, not too

much off the top, please.

All in the mind, you see. I must admit, my new car has been a bit of a

disappointment. The Robin Reliant Turbo.

fastest car I've ever driven.

The warranty ran out while I was backing it out of the showroom.

In fact, all in all, it has been rather a tragic week.

Last Thursday morning, our little pet sausage dog, Ronnie Junior, died.

He died.

No, he didn't die, but he did die, and rigor mortis set in.

My wife took it surprisingly well. Within half an hour, she plucked up the

courage to lay it out on the kitchen table.

And by lunchtime, she was rolling the pastry with it.

She's a little bit absent -minded, I'll be honest. I once asked her to let the

cat out, and she was up all night with a needle and cotton.

To cheer her up, I took her to

Madame Tussauds for the unveiling of the new wax dummy of Nigel Lawson.

And it was so realistic, the head fell off and the pound rose 25 cents against

the knob.

On with the joke, which I am bound by law to tell you is best before August

3rd, 1876.

And which I laughed at quite a few years ago now when I was doing a very cheap

Christmas show in Chinatown called Jack and the Greensprout.

It wasn't much of a part, I'll be honest. I was appearing with Dudley

Charlie Drake as a pantomime earwig.

And I must make a good job of this story tonight because it is actually a

particular favourite of the controller of BBC One.

And I have not been in his good books ever since I disgraced myself over the

suggestion box.

I suggested they put a hole in the top.

Which didn't go down too well. The next day he summoned me to his plush seventh

floor office.

My goodness, big dick.

I've seen a flypaper in there with the red arrows stuck to it.

And he does take a very keen personal interest in this show, The Controller.

Every week he and the producer get together upstairs and kick a few ideas

around. Then they come down here and kick me around.

When I saw him this week, he was feeling rather full of himself showing off

his... New Lacoste nose job.

With a little crocodile over one nostril.

Get a pigging move on in the chair this week, he said. Get a pigging move on in

the chair with uncharacteristic eloquence. So tonight, for the first

history, I shall dispense with any rambling and get right into the joke,

is the one about the policeman who is out on his beat one night in the middle

winter, five below zero. He's got icicles around his helmet.

Goose pimples on his truncheon.

And he is trudging around the streets, not much action about.

He's cautioned a couple of cockroaches for curb crawling.

Otherwise, all is quiet. And as he's standing there in the corner, little

flakes begin to flutter down from the sky.

And immediately, he snaps into his police training.

Hello, hello, hello, he says.

Little white flakes fluttering down from the sky.

It must be snowing.

Because he's quite bright.

But thick with it. The forecast said three feet of snow and I've only got two

boots on.

Can't stop tonight, I'm sorry, I'm rushing on.

I should have worn my big police overcoat.

So to cut a long story short, or not very short, he hurries back to the

you know, sort of like that, only to find his wife has gone to bed on the

of the front door. What an unfortunate circumstance, he says, or worse to that

effect.

a pebble up at the bedroom window and out pops his wife's head. She says, what

do you mean by getting me out of bed at three o 'clock in the morning? Go away

or I'll call the police.

He says, look, I am sorry to wake you up, dearest, but if you just throw down

big police overcoat, I'll be on my way. So she disappears from the window, gets

the coat, throws it down the way he goes, warm as toast, you see. Well, five

hours later, he's back in the nick, walks into the mess room, says, my God,

a night that was, he said.

Thank goodness for the old police overcoat, save my bacon.

His mate says, yes, you can say that again. By Jove. Then he gives him a

look. He says, wait a minute. He says, here, by the way, George, how long have

you been a sergeant?

You're not answering, sir.

Father?

Father?

Oh, my God.

What is it, James?

It's mother.

Stand back, both of you.

the police at once.

No. I don't trust the police.

I find they tend to be biased in favor of the innocent.

We need a private detective.

Miss Marple, then.

Fortunately, she lives in the next village.

Even more fortunate, the great Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, happens to be

staying the weekend with her.

I must go and see them at once. Yes, do.

Two great detectives for the price of one, eh?

Father couldn't be in better hands.

Lucky old dog.

fallen on his feet again.

The mist is rising.

I fancy the sailors are in for a filthy night.

Really? Yes, they've just opened a new strip club in Portsmouth.

Oh, Mrs Marbles.

You've almost slipped my memory.

What do you make of this?

Doesn't go with your shoes, Mr. Poirot.

My name is not Mrs.

Marbles. Miss Marple. I pray you, madam, do not digress.

This bag was left behind by a visitor while we were out buying you some more

wool. What can you tell me of its owner?

Aside from the fact that she was a bald, fat woman named Hyde who wiped her nose

upon her sleeve and whose husband wore a truss.

Really, Mr. Poirot, that's pure conjecture.

Simplicity itself, madame.

Inside the unbag you will find a small lace hanky which has never been used.

Therefore, she must wipe her nose upon her sleeve.

Also, a newspaper clipping containing two advertisements.

One for outsized corsets and the other pledging relief for earlier sufferers.

Deduction, she is fat, her husband wears a truss.

Why bold?

The comb, madame.

There is no comb.

Exactement. Who but a bald woman would neglect to carry a comb on her person?

for the name Hyde, it is embossed upon the handbag itself, along with her

Christian names, genuine and cow.

But wait.

I detect a foot outside the door.

We are the visitor.

Oh, Monsieur Potter.

I almost fell over this foot outside the door.

The bravest you did, mademoiselle.

Oh, you found my bag.

Oh, this is your handbag.

Oh, Miss Martins, you must help me.

I'm at my wit's end.

Have a sip of this brandy, my dear.

Tell us all about it.

It's, um, a 1933 Armagnac.

the case.

My name is Agnes Pumfret.

My father was Colonel Joshua Pumfret, who retired six years ago to take up

beekeeping in Oswestry. Yes, the speck of grit in your left ear lobe told me

that much.

Try to stick to the point.

Well, yesterday morning we found Father dead on the floor.

It appeared to be suicide.

The gun was still in his hand. The door and all the windows were still locked

from the inside.

This press clipping gives most of the details.

Outsized corsets.

And yet there is something about this case that no one could explain, Monsieur

Poirot. Why, before killing himself, would my father shoot his own teddy

The bullet was still in his chest.

It's almost as if someone murdered my father and then shot the teddy bear

because it was a witness.

To make sure that he did not squeal.

Teddy bears don't squeal.

They squeak.

Spare me the zoological details, please, Mrs. Marbles.

This case intrigues me. There is no time to lose.

Pack yourself a spare toothbrush and some knitting needles.

We must leave at once.

Don't forget your handbag.

Oh, no.

It belonged to my great -aunt in Becantree.

Oh. I came from Becantree.

Oh, perhaps you knew her. A bald, fat woman named Hyde.

She wrapped her nose in a sleeve.

Mr.

Campbell, this is Mr. Poirot, the famous detective.

Oh, Mr. Poirot, you're much thinner than I imagined.

May I talk to you?

The woman is obviously a myopic idiot. She's talking to the hat stand.

Try to conduct me to the scene of the tragedy, Miss Pomfret.

Pomfret? As you wish.

Tell me, mademoiselle, did he always sleep in this position?

He usually slept in the bed, Monsieur.

what have we here?

A cigarette that has singed a hole in the sheet.

How careless some people can be.

Smoking in bed is a very dangerous occupation. I knew a woman once. Or was

lots? But that's another story.

We were very lucky that the whole bed did not simply burst into flames.

You are a silly man.

Interesting. And that, I presume, is a teddy bear.

And the bullet is still here in his chest.

Tell me, madame, is there a deep groove across the bottom with a small round

hole in it?

What's wrong with that?

The bullet, madame, the bullet.

Yes, this was fired from the same gun.

There is devilry here, Miss Nippon.

My dear young man, I observe from this toenail keeping a fund upon the carpet

that you are a rugby player, no?

Good Lord, how on earth could you possibly deduce that?

It is nothing.

In fact, you are an all -around sportsman, yes?

Well, I like to keep fit, monsieur.

Of course. Do you mind if I try, monsieur Pomfret?

Pomfret? Gesundheit.

Mr. Pomfret, can you think of anyone at all who might have wanted to murder your

father?

Well, there's myself, of course.

And Miss.

Cousin Sidney.

Auntie Gladys and Uncle Wilf. Mr. Widgen from the post office.

Old Mrs. Cartwright.

Oh, yes, yes. I take it he was not a popular man.

We must be going now.

Come on, Mr. Poirot. Drink total.

Everyone has their ups and downs.

Silence, please.

I wish to conduct a little experiment.

Madame Tremble, I want you to take this gun and empty all the chambers into my

heart. Empty all the chambers? Are you mad?

Like a terrible man.

Yes, Madame Twemble. Your aim was so bad that at first you shoot the teddy bear

by mistake before callously killing your own employer, Colonel Joshua Pomfret.

Pomfret? Yeah, him.

Why did you get out of the room and lock the door from the inside?

And why did none of us hear any gunshots?

There is a perfectly simple answer to that.

If only I knew what it was.

I think I can help, Mr. Poirot.

Because I think...

I have worked out exactly how this bizarre crime was committed.

Oh, I say this won't take too long, will it? I've got two vaulting horses and a

trampoline being delivered at four.

Ladies and gentlemen, with your indulgence, I should like to take you

to the night of the crime.

Having knocked the door and all the windows, Colonel Pumphrey thought he was

safe. But he was wrong.

for the assassin was already in the room, concealed in

a secret compartment underneath the bed.

The murderer waited until the time was right and then fired the gun up through

the mattress so as to muffle the sound.

But what the murderer didn't know was that the bullet had gone right through

victim's body and embedded itself in the teddy bear.

It was then, that the murderer emerged into the room.

Yes, Mr. Poirot, it was you.

You were the murderer.

You put the gun in Pumfret's hand to make it look like suicide.

Then you lay the teddy bear over the edge of the bed and placed the cigarette

end over the charred bullet hole so no one would suspect what had happened.

Then you climbed back inside the bed and remained hidden in the room until the

coast was clear the following morning. But how did the secret compartment get

there? The man who sold you this bed, did he look like this?

The white bearded salesman? Yes.

Mr. Poirot in one of his many uncanny disguises.

Curse you, Mrs. Marbles.

Yes, it was I, me, moi.

I was so bored that I did it to prove I could commit the perfect crime. Now I am

ruined. But you will never take me alive.

You understand?

No one will ever take me alive!

Mr. Griffiths.

Mr.

Griffiths, we've left your new trampoline outside in the yard. Is that

right?

Why, Mr. Poirot, as I said before, everyone has their ups and downs.

Well, that seems to be about all we've got time for tonight. But before we go,

few late items of news.

The England football squad were training at Crystal Palace's ground again today,

where they practiced dribbling round some dustbins.

The dustbins won 5 -0.

And three weeks after his untimely death, Arthur Purvis, the only

to have his entire body covered in writing, had his will read today.

The wife of snooker champion Tomato Potts was granted a divorce today.

She told the court he would only make love to her on the table, and he always

insisted on keeping one foot on the floor.

Next week, next week I'll be talking to a lady window dresser and asking her why

she doesn't pull the curtains.

And here in the studio will be the world's greatest inverted snob. He

his head so he can look up his nose at people.

And it's good night from me. And it's good night from him. Good night.

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