All language subtitles for Strong Poison, Part 2, 50m

Judge: The case to the crown,
Members of the Jury,

is that the prisoner,
Harriet Vane,

murdered her former lover,
Philip Boyes, with arsenic.

He undoubtedly
did take arsenic,

and if you are satisfied
that he died of it,

and she administered it
with that intent,

then it is your duty
to find her guilty of murder.

Paper! Paper!

Miss Harriet Vane
to face retrial!

Date fixed for new hearing!

Oh, do talk
whilst I work.

I'm afraid Imogen

can only sit for me
in the evening.

She's a civil servant,
you see.

A civil servant by day
and a Circe by night.

Circe, the enchantress.

Peter wants to know
about Harriet Vane

and Philip Boyes.

Why does he?
Imogen!

Hold your head up.

Because he's
trying to help.

Harriet is a very sweet
and vulnerable creature,

and what she saw in
that self-centered individual,

none of us
could understand.

After his death,
did you see much of her?

By then she'd moved out
and gone to Doughty Street,

but she used to
pop back and see us.

How was she?

After he died?

Well, she was upset,
of course.

Eiluned:
In my opinion, she was thankful to be rid of him.

And no wonder...
selfish brute.

He made use of her,

nagged her to death for a year,
and finally insulted her.

Dearest...

She was glad, Syl.
What's the use of denying it?

Yes, perhaps.

It was a relief to know
it was all finished with.

But she'd no idea
that he'd been murdered.

If it was murder,
which I don't believe.

Sugar?
No, thanks.

I thought all men liked to
make their coffee into syrup.

But I'm rather unusual...
hadn't you noticed?

No, I have not had time
to observe you,

but I'll take the coffee
as a point in your favour.

Philip Boyes was always
determined to be a victim.

It was very irritating of him
to succeed in the end.

Poisoned himself
out of vanity?

People do
do that sort of thing, of course,

but juries are
much more inclined

to believe in something
more tangible and prosaic.

Like money.

Not that I can
find any in this case.

There never was much money.

Except what Harriet made.
His books never sold, y'know.

Some people
thought him rather good.

Only the odious
Ryland Vaughan.

Eiluned is
awfully severe about men.

You know Vaughan's
going round

saying Harriet
killed Philip Boyes

because she was
jealous of his genius,

and could only
write tripe herself.

D'you hear,
Sylvia?

You're altogether
too nice about everybody.

The truth is, Philip Boyes
resented her success.

He reckoned she ought to be
ministering to his work...

Not making money
for them both

with her own
independent trash.

But that's men all over.

You don't have
much opinion of us, do you?

Hmph! Have a biscuit.

No, thanks.
Not really a sweet tooth.

The thing is,

the retrial comes up
in just less than 30 days.

Oh, the poor thing.

And one can't depend on the jury
disagreeing for a second time.

Well, what's to be done?

(Telephone)

Well, I'm trying to find out
as much as I can

about Harriet's
recent life.

I, um, I do have one
line of enquiry

that might prove fruitful.

But if it doesn't
come to anything,

I'm afraid I'm rather
up against it.

Eiluned: Flaxman 9424.

Yes, he's here.
I'll tell him.

It's for you, Lord Peter.
It's your manservant.

You're wanted
at Scotland Yard!

Thank you so much.

I must fly.

(Knocking)
Come in.

Charles!
What have you found?

Look, Peter, I don't want you
to become too optimistic.

You get Bunter to track me
halfway across London,

you must have
found something.

Philip Boyes.
The missing ten minutes.

We found the pub,
and it seems that

there was a man there
who fits a description...

a man who answers to
the description of Boyes?

And what's more,
feeling ill

and producing a packet
of white powder.

The arsenic?
Could have been arsenic.

Wonderful! Excellent news!

I knew you'd
react like this.

But why not?

Because I am convinced
that this suicide theory

you have about Boyes
is rubbish.

Rubbish?

Your vision's clouded
because of her...Harriet Vane!

Peter, can you tell me
in all honesty

that you're not allowing
your judgement

to be affected
by your emotions?

Yes. I can.

Peter.

Good evening, sir.

Lord Peter Wimsey, please.

My card.

I'm afraid his lordship
is out at the moment,

but if you would
care to wait?

I would.

His lordship
will not be long.

May I offer you
a glass of sherry, sir?

All right.

Parker: We had investigated
this pub, of course.

But as luck would have it,
the barmaid who served him

was away on her honeymoon
when we made the enquiry,

so the connection with Boyes
was never made.

Was she the only one there?

And the publican.

What about him?

He was also away...

on the honeymoon.

Oh, no, sir.
This is on me.

Oh...
Not another word.

It's my pleasure.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, I remember.

The gentleman comes in...

almost falls in,
you could say...

and calls out, "Give me
a double brandy, quick!"

I didn't like to serve him
all at once,

I mean, he looked
so white and queer.

I thought he'd had
one or two over the eight.

And the boss...
my hubby now...

he's most particular
about serving drunks.

Still...he spoke all right,
y'know, quite clear,

not repeating himself
nor nothing.

And his eyes, well,

although they did look
a bit funny,

they weren't fixed,
if you understand me.

Well, here's
to you two gentlemen.

I could see
that he weren't drunk.

So I mixed him
a double brandy

with a splash of soda...
just like yerself, sir.

Down it goes,
and, "That's better," he says.

And then, Mrs. Bullfinch?

And then, well,

he...he slumps down
in that seat over there, sir.

Look, I'll show you.
just here...

like this...
"Ohhh..."

Then after a while,

he asked me for
a glass of water!

Water?

Water.

"Oh, sorry if
I frightened you," he said,

"but I've just had
a bad shock,

and any shock or worry
always affects my stomach."

"However," he says,

perhaps this
will stop it."

And he takes out
a white paper packet

with some powder in it,

drops it into the water,

stirs it up
with his fountain pen,

then he drinks it.

Did it fizz
or anything?

No...

just plain powder.

Took a while to mix up,
though, before he drank it.

Then after he drank it,

he said, "That settles it."

"That settles it"--
were those his exact words?

Well, "that settles it,"
or, "that'll settle it"...

something of that sort.

Can't be
absolutely exact.

Then he raises his hat...

oh, quite the gentleman...

and off he goes.

Did you see exactly

how much of the powder
was put into the glass?

Oh, a good dollop.

He didn't measure it,
but most of the packet, I'd say.

About...about
a dessert spoonful.

Parker: And we do know
what you did with the packet,

Mrs. Bullfinch.

Well, Inspector,

I swear I tucked it
behind the spirits here,

but, y'know,
it was six months ago.

Well, it ain't there now.

Bunter: There's a Mr. Vaughan
waiting to see you.

Peter: Thank you, Bunter.

Sorry to have kept you,
Mr. Vaughan.

How can I help you?

I think it's I
who can help you, sir.

Really? I'd be obliged
to know how.

Philip Boyes...
I was his only real friend.

All the rest only cared
to pick his brains.

Yes, parrots...

all the bloody lot of them.

I've read his books.

I found them, uh...
interesting.

Interesting, eh?

Let me tell you,

he was a good deal
more than interesting.

He had real talent.

Those damn thieves
of publishers

took every blasted coin
they could lay their hands on.

Forgive me,
but I don't quite see

how this is
supposed to help me.

Harriet Vane...
don't waste your time.

It was that bitch of a woman
that poisoned him.

(Rings bell)

Mr. Vaughan is leaving.

Thank you for your help.

Thank you, sir.

Damn everything!

Care for more coffee,
m'lord?

The emotions, Bunter...
a terrible thing.

I believe they are,
m'lord.

You're being flippant, Bunter,

and I'm not in a flippant mood.

Just over two weeks to go.

Miss Vane, m'lord?

Miss Vane.

Exactly so.

Your lordship has been involved
in more hopeless cases...

and triumphed.

You're absolutely right.

I've been wallowing,

and the only course is action.

Much better thinking,
m'lord.

Philip Boyes's cousin,
Urquhart...

The account of that meal...
such detail.

Bunter...

I want you
to play the Don Juan.

Don Juan, m'lord?

Yes, indeed.

You cut an impressive figure,
if I may say so.

You have a bold
and roving eye...

Off duty...

A ready wit,

and I am persuaded
that you have a way with you.

What more could any cook
or parlour maid want?

Ah, the ladies
in Mr. Urquhart's service.

I want you
to deliver this

to Mr. Urquhart
at Woburn Square,

and, in the short space of time
at your disposal,

to insinuate yourself

into the bosom

of Mr. Urquhart's household...

and pump the ladies
about the said Urquhart.

I shall endeavor
to insinuate myself

to your lordship's
satisfaction.

I've seen poor Mr. Boyes...

when they sent for me
to bring up the hot bottles.

Three, they had...

one to his feet,
one to his back,

a big rubber one
to his stomach.

Horrible white, he was.

Green he looked to me, cook.

Well, let's say
greenish-yellow.

I thought it was
the jaundice a-comin' on.

More like them attacks
he had in the spring.

and you never saw
such cramps!

A regular feature
of these arsenical cases.

Very distressing symptoms.

Had he, uh, ever had
anything of the sort before?

Not what you'd call cramps.

When he was ill...
in the spring...

he complained of fidgets
in his hands and feet.

Something like
pins and needles, he said.

Dreadful, wicked woman,
this Harriet Vane must be.

Now, do have a crumpet,
Mr. Bunter.

Butter's melted
nicely through.

And you'll have
a little drop more

against the damp,
I'm sure.

(Chuckles)

After you, ladies.

Now, a bashin' on the head

or the hasty use
of a carvin' knife

when roused,
I can understand.

But the horrors
of slow poisoning

is...is the work of a fiend!

Fiend is the only word,
Mrs. Pettican.

When Mr. Urquhart
told us about

the digging up of Mr. Boyes,

and finding him
full of nasty arsenic,

it gave me such a turn.
And in our house!

But of course you had
no difficulty

in proving that
the noxious substance

had not been given to him
in this house?

Well, Mr. Urquhart put me
through it so carefully,

about the questions
I'd be asked.

Yes. The very next morning
after Mr. Boyes was took ill,

the master came down to us,
and he says...

sittin' in that chair,
ever so friendly...

just as you
would be yourself, Mr. Bunter.

"I'm afraid Mr. Boyes
is very ill," he says,

"so I want you and cook
to run through everything

"we had for dinner
last night."

To see if we can think
what it could have been.

"I don't see
that Mr. Boyes could have had

"anything unwholesome here,"
I says,

"cook and me had just the same,
"and all as sweet's could be."

Except for the omelette,
of course.

They finished that off
between them.

And I remember asking cook

if they were the last four eggs
in the 'ouse,

'cos one was cracked.

Very farseeing of Mr. Urquhart
to take such precautions...

when there was
no thought at the time

but that the poor man
had died natural.

Many's the case
his lordship's seen

when an innocent man
was brought near to the gallows

for lack of
such precautions.

And when I think of
how near Mr. Urquhart was

to being away from home
at the time...

well, it fair
gave me palpitations.

Called away, he was,
to that tiresome old woman,

what's always a-dying...
never dies.

He's there now.

Mrs. Wrayburn,
up in Windle.

Mrs. Pettican:
Rich as sneezes she is, by all accounts.

Or so they say.

And a wicked old woman
she was, too, in her day.

Her other relations

wouldn't have nothin'
to do with her...

only Mr. Urquhart.

And I don't suppose
he wouldn't, neither.

Only he's her solicitor,
and it's his duty so to do.

Duty does not always
lie in pleasant places,

as you and I well know,
Mrs. Pettican.

I pass no comments.

But you and me, Mr. Bunter,
know how the world goes.

I suppose Mr. Urquhart
stands to gain something

when the old woman
does peg out.

That's as may be.

Stands to reason,
don't it?

I mean, he wouldn't be
always givin' up his time

and tearin' up
to Westmorland for nothing.

And the deceased,
Mr. Boyes...

Did he know all about
the old girl?

Oh, yes. It's all
in the family, you see.

No doubt Mr. Urquhart
would have told him

more than he'd say to us.

Peter: So that's
Cremorna Garden.

Now the very ancient
Mrs. Wrayburn.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

Where on earth
did you dig it up?

There's a small establishment
off St. Martin's Lane

dealing with ephemera
and that sort of thing.

They've got boxes and boxes
of matinee idols,

theatrical luminaries...

Lilly Langtry,
the divine Sarah,

la belle otero...

I was rather fortunate
to find Cremorna Garden.

You really are
a marvel, Bunter.

I was curious
about the lady, m'lord,

because of
her connection

with Mr. Urquhart
and the deceased, Mr. Boyes.

According to Mrs. Pettican,
she's a very wealthy lady.

And as you've
so often said, m'lord,

where there's money,
there's a motive for crime.

You obviously
insinuated yourself rather well

into the Urquhart household.

Apparently, Queen Victoria

would never allow
Cremorna Garden

to perform before
the Royal family

because she knew
too much about her,

as Mrs. Pettican phrased it,
"goings on."

Ah.

Yes, m'lord,

there are families
that hold their heads high

that wouldn't have existed

but for some king
or other dignitary

taking his amusement on

the, uh, wrong side
of the blanket.

I say, Bunter...

are you casting doubt
on my lineage?

Would I presume,
m'lord?

But all jesting apart,

I think your visit
to Mr. Urquhart

might prove profitable.

I hope you're right.

My dear Lord Peter,

I'm only too delighted
to help you in any way I can.

Naturally, I was
rather taken aback

by the result
of the autopsy.

And, I must admit,
rather relieved to find

that no suspicions
were likely to be thrown on me.

But you seem to have taken
the most admirable precautions

at the time.

I suppose we lawyers

get into a habit
of taking precautions.

Not that I had any idea
of poison.

Naturally, one doesn't
jump to the idea

that people
are being murdered all the time.

Though I daresay
it happens more often

than we are apt to suppose.

It probably does,

and if I ever
handled criminal cases,

the suspicion
might have occurred,

but my work
is almost entirely

conveyancing and probate

and divorce
and so forth.

Oh, do forgive me,

this is a silly
little weakness of mine.

Turkish delight.
would you care for...

Not really a sweet tooth.

Talking of probate,

did Philip Boyes have any,
um, financial expectations?

None that I know of,

and certainly
not from his father,

who was by no means
well off.

I have an idea there was
a rich aunt somewhere?

Oh, no.

Unless you're
talking about Cremorna Garden,

a great-aunt of his
on his mother's side.

But she hadn't had
anything to do with him

in a great many years.

Isn't that uh, Mrs. Wrayburn
of Windle?

Yes.

I was up there yesterday,
as a matter of fact.

She's over 90,
poor soul.

It's quite amazing
the amount of vitality

in some of
these ancient ladies.

Now I suppose
you're her only living relative?

Yes, I'm also
her man of business, too,

so it's just as well
that I should be on the spot

if anything should happen.
naturally.

And being her man of business,

you'll know how
she's left her money.

I don't see what that has to do
with the present problem.

No? Well, Philip Boyes
might have got himself

into some sort of
a financial mess-up,

and taken the easy way out.

Oh. You're making out
a case for suicide.

But, of course,
we could forget that idea

if he'd had
financial expectations

from an elderly relative.
you follow?

Hmm, indeed I do.

No, no, she left nothing
to Philip,

and, as far as I know,

he hadn't the smallest reason
to believe that she had.

In fact, he asked me
if there was any possibility.

He asked?

Indeed he did,

and I felt obliged
to tell him.

How long ago
would this be?

Oh, 18 months ago.

And now that Mrs. Wrayburn is,
shall we say, childish...

childish, certainly.

He obviously wouldn't
expect that she would

ever change her will.

Look, Lord Peter,

I know that
this is unethical,

but as we've gone so far,
I think it...

well, it...it would
simplify things enormously

if I were to show you
the old lady's will.

It was made
ten years ago,

but I do keep a copy on file,
if you would excuse me.

Ah, Miss Murchison,

would you please
get me the deed box

labeled "Wrayburn."

Mr. Pond will
show it to you.

This is most obliging.

I know I'm being
the most awful...

it is most irregular,
of course,

but I always feel that
too much discretion

can be as bad as too little,
and I would like you to see why

I was forced to take up
an uncompromising attitude

towards my cousin.

Miss Murchison.

Thank you,
Miss Murchison.

Oh, I'm sorry, no, I...

it's in my safe at home.

I took it out for reference
a few weeks ago

and I completely forgot
to bring it back.

Perhaps if I were
to call at your house tomorrow

I could see it then?

Well, by all means.

In fact, join me
for breakfast,

I would be so glad
of the company.

(Doorbell)

Oh, it's Lord Peter Wimsey!

The master said
to expect him for breakfast.

Can I get you anything, sir?

No, thanks, I've had
my morning nosebag.

There's a copy of the will,
Lord Peter.

Do cast an eye over it
while I finish my breakfast.

Very good of you.

I'm only too pleased
to help you all I can

in this most
unpleasant business.

I note that you are
the sole beneficiary.

Yes, and you will see why
when you read on.

"and I make this disposition
of my property

"in token of gratitude
for the consideration

"shown to me
by my said great-nephew

"Norman Urquhart
and his father,

"the late Charles Urquhart.
throughout their lives,

"and to ensure that
no part of the property

"shall come into the hands of
my great-nephew, Philip Boyes,

or his descendants."

That's pretty forthright.

I'm afraid it is.

The old lady just refused
to listen to reason.

"and to this end,

"and to mark my sense
of the inhuman treatment

"meted out to me by the family
of the said Philip Boyes,

"I enjoin upon
the said Norman Urquhart as my dying wish

"that he neither gives,
lends, nor conveys

"to the said Philip Boyes

"any part of income derived
from the said property

"enjoyed by him,
the said Norman Urquhart,

"during his lifetime,

"nor employs the same
to assist the said Philip Boyes

in any manner whatsoever."

That's pretty clear,
and pretty vindictive.

I can remember that she
looked at it pretty sharply

to see that I got
the wording fierce enough

before she
put her name to it.

Must have depressed
Philip Boyes no end.

I understood you to say

that you had
indicated the contents.

Oh, I did.

And he was most despondent.

Thank you.

I'm glad I've seen that,

it makes the suicide theory
more probable.

Well, if I can
assist you in any way further,

you only have to ask.

I'm most obliged.

May I?

Ah.

Thank you.

Two weeks...

Fourteen days!

(Door being unlocked)

You have a visitor.

Can't help
being a gentleman, can you?

Afraid not.

Drilled into one
when too young to resist.

How are you?

The guv'nor's allowed me
the use of a typewriter,

so I'm going ahead
with that story we talked about.

That's good.

Isn't it?

Keeps the mind
off things.

Hardly,
if you remember the plot.

But yes, it does help...
concentrating.

I want you to know
that I haven't been idle,

and that certain
interesting things

have come to light
that point to suicide.

I've been to see
Boyes's cousin, Urquhart.

He's quite
a smooth character, you know.

He's been cooperative.

Peter, let's not
talk about it.

No?

No.

Are you still
going to marry me?

Of course.

Why? What's so fascinating
about me, Peter?

Well...

Is there a dark side to you,

something about a murderess
that draws you, excites you?

It can't be that, can it?

Because I know
you're not a murderess.

What is it, then?

You are bearing in mind,
aren't you,

that I've had a lover?

Oh, yes. So have I.

Several, in fact.

It's the sort of thing
that could happen to anyone.

I can produce
quite good testimonials.

I'm told I make love
rather nicely.

Though I am at
a bit of a disadvantage at the moment.

One can't be too convincing
at the other end of a table

with a bloke
looking through the window.

I'll take your word
for it.

Of course, I won't always
be at this disadvantage.

But I might be
at an even greater one.

Don't be so damned discouraging.

Anybody would think
you had no confidence in me.

Peter, people have been
wrongly condemned before now.

Only because
I wasn't there.

Oh, I never thought of that.

Have you dealt with
the Mortimer letter yet,

Miss Murchison?

Almost finished,
Mr. Pond.

Must see that it catches
the last post...most important.

Yes, Mr. Pond.

I'm off now,
Mr. Pond.

One moment,
Mr. Urquhart.

Miss Murchison,

do you have that letter
for Mr. Urquhart to sign?

Yes, of course.

Oh, yes, good.

Remind me to deal
with the Carpenter file

first thing
in the morning.

I have made a note of it,
Mr. Urquhart.

Good night,
Mr. Urquhart.

Good night.

Good night,
Mr. Urquhart.

"Mr. Urquhart
seems pleasant enough.

"A point of interest

"may be to investigate
his financial activities.

"Find out if Mr. Urquhart
had had any dealings

with the Megatherium Trust
before their big crash..."

Get Mr. Arbuthnot
on the phone for me.

"as you know,

"I've done a good bit
in Stockbrokers' offices

"one way and another,

"and there was
a particular call for him

"which I wasn't meant to hear.

"It wouldn't have told
the ordinary person much,

"but it did me,

"because I knew something

about the man
at the other end."

Miss Murchison,
you are a brick!

Morning, Mr. Freddy.
Lord Peter for you.

Thanks.

Freddy.

Are we seeing you
down at Duke's Denver

at the weekend?

Good.

Could you get
your City chums

to do a bit of
financial sleuthing for me?

Share dealings
in the Megatherium Trust

by a Norman Urquhart.

Yes. See you Saturday.

That's very interesting....

very interesting, indeed.

(Laughter)

Wait for me, you!

What did you throw that man
in the pond for?

He said he's like to
play croquet under water!

Ha ha ha ha!

You really are an oick, Nigel!

Come on, peg legs!

I can't! Ha ha!
I've lost my slipper!

It's probably
in the lily pond!

And I've no glass.

You'll just have to

drink out of
Mandy's glass slipper!

Vintage Krug
out of Mandy's slipper? Bleeahh!

Oh, kipper, your slipper,
I'll drink from your slipper!

Mandy,
you must come quickly!

Tony's asked Tessa
to Tango!

Oh, lucky thing!

You'll never
be the same again.

Not till
you've Tangoed with Tony!

Tango your Fandango,

I'll dance with your Tango.

No...your Wango!

Mandy:
Tony's asked Tess to Tango!

Tony's got
two left feet!

And Tess's got
two right ones! Ha ha ha!

Yes, I've really
been sleuthing like stink

on the tracks
of your man.

Anything transpired,
as the journalists say?

Ummm...I'm afraid Urquhart's
been very careful, though.

Bound to be...
respectable family lawyer

and all that.

But...

Ah.

I saw a man yesterday
who knows a fellow

who had it from a chappie
that said Urquhart

had been jumping
a bit recklessly

off the deep end.

Are you sure of this, Freddy?

Well, not absolutely sure.

But this man, you see,

owes me one, so to speak.

Having warned him off
the Megatherium

before the band
began to play.

And he thinks
if he can get hold

of this chappie he knows...

Not the fellow that told him,
but the other one...

that he might be able to
get something out of it.

Especially if I could
put this other chappie

in the way of
something or other.

Slight miscue.

And no doubt, Freddy,

you have secrets to sell.

Yes, I could make it worth
this other chappie's while.

Because I've an idea...

through this other fellow
that my bloke knows...

that the chappie's
rather up against it.

I'd no idea
you spoke Swahili...

so well, old chap.

Lucky one, old bean.

(Playing Bach's
Italian concerto)

(Sighs)

That was...

you really do play
with great feeling.

Sounds better
on the harpsichord, actually.

But I haven't quite
got room for one here.

By the way,

did you make the enquiry
about the typewriter?

Yes. It was bought new
three years ago.

Only three years...

Ah, that's good.

By the way, you were
probably quite right

about Urquhart's connection
with the Megatherium Trust.

You are highly commended,
Miss Murchison.

(Giggling)
Oh, thank you!

Now, here's
the letter you sent me.

You noticed, of course,

the capital "a"
is out of alignment

and the "p" chipped.
Yes.

Well, Urquhart showed me
what he claimed

was the carbon copy
of a will made ten years ago

by Mrs. Wrayburn,
typed on the jolly same machine.

But that's impossible.

Now, I didn't
ask to see it.

He volunteered it.

I go to see him on Tuesday,

he pretends to look for

the copy of
Mrs. Wrayburn's will,

remembers he's got it at home,
I go and see him the next day,

and he shows it to me.

But typed specially
overnight to deceive you!

Very, very possibly.

Conclusion...

if there is a will,

it's obviously
not along the lines

of the one
he showed me.

Yes, it does
rather look like that.

So what I want of you,
Miss Murchison...

Actually,
I'm going to ask you

to do something unlawful.

Well, what am I to do?

Steal the deed box?!

Ah! What a truly splendid
creature you are,

Miss Murchinson.

I want you to open the box,
look for the original will,

and commit anything important
in it to memory.

I particularly
want to know

if anything was left
to Philip Boyes.

But all the deed boxes
are kept locked!

And only Mr. Urquhart
has the keys!

Yes, I've thought of that.

I don't suppose
you have the faintest idea

how to pick a lock,
Miss Murchison?

I'm afraid not.

No idea whatsoever.

I sometimes wonder
what we went to school for.

(Giggles)

♪ Sweeping through the gates
of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ Wash'd in the blood
of the lamb ♪

♪ Sweeping through the gates
of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ Wash'd in the blood
of the lamb ♪

♪ These, these are they who,
in conflict dire ♪

♪ Boldly have stood
amid the hottest fire ♪

♪ Jesus now says,
"come up higher" ♪

♪ Wash'd in the blood
of the lamb ♪

♪ Sweeping through the gates
of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ Wash'd in the blood
of the lamb ♪

♪ Sweeping through the gates
of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ Wash'd in the blood
of the lamb ♪

Bless you, brethren,
one and all,

for attending 'ere,

and blessed be

our dear
brother and sister in the Lord

as is come from
the haunts of the richness

and the riotous living
of the West End

to join us in singing
the songs of Zion.

All: Hallelujah!

We all know that
many shall come

from the east
and from the west

and sit at
the Lord's feast.

Therefore, let no one say

that because this man
wears a shiny eyeglass

and this woman
a diamond necklace,

that therefore

they shall not wear
a white gown and a gold crown

in the new Jerusalem.

(All agreeing)

We all of us are sheep
that have gone astray,

and well may I say so,

as I was a dark
and wicked sinner myself

until this here gentleman
laid his hand on me

as I was a-bustin'
of his safe,

and became God's instrument
in turnin' me away from the path

that leads to destruction.

Right, brethren.

Till Monday next,

may the Lord keep us all safe
till we meet again.

All: Hallelujah!

The Lord be praised!

♪ Hallelujah! ♪

(All bid each other
good night)

'Night. See ya.

Well, thank goodness
that's over.

All the preachin'
and the singin'!

Ha ha ha ha!

And when you've done
your business with Bill...

Oh, your lordship,
it's been a long time

since you've
done us the honor.

Now, you will stay
and join us in a bite,

won't ya?

A bit later?
And the lady?

It's trotters!

Oh, well, that's
very kind of you, Mrs. ...

You just call me Bella.

And trotters want
a bit of beating, Bella.

We accept with pleasure,
Miss Murchison?

If you're sure
it's not putting you out.

No, no! Not at all.

Eight beautiful trotters
they is,

and with a bite of cheese
they'll go round easy.

Handsome, Bella,
handsome!

Well!

Bless you, Lord Peter,
bless you.

Sorry you missed
the sermon.

Well, here we are again.

And as usual, I'm happy
to do you a service,

knowing that
it is the Lord's work.

Glory be!

It is a simple matter
this time.

Then I'll leave you
to the business.

And they're
stayin' for supper.

Ah, good. Yes!

You do that, Bella,
you do that, my dear.

Now, then, a chair
for the young lady.

There we are, Miss,
there we are.

And for your lordship.

Thank you.

Well, now,

to this little matter,
then, your lordship.

This young lady
is inexperienced in locks.

I've brought her along
for a bit of coaching.

Oh.

You see,
Miss Murchison,

now that Billy here
has seen the light,

he is the most excellent
and honest locksmith.

Bless him
that giveth the victory!

So when, as now,
I need a little expert help...

In a righteous cause...
Bill obliges.

And what happiness it is,
Miss, to direct my talents,

which I so wickedly abused,
to the service of the Lord.

Bless him
for his manifold graces

that turneth good
out of evil.

Yes, I'm sure.

And I'm sure we have
an apt pupil here.

It is the question of
a Solicitor's deed box.

Deed box? That's nothing!

That is, that ain't nothing
to field against a man's skills!

Robbin' kids' money boxes,

that's what them
trumpery little keys are for.

There is not a deed box
in all of this here city

wot I couldn't
open blindfolded, in boxing gloves,

with a stick of
boiled macaroni!

My dear Bill,
I know that.

But it's the young lady
that has to work it.

She can work it,
all right.

What kind of lock
is it, lady?

Well, it's just
an ordinary kind of lock...

I think.

I...I mean, they're just
ordinary kinds of keys.

Nothing could be simpler.

Are these pick-locks?

That's wot they are,
lady.

Instruments of Satan.

Many a time
keys such as these

have led some poor sinner
into hell through the back gate.

This time,

they're to let
a poor innocent

out of prison
and into the sunshine.

If any, in this beastly climate.

Blessed be him
for his manifold graces.

And now, lady,

to understand
the construction of a lock.

The barrel
and the spring.

Of course, when the lock
is in place,

you cannot use your eyes.

But you still have your hearing

and the feelings
in your fingers

given by providence...
bless his name...

for that purpose.

...the jolly Miss Murchison
had cracked open all his locks!

I hope you haven't started her
on a career of crime!

Anything is possible,
but I think not.

The deed is planned
for today,

and we will soon find out
whether Urquhart

is Simon Pure
or Simon Shady.

All this effort
on your part, Peter...

I really am
most grateful.

Always at your service.

I just wish...

What do you
just wish?

I wish I weren't
so jealous of Philip Boyes.

I oughtn't to be,
but I am.

And you always will be.

Oh, no.

If you married me,
I shouldn't be jealous.

Because then I should know
that you really liked me.

You think you wouldn't be,
but you would.

Should I?
Oh, surely not!

It's just the same
as if I married a widow.

Are all second husbands jealous?

I don't know,

but it isn't quite
the same thing, is it?

You'd never really trust me...
we should be wretched.

Perhaps it would help
if you were jealous of me.

I wish you would be.

And it would prove that
you took an interest in me.

Perhaps I should
tell you about Barbara.

Who's Barbara?

Oh, a girl.

I owe her
rather a lot, really.

You see, when she
married the other fellow,

I took up sleuthing
as a cure.

She really
bowled me over.

I even took a special course
in logic for her sake.

Good lord.

Yes, to have the pleasure
of repeating

"Barbara, celarent darii ferio baralipton."
(A Medieval mnemonic for the 19 syllogisms of logic)

The thing had a romantic,
mysterious lilt to it

that was expressive of passion.

Many's the moonlit night
I have murmured it

to the nightingales that haunt
the Garden of St. John's.

Though I'm a Balliol man myself,

but the buildings
are adjacent.

If anybody does
marry you, Peter,

it will be for the pleasure
of hearing you talk piffle.

As a matter of fact,

I used to talk piffle
rather well myself.

Harriet...

Dammit!

(Buzzer)

Oh, bother!

Miss Murchinson,

do you realize that you've
left out a whole paragraph

of the first page
of this affidavit?

Oh, have I?
I'm very sorry!

It's most annoying,
as it is the longest

and most important
of the three,

and urgently required
first thing in the morning.

I can't think how I made
such a silly mistake.

I'll stay on and retype it.

I'm afraid you'll have to.

It's most annoying, as I shan't
be able to look at it myself.

But there we are,
nothing can be done.

Please, check it carefully
this time.

And make certain that Hanson's
have it this evening.

Yes, Mr. Urquhart.
I'll be extremely careful,

and I'll take it by myself.

Very well. Don't
let it happen again.

I'm very sorry.

Ohh!

More typing to do
this evening, Miss Murchison?

The whole bally thing again!

I left out a paragraph
on page one!

It would be page one,
of course,

and he wants it
round at Hanson's tonight.

Those typing machines
make you careless.

Now, in the old days,
we clerks worked accurately.

Yes, Mr. Pond.

I know all about
the old days,

and I'm very glad
I missed them.

We worked accurately
and neatly.

Good night,
Mr. Urquhart.

Good night.

I expect you will
have finished

before the cleaner goes.

If not,

kindly make sure all the doors
and windows are closed,

and leave the keys
with Mrs. Hodges

in the basement.

Yes, Mr. Pond.

Good night, then.

Good night, Mr. Pond.

Right.

(Sighs)

(Noises)

(Cleaners sweeping in hall)

Peter: Now, you say
there is a will,

but it isn't in the box.

How do you know
there is one, then?

There were several documents,

not, I think, of much interest
to you, Lord Peter.

But a letter
did seem interesting,

and I made a note of it.

It was from Mrs. Wrayburn
to Mr. Urquhart,

and dated may 15th, 1920.

In it, she refers to her will
which is just made.

The letter doesn't indicate
what's in the will?

No, Lord Peter.

But...and this
seemed significant...

It mentions a Deed of Trust
she proposed to make

in Mr. Urquhart's favour.

That is significant.
do you have its terms?

Yes.

Mrs. Wrayburn
said in her letter,

"So I have determined

"to put my property
in trust with you

"for my lifetime,

"so that you may
have full power

"to handle everything

"according to
your own discretion

without having to
consult me every time."

Hmm.

So, although she can leave
her estate to somebody else

after her death,

Urquhart has the control of it
during her life.

You have done famously,
Miss Murchison.

Have another
glass of sherry.

Oh, thank you,
Lord Peter.

But I must deliver this
to Hanson's tonight.

Are you quite sure?

Positively so.

You have been most resourceful,
Miss Murchison,

and I am in your debt.

(Telephone)

Oh, I'll answer that.

Good night,
and thank you.

Thank you,
Lord Peter.

(Ringing)

Wimsey.

Important news, Peter,

though I don't think
you'll find it altogether good.

The publican
at the Nine Rings

has found the packet...

it slipped down
behind some pipes.

Yes, we've analyzed it.

Traces of bicarbonate of soda.

Yes, puts paid to
the suicide theory, I'm afraid.

And that's no help
to Harriet Vane.

No...

No help at all.

(Birds singing)