Original subtitles

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I'm instructed to say, my lord,

that in withdrawing the charge against the prisoner,

the Crown proceeds from a complete conviction

of her innocence, and offers no evidence against her.

Judge: I am very glad to hear it.

Prisoner at the bar.

The Crown, by unreservedly withdrawing

this dreadful charge against you,

have demonstrated your innocence

in the clearest possible way,

and I most heartily congratulate you

on this very satisfactory ending

to your long ordeal.

Good-bye.

Thank you. Bye.

You have been wonderful,

the way you've supported me

and acted on my behalf.

It was nothing.

You are the woman I would spend the rest of my life with.

How else could I behave?

I've had a lover, Peter.

I've been accused of murdering him.

I'm not going to rush into another affair.

Marriage?

Marriage, affair... what's the difference?

It's supposed to be love, isn't it?

I'm sorry.

(Gulls crying)

I say, watch the tide!

You'll get cut off soon!

That's peculiar.

I say.

I say.

I say.

Aah!

(Gulls crying)

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

Help!

Help!

Help!

Only one set of footprints...his.

And mine.

(Waves crashing)

The footprints.

Perfect.

(Cows mooing)

Go on!

Harriet: I say!

Hello! Go on.

I say!

Excuse me.

I say, could you tell me,

is there a telephone up at that farm?

Telephone? I never heard of one.

Is anyone there who might be able to help me?

Is the farmer there?

There ain't no one there.

'Tis market day.

Oh, I see.

Do you know where the nearest telephone is?

They might have one at Red Farm.

Where's that?

You go up the road and turn left.

How far? three or four mile.

Three or four miles.

But you do know there's a telephone there?

Mr. Coffin, he has a wireless.

Oh, I see.

Well, I'll try that. Thank you.

No, we ain't got no telephone.

Mr. Coffin don't hold with 'em.

Oh, I see.

They do have one at the big house.

Where's that?

Just keep going up the lane,

and you'll come to the park gates.

They keep 'em locked. keep round by the high wall,

you'll come to the lodge.

Mind, I'm not sure there's anyone there now.

Might be up in London. They go up there quite a lot.

Mrs. Coffin, is there anywhere else near here

where I can get a telephone?

Oh, Darley! I know they got one there.

Just go back to the coast road,

and it's on the way to Wilvercombe.

Thank you.

(Chickens cluck)

Ohh! Oh, excuse me.

Could you tell me anywhere

where I could find a telephone?

Or a car, or...

There's a man on the beach with his throat cut.

Is he a friend of yours?

I don't know him from Adam.

I've got to get to the police

before the body gets washed away.

The tide could be going out.

But it isn't. it's coming in.

Afraid I'm rather shortsighted.

Yes, well, thank you anyway.

D-do you think he was murdered?

I suppose he might have been.

I better come along with you.

I expect you'd feel better if I was along.

Yes, thank you.

We've got to hurry, though.

(Gate creaking)

Hello.

What's your name?

Rosie. Rosie Pollock.

Well, Rosie, do you know anybody near here

who's got a telephone?

Here, Rosie! You come inside this minute!

Excuse me. Mrs. Pollock.

(Car approaches)

Hey! you didn't stop them.

They could have given us a lift.

What were you doing?

I've got a blister on my heel.

Oh, I am sorry to hear that,

because now it looks as though

we're going to have to walk all the way to Darley.

Ah, a camper.

Oh, I shouldn't, though.

Excuse me.

Are we anywhere near Darley?

Yes, ten minutes down the road.

First right, and it's half a mile inland.

Oh, thank goodness.

Is there anything the matter?

Well, I've just found a dead body on the beach.

Good lord.

So I wanted to notify the police.

Naturally. Well, there's a telephone in Darley.

You can phone the police in Wilvercombe from there.

Right. Thanks.

Sorry I can't help.

Damn thing's broken down.

That's all right. Thank you.

There's no need to stop and talk to everyone we meet.

That fellow was very rude to me this morning

when I came through here.

There's something funny about him.

I'm sure he's wearin' a wig.

So what if he is?

Poor man's probably bald.

Unless you think that makes him a murderer.

Come on, then. let's get to Darley.

(Motorcycle engine running)

Oh, come on!

Havin' her tea, most likely.

Operator: number, please.

The police station, Wilvercombe.

Wilvercombe police station. Hold the line, please.

Man: Wilvercombe police station.

I wish to report a body of a man.

My name is Vane. Miss Harriet Vane.

And I'm speaking from the grocer's at Darley.

George Hearn's shop. Where was this, Miss?

Well, it was on a rock

sort of shaped like a shoe tree

about five miles down the coast.

Is there two big rocks out to sea?

Yes. Yes, there are.

Ah, the Grinders they are, Miss.

I know the place. Flat-iron rock, we call that.

Now, uh, what time did you see the body, Miss?

About 2:00. It'll have been washed away by now.

I've been trying to get to a telephone.

If you can hang on, someone will be along directly.

Yes, very well.

Do you think I could make another phone call?

To London?

That'd be an expensive call, Miss.

I'm sure ten shillings would cover it.

Very good, Miss. Help yourself, Miss.

Thank you.

(Typewriters clacking)

(Telephone rings)

Man: (Indistinct)

Look, I'd love to do your job,

but I've got my own problems, all right?

Yeah, so just stop whining and get on with it.

About time.

Quick one to lay the dust?

Wig and pen in ten minutes, OK?

(Telephone rings)

Took the words out of my mouth.

Morning Star, News Editor.

Harriet: Crime reporter, please.

Hang on. Sally!

Who wants him?

Harriet Vane.

Could you speak up, please?

Harriet Vane.

I'm calling from Darley, near Wilvercombe.

Yeah, hang on. Harriet Vane.

Wasn't she on that murder charge?

Lord Peter Wimsey's friend.

I'll take it.

Salcombe Hardy here, Miss Vane.

Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy.

Good afternoon.

I see you've been reporting the Clarence Hatry case.

It's early stages yet, but just wait.

There'll be some disclosures there, all right.

But what about you, Miss Vane?

The whole of fleet street's wondering what became of you.

I'm on a walking tour of the west country.

Ah, get away from it all, eh?

Partly.

Well, what can we do for you, Miss Vane?

I've got an exclusive for you.

What's the catch?

Oh, come now, Mr. Hardy. you're too cynical.

It's a cynical business. What's the catch?

Have you got a pen handy?

Yes, thank you.

"Whilst working on the plot of her latest novel..."

It's called The fountain-pen mystery...

So that's the catch.

Call it a quid pro quo.

"Miss Harriet Vane

came across the body of a man."

(Dog barks)

(Bells chiming)

(Dog barking)

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Miss Harriet Vane?

That's right.

Inspector Trethowan.

Good afternoon, Inspector.

Oh.

You reported seein' the body of a man.

That's right, though I doubt

if it will be there any longer.

Quite so.

What did you say your name was, again?

Miss Harriet Vane.

Yes, that's right, I've been tried for murder.

Oh, and acquitted, Miss.

I think Lord Peter Wimsey had something to do with that.

Yes, something.

I owe Lord Peter a great deal.

It's far too long.

They're bound to use the photograph.

Cut it in half, or the sub will mutilate it.

Our Miss Vane seems to have stumbled on a hot one.

I'd better let Lord Peter know,

but not just yet.

Let's get the story in first.

This hiker...you didn't see where he went to?

No. I went in to telephone. when I came out, he'd gone.

Can you describe him, Miss?

Thin, in his 30s,

tortoiseshell spectacles, mousy hair,

khaki shorts, haversack.

Very observant, Miss.

Now, do you mind telling me where you're heading for?

I'd hoped to spend the night in Wilvercombe, Inspector.

Yes, well, we may have to ask you

to spend two or three days in the area.

Oh, yes. Well, if it's murder, I want to be in on it.

Murder, Miss?

Or suicide.

Yes, quite.

We'll give you a lift into Wilvercombe.

We can talk about it in the car.

Right.

Bring her bag. Aye, sir.

I don't suppose you could recommend anywhere, Inspector?

Um, Cleggs Temperance Hotel

is generally reckoned to be quite comfortable.

I daresay it is, but...

What about the Resplendent?

Resplendent? (Chuckles)

That's pushing the boat out a bit, isn't it?

Sounds just what I feel like.

Take me to the Resplendent Hotel.

Thank you so much. good evening.

I am afraid that all our rooms are engaged.

Surely not this late in the season.

Very well. I'll have a drink in the lounge.

Perhaps you'd ask the manager to have a word with me.

My name is Vane, Miss Vane.

Would you join me, Inspector?

Oh, very kind of you, Miss, yes.

Harriet Vane, the famous mystery writer.

Friend of Lord Peter Wimsey's.

Oh!

Miss Vane.

(Turns page in register)

I had quite forgotten that an American gentleman

vacated his room sooner than he expected.

Number 223 on the second floor

with a nice view of the Esplanade.

Does it have a private bathroom?

Oh, yes, madam... Miss Vane.

And a balcony.

I think you'll find it quite satisfactory.

Thank you. have you got a paper bag?

A paper bag, Miss Vane?

Yes, a large one.

Will this do?

Perfect.

Items from the corpse.

Oh, and I forgot.

My camera. I took some pictures of the corpse.

I'd quite like to know how they come out.

Room 223, did you say?

Maybe you'd ask the porter to bring my luggage up?

I'll be along tomorrow, Inspector, if that's all right.

Oh, yes, Miss. good night.

Good night. good night, Constable.

Good night.

Well, bring the bag, Percy.

Oh, aye, sir.

(Ding)

The Hotel Resplendent, Wilvercombe?

When did you hear this?

Couple of minutes ago. she just called.

An Inspector Trethowan is in charge of the case.

She doesn't know you're telling me this, I suppose?

Does a newspaperman tell one hand

what the other one's doing?

Only when he thinks it'll make a better story.

But thank you, Sally,

and get yourself here tomorrow morning at dawn.

Your White Lady, my lord.

My white lady?

An omen, do you think?

My lord?

Pack a bag, Bunter.

Wilvercombe, my lord?

Where else?

(Playing lively music)

(Music ends)

(Applause)

Waiter.

Isn't Mr. Alexis yet arrived?

I believe not, madam.

Why not? Is he ill?

Uh, I don't think so, madam.

But...

I'm sure Monsieur Antoine would be happy...

No! No, thank you. It really doesn't matter.

(Band tuning up)

(Band playing slow romantic music)

Madame, this is your favourite tune, n'est ce pas?

Pray, do me the honor.

Now, then, Mr. Blenkinsop,

aren't you going to ask me to dance today?

I shall have to give you one of my scolds.

Oh, yes, please.

(Laughs) Mr. Blenkinsop.

Come on, I thought we were going to practice

that new chasse.

(Snoring)

(Door opens)

Lord Peter: May I come into your parlour?

Peter.

What on earth brings you here?

"Famous author finds body on beach."

So, here I am,

like a bird that hears the call of its mate.

I didn't call.

I meant the body.

Oh.

But, talking of mates, will you marry me?

Certainly not.

How did you get here so quickly?

Sally Hardy, who is even now waiting

for the bar to open, told me "my Miss Vane"

had found a corpse and did I know about it.

I don't know how he knew.

I told him.

The gory details?

Certainly. Good publicity for my new book.

Does this not...pardon me...

indicate a certain coarsening of the fibers?

Absolutely.

At this moment, my fibers resemble coconut matting.

With not even "welcome" written across them.

I'm off to the police.

Look, here, beloved.

Bearing in mind that I, too, am a meddler in mysteries,

couldn't you, as man to man,

let me in on the ground floor?

Besides, I could offer you a lift.

Oh, well, if you put it like that, yes, I suppose.

(Knock on door)

Oh, good morning, Miss Vane.

Harriet: Inspector Trethowan.

This is Lord Peter Wimsey,

whose interest in crime you may know of.

Oh, well, I never.

Very glad to make your acquaintance, my lord.

Thank you, Percy.

Oh, right, sir.

Of course I know of you.

Excuse me.

You're early on the scene, I must say.

Not that there's much in it for you, my lord.

Plain case of suicide.

It appears so.

Yes. Oh, I expect you're waiting

to see how your snaps have turned out, Miss Vane.

Oh, yes. Thank you.

And we've identified the man.

Oh, well done, Inspector.

Yes. I didn't think we'd have too much trouble,

a foreign-looking gentleman like that.

And was he a foreigner?

Oh, yes, a Russian or something of the sort.

Paul Alexis Goldschmidt,

but he called himself Paul Alexis...

One of the professional dancers

at the hotel where you're staying, Miss Vane.

Good heavens. Really?

Poor man.

Did he leave a note anywhere?

Well, if he did, we've not found it.

Nor the body, neither.

'Tis a bit of a bother, that.

Yes. No body, no inquest.

Have his carcass

or the coroner can't sit on it.

Yes, just so, my lord.

Just as well Miss Vane took these photographs.

Otherwise you wouldn't know there was a body.

Quite so.

Coroner can't sit on a photograph, though.

Trethowan: Still, it looks

a plain enough case of suicide.

Oh, do you think so?

Don't you?

Well...

Why should a man wear gloves to cut his own throat?

Yes, I wondered about that.

And what's a man with a full beard

doing with a razor, anyway?

He might have had it before he grew the beard.

He might have bought it especially for the purpose.

Yes.

Inspector, I wonder if I might see it

and if my man Bunter could have a look at it, too.

He's a veritable barber shop of information

when it comes to razors.

Endicott, my lord.

Yes. Endicott?

He is...or was, since he's now retired...

One of the most exclusive gentlemen's hairdressers

in the West End, so exclusive

one had to have had one's name for 300 years in debrett

in order to secure so much as a short back and sides.

And he preferred to the end to be known

by the old-fashioned description of "Barber."

Very slight crack in the handle, my lord.

Yes.

Owned, my dear Sherlock,

as you will no doubt have deduced,

by a middle-aged man of short temper

and careless habits,

with a stiff beard and expensive tastes.

Absolutely my view entirely.

(Laughs)

You will have your little joke, my lord.

Oh, would you care to see the other exhibits?

Oh, very good of you, Inspector.

Hmm.

Cranial capacity on the small side.

(Sniffs)

Brilliantine... ordinary stinking variety.

Last year's hat reblocked with a new ribbon.

Style a little more emphatic than is quite necessary.

Deduction... not wealthy,

but keen on his personal appearance.

Ah, the cigarette case is pukka, all right.

Fifteen-carat gold, plain, fairly new monogram.

"P.A." probably a gift

from a wealthy female admirer.

Waiter.

Is not Mr. Alexis yet arrived?

I believe not, madam.

Why not? Is he ill?

Uh, I don't think so, madam.

But...

I'm sure Monsieur Antoine would be happy to...

No! No, thank you. it really doesn't matter.

Lord Peter: Handkerchief, silk,

and an unfortunate colour.

It did match his socks.

Yes, I daresay it would.

Laundry mark?

Wilvercombe Sanitary Steam Laundry, my lord.

All correct.

Well done, Constable.

Glove.

Mass-produced chamois leather.

You took this off his hand?

Yes. Soaked with blood.

Soaked, not dried?

No, no. That was what was so awful.

It was still dripping.

Hmm.

Shoe.

Thin sole, fairly new.

Foul colour. Worse shape.

Handmade, my lord.

Yes, so horrid appearance is due to malice aforethought.

Made to measure for Mr. Alexis in Wilvercombe.

I checked this morning.

Quick work, Constable.

You are obviously destined for greatness.

Slight traces of saltwater on the sole,

none on the uppers.

So, inference... Ahem...

Walked across the wet sand

but didn't actually wade in the water.

I tried it in the footprint.

It fit it exactly.

And according to Miss Vane's photographs, my lord,

there were only one set of footprints out to the rock.

So it had to be suicide.

Unless the murderer came from the sea,

which, as you are about to observe, Inspector, is absurd.

I would love to savour

the wonders of Wilvercombe with you,

but Bunter and I must leave instantly for Epsom.

Epsom?

Where Mr. Endicott lives in virtuous retirement

to pursue the matter of the razor.

And the middle-aged man

of short temper and careless habits,

with stiff beard and expensive tastes.

What a wonderful memory you have.

I grant you that the razor is important,

but why do you still think it wasn't suicide?

Maybe the two go together.

One of the many things I love about you, Harriet,

is your percipience.

Bunter, would Mr. Endicott have sold

one of his handmade razors

to a gigolo called Paul Alexis?

Certainly not to a gentleman

who wore that hat and those shoes

and whose handkerchief, most unfortunately,

matched his socks.

Mr. Endicott sold his handmade razors

exclusively to his own clients,

and highly favoured ones, at that.

Moreover, each one has a serial number.

So until you find out how that razor

got into the hands of Paul Alexis...

I won't be satisfied to call it suicide.

Still, I'm sorry, O best beloved,

to tear myself away from you.

Not at all. I was going to say

I've got plenty of work to do.

Of course. The fountain-pen mystery.

(Softly) Don't forget our murder.

If it was murder.

Oh, you might try a turn round the dance floor

with the other dancing parties,

see if you can get any gossip about Paul Alexis.

I shall have to get a better evening frock.

Get a wine-coloured one.

I've always longed to see you in wine colour. Bunter.

Peter!

Yes?

Port or Burgundy?

What? the frock.

Oh, Claret.

Chateau Margaux '93 or thereabouts.

I'm not particular within a year or two.

I should like to know if anything has happened.

I'm afraid I don't know any more than...

that lady, Miss Vane, arrived with the police.

Miss Vane!

I do apologize for bothering you.

Yes, can I help you?

My name is Flora Weldon.

The receptionist said you know the police here.

Well, not exactly know, but why?

A very dear friend, a Mr. Paul Alexis...

He's one of the professional dancers here.

Shall we go into the lounge?

Oh, um, yes.

It's about Mr. Alexis.

You see, I haven't seen him

since the evening before last.

That's most unusual, because...

Would you like to sit down

and tell me everything you know?

The chambermaid said that there were dreadful rumors

about, uh, something having happened to Paul...

To Mr. Alexis...

But nobody will actually tell me anything.

Please, Miss Vane, tell me what's going on.

Well, Mrs. Weldon, I'm afraid

something rather beastly has happened.

Yesterday I was down by the seashore,

and I came across a man lying there dead,

and it seems it was Paul Alexis.

Oh, no.

I...I know he wasn't strong.

Uh, was it a heart attack?

No, I'm afraid not.

What, then?

Mrs. Weldon... Please tell me.

His throat was cut.

Oh, G...oh, God!

Oh, oh, G...

Oh, God!

Can you get me a double brandy, please?

Quickly.

I'm so sorry.

I must look dreadful.

Not that it matters now, with Paul...

I'm afraid you must think I'm very silly.

No, not at all.

If Paul Alexis was a friend of yours...

He was a very dear friend.

He was much more than that.

Would you like a cigarette?

Oh, yes, please.

He was...

Paul was...

So handsome and graceful.

Of course, all the women ran after him,

but, uh, he was lonely just as I was.

The first night I was here,

he came over and asked me to dance,

and it seemed as if we were...

We were drawn together.

It was as though the moment our eyes met,

we knew we were meant for each other.

(Romantic music playing)

We danced together every night.

We had to be careful.

You see, people say such horrid things,

and I was a little bit older than he was.

I used to worry about it,

but Paul used to say...

My Flora, it is the heart that counts,

and your heart is just 17.

It was beautiful of him.

But quite true. I...I felt 17 when I was with him.

Of course, I was married scandalously young.

You might not think I'm old enough, my dear,

but I do have a grown-up son.

Really?

But Henry has been a great disappointment to me.

He has no heart, and that seems so strange,

because I'm all heart.

If only he'd been kinder to me after my husband died,

but it seemed that all Henry was interested in

was the money, and of course, all that was left to me.

Oh, really?

My marriage wasn't happy,

but it wasn't my husband's fault.

He just was not very...sensitive,

and after he died and I was left alone...

Well, one can't be blamed

for wanting to snatch a little happiness, can one?

No, no, absolutely not.

Oh, you are so kind, my dear.

And so clever.

I know you write detective books.

Oh, please, Miss Vane,

please tell me who they think murdered Paul.

Well, I'm afraid, Mrs. Wel...

I'm afraid they think it was suicide.

Oh, no.

No, that's impossible. I know it is.

Well, Mrs. Weldon, I found the body...

No, no, no.

He would never have killed himself

when he was so happy.

You see, Miss Vane...

We were going to be married.

There's the place, my lord.

Bunter, what time have you?

10 minutes to 5:00, my lord.

I almost feel we should synchronize our watches

before going up the drive.

Or over the top, my lord.

Bunter, how do you suppose a retired colonel's razor

came to cut the throat of a professional dancing partner?

Yes, an intriguing question, my lord.

And one requiring a certain delicacy of approach.

All I can say is

it's a damned ungentlemanly business,

going and asking a fellow's barber

questions behind his back.

As for being mixed up in the death of some dago,

you ought to be ashamed of yourself,

interfering with the police.

Awfully sorry, sir. detecting is my hobby.

A fellow has to have a hobby of some kind.

I daresay, but why can't he take up golf

or breedin' spaniels?

Quite right, sir. Much more appropriate.

Trouble is, I got interested in intelligence during the war.

One thing led to another.

Old school friend of mine was in intelligence.

Bevington-Spender.

What an extraordinary coincidence.

We were together at Chateau d'Or

just before the Somme.

Bad show, that.

We tried to tell them. they wouldn't listen.

Lost a lot of good friends, too.

Daresay you did. What do you want to know?

About the razor you got from Endicott, sir.

Razors aren't what they used to be.

Nothing is.

Nothing will be till we get a Conservative government.

Do you still have it, sir?

What, the razor? no, no, no.

I told Endicott I wondered

he should make such inferior stuff.

No, no, no, gave it to my gardener Summers.

Very decent sort of fellow. knew he'd appreciate it.

Well, you'll take a glass of Madeira? This way.

Oh.

Nice blooms, those.

Would they be the Blanche?

That's right. Blanche Poitevans.

We won a prize with our Chrysanths last year.

I'm not surprised.

Not that I know much about them, mind.

I just take an interest

when his lordship's at Denver.

You...you use a cutthroat, do you, Mr. Summers?

Do you?

No, no. His lordship's accustomed to it.

I prefer a safety razor myself.

Cutthroat's an awkward thing to have about the house

if you've no use for it.

Especially if you have a family.

Ah, well, that's what i thought.

Didn't want the youngsters to get hold of it.

Sold it, did you?

Oh, no. No, I wouldn't like to do that.

Colonel Belfridge is a very kind gentleman

in spite of his manner.

Bark worse than his bite, as they say?

That's it exactly.

Wouldn't like to hurt his feelin's.

Still, what the eye don't see, the heart can't grieve for.

Ah, well, the truth is, the wife's brother

is a gentlemen's hairdresser in Seahampton,

so I gave it to him.

Seahampton?

That's near Wilvercombe, isn't it?

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