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That's peculiar.

I say...

I say...

I say...

Aaah!

Trethowan: we've identified the man.

One of the professional dancers

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

Did he leave a note anywhere?

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

Nor the body, neither.

Harriet: I'm afraid they think it was suicide.

Oh, no.

No! That's impossible. I know it is.

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.

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?

(Ballroom music)

I'm afraid I'm not a very good dancer.

You dance very correctly, Mademoiselle.

But when the heart dances with the feet,

then it will be a merveille.

Is that the kind of thing you have to say

to all these old ladies?

One may say truthfully to Mademoiselle

what in another case might be mere politeness.

You're very kind.

But Monsieur Antoine,

I really must talk to you about Alexis...

And to Cherie, too.

That can be arranged.

When we finish work, if that would suit Mademoiselle.

(Music ends)

Always wanted to take the spotlight,

Mr. Paul Alexis.

You'd think he did the floor a favour by dancing on it.

And then the fairy prince comes down

to marrying an old woman for her money. Now, Doris...

Well, I think that sort of thing is disgusting.

I feel sorry for her.

You feel sorry for everyone!

I beg your pardon, but I've been calling you Cherie.

Cherie is my professional name.

My friends call me Doris.

Oh, I see. what will you...

Waiter: Creme-de-menthe?

Thank you, George. and you?

Cognac, s'il vous plait.

Two brandies, please.

Waiter: Certainly, madam.

What I really need to know from you two

is whether you can think of any reason

why Paul Alexis should commit suicide.

Ah, truly, that I do not understand.

One does not cut one's throat pour s'amuser.

No. The minute I heard about it...

"that's not Mr. Alexis," I thought.

"Well, he hadn't the nerve to do a thing like that."

You needn't look at me like that, Antoine.

You know it as well as I do...

Alexis was a regular namby pamby.

If he'd have wanted to kill himself,

he'd have taken sleeping pills.

Did he have anything the matter with his skin?

I mean...did he always wear gloves?

No. The gigolo must not have things

the matter with his skin.

That would not do at all. the ladies would not like it.

Yes. But he did say that his skin was very sensitive.

That was why he didn't shave.

Thank you.

That's room 223.

Waiter: Thank you, madam.

Well, cheerio!

Cheerio! Salute!

So, he always had a beard?

Yes, but Doris is right.

I remember when he first came to ask for a job.

The manager said, "Well, I'll take you on trial,

"but you must shave the beard.

The ladies will not like it."

And Paul say he cannot shave.

If he shave, he come out in...

What do you call it? A rash.

C'est ca. so the manager say, "You can stay

until we find someone else."

But the ladies, they love the beard.

It is so distinguished, so romantic.

So Paul stay, and the beard stay, too.

So it isn't likely that he'd have a razor?

That, I cannot tell. Doris, do you know?

Don't ask me. he wasn't my fancy man!

He was engaged to Mrs. Weldon...

If you can call it that.

I suppose she represented financial security.

Yes...

Yes, you are right, Mademoiselle.

It is well enough when one is young,

as Doris is young, to say,

"quelle horreur!"

"a young man to marry an older woman,"

but one is not young forever.

Soon the head grows bald, and the joints become stiff,

and then the manager says,

"My clients prefer a younger dancer."

Yeah...I suppose you're right.

Oh, it's not easy for us dancers, Miss Vane.

Everyone treats us like dirt.

I'm so sorry.

But you still can't think of a reason

why Paul Alexis should kill himself?

No reason, Mademoiselle.

No reason at all.

Merryweather: That's right, an Endicott razor,

with a nick in the ivory handle.

Well! Would you believe it?

I sold that razor only a few weeks ago.

To a foreign chap with a beard?

Oh, dear me, no, no.

It was one of those itinerant fellows

came 'round here looking for a job.

Oh.

I had no work for him, and to tell you the truth,

I wouldn't have given it to him if I had.

Didn't like the look of him, eh?

You'd be surprised the number of these men

who come 'round here.

And half of them are no more skilled hairdressers

than my tom-cat.

I generally give them a few razors to set,

and the way they go about it,

you can tell, nine times out of ten,

they've never set a razor in their life.

And that's how it was with this one?

Mind you, he spoke very well... very refined and quiet.

Very well-kept hands.

That's the first thing I look for.

Dirty or bitten nails... can't do with that in this business.

Anyway, I said I didn't need him,

and he said could I sell him a secondhand razor?

So I sold him this one to get rid of him.

Did he give a name, Mr. Merryweather?

He did, I'm sure.

George!

That sneaking little sandy-haired fellow

that came here the other day...

What did he say his name was?

The one that bought the razor off me?

Quite an ordinary name. Brown, was it?

"Brown"! Weren't no such thing!

You'll forget your own name next!

It did begin with a "b," though.

Bright! That was it.

Because don't you remember me saying

he didn't live up to his name when it came to setting razors?

Oh, yes, so you did, Mr. Merryweather.

Bright, that was it. he said his name was Bright.

Ah, Bunter. You've come most carefully upon your hour.

I've just been telling Miss Vane of our success in tracing

what I'm sure Sally Hardy will call...

Miss Vane: "The fatal weapon."

Precisely.

Lord Peter tells me

you had a very good description of the man who bought the razor.

Yes, Miss. medium build, sandy-haired,

dark eyes, smallish.

He doesn't have a limp or nothing like that,

but he does have one shoulder higher than the other.

Good heavens, like Richard III.

Now all we have to do is discover how the razor passed

from the possession of an itinerant barber into the hands...

the gloved hands... of Paul Alexis.

Unless that itinerant barber came from the sea

and cut Alexis' throat.

From behind.

Why from behind?

Well...forgive me, Bunter...

with that particular weapon...

aaah!

Thank you, Bunter.

I'll be with you in the car in ten minutes.

Very good, milord.

I'm so sorry.

Nonsense!

It's...it's just that, having seen him, I...

No, no. I'm a brute, and should be kicked from here to...

Seahampton.

And when time allows,

I shall go down on my knees and apologize,

and probably propose to you at the same time.

Oh, Peter, what an idiot you are.

Aren't I, though?

However, I have to go in search of Sally Hardy,

who is thirsting for information.

Why? I've told him everything I know...

at least everything the police would allow.

We don't owe him any favours.

I think he owes us one, though, don't you?

You coming?

No, no. I've got work to do.

I've got a book to write.

Of course, your next best-seller.

Sally, fancy finding you here.

Abandoned by your fellow scribes. That's good.

They've gone to watch the police rowing 'round the rocks.

Ah, they think the body

might have been lodged under the Grinders

when the tide turned.

But I had faith in you, Wimsey.

Can I get you one?

A bit early for me.

You're treating me damn badly, old man.

You wouldn't be hanging 'round here

just for the suicide of a foreign gigolo.

I know you've got something up your sleeve.

Unless it's just the girl.

For God's sake, Wimsey, say it isn't the girl!

You wouldn't play such a trick on a hardworking journalist!

Look here, if there's nothing else,

give me a story about you and Harriet Vane.

"Romantic engagement of Peer's son and crime novelist."

Pull yourself together, Sally,

and keep your inky paws off my private affairs.

Are you reasonably sober?

Sober? When did you know me not sober when there's a good story?

Sit down. I've got an exclusive for you.

But you've got to get it in tomorrow's first editions,

and you've got to write it exactly as I say.

Oh, no, not again!

My last story was practically dictated by Miss Vane.

Really? And I thought your style was improving.

Now, take this down.

You can begin with your usual

"horrible tragedy at Flat-iron rock,"

And then...

Wimsey: Interviewed by our special correspondent.

Harriet: "Lord Peter Wimsey explained,

with his characteristically modest smile..."

Peter, really!

"that he had himself been at pains

"to trace the previous history of the razor.

"'how did the razor get into the hands of the dead man?'

"demanded Lord Peter,

"until and unless that question is answered,

"I shall hold that Paul Alexis was foully and brutally murdered,

"and I shall spare no effort

to bring the murderer to justice."

Really, Peter.

Sally Hardy's style is unique, fortunately,

but, as you'll see if you can bear to read on,

he did persuade his editor to offer a 100-pound reward

for information about the razor.

So if we can discover

how it came into the possession of Paul Alexis...

Then you'll be satisfied that it was suicide?

But would you?

Of course not...

But then I'm never satisfied.

(Ballroom music)

Hello.

He's here.

Well, I suppose I'd better come and look the blighter over.

Is he handsome?

Yes, rather. shall we go?

In that case, you'd better tell him we're engaged,

then I won't be obliged to assassinate him.

Would you? That's splendid.

Will you marry me?

Certainly not. It's twenty-five to nine.

All right. Come on.

I hope your rabbit dies.

(Ballroom music)

Mrs. Weldon, may I introduce Lord Peter Wimsey.

Lord Peter, how pleased I am to meet you.

Dear Mrs. Weldon, if there's anything I can do to help you

at this unhappy time...

Too kind. this is my son, Henry.

Miss Harriet Vane, Lord Peter Wimsey.

Wimsey. How do you do?

Won't you sit down?

Oh, thank you.

Henry has most kindly come to help me through this...

This terrible time.

Dashed good of him.

Yes, well, you see, Henry knows

how utterly devoted Paul was to me,

and that he never, never

would have taken his own life like that

and left me without a word.

It hurts me so when the police suggest such a thing.

Now, mother, don't upset yourself.

We know that Alexis was all right...

I mean... damned fond of you and all that.

Yes, dear, I'm so sorry.

It's all been such a shock.

But Miss Vane has been so kind.

And now you and I and Miss Vane and Lord Peter

are all going to work together to clear Paul's memory

and discover who murdered him.

Yes...

Wimsey, would you like a drink?

Oh, yes, dear, call the waiter.

Oh, I thought we might nip over to the bar...

That is, unless Miss Vane...

No, I'm quite happy with coffee, thank you.

Do excuse us.

Isn't it beautiful how kind everyone is

when one is in trouble?

Henry and I haven't always been as...

close as a mother and son ought to be,

but when I wrote and told him of Paul's murder,

he came at once,

although I know how busy he must be.

I'm sure that's a great comfort to you.

Oh, yes! Especially since I did wonder

whether he might...

well, resent Paul.

It's such a comfort to know that he, too, feels

that Paul's murder was a tragedy.

It makes a chap look a fool when his mother proposes

to give him a 30-year-old lounge lizard as a step-papa.

All over now, anyway.

Suppose the chap did himself in?

It looks like it.

Mmm. I saw that piece of yours

in the Morning Star about the razor.

Going a bit far.

Oh, do you think so?

You're a sound sort of chap... brainy and all that...

can't you put my mother off this murder idea?

She's taken a notion

that you and that Vane girl are encouraging her.

I take it you mean Miss Vane?

Of course, I see your game all right.

You're nuts about this kind of thing,

and it's all a darn good advertisement,

and it gives you a jolly good excuse

to go barging around with the girl.

But it's not quite the game to go playing my mother up,

if you see what I mean.

I just thought I'd give you a hint.

You won't take offense.

I'm quite ready to take anything I'm offered.

Ha! That's dashed good.

Johnny, another Martell Three Star.

Glad we understand each other.

No, no. You misunderstand me,

but I understand you perfectly.

Perhaps we ought to go and join the ladies?

Ladies, eh? You be careful, my boy.

Getting to a dangerous age.

If you ain't careful, you'll find yourself

getting hooked one of these days.

Oh, I think I shall manage to keep my head out of the noose.

Huh? Oh, yes. Of course!

Excuse me.

Would you like to dance?

Oh, Lord Peter, how kind but no, thank you.

Not so soon after... in fact, never again.

But I begged Miss Vane to enjoy herself.

Isn't it a delight to see her looking so happy?

Yes.

There you are.

Frivolling.

I'm sure you don't approve.

Oh, I don't know. that all depends.

What on?

Who you frivol with. try doing it with me.

Excuse us.

Now that I've got you to myself...

Yes?

What do you think of Henry Weldon?

Oh. Well... I'm sorry.

Please don't apologize.

I'm a rotten dancer. Can't we sit down?

Darling, even if you danced

like an elderly elephant with arthritis...

which I assure you you don't...

I would still say that I've waited all my life

to dance with you... in that frock.

Antoine: Qu'est que je vous ai dit, Mademoiselle?

L'elan, c'est trouve.

What did that blighter say?

Oh, something about how

I danced better with you than with him.

Infernal cheek!

Yes, wasn't it?

Shall we sit down anyway?

We are here on business after all.

What about Henry Weldon?

Well, in the first place, what's he doing here?

A sudden spasm of filial affection?

She thinks so.

Oh...do you?

No, not really.

He's here to look after the money, that's all.

And warn me off.

What? Oh, yes.

"This detecting business must stop.

"and Mrs. Weldon is to be dissuaded from spending time and money

on the pursuit of a nonexistent murderer."

He said that?

In the most offensive manner.

But if you were to tell Mrs. Weldon that,

she'd disinherit him.

I knew he was stupid.

Ah. That's what you think.

Henry told me he didn't want Paul Alexis as a step-papa,

and now the Banns have been very effectively forbidden.

Yes.

But are you seriously casting Henry Weldon for first murderer?

I'd like to...but I can't.

You see, if this is murder and not suicide,

it's an uncommonly clever one.

And I agree with you.

I don't think Henry Weldon has the brains

to have murdered Paul Alexis.

But you do think someone did?

In all seriousness,

I must say that I do.

The thing we must get right

is the time of death.

Now, that morning,

Alexis traveled from Wilvercombe by a train

to Darley Halt, arriving at 10:15.

The guard remembers him,

and he bought a return ticket.

A return ticket? Would a suicide do that?

The very question I put to Inspector Trethowan,

who said that suicides,

particularly foreign suicides,

were that inconsistent there was no accounting for them.

All right.

Let's suppose Alexis hadn't quite made up his mind.

Yeah. While he was thinking about it,

he traveled to Darley Halt

in order to walk 4 1/2 miles to Flat-iron rock,

arriving at, say, um...11:45.

And what about the tide?

When I was there, it was coming in.

Not when he arrived, it was still ebbing then.

The tide didn't turn until 1:15,

so at 11:45, our friend could have walked dry-shod

to the rock and sat upon it.

some time later, Miss Harriet Vane arrived.

sat down 'round the corner of the cliffs with her picnic

and dozed off.

(Seagull cry)

So you came 'round the cliffs

and knew you'd found a corpse.

No, not immediately.

I was woken by the seagull.

At 2:00?

Yes. I looked at my watch,

and I wanted to know if I could get to Wilvercombe

along the seashore,

so I came 'round the corner,

and...I thought he was asleep at first

and that he'd be cut off by the tide.

But when I went to wake him,

there was all this blood running down.

Just a minute. You said that before.

Blood. Thick, red clots?

No, no. it was liquid.

When I put my hand into it, it was quite wet.

But if the blood was still liquid,

Alexis could only have been dead a few minutes...

ten at the outside.

Couldn't he have been slowly bleeding to death for some time?

No. Not with a wound like that.

Death would have been almost instantaneous.

Oh.

Harriet, you do realize what this means?

I have staked my reputation on murder.

I shall have to leave the country

and shoot tigers in fever-haunted jungles.

Well, I am very sorry to hear that,

but, I, too, have my reputation.

I cannot lie.

You're absolutely certain that when you came 'round the corner

and saw the rock for the first time,

there was no one in sight?

Absolutely no one.

There was just a man lying here dead.

I approached from there.

The tide was coming in then

and just one set of footprints...his.

Peter?

And the murderer lurking.

Peter, where are you?

Can you see me from where you are?

No. Where are you?

Oh, Peter... you don't think

that while I was examining the body,

the murderer was...

It is possible.

Nice drop of ale, that.

You don't get anything like that in London, more's the pity.

Summer visitor, are you?

No, no, no. I'm here on business.

You get enough of them, I daresay.

Too many, I shouldn't wonder.

Summer visitors. they be 'round here like flies,

pitching their tents,

hiking up and down in their little socks and shorts

with packs on their backs, getting themselves drowned...

Yeah. I met a fellow only a couple of weeks ago

who said he was thinking of camping in this area.

I'll think of his name in a minute.

Thick-set chap, ginger hair, moustache, whiskers.

Now, what was his name?

Sounds like your camper, Tom.

What?

Gentleman here asking about your camper.

Had to wear dark glasses.

Said there was something the matter with his eyes.

That's the one.

Nice enough fellow, though, apart from that.

Martin, his name was.

Martin!

Mr. Haviland Martin.

Martin. I knew it began with an "m".

I say!

Yes?

This is odd.

What's odd?

It's a ring...in the rock.

Looks quite new,

as though it's been fixed quite recently.

It's the sort of ring you'd tie a boat to or possibly...

There was a boat.

A fishing boat, I think.

I waved and shouted, and they took no notice.

Either they didn't see me, or...

they thought I was doing my health and beauty exercises.

And not one of them wasted.

Peter, I wish you wouldn't...

Admire you?

Say silly things you don't mean...

Or even if you do mean them, I wish you wouldn't.

You make it very difficult for me.

I can't help my feelings,

but I will keep my tongue firmly between my teeth.

Peter...

I feel we should continue looking for clues.

(Sighs)

Now that the tide's been in and out half a dozen times,

it will be difficult to distinguish between clues and...

flotsam and jetsam.

No, only jetsam.

Flotsam is what is still floating on the waves.

This wouldn't float.

Could it be jetsam, do you think?

Hardly.

I wonder how it got here.

Do people ride horses down here as a rule?

Too dangerous to get down, I should have thought.

I'd better get Bunter to check with the local riding stables.

And if not...

belongs to a nice little cob, about 15 hands.

Fairly well-bred, given to kicking her shoes off

and pecks a little with the all-four.

Very impressive, Holmes,

but I simply don't believe you can deduce all that

from an old horseshoe.

Not old. Quite new.

You see, it hasn't been worn thin

from the 'ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'igh road.

It's a little rusty from lying in the water,

but it's hardly at all rubbed by sand and stones,

and not at all corroded, so it hasn't been here long.

All right. I grant you that.

But the actual horse?

The size of the shoe denotes the size of the nag.

Oh, yes, well... I might have thought of that.

But well-bred?

A nice little round, well-bred hoof.

It's a little worn down on the inner front edge,

which shows that the wearer was disposed to peck.

And the way the nails are placed and clinched

shows that the smith wanted to make it extra secure,

which is why I said that a... a lost shoe

was a common occurrence with this particular gee.

Well, well. I don't suppose you could go on

and tell me the sex and colour while you're about it?

I do have my limitations.

Really?

It's funny... I never thought of you as a countryman.

My dear girl, I've been riding since I was three...

On and off.

I must say, finding this shoe

was the most gorgeous piece of luck.

And observation.

Quite right.

I could kiss you for it.

I think you are getting a little intoxicated

with the excitement of the discovery.

You need not shrink or tremble.

When I kiss you, it will be an important event,

like one's first taste of Lychee,

not a casual adjunct to a piece of detective investigation.

Certainly.

Kisses, like wine, should be allowed to mature,

preferably over a period of years.

Hoist with my own petard.

Your shoe, madam.

Now all we have to do

is to fit the shoe to the horse.

Which may lead us to the murderer.

Peter!

From a ring in the rock

and a horseshoe on the beach?

You don't seriously think Alexis was murdered

by a madman riding out of the sea

clutching a cut-throat razor?

Do you?

No...

No. It's impossible.

So Mr. Martin was in here last Monday, was he?

So he was, sir.

He parked his Morgan outside.

I didn't know he had a Morgan.

He said he only rented it.

I happened to remark on it being an unusual make of car,

and he said, the trouble it was giving him,

he wished they'd give him another one.

Anyhow, in he comes, has half a pint,

asks the way to Tom Goodrich's farm.

Said he wanted permission to camp on his land.

Asked if he could pitch a tent in Hink's lane.

Is that a regular camping site, is it?

No, I don't remember anybody asking for it before.

Your good health, sir.

Oh, uh... have one yourself.

Thank you very kindly, sir.

Well, he was a quiet sort of chap.

I've no objection to some poor devil who lives in a town

helping himself to a mouthful of fresh air and drink of water,

so long as he leaves the place tidy.

So, Bunter, Miss Harriet Vane's camper friend

arrived two days before Alexis' death

and left the morning after.

And here's a funny thing, milord,

Mr. Goodrich and the landlord are both pretty certain

they've never seen him in the area before,

and yet he asked for Mr. Goodrich by name,

and he seemed to know this place,

though it's not a regular campsite.

Curiouser and curiouser.

And very handy for the beach.

Tire marks here...

a three-wheeler.

The Morgan, milord.

Little patch of oil.

Yes. The landlord said he was having a spot of trouble.

I told you, he was tinkering with the engine

when I asked him the way to Darley.

This is where he pitched his tent.

Hello...

what have we here?

A nice little cob, about 15 hands.

And I should be very much surprised if that gate

doesn't lead onto a path down to the beach.

Oats!

And on this side of the gate.

Come on, boy.

Up, boy, up.

Ah.

You need a new shoe, old boy.

You seem to have lost yours somewhere.

Something here, milord.

Ah, quite so.

Odd that he should try to burn it...

Unless...

you will have noticed, my dear Holmes,

the horse has a head-stall.

With an experienced rider and a bit of rope...

I really think we ought to speak to Mr. Martin.

You're sure you can't remember anything else about him?

Quite honestly, I was only concerned

to get on to Darley and report the death,

so as soon as he pointed me in the right direction...

Are we anywhere near Darley?

Yes. Ten minutes down the road,

first right, half a mile inland.

Thank goodness.

Is there anything the matter?

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

Good lord.

I think we have earned a small, yet powerful drink.

I absolutely agree.

But first, I must wash and tidy up.

I must look a mess.

Oh, I'm not allowed to comment,

but I will meet you at 6:30 in the Bar Resplendent...

I refer merely to the name of your hotel.

Oh, Miss Vane! is there any news?

The hotel said you'd taken a picnic lunch,

and I wondered if you'd gone to the place where...

Yes. Lord Peter thought he ought to have a look at it.

And did he discover anything?

Anything that might lead him to the murderer?

Now, mother...

I think I ought to talk to the police first.

Yes, of course. I quite understand.

I won't ask any more.

I tell you what, there's a jolly little pub I know

just outside Seahampton that does cream teas.

If we arrange to go there sometime,

perhaps you'd like to join us.

What do you say, mother?

Oh, yes, my dear, would you?

I should be delighted.

What a kind thought, Henry, dear!

Wimsey! Glad to see you.

There's a fellow claiming the reward.

Says he gave the razor to Alexis.

Good oh! Where is he?

He'll be here in about 45 minutes.

He telephoned my paper from Seahampton,

and they put him on to me.

But he says he won't talk unless you're there.

His name's Bright.

And he should have been here five minutes ago.

In here, Mr. Bright.

Sally: This is the gentleman you wanted to meet...

Lord Peter Wimsey.

How do you do? how do you do?

Miss Harriet Vane.

How do you do? how do you do?

I've told him, Lord Peter,

if he wants to claim the Morning Star reward,

he'll have to let me in on the story.

I suppose that's only fair. I haven't done anything wrong.

I'm sure if I'd known what that poor gentleman

meant to do with the razor...

Let's begin at the beginning, shall we?

Do sit down.

You won't mind Miss Vane being here?

She discovered the body, you know.

Oh, no, my lord, not at all.

Do sit down. perhaps you'd like a drink?

Um, Sally?

Miss Vane? No, thank you.

Lord Peter?

Uh, no, thanks.

Well?

Well, my lord, I am, as you might say,

an itinerant hairdresser...

Thank you...

I used to have my own business in Manchester,

but I lost it through...

through misfortune.

Whereabouts in Manchester?

Massingbird Street.

It's all been pulled down now.

When was your last job?

Well, I... recently, I've only had temporary posts.

Work's been hard to come by.

I did work for a week at Leston Hoe...

What was the name of the shop?

Ramage's, but... I had to leave.

Why was that?

One of the customers...

I had the misfortune to cut him slightly and...

drunk, were you? No! No, I...

It's true that a glass of spirits

does affect me more than the ordinary person...

Nobody's trying to criticize you.

We're just trying to get at the truth.

The truth?

The truth is, I was at the end of my tether.

Thank you.

I'm sorry. It's just that...

No one knows how hard it is, trying to get work,

struggling against my old enemy,

and nobody will give you a hand up.

Anyway...

I bought this razor from old Merryweather in Seahampton.

He wouldn't give me a job,

but I thought if I had my own razor,

I might find it easier to get work.

Could you describe the razor?

Oh, yes. It had an ivory handle.

I think it had a slight crack in it.

But it was a good razor,

came from a place in Jermyn Street.

How was the blade?

Oh, quite all right.

A bit worn, but perfectly sharp.

So I came to Wilvercombe...

that would be last Monday...

and I tried for work at Moreton's,

but Mr. Moreton said the season was over,

and he didn't want any extra help,

and he didn't employ casual labour.

Very hurtful he was in his manner, and...

well, to tell the truth,

I was at the end of my resources.

I hadn't got enough left for a cup of tea.

Go on.

I walked down to the sea,

about midnight it must have been,

and I could hear the waves breaking against the sea-wall,

and they seemed to say, "Chuck it."

"Why don't you chuck it?"

I'll tell you no lie, my lord,

I did think of ending it all there and then.

I actually took the razor out and opened it.

And then I saw this young man,

further along,

and he moved towards me.

He was in evening dress, and he had a black beard.

I remember that because it is unusual in a young man,

unless he's an artist.

So he offered me a cigarette.

He had a gold cigarette case... I remember that.

And it was one of those Russian cigarettes.

Sometimes you get talking to a stranger

when you wouldn't to anyone else,

so I told him my troubles, and he said...

I only wish my difficulties could be solved

as easily as yours.

So he gave me some money...

five pounds it was... and he said,

now, you give me the razor.

I can't do that, it's my livelihood.

In the mood you're in,

it's more likely to be your deathlihood.

A funny way he had of talking,

quick and sort of poetic, you know.

So he put the razor in his pocket, and he said,

"Funny we should meet tonight,

two minds with but a single thought."

And then, off he went.

He said that?

He did.

But if I'd guessed that he really meant...

well, I never would have given him the razor.

But he never actually told you his name?

He didn't, Miss.

But he said he was a dancing partner

at one of the hotels,

and wasn't it a hell of a life for a man

that ought to be a Prince in his own country,

making love to ugly old women

at tuppence ha'penny a time.

Very bitter he sounded.

You'll have to let the police know.

After all, you've done nothing wrong, as you said yourself.

Why don't you get it over with right away?

Go 'round to the police station with Mr. Hardy,

and perhaps you can discuss the reward?

It sounds okay to me,

but we'll have to check up on your story.

But if it's all okay, then there'll be

a good fat check for you.

That should keep you going for sometime

if you'll just steer clear of that little weakness of yours.

The great thing about weaknesses is

never to let them interfere with business.

Well, I'm very much obliged to you.

That seems to settle things very nicely.

Thank you, my lord.

Miss Vane.

Good-bye, Mr. Bright.

That was rather horrid.

Yes, it was.

Still, if it got the truth out of him.

If it was the truth.

Ah. You think it wasn't?

It doesn't sound quite right for Alexis somehow.

And also...

Yes?

Speaking as a novelist,

if I were trying to think of an explanation

as to how that razor got into the hands of Paul Alexis,

that's exactly the sort of story I'd come up with.

Oh.

Bunter?

You had a reason for melting into the mouldings?

Yes, milord.

I thought it advisable, in case your lordship

subsequently desiring to have the person

kept under surveillance.

Your forethought is, as ever, Bunter, remarkable.

You wouldn't happen to have a tide-table on you, would you?

Certainly, milord.

Oh, thank you.

Well, I don't know.

I find it all rather evocative and convincing.

The "waves breaking against the sea-wall."

Except that they weren't.

Your instinct was quite right, Harriet.

At the time he mentioned,

the tide was at the extreme bottom of the ebb.

No, I agree with you, milord.

Mr. Bright's story just doesn't hold water...

If you'll forgive the pun!

Still, you know what they say...

Truth is stranger than fiction.

Oh, certainly.

The most difficult thing for a writer of fiction

is to make the truth sound convincing.

Maybe that was Mr. Bright's difficulty,

maybe he just got carried away by his imagination.

Well, Sally Hardy has insisted

on him collecting the reward

from the offices of the Morning Star.

And they said they'll need time to check on his story.

So we're going to keep in touch with Mr. Bright.

And if he doesn't show up for the reward?

Then we'll know there's something fishy about him.

Report on Mr. Haviland Martin, sir.

Can the sort of man who goes camping

really be called Haviland Martin?

They've traced the car. MY-12.

Tom Goodrich remembered it.

Short and sweet, eh, Percy? MY-12.

"Haviland Martin rented the car from a garage in London,

"last Thursday week, paid the deposit in cash,

"and returned it on Sunday night.

"He gave, as reference, a Cambridge banker,

"and showed them a driving license

made out in the name of 'Martin.'"

Hmm.

Milord?

What does your mystery writer's mind make of that?

I think that if I were trying to invent a way

for a murderer to reach an appointed spot

and leave it again,

complete with bag and baggage,

leaving no traceable trail,

I'd have him behave exactly as Mr. Haviland Martin has.

I'd have him open a bank account in a false name,

hire a car,

giving the bank's address to the garage as sole reference,

pay cash, and then possibly close the bank account again

in the near future.

Did they check on the bank?

"Mr. Haviland Martin has been a depositor for five years."

I would agree with you, Harriet,

but five years seems rather a long time

to premeditate a crime.

Hmm. yes, Percy, what is it?

I saw old Pollock, sir.

I told him to be here by 11:00.

Oh, no.

All right. I'll see him in a minute.

Pollock's the old devil

we think was fishing out there that day, milord.

I don't know if you want to be present?

Oh, thank you.

Very decent of you, Inspector.

Would you mind, Miss?

It's quite all right, Inspector.

I have to go anyway.

I meant to tell you, I'm changing my address.

You needn't worry...

I'm not going to leave town or anything like that.

You're quite right, Inspector,

the Resplendent's is rather large and rather expensive,

so I'm taking lodgings.

Very wise, Miss.

The address, by the way, is 4, Jubilee Walk.

Where, sir?

That's where the dead man lived!

What's she up to now, I wonder?

Morning, Mrs. Lefranc.

(Startled) Oh, I'm sorry, love.

You're earlier than I expected.

I'll...I'll just finish this.

I like the front to look nice.

Oh, that's all right. I'm in no hurry.

Now, I never asked. Are you in the business?

What business?

A theatrical.

No. I write books.

Oh...you're not one of them journalists, are you?

Oh, no.

Worried to death I've been with them,

poking their long noses into my private affairs,

never a thought for my feelings.

(Whimpering) poor Mr. Alexis dead and gone,

and me, like a mother to him.

I can imagine how you must feel, Mrs. Lefranc.

As a matter of fact, it was me who found him.

Well...I never!

Would you like to see the room?

This is it,

and I'm sure you won't find better in Wilvercombe.

It's nice and quiet,

and you'll be able to do your writing beautiful.

I've had it all cleaned up,

and his clothes and things put away.

But if you was to dislike the books or bits and pieces about,

then I could always put them down in the cellar.

No! No, they're no bother at all.

I mean, it's not as if he died in this room, is it, poor love?

And anything infectious there is not,

for he always enjoyed good health,

barring the pain in his joints,

which used to play him up from time to time,

and the agony he went through was cruel.

My sister had the rheumatics, so I know all about it.

A trapeze-artist she was.

I've got her photo in my room, Miss Vane,

if you'd like to see it,

and the wreaths her old pals sent to her funeral

was beautiful to see.

Now, how long would you be wanting the room for?

Well, I don't really know.

It depends when the inquest is held.

Oh, yes...

they have to find him first, haven't they?

Poor lamb... I can't sleep at nights

for thinking of him washing about in all that nasty sea.

Would you be wanting 2 1/2 guineas per week, all found,

or 12 shillings and find for yourself?

Can't a man take his own boat out when he likes?

So you admit you were there?

Who said so? They Baineses, I s'pose.

Nasty, peering, prying lot.

Now, then, Mr. Pollock, think carefully.

What time did you get to the Flat-iron rock?

You better ask Tom Baines.

Poking and prying, like one of they bloody Bolsheviks.

Oh, never mind all that.

If you've nothing to hide, just answer the question.

Were I off the Flat-iron Wednesday?

Right.

Yes, I were.

About what time?

One? Two?

Might be about then.

Did you see anyone on the shore?

I see a vule of a woman capering about on the beach.

That's what I see... going on as if she was loony.

I must tell Miss Vane. she'd appreciate that.

Did you see anyone on the Flat-iron?

There were a chap lying down.

How long had he been lying there?

Couldn't say.

She climbed up on the rock,

and then starts a-yowlin' and wavin' her arms.

I didn't take no notice.

I never takes no notice of females.

Now, Pollock, just answer me this...

did you see anyone else on the shore that morning?

Couldn't say.

Were you in sight of the shore all the time?

Yes, I were.

And you saw nobody apart from the woman, and the man lying down?

Ain't I telling you? I never looked.

What were you doing off the Grinders that day?

Was someone else with you in the boat?

No, there weren't.

Ormonde: How about your grandson?

Oh, him? He was there. Why shouldn't he be?

Mr. Pollock, can we get one thing quite clear?

Did you see anybody walking or riding along the shore

between 1:00 and 2:00?

Can't say. Never noticed.

All right, then, Pollock.

You can give your statement to Constable Ormonde outside.

And we shall want to question your grandson.

Well, you can't, then.

He ain't here. He's gone to Ireland.

Come on, Pollock.

Pack of fools.

Police here, police there...

No blasted freedom in this country!

Well, milord, what do you make of that?

If he was in his boat, off the Grinders that day,

and he did see Miss Vane and the body on the rock,

then he was bound to see anybody else on the beach,

and yet he says he didn't.

So it has to be suicide.

(Smirks) Of course, he could be lying.

He is certainly lying, Inspector...

but about what, and why?

(Knocking)

Excuse me, sir, but there's a gentleman here from Seahampton,

a dealer in old coins.

He saw the picture of Paul Alexis in the paper

and thought you ought to know something.

Know what?

Well, the day before he died,

Alexis drew everything out of his bank account

and bought 300 gold sovereigns.

Well, if this is suicide,

it's like no suicide I ever heard of.

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