All language subtitles for Wimsey.Have.His.Carcase.Episode.4-1

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There he is!

(Neighing)

Whoa!

Whoa!

Calm down, boy.
Calm down.

What happened?

I don't know, Miss.

He just pulled up sudden
as we approached the rock.

Come on, boy.

Come on.

Harriet: Don't!

Thataboy.

Please don't make him,
Peter.

Well, hoofprints or not...

this horse
witnessed the murder.

Bunter, you have earned
a foaming beaker.

The ride from Aix to Ghent
was nothing to it.

We've now proved
it would have been possible

for Henry Weldon,
alias Haviland Martin,

to ride from Hink's lane
to the Flat-iron rock,

commit the murder,
and ride back again,

and, had the tide
been right,

leave no hoofprints
in the sand.

He still remains our
most likely suspect.

With a suspiciously
solid alibi

for the morning.

When he didn't need it.

Yes. Odd, that.

I was watching him
at the inquest,

and I'll swear
he was surprised

when the time of death
was given out as 2:00.

Oh, thank you.
how much do I owe?

Bunter, would you mind?

A strong odor of fish
and prevarication

has just roamed
through the door.

Mr. Pollock,

may I buy you
a glass of ale?

Lucky we ran
into each other like this.

I wanted to ask you
one or two questions.

Oh, yeah? What about?

About that chap
who was found dead

on Flat-iron rock.

What about him?

He be dead, ain't he?

Yes, poor chap.

I was wondering,
when you first saw him,

was he lying down?

Yes, he were.

About what time
would that be?

Never you mind!

I weren't taking particulars
for the police,

I were sailing
the bloody boat!

Yes, of course.

What exactly were you doing
off the Grinders that day?

Never you mind.
Why don't you keep

your long nose
out of my business?

Now, there,
Mr. Pollock.

This is
Lord Peter Wimsey.

I know who he is.

Hand in foot
with the police, he is.

Interfering busybody.

It's all right.
I quite understand,

but, after all, this is
a question of murder.

Suicide.

What makes you
say that?

That's what they said
at the inquest.

I was wondering
if you saw anything

that might indicate...

Never you mind
what I saw!

I-I never saw nothing,

and I never asked you
to buy me a drink.

Next time I'll buy me own
and have peace and quiet.

Mr. Pollock, I understand
your grandson Jem,

who was with you
on the boat that day,

has come back
from Ireland.

Who told you that?

Tom Baines, I suppose,
poking and prying.

Would you mind telling him
I'd like a word with him?

Long-nosed,
interferative foreigner.

How did you know

his grandson had
come back from Ireland?

I didn't, but I thought
it was worth a try.

Do you believe
that the Pollocks

are hiding the fact
that they saw Henry Weldon

riding towards
Flat-iron rock?

They are hiding something,
I'm sure of that.

Well, it's all down
to a question of time.

We know that,
disguised as Haviland Martin,

he left this pub
at 1:30.

And that
sometime in the afternoon

the Darley garage

sent someone
to restart his car.

Yes, but what time
did they get there?

Constable Ormonde

has been requested to check
on that very matter.

(Bell tolls the hour)

Right, Mr. Polwhistle,

so this
Mr. Haviland Martin,

he asked you to come
and look at his car?

Mr. Martin? Oh, yeah.

We saw him
on that Wednesday afternoon,

didn't we, Tom?
That's right.

Asked us to come and have
a look at his Morgan.

Said it wouldn't start
for toffee,

so we went
to Hink's lane,

tried everything,

and then we found the fault,
didn't we, Tom?

That's right.
H.T. leads.

Soon as we replaced them,
it went right as rain.

And what time
would this be?

You got
your time sheet, Tom?

Tom will have put it
on his time sheet.

We do that so we know
how long we spend

on all these little jobs.

Now, what time
did Mr. Martin call us out?

Ah, that's right.
3:00 p.m. Till 4:00 p.m.

And you're
quite sure of that?

It's down here
in black and white.

So there it is...

A glorious gap in the middle
of Henry's alibi,

right at the time
of the murder.

Nothing between
1:30 and 3:00.

I hate
to disappoint you,

but you're forgetting
Mr. Perkins.

The hiker I met
on the road...

That is,
if you believe he exists.

Of course
he exists.

You saw him.

He told me that
he'd spoken to Henry Weldon,

alias Haviland Martin,
in Hink's lane

before he met me
on the coast road,

so that must have been
some time after 1:30,

when Henry
left The Feathers,

and before 3:00,

when the Darley garage
people saw him.

Yes, but exactly when?

And did it give Henry time

to ride to Flat-iron rock,
commit the murder,

and get
back to Hink's lane?

And why hasn't
this man Perkins

come forward

if he has nothing
to hide?

Come along, now,
Mr. Perkins.

You've got to make
an effort, you know,

or you'll
never get better.

Why don't you read
for a little while?

Have a look
at this newspaper.

Here you are.

Thank you, Sister.

Oh, no!

Is something wrong?

No, no.

"Inquest
on body on beach.

"missing witness sought.

Hiker gave name as Perkins."

Yes, but I
didn't really see him.

I didn't have anything
to do with it.

In that case, much better
to get things cleared up.

Would you like me
to ring the police for you?

Right, Mr. Perkins.

You say you met
the young lady, Miss Vane,

and you turned

and accompanied her
back to Darley.

Now, I wonder
why you did that, sir?

Well, I thought
I might be able to help.

That is,
truth to tell,

I didn't fancy
walking past where...

I thought the murderer
might still be lurking there.

Why did you think
it was a murder, sir?

The young lady
had only told you

that she'd found a body.

Oh, well, I...

where were you, sir,
at 2:00 that day?

I hope you're not
going to be long, Constable.

Take a sip of this
and try not to get upset.

It's all right.
I know where I was.

I'd walked over
from Wilvercombe,

and I went
into the shop in Darley

to buy a bottle
of lemonade.

We had quite a chat. I'm sure
the shopkeeper would remember.

And what time
would that be, sir?

I'm not sure.

When I looked at my watch
a bit later,

it had stopped.

But I asked the time
from a man, a camper,

outside Darley.

Oh, yes. Can you
describe this gentleman?

I wouldn't call him
a gentleman...

He was a red-faced man

with ginger whiskers
and a mustache.

He had a snake
tattooed on his arm,

and he wore dark glasses.

He was very rude to me.

And what time did he
say it was, sir?

Five minutes to 2:00.

I know that was right
because I set my watch.

When I got back to Darley,

I checked it
by the Church clock.

Perkins said he didn't want
to get involved

in a murder inquiry,

him being a London
County Council schoolteacher

and having his reputation
to consider.

So he takes the train

from Darley Halt
to Seahampton,

sets off walking again,

and promptly got
knocked down by a lorry.

Serve him right.

But we did check up on him.

Turns out he's a member
of the Soviet Club,

reported to have
Communist sympathies.

Good lord!

Don't tell me
Mrs. Weldon's theory

of a Bolshevik plot
is to come true!

Inspector, do you think
I might borrow

the police photograph

of the letter
found on Paul Alexis?

Certainly.

Forensic did a good job
on this one.

Hmm.

Thanks to them,

we can really see
what we're dealing with now.

Oh, by the way,

did you have any luck
in tracing that letter?

Oh, I forgot to tell you.

Yes, it's Olga Kohn,
professional model.

Lives in Chelsea.
advertises corsets.

Knows absolutely nothing.

And we don't know
why it's signed "Feodora"?

No.

We're really going to
have to decode this letter.

So Henry now has an alibi

for the exact time
of the murder?

Unless Perkins was lying.

I still think Perkins
is an unlikely murderer.

So was Crippen.

Is this
your dictionary?

No. I found it
in the bookshelf.

Mrs. Lefranc,

may I have
a word with you?

Certainly, milord.

Um, now,

is this your dictionary?

Funny you should
ask that, milord.

No, it isn't.

Poor Mr. Alexis asked me

if I had
a Chambers Dictionary

just after the first

of them foreign letters
arrived.

I suppose there was a word
he couldn't understand.

"No, I haven't,
Mr. Alexis, dear," I said.

"Not a Chambers Dictionary,
nor any other kind.

My spelling has always
been excellent," I said,

"ever since
I was a tiny tot."

So out he went
and bought himself a new one.

"why didn't you get
a secondhand one?" I said,

but he said it had to be
the latest edition.

Now, that was Mr. Alexis
all over...

always had illusions
of grandeur.

Thank you, Mrs. Lefranc.

You are a mine
of information,

and all of it useful.

I don't know
about that, milord.

I try to keep
my eyes open,

but I never pry.

♪ Till I've made you
happy too ♪

Do you know, I think
she has made us rather happy.

I didn't only come here

for the pleasure
of your company...

And to tell you
about Perkins.

Ah! The coded letter.

It's a police photograph
of it

which cleverly enhances

what the forensic laboratories
have managed to reveal.

I thought your friend
from the foreign office

was going to decode it.

I'm afraid old Bungo's
let me down.

He could have done it
with one eye shut,

but when I telephoned
the club to tell him

we now had something
legible to work from,

they told me that he
was on his way to China

and wouldn't be back
for four months.

So I thought you and I...

My dear Peter,

I haven't got
the faintest idea

about codes and ciphers.

You worked for intelligence
during the war.

Come to think of it,

how would Alexis know
anything about codes?

I suspect that
the first letter he received

would be quite cryptic,
written in plain English.

It would tell him
about the code

and direct him to the key word
for the next letter,

I suggest,
in Chambers Dictionary.

Then it would tell him
to destroy the letter

and all subsequent letters.

Which he presumably did,
apart from this one.

I think I know
the kind of code it is.

It's not difficult to crack
if you know the key word,

but without it,
it's pretty fiendish.

We don't have the key word.
how are we going to find it?

With the code
I have in mind,

it never has less
than six letters,

and in no case
is a letter repeated.

You do realize I'm supposed
to be working on my novel.

Yes. Yes, I do.

But this will make
such a change from, um...

doing crossword puzzles.

Right!

A railway timetable...

Used as a bookmark.

Darley Halt.

Is it too much to hope

that this is the page
he was working on?

"Monarch."

Mrs. Lefranc said he was
always talking about royalty.

We know he was
always reading about it.

Could this be anything?
I can't quite make it out.

"10/583."

I suggest this is
a reference to the 10th word

on page 583
of Chambers Dictionary.

It's the reference
Alexis needed

for the key word
for the next letter,

not this one.

Why not?

Because you always put
the key word reference

on the previous letter,
which is then destroyed.

Hang on.

This is 583.

And this is probably
the page he was working on.

Ten...one, two, three,
four, five, six...

Seven, eight, nine...

"monarchy."

Could they be rank amateurs?

Could they have gone
and given us the key word?

Let's keep very calm
and try.

Now, may I?

Yes, certainly.

You draw a diagram...

which has five squares
either way,

and then you fill in
the key word

in the top squares...

And then you fill in

the rest of the letters
from the alphabet,

omitting the ones
you've already used

and counting "i"
and "j" as one.

So, it's "b,"
"d," "e"...

Peter, do you think
it's possible

that these letters
at the top right-hand corner

represent the address
and date?

If they are rank amateurs,
I think it's highly likely.

Because if that is
the name of a town,

it's got six letters,
and the last two

are the same as
the first two reversed.

Warsaw?

You're brilliant.

You've done
this sort of thing before.

I knew one wordsmith

was worth three
cipher experts.

"xnatnx."

No. "x-n-a-t-n-x."

Right.

Now, you divide this
into sets of two letters,

and you'll find

that they form the corners
of a rectangle,

so you take
the opposite corners.

"w." "a."

"a." "t."

"r." "s."

And then our old friends
"x," "n" reversed

gives us...

Warsaw.

I don't want to jump
to conclusions,

but I think
we've cracked it!

What next?

"p." "r."

"b." "f."

"x." "a."

"l." "I."

"m." "k."

"m." "g."

"to his serene..."

Highness?

Let's see.

"b." "f."

"f." "y."

"m." "g."

"t." "s."

"highness" it is.

Oh, Harriet, am I
at my time of life

to be reduced to hunting
for a gang of Bolsheviks?

Let us read on.

"q." "j."

"m." "k."

Yes.

"g." "n."

Yes.

"To his serene highness,

"Grand Duke
Pavlo Alexeivitch,

"heir to the throne
of the Romanovs.

"Marriage
of your illustrious ancestress

"to Czar Nicholas I

"proved beyond all doubt.

"Restoration of Imperial rule
to Holy Russia

"eagerly awaited.

"photograph
of Grand Duchess Feodora,

"your bride-to-be,
enclosed.

"Your presence
alone needed.

"On Wednesday,
16 october,

"take train
reaching Darley Halt 10:15.

Walk by coast road
to Flat-iron rock."

He must have actually
believed the Pollocks

were going to take him
to russia in a fishing boat.

"There await
the rider from the sea."

"The rider from the sea."
you were right.

Yes.

But was he friend
or enemy?

We know Alexis
was killed at 2:00,

so if the rider
from the sea

was a friend
and arrived at 11:45,

why did Paul Alexis wait
until 2:00 for the murderer?

Maybe he was still
murdered for the gold.

That doesn't come up
in the letter.

I think that was
Alexis' romantic idea...

taking gold coins

that could
easily be translated

into any currency.

Besides, the gold
was found on his body.

I must report
to Inspector Trethowan.

(Whistling)

Don't move.

(Gasps)

All right,
what's your game?

Nothing. I just
wanted to talk to you.

Who are you?

Pollock, milord.
Jem Pollock.

You know who I am?

Yes, milord.

Come and have a drink.

Cheers.

What were you doing
in Ireland?

I've made it known
I wanted to see you,

and you've gone
to the trouble

of seeking me out.

You must have something
to tell me.

What were you doing
in Ireland?

Selling the lobsters,
milord.

Couldn't sell 'em
round here.

Why on earth not?

On account of they
were Tom Baines' lobsters.

Ah.

Tom Baines having damaged
grandad's nets.

So that's
what you were doing

off the Grinders
that day...

Raiding Tom Baines'
lobster pots.

No wonder your grandfather
was reticent.

Don't tell him
I told you.

I wouldn't dream of it.

Now, Jem, you know
that this poor chap

was killed
on the Flat-iron rock

about 2:00 that day.

I do, milord,

and as sure
as I'm sitting here

he must have
killed himself,

for there was nobody
come nigh him,

barring the young lady.

But assuredly,
dear Mrs. Weldon,

you will come back
and visit us again.

Oh, yes, Monsieur Antoine,
I'm sure I shall.

I rather doubt it.

Unhappy memories
and all that.

Of course.
I understand.

But you will save
one last dance for me

before you leave?

Come along, mother.

Wimsey! There you are.

You got my message?
I'm just off.

Oh? Where?

You know
that fellow Bright

who said he gave
that razor to Alexis?

Don't be an idiot.
of course I know.

Sober up and tell me
where you're off to.

London, old son.

Presentation of check
to Bright the barber.

Hope to get a picture

and a final bit of guff
about the Alexis death.

Final?

My editor thinks
we've squeezed it dry.

Besides, they've just found
a headless torso

in Berkhampstead.

I must dash
or I'll Miss my train.

Cheerio, Miss Vane!
Good luck with the novel!

Thank you.

So that's that?

Almost.

Not quite.

We must telephone Bunter
in London.

(Telephone rings)

Look here, chief...

Sally, what are you
doing here?

I thought you were
going to Berkhampstead.

You've got to present
the check to Bright first.

Who?

We offered a reward
to anyone who could explain

how the razor got
into the hands of Alexis.

Who's he?

The body they found
on the rock at Wilvercombe.

Oh, yes!

Your friend Wimsey
talked us into it.

I must have been
out of my mind.

Well, where is this fellow
Mr. Bright, then?

Wimsey thinks

he may be involved
in murder.

If so, he probably
won't turn up at all.

So much the better.

I thought the verdict

was supposed to be
suicide, anyway.

So it was.
But Wimsey thinks...

He has turned up
after all.

Hello, Mr. Bright!

Thought for a moment
you weren't going to come.

Didn't want to miss
the reward, eh?

Oh, no.
Certainly not.

Come in, come in.
Bring the camera, joe!

In here, Mr. Bright.
thanks, Sid.

This is our News Editor.

Yes, yes.
Splendid.

Mr. Bright,
nice to meet you.

I've got your check
right here.

I shan't keep you
a moment.

Are you all ready, Joe?

Come on, then, Sally.
let's get on with it.

Just here, Mr. Bright.

I have pleasure
in presenting you

with this check...

(Snaps fingers)

Sorry.

Yes, a check for £100
in appreciation

of your public-spirited
behavior.

The Morning Star
is always delighted

to assist the police
in their inquiries.

(Shutter clicks)

Waste of time and money,
really.

What line are you
going to take?

"Morning Star assists police
with suicide riddle."

"'I'll never forgive myself

"for giving the razor
to Alexis,'

Says itinerant barber."

Get a quote about what he
intends to do with the money,

and another photograph.

He may have moved
in that last one.

Where is he?

Don't say he's gone.

Well. Doesn't matter.

The story's dead now,
anyway.

Trouble with this case is,

it's one step forward
and two back.

This letter

which you and Miss Vane
have decoded...

and damned clever, too...

it shows us that someone
lured Alexis

to the Flat-iron rock
that day.

But who, and why?

Yes. Was it a trick

to get him there
and murder him?

The only person
with a motive

is Henry Weldon,
and he has an alibi

you couldn't break
with a pickaxe.

Henry was very lucky
with his alibi,

firstly that his car
broke down,

and secondly that he got
a lift from Mrs. Morecambe,

who was both conspicuous
and above suspicion.

Well, we can't do
anything about that.

By jove!

I'm so sorry.

That's all right,
milord.

He's probably listening
at the door, anyway.

Percy!

Ormonde.

The people that Henry Weldon
hired the car from...

did they say whether he asked
particularly for a Morgan?

Oh, yes, milord.

They sent us
a copy of his letter.

It said he wished to rent
a Morgan car

from October 15

And was signed
Haviland Martin,

and gave as a reference
a bank in Cambridge.

A Morgan car,
not just a car!

Oh, frabjous day!
Callooh, callay!

Miss Vane,
will you marry me?

Or, failing that,
will you come with me

to Darley garage and commune
with Mr. Polwhistle?

I will.

Let us begone.

What?
The latter.

I see the first glimpse
of light

in the impenetrable gloom.

What do you suppose
he meant by that?

Well,
that a 2-cylinder car

is easier
to put out of action

than a 4-cylinder one,
sir.

Yes, milord, the fault
was in the H.T. leads.

We tried the mag,
and she was all right,

and there wasn't nothing
wrong with the plugs,

so young Tom here says,
"What about the leads?"

Didn't you, Tom?

So you took them out?

Never got the chance.

Mr. Martin, he says,

"that'll be it!"

And he whips the leads
out of the clip.

I says, "let the boy
have a look at 'em,"

and Mr. Martin says,

"never mind looking
at the bloody things"...

begging your pardon...
"shove a new pair in!"

So you did?

That's right, milord.

Tom got a bit of H.T. wire
out of my tool bag there,

and then me and Tom
fixes up a new bit of wire,

connects it up, and she
starts up sweet as a nut.

You don't happen
to remember

what happened
to the defective leads?

Funny
you should ask.

Mr. Martin pushed them
into his pocket,

but them leads falls out
onto the grass again.

I expect
I've still got 'em.

I thought,
"he won't want them again,

but they'll come in useful
for a motorbike,"

So I picked 'em up
and put 'em in my tools.

Now. Ah.

There we are.

(Hisses)

That's pretty sharp!

What is it?

I suspect the business end
of a sewing needle.

So that was it!

Well done, Tom.

That was it.

All right, then,
how did you know?

I didn't,

but I've seen it
done before.

It's a very handy way

of holding up
a motorcyclist

at the beginning
of a race.

I'm not sure
I entirely under...

With a 4-cylinder car,
you can run on three,

or, if it's a good engine,
even on two.

But...

with a 2-cylinder car
like the Morgan,

you knock out one and...

Precisely.
the car won't start,

and you have to get a lift
into Wilvercombe.

So Henry fabricated
his alibi?

It may be fabricated,
but in cast iron.

If only we had
an independent witness.

Harriet,

now, you know I find you
rather overwhelming,

so wait in the car.

Afternoon, sir.

Mind if I join you?

'tis a free country.

So it is.

I've noticed
you often sit here.

Good spot for seeing

what's going on
in the village.

(Chuckles) Yes.

More than people
might think, I daresay.

(Chuckles)
You're right there!

I don't suppose you remember
the Wednesday before last?

I know it's a bit much
to ask...

What? Of course
I remember!

Ain't nothing wrong
with my memory.

That was the day
the young man

were found dead
on Flat-iron rock.

Big, red car come through
that day at 10:00,

driven by Vicar's
lady friend.

Uh...his wife's friend?

Ah. Mutton
dressed as lamb.

They do say
she were an actress.

Ah.

She had a gentleman

in the car with her
that day,

gentleman
with dark glasses.

he was still sitting
beside her

when she come back
at 1:00.

And the gentleman
with dark glasses,

he gets out of the car
and goes into The Feathers,

and she drives on
towards Heathbury.

Did you see the gentleman
come out of The Feathers?

Hey? What?

Did you see the gentleman
come out of The Feathers?

(Rather too loudly)
Yes! I did!

Half-past 1:00 that were,
by Church clock.

Did you see anyone else,
a stranger,

Come through the village
about the same time?

No need to shout!

There's nothing wrong
with my hearing

as long
as you speak up clear

and don't mumble

like so many young folk
do nowadays.

I beg your pardon, sir.

Yes.

Yes.

A rickety-looking,
town-bred sort of chap

with big glasses,

a little pack on his back.

In he goes to the shop,

And I thinks to myself,

if you wants the Post Office,
you'll be unlucky,

'cause they shuts for lunch.

but out he comes.

"You'll be wanting to wet
your whistle, my lad,"

I thinks, but on he goes,

straight on
towards Hink's lane.

Bah!

"You'll be one of these
pussyfooting slop-swallowers,"

I says to myself,

"brought up
on fizzy lemonade...

All belch and no body."

Then I thinks to myself,

"Just time
for a last pint,"

I thinks to myself,

and into The Feathers
I goes.

You have
a remarkable memory.

Perhaps today
you'd be good enough

to have
your last pint on me.

Oh, thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Get in.

Well?

It's too good.

It's too damn good.

Someone, somewhere...

Is making fools of us.

But who?

And how?

Man:
...just a matter of time.

there's no time to waste
when there's someone drowning.

Saved!

At Coral Gables, Florida,

they take the sport of swimming
more seriously.

Here, we slow up the camera

to show you the world's
professional diving champion,

Sam Howard, in action.

From the 30-foot board,

he does
a full-gainer somersault.

then, from 25 feet,
a combination of swan dive

and a one-and-a-half.

If the swan saw this,
he'd turn green with envy.

And my grace! It's only
with the aid of a camera lens

that we can appreciate
to the full

the perfect artistry
of the springboard.

(Intermission music plays)

Thank you, cabby.

Keep the change.

Excuse me a moment.

The gentleman who went
into number 70...

dark-haired,
wears a beard...

I'm sure
I've met him before,

but I can't
remember his name.

Wouldn't happen
to know him, would you?

His name is not Bright.

He's a highly respected
businessman in the City,

and his real name
is Mr. Morecambe.

Morecambe!

Well, I never.

Here we are,
Miss Vane.

There.

I hope you've got
everything you need.

Lovely.

Goodness. Whoever
would have thought it...

a famous lady novelist,
a lord, and the police,

all taking tea
in my front room?

I don't think
I've had such a thing

since the Flying Santanas

and Mr. Bickerstaff
and his performing seals

was all staying
in my house together.

I've put the crumpets
in the muffinier

to keep them warm.

Well, it's a turn-up
for the book, milord,

and Mr. Bunter is much
to be congratulated,

but I'm not sure
where it gets us.

Bunter?

Well, I would say,
Inspector,

the only reason
for Mr. Morecambe

to pretend to be
an itinerant barber

was to fabricate
a convincing explanation

of how the murder weapon

came to be in the hands
of Paul Alexis.

It also means
that Mrs. Morecambe

was certainly
in on the plot.

I wouldn't be surprised

if she attended the concert
at the winter garden

and obtained the receipts
for the collars that Henry

was supposed to have bought
before lunchtime.

We can check
on that.

Percy?

So Henry Weldon
never went

near Wilvercombe
that morning?

It's
a reasonable assumption.

Mrs. Morecambe
could have dropped him

just beyond Darley.

And picked him up
on the way back.

But what would be
the point of that?

Even if we've broken
his earlier alibi,

the 2:00 one,
thanks to Mr. Perkins,

is as solid
as a rock.

And 2:00 was the time
of the murder.

if it was murder.

Cup of tea, Inspector?

Thank you, yes.

I think Morecambe,

alias Bright,

was the brains
behind the operation.

But why?

He's a Commission Agent,

and my friend
Freddy Arbuthnot tells me

that he took a few
too many chances,

and there's
a rumor in the city

that without a large,
instant influx of cash,

he could be bankrupt.

So he and Henry Weldon

agreed to save
Mrs. Weldon's fortune

from falling into the hands
of Paul Alexis.

And share it
instead.

So Mr. Morecambe
would be the one

who sent the coded letters
and photographs to Mr. Alexis.

I imagine he had
a friend in Warsaw,

a business friend,
who would post them for him.

Seems a lot of trouble
to take

just to get Mr. Alexis
to Flat-iron rock.

Don't forget

that the letters formed
a dual purpose...

To distance Paul Alexis
from Mrs. Weldon.

Even if the murder
didn't come off,

Pavlo Alexeivitch,

heir to the Imperial throne
of Russia,

would hardly be likely to marry
an elderly English widow,

however wealthy.

Hence
Grand Duchess Feodora.

The really upsetting thing
about it all

is the sheer cruelty of it.

To think of that poor man,
sitting in this very room,

desperately trying to decode
those ridiculous letters,

which were just designed

to play on his pathetic
delusions of grandeur.

And after all,
it was all meaningless!

Even if there had been
a shred of truth in it,

even if his great-grandmother
did marry Czar Nicholas I,

even if he had 50 pints
of Imperial blood

in his veins,

it still wouldn't make him
heir to the Russian throne.

Blood.

Peter.

No wonder it was so easy
to persuade him

he was related
to the Imperial family.

And Antoine said
his joints got stiff.

And Mrs. Lefranc
said he had rheumatism,

which could
have meant stiffness.

And he never used
a cutthroat razor

because
if he cut himself,

his blood wouldn't clot!

Of course!

The poor man
was a haemophiliac!

So the fact that
the blood was still liquid

when Miss Vane
found the body...

doesn't mean a thing.
He wasn't killed at 2:00.

He was killed at 12:00,

the very time for which Weldon
went to such pains

to give himself
an unbreakable alibi,

provided by the respectable
Mrs. Morecambe.

Whose husband,

disguised as Bright,
the itinerant barber,

obtained the murder weapon

and presumably gave it
not to Paul Alexis,

but to Henry Weldon,
the rider from the sea.

Well, I think
we might have a chat

with Mr. And Mrs. Morecambe,

friendly like.

(Knock on door)

Mrs. Morecambe.

Very good of you to come,
madam, and help us out.

Mr. Morecambe.

Glad to be of assistance,
but I don't know

why you asked me to come
all the way from London.

I don't think
I can help.

I wouldn't say that,
Mr. Morecambe...

or should I say
Mr. Bright?

(Chuckles)
Well done, Inspector.

You want to know
why Alfred Morecambe,

Commission Agent of London,

was going about
at Wilvercombe

disguised as William Bright,

that seedy and unsatisfactory
tonsorial artist?

Yes, that would be
helpful, sir, yes.

I'm writing a play
for my wife.

She's an actress,
you know.

I've always taken
a keen interest

in the theatre.

Really, sir?

No doubt it was useful
for makeup

and that false beard

while the real one
grew again?

As you say, I shaved,
bleached my hair,

and became Mr. Bright.

I had this idea for a play

about an itinerant
hairdresser,

so I was doing
a bit of research.

So you never saw Paul Alexis
the night before he died?

Oh, yes, and gave him
the razor, just as I said,

or rather
he took it from me.

I was trying out
this speech about suicide.

I'm afraid I got
rather carried away.

I see.

You don't know
a gentleman called...

Mr. Henry Weldon, sir?

Who?

Your wife gave him
a lift in your car

on the day
Paul Alexis died.

I did tell you
about it, dear.

Oh, yes. I don't think
you mentioned his name.

Henry Spencer Weldon,
sir.

He farms
in Lincolnshire.

No. Sorry.
can't help you.

Never heard of him.

Oh.

Mrs. Sterne,

do you know
this gentleman?

Oh, yes.

He came to stay
with Mr. Weldon last June.

I've never seen this woman
before in my life.

Mr. Weldon's
housekeeper, sir.

I don't know how
you can say that, sir.

You stayed
more than a week.

I didn't see much of him,
him and Mr. Weldon

being shut up in the office
most of the time

with their maps and papers.

I don't know what
they were working on,

but I know it was him,

and my husband
would say the same.

Thank you,
Mrs. Sterne.

Mr. Weldon.

I believe you know
Mrs. Morecambe

and her husband
Mr. Morecambe,

alias Mr. Bright.

What are you doing here?
we agreed...

Shut up!

I arrest you

for the murder
of Paul Alexis Goldschmidt.

You are not obliged
to say anything,

but anything you do say

may be taken down
and given in evidence.

(Tango music playing)

Oh, dear, Antoine!

I'm afraid I'm not
very good at the Tango.

Flora, do not say
such a thing.

The Tango, it is
the dance of passion,

and with the right partner,

it is the most natural
dance in the world.

Oh, Antoine!

Forgive me.

When I'm with you,
I forget myself.

Oh.

Mrs. Weldon.

Oh, Miss Vane.

You know
Monsieur Antoine?

Yes, I do.

Mrs. Weldon,

I'm afraid I've got

some very bad news
for you,

and I wanted to be
the one to tell you.

It's about Paul Alexis.

Oh.

He was murdered,

but I'm afraid
the police have arrested

your son Henry.

I knew it.

I knew
it wasn't suicide!

He loved me.

He really loved me.

Of course.

How could anyone
help loving you?

Henry!

How...how could he
have done it?

It's all going to be
quite dreadful, of course...

but you will be brave.

Yes...

if you will help me.

Waiter.

Cognac, s'il vous plait.

(Music begins)

Oh, er...

Excuse me, milord.
I took the liberty

of canceling
your dinner engagement

this evening
with the Antiquarian Society.

Bunter, you anticipate
my every whim.

One of these days
you're going to leave me

and run a pub somewhere
or something.

A pub?

I don't think so, milord.

The old fool
who wanted a lover,

the young fool
who wanted an empire.

One throat cut
and three people condemned.

What a damned awful,
bitter, bloody farce.

And Mrs. Weldon
would have been next.

You don't think that Henry
would have killed her?

Oh, yes.

After he and Morecambe
had gone to all that trouble,

I don't think they'd have
wanted to wait for the money.

So as soon as she
got back to Lincolnshire,

Henry would have
found some way...

sleeping pills
or something.

And they would have said

out of grief
for Alexis' death...

verdict, suicide.

Let's get away.
I do hate watery places.

We'll dine in picadilly.

Look out.

Thank you.

Harriet, I'm going to
break our agreement

and ask you something.

Please don't.

All right.

But the next time
you find yourself in trouble,

you might conquer
your independent spirit

and send for me.

I might.

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