Original subtitles

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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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