All language subtitles for 01 A Caribbean Mystery

Calypso Island is calling.

Calypso Island is calling.

Drink the rum again, drink the rum
again, having fun again, everyone.

Do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do,
like do, do, do, do.

Calypso Island.

is calling is

just

for lovers romantic lovers there are

Sorry, Victoria, it's our big dinner
tonight, and I want everything to be

just perfect. You worry too much, Mr.
Kendall.

There's not hanging pebble left.

Mr. Kendall, sir. No,

I don't suppose I call myself a people
person. I'm rather more interested in

birds, actually.

It's not changing.

Mr. and Mrs. Dyson.

Never mind the chow, champs. Bring us
another round of planter's punch.

Coming right up, Mr. Dyson.

You're late. And you're ugly.

Mr.

Raphael?

Miss Esther?

Thank you.

You don't have to thank him, girl. It's
what he's paid to do.

Sorry.

Thank you so much.

Big thing around these parts is zombies.

Some people say that zombies are corpses
who come back to life.

Other people say, no, they're living
persons who've been drugged by a bokor,

a voodoo witch doctor, to do his
bidding. It's a horrible practice,

voodoo, an affront to Christianity. It
should be stamped out.

I think my first husband was one of the
living dead.

At least in the sack.

I once met a fellow who claimed that
he'd seen a zombie, you know.

Oh, I can't imagine anything more
terrifying.

Can you?

Mind you, the behavior of some people in
our so-called civilized society is often

no better.

Drink, drugs, bed-hopping, suicides,
wives murdering their husbands, husbands

doing away with their wives.

Wouldn't you agree? How do you find the
men of God?

I'm so sorry. Were you talking to me,
Major Pogre?

Yes, it's this glass eye of mine. It has
a mind of its own.

Oh, no, no, no, it wasn't that. I was
wool-gathering, I'm afraid, miles away.

Well, perhaps it was an unsuitable topic
for dinner.

But if you'll allow me to show you
something, I think you'll find it

interesting.

Poor Mr.

Apple. Everything all right, I hope?

Oh, it is down.

Canon Prescott, I saw the watercolour
you've been working on. It's absolutely

lovely. Oh, thank you. It's really not
that bad.

I say, Colonel Hillington, you've caught
the sun.

It suits you.

Mrs Hillington, I'm positively green
with envy. He looks quite the film star.

What a much-interested person. I'm so
jealous. I could quite dare to talk your

back. Oh, you're no such yourself,
Molly. I absolutely... I really adore

the color of this shawl.

Well, you know, you can guess it in a
little short by reception.

Something of a hobby of mine.

I call it my chamber of horrors.

Now, look at this.

Innocent-looking... I hope Molly's been
looking after you all. I'm afraid not.

She's been flirting with all the men
except me. I feel left out.

Let me show you something.

It was sent me a few years back by an
old army pal.

Just a snapshot showing off some
whopping great striped marlin he'd

caught out in Kenya.

Voodoo's not a subject to be taken
lightly.

It acts as a slow poison affecting the
whole of society.

Well, a letter arrives from my chum. I
come here every year to try and help

educate people. I always stay here.
Molly Kendall is a wonder. So kind.

saying that someone in the background
was probably a murderer who'd

got away with it, not once but twice.
Now, here we are. See this blurry figure

here? I think it must be... Well, I'm
down.

I mean... And the pitcher is seething.
He's having a bad day.

As I was saying, I'd like to have shown
you those tusks, Miss Marple. It's the

biggest elephant I've ever shot.

Here you go, Major. It's all yours.

What is that murderer, Major Paul Grave?
It was really nothing, Miss Marple. I

must have made a mistake.

I mean, things like that don't happen
outside of books.

Oh, but they do, practically every day.

If a murderer gives a formula that
works, they won't stop.

They go on with it. Like Lucretia
Borgia. Off! The bride's in the bath.

I'm so sorry, Major, but we need to find
Miss Marple to see. Oh.

Forgive me, but I think you've heard
quite enough from our resident before.

Thank you. Oh,

thank you.

Well,

it's still me, isn't it?

Not my sort of thing, I'm afraid, all
this leaping about and carrying on.

You know, the mage is not so bad.

He's old and lonely and likes to
remember when he was young and happy.

Well, he shouldn't drink so much. You
have high blood pressure.

He does look a rather alarming purple
colour. I think it's a race between him

and old Mr Raphael to see who will drop
off their purge first.

The old vulture is fantastically rich.

He made his money in chemicals and
fertiliser.

The young woman with him is his
secretary.

What say you then?

The young man?

Jackson.

Raphael would be helpless as a baby
without him.

He's a nurse, a valet, and a fully
trained buffer to boot.

It's so nice to get everyone sorted out.

And what brings you to St. Honoré? My
husband is a keen birdwatcher.

I'm less keen.

Edward's gone so far as to arrange some
sort of lecture later on in the week.

Some fellow from the Ordnance Society is
coming over.

Tell me about your friends, the American
couple.

Greg and Lucky Dice. We met them here a
few years ago.

He's a photographer.

Rather good, actually.

He's got a lot of nature and scenery for
the magazines.

Think I'll turn in.

a bit on the old fire water, I fear.
Yes, I'm not feeling 100% myself.

Oh.

All right.

Excuse me.

I say, Major Pogreve.

I don't want to appear ungrateful.

My nephew, Raymond, has gone to such
expense, and Dr. Haydock has convinced

me that chiropractic will be good for my
rheumatism. It is beautiful.

tribal not so many palm trees but it's
not like home where there's

always something happening this is me I
shall bid you good night good

night I do hope you're feeling more
yourself tomorrow yes well Errol must

have mixed the drinks particularly
strong tonight not as young as I was

Who's there?

Who's there?

The current has watched it wrong from
the point.

Better get rid of it before any of the
guests come down.

You can't have anything for nothing, can
you?

You certainly can't.

Do you think it's going to be all right?

We're making a go of it, aren't we? You
mustn't worry so.

You don't think people are saying it's
not the same as when your folks were

running the place? Don't be silly.

We're a great team, you and I.

I promise you think so.

I worry too much, thinking, what if
something should go wrong?

What could go wrong?

I don't know.

I'm a fool.

You haven't had any more of those
dreams, have you?

No, I think that was the shellfish.

I've been all right, Johnny.

Good morning, miss.

Another perfect day in paradise. Oh,
indeed.

My dear, anything wrong?

Well, you'll have to know.

Everyone will have to know.

Poor Major Palgrave died in the night.
Oh, dear.

Oh, I am sorry.

Of course, he was quite old.

And he had high blood pressure.

I forgot.

He has been examined by a doctor. Mr.

Raphael's nurse found him. Apparently
he'd arranged for a massage this

morning. And the local people have just
been to give him a death certificate.

It all seems quite straightforward, but
it's terribly worrying to me and Tim.

There's no need to fret.

An elderly man like Major Paul Grave
with a fondness for alcohol.

If only it hadn't been so sudden.

Yes, it was sudden, wasn't it?

One minute he was laughing and joking
and telling stories, and the next... My

dear, are you quite all right?

Yes, I thought... It's nothing. I
thought I saw something.

Do you ever get the feeling someone
is... I must have... I just imagined it.

Yes, these things happen.

It's bad luck for the old boy, but
people can't live forever, can they?

No, they can't.

What do you mean by barging in here?
Can't you knock? I'm sorry, sir. I did

knock. I thought you might... Are you
all right?

Errol, drinks can have a powerful kick.

Oh, no, no, I'm not.

I have an upset stomach, that's all.

Oh, poor you.

Sorry to shout like that. I'm all out of
kilter.

I think I must have had a bad prawn last
night.

Yeah, look. There he is.

I feel very careful when you're spotted.
It's a light, dun color.

Extremely well camouflaged. It got me.

Lucky, you really must try to be a
little quieter.

Hey, Greg.

Take my picture.

You never photograph me anymore.

I only try to take pictures of beautiful
things these days.

He's over there in the swivel-thick
tree.

Ed, your wife is right. This is all too
boring.

There goes my lucky charm.

You still love her, Greg.

Ed, you may know all there is to know
about birds, but you don't know the

first thing about women, and you don't
know the first thing about lucky.

This is not as good as Frangipane, eh?

One can't get it here.

It's a pity.

Are you going in for your dip now?

I'll go in when I'm ready.

It's gone half past eleven.

Jackson says... Bugger what that fool
says.

Caribbean isn't what it used to be.

Can't move a step without some old booby
getting under your feet.

Oh, isn't this splendid?

Splendid. I suppose you've heard the sad
news.

My man Jackson told me all about it.

The poor Major.

Garth, you moron. He needn't have died
if he'd looked after himself properly.

Come now, Mr. Raphael. Oh, look at me.

The doctors gave me up years ago.

If it wasn't for Jackson, they might
have been right.

Besides, Major Porgrave had high blood
pressure. Who says so? He was very red

in the face.

So what?

I said to him once, you've got to watch
your blood pressure. He said he had

nothing to look out for in that line.
His blood pressure was very good for his

age. Men never like to admit there's
anything wrong with them.

Poppycock.

Talking of ailments, I don't suppose...
I know it's a little presumptuous of me,

but do you think your man Jackson might
be able to look at my knee?

Your knee?

I thought perhaps the warmer weather
might... Spare us the grisly detail.

What time is it?

Twenty to twelve?

I ought to have had my dip long ago. Why
can't you remind me of these

things, girl?

Old men are so ugly, aren't they?

I sometimes think they ought to be put
to death at forty.

About 35 would be better.

The room isn't very bad.

I live with it.

Is that why you go away from the damp
weather back home?

I have a most attentive nephew, Raymond.

It was his idea to pack me off abroad.
I've only just recovered from a bad go

of pneumonia, you see.

Damn it, I'm all over Thorne.

Ow.

Edward, you deliberately rammed me into
a thorn bush.

Hi. Hello.

How about some lunch?

Oh, if we can wait.

I'll die if I don't have a drink at once
or sooner.

Oh, nice pins, Miss M.

In olden days, a glimpse of stocking was
looked at. Oh, hey, champ, champ.

Get us some drinks. Like a planter's
punch? Lovely.

Yeah, planter's punch.

And Errol, put some music on.

Quiet at the grave around here.

Oh, hey, Molly.

Are you going to come for a swim after
lunch?

You have a vision in a swimsuit. I'd
love to. I'd love to.

Do all bird watchers go around the place
armed to the teeth?

It's only loaded with blanks.

Some of these parts are pretty hairy.

The gun's just a warning, nothing more.

Whoa! Woo!

I can give you some pills for the pain.

Gentle exercise will help. Not
otherwise.

Just old age.

I have offered to help with the funeral
arrangements for the major. Bad

business. It seems so sad to die alone
like that and so far from home.

He didn't care for English winter.

Can't say I blame him. Did he, like me,
have health reasons that made it

necessary for him to winter abroad?

Not that I know of, but I never examined
him.

Not while he was alive, at least.

But was it blood pressure that killed
him?

I found a bottle of blood pressure pills
in his room.

Serenite.

How wonderful science is nowadays.

Doctors can do so much, can't they? All
with a little pill.

They can't bring the dead back to life.

Oh,

Canon, I wonder if it's not too much
bother.

I was showing a snapshot of my nephew,
Raymond, to the major last night.

got muddled up with some of his own
photographs.

You couldn't ask if it's among his
things, could you?

You can't miss it.

Raymond is holding up a very big fish.

A marlin, I believe it's called.

Can I break that?

You're back then?

Victoria, you know that little paper
that I asked you about?

I

won't

make it worth your while.

Give me the address. I'll get it myself.

Okay.

Please don't tell anyone.

Thank you.

Lovely evening.

Oh, hello.

I got a little lost looking for my
bungalow.

Well, you look busy. I need to clear the
Major's room ready for the next guest.

Better not tell them what happened, eh?

No, I suppose not.

I always think it's very sad having to
look through the personal possessions of

someone who's just died.

It's the little things that I find so
poignant.

Things they'll never need again, like
their razor, their toothbrush, or in the

Major's... case, his bottle of blood
pressure pills.

Things you must have seen a hundred
times when you were cleaning his room.

Must have.

Oh, well.

I'm sorry to have disturbed you.

No bother.

What do you want? It's not morning. Wake
up, man. I need to talk to you. What's

worrying you, girl?

You want coughing again?

It's a bad error.

It's getting worse.

Get some more medicine off Mama's arm,
please. It's not enough.

We need to take her to a proper doctor.
We can't afford no doctor. We need to do

something. It's the middle of the night.

We can't do nothing now.

We'll talk about it in the morning. I'll
go to bed.

Trust me.

My mind is going round and round and
round like a fish in a bowl.

The little one will be all right. It's
not just that.

I've been thinking about the major man
who died.

Something I don't like.

Something wrong about him. Don't worry
about that.

He was old. He died.

The man.

He had them pills.

Them pills in his room. There's
something wrong with him. Leave it.

Don't go looking for trouble.

He's dead, but he's got nothing to do
with us.

is born of a woman hath but a short time
to live and is full of misery.

He cometh up and is cut down like a
flower.

He flyeth as it were a shadow and never
continueth in one's day.

In the midst of life we are in death.

I do think there might have been a bit
of turnout for the old chap.

Well, at least he's buried somewhere
that he loved.

In a week or so no one will even
remember him.

I'll spare him a passing thought.

Except you, perhaps?

Yes.

Yes, I suppose it is all down to me now.

All right, Victoria, all right, I
understand.

We don't want to make a fuss, and I
certainly don't want Tim worried about

this.

About what?

I'm sorry to say we could find no trace
of your Marlin photograph among the

major things.

Plenty of pictures of slaughtered
animals, but no fish, I'm afraid, large

or small.

Never mind, I'm sure I can get another
print.

Well, here's to the old fellow.

He was something of a fixture at Golden
Palms, won't be the same next year.

In a funny way, I think I'll miss all
his stories.

Do you recall what he was talking about
at dinner the night he died? A lot of

silly stuff about voodoo.

I mean, after that.

I must confess, I wasn't really
listening.

I suppose he must have told you his
stories many times. He had a store of

them and a photograph to illustrate each
one, whether it be some poor dead tiger

or, you know... Dua?

He loved scandal, gossip, anything to do
with, you know, how shall I put it?

F.E.X. Oh, come now, Cannon, I'm not a
nun.

F.E.X. may not have been mentioned in my
deck, but... plenty of it about.

And a joy far more than nowadays, where
it seems to become a kind of duty.

Not my territory, I'm afraid.

Sadly, my church training taught me a
great deal about the soul, but very

little about the heart.

Other than that it's all a terrible sin,
of course.

You're talking of sin.

Did the major ever talk to you about a
murderer?

I do remember something about a woman.

A golden-haired Lucrezia Borgia who
poisoned her husband and her lover,

something like that. But as I say, I
never really listened to him that

attentively, and you couldn't see
anything in the photograph.

A woman?

I'm quite sure.

I may not know a great deal about men
and women, Miss Martha, but I can still

tell the difference.

It all sounds rather idiotic, I know,
but as far as I can make out, Victoria

has got it into her head that someone
put poisoned tablets in the Major's...

What's the name of that stuff?

Serra-something bottle.

I think what she said was that there was
a bottle in there labelled Serranite.

It's quite commonly used. But Victoria
said she'd never seen the bottle in his

room before.

How do you mean?

It only turned up after his death.

If they weren't his pills, could they
have poisoned him?

No, they wouldn't do anything.

But I mean, if they weren't his pills,
he wouldn't have taken them in the first

place, would he?

Of course not. How stupid.

Victoria had us all thinking he'd been
poisoned.

May I ever show you a photograph of a
murderer?

A murderer?

I don't recall him ever telling a story
about a murderer. Plenty of tittle

-tattle and gossip.

You mean people staying at the hotel?

Oh, you must have heard the rumours.

Afraid if I have, I must have forgotten
it.

Molly Kendall?

Of course you know her mother hung
herself in one of the bungalows.

Of course.

She was evidently a bit unstable.

Runs in the family.

I gather an uncle of hers took off all
his clothes in one of the tube stations.

Green Park, I think it was.

After her mother died, her father sent
her away to England. He couldn't cope.

Molly had some silly dream of becoming
an actress, only she went and started

some squalid affair with a married man,
all very messy.

He dashed over there to straighten her
out.

But by the time he got there, poor,
sweet, dull Tim had already ridden to

Molly's rescue and the other fellow had
done a bunk.

I think he was so grateful that Molly
had found someone more suitable, he

virtually drove them to the church there
and then.

What a terrible word that is.

Beautiful. You know how these conditions
can sometimes make a woman.

You know, go for the men, rather.

You've seen how Molly is.

Always flirting.

And the way she carries on with that
rater Errol.

They grew up together.

They were very close.

Too close, if you take my meaning.

Molly? Good Lord, no. There could never
be any scandal or gossip about Molly.

She's not that type.

I think whoever told you that must have
muddled her up with Lucky Dyson. What

makes you say that?

There are two types of blonde, Miss
Martle. The sweet, innocent type, and

the fake, the bottle blonde. And if
anyone's going to be involved in a

scandal, it's the latter.

Careful. We don't want you going over.

Ed, please. Not now, darling.

Well, when then?

It seems it's not ever. I'm at breaking
point.

Don't be so overdramatic.

Overdramatic? After what I've done for
you?

Lucky. Edward, wait. Stop it. Ed!

Hi there.

You found my favorite spot.

Lovely here, isn't it?

I walk up here every afternoon.

It's really the night of time.

Is everything quite all right?

Yes.

No, I... I said no.

I feel like I'm losing control.

I'm just so terribly frightened.

What are you frightened of, dear?

Everything.

Voices in the bushes.

Footsteps.

I see a dark figure in my dreams.

Somebody hates me.

That's what I keep feeling. Somebody
hates me. Oh, darling.

How long has this been going on for?

I don't know. I can't remember. I can't
remember anything.

You mean you're having blackouts, that
sort of thing?

I suppose so.

I mean, sometimes, oh, say it's five
o'clock, and I can't remember anything

since about half past one or two.

Oh.

Oh, darling.

Darling, you have to go and see a
doctor. They can give you pills. I have

to go and see a doctor.

I won't.

I won't go near one.

Good gracious, you're getting quite
pretty.

I ought to be getting back. I can't
clean. Hello?

Hello?

Such a lovely day.

Why not? That's what we're here for,
isn't it?

It's so severe.

May I?

Of course, the weather is a very English
topic for conversation.

Perhaps you'd rather talk business.

I'm afraid I don't know a great deal
about the chemicals industry.

Jackson, Esther.

Where are those two when I need them?

It seems so quiet without the Major
here.

That chattering old booby talked too
much. The trouble with gossip, though,

is one can never quite pin down where
the stories originated.

Jackson.

I wonder who started the rumor that the
Major had high blood pressure.

Those pills they found in his room
weren't his, you know.

Of course they weren't.

Somebody's been clever.

What do you mean by that?

Well, you said so yourself.

The Major talked too much.

What if he said something he shouldn't
have?

I hope you're not suggesting that
someone did the major in because he knew

about something.

Did he ever show you a photograph of a
murderer?

He had hundreds of the damn things,
collected them. Yes, I know, that's the

problem. The one I'm interested in was
of someone who had killed more than

once.

I vaguely recall some complicated story
about a chap who'd lost two

wives in the same suspicious manner.

Suicide, apparently.

And did you see the photograph? As I
say, he had hundreds.

Men who killed their wives, wives who
killed their husbands, mistresses who

poisoned their parents.

The other evening, he was about to show
me a snapshot of a murderer when he saw

someone across the table and flew into a
panic.

The next thing, he was dead, and there
was no sign of that photograph anywhere

among his possessions.

Not quite the gentle, fluffy old lady
you look, are you? I don't know whether

to take that as a compliment.

You can take it any way you like.

So you think Paul Grave was murdered to
shut him up?

If our murderer had killed before and
quite got away with it, there would be

no need to go to these lengths to
silence old Major Paul Grave.

Unless whoever it is was planning to do
it again. Precisely.

If we don't act swiftly, I fear another
murder will be committed right under our

noses.

And you never saw the photograph of the
murderer, Mrs. McCall? No.

So you don't know if it was a man or a
woman?

I'm afraid not, no.

And who certified the death certificate?

Dr. Graham, I suppose.

He didn't have any doubts, did he?

He may have been influenced by the
bottle of serenite tablets in the room.

So you want me to believe that this
person in this mysterious missing

photograph planted the pills to make it
look like a heart attack?

They thought they could get away with
murdering Polgrave just because he was

old and nobody would care.

Well, Miss Markle does care. I
appreciate that.

But if he didn't die of blood pressure,
what did he die of then?

It is possible that somebody put
something in his drink. Something that

would not leave any recognizable traces.

Not everyone is so considerate as to use
arsenic. With all due respect, it is a

rather fanciful story. If you were to
exhume the body and give it a proper

post-mortem examination... Thank you
very much for your suggestion, Mrs.

Marple. It's Miss Marple, damn it.

But we are a very busy police force,
with more pressing matters to deal with.

I suggest that the two of you go back to
your lovely hotel and enjoy the rest of

your holiday.

You are not listening to us. It's the
professional thing to do. The Queen's

Honorary Police Force has been doing
perfectly fine without your help. Thank

you very much, Mr. Raffaella.

Times have changed.

You British are no longer in charge.

You cannot just come in here and tell me
what the problem is.

That's our thing.

I'm busy.

Oh, look here.

Let's see if we have a real heart attack
on our hands.

I shall look, Jackson.

I will not be spoken to like that by a
bloody policeman. Who does all the care?

We'll get to the bottom of this, Miss
Marple, and shove the evidence right up

his... Oh, do be careful, Jackson.

You going back to the hotel with them?

No, thanks, Jackson. I have some things
I want to do in Jamestown. Okay. See

you, sir.

I had a wife who used to treat her nice.

Me and my wife used to live so nice. Now
Johnny come to his sweet mouth. He talk

and talk until he talks her out.

Oh, love misery, wherever I may journey,
the people of people go so to see,

the grave for Johnny and the gallows for
me.

After Johnny done wear my clothes, after
Johnny done eat my food, after Johnny

done smoke my pipe, he turn right round
and he take my wife.

Oh, love misery, wherever I may journey.
That's how he tried it, he was thick,

and the second time, his hat blew off.

Oh, right.

I'd best be lucky to visit him.

Mr Raphael will be wanting to take his
dip.

I don't know how you dick it, Johnny.

Ah, yeah, not bad.

Likes to play up the crotchety old man
routine.

I'm used to it.

His IT pays very well indeed, tell your
mother.

I was lucky enough to marry into it.

Lucky's the word, Tim.

There's a lovely girl you're, Molly.

Don't I know it?

Oh, speaking of lucky.

Yeah. All in all, the scenery around
here is very agreeable.

That's my taxi.

Oh, my purse.

I just keep losing the damn thing.

Canada House, look out, my gun.

Johnny from a comedy start to run. Now I
tell you folks, I look my head.

Johnny was hiding underneath my bed. Oh,
love, there's a ring.

Wherever I meet Johnny, the people of
people are sorry to see. Here for Johnny

and the gallows.

Where did you find this?

It is very, very special.

It is powerful, Gregory.

I tell you, in the wrong hands, it can
make big trouble.

We make them for tourists.

They stick pins in them.

Did you find that at the hotel?

Yes. How did you know?

I saw you there.

Have any of the other guests from Golden
Palms been to visit you?

Maybe they have. Maybe they haven't.

That is between me and them.

I will tell you one story, Miss Marple,
because it is about a dead man, Mr.

Pockety Whitley III.

He used to come see me when he visited
the island.

He wanted me to help him, let's say,
keep up with his young wife.

But then he stopped coming, because he
was dead, and she had married someone

else.

Her name was Lucky, and her new husband
was Gregory Dyson.

But are you telling me your medicine may
have hastened his end? Not my medicine.

Someone else's, I think.

I only use my medicine for good.

Thank you.

Don't you see my pill, darling?

Just look for them, Gregory, don't you?

Thank you, darling.

I don't know how I'd get by without you.

You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Like what?

Life without your lucky charm.

And you could sniff around every stray
girl in Christendom.

I just want the old lucky bag, the one
that I fell in love with. I miss her.

I'm lonely without her.

She's not coming back.

Somewhere along the way, that young,
carefree, happy thing got hit by a

truck. Well, you hate me so much. Why
don't you just... Why don't you?

Lucky, I... I'll tell you why.

Because of what we did.

Our secret.

We can never trust each other not to run
off at the mouth.

I didn't do anything, Dawn.

You did.

that you had no part in it.

No, baby.

This is it.

And every time I look at you, I am
reminded of what I did for

love. And for no way out.

Now, nothing I can think of.

Bloody point!

We must keep up appearances, darling.

That's all I've ever done, keep up
appearances.

I want to go home, Evelyn.

Or leave lucky.

I've known all along, one like you are
not a fool.

Women tend not to be, despite what men
like to believe.

Greg, I imagine it.

Mythfully unaware of the whole
situation.

For my part, I'm prepared to carry on
turning a blind eye.

So why go back to England now?

You don't want to fuel any more gossip,
do you?

I can't stick it any longer.

You fell wildly in love with Lucky and
now it's over, as far as she's

concerned. No, no, there's more to it
than that.

It's something she made me do.

If I don't get away from her, I swear
I'll kill... Quiet.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

If I don't tell someone, I think I'll go
mad.

Don't be so bloody childish. I know
exactly what you've done. You are

transparent.

But you will bury your dirty little
secret deep in your heart and forget

about it. I will not have you ruin your
life.

Why, what do you care?

You don't love me. You never have.
You've never loved anyone.

You couldn't be more wrong if you draw.

All I want is for them to be happy.

Something I've never managed to achieve
for myself.

There will be no up... set in their
life.

No newspaper headlines, no unexplained
tears at the breakfast table. They will

be happy.

It will always be some of them, and I
will do whatever it takes to make it so.

Not like you, Evan. I'm not strong.

Then let me be strong for you.

Ah, Mr. Fleming.

Welcome to Golden Palm.

May I introduce you to two of our
guests, Mr.

Walter and Miss Jane Marple.

Charmed, I'm sure.

How do you do?

This is Mr. Ian Fleming. He has a villa
over in Jamaica.

Mr. Fleming is a writer.

Hello, Molly.

Ever so sorry.

That startled you, little girl.

I didn't hear you coming, Mr. Dyson,
sir.

It made me jump.

Richard Dyson?

Looked very formal tonight.

Tim and I think it's more polite not to
be too handy with Christian names.

And not even for old times' sake.

Craig.

Whoa!

Here you go, sir.

Why are you hiding from me? Why are you
so angry, man? What's gotten into you?

Where you get that?

Huh?

Where you get all this money? Abe, none
of your business. You just give it.

Where you get it from? A man gave it to
me.

Maybe he likes me. You seeing another
man? What?

And you never look at another woman? You
my woman. You sure?

You sure you don't prefer blondes?

So what do you write about, Mr Clemming?
Oh, thank you very much.

I'm working on a little spy story.

Just a bit of fun.

The trouble is, I'm stuck.

I can't think of a suitable name for my
hero.

I usually find inspiration strikes in
the most unusual places, Mr Clemming.

Let's hope it does.

The police aren't going to be any use.

So it looks like it stands for the two
of us. Yes, I think you're right.

So what do we have?

The Major recognises the killer in the
photograph right in front of him, across

the table.

Who was sitting there? Do you remember?

Lucky and Greg Dyson, Evelyn and Edward
Hillington, and behind them, Molly,

Errol, and your man, Jackson.

Ah, Jackson.

How long has he been with you?

Five years. Before that, he was out in
Kenya with the army, medical corps.

He left under something with cloud.

There are very big marlin to be caught
out in Kenya, I hear.

Ladies and gentlemen, first of all, I'd
like to thank Colonel Hillingdon, who

I'm sure is here somewhere, for
arranging what promises to be a most

unusual and interesting evening.

Vote without... Without further ado,
allow me to introduce tonight's speaker,

author of Birds of the West Indies, Mr.
James Bond.

Thank you.

My name is Bond.

James Bond. And tonight I'd like to tell
you just a little bit about some

of the fascinating birds to be found
here in the islands from the...

One of those seven people was killed
before, and they intend to do so again.

Whoever it is believes they have a
successful formula. So where do we

start?

Find the intended victim, and we find
our murderer.

That's an easy one.

Yes? Proper type casting.

Sick man with too much money.

Forest and even guano cliffs.

Guano?

Bird droppings. Pardon my French.

They're very valuable as fertilizer.
Now, some men might be drawn to the

guano. I myself prefer the... Who would
want to see you dead?

There are several men in London who
wouldn't burst into tears if they read

my obituary in the Times.

How about Esther Jackson?

Would either of them profit by your
death?

I pay Jackson enough so that I'm more
valuable to him alive than dead.

Esther's not to know it, but when I keel
over, she'll come into a tidy sum.

Sorry.

I do hope tonight goes well.

For Tim's sake.

Ever since that bloody old Paul Grave
died, he's been frantic with worry.

And Molly's not much help.

She's been good...

Molly! I don't know. I don't know what
happened. I don't know

anything.

What's the matter with me?

You must try to remember.

She can't take much more.

What did you see?

I don't remember. I was going to meet
someone.

Then I noticed something whine.

I stopped and I pulled.

And I tried to raise her up, but I got
blood on my head.

Oh, her face.

Her face. Victoria!

The police will want to talk to you.

Not until we know exactly what's going
on. You don't believe her, do you?

Come on, quickly.

About anything?

We should knock it off and organise a
proper search party in the morning.

No. We keep looking.

Can someone tell me what's going on?
What are we supposed to be looking for?

It's Victoria, the maid.

Molly thinks she's dead.

There must be some mistake. We only just
saw her now.

You couldn't have. We did.

Back along the path, are you sure?

I can't be sure of anything in the dark.

You'd think it'd be pretty easy to find
a body.

I need a drink.

What are you talking? What's the matter?

In there.

I saw her. Saw her? Saw who? In the
mirror.

I saw her.

I saw Victoria.

It's all right. I'll go in and look.
Just try to calm down.

Has she taken any of these, do you know?

I don't know.

I don't think so.

Something's got her.

She's in shock.

I'd like to give her a shot to calm her
down, help her sleep.

But if she'd already taken several of
these... Several?

You don't mean... You think she'd do
something stupid?

Don't leave her on her own.

Watch over her.

If she gets hysterical again, I'll give
her something to knock her out for a few

hours. Then she should be fine.

It'll take more than a shot of happy
juice.

What? She needs to see a psychiatrist,
Tim. She should be in a hospital. No.

I don't want people like that monkeying
around with her. They only make people

worse. Oh, come on. Are you the only guy
that can't see it?

There is no dead body. She's crazy.

Oh, shut up.

You don't know anything about it.

Don't I?

I used to come here with my first wife
back when Molly's folks were still

running the place long before you came
on the scene.

and she was always pretty, shall we say,
emotional.

She got away with it because she was a
looker.

Let's face it, she had to be nuts to go
for a guy like you. How dare you talk

about Molly like that? How dare you?

I know what you are. I know what you
want.

You think you can have every woman you
like, don't you? But if you do anything

to harm Molly, I will kill you.

I swear to God, I will kill you!

I wondered if you wanted relieving, Tim.

There must be 101 things you may need to
attend to. Oh, thank you. Yes, yes,

you're a saviour.

She hasn't woken all night.

She's not mad, you know.

This is something in her past that
haunts her.

I gather you rescued her from someone
unsuitable.

Yes, yes. Before I met her, there was a
married man.

It's true.

Didn't treat her very well. She would
never tell me who it was.

She didn't want me to dwell on it. Well,
you're worried.

Frick.

Are you all right?

My shoelaces were up.

I've taken quite a tumble.

Oh, I'm afraid I'm not so steady on my
feet these days.

My knee doesn't help.

Well, I'm so sorry, but I must go. I'm
supposed to be looking after poor Molly.

Poor Molly?

If you ask me, it's all a big act.

Making herself out the tragic little
figure, pretending to see things.

Why would one pretend to be mad?

To cover up for stuff.

She's probably done something awful or
is planning to do something.

I heard of a woman who murdered her
husband, claimed to be mad at the time.

Diminished responsibility, they call it.

She was out of prison in two years.

I wonder where you heard that story.

Major Paul Graves, perhaps?

Probably. He was overtly interested in
murders and poisons and all that sort of

stuff. I found her.

Dear God, I found her. Found who?

My Victoria.

Just like Molly said.

When do you suppose they'll

let us leave?

I'd imagine there are worse places to be
holed up than in paradise.

Mind you, having said that, it looks as
though there's a storm elbowing its way

into the party.

Typical.

We're supposed to be happy and instead
we're miserable.

I blame the Major.

Everyone blames the Major.

Not the evil eye.

I'd make a sign of the horns every time
I thought he was looking my way.

Do you really believe in all that magic
and voodoo?

I don't know.

I mean, that poor girl, Victoria.

First she was dead, and then she wasn't,
and then she was dead again. We have to

stick to what we know to be true.

And we know a dead body cannot get up
and walk about.

It's a lot of overheated nonsense.

The tropics has that effect.

Only people would just behave.

Molly, you're up.

I feel so much better, darling.

I was so tired, I think I just needed to
sleep.

I'm not sure you should be out of bed.

I can't lie around here all day like a
stuffed dummy. I'm going to get dressed

and go out, have a nice walk and clear
my head.

Oh, damn.

You was mean arguing with Victoria
before the murder. We always argue.

She's a strong woman.

She was.

What did you argue about?

Some man had given her money.

Victoria is a good woman, but I get
jealous.

She needed money for the child.

The little girl is sick.

We cannot afford medicine.

Have you ever seen this?

No, I'm afraid it's very important.

Look, I'm sorry, Inspector Daventry, but
I am still trying to run a hotel here.

Is there a problem, Mr. Kendall? Yes,
there is. It looks like we're in for a

storm. When the last big one hit, we
lost the electrics for two days. I need

to go and stock up on candles, but your
people are saying I'm not allowed off

the premises.

It's all right. Mr. Kendall can leave.
But you come straight back. We'll need

to talk to you. Right. Thank you. We'll
need to talk to your wife as well. Yes,

obviously.

I'm so sorry. I was looking for Edward.

Face cream.

It's very important for the skin.

The salt water and the sun does dry it
out awfully.

Yeah. Well, look, you're busy and... You
should use cream, Lucky.

If I may say, you're looking a little
rough around the edges.

Thank you.

I bear that in mind.

Tell Ed... Tell him what?

Oh, you know. Yes, I do know.

I know everything.

He talked.

He didn't need to.

It wasn't exactly original what you two
did.

Edward fell for someone rather obvious.

If only you would show him a little
affection.

Is that what you showed him?

I gave him what he wanted. You led him
on.

Promised him the world.

At least your grubby little corner of
it.

But there was one problem, wasn't there?

Your first husband, Mr. DeWitt III.

Parker was desperately ill. Oh, give it
a rest, Lucky. That might have worked on

Edward, but not on me. What did you tell
him?

That you and Parker had talked about a
way out of his suffering, but to avoid

suspicion, could Edward go to the
chemist and get what you needed?

Whatever I did for Parker, I did out of
kindness.

He was in great pain. But I imagine it
was still something of a nasty surprise

to find himself knocking on the pearly
gates.

What difference did a few months make?

All the same, darling. One doesn't do
that sort of thing.

What Edward did.

And because of his guilt, you've used
him like a dishrag to clean up every

mess he's made.

That is going to stop.

It's not understood.

You there!

Hi!

You're calling me? Of course I was
calling you. Who do you think I was

calling? A cat?

Please, sit down. I want to talk to you.

You were right about Paul Grave.

They dug him up and had a look. And they
found?

Traces of something that only a doctor
could pronounce properly.

enough of the stuff to do him in and
leave the symptoms of high blood

pressure aggravated by overindulgence of
alcohol.

Poor old chap. Stick him in the ground
and let's get on with enjoying

ourselves.

In a way, I'd rather have been wrong
about him. I expect you'd rather have

been wrong about there being another
murderer as well.

The thing of it is, Mr. Raphael, I don't
believe Victoria's death was the one

being planned by our murderer.

I think, like the major, she stumbled
upon something and paid the price.

Eh, it's too bad about the maid. I mean,
she was a nice kid, too.

Although, between you and me, I think
she liked to dip her fingers in the

honey jar.

How do you mean, sir? Well, I don't want
to say too much, but I noticed a few

little things went missing from my room.

Mr. Dyson, I believe you take a
preparation called serenite.

Yeah, a little...

Pink tablets. Blood pressure.

And have any of your pills gone missing
lately?

It's funny you should mention that. A
bottle did do a vanishing act the other

day.

Now, is it important?

As things are, anything might be
important.

Can you account for your whereabouts at
the time of the murder?

If you can figure out what time that
was, I'll try and figure out where I

was. Okay.

But you've got to admit, the whole thing
is kind of confused.

I was, uh...

I was kind of drunk.

Your man Jackson is a snooper.

Doesn't surprise me.

That's why they kicked him out of the
army.

Caught him rifling through the filing
cabinets, ferreting out secrets.

Still think he might be a suspect?

I don't know.

There's something, something vital,
something someone said and it's nagging

away at me.

Now, I'll just have to let my guard drop
and let it sleep up on me.

We'll carry on in the mine.

What a day.

Inspector, are you going to give me the
third degree?

No, no, no, no.

But I would like to offer you an
apology, Miss Butler. Oh, no. There's

really, really no need.

The important thing is that you find the
killer before you have another body on

your hands.

She must have drowned herself, Tim.
There's nothing you could have done. I

should have been here.

Why would she do this?

Turn her over.

What? You can't leave her like this.

Lucky. She's wearing Molly's shawl.

Oh, thank God.

Molly, what happened?

What have I done?

I don't understand. Why was Lucky

wearing Molly's shawl?

She admired it.

She said she was going to get one like
it.

Evidently she did.

You all right, Miss Anne?

Lucky Dyson left her handbag here.

I should take it to Craig.

I don't think you should.

Could it be poison of some kind?

Or medicine?

Medicine of a sort.

Cocaine, I reckon.

What made her so unhappy? She felt she
needed this.

People take drugs for all sorts of
reasons.

It's nothing new.

Witches in the Middle Ages used to
anoint themselves.

You know, rub belladonna into their skin
to bring on hallucinations.

And in India, a young wife who'd married
an old husband didn't want to get rid of

him and end up on the funeral pyre, so
she'd keep him under drugs, make him a

semi-imbecile, drive him more or less
off his head. Sounds a little like the

voodoo stories the major was so keen on.

Witch doctors keeping people alive with
drugs.

Is that what you think?

That I'm keeping old Mr. Raphael going
with pills and potions? I didn't mean to

imply... It's his work that keeps him
going.

If he was to stop for just one day, I
think his heart would seize up when he

dropped dead on the spot.

I should have thought that taking a
holiday was rather a risky prospect

then.

Yes?

Come in.

I'm sorry, madame.

I should have told you what you needed
to know before.

Then maybe an innocent girl would not
have been murdered.

I've told Victoria many times.

Rich folk just bring trouble.

It's not just poor Victoria.

There's the Major, and now lucky Dyson
as well.

So who was it from the hotel that came
to see you?

Quickly, you must tell me.

The churchman.

Fredcott.

The canon?

I'm quite sure.

He made me swear not to tell anyone he
had been to see me.

And what did the canon want from you?

He's in love with Molly Kendall.

Yes, I've noticed.

So he wanted some sort of love potion,
did he? To make her feel the same about

him? No, he wanted me to help him to
fall out of love with her.

So I told him some juju.

How far would he go, I wonder, to
protect Molly?

I didn't have him down as a suspect.

He wasn't in the major's line of sight
at dinner.

And I'm positive he was there at the
lecture when Victoria was murdered.

But the police can't be sure exactly
when she was killed.

Do they think it could have been after
the lecture?

What if that's so?

A trick has been played on all of us.

Is it him?

It's Canon Prescott, the murderer.

Because if it is, I will kill him. I
will kill whoever hurt my Victoria.

Errol, please.

There is one final piece of this puzzle
I need to play. And until I do, promise

me, you won't do anything drastic.

All right, please.

Be quiet.

I haven't missed anything.

Oh, you'll never miss a thing.

Not worry.

We'll find out if it was an accident or
something worse.

With everything else that's been going
on around here, I'd say that the chances

of it being an accident are pretty
goddamn unlikely.

I mean, why was she even on the beach in
the first place? You're going to have to

accept, Greg, that she was very unhappy
and took her own life.

Shut your mouth, Tim. You don't know
anything about it.

Somebody killed Lucky. I'm afraid, Mr.
Dyson, if that's the case, then you

being her husband will be the prime
suspect.

Well, I don't see any conclusion, but...

Anyone in this room might have had a
motive. Or somebody who isn't in this

room. Gee, where is Molly anyway, Tim?

I know perfectly well who killed her.
You're going to have to calm down, Greg.

This really isn't helping.

Lucky. She wasn't really, was she?

Maybe she was right about the major and
his evil eye.

His evil eye?

His eye?

Of course.

I've been foolish, a very foolish girl.

I ought to have known from the very
beginning what this was all about.

It's so difficult.

I mean, let's face it, folks.

There's only one person in this hotel
unhinged enough to kill three people.

You better watch what you're saying,
Greg.

Your goddamn crazy wife, Tim.

I warned you, Greg. I warned you.

Grow up, Tim, for goodness sake.

Please calm down, Mr. Kendall. Why?
What's the point? My business is ruined.

It won't survive this scandal.

And Molly... Why doesn't anyone say it?

What we're all thinking.

Molly was carrying on with a married man
before she met you, Tim.

The Major must have known all about it.

It was quite obviously Greg.

And now Lucky's out of the way, she's
free to marry him.

Please.

She doesn't know what she's been doing.
She doesn't mean it. She needs help,

Tim. We'll need to talk to her, Tim.

Yes, I understand.

But, please, let me see her.

In five minutes.

Five minutes.

Well, what do you say, Miss Marple?
Looks like they've solved the whole

thing without you.

It's all right now. It's over.

You must do the right thing, Molly.

No, no, Tim. You must.

More bad dreams.

Just pull the trigger and it's finished.

Please, Tim, I don't want to.

Pull it, you silly little bitch. That's
enough.

Oh, thank God. I think she was trying to
kill herself.

Don't be a fool, Tim. I heard
everything.

No, but Molly... This is all very
similar, Tim, to one of the major

stories about a man whose wives had a
nasty habit of committing suicide.

Give me the gun, Tim.

Molly's gone insane. She's shot from
one. No, Tim.

I always knew that Molly was the
intended victim.

But up till now, I wasn't absolutely
sure who the killer was, so I asked

Errol to change the bullets in your gun
for some of Colonel Hillingdon's blanks.

Just in case.

I think we found our murderer,
Inspector.

Oh.

God's sake, shut your mouth. You trying
to get me hand?

Shut that big ugly mouth of yours.

Molly, I... Molly?

There was never anything wrong with you,
dear.

Tim has been drugging you.

He put something in your face cream that
would give you dreams and

hallucinations.

And he left this around, didn't he? Give
you ideas. Yes, he was good at that,

giving people ideas.

The thing you feared, it was him. But he
won't forget you anymore, and you have

friends, Molly.

People who love you. It's all over now.

All over.

People come to these islands to play, to
have affairs, to drink, and worse.

They think that the normal rules of
civilized behavior do not apply here,

and they call us savages.

It was Tim who tried to have us believe
there was some voodoo quality to all

this.

He borrowed some of the voodoo props
from the party and put you off the

scent. And this business about the
married man that Molly was seeing before

she met Tim.

That was just another red herring, I
suppose.

Not entirely.

Molly was sent to England by her father
and she did start an affair with a

married man.

Oh, I should imagine he started it with
her.

A naive young girl whose wealthy father
owned a smart hotel in the Caribbean.

She was quite a catch.

And then Tim turned up and rescued her
from this rotter. No, Tim was the

rotter. He cooked up a story with Molly,
disappeared for a while and then turned

up under a new name.

Her father wanted to know the truth.

And Tim's wife conveniently committed
suicide.

Well, it wasn't the first time he tried
that little trick.

No, he'd done it already once before he
met Molly, when he was out in Kenya.

He was the figure in the photograph that
the Major never quite got round to

showing me.

Well, I'm damned.

And that was what was stopping me.

Tim hadn't been in the group that the
Major looked at.

But I was forgetting his glass eye.

He wasn't looking at that side of the
table at all.

He was looking straight at Tim.

And Tim knew.

It was Tim in the Major's photograph. He
was the murderer who killed before.

And it wasn't just Molly he had in his
sight. When Tim discovered how much

money Esther stood to inherit, he
decided she'd make a most suitable wife

number four.

And fearing that the Major would upset
his plans to do away with Molly, went to

work, leading us on a trail of
misdirection that would end up with the

poisoning of poor old Major Pongrave.

With the Major out of the picture, Tim
set about covering his trap.

He planted Gregory Dyson's serenite
tablets in the Major's room as a

possible cause of death.

Me, Victoria, realized something not
right with the pill.

She desperately needed money for her
sick child, and Tim offered it to her if

she would go along with his plan to
shake up Molly.

He could be very persuasive.

He fed her a despicable lie about Molly
and Errol.

So Victoria faked her own death to make
Molly appear mad.

What's the matter?

I saw her. Saw her? Saw who? In the
mirror. I saw her. I saw Victoria.

But Tim was not one to leave any loose
ends untied.

And of course, he had the perfect alibi.
And he was at the lecture at the time of

her fake death.

But how did he manage to drown Lucky
when he was nowhere near the hotel?

And for that matter, why did he drown
her?

Sadly, that was a mistake.

She was in the wrong place at the wrong
time.

Poor, tragic Lucky Dyson, who had turned
to drugs to obliterate her guilty

conscience.

Tim knew that Molly loved to walk up to
the point every day. What he didn't know

was that it was also Lucky Dyson's
favorite spot.

And the current carried her body round
to the beach at Golden Palms.

It was very clever.

No, on the contrary.

Like most murderers who have got away
with it once.

He was stupid.

Stupid and overconfident.

We always catch them in the end.

Zombie summer parks on the island.

Some of them is great California.

Since this season is carnival.

They go together in Bacchanal. And what
they're singing.

Back to back.

Belly to belly and I don't give a damn.
I done dead already.

Back to back.

Belly to belly and a zombie jamboree. I
hear the chorus.

Back to back.

Belly to belly and I don't give a damn.
I done dead already.

Back to back.

It makes no sense to me.

Since we had all this, why would he risk
losing it just to get rid of Molly?

Oh, I think your Mr. Raphael can help us
there.

What's that?

No more secrets, Mr. Raphael.

I don't know what you mean.

You haven't been here on holiday at all,
Raphael. You've never taken a holiday in

your life.

We've been trying to buy the hotel, your
clinicals company.

Tim is not a complete fool. He knew that
the land was far more valuable than a

risky hotel business.

I was paying some attention to the
ornithological lecture.

I should imagine that the guano deposits
are worth a considerable fortune.

And Molly would never sell the hotel.
Too sentimental.

Which is not something you would ever be
accused of, Miss Martha.

I've lived too long, seen too much of
that.

That looks like a young man who's still
very much in love.

I think he'd have to accept that it's
something he just can't fight.

I hope it plays out for Molly. She
deserves a little happiness now.

Prove positive, though, that Mama
Zodby's potions were all just hogwash.

Oh, I don't know. Her tea's done wonders
for my knee.

Well, I must be going.

Harvey Caesar.

Los Moraturi.

Taste of the Thomas.

I'm afraid I don't know very much Latin.

But you understand.

It's been a great pleasure to meet you.

It's been a great pleasure to know you,
too. Yes, Father.

Back in familiar territory, but never
far away from murder, Miss Marple faced

with more sinister goings-on when she
helps an old friend move into a house

with a dark secret.

Agatha Christie's Marple next Sunday at
8.

While bringing families back together,
Davina McCall and Nicky Campbell return

with a brand-new series of long-lost
families tomorrow night at 9. It's a

tearjerker to have plenty of hankies
handy.

Stay with us. The ITV News is next.