All language subtitles for Midsomer.Murders.S01E05.Death.in.Disguise.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

What do you want to meet
out here for, Bill?

What's wrong with the house?

In case we need to drop our guard.

I have none.

I am as you see me.

10 years we said we'd give this
place, and then we'd cash in.

Time's up.

You've been fobbing me off.

Yes, I know, but to a purpose, Bill.

I mean, look how far we've
come in those 10 years.

A real journey of discovery,
wouldn't you say?

All I want to discover is
how much of it's mine.

And what about our fellow travelers?

Do we leave them stranded at the

crossroads of your selfishness
without directions?

Oh, for God's sake, I'm fed
up with that kind of talk.

If you want to stay on, fine.

Get the place valued, buy me out.

I don't have the wherewithal.

You know I don't. Then
take out a loan.

I've got a far more exciting
proposition for you, Bill.

Stay on.

Carry on helping me to run the lodge,
recruit more travelers.

I mean, look what we created here.

A way of life neither of
us ever dreamed of.

If I'd known you'd wind
up believing your

own lies, I'd never have
come in with you.

Where's the old you,
the one who can't?

I know what I was capable of, Bill.
I don't need reminding of it.

Couldn't you remember what I was capable
of when people tried to cheat me?

♪

Where is everyone?

Oh, no, dear, don't seek them out.

Yes, may.

Oh, Trixie, dear, what are you
doing with this plate?

Exactly what you asked me to do.

I didn't ask you to do this.

This is a mistake.

-I'm sorry.
-I'm so sorry.

You've got to give it up.

I want it here and more.

I think it's fair. I'm
trying to do this.

♪

♪

Oh!

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

Greater love hath no fish than that
he lay down his life for my lunch.

How's the sauce coming?

It's a wee bit lumpy.

Tastes OK, though.

You remind me of someone.

Have you seen a remont blanc
called Jack the Ripper?

You wait till you taste it.

Oh, it's a good...

It's me, Cuddle, from
the lodge of the...

Oh, the golden manor. Yeah,
the commie, not the manor.

She's after me for everything.

Now I don't care where I
am, but I am not here.

Leave her to me.

Treats me like a local bobby.

Well, that's because you are.

I am, I can, I will.

Get rid of her.

Miss Cuddle, actually...

This is terribly urgent.

Miss Cuddle.

Mr. Barnaby.

Miss Cattle, how are you?

I am in the pink, Mr. Barnaby.

Oh, good.

Alas, Mr. Carter is a definite
shade of gray.

I don't see anything.

Chief Inspector, welcome.

We haven't met, but May tells me that

your wife has attended
one of our courses.

Assertion training, I believe.

Oh, yes, I remember.

12 sessions at 20 quid
a throw, plus VAT.

You must be?

This is our beloved master,
Chief Inspector.

Not so much master, more map reader
to my fellow pilgrims.

Ian Craigie.

Anything to worry about?

In life, Tom, almost always.

But in this bloke's death, nothing.

So he fell down the stairs and what?

Broke his neck.

You'll find it sticking out at
a rather convincing angle.

Who found the body, please?

Oh, uh,

Ken and Heather Beavers.

We were just off for a
walk on Coombe Hill.

There's a druid slab there.

We plan to unlock its cosmic
energy, hence the, uh.

We've kept them on to assist
Bill in his passing over.

Has it helped?

Well, I thought it had
got a bit better.

Yes, thank you.

Thank you.

Did anyone see him fall?

Anyone? Um, I think I'm
right in saying

the general answer will
be no, Inspector.

Thank you, Mr. Gibbs, Arno Gibbs.

Mr. Gibbs.

He'd been drinking, Tom,
whiskey by the smog.

Oh, no.

You've got that quite, quite wrong.

-Bill Carter didn't.
-I want statements.

Split them up before they invent
an official version, will you?

Right, sir.

Right, ladies and gentlemen.

Ladies and gentlemen, these officers
will take statements.

Excuse me.

I've got to get you something
for her day's work.

Miss Craigie?

Of course.

I'd like to see Mr. Carter's room.

Look, where are you going?

What's your name?

This is Tim Riley, Inspector.

Well, let him speak for himself.

What's your name? As a matter of
fact, he doesn't speak at all.

Is that because he can't
or because he won't?

You say that as if the first were
forgivable, the second a sin.

That will be the policeman
in you, forever doubting.

♪

Did you know Mr. Carter well?

I thought so.

But clearly, we were strangers.

Because he liked to drink
and you didn't know?

A cry for help, wouldn't you say?

Maybe he just liked having secrets.

And that must be the downside
of communal living.

You don't have any privacy.

What other secrets, I wonder?

such a wise companion such a kind

and generous man and yes a

great reader all his life I met him shortly
after he came out of prison

I thought that would interest
you inspector

Suhami, she calls herself.

Yes, she is, isn't she?

What?

Beautiful.

I'm a copper.

Notice things like that.

You have taken the driving
course, have you, Troy?

Yes, sir.

Four or five times.

Thanks a lot, mate.

-Ah.
-Ah, well-met fellow seeker.

Heather, Ken, and Trixie.

-Hello.
-Follow me.

Chris Wainwright.

Oh, yes.

We have you down for a self-cleansing
of the spiritual pathways.

That slight chill in the air,
no doubt you feel it.

Don't be alarmed. It's only
a departing spirit.

Departing spirit?

-Has somebody died?
-Who?

His earthly name was William Carter.

How did he die?

You mean transcend to a higher plane.

OK, then that.

He fell down the stairs
and broke his neck.

Shall I show you to your room?

Sorry about this.

We don't need an inquest, surely?

The man fell down the stairs, pissed.

That's passing the buck, Troy.

Run William Carter to the CRO mangle.

See what he was put inside for.

Minor fraud, Craigie said.

What did you make of him, sir?

Craigie?

It's what Craigie made out of me
10 years ago that rankles.

20 times 12 is 240 quid, plus VAT.

Honestly, sir, your wife.

Assertion training.

Colston, Newcastle, surely?

If only it had been cooking.

Craigie and that boy Tim,
what do you reckon?

Hanky-panky?

No, I don't think so.

I think Craigie's that rare
thing, a good man.

Remember them, Troy?

If you ask me, he's as dodgy and
as daft as the rest, isn't he?

Peace, love, and grow your own goat.

Well, it's a generation thing, Troy.

Some people grew out of
it, others got stuck.

Oh, good, does that mean
we're mobile again?

Yeah, sorry about that, sir.

Detective Sergeant Troy.

Yeah, hold on a sec.

Coroner's office.

Hello, Steve.

Yeah, William Carter.

You heard about him?

Right.

I don't think there's a problem, but
I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Come on.

♪

How did it go?

50 other women auditioning
for the part, 50.

Let's go and grab a coffee
somewhere, shall we?

It's only a tinpot little company, 50.

But there are three witches.

That must shorten the odd
sum up, mustn't it?

I bet you were fabulous.

-When do you hear?
-Who knows?

Anyway, why are you all dressed up?

Going to a funeral.

You want to come?

♪

dispeller of

♪

of the negative order.

We offer the

♪

Carter, as a record of
his earthly journey.

Let his spirit, revised
and redimensioned,

Question, sir, what the hell
are we doing here?

We are being polite, Troy,
at least I am.

We commemorate him as

♪

first ray.

♪

our humble, insufficient hearts
he will not disappoint.

And the coroner was right, was he?

Accidental death?

Bill Carter was a small-time conman.

You did the check yourself,
didn't you?

No grudges against him, no money owing,
and his death was an accident.

We commend.

We commend.

Well, thank you, sir.

That's really good.

You're welcome.

Inspector, Sergeant, thank
you for coming.

Bill was so touched.

I'm sorry?

He came through to me this morning,
wanted to know who'd be here.

Checking the guest list, eh?

Who's the new boy, Miss Cuttle?

Christopher Wainwright.

Used to work for the
BBC, poor soul, as

a cameraman in the most
frightful places.

Seems to be fitting in quite well.

Oh, yes.

They've become good friends.

Won't you join us for lemon balm
and some iced carrot cake?

No, no, thank you.

Unfortunately, we have
some work to do.

But thank you, thank you all the same.

Any chance of going any faster, Ken?

Sorry, Trix, 30 it is.

Bees are very sensitive creatures,
prone to stress.

And they know the difference between
30 and 50 miles an hour, do they?

Oh!

It's a flat tyre.

Yes.

You'd better keep them
calm whilst I fix it.

I read somewhere that in a crisis,
you should sing to bees.

-Oh, really?
-What sort of thing?

A lullaby, of course.

-a-bye

How are bees in a storm, Ken?

♪

Tim?

Tim, are you all right?

Well, he can't have gone far, Master.

I promised him he'd never
be frightened again.

We must find him.

Tears of stone!

Come on, Mae.

Mae!

Tim has gone!

You three, search the
back of the house.

Come on, we're going.

Trixie, search all the
back of the house.

Come on, mate. Chris, Tim!

Why would he come out here in a storm?

It's his way out in the open.

Hiding like a frightened animal.

Tim!

Tim!

Tim!

Tim!

There's nobody out there!

Tim!

Tim, is that you?

Where are you?

I'm fine.

Oh, no, thank you, dear.

Stop touching me.

It siphons the reserves.

Such independence of spirit.

There's no sign of him, master.

Master, nothing.

There's no sign of him at all.

He's not around the back, master.

We've looked everywhere, master.

Oh, and to cap it all, I feel
a regression coming on.

A regression?

When's it due, May?

It doesn't say.

Soon.

Tim?

Tim!

Oh, Tim!

Oh, dear boy.

Christopher, we've found him.

♪

♪♪

♪

♪

Woof.

-Careful, too.
-There's a good chap.

Arno!

Arno!

I'll take those.

Oh!

Hail the hero!

Oh, I wouldn't put it quite like that.

You saved a life.

That puts you right at
the top of my list.

Ruff, ruff, ruff!

♪

Oh, hello, Grace.

We're just off to thatch
the new beehives.

-Beehives.
-Gosh.

You alone?

Yes, except you never know who
they were in a previous life.

But right now they're goats, so...

What about the others?

They do know about us, Chris.

-Doesn't it bother you?
-No, not at all.

But this does.

I didn't mention it last night,
but I found it on

the roof near where the cannonball
must have been.

What, meaning that someone?

What?

Dislodged it on purpose.

Well, it wouldn't bother me usually, but
for this guy Bill Carter to die.

That was an accident.

The coroner said so.

Oh, therefore it must be true.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be sharp.

Okay, so who wasn't out there
on the terrace last night?

Ken wasn't there when it
fell, nor Heather.

Arno, Trixie and Tim, they
weren't there either.

Nor were you, Sahami.

♪

Are you the reporters?

Ken and Heather Beavers.

Ava Rokeby, Terry Lightfoot.

You've got a camera.

Sort of goes with the
job, photographer.

Not sure about photos, Ken.

Why did you call our office,
Mr. Beavers?

Have you never wondered what goes on
in the Lodge of the Golden Windows?

In passing?

Two attempted murders, one
of them successful.

Bill Carter, the coroner said
it was an accident.

We're no different.

And last night, someone tried to kill
someone else with a cannonball.

Names?

Don't you think we ought to put all
this on a business footing?

You mean, how much will I pay you to
dish the dirt on your friends?

Yes, how much?

I'm not going anywhere until
it's tied on properly.

Now don't strain yourself.

Find your home.

Oh, here.

Go with the school.

Not to me!

I'm in the way!

There are easier ways of killing
people, Mr. Wainwright.

Maybe so.

But I found this on the
roof, Inspector.

Could have been used to start the
ball rolling, as it were.

And before you ask, it's mine,
part of the car's toolkit.

And how did your would-be murderer
know that you would all

be out there in the storm directly
beneath his line of fire?

So that's it, is it?

This thing nearly kills me,
and you just dismiss it.

As would any halfway decent
barrister in two

seconds flat, unless he had
something more to go on.

Miss Cuddle?

What?

Why are you looking at me?

I just got the feeling something
was bothering you.

Two days after Bill Carter died, I heard
voices in the master's room.

He sounded rather desperate.

Craigie?

Uh, not necessarily.

Could have been anyone.

They spoke in a hoarse
kind of whisper.

Saying what?

Oh, God, why couldn't you
have left one alone...

if they do a post-mortem?

That all?

I'm not sure who else was
there, man or woman.

They didn't speak.

So the person you did hear could
have been on the phone?

There isn't one there.

Then, a couple of nights
later, two in the

morning, I heard someone rifling
through Bill's room.

I went to look.

They scuttled out through the window,
down onto the terrace...

And across the lawn?

No, in through the front door.

That means that someone was from

the commune, not a burglar.

Why didn't you say something
before, Miss Cuddle?

It didn't mean anything
until the cannonball.

Perhaps whoever I disturbed in Bill's
room thinks I recognise them.

In other words, the cannonball really
was meant for me, Inspector.

Not now, Gaius Quintus.

Not now.

What's happening?

Gaius Quintus is chief taster for
a Roman general in Britain.

75 AD.

May is due to regress soon and extract
his wisdom for us all to share.

You've caught me at a bad
time, Gaius Quintus.

Tuesday.

Let it be Tuesday.

What?

What's that you say?

He warns of dark forces
at work, Inspector.

We must get her home, Inspector.

Yes.

Don't forget this.

Oh, that's really quite extraordinary.

Wonderful.

That is just wonderful.

-I don't know.
-Oh, yeah.
-Yes, yes.

Barnaby.

Mr. Barnaby, Ava Rokeby, County Press.

How's the inquiry going?

Which inquiry?

Attempted murder, Lodge of
the Golden Wind Horse.

I'm sorry, this is a terrible line.

Press, who's wound them up?

On the other hand, perhaps we
ought to take May seriously.

What?

Oh, God, why couldn't
you have left Will

alone if they do a post-mortem
dot, dot, dot?

It's not much to go on.

You've convinced me. I hope we haven't
missed something, something crucial.

Like what, sir?

The dark force is at work, Troy.

Just a minute.

Well, I'm sorry about that.

How much longer?

About another 10 minutes,
Mr. Gambling.

Would you like another fruit juice?

No, I'm a wash with it.

Get off.

Give us your phone.

Hello.

I presume you've been invited to our
daughter's birthday celebration.

You remember that we have a daughter.

I'm trying to be civil, Felicity.

Do you want a lift down there?

Guy, there is absolutely nothing
that I want from you.

Does that include my money?

There have been several allegations
made against you,

Mr. Gamblin, the most serious
being that you've

replaced over half the regular
workforce with casual labor.

So what?

Most people need to eat as well.

Happy birthday.

Whatever's wrong?

I'm sorry.

Perhaps I'd feel better if I
hadn't lied to you, Chris.

I'm not who I say I am.

Which of us is?

Oh, that man there is.

He's an absolute bastard.

I'm proud of it.

He's cruel, vindictive,
immoral, and coarse.

He's also my father.

Guy Gamblin?

Why didn't you tell me
in the first place?

I wanted to be sure that you loved
me, not my inheritance.

If I wanted money, I'd be out there

earning some, not hiding
in a place like this.

Of course I love you.

-Good.
-In view of what I'm about to do.

Heather, honey.

-What, love?
-No, it's Heather, honey.

Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you
were being affectionate.

Be a good chap and look over
to me with this, will you?

It's a lot of soft fruit and
what she needs for dessert.

Can you do that?

Hmm.

♪

What the hell?

You bloody moron!

You've done any damage.

What happened?

That thing ran out in front of me.

No prizes for guessing
where he's off to.

Tim!

No, please.

-Hello, Guy.
-Not today.

Bloody hell.

What are you doing here?

I'm very well, thank you.

Have you come to buy us up for a song?

Make us an offer we can't refuse.

-That's it.
-He'll be here for hours.

At least we know where he is.

Yes, we may.

Well, you're not here to see me.

So why are you here, Guy?

I've come to see my daughter.

It's her birthday.

You mean that sad little
girl is yours?

Yes, it figures.

Is she expecting you?

The Craigies are.

There's only one Craigie,
and he's a man.

Excuse us.

Excuse us.

What sort of place is this?

It's a refuge, Guy, for people who have
been damaged by people like you.

Now, I see.

A one-night stand with me
damaged you, did it?

Four nights, actually.

It's funny that.

Remember the quantity,
not the quality.

Why did you invite him, master?

Because it's your birthday
and he's your father.

Look, have a look at his letter.

I don't care what he said.

It's a trick.

He's up to something.

I'm warning you.

Suhami,

try to be more generous.

You've found a pathway and you've even
found someone to share it with.

Your father may not know
it, but he is lost.

I must go and greet him.

Well, I don't have to.

Well met, fellow seeker.

Welcome to the lodge of
the Golden Wind Horse.

Eh?

Master, this is Guy Gumberlin.

Ian Craigie.

Where's my daughter, Mr Craigie?

You'll see her at supper.

I said where is she, meaning
I want to see her now!

And I said at supper,

Let's have Sherry in the library.

You join us on a marvellous day, Guy.

Not only Suhami's birthday, but one
of our number is due to regress.

Right.

To link spirit with a friend
from another age.

Open your mind to it, Guy.

You may learn something.

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

I feel quite hungry now.

Oh.

You look puzzled, Guy.

No, I'm just wondering what it is.

Nut roast from our own trees.

Vegetables from the garden.

Bread from our own flour.

Mushrooms from our own compost.

Ah, the birthday girl.

Ah.

♪

♪

Oh, my God.

♪

♪

♪

Vegemite in there.

♪

♪

So, hunger got the better
of you, didn't it, Tim?

Sit down, old chap.

He fell out of a tree!

Yes, he often does.

You must be, um...

Well, for a start, I'm amazed
that he's still alive.

Now, she meant, who are you?

This, I'm ashamed to say, is my wife.

And I am proud to say the
feeling is mutual.

Why don't you just sit down?

Silly, silly, how are you, dear?

Over here, Mother.

And that, my friends, tells
you everything about us.

My mother stoned out of
her mind, my father

abusing her, and me wondering
where to hide my face.

Well, you haven't done
too badly out of it.

In the only terms you understand, father,
namely money, no, I haven't.

My inheritance, all three
million pounds of

it for my 80th birthday.

Thank you, Daddy.

Happy birthday.

It now belongs to the master, who
I know will put it to good use.

You think I'm going to
stand by and see 3

million quid wasted on
a bunch of nutters?

You misread me.

Is that why you took her in?

I've dealt with trickier
men than you, Craigie.

If you persuaded her, please.

Sit down, Guy.

Master, if I might suggest
that we all hurry up.

It's all right, Ken.

Your daughter may have
made this generous

offer, but have I said that
we shall accept it?

I'll take her through, Master.

If we can hurry, Master.

You know how ratty Gaius Quintus
gets when we're late.

Yes, you go on ahead and prepare, Ken,
if you would care to join us.

Chris, bring May's bag, will you?

Mine mazes them.

♪

If you're ready may

then locate the center of your being

I found it, Master.

I see it as a golden ball.

Push that ball, mate.

Push it!

Push it out through the
balls of your feet.

You see?

It lifts.

Up into the air!

Look down on us, Mae.

Look down.

My name isn't May, it's Gaius Quintus.

Welcome, Gaius Quintus.

Where are you, Gaius Quintus?

In a forest, a clearing, Roman

Britain, 75 A.D.

We're moving north to build a wall, but
here we are, settled for the night.

A wild boar is roasting in the glowing
embers as a slave turns the spit.

I come out of the tent, the
general follows me.

Will today be the day?

Will someone in our number have
a grudge against Rome?

A personal hatred for the general?

I, Gaius Quintus, will
be the first to know.

But where are my vegetable
slaves, says the general.

There on the fire, sir.

Mushrooms in a skillet.

Help me.

My throat's on fire.

Oh, oh, oh.

May.

May, are you all right?

Stand aside.

Give her some air.

A pillow.

A pillow.

The kiss of life.

Don't be so bloody daft.

She isn't drowning.

Come back to me, May.

Mush.

Mush.

Oh, huskies.

A team of dogs pulling a sled.

Antarctica.

Don't be so silly, Arno.

Mushrooms.

Mushrooms.

Oh, goodness.

What an adventure.

Put the lights on.

I have so much to tell you.

Oh, oh.

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

♪

You will?

Stabbing, sir.

Knife out, Tom?

Yeah.

A piece of gold thread there.

Not from the victim's clothing.

A carving knife.

They used it at supper.

Craigie carved the nut roast himself.

Well, I'll be damned.

Look at this.

I said he was dodgy right
from the start.

Well, maybe, but wearing
a wig's no reason to

kill a man, with one or two
notable exceptions.

I'll probably do something about that.

That's what I'm talking about.

Inspector, I know you think
the master was probably

murdered, but you are going about
this in quite the wrong way.

And how would you describe
his present situation?

Well, it's obvious.

He's been astrally harvested.

And how do you explain a carving
knife stuck in his chest?

A celestial lance.

With Made in Sheffield stamped on it.

Ow!

Will you keep him quiet, please?

Oi!

-Shut up!
-Listen!

If someone had stabbed the master,
they'd have blood all over them.

Look around.

There's not a speck on any of us.

Except for Tim.

There's a few spots there.

Yes, but then he was
sitting right next.

Ladies and gentlemen, we'll take
statements tomorrow morning.

In the meantime, may I ask you
not to leave the Lodge.

You can't keep us here
against our will.

Oh, yes, I can.

Oh, I see.

I got a copper all to myself, do I?

That's right, sir.

I'll tell you something.

I stopped doing my own dirty
work a long time ago.

If I'd wanted to kill Craigie, I'd
have paid someone else to do it.

Is that what you usually do?

Policeman outside our door, Felicity.

All night.

Mind your manners.

Night, night.

Okay, Guy.

Tell me, how did you do it?

How did you kill Craigie?

♪

Oh, darling.

You should know where to look.

That's all right. Do you
want a cup of tea?

No, no, no.

-Whiskey, please.
-Large, large.

That bad, eh?

Mm-hmm.

Those people at the lodge,
I misread them.

I thought they were harmless.

Plainly, one of them is not.

Maybe they struck a chord with
the aging hippie in you, dad.

Thank you.

If Carter was murdered
and I caught his

killer, Craigie might still be alive.

That's a lot of ifs and maybes.

What does Sergeant Troy think?

What does Sergeant Troy think?

Sergeant Troy thinks I'm a bastard.

I made him stay overnight
at the lodge in

case one of the visitors
does a moonlight flit.

Guy Gamlin, do you know him?

Gamlin Holdings, yeah.

That's our boy.

His daughter hates him.

His wife hates him.

They both loathe him.

How can he live without her?

10 minutes, Troy.

Solarium downstairs.

Heavy day, killers to catch.

Killers, plural.

Good question.

Oh

♪

Peace.

What are they doing?

Apparently they're clearing
the astral pathways

for Craigie's journey to the
Ark of the Gathered Soul.

You wanted to see me first, Inspector?

Yes.

Thank you, Miss Channing.

You seem to have a more,
how should I put it, a

more earthly approach to life
than some of your friends.

Been getting on your
nerves, have they?

A little.

Would you mind telling
me where you all

were last night when Craigie
was stabbed?

Troy, could you make a note
of the positions?

Yes, basically everyone was gathered
around May just here.

Ken and Heather Beavers.

They were standing here.

And the Gamelans, they were just here.

Right, and where was Sue Harmy?

Sue Harmy was sitting on
my right, just here.

That leaves Arno, Gibbs,
and Christopher.

Yes, one either side of May.

Which side?

Arno to her left, Chris to her right.

Someone always stands by in case
she has one of her swoons.

Last night, did she go into
one of her swoons?

During her regression,
she ate a mushroom.

Now, it was obviously a toadstool because
she started grappling at her throat.

Then she fell backwards here.

We all gathered around.

Then when the lights went back on
again, there was the master.

But you didn't see anyone stab him?

No.

Right, so where was Tim
during all this?

You know very well.

He was sitting at the master's
feet, poor boy.

And how far were you from Craigie?

Craigie was there.

I was about here.

About 10 feet, 10 feet.

Well, thank you, Miss Channing.

That'll be all for the moment.

I know it sounds really
lame, Inspector, but

the master really was a
thoroughly nice man.

I can't understand why anyone
would want to kill him.

Why do you wear so much makeup?

You've got a bloody cheek.

It's often my job to be rude.

You've got a scar here.

It's nothing to do with the
murder, I can assure you.

I'll be the judge of that.

I don't see how, if I
refuse to tell you.

Ah, excuse me.

Coffee, Inspector.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you very much.

A corner.

I'm sorry?

The coffee.

Made from ground acorns.

That's very interesting.

You're ringing, Mr. Beavis.

Yes.

Yes, I am.

Blimey.

-Hello?
-Ken?

Well, I never.

It's for you.

Hello?

Listen, Ken, we need to talk.

Dead bodies?

Oh, yes, yes, a jolly good idea.

It's just I'm a little bit
tied up at the moment.

Police?

Yes, yes, that's the sort of thing.

Call me back.

Mr. Beavis

Thank you.

Mr. Beavers, would you
take a look at that?

That's a plan of where you were all

sitting last night when
Craigie was stabbed.

Do you agree with it?

You know, Inspector, I'd give anything
to be the person you're looking for.

That's a curious ambition.

You're forgetting what a truly great
man the master was, Inspector.

To have played such a vital part in
his onward journey to perfection.

You'd have been given a life sentence.

It had to be a complete stranger.

The master himself was not
pleased, I could tell.

What do you mean, what stranger?

Well, Mr. Gamowin, of course.

The master seemed to reach out
to him as he fell, like this.

Why you?

Why you, he seemed to be asking.

Such pain, such bewilderment
on his face.

I'm surprised Trixie didn't
mention it to him.

Then again, they are old
friends, astral allies.

Hold it right there.

Why? Oh, don't think badly
of Heather, Inspector.

It's not nosiness.

It's just her cosmic aerials
are so finely tuned.

Oh, all this claptrap.

I'm not interested in
her cosmic aerials.

So can we please have
no more chat about

astral paths and the arc
of the gathered souls?

This man has been murdered.

And whoever killed him
will pay for it.

Now, could you please tell
me in plain English

why Guy Gamowin would want
to kill Ian Craigie?

Because his daughter planned to give
her inheritance to the Lodge.

3 million pounds worth of it.

Became hers yesterday,
her 18th birthday.

3 million?

3 million.

Yeah, that'll be for me.

Barnaby.

Yes, Dave.

Forensic.

Yeah, just through this way.

Thank you.

Yeah.

Yes, Dave.

All right.

And what about the thread?

Hello, I'll take those.

Thank you.

The thread on the knife is from curtains,
tapestry, heavy material like that.

What's the color of the drapes
in the solarium?

Cream, sir.

What about the carving knife?

Not a print on it.

Look, Troy, I want chapter
and verse on Craig.

Come on.

-Come on.
-Come on.

Mr. Gamelin, Mr. Gamelin, come on.

Ah!

-Calm down.
-Calm down.

Can't you keep him under control?

It's not a dog, Mr. Gamelin.

No, dogs you can train.

Sit down! Troy, Troy. What
started all this?

Guy said the master had tried to consuhar
me out of her inheritance.

Well, is it obvious?

And him, too.

You think he's after
her for her money?

I didn't know she had
any till yesterday.

Take him away from here.

Mr. Gamelin, have a word, please.

Ah!

Watch it.

You all right, Tim?

Not going to let go.

Where is he going?

The tree may be the best
place for him.

You're the only one here I know
anything about, Mr. Gamelin.

You know what I want the press
to know, that's all.

And tell me some more, like why did Mr.
Craigie reach out to you when he fell?

How should I know?

Maybe because you just stabbed him.

I met Ian Craigie less
than 24 hours ago.

In which time you learned
that your daughter wants

to give him 3 million pounds,
money you worked for.

You may not like the sound of this,
Barnaby, but 3 million is peanuts.

So if money really isn't the problem

with Craigie and Chris
Wainwright, what is?

I don't like my daughter being used.

Oh, women being used, yeah.

Tell me about you and Miss Channing.

She worked in one of my companies.

We had a zoological fling,
lasted three days.

So you can't tell me anything about the
scar and the bruising on her cheek?

No.

Look at him.

Another man in her life, all
set to let her down.

No one is ever good enough
for our daughters, eh?

Maybe I should stay here for a while.

Get to know him.

Could be the way back to her.

Suhami, good news!

I've persuaded your mother
to stay your own.

That is not good news, Mei.

That is bad news.

It's only for two months, darling.

It's the self-healing course
with personal guide.

Mei, my mother is a drug addict.

Being waited on hand and foot by
you is not going to cure her.

Maybe we should...

What?

I was about to say, maybe we
should ask the master.

Okay.

Bad moment?

No, no.

Memories, Inspector.

Grief and joy.

Mixing like pork and mustard.

Not that I've eaten pork for years.

Mr. Wainwright, I hear you covered
the war in Rwanda.

Does that explain in some
way why you're here?

Yes.

In your job, you see human life
at its worst, am I right?

On a bad day, yeah.

Take that and multiply it by
any number you care to.

And that was Rwanda every day.

I either blew my brains out or came
here to hide for a while.

And you knew nothing of Mr. Craigie
before you came here?

Spoke to him on the phone, that's all.

And Mr. Carter?

I arrived the day he died.

I nearly went away again.

I'm glad I didn't.

Take this deep, deep down, dear.

Pull in the air, dear.

Thank you. And cheap,
and then hold it.

One, two, three.

-What?
-Excuse me.

We're looking for Mr. Craigie's will.

Now, solicitor doesn't
seem to have it.

Have you got any ideas?

The man you need is Arno, Inspector,
wearing his admin hat.

Then let it all out.

Let it all out.

Expel it.

-Oh!
-Throw it all out.

-Oh!
-Let it out.

I'm afraid I don't have
it, Mr. Barnaby.

Miss Cuddle said you would.

Well, she's half right.

I did have it.

I see.

That gets a bit complicated,
doesn't it?

Devin, I'm very grateful
you stopped doing that.

All right.

I drew it up for him
several years ago.

In another life, I used to
be a solicitor's clerk.

Who was it made up to?

Bill Carter, lock, stock, and barrel.

And why don't you have it anymore?

Well, the master took it off me a few days
ago, saying he wanted to change it.

You didn't come back with
any new instruction?

That's right.

Oh, look, this one's dying.

Well, the question is, did he
make a new will or not?

I'm afraid I can't help
you, Mr. Barnaby.

Why is the will so important?

Well, I would have thought that was obvious,
especially to a solicitor's clerk.

Whoever's named in the will inherits
the entire estate.

Maybe he or she decided to
hurry things on a bit.

Good morning, Troy.

Any joy, and please say yes.

Ian Craigie could be Albert John
Cranley, Reading Jail, 1972.

That's when Bill Carter was there.

What was Cranley in for?

Some timeshare racket.

They found a six-figure sum hidden
underneath his floorboards.

Released with a forwarding address, Mrs.
Cook, the bed and breakfast in Upton.

I'm seeing her tomorrow to show
her a photograph of Craigie.

Better find one of the Lodge.

There is something else, sir.

Could someone get rid of this?

Yeah.

It's from Hull CID.

I think you're gonna like this.

Mr. Beavers?

Yes?

Like another word with you, please?

What about?

About brothels, Mrs. Beavers, or rather
the one that you and your

husband ran in Hull, the place where
the trawlers used to come from.

Oh, dear.

It was a very good brothel.

Oh, I'm sure.

It was a partnership, like
John Lewis's, in

that the staff used to share
the profits with us.

No one was ever pressurized.

No one got hurt.

As two or three high-ranking
police officers

could have testified to at
our trial, but didn't.

So how did you meet Ian Craigie?

He was on a tour of the north.

He spoke at a seaman's mission
where we used to eat.

He'd just been fined 87,000 pounds.

I can't tell you how bleak we felt.

The master gave us a new way of
life, something to believe in.

Inspector, does this have to
become common knowledge?

Do you mean, will I tell anyone?

I'm a policeman, Mrs. Beavers,
not a gossip.

After all that self-righteousness,
what are they?

Profiteers.

But are you any nearer to
catching the murderer?

I'll put it this way, Joyce.

I don't know who did kill Craigie, but
I know one or two people who didn't.

You cook this, Cully?

How can you tell?

Oh, it's a different
style, that's all.

I've got a problem for you two.

On the night of Craigie's
murder, they're

all gathered around listening
to Mae Cuttle.

She collapses.

They all go to her and bunch
up, all except Craigie

and Tim.

They're over there.

30 seconds later, the
lights go up, and

there's Craigie with a
knife in his chest.

No fingerprints on the handle, and any

prints on the blade wiped
as it went into him.

And the garlic bread?

12 feet away.

What happened?

The pepper stabbed the parmesan.

Why?

Tim was devoted to Craigie, but hardly
bared to let him out of his sight.

So when he's hiding, he's
a wretched treat.

The bridegroom, a BBC cameraman,
had been working in

Rwanda, where his bride was a
doctor attached to the boss.

Where is he?

Which one's the bridegroom?

There, dear.

Next to the bride.

BBC cameraman, Rwanda.

Is that what he said?

Because if that is Christopher Wainwright,
who's the fellow at the lodge?

A lovely day for the wedding, and now for
tomorrow's weather in the southeast.

♪

♪

Who's that?

I don't know.

Let's find out.

♪

Miss Rugby, how nice to see you.

And Mr. Lightfoot too,
what a surprise.

Morning, Mr. Barnaby.

How's life in the gutter, then?

Still making things up as
you go along, are you?

We've been so damn secretive
about this case,

Barnaby, we thought we'd come
and see for ourselves.

Have you been inside the house?

That would be breaking and
entering, Sergeant.

So it would.

Tell you what, you give me the film you
shot, and I won't nick you for it.

So when do we get the full story,
then, Chief Inspector?

At the press conference, if
and when I make an arrest.

Come off it, Barnaby.

How long have we known each other?

OK, something a little extra for
you, Ava, for old times' sake.

But not yet.

I'll hold you to that.

In the meantime, vanish.

he

Now, Mr. Wainwright.

Who are you?

I beg your pardon.

Can I put the question more simply?

What's your name?

Because it sure as hell isn't
Christopher Wainwright.

Andrew Carter.

I'm Bill Carter's nephew.

I'm sorry, Suhani.

I did the same to you.

I guess we're quits now.

But you did it for a very good
reason, Miss Gamelin.

Distance yourself from
a father you hate.

What was your reason, Mr. Carter?

Bill was the nearest
I had to a father.

He wrote to me in Madrid
just after Christmas.

He wanted to leave here, sell
his share in this place.

But Craigie wouldn't buy him out.

So I said I'd come and stay for a few

weeks, see if we could get
things worked out.

Don't like the sound of
that, worked out.

Has overtones, hasn't it?

You said Bill Carter wrote
to you in Madrid.

What were you doing there?

Usual stuff, waiting tables, lifeguard,
crewing in the med.

Even worked at the Circus
National for a year.

So you just picked out a name,
Christopher Wainwright.

Why him?

I met him at Easter.

He told me he was off to Rwanda
for a year's contract.

Didn't mention coming home to
marry Lizzie Roscoe, though.

So you just bowled up here
one afternoon last month,

only to find that Bill Carter
had died that morning.

You must have been devastated.

And from the very first, I
knew it was no accident.

So I stayed on to find
out who'd killed him.

You reach any conclusions?

Oh, you know I have.

It's Tim Riley.

At first, I thought it
was Craigie himself.

But on the night of the storm, he was on
the terrace when the cannonball fell.

And that was meant for me,
Inspector, not May.

Why?

Because Tim had guessed who
I was and why I was here.

I think he killed Craigie as well.

Look, Mr. Carter, I'm sorry.

I really am sorry about
your uncle's death.

But I'm asking you now to stop
your investigations.

Leave it to us.

Very well.

What exactly are you looking
for, Mr. Barnaby?

Mr. Craigie's will.

Mr. Gibbs didn't have it.

Just a sec.

Albert Cranley.

What?

Six figures under the floorboards.

Maybe old habits die hard.

Oh, fabulous.

As I told Mr. Gibbs the other
day, whoever gets

the money may have had a good
reason to kill him.

He leaves the lodge jointly
to you, Miss Carver.

Guess who else?

And Arno, I say.

And this is the first
you've heard of it?

There was no hint, no discussion?

Never. But then he didn't know
he was going to die.

There is a condition.

You have to continue the good work.

What else would we do?

Craigie and Bill Carter take in what?

Late 70s, then.

Looks like a holiday camp.

Will do to show my bed
and breakfast, lady.

I'll see you later, Sam.

And I want a word with Tim.

Tim.

Tim, I'm sorry to barge
in on you like this.

I mean, I'm a great one
for privacy myself.

Never seem to get any.

Look, Tim, I know you've been afraid most
of your life by the feel of it.

And I imagine people have done
terrible things to you.

Maybe one day you could
tell me about them.

Give us a chance to put
things right, eh?

See, that's my job, putting
things right.

And at this moment, I need your
help to help me do that.

I think I know what happened
to Bill Carter.

Is that how it was?

What I don't know is who
killed the master.

Now, you were sitting right
beside him, Tim.

You must have seen who did it.

Either that, or you stabbed
him yourself.

Did you see?

Hmm.

I'm not a chick.

Matching.

♪

He was killed by magic.

I don't understand.

Don't you

♪

♪

You've just worked a miracle,
Mr. Barnaby.

The boy hasn't said one word
since he came here.

Quite extraordinary.

How long have you had this gift?

Since about 10 o'clock this morning.

What do you know about Tim?

Nothing.

He just turned up on the doorstep
about a year ago.

God knows where he came from.

You should have reported it.

Why?

So that you could have taken him away?

Will you do that now?

That rather depends on whether
he's killed anyone.

♪

♪

-Mrs. Cook?
-Yes?

Sergeant Troy, Causton CID.

May I have a word?

Yes, of course.

♪

♪

♪

Is there nothing you don't
excel at, May?

Since you ask, yes, there
is something.

I'm not very good at
hiding my feelings.

Oh, May.

The truth is so important,
don't you think?

Ah, true.

Therefore, I must ask this very dangerous
and personal question of you, Arno.

Did you kill the master?

Oh, I love that gift of yours for
not meeting around the bush.

Only, the will and all that...

I swear, I had no idea there was a new
will or that we were named in it.

Of course, you know what
it means, don't you?

Tell me.

With our new responsibilities and

everything, I'm afraid we
shall have to grow up.

It's rather a frightening thought.

Responsibility for others makes you realize
what a great man the master was.

Have you reached him yet?

No.

His spirit is detained
in the outer chamber.

There it will remain, I fear,
until his killer is found.

My dear, you've been so frank with me.

May I return the compliment?

Certainly.

You didn't, you know, have
anything to do with it.

Did I kill him?

What a terrible thing to suggest.

Oh, yes, that's definitely Cranley.

Such a quiet voice and lovely manners.

His friend was rather different.

You knew him, too?

Yes.

I don't recall his name, though.

Carter.

Yes, that's right.

He visited once or twice.

They were going into
business, I think.

Did you know Cranley
had been in prison?

It's the first thing he told me.

It's why I remember him so well
after all these years.

His honesty.

Right.

Oh.

I really must go.

Duty calls.

Oh. Even though that cake
is begging me to stay.

I have been told that my cake
is rather persuasive.

You can't go yet.

You must taste my prune nipples.

Go on.

You took your time.

Where have you been?

Yeah, but you can't just walk in and
then walk out again, can you?

Craigie was Albert Cranley, and she
recognized Bill Carter, too.

So the man we know as Craigie
was an ex-villain.

He meets another villain,
and together they set up

the Lodge of the Golden Wind
Horse, presumably as a con.

Yeah, but can we prove it?

I don't know.

Well, those books in Carter's room,
all on pop philosophy and

psychotherapy, Craigie said Bill was
a great reader all his life.

But he was lying.

There wasn't a single book
published before 1976.

All bought for show.

Have a look at this.

That outlines the courses on offer
at the Lodge this year.

Page four, assertion training.

Remember me telling you that 10 years
ago, a session cost 20 quid?

Yeah, you have mentioned
it a couple of times.

How much same session now?

Blimey, a fiver.

Tell you anything?

Yeah, you were robbed.

I think the Lodge began
life as a con, but

then Craigie began to believe
in what he was doing.

So he gave up shafting the punters.

And all those people gathered
around him, May, Arno,

Heather, Ken, all the others,
they became his family.

But did Carter go along with it?

No, he did not.

And that is at the heart of this.

I think they fell out.

Punch up, top of the stairs?

Could be.

-Do you want a drink?
-No, I'm stuffed.

-Barnaby.
-Mr. Barnaby, Cuttle here.

Another dreadful thing has happened.

Yes, Miss Cuttle?

Please, Inspector, just get here
as quickly as you can.

I wish I could have all of
that in spite of you.

Come on, hurry.

Come on.

I don't know why everyone's
so upset, Mr. Barnaby.

-You're right.
-Let us leave.

But darling, it's the best thing that's
happened to us for years.

♪

And another thing, Inspector.

Trixie's gone.

Left without so much as a word.

But I think I know where
you can find her.

Join me.

♪

I've been burning the midnight
oil on this one, Tom.

Interesting wrinkle to
our friend Craigie.

He was dying of cancer.

Hence the baldness.

Chemotherapy.

Begs the question, who'd want
to kill a dying man?

Doesn't it just?

Well, this one is simple, isn't it?

Please, George, tell me Guy
Gamlin committed suicide.

I'm afraid he didn't.

And so the empty bottle in his hand?

Should have contained heart pills,
arteries like the M25.

No trace in his stomach, though.

So it was a heart attack.

The man reaches for his pills.

There's none there, and bang.

Yes, except, except why didn't
he have a full bottle?

The man's a millionaire.

He has people, had people
to fetch and carry

for him, organize his life
to the last detail.

Someone took them off him at the last
moment, maybe, and watched him die.

Trixie Channing?

Every time the postman cycled
up there, she'd be

waiting for him, and she always
picked out the blue envelope.

Not that the letters were fulsome.

This one's anything to go by.

The time has come signed Raymond
time has come for what

The address is near Ballinger.

Go and ask him.

Thank you, George.

They're both in there,
sir, only upstairs.

I think they're at it.

I don't know.

May Cuddle's got one, Suhami's
got one, Trixie's got one.

What color would you call that?

Gold.

Gold thread.

Well, that's how the
knife went from the

dining room to the solarium,
in one of those.

Well done, Troy.

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

What the hell are you doing?

I wonder if you mind coming downstairs
for a little chat.

Take your time.

Done to your liking, sir?

Perfect.

I said, before you got a bloody
cheek, how did you find me?

Good god, is there no privacy?

No, not in the murder case.

Guy Gamelin died yesterday,
and you disappeared.

Are the two related?

Did I kill him, you mean?

No.

But don't worry, I'll get over it.

Then would you mind explaining the
cryptic note, the time has come?

May Cuttle and Heather Beavers.

They read everyone's mail.

I told Raymond to be brief.

About what, though?

Sorry, but I really think that's
our business, Inspector.

And you can stop that.

Yeah, stop that, Troy.

Look, Mr, um, Jennings,
Raymond Jennings.

Mr. Jennings, the first
time I met Miss

Channing, she had a scar here
and a bruise there.

And do you think that Raymond and
that I was coming back for more?

Sorry, Miss Channing, not particularly
fond of men who beat up women.

Oh, really?

And how do you feel about
women who beat up men?

I'm sorry?

Raymond's wife, Mr. Barnaby.

She was a husband beater.

And when Raymond and I got friendly,
she turned on me as well.

How big is she?

Arnold Schwartz and Egawort Tremble.

But yesterday, my divorce
came through.

I'm free of her.

We're free of her.

And look out, France, here we come.

Not in the next few days, I trust.

Why not?

That's how long it'll take me
to put my case together.

Craigie's murder.

You still think I killed him?

And perhaps Guy Gamelin
too, for good measure.

So, don't go anywhere, please.

Is there, um, anything you
need to tell me, Triggs?

There you go, sir.

So what have we got?

Bill Carter, murdered possibly.

Craigie, murdered definitely.

And Guy Gamelin, just left to die.

Not passionate, just pitiless.

Which is even worse.

Why, though?

Someone thought he killed Craigie,
his wife and daughter.

They wanted revenge.

And given the high body count, you know
what keeps knocking at the old skull?

That bloody cannonball.

Did someone try and kill
me with it, you mean?

Or Christopher.

Just suppose that Tim knew
who he really was,

what he was doing there, looking
for Bill's killer.

Would he try and stop him?

To protect who, though?

Himself or Craigie?

Whichever one of them pushed old Bill down
the stairs, if anyone pushed him.

Oh, to hell with it.

I'm going to have another.
Do you? Yeah.

Same again, please. Guinness
and a lager.

Thank you.

♪

That driving course, did
you ever finish it?

Miss Gamlin, before your father died,
did you go up to his room?

Yes, I was looking for my mother.

I saw him there, turned,
and walked away.

He called me back.

Wanted to talk things over,
build a bridge, he said.

And was your mother in the room?

I didn't see, but I didn't go in.

I wish I had.

I was with May, Inspector, doing
yoga at the foot of the stairs.

Strange place.

It's an energy hotspot, Inspector.

Bill Carter shed all his
when he passed over.

Shame to waste it.

Inspector, you know, Chris
did warn you that Tim

might do something drastic,
but you wouldn't listen.

Come on, Sam!

What do you reckon, Troy?

Have those two got what it
takes to kill Craigie?

I stand a cop of fortune.

And this place.

Coffee, Inspector.

Oh, thank you.

Sets you up for the day,
does he, Connor?

And how.

Listen, um, will you take
a seat for a minute?

The night of the storm, when
the cannonball fell.

Would you talk me through it, please?

Oh, um, we got home just as

the master was looking for Tim.

Where had you been?

To collect two new beehives.

Trixie came with us.

Why were you so late back?

Bunker.

It was a tricky one.

Couldn't change the wheel.

Tim has gone!

You three, search the
back of that house.

Tim!

-Tim!
-Tim!

So when the cannonball
fell, where were you?

Back of the house, looking for Tim.

All right.

There was one more tiny thing.

Your little problem up north when you were
fined, how did you raise the money?

Sold up, everything.

House, car, the flat in Spain.

Spain?

-Where about?
-Costa del Sol.

Oh, where else?

Well, thank you for your time.

Don't drink it.

I thought that plant was alive
last time we saw it.

How's your swimming?

It isn't.

Why?

Yeah.

Oh.

Tim, my sergeant here believes that
you murdered Bill Carter.

No, it's all right.

I don't.

I know what happened.

Why don't you tell him?

Inspector, you may have got one word
out of Tim, but that's all.

Oh, yes, I'm sorry.

OK, then, Mr. Gibbs, why don't
you tell us how it went?

You mean about Bill?

I wasn't there, you know.

I merely heard afterwards
from the master.

He slipped and fell.

He was pushed.

Carter and Craigie were having an argument,
one of many, I imagine.

They left Craigie's room and
made for the stairs.

Why won't you buy me out, Carter was
saying, or words to that effect.

Craigie tried to calm him down,
but Bill was furious.

Reached out for Craigie, and
that is when he was pushed.

Mr. Gibbs?

All right.

Bill made a grab at the master,
so I shoved him away.

Harder than I meant to, I swear.

He fell against the banister, lost
his footing, and slipped.

But it's funny.

In my mind's eye, I don't
see you there at all.

I see, Tim.

Oh, jeez.

Carter wasn't drunk, wasn't
drunk at all.

In fact, he was stone cold, sober.

He tried to force whiskey
down his throat to

make it look as if he'd fallen
because he was drunk.

Oh!

Oh! Hence that conversation you
overheard, Miss Cuttle.

Oh, God, why couldn't you leave well
alone if they do a post-mortem?

Can I finish that sentence for you?

They won't find any whiskey
in his stomach.

I did it to spare Tim.

The agony you lot would
have put him through.

So you lied.

Yes.

Tim, Tim, there's one more thing
I need to know from you.

That night of the storm when the cannonball
fell, were you up on the roof?

Don't be absurd, Inspector.

Tim is terrified of storms.

Come on.

Come with me. Show me where
you were hiding.

Come.

Come and tell me.

♪

And you were in here all the time?

Yes.

Is that the truth?

He doesn't lie, Troy.

He doesn't know how to.

Thank God some others do, otherwise
we'd be out of a job, wouldn't we?

I'll be back, Mr. Gibbs.

Meantime, keep an eye on Tim.

Don't let him out of your
sight, all right?

Are you sure you don't speak
any Spanish, Troy?

Positive.

Name like Troy must mean
something in Spanish.

Accident, maybe, as in, didn't I always
tell you Bill Carter's death was one?

Gracias.

Adios.

Yes, thank you very much.

-I'm most grateful.
-Thank you.

Used to be, if foreigners didn't understand,
you'd shout at them till they did.

Now they speak better English than me.

Helpful, sir?

Very.

Magic was the word Tim Riley used.

Magic, as in suddenly, out
of nowhere, there it was.

-Murder.
-Yeah, but did he see it?

He didn't see the murderer, no.

But he saw who Craigie pointed at.

And for a while, I thought
that was Guy Gamelin.

Well, come on, Troy.

♪♪

What the fuck?

God!

Jim.

-Garter!
-Jim, look out!

Get off me!

Get off!

Right, inside the house.

Find the access to the roof.

Quick, come on.

What's happening to them?

I told you to keep an eye on them.

I let you go for 30 seconds
to get some of her stuff.

Tim!

♪

Get back!

Get back!

Get back out of here!

Get back!

Get an ambulance.

-Sir?
-Is he all right?

He just fell. I've got to
see if he's all right.

Tim!

Tim!

Oh, Tim, get up!

Is he all right?

-Yes, yes.
-Is he all right?

I couldn't believe it.

He just flew at me.

Now, sit down, Chris.

Yes, you look dreadful tense indeed.

Is he all right, Inspector?

That's three times you've
asked that question.

His state of health must bother you.

Well, of course it does.

Well, then I'm very happy
to tell you that, yes,

he'll be fine, which isn't what
you wanted to hear, is it?

Inspector, Tim just tried to kill me.

No, no, no, no, no.

You just tried to kill him, just
like you killed Ian Craigie.

You think I killed the master?

I know you did, and so does Tim.

He saw Craigie Point as he fell,
not at Guy Gamelin, but at you.

♪

And Tim's begun to talk
again, hasn't he?

And you're afraid that any day now,
he'll tell us all about it.

Inspector, why would Chris
murder the master?

Revenge and money, Miss Gamlin.

Revenge for his uncle's death,
which he held Craig

irresponsible for, and your money, which
he didn't want you to give away.

Don't listen to him.

I would if I were you, Miss Gamlin.

He's tried to pin everything
on a defenseless boy, even

a cannonball which fell by a simple
act of God in a storm.

What might he do to you, given time?

Bill Carter knew who you were, and I

don't doubt he told his
nephew in his letters.

You used her as a business
opportunity, didn't you?

Because while Ian Craigie
had turned into a

thoroughly decent man, his old partner
was still on the make.

That's why they fell out, I am sure.

That isn't true, Sir Harmey.

It was, to begin with, but

then after I met you.

But the tire lever, Mr. Barnaby, Chris

found it on the roof the
night of the storm.

It wasn't on the roof in the storm.

Mr. Beavers had a puncture that evening,
and he used it to remove a hubcap.

What about the master's
death, Mr. Barnaby?

Christopher wasn't anywhere
near him when he died.

That's right, he was with
me, looking after me.

Hey, how kind of you to
have stopped him.

He didn't stab him.

Don't be so silly, Arno.

And it's true he didn't
move from May's

side during the whole
of her regression.

But he did kill Ian Craig.

I had a little chat earlier
this afternoon

with the director of the Circus
Nacional in Madrid.

He misses you, by the way.

The way you would do everything
you were asked to.

Lion taming, trapeze work,
knife throwing.

He said you were loathe
estupendamente.

You're bloody good at it.

Did he kill my husband
too, Mr. Burnaby?

I think your daughter did
that, Mrs. Gamlin.

I think she went up to the guest room
for a talk with her father.

And that talk turned into a quarrel, during
which she had a heart attack.

He fell, perhaps calling
out for his pills.

You took down the bottle.

No.

That's not how it went.

Oh.

A sign of nobility at last.

I was beginning to think
you didn't have any.

Give him to me.

Give him to me, you said,
like I was a servant.

And I thought of her and how miserable

he'd made her over all those years.

And that a girl like that should
end up in a place like this.

I poured them into my hand and
put them in my pocket.

And he watched him die.

Three.

Magic.

magic

I've done a fair bit of lying
to you, Inspector.

Will I be charged with anything?

Only by me.

Look after him.

Does it come?

Post-mortem.

Here's to you, Cully.

Cheers.

Three months and 12.

When do you start rehearsing?

On the first. Honestly, they do sound
a fabulous bunch of people.

Two weeks ago, they were a
tin pot little company.

Well, they've improved with age.

Will you come and see it?

Try keeping us away.

You don't do eye of newt or toe of frog,
wool of bat, or tongue of dog, then?

Not a la carte, sir.

Oh, don't coach him.

Right, I'll have a steak
of medium rare, please.

Mr. Barnaby?

Oh, Miss Rugby.

Do sit down.

We were just talking about you.

A certain recipe brought you to mind.

You said you'd give me something
special after the arrest.

Yes, I did. I was lying.
That is outrageous.

Well, what do you expect?

He's a policeman.

I kept to my side of the bargain.

Stayed clear till it was all over.

Yes, you did.

Tell me this, then.

Your contact up at the manor
house, what was his name?

Lips are sealed, Ethics.

It was Ken Beavers, wasn't it?

You even bought him a mobile telephone
with which he could reach you.

How much did you pay him?

Again, Ethics.

Bye-bye, Miss Rugby.

1,500 quid.

Come on, Barnaby, something to
follow up with tomorrow.

Anything.

You promised me.

Hull Crown Court, September 1991.

Ken and Heather Beavers,
brothel keeping.

Your readers love it.

I know I did.

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