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- Oh, oh! - Go and see what the fuss is, my dear.

Oh, please, oh, please take it away. Oh, please take it away.

What's the matter?

I bought him for you. For you, Kitty dear.

You must have him in your bedroom, as a companion.

- It's horrible. - Are you afraid of him?

It would give me nightmares.

Oh, really?

He does look uncommonly like your dear departed husband.

Oh, Joyce.

What are you moaning about, Kitty?

What is that monstrosity?

One could hardly expect you to appreciate a priceless work of art, my dear Julia.

It's Balinese, I am told.

You can't have him, I bought him for Kitty.

I don't want it. I didn't ask for it. Oh, tell him to take it away.

Uncle Andrew.

What the deuce is this awful racket?

Go away, William.

All right, I will. Damn it.

What is it about you, Andrew, that makes you such a pig?

Nobody asked you to come and live in this house.

You're a nuisance to us all and you make poor Kitty's life of absolute misery.

And what do you want, woman?

My pepper's empty.

Enough pepper in that corseted old body to last a lifetime.

- How dare you! - Julia.

If I didn't hear that remark then neither did you.

Which means, Andrew, that you didn't utter it.

Look.

Good Lord, what was all that fuss about upstairs?

I can't enjoy my food, Mother, in this festering atmosphere.

Rather mildewed for the time of year.

I didn't hear you, Andrew.

I was remarking about the weather, Aunt.

Rather mild for the time of year.

Liar.

How now brown cow?

Oh, you intolerable man!

Sit down, Julia.

Andrew, if you persist in your childish behaviour,

I shall have no hesitation but to ask you to leave the table

and go to your room.

I wish he would.

Man's as tight as an owl.

I'm not as tight as you are, old boy.

What did he say?

That's the clock weight, madam.

That's made a dent in the wood.

It's an omen. It is an omen.

Nonsense, nonsense.

You all know perfectly well that clock weight falls down once every 15 years.

- Am I right, Alice? - Yes, madam.

And nothing unfavourable happened last time, did it?

No, madam. We just got that mended.

Very well then.

And since it appears we cannot conduct ourselves

like grown people this evening,

I suggest we continue our dinner in silence.

Cousin George is here.

The blaggard. What does he want?

- Money, of course. - You're in check, Uncle William.

I must go to Aunt Caroline.

There's no need.

She's agreed to see him in the library.

I have no intention of meeting Cousin George.

Certainly not.

Sleep tight, William.

You've got me cornered there, can't get out of it.

Going to my room. Good night.

Good night, Uncle William.

Why did they all run away?

Poor old George.

He only wants what we've all wanted these many years.

A slice of that witch's cake.

Well...

Too late now, she'll outlive us all.

And what are you doing in this dismal old house?

You can make a dash for it, you know, and still pick up your share.

She likes you.

I'm getting married in August.

Of course you are. Yes, to young Marcus.

And that's very sensible.

You shouldn't have teased Aunt Kitty, should you?

No.

But it made for a lively dinner.

Something to remember.

That...

And the clock.

All I'm saying is that if we'd started off 10 minutes later

we wouldn't be forced to travel at this centipede pace.

What on earth does it matter what speed we travel at?

Your trouble is, you're vain.

You want extra time to preen yourself in front of your mirror

so you can smirk at the ladies during the sermon.

- I do no such thing. - You're vain, William.

Vain, vain, vain. You're a vain, glorious, pompous old hypocrite.

And you're a parasite!

Oh, will you stop it, please, both of you!

And this, if I mistake not, Watson is... Good heavens, the Force!

Campion!

Who's after you now?

I'm waiting for a client.

What are you looking for?

Oh, warmth and a little quiet. This weather upsets my liver.

You know, I didn't think there were

half a dozen men in London who knew of this little hideout.

Yet the first time I drop by in years, I find you sitting here,

in fancy dress.

Lugg put me onto it.

I needed somewhere to interview a young lady

who's been so grossly misinformed

that she believes I'm a private detective.

Funny how these stories get about.

If you've got some silly woman coming here, don't you tell her who I am.

What's the problem anyway? Scandal in high life?

No. I've had a letter from an old Cambridge friend, Marcus Featherstone, lawyer.

Oh.

His fiancee has lost an uncle and I'm supposed to find him.

Apparently she has a romantic nature and leads a very dull life.

I thought this would provide her with a peep of the underworld,

which was at once clean, safe and edifying.

I do wish she'd turn up.

I gave Lugg explicit instructions.

"The gods of chance are always capricious."

"The thrill of meeting the sleuth."

"Craving your services"?

I don't think I should cotton on to your friend Marcus.

Quite frankly, any girl who's pledged herself to Marcus

must be mentally stunted.

Besides, her trouble seems absurd.

She's coming.

A lame man wearing number 9 boots,

probably a chandler's mate by profession.

Sounds like good sensible shoes, anyway.

I do hope Marcus hasn't picked a thundering English rose.

Oh, it's that bloke.

I don't like the look of him.

Ah, Mr Oates. I have a piece of information which may save you a lot of trouble.

Oh, I didn't know you had a companion with you.

Or a witness?

Miss Blount?

My name's Campion.

Bend her head down. She'll be all right.

I'm sorry.

Where is he?

Oh!

But when you saw him, you nearly fainted.

And when you recovered, you said, "Where is he?"

No, you must have made a mistake.

He conveyed nothing to me. How could he?

Look, I'm afraid I made a horrible fool of myself.

I dashed out this morning without any breakfast

and there wasn't time for lunch.

And I just got a bit giddy, that's all.

It is very dangerous not to eat.

You are "the" Mr Campion, Marcus' friend, aren't you?

The sleuth?

I better be honest with you, Miss Blount,

Marcus may have given you the wrong impression.

If you want a real detective,

here's Inspector Oates, one of the finest at Scotland Yard.

It isn't a matter for the police.

You don't mind, do you?

Oh, I can assure you, miss, you couldn't have found yourself in better hands.

I'll leave you with your client, Albert.

Come on, I'm taking you back to Bottle Street and giving you something to eat.

When I was here earlier, I met rather an odd person

who sent me off to look for you.

Oh dear, yes. Lugg can sometimes be rather abrupt with people.

Marcus has told you I've got a bee in my bonnet, hasn't he?

Oh.

I thought you was alone.

Excuse me, miss, being negligent, as it were.

Lugg, this young lady has had nothing to eat all day.

See what you can do, would you?

Leave it to me, I'll serve you up a treat.

No herrings.

All right, don't spoil it.

He's absolutely charming when you get to know him.

He used to be a burglar.

- Lost his figure. - Poignant story.

It cramps your style when your only means of exit

are the double doors in the front hall.

So, Marcus is the family lawyer.

He's rather young for all that, isn't he?

Old Mr Featherstone retired last month,

so Marcus has had to take it all on, poor dear.

And it's Uncle Andrew who's disappeared?

Last Sunday week.

If you knew our household,

you'd realise that was extraordinary in itself.

Sunday is the day when Great Aunt Faraday

has us under her eye practically the whole time.

Besides, he hadn't any money.

When I came out of the church, I heard Andrew and William arguing.

Wait for me!

- What've you done with the car? - I've sent it off.

We're walking home today.

- Walking? In this weather? - Pleasant enough.

It's damned awful. Mist.

Ah. Well, I'm walking down through Grantchester Meadows along by the river.

The meadows? That's a ridiculous long way around.

We won't be home till tea time.

That's what I'm gonna do!

You can do as you damn well like.

That was the last I saw of him.

And Uncle William?

He came home alone. We were halfway through lunch.

He was very hot and angry,

and surprised that Uncle Andrew hadn't got back before him.

Apparently they had separated soon after I saw them walking away.

Here you are.

Potted shrimp, gentlemen's relish, eggs and a nice bit of ham.

I made tea. I like cocoa me self, but I made tea.

Thank you. Looks delicious.

Hope you enjoy it.

Tell me about Uncle Andrew.

I notice his name isn't Faraday, but Seeley.

Yes, he's a son of Great Aunt's younger brother.

He lost his money in some company swindle

and came to live with the family about the same time.

It must be about 20 years ago.

Twenty years? And he hasn't done anything since then.

They were never much good at working, any of them.

That's why Great Aunt holds the purse strings so tightly.

If Uncle Andrew has any money, he'll go straight to the bookmakers.

Well, he may have won something. People do.

No, he hadn't. Not then.

I haven't told you the whole story.

Great Aunt thinks that backing horses is not only wicked, but rather vulgar.

To save furious rows all round,

we used to keep Uncle Andrew's investments as quiet as possible.

Must seem all rather childish to you, I suppose.

Not at all. Carry on.

When he hadn't returned by Sunday evening...

I went into his room.

There were some letters waiting to be posted.

One was to his bookmaker.

And one he was still writing when the bell for church must have rung.

So you see, he couldn't have meant to go off.

When he still hadn't returned by Wednesday morning...

Bad blood. No sense of personal discipline.

Poor wayward Andrew.

How you, of all people, can say that.

Don't suppose he could have lost his memory?

Nonsense.

No one even faintly connected with the Faradays has ever done such a thing.

Perhaps we should send out an SOS broadcast.

That would involve the police.

And I'm not having them in my house.

Quite right. Out of the question.

And something else.

The weight on the grandfather clock is missing.

We've hunted everywhere, there's no trace of it.

- Difficult thing to lose. - And a letter came for him.

I opened it. It was from his bookmaker.

He'd won nearly £750 on an outsider called Turkey Carpet.

I put it in his room and felt much happier because I knew,

well, I felt certain that Uncle Andrew would come back during the day to collect it.

But when he didn't, you at last confided in Marcus.

He thinks I'm being silly.

But I'm frightened.

I want to know something terrible hasn't happened.

Do you think you can help me?

Miss Blount, I think we ought to start square.

You've got something else on your mind, haven't you?

The inspector isn't here, so won't you tell me now

who the man was in the yard who gave you such a shock?

You're right. I did recognise him.

But he's got nothing to do with this.

Please, forget all about him.

Telegram.

The kid's waiting.

It's from Marcus.

"Can you come back with Joyce at once.

"Rather terrifying developments here.

"Would appreciate your professional assistance.

"See evening papers."

I think I know what you're looking for.

Terrifying developments? What's happened?

Uncle Andrew.

Socrates Close. I remember this house from when I was young.

I saw the carriage once, coming through these gates.

Hasn't altered outside one jot.

Or inside. There's something eerie about it.

Are you sure you want to go in?

- Why not come and see Marcus first? - No.

I don't think I will, if you don't mind.

They may all need me rather badly.

Even if it is only to fetch them more hot water bottles.

Goodbye. Thank you for coming.

There's no need to see me to the house.

Goodbye.

First I heard of it was this afternoon.

I got a visit from Alice, told me to come to the house.

There's no telephone up there.

The place was in a kind of a suppressed ferment.

Apparently an Indian student found the body,

he was caught up in some willow roots.

Been there for days.

- We've not been introduced. - What?

- Still the same damn fool, Campion. - Still the same.

His name's Foon.

Written "Featherstonehaugh".

How do you do, Foon? Albert Campion.

Naturally, at first we thought Andrew had drowned.

Then at the morgue, we discovered someone had tied him up

- and practically blown his head off. - Have they found the gun?

No, they haven't. Not yet.

I need hardly tell you, that in a place like this

it's not only considered unfortunate, but atrocious bad form

to have one of your relations, or clients, mysteriously murdered.

My dear fellow, I'll do anything I can to help, of course.

Without being offensive, it'll be very useful to have someone here

who's not bound by the scruples of police convention.

Someone who might hold an intelligent watching brief.

And if you'll forgive me, my dear Campion,

for using such a revolting term,

someone who's a gentleman.

- Sort of handyman, do you mean? - Perfect.

The police may not care for it, but tell me the worst.

I'm a ferret for information.

It's the family that frightens me.

I mean, there they are. Forty years out of date.

All, save for the old lady, without their fair share of brains.

Herded together in that great mausoleum of a house,

tyrannised over by one of the most astounding personalities

I've ever encountered.

And there's no escape.

No vent to their suppressed hatreds.

Petty jealousies.

Desires.

- And Joyce is in the thick of it. - That's the snag.

- Charming girl, Marcus. Congratulations. - Yes.

- We must get her out. - Well, I'm doing my best. I'm marrying her in August.

- You're invited, by the way. - Honoured.

She seems bound by some strange loyalty to the place.

Her parents died a few years ago

and Great Aunt Faraday took her in.

But she's just a general dogsbody as far as I can see.

Why do you suppose anyone should want to murder Uncle Andrew?

Seems to be the perfectly normal old nuisance. Had no money to speak of.

Should have ensured him a long life.

Unless, of course, he stood to inherit

and somebody wanted his share of the plunder.

No.

Strictly in confidence, though I fancy the whole family know this,

Mrs Faraday altered her will recently.

Andrew Seeley, her nephew, was to receive nothing at all.

He'd either have starved, or depended on

the problematic charity of his cousins.

Uncle William.

- Show him up, Harriet. - Yes, sir.

Enter a murderer?

Marcus, my boy, I wanted to have a word... Ah.

May I introduce Mr Albert Campion. Mr William Faraday.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

Mr Campion's an old friend. We were up at Ignatius together, William.

Oh, my old college, too. My father was Master, you know.

- He was a legend, sir, in my time. - Really?

Look, if you have something to discuss...

No, no. Please don't leave on my account.

I expect Marcus has told you about this disgusting scandal, has he?

I have nothing to conceal, just wanted a chat, really.

Ah, don't mind if do.

Campion's all right.

This is a bad business, Marcus.

We shall need some good brains to get us out of it.

Extraordinary.

Typical of Andrew, he couldn't even leave this world

without making a lot of bother for us all.

Well, I've told the police all I know.

But they don't seem satisfied.

Keep questioning me about our walk.

What time it was and where I left him.

It seems that Andrew's watch had stopped at 1:10 when they found him.

The second thing I have to say is rather more serious.

If you ask me, it's the most damned obvious thing I ever saw in my life

who did this.

Cousin George.

By the way,

I must ask you, when this matter comes out, to use your discretion.

Not tell the old lady that it was I who put you on the right track.

I've never heard of Cousin George.

Your father would have.

George Make peace Faraday.

Son of a dissolute uncle of mine. And uh...

A trial and embarrassment to the family

ever since the governor, God bless him, died.

Hmm? Oh, thank you.

My mother wouldn't soil her lips by mentioning his name.

Blackmailing four-flusher.

Blackmail? Why?

Ah. No idea. But...

He was round at the house on the Saturday night

before Andrew got himself killed.

I remember it was Saturday night because

the clock weight fell down at dinner.

Very disturbing. Thank you.

George came in immediately afterwards.

Mother saw him in the library.

I don't know what passed between them,

but he came out looking as pleased as a couple of fighting cocks.

And he was still in Cambridge on the Sunday.

Half-seas over at 11:00 in the morning.

Barrel-shaped, unshaven object.

Has he got a puffy red face, bright blue eyes,

a faint air of respectability about him and a very deep-cultured voice?

Height about 5'7" and inclined to squareness?

By Jove, you've hit him exactly.

Especially that faint air of respectability, but that's misleading.

Are you clairvoyant or some sort of detective?

Some sort of the latter, sir.

But tell me,

has George Faraday been seen in Cambridge since that Sunday?

Not a sign of him.

- What do you suppose his motive might be? - Well, it's not my business.

Andrew was a damned cantankerous, unpleasant fellow.

Is that a motive? If so, anyone might have done it.

I was up at Ignatius with Andrew.

He muffed his finals twice, took up medicine, muffed that.

When he came into his money he lost it.

And mine with it in some infernal company promotion scheme.

Water under the bridge now, of course.

I am observant. I am also scientific.

I formed many conclusions, but the police did not value them.

You're an entomological student, are you?

Yes, I was hunting for bugs by the river bank.

Here. To be precise.

A black shape in the water.

Also... An odour.

- The corpse had swollen. I pulled it out. - You weren't squeamish?

I am occidental, Mr Campion. I have the inquiring mind of the investigator.

My first observation was that the man was a tramp.

This was my error. The beard,

I now find, grows after the decease has taken place.

Mr Cheetoo, I wonder if you'd be so kind,

purely in the interest of abstract science,

to demonstrate on me exactly how the tying up was done?

I have purchased a ball of string and a fine pair of scissors for this purpose.

Why certainly.

I measured accurately the amount of cord on the body.

About two and a half yards.

What sort of stuff was it? What thickness? Was it new?

Your question is curious. It is what I asked myself.

It broke easily when I touched it.

And I concluded it had been put to use before this disagreeable purpose.

It was in the nature of a clothesline.

He had a hat when he left church. A bowler, I believe.

Of the hat, there was no sign.

I observed in this morning's paper it had not yet been discovered.

Come on, Foon.

- The scene of the crime's over here. - Consider the completeness.

Ah, yes.

But not professional. They're ordinary knots. Not sailors'.

That is so. The cords around the wrist, already rotten, no doubt,

and buffeted by his time in the water, had frayed

and come apart.

And from my deduction, it occurs to me that

this unfortunate did not drift very far downstream.

You see the footbridge?

The water is very low at this time of the year.

In my opinion, the body was thrown in the water

from the bridge itself. This is my opinion.

You are enlightened, Mr Campion?

Allow me to congratulate you on your powers, Mr Cheetoo.

You have the true investigator's gift.

Come on, Foon. Back to your master.

Though it seems scarcely credible,

I'd say things are looking rather hot for Uncle William.

He was the last to see Andrew alive,

he didn't arrive back until halfway through lunch

with no proper explanation for his movement.

I'm so pleased you've come.

I'm afraid I blabbed to Aunt Caroline about you,

and she immediately insisted on meeting you.

Apparently, she knows your grandmother.

- She want to see me? - No, darling. But I do.

- Thank you, Alice. - How do you do?

Aunt Caroline is in the library. Come with me.

By the way, don't sit in the rose Dansk chair.

It used to belong to Great Uncle Faraday.

- The whole room is a shrine to him. - Thank you for warning me.

Come in.

Thank you, Joyce.

You may sit down, Mr Campion.

Yes, I see the family in you.

You grandmother, Emily, and I

have corresponded regularly for the past 40 years.

So I've heard all about you from her.

But I will not expose you.

My grandmother and I are partners in crime,

in the eyes of the family at least.

According to my mother, she aids and abets me.

I had gathered that.

Now, to this terrible business.

I understand from Joyce that Marcus has asked you to assist him.

I should like you to act for me directly.

The spare room will be prepared for you.

And the firm of Featherstone will be instructed to

pay you 100 guineas if you remain in my employ for less than one month.

Be quiet. You can refuse afterwards if you wish.

But I am no longer young

and it is very necessary that someone in this household

should consider things from an intelligent point of view.

My poor children have not been blessed with brains.

I must guard against such emotions as anger, grief or excitement.

Which I have not now the strength to support.

Now, I want you to understand that I have nothing to conceal,

that is, from the police.

The sooner this thing is resolved, the better.

I shall be delighted to do all I can to help, Mrs Faraday.

But if I'm not to be a source of embarrassment to you,

I must know of any pitfalls into which I may stumble.

Besides your immediate household,

was there anyone else visiting the house

round about the time of Mr Seeley's disappearance?

You have heard already of George Faraday.

From William?

I was afraid this would have to come out.

Yes, he was here the night before Andrew disappeared.

Oh, I do not think for a moment he has anything to do with his death.

The only death which could possibly assist him is my own.

In my will, he receives a small annuity

subject to his emigrating to Australia.

On the Saturday night,

he came to borrow money from me,

and actually obtained £10.

That is all I wish to say about him.

I shall expect to see you at my dinner table this evening, Mr Campion.

We dine at 8:00.

I'm to be a buffer. Not an old buffer, you know,

but a sort of pad, as in railway carriages,

to deaden the shock she believes are in store for her.

- What shocks? - I don't know.

Is there anything at all you haven't told me?

The smallest point may be significant.

I'm not sure how important this is,

but Alice told me that she'd gone to the nursery

and she'd seen that the window cord was missing from the skylight.

- As if it had been cut with a knife. - Right. That settles it.

You're not staying here in this house.

Marcus is anxious that I should go and live in sin with him

till this is all over.

I didn't mean that at all, you obstinate girl.

I've an aunt you can stay with.

I can't leave Aunt Caroline, not at this time.

Besides, if Mr Campion is coming to stay, I shall be perfectly safe.

Won't I, Albert?

What is your exact line of business, Mr Campion?

People come to Mr Campion for help.

Don't they?

- What sort of help? - In solving things, Aunt Kitty.

Murder?

- Sometimes murder. - Then who killed Andrew?

I thought Campion and I might smoke a cigar after dinner, Mother.

Certainly, William.

Mr Campion,

if I should have retired before you return,

the rising gong rings at 7:45.

- Have you everything in your room that you require? - Everything is most charming.

In here's best.

The library always reminds me of the governor, God bless him.

I'm afraid I can't offer you a drink.

She's locked up the tantalus again.

When people grow old, you know, they get ideas in their heads.

- Anyway, have a cigar. - No, thanks.

It's because we've got a guest in the house, thank the Lord.

Anyway, damn it all.

When a chap's gone through what I've gone through today, he needs a drink.

Here, help yourself.

Damned police had me back all afternoon, questioning.

Wanted to know whether I'd ever kept a revolver.

Well, I had one in the war, of course, in the service. We all did.

- Didn't tell them, of course. None of their business. - Quite.

- What happened to it? - Hmm?

Well, it's with my kit. Up in the old nursery.

Not the sort of thing you need in private life.

Let's go and have a look.

What, now?

Devil, it's cold up here.

No fires allowed in the bedroom, except in the case of illness.

Spartan regime of the old school.

Here it is.

Well, bless my soul.

My revolver isn't here.

- Albert... - Shh.

- Where's Great Aunt Caroline? - Safely tucked up in bed.

What have you done with Uncle William?

He's gone out for a walk. He's had a bit of a shock.

- I've got a key. - Too late.

Some people laugh when they see me do this.

Some people kick me out of the house.

Don't tell Marcus.

I know what you're thinking.

He liked to pretend he was the poor relation.

He used to bring visitors up here to show them

how badly he was treated. Which, of course, was absolute rubbish.

I enjoyed my dinner.

Though my etiquette book rather let me down.

It says that polite conversation may be made

while passing the cruet. In this I was frustrated.

Otherwise, I should have been the life and soul of the party.

Look, if this place is getting you down,

I think you should go and stay with Marcus' aunt.

No. It's not me I'm afraid for.

It's the older generation.

I feel I'm looking on, helpless,

while something awful is working itself out.

I tried to explain to Marcus, but he just got angry with me.

Who is the man in London who frightened you?

Was it Cousin George?

You must tell me.

Yes.

But he's got nothing to do with this. I promise you.

It was for Aunt Caroline's sake.

Please don't try and find him. It would kill her.

Just sign the thing and backdate it. That's all I'm asking.

- I won't. It's fraudulent. - It's not fraudulent, it's the truth.

Look, Marcus, I'm in a jam.

Campion. Thank God you're still up. Come in. Shut the door.

He knows what I mean. Someone's stolen my gun.

What? Why didn't you tell me?

We only found out an hour ago.

Uncle William has just raised me from my bed.

I explained to him that, as a solicitor, I cannot do what he's asking.

He insisted we come here to discuss the matter with you.

He can read it for himself. I'm not ashamed.

It's a sworn statement to convince the police

that I'm suffering from this malady.

You can see the position I'm in.

These attacks. Can you describe them in more detail?

Well, yes. Of course I can.

It's just that I... I forget where I am sometimes.

Then after a bit, I remember.

I forget what it's called. Amnesia, or something.

- Has it happened often? - No, but, it is getting worse.

Last June, I was walking down Petty Cury,

and my mind suddenly went blank.

Next thing I knew, I was standing outside the Roman Catholic church

with a glass tumbler in my hand.

And then, last Christmas, after a dinner party,

I walked down to the gate with Andrew to get some fresh air.

Three hours later, I was shivering in a cold bath.

Might have killed me.

And since then?

Well, the Sunday that Andrew disappeared...

That's what's so worrying.

I remember standing in the road leading to the meadows,

having an argument.

And then, suddenly I was back at the house, lunch half over.

The state of your health must have concerned you.

Didn't you feel like taking medical advice?

Well, yes, I did.

This makes it even more awkward.

I went to see Sir George Woodthorpe, the Harley Street nerve man,

end of January.

Only, I can't confirm it.

Because I thought it prudent to change my name.

Used the name of Gregory.

Fellow in my club, Levett's in Brook Street.

He'll be a bit touchy about it, too,

because I wasn't able to pay the bill.

Perhaps he'll remember the case.

It may be our only hope.

What do you mean, "hope"?

I'm as innocent as a newborn babe.

Don't you believe me?

Good night, William.

I'll speak to you in the morning.

Damn disobliging young pup.

I thought the father was an uncivil old fool.

Didn't expect the boy to be difficult.

Wake up, Julia, dear.

I've brought you your tea.

Mmm.

Joyce! Oh, Joyce!

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