Original subtitles

THEME SONG PLAYING...

Let the whole of London say what they will.

I will not listen to their vile gossip.

And who are they, these petty people,

with their lust for cheap sensation?

It was an accident.

It was. I don't know what or how.

But Mike did not kill Paul. Did not!

Gina.

Someone murdered your husband. I think you know that.

- No. - I think we all know that.

Help me! Help me, someone!

Please.

Thank you for driving me home.

Please.

Can I see him?

It would be very much better if you didn't.

Mr Campion,

I think I know what you're going to tell me.

You had no idea he was in love with you.

Isn't that just too awful?

What he must think. How shallow he must find me now.

I don't believe he does.

We go back quite a long way, you know.

And you are quite right.

Mike didn't kill your husband.

You can be sure of that?

I don't think he did.

We Barnabases. Oh!

Poor John.

Takes himself so very seriously.

Don't suppose you know. Or do you?

The way Paul was killed,

taken from the plot of a novel we published.

- Really? - Mm-hm.

When?

Hmm. Two years ago.

Who saw it through to publication, Mike?

I did.

Do the back lists of the company contain any more surprises?

Possibly.

- It's just, I couldn't help noticing... - Ah, yes.

You noticed we once published a book under my name.

My own work. That's very astute, Mr Campion.

If you're suggesting my humble tome,

also a plot to murder someone,

afraid not.

What was the title of the book you mentioned as having similarities with the murder?

Flowers for the Judge.

Modus operandi, identical.

We've published a lot of such books. Murder mysteries.

And you take personal charge of many of them?

This was the first.

And only.

You may have noticed, I'm the unworldly Barnabas.

Matter of fact, I detest this firm.

This is Mr Richard's book.

The Life of the Circus by Richard Barnabas.

Oh, please. Was it a bestseller?

Put it this way,

you could make yourself a garden wall from the unsold copies.

Is Mr Ritchie unworldly, would you say?

What on earth gave you that idea?

And Mr Brande?

Do you mean, what did I think of him?

I thought he was a fool and a cad.

Good book?

- Well written? - This bloke knows his stuff.

- You've worked in the circus, have you? - Page 100.

He mentions a Gerald A. Murray.

Known to my father as Jedda the Strongman.

Comes the end of the Boer War, this Jedda says to me old man,

"I'm off, me old china, for a life of ease and the open road."

"What's that then, Jed?", says me old man.

"The circus, me dear old darling."

See? Well, your bloke has got it bang to rights.

"The Man Mountain, of Marsh Lane,

"and scrooge of public houses the length and breadth of Lambeth."

- Scourge, possibly. - That's what I said.

Hm.

Does Ritchie really know his stuff?

Well, I'll say this. It is art, isn't it?

Uh, next cab on the rank.

A rather pasty individual called Riggett.

Left his last job in a bit of a hurry.

I'd like you to nose around, Lugg.

If you can spare the time.

Tell me what you told Sergeant Pillow, Mr Riggett.

Should I do that?

Am I supposed to?

Yes, or we'll go to the head of the firm together.

I was only thinking of my job.

The day before Mr Paul was killed, the Wednesday morning,

I happened to overhear this quarrel between Mr Paul and Mr Michael.

- And how did that come about? - Sir?

You heard them talking through the wall?

Through a half-open door. That one.

And what was said?

Well...

If you can tell me without bringing a blush to your maiden cheek.

Mr Paul said, "You mind your own damn business.

"She's mine. And I'll manage my own life in my own way."

Was that it?

Then he said,

"Make love to her, if you want.

"Don't think I'm going to stop you."

And what did Mr Michael say to that?

Nothing.

Then he... I happened to notice him walk away.

I could see what he was thinking.

Could you indeed?

Oh, yes.

But then, of course, that's not really evidence is it?

Not in a court of law.

He sounds absolutely loathsome.

How well do you know the staff?

Hardly at all.

Netley, the girl who's Paul's secretary.

Conceited little thing.

Is it possible... I'm casting around a bit, I have to confess...

Did she mean anything to Paul?

I don't know.

Supposing Riggett did hear something passing between Paul and Mike

to the effect, you know,

"Do what you like, it makes no difference to me."

Could that mean...

I'm really sorry to have to ask you this, Gina.

Did he have another woman?

I don't know.

It is possible there was someone else.

- But not Miss Netley. - I wouldn't have thought so for a moment.

Though you don't know her.

When will this ever end?

The trial begins the day after tomorrow.

Office manila. Postmarked Holborn, 4:30 yesterday.

Disguised handwriting, or I'm a Dutchman.

Good man. Coffee, Lugg.

It helps, does it, to make the place untidy

by sleeping in the chair all night?

Coffee!

- What was it? - A post office savings book.

Well, pro bono publico!

What is Latin for, a leg up. From a secret admirer.

Yes, of course it's mine.

- And where do you normally keep it? - In my bag.

And your bag?

How on earth did you get a hold of it?

May I?

I can't help noticing you're a thrifty young woman, Miss Netley.

You save 10 shillings a week from your wages, it seems.

- That's not a crime. - Oh, a virtue.

And this sum you pay in just down the road at the Holborn office on a weekly basis.

We take the post there. It's the nearest.

Hm.

But then there are these other irregular payments.

- Birthdays. - Ah.

People give you money and you pay it into your account.

How many birthdays a year do you have?

- Give me back my book. - I don't think so.

It's theft!

Yes. Let's go and make a complaint to the police.

We'll go together.

This particular year, did you have a birthday on the 11th?

And the 13th? And the 17th of January?

I mean, to add to the birthdays you had in November and December of last year.

I don't have to talk to you.

You may find it less painful to talk to me.

There's very nearly half a year's wages of these... birthday presents.

Paid in at post offices from King's Cross to St. James's.

What is this? The rewards of blackmail?

You cad.

What a rotten thing to say.

Answer me.

You're not stupid. What else could it be?

Presents for favours received?

From a man?

Only a man could think of that.

Then what are these payments?

I do not need to answer.

The reason you do not need to answer, Miss Netley,

is that your little book will speak for you.

You can be sure of that.

I came to see you on quite another matter.

I want to ask you again about the last few minutes you shared with Mr Paul.

I've told the police all I know.

It was in this very office, wasn't it?

At close to half past three, the afternoon post arrives.

I'll be Mr Brande, shall I?

There's just the one letter, so I'll open it. Thank you.

Aha!

Now. What do I do with the envelope?

Mr Paul scrumpled up the envelope and the letter and threw them on the fire.

Like this? Did they burn?

- Or did you manage... - They were burnt to ashes.

Yes, of course you'd have checked that after he'd gone.

Anyway, I jump up. I'm Mr Brande again, by the way.

I put on my hat and coat. I'm excited, I think you said.

Now do I just go without saying a word?

No. Mr Paul asked if a parcel had come.

From Fortnum and Mason's.

- From? - It arrived an hour after he left.

What did you do with it?

It's in the cupboard over there.

Still?

What business is it of mine?

You silly little fool.

It won't bite you.

You've looked inside.

I don't have to. It's crystallised fruit.

Open it.

Who is the lady, Miss Netley?

You've found me, then?

- Yes. - Come in.

Hello!

Be quiet, George!

He's absurd, isn't he?

Can I get you a drink?

- Whisky? - Thank you.

Paul was really a very simple man.

He could have had a girl with nice long legs

and a collection of dance-band music,

but he was happy here, my dear old boy.

- It's very charming. - Do sit down.

I knew him for 18 years. We met at the end of the war.

Nothing could ever come of it.

He was awfully cut up when he married that little thing.

But I said it didn't make a blime bit of difference. Not to me.

He had to marry someone, I knew that. That's what happens.

He didn't love her.

She didn't love him, I shouldn't think.

But we struggled along.

You're very kind to see me, um...

Teddie.

I suppose you must find it odd.

We were very happy.

Teddie, you realise whatever you tell me is a confidence between us.

Thank you.

- Do you know about The Gallivant? - The Gallivant?

Some old play or something.

I can't say I understand it all myself.

The firm have got the only copy of this thing.

Paulie wanted to exhibit it. Display it or something. You know, make a splash.

Sell it, maybe. Supposed to be incredibly valuable.

A large part of the equity of the firm is bound up in it.

That's the ticket, yes.

But he wasn't a Barnabas.

He did most of the work. He tried to modernise the firm.

But those three cousins froze him out at every turn.

The Gallivant was a particular example.

Poor lad. He was practically chewing the carpet.

When did you last see him?

That Thursday.

He came to tea. About 5:00.

We had our little cuddle.

I wanted him to stay. Make an excuse and to stay.

But he said, "I can't, old thing.

"I'm off to Camden Town, of all places, to get a key.

"Then I'm off to the British Museum."

He said he'd ring. As per usual on Sunday.

First time I saw his wife was at the coroner's inquest.

I couldn't believe how beautiful she was.

But he loved me. Do you see?

Yes.

I know how clever you are, Mr Campion.

What you really want to know is, what key?

May I make a guess?

It was a new key for the office safe.

That's why he was killed, wasn't it?

Until I met you, I wouldn't have known that.

You may have saved someone's life.

That won't bring my dear old lad back to me.

Phew.

Good Lord!

Your man just sent me packing!

Do come in.

Says you're terribly busy.

May I ask, the Netley girl.

Her post office book?

Me. Stole it from her bag.

Shot in the dark. Any use?

You wouldn't be free later on tonight?

Say, in a couple of hours?

Here?

I have some rather good white burgundy.

Couple of hours.

I say, Ritchie...

There is something you could do for me straight away.

The key to the Golden Quill premises.

Who has one? Ritchie? This is it. He just gave it to me.

Mike, John, Paul presumably, and Miss Curley.

- The strongroom. - I've just finished laying!

Now, wait a minute.

The strongroom.

The key to the strongroom. Who has one?

There is only one. It's kept in Miss Curley's desk.

A very security-conscious firm.

Yes, but then it's nothing more than a stationary cupboard really,

except that it houses

the safe.

The key to the safe.

There must be a key. It was locked when I first saw it.

- What sort of safe? - Oh, pantomime effort really.

Duff and Eglinton, maybe 40 years old.

Should be in a museum.

The key to the safe.

How many copies, normally?

Just the one for the old D&E. It'd be a big old thing and all.

So, just the one. The senior partners.

Oh, yes. Now what?

Burglary, Lugg.

I'll get me coat.

Good man.

- A little expert advice. - Hm?

Good Lord, no!

You're a gentleman's gentleman, Lugg.

I have a much more congenial task for you.

Oh, yes.

I want you to run this round to the British Museum.

Awfully good class of people there, Lugg.

Hand it in, wait,

and then escort the gentleman

back here.

And what'll you be doing meanwhile?

Oh, just a little harmless sleuthing.

Just relax!

Ow.

I live with my parents.

They're both very respectable.

They don't know anything about this.

They don't have to.

I'm evil. I'm not stupid.

It'll all come out.

I'm a filthy, evil, little nobody.

If you say so.

When did you copy this key?

Last summer.

It was putting temptation in my way.

We only have the one key.

It was asking for it.

But I didn't kill him.

We'll come to that.

Why did you copy the key?

Why do you think?

Hm?

Because it's exciting.

I can't stop myself.

I go through the secretaries' desks.

That bitch Dora Netley and Miss Marchant and...

The strongroom is too great a temptation

I can't help myself.

It's power.

Over them.

All of you.

Rich people.

Stupid.

What were you looking for?

Not what I found.

Listen to me.

Murder, Riggett, somebody's going to hang for it.

Real, plain, no-nonsense murder.

- That Friday... - The day after Mr Paul disappeared.

Yes, of course. I hid in the lavatory.

I waited till they'd all left.

I came down here, I opened up, he was over there.

I was afraid...

I saw that he was dead,

and I thought...

What do people like you know about me and my kind?

I felt a thrill.

Nobody would find him until Monday or even later.

But I knew.

I knew all about it.

It was...

I don't go with women, but...

It was...

Why did you move the body?

Oh, no, nothing like that.

I didn't touch him, I swear.

Listen to me.

When you came down here that night, was this door open or shut?

It was locked. I told you.

He had locked himself in.

So how could you open the door?

When I put my key in the lock, it must have pushed his out.

When I unlocked the door, his key was lying on the floor just inside.

So Mr Brande went into the room.

Locked himself in.

Why?

Was the safe open?

Oh, I didn't touch anything.

I'm too scared for that sort of thing. I never steal.

Answer my question. Was the safe open?

Yes.

And the key was in the lock?

Yes.

But when the body was found, the safe was locked.

Because I locked it and put the key in my pocket.

And then you picked up his key,

the key that belongs in Miss Curley's desk.

You locked him in again, put the office key back in Miss Curley's desk...

And left. Is that right?

Yes.

And from all that followed in those few moments,

it gave you pleasure to see a man, Mr Mike, start on his way to the gallows.

Oh, no. I've told you...

You can't begin to understand. I was trapped!

Give me the safe key.

I don't have it. I swear.

You took it away.

Back to your sainted parents, did you?

Along with what? Netley's lipsticks?

Little Miss Marchant's comb or stockings?

And you watched while a man was indicted for murder.

You're right, Riggett, you are an evil being.

They'll say I did it!

Perhaps you did. I should certainly go to the lawyer's tonight if I was you.

Oh, no, you can help me!

I don't think so, but you'll help me. Here's a pound note.

You'll leave here now, this instant,

walk up into Holborn, and get a cab!

Go home and get the key to that safe. Return it to me here within the hour!

Sixty minutes, Riggett!

Before I set the whole of Scotland Yard on your tail.

Nobody will believe me.

I shouldn't think they will.

Ow!

- You're really awfully good. - Hm.

And he didn't move the body?

You can be certain?

Well, certain's going a bit far. I don't think he did. He's a terrible maggot but...

Mm-mm, nearly done.

But, if he left it where it was...

It was quite possible for Mike to have gone to the strongroom

and not discovered Paul, yes.

Hm, very dim light, figure huddled up in a corner...

Exactly.

- However... - My God!

Mm-hm. Sometime on the Sunday someone did come down and did move the body.

And whoever did that was more or less ensuring Mike's arrest.

This blows the whole thing wide open.

Would it be better to say it changes our point of view?

Ritchie, this is a key to the safe.

I think Paul had it cut for an especial reason.

I think he picked it up from a locksmith that Thursday night,

and came down here expressly to open the safe.

He even locked himself in, secrecy was so important to him.

He was poisoned by carbon monoxide in the course of his search.

Search? Search for what?

Now, current contracts,

fire insurance,

letters.

Oh, letters from the great and good! To my uncle, I think.

Let's see.

Arthur Clough!

Look here! Tennyson! Letters!

You've seen it before, of course.

Only once. At the bank.

Where it should be kept.

Valued at £20,000 on the balance sheet.

"O Sir, since Lady Flippert hath a bee in her bonnet,

"you must allow if the bee is not a queen

"the bonnet is at least a la mode."

Think you may have stumbled across the only clean line in it.

Scandalously... What's the word? Rude?

Things have moved on a little since then, Ritchie.

Don't know what you mean.

Paul and your cousin John were at loggerheads over what to do with it?

John, most amazingly prudish.

I simply don't believe you.

Congreve was a very accomplished playwright,

surely our ideas of what is and isn't indecent have changed since then.

John absolutely incensed by the suggestion it should be brought to the public,

under any circumstances.

Yes.

It's wonderfully funny.

- Where's the rest? - Is it Congreve?

Ah, written well before, The Way of the World, would you say,

but not included in the collected works.

It's quite a find, Albert.

In his handwriting?

Oh, dear.

Thanks.

I'm afraid Albert was an errant sort of scholar.

We were at school together.

No, it's hardly likely to be in Congreve's hand.

It would be worth a fortune as such.

You know, it could date later than The Way of the World.

After all, he wasn't an old fogey when he died.

Sandy, you can quite definitely say it is not the original manuscript?

The Way of the World was published in 1700, old thing.

Paper, Albert. Ink.

Mr Barnabas here is a publisher...

Rather, a sleeping partner.

Oh, I see.

Well, this is written on machine-made paper,

probably less than 100 years old.

Good heavens!

By which time Mr Congreve had been buried in Westminster Abbey

for well over 100 years.

The ink is probably commercially produced also, but I'd have to test that.

This is useful, Sandy.

The British Museum is open to all for study.

We do make house calls in exceptional circumstances.

Good of you to come round here so late. Another glass?

No, thanks. I must go. Bye, Albert.

If your family owns this manuscript, Mr Barnabas,

I should encourage you to publish it.

It would cause a sensation.

Of course, if you could turn up the original...

Lugg will see you out.

Thanks.

Chin up!

What's it mean?

It means we have a second motive for the death of Paul Brande.

Supposing Paul was on the verge of discovering that the Gallivant manuscript

was not quite all it was cracked up to be at the bank.

Not in the master's own hand, but a 19th century copy.

- But the original? - Yes.

The integrity of the whole firm hangs on that.

Where is it? Does it still exist? Can it be produced on demand?

- Perhaps Paul found not. - Great Scott!

You know nothing of why the copy was in the office safe?

I told you, Campion, I'm not very good at that.

Curley will know. Knows everything.

Perhaps...

Ritchie, we are party to a secret.

I can keep mum, you know. Quite good at that.

Where is John? I'm gonna have to go without him.

There's plenty of time. The cab will wait.

I want to do everything right to support him.

I want to show him.

And so you will.

The legal process is stern but just.

As far as the case against Mike goes, you have nothing to worry about.

I promise you, he'll be acquitted.

It's time to be stout-hearted, Gina.

- I am terrified. - Don't be.

You may not even have to give evidence.

Then can't the trial be stopped now?

It's one thing to walk away innocent.

Quite another to have the whole world know you're innocent.

Remember, he and you too have a point to prove to the press and the general public.

It's better this way, believe me.

I think I shall faint when I see him in the dock.

- Oh, no you won't. - Campion, good morning.

Good morning, my dear.

This is a most terrible day.

Good standing of the firm, such a long and hon our able tradition.

But we are going to fight.

My word, we are going to fight for him.

Gina, we must summon up all our courage,

all our fortitude.

This is for you.

For me?

Aren't you coming with us?

I have one or two loose ends to tie up.

Should I open this now?

They heavy object inside is a key.

Good luck.

So. You're the real Dora Netley, are you, miss?

That is my hon our.

And speaking as a lady, I'm in the mood to come round behind that counter

and put my fist up your throat.

What do you want to know, Dora?

Who paid in £2.10

to my account, here,

on Jan 13th.

Well, if it wasn't the Archbishop of Canterbury,

it was someone very like him.

Your father, perhaps.

Oh!

Keep talking riddles, you horrible little itinerant.

Tubby geezer. Lah-dee-dah voice.

No hair and a brandy nose.

- Come far, had he? - He don't live round here.

Dora.

Most helpful.

I'm afraid I should have knocked.

- Not at the trial? - No.

Please don't stop on my account.

What? Oh, the...

Pure nonsense.

Office carpentry. Door wedge.

Poor little Miss Marchant off at the trial,

and obliged to call downstairs for my own coffee.

I know what you've come for.

I'm very sorry, Ritchie.

Worked it all out last night.

Sat down with a bit of paper.

Cold logic. Put the memory to the test.

This business about The Gallivant. That's it, isn't it?

The original no longer exists.

Well, John doesn't have it, you know.

Now our uncle, very secretive sort of chap...

I don't think it does exist either.

I think it was lost or destroyed or sold.

Long time ago.

We've been living a lie.

Paul suspected.

And you? Never?

Racking my brains.

Could John still have it?

Or could he have benefited in some way from its disappearance?

It seems inconceivable to me.

This business means everything to him.

He's not like me.

Not like Mike.

His whole existence is bound up

in the greater glory of Golden Quill publications.

And in his position among his fellow publishers.

You never suspected the Gallivant manuscript to have disappeared?

Well, didn't matter to me, you see. Not that keen.

But would it be sufficient cause for your cousin John to murder Paul?

What a question.

It's the rest of Mike's life we're talking about, Ritchie.

Yes, I know!

I think John did kill Paul.

But I don't know how he did it.

The very idea!

And Master John not here!

- In any case I can't spare the time. - Mrs Peel...

Peelie.

And don't you Peelie me, Master Richard.

I haven't time for it.

All highly irregular.

This is a friend, Peelie.

He's here to help Mike.

The disgrace. A Barnabas on trial for murder.

Just two minutes of your time, Mrs Peel.

For one of your favourites, Peelie.

- I've told you... - Thank you so much.

Thank you.

You won't find a thing out of place in there.

Here!

The blind impudence.

I don't know what the neighbours will make of this, I'm sure.

Mrs Peel...

The night the police have been asking all these questions about.

The Thursday night. Yes.

Mr John was going to a banquet. You laid out his clothes.

I should think he was ill, if he tried to dress himself.

In he comes on the dot of 5:30 and asks me to run his bath.

- Which I did. - That was your daily habit?

I should certainly think so.

But Peelie, perhaps on this occasion something happened?

I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

Maybe...

Maybe he was in his bath a very long time on this particular day.

Ah! Just the contrary, see.

All the time that I thought that he was in the bath,

he'd fallen asleep in his room.

Come quarter to seven,

he pops out in a fine old rage and said his water's gone cold.

So, I run another one,

which he takes in a real state,

then jumps into his dinner clothes and scoots off.

Without so much as having time to shave, if you please.

Most unusual for Mr John.

Just goes to show.

It does indeed.

Lord! Oh mercy, whatever does he think he's doing now?

The car. Ignition on. Foggy night.

But close the door carefully,

don't bang, the hose over the end of the exhaust.

The grating! God!

Was he mad?

Any one of a dozen or so things could go wrong.

No, no.

He looked through the grating first.

How did he know Paul was down there?

He waited in his bedroom, watching the street.

The Netley girl wasn't blackmailing Paul, she was spying for John.

Maybe... Maybe the letter saying the new safe key was ready didn't burn after all.

Maybe... oh!

Enough to convict?

John could have done it. I think he did. But look at it.

More holes than a string bag.

There's hardly enough concrete evidence for the police to make a charge even,

let alone get a conviction.

Mr Campion, a telephone call from the court.

It's Mr John.

My dear fellow, thank you for coming.

And thank you for the envelope you delivered this morning.

What's happening? Aren't they in session?

The judge called a recess, which ends in two minutes.

We haven't much time.

- I'm sorry. - I can quite understand your suspicion.

May I take it that Ritchie has been helping you?

It all hangs on The Gallivant, is that your understanding of the matter?

- Um... - Well, of course it does.

The Gallivant. The whole firm, not just the good standing of our reputation,

but the continued existence of our company.

How can someone like Ritchie begin to understand a thing like that?

And does the manuscript still exist?

What are you saying, my dear chap?

John, a man is on trial for his life.

Wouldn't it be better to be frank at this point?

What in God's name has that fool Ritchie been filling your head with?

The Gallivant is utterly crucial to our funds and assets.

How many times must I explain?

Ritchie believes it to have been destroyed or disposed of in someway in the past.

- If Paul Brande had been... - If, if!

If! Of course the play in the safe is a copy.

Brande? Ritchie? Do you realise what harm this sort of thing can do?

- Theories, suspicions. - And...

I'm afraid I've been most stupid. The original does exist?

My very reason for summoning you here.

It's in our warehouse in Vauxhall. I have it hidden in the building.

Go there and satisfy yourself, bring it back with you.

I'll tell you exactly where it's hidden.

One glance tells you it's a frame!

Haven't you always taught me, Lugg? Frames is evidence?

Don't do it.

I think I will, all the same.

"Top shelf, under ledger."

So far, so good.

Well, perhaps I have you wrong after all, my dear John.

Go on! Up you go.

Use your feet. Use your feet!

You can do it. You can do it.

Frames is evidence, right enough.

You can't speak to him now.

He's come back from the courts in a black mood.

- I'm really not... - He's in the bath!

He wouldn't speak to me, he wouldn't let me help. You can't go in!

I'm really getting awfully good at this, Mrs Peel.

So to save you threatening it, why don't you call the police.

Mr John! Mr John!

Turn off the stove and anything else with a naked flame.

What? Oh, the...

Bit of nonsense.

Office carpentry. Door wedge.

Well, with little Miss Marchant off at the trial,

I'm obliged to shout downstairs for my own coffee.

Oh, Ritchie.

Perhaps I haven't made myself clear.

Perfectly clear.

He'll walk away a completely free man. I came here to bring you to court.

And then what?

Gina, he proved his innocence.

In a court of law, perhaps.

How many press are outside now, 20? And in the court?

It will be painful.

I can't!

I just can't face any more of it.

First Paul, then John, now Ritchie.

I gather he's just vanished into thin air.

I suppose the hunt for him is on. Perhaps I was his lover.

Does it help to say that Mike needs you?

Later.

When all this has blown over.

He loves you, Gina.

I have to have time.

I have to think.

Do you believe in happy endings, Mr Campion?

What will you do?

I'm so ashamed.

Not to be able to just run to him.

Happy endings? I wonder.

Michael certainly had reason to believe in them.

After the discovery of John's body, the case against Mike was thrown out.

The general opinion, of course, was that John committed suicide.

And the police were content to leave it at that,

so long as Ritchie didn't reappear on the scene.

As for Ritchie's part in the whole affair, well, let's just say

he had assisted the course of justice in his own inimitable way.

I often thought about him.

And then last year, on a fishing trip to Ireland,

Lugg, as usual, having completely lost his way...

Lugg?

Murray's Circus. Friend of yours!

Not Jedda Murray, surely. He must be in his 90s.

Want to go and have a look?

Love a duck!

Sleeping dogs, Lugg.

But I did write to Mike and Gina Barnabas about Ritchie.

And yes, there are such things as happy endings.

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