All language subtitles for Agatha Christie - Miss Marple - 04 - A Pocketful Of Rye - Pt 02

Agatha Christie's
Miss Marple

A Pocketful of Rye
Part One

# Sing a song of sixpence,
a pocketful of rye

# Four and twenty
blackbirds baked in a pie

# When the pie was opened
the birds began to sing

# Wasn't that a dainty
dish to set before... #

Good morning, Mr. Fortescue.

- For you.
- Oh, thank you, sir.

Morning.

Yes, Mr. Fortescue?

- Tea.
- Tea, Mr. Fortescue?

Tea, tea, tea!

Mr. Fortescue's tray,
please, Miss Griffith.

Yes, I know, but he did ask for it.

I think...

I think... I think...

Inspector Neele.

Come on, dear.

I'm sorry, Inspector Neele,

he didn't regain
consciousness. Nasty death.

What do you think?

We'll have to do a
post-mortem. But I think...

You think it's poisoning.

I'll bet you a week's wages it's

some form of alkaloid poisoning.

We don't know how. He didn't
drink anything at the office.

There are many alkaloids
apart from strychnine.

Some quite slow-acting.

He could have taken it at breakfast.

Breakfast.

This way, Inspector.

Oh, there you are, sir.

Well, well, whither bound?

Back to Fortescue's
office. Got all his clothes?

And more, sir.

From the deceased's
Savile-Row-tailor worsted, sir.

Hold out your hand.

There.

Seed. Where was it?

In his jacket pocket.
What do you reckon?

Barley?

No. Rye.

I think it's rye.

Did Mr. Fortescue feed the pigeons?

Him?

No. I don't think so.

He didn't have a pet of any sort?

Pet? No.

So if I told you he had a pocketful

of seed in his jacket when he died,

you'd have no explanation for it?

Seed? No.

Right. Thank you, Miss Grosvenor.

I wonder if you'd ask
Miss Griffith to come in.

All right.

Hay. Keep your libido to yourself.

Have you got anything?

Oh, yes, sir. A right
little viper's nest, sir.

- Guess who.
- His daughter?

His wife.

First one dies 20 years ago.

He married this one a
couple of years back.

- Not very well received.
- Hardly surprising.

The sons hate each other.

The older one, Percival,
works in the family business.

Bit straight-laced.

The younger one, Lance, is a tearaway.

Quarrelled with his
father and went to Africa.

- And Percival?
- Lives at home. Baydon Heath.

Went up to Leeds yesterday
on business, I gather.

- They want to see you next.
- Oh. Yes, of course.

- Now?
- When else?

Recently, he'd suddenly become...odd.

Positively gossiping and, quite
frankly, flinging his money about.

Mr. Percival was worried.
The business was going wrong.

I understand there was a real dust-up.

Well, he swore at Mr. Percival.

In the outer office,
in front of the girls.

Really abused him. Called him a
miserable, pettifogging little clerk.

Mr. Percival went bright red.

Mr. Fortescue said he would
get Mr. Lance home again.

Mr. Lance was worth ten of him, he said.

Mr. Lance had some guts, he
said, and he'd married well.

He married the widow of Lord
Frederick Anstice, you know.

What do you think of Lance Fortescue?

Oh, Mr. Lance is rather different.

We all like Mr. Lance.

My God, there's some money about.

Yeah. Look what they spend it
on. These are not nice houses.

- Who'd you make contact with?
- Housekeeper.

Superior young female, very cool.

Miss Dove? Done Mrs. Fortescue's carpet.

She asked me, so I did it.

One moment, Ellen.

Have you heard the news?

She's a widow now. The
Lord hath taken away.

What she was waiting for.

The circumstances of Mr. Fortescue's
death were not uncomplicated.

I see.

The police will be here
shortly, asking questions.

- I thought you ought to know.
- It's a stain gone.

The world's a cleaner
place today, Miss Dove.

One thorough scrub and he'll be
forgotten, and the better for it.

Yew Tree Lodge. I was
brought up in a lodge.

If that's a lodge, ours was a shoebox.

Has Mrs. Fortescue
been told, by the way?

She's playing golf. Can't be contacted.

That's gonna be fun, breaking it to her.

Yeah. But if you're gonna be a
widow, better be a rich one, eh?

I thought he'd been
a bit peculiar lately.

But I never reckoned...

Poor Mr. Fortescue.

Had a fit. Brainstorm.

You never know, do you?

I wonder what brought it on, eh?

Could make a good guess.

You've a mind like a
sink trap, Reginald Crump.

Yeah, you're right.

- Perhaps it was something he ate.
- Don't you start!

Oh, Gladys!

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Not again, Gladys.

I'm sorry, Miss Dove.

What's the matter
with Gladys the rabbit?

We're none of us ourselves.

Crump, could you...? I'd
better go and find Gladys.

Good morning, sir. Detective Inspector
Neele, Detective Sergeant Hay.

Miss Dove is expecting us.

Oh, yes, of course, Inspector.

GladysI

Gladys?

What on earth's the matter?

I am a good girl, Miss
Dove. I am, so I am.

Pull yourself together,
Gladys. Nobody is cross.

It was only breakfast china.

Inspector Neele.

Yes, Miss Dove. Thank you, Miss Dove.

Oh, I'm a good girl.
There's plenty as'll say it.

I'm going down the village
to see Mrs Edie's youngest.

She's got croup again.

So very tiresome, isn't it?

Oh, yes, Daisy. Oh, that's very nice.

Yes, very much better.

No nasty mess on the
paint. Yes, very good.

Oh, got a little on the
keyhole, dear, haven't you?

- Sorry, ma'am.
- Oh, that's all right. You'll get it off in a jiffy.

No, there's a very great
improvement. Well done.

Oh, Miss Marple? Miss Marple!

- Miss Marple!
- Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Brogan.

Look, Miss Marple, look.

Stop press, look. That's
where our Gladys went.

- Gladys?
- Gladys, what you trained up so nicely.

After she was at the caf� at
Danemouth. It's her new place.

Mr. Fortescue of Baydon Heath.

Fortescue?

Oh, yes. I think you must be right.

Yes, I remember writing the reference.

"Mystery death", it
says. It's not much help.

Course, it's only the lunchtime edition.

There'll be more later.

Would you like I bring one
round for you, Miss Marple?

Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Brogan.

Yes, I'd appreciate
that. Thank you, yes.

Good afternoon, Dolly.

Good. Stand still now.

All facing me. Very well.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Lewty.

# Up and down the city road

# In and out the Eagle

# That's the way the money goes

# Pop goes the weasel #

I've been looking for you.
What do you think you're doing?

Hurry up! Come along,
there's work to do!

Hurry up! At a time like this!

# Sing a song of sixpence,
a pocketful of rye

# Four and twenty
blackbirds baked in a pie

# When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing

# Now, wasn't that a dainty
dish to set before the king? #

- Yes.
- No, thank you.

Crump is a problem.

But his silver's all right and
his waiting at table isn't too bad.

I supervise his valeting and I
keep the key of the wine cellar.

The admirable Miss Crichton.

For a woman in my
circumstances, Inspector,

the alternative is to
drudge in an office.

You may think it servile but
it allows me to be my own woman.

That wasn't a criticism.

St Jude's hospital
calling. You wanna take it?

Yes. Excuse me.

Thank you. Neele here.
What's the verdict?

Mr. Fortescue died from alkaloid
poisoning as I suspected.

- It's a very interesting case.
- Why?

It's a very rare poison,

in that it's been administered
to a human in concentrated form.

Are you certain that that is the case?

That it was administered? It
couldn't just have been a mistake?

No. Unless the deceased was
in the habit of chewing trees.

- What?
- The poison was taxine.

It's an alkaloid derived from the
foliage and berries of Taxus baccata,

the yew tree.

- Hello?
- Yes, yes. That is, er, interesting.

Any ideas how it could be administered?

In any strong-tasting beverage.

- Coffee?
- Yes.

- Tea?
- No. It's slightly bitter.

Yes, yes, I see. What about the timing?

Two to two and a half hours.

Sometimes acts quicker

but he'd eaten a full breakfast.

Miss Dove.

Do you take meals with the family?

No. I supervise them.

I'm in and out of the
kitchen and dining room.

Good.

I'd like you to describe this
morning's breakfast to me, if you would.

- I thought so. He was poisoned, wasn't he?
- Yes.

Forgive me if I seem callous, Inspector,
but Mr. Fortescue was an odious man.

In fact, the entire family
are most unpleasant people.

- About this morning's breakfast.
- Of course.

Well, I'm normally in the dining
room before the family come down

just to make sure everything's in order.

That's at about 7:15.

No, Gladys. Mr. Fortescue likes
the coffee-pot with the long spout.

Yes, Miss Dove.

You can tell Mrs. Crump
to start the toast-making

and have the coffee standing by.

Yes, Miss Dove.

Mrs. Fortescue is
invariably the first down.

This morning was no exception.

Good morning, Mrs. Fortescue.

- Mrs. Crump is making the toast now.
- Thanks, Miss D.

She married Mr. Fortescue
for his money, of course.

You might think she's just a sexy
piece but she's not an entire fool.

He likes her to look wonderful
at breakfast, so she does.

I don't think he makes many
demands, if you know what I mean.

Good morning, Miss
Henderson. Breakfast is ready.

Mr. Fortescue's sister-in-law by his first
marriage is addicted to the scriptures.

She sees the house, perhaps
correctly, as a den of iniquity

and hardly ever leaves her room.

Percival's wife Jennifer was
pretending she wasn't there.

Good morning, Mrs. Percival.

Good morning, Miss Dove.

Thank you, sweetie pie.

Now, you eat it up like a good boy.

Oh, I'm sorry. I apologise.

Why don't you go and help
Miss Henderson with the stairs?

Yes, Miss.

The only help my sister-in-law
will accept with anything

is God's help.

- Haven't you got anything better to do, girl?
- Sorry, ma'am.

Devil finds work for idle hands.

Morning, Aunt Effie. If there's anything
else, Miss D, leave a message at the clubhouse.

Clubhouse?

Whorehouse.

Rogers has brought the
car around, Mr. Fortescue.

Good morning,
sister-in-law.

Good
morning...brother-in-law.

And a few hours later, he was dead.

What did Miss Henderson mean by
her remark about Adele Fortescue?

Mrs. Fortescue has a
regular golfing partner.

A man of her own age
and, um, inclinations.

Mr. Vivian Dubois.

Whether their sport is exclusively
golf is open to interpretation.

- I see.

That could well be her now.

NonsenseI Everyone's
out Anyway, so what?

- I can't stay long.
- Oh, Vivian!

For God's sake!

Don't be silly!

Oh!

This is Detective Inspector
Neele of Scotland Yard.

I'm afraid I have some bad news for you.

What?

It's about your husband.

He was taken seriously ill this morning.

- Is he in hospital?
- He was.

I'm afraid he died there.

Preposterous.

Histrionics!

Oh.

Miss Dove, have you any idea

why Mr. Fortescue would be carrying some
loose grain in his pocket when he died?

Grain? Like wheat or something?

- Yes.
- No idea at all. None.

Excuse me.

Hello?

Yes. I'll take it.

- She'll be all right.
- Yes.

Uh, I feel a bit of a heel,
but I really have to go.

- I'm at the Dormy House Hotel.
- Thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Telegram. For the murdered man.

"Your letter delayed.
With you at teatime."

"Shall expect fatted
calf for dinner. Lance."

So, the prodigal has been summoned home.

It's from Paris.

It's all very well for you
to say "describe him", Pat,

I'm a rotten hand at descriptions.

Oh, have a go. Go on.

Quite frankly, the Governor's
a bit of an old crook.

Not an out-and-out swindler but he
knows how to put over a fast one.

- But then...
- What?

All those years with the racing
fraternity, you'll be used to that.

Oh, yes. I wish I weren't.

- You're fond of him.
- Do you know, darling, I believe I am.

I suppose this is a genuine
olive branch from the Governor.

I suppose he really does want me back.

Cos I'll have a devil of a job
settling into this 9-to-5 routine.

Why shouldn't it be?

I've been deceived by
my family often enough.

I sometimes think that's part
of why I wanted to marry you.

I knew you wouldn't let me down.

And the other part?

I'll tell you later.

On the account, please, Phillips.

Jennifer! Oh, Jennifer!

What is it?

Rex is dead.

I can't believe it.

So,

that's that.

Yes. That's that.

Isn't it funny? It hardly
seems to make any difference.

The police are here.

That's an insinuation, that is!

I know an insinuation when
I hear one and that was one!

Coming and making
insinuations about my food,

I'll have the law on you, law or no law!

My food's never done no-one no
harm, and you prove me different!

Ah, there you are, Hay.
You found the girl yet?

Run along, Gladys.
Talk to the gentleman.

Yes, Mrs. Crump.

Oh, no! Don't you go
creeping out of there, my lad!

I got words to have with you.

That's right, Hay. You talk to the lady.

We got one or two things to sort out.

- Now...
- I didn't do it! I don't know anything about it.

No, of course you don't.

I'm just trying to get a general
picture of how things go here.

You're obviously a very
good, observant girl,

and I think you can help me.

Sit down.

Now, you laid breakfast, didn't you?

When you brought in the toast,
Miss Dove was here, wasn't she?

Like she usually is?

Good. There, you see? You're
being very helpful, aren't you?

What did you mean, darling,
about your family deceiving you?

I've no proof. It doesn't matter.

Well, it obviously does.

It's my brother.

Percival the pious, Percy primrose.

Always civil, sober, and serious.

- What about him?
- Well, he loathes me, all I represent.

It threatens him, so he got rid of me.

HE did? How?

Oh, he wrecked things
between me and Father.

He got me branded as untrustworthy.

He knew the Governor and I were
pretty similar in lots of ways,

and he didn't like it.

I don't think I like brother Percival.

I shouldn't worry about it.

They've always wished
that I didn't exist.

That'll be Percival.

Well, he won't be much help, dear.

Oh, good evening, sir. Welcome home.

Oh, Percival! Thank heavens you're back!

- I'm fine. I'm fine. Who's this?
- Detective Inspector Neele, sir.

Oh, good. Very good.

- Have you an explanation of this, Inspector?
- Explanation, sir?

Who gave them this information?

The only people privy to this
tragedy were the police and my family.

I think I can vouch for my family,
which lays it at your door, I'd say.

What information particularly, sir?

Have you any conception what this
can do to a business like ours?

They're even suggesting there's
some sort of black magic involved.

Here. "Police will be
following up the mysterious clue

"of the handful of grain
found in the victim's pocket.

"Was this some kind of ritual
murder hither to undiscovered?"

I am very sorry it upset you, sir.

You can't legislate for the
bad taste of journalists. But...

It's not good enough,
Inspector. Not good enough.

Percival, just a minute.

Wait a minute, please.
I just want to talk to...

For God's sake, woman, leave me alone!

It was murder, Miss
Marple, Mr. Rex Fortescue's.

Really? Oh, mercy me.

The latest edition. Murder definitely.

"Was this some kind of ritual
murder, hitherto undiscovered?"

A ritual murder, did you say? May I see?

Of course. Here, see?

"Police believe that
the mysterious presence"

"of a handful of grain
in the dead man's pocket"

"may point to the revival
of an ancient fertility rite"

"and the deceased may have been
the victim of a ritual murder."

Do they say what kind of grain?

No. No, they don't.

Rex Fortescue.

- Yes?
- Hmm.

- What is it?
- Oh, I really don't know.

There was something but,
er, now it's gone. I...

Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Brogan,
for bringing this along yourself.

- Most thoughtful of you.
- My pleasure, Miss Marple.

Good night.

"Did the macabre murder
today of Mr. Rex Fortescue,"

"the Merchant Street financier,"

"have connections with
ancient witchcraft?"

Witchcraft?

# Sing a song of sixpence

# A pocketful of rye

# Four and twenty
blackbirds baked in a pie

# When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing

# Wasn't that a dainty dish
to set before the king? #

I've had enough of
this place for one day.

Couldn't put it more
delicately myself, sir.

I think he was poisoned at breakfast.

And as far as I can gather, it was
the wife who stood to gain the most.

Really?

Before she hooked Fortescue, you know
she was a manicurist from Brighton?

You're a right little
fund, aren't you, Hay?

- Hello?
- Adele, it's me.

- Ah, Vivian.
- Hello.

I notice you scarpered at
the first sign of trouble.

Yes. Sorry about that.

I thought it might be, you know, wiser.

- How's it been?
- Bloody grim!

- I'm sorry.
- When are you going to come over?

- You're crazy!
- Why?

I can't come over. Have
you seen the evening papers?

- When am I going to see you, then?
- I don't know.

When it's all died down.
When it's all over. I promise.

- Listen, darling?
- What?

You did get rid of them, didn't
you? You burnt them as you promised?

Of course I did,
darling. Stop panicking.

Listen.

When this thing's all died down,

let's go away for a few days, shall we?

Hmm. That'd be lovely.

Good night, then.

The gentlemen of the
police are here again, sir.

Show them to the billiard room.

What would be most helpful
to us, Mr. Fortescue,

would be if you could give us some idea

of your father's
testamentary dispositions.

Yes. My father made a new will

on the occasion of his
marriage two years ago.

He leaves �100,000 to
his wife absolutely.

Later he added a codicil leaving �40,000
to my wife, Jennifer, in her own right,

- Legenda n�o traduzida -

although I am the residuary legatee.

To your wife? Was that
to avoid death duties?

No, quite frankly. Just a whim.

Did it please you that your
wife should be thus favoured?

It was a matter of indifference
to me. I thought it unnecessary.

Did you argue about it?

Of course not. We never
argued over family matters.

Only business matters.

Occasionally. Not seriously.

Would it be unfair of me to suggest

that if your father had lived another few
months, the business would have gone bankrupt

and his death, from that point of
view, could be said to be timely?

Yes, it would be unfair of
you to suggest that, Inspector.

Did your father make provision
for your brother in his will?

He was cut out of it years
ago when he went to Africa.

20% of the business is all he may claim.

So he's come back too late?

For reinstatement in
my father's trust, yes.

Check out brother Lance. I'll talk
to the AC, you sort out the inquest.

Fortescue was in the AC's Masonic lodge.

- It's gotta be the money.
- Don't think it was a sex crime, sir.

Mrs. Rex Fortescue gets �100,000,

Mrs. Percival Fortescue gets �40,000.

A lot of money.

- How much does Mr. Percy lay his hands on?
- On little.

Eh?

Something was going
wrong with the company.

Rex Fortescue was running the show,

Percival didn't like
the way he was doing it.

- That's a good enough motive.
- Except he was in Leeds.

Not so good an opportunity, I grant you.

Mrs. Fortescue gets the money.

She also gets a partner
to help her with her grip.

Dubois. I agree.

Come on. Let's get over to Northolt.

I can't pretend to a
great deal of grief.

I've hardly seen my father
since I went to Africa.

But I thought...

Well, I'd been led to believe that
things were on the mend between us.

Can you tell me about that, sir?

Of course.

When my marriage to Pat
was in the gossip columns,

he wrote to me.

Pat was the widow of a lord, you see,

and the Governor was a
bit of a social climber.

Social steeplejack, actually.

So there was some
kind of reconciliation?

Oh, not quite as dramatic as that.

Let's say it looked as
if a thaw was possible.

I visited him this summer

and he suggested that I might
like to go back into the firm.

I told him I'd think about
it. It was Pat's decision, too.

Well, we decided to take him up
on his offer, didn't we, darling?

I spent the last few months
winding up my affairs in Africa.

- Whereabouts in Africa?
- Tanganyika, sir.

I told the old boy I'd
wire him the date of

my actual arrival in
England. Here we are.

No-one seems to know you
were coming back, sir.

Not even your brother.

No.

The Governor was going behind his back.

Kept the whole thing
very cloak-and-dagger.

No-one was to know I was coming over

and we were to meet in private.

As you may have learned,
Inspector, a cautious man.

Look, darling, I'll go to Yew Tree Lodge
today but we'd better set you up with a hotel.

- No, darling. I'll come with you.
- I'd rather you didn't.

- We'll get you a civilised hotel in London.
- But why can't I come?

I'd like to be sure of my
welcome, darling, that's all.

- I'll go down this evening. Besides which...
- What?

I don't want to risk you in a
house with a poisoner at large.

Where's Gladys?

She's gone out. Telephone.
Said she won't be long.

Better not be. Sandwiches
don't cut themselves.

Best nylons today, I noticed.

- And I know why.
- I'll bet you do.

- To telephone? Nylons?
- Makes her feel good.

Like I take my apron
off to answer the phone.

It'll be that man she
tries to keep quiet about.

I reckon he's married.

I don't know what bloke would
look at her. Great useless chump.

Don't you be unkind!

You're not exactly God's
gift, Reginald Crump.

- Gladys!
- Yes, Miss Dove?

- Where have you been?
- Out to the telephone. Weren't long.

Well, I suppose it's all right.
Not the best afternoon to choose.

Mr. Lance will be here at
teatime. Anyway, off you go.

Hello! Don't tell me, you must
be the excellent Miss Dove.

This is awful! We should
not be laughing like this!

Oh, stuff! Are you going?

Smashing tea, Mrs
Fortescue and Fortescue Mrs,

- but duty calls. Gritos, rather.
- Duty?

Auntie Effie is my favourite aunt.

I must see how potty
she's got in the interim.

Stepmother, may I say how
pleased I am to meet you at last?

Stepson, may I say how pleased
I am to welcome you home?

We badly need another man in the house.

See you both at dinner.

Hello, Aunt Effie.

They tell me downstairs
you're getting very peculiar.

I always was very peculiar.

So you've turned up
again...like a bad penny.

- Got your wife with you?
- No. It's not the place for her.

Shows some sense, at least.
Who is she, this wife of yours?

Patricia Anstice. Her first chap
was killed in a spitfire. And then...

Anstice. Lord Anstice, wasn't it?

Blew his brains out.
Couldn't face the jockey club.

That's the one.

Well, you married
some property at least.

No, I didn't. Pat hasn't a bean.

That's why I came back.

Probably have to
9-to-5 it from now on.

Let's not talk about
that, it's too depressing.

How are you? What's been going on here?

Godless things.

Your father was a rogue
and he married a harlot.

They used to stone women of her kind.

Yesterday she was just an adulteress.

Now she's a rich adulteress.

What's that supposed to mean?

The journey from vice
to evil is but a step.

Oh, come off it, Aunt Effie.

I don't know where she
is. The girl's a fool.

She's been twitching all
day, doing nothing right.

And now she's gone off again.
Not so much as a by-your-leave.

- How am I supposed to manage?
- We'll manage. I'll clear the tea.

If she's not back in time, Mr
Crump and I will serve at table.

- You, Miss?
- Yes. Won't we, Mr. Crump?

Mrs. Fortescue?

I just thought I'd clear the tea tray.

Ah, Miss Dove.

Oh, my God.

- Good evening, ma'am.
- Oh, hello, Daisy.

- There was a telephone call for you, ma'am.
- Oh, yes. Were there any messages?

No, ma'am.

She was very upset you was out.

Said she'd ring back.

Good. Well, that seems
satisfactory. Who was it?

- What?
- Who was it, dear?

Oh, it was Gladys, ma'am.

From Baydon Heath, the
Fortescues. Gladys Martin.

It has just been reported

that a second tragedy has
followed the murder yesterday

of financier Mr. Rex Fortescue.

His young widow, Mrs. Adele
Fortescue, has been found dead,

apparently poisoned by the tea she
was taking in her own sitting room.

Sing a song of sixpence,
a pocketful of rye.

# The king was in his counting house...

Rex, the king.

# The queen was in the parlour...

The queen was in the parlour

# Eating bread and honey

The maid...

# The maid was in the garden...

Gladys.

# Hanging out the clothes... #

Gladys.