All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S03E12 The Corpse Flew First Class.DVDRip.NonHI.en

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

One of you is a murdering thief.

I never should have let
you and Bert get me into this.

- I don't suppose you'd be
interested in selling?
- You're joking.

Just as I thought. The bluish
tinge under the fingernails— Poison.

Scotland Yard is
already present.

I'm not a screenwriter. Writing is writing.
I'll even squeeze you in as an investor.

This is Jessica Fletcher. I'm
about 5,000 feet over London.

Would you listen
carefully? Time is precious.

Breathtaking.

All eyes will be on you at the Royal Gala
in London tomorrow evening, Miss Greer.

Well, that's the whole idea.

Who says the Brits have a
monopoly on crown jewels?

I'll go see if the forms have arrived
from your insurance company.

Try not to lose it.
Yes, Miss Greer.

An hour ago, they
bought plane tickets.

Now they've just left the bank vault.
No, they never spotted me all week.

They're headed
for Logan Airport.

We're delighted you're flying with us,
Miss Greer. If I may be of any service...

Be sure the food's hot, and the drinks
are cold. We'll get along famously.

Of course. We should be
boarding in about 20 minutes.

Sonny, dear
heart! Clint, darling!

Well, I haven't seen you since
when— the symphony fund-raiser.

You on the Champagne Supper to
London? Transatlantic house call.

I'm, uh, flying over to nip and
tuck 10 years off Lady Burbury.

Sonny, I'd starve if the world were
filled with such ageless beauties as you.

Chin up, in 20 years
when it all starts to fall.

I'm in the yellow pages.
By the way, is it true

what I read in Town and
Country the other day...

you're-you're going
to the Royal Gala?

I wish I knew how those busybodies
in the press know my plans before I do.

Leon! Okay, friend,
that's enough.

Hey, what do you think you're
doin'? Hey, are you crazy?

Look, I'm just trying
to make a living. Oh!

I'll deposit him with
Security, Miss Greer.

I'm so sorry. But with Madonna out of
the country, someone has to be shot.

Oh, that's quite all
right. I understand.

Come on, Doc. Buy me a drink.

I'm terribly sorry. I didn't
mean to bump into you like that.

Oh, no harm. I think he
gave you the worst of it.

Well, I lost a couple of
shrimp puffs along the way.

Let me take that
for you. Thank you.

Errol Pogson. Oh, Jessica
Fletcher. How do you do?

Who was the, uh,
film star he was after?

- Oh, that is Sonny Greer.
- The infamous Miss Greer.

It's not only we British who
have pampered heiresses.

I love your country. I've just been
on holiday here. I'm on my way home.

And I'm on my way to start a holiday
in London. Well, sort of a holiday.

Actually, I'm doing research
on a rather grizzly murder that

took place in Northumberland
at the turn of the century.

It sounds macabre.
You must be a writer.

Of course you're a writer.
Jessica Fletcher. J.B. Fletcher.

Errol, you are a dunce. It
was precisely three years ago...

that you were rummaging through our
files just, uh, two floors below my office.

Then you are with Scotland Yard.

Yes, but... And a
25-year man to boot.

Uh, your lapel pin.

- Um, who was the person
you were working with then?
- Inspector Crimmins.

Roger, that's right. From
the Knightsbridge District.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, I know
I'm three years too late,

- but, uh, please, would
you join me in a sherry?
- Oh, thank you. I'd love to.

I think we've got time.
I'll be right back. All right.

Mr. Gunnar Globle,
white courtesy

telephone please. Uh, two
medium dry sherries, please.

Transatlantic Flight 1 1 1 to London
Heathrow Airport, now boarding.

Mr. Otto Hardwick, courtesy
phone please. Otto Hardwick.

- Flight 1 1 1 to London, now boarding.
- Operator, I was cut off.

I'm talking to my-my
secretary on the Coast.

Doris, look, uh, tell
Burt to stop being a nag.

Tell him I've got to be in London
for the premiere of my new picture,

and I cannot go
skydiving with he and Clint.

Who else called? Joan?
Joan who, Collins or Rivers?

Oh, my wife! Joan! I love
her. Tell her I love her.

Yes.

Sonny, how are you? Gunnar
Globle. You remember me.

You were skiing at Bobby
Redford's resort, and I picked you up.

- I beg your pardon?
- When you fell.

Yes, the man in the green plaid parka with
the white sunscreen all over your nose.

That's me. Yeah.

Listen, Sonny, I'm only offering
pieces in my next film to a few people.

Uh, $100,000 is the minimum
per piece. What do you say?

How many pieces
do you have left?

Thank you, Mr. Pogson.
Oh, Errol, please.

Cheers. Cheers.

Final boarding for Flight 10

to London is now
boarding at Gate number 1.

That's us.

Come on, let me
be your bodyguard...

just in case some well-read
paparazzi decides to start chasing you.

Enjoy your flight.

May I take your
coat? Yeah, thank you.

Thanks, pal.

Welcome aboard. Thank you.

1-A. Non-smoking
section, right this way.

There you are, ma'am. And
there you are, sir, just in front.

Well, we're neighbors, eh? How
about a, uh, coffee upstairs after dinner?

Oh, good idea.

Out. This is out.

This is terrible.
You call this writing?

The picture business—
You work 24 hours a day.

I'm Gunnar Globle. I single-handedly
produced Off-road Aliens.

I-I must have missed
that one. Jessica Fletcher.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher,

but I really enjoy your work,

and if there's anything
we can do to make your trip

more pleasurable, please
don't hesitate to ask.

Oh, that's very nice. Thank you.

Level with me. Are you anybody?

I'm a writer.

A writer? Thank you, God.

Even for me, you listen up.

Here. I'll make a deal with your
agent when we get to "Fogtown."

Don't ask me what's wrong
because everything is wrong.

We need more action, more explosions,
more— Off-road Aliens: The Second Coming.

Uh, oh, no. Don't say
no. I hate that word.

I'm not a screenwriter. Writing is writing.
I'll even squeeze you in as an investor.

Mr. Globle, I may not be good
enough a writer to work on your script.

You must be a good writer.
You're flying first class, aren't you?

Mrs. Fletcher, listen, I'm the greatest
deal-maker in the history of Hollywood.

Believe me, you will say yes
to this great opportunity even

if it takes me all the way
to London to talk you into it.

Ye-Yeah. Well, uh, in that
case, I, uh, guess I-I will read it.

Uh, but no promises. Don't worry.
Once you get into it, you'll get hooked.

Ma'am, may I store that above
you? No. Uh, it's my knitting.

She's a knitter. Give the wife a length
of rope, and she'll knit you a noose.

This is Captain Whetsel speaking.
On behalf of the entire crew,

I'd like to welcome you to our
Boston-to-London Champagne Supper Flight.

We should be taking off in
just a few minutes. Thank you.

- It's not workin'.
- Maybe it's the batteries.

I put fresh ones
in this morning.

My God, we're taxiing.
Darling, it's going to be all right.

Sonny, I-I can't do
this. I gotta get off.

Leon, it is safer than being in a
car. Then let's drive to London.

Ladies and gentlemen,
this is your captain.

We are now airborne en route to
London. Thanks for flying with us.

Miss. As soon as you're able, would you
please bring Mr. Bigard a glass of water?

It'll just be a moment.

I'm gonna use the gent's room.

Excuse me. You go right ahead.

May I get you a cocktail, sir?

Yes, please. I'll have a
medium dry sherry if I may.

There you go.

White knuckler?

Yeah. I'll live, I guess.

You didn't lose it, did
ya'? I got it right here.

Oh, uh, miss, I asked for a
white wine with my Dover sole.

Oh, right. It's...
white with fish.

I think she's running on empty.

Yes, she does seem a bit distracted.
Perhaps she's got a lot on her mind.

Thank you.

So, how's the market?

I'm keeping liquid. Speaking
of liquid, can I get you a drink?

No, no, thanks. I'm fine.

You know, one of the
local channels reported...

you'd be wearing the Empress Catherine
necklace to the gala. Is that true?

Oh, what's the sense of owning some gaudy
little bauble if you can't show it off?

Gaudy bauble. I don't suppose
you'd be interested in selling?

- You're joking.
- Not at all.

A group of doctor friends and I are
looking for an investment package.

Good Lord, Clint.

What would my beloved ancestors
say when I meet them in the

great upstairs? It's been in
the family since Bunker Hill.

Well, at least I can tell my
partners we made the offer.

This is your captain. We're
experiencing a little turbulence.

Please fasten your seat belts.

Be careful. Don't you
tell me to be careful.

It was your idea. I never should
have let you and Bert get me into this.

Here he comes.

Sir, your seat belt.

Sir. Sir, your seat...

It may have been a heart
attack or a stroke. I can't be sure.

Miss, did he say he felt
ill? Any distress at all?

He was a nervous flyer, but we see
that every day. Where's Miss Greer?

I was with her earlier upstairs.
The captain went up to tell her.

Captain, it's just not possible. The
man simply closed his eyes to take a nap.

Sonny, he's been dead an hour.
Maybe longer. Nothing can be done.

He just wanted to close his
eyes instead of watching the film.

Clint, how can a
thing like this happen?

Cardiovascular catastrophe is rare
in a young man, but they do occur.

I don't want anyone
leaving first class.

The news of this
tragedy is best if it doesn't

go beyond this
section of the aircraft.

Come and sit over
here, Miss Greer.

Go get a gurney.

We're all so very sorry. If
there's anything I can do...

Thank you.

I suppose it's obvious. He was
more to me than just an employee.

The press hasn't been
exactly kind to either one of you.

"Flash bulletin: It's Sonny and
her chauffeur at it again. Film at 11."

To keep up appearances,
he became my bodyguard.

Miss Greer, was he always so
obviously nervous and tense?

- Only when it came to plane trips.
- Odd.

That cassette player malfunction
really sent him over the edge.

A psychiatrist made
Leon a relaxation cassette,

and it's helped him
on a dozen flights.

I see.

Excuse me, Miss Greer. I'm
going to take Mr. Bigard upstairs.

Wait, please.

He was, uh, carrying
something. It'll be safer with me.

Maybe he moved it.
What is it, Miss Greer?

He had it with him
before the movie.

It's gone. It's stolen!

Stolen? What's stolen, madam?

Good Lord, the Empress
Catherine necklace? Yes.

I-I gather that this
necklace is of some value.

To me. It's worth at
least two or three million.

This was no heart attack.

One of you killed him
to get the necklace.

One of us? Sonny, please.
One of you is a murdering thief.

Well, one thing is obvious. It
certainly hasn't flown out of the window.

And there's a murderer
on this plane who has it.

London's two hours off.
Mr. Carney, radio Heathrow.

I want Scotland Yard standing by
before anyone can leave this aircraft.

No calls will be necessary, Captain.
Scotland Yard is already present.

You—you're the police?

It seems my holiday will be cut
short a bit sooner than I expected.

Well, I think we're all very grateful
that you're on board, Inspector.

Correction. All of us but one.

I think the first and perhaps the
most obvious question to ask is...

- who knew that the necklace
was being carried on board?
- Wait just a moment.

You knew I was flying
with it. All those questions...

Inspector, it was no secret that she
was going to wear the Empress to the gala.

I read something about it myself
in yesterday's Boston Sentinel.

Miss Greer, was
the necklace insured?

And are you with Scotland
Yard too, Mrs. Fletcher?

Miss Greer, uh, Mrs. Fletcher's
question was quite natural.

And, frankly, I think you'd best prepare
yourself to answer quite a few more.

Yes. I'm-I'm sorry.

The Empress is insured, of course. And
I'd collect quite a sum if it is stolen.

But quite frankly, I'm worth too much
to swindle an insurance company. Yes.

Well, I think we'd better
first begin by making a

preliminary search of all of
the first class passengers,

the areas above and below your
seats, and all of your carry-on baggage.

Not mine, you don't,
Mr. Scotland Yard.

I'm an American citizen
flying on an American plane.

Yes, and flying over
international waters.

And with the captain's
approval, I do have the

authority. You have my
full support, Inspector.

Naturally, I can't do as thorough a
job here as I could on the ground,

but if the necklace does not turn up
by the time the wheels touch the tarmac,

then I shall instruct Scotland
Yard to seal off this aircraft...

and detain all of you at Heathrow
until we do find it. Now what do we do?

Detained? I've gotta make
connections to Budapest.

We'll do our best
then, won't we?

If there's anything I can do to
help— Oh, Jessica, I would welcome it.

The, uh, fact is, I'm a bit
up in the air at the moment.

- No pun intended.
- I'm not so sure about that.

25 years.

25 years of playing it
oh-so-very carefully.

Nothing rash or hasty
for good old Pogson.

While, of course, all the
younger chaps came up...

and latched onto all the big
cases and got promoted over me.

Jessica, if I could
get off this plane...

with both the necklace and
the killer, it could mean...

Well, it could mean
promotion to-to chief inspector.

Damn it. I've got to go for it.

Uh, ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Fletcher
is going to assist me in my search.

Uh, it's nothing personal,
but since it is my necklace

that's missing, shouldn't
everyone be searched?

Oh, yes, and we're
going to begin with me.

All right.

Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Miss Greer, there
is just one question.

When Mr. Bigard boarded the plane,
was he, uh, suspicious of anyone?

He would have told me if
he were. He said nothing

other than the necklace
was in his pocket.

Inspector, that
movie producer...

He seemed very anxious to get his
hands on some cash for his next endeavor.

Of course, being a producer
doesn't make him a thief.

- Not automatically.
- Pardon me.

Excuse me, I didn't
mean to eavesdrop, but I...

Uh, you are Mr.—
I'm John Sugahara.

Inspector, the Empress Catherine
is too well known to be sold as is.

If I were the thief, I'd sell the stones
separately on the European black market...

and perhaps net a million and a half
for my labors. If you were the thief?

In 1980, I cut the Capetown
diamond. Flawlessly, some say.

If you'd care to search
me now— Excuse me.

Oh, Mr. Carney, would you mind?
I need to look at the deceased.

Oh, well, like the captain said, you
and the Inspector have our full support.

Well, there doesn't appear
to be any sign of a wound.

He died very quietly...
if it was murder.

Ah, just as I thought. Ma'am?

The bluish tinge under
the fingernails— Poison.

How can I get a look...

at the seating chart, the, uh, the
boarding passes, the ticketing records?

Well, just knock on the cockpit
door. We keep 'em in there.

Thank you.

Let me have your
carry-on pieces, please.

I'm hoping to make a
connecting flight to Berlin.

Well, I'm hoping to detain
just one person. Inspector.

All right. And don't
you go anywhere.

What is it, Jessica?
Look, I know you haven't

finished searching
the passengers yet,

but I came across something here that might
cut a few corners. The ticket records.

Right. You see the
date down here?

Now, Sonny purchased her ticket at
the Liberty Tree Travel Service today.

So only the passengers who
booked their flights as late as today...

could have been on the
trail of that necklace. Hmm.

Well, Dr. Strayhorn booked
his ticket a month ago,

the Metcalfs 10 days ago,
Mr. Hardwick two days ago,

you a week and
me three weeks ago.

And Mr. Sugahara bought his
ticket at the ticket counter today.

But I've already searched him.

Well, I'll search him
again if I have to. Thank

you very much,
Jessica. Errol, Errol, wait.

We've been concentrating
so much on the

passengers, we may
have overlooked something.

What, the crew? Uh-huh.

Now, look here. That's
our stewardess, Kay Davis.

Now she made a last
minute switch with another

girl so that she
could take this flight.

You know, she did seem
sort of preoccupied, and

her beverage service
left much to be desired.

Oh, yes. She stuck
me with a tomato juice.

Well, Miss Davis is either
brand new to the job...

Or something is distracting her.

That's mine, Inspector.

Uh, Captain, I don't want to seem nervous
about this, but who's flying the plane?

- Automatic pilot.
- Oh.

And this? Uh, that's
mine, Inspector.

How long have you been with
the airline, Miss Davis? Two years.

Mrs. Fletcher found out
that you switched with

another girl at the last
minute to take this flight.

May I ask why?

Well, the man I'm going
with is a pilot for another

airline. He's flying into
London this weekend.

I can see how romance would
weigh heavily on a young girl's mind.

- What's his name?
- Bernard Hollings.

Bernie? Bernie's been
seeing me in Paris.

What? He swore he
was only dating me!

Come on, girls, you calm yourselves.
Your pilot Bernie's alibi is airtight.

- But, Kay, yours is not.
- Wait a minute. That isn't mine.

A two-million dollar necklace. And
you're right, young lady, it's not yours.

I think you've got a great
deal of explaining to do.

I hope this brings you
some comfort, Miss Greer.

I'm only sorry it can't
bring back your Mr. Bigard.

Kay, I'm responsible for
the safety of 300 passengers.

Captain, I didn't kill that man.

Mrs. Fletcher suspects he
may have been poisoned.

Well, I didn't poison him,
and I didn't steal any necklace.

Captain, Mrs. Fletcher,
I swear to you both.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Pardon me for intruding, but might I
have a closer look at the necklace?

Perhaps it's the light.

No, it isn't the light. It's the color
of the piece. It's a half tone off.

You can usually count
on the real thing to

weigh an ounce or two
more than an imitation.

Inspector, if this young lady
stole the necklace, she stole a fake.

- A fake?
- You sure of that?

Impossible. Well, it can't be.

Miss Greer, will you
take a very close look?

I can't believe it.

He's right. This is a copy.

Miss Greer, could Leon have
been carrying the fake as a decoy?

Well, not without telling me.

I suspect that someone brought
the imitation on board for a reason.

Probably to substitute it for the real
thing which we still have not found.

Then, Inspector, is Miss Davis
charged with any crime or not?

No, Miss Davis, you and your crew
can all return to your posts. Thank you.

Mr. Sugahara, you can return to your
seat, if you would please. Thank you.

Well, it looks as if
we miscalculated.

Well, Jessica, we must
try and look on the bright

side. At least the number
of necklaces is growing.

Ah, well, endless the
trek, endless the search.

Come.

Uh, would you stand
up, please? Us?

Yes. And could I, uh, ask
you to empty your pockets

and to show me all your
hand-baggage, please?

We heard you had
your suspect. Yeah.

How, uh, how long are you
going to spend in England?

On business. For a vacation.

I said how long, not why.

A month, Inspector.
And we're not thieves.

Do we look like
thieves or killers?

Could I have your knitting
basket, please? Uh, wait-wait.

Now just suppose we sue you and
the airlines for invasion of privacy?

But if you have nothing to hide,
you've got nothing to fret about.

It was Bert. He was behind it from
the start. I can't take it anymore!

Hush up, Agnes,
and let me handle this.

Bert?

Louis, there's no way
we're gonna get away with it.

Would you hand it over,
please? All right, all right.

Sorry, Bert. We
couldn't help it.

You see, we were told it's against
the law to bring a dog into England...

unless he's quarantined
there for six months.

You were told correctly.

And-And we couldn't leave poor
Bert back home in some old kennel.

For those few moments
clearing Customs,

we were gonna put him in
my husband's coat pocket.

Ladies and gentlemen, we're

just off the English
coast, starting our descent.

We should be landing in Heathrow
Airport in about 20 minutes.

I'll let the, uh, Heathrow
authorities deal with my major bust.

I'm sorry. I really had no idea.

What are you gonna do?

What can we do? I guess
we'll take the next plane home.

Oh.

Where's Mr. Carney? He's
just fetching something for me.

You know, when we arrive
at Heathrow, I've got to

alert the Customs chief
and my entire department.

They're going to descend
on this plane like locusts.

So much for my one-man show.

Oh, I'll get a citation, all right.
"Dogcatcher of the Year." Oh, Errol.

Oh, well. Meeting you—
That's reward enough.

What do you say to dinner tomorrow
night at the Savoy Grill? You're on.

These printouts just came in on
the computer for you. What is that?

Oh, it's probably a shot in
the dark. It's ticketing records.

Not just for today's
flight, but for yesterday's

flights and-and
flights later today...

on all the airlines that
service the Boston-London

corridor. I'm looking
for a familiar name.

Well, look, there's our
Otto Hardwick. Hmm.

But, I— Wait, I don't
understand. Uh, there he is again.

He's got—And again! Mm-hmm.

Of course. Now I understand.

He booked passage
well in advance...

of any possible flight that Sonny and
her necklace could have taken to London.

Hardwick, or some confederate,
follow Sonny and Leon,

and when they do head for
the airport, he's already ticketed.

And because the airlines
are used to passengers

overbooking, they
don't get suspicious.

And by buying his ticket for this flight
well in advance of Sonny, neither did we.

Errol, I distinctly remember
Mr. Hardwick in the airport lounge.

Cigarette smoke
bothered him terribly.

So why take a seat in
smoking when there's a

perfectly good empty
seat down in non-smoking?

Well, he could have known
that Leon Bigard didn't smoke,

and so to avoid suspicion, he wouldn't want
to sit anywhere near his intended victim.

But where did he hide
the necklace? And sitting

all the way back there,
how did he steal it?

Wait, I remember. Earlier in
the flight, I was sitting reading.

I remember looking up
and seeing Leon going to the

restroom. It was the
only time he left his seat.

Mr. Hardwick got in his way.

Maybe he's a professional
pickpocket... and with a criminal record,

or one of those
clever cabaret artists...

who lifts people's wallets and watches
right there in front of the audience.

And then, later in the flight, he plants
another fake in the stewardess's bag,

in the event that Sonny or
Leon discover the switch.

Yeah, but that still doesn't explain
how or when Mr. Hardwick killed Leon.

Forgive me, Jessica.
First things first.

Mr. Kitt, I wonder if you'd be good
enough to take my seat up front, would you?

Mr. Hardwick, I'm afraid I'm going to
have to submit you to another search.

Inspector, we're all
aware that the best

that Scotland Yard
could turn up was a mutt.

You're wasting my precious time.

Charles Lindbergh
had less hassle soloing

across the Atlantic than
I've been subjected to.

Then next time, why don't
you do what he did. Fly alone.

Inspector, that's odd.

While I was standing
waiting to use the restroom,

I distinctly heard the
sound of an electric razor,

and it belonged to Mr. Hardwick.

Mrs. Fletcher, is there some
international law forbidding me to shave?

Not that I'm aware of.

But it does seem like a bit of whisker
overkill to use an electric razor...

and also carry this.

I don't see any sign of a razor.

Close shave, eh, Hardwick?

How very clever of you, Jessica.

That's it, Inspector.

Genuine. Absolutely genuine.

I'll have the Yard ticket
it for evidence, and then

we'll make arrangements
for you to come and pick it up.

Uh, Mrs. Metcalf, uh, do you
have any wool that you could spare?

Mmm. Uh, this green do?

Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen,

please fold up all trays and extinguish
all cigarettes as we prepare for landing.

Would you like to, uh, make
a statement, Mr. Hardwick?

What can I say? Yes,
I stole the necklace.

And, yes, I killed him.

This is Captain Whetsel. We are
making our approach to Heathrow.

Please make sure your
seat belts are fastened

and your seats are
in an upright position.

Sir, we're about to land. Would you please
extinguish your cigarette? Thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher, you
must return to your seat.

We're in a line to land.
Scotland Yard? Uh, yes.

Inspector Crimmins,
please. It's urgent.

Please, Fred, this
is vitally important.

Inspector Crimmins?
This is Jessica Fletcher.

I'm about 5,000 feet over London. Would
you listen carefully? Time is precious.

Mrs. Fletcher, the landing gear is
down. You must return to your seat.

Yes, thank-thank you,
Inspector. Thank you very much.

Thank you.

Please remain in your seats until
the aircraft's come to a complete stop.

Flight Number 10 from
Boston has arrived at Gate 6.

Flight Number 927
from Casablanca...

is arriving at the
Blue Concourse.

Thank you, Inspector.
Need some assistance?

No, I'm fine, thank you. I
think everything's in hand.

Thank you very much.

Flight Number 26 1 to Amsterdam is
now boarding at the Blue Concourse.

Inspector Pogson, would you and
your prisoner mind coming with us?

I'm sorry? I'm with
Heathrow Security.

The Customs chief needs to have
a word with you. Only be a moment.

Blasted red tape every time.
Look, I've just signed the papers.

I suggest that the best
thing you can do is have your

chief call my office in
Scotland Yard in about an hour.

Thank you. Sorry, sir.

Under orders.

Come on.

Look, if this is a question of
filling out more forms, really, I...

What are you doing here?

Same thing you are,
Errol. Wrapping up a theft.

I'm only sorry we suddenly
find ourselves on different sides.

Jessica, what are you talking
about? Oh, I think you know.

In this day and age
of tight airport security,

how does one make off
with a two-million dollar

necklace without proof of
ownership or a bill of sale?

As the evidence in
a crime, perhaps?

I'm—I'm sorry. You've lost me.

A perfect theft requires
a perfect getaway,

and you had yours planned
from the very beginning.

You must have been with
the Yard at one time or another.

Perhaps a career man
who only got the gold pin,

and in bitterness you
went after the real gold?

Chief, it is perfectly
obvious that this woman's

storybook world has taken
over from the world of reality.

Don't be modest, Errol.

I fell for your deception
from one continent to another.

You even had the
courtesy to let me find the

necklace in Mr. Hardwick's
can of shaving cream.

And to think I invited
you to dine with me.

Mr. Hardwick was to pickpocket the
necklace and substitute the imitation.

If the switch was not
discovered, all well and good.

But if something went wrong, well, then
you'd be standing by to nab the thief...

and escort him and the
necklace right through Customs.

It was a brilliant plan.

Unfortunately, Mr. Bigard spoiled
it all by getting himself murdered.

It all fell into place when you,
Mr. Hardwick, confessed to the murder.

A skilled sleight-of-hand artist like
you wouldn't have resorted to violence.

Killing Leon would only
attract attention to the theft.

So after lifting the necklace
without Leon even realizing it,

why confess to his murder, which
you had absolutely no reason to commit?

That's when I knew that you and
the inspector were in on it together.

You'd have confessed
to every crime on the

blotter to get off that
plane and through Customs,

because the man arresting
you was your partner in crime.

Shall I ring up the Yard to verify
your employment, "Inspector"?

Hardwick, you're a bloody twit.

Don't tie up your phone.

No calls are necessary. Dinner
would have been lovely, Errol.

But I'm afraid I'd have been
waiting alone at some table...

while you were on another
flight for points unknown.

Very impressive, Mrs. Fletcher.

But permit me one small query.

If Hardwick didn't kill
Mr. Bigard, who did?

The killer should be arriving
at Customs at any moment.

All passengers arriving
from foreign destinations...

will proceed directly
to Customs inspection.

Thank you.

Mrs. Metcalf. Yes?

You know, I was just
thinking. Since Bert is

persona non grata in
England, what about France?

It's only an hour's trip across the
Channel, and he's welcome there.

Paris, Edna?

Who knows? He might
meet a cute poodle.

What a wonderful
idea, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm sure Bert'll love it.
Parlez-vous français, Bertie?

Any minute.

Flight Number 472 from Cairo
is arriving at Gate number 1.

Miss Greer. Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

You darted off the plane so quickly, I
didn't get a chance to really thank you.

Yes. Well, uh, I just want
to advise you that a real

Scotland Yard man will be
contacting you about your necklace.

A "real" Scotland Yard
man? I don't understand.

Well, what matters is that your
necklace will be waiting for you...

if and when you
get out of prison.

What are you talking about?

You know, it's ironic.

You actually made the capture of the bogus
inspector and Otto Hardwick possible...

when you killed Leon Bigard.

- What? No.
- Oh, yes, I'm afraid so.

And in thinking back, I even
remember how and when you did it.

I looked up and saw Kay
give you a glass of water.

It was your way of
planting the idea of taking

a couple of tranquilizers
in Leon's head.

And I couldn't help but see Leon
having trouble with his tape machine.

A little later, he either
asked you for some

pills, or you may have
suggested he take them.

I did see Kay bring
him some water.

But the pills that you gave him
were no ordinary tranquilizers.

They were poison.

If you didn't see him take pills
from me, you have no proof.

You had easy access
to his tape recorder.

You could have tampered with it before
the flight when he gave you his tote bag.

You made him dependent
on your tranquilizers.

Is that what you think?

Are you prepared to deal with the
battery of attorneys I'm about to unleash?

Oh, yes. Because you went
further than just the murder.

You waited until the cabin was
dark, and then you took the necklace.

I was standing at the front of first
class and saw you enter the galley.

You had time to
plant it in the unlocked

crew closet, and then
you headed upstairs...

as far as you could be from the man you
killed, waiting to be told of his death.

What you didn't know
was that the necklace

that you took from
Leon was by then a fake.

The real one had already been
lifted from Leon by Otto Hardwick.

That's why you were
so shocked when told the

necklace you put in
Kay's bag was a fake.

Chief, if you'll alert
Scotland Yard, I...

I suspect that the crew closet handle,
as well as the stewardess's vinyl bag...

should have, uh, some of Miss
Greer's fingerprints on them.

Damn him.

You're right, Mrs.
Fletcher. So very right.

Leon was my lover. Only I found
out I didn't have him exclusively.

He climbed into my bed to
climb out of his chauffeur's seat...

and onto bigger and
better things for himself.

He... had an eye on a vice presidency
in one of my late father's firms,

and he was bedding the wife
of a board member to get it.

Only yesterday I learned he was secretly
planning to meet that woman in London...

and give me the gate.

Well, nobody tosses me aside.

He... was a nobody.

Mr. Globle. Here's your script.

You know, I can't tell
you how much I enjoyed

the sophisticated
imagery and the poetic wit.

I see it as a cross
between cinema verité...

Imagery and cinema verité?
Yes. I think if you change the title,

it might do very well in those
quaint little, uh, art theaters.

Anything to declare, sir?

Yes. This is a dud.