All language subtitles for Rosemary and Thyme - 02x08 - Up The Garden Path.Xvid-DVDRip.English.edit.Addic7ed.com

You know, I've got a funny

feeling about this job.

You can't have.

We don't even know what it is yet
what with this Grania Monkton

woman being so
mysterious about it.

I'm telling you, why couldn't
she tell us more

about it on the phone?

Honestly, you and your
funny feeling.

You-- you always work on
instinct, don't you?

Whereas I, I can only go
on what I see and hear.

Now for instance, what was
that that just went past?

What?

Well, it was a car, wasn't it?

Yeah, well-- you see, you
feel it was a car.

But I know it was a taxi.

And if I ever saw that
woman again, I would

recognize her instantly.

What woman?

Oh, here we are.

Here we are.

Rowfield.

Now, um, now you
turn left here.

Left?

Left, yes, left, left, left.

You sure?

My instincts say left.

Yes, I'm sure.

Well,
this doesn't look right.

Can't you read the
instructions?

Oh, ha, second left.

Pfft... you and your instincts.

Look where they've got us now.

Um, I'm sorry.

We're looking for
Rowfield house?

Next turn.

Charming.

Nice garden, eh?

Oh, I see what

this job is all about.

It's the garden open
day scheme?

Yes, that's right.

It's a competition for us keen
gardeners who like to open to

the public.

We have a mystery judge
who goes around

secretly and picks a winner.

So you want us to knock your
garden into shape so

you'll win?

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no.

It's much more complicated
than that.

You see, I'm the local organizer
for the whole area.

And in Rowfield,
we have a big problem.

Uh, that's just a bit of

blight or something,
mrs. Monkton.

We can soon sort that out.

Yes, except that this is just
the tip of the iceberg.

It's only just starting here.

But I've been expecting it
because other gardens in the

competition are rampant
with it.

Just the ones in
the competition?

Yes.

And then I noticed that the
worst hit are those which are in

the running to
win the trophy.

Well, it smacks of sabotage.

Sabotage?

Really?

The point is that unless we
find out what's doing it and--

and who, all the gardens will
pull out, and we'll have to

cancel the whole event.

Oh dear.

Well, it won't be the end
of the world, will it?

Oh, it would be of Grania's.

My husband, Tim.

Um, Rosemary.

Hello.

Laura.

Yes, these days, her whole
standing in the village hangs

on the success of the scheme,
doesn't it, darling?

Well, it's not just
me, darling.

It's the whole village.

Open day is the big
event in Rowfield.

Certainly is.

People would kill to get their
hands on that trophy.

Oh, we call that
"adora Grania."

Yes.

Tim named it after moi.
Didn't you, darling?

Yes, to mark the day we
last won the trophy.

I must have been in
a very silly mood.

- Hmm, it's lovely.
- She's lucky.

Normally, to get a rose
named after you,

you have to be dead.

Well, uh, I think I'd better
show you around the gardens of

the other competitors.

We'll start with Donald Westward
he won last year.

No point in winning a cup if
you don't keep it where

people can see it.

A bit vain perhaps, but it
encourages me when I'm out

here gardening.

Now, the trouble's over here.

Well, it certainly looks as if
it's got the same symptoms.

You think someone's

deliberately doing this
to our gardens?

That's what these ladies are

here to tell us, Donald.

My wife certainly thinks so.

But you know Nora, always ready
to blame someone else

when things go wrong,
usually me.

Perhaps we could ask her if she
has any idea who's doing it?

Oh, she's not here.
She's rushed off--

To London, to the opera.

She, uh, came by a ticket to
"Tristan" at the last moment.

But she'll be back tomorrow.

I'm meeting her off the
train, first thing.

Hey, Westward!

Suppose you're very pleased
with yourself, aren't you?

That's mr. Skinner.

Take no notice.

Good day's work,
that, I don't think.

I'll win this thing
in the end.

You'll see.

Come on, Sam, let's go.

Win what, the competition?

No, someone started complaining
about the builders

yard at his house, and he thinks
it's me, just 'cause I run

most things in
the village.

But, I mean, everyone knows
he doesn't have planning

permission to run a
business there.

Right, um, let's have a
look around the back.

It's much worse there.

Well, if we could take some
soil samples, I'd probably be

able to tell you if it's
contaminated and possibly

what by.

I'd appreciate it because
I really want

to retain that cup.

And I'm not going to if it looks
like this on judgment

day, am I?

And not with this, either.

You know what the scheme
is like about

health and safety, Donald.

If you get visitors with
children, they're not going to

be able to resist swinging
on it, and it--

it could be a nasty accident.

Every town has to have its
Donald Westward,

somebody prepared to protect
its interests and run

everything, bless him.

Whereas at the other end
of the social scale--

Yes, we met him.

We took a wrong turn.

Then you'll realize that our mr.
Judd's a bit of a blot on

the local landscape.

He used to do some gardening
for us and the Westwards.

But he was so unpleasant
to us all.

We had to sack him in the end.

He built his own garden.

He was pretty good.

Now, mr. and mrs.
Skinner, the builder.

Um, you don't need me
anymore, do you?

Any objections, just say you're
doing the

health and safety check.

But they're from the garden
scheme, Barry.

Horticulturalists.

Don't you believe it.

They're from the council
planning office.

No, no, really, mr. Skinner.

Westward sent you, didn't he?

First he shops me to the
council, and now he's trying

to sabotage my garden?

Who said anything
about sabotage?

Oh, well, you've been in his
garden, which is contaminated

by this epidemic.

And then he sends you around
to infect mine.

It's very clever.

He's chosen the wrong person
to pick a fight

with, hasn't he?

Ha, epidemic, contamination,
sabotage?

And how does he know Westward's
got it unless he

put it there?

There's mr. Westward now.

Busy running the village,
as usual.

Looks like he's been visiting
our next stop.

Maple cottage.

Vilma Hockham.

Right.

What is it?

Can't remember.

Not indigenous, that's
for sure.

Now, I know I'm listed in the
green book, but, uh, I'm not

actually in the competition.

Why not?

You'd stand a good chance.

Oh, it's true.

Look, I'm new to this village.

And, I don't know, this garden
was the creation of the people

who were here before me.

I don't know, it seemed like
cheating entering with

somebody else's work.

You've got some amazing plants

out in the front.

Oh, they're mine.

Yeah, no, I brought those over
with me from South Africa.

From Bloemfontein.

And there we had a garden
which was, oh--

well, you know Bloemfontein
means fountain of flowers?

And that's exactly
what we had.

They're doing wonderful, even

away from their natural
habitat.

Yeah,
I'm very pleased with

the way they've taken.

That's fascinating.

Oh, we call that, uh,
dragon's tongue.

I can't remember its fancy
name, but it'll be on its

passport somewhere.

Passport?

For a plant?

Oh, yeah.

Your government's very strict
about what plants we can

import into the country.

Very interesting.

I'll look it up for you if
you really want to know.

Oh, thank you.

Anyway, no sign of
plant disease.

Why should there be?

Uh, well, surely mr.
Westward told you.

Who?

Or wasn't he just here,
mr. Westward?

Um, green acres?

I call that Jumeau Guillaume.

Rainmire, the gallups, High
trees, fairlawn, Pine croft,

Rowfield house, and
Green acres.

All right.

That's all the competing
gardens we've

looked at so far.

And?

Well, I think it might
be ammonium sulfamate.

- Weed killer?
- In all of them.

Look, you can see little white
granules in the soil.

What are we supposed to do, pick
them out with tweezers?

No, if it is it, you need
a complete soil change.

Well, it certainly looks
like sabotage now.

What's that?

Hey, watch out, you punk!

Oh, look, is that Judd?

What's he doing out at
this time of night?

We shouldn't really start if
the Westwards aren't here,

but we can't hang about, either.

Not with all the other
gardens to deal with.

And they've all got to be
ready by judgment day.

What in heaven's name?

Mr. Westward.

Too late.

Ah, well, it's judgment
day for him, all right.

Who are you?

Why wasn't I met
at the station?

Where's my husband?

So in your professional
opinion, that branch wouldn't

have come down easily.

No way, Inspector.

I mean, it was cracked.

But from the healthy state
t of he wood, it would

have taken some strength.

Thank you.

And also for all this stuff
about the garden competition.

Very useful.

Is that why he was murdered?

Murdered?

Jumping to conclusions,
aren't we?

Wh-- no--

What about all this vandalism?

Might be connected,
might not.

Too early to say.

Do you need me anymore,
Inspector Hammond?

I would like a word with you,
but when you're ready.

I'm ready as I'll ever be.

Excuse me.

That's odd.

Is it?

Yep.

She was the woman in the
taxi yesterday, the

one you didn't notice.

So what are
we going to do?

I don't know.

This is a write-off.

We'd better go and deal with
some of the others.

Well, I think it's pretty
obvious what happened.

Westward hears our
saboteur doing his stuff

in the middle of the night.

He goes out.

There's a struggle, which gets out
of hand, and Westward gets killed.

Y-yeah, but there's no marks
on the body, though.

He must have had some sort of
scythe to savage the garden.

And what about the tree?

How does that get into it?

Um, afterthought, maybe?

Dragged the body under the
tree, then pulled the branch

down on him to make it look
like an accident?

Someone very strong, then.

Hello, girls.

Just the people I want to see.

Listen, I've got this sick
plant I'd really

like your advice on.

Go on.

It's your department.

Oh, I've got the very
stuff for this.

Soon get it back on its feet.

Um, may I take it with me?

Sure.

Oh, I found the import
document for that

plectranthus.

What?

Oh, uh-- uh, yes, the, um--
the dragon's tongue.

Plectranthus, plectranthus--

ach, man, where's that
piece of paper?

Oh, here it is.

Oh, is this its passport?

Covers all the plants
I brought over.

All the latin names
are on there, too.

Plectranthus ecklonii,
very interesting.

Could I keep this, too?

Oh, please.

Thank you.

Oh, and about, uh,
Donald Westward--

It's very tragic, isn't it?

Look, I know I was a
bit cagey when you

mentioned him yesterday.

But, uh, yes, he was here.

And he did mention that somebody
had been sabotaging

the gardens.

Do you think that has anything
to do with why he was killed?

I--

I thought he was, uh, well-liked
and respected here.

Donald?

Oh, no, he was the most hated
man in the village.

Hated?

Who by?

Well, just about everybody.

Well, his wife, for a start.

Flaming Nora,
playing that bloody opera

music all day long.

And then there was that weirdo,

Judd, and the Skinners.

And as for those Monktons--

The Monktons?

Oh, yeah.

Their noses were put out of
joint big time when Donald

arrived and started
trying to run

everything in their village.

No, I--

I think I was probably
the only real

friend that he had here.

And now--

Well, there's
nothing left for me here.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I--

I had no idea you
were so close.

Um, did his--

wife know that you were--
that he came here?

Oh, god, no.

If she did, he'd be dead.

Even the Monktons?

Yes, the whole village seemed

to have it in for Westward,
according

to the Vilma Hockham.

Oh, and, uh--

That is not her real
name, by the way.

The name on the plant passport
is Vilma Van der Waals.

Well that's South African,
all right.

So it must be her married
name or her maiden name?

So that man must be her
husband, as in "we had a

garden in Bloemfontein."

Uh, what man?

The man in all the
photographs?

What photographs?

All the framed photographs,
all over the room.

There weren't any
photographs.

Yes, there were.

There were at least
six of them.

No.

No photographs.

Look, I notice these things.

I saw everything in that room.

I noticed all the African
artifacts, everything.

But there were no photographs,
not when we were there.

Well, there were when
I was there.

Maybe she put them away so that
Westward didn't see them.

Why?

Because she was having
an affair with him.

How'd you work that out?

Because you wouldn't go to
all the trouble to put

photographs away if you were
just going to do a bit of

village gossip, would you?

Not unless you were having
a full-blown ding-dong.

Just an instinct.

I'm sorry, mrs. Westward.

We're just not going to be able
to sort this out in time.

No, no, but you must.

My husband lived for
this competition.

Now he's died for it.

Do you think this is all to
do with the competition?

Well, absolutely.

I have proof.

Please excuse the mess.

I've just been going through
my husband's papers.

Absolutely chaotic.

Yes, I found something
here on the desk.

A note.

Oh, where have I put it?

I know who you are.

If you don't want the rest of
the village to know, keep your

garden out of the
competition"?

If that's not a threatening
note, I don't know what is.

Who could this be from?

Could be anyone.

I'd put my money on
Skinner, probably.

Pot of poison that one
is, if you ask me.

Uh, what does it mean,
"I know who you are"?

Well, that's just it.

He wasn't anybody.

He was just an ordinary
retired consultant.

Uh, early retired.

Did he have any enemies?

No, not that you'd
call enemies.

He was on civil terms with most
people in the village.

Rather too friendly with one in
particular, for my liking.

Anyway, I'm sure that
none of this would have

happened if only I'd been here.

Yes, you were in London last
night, weren't you?

Yes, at the opera.

Somebody sent me
a complimentary

ticket out of the blue.

Nice surprise.

I suppose I must have
some secret admirer.

Well, I couldn't resist for
"Tristan," could I?

So I went up to London
yesterday morning.

She didn't go up to London
in the morning.

What?

We saw her in the taxi on the
way to the station, remember?

And it was in the afternoon.

Odd.

That means that her morning
is unaccounted for.

She was certainly into her

husband's desk a bit sharpish.

She had his insurance policy
out at the top of the pile.

And what about that secret
admirer, sending her opera

tickets?

Well, that would go with the
opera she was playing, "the

merry widow." Well--
w-- oh, bollocks.

Oh, hang on.

Oh, whoops, I've got--

Some tissues here somewhere.

Well, there's one.

There's another.

Oh, what's that?

That's a belt buckle I found
in the Westward flower bed.

Oh, well, what do you know?

Oh, now what?

These are the route

directions from Grania Monkton.

I thought I recognized that
notepaper pattern.

Have a look.

It's the same as the "we
know who you are" note.

And the

writing's the same, too.

Well observed.

So, Grania Monkton writing
threatening messages.

Ooh, our friends,
the Skinners.

Off to sabotage some
more gardens.

Whatever.

Point is, they're not at home.

Where are we going now?

I'm going to have a look

around their garden.

We shouldn't
be doing this, you know.

I just want to see
if it's contaminated or not.

All right, all right,
but just be quick,

that's all.

No sign of browning.

Yet.

Want to take some soil samples,
for comparison?

What?

All right, if you insist.

What are you doing here!?

Uh, what are you doing here?

I'm mr. Skinner's gardener, if
it's any of your business.

Oh, are you indeed?

Well, mr. Judd, for
a gardener, you

keep very odd shifts?

What do you mean?

Well, do you always work in
the middle of the night?

Well, we saw you here in
the lane, last night.

Around about the time when mr.
Westward was being killed.

Hah, not me.

Oh yes we did.

We saw you.

You had a brush with a van.

What van?

I haven't got time to answer
questions from interfering

old busybodies.

Now clear off out of here
before I pitch you out

with this.

Oh-- all right, all
right, we're going.

Nice chatting to you.

Interfering old busybodies?

There must be two other ladies
asking him questions.

Rosemary?

Why has a builder got so much
ammonium sulfamate?

And how could Judd say he
wasn't there on the night of

the murder when we saw him?

Yes, exactly.

Inspector Hammond.

What brings you here?

We can have days
off, can't we?

Well, in the middle of a
serious murder investigation?

Actually, we're not sure
this is a serious murder

investigation.

Oh, so it's a funny one.

Ha, no.

We were looking at
manslaughter.

But then we had the post-mortem
result.

Go on.

I can't tell you that.

Oh, go on.

It's your day off.

All right.

If you twist my arm, it
was a heart attack.

What?

Brought on by trying to shift
that branch on his own,

no doubt.

A heart attack?

Oh, that is good news.

Not if you were Donald
Westward.

No, I mean-- here I was
thinking somebody might have

murdered him, and all because
of the garden scheme.

Which might have given it
a frightfully bad name.

So we're only concerned
with our saboteur now.

Do you think Skinner and Judd
might be doing it together?

Well, we do know that Skinner
has got ammonium sulfamate,

and that his garden is clear.

A-- and Judd is working for him.

But all this proves nothing.

Well, at least
Judd's doing an

honest job for a change.

What dishonest jobs
has he done?

Oh, well, he scavenges for tree
bark from the forestry

commission property.

And then he bags it up and
sells it round the

neighborhood as garden
chippings.

Ooh, naughty, naughty.

That's stealing.

So I wouldn't put sabotaging
gardens past him.

Or Skinner, for that matter.

Well, people have stooped to
worse to win the trophy.

Such as?

Finding out who the mystery
judges are so

they can bribe them.

I get calls all the time
from other villages.

Often the judges are
local organizers

from somewhere else.

What about blackmail?

Anyone ever tried that?

Blackmail?

What do you mean?

Sending blackmail notes to the

other competitors.

Mrs. Westward showed
us a blackmail note.

It said, "stay out of the
competition, or else."

Or else what?

Or else they would tell
the rest of the

village who he was.

Really?

Who on earth would do
a thing like that?

Who was he, mr. Westward?

Well, his wife said he was
a retired consultant.

A consultant surgeon.

We don't know anything
about him, darling.

Yes, we do.

It may not be generally known in
the village, but it was in

all the papers at the time.

What was?

How he had a spot of bother
a few years back.

He was a specialist at st.

Nathaniel's hospital in London.

Quite a high flyer, apparently.
Tip to the very top.

And his wife was quite
a socialite.

Well, then he bungled
some operation.

That was the end of a
brilliant career.

And the high life for her.

I see.

No wonder she didn't seem
to be too keen on him.

What happened?

The patient died.

There was a GMC inquiry
and a court case.

But he was found not guilty.

He wasn't struck off, then?

No, but he gave up medicine.

Came down here to get away
from it all, I suppose.

It just beggars belief,
doesn't it?

Fancy digging up something like
that just to keep him

out of the competition.

Fancy that.

So how are

your instincts tonight?

Don't knock my instincts.

They tell me a lot.

Such as?

Well, for instance,
such as-- cheers--

They tell me that the plant,
Vilma's plant, dragon's

tongue--

Is not a plectranthus.

But this passport thing
says that it is.

Do your instincts run to
telling you what it is called?

No, but if I had my computer, I
could look it up on the web.

Let's have a look.

No, gobbledygook to me.

Oh look, there's a telephone
number on the back.

That might be something to do
with the-- the plant passport

thing. Go on, give it a ring.

- Nah.
- Give it a ring.

You might find somebody who
knows about these things.

All right.

What are your instincts
telling you about Judd?

Judd?

Such as?

Well, why would he deny having
had that brush

with the van?

Probably 'cause he's
up to no good?

He wouldn't be out trying
to sell tree back at

that time of night.

Bark.

That's it.

I knew there was something
different

about Skinner's garden.

No, now you've lost me.

No, all the other gardens had

tree bark chippings.

And Skinner's didn't.

So maybe the ammonium sulfamate
wasn't in the soil

to begin with.

But in the tree bark.

And who sells tree bark to
everyone around here?

Judd.

Oh, the box office is closed.

Box office?

Yes.

Royal opera house,
Covent garden.

So Vilma's another opera fan.

No, she isn't, you know.

She isn't.

Because she said to me that she
couldn't understand why

Westward allowed his wife to
play opera music all day.

Well, that doesn't
make sense.

Wh-why would she be
ringing the--

unless she was booking a

seat for someone else!

Nora Westward.

Yes, because she said the
ticket fell out of the blue.

Yes, of course.

She packs the wife off so
the lovers can have

their wicked way.

What is it, boy?

Anyone there?

Who's there?

Come out, whoever you are.

Do you hear?

Not you again.

Judd's not here.

You've got no business knowing
he was even working here.

We just happened to notice.

No, you happened to be
snooping, I know.

I suppose the whole
village knows now.

Well, is there any reason
why they shouldn't?

Just my secret weapon.

I stand a good chance
with him on board.

Mr. Skinner, just how keen are you

to win this competition?

On a scale of 1 to 10, 12.

This competition's always
been a stitch-up.

Pass the trophy around
amongst themselves.

Well, about time somebody
broke the chain.

Oh, is that why somebody's
going around sabotaging

everybody else's garden?

What are you getting at?

Oh, everybody's except
yours, that is.

Uh, can you explain that?

I don't have to answer
your questions.

And can you explain
why a builder

needs ammonium sulfamate?

Ok, so what's our calling card

if Judd catches two old
busybodies snooping

about his bark bags?

Oh, n-no need.

He's not at home, look.

I don't believe it.

We've just seen him.

Look.

Doesn't this look familiar?

Thank you, Inspector.

Well, as far as I'm concerned,
Inspector Hammond,

this tree bark is riddled
with ammonium sulfamate.

And I don't know if you
know it, but that is--

w-weed killer, I know.

Yeah, so you're saying that
mr. Judd contaminated the

bark, then sold it round
people in the garden

competition who put it
on their gardens.

Uh, no, no.

We know he was selling it.

But we don't know that he was
doing the contaminating.

Well, thank you for that.

May or not be relevant.

And I don't know how it'll go
down with my governor, not

when I've got all the evidence
of a nasty accident.

Accident?

Accident, my foot.

He's never have gone for us

seeing two Judds, not
without proof.

Ah, we've got it.

What?

This buckle, which I found
in the Westward's garden.

It's not Judds, but it's
identical to Judd's.

So somebody has got
an identical coat.

Oh, and so they could have been
dressed like that on the

night of the murder.

The person we saw
in the lane.

Who we naturally thought
was Judd.

Unless, of course, who
happened to be Judd.

And that's what got
him bumped off.

Well, that doesn't explain
why Westward was killed.

Well, maybe that wasn't anything to

do with the competition
after all.

Can't your instincts come up
with another reason why

Somebody would want him
out of the way?

No, but my observation can.

One lover dead--

Next, please?

A bit thin, isn't it?

Well, it'll, uh-- it'll spread

Out in time.

But not if we overcrowd
it now.

So I can kiss goodbye
to that trophy, then.

No, not necessarily.

But, uh, it's the best we
could do in the time.

Well, I've only got myself
to blame, I suppose.

Why?

For not being here.

I couldn't leave my
husband for two minutes

without something happening.

Honestly, I could have murdered
him sometimes.

Oh, what an
awful thing to say.

Well, surely, you-- you
don't think that I--

Well, I do think you should
explain why you said you'd

gone to London in the morning,
and yet we saw you in a taxi

not far from here in
the afternoon.

So where were you
in the morning?

Oh, all right.

I was at the council
planning office.

I was formally registering
my objection to Skinner's

builders yard.

So it wasn't your husband
harassing Skinner.

No, it was me.

Skinner must have seen that the
objection was in the name

of Westward and just assumed
it was my husband.

It was I who was antagonizing
him.

But it was my Donald that
he took his revenge on.

Wasn't it?

Hello, Inspector.

What's new?

I was going to ask you
the same question.

I thought your boss wasn't
interested in

anything we had to say.

Well, he was coming around.

That is, until mr. Judd's
post-mortem results came in.

And?

Heart attack.

Massive.

Heart attack?

Another one?

I mean, come off it.

That is too much of
a coincidence.

So you've got a better idea?

No.

No, she hasn't.

No, we haven't.

No, we're just gardeners.

Sometimes, I wish
that's all I was.

Mm, potentilla arbuscula.

What does he mean,
"that's all"?

Why did you cut me
off like that?

Well, what were
you gonna say?

Two bodies, two heart attacks,
two Judds and Vilma's

two lovers?

We can't be sure of Vilma
and Tim Monkton.

No.

We could find out.

How?

Ask them.

While they're still
alive to ask.

Just march in there
and accuse them

of having an affair?

Here's your excuse.

Go and see her.

Give her that back, and
find out what you can.

All right.

What about you?

I'm going to see Tim Monkton.

And what's your excuse?

I'll think of something.

All right.

Ah, ms. Boxer.

Uh, mr. Monkton.

What can I do for you?

I was wondering if we
could borrow some--

string.

Yes, I, uh--

I want to tie something up.

And, and--

We're fresh out of string.

String?

Yes.

Yes, I think I can
help you there.

Come here.

String?

Yes.

Ha... Come on, Tim,
string, string, string.

Oh, string.

No.

W-would--

Oh, thank you.

Actually, I'm rather
glad you've come.

There's something I
want to tell you.

It's about that blackmail
note you were telling us about.

Oh, that.

What about it?

Well, I could see that you
were rather under the

Impression it had been
sent by my wife.

It was her notepaper.

And you would have
been quite right.

I-it was her who sent it.

It's very stupid, very childish,
all those things.

And she bitterly regrets it.

Why are you telling me this?

Because, well--

It makes it look as if she might
also have had something

to do with Westward's death.

But believe me, I--

I mean, all right, a bit of
blackmail's one thing.

But murder?

No way, not Grania.

She had nothing to do with it.

Uh, do you have

any idea who did?

No.

Or why he was killed?

No.

Have you?

Uh, no, no.

Um, well, I thought--

maybe he had a rival
for Vilma.

You know about them.

Yes.

And I know about you.

Me?

Yes, well, you, uh--

You were seeing her,
weren't you?

Over there, w-we saw
you yesterday.

Indeed you
may well have done.

I--

I was there.

Why?

In a purely professional
capacity.

She's leaving, and I'm selling
her house for her.

I'm an estate agent.

As a senior partner, I wouldn't
normally be involved

in individual small property
sales, but I obviously have a

personal interest in who
we get in the village.

Vilma's very grateful, too.

She gave me a thank-you
present.

Look, dragon's tongue, a-- a
plectranthus, apparently.

No, I don't think so.

She said so, and I've just been

looking it up on the net.

No, it's something else.

And I have a feeling
I know what it is.

Uh, may I?

Yes.

Right.

Let's see if my instinct
is right.

Hello?

Anyone at home?

That's the one.

Strophanthus speciosus.

Not a particularly
friendly plant to

have around the house.

What's this?

That?

Oh, that's just the newspaper
report about Donald Westward's

spot of bother.

It's how we knew about it.

Uh, may I?

Hello?

Ms. Hockham?

Ms. Hockham?

Prohibited import, toxic.

The seeds contain a potent
glycoside used by native

africans to make poison
darts which induce

instant heart attacks.

Charming.

Instant
heart attacks.

Poison darts.

Of course, that's how
they were killed.

Oh my god, and I've sent
Laura over there!

Mr. Monkton, you've got to
come with me, quickly!

What about this tree?

Go!

Oh, go!

W-what's going on?

Oh, mrs. Monkton.

Call the police and send them
to Vilma Hockham's cottage.

It's an emergency.

The picture
in the paper.

And the patient's name.

William Van der Waals.

That's Vilma's real name.

The man in the photographs.

What photographs?

In Vilma's cottage.

That's why she hid them when
Westward was there.

He'd have recognized him as
the patient he killed.

He'd have known who
Vilma really was.

She only came here to live in the
first place to get her revenge.

But I don't understand.

Vilma and Donald Westward
were good friends.

Only so she could find
out all about him.

About the village, everything.

Just so that she
could kill him?

And so she'd know how
to make his murder look

like something to do with
the competition, just to lead

everybody up the garden path.

Oh my god.

It was you.

Yes.

Not that you're going to
be telling anybody.

Laura, it's a poison dart!

Ha, and it's powerful enough
to stop a bull elephant.

So you had better stay
right where you are.

So you know, too.

Yes, I do.

And I know why you
did it and how.

Impossible.

No, I do.

I do.

I know you smuggled that deadly
strophanthus in under

another name, fully intending
to kill Donald

Westward with it.

And then you used the
competition to incriminate

everyone else.

And then you planted that
plant on mr. Monkton.

Yes.

And it was you that
poisoned the bark

that Judd was selling.

Then you dressed yourself up as
him, so that you could do

your dirty work, and he
would take the rap.

Only he found out, so you
had to kill him too.

Very clever.

And now you.

Let's have you both where
I can see you.

My brother wasn't allowed to
live, to enjoy his garden.

So why should the surgeon
who killed him?

Your brother?

Yes, William was my twin brother.

And sometimes, when there's no
justice in this world, you

just have to take the law
into your own hands.

So William, this is for you.

Ah, of course.

Jumeau guillaume.

Twin William.

A rose by any other name.

Laura, that's your third.

So?

Think of your health.

You don't need poison darts to
have a heart attack in this Village.

And how right you
were about them.

Oh, Inspector.

Sorry, I couldn't
help overhearing.

But yes, you were spot-on.

The pathologist hadn't spotted
the little dart marks in the

neck, in among all the
other injuries.

Uh-- c-could I have your

attention, please, everybody?

Now, um, before we make the
presentation, I would like to

say a special word of thanks
to two people without whose

advice and hard restoration work
this year's garden open

day scheme might not have
happened at all, our

horticultural experts, ms.
Boxer and mrs. Thyme.

And who better to present the
trophy to this year's winners,

mr. and mrs. Skinner, than
our mystery judge

himself, mr. Hammond.

Well, how do you fancy that?

A gardening detective.

I've never heard of anything
so ridiculous.

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