All language subtitles for Campion (1989-1990) 3 The Case of the Late Pig 1

THEME SONG PLAYING...

"Osbourne."

Yeah.

"...86 on Wednesday,

"16th of May, of a long fight.

"Bravely fought.

"Peters."

Know anyone called Peters?

Honestly, then.

Here, I'm talking to ya.

What's the point of me trying
to give the place a bit of tone

if you won't even listen?

Peters.

Peters, did you say?

You'll want to wash
your lugholes out.

Peters.

All right.

Pig Peters.

You do know him.

Not exactly, not now.

We were at
Botolph's Abbey together.

An old school pal?

Well, hardly a pal. Pig Peters
was a major evil at Botolph's.

Ranked with injustice,
rice pudding, and Latin prose.

See that?

Pig Peters did it with
a rusty pen knife.

Blimey! What you done to him?

Nothing.

He was branding me as his slave.

Made me blub till I was sick,

then held me under an unlit
gas jet till I passed out.

There was no doings
like that at my school.

That's the advantage
of state control.

I haven't seen Pig Peters since I went
into the sanatorium with gas poisoning.

I said then I'd dearly
like to attend his funeral.

What do you make of this, Lugg?

Anonymous, hey?

But not without
a certain rhetorical style.

"Why should he die?

"There's thousands more
fitting than he for the journey.

"Peters, Pietro, Piero.

"Come, sayeth the angel.

"Why should the mole...

"...move backwards?"

Some religious nut, innit?

What do you think it means?

Nothing.

Blokes like you are bound
to get anonymous letters.

If you must rub your nose into
every bit of blood around,

you are going to get
yourself topped off.

We'll have women sitting
on the stairs next,

wanting you to sign your
name on their pillowcases.

What's the machine?

Royal, portable, new,
certainly newish.

No peculiarities to speak of, even
the "e" is as fresh as that bacon was.

Ordinary plant ash paper,
central stamp,

postmarked, WC1.

Chuck it in the fire.

He once fed the study fire with
my collection of skeleton leaves.

You reckon it's your Pig Pete
is what angel's on about?

I don't believe in
coincidence, just missing links.

Well, get out your black suit.
Oh, I like a funeral.

I can still picture him at 13.

Overweight, carrot hair,
mean little eyes.

Is that why you called him Pig?

That, and a revolting way
he had of clearing his throat.

Like a vicious snort.

Filthy habits, some people.

Kepesake.

Isn't that where your pal,
the Chief Constable lives?

Yes.

And his daughter.

Young Janet.

I do know
her name, Lugg.

- I had high hopes for you there.
- Lugg...

I have known Janet Pursuivant for
21 years, we are practically related.

When I first saw her, she
was bald, red and horrible.

She ain't bald now.

That I'll concede.

Give you the push, did she?

No, she did not.

She never visits
Bottle Street no more.

As a matter of fact, although
it's none of your damn business,

the boot was on the other foot.

More fooled you if you ask me.

I did not ask you.

So, we won't be dropping in.

We're late as it is.

"Of whom may we seek for
succour, but of thee, O Lord,

"who for our sins art
justly displeased.

"Yet, O Lord God most holy,
O Lord most mighty,

"O holy and most merciful
Saviour..."

"Thou knowest, Lord,
the secrets of our hearts,

"shut not thy merciful ears to our
prayer, but spare us, Lord most holy.

"O God most mighty,
O holy and merciful Saviour,

"thou most worthy Judge eternal,

"suffer us not, at our last hour, for
any pains of death to fall from thee."

"For as much as it hath pleased
Almighty God of his great mercy,

"to take unto himself the soul of
our dear brother here departed,

"we therefore commit his
body to the ground.

"Earth to earth, ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.

"In sure and certain hope of
the Resurrection to eternal life,

"to our Lord, Jesus Christ."

"Who shall change our vile body,

"that it may be like unto
his glorious body,

"according to the mighty working whereby
he is able to subdue all things to himself.

"I heard a voice from heaven,
saying unto me

"Write, from henceforth blessed
are the dead which die in the Lord:

"Even so sayeth the Spirit,
for they rest from their lab ours."

Lord, have mercy upon us.

Christ, have mercy upon us.

Lord, have
mercy upon us.

"The grace of our Lord, Jesus
Christ, and the love of God,

"and the fellowship of the Holy
Ghost, be with us all evermore. Amen."

- See you later then, Royle.
- Yes, Dr Kingston.

Whippet.

- Um...
- It's me, don't you remember? Botolph's Abbey.

I was a year ahead of you.

Oh, yes.

What are you doing
at Pig's funeral?

Well, uh, I was invited.

Sort of. Um, got this yesterday.

Pretty informal.

- Hmm. I had a similar one.
- Ah.

Odd, about the mole.

Always been rather
partial to them.

Moles, that is.

Wind In The Willows, perhaps.

Anyway, I thought
might as well look in.

He hasn't changed.

You'd never get anything out of
him unless you clipped his ear.

Sad business.

Yes.

Knew him well, did you?

No, hadn't seen him for years.

- We were at school together.
- Oh.

He used to go
by the nickname of Pig.

He came to me to convalesce
after an appendix operation.

He should never have had it,
his heart couldn't stand the strain.

He picked up a touch of
pneumonia on the way down,

and there was nothing
I could do for the poor chap.

Any of his people here?

Not that I know of.

You're a doctor, are you?

Yes, yes. I practise locally.

That's my place over there.

I've taken a few
convalescents to help out.

Never had a death here before.

Well, that's the end
of Pig Peters.

- Lovely day.
- It is.

Very kind.

I'm afraid
his nibs is out, miss.

Robbing a bank for all I know.

He don't tell me nothing.

Hang on a tick, here he is now.

For you.

Who is it?

Miss Janet Pursuivant.

Don't drag your feet.

Hello, Janet,
what a pleasant surprise.

I'm sure I'm the last person
on earth you want to speak to.

I wouldn't be phoning,
only Daddy asked me to.

He wondered if you could
possibly come down to High waters.

When?

Well, now.

At once.

What's up?

I can't say much over the phone,

but somebody's died,
and Daddy thinks it might...

It's rather horrid actually.

He thinks it might be...

Murder?

Campion, my dear boy,
how good of you to come down.

How are you, Leo?

Hello, Lag!

It's Lugg, Sir.

Yes, of course.

What made me say, "Lag"?

Word association perhaps.

Janet!

I'm sorry to drag you
all the way down here.

But it is a matter of
some urgency.

Ah, there she is now.

Hello.

Hello, Albert.

How are you?

Hello, Lugg.

You're looking awfully well.

Will you be going straight to
the police station?

Oh, yes. If that's
all right with you, Campion.

Of course.

Perhaps you can fill me in, Leo.

I'd rather not, actually,
I don't want to influence you.

Suffice it to say
there's a body,

and I need the assistance
of somebody that I can trust.

And since your almost family...

Lugg.

Very good to see you again.

Nights work is the...

- It would have been done in the, uh...
- Janet.

She told you.

She said she made a bit of an
ass of herself last time you met.

I'm afraid I didn't
handle it very well.

I hadn't realised how she felt,

or I wouldn't have asked her
to those concerts.

She's always had a crush on you.

Even as a child.

Last thing I wanted was to hurt her,
I'm very fond of her, you know that.

She'll get over it.

Eventually.

This is our makeshift mortuary.

Go on right in.

The Inspector knows we're here.

Now, Campion,

take a look at that.

When did he die?

Just before midday.

Poor fellow.

Nasty bit of work though.

Shouldn't say that of the dead
of course, but there it is.

You knew him then.

Yes. Had the most unfortunate
interview with him, only last night.

Rather awkward
in the circumstances.

What was his name?

Harris.

Oswald Harris.

Had more money than
was good for him,

and the manners, of an enemy
non-commissioned officer.

Pig.

Absolute swine.

Come around here.

Take a closer look at the wound.

Looks as though he's been kicked
by a cart horse through his toupee.

Yes, well, substitute urn
for cart horse,

and you've got it in one.

Urn?

Sort of a stone contraption
for geraniums.

One of several
set along the parapet.

Then there's a suggestion
of foul play.

I'm afraid so.

Yes, I've been up there
to inspect them.

They're all as firm
as the Rock of Gibraltar.

Couldn't possibly have
toppled over on his own.

Leo, you didn't bring me down from
London simply to confirm that Pig...

That Harris died from
a bang on the head.

No.

The thing is,

there are one or two
private matters involved,

and I'd rather this was
sorted out at local level.

Where did it happen?

At the Knights.
Our country club.

You and I lunched there once.

Of course, poor Poppy is
worried out of her wits.

Remember Poppy Burridge,
who runs the place?

- Wonderful woman.
- Indeed.

Never a suspicion of
anything of this sort before.

That's why I'm anxious
to handle it personally.

I don't want Scotland Yard
poking their noses into local affairs.

Oh, Lugg, I'm driving Sir Leo
on to the Knights.

You better get back to High
waters. Take a bus or something.

- A bus?
- Yes, you know, one of those big green things.

You must have seen them about.

I'll be frank with you, Campion,

there are several chaps here,
including myself,

who would've put Harris
out of the way for two pins.

Why is that?

Well, it's an odd story.

Two of the adjoining estates
became vacant last year.

And they were bought up anonymously,
through a firm of local solicitors.

No one thought much about it.

Until last week.

I came down to the club one
night, to have a game of cards,

found the place in uproar.

Harris was throwing his
weight about,

and boasting about his
plan for Kepesake.

Hydro, dog track...

Cinema. Ha!

The beginning of the end,
it would have been.

So it was he who purchased
the other estates?

Yes, and that's not all.

What's he doing here?

Oh, good afternoon, gentlemen.

Well, I'm not raising my hat
to the likes of him.

Come and have a look
at the scene of the crime.

Good afternoon, Constable.

What's the situation
with the police?

Oh, the local chap's
questioning people.

Pusey, he's very sharp.

Constable.

Now, now. Here we are.

This is where the
fellow was sitting.

And this is the urn.

I was in there at the time, playing
cards with some of the others.

You should have heard the thud.

But only the edge of
the urn caught his head,

where it jutted over the
back of the chair.

And as you rightly surmised,
he was wearing his toupee.

Our murderer took
a tremendous risk.

He could have got the wrong man.

Presumably, he wasn't
the only one sitting out here.

As a matter of fact, he was.

This may sound rather childish.

But when he turned up this morning,
we decided to send him to Coventry.

- We all went in the house.
- All?

Mmm-hmm. About a dozen of us.

Should we go and see Poppy
now? Oh, and Campion...

Go easy with her, won't you? I
wouldn't like to see her brow beaten.

She's had a lot to put up
with lately. Poor little creature.

Thank you so much.

It's most awfully noble of you
to come, Albert and Leo.

You're a lamb to send for him.

Isn't it simply frightful?

I wouldn't wish a death like that on my worst
enemy, which come to think of it, he was.

- Has Leo told you what he tried do to me?
- No.

Well, I'm afraid
we got side-tracked.

My dear, he was trying to pinch
this place from under my nose!

I told him about
the other estates.

Well, he was after
the Knights, too.

Yes, well, Poppy got into
a little financial difficulty.

- And the silly girl didn't tell me.
- I didn't want to worry you,

or to depress the others.

You see, they're all my
friends as well as members.

I only allow
nice people to join.

- Where was I?
- Financially embarrassed.

Oh, the place costs a packet
to run. Anyway...

This delightful man came down from
London and offered me a second mortgage

on most generous terms.

- Of course, I should have smelt a rat.
- Or even a pig.

Exactly! She's too trusting.

Well, anyway, a few weeks later,

when I paid off my bills
with a major part of the loan,

this odious man,
Harris, turns up,

tells me he's the man
behind it all, demands a room.

Yes, and threatens to foreclose.

And that was when darling Leo
came to the rescue.

Without much success,
I'm afraid.

You did everything
you humanly could.

Well, I rounded a few people
together, chaps of my own kidney.

And we had a meeting,
and formed a syndicate.

We approached Harris with a
very fair offer. And what does he do?

Snorted in your face?

Absolutely. He told us that
he intended to exercise

his option to purchase
the Knights.

I didn't even know
he had an option.

Yes, well, I'm afraid she
failed to read the small print.

I didn't even see the small
print, duckie. It's no use.

I shall have to get myself
some specks. To hell with vanity.

Not that glasses don't suit
some people wonderfully.

So, now you see how it all
happened. Not that it excuses them.

I told them last night it was
a dangerous thing to do.

I knew it would
all end in trouble.

Although I'm sure, whoever
it was, meant to be kind.

Didn't you tell him, Leo?
About their plot?

No, he's only been here an hour.

You were trying
to shield them, weren't you?

I'm sorry, Campion.
It was like this.

Some of the old chaps
hatched up a plot last night.

They planned to get Harris
even more plastered than usual.

When he was sufficiently merry,

they were going to persuade him to
sign a document relinquishing his option.

I told them it was silly,
and not strictly honest.

Not that it mattered.

He didn't get merry?

No, he just became even
more obnoxious than ever.

Upsetting them all with more
of his beastly plans.

The poor old dears were
in a terrible state.

Then he passed out altogether,
and we had to put him to bed.

This morning he woke
with the most frightful head

and went to go sleep it off
in the garden.

Where he acquired
an even worse head.

I'm afraid it might have been
one of the old boys.

Well, who else could it be?

Come in! Yes, Sadie?

There be someone
on the telephone, miss,

wanting to know if there's
a Mr Campion in the house.

- There is, indeed.
- All I said is I'd ask.

Would you excuse me?

That's peculiar.

He said no one knew he was here.

Hello. Campion here.

Hello.

Hello? Who is this?

Were you wanting something, sir?

Guest's cloakroom's
downstairs, sir.

Is it unreasonable to
expect an answer?

Don't make
a mountain out of this!

I saw the chap
striding out of the house,

all smarmy grins as though
he owned the place!

- Who was he?
- All right, all right, okay.

His name is Mr Hayhoe and
he came up from the village

to sell some tickets
for a whist drive, satisfied?

No, as a matter of fact...

Oh. There you are, Campion.
Not bad news, I hope?

- No news at all.
- Oh, good, good.

Now, that's what
they say, isn't it?

No news is good news.

Well, we better be on our way. We've got some
people coming for dinner. Did I warn you?

Just one or two local friends.

Please, don't let me detain you.

Leo?

Do you mind if I take
another look at the urn?

No, no. Let's go.

As I thought.
Safety pegs still intact.

I... I'm sorry,
what did you say?

Well, for the urn to have been
dislodged by a cat, say,

the safety peg would have
had to have been broken.

- So it was murder?
- Not with much premeditation.

No one could have arranged
for him to sit in this exact place

or made certain
he wouldn't move.

Someone must have seen him
sitting here and given the urn a shove.

No chance of fingerprints,
I suppose?

No, no, no, no, I doubt it.

She was on the stage, of course.

They're all highly strung.

I was only concerned
for her and Janet.

I didn't like the look
of the like of the ruffian.

- The man we saw there?
- Yeah, sort of fellow you'd set a dog on.

- I think I've seen him before.
- Oh? Where?

At a funeral. We didn't speak.

Well, no one in their right sense
would speak to a blaggard like that.

I was afraid you'd forgotten. Do go and get
dressed at once, the vicar is already here.

He says the village is seething.
Has anything turned up?

No, not yet.
See you later, Campion.

He's worried, isn't he?

I'm afraid you've only got
10 minutes to get ready.

All right. I won't wash.

I think you should. You know
how you hate being grubby.

Remember that time you got
grass stains on your white flannels?

Who pushed me?

We're friends again?

Of course. I'm over
all that nonsense now.

You should have told me
you had a girlfriend.

By the way, she called
earlier, but wouldn't stay.

Who?

- Your girlfriend.
- What girlfriend?

You mean there's
a string of them?

- Did she leave a name?
- Miss Effie Rowlandson.

Never heard of her.

You needn't lie on my account.

I couldn't care less.

I told you there'd be women
sitting on the steps.

But you didn't actually see her.

Didn't have a chance.
Miss Janet saw her off.

- I wonder who she was.
- Mata Perishin' Hari.

That's not the end of it.
This came for you.

Another one of those
queer letters.

Same envelope, same
typewriter. New portable.

The butler said it arrived by the afternoon
post, but there ain't no postmark.

- Hmm. Odd.
- All that flowery rubbish?

"Oh, sayeth the owl. Oh-ho, sungeth
the frog. Oh-ho, moaneth the worm.

"The angel weepeth behind
golden bars. Consider..."

"Oh, consider
the lowly mole."

"A small hand's a sore
and his snout bleedeth."

- Poor mole.
- "Where is Peters that was promised to us?"

Owls, frogs, worms, and bleeding
moles. Must be like a zoo up there!

The writer evidently knew
Peters wasn't dead.

But he is dead.

He is now. He wasn't when
this letter was written.

- It's the country air gone to your head.
- No.

The fellow I went to see in the
mortuary this afternoon is, or rather was,

Peters himself.

- Pig Peters?
- I'll swear it.

Masquerading under
the name of Oswald Harris.

How could the geezer
be there again?

Three months after his funeral?

That's a good question, Lugg.

How did the man know
when he wrote this here letter,

that Peters was gonna copy?

Or a woman. Could be a woman.

Anonymous letters are
usually written by women.

You don't have to whistle
for it, do you? It flies at you.

- What does?
- Mud.

Well, we might as well go on in.

Our other guests
will be down in a minute.

- She's staying with you, is she?
- It's a he, actually.

I'm afraid it's a bachelor
do tonight. Apart from Janet.

Perhaps it's just as well.

We don't want to upset the ladies
with this distressing business.

- Who is he?
- Old family friend.

He and Janet have known each
other since they were children.

They don't come better.

- Ah, Campion!
- Sorry I'm late.

Let me introduce you to the
others. This is Philip Bathwick.

- Our new vicar.
- Ah, the keeper of Kepesake's lost souls.

And this is Dr Kingston. Brian.

He has a practice
over at Tethering.

- We've met before. Isn't it?
- It's a small world.

Are you always in at the death?

Can't get away from pigs.

If you only knew the way
some of them lived.

Take those families in the
slum cottages, down by the river.

- The ones in Water Lane?
- A livid sore on the face of the parish.

Now, I always thought
they were jolly little cottages.

Sanitation's a bit
primitive, perhaps.

I'm afraid very few places
around here have indoor lavatories.

I wasn't referring to their sanitary
arrangements, though they're a scandal, too.

I was thinking of their souls. These
people are starved of any form of culture.

That will be my first priority,

to bring art into the life
of the average villager.

Supposing he doesn't want it?

I thought the whole point
of living in the village

was that it was a sufficiently
scattered community

for a man to call
his soul his own.

- Well, I think it's splendid what Philip's trying to do.
- I knew you'd understand.

Yes, well, to return to the matter
that we were discussing before dinner.

- Do you have any idea where the scoundrel's living?
- Yes, sir. Mrs Turner's.

Behind the swamp.

Now, what does a good woman like her
want with a chap like that in the house?

- Well, she takes in lodgers.
- Oh.

- How long has he been staying in the village?
- Little under a week.

- What'd you say his name was again?
- It's Hayhoe.

Oh, Hayhoe. Idiotic name.
It's probably false.

Tell me more about your
cultural plans, Philip.

Well, I intend to start with an
afternoon of madrigals in the church.

Followed by an evening
of plainsong.

Well, that would depend on the
countertenors. There could be a problem.

Well, I think the
madrigals sound great fun,

- I do hope you'll come.
- Love to!

Let's hope he doesn't come to
the same end as the last chap

with grandiose ideas
for Kepesake.

Kingston, do you remember that
old boy at Peters' funeral?

No, I can't say I do.

Homburg hat and
a mourning handkerchief,

dabbing his eyes like
George Arliss in a bad film.

Oh, yes.

That was Hayhoe.

No! It's an even
smaller world than I thought.

Shrinking visibly.

Good evening.

Can I have a gin and it?

And I think it was...
Oh, yes, a port and lemon.

- Oh, it's you, Inspector!
- Good evening, Mr Pepper!

Sully owing?

- So you're all complete then?
- Yes, sir.

I questioned everyone who was in
the house at the time of the death.

I've got to hand it to you, Pusey.
You haven't wasted any time.

Thank you, sir. But I'm afraid
we haven't got very far.

- I suppose no one has a decent alibi.
- Oh, no, sir.

Everyone has a decent alibi. Kitchen was
eating its dinner at the time of the incident.

All staff present,
even the gardener.

Everyone else in the house was in
the lounge, the bar, or the clubroom.

- With at least two other gentleman to vouch for it.
- No strangers around?

Not as anyone saw. All the gentleman
who called this morning knew each other.

All respected club members. I don't
see how any of them could have done it.

- Unless...
- Unless what?

- Unless all of them was in on it.
- A conspiracy?

- I know it may be a bit far-fetched.
- It certainly is.

Unless you're suggesting
that I was in on it, too.

Pusey, you seem to have forgotten that
I was there at the time, playing poker.

Ah. Of course, Sir.

Still, it's an
interesting thought.

Perhaps we better go over
those alibis again.

We might find
a loophole somewhere.

Yes, we needn't keep you,
Campion. You get back to the party.

Well, the Colonel was...

Ah! Campion, Leo is still
ensconced with the inspector?

Ah, yes, nothing so far.

Community creche?
What a splendid idea!

I thought I'd make
myself scarce. I felt a bit...

The vicar is obviously very
smitten with Janet.

- Not that I blame him, she's a very beautiful girl.
- Woman.

Yes. And young Bathwick's not so
bad, just takes himself far too seriously.

Harris delighted in baiting him.

- Really?
- Yes.

Yes, Bathwick called in at the
Knights one evening last week

Harris poo-pooed
all his welfare schemes

and ragged him about casinos and
dance halls, and Lord knows what.

I thought Bathwick
would kill him.

Oh, not literally, of course.

I say, do you think we could step
out onto the terrace for a moment?

There's something I rather want to
talk to you about. It's about Peters.

Uh, this is in the nature
of a confession.

As you know,
Peters came to my place

to convalesce
after appendicitis.

He caught a chill on the way
down, developed roaring pneumonia.

In one of his
more lucid periods,

he sent for me and said
he wanted to make a will.

I wrote it down and he
signed it, and later I altered it.

Well, not in substance.
Merely in form.

Well, frankly, one can't refer
to one's sole beneficiary as that

"unspeakable villain
who should be in jail."

It would seem
hardly in the right spirit.

Especially when
it's one's own brother.

- Brother?
- One Henry Raymond Peters.

Our Peters left
everything to him.

Not because he liked him, but
because they shared the same mother.

- So he had a brother.
- Yes.

And I just can't
help wondering...

- No, it sounds crazy.
- Wondering what?

Well, if this fellow, Harris, could
be the brother! Using another name.

There certainly was
a strong resemblance.

It struck me again this morning.

So you saw him this morning?

As a matter of fact, I saw
him shortly before he died.

I passed him on the stairs. He
looked dreadful. You know, hangover.

He was shorter than Peters,
and not so fat, but yes,

Harris could well have been
the legatee brother.

What happened to the will?

Well, I sent it off
to Peters' solicitors.

I've got their address somewhere,
I could give it to you tomorrow.

Thank you.

You say you were down at
the Knights when Harris died?

Yes, I was playing poker
with Leo and the others.

I'd been to visit one of the
maids, a bad case of jaundice.

I thought I might as well
stay on for a game.

I'd just netted a queen pot and
then we heard this terrific crash,

and we all rushed out.
You saw the body.

Yes.

I suppose it's all in a
day's work to you. Murder.

Somewhat less frequent
than embezzlement and theft.

You know, it sounds
dreadful, but I find this rather exciting.

Nothing ever happens
around here.

- Can I offer you a lift, Bathwick?
- Oh, yes!

- Good night.
- Good night.

- And thank you again.
- No, no, our pleasure.

Hope I'll see you again,
then, Janet. Very soon.

Me too. Good night, Philip.

Night, Campion. I'll drop off
that address in the morning.

If you youngsters will excuse
me, I'll be making tracks.

Been a bit of a day.

- Good night, darling.
- Good night, Daddy.

- Good night, Campion.
- Good night, Leo.

- That hairstyle suits you.
- Thank you.

Do you fancy a stroll
around the garden?

- Thanks very much, Doctor.
- Not at all!

Are you sure that you don't want
me to take you round to the vicarage?

No, I'll be fine. I'll just take
the short cut across the saltings.

- All right. Good night!
- Good night!

What sort of garden
has Bathwick got?

Quite nice. It runs up the chestnut
copse at the back of Poppy's place.

- Why?
- I just wondered.

- Do you go for evening strolls with him?
- I hardly know him.

He's only been in
Kepesake a few weeks.

He seems very keen on you.

Well, not all men
find me repulsive.

Oh, Janet, you're far from
that. In fact, you're beautiful.

You could do better
for yourself than him.

Well, your girlfriend isn't
exactly what I'd have chosen.

Look, I promise you,
I have no idea who she is.

She obviously knows you.

Have you ever
known me tell a lie?

- Yes, now and then.
- Well, not to you.

- No.
- Well, then.

Albert, do you know
who did this beastly murder?

Not yet. Give me a chance.

- Do you think you'll find out?
- Yes.

I wish you'd go
back to Bottle Street.

Albert, please don't pursue it.

He'd be so shattered.
He's so fond of her!

Oh, you think
it's Poppy Burridge.

Well, she has the most to lose.

And they'd cover up for her,
they're all potty about her.

Do you think Leo would have
sent for me if he suspected Poppy?

- I hadn't thought of that.
- You just want me to get back to town.

No.

Janet, you know what
I said that night in London...

- Well, I...
- Ah! There you are, sir.

Beg pardon, but there's a Miss
Effie Rowlandson to see you.

I've put her in
the drawing room, sir.

Miss Rowlandson?

Oh, please don't be cross. I
know I shouldn't pester you like this.

Are you sure you've
got the right man?

Oh, yes. You've quite a reputation.
You do remember me, don't you?

We've never met.
But we looked at each other.

- The funeral!
- I knew you'd remember.

Don't ask me why.
I felt it in my bones.

Was naughty of me to tell
those fibs to that snooty girl,

but I had to see you!

Miss Rowlandson... Would
you mind getting to the point?

Oh, you're hard. I like a man
who's hard. Not as hard as he was.

I suppose I ought not to talk ill
of the dead. If he is dead. Is he?

I take it you're referring
to Roland Peters.

- Piggy, I used to call him. He used to get so cross.
- Yes.

Still, I don't suppose
he branded you as his slave.

How did you know about that?

- Instinct.
- It's uncanny!

What exactly was your
connection with Peters?

He was going to
marry me, wasn't he?

When I think of what I went
through to make him propose...

But if he was such
a brute to you...

I wanted security, see? I'm
sick of living hand to mouth.

And then he goes and dies in
some hole-in-corner nursing home,

and leaves all his money
to his brother!

Is that suspicious or isn't it?

You think it odd he left
his brother everything?

I think it funny he died at all.

I ask you straight, Mr Campion.

Were you satisfied
with that funeral?

It wasn't much to do with me.

Wasn't it? Well,
why was you there, then?

That's pinked you,
hasn't it?

Oh, look, I'm a straightforward
girl, Mr Campion,

and now I know what I know,
I'm sure he did the dirty on me.

What do you know?

I have a friend who lives around
here. Old chap. Sort of godfather to me.

I sent him a photograph
of Piggy when we got engaged.

Well, a few days ago, he wrote me
that there was someone in the village

looked the spitting
image of him.

Came down as soon as I could.
And what do I find?

I find this man, Harris,
has got himself killed!

- I heard you were staying here, so I popped over.
- How?

- Pardon?
- How did you know I was in Kepesake?

Oh... Well, you know what
gossips they are in the country.

I wondered
if I could see the body.

- You wish to identify him?
- Well, then I'd know.

Why come to me?
Why not the authorities?

I liked your face.

When could you come
down to the police station?

- Well, now, for preference.
- It's rather late.

Oh, I couldn't sleep with it
hanging over me.

My nerves wouldn't stand for it.

I'll be quite ill by morning. You
could take me down in your car!

- Sure you wouldn't rather leave it till the morning?
- No. We must find out.

Thank you, Pepper.
Don't wait up.

I'm going to get a bit of air
before I go to bed. I'll lock up later.

Yes, miss.

Sorry to get you up, Inspector,

but I always like to grab
a witness while I can.

That's all right, sir.

If the young lady can tell us anything
about the deceased, so much the better.

Is someone there?

Hello? Who is it?

- Creepy, isn't it?
- There's nothing to be afraid of.

I've never seen
a dead body before.

I'll go first, sir.
Switch the light on.

What exactly did...

He's lying on a table
covered by a sheet.

Right, miss. If you'd
like to step over here.

I'm not usually the
hysterical sort. I'm not used to...

Corpses disappearing?

Seeing a real pig
lying there.

- Someone really sick must have done that.
- Yes.

I wasn't so surprised
at Piggy not being there.

When I learned he'd been
killed, I didn't believe it.

He was clever, Piggy was,
as well as cruel.

So, we don't know
if it was Piggy's body,

because there wasn't
a body to identify.

But it's a fact,
Miss Rowlandson.

We were both at his funeral
three months ago.

- Oh, Daddy.
- Janet! Where have you been?

Um, for a walk. I needed
a bit of air after dinner.

- Are you all right?
- Fine!

- You look rather pale.
- I'm tired, that's all.

- Oh.
- What are you doing up?

The Inspector just called. There's
been a rather unpleasant development.

The body has been taken!

Mr Lugg!

This looks like it.

Whoever did it, dragged
the body through there.

A vehicle must have been
waiting in the lane.

Doesn't explain how they
got into the mortuary, though.

Windows bolted, door locked.
Me with the only key.

Who built it?
This so-called mortuary.

Henry Royle, a local builder.

- And the other outbuildings?
- Him and his lads. Around the same time.

Which is why they've all got the
same locks. And the same key.

Why not just dole out keys
to everyone in the village?

I was afraid that we were shut
out for the night. Mind your head.

Landlady must have left
the door unlocked for me.

Actually, it was me.

- You're frightfully late.
- Whippet!

Campion! It's you.
I was just going to bed.

- What are you doing here?
- Staying.

Mr Whippet, he's gone. The
body's gone! What should we do?

- Really, Miss Rowlandson?
- The body's gone! Piggy's body!

I say, what a nuisance.
That will hold things up.

Well, good to have seen you again,
Campion. I'll look you up sometime.

No, wait. Look here, Whippet, if you know
anything about all this, you better tell me.

What do you know
about Pig Peters?

I, uh, I know nothing. Heard the
talk, of course. I'm just staying here.

You had one of those anonymous letters
before his funeral. Have you had any more?

Ah, the old mole... Yes, I have.

Got it somewhere,
showed it to Miss Rowlandson.

I say, awkward, losing the body.

- Yes, it was, rather.
- Have you, um, have you looked in the river?

Ah, Campion.
What a dreadful business.

I would have been here sooner, but I
had to stop and pick up Bathwick here.

He had an accident
on the way home.

Landed in the river.

The river?

Dr Kingston dropped me off
at the White Barn footpath.

I decided to take the shortcut
across the fields.

Silly of me,
I hadn't got my torch.

Missed my footing in the dark
and stumbled into one of the dykes!

- Fell into a dyke?
- That's his story.

You couldn't miss a rabbit hole with
this moon! Let alone a perishing dyke.

And having fallen in, would it really
take someone two hours to scramble out?

Even a weed like him.

We had a reverend in there.
He was a rotten liar, too.

- What was he in for?
- Strangling his wife.

Said he was fastening her
necklace when his hand slipped.

- I'll be off, then.
- Don't bother to bring the car back, Lugg.

I'll get a lift with Sir Leo.
Or I may even walk.

Well, look out for stray dykes!

♪ I'm happy when I'm hiking

♪ 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 miles... ♪

THEME SONG PLAYING...