Original subtitles

Arriving at Slaughter Abbey in the Cotswolds

their home from home for the next few days

a bevy of beauties from all four corners of the kingdom

united for the Miss United Britain contest.

Every gorgeous girl has their sights set on being named the nation's supreme poppet.

First off were this year's frontrunners.

Miss Walton-On-Thames, Diane Green.

Miss Belfast, Clodagh Kilpatrick, is current holder of the Miss Swimsuit title.

Miss Cardiff. Sally Ann Jones.

Oh, she looks happy to be here

but not as happy as those photographers!

Last but not least, Miss Glasgow, Moira McDonald.

This is only her second contest, begging the question

where has she been hiding?

There to greet them was Lesley Canon

nicknamed the Beauty King.

All in the line of duty

but what man doesn't envy his job?

The line-up of the lovelies.

A dozen pretty hopefuls.

But no hint of competitive spirit here.

It looks like they're already becoming firm friends.

I said to him, you can ask me as many times as...

Do you think she ran it up at home on the sewing machine?

Girls giggle

And what are you looking for in a contestant?

Well... Single, childless.

5'6 to 5'9.

Waist 22-24 inches.

Hips 35-36.

36-37 inch bust.

Perfectly shaped legs. No flabby thighs.

Good skin, teeth and hair.

Chest out, Glasgow!

Flaunt what Mother Nature gave youl!

I'd ask Mother Nature for my money back.

Girls giggle

I suppose some rivalry is inevitable?

Well, put a dozen goddesses together, throw in a golden apple.

What do you think? — Quite.

May I have a few photographs and perhaps a few words from the three favourites?

Yeah, be my guest.

So, aside from your ambition to, um...

“further the cause of international friendship"

why do you think you'll win?

Take two guesses.

Right...

As an airline stewardess, I've already travelled the world

and I'm comfortable mixing with...

the right sort.

It's not just looks.

Don't write this down, mind, but

I've met ironing boards with more personality than some of these.

And how would you answer the charge that it's demeaning to women?

The winner will act as ambassadress for the nation.

Most go on to be actresses or models.

What's degrading about that?

They're jealous.

I tell you what's demeaning.

Being tied to a kitchen sink with a brood of ankle-biters.

£3,000 buys a woman a lot of independence.

I can't disagree with that.

Lovely!

CAMERA CLICKS - That's it.

Alright, room for everybody.

Camera clicks — girls laugh

Come on, girls. You're on in 48 hours. You're like spuds in a sack!

Come on, fall in! Numerical order.

Let's get the music on, please, darling.

Where's Belfast?

Anyone seen Belfast?

Go and see where she's got to, will you?

Jazz music plays

He said numerical order.

She can't even count to ten.

Alright, come on, girls, it's a beauty contest.

Shoulders back, hips forward.

She screams

Girls scream

Camera clicks

Her wristwatch stopped at 9:05pm last night.

So we can assume that's when she hit the water, if not time of death.

Right. Did no one notice she was missing?

The contestants had a rest morning

SO No one noticed until just before we found her.

She must have fallen in.

Apparently she couldn't swim, which is ironic

considering she's... well, was Miss Swimsuit.

Yes. Thank you, Mr Canon.

We can take it from here.

No indication of a sexual motive.

Her clothes are undisturbed and no sign of fight or flight.

What have you got there? — Hairs caught in the strap.

Female, I deduce, by the length

and black, so they don't belong to the victim.

Pulled out with force, judging by traces of blood on the roots.

So is the cause of death drowning?

Moot at this juncture.

Can you help me turn her, Sam?

Sam?

He sucks teeth

He mutters

Oh!

Look at that.

Cause of death is a strike to the medulla oblongata.

One blow will kill you instantly.

Though it would require some knowledge of anatomy.

Either that or the killer struck lucky.

So this is murder?

Oh, I'm afraid so, yes.

Camera clicks

Could you have a "stab" at the murder weapon?

Oh...

Very good.

Only that it's about half an inch in diameter

and made a penetrating injury between the occiput and C1

causing radial splits.

However, it has left...

an oily residue.

Right. Well, we should, um...

Cordon the scene. Draft in uniform to do a search.

Make a list of everyone in the house and collate statements.

Exactly.

Do you mind if I leave you to it while I go and break the news?

I mean, it's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Um... yes, you might want to, um...

Oh. Mm.

Footsteps approach

Sir. CC Lowsley needs to see you urgently.

Fine.

We have a political hot potato.

The Miss World competition is in three months

and the host nation can't be seen to have a random beauty queen killer on the loose.

There's no evidence of that yet, sir.

There are no reports of any intruders.

Although we are yet to speak to the security guard.

Huh. Well, that may be.

But /es grandes fromages have ordered a press embargo.

And the Met are sending an officer to oversee our investigation.

Scotland Yard? - What the hell?

HE CHUCKLES Yes!

I thought you'd be pleased.

So, you know the plan?

Roll out the red carpet.

Welcome him with open arms.

Full co-operation.

And I expect nothing less than maximum effort.

Sir.

And last but not least...

Make bloody sure he doesn't solve the case first.

Capiche?

Sir.

Church bell tolls

I will try and extract the materials from the wound residue.

It may shed some light on the murder weapon.

Ok...

The victim was seen leaving the dinner at 8:35.

It leaves us a murder window of 30 minutes.

Eight without alibis.

One of the chaperones, Lesley Canon, and six contestants.

Ahem.

Oh, keep your shirt on. I'm embargoed, remember?

Thought you might appreciate some background. - Perfect timing.

What do you know about the dead girl?

Brassiere model from Coleraine.

Mm? — Steady, tiger.

One of three favourites along with Miss Walton-On-Thames and Miss Cardiff.

So if you're looking for a motive, their chances of winning

have just increased by a third.

Is a beauty title really worth killing over?

I'd say so.

£3,000, a sports car and entry into Miss World.

In other words, a passport to fame and fortune.

Well, Miss Walton-On-Thames has black hair

and there are...

Two more with black hair that don't have alibis.

Right, so tomorrow, we take hair samples

and show this plod from Scotland Yard that we don't need him.

DCI Clifford Winner.

He's the youngest officer in the Met to make DCI.

His arrest record is legendary.

Query...

intruder.

Rustle up some teas, will you, darlin'?

Don't forget the biscuits.

Thank you, WPC Button.

Did you get a statement from the security guard?

No, not yet. He was off sick yesterday but we'll get one today.

Morning. DI Sam Gillespie.

DCI Clifford Winner.

Mrs Clam missed you at breakfast.

Egg, if I'm not mistaken.

Oh.

I came in early to write up the report.

In my book, early's on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable.

So, shall we get on?

Option one, an intruder.

Option two, it was an inside job.

We'll be taking hair samples to try and match those found on the body.

This was a brutal attack.

This is more than just tantrums and tiaras.

What we need is a murder weapon.

I'm examining residues from the wound to see if that sheds light.

Oh, Sister Boniface, police scientific advisor.

And you, I deduce, are DCI Winner.

Um, I was in the post office and you forgot your lunch.

Mrs Clam would've brought them but she has a first day cover of native songbirds

and is expecting a veritable stampede of twitchers.

Couldn't you have given them to the poor and needy?

It seemed uncharitable to add to their burden.

Ahem.

Well... Thank you, Sister.

I'll let you know when, and if, I require your services.

Yes. Right.

Toodleoo.

Well, I'd heard rumours about the place but this takes the garibaldi.

Well... and then there's option three

which I'm amazed has escaped you.

This security guard who conveniently went AWOL the day after the murder.

Uh-—- - He's a local man.

He's not a suspect.

Let me be the judge of that.

I'll leave you to play hairdresser while I go and talk to him.

Would you like me to come with you, sir? - Good lad.

We may need WPC Button to come with us.

What do we want her for?

He grumbles incoherently

He patrolled the ground once an hour and didn't see anyone.

Dog barks — he shouts incoherently

Yapper, yapper, yapper!

He grumbles incoherently

Dog, dog...

Did you see Miss Belfast, Tom?

Arp.

He grumbles incoherently

What did he say?

He may be a Tom, but he's no peeper.

He'd seen enough and got on with his rounds.

Take a statement.

Preferably in English.

Local dialect, sir.

You get used to it. Or so I'm told.

Ah. You clearly don't hail from these parts?

I'm on secondment from the Bermudian police.

My placement was supposed to be at Scotland Yard.

Then how the hell did you end up in this godforsaken backwater?

Uh...

I put it down to a series of unfortunate events.

Mm.

Actually, sir, um...

I still hope to get there one day.

Impress me and maybe you will.

Right. Let's see what the Beauty King has to say for himself.

I sincerely hope I'm not a suspect?

Purely for purposes of elimination.

Did you know Clodagh well?

We'd been competing together for years.

She was...

a consummate professional.

Never a hair out of place.

I wonder...

Leonard of Mayfair does mine.

If it's ruined, there'll be merry hell to pay.

Watch out, greenhorn.

They don't think I should be here.

I was runner up in Miss Glasgow

and she got herself up the duff, so...

here am I by default.

Why the sudden urge to enter beauty contests?

I reckoned I had more chance of winning than the pools.

My dad lost his job and we've eight mouths to feed on my wages.

One of the girls at the factory entered Miss Glasgow and I thought...

if she can, why not me?

Why not indeed? I'll say a prayer for you.

Thanks, Sister.

But I think I probably need a miracle.

Right, that's all of them. Shall we get them back to the lab?

Yes. But first, a detour via the victim's room.

But you've already searched it?

So, were you dropped on the head as a baby?

You think I'd be stupid enough to have an affair with one of my contestants?

I imagine you get plenty of offers.

I'm Ringmaster, training these girls for a performance.

A bunch of highly-strung performers, I might add.

So I threaten, I cajole and I advise them.

One step beyond the platonic, I'd be finished.

Then how do you explain what the security guard saw?

Why don't you ask the lady in question?

Knock on door

He sighs

Come back in the morning. Please, Mr Canon.

Three minutes.

You've got two.

Why would a girl as neat as a pin leave her drawers in disarray?

You think someone got here first?

The question is, did they find what they were looking for?

Hello...

It got blown to the back, so partially burnt.

A card, judging by the thickness.

Why burn it rather than throw it in the bin?

What's written inside may tell us more.

It's burnt to a crisp.

Oh, you'd be amazed at the restorative powers of a chloral hydrate bath.

Do you know who did it?

Everyone's saying some nutter got into the grounds.

We can't speculate on that at the moment.

Were you friends? —- SHE SCOFFS

No one could call us that, after Miss Swimsuit.

She tripped me on the catwalk.

Flat on my face, in front of the judges.

Claimed it was an accident, but everyone knew what she was like.

What was she like?

Let's just say she wouldn't win a Miss Popularity contest.

Not that I'd wish her dead, mind.

Thank you for your frankness.

You're welcome.

You need anything else, just let me know.

Has anyone said... you look just like Sean Connery?

What?

Sorry...

So, what happened last night?

Just tell them the truth.

I needed to talk to Mr Canon.

Uh-uh, leave the door open.

I'm as pretty as them. - Yeah.

I can smile and walk in a straight line.

So, what do I have to do to win?

Come here.

Turn around.

Here.

It's your hair.

Dated. Makes you look like Doris Day.

Whereas this year's judges...

want Brigitte Bardot.

Go on, get lost.

Close the door, will ya?

And then what?

Then I went back to my room.

So if there's nothing else, we've a beauty contest to put on.

Come on.

You believe a word of that?

Hair styling advice.

Never heard it called that before!

You think they're lying?

I think they had plenty of time to concoct a story between them.

And an affair would topple the Beauty King's empire.

What about Miss Cardiff?

Doesn't have an alibi and certainly no love lost between her and the victim.

I think I found something, sir.

Sister Boniface thinks that the killer blow may have indicated a knowledge of anatomy.

Lesley Canon's background checks.

He served in the Royal Army Medical Corps during the war.

Did he now? - Yes.

Do some digging into the Beauty King's army record.

Nice work, son.

Help me crack this, and that secondment's in the bag.

Something you haven't told me?

Ah. No, it's not what it looks like.

He only offered to put in a good word, that's all.

Don't tell me we're not good enough for you?

Of course not.

But I did come here to learn from the cutting edge of modern policing and...

I feel there's more for me to learn.

I'd better get on to those army records.

I am not being left on my own to the mercies of Mrs Clam.

If DCI Winner solves this case

Felix'll be on the first train back to London.

How long will this take?

Longer with you ranting at my shoulder.

Cutting edge of modern policing?

I'll give him cutting edge!

What's cutting edge about ruddy rules and regulations?

We have a match.

Your hairs were found entangled in the victim's watch.

Can you explain how they got there?

I imagine because she attacked me.

On the...

on the day she died.

You know the rules.

Any more silly beggars and you'll be disqualified, you got that?

The same goes for the rest of ya!

Mr Canon!

It was you that told.

Are you that scared that I'm going to win?

Scared? Of you?

I'm not the one who needs upholstering.

I haven't finished with you! - FABRIC RIPS

Now you've done it!

They yell

Not in the face! Oi! I said not in the face!

What you playing at?

All that over boned swimwear?

It reduces the waist and accentuates the bust.

Everyone bends the rules a little.

But she was a sneaky Betty.

Always going through our things, looking for rule breakers.

I wasn't the only one, by any means.

Can I go now?

I've got a rehearsal. - Mm.

Jazz music plays

Miss Grimsby's vital statistics are 38, 25, 36.

About time, Glasgow, you're up next.

Miss Grimsby also has a set of her own teeth

although you wouldn't know it.

Better.

Number Five. Miss Glasgow.

Bit more of a head toss on the walk. Try not to turn as you come up.

Lovely stuff.

See, hair makes all the difference.

Starting to look like a winner now.

Timer dings

It seems Miss Belfast was a snoop.

Maybe she found something and decided to turn blackmailer?

Your timing couldn't be more fortuitous.

Oh? — Our mysteriously burnt card, perhaps?

The chloral hydrate treatment clarified the letters, but...

No, they're too faint to make out.

If it's iron-gall ink or pencil, infrared photography may be more efficacious.

That's the bad news.

The good news is

I think I've identified the murder weapon. - A-ha!

FOOTSTEPS APPROACH — Oh, yes, Ruth.

Thank you for coming.

I'm intrigued to know the reason for my summons.

That makes two of us.

Miss Penny's presence is pertinent for prop purposes.

The wound residue is a mixture of wax, naptha

turpentine dye, lanolin and gum arabic.

Shoe polish. — Oh.

Black shoe polish, to be precise.

May 1? -W...

Just one will suffice, yes, thank you.

Right.

Well, I'll have you know those are Claude Chang and cost 40 guineas.

My entire wardrobe cost less than that.

Yes, that had been noted.

Courtesy of Mr Button.

Pigskin being remarkably similar in composition to human skin.

Observe. — Oh, hell's bells...

Sister, no!

Behold.

The murder weapon has been under our noses all this time.

Or rather on someone's foot.

Hm. — Oh, um, I'll just dab that for you.

As good as new.

Almost.

Death by stiletto? You angel.

Which means that Scotland Yard have been on the wrong foot with Lesley Canon.

Yes, very good.

Without a leg to stand on. - THEY CHUCKLE

No, it does rather point to a female perpetrator.

Mm. The question is, where did they dispose of the murder weapon?

Oh, no.

No self-respecting female would willingly dispose of a pair of designer stilettos.

No. SHE SPITS

I'd wager she's still wearing them.

Ah.

We need to look at all the shoes

of all the girls without alibis.

He grumbles - dog whines

Dog barks

Tom grumbles

Initial indications suggest it may have been used to wipe the murder weapon.

Which, apropos, has been identified as a black stiletto.

A shoe? Are you sure?

99.8%.

Good work, Sister.

That's a first. Albeit a bit late, now I've nabbed our culprit.

This was found yards from the crime scene.

Who searched the area? - Me, sir.

It wasn't there, or I'd have seen it.

Captain of the ladies junior darts team without the aid of ocular assistance.

WPC Button is very reliable, sir.

Which raises the possibility that it could have been planted.

I prefer the possibility that you're making excuses for your officer's cock-up.

You realise how much time you've wasted because of your incompetence?

If it was down to me, this'd be a disciplinary matter.

I'll get these back to the lab for tests.

And that, gentlemen...

is why they shouldn't let women join the police.

See if Miss Glasgow's got a pair of black stilettos and bag it as evidence.

And also all the shoes of all the contestants without alibis.

Did I say that?

Until we've heard what the suspect has to say

I don't want you wasting any more of my time

and that's an order.

Silly girl. I was just starting to believe she could win it.

It's not Sunday night at the Palladium, girls.

Come on, let's get back inside. Come on, inside.

Shoo! Let's go.

We were given a direct order.

From CC Lowsley.

Don't let Scotland Yard solve the case first.

Perhaps that has clouded your judgement.

Peggy would never miss that sash, you know that.

And talking of clouded judgement

how...

He sighs

How about your vested interest in helping Scotland Yard solve this case?

Can't you see, he's a man who's all mouth and no trousers?

He is a man I would emulate.

Ah. And there was I, thinking we made a good team.

I didn't mean...

We do.

Apart from your blatant disregard of the rulebook.

I don't give a flying fig about the rules. - No.

But I do.

Are you gonna grass me up?

Of course not.

Right. Well, I'll take these.

And we'll see what Sister Boniface has to say.

He sighs

I'm afraid traces of shoe polish

and brain tissue leave no doubt the sash was used

to wipe the murder weapon clean.

It's all a little convenient.

I'll eat my hat if it wasn't planted.

Well, that would be more digestible than Mrs Clam's cooking.

Right, let's see if these shoes have a tale to tell.

Lights, please. - Yup.

Device buzzes faintly

Luckily for your digestive tract, no signs of blood on Miss Glasgow's.

Or any of them, for that matter.

These girls maintain their footwear with military precision.

Spit and polish, unfortunately for us.

That's that then.

Well, the polish may have created a barrier.

I'll scrape it off and see if it reveals anything.

I'd better get this back.

I can already imagine the look on his smug face.

Aye, it's mine.

But I lost it.

After rehearsal on Wednesday.

One of the others pinched it, probably.

Are they in the habit of that?

They are with me.

When did you meet Lesley Canon?

At Miss Glasgow.

Your first competition, when you came runner up.

Pretty impressive.

You sure you didn't get a little leg-up from the contest organiser?

Or should that be a leg over?

He's older than my granda.

You wouldn't be the first to shut her eyes and think of England.

Or in this case, Miss United Britain?

In your dreams.

Did Miss Belfast find out and threaten to spill the beans?

That would have been the end of your competition.

I'd like to see you prove it. - DOOR OPENS

There's no results from the shoes as yet

but Sister Boniface has confirmed

that this was used to clean the murder weapon.

Looks like we just did.

I'll leave you to charge her, at least

while I deliver the good news to the Commissioner.

I didn't do it.

Off the record?

I believe you.

They can't put me in the jail.

I've a family to feed.

I won't let it come to that.

You have my word.

The powers that be are jumping for joy at such a timely result.

She hasn't confessed.

She will.

Copper's nose.

I can smell guilt, and she reeked of it.

I get it. No one likes someone else stealing their thunder.

But the Met's motto is, "We lead. Others follow."

Talking of which...

you still up for that transfer?

Yes.

That is to say, thank you.

Thank you, sir.

Congratulations.

It's what you've always wanted.

I'm on the VIP table tonight.

Join me, and I'll give you the lowdown on my firm.

You can't go, Sarge.

There'll be no one to organise the systems.

I couldn't stay forever, Peggy.

Look, I'll write, and you can come visit.

You always wanted to see the Crown Jewels.

We can go sightseeing together.

My dad went to London once.

Didn't see a single smile all day.

Phone rings

DI Gillespie.

I'll be right there.

Where are you going? — Just security for tonight.

Automatic disqualification

and the end of her career as a beauty queen.

You have answered my prayers, Sister.

Or at least half a prayer.

It won't be enough for Winner. We need some hard evidence.

Now... there's nothing under the polish.

But, fact.

If this is the murder weapon, then Locard's principle will prevail.

And there will be an exchange.

Lights! - Yeah.

Device buzzes faintly

Infuriating.

I never called it a principle, you know.

Or used the word "exchange".

Well... It seems to have caught on

and as a catchphrase, you'll have to admit it does have a certain ring to it.

What has?

Monsieur Trace is shy and microscopic.

And though he likes to conceal himself

eventually, he must emerge blinking into the light.

Try beneath the leather.

Roger that.

Roger what?

So...

you have read my traite.

You could say it's my second bible.

Are you talking to yourself again?

I was not sure about my volume five.

Do you think I started to repeat myself? - Well...

you did go on a bit, but...

Personally, I enjoyed it.

Lights!

Device buzzes faintly

Bingo!

Got her!

And we are live from the grounds of Slaughter Abbey

where, in one hour, 171 eye-riveting glamourettes

will vie to become Miss United Britain.

And with the enviable task of selecting the winners

this year's judges.

Actor, Rex Cooper.

Racing driver, Harry Dunbar.

And comedian, Terry Pepper.

Certainly got something to laugh about!

Ah, but before the eye-popping bevy of beauties

we have live music from the Bevello Brothers.

Jazz music plays

Indistinct chatter

Can I have a word, please?

It's mine, but one of the others must have taken it.

There were plenty didn't like her apart from me.

You were in the exercise room between 8 and 9pm.

The route back took you past the swimming pool.

You're saying I killed her over a stupid contest?

That's the game.

You win some, you lose some. There's always a next time.

Not for you.

Clodagh's snooping reaped dividends on this occasion.

Enough to get you disqualified for life.

It's burnt. You can't read that.

No.

But we can read an infrared photograph.

From Carys.

"Pen-blwydd hapus Mam."

"Happy birthday, Mummy."

I didn't mean to kill her.

Who's been a naughty girl?

What are you gonna snitch on me for?

I'll give you...

the kid didn't ruin your figure.

Nice card...

"Mam."

I was only 15 when I had her

but she was so beautiful, and she was mine.

I just couldn't give her up.

You'd have done the same thing in my shoes.

Hardly.

Unlike you, I'm still freshly packaged.

I'm begging you, don't say anything.

Not for me, but for her.

Her name's Carys, and—--

I couldn't give a monkeys for your little mistake.

You're finished.

Once they find out, you'll be Miss Nobody.

Loud thud - she gasps

Owl hoots

An unlucky blow indeed.

You wiped your shoe on Miss Glasgow's sash?

I found it by the pool.

So you planted it.

Surely that was risky?

I heard you talking.

It's burnt to a crisp.

You'd be amazed at the restorative powers of a chloral hydrate bath.

Do you know who did it?

You knew we were getting close, so you framed an innocent woman for murder.

It was her or Carys.

What chance would she have with a mother in prison?

All I wanted was for her to have a better future than mine.

For her to be able to succeed without...

without taking her clothes off and getting leered at!

I did it for my daughter.

Sally Ann Jones, I'm arresting you for the murder of Clodagh Kilpatrick.

You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say

may be written down and given in evidence.

And you couldn't ask for a field of shapelier fillies

than those coming under starter's orders for this year's Miss United Britain stakes.

A veritable cornucopia of beauties

and for the moment all the men in the audience have been waiting for.

The best of the peaches from the beaches

it's the swimwear round.

Now, for the facts and figures.

Airline stewardess, Miss Walton-On-Thames.

36, 24, 36.

Certainly the hostess with the mostest.

Miss Newcastle is a bookkeeper from South Shields.

Who'd think it? Brains and beauty.

And from the look on the judges' faces

they can put two and two together.

They mutter

Number Two, Miss Cardiff, Sally Ann J...

Sorry, that's Number Five. Miss Glasgow.

Moira McDonald.

37, 24, 35.

Five feet ten of Caledonian cutie.

Miss Weston-Super-Mare is a secretary.

She can take down my dictation any time.

And shall we reverse? - SOUND FADES

You'd better have a good explanation

or you'll be spending the remainder of your career directing traffic.

She confessed.

Well done, Inspector!

I had a feeling that you'd score a last-minute goal.

I'm not sure what you've been led to believe

but I was fully appraised at all stages of the investigation

and your men were acting under my instructions.

As DS Livingstone can confirm.

I'm sure I can count on you to back me up.

That's not necessary.

DCI Winner is correct.

I'll tell you about it later, sir. - Oh.

I can't wait.

I'm glad you see things my way

because we're off tonight.

Tonight? I thought this would take weeks.

Big job just landed, and I need manpower

so I'll give you half an hour to pack up your things and I'll see you at the station.

Yes, sir.

I suppose this is goodbye.

Merely adieu.

Now, you will come back and visit us?

Of course, Sister.

And I will wear gloves at crime scenes

and I will send Peggy a postcard from all of the sights.

And I'll telephone.

Before nine. - HE CHUCKLES

Scotland Yard are lucky to have you.

I will never forget Great Slaughter. HE CHUCKLES

I can say hand on heart, this has been an education and a privilege.

Right, better go and break the news to Mrs Clam.

There's a conversation I don't envy.

There was no need for you to come, Mrs Clam.

Nonsense. Someone had to see you off.

Felix chuckles

You won't get fresh game where you're going.

Thank you.

Sandwiches for the journey.

I made your favourite.

At least, I couldn't remember what it was

so I made egg and cress.

Thank you, Miss Thimble.

He grumbles incoherently

No sharin'.

Thank you, Tom. - Oh, bye, Sarge!

On. If you're still on for the Crown Jewels, I reckon I can brave a trip to London.

You don't let her out of your sight, mind.

She'd be an innocent dove amongst a flock of vultures.

Ar. - Two innocent doves.

I will write.

You'll do more than that, I hope.

There's always a room for you at the Sea View.

We off, then?

Indistinct chatter - tom grumbles incoherently

Thank you, Tom.

Goodbye. Take care.

INDISTINCT CHATTER —- Bye.

Bright lad like you deserves better than a bunch of amateur yokels.

They're good people.

And they welcomed me when I was a stranger.

Your Dl's a maverick sheriff in a one-horse town.

And don't get me started on the Nun.

Actually, sir, even though our methods may be unorthodox

we do have the highest clean-up rate in the county.

"We"?

Sounds like you've gone native.

Looks like I'm getting you out not a moment too soon.

What're you waiting for? Chop chop!

And now we resume live from Miss United Britain

where our seven remaining eye riveting-glamourettes

await the judges' decision.

In reverse order...

Third place.

Miss Birmingham.

Crowd applauds

In second place.

Miss Newcastle.

Crowd applauds

And the winner of this year's Miss United Britain is...

Miss...

Glasgow!

Crowd applauds

Well...

One prayer, at least, has been answered.

"The comfort of having a friend may be taken away

but not that of having had one."

To Felix.

A fine officer

and an even finer friend.

Hear! — Sorely missed.

To Sarge! — Dr Livingstone.

To Felix. Felix.

To Felix.

The usual, please, George.

Did you forget something?

Apart from my integrity?

I understood.

DCI Winner would not have understood.

He's not someone I can look up to, never mind call a friend.

You mean...

He's staying!

They cheer

Who is?

Sergeant Livingstone has come to his senses.

Oh, welcome home, Sarge!

Aye! HE RANTS INCOHERENTLY

He continues incoherently

They cheer

They laugh

So? What do you say then, lad?

Thank you, Tom.

They cheer

You do realise you just volunteered to be next year's Mistress Flumsy?

Yes, she or rather "he" leads the annual mummers parade in town

while being flagellated with twigs.

Oh, but don't worry, the flagellation is purely symbolic.

It's a great honour.

Hold the front page!

I think he's pleased.

They laugh