All language subtitles for Remington Steele s04e18 Steele at Your Service.eng

I will now prove that Hastings's death...

was not an accident but... murder.

Butlers don't get murdered.
They commit murder.

- Everyone knows that.
- Now who's being absurd?

Right there will be fine.

I'll see to it you never
work as a butler again.

Oh, please, I beg of you.
Anything but that, sir. Please. Please.

All right, Ruggles, you'd better have a good
explanation, or you're one dead butler.

I tell you,
Wellington Petroleum...

is not going to be
taken over by anyone.

Oh, come on. Mention your name on
Wall Street these days, and everybody laughs.

How dare you talk
to your father that way!

Yes, Harold. Father's still
chairman of the board.

That's right, you little nerd.
Nose up to him as usual.

Do you hear that hostility?
Don't worry, Father.

I'll never vote to sell
the family holdings like Harold.

Right, honey? Isn't that
what you keep telling me?

Honestly, Albert, sometimes
you really make me want to puke.

Maria, more coffee, please.

Yes, madam.

Pardon me, sir.
A phone call.

Thank you, Hastings.

I'll take it in the parlor.
Please be kind enough to draw my bath.

If you malcontents would be
kind enough to excuse me...

I'll say good night.

Phone call indeed!
You were meeting Maria, weren't you?

- Really, Katherine!
- Oh, drop the act, Charles.

You can't perform for me...

but for that little tart
of a chambermaid-

Good grief, Katherine!

Can't I at least take a bath
without having a major scene?

What-

- Oh, my God.!
- Hastings!

In the bathtub!

Ah, conspicuous consumption, huh?

Talk about the sweet
smell of success, Laura.

- The Wellingtons absolutely reek of it.
- I suppose.

I wonder what this appointment
is all about, eh?

Likely some
multimillion-dollar problem...

Wellington Petroleum
wants discretely cleared up, eh?

A feather in our cap,
wouldn't you say?

- I suppose.
- Well, contain your excitement, Laura.

- I was just thinking of my college days.
- Oh, yeah? What about them?

- Tear gas.
- Oh, yeah, of course.

Courtesy of Wellington Petroleum.

A group of us had joined hands
in front of a Wellington refinery...

to protest some off-shore oil spill,
which they had caused.

Charles Wellington
had us gassed and arrested.

Oh, come now, Laura.

That was an obligatory part of the curriculum
when you were at college, wasn't it?

Wellington Petroleum
is an irresponsible, polluting colossus.

One oil spill, Laura.
Anyone can make a mistake.

They think they're above the law.

Yes, well, let's not let petty grievances
interfere with business, shall we, eh?

- Remington Steele. My associate, Laura-
- Around back!

Glorious day.

Wellington might be doing
some paperwork outside.

A confab by the poolside,
perhaps, eh?

Something like that?

Maybe he's in the game room
stuffing a seagull.

Laura, be serious.
This is the '80s.

We're talking serious money here.
Heavy-duty fees.

Psst. Psst. Psst.

He's, uh, probably
repainting the foyer.

- I am sorry about the back door, but we have to be careful.
- "We"?

Ja. This is Vincenzo,
the Wellington chauffeur.

And Pierre, the chef.
Maria, the downstairs maid.

Kuromatsu, the gardener,
und I am Greta Swenson, the housekeeper.

Ah, yes, and a handsome
group you are too.

But we're here
to see Mr. Wellington.

I'm afraid I deceived you
on the phone, Mr. Steele.

- We are the ones who need your help.
- What?

- Ja. We want to hire you.
- Why?

- Somebody killed our "bootler. "
- What?

Butler.

Poor, dear, sweet Hastings.

They found his body
in the master's bathtub.

The police said
it was an accident...

that he drowned after
he slipped and hit his head.

Yes, well, that seems perfectly clear
to me. Miss Holt, shall we-

Monsieur Wellington-
He has the gendarme in his pocket.

- Laura, come on.
- Wait a minute.

Are you implying one of the Wellingtons
murdered this man Hastings?

- Correct.
- Fascinating. Fascinating stuff indeed.

Yes. Let's go, Laura.
This is preposterous. Come on.

Why? Just because it doesn't
involve heavy-duty fees?

Were there any witnesses?
Any hard evidence?

No, but the night
Hastings died, I was outside.

I saw a- a light in the upstairs window
and heard two men arguing.

While I emptied the trash,
I hear loud banging sound upstairs.

- Where were the rest of you?
- Downstairs.

But the Wellingtons
were all unaccounted for.

Ah, look, look, look. I hate to perforate
your little fantasy here...

but why would one of the Wellingtons,
in heaven's name...

deign to kill their poor butler, eh?

Because they are pigs.

Hastings was going
to retire the next day.

He was writing his memoirs about
the Wellingtons and hoped to sell them.

Big bucks.

So you think one of the family
killed Hastings...

to keep the memoirs
from being published.

- Correct.
- Hastings's room was ransacked after the murder.

Sounds like the killer
was looking for the memoirs.

You will take the case,
won't you?

Miss Holt-
A moment, please.

Laura, you have
oil spills on the brain.

These people have
nowhere else to turn.

The Wellingtons have obviously
paid for a cover-up.

Don't be absurd, Laura! This case
flies in the face of all tradition.

Butlers don't get murdered.
They commit murder. Everyone knows that.

Now who's being absurd?
We have motive, means and opportunity.

All we have to do is figure out
which one of the Wellingtons...

has a secret awful enough to kill for.

How to you propose
we go about investigating...

one of the most exclusive families
in the country on their own turf?

No. No, no, no.

Hold on just a minute, Laura.
Don't do that. No. Stop it.

Rupert Ruggles to see the madam
about position of butler.

Oh, ja. Uh, right this way.

Excuse me, madam. The butler
I told you about- Mr. Ruggles.

Oh, yes. How do you do?

My pleasure, madam.

Mrs. Swenson tells me you
have impeccable references.

Thank you, madam.
I try to do my best.

- I bet you do.
- Oh, come on, Father.

Give me a break.
I beat you fair and square.

- You won because I didn't have my good racket.
- Tell him who won, Albert.

Father didn't have his good racket.

- Oh, bull!
- Boys!

I can still beat your backside, and
don't you forget it. On or off the court!

- Charles, Albert, stop it!
- Harold started it.

- Oh, shut up!
- I'm sorry you had to hear that, Ruggles.

- Hear what, madam?
- Hmm. I like you already.

Everybody, I'd like you to meet Ruggles,
Hastings's replacement.

- Oh, poor Hastings.
- Mmm, what a tragedy.

He was like one of the family.

I'm sure we'll be
in splendid hands with Ruggles.

Swenson, show Ruggles to his quarters.

Oh, and prepare two guest rooms
in the east wing, please.

- We're expecting company.
- Yes, madam.

Welcome aboard, pal. Here's hoping that
you're a better swimmer than Hastings.

This is your room.
Good luck.

Thank you very much.

What is it?

Well, it- It's just that
we're on a rather limited budget.

You will hurry, won't you?

Brilliance can't be rushed,
Mrs. Swenson...

but I'll try and do my best.

Ja.

Mr. Steele! It's me!

- Maria?
- What happened?

Oh.

I mean, I come in here,
and I find you like this.

Oh, yeah, you just happened
to be in the neighborhood?

Oh, Mr. Steele, you must help me.
I'm in danger.

Yeah, well, courage,
Maria. Courage, hmm?

But you don't understand.
Hastings-

He was blackmailing the Wellingtons.

- Blackmailing?
- Yes.

How do you know this?

Because, the night he was murdered,
Hastings and I-

We were going to run off
together... to Acapulco.

- You and that old man?
- It was my chance for the big time.

Hastings-
He makes a lot of money.

But now, if the Wellingtons
find out I was involved with him...

they will kill me too!

- Oh, Mr. Steele!
- Calm down, Maria. Just calm down now.

There, there. Just tell me where
Hastings hid the memoirs. I promise-

But I don't know where they are.
You must help me.

Oh, Mr. Steele,
you must help me, please.

- Sure.
- I will do anything you want.

- Mmm, yes.
- Anything.

Mmm. There, there, there.
There, there, there.

I repaired your trophy, sir.
I hope you like it.

Thank you, Vincenzo.

Gosh, it's almost as good as new.

Oh, Albert! Don't you think it's about time
you threw that piece of junk in the garbage?

Well? Huh? What do you think?

Huh? What do you think?

- Scrumptious, isn't it, Ruggles?
- Stunning, madam.

Steele, how's it, uh, going?

A bit too soon to tell, Vincenzo.

Ah, well, step on it.
We are not made of money.

Laura Giles
of West Coast Living magazine.

Mildred Krebs,
photographer's assistant.

- We're expected.
- Who is it, Ruggles?

A pair of journalists,
I'm afraid, madam.

Oh, wonderful.
Show them in.

This way, please.

Don't forget the luggage.

Very well, madam.

I'm so glad you called.

Your magazine did such a lovely layout
on the Vanderhoff home-

sprawling little pseudo-Normandy
farmhouse that it is.

I'm sure we'll get a lot more
out of our stay here.

Ruggles, please show Miss Giles
and Miss Krebs to their rooms.

After you've freshened up, I'll introduce
you to the rest of the family.

Oh, splendid.

This way, ladies.
Straight ahead. Thank you.

So... this is how the other half lives.

Right there will be fine.

Laura, next time choose a cover
with fewer accessories.

This seemed the perfect way to play up
to the massive Wellington ego.

Oh, now I know what you're
talking about, Miss Holt.

They must have used every duck on
the West Coast to stuff these comforters.

- Oh, hi, chief.
- Hi.

- How are things going down in the trenches?
- All too well, Mildred.

- Much to my dismay.
- You've got a lead?

Several. For one thing,
I checked the murder scene.

Hastings would have had to be a contortionist
to accidentally hit his head and drown.

- Then it is murder.
- A little less zeal, Laura.

So far I've taken a blow to the head,
had my room trashed...

enjoyed a cozy t�te-�-t�te
with Maria, the maid...

who was gonna run off
with the late, great Hastings.

You're joking.

The man had unexpected
vigor in several areas.

He was also blackmailing
the Wellingtons.

The motive gets better and better.

I looked into Wellington Petroleum.

The company is in deep trouble,
vulnerable to a hostile takeover.

It's a real mess. Virtually none of
the members of the family will vote together.

I did background checks
on the whole family.

Nothing unusual,
except for Cindy Wellington.

She doesn't show up on the computer
at all prior to marrying Albert.

Mmm. A woman without a past, eh?

I'll lift a set of her fingerprints
and try to put a trace on them.

As much as I'd love to chat, ladies,
I have duties to attend to.

Run along, Ruggles. This enterprising
reporter has plans ofher own.

You're right. It's a gorgeous view.

From where I'm sitting,
it's even prettier.

I heard about your butler dying.

How awful.

C'est la vie.

From what I understand, he hit his head
while drawing your bath.

That's right. Clumsy oaf.

- I wonder who turned off the water.
- What?

Your wife told me that water
wasn't running when you found Hastings.

- So?
- So I wonder who turned off the water.

Obviously, he was through
with the bath when he slipped.

Obviously.
Silly question, I guess.

That will be all, Ruggles.

Yes, madam.

- Oh!
- Watch where you're going, you fool!

I'm sorry, sir.
Terribly sorry.

I'm so sorry.
It won't happen again.

- See that it doesn't.
- Yes.

Twerp.

Monsieur Steele!
Monsieur Steele!

Comment �a va?
Monsieur Steele!

I thought you had bought
the vineyards, so to speak.

Merely a down payment.
What do you want?

I wanted to know-
How goes the private dicking?

- What?
- Your work- the private dicking.

We are paying you
good money, monsieur...

but here I find you flat on your back.

- Well, that's because somebody hit me, Pierre.
- But that is your fault.

Not Pierre's, n'est-ce pas?

We should get credit on our bill
for your time off, no?

- Out.
- Monsieur, I'm only being reasonable.

- Ahh! Out!
- All right, I'll go.

Madam told me to tell you...

we are having a Texas
barbecue this afternoon.

Thank you very much.

Your room is a sty.

Ketchup, pickles, Handi Wipes?

Love the hat.

I'm not in the mood, Laura.

- Where's Mildred?
- Checking the report on Cindy.

Psst. Steele.

Uh-oh. Duty calls.

Mr. Wellington's number one racket.

Found it in the trash this morning.
Good clue, huh?

Uh-huh. Either that or Wellington
has a wicked backhand.

- Hang on to that.
- Right.

Whoo.! Yee-haw.!
Pile it on, boy.

You're gonna love it.

Fingerprints on Cindy?
Rap sheet city, honey.

Former Vegas call girl
with a record a mile long.

Albert married an ex-hooker?

An ex-hooker who seems
to be on better terms...

with Albert's brother
than with Albert.

I bet Hastings
put that in the memoirs.

From Charles Wellington's
reaction this afternoon...

I'm certain he had something
to do with the murder.

Kuromatsu found Charles's
battered tennis racket in the trash.

Great. But it also appears...

Katherine Wellington enjoys her chauffeur's
company more than her husband's.

Katherine and Vincenzo?

Oh, that's disgusting.

Everybody has
some deep, dark secret.

I love it.

- Uh, will that be all, miss? Yes?
- Yes, thank you.

What do you think, Miss Giles?

Perhaps a picture of our Texas friends
taken from up on the hay wagon?

Uh, good idea.

Pickles, anybody?
Handi Wipes?

Okay, everybody,
say "pork and beans"!

Pork and beans!

Whoa.

Laura! Laura, Laura!
Come on.

Oh, dear God. Oh, come on.
Get up. Get up. Are you okay?

Thank you, Ruggles.
That'll be all.

All right, Ruggles. I'll take over
from here. Call the paramedics!

No! Please don't bother.
I'll be fine.

Psst.

What do you think?

I think someone
wants us dead.

- Hey! Hey!
- Come here!

Why don't you and I have
a little talk, mate, eh?

My associate almost took
her last hayride today, thanks to you!

- You're crazy!
- How's Mrs. Wellington lately, eh?

Huh?

Huh? You told her
who we were, didn't you?

Huh?

We were trying
to scare you off. That is all.

We... did not want you
to find out about us.

Oh, like Hastings did?

Yes, that and-

That-That and what? I could build a convincing
case against you right now, Vincenzo!

Harold... is my son.

What?

All these years...

no one knows except Hastings.

But I did not kill him.
I promise.

I swear I did not.

Hastings promised that he tells no one.

Well, he won't now, will he?

You and Katherine keep your lips
sealed until we're through.

And stay away
from Miss Holt, mate.

Come on! Get-

- Albert.!
- Ruggles, you attacked me!

I beg your pardon, sir,
but I believe you attacked me first.

Um, what, may I ask, was the master
doing in my quarters?

- I was looking for something.
- Hastings's memoirs?

Boy, you butlers are all alike.
You know everything.

So, I'm gay.

So I paid Cindy to marry me
to keep up a front.

Oh.

So what are you
going to do about it?

Very little at the moment.

You didn't happen to find
Hastings's memoirs, did you, sir?

No.

And if you breathe a word
about this to anyone...

I'll see to it you never
work as a butler again.

Oh, please, sir, I beg of you.
Anything but that, sir.

Please. Please. Thank you, sir.
Good day, sir. Bye-bye.

Oh, dear, dear, dear,
dear, dear, dear.

Hmm?

What is this?

Laura?

Laura!

Oh, no.

Are you okay, boss?

- Mildred?
- Yeah.

- Why don't you get a towel and some ice.
- All right.

Just sit down.
Sit down.

Did you see
who it was?

No, but that's
not unusual.

Oh, what a mess.

Anything missing?

I think...
one of the camera bags.

It was probably Vincenzo trying
to cover up his affair with Katherine.

I doubt that. I had a little chat
with Vincenzo, and Albert too.

Hastings knew that Albert married Cindy
to cover up the fact that he wasn't...

you know, the marrying kind.

So... that's why Cindy
can't keep her hands off Harold.

Who, incidentally-
and Vincenzo admits this himself-

is really his son, not Charles's.

What a family!

What were you doing here?

Oh, hey, I, uh- I think I found
where Hastings hid the memoirs.

- Of course.
- Hey?

- The household computer.
- Now we're talking my territory.

Mmm, shame about your camera, Laura.
The film would've come in handy.

Thank you, Mildred. It's okay.

An ounce of prevention.

I think I'll visit
a photographer I know.

Ah, okay.

I think I'm gonna pay a visit
to a certain wall safe I know.

Take care, Ruggles.
With any luck...

I'll see to it that
you're fired tomorrow.

Couldn't this wait
until morning, Laura?

I mean, not that I'm complaining,
but it was only five months ago...

that I asked you out and waited
until 12:23 tonight to hear back.

Nothing.

No, it's not one of your
better shots, I must say.

Blowup.

David Hemmings,
Vanessa Redgrave.

MGM, 1967.

- Or was it 1966?
- What are you mumbling about?

A certain friend of mine
would be very proud of me right now.

- Bernie.
- Yes?

I'm going to need...

blowups.

Mademoiselle!

You, too, cannot sleep?
C'est dommage.

You are famished, and I will make you
something fantastique.

No, no, no, no.
That's not necessary.

I insist.

For so lovely a vision,
I will make something light.

Something delicious.

A Dagwood! I'll help.

We need bread...

and mayonnaise, mustard and-

Ooh, ham, salami, lettuce.

That and, um, tomatoes, pickles.

What's that?

Oh, peanut butter.
I love peanut butter.

Cheese.

What's this?

Tuna fish.

Oh, I love tuna fish.

This is gonna be
one hell of a sandwich.

Suddenly I am very sleepy.

Bonsoir.

All right, Ruggles...

you'd better have a good explanation,
or you're one dead butler.

He has an excellent explanation.

His real name is Remington Steele.

Private investigator extraordinaire.

And he is about to prove...

beyond a shadow of a doubt
that one of you murdered Hastings.

Isn't that right, Mr. Steele?

- I'm calling the police.
- Not so fast, Wellington.

By the time I get through, you
may not want to make that phone call.

Yes, I will now prove...

that Hastings's death
was not an accident...

but... murder.

Not so.

- That's preposterous.
- So it seems to the untrained eye.

- But to a private investigator-
- Who killed him?

A fair question, Pierre.

But before I answer that,
let's first ask the question:

How was Hastings killed?

Must we?

Winston Hastings,
beloved butler to some...

insidious blackmailer
to his employers.

He had written memoirs that cut to
the quick of each and every Wellington.

Memoirs that reveal secrets
so dark, so evil...

so heinous that one of you
was driven to murder Hastings!

You have these memoirs?

Hmm?

Another interesting question.

Yes.

And I shall produce
these memoirs in a moment.

If you're bluffing, Steele,
I'll have your license.

- And we'll sue.
- Boss, I found it.

- And we'll sue.
- Boss, I found it.

Ah, my assistant, Mildred Krebs...

just as I expected, has the memoirs.

I found it. Oh, boss, you don't know
what I had to go through-

recipes, wine lists, guest lists-

- The memoirs, Mildred. The memoirs.
- Here.

"My Life With the Wellingtons. "

- Catchy little title, isn't it?
- Mm-hmm.

"The life of a butler is-"

- Well, go on, Mr. Steele.
- That's it?

That's only half a line.
"The life of a butler is-"

Hastings must have had
writer's block.

- Well, Steele, huh?
- Ah, the solution is at hand...

but before I reveal the murderer...

let's go back
to the night of the murder.

- You are bluffing.
- Am I?

I have been told that you, Charles Wellington,
received a message at dinner...

supposedly from a business associate.

But the truth is Hastings was arranging
a meeting with you, wasn't he?

It's true. I saw the note.

Oh, shut up, you pip-squeak.

Exhibit "A"- a cashier's check
for a hundred thousand dollars...

written out to one
Winston Hastings...

dated the day of the murder.

Charles received a note
from Hastings requesting a meeting.

He asked Hastings to draw his bath-

a clever excuse to meet-

then said he was going
to take the phone call.

But, in fact, he went to get
the cashier's check for Hastings.

Meanwhile, Hastings waited
in the bedroom for Charles...

counting down the hours until he'd be
on his way to fun-filled Acapulco...

with beautiful Maria and spending
his misbegotten fortune.

But Hastings didn't have the memoirs.

They argued. Hastings
refused Charles's demands.

But no one refuses
Charles Wellington.

He grabbed his favorite
tennis racket.

He snuck up behind Hastings
and delivered a smashing-

No.!

That's not the way it happened.

Yes, I went to meet
Hastings that night.

But when I got to my room, I found him
on the floor beside my tennis racket.

I'd been set up.
I had to act fast.

I threw the racket into the trash...

dumped Hastings's body into the tub...

and waited for my wife to turn up...

to provide an alibi for me.

That's the truth. I swear.

Precisely.

Which brings us to the next
important question:

Who framed you?

Boss, what are you doing?

I believe it's known
as winging it, Mildred.

On the night of Hastings's death...

who was the one other person...

who saw Hastings's note to Charles?

Hmm?

Hmm?

You, Albert.

By your own admission.

And you framed your father.

You knew Hastings
was gonna meet with your father.

It was the perfect opportunity
to kill two birds with one racket-

Hastings,
because he was blackmailing you,

and your father, whose contempt and
domination you could no longer abide.

You made sure your father
was in the parlor...

so you could get to Hastings first.

You went to your father's room,
grabbed his tennis racket...

slipped up to Hastings
to deliver a crushing-

No.! Wait.!

It's true Hastings
was blackmailing me...

but I didn't kill him.

I wanted to.

In fact, when I left the table knowing
Hastings was upstairs all alone...

I went to get my gun.

But when I entered my room,
Hastings was dead on the floor...

with my broken debating
trophy lying next to him.

Someone was trying to frame me.

I thought it was Father...

who's never wanted me for his son.

So I dragged Hastings
into Father's room...

smashed his racket against the floor
and tossed it next to the body.

You ruined a perfectly good racket.

Which would explain the banging noise...

Pierre heard the night of the murder.

Yes, but who is the killer?

- We want to know now.
- Yes, now.

Oui. Go on, Monsieur.

Maybe we should call for a cab.

That's worth considering.

A murder case is like an onion.

To solve the solution,
one has to peel away...

the endless layers
of contradiction and confusion.

And so the process of elimination
brings us to the two people...

who would stand to gain the most
by killing Hastings and framing Albert.

Cindy-

- And Harold.
- You're crazy, Steele!

Am I? Think about it.

Here was the perfect chance
to get rid ofboth Hastings and Albert.

Why? Because Hastings
knew about Cindy's past...

and was threatening
to destroy her one ambition:

to make it in high society.

And, Harold, Hastings knew your
unbridled passion for Cindy...

if publicized, could ruin your bid to become
president of Wellington Petroleum.

Thus the two of you raced upstairs...

waited for Hastings and ambushed him.

Pulling him into Albert's room,
grabbing Albert's debating trophy...

and waiting for the right moment-

You're out of your gourd.!

We didn't kill Hastings.

Well, we were going to with Harold's old
army knife, but Hastings was already dead.

In my bedroom.

So we dragged Hastings
into Albert's bedroom.

And that's when I broke your stupid trophy
and made it look like a murder weapon.

Exactly as I deduced.

Which leaves, uh,
just one more suspect:

Katherine Wellington.

I'm sorry to disappoint you,
Mr. Steele...

but at the time of the murder,
I was with Mrs. Swenson...

planning the barbecue.

- She's right.
- Of course, yes.

Of course indeed.
Which means, uh-

The murderer is, um, somebody else.

Let's make a run for it, boss.

Oh, yeah, indeed.
Ah, my associate, Miss Holt! Yes!

What's going on?

I was just concluding my summation.

- You solved the case?
- Ah, yes, in a way.

Um, ahem, I've eliminated
all the suspects.

That's it, Steele.
I'm calling the police.

In a minute, Wellington.!

To review...

the motive for Hastings's murder was-

- Stocks.
- Precisely.

Yes, but please don't allow me
to hog the limelight. Carry on.

We all know Wellington Petroleum
is in dire financial straits...

but few of us knew a corporate
takeover was in the works...

engineered by someone
on the inside who had access...

to a vast holding of company shares,
which he was willing to sell out.

- You little rat!
- It wasn't Albert.

Who is it? I'll kill him!

I'm afraid somebody beat you to it.

Hastings?

Yes, of course.
Yes, of course.

Please proceed, Miss Holt.
Proceed.

Hastings had amassed a sizable
amount of shares over the years...

using every eavesdropped conversation
in the house to his advantage.

- That swine!
- In fact, he had accumulated enough shares...

to give someone in the family decisive
control of Wellington Petroleum.

- What are you talking about?
- You, Charles.

The night of the murder, you were willing
to pay Hastings $100,000...

for the privilege
of buying back his shares.

That's a lie!

I can't see you ever proving
I got a single share of stock.

I can't.
Because Sobuku Limited...

a Japanese firm trying
to take over your company...

had a secret operative among you.

- Who?
- Uh, please, Miss Holt.

Let's not keep them
in suspense any longer.

An M.I.T. graduate and
former securities analyst...

who, after serving some time for fraud...

supposedly retired to the contemplative
life of an estate gardener.

One Sam Kuromatsu.

Sam?

Prove it.

The photograph
you thought you'd destroyed.

I don't get it.

What really happened?

Let's go back
to the night of the murder.

Uh, allow me.

I've had experience
with this sort of thing.

Charles receives
the note from Hastings.

Albert sees the note.

Charles leaves the room.
Hastings leaves soon...

to be followed by Albert,
Cindy and Harold.

- Where's Kuromatsu?
- In the kitchen.

Kuromatsu had made a deal
with Hastings to buy his stock...

but Charles hadjust
made him a better offer.

Kuromatsu stops Hastings
on his way to Charles's bedroom.

He tells Hastings he wants
to make a counteroffer.

Hastings agrees.

Kuromatsu kills Hastings
in Harold's room.

That explains the struggle
Vincenzo sees from outside.

Kuromatsu then steals
the signed stock certificates...

and rushes off
to contact Sobuku Limited.

Simple, isn't it?

Now you know why when Harold
and Cindy arrived to kill Hastings...

they found he was already dead.

So they framed Albert.

But Albert, who also
wanted to kill Hastings...

finds the butler's body and summons
enough courage to frame his father.

Albert dumps Hastings
in Charles's bedroom...

and smashes Charles's tennis
racket to complete the frame.

A moment later,
Charles finds the body...

and realizes he has to do something.

So he dumps Hastings in the tub...

to make it look like an accident.

- Good work, Mr. Steele.
- Hmm. You too, Miss Holt.

Kuromatsu's flown the coop!

Good-bye, Mr. Steele.

- My tailor's gonna kill me.
- Let's call the police.

Suddenly I don't feel that eager
about going back to the house.

We can't stay here.

Why not?

What about him?

What will people think?

What else?
The butler did it.

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