All language subtitles for Sister.Boniface.Mysteries.S02E01

The time now is five o'clock.

Trevor, it's on!

- Hello.
- Hello.

Avast ye landlubbers.

Today we are going to be
looking at making jelly eggs.

And finally finish off
with a lovely dollop of cream.

It looks very splendid, I think.

And so does Bill's
by the looks of it.

Treasure. Argh.

And can we get
a close-up of Danny's?

And camera one, close-up.

Or in my case a jelly omelette.

Walk the plank,
you scurvy knave.

Oh, that's quite enough of this!

Dinah!

Finish now and go
to the telecine.

And there we are.

A very delicious idea
for a tea party.

On Monday,
I went to Silverstone race track

to try out the latest
Formula One racing car.

Run telecine.

- And cut.
- I'm gone for a few weeks

- and while the cat's away?
- Thank you, Sandy.

What were you thinking,
letting the boys do the cooking?

The children love it.
We've had lots of letters.

Children don't want to see
grownups playing silly billies.

And talking of letters,
care to explain?

It's for the summer road show.

Didn't you edit them?

I just assumed
all of them went in.

No, dear.
Because then we run the risk

of ending up
in some godforsaken place

in the middle of nowhere
with nothing to film.

On air in 5, 4...

Sit up straight.

You'd better just hope
for your sake.

As you know, our Summer
Roadshow is next month,

and we've received
hundreds of letters from you

asking us to come stay
in your neck of the woods.

So if Bill will do the honours?

Aye aye.

In here somewhere.

Not this one.

Ah-ha!

- Thank you, Bill.
- Aye aye.

And this letter is from Trevor,

- aged 7...
- It's mine. Mum! Mum! It's mine!

Who lives in...

Great Slaughter.

Quiet, please.

Run camera, action.

The exciting thing about
the summer road show

is we never know
what we will find.

But we certainly
weren't expecting this.

Now, I expect you think
Nuns spend all day praying

and eating fish on Fridays.

But here
at St Vincent's convent,

they do something
very different.

Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.

- It isn't rum, Bill.
- Aw.

Later on, Sister Boniface
will be showing you

how she turns these...

into wine.

A simple chemical reaction.

Anthocyanins malvidin,
3 glucoside flavone,

3 Catechin, 86% water,
12% ethanol,

1% glycerol, 0.4%
organic acids.

Was I supposed to
do that bit later?

Here's one we made earlier.

Only 5/6 a bottle
with a 5% case discount

and 10% on bulk orders.

Very good.

Cut. Thank you.

How was that?
Did I come in too early?

Our grand cru.

A light bodied red

with a subtle hint
of raspberries and black pepper.

That is a lot of wine.

Yeah.
Six thousand bottles a year.

90% we sell retail.
The rest...

"Gifts and services."

- Gifts and services?
- Yeah.

Put simply,
say we get a burst pipe.

You're a plumber.
You fix my pipe.

I "gift" you a crate
of grand cru to say "thank you."

Meaning the taxman
don't get a sniff either side,

so it's a win-win.

And don't worry, kids, because
it's all perfectly legal.

Cut!

We'll wrap this, thank you.

A word.

Finish up, then I want you

and the presenters
at the "studio" for a meeting.

Although why you couldn't find
anywhere more suitable

than a village hall is...

We were limited for choice.

How was your meeting
with the Controller?

Not a happy chappy.

Viewing figures
are in free fall.

Hardly a surprise
given your shenanigans

- in my absence.
- Actually they rose while I...

And will be even unhappier

when we give the kiddies
a crash course in tax evasion.

Obviously we're not
gonna use that...

When this week
is mercifully over,

I think you should look
for a nice little job in Radio.

No need for a gloomy face.

It's for the best.

Some people just aren't cut out
for children's television.

Go on. In.

Dinah's not here. She's late.
She is never late.

Let's just hope she not been
stuck in a car accident.

Nice to see you.

Dead women tell no tales.

Dead women tell no tales.

On air in 10.

Can we get him out, please?

He can't go on like this.

Dead women tell no tales.

- Quiet, please. Thank you.
- Okay. Ready?

Good.

On air in five, four...

- Hello.
- Hello.

Yo, ho, ho.

You may have noticed
we're not in our usual studio.

We're in our temporary
road show studio

here in Great Slaughter.

And what a week
we've got lined up for you.

Including a very
exciting announcement

where Danny and I will be
explaining what these are for.

Coming to two.

You'd never believe it was made
of lolly sticks, would you?

And now it only
needs varnishing.

But as the glue on this
hasn't had time to dry yet,

here's one we made earlier.

At least we hope there's one
we made earlier.

Danny appears to be
having trouble finding it.

Is that a...?

I think I need a "hand."

Stay off camera two.
Off camera two!

Maybe some "body" hid it.

They'd be "dead" if they did!

Oh! There we are.

Found it.

Finish up now!

A lovely lolly stick pipe rack

which I'm sure any father
would be delighted

- to receive as a present.
- Go to telecine!

But unfortunately
we've run out of time.

So now over to Jono to tell us
more about what we found

in Great Slaughter yesterday.

Yesterday we visited
St Vincent's convent

where we met a group
of very unusual Nuns.

Run telecine!

What have you got?

A button. Lodged in her teeth.

We'll have to wait
for the post mortem,

but I'm 99.98 percent certain
cause of death was asphyxiation.

She was smothered.

Anything else?

A forensic nightmare.

The corpse was moved, thus
rendering all trace evidence

contaminated by Uncle Tom Cobley
and a television crew.

A veritable pig's ear
of a crime scene.

Yes. So, on balance.

Not the most propitious news.

The set was prepared last night.

It wasn't until during filming

when they pulled back
the curtain and...

Noticed the deceased body
under the workbench.

Yeah. Dinah Morgan.

She's the show's editor.

She called a meeting here
last night

at which only
four people were present,

three of the presenters
and the producer, Fliss Forsyth.

Can you and Button
do a search for me?

Keep your eyes peeled for...

Something short of a button.

Perhaps a pair of gloves.

Meanwhile, let's start

with the last four people
to see her alive.

Do you know what happened?

We'd have a better idea
if you hadn't moved the body.

You do realise that willfully
disturbing a crime scene

is an offence?

Not as offensive as presenting
to the nation's children

with a corpse at our feet.

Morality versus pragmatism.

Quite a philosophical conundrum.

Miss Morgan called the four
of you here last night.

Why was that?

Dinah made an addition
to the shooting schedule.

It's not unusual.

So apart from some

highly unsuitable
alcohol producing Nuns,

we have what exactly?

Oh, a local farmer
who found a Roman amphora

in a field of mangold wurzels.

The children will be
on the edge of their seats.

And you managed to miss the one
thing of note in the vicinity.

Broadway Tower.

The highest man-made structure
in the Cotswolds.

Sounds as exciting
as a geography school trip.

The boys are going
to do a stunt.

- A stunt?
- Yes, Daniel.

A dangerous deed of derring-do.

You're going to abseil
off the tower.

You lost me at dangerous.

I can do heights.

Hardly the example we want
to set to young girls.

It's perfectly safe.
Tell him, Jono.

I'm sure you did it all the time
in the army.

Yeah. Piece of cake.

Jono's an ex-marine.

"Danny" spent 2 years national
service, spud bashing duty.

We'll do a feature
to announce it tomorrow.

Cut Sandy's dolls' house.

But that's my only segment.

Well...
help Danny with the pipe rack.

Children are bored of dolls.

Less make and bake,
more derring-do.

Even if it does mean
changes to the line-up.

Dressing rooms. Chop-chop.

No going home
till they're learnt.

Now turn those frowns
upside down

and remember it's all
about the children.

These changes would have
made you somewhat redundant?

Perhaps my ambitions extend

beyond playing housewife
in front of a camera.

Yeah, I heard there's a vacancy
at the 9 O'clock News.

You never know.

And at least "I"
won't be typecast

as a children's presenter.

Lip it.

They'll be thinking all sorts.

They are thinking all sorts.

They think one of us killed her.

That's absurd.

Surely someone
must have broken in.

Perhaps she disturbed
an intruder?

That's what we're trying
to ascertain.

What happened after the meeting?

Dinah and I went to
the production studio

to draw up a new schedule.

She left for home first.

She was driving back to London,
so left around 9:30.

She'd left her handbag
in the studio

and went back to fetch it.

Is that when it happened?

That would fit
with the rigor mortis.

And the rest of you?

We did as we were told.

Went back to our dressing rooms
to learn our scripts.

Fliss called taxis at 10 o'clock
and we went back to the hotel.

Cowardly custard.

Dead women tell.
Cowardly custard.

Dead women tell no tales.

Can you get him out?

I presume that isn't Police
issue uniform, WPC Button?

It's my Jolly Roger badge.

I got it for collecting
8,000 milk bottle tops

for the African famine.

Would it not have been
more preferable

to send them the milk?

It's a bit early in the day
for an Irish coffee, no?

You can't post milk
with a second class stamp

and an envelope.

Sarge.

Is this what we're looking for?

We found empty whisky bottles
in your dressing room.

I like a drink.
It's not a crime.

Thankfully not.

But presenting drunk
to the nation's children

is a different matter.

I've never.

It's just...

It's just enough
to take the edge off.

And for the most part,
I can keep the beast at bay.

Only every so often, it pounces.

Call it a souvenir from Korea.

- Military?
- Marines.

I was invalided out after
a botched raid in Pyongyang.

War has driven better men
than me to drink.

In my experience, ex-soldiers

all find their own ways
to forget.

You, uh, have a button missing.

Well, that certainly
isn't a crime.

Oh, I see.

You think I killed Dinah

cos she found out
I was drinking?

Well, the thought
has crossed my mind.

Trust me. If Dinah had found
out, it wouldn't be a secret.

She'd have hauled me in irons
in front of the whole crew

and forced me to walk the plank.

Ask anyone.

I certainly will.

Dinah Morgan.

Editor of Britain's most
popular children's TV show.

The building was
surrounded by fences.

The security guard
didn't see any intruders,

so that leaves us with four
with known opportunity.

Danny Lemon. A club comedian
and ventriloquist.

He shot to fame
when he won New Talent.

Sandy Shanks.

She started her career
as a circus trapeze act

then a dancer for
the black and white Minstrels

before going into
television presenting.

Dinah planned a re-jig
at the show.

That made her job redundant.

Jono Hardy?

Jono Hardy, ex-marine turned
children's television presenter

and also the longest serving
member of the cast.

What shall we do
with a drunken sailor?

* Hosepipes in the scuppers *

Very good.

Erm, Dinah ran a "tight" ship
by all accounts.

Any news on the button?

Negative, I'm afraid.
They aren't a match.

And finally, Fliss Forsyth,
the show's producer.

Ex-producer.

The boss gave her
her marching orders yesterday.

Oh, right.

Reverend Mother is enquiring

if you will be gracing us
with your presence for compline.

Oh, right, yes, of course.
Erm...

Are you sure about this?

Just cos my ears
are covered in a wimple

- don't mean I'm deaf.
- "Hear hear!"

Thanks, Reg.

Don't mention it.

Move it or she'll be
chewing up the pews.

- Could you do the honours?
- Oh, oh, yes.

- Just pull the, erm...
- Yeah, of course.

Right, no time. No time.

- I didn't think it was relevant.
- Not relevant?

She sacked you a few hours
before she was murdered.

We'd had a bad day's
filming, is all.

She didn't mean it.

It's television.
Things get heated.

Can you tell us
what you argued about?

Professional differences.

I took over while Dinah was
on Jury service for 3 months,

and she didn't approve
of some of my changes.

Namely?

Dinah's of a
different generation.

The world's changed.

Children don't want
to be like their parents

or to be lectured to by adults.

They want to do things
their own way.

Or your way
now you're the one in charge.

Miss Forsyth?

What's up, Neil?

Pete's escaped.

What are you doing?

The Sisters collected it
for this year's appeal.

A log cabin
for old aged pensioners

which Reverend Mother
deemed worthy of...

Oh, I see. Yes, right.

Well, either by chance
or divine intervention,

my arrival coincided
with the discovery

of Poopdeck Pete's
break for freedom.

Or rather, I suspect,
this was no escape.

It was attempted parrotcide.

You must be joking.

Sniff.

Sodium hypochlorite
mixed with acetic acid.

One that most definitely
should not be tried at home.

No?

In laymen's terms,
bleach and vinegar,

AKA homemade chlorine gas,

which Pete
strenuously protested to,

judging by the blood
and tissue on the calamus

which was obviously
wrested with some force.

Poor chap, it seems,
fled for his life.

Have you a theory as to why?

Recall as you will

his behaviour
the day after the murder.

Dead women tell no tales.

"Dead women
tell no tales."

Parrots are gifted mimics.

I think Pete was recounting the
final moments of Dinah Morgan.

Take your time, Mr. Pete.

If you recognise the person
you saw, you let me know.

Sister!

Sister?

Still. Some good news,
at least.

Our only eyewitness
is an escaped parrot.

I fail to see how that could be
filed under "good."

Yes, well,
when you put it like that...

We did discover
one thing, though.

Dinah Morgan had just returned
from Jury service.

For three months, so it
wasn't a shoplifting case.

Exactly. It's a long shot,
but it's worth checking out.

Right. I must fly.

The sisters' moment
of glory beckons.

The Nuns here all take the name
of male saints.

And the Reverend Mother
of St Vincent's namesake

has a rather interesting story
involving a lion,

which Sister Reginald
and Sister Peter have come

to tell us all about.

St Adrian of Nicomedia.

An officer in Imperial Rome who,

whilst watching the Christians
being cruelly tortured to death,

was so struck by their fortitude

converted to Christianity
on the spot.

An inspiring story.

He was promptly arrested
and sentenced to death

by being thrown to a lion.

But, like Daniel
in the lion's den,

the vicious beast refused
to touch a hair on his head.

So a happy ending.

Well, not likely.
Being eaten by lions

would have been a blessing.

Instead, he was hacked to pieces
with a sword

and thrown on the fire.

A glorious martyr's death.

If you say so.

Of course, that was
thousands of years ago,

and lucky for us, these things
don't happen these days.

- Well, Sister?
- Yo, ho, ho.

Avast, ye landlubbers.

Yes, well, that was

certainly very, erm...
educational.

Tomorrow, Danny and I
will be attempting

Jolly Roger's first-ever stunt.

I thought about joining
the Teaching Order,

but the thought of all those
kids was way too off-putting.

Aye-aye.

Make sure to tune in,
and until then, it's goodbye

from our Summer studio
in Great Slaughter.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

Eye.

I wonder.

Excuse me. Duty calls.

Bingo.

Hello?
What time do you call this?

Who is this? Declare yourself!

This is a respectable
establishment, not a night...

Run camera.

Marker. Slate 32, take 2.

Action!

Lady Coventry wondered

whether a beacon
from the top of this hill

could be seen from her house
22 miles away

and ordered the construction
of this tower to find out,

over a thousand feet
above sea level.

I'm getting a crick in my neck
just looking up at it.

And cut.

Thank you, Sandy.

Rather them.

It's just controlled falling
using friction and a rope.

A child could do it.

Could I have a word?

Don't mind me.
Just having a quick shufti.

Don't tell me
he's a murder suspect.

You have to be joking.

Aye-aye.

Or rather just one eye.

Its companion was recovered
from the body.

He's a puppet.

We aren't attached at the wrist.

The minute the cameras
are turned off,

he goes in the prop box.

Danny Lemon.
It's a stage name, isn't it?

Your real name is Liam Quinn.

So what?

Quite a clan, the Quinns.

Liverpool's answer to the Krays.

Extortion, racketeering,
money laundering.

They have a wide portfolio.

Had. A month ago,

your father and uncle
were sentenced to 20 years.

Dinah Morgan
was the foreman of the jury.

There's irony.

You're honestly telling me
you had no idea?

The last time we spoke
was on my 16th birthday,

I turned down a job
with the family firm.

They didn't appreciate that
I wanted to make people laugh

instead of weep.

You're saying you've had
no contact with them at all?

If I'd shown my face,
it'd be me they served up

as the fatted calf.

Very good.

And if I'd known
Dinah had put them away,

I'd have shaken her hand.

The world owes her a favour

for locking up
those bunch of psychos.

But feel free to arrest me.

Fancy my chances more in a
nice, warm police cell than up there.

That won't be necessary.

Though we will have to take
Barnacle Bill "into custody."

Good riddance.

You think I like
being a mouthpiece

to a piece of felt
with a nasty streak?

Gives me the creeps.
Rightly, it turns out.

"The hand puppet of death."

Right.

You coming, Sister?

Actually, I thought I might
stay and watch the fun.

Quiet, please. Thank you.

Run camera.

Action.

We'll be falling approximately
60 feet in 25 seconds.

And it will feel like
25 minutes!

And here we go. Anchors away.

Bloody fiasco!

I thought you said the equipment
was safety-checked!

- It was!
- By who? The factory cat?!

You do realise I was 10 seconds
away from certain death.

I know, and I'm sorry.
And I promise you,

next time, everything
will be triple-checked.

There will not be a next time.

Speak to my agent!

Something to share,
Constable Button?

Bravo, Peggy.

It appears your suspicions
are correct.

Is anyone hurt?

WPC Button, erm,

a plane has just gone down
in the village.

We need to alert
the fire brigade

and the ambulance right away.

That's not a plane.
That's Poopdeck Pete.

Okay, thanks, love.
That's good news.

Good news? My favourite type.

- Yeah, I've foun' a para'!
- Excellent.

The bad news is
he's at the Cavalier Oak.

Ah. That's the large oak tree
next to the village hall?

- Great Slaughter constabulary?
- It must be 100 feet high.

Sister Boniface, sir.

- Oh. Hallo?
- No.

- Hello?
- Yes, could you come over?

I think I've found something.

Okay. I'll be right there.

I'm needed at the lab.

But I assume
I can leave you three

on operation capture the parrot?

No problem, sir.

Good man, Button.

"No problem, sir."

Wel', com' on th'n!
Warra' get away flyin' away...

What have you got?

Fact.

This was filed to a sharp edge
on the inside.

Invisib... No!

- Sorry.
- Invisible to the naked eye

but, when gravity is exerted,
would slice through the rope.

This was sabotage,

and by someone who knew their
way around a safety harness,

according to WPC Button.

Like an ex-trapeze artist,
Sandy Shanks?

But the exciting news is...

I think we have our motive
for murder.

Drum roll, please.

Iron filing samples
from the carabiner

match those found
on the victim's shoes.

Deduction. Dinah caught the
killer in the act of sabotage,

and they killed her.

Top job, Sister.

The question is, was it
an attempt on Jono Hardy's life

or, eeny meeny minie mo,

random sabotage,
and he drew the short straw?

Yes, that has rather
obfuscated things.

Right. It's one step forward
and three paces back.

Then let's pray that
Poopdeck Pete comes up trumps.

They're having a laugh.

It'll be great.
The children will love it.

- Are you sure about this?
- Oh, yes, Sarge.

Winner of the talent show
five years in a row.

Make way! Make way.
Let her through!

Interview her now.

And has an impressive
track record in escaped budgies.

Can I grab a word?

Not now, thank you.

The artiste needs quiet.

Deep breaths, now, Dottie.

Red leather, yellow leather,
red leather, yellow leather.

Red leather, yellow feather...

red weather, yellow sun.

Primed and ready.

"I wandered lonely
as a cloud..."

Bird song, Dottie.

Green-winged macaw.

We might as well pack up now.

That's very odd.

That was the mating call
of a Scarlet macaw,

and they always respond.

Green-winged macaw, Dottie.

Well, why didn't you say so?

That would explain it.

Did you get it?

Sandy, can we pick up?

That was quite extraordinary,
wasn't it, children?

Welcome home, Pete.
It's good to have you back.

I'm afraid this parrot
is being seized as evidence.

Cowardly custard.

Excellent work.

We can hardly force a statement
out of him.

Perhaps, perhaps
he needs reminding

of his previous statement.

"Dead women tell no tales.

Cowardly custard."

Dead women.

Dead women tell no tales.

Cowardly Custard. No room.

Jump, walk, jump, walk.

Dead women tell no tales.

Aghghghghghg.

What was that?

Aghghghghghg.

I fear those were
the last moments

of Dinah Morgan.

Just a shame it's meaningless.

I suppose it would have been
a bit optimistic

to expect him
to name the killer.

A complete waste of time,
in other words.

Au contraire. Pete may be
a disappointing witness

but is living evidence.

During the fight
with his attacker,

there will have been
an exchange.

Although it looks like any
examination will have to wait.

I've spoke to the Controller.

We're to finish up
the road show,

and then they're
going to "take a view."

Sounds ominous.

They weren't best pleased
with our wine making Nuns.

We could do a feature.

"Today we'll see what happened
when Poopdeck Pete

and Barnacle Bill
got taken into Police custody."

This isn't funny.

We have no choice
but to go ahead with the stunt.

- Did you talk to my agent?
- Yes.

And you are
contractually obliged.

I've hired a safety advisor.

The equipment's been checked
and double-checked,

so nothing will go wrong
this time.

Are you in?

Avast, Pete.

You and I are going to be
the best of chums.

Friendly Pete.

Friendly, affable Pete.

All right, our kid?

You're looking a bit green
'round the gills.

I'm fine.

If I didn't know better,
I'd think you were yeller.

Shut up, Lemo...

Sister.

Behold the spoils of victory.

If you are the victor,

I would hate to think what you'd
look like as the loser.

Yes, well, Pete and I got off
to a rocky start,

but, erm...

we're the best of friends
now, aren't we, Pete?

Who's a good boy?
Rapscallion.

Scabby sea bass.

- Send him up whisky beaten.
- Shh.

Cleaver her to the brisket!

Yes, well,
Locard's principle prevailed.

Human hair,
wrapped 'round his claw.

Dyed.
But judging by the colour

and length of the hair
closer to the root,

I'd say we've found
our murderer.

Although, erm...

Although?

It makes absolutely no sense.

This isn't a good time.
Can you not see that I'm ill?

Yes, well, I suppose
that would be predictable

under the circumstances.

You might want to check
the pockets.

What are you doing?

The effect would have been
instantaneous

so must have been ingested

shortly before
the symptoms presented.

My guess would be some sort of
carapichea ipecacuanha compound,

more commonly known as Ipecac.

John Hardy, I'm arresting you

on suspicion of the murder
of Dinah Morgan.

You are not obliged
to say anything,

but anything you do say
may be put into writing

and given in evidence.

You had no intention
of doing this stunt.

We found iron filings
on the victim's shoe

that matched your carabiner.

I think Dinah caught you
in the act of sabotaging it,

- and you killed her.
- Preposterous.

You hoped a near-fatal accident
would stop the stunt.

And when that failed, you took
an emetic to fake illness.

Anything to avoid
jumping off that tower.

This is fantasy.

You haven't got
a shred of proof.

We have a witness.

Poopdeck Pete.

Whom you tried to dispatch
with homemade chlorine gas.

But Pete fought back.
It was quite a tussle.

We found hairs wrapped around
his claw dyed with Grecian 2000.

That is the hair colouring
you use?

It's really very effective.

Is this a joke?

Oh, think of it as a compliment.

One would never guess
you'd gone prematurely grey.

I meant you're not seriously
going to charge me with murder

based on the testimony
of a parrot?

He was surprisingly
illuminating.

Sergeant, will you
do the honours?

Cowardly custard,
no room, jump walk,

dead women tell no tales.

It's a shred of gobbledygook.

Actually,
it makes perfect sense.

I spoke to Colonel Prentice,
your ex-CO.

He told me about the accident

and the real reason
for your medical discharge.

It was not an accident!

It wasn't an accident.

We were short on equipment,
and a belay snapped.

Three of my men...

my friends, fell 500 feet
to their deaths.

And the only reason
I didn't join them was cos

I was at the top of the rope
and managed to cut it in time.

I was left dangling
on that rock face for two days

before they got a chopper out
to rescue me.

After which you suffered
a nervous breakdown

and spent nine months in
a military psychiatric hospital

before you were
medically discharged.

They were "decent" enough to
leave it off my permanent record

because career prospects
for an ex-soldier

with shell shock are limited.

They left another thing
off your record...

The reason why you couldn't
continue your career

in the marines.

A morbid fear of heights.

I tried to tell her.

I tried.

She just... wouldn't listen.

I told her everything,

why I couldn't do it,
and do you know what she said?

Oh, for goodness sake.

Who's there?

What are you doing?

I can explain.

I think I can see
what's in front of my own eyes.

What on earth are you thinking?

This stunt is madness.

We have to stop
before someone gets killed.

- Fiddlesticks.
- I know what I'm talking about!

Dear boy, the only reason
I hired you

was to play action man.

Yeah, driving tanks
and racing cars.

Not this!

It's your choice.

Jump or walk the plank.

Unless you want everyone
to think of you

as a cowardly custard.

Cowardly custard.

Cowardly custard.

Cowardly custard.

Cowardly.

Cowardly custard. Cowardly.

Aah!

Cowardly custard.

Uh-oh. No. Uh-oh. No.

Dead women tell no tales.

It was me.

But it... it wasn't me.

I can't explain it. It was like
I was watching somebody else.

And when I came to,
she was dead.

I've killed countless people.

But this is the first one

I actually deserve
to be punished for,

so you might as well
get it over with.

Sometimes the worst battle scars

are the ones that are invisible.

I'm obliged to charge you.

However...

I'll be recommending

that you have
a full psychiatric evaluation.

So, that's all
the safety checks performed,

which means it's time to...

Okay, then.

Wish me luck.

- Cut camera.
- Sorry.

It's okay, Danny.

It's okay, Danny. It's okay.

I'm sorry. I...

And now I'm abseiling
down Broadway Tower.

Whoo-hoo!

We're back on in 10.9...

Thank you, sir.

She's completely fearless.
Up for anything.

Said she'll scale Nelson's
column without a harness.

And if that wasn't
exciting enough,

later, you'll see
how Poopdeck Pete was rescued

by a local bird ventriloquist.

But before we leave
Great Slaughter,

Sister Boniface has agreed
to come here

and show you
how stink bombs are made.

Hello.

I'm Sister Boniface.

Today, I'm going to make
stink bombs

with the help of my trusty
assistant, Sister Peter.

Sister Peter?

- Sister?
- Hello.

And here are the ingredients
we'll be using.

It's going awfully well,
isn't it?

Now all that remains
is to add ammonium sulphide

which will react
with moisture, hydrolyzes,

and a mixture of hydrogen
sulphide to release ammonia.

If Sister Peter
could do the honours.

No! Not that one, Sister!

That isn't ammonium sulphide!

Oh, dear.

And remember, children.

- Don't try this at home.
- Don't try this at home.