All language subtitles for 089 - 07x06 - the last of the midnight gardners

Why did I ever start
this lousy competition?

Because the firm needed
publicity, you said.

Why?

Aren't we getting
enough entries?

Yeah.

Too many and too awful.

Who does the
preliminary reports?

I do.

Yes.

You can usually until
after the first page.

Yeah.

How did you let that--

--one through, Edna.

It seemed possible.

What about the--

the entrance fees?

Will they-- will they
cover the 5000 pound prize?

Oh, yes.

And more.

Enough to keep me in silk
underwear for a while.

You look sensational in
or out of silk underwear.

That's what my
Graham used to say.

Poor Graham What a way to go.

Yes.

Well he was accident-prone.

These are possibles.

Read on, Macduff.

Oh, hell.

Mr. Oates' office.

It's Mrs. Oates.

Is he there?

Yes, he is.

Just one moment, please.

Your wife, sir.

Hello.

Darling, are you very busy?

Yes, very.
What is it?

Dinner tonight.

Dinner?
A

Oh, darling,

don't say you've forgotten.

Dr. Mellish is coming.

Well, I'll be home, I suppose.

Yes, but Sandra isn't well.

Who the hell is Sandra?

His wife, darling.

So his wife's ill.

Does that mean you have to
bother me at the office?

Well, couldn't you

think of someone else?
A woman to make up the foursome?

I mean, for all the
trouble I'm taking--

What trouble?

The meal I'm going to cook.

Filet mignot en croute.

En what?

Croute.

Pastry.

I tried the family, but no luck.

Well, that's because
they know you're cooking.

That's quite funny,
but I hope it isn't true.

Oh, can't you think
of someone, Walter?

Not offhand.

I don't know any other women.

What about that new secretary

of yours?

What's her name?

Mrs. Tou-something?

Mrs. Tousland.

Yes.

What about her?

I mean, at a pinch.

Walter?

Yes, Jane?
- What about her?

I mean, if she's presentable.

Oh, yes.

She's presentable, all right.

Well, then
couldn't you ask her?

It's not unimportant.

After all, you did
think Dr. Mellish

might invest in your company.

Hold on.

I'll see what she says.

Mrs. Tousland.

Oh, Mrs. Tousland?

Ah, there you are,
Mrs. Tousland.

I know it's short
notice, but my wife is--

well, she needs a fourth
for dinner tonight.

Our doctor's coming
and his wife can't.

I wonder, could you possibly--

are you free?

Well, sir, actually my
mother was expecting me, but--

Aww, you
can't put her off?

- Well, sir--

Jane?

--I'm sure I can, if it
would help your wife out.

Oh, that's great.

Walter?

Jane, she says yes, she can.

Oh, good Thank her
very much, will you?

So, when are you
going to tell her?

Tell who what?

Your wife, about us.

Well, not tonight,
for goodness' sake.

At supper?

Our doctor there?

No, of course not.

But you promised--

Just give me a little time.

I'll get rid of her.

Get rid of her?

What on Earth do you mean?

You sent shivers down my spine.

I'll do more than that.

What do you mean, Walter?

I meant I'd divorce her.

What else would I mean?
[music playing]

Well, since I am
acknowledged, am I

not, as being an expert
on murder thrillers,

it surely isn't strange that I
should be a member of the jury.

Of course not, Walter.

It's just that Jane says you
are rather overdoing lately,

working half the night, hmm?

And not always
answering the phone.

Well, even after Mrs. Tousland
sifts the wheat from the chaff,

that leaves a hell of a
lot of entries to read.

It takes concentration.

And I still have the
publishing side to run.

It's a full time
job, I can tell you.

Especially if Jane is
to be kept in the manner

in which he is accustomed.

Let me give you
a hand, Mrs. Oates.

Oh.
Very kind.

Oh, this competition.

Will it never end?

Not until the deadline, no.

A friend of mine--

Reggie Parrot, the barrister--

I was asking him the other day,
why so many wife murderers were

small, insignificant chaps?

Oh, what did he say?

Oh, black or white,
Mrs. Tousland?

Just a tinge of milk, please.

Well, he said
that, as a breed,

they tended to be husbands
who bottled up their emotions

and frustrations over the
years, and then [snaps fingers]

flew off the handle.
- Sugar?

- Yes, please.
- Brown or white?

Brown, please.

I expect the chaps who write
for your competition aren't

really interested
in reality, eh?

It's more James Bond stuff, right?

Sorry to disappoint
you, herr doktor--

- Coffee, Dr. Mellish?
- Thank you.

Yes.

--but their creators are
just like their characters.

Insurance men, bank clerks,
civil servants, doctors.

They suffer in
silence for years,

and then suddenly
something snaps.

Now, hang on a minute.

Is this fact or fiction?

Fiction.

Thank you, my dear.

Yes.

Fiction or, rather,
what they dream of.

Bury her in the middle of the
night, in the cabbage patch.

But they don't fool anybody.

That's why I call
them midnight gardens.

Midnight gardens?

Mm.

How to get rid of your wife.

Bop her on the head and bury
her in the vegetable patch

on the stroke of midnight.

that wouldn't even fool Jane.

Well, I know the rules
of our competition.

And I must say, I find it very
difficult to think of anything.

Yes.

No psychopaths, no
crimes of passion,

no killing in self-defense.

And what does that leave?

Murder.

Premeditated.

That's the only murder one
is likely to get away with.

Coffee, Walter?

And to win the competition,
it must be foolproof.

No, thank you.

But what if the
police suspect?

In the story, I mean.
Oh, yes.

Oh, yes.
Yes.

Suspect.
All right.

But they must be unable
to prove anything.

That's the whole point
of the competition.

Otherwise, no 5,000 pounds.

Ah.

Of course, it could
be happening now.

What do you mean, Jane?

Poisoning the coffee,
that sort of thing.

Well that's original
as using a blade of ice

as a dagger or electrical
fire in the bath.

And there'd have
to be a motive.

What?

Like that bit of bloody tough
beef that Jane cooked tonight?

Yes.

Well, I'm sorry about that.

Hardly a motive for
murder, or else there

would be a lot of
dead housewives.

Or a lot of dead butchers.

Yes.

Besides, premeditated
can't mean in half an hour.

I think Mr. Oates was joking.

Walter?

Joking?

I'll tell you what, darling.

Why don't you write a story?

What?

Why don't you enter
the competition?

What are you talking about?

You are the expert.

Well, thank you
for the compliment,

but I do happen
to be on the jury.

Well, couldn't you stand down?

Who would replace me?

Do they need to replace you?

Three judges are surely enough.

I think it's a very good idea.

Yes.

Why not have a go, hmm?

Oh, yes, darling.

You know all the plots.

I'm sure you could come up
with something really original.

I could help you, perhaps.

Well-- Well, I do
know all about South American

poisons with no antidote.

And embolism via injection.

Oh.

Sounds painful.

Yes.

Yeah.

Yes.

I'll have a go.

I'll-- I'll resign from
the jury and have a go

at winning my own competition.

Of course, if you did win,
it could smell of malpractice.

No, no, no.

I'll use a pseudonym.

And then-- and then the jury
won't know which is my entry.

Fair enough.

And I must be
thinking of going home.

It looks like I'll be extra
busy in the office tomorrow.

Perhaps I can give you
a lift, Mrs. Tousland?

Oh, thanks, but I wouldn't
dream of breaking up

such a nice evening.

I'll-- I'll get you a taxi,
if we-- we have a number.

I do hope it's nothing
serious with your wife, doctor.

No.
No, just a bad back.

It gives out from time to time.

Oh, I see.

It won't ...

[music playing]

Hello.

Yes, my code number is W03635.

I'd like a taxi, please,
to 23 Upper Sheen Avenue.

Yes, the account is in the name
of Stanley Strange Limited.

Yes.

To go to 14A Fair
Hazel Mansions.

Northwest One, yes.

As soon as you can.

Thank you.

Hello.

No.

No, no, no.

I've had to give
up the jury, lark.

Yes.

Too busy sifting the
wheat from the chaff.

Yes.

Yes, of course.

Uh, hang on.

Yes.

Yes, I have.

Yes.

I've gotten it.

Thank you.

What'll I do with the chaff?

Same as with the wheat.

Pick one out of 50 and
bring it to the jury,

of which I am no longer one,
and chuck the rest in the bin.

Clever bit.

Now, if I can have a
bit of piece around here,

I can get on with
that 5,000 pounds.

And then?

And then what?

You and me?

On 5,000 pounds?

You must be joking.

That'd be lapped up like a
cat with a saucer of milk.

Oh, you know that
wasn't what I meant.

I want you to keep your promise.

Edna, don't get heavy.

Listen, I fell
in love with you.

You fell in love with me.

What's wrong with
going on the way we are?

We?

It's fine for you.

You know that Jane
holds the money bags.

This has to be
played with finesse.

Well, you'll have
to hurry the finesse.

Because I'm pregnant.

I see.

You're going to ask me,
how do I know it was you?

Well, how do you
know it was me?

So you're that
sort of bastard?

Darling?

You scared me.

I heard you come in.

Do you know it's after 2:00?

Yes.

I, uh, had trouble
with my story.

I was reading something
very interesting in the paper

this morning.

Yawn Yawn.

No, seriously.
It was very intriguing.

Well, I can see nothing
is going to stop you.

It was to do with
anthrax spores.

Yes well, the public health
people know all about those.

Yes, but if a chap
cultivated, well, say,

orchids in his greenhouse
and contaminated

the soil with anthrax spores--
- Hang on.

Hang on.

Where is he going
to get them from?

He works at Porton.

Porton.

Porton, the Research
Station, chemical warfare.

You're asking our jury to
believe that this chap, who

just happens to work at Porton,
just happens to grow orchids,

and he just happens to bring
home a sample of poisoned soil?

Why?

To kill his wife?

No.

Not very likely.

I see now.

Oh, look.

Go back to bed, will you?

Let me get on with it.

Yes.

Of course.

Sorry.

Good night.

Bloody woman.

Perfect.

Jane!

That's it.

And again.

Nice and gently.

And out.

Hmm.

Now, if I can just have
you around this way.

Mm-hm.

Nothing to worry about.

Overwork.

A touch of indigestion.

A bit too much of the
hard stuff, perhaps.

Just try to take it easy.

Stick to water and you'll
be as right as rain.

And, of course, Jane
will look after you.

You know, I've
never understood,

what is particularly
right about rain?

Oh, for God's sake, stop
trying to be so bloody clever.

I'm sorry, darling.

I was only trying
to cheer you up.

- Thank you.
- Mm-hm.

He will be all right?

Oh, yes.

If he takes care
of himself, yes.

Get him to bed now and
don't-- don't worry.

I'll look in again later.

Thank you very much.

I nearly didn't come in today.

I'm fed up with you
and your promises.

Honestly, we must--

Ahh!

And how long have
you and your husband

been patients of Dr. Mellish?

Since we moved here.

Five years.

But the doctor said nothing
to you of any serious illness

in your husband?

Nothing.

No.

Oh, the usual.

He drank a bit too much.

He was working too
hard, you know?

Yes.

Yes, of course.

Do you know if your husband
took any drugs, Mrs. Oates?

Drugs?

Walter?

He thought aspirin
should be on prescription.

You really
will have to ask Dr. Mellish

about that sort of thing.

Yes Yes, of course.

Mrs. Oates tells
me that Mr. Oates

was in the habit of
staying late in the office

almost every night.

Well, I always
left sharp at 5:30.

What would keep him
late, would you say?

Almost every night, I mean.

Work, I suppose.

Oh?

At hardly a hive of industry?

Was it?

He was writing a story.

Oh?

Takes long, does
it, writing stories?

Depends.

Yes.

I suppose it does.

The only story we found here
was one on anthrax spores.

It's not bad.

You could say a lot
of coincidences,

but I like the general style.

Would you say that Mr. Oates
was, generally speaking,

in physically good shape?

You'd better ask his doctor
about that, hadn't you?

Oh, I shall.

I shall.

Bring me some
champagne, Vincenzo.

S , se ora.

Oh, and bring two
glasses, why not?

S , se ora.

It's from Edna.

You seemed in such a hurry

to get away after the inquest
and the open verdict and poor

Walter.

Everybody fussing around
you with their sympathy.

It made me quite sick.

He loved me and
wanted to marry me.

I suppose you guessed about
us, even before that night

of the dinner party,
when he ordered me a taxi

and knew my address by heart.

He only stayed with
you for your money.

I know that wasn't
Walter's story

they found on his desk, the
one about the anthrax spores.

Walter's idea
involved injections

of a drug that induces a heart
attack and can't be detected.

They'd have jumped on
you if I'd said I know.

And I'm not such a
fool as people think.

I know that's how Walter died.

And I know who was responsible.

What I'd like to
know is after you

substituted your story
for Walter's, which

was so ingenious--

the perfect murder.

He would have won
the prize for it--

how you got your hands on the
drug and injected it into him.

Darling, I thought you
were never going to get here.

Discretion, my love.

If I had followed you too soon--