All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Marple.S05E01.The.Pale.Horse.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-BurCyg_track3_[eng]

**

[ Dog barking ]

**

- Parkinson.
Hesketh-Dubois.

Shaw.
Harmondsworth.

[ Voice breaking ]
God forgive me. Wickedness.

**

**

[ Radio frequency modulating ]

- ...or are you aught
that man may question?

You seem to understand me,
by each at once

her chappy finger
laying upon her skinny lip --

you should be women,

and yet your beards forbid me
to interpret that you are so.

- Speak, if you can --
What are you?

All hail Macbeth.

Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis.

All hail Macbeth.

Hail to thee...

Ah, thank you, lad. Thank you.

**

Uh, good evening, Mrs. Coppins.

Thou shalt be king hereafter.

Oh. Wicked. Wickedness.

Oh, God forgive me.
[ Mumbling ]

- Perhaps somebody could watch
out for the ambulance.

- Tuckerton, Corrigan...
- Uh, Mrs. Davis...

...Delafontaine.

- Mrs. Davis, it's
Father Gorman.

- Oh!
There isn't much time!

Wickedness!

Such wickedness!

I can't die like this!

I must...confess.

**

Sandford...Parkinson...

Hesketh-Dubois...

Shaw...Harmondsworth...

Tuckerton...

Stopped.

It must be stopped.

- I'll do everything
that's necessary.

[ Moans ]

Mrs. Davis?

Mrs. Davis?

**

**

- Is she...
- She's at peace.

The ambulance is here.

Too bleedin' late, as usual.

- Now o'er the one half-world,

Nature seems dead...

- ...and wicked dreams
abuse the curtain'd sleep.

Witchcraft celebrates
pale Hecate's offerings...

- ...and wither'd murder,
alarmed by his sentinel,

the wolf,
whose howl's his watch,

thus with his stealthy pace.

With Tarquin's ravishing
strides, towards his design...

...moves like a ghost.

- Thou sure and
feral-set earth,

hear not my steps,
which way they walk,

for fear thy very stones prate
of my whereabout

and take the present horror
from the time

which now suits with it.

Whiles I threat, he lives.

[ Train whistle blows ]

[ Train passing ]

[ Whistling ]

**

- Oh.
Thank you, Bertie dear.

That does look good.

You've got a letter.

- Yes.
So I see.

- London W2.
Where's that?

Paddington, I believe.

Is it from a secret admirer?

Hardly.

Father Gorman's a man
of the cloth, dear.

So I hardly think it.

"I send the following
for safekeeping.

Ormerod, Sandford..."

How very strange.

What's "Rev. 6:8," miss?

It isn't done to read

other people's correspondence,
you know.

No, miss.

But what's it mean?

- Well, it's the
Book of Revelation, uh...

chapter 6, verse 8.

"And I looked,
and behold a pale horse.

And his name that sat on him
was Death,

and hell followed with him."

Don't like the sound of that.

- Well, it's the Bible, dear.
I'm not sure you're meant to.

[ Birds chirping ]

Oh. Good morning, miss.

Thank you, Billy dear.

**

Oh, no.

Oh, that can't be right.

There must be a mistake.

Miss?

What ever is the matter?

Well, it's Father Gorman,

the man who --
who just wrote to me.

He's been murdered.

**

Inspector Lejeune!

I've unseamed your padre
for you --

from nave to chops.

Father Gorman?

And?

Well and truly coshed.

First blow probably killed him,
but whoever did it made sure.

Nasty business.

- Nastier than you'd expect
for robbery, Dr. Kerrigan?

Was it robbery?

- Well, his pockets
were turned out

and the lining of his cassock
ripped.

- Well, they couldn't have hoped
for much.

Parish priest?

In my experience,
usually poor as...

- Well...
- Quite.

But they battered his head in
to make sure.

One would like to know why.

- Anyone come forward?
- Yes.

As it happens,
just about to take a statement.

"Dear Jane.

I send the following
for safekeeping.

Ormerod, Sandford,
Parkinson,

Hesketh-Dubois, Shaw,
Harmondsworth,

Tuckerton, Corrigan,
Delafontaine.

Rev. 6:8.

Will telephone tomorrow evening
and explain.

Yours affectionately,
Patrick Gorman."

What do you make of it?

- Apart from the biblical
reference,

I'm not quite sure
what to make of it -- yet.

- The names don't mean anything
to you?

I'm afraid not.

- If I might ask how you knew
Father Gorman?

- We met, um,
during the Great War,

at a convalescent home
where I was nursing sister.

He served as chaplain with
the Seventh Royal Irish Horse.

- Brave chap.
- Yes, he was.

And when did you see him last?

- Oh, not for some years,
but, uh, kept in regular touch.

- And why do you think
he would send this to you?

- Perhaps he thought someone
may wish to take it from him.

- A list of meaningless
surnames?

- They meant something
to Father Gorman --

and presumably to someone else.

The newspaper said
that he had been called out

to attend a dying woman
shortly before he was attacked.

- Mrs. Davis?
That's right.

- You've questioned her
neighbours, presumably?

- Her fellow tenants.
Yes.

23 Benthall Street
is a lodging house

run by a woman called Coppins.

- I-It's just that I know
from my own experience

that people don't always realise
the -- the value

of what they have seen.

- We have done this sort of thing
before, Miss Marple.

- Of course.
Forgive me.

It's just, um...

Father Gorman was
such a good man.

It's hard to imagine why anyone
would want to hurt him,

let alone...

- Things have changed,
Miss Marple.

Goodness doesn't seem to count
for very much any more.

It's an unforgiving world.

And the city is a long way
from country life.

- Of course it is possible,
isn't it,

that the dying woman
told him something.

Perhaps he had to get
those names down on paper

as soon as he could
before he forgot them.

- Oh, anything's possible,
of course.

It's what makes my job
so interesting.

- I'm sorry
to have put you to any bother.

No bother at all.

Very public-spirited of you
to come forward.

- Father Gorman was a good
friend.

He should have justice.

- He will.
I promise.

We'll find them.

Meantime, try not to trouble
yourself.

No.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

**

[ Sighs ]

- The officer said
Paddington station, ma'am.

- Yes.
Thank you.

[ Engine starts ]

**

**

Driver.

She was all right Monday week.

She was all right when
the gasman come on the Tuesday.

She was all right on washday.

Then...

That's right --
She come down with the flu.

I told her to rest up,
but she would go out.

It settled on her lungs.

- Well, what did she do --
Mrs. Davis?

Oh, till about a month ago,

I think it was
customer relations...

or research or some such.

**

**

- Had she been with you long --
Mrs. Davis?

About six months.

Paid her rent regular.

Seemed like a nice, quiet,
respectable person.

Though what more I can tell you,
I'm sure I don't know.

Not that I wouldn't be willing
to help if I could.

- Oh, thank you.
But I-I do need help.

- Oh.
- Women know.

They feel instinctively -- so
much more than a man can know.

Don't you think?

When you brought Father Gorman
to her,

was there anything they said
that was perhaps odd to you?

- Hm.
Not odd so much.

It's...

I heard her say something
about wickedness.

- Wickedness?
Did she? Yes.

They have to confess,
don't they, Romans,

before they die?

So I suppose that was it.

- Was she an unhappy woman,
do you think?

Oh, I wouldn't say so.

Businesslike, she was.
Methodical.

- But nothing worrying her
that you knew of?

No. No.

No.

- But...there was that one time,
about a month ago.

She was in the hall
by the mirror,

putting a coat on for work.

- If things aren't all
they should be,

it's better not to know.

Don't you agree?

I'm sure that's right, dear.

- Everything I've done
has always been perfectly straightforward.

I've nothing
to reproach myself with.

What do you think she meant?

I've no idea.

It struck me at the time
as being a queer thing to say.

But people do come out
with them.

Oh, yes.

Yes, they do.

Yes.

**

**

[ Hinges squeaking ]

**

**

The Pale Horse.

Hm.

**

Hello.

[ Typewriter clicking ]

[ Knock on door ]

- Uh, Mr. Osborne?
- Yes?

Jane Marple.

I wonder if I might bother you
for a moment.

Mrs. Coppins said that you were
waiting in the street

for the ambulance
that attended to Mrs. Davis.

- That's right.
Jolly cold it was, too.

Were you a friend
of Mrs. Davis?

Oh, thank you.

Uh, no.
Of Father Gorman.

The priest who...

Oh, I see.
Yes. Of course.

- My condolences.
- Thank you.

Uh, I wondered, perhaps had you
seen anyone loitering about

or watching the house?

- Well, I-I did see someone.

Oh?

- He was tall, about 50-ish.

Wore his hair rather long
underneath his trilby.

Oh, he had a sort of
a half-moon scar about here.

- Oh, yes?
- He struck a match, you see,

to light a cigarette.
That's when I noticed.

Well, what was he doing?

- Just standing on a corner,
smoking.

Then the ambulance arrived,

and I'm afraid I got
rather caught up in all that.

Did you tell the police?

- I did mention it
to the constable.

Not that he paid it much mind.

They seem to think
it's a straightforward case,

Father Gorman -- robbery.

- Yes.
Yes, they do, don't they?

You don't?

- Well, you see,
on the night he died,

- Father Gorman sent me a letter.
- He did?

- Just a list of names,
for the most part.

Well, I-I shan't keep you
any -- any more, Mr. Osborne.

I've disturbed you enough
as it is.

- Oh, hardly.
No.

I'm just typing up
my sales report for the office.

Oh.

Well, thank you, Mr. Osborne.
Thank you.

Oh, not at all.

If there's anything else
I can do...

Oh.

You know, as a matter of fact,
I rather think there is.

Ormerod. Sandford.

Plenty of those.

Parkinson.

Not uncommon.

Hesketh-Dubois.

That's a bit of a mouthful.
Can't be many of them.

Hesketh. Hesketh.

Hesketh. Hesketh.

Hesketh.

Ah!
Here we are.

Hesketh-Dubois.

Lady, no less.
Only one in the book.

Outside line, please.

Uh, Grosvenor 6457.

[ Beeping ]

[ Sighs ]
Engaged.

Oh, good afternoon.

Is that Lady Hesketh-Dubois'
house?

Yes.

- Uh, may I speak with her,
please?

- Lady Hesketh-Dubois
passed away.

- Oh, I'm sorry.
W-When was that?

- Six months ago.
Earlier this year.

Oh.

Um, to whom am I speaking,
please?

Um...

This is Mr. Mark Easterbrook.

- I-I wonder --

Could you tell me,
do you remember her

ever mentioning a place
called the Pale Horse

in Much Deeping?

Not to my knowledge, no.

- No. No.
I-I see.

Well, I'm so sorry
to have troubled you.

Thank you very much.
Bye.

[ Click, dial tone ]

**

It's such a desolate spot.

- I shouldn't have
brought you here.

I asked you to.

All the same.

- No.
Thank you for coming with me.

I-I don't think I should have
had the -- the courage

to come here on my own.

Somehow I doubt that.

You seem quite brave, indeed.

I don't know about brave,

but one must face things
as they are.

[ Train passing ]

The truth, however awful,

can never be as bad
as one's imaginings.

I suppose not.

**

- Did you know her well --
Mrs. Davis?

- Only to nod to in the hall,
I'm afraid.

She seemed perfectly nice,
though.

- What makes you ask?
- I just wondered

if you'd ever heard her mention
the Pale Horse.

- A pale horse? No.
No, I don't think...

No, not a pale horse.

The Pale Horse.

- Can't say as I did.
What is it?

- Well, I believe
that it's a little hotel

or inn of some kind

in a little village called
Much Deeping in Hampshire.

**

[ Sighs ]

**

[ Rattling,
indistinct conversation ]

Oh.
Hello!

Hello!

- Oh.
- Back in there.

[ Indistinct talking ]

**

[ Rooster crows,
hinges squeaking ]

**

**

**

**

- Will you be staying
with us long, Miss, uh...

Marple?

A few days, I think, Miss...

Stamfordis.

You're down for the burning,
are you?

- The?
- The burning.

Each year, the village
celebrates the witch trials.

1664.

It does tend to
draw the crowds.

Ghouls.

I can't say I approve,
but it helps keep us afloat.

Thyrza Grey,
proprietrix of the Pale Horse.

- Jane Marple.
How do you do?

Room 5, please, Sybil.

Bella will take your luggage.

[ Knock on door ]

Oh.

- Good afternoon,
Captain Cottam.

- Afternoon.
- Mrs. Cottam.

Settling in
comfortably, I hope.

- Oh, yes, yes.
Quite comfortably, thank you.

- Um, your cleaner --
Bella, isn't it?

Well, she came in yesterday --
to do the room?

Yes?

- Well, we had the "do not
disturb" sign on the door,

and my husband likes to take
a nap between 2:00 and 4:00.

- So if you could --
- I'll speak to her about it.

- Of course.
- Thank you.

See?
You only have to ask.

- Um, Captain and Mrs. Cottam
are local residents.

Rather awfully,
they had a fire last week.

- Oh, dear.
Yes. I see.

- How unfortunate.
- Yes.

So they're staying here

with their housekeeper,
Mrs. Harsnet,

until their place is repaired.

We're giving them a rate,
of course.

Flight?

Mr. Easterbrook?

- Yes?
- Lejeune, sir.

Frank Lejeune.
617 Squadron.

- Lejeune!
- [ Both laugh ]

Well, I never!

Hello, old man.
How are you?

- Very well. Thank you.
- Well, well, well.

Good old Frank.

What are you up to these days?

I'm a police inspector.

- Heavens!
There's a thing.

- For my sins.
- Other people's, surely.

- [ Laughs ]
As often as not.

I read your articles
now and again.

- Oh, do you?
- I enjoy them very much.

- That's -- That's good of you
to say so.

- Probably too late to say now,
but I was very sorry.

About your wife.

- Thanks.
That was, uh...

So what brings you down here?

- I was hoping to have a quick
word with Lady Hesketh-Dubois.

- She does live here.
- She did.

Why?
W-What's all this about?

Just following a lead.

- Well, I'm sure I can tell you
what you need to know.

She was my godmother.

Was?

- Yes.
She died quite recently.

Is something wrong?

- That's what I'm hoping
to find out.

**

- What brings you to
Much Deeping, Miss Marple?

Outside of the burning,

I'm afraid we have
very few visitors these days.

Oh, really?

- It was different
in the old days.

There was a regular
clientele --

commercial travellers
and the like.

But since the bypass
went through,

I'm afraid we've become
something of a backwater.

- Oh. Indeed.
That is a shame.

Oh.
How did I?

Um, well, it --

Actually, the Pale Horse
was a recommendation.

Indeed?

Might I ask from whom?

You might ask.

As you wish.

- Oh, no! Please.
No. No.

Nothing -- Nothing mysterious
at all.

It's just, um,
friend of a friend.

I'm afraid when you get
to my age, um -- names?

Quite hard to place, Miss Grey.

Of course.

And it's Mrs. Grey.

A-At least it was.
He died.

Oh, I'm very sorry.

Oh, well.

Now, the first sitting
for supper is usually at 7:30,

though, with the burning,

this evening we're laying on
a running buffet from 7:00

- in the lounge.
- I see.

It's tonight, then, is it --
the burning?

It is.

**

If there's anything else
you require --

anything at all --

the telephone will connect you
with reception.

Oh, thank you.

- Meantime, I hope you have
a very pleasant stay.

- Oh, I shall.
Thank you.

Yes.
Indeed.

Thank you.
[ Clears throat ]

**

[ Door closes ]

**

**

**

- Hesketh-Dubois, deceased.

- Seriously, Lejeune, do you
really think this has a bearing

on the death of Father Gorman?

Mm. Possibly.

Supposing that's
the connection.

- What?
You mean they're all dead?

**

Hmm.

Shaw, Harmondsworth, Tuckerton.

- Let us take a few moments
to remember Thomasina Tuckerton.

**

**

Mrs. Tuckerton!

Where were you, Mrs. Tuckerton?
She needed you.

- I tried to track you down.
- Stop it, Ginger.

You're not family, and this is
none of your business.

Mrs. Tuckerton!

**

- Oh, Miss Marple.
What can I do for you?

- Well, I thought it would be
useful to your inquiry

to know that
Lady Hesketh-Dubois,

one of the names
on Father Gorman's list,

died six months ago.

- Of an inflammation
of the brain.

- Oh, you know, then?
- Yes, I know.

Rather more to the point,
how do you?

- How do I -- Um...

Oh, I telephoned her house
yesterday,

and I spoke to a man
called Mr. Easterbrook.

- Mark Easterbrook.
Her godson.

Oh, you've seen him, then?

Yes, I've seen him.

I know him, actually.
Well, knew him.

He was one of the best.

Flew Lancs during the war,
which is how we met.

I was ground crew, you see.

He's a historian now.
English folklore.

Is he?

Oh, is he, now?

- Miss Marple, I understand
that Father Gorman was a friend,

but this is a police matter.

- Oh, yes.
Absolutely.

Absolutely, Inspector.

I-It's just -- She was a woman
of means, I could imagine.

Considerable means.

Now, really, I must get on.

And please, if there are
any further developments,

I will let you know.

**

**

**

- Sandford -- 12th of September.

Tuckerton.

- Is there something
I can help you with?

- I was just wondering
how busy you were in the spring.

[ Latch clicks ]

- You were thinking of
coming back so soon?

- Well, it is such a lovely spot,
even at this time of year.

Well, we like it.

- Yes. Have you been here long,
Miss Stamfordis?

- Yes.
We've been here seven --

No.
Eight years.

Thyrza and I bought the freehold
in April '47.

We'd seen it the previous year
on a walking tour.

- Really?
Did you?

- But at the time,
it wasn't for sale.

- Do you think it would be beyond
the realms of possibility

that I might get a drink?

Is Mrs. Grey not in the bar?

- Not unless you've cast
an invisibility spell on her.

Apologies.

**

**

Hello.

Uh, need some help?

- Is this the way
to Much Deeping?

- I-I hope so, Miss, um...

- Corrigan.
Ginger Corrigan.

Mark Easterbrook.

- I need to get
to the Pale Horse.

- Me too.
Would you care for a lift?

Uh, yes.

**

**

- I'm afraid Mr. Venables can be
something of a Tartar

if he doesn't get what he wants
exactly when he wants it.

Oh.

- I expect it's on account
of his...

[ Whispers ]
...polio.

Something I can get you?

- Yes. A black-currant cordial
would be nice.

Thank you.
[ Dog barks ]

- Damn it, Cottam,
I've warned you before

about your bloody animal.

- All right, steady on.
Good dog, Shotto.

- I tell you, if I see it
sniffing around my place again,

- I won't be responsible.
- Like you wouldn't

be responsible
for the fire at my house?

- What the bloody hell
are you talking about?

- I'm not going to sell,
I've told you,

no matter what tricks
you get up to.

- What are you talking about?
- Come on, Roo.

- You might have money, Venables,
and good luck to you,

but it doesn't mean you can have
any damn thing you want.

- All I'm saying is,
I wish you'd keep

your bloody dog under control.

Stupid bitch is a menace.

- Look, I know you've had a few,
but would you mind

watching your language
in front of my wife?

My apologies.

Quite.

- Mrs. Harsnet not joining you
for a constitutional today?

Sorry.

- Never a dull moment.
- [ Laughing ] No.

Oh, you were going to tell me

about how you and Mrs. Grey
came to the Pale Horse.

It was a bad winter.

The village had been cut off
by snow.

And the landlord's wife...

Yes?

- He'd been called
to Market Basing, you see.

- The landlord.
- Had he?

Yes.
Yes, I see.

- Found her at the bottom
of the stairs.

A fall, they said.

Though I should think
it was the cold

that did for her in the end.

How terrible.

All that time in the dark.

And the pain.

Well, a broken pelvis.

You can imagine --
the cold seeping into her.

Come the thaw, he put the place
on the market.

- And here you are.
- Yes.

**

**

[ Click ]

**

Hello?

- Mr. Osborne?
- Yes?

Jane Marple.

- Ah, Miss Marple.
Are you well?

Yes, very well, thank you.

It really is
the most extraordinary place.

- Did you find
what you were looking for?

- No. No, no.
Nothing yet.

Um, but there is someone
in the village

I'd very much like you to see.

[ Crowd singing,
horns blowing ]

Quite something, isn't it?

- [ Laughing ]
Oh, yes, it is.

Quite something.

- Mister...
- Oh. Easterbrook.

- Uh, Mark Easterbrook.
- Jane Marple.

- How do you do?
May I introduce Miss Corrigan.

Ginger. Hello.

It's my first time
in Much Deeping.

- Thrilling, isn't it?
- Rupert Cottam. How do you do?

- Hello. How do you do?
- My wife, Kanga.

- Our housekeeper, Lydia Harsnet.
- Hello. How do you do?

- Do you live in the village
or are you down for the burning?

Locals, albeit displaced ones.

We had a fire last week,
so we're billeted at the inn.

- Oh, poor you.
How bloody.

- The wealthy widow,
Goody Carne!

Three past husbands!

[ Crowd shouting, whip cracks ]

Where are they?

[ Crowd shouting,
horns blaring ]

Food for worms!

- Didn't quite catch what it is
you do, Mr. Easterbrook.

- Oh.
Um, I'm -- I'm a historian.

I'm down here researching
the -- the witch trials --

Wincanton, Stoke Trister,
and so forth.

Have you anything to say?

I'm innocent.

And we say to you...

guilty!

[ Crowd cheering, laughter ]

There's a brass in the church

you might care to see,
Mr. Easterbrook.

Paid for by the villagers
in remembrance of Goody Carne.

- Mrs. Harsnet's late husband
was vicar of our little parish.

Made something of a study
of it all, I believe.

Who's Goody Carne?

- Well, it's -- it's Goody Carne

whose memory the villagers
are honouring tonight.

Oh, the witch.

She was accused by the squire

of having unnatural traffic
with the devil.

- She was.
Although in truth,

I think the squire
was really after her land.

She was tried, found guilty,

and hanged from -- from
the old willow tree over there.

Burnt at the stake, surely.

Actually, Miss Corrigan,

the vast majority of witches
were hanged.

And it wasn't the clean drop
used nowadays, I can tell you.

Really, Roo. Must you?

- Don't know if you ever seen
anyone being throttled.

Might be about to.

- Not a pretty sight
is all I was going to say.

- Cripes.
- Well, people still say

that good old Goody is making
her way home "at a cock-stride"

and that when she reaches
the farm,

the whole village will go up
in flames.

[ Crowd cheering ]

**

Look, to be honest,

I've seen enough fire
in the last two weeks

to last me a lifetime.

So if it's all the same
with you, I'd like to go inside

before I do something I regret.

[ Cheering continues ]

**

**

[ Indistinct conversation ]

**

- Good night.
- Oh, good night.

- Mrs. Grey?
- Y-Yes?

- I've remembered now who it was
recommended the Pale Horse.

A Miss Tuckerton, would it be?

- Mrs. Tuckerton?
- Yes. Yes.

I-I'm sure
that's what the name was.

Ah.

Well, good night, then.

Good night.

Oh, Miss Marple.

Um, I wonder --
I'm due to call

on Roger Venables tomorrow
for lunch.

- Perhaps you'd like to join me.
- Oh, Mr. Venables. Uh...

You'd be doing me a favour.

He can be a crusty old devil.

But my husband was fond of him,

and I'm -- I'm trying to
carry on his good work,

make him part of our little
community, as it were.

- In that case, yes, of course.
I'll be delighted.

- Hurrah!
[ Laughs ]

I'd be grateful if you didn't
mention it to Roo --

uh, Captain and --
and Mrs. Cottam.

They don't really get on
with Mr. Venables.

- Oh.
So I gathered.

- They wouldn't like it if they
thought I'd been fraternising.

- Of course.
Of course.

Good night, then.

**

**

**

**

[ Rooster crows,
hinges squeaking ]

**

[ Indistinct conversation ]

Good morning, Mrs. Grey.

Ah.

I-I think perhaps you have
some gift for clairvoyance.

- [ Laughing ]
Oh, no.

Nothing so exotic, I'm afraid.

Just a keen sense of smell.

Unless I'm much mistaken, that's
Eau de Nuit you're wearing.

- I hope you'll forgive me,
but...

I had the idea --
Bella had it too --

that...you might need us.

Need you, Mrs. Grey?

- Sybil thinks you came here
to find us.

She's seldom at fault.

- And why would I
want to find you?

- That I do not know -- yet.

But I shall.

Rely on it.

[ Birds chirping ]

Paul?

**

**

Last night at the burning --

You're sure it was him --
Mr. Venables?

- Yes. Heaven knows what he's
done to himself since.

Oh, the wheelchair?

You know, from all
I can gather,

he's been unable to walk
for some years.

Really?

Are you sure?

I could've sworn
that was the man I saw.

- Could you have been mistaken,
perhaps?

- I could have.
It's -- It's possible.

Unless he has a twin brother.
Now, that would be an answer.

In fiction, perhaps.

But in real life,
it doesn't happen, you know.

It really doesn't.

No. I expect not.

I'm sorry.

I can't help but feel
like I've wasted your time.

- Oh, no. Please don't think
that. Not at all.

- Your Father Gorman --
Someone should answer for it.

They will.

They will.

And I think it's possible

that Mrs. Davis may have visited
the Pale Horse.

And what makes you think that?

- I found a list of names
which matched those

sent to me by Father Gorman.
[ Laughs ]

Concealed in one of Mrs. Davis'
shoes, of all places.

Miss Marple, that's evidence.

Oh, it is, Inspector.

But more importantly,
that list was written

on headed notepaper --
from the Pale Horse.

- Please don't tell me
you have taken it upon yourself

to go down there.

- I'm afraid that would be
an untruth.

But you see,
the names on Mrs. Davis' list

have dates beside them

which match certain entries
in the hotel register.

Do they?

Well, I certainly think
you might be on to something.

- Oh, do you think so?
- I do.

But -- But please,
do nothing further.

- I-I'm sorry, Inspector.
It's a very bad line.

- All right?
- I-I didn't quite catch that.

Oh!
Oh, there go the pips.

I haven't any more money
to put in.

- Miss Marple --
- [ Exhales deeply ]

[ Coins jingling ]

Good morning.

Vet's just gone.

Ringworm.
Frightfully catching.

Don't want the other dogs
getting it.

- Oh, no.
Or yourself.

- This wretched stuff
makes the fur fall out

and leaves a bare patch
for a bit.

But it'll soon grow back.
Won't it, old dog?

Ready for the off?

Oh, yes, yes. Yes, indeed.

- I'm going to show Miss Marple
'round the church.

Ah. Very nice too.

- Shall we?
- Yes.

- Have you worked long
for Captain Cottam?

Two years, nearly.

After my husband died,

they were kind enough
to offer me a position.

- Your husband was vicar here,
I understand.

Yes. Yes, he was.

Yes, Phillip had been
a missionary, you see,

in West Africa.

Malaria.

Weakened his heart, I think.

Over the years,
the last attack

wasn't strong enough to...

No. I am sorry.

- I hope you don't
mind, but I've asked Miss Corrigan to join us.

No. Not at all.

Good morning, Miss Corrigan.

- Oh, do call me Ginger.
Everyone does.

Good lord.

Mr. Venables must be rolling
in money.

- Yes, and no one
really knows where it came from.

He's quite the mystery man.

Travelled the world, you know.

So it seems a supreme irony

that I should have emerged
unscathed

from some of the most
disease-ridden corners

of the globe
only to contract polio

in my own rather dull
little country.

Eastbourne Lido.

1949.

God rot the place
and all who live there.

- Tell me, Mr. Venables --

Why did you come to live
in Much Deeping,

so far away from everything?

Do you have friends here?

No.

I came to this part
of the world

precisely because I knew
no one here.

- Did you?
Yes. Well, I see.

- Yet for all that, I find I'm
now on the tourist trail.

A site of historic
local interest,

along with the burning

and those monsters
up at the Pale Horse.

Monsters, Mr. Venables?

- You know what they say --
Two's company, three's a coven.

Oh, it seems a little harsh.

- I know there's some as finds
them useful, Mrs. Harsnet.

But in my opinion,
they should be driven out!

With pitchforks
and burning brands if needs be.

What they're up to
in that place...

What are they up to?

Wickedness.

All manner of black devilry.

- Of course, I was brought up
with the devil --

believing in him, I mean.

And you know, he always did seem
to me so silly.

With hooves and a tail.

Capering about like a ham actor.
[ Laughter ]

- Call me old-fashioned,
but I really can't go along with

this modern playing
down of evil

as something
that doesn't really exist.

Wouldn't you agree,
Miss Marple?

- Oh, yes. Yes.
Indeed I do.

And evil is powerful.

Sometimes more powerful
than good.

It's there. It --

It needs to be recognised
and fought.

Fought, Miss Marple?

- Otherwise we go down
to darkness.

- Last night, Miss Marple,
did I hear you right?

What's that, dear?

- You told Mrs. Grey
you knew a Mrs. Tuckerton.

Wouldn't be an Amelia Tuckerton,
would it?

Stepdaughter by the name
of Thomasina?

- Possibly. As I say,
she's just a friend of a friend.

- Why?
- I worked with a girl

at the gallery
called Thomasina Tuckerton.

Tommy Tucker, we called her.

- Oh. Well, it might be.
It very well might be.

You must ask her.

- Well, that's impossible,
I'm afraid.

Tommy died two weeks ago.

Oh.

Oh, I-I'm sorry.

- And only a few weeks before,
she'd been so happy.

John had asked her
to marry him.

And she had accepted him.

Yes. I-I see.

- We thought it must be
some sort of nervous alopecia,

but she just got weaker.

What did the doctors diagnose?

They didn't know.

She was just so alone.

[ Gasping ]

- Her stepmother
was on a cruise,

so there was only me and John
to look after her.

Then, in the end, only me.

She didn't want John
to see her like that.

Where was her father?

- Oh, he died himself
less than a year ago,

not long after Tommy's 19th.

I finally ran her stepmother
to ground in Rio.

It was all I could do
to persuade her

to come back for the funeral.

- There was bad blood between
them?

- She said John
was only after Tommy's money.

Ah. She was a wealthy girl?

She would've been.

Her father left her a fortune,

to be held in trust
until Tommy was 21.

Or until she married.

Yes.
That is so often the way.

It goes now, I suppose,
to the stepmother.

- Yes.
- Yes.

That too is so often the way.

There you are!

I was wondering
where you'd gotten to.

Why? What's to do?

- Well, Mrs. Grey is showing
Mr. Easterbrook

some of her books,
and as consequence,

we've been invited to tea
in her sanctum sanctorum.

Apparently it's in
the old courthouse

where Goody Carne was tried.

Come on.

[ Chickens clucking ]

[ Rooster crowing ]

- Goodness!
What a lot of poultry you keep.

Can't say I care for hens.

Mostly cockerels they be.

Table birds?

Them's useful to us.

- Mm. Whatever they are,
I don't like them.

Damn things look at you as if
they know what you're thinking.

Perhaps they do, Mrs. Cottam.

I mean, this is interesting.

Oh, yes. This is powerful.

- [ Gasps ]
Honestly, Thyrza.

I do wish sometimes
you'd knock.

- I'm surprised you didn't divine
my presence, Sybil, dear.

- Mrs. Grey, y-you really do have
some wonders here.

An original
"Malleus Maleficarum."

And this "Grimoire Saducismus
Triumphatus" --

It's very rare indeed.

- Oh, it's so nice to meet
someone

who admires one's treasures.

- So is this where you do
your séances, then, is it?

- Ah, that plain
and forthright voice

for which the antipodes
is so rightly renowned.

You're well informed,
Mrs. Cottam.

Someone must have been talking.

- In a village, I find,
everyone knows one's business

far better than one does
oneself.

- I'm sure the three of us enjoy
a splendid sinister reputation.

Got all you want?

- Yes. Thank you, Bella.
That will be all.

Give it here!

- I'm sure someone
will have told you --

Bella is the local witch.

- Really?
- Yes. She has certain powers.

Though not as great as those
that Sybil enjoys.

- Well, I have always been
attracted to the occult.

Even as a child,
I realised I had unusual powers.

- Did you, really?
Well...

- Automatic writing came
quite naturally to me.

I didn't even know what it was.

I'd just sit there
with a pencil in my hand,

not have a clue
what was happening.

- Automatic writing --

The difference between that
and mindless scribbling is?

Interpretation.

- Ah. Yes.
Yes. Of course.

- You don't believe any of this,
do you, Miss Marple?

But you do, don't you?

- I don't believe, Miss Marple.
I know.

Why else have people come
through the ages

to the necromancer
and the witch doctor?

There are only two things
people want badly enough

to risk damnation --

the love potion
and the cup of death.

- Ah.
- So simple, isn't it?

Love and death.

The love potion --
to win the man you want.

A draught to be taken
at the full of the moon,

recite the names of the devils,

draw patterns on the floor --
all window dressing.

The truth, of course --

- The aphrodisiac
in the draught.

And the cup of death?

Untraceable poisons, perhaps?

- Poisons?
Childish stuff.

There are new horizons,
Miss Marple.

The mind.

Knowledge of what it can do

- and what it can be made to do.
- Made to do?

- Influence your subject
to commit suicide? Is that it?

No.

The psychologists have shown us
the way.

The desire for death --
It's there in everyone.

And that desire
can be stimulated.

You don't need to kill
your victim.

All you need to do
is will him to death.

Can you do it?

[ Woman screams ]

[ Gasping ]

Kanga.

[ Voice breaking ]
Oh, my God.

Lydia, what is it?

**

[ Inhales sharply ]
Roo?

Oh, God.
Roo?

What's wrong with him?

What happened here?

Oh, my Roo!
Darling!

**

Oh! [ Sobs ]

- Excuse me, sir.
[ Clears throat ]

Good heavens, Lejeune.

What are you doing here?

With you in a moment.

- When I got back from lunch
with Mr. Venables, Roo had --

Oh...

Captain Cottam
had already retired.

It was his custom
to take a siesta

at that time of an afternoon.

I, um, I took him a cup of tea
at 4:00.

Yes. Yes.
Around then.

And, um...

that's --
that's when I found him.

- Rupert was in the garden
with the dog.

That was the last I saw him.

He was so full of life.

[ Voice breaking ]
We were so happy.

And I wasn't even there.

I wasn't there.

[ Rooster crows ]

Hello.

Oh. Hello.

Thought you might like this.

Oh, thank you.

- You been seen?
- Yes.

Though what the police think
I can tell them...

- There's no suggestion there are
any suspicious circumstances.

Not so far as I know.

I've been meaning to ask --

How was it you heard about
the Pale Horse?

It's my field.

English folklore.

Yes.
Of course.

What's your interest?

Oh, just idle curiosity.

- I'm not sure...I believe that
for a moment.

In fact, you strike me
as the sort of young woman

who's never had an idle thought
in her head.

- I'll take that
as a compliment.

You should.

**

- I, uh, thought it best
we meet somewhere

where we could talk in private.

Now, I've asked
the local pathologist

to pass his findings on,
but first impressions are

Captain Cottam died
of natural causes.

Natural causes?

His heart.

It would appear he'd been...

exerting himself --
after a fashion.

- I understood he'd gone
for an afternoon nap.

It's possible

he may not have been having
forty winks by himself,

- if you follow me.
- Oh. Oh, yes. Well, I-I see.

[ Clears throat ]

I must say,
I-I thought there was

rather more
to their arrangements

- than simple housekeeping.
- Yeah.

And, uh, Mrs. Cottam a party
to it, would you think?

- I would think so.
Wouldn't you?

It goes on, Miss Marple.

You only have to read
the Sunday papers.

But it doesn't mean there's
anything sinister about it.

Look, I'm sorry.

I know you have
the best of intentions.

But the long and the short
of it is,

I can't go poking
my big London nose

into Hampshire police business
because you've got a feeling.

- It isn't done.
- No. No. Of course.

- Mind, you could've
knocked me down with a feather,

running into Mark Easterbrook
again so soon.

I'll admit it's a rum go
finding him down here.

Not that I'm suggesting
he was involved

with what happened
to Father Gorman in any way.

- No. No.
Of course not.

But...it is a long while
since you've seen him.

The man you knew?

He does seem changed.

But he has more
cause than most.

Maybe since Isla -- his wife.

Whirlwind romance.
Head over heels.

Whisked her off to Italy
for a honeymoon.

Amalfi coast.

Car accident.

Brakes failed.

She was killed outright.

- I imagine Mr. Easterbrook
was lucky to survive.

She was...with a friend.

Ah.

- Local police tried to pin it
on Mark, of course -- jealousy.

But it didn't stick.

Anything in it?

I'd have sworn not, but...

[ Exhales deeply ]

Given the right circumstances,
who knows what a chap might do?

- Tell me, Inspector --

Have you ever heard
of a physician

called Sir William Dugdale
of Harley Street?

He's a nerve doctor, isn't he?

- So I believe.
- Yes. We use him sometimes --

if one of our men goes down
with a bad case of the jitters.

Why?
What about him?

- Perhaps you might like to ask
him about one of his patients.

Name of Venables,
Prior's Court, Much Deeping.

Bye, Miss Marple.

Goodbye.

Miss Marple.

Oh, Miss Corrigan.

- You said evil had
to be fought,

otherwise we go down
to darkness.

Did you mean it?

Every word.

Is there something
you'd like to tell me, perhaps?

Yes.

- Hmm?
About your friend, is it?

Tommy Tuckerton.

You're worried that her death

was perhaps not entirely
a natural one.

"C.R. Bradley"?

- I found it
at Tommy Tuckerton's house.

Her stepmother had it.
That's what led me here.

Charing Cross 6502.

Have you tried to contact
Mr. Bradley?

I'm ashamed to say
I was afraid to on my own.

- Well, there's two of us now.
- Two of us?

- Yes.
You see, I too lost a-a friend.

A very dear friend.
His name was Father Gorman.

And somehow the Pale Horse,

perhaps with the help
of Mr. Bradley,

is at the heart of it.

And now with Captain Cottam's
murder --

- Murder?
I thought a heart seizure.

Oh, no, my dear.

He was murdered.
I'm quite sure of it.

But why and by whom?

We'll get to the bottom of it.
I know we will.

Oh, yes.

But we must beware.

For even while
we are hunting him,

I fear he may well be
hunting us.

- Please be careful,
Miss Marple.

Don't worry.

I'll be back from London
tomorrow.

See you then.

**

**

- Now, dear lady...
how may one be of service?

- Oh.
Uh, no -- no, thank you.

- Oh.
- Um, well, I'm --

I'm not sure how this is meant
to work, Mr. Bradley.

I suppose the first thing to ask
is, uh, how much?

- [ Laughing ] Why, dear me!
I say. Yes.

That's not how
we go about things.

Dear me, no.
No.

We haven't introduced ourselves
yet, have we?

- I-I don't think
I ought to give you my name.

- Oh. Cautious.
Yes, I like that.

Yes.
Admirable quality.

But...I think we may allow
ourselves a moment's candour.

Who is it sent you to me?

- Let's just say a friend of mine
has a friend who has a friend.

Quite.

You know my calling, I presume.

Turf commission agent.

- You interested in horses,
perhaps?

Betting?

Any particular horse
you had in mind?

- A pale horse?
- [ Laughs ]

[ Laughing ]
Very good! Very good!

Excellent.

Oh, you yourself,
if I may say so,

uh, seem to be
rather a dark horse.

[ Laughs ]

Let me assure you that there's
no need for any anxiety.

I'm a lawyer myself.

Disbarred, I understand.

Unfairly, of course.

Just so.

But disbarred or not,
I do know my law.

And everything I recommend here
is perfectly legal.

Just a question of a bet,
you see.

- A bet.
- That's right.

A man -- or, in your case --
mutatis mutandis -- a woman --

can bet on anything he pleases.

Whether it will rain tomorrow,

whether the Russians
can send a man to the moon,

or whether...Mrs. X will die
before Christmas.

Do you follow?

- Look, correct me if I'm wrong,
but I keep thinking I saw you

at Kensal Green Cemetery
the other day.

Uh...you did.

I would've mentioned it myself.

But, um, running
into you again,

I didn't want you to get the
idea I was some kind of oddball,

you know, um,
following you or --

What were you doing?

- I was visiting
my late Godmother Min --

more properly, uh,
Lady Minerva Hesketh-Dubois.

She died earlier this year.

- Let's assume
a hypothetical case.

Someone would like to know

when Great-Aunt Eliza
is going to die.

Eliza could live on,

pepped up by doctors,
for another 10 years.

You'd be delighted, of course.
You're fond of the old girl.

But...how useful would it be
to know?

Do you follow?

Oh, yes.

- That's when yours truly
comes in.

You bet me a certain sum...

...that Aunt Eliza will be hale
and hearty until Christmas.

I bet that she won't.

Now, there's nothing
against that, is there?

She was a decent old stick.

Good innings, mind.

71.

But she went through it,
poor thing.

I mean, it was quick --
quick as you like --

but all over in a week.

But...you wouldn't let a dog
suffer like that.

She wasted away
to skin and bone.

- Her hair...
- Her hair?

- Well, it just came out --
in clumps.

The indignity, you know?

For a woman, especially.

Crowning glory,
when all's said and done.

No matter how old you are.

You were fond of her?

Yes.

Yes, I suppose I was rather.

She was always there
when things...got bad.

Did they get bad often?

Once. Very.

**

- We draw up a contract.
We sign it.

I give you a date.

I say that a fortnight
from that date,

Aunt Eliza's funeral service
will be read.

You say it won't.

Supposing you lose?

- Well, I pay up -- naturally.

And if you lose...

Supposing I don't pay up.

- I really shouldn't
advise that.

I'd like to think about it.

- Of course! Of course!
By all means! Yes.

Never rush into anything.
No, no.

No, if you decide
to do business,

you come back and we'll go into
the matter more fully.

No hurry in the world.

No hurry at all.

No.

Thank you.

Where does the Pale Horse
fit in?

- "More things in heaven
and earth, Horatio,

than are dreamt of in your..."

Don't ask me how they do it.
I don't know.

But rest assured --

Whatever it is they do do...
it works.

**

Bradley, eh?

I should've known.

Caused us no end of trouble
over the years.

But he's a slippery customer.

Knows every legal dodge
in the book.

Somehow always stays
just the right side of the line.

- But we were talking about
murder.

Organised murder.

- And that's partly
what I can't square.

Bradley's a wrong'un,
but something like that?

Chance of having
his neck stretched?

I'd have said that was
right off his beat.

- Yes.
I agree with you, Inspector.

Mr. Bradley's involvement begins
and ends

with the financial transaction.

He's a go-between.
Nothing more.

- Oh, and I did hear back
from Sir William Dugdale,

the nerve chap you asked me
to get hold of.

No go, I'm afraid.

Venables has as much chance
of walking as I have of flying.

You know, Inspector,

despite all the evidence
to the contrary,

I think it would still be worth
one's while

to keep an eye on Mr. Venables.

- Really?
- Oh, yes. Yes.

I would go so far as to say

he may well be key
to unwrapping this whole affair.

There are dark forces
at work here, Inspector.

They must be forced
into the light.

- Somehow I don't like the sound
of that.

Whatever suspicions
you may have,

you must leave things
to the police

and not take any action
of your own.

- No. No.
Of course, Inspector.

No.
You're right.

Well, I wouldn't dream --
Dear me, no.

[ Birds chirping ]

- According to the tail
I put on Bradley,

he left yesterday in his
lunch hour to deliver a letter

to an office
on the other side of town.

Now, the place looked derelict,
but we've run it down.

Registered offices of
Customer Reactions Classified.

Some sort of market-research
outfit.

The registrar of companies
lists the director

as an Ian Maurice Noone --
with an "E."

- Oh.
Well, it would be, wouldn't it?

It's a front, obviously.

What?

Ian Maurice Noone?

I.M. Noone?

"I am no one"?

Or "I'm number one."
Both, probably.

- Well, our man's got
a sense of humour, then.

And it would seem to confirm
your instinct

that Bradley's
just the middleman.

- Forgive me,
but wasn't there some mention

of Consumer Reactions
with regard to Mrs. Davis?

Yes, but the neighbours say

that no one's been near
nor by the office in months.

You really think the Pale Horse
is connected?

- Don't you?
- It's a big jump

from putting on scare shows
for the gullible

to actual murder.

All these people who died,

presumably somebody profited
by their deaths.

Oh, yes.

Uh, Lady Hesketh-Dubois left
about £50,000.

Niece and nephew inherit.
Both could do with the money.

But both were abroad
when she fell ill.

Thomasina Tuckerton.

Her father left
a very large fortune,

but since she died unmarried
before the age of 21...

It reverts to her stepmother.

- And it's pretty much the same
story with the whole list.

Yes.

I think it's time we spoke
to Miss Corrigan.

Why?

Mm.

**

**

Good heavens.

What are you doing here?

**

[ Birds chirping ]

[ Indistinct arguing ]

Time after time, you ask me
the same questions,

and time after time,
I-I give you the same answers!

Every time you persist!

- Every time you persist!
- Aah! For God's sake!

For God's sake, woman.

- You take it!
[ Ring clatters ]

I do not love you anymore!

You will pay for that.

Oh!

Oh, Miss Corrigan.

I thought you were here
till the end of the week.

- Afraid I've been called back
to work.

An emergency at the gallery.

Oh, I am sorry.

I shall be sad to see you go.

Your bill, Miss Corrigan.

Thank you.

Um, Mrs. Grey, I wonder --
Could you do me a favour?

While packing, I noticed I seem
to have misplaced a glove.

Brown suede.
The left.

- If you should happen --
- I'll send it on to you.

Well...

[ Exhales deeply ]
Goodbye, then.

- Bye-bye.
- Goodbye.

Safe journey.

Oh.

Miss Marple.

**

**

Well, well, well.

Now, try not to worry.

These things happen.

If she won't play fair, well,
you're not really left

with much of an alternative,
are you?

Obviously, with
the time factor,

it will have to be reflected
in the size of the bet.

But, uh...you just leave that
with me, hmm?

Thank you.

- No.
Thank you.

[ Door opens, closes ]

[ Telephone rings ]

The Pale Horse.

Oh.

Tonight?

- I've had
the preliminary findings

on Captain Cottam through.

It doesn't look to have been
a heart attack after all.

The pathologist says

he's never seen anything
like Cottam's insides,

that it looked as though
he'd drunk

about a gallon of
drain cleaner.

- Morning.
- Morning.

[ Birds chirping ]

Oh, great heavens.

Of course.

Yes.
Oh.

Now I see.

**

[ Key clanks ]

**

**

[ Hinges squeaking ]

**

[ Curtains open ]

- Once the invocation
is completed,

there can be no going back.

Death will have its dominion.

You are resolved?

Very well.

[ Fire crackling ]

**

You have brought what you were
instructed to bring?

Uh, yes.

- It belongs to --
- No, no.

No names.

[ Inhales deeply ]

Oh, yes.

This is most suitable.

The physical emanations
of its wearer are very strong.

**

Sybil?

We're ready for you.

**

**

I must impress upon you

the necessity of remaining
absolutely still.

I am summoning forces
into this room

dangerous to those who do not
know how to control them.

[ Bell chimes ]

[ Gasps ]

[ Deep voice ]
I am here.

[ Gasps ]
[ Bell chimes ]

Is that you, Macandal?

- [ Deep voice ]
I am Macandal.

[ Bell chimes ]

- Are you prepared, Macandal,
to submit to my desire?

- I am. [ Gasps ]
[ Bell chimes ]

- The dead must be sent
to cause death.

It shall be so.

- [ Drum beats ]
- [ Gasps ]

[ Blade scrapes, drum beats ]

[ Gasps ]

- [ Whispering ]
Paul?

Paul?

Oh!

- Well?
Did you get a look at his legs?

- No.
No, I didn't.

But I think I know
how he's been doing it.

- You do?
- Yes.

Let's -- Let's just watch
for a while.

**

Tá slaghdán uirthi...

- Our Father
which wert in heaven,

hallowed be Thy name.

Our Father
which wert in heaven,

hallowed be Thy name.

[ Radio frequency modulating ]

[ Speaking foreign language ]

- Our Father
which wert in heaven,

hallowed be Thy name.

You are set free to be at one
with the owner of this glove.

Only death solves all problems.

- Only death...
- A weak spot.

There is always a weak spot.

- The tissues of the body obey
the mind.

- Deep within the tissues...
- Command them...

- The flesh.
[ Gasps ]

...towards death.

Towards death.

Death, the conqueror.

- Death. Soon.
- [ Whispering indistinctly ]

- Death the conqueror.
Very, very soon.

- Death.
- Death.

- Death!
- Death!

Death!

- "What if he had
a twin brother?" you said.

Rather foolishly,
and to my everlasting shame,

I dismissed it
as belonging to fiction.

But you got me thinking.

After all, what better cover
for a murderer

than a man confined
to a wheelchair?

- But I don't understand. How did
he manage to fool the doctors?

You mean he really does have
a twin?

- Oh, no, no, no.
Nothing like that.

But just suppose Mr. Venables
had made contact

with a-a genuine polio case --

someone in poor circumstances
to whom he made a proposition.

Look!

Oh, look!
Look!

Look!

Just as I thought.

Well, well.

Brilliant, Miss Marple.

- You see,
it's the genuine sufferer

passing himself off
as Mr. Venables

who visits the Harley Street
specialist to be examined.

And there you are.

As far as the world
is concerned,

Mr. Venables is
a hopeless invalid.

While in truth, he's able
to come and go as he pleases.

- I thought there had to be
an answer of some sort.

But...do you think it's enough?

I-I mean, it --
it's just my word.

- Well, we'll have to see
what Inspector Lejeune says.

But I suspect we may yet have to
make a little magic of our own

in order to expose him.

[ Sighs ]

[ Birds chirping,
rooster crows ]

**

**

**

Just give me a moment.

Oh.
[ Exhales deeply ]

There.

Ah.
Oh, dear.

Oh. Oh.

I think I must be moulting.
[ Chuckles ]

- Are you sure you're up to this,
Miss Marple?

- Well, you know, I think I might
be coming down with a cold,

but I'm not going to let it
stand in my way.

[ Laughs, sighs ]

Now, are we for the off?

- Inspector, I think I'd like to
know what the hell is going on.

You come in here.
You commandeer my hotel.

It's a damned outrage.

- Actually, Mr. Venables,
I believe there's a matter

on which you might be able
to assist us.

- Really?
And what might that be?

On the 5th of March,

a parish priest by the name
of Father Gorman was murdered

on Westburn Street, Paddington.

Is that so?

- I must confess,
now the moment's here,

I'm more than a little nervous.

- I must admit I'm somewhat
apprehensive myself.

- My only regret
is I wish I could be there

to see the look on his face.

- Yes, but we must follow
Inspector Lejeune's advice.

You're our star witness.
Only you can identify him.

And if this is to work,

we must time your entrance
to maximum effect.

You see, Father Gorman

had been called out
that particular evening

to attend the deathbed
of a Mrs. Davis.

She had become
unwittingly entangled

in a criminal organisation

which specialised in the removal
of unwanted persons --

for a substantial fee.

These removals
were ostensibly brought about

by what might be called
psychological means.

So the victim dies
a perfectly natural death.

Do you really believe that?

- The headquarters
of this organisation

is said to be a place
called the Pale Horse.

Thyrza Grey's nonsense?

You really believe she spouts
some mumbo jumbo

and as a result somebody dies?

Oh, no, Mr. Venables.

Cause of death is, uh,
much simpler than that.

Um, thallium poisoning.

What did you say?

- Uh, poisoning --
by thallium salts.

Only the killer was at pains
to disguise that fact.

And what better method

than a pseudoscientific,
psychological setup

full of modern jargon and
reinforced by old superstitions.

Thallium salts, you say?

I don't think I've heard
of that one.

No?

It's extensively used
as rat poison

and more specifically
for animals with ringworm.

Odourless.
Tasteless.

It's obtained quite easily.

In fact, I think that Inspector
Lejeune retrieved a-a jar of it

from your house
only this morning.

I know nothing about that.

Nothing at all.

- Oh, your enterprise is very
well organised, Mr. Venables.

Financial details arranged
by a debarred solicitor,

name of Bradley.

Mr. Bradley has a --
has an office in town.

And prospective clients

who want rid of a wealthy
relative for their own gain

visit him there
and do business.

That is to say
that there is a bet made

on whether someone will die
within a stated period.

When Mr. Bradley wins his bet,

the money has to be paid over
quite promptly

or, um, something unpleasant
is liable to happen.

That's all Mr. Bradley
has to do -- make a bet.

Simple, isn't it?

It would certainly seem so.

Oh, it is so, Mr. Venables.

For barring the depositing
of certain monies --

together with the name
of the intended victim --

to a certain address,

that's the end of Mr. Bradley's
role in the affair.

- Miss Marple.
- Thank you, Inspector.

The client then comes here
to the Pale Horse,

where a show is put on
by Mrs. Grey and her friends,

which usually impresses
in the way it's meant to.

- I hope you're not suggesting
that I'm involved in all this.

- Oh, no, no.
Not at all.

Well, not in the
actual killing.

Although that's certainly
the impression

you like to give, Mrs. Grey,
isn't it?

- Cat got your tongue,
Mrs. Grey?

I thought as much.

For all that you enjoy
letting people think

you really do have power
over life and death,

like Bradley, your involvement
was merely so much pantomime.

- Pantomime?
- Financially rewarding no doubt,

but pantomime all the same.

How dare you.

Oh, I dare.

You see, this whole rigmarole
you lay on down here

is simply part of the murderer's
grand design.

It's a fail-safe.

Like Bradley, another way
of keeping the real killer

at one remove
from everybody else.

And if anyone should go
to the police

with wild tales of murder
being committed by black magic,

well, we'd as soon phone
the funny farm as Scotland Yard.

- You mean people
really have died?

**

Oh, my God.

We didn't know.
Tell them, Thyrza.

We didn't even know who it was
we were meant to be cursing.

Not their names.

And there was never
any money involved.

Tell them, Thyrza.

- Tell --
- Oh, for God's sake, Sybil.

How else do you think
we've kept afloat

since the bypass went through?

Do you think all of this
just pays for itself?

But I just...thought...

...it was a bit of fun.

Fun, Miss Stamfordis?

Now to the, uh, simple facts
behind the scenes, as it were.

Certain women --
to the best of their knowledge,

bona fide employees of
a consumer-research concern --

are sent by the anonymous head
of the enterprise

to canvass
a particular neighbourhood

with a questionnaire.

"What bread do you prefer?"

"What toilet articles,
cosmetics do you use?"

And so to the last step,
the only action performed

by the mysterious head
of the enterprise himself.

He may pose as a plumber,
electrician,

a-a workman of some kind
in order to gain entry.

But, uh, whatever his role,
his object is simple --

replacing an article he knows,

by means of the
consumer-research questionnaire,

that his victim uses
with a poisoned substitute,

which sooner or later does
its deadly work.

The victim falls ill.

A doctor is called

but sees no reason
to imagine anything untoward.

You see, but for the hair loss,
thallium poisoning looks like

nothing more
than a natural death.

You see the beauty
of this scheme, Mr. Venables?

The only person who knows

what the head of
the organisation actually does

is the head of the organisation
himself.

There is no one
to give him away.

No one to give him away?

What utter tosh.

What about Bradley?
What about the witches?

- Neither Mr. Bradley
nor anyone at the Pale Horse

so much as even know his name,
never mind what he looks like.

You see, that's the key
to the whole operation.

Mr. Bradley is handsomely paid,
of course.

As is Mrs. Grey.

But so far as the world
is concerned,

the man behind it
doesn't even exist.

So how do you know so much?

- There's nothing so reliable
in court

as the testimony
of an eyewitness.

For example, Mr. Venables,
this gentleman here

is willing to swear he saw you
following Father Gorman

on the night
of the 5th of March.

And I did see you.

I described you exactly.

Didn't I, Miss Marple?

Yes, you did.

Rather too exactly, perhaps.

Because I'm afraid
you didn't see Mr. Venables

that night you were waiting
for the ambulance.

- What?
- Let me introduce you,

Mr. Venables,
to Mr. Paul Osborne,

late of Benthall Street,
Paddington.

You'll feel a personal interest
in him

when I tell you
that Mr. Osborne,

who, like yourself,
has been under observation

by Inspector Lejeune
for quite some time,

was unwise enough to
plant a jar of thallium salts in your house

only this morning.

- No, I didn't.
- Be quiet.

- You see, not knowing
of your condition,

Mr. Osborne amused himself

by casting you as the villain
of the piece.

Miss Marple.

And being a very greedy

as well as a very vain
and very stupid young man,

he refused to admit
he'd made a mistake.

- Worse, he tried to
implicate you further

by murdering Rupert Cottam.

Who should we look to,
if murder was suspected,

other than the man
with whom the late captain

had such a long-standing
and bitter feud?

- But how do you suppose
I managed to achieve that?

You said yourself
that's not how thallium works.

- Yes, but it wasn't thallium
you used on poor Captain Cottam.

Oh, no.

In the kitchen, Inspector,

you will find a jar
of dried beetles --

Lytta vesicatoria
of the Meloidae family,

more commonly known, I believe,
as Spanish fly.

Crushed to a powder
and in the minutest doses,

it has a reputation
as a powerful aphrodisiac.

Alas, the potion I saw
Lydia Harsnet buy

from Bella Ellis,

as I believe was
their long-standing arrangement,

was of no such minute dose

but rather one
that had been tampered with

and prepared
to a lethal strength,

so that when Captain Cottam
drank it voluntarily,

his insides were burnt
beyond saving.

[ Exhales deeply ]

- Mm.
[ Laughs ]

[ Growls ]

[ Screaming ]

- Is that not the case,
Mrs. Harsnet?

Lydia?

- Kanga, I'm -- I'm --
I'm so sorry.

Roo insisted.
We'd used it before.

Well, you know we had.

You...wicked, wicked boy!

How could you?!

- Even then, one
couldn't be sure

that Paul Osborne was the brains
behind it all,

the mysterious head
of the enterprise.

Not without seeing
how he was going about it.

So we asked Mr. Easterbrook

to commission a little murder
of our own.

As Inspector Lejeune says,

there's nothing so reliable
as an eyewitness.

Miss Corrigan?

- This brave girl
put her life at risk.

- Is this the man who came
to your door this morning

to read the meter?

- Yes.
- That's a lie.

It's her word against mine.
You've not one whit of proof.

Oh, we have.

Officers were watching
Miss Corrigan's flat.

You were seen entering
and leaving the building.

You're lying!

If that were the case,
you would have arrested me there and then.

- And miss giving you a chance
to plant thallium salts

at Mr. Venables' house?

Miss Marple thought
you might go for it.

And you did.

Hubris, Inspector.

The arrogance of a murderer

who's escaped justice
for so long,

he thinks no one
will ever catch him.

- You have no idea
what you're talking about.

Oh, perhaps you're right.

Perhaps it was
another Paul Osborne

who was imprisoned
at the age of 12 for murder,

having poisoned his stepfather.

Too young to hang,

he was detained
at His Majesty's pleasure

until he was deemed cured
and ready for release.

But he was not cured.

For there was nothing wrong
with him in the first place

beyond a greed for money
and a propensity for wickedness.

And, for that, I'm afraid,
there is no cure, save one.

You dare...to call me stupid.

Mm.

If you knew.

If you had any idea
what I've done.

- Oh, I know what you've done,
Paul.

You killed Father Gorman.

[ Train passing,
whistle blowing ]

[ Grunting ]

**

**

And now I know why.

Really?

- You killed him
because you realised Mrs. Davis

would have told him
what she knew of the Pale Horse.

And how do you imagine

Mrs. Davis knew
about the Pale Horse?

- Oh, I imagine it began
with something as simple

as recognising a client's name
in the obituaries column.

And once you've seen one,
well...

I suspect she followed Bradley
back from one of his trips

to the headquarters
of Customer Reactions,

consulted him, perhaps,
much the same as we did,

and that's what led her here.

And, well,
you couldn't have that.

So you poisoned her.

You suspected
Mrs. Davis knew the names

of all the people
you had murdered.

Well, you were right.

She'd made a list.

- You think you know it all,
don't you?

Oh, well, we'll see
who has the last laugh.

[ Chuckles ]
You'll be sorry.

I presume by that

you're referring
to the pot of face cream

I keep on the dresser --
the one you laced with thallium?

Well, fortunately for me,
I'm rather set in my ways

and I always keep the labels
on my potions turned towards me.

It's, uh, so much quicker
to see what you're looking for.

But...But you're ill.

- As I said, I think I may well
be coming down with a cold.

Your hair...

Window dressing, Mr. Osborne.

As Mrs. Grey will confirm,

the trick with magic
is always to show the audience

exactly what it is
they expect to see, hmm?

Now you see it.

Now you don't.

- You...are an interfering
old witch!

And I'll kill you!
[ Women screaming ]

- [ Men grunting ]
- You won't be killing anybody,

not where you're going.
Get him out!

No. No!

You'll all be sorry!

- Not as sorry as he'll be,
I fancy.

My apologies, Miss Marple.

No, no, Inspector.

Not at all.

Oh.

Do you know, I...

I rather think I'd --
I'd like a brandy.

I'm astounded, Miss Marple.

I had my mind firmly set
on Mr. Venables.

You might have given me a hint.

- Well, I couldn't afford to give
any hints, I'm afraid.

One has to play these things
very close to one's chest.

In truth, we didn't have
very much to go on,

which is why we staged things
the way we did --

with Mr. Venables' cooperation,
of course.

Most fun I've had in years.

**

- We had to lead Osborne
up the path,

then turn on him suddenly
and hope to break him down.

Look! Look!

Look!

Oh!

Just as I thought.

And it worked.

But when did you begin
to suspect him?

Mm.

Well, it's extraordinarily
difficult

to make up a description
of anybody.

Try it.

You'll find
you're unconsciously describing

someone you know
or you've seen somewhere.

I'd say Osborne saw Mr. Venables
sitting in his car one day

here in Much Deeping and was
very struck by his appearance.

But, of course,
if he'd seen him that way,

he wouldn't have known
he was confined to a wheelchair.

- What about Thyrza Grey's part
in all this --

Sybil Stamfordis and Bella?

- I wouldn't worry too much
about them, Mr. Venables.

I shouldn't be surprised
if some dark and moonless night,

they just mounted
their broomsticks

and slipped quietly away.

[ Chuckles ]

Cheers.

[ Birds chirping,
rooster crows ]

**

[ Indistinct conversation ]

Well, Miss Corrigan.
[ Laughs ]

Good to see you
looking so well.

Mm.

Thank you -- for everything.

- If it hadn't been for you...
- No.

It's Father Gorman we should
thank -- and Mrs. Davis.

They set the ball rolling

and paid for it
with their lives.

- You gave her justice,
Miss Marple -- Mrs. Davis.

And Tommy Tuckerton,
Lady Hesketh-Dubois,

Father Gorman -- all of them.

We gave them justice.

So thank you, both of you,

for agreeing to take part
in our little subterfuge.

- I hear Mr. Easterbrook
played his part to perfection.

According to Inspector Lejeune,

Mr. Bradley still can't believe
you were a stooge.

He really did think
you wanted me out of the way.

Oh, I suspect, my dear,

that nothing can be further
from the truth.

Well, I'd, uh, I'd
better be on.

**

**

[ Exhales deeply ]

**

**

**

**

**

**