Original subtitles

Another letter for you, sir.

(BOTH GRUNTING)

I wish my husband would get out of this room.

You're as drunk and disgusting as ever.

Isabel, were you writing that as George came in?

He never saw it.

"What's this?"

(GASPS)

Oh, it's one of those letters of Mrs Isabel's

Mr Dangerfield, I must know exactly what your intentions are.

Always working and half drunk. It's no wonder you're feeling ill!

You can't kill one. You've got to kill 'em all.

Father!

Your father is dead.

Are you implying, Mama, that my husband was conducting a liaison?

Don't touch me! What do you think you're doing?

No!

Don't you find it odd, Stepmother, how Father died? He was never ill.

What are you suggesting?

That he was poisoned.

This is the clerks' office.

Oh, one moment. This is Mr Robert Dangerfield.

Paul Vandervent, Roger's only son.

I'm so sorry to hear about the death of your father.

Thank you. Paul's under instruction here.

I hear you've come from India to marry Aunt Charlotte.

And to work here.

Seems a long way for either purpose.

That is the office of the late Mr Vandervent.

Well, as it's empty, why shouldn't I just move in here?

Because this is the managing director's office.

And you, too, are under instruction.

So, like Paul, you can work in here with the chief clerk.

Much the most sensible arrangement.

I dare say.

Just here, I think.

Young Master Paul can help you with any questions you might have.

Makes you think, though.

Just a few weeks ago, a tall, strong man was walking around this room.

And then all that retching and pukin', and now he's dead.

Even when he was alive, he didn't have much fun on this mattress.

You and I could put it to much better use.

Oh, no. You know what they say about a dead man's clothes.

Well, I feel the same about his mattress.

It was a shame he never had no fun, isn't it? I mean, a handsome man.

Oh, he had plenty of fun, all right.

But he didn't have it 'ere.

A big strong man would need his fun somewhere, Hilda, now wouldn't he?

Mind you, men of Mr Vandervent's constitution

don't die of a bilious attack. Nor a gastric fever neither.

Whatever it was that Dr Porter said.

It makes you think that nothing's safe, doesn't it?

Nothing's what it seems.

Hilda!

I cannot stay here, Mother.

There are too many memories.

The memories of the dead are with us always, Beatrice. There's no escape.

It's not the dead I wish to escape. It's the living.

No. You will stay here until I say so.

For whose sake? For the sake of propriety.

"What has this object to do with me?"

"I found this in the bottom drawer of Roger's desk."

"Please supply me with the name and address

"of the person who ordered a corset from you..."

"Why would Roger do such a thing?" "A very pertinent question."

"That eliminates one explanation of its provenance,

"and leaves me free to concentrate on others."

Beatrice... Don't!

Well, tell me what's wrong.

I can hardly bear to look at you.

What do you mean?

This pin.

Yours, I believe.

Well, it is yours, isn't it?

I found it in Roger's drawer. Don't do this, Beatrice.

Why not? It's yours, isn't it?

That's enough.

"That's enough"?

No, it's not enough.

Why should you steal a woman's husband,

eat him alive, and then be allowed to go as free as air?

Roger loved me. Do you know that?

Do you understand that?

You... You've done him to death with your incessant lewdness.

And you stand here, when accused, just saying, "That's enough"?!

Yes, well, I'm sure it is enough, for you! Gorged on Roger's flesh!

Sucking his blood like a vampire!

What's the matter?

Stepmother? Don't ask! You're too young to know!

Thank you, ma'am.

KNOCK ON DOOR Ah!

Your friend, Mr Wilson.

When's he coming?

Not today. He's owing rent.

You can't keep this room unless he pays.

I think you have a letter addressed to him.

All letters for Mr Wilson I put there.

This would have been another kind of letter. Like one of these.

It should have arrived by now. Where is it?

You mean I stole it? That is lies.

All letter for Mr Wilson were here. And my bill is here too.

Now, are you gonna pay it, lady?

Mr Wilson will pay for it when he comes.

Mr Brice...

..where is that letter addressed to him?

Maybe I'll give it to Mr Wilson.

If it comes.

Time for a report, Robert. You have been with the firm long enough

to give me at least your preliminary impression.

The firm, Mrs Collard, has been left in a very fair condition

by the late Roger Vandervent.

But, now he's gone, it will decline very swiftly

unless it's ruled with a strong, supple hand.

Yes, Robert. Mine.

You will need a deputy equipped with proper powers for the task.

Actually on the ground.

Me.

You have all the powers you are going to have, Robert,

until the six months of your probation are over.

Until then, I shall ensure

that everything stays exactly as it is now.

Unless the worms get me first.

Mrs Collard, I need a certain sum of liquid money. And I need it now.

If your credit is as good as you would have me believe,

no doubt your bankers will accommodate you.

Robert, I am well aware of your motives for marrying Charlotte,

however she may deceive herself.

Unless you give satisfaction,

the end of your probation will mean the end of you.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Ma'am.

Hilda, some time ago I gave you some letters to post.

One of them, possibly more, has not arrived.

You're quite sure you posted them?

All of them? Of course, ma'am.

You didn't ask somebody else to post them for you, did you?

All the letters you gave me, ma'am, I put into the postbox myself.

I mean, I can see my hand doing it, ma'am.

Very well, Hilda.

Stomach pains, heartburn and turbulence?

It started this afternoon.

You remember, Charlotte?

I remember, Mama. Just after Mr Dangerfield left.

You took some refreshment together?

I had a little seltzer.

What did you have for your luncheon previously?

Strasbourg pie and Dover sole.

In a champagne sauce.

And then pancakes Grand Marnier.

A small, simple luncheon.

I fear your luncheons from now on

will have to be even simpler, Mrs Collard.

For the rest, though there is nothing at all to worry about,

may I respectfully suggest

that, er, you take one tablespoonful of this mixture

every three hours, until the bottle is finished.

I shall also presume to tender a brief list of foodstuffs

which it might be prudent to avoid.

You did something of the kind for Roger, I'm told.

And before you'd finished the list, he was dead.

Hold your chattering tongue, Charlotte!

We must not brood on Roger's death

simply because that insolent youth, Dr Hassall,

chose to use it as occasion to push himself forward.

Hassall has given several causes for dissatisfaction since then.

I am happy to say that I have persuaded him to leave the practice.

I believe that he is now with some suburban establishment

for the criminally insane. In Barnet.

Right.

As in your accounts with God, so with man. Precept upon precept

Line upon line, here a little, there a little.

KNOCK ON DOOR

I've had a little talk with Mrs Collard.

She seems very pleased with the way business is picking up again.

It seems to me

that after all the sadness there's been,

what's needed now is a bit of pleasure. Pleasure?

Yes, Bertie, pleasure.

A party of pleasure to celebrate Mrs Collard's birthday.

Theatre. A bite of supper. A drop of champagne.

Up west. Aunt Harriet wouldn't hear of it!

Why not? Mother needs cheering up. She keeps thinking she's ill.

This will be something for her to look forward to.

Not for me, the haunts of Belial and Beelzebub!

Paul, you'll come, old man?

Yes, love to.

What did you have in mind?

Something with a jolly ending.

Shut the door.

What's he up to? Exactly.

Getting you all damned. Bertie, this is serious!

What does he hope to achieve with all this treating and smarming?

He wants fleshpots and limbs of Satan.

He wants filthy lucre and the kingdom of this world.

He wants to run the company.

Look, if he's prepared to take on this dreariness,

let him be king of the castle. Chocolate?

Oh! Ugh! (CACKLES) New line.

(HUMS)

KNOCK ON DOOR

Your carriage is waiting, ma'am. Where is Mr George?

Well, he's gone out, ma'am.

I wish to see him on my return.

The moment I return, understood?

Stop, Parker, stop!

Wait here. Sit there. Don't move.

Wait!

What on earth do you think you're doing,

making this exhibition of yourself like this?

I'm telling you for the first and last time,

never come here like this again.

Ever!

Drive on!

Well, Mother? Well, Mother, what, Mother.

You saw very well for yourself.

Some woman of the streets

plying her filthy trade on our heath on a Sunday.

And take that mealy look off your face!

You're a hungry as a jackal for that man of yours.

So we want no airs or graces from you.

Isabel.

I thought you were at church.

What? Giving thanks that old Harriet has only got wind instead of ulcers?

Don't be so bitter.

You're very difficult these days. You've certainly upset Stepmama.

Well, I'm sorry for that.

Paul, I need your help.

I've... Well, I've written some foolish letters.

Somebody, I don't know who or how, has managed to get hold of them.

And he is demanding money.

Money?! For letters?

Well, I'm afraid I can't... Oh, no! No, darling Paul.

Of course I should not come to you for money.

At first, the man said if I gave him the money,

he would send the letters back, but he didn't send them.

None of them.

And now he's started demanding more.

But I'm not going to pay any more.

"What I am going to do is send a special envelope, mauve,

"to the address, 123 Rexile Road in Greenwich."

"It should arrive tomorrow. Well, some time in the afternoon."

"If you could go there and see who collects it,

"then we'll know who the blackmailer is."

Thanks, then. Bye.

So, Master Paul,

you took it upon yourself to play the spy! Well done.

Don't talk to me like that. You're a blackmailer, Jenkins.

I'll see you breaking rocks on Dartmoor!

Now, get out of this house.

It's not your place, Master Paul, to start dishing out the sack.

Mrs Collard runs this house, not you.

You're not old enough, you see.

And I'll tell you something else for free.

You'll get no thanks, or anything else for that matter,

for interfering.

Just get out of this house.

Well?

I've told Jenkins I shall go to the police.

You must not do that, Paul. Anything but that.

What do you want, then? I just want my letters back.

I must have a talk with Jenkins.

Talk with Jenkins? Isabel, he is loathsome!

He cannot stay in this house. I will talk to Stepgran.

Darling Paul...

..no-one must ever hear about this.

I'm so grateful to you.

You've done wonders.

But now you must let me speak to Jenkins.

I agree with you that he must leave.

It is simply that I must speak to him first.

Jenkins, I know what... Well! Who have we here?

How much do you want?

A hundred. Each.

That's impossible.

Impossible? I'd say that's very reasonable,

after what you've been up to.

I have just escorted Aunt Harriet and Charlotte to the carriage,

and I wish you all a very good evening (!)

And Isabel? I don't know. She said something

about some last minute instructions to the servants.

George?

So...

a hundred a letter.

And that will do.

For now.

No time to hang about here! We're late already.

Author! Author!

Author!

Author!

Ladies and gentlemen, it is perhaps not proper

that I should smoke in front of you,

but, then, nor is it proper that you should disturb me while I smoke.

I'm so happy that you all admire my clever,

beautiful little play as much as I do, which is very much indeed.

And so, I congratulate myself on my genius,

you on your exquisite good taste.

Oh, and the cast on an admirable performance.

APPLAUSE

That's Oscar Wilde for you. Never heard such infernal impudence!

Never mind. God will have been listening to him.

But before God revenges himself on Mr Wilde

for actually giving pleasure in the world,

he would be a very fascinating man to meet.

I am sure you meet a great many (!)

Finished, sir?

Not quite.

I'll have that, George.

More champagne?

I think it's a very good idea.

Robert ought to have his hair cut like Oscar Wilde.

That looks wonderful. Ah, I suspect this is a hen lobster.

A female.

Are females not to your taste, George?

You know as well as I do that a hen lobster

should only be used in making a lobster sauce.

It should never be served as an actual dish.

How typical that the female of the species

should be only used as a sauce in order to complement

and flatter the magnificent and dominant male (!)

You should be well enough aware of that particular feminine role.

Sauce may also be used for a multitude of other purposes.

To disguise stale fish, for example, as the Indians use curry.

Not an advisable procedure, especially in hot weather,

whatever they may think or do in India.

I hope, Charlotte, that we do not eat stale fish at Albert Villa!

No sauce could disguise the staleness of the fish

at Albert Villa, Mother-in-law.

The fresh fish pie Mother treats us to every Friday is above redemption.

Oh, Georgie.

We defer to you, George, in all matters relating to the kitchen.

LAUGHTER

Yes, George might look rather well in an apron!

LAUGHTER

Mrs Collard, a glass of champagne?

Thank you, dear Robert, for a most enjoyable excursion

into the world of the West End.

Everyday life awaits us all tomorrow. Good health.

Cheerio.

Mother?

What is it, Mother?

Is she all right? She's a frightful colour.

Do something, Robert!

(KNOCKS ON CEILING)

Parker, stop!

Stop, damn you!

Where is the pain?

Why have we stopped here?

Charlotte, loosen her, quick!

Give her some air!

Get her out! She's choking! Get her out!

Mother?! Mother?

The death of Aunt Harriet was a judgment on her, and on us all.

The death of Mrs Collard was an oyster.

Quite so. Greed!

One oyster, rotten.

I don't believe it. I beg your pardon, young man?

You say Stepgran died of an oyster.

I don't believe it. She died the same way my father did.

Yes. Food poisoning.

No. She made the same noises.

She went the same ghastly colour.

She died the same painful death my father did.

But none of you know what really caused it.

You are very young, and you know nothing of medicine.

Nor of good manners, it appears.

There are superficial resemblances

between Mrs Collard's death and that of Roger Vandervent

but they are no more than superficial.

No!

I don't want to go in there!

I don't want to go! Come on!

Don't be silly. NO! No! No!

You'll hurt yourself. I don't want to go in there!

Keep calm.

Sir. I don't wanna go!

(GRUNTS) Dr Hassall, you must help me.

My father didn't die of gastric fever. Why did Porter insist on it?

He gave the certificate simply to oblige the old woman.

And to avoid any scandal.

Could my father have been poisoned?

I don't know. Possibly.

Nurse!

It would take a postmortem

to precisely determine the cause of death.

But the symptoms are those of chronic poisoning.

Where could this poison have come from?

Anywhere. The average household

contains enough poison for a hundred murders. Arsenic, bleach...

Dr Hassall, could you come here a moment, please?

Yes. Slipped into any food or any drink.

Any drink? Any drink.

(SCREAMING)

Jenkins, what are you doing still working in this house?

Well, I don't know who else'd be seeing to all this if I wasn't.

I mean it. You are to leave.

Thank you, Master Paul,

but I'll take my orders from those who are really in charge here.

Especially your friend, Mistress Isabel.

I've spoke to Isabel. She agrees with me.

If you're not gone by tomorrow, I shall send for the police.

Well, I'll be getting myself all ready for them, then, won't I?

George. Yes, dear boy?

Is that all? Can I go home now?

Yes, yes, you trot on home.

I'll finish up here. Thank you.

And then off to the club for a great big drink.

What?! Thirsty work, burying one's mother.

But the funeral was only yesterday!

And d'you know what, I'm still thirsty!

George... Bye!

So much for death, my dear Robert.

Now for marriage, without delay.

We've only just put her down!

We can hardly get married tomorrow, much as I long to...

Of course not tomorrow.

Next week.

The family will still be in mourning.

Perhaps we should wait until the will is read.

My dearest, if you want to come out of probation, and into the chair...

Well, I had to resign my post there, as I was telling the sergeant here,

after becoming acquainted with the contents of these letters.

Acquainted with?

Well, they were brought to my attention, sir, by my fiancee.

Who read one of them. Oh, by mistake.

And then read the rest of them, sir, thinking it to be her duty.

Duty? Duty.

Well, they were special, see.

Because of the person what wrote them,

and because of the person what they was written to.

And, well, because of the filth what was in them. They were special.

Filth?

Well, it's only because you're the police

that I can even bring myself to talk about it.

I've not mentioned it to no-one else apart from Charlie.

Charles. Because I thought it was my duty.

I applaud your sense of delicacy, madam.

Well, when you've read them, sir, you'll see why they're so special.

And why I left Albert Villa with my fiancee.

Though in many ways the situation suited me well enough.

But after everything that's happened, sir,

it was no place for a respectable upper servant.

No place for respectable persons at all.

How very high-minded and public-spirited of you, Mr Jenkins.

Sergeant Davis has your address.

Lodgings in Greenwich. Very well, then, Mr Jenkins, Miss...

Mrs Jenkins will serve from now on.

You are both a credit to the proletariat of this great country.

Sergeant. Sir, Madam.

My felicitations to you both on becoming one flesh.

Does Mrs Isabel Collard live here?

You bloody interfering little fool!

I told you to let me deal with Jenkins!

You've had plenty of time. I thought it was what you wanted.

You said he'd have to leave soon in any case.

He's left before I could settle this business!

You threatened him, didn't you?

You threatened him with the police.

Well, that's just where he's gone,

taking my letters with him, and his accomplice, Hilda!

How do you know that's where they've gone?

There's been a police constable here.

He says my letters will be returned to me "in due course".

You know what that means?

It means they're going to read them first.

They were private letters. Personal. Do you understand?

No, not really.

(SIGHS)

You understand nothing, do you?

You come in all high and mighty with the servants.

And you understand nothing at all!

All I ever wanted, Paul, was those letters back.

Because they were love letters.

Love letters written from the heart.

Love letters to your father.

I've had a very interesting letter, sir, from a certain Dr Hassall.

My former colleague. Yes. And now at Friern Barnet.

Quite! He's heard of old Mrs Collard's death,

and purports to be concerned at its similarity

to that of Roger Vandervent's.

He hints at misdiagnosis in one case.

Or the other. Or both.

Obviously, I was satisfied, Inspector.

Otherwise, I should not have signed the death certificates.

Nor you would, sir. Silly me.

How often do I have to repeat this?

Mrs Collard and Mr Vandervent

both died of unrelated gastric complications.

Call the causes similar, if you are foolish enough to do so.

Time will show which of us is being foolish,...

..Doctor.

You will be ready to give evidence at the trial, sir?

The murder trial?

CHURCH BELLS RINGING

Congratulations!

I hope you'll be very happy.

Thank you.

Thank you, girlie.

Deploy yourself, Constable.

Inspector Titmarsh, madam.

And Detective Sergeant Davis.

I hope you've brought my letters back.

They are of great sentimental value, Inspector. And...

..strictly private.

So Mr Jenkins suggested.

How vexatious for you, Mrs Collard,

that the maid, Hilda,

should have come on them in that unlikely fashion.

All that matters is that I should now have them back.

They are, after all, my property.

You must excuse me, Mrs Collard.

They are the property of the person to whom they was written.

But, since that person is dead...

Precisely.

What's going on out there? The devil and all his works.

It seems to have been a perfectly calm conversation.

Though I don't think Mother would have cared

to have seen policemen walking on the croquet lawn.

Policemen! Why are they talking to Isabel?!

Thank you. Sir.

So, you traced the letters for Mrs Collard, Mr Vandervant?

Vandervent. Yes.

And do you know why she's so anxious to have them back?

Yes, but I cannot discuss Mrs Collard's private affairs.

You care a great deal for her, don't you?

More than is usual for a stepaunt.

That, Inspector Titmarsh, is none of your business.

And I resent your implication.

I knew nothing of Mrs Collard and my father...

until after he was dead.

How did he die, Mr Vandervent?

Some have said it could be poison.

What do you think?

Mr and Mrs Robert Dangerfield.

I don't believe it! Brazen!

My, my, Charlotte.

You look like the cat that's scoffed the cream.

Congratulations.

I suppose your mutual ardour was so overwhelming

you just couldn't wait.

Why such interest in the grass of the croquet lawn, Sergeant?

The molehills, sir. Were they poisoning the moles?

If they did, there'd be plenty of poison around if anybody needed it.

And was there poison on the lawn?

No, sir. He flattened them out. With a spade.

Such a good, conscientious boy, Sergeant.

Rather like yourself, though not Welsh.

I never fancied my father's women, did I, sir?

Did you not? I thought such diversions were common in Wales.

To our muttons.

No poison in the croquet lawn means no poison in the potting shed.

But poison there may well be in all this.

Four pounds shillings, sir. £4.15.... £5.

£10, Mr Dangerfield. £10. I told you the old mare would come good.

She's certainly in high season now! Champagne!

Ah, now, there.

Will that keep the governor happy? Gentlemen, a toast.

Here's to an old maid with money,

and an old widow woman in her coffin.

Here's to marriage and death!

ALL: Marriage and death!

Get on with it!

I'm engaged in perusing a list of our indigenous apothecaries.

Ah! If I were you, Sergeant Davis,

I'd pop over and see that slimy old stoat, Morley.

He's likely to be the first port of call

for any potential purchaser of poison in this parish.

Yes, sir (!)

Please may I see the record of the poisons you've sold recently?

It's no business of yours what people have bought in that line.

As a member of the public, I have a right... Oh, no, you don't.

Right. What's it going to cost? Money?

Ah, well... Let me see.

Ahem.

Sergeant Davis.

Detective Sergeant to you, Morley.

Poisons book. Popular today, innit?

What do you want with it, Sergeant? Bravo, chum, you tell 'im!

Don't mess me about, boy.

Everything duly accounted for, down to the last drop of laudanum

to go in the tea down at the station to stop you lot gettin' horny.

You remember who purchased this item?

Ah, yes. It was a lady.

And I mean lady, not the sort I get in here often.

Fairly tall, discreet two-piece costume,

very distinctive grey suede boots.

Voice low, quiet. What I call cultivated, not like you local lot.

Fair hair, black veil, similar to what's worn by the young princesses.

And the face beneath it?

Ah.

Arsenic. Three ounces for domestic use.

A week or so, you recall, before the death of your father.

Signed, Isabel Collard.

Beatrice, what on earth do you think you're doing?

Why are you not in mourning?

Go upstairs and change immediately!

For a minute, I thought I heard a voice from the grave.

Bossing, bullying, spoiling any fun I might manage to have.

Control yourself. My dear, if you go on like this, everyone will think...

What? That you hated Roger so much you murdered him.

What?!

Yes, the police might,

if you defy convention so soon after the death of your husband.

And your mother.

You defied convention by marrying so soon after the death of your mother.

No-one can say we flouted it with extraordinary ceremony.

Rather extraordinary circumstances, though. Murder, then matrimony.

It has yet to be ascertained that Roger was murdered by anybody.

Or Harriet, for that matter.

Who would have wished to murder Mother?

Well, she stood in the way of all of us like a huge, black spider.

Mother's death may slow up your escape from this house, my dear,

but during her life, you'd never have been allowed as far as Clacton.

Mother's death offers something for everyone.

Sergeant, if you were planning to poison someone,

would you really sign your own name for the poison?

Very likely, sir. Pretend it was all above board.

For domestic use, as Morley's book said.

A concealed irony, don't we think?

"For domestic use", meaning for use in the home.

For ridding it of bipedal pests.

That's a little over-ingenious, sir.

Not many murderers busy buying poison

would bother to make ironic jokes about their intentions,

which they are trying to disguise.

Cobblers, Sergeant.

The greatest murderers in life and literature

are full of little jokes about their crimes.

Richard III.

Hamlet.

So, Mr Vandervent, where are we now, eh?

Humour me, sir, will you,

and confirm certain propositions I shall put unto you.

One, Morley's evidence strongly suggests

it was Isabel Collard what purchased arsenic off of him a few weeks ago,

as noted in the poisons book. Yes or no, Mr Vandervent?

You heard Morley.

We also observe, although only in the margin for the present,

that she may have been nervous

lest the old woman, Harriet Collard,

should get whiff of her naughty secret,

the aforesaid Harriet having a long, pointed nose

the patience of a truffling pig,

and all the leisure in the world

to get whiff of the most succulent and poisonous of truffles

ie semi-incestuous ooh-la-la among her friends and relations.

Yes or no, Mr Vandervent? Yes. But now you answer me this.

Have you the smallest piece of actual or tangible proof

that my father or my stepgrandmother was poisoned,

whether it be by arsenic or any other means

from Morley's dispensary,

or a witch doctor in Timbuktu? Yes or no, Inspector?

No, Mr Vandervent.

So what we do is this.

Me and the sergeant here, we fettle our fine shanks

and take a cab at the expense of the Force,

and crave audience of the Stipendiary,

who'll issue us with two chitties.

One, a search warrant for the villa, the other, an Order of Exhumation.

Then, Mr Vandervent, open says-a-me. A-ha!

Open sesame, you get it? I'm wasted here, Sergeant.

Are you sure, sir?

No-one shall point to me as an unjust steward.

No stone unturned. Do your duty, Constable.

READS: "And do further bequeath to my loyal servant and butler,

"Charles Jenkins, the sum of 15 guineas.

"And to my dutiful stepnephew, Paul Vandervent, 500 gold sovereigns.

"As for my shares in the firm of Collard and Vandervent,

"I divide these equally between my children,

"George, Charlotte, and Beatrice,

"to be possessed of them by and for themselves,

"and in no way to be considered the joint property of their spouses,

"if any.

"And finally, I leave my house and its adjacent land

"divided equally among my three children,

"George,

"Beatrice

"and Charlotte.

"My nephew, Bertram Williams,

"shall be allowed to reside in it for the rest of his natural life."

Is that it, Mr Humperdinck?

Yes.

Good.

Well, there we are, my dearest Robert.

Oh, yes. An eternity of that sanctimonious Bertie Williams

bleating away like a death's head!

Don't make frivolous complaints. We shall have a free roof

over our heads, a free floor under our feet.

Apart, of course, from the rates,

some of which we can equitably claim from Bertram.

On his salary? You'd have more chance of screwing cash

out of a dead Parsee!

You should be delighted, Paul.

I have no interest in this blood money.

Oh, hark at him! 500 gold sovs for a glorified office boy!

I might have expected ten times as much.

But then, I'm only a grown, experienced man.

I'm only a mature, married man,

who has to run begging to his wife for every penny!

I seem to remember she was very generous with you

in the days after our wedding.

Pocket money! I'm talking about serious capital sums!

I had, of course, hoped for a little something. Hadn't we all?

But, having inherited a share of this venerable house...

I inherited the share.

..I feel a far closer member of this family.

Yes? Madam, are you Isabel Collard?

You know very well that I am.

Then, Isabel Collard, I have a warrant for your arrest

on the grounds that you did unlawfully

and maliciously administer poison

to one Roger Vandervent, with intent to cause his death.

One moment, please! Let her go!

This is wrong! Proceed, Constables.

The accusations are false. You must believe me! I'm innocent!

I swear it on my life!

Paul, you must believe me! I'm innocent!

Jenkins...

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