All language subtitles for MrSWr815

He who is tired of London--

Is tired of life.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

He was here. He was dead.

Are you on some sort of medication, Mrs. Fletcher?

They've moved him again.

When J.B. Fletcher says she saw a body,

there was a body.

Who was the one you were talking to in the hotel?

Who is Nigel Atkins?

She’s threatening to go to the newspapers.

Do you authorize the radical solution?

Jessica.

John.

How wonderful to see you.

- Am I late? - Punctual as always.

I just got here myself.

You look absolutely radiant.

I don’t know how you do it on the schedule you keep.

Well, to be truthful,

I finished the meetings with my publisher yesterday

and I decided to stay on a couple of days.

You know, just relaxing, do a bit of shopping.

How are things at the embassy?

Controlled chaos.

The congressional junkets are arriving

like migrating birds,

but snagging Jessica Fletcher for lunch takes priority.

Oh, am I famished.

I’d like to get rid of these.

- Albert. - Yes, Mrs. Fletcher.

Could I leave these with you

while I have lunch in the dining room?

- With great pleasure. - Thank you.

Oh, Nigel.

Mr. Thurston, how are you?

Jessica, this is Nigel Atkins from the Home Office.

Jessica Fletcher, the writer.

How do you do, Mr. Atkins?

J.B. Fletcher, yes, of course. What a pleasure.

Are you enjoying your stay in London, Mrs. Fletcher?

Oh, it’s one of my favorite cities.

Good. Excellent.

Well, um, yes, nice to meet you.

Nice to see you again, Thurston.

I’m delighted to know that you’re staying on

for a few days,

because I have two tickets

for the new Stephen Sondheim musical.

Who did you have to kill?

Did you enjoy your lunch, darling?

I don’t know why you like that place.

The salmon was so dry.

Why didn’t you send it back?

Because you were in a hurry, darling.

Well, I do have to get back to the office.

You’re going home now?

No, I’ve got some shopping to do.

Okay.

Weren’t you just in town for shopping on Tuesday?

Was I?

And last Friday.

I don’t know. Look, I better be off now.

I’m gonna get the four o’clock train.

What time will you be home?

Seven-ish.

Okay. Bye, darling.

Roger still makes the best seafood crepes in London.

You know, if I’m not careful,

I’m going to put on ten pounds while I’m here.

Well, you just have to work it off.

Shopping, Jessica.

Surrounded with temptation.

- "He who is tired of London..." - "Is tired of life."

You know, Samuel Johnson never went to Harrods.

So we have a date Thursday?

Well, the next two tickets

may not come up until next Christmas.

I’ll call you. We’ll firm it up. Goodbye, dear.

Thanks.

There you are, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, thank you so much, Albert.

Oh, and your key.

Oh, yes.

Thank you.

Mr. Atkins?

Yes, this is Mrs. Fletcher in room 414.

Would you please connect me with the police?

But he was here a few minutes ago.

Where?

Well, right here on the couch.

He had some sort of puncture wound on his chest.

The only one who’s been here is the maid, inspector.

Yes. Well, apparently there’s been some mistake, Mrs...?

Fletcher, Jessica Fletcher.

And there is no mistake.

Inspector Stillwell, I checked his pulse.

He was here. He was dead.

His name is Nigel Atkins.

He has a small mustache, a birthmark on his cheek.

And I met him earlier in the lobby.

Oh, you met him in the lobby

and he invited you up to his room?

You want to be careful about gents

you meet in the lobby, ma’am, even in the best hotels.

Oh, for heaven’s sakes, it was nothing like that.

Oh, now look here, inspector,

a man has been murdered in this hotel.

I insist that you take the details and file a report.

Inspector, I’ve told you three times,

Mr. John Thurston of the American embassy

can verify it.

I did not imagine it.

Yes, well, I think that’s all the information

we’ll need, Mrs. Fletcher.

I mean, it seems quite obvious to me

that somebody moved Mr. Atkins away from there

while I was on the telephone calling the police.

I checked every room on the floor, inspector.

Nobody fitting that description, dead or alive.

Well, if you should see this man

again in the lobby, ma’am,

I’d report him to the hotel security people.

Good day.

Hello, operator, could you connect me

with the American embassy please?

Hello, this is Jessica Fletcher calling.

May I speak to Mr. John Thurston?

Oh, he hasn’t come back from lunch.

Well, would you ask him to phone Jessica Fletcher?

Yes, thank you. He has the number.

Thanks.

- Albert. - Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.

Albert, I wondered if you could help.

Anything I could do, Mrs. Fletcher.

This is so embarrassing,

but I was supposed to meet a publishing agent

here at the hotel and, this is so silly,

but I’ve lost the scrap of paper with his name on it.

- And he’s staying here? - Well, yes, that was my understanding.

He is an English gentleman.

He’s about so high.

He has a mustache and a small birthmark on his face.

Oh, yes, yes. That does ring a bell.

Of course, he registered this morning.

Ah, but under what name?

Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue.

As I remember it--It was room 412.

Yes, yes, that’s our man.

Just a moment please. Let me see.

No. No. No. That’s odd.

What?

There’s no registration card for 41--

Oh. I would have sworn.

Well, well, thank you very much. I’ll--

If I see him, I’ll get his name.

I’ll leave a note for you.

Hello, can anybody help me?

Hello there? Is anyone there?

Next time you lose your parcels, madam,

you might try calling Lost and Found.

Look, he was here. I saw him.

Are you on some sort of medication, Mrs. Fletcher?

Certainly not. They’ve moved him again.

Yes, apparently.

Unless of course, he made himself invisible,

in which case--

Oh, now, just a minute.

Now look, here is his driver’s license and his ID

and look, there is his name. Nigel Atkins.

You found this here in the rubbish?

No, I found it in his pocket.

He was dead right here in the elevator.

I’ll take this and see that the owner is notified.

Aren’t you gonna do something about it, inspector?

Mrs. Fletcher, here in England,

it is a criminal offence to make a false police report.

Excuse me, inspector.

Excuse me interrupting, Mrs. Fletcher.

There’s been a rather nasty incident.

Sir, would you mind following me?

Right. Come along.

Stand aside. Move back there please.

Move aside there.

We seen him jump, guv, from way up there.

Oh, that’s him.

That’s him, inspector. That’s Nigel Atkins.

I mean, the whole thing is so bizarre, John.

And they seem to think that I’m some sort of adult airhead.

I will straighten out this Inspector Stillwell right away.

When J.B. Fletcher says she saw a body...

- there was a body. - Excuse me.

Inspector Stillwell will see you now.

Who exactly was your friend, Nigel Atkins?

I really didn’t know Atkins that well.

Bumped into him a few times at government receptions.

Well, at least you can verify

that he was at the hotel and back me up.

Just let me handle this.

Ah, Mrs. Fletcher. Sorry to keep you waiting.

Inspector Stillwell, this is John Thurston

from the American embassy.

The Vice Consul.

How do you do, Mr. Thurston?

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Won’t you come in, sit down?

Would you like something? A cup of tea?

Oh, no, no, thank you.

Inspector, in case there’s any doubt in your mind,

Mrs. Fletcher is a highly respected mystery writer...

- in the United States. - So I’m told.

She teaches criminology and enjoys a high reputation in law enforcement circles.

Now I was there.

I introduced Mrs. Fletcher to Nigel Atkins in the lobby

a little before one, this afternoon.

Yes, of course.

No one is disputing that, Mr. Thurston.

In fact Mr. Atkins told us that himself.

I beg your pardon.

We contacted Mr. Atkins about the wallet you found

and he came in and picked it up.

When?

About an hour ago.

He identified himself with his passport.

As a matter of fact, he was extremely grateful to you for finding his wallet.

Apparently, he’d lost it in the men’s room

and that would have proved very difficult for him

because he was booked this evening

on a flight to Australia.

But that’s impossible. He’s dead.

His body was thrown out of the hotel.

You saw it yourself, inspector.

Oh, that man. Yes, we’ve identified him.

He was a Mr. Brown from Birmingham,

and he wasn’t thrown.

He jumped.

Look, now just a minute, inspector.

We have two witnesses that saw the poor devil

jump from the seven-story apartment,

obviously a suicide.

The Birmingham authorities tell us

that he’d recently lost his wife.

He’s got no other family.

So apparently he just became despondent.

But that can’t be true.

That was the man I met in the hotel

that I found in the hotel room

and then in the elevator.

Nigel Atkins was murdered.

I’m afraid that’s impossible.

Mr. Atkins is very much alive.

Thank you very much for your help, Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Thurston. Now if you don’t mind,

I have got rather a lot of forms to fill in.

Is it possible that it was someone else, Jessica?

John, I know what I saw.

Absolutely.

It’s so frustrating they don’t believe me.

Well, I certainly believe you.

Except, the police seemed so sure.

I really don’t know what you can do about it.

John, a man was murdered today

and whether his name is Nigel Atkins

or Mr. Brown from Birmingham,

somebody is going to a great deal of trouble to cover it up.

Now that bothers me.

I’m sure he’s registered here, name of Nigel Atkins.

I have already told you, sir,

we have no Mr. Atkins staying here.

Well, would you check again?

As I said, sir, no Mr. Atkins.

Good afternoon.

Pardon me. I wonder if I could have a word.

Yes, madam, I’d like a word with you too, in private.

I’d suggest some tea in the lounge

but it’s so expensive.

Oh, never mind. I’ll pay.

Fact is, I’m making enquiries

about a gentleman named Nigel Atkins.

Well, before this conversation proceeds,

I’d like to know who you are.

Name’s Archie Potter.

Oh, you’re a private investigator.

Reasonable rates. Total confidentiality, Mrs. Fletcher.

- Oh, you know who I am? - It’s my trade.

I know you’re registered in room 414.

And I was wondering if you’ve noticed

anything going on in room 412.

And who wants to know?

I’m afraid, that must remain

in total confidentiality, Mrs. Fletcher.

Did you see Mr. Atkins leave room 412?

No, no, I didn’t.

Hmm, I think he’s registered here under a false name.

If you should see him again, would you be so kind

as to telephone me on the number on that card?

Well, if I see him again, yes.

Telephone for Mrs. Jessica Fletcher.

Oh, well, thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Fletcher.

You know, there’s no real need to order anything here.

It’s so frightfully expensive.

Hello.

Oh, John, hello.

Yes, I just stopped by the lounge for a few minutes.

I know it’s short notice, Jessica,

but are you free this evening?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Why?

I just got an invitation from a friend of mine

at the Home Office, a little party in Chelsea.

The odd part of it is he asked if I could bring you.

Archie Potter, isn’t it?

What’s an old scumbag like you doing sniffing

around a hotel like that, eh?

Nothing, Mickey.

Nothing?

Do you know what I hate, Archie?

I hate people who aren’t honest with me.

Come with me, you rat.

Sure I’ll take it easy. I just want to have a little chat, don’t I?

Now you’ve been asking around town about a friend of mine, ain’t you?

- Nigel Atkins. - I’m just doing my job, that’s all.

So where is he?

I don’t know.

Think more closely.

Yeah. I can’t find him either, Mickey.

I swear.

He was registered in that hotel this morning

but he’s gone missing.

Who was the woman you were talking to in the hotel?

Who was the woman you were talking to in the hotel?

I can’t tell you how delighted I was when John told me

he was bringing the celebrated J.B. Fletcher.

Well, I feel very flattered to have been invited.

I had no idea so many people knew that I was in London.

Someone mentioned it to me. Was it you, John?

No, I don’t think so.

Must have been someone else at the embassy.

It’s such a small world, the government.

Speaking of small worlds,

John was telling me that you work for the Home Office.

I met someone who works at the Home Office

just this morning.

A Mr. Nigel Atkins.

Really? Isn’t that a coincidence.

And what do you do at the Home Office, Mr. Fontaine?

I’m a consultant.

Would you excuse me for a moment?

- That’s her. - Who?

That’s the woman who came out of 412.

Mrs. Fletcher, may I present Edward and Penelope Cadwell.

J.B. Fletcher.

- A pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher. - How do you do?

And I don’t think you’ve met John Thurston

from the American embassy.

- Nice to meet you. - How do you do?

I have a feeling that we’ve met before, Mrs. Cadwell.

Have we?

Well, not formally, but I’m sure

I saw you this afternoon in my hotel.

Hotel?

No, you must be mistaken, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, look, there’s Peter and Lorna. Would you excuse us?

Of course. John, would you mind?

I’d like to show Mrs. Fletcher something.

Please.

I have some first editions here, Mrs. Fletcher,

that I thought might interest you.

What interests me more, Mr. Fontaine,

is why you invited me here this evening.

I thought that was obvious. I wanted to meet you.

Nothing is obvious.

Something very strange is going on here

and I intend to find out what it is.

I can’t imagine what you mean.

Did you want to find out

if I’d recognize Penelope Cadwell

or is it something else?

John mentioned that you worked with Mr. Atkins.

Now I remember how I learned you were Thurston’s friend.

Nigel Atkins told me

when I drove him to the airport this afternoon.

Mr. Fontaine, Nigel Atkins is dead.

It’s impossible, Mrs. Fletcher.

I had a drink with him at Heathrow just before

he boarded his flight.

Is that why I’m here, to try to convince me

that I didn’t see what I saw?

Or perhaps the police would be interested

that the couple who witnessed the so-called suicide

at my hotel this afternoon are working for you.

That would be a grave mistake, Mrs. Fletcher.

Nigel Atkins is not dead.

You’ll only embarrass yourself by maintaining otherwise.

Who is it?

Room service.

Look, whoever you are, you have the wrong room.

Please leave.

I’m sorry to burst in on you so late, Mrs. Fletcher,

but I need some information.

Yes. Hello, operator, operator.

I don’t think we need to get through

to the hotel people, do you?

Unless you won’t tell me what I want to know.

I’m looking for the whereabouts of a man called Nigel Atkins.

But why have you come to me?

Well, I bumped into this bloke earlier today, Archie Potter.

I think you know him, right?

And we were chatting away, he said

that you happened to have some information

about what’s become of Nigel Atkins.

Yes. But who are you?

Oh, excuse my manners. Mickey Dawks, businessman.

What kind of business?

Loaning money to people with bad credit ratings.

Like Nigel Atkins.

Yeah.

Now that, as they say, is the problem.

You see, Nigel owes me 10,000 quid.

Now to a lot of people that’s not a lot of money, right?

But to me, in my line of business,

I got to take care of small sums like that.

Now Nigel promised to pay me today without fail.

Now I get very disappointed in people

when they let me down.

- Unless he’s done a bunk. - A bunk?

Yeah, he’s like skipped off, you know, disappeared.

And that would make me very unhappy.

See, what I can’t understand

is that Mr. Potter was sure that you knew where he was.

Who is Nigel Atkins?

Nigel Atkins, he’s got a weakness for slow horses

and fast women.

He’s also got a very bad credit rating at the bank.

Now look, I’ve been really honest with you

about my business, right?

Now why don’t you just tell me where he is?

Well, I hope this isn't going to seriously upset

your business arrangement,

but the police told me

that Mr. Atkins is on his way to Australia.

The police?

You’ve talked to the police?

Oh, several times, yes, today.

Well, I mean, 10,000 quid is not worth going to the police for,

is it, really?

Look, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.

No hard feelings, eh? Ta-ta.

What can I do for you now, Mrs. Fletcher?

You can stop giving me the run around, inspector.

I cannot imagine what would make you think that.

Well, we’ll get to what I think in a minute.

First, let me tell you what I know.

A man named Nigel Atkins is dead.

He was murdered in my hotel.

Mr. Brown, the suicide from Birmingham

was a total invention.

The couple who said they’d seen him jump were lying,

involved in some sort of a conspiracy.

Mr. Atkins was having an affair with somebody else’s wife.

And last night I was threatened by an underworld thug.

Are with you with me so far, inspector?

Mrs. Fletcher, I give you my assurance.

I don’t want assurances.

I want some action from the police.

I mean, so far your interest in this matter

seems to have been in making me look foolish,

which leads me to what I think.

I think that the police, and you personally, are engaged

in an enormous cover up.

Mrs. Fletcher, I’m appalled

that you would suspect such a thing.

I promise you, I’ll personally look

into your allegations most carefully.

Well, I certainly hope so

because if you don’t, I’m going to see

a friend of mine in Fleet Street.

And this little yarn will be on the front page

of every newspaper in London.

Thank you so much for your time.

Hello. Yes, inspector, what seems to be the trouble?

That Fletcher woman was just here.

I trust you didn’t tell her anything.

She's threatening to go to the newspapers.

I believe she’s serious.

I’ll deal with her.

Yes. What is it, Fontaine?

Our Mrs. Fletcher is becoming a problem.

She’s threatening to go public.

We can’t afford to let that happen.

Do you authorize the radical solution?

I’ll get back to you on that.

Oh, up already then, are you?

It looks like I am, don’t it?

Well, there have been complaints, my girl.

Gramophone, playing till all hours!

And a gentleman using

loud and vulgar language here!

I have respectable tenants in these flats

to consider, you know.

Respectable? In this dump?

There’s no hot water after ten o’clock at night

and no proper light on the stair neither.

Well, it’s the three weeks back rent

or you’re out, come Saturday.

And that’s my final word.

- Oh, give it a rest, will ya? - What?

Look, just to keep your mouth shut from running off,

here is your 300 what's due

and here’s another week in advance.

I’m giving you a week’s notice, right.

Well, I never--

I’ve found lodgings more to my liking, in Mayfair.

Thank you very much.

Well, good riddance, I say.

Nothing but trouble, that one.

Stupid old cow.

Oh, Mr. Atkins, he never gets back before six,

sometimes much later, miss--

Yes, well, I thought I might just take a chance.

Can I give him a message?

Oh, what a pity, I hoped I’d catch him.

You see, I sent him this very important letter

and I wanted to be sure that he got it.

Oh, well, maybe it’s in one of them.

Well, if it’s no bother.

You know how it is with post offices.

No, I’m afraid it isn’t here.

Do you work with Nigel then?

Oh, no, no. I barely know him.

I’m from the States.

Oh, I want to visit the States one day.

I want to see the, uh, Las Vegas.

- Well, it certainly is different. - I’ve heard!

You must be on pretty friendly terms with Mr. Atkins.

He’s a nice enough guy.

I just live down the corridor so I feed his cat.

Ah, that’s very thoughtful of you.

That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing.

Do you like it?

I just bought it new today,

new from Selfridges.

Oh, yes. I thought so.

Oh, oh, dear. Oh, well, never mind.

I’m sorry about your letter.

Still it will probably turn up in the post tomorrow, right?

What’s his name?

Wellington.

Welly for short. Poor little blighter.

He’s got to go over to the pound tomorrow.

I’m moving to new digs and they don’t--

They don’t take animals.

What a shame.

Well, thank you, miss...

Collins. Daisy Collins.

Oh, yes, well. Goodbye.

Anytime.

Fancy bumping into you in this part of town, Mrs. Fletcher.

Mr. Fontaine, are you following me?

Oh, keeping in touch is the way I’d rather put it

- or better still I’m here to make amends. - Oh?

I had a word with Inspector Stillwell.

I’m afraid we owe you an apology.

Actually I would prefer an explanation.

Exactly what I had in mind.

If you’d let me give you a lift,

I think we can put your mind at rest.

Well, I’m glad to hear that my conversation

with Inspector Stillwell produced some results.

More than you can imagine, Mrs. Fletcher.

I don’t think this is the way to Scotland Yard.

We’re not going to Scotland Yard.

We’re going for a ride in the country.

Please, stop the car.

I insist, stop the car and let me get out.

Mrs. Fletcher, it would be so much more pleasant if you’d just relax.

The doors lock automatically.

We have such a dreary ride ahead of us.

Where are we going?

I’d really rather not say.

Maybe you’ll think me rude,

but small talk does seem rather pointless.

Shall we listen to some music?

I mean, this is outrageous.

Look, I demand to be allowed to use a telephone.

I’m afraid that’s out of the question.

You know the American embassy is going to hear about this.

Somehow I doubt it.

Will you be so kind?

Oh, come in, Mrs. Fletcher.

Before this charade goes any further,

I really must insist on an explanation.

You have put me and a number of others

to a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Fletcher,

and it is only after we’ve made extensive enquiries about you

that I have decided to tell you

our problems about Nigel Atkins.

He was some sort of agent, a spy, wasn’t he?

I see that your deductive abilities

live up to your reputation.

Our sources in Washington tell us you can be trusted.

Mr. Atkins worked for British intelligence MI5.

Regrettably, he also worked

for the People’s Republic of China.

A double agent.

Oh, we’ve known he was a mole for years.

Actually he’s been very useful feeding information

that we wanted leaked.

As you’re no doubt aware,

negotiations over the crown colony of Hong Kong

are at a very delicate stage.

That is why it is imperative

no one must know that Nigel Atkins is dead.

So you see, if it becomes known that Nigel Atkins is dead--

You wouldn’t be able to pass the information

over to the other side.

Precisely.

But by keeping him alive,

we can play the game for a few more months.

But who killed him?

That’s a very good question.

We’d like to know ourselves.

But surely you must know a great deal

about Mr. Atkins’ movements.

We were watching him,

not closely enough as it turned out.

But we do know that he visited a dead drop

we had staked out the morning he died.

Apparently, he had a rendezvous with a woman,

as it turns out, at your hotel.

Penelope Cadwell.

Unhappily, someone got there first.

I discovered him dead moments before Mrs. Cadwell

and shortly thereafter, you walked in.

Then it was you in the other room.

Yes, I managed to get his body out of the room

and onto the service elevator while you called the police.

But then a hotel employee called the elevator

and your determined investigations

again blocked my plan.

Thanks to you, I was forced to improvise.

So while I was calling the police,

you took him up in the elevator

and then tossed him off the balcony?

Clumsy at best, Fontaine.

It took some nimble footwork but we made it stick

with Scotland Yard until--

Thanks to the fuss you made, Mrs. Fletcher,

it became necessary to draw the police

into our little conspiracy.

And you still don’t know who committed the murder?

He was stabbed through the heart with a slender bladed knife.

Hardly any blood.

There are a number of possibilities, Mrs. Fletcher.

I’d hate to think it was Eddie Cadwell,

the lady’s husband.

He was one of us.

We had rather hoped that you might have seen

something that would be helpful.

I’d like Fontaine to debrief you on all particulars.

Well, I’ll help if I can.

I’d be glad to be of assistance.

Thank you, no.

This is a problem for MI5.

Now Fontaine will drive you back to London.

Mrs. Fletcher,

I trust we can count on your total discretion in this matter.

Of course.

Good.

I suppose, Mrs. Fletcher, we must consider

the possibility that the competition terminated Nigel,

which would mean that they are onto our game.

Well, it may be much more simple than that.

Did you find any money in Mr. Atkins’ possession

when you discovered his body?

Forty-seven pounds.

Did you know that he promised to pay a loan shark

named Mickey Dawks, 10,000 pounds

the morning that he was murdered?

I never laid a finger on Nigel Atkins.

We know about your strong-arm tactics, Dawks.

All right, so maybe I’ve smacked him once or twice

don’t mean to say I killed him, does it?

You told me, Mr. Dawks,

that Nigel Atkins promised to pay you the 10,000 pounds

the morning that he was murdered.

When did he tell you that?

I met up with him the night he went missing.

We were gonna have a drink in this pub

round the corner from his digs.

He was there with some tart. That was half his problem.

He’s always there chasing the birds, right?

At least that part of it rings true.

Yeah, well, anyway he told me he’d just come into a bundle of money

said he’d be able to settle his debt with me the following day.

So I took his word for it.

I mean, up to then, he’d always been a very good customer.

You mentioned a certain dead drop

that he visited that morning.

Could he have been collecting wages from his part-time job?

A distinct possibility.

All right, Dawks, you’re free to go.

Keep yourself available.

We haven’t finished with you yet.

Yeah.

Mr. Fontaine, was Penelope Cadwell’s husband

aware of what was going on between her and Mr. Atkins?

Even I didn’t know until she turned up in his hotel room.

I shouldn’t think Mr. Cadwell had a clue.

She was being followed by a private investigator.

Was he one of your men?

Not that I’m aware of.

Hey!

Bloody hell, don’t you look where you’re going?

Archie Potter, I presume.

Eh?

What do you want with me? Get your hands off.

Archie, you’ve got yourself into some rather serious trouble.

- I’d like to help you. - What sort of trouble?

It’s come to our attention that you were hired

to follow a certain lady to a certain hotel.

Hey, just a minute. Are you a copper?

What do you want?

Your cooperation, Archie. Is that so much to ask?

Now we know, that Edward Cadwell hired you to follow his wife

and we know, that you followed her to a certain hotel room.

Now, you tell me what you know.

I don’t know nothing.

Archie, I was hoping that you’d make this easy for yourself.

All right. All right.

So I followed her to the hotel. She went up.

She went to the room, to see a man I expect. That’s all I know.

I couldn’t bleedin' hang around in the corridor, could I?

Who was the man?

The name I was given was Nigel Atkins,

but I think it was a false name.

Anyway he gave me the slip and I couldn’t find him.

Under the circumstances, that seems plausible.

Have you got any identification please?

Of course, I’m sorry.

Archie, you seem to have gone pale.

Might I recommend a fortnight in sunny Spain,

and if I were you, I’d forget

you ever heard the name Nigel Atkins.

Who’s Nigel Atkins?

That’s a boy.

Bit early, isn’t it?

You startled me, darling.

I didn’t know you were home.

Took the afternoon off.

I have to go back this evening, I’m afraid.

They’re reshuffling the workload.

I’m getting some of Atkins’ stuff.

Really? How is Nigel?

I didn’t see him at Fontaine’s party.

He had to go to Australia on company business.

Short notice.

I think Dawks is our man.

A stiletto through the heart.

Just what you’d expect from his sort.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

I mean, Mr. Atkins promised to pay him.

Besides, if Mr. Dawks had wanted the money,

he simply would have taken it from Nigel Atkins.

I’ve seen him in action.

Well, maybe we’ll get something from this

Archie Potter chap.

Of course.

How could I have forgotten?

When John introduced me to Nigel Atkins,

he was carrying a black attaché case.

Now did you find the attaché case with his body?

No.

But it was in his flat the next day.

The money must have been in the attaché case.

No, I’m sorry, we went through his digs

with a fine-tooth comb the next morning.

There was no case.

Mr. Fontaine, it’s beginning to come together.

I think I know who murdered Nigel Atkins.

Really?

But, of course, what I don’t have is solid proof.

But there may be a way.

If you can persuade

Inspector Stillwell to cooperate.

I’m afraid you’re rather ahead of me here.

Mr. Fontaine, are you aware

that Nigel Atkins owned a cat?

You finish that, sweetheart.

Come on, honey.

In you go. There you go.

There’s a good boy.

There you are, Welly, snug as a bug in a rug.

Don’t know if you’re going to see the week through, though--

What are you doing coming in here like that?

Hello, Daisy.

I checked your other place.

I thought I might find you here.

You got something that belongs to me.

I don’t know what you mean.

How about 10,000 quid?

Get out of here, Mickey.

Now you shouldn’t take things that don’t belong to you.

Did your mother never tell you anything?

You was having a drink with Nigel

at the White Horse.

You overheard him tell me

that he just come into a bundle of money.

So what did you do?

You follow him down to that flash hotel

and then you stuck him, didn’t you?

All right, Mickey,

I stuck him.

And I’ll stick you!

Now you give me back that money or I swear

I’ll have your bleedin' guts for garters.

Just take it easy, love. Take it easy.

Now you could do a lot of damage with a knife like this.

Look, it’s no skin off my nose.

I got what I’ve come for.

Why’d you have to kill him?

Mickey,

that money was gonna get me out of here.

It was gonna set me up in a better flat

a better class of clientele, you know what I mean?

How else was I gonna get that money away from him

without him going to the police?

Yeah, well, take care, lovely.

Well, it’s lucky for me you can’t go to the police, neither.

- All on tape. - Jolly good.

The knife.

I never ratted on nobody in my life.

Well, if you don’t tell anyone, neither will we.

Hey, haven’t you forgotten something?

- Thank you. - Thank you.

I must confess I had my doubts

that your little charade would work.

Well, Mr. Fontaine--

Oh, do call me Julian.

Julian, in my line of work,

character is really the mother of action.

I suspected that Daisy wouldn’t give up the money

without a struggle and I was sure

that Mr. Dawks could handle himself.

And all that based on that attaché case.

Well, that was part of it.

I knew that Daisy had a key to his flat.

I suppose she put the empty case back to throw

anyone off the trail and if you remember,

Mr. Dawks mentioned that Mr. Atkins

when he told him he was coming into some money,

had been drinking with a tart.

Yes, I suppose Daisy does come to mind.

Well, she certainly had lots of cash to pay her rent,

buy new clothes

and then, of course, there was the business

about Mr. Atkins’ cat.

I never did quite get that part.

Daisy told me that she’d have to take the cat to the pound,

which meant she knew that Atkins was dead

and wouldn’t be coming back.

I take your point, especially when we went to so much trouble

to tell everyone that Nigel was alive.

What will happen to her?

Well, nothing for the moment.

Fortunately, there’s no statute of limitations on murder.

So when we don’t need Nigel’s cover anymore,

I’m afraid she’s in for a rude surprise.

More tea, Julian?

Thank you.

- Mrs. Fletcher-- may I call you Jessica? - Oh, please do.

I was wondering if you’ll be free for dinner tonight

by way of a little celebration.

No, I’d love to, Julian,

but I’m going to the new Stephen Sondheim musical.