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The case to the crown, members of the jury,

is that the prisoner, Harriet Vane,

murdered her former lover, Philip Boyes, with arsenic.

He undoubtedly did take arsenic,

and if you are satisfied that he died of it,

and she administered it with that intent,

then it is your duty to find her guilty of murder.

Paper! Paper!

Miss Harriet Vane to face retrial!

Date fixed for new hearing!

Oh, do talk whilst I work.

I'm afraid Imogen

can only sit for me in the evening.

She's a civil servant, you see.

A civil servant by day and a Circe by night.

Circe, the enchantress.

Peter wants to know about Harriet Vane

and Philip Boyes.

Why does he? Imogen!

Hold your head up.

Because he's trying to help.

Harriet is a very sweet and vulnerable creature,

and what she saw in that self-centred individual,

none of us could understand.

After his death, did you see much of her?

By then she'd moved out and gone to doughty street,

but she used to pop back and see us.

How was she?

After he died?

Well, she was upset, of course.

In my opinion, she was thankful to be rid of him.

And no wonder... selfish brute.

He made use of her,

nagged her to death for a year, and finally insulted her.

Dearest...

she was glad, Syl. What's the use of denying it?

Yes, perhaps.

It was a relief to know it was all finished with.

But she'd no idea that he'd been murdered.

If it was murder, which I don't believe.

Sugar? No, thanks.

I thought all men liked to make their coffee into syrup.

But I'm rather unusual... hadn't you noticed?

No, I have not had time to observe you,

but I'll take the coffee as a point in your favour.

Philip Boyes was always determined to be a victim.

It was very irritating of him to succeed in the end.

Poisoned himself out of vanity?

People do do that sort of thing, of course,

but juries are much more inclined

to believe in something more tangible and prosaic.

Like money.

Not that I can find any in this case.

There never was much money.

Except what Harriet made. His books never sold, y'know.

Some people thought him rather good.

Only the odious Ryland Vaughan.

Eiluned is awfully severe about men.

You know Vaughan's going round

saying Harriet killed Philip Boyes

because she was jealous of his genius,

and could only write tripe herself.

D'you hear, Sylvia?

You're altogether too nice about everybody.

The truth is, Philip Boyes resented her success.

He reckoned she ought to be ministering to his work...

not making money for them both

with her own independent trash.

But that's men all over.

You don't have much opinion of us, do you?

Hmph! Have a biscuit.

No, thanks. Not really a sweet tooth.

The thing is,

the retrial comes up in just less than 30 days.

Oh, the poor thing.

And one can't depend on the jury disagreeing for a second time.

Well, what's to be done?

Well, I'm trying to find out as much as I can

about Harriet's recent life.

I, um, I do have one line of enquiry

that might prove fruitful.

But if it doesn't come to anything,

I'm afraid I'm rather up against it.

Flaxman 9424.

Yes, he's here. I'll tell him.

It's for you, Lord Peter. It's your manservant.

You're wanted at Scotland Yard!

Thank you so much.

I must fly.

Come in.

Charles! What have you found?

Look, Peter, I don't want you to become too optimistic.

You get bunter to track me halfway across London,

you must have found something.

Philip Boyes. The missing ten minutes.

We found the pub, and it seems that

there was a man there who fits a description...

a man who answers to the description of Boyes?

And what's more, feeling ill

and producing a packet of white powder.

The arsenic? Could have been arsenic.

Wonderful! Excellent news!

I knew you'd react like this.

But why not?

Because I am convinced that this suicide theory

you have about Boyes is rubbish.

Rubbish?

Your vision's clouded because of her... Harriet Vane!

Peter, can you tell me in all honesty

that you're not allowing your judgement

to be affected by your emotions?

Yes. I can.

Peter.

Good evening, sir.

Lord Peter Wimsey, please.

My card.

I'm afraid his lordship is out at the moment,

but if you would care to wait?

I would.

His lordship will not be long.

May I offer you a glass of sherry, sir?

All right.

We had investigated this pub, of course.

But as luck would have it, the barmaid who served him

was away on her honeymoon when we made the enquiry,

so the connection with Boyes was never made.

Was she the only one there?

And the publican.

What about him?

He was also away...

on the honeymoon.

Oh, no, sir. This is on me.

Oh... not another word.

It's my pleasure.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, I remember.

The gentleman comes in...

almost falls in, you could say...

and calls out, "give me a double Brandy, quick!"

I didn't like to serve him all at once,

I mean, he looked so white and queer.

I thought he'd had one or two over the eight.

And the boss... my hubby now...

he's most particular about serving drunks.

Still... he spoke all right, y'know, quite clear,

not repeating himself nor nothing.

And his eyes, well,

although they did look a bit funny,

they weren't fixed, if you understand me.

Well, here's to you two gentlemen.

I could see that he weren't drunk.

So I mixed him a double Brandy

with a splash of soda... just like yerself, sir.

Down it goes, and, "that's better," he says.

And then, Mrs. Bullfinch?

And then, well,

he... he slumps down in that seat over there, sir.

Look, I'll show you. Just here...

Like this... "ohhh..."

Then after a while,

he asked me for a glass of water!

Water?

Water.

"Oh, sorry if I frightened you," he said,

"but I've just had a bad shock,

and any shock or worry always affects my stomach."

"However," he says,

perhaps this will stop it."

And he takes out a white paper packet

with some powder in it,

drops it into the water,

stirs it up with his fountain pen,

then he drinks it.

Did it fizz or anything?

No...

Just plain powder.

Took a while to mix up, though, before he drank it.

Then after he drank it,

he said, "that settles it."

"That settles it"... were those his exact words?

Well, "that settles it," or, "that'll settle it"...

something of that sort.

Can't be absolutely exact.

Then he raises his hat...

oh, quite the gentleman...

and off he goes.

Did you see exactly

how much of the powder was put into the glass?

Oh, a good dollop.

He didn't measure it, but most of the packet, I'd say.

About... about a dessert spoonful.

And we do know what you did with the packet,

Mrs. Bullfinch.

Well, Inspector,

I swear I tucked it behind the spirits here,

but, y'know, it was six months ago.

Well, it ain't there now.

There's a Mr. Vaughan waiting to see you.

Thank you, bunter.

Sorry to have kept you, Mr. Vaughan.

How can I help you?

I think it's I who can help you, sir.

Really? I'd be obliged to know how.

Philip Boyes... I was his only real friend.

All the rest only cared to pick his brains.

Yes, parrots...

all the bloody lot of them.

I've read his books.

I found them, uh... Interesting.

Interesting, eh?

Let me tell you,

he was a good deal more than interesting.

He had real talent.

Those damn thieves of publishers

took every blasted coin they could lay their hands on.

Forgive me, but I don't quite see

how this is supposed to help me.

Harriet Vane... don't waste your time.

It was that bitch of a woman that poisoned him.

Mr. Vaughan is leaving.

Thank you for your help.

Thank you, sir.

Damn everything!

Care for more coffee, m'Lord?

The emotions, bunter... a terrible thing.

I believe they are, m'Lord.

You're being flippant, bunter,

and I'm not in a flippant mood.

Just over two weeks to go.

Miss Vane, m'Lord?

Miss Vane.

Exactly so.

Your lordship has been involved in more hopeless cases...

And triumphed.

You're absolutely right.

I've been wallowing,

and the only course is action.

Much better thinking, m'Lord.

Philip Boyes's cousin, Urquhart...

The account of that meal... Such detail.

Bunter...

I want you to play the Don Juan.

Don Juan, m'Lord?

Yes, indeed.

You cut an impressive figure, if I may say so.

You have a bold and roving eye...

off duty...

a ready wit,

and I am persuaded that you have a way with you.

What more could any cook or parlour maid want?

Ah, the ladies in Mr. Urquhart's service.

I want you to deliver this

to Mr. Urquhart at Woburn Square,

and, in the short space of time at your disposal,

to insinuate yourself

into the bosom

of Mr. Urquhart's household...

And pump the ladies about the said Urquhart.

I shall endeavour to insinuate myself

to your lordship's satisfaction.

I've seen poor Mr. Boyes...

When they sent for me to bring up the hot bottles.

Three, they had...

one to his feet, one to his back,

a big rubber one to his stomach.

Horrible white, he was.

Green he looked to me, cook.

Well, let's say greenish-yellow.

I thought it was the jaundice a-comin' on.

More like them attacks he had in the spring.

And you never saw such cramps!

A regular feature of these arsenical cases.

Very distressing symptoms.

Had he, uh, ever had anything of the sort before?

Not what you'd call cramps.

When he was ill... in the spring...

he complained of fidgets in his hands and feet.

Something like pins and needles, he said.

Dreadful, wicked woman, this Harriet Vane must be.

Now, do have a crumpet, Mr. Bunter.

Butter's melted nicely through.

And you'll have a little drop more

against the damp, I'm sure.

After you, ladies.

Now, a bashin' on the head

or the hasty use of a carvin' knife

when roused, I can understand.

But the horrors of slow poisoning

is... is the work of a fiend!

Fiend is the only word, Mrs. Pettican.

When Mr. Urquhart told us about

the digging up of Mr. Boyes,

and finding him full of nasty arsenic,

it gave me such a turn. And in our house!

But of course you had no difficulty

in proving that the noxious substance

had not been given to him in this house?

Well, Mr. Urquhart put me through it so carefully,

about the questions I'd be asked.

Yes. The very next morning after Mr. Boyes was took ill,

the master came down to us, and he says...

sittin' in that chair, ever so friendly...

just as you would be yourself, Mr. Bunter.

"I'm afraid Mr. Boyes is very ill," he says,

"so I want you and cook to run through everything

"we had for dinner last night."

To see if we can think what it could have been.

"I don't see that Mr. Boyes could have had

"anything unwholesome here," I says,

"cook and me had just the same, "and all as sweet's could be."

Except for the omelette, of course.

They finished that off between them.

And I remember asking cook

if they were the last four eggs in the 'ouse,

'cos one was cracked.

Very farseeing of Mr. Urquhart to take such precautions...

When there was no thought at the time

but that the poor man had died natural.

Many's the case his lordship's seen

when an innocent man was brought near to the gallows

for lack of such precautions.

And when I think of how near Mr. Urquhart was

to being away from home at the time...

Well, it fair gave me palpitations.

Called away, he was, to that tiresome old woman,

what's always a-dying... never dies.

He's there now.

Mrs. Wrayburn, up in Windle.

Rich as sneezes she is, by all accounts.

Or so they say.

And a wicked old woman she was, too, in her day.

Her other relations

wouldn't have nothin' to do with her...

only Mr. Urquhart.

And I don't suppose he wouldn't, neither.

Only he's her solicitor, and it's his duty so to do.

Duty does not always lie in pleasant places,

as you and I well know, Mrs. Pettican.

I pass no comments.

But you and me, Mr. Bunter, know how the world goes.

I suppose Mr. Urquhart stands to gain something

when the old woman does peg out.

That's as may be.

Stands to reason, don't it?

I mean, he wouldn't be always givin' up his time

and tearin' up to Westmorland for nothing.

And the deceased, Mr. Boyes...

did he know all about the old girl?

Oh, yes. It's all in the family, you see.

No doubt Mr. Urquhart would have told him

more than he'd say to us.

So that's Cremorna Garden.

Now the very ancient Mrs. Wrayburn.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

Where on earth did you dig it up?

There's a small establishment off St. Martin's Lane

dealing with ephemera and that sort of thing.

They've got boxes and boxes of matinee idols,

theatrical luminaries...

Lilly Langtry, the divine Sarah,

la belle otero...

I was rather fortunate to find Cremorna Garden.

You really are a marvel, bunter.

I was curious about the lady, m'Lord,

because of her connection

with Mr. Urquhart and the deceased, Mr. Boyes.

According to Mrs. Pettican, she's a very wealthy lady.

And as you've so often said, m'Lord,

where there's money, there's a motive for crime.

You obviously insinuated yourself rather well

into the Urquhart household.

Apparently, Queen Victoria

would never allow Cremorna Garden

to perform before the royal family

because she knew too much about her,

as Mrs. Pettican phrased it, "goings on."

Ah.

Yes, m'Lord,

there are families that hold their heads high

that wouldn't have existed

but for some king or other dignitary

taking his amusement on

the, uh, wrong side of the blanket.

I say, bunter...

are you casting doubt on my lineage?

Would I presume, m'Lord?

But all jesting apart,

I think your visit to Mr. Urquhart

might prove profitable.

I hope you're right.

My dear Lord Peter,

I'm only too delighted to help you in any way I can.

Naturally, I was rather taken aback

by the result of the autopsy.

And, I must admit, rather relieved to find

that no suspicions were likely to be thrown on me.

But you seem to have taken the most admirable precautions

at the time.

I suppose we lawyers

get into a habit of taking precautions.

Not that I had any idea of poison.

Naturally, one doesn't jump to the idea

that people are being murdered all the time.

Though I daresay it happens more often

than we are apt to suppose.

It probably does,

and if I ever handled criminal cases,

the suspicion might have occurred,

but my work is almost entirely

conveyancing and probate

and divorce and so forth.

Oh, do forgive me,

this is a silly little weakness of mine.

Turkish delight. Would you care for...

Not really a sweet tooth.

Talking of probate,

did Philip Boyes have any, um, financial expectations?

None that I know of,

and certainly not from his father,

who was by no means well off.

I have an idea there was a rich aunt somewhere?

Oh, no.

Unless you're talking about Cremorna Garden,

a great-aunt of his on his mother's side.

But she hadn't had anything to do with him

in a great many years.

Isn't that uh, Mrs. Wrayburn of Windle?

Yes.

I was up there yesterday, as a matter of fact.

She's over 90, poor soul.

It's quite amazing the amount of vitality

in some of these ancient ladies.

Now I suppose you're her only living relative?

Yes, I'm also her man of business, too,

so it's just as well that I should be on the spot

if anything should happen. Naturally.

And being her man of business,

you'll know how she's left her money.

I don't see what that has to do with the present problem.

No? Well, Philip Boyes might have got himself

into some sort of a financial mess-up,

and taken the easy way out.

Oh. You're making out a case for suicide.

But, of course, we could forget that idea

if he'd had financial expectations

from an elderly relative. You follow?

Hmm, indeed I do.

No, no, she left nothing to Philip,

and, as far as I know,

he hadn't the smallest reason to believe that she had.

In fact, he asked me if there was any possibility.

He asked?

Indeed he did,

and I felt obliged to tell him.

How long ago would this be?

Oh, 18 months ago.

And now that Mrs. Wrayburn is, shall we say, childish...

childish, certainly.

He obviously wouldn't expect that she would

ever change her will.

Look, Lord Peter,

I know that this is unethical,

but as we've gone so far, I think it...

well, it... it would simplify things enormously

if I were to show you the old lady's will.

It was made ten years ago,

but I do keep a copy on file, if you would excuse me.

Ah, Miss Murchison,

would you please get me the deed box

labelled "wrayburn."

Mr. Pond will show it to you.

This is most obliging.

I know I'm being the most awful...

it is most irregular, of course,

but I always feel that too much discretion

can be as bad as too little, and I would like you to see why

I was forced to take up an uncompromising attitude

towards my cousin.

Miss Murchison.

Thank you, Miss Murchison.

Oh, I'm sorry, no, I...

It's in my safe at home.

I took it out for reference a few weeks ago

and I completely forgot to bring it back.

Perhaps if I were to call at your house tomorrow

I could see it then?

Well, by all means.

In fact, join me for breakfast,

I would be so glad of the company.

Oh, it's Lord Peter Wimsey!

The master said to expect him for breakfast.

Can I get you anything, sir?

No, thanks, I've had my morning nosebag.

There's a copy of the will, Lord Peter.

Do cast an eye over it while I finish my breakfast.

Very good of you.

I'm only too pleased to help you all I can

in this most unpleasant business.

I note that you are the sole beneficiary.

Yes, and you will see why when you read on.

"And I make this disposition of my property

"in token of gratitude for the consideration

"shown to me by my said great-nephew

"Norman Urquhart and his father,

"the late Charles Urquhart. Throughout their lives,

"and to ensure that no part of the property

"shall come into the hands of my great-nephew, Philip Boyes,

or his descendants."

That's pretty forthright.

I'm afraid it is.

The old lady just refused to listen to reason.

"And to this end,

"and to Mark my sense of the inhuman treatment

"meted out to me by the family of the said Philip Boyes,

"I enjoin upon the said Norman Urquhart as my dying wish

"that he neither gives, lends, nor conveys

"to the said Philip Boyes

"any part of income derived from the said property

"enjoyed by him, the said Norman Urquhart,

"during his lifetime,

"nor employs the same to assist the said Philip Boyes

in any manner whatsoever."

That's pretty clear, and pretty vindictive.

I can remember that she looked at it pretty sharply

to see that I got the wording fierce enough

before she put her name to it.

Must have depressed Philip Boyes no end.

I understood you to say

that you had indicated the contents.

Oh, I did.

And he was most despondent.

Thank you.

I'm glad I've seen that,

it makes the suicide theory more probable.

Well, if I can assist you in any way further,

you only have to ask.

I'm most obliged.

May I?

Ah.

Thank you.

Two weeks...

fourteen days!

You have a visitor.

Can't help being a gentleman, can you?

Afraid not.

Drilled into one when too young to resist.

How are you?

The guv'nor's allow me the use of a typewriter,

so I'm going ahead with that story we talked about.

That's good.

Isn't it?

Keeps the mind off things.

Hardly, if you remember the plot.

But yes, it does help... concentrating.

I want you to know that I haven't been idle,

and that certain interesting things

have come to light that point to suicide.

I've been to see Boyes's cousin, Urquhart.

He's quite a smooth character, you know.

He's been cooperative.

Peter, let's not talk about it.

No?

No.

Are you still going to marry me?

Of course.

Why? What's so fascinating about me, Peter?

Well...

is there a dark side to you,

something about a murderess that draws you, excites you?

It can't be that, can it?

Because I know you're not a murderess.

What is it, then?

You are bearing in mind, aren't you,

that I've had a lover?

Oh, yes. So have I.

Several, in fact.

It's the sort of thing that could happen to anyone.

I can produce quite good testimonials.

I'm told I make love rather nicely.

Though I am at a bit of a disadvantage at the moment.

One can't be too convincing at the other end of a table

with a bloke looking through the window.

I'll take your word for it.

Of course, I won't always be at this disadvantage.

But I might be at an even greater one.

Don't be do damned discouraging.

Anybody would think you had no confidence in me.

Peter, people have been wrongly condemned before now.

Only because I wasn't there.

Oh, I never thought of that.

Have you dealt with the Mortimer letter yet,

Miss Murchison?

Almost finished, Mr. Pond.

Must see that it catches the last post... most important.

Yes, Mr. Pond.

I'm off now, Mr. Pond.

One moment, Mr. Urquhart.

Miss Murchison,

do you have that letter for Mr. Urquhart to sign?

Yes, of course.

Oh, yes, good.

Remind me to deal with the carpenter file

first thing in the morning.

I have made a note of it, Mr. Urquhart.

Good night, Mr. Urquhart.

Good night.

Good night, Mr. Urquhart.

"Mr. Urquhart seems pleasant enough.

"A point of interest

"may be to investigate his financial activities.

"Find out if Mr. Urquhart had had any dealings

with the Megatherium trust before their big crash..."

Get Mr. Arbuthnot on the phone for me.

"As you know,

"I've done a good bit in stockbrokers' offices

"one way and another,

"and there was a particular call for him

"which I wasn't meant to hear.

"It wouldn't have told the ordinary person much,

"but it did me,

"because I knew something

about the man at the other end."

Miss Murchison, you are a brick!

Morning, Mr. Freddy. Lord Peter for you.

Thanks.

Freddy.

Are we seeing you down at Duke's Denver

at the weekend?

Good.

Could you get your city chums

to do a bit of financial sleuthing for me?

Share dealings in the Megatherium trust

by a Norman Urquhart.

Yes. See you Saturday.

That's very interesting...

Very interesting, indeed.

Wait for me, you!

What did you throw that man in the pond for?

He said he's like to play croquet under water!

Ha ha ha ha!

You really are an oick, Nigel!

Come on, peg legs!

I can't! Ha ha! I've lost my slipper!

It's probably in the Lily pond!

And I've no glass.

You'll just have to

drink out of Mandy's glass slipper!

Vintage Krug out of Mandy's slipper? Bleeahh!

Oh, kipper, your slipper, I'll drink from your slipper!

Mandy, you must come quickly!

Tony's asked Tessa to tango!

Oh, lucky thing!

You'll never be the same again.

Not till you've tangoed with Tony!

Tango your fandango,

I'll dance with your tango.

No... your wango!

Tony's asked Tess to tango!

Tony's got two left feet!

And Tess's got two right ones! Ha ha ha!

Yes, I've really been sleuthing like stink

on the tracks of your man.

Anything transpired, as the journalists say?

Ummm... I'm afraid Urquhart's been very careful, though.

Bound to be... respectable family lawyer

and all that.

But...

ah.

I saw a man yesterday who knows a fellow

who had it from a chappie that said Urquhart

had been jumping a bit recklessly

off the deep end.

Are you sure of this, Freddy?

Well, not absolutely sure.

But this man, you see,

owes me one, so to speak.

Having warned him off the Megatherium

before the band began to play.

And he thinks if he can get hold

of this chappie he knows...

not the fellow that told him, but the other one...

that he might be able to get something out of it.

Especially if I could put this other chappie

in the way of something or other.

Slight miscue.

And no doubt, Freddy,

you have secrets to sell.

Yes, I could make it worth this other chappie's while.

Because I've an idea...

through this other fellow that my bloke knows...

that the chappie's rather up against it.

I'd no idea you spoke Swahili...

So well, old chap.

Lucky one, old bean.

That was...

You really do play with great feeling.

Sounds better on the harpsichord, actually.

But I haven't quite got room for one here.

By the way,

did you make the enquiry about the typewriter?

Yes. It was bought new three years ago.

Only three years...

ah, that's good.

By the way, you were probably quite right

about Urquhart's connection with the Megatherium trust.

You are highly commended, Miss Murchison.

Oh, thank you!

Now, here's the letter you sent me.

You noticed, of course,

the capital "A" is out of alignment

and the "p" chipped. Yes.

Well, Urquhart showed me what he claimed

was the carbon copy of a will made ten years ago

by Mrs. Wrayburn, typed on the jolly same machine.

But that's impossible.

Now, I didn't ask to see it.

He volunteered it.

I go to see him on Tuesday,

he pretends to look for

the copy of Mrs. Wrayburn's will,

remembers he's got it at home, I go and see him the next day,

and he shows it to me.

But typed specially overnight to deceive you!

Very, very possibly.

Conclusion...

if there is a will,

it's obviously not along the lines

of the one he showed me.

Yes, it does rather look like that.

So what I want of you, Miss Murchison...

Actually, I'm going to ask you

to do something unlawful.

Well, what am I to do?

Steal the deed box?!

Ah! What a truly splendid creature you are,

Miss Murchison.

I want you to open the box, look for the original will,

and commit anything important in it to memory.

I particularly want to know

if anything was left to Philip Boyes.

But all the deed boxes are kept locked!

And only Mr. Urquhart has the keys!

Yes, I've thought of that.

I don't suppose you have the faintest idea

how to pick a lock, Miss Murchison?

I'm afraid not.

No idea whatsoever.

I sometimes wonder what we went to school for.

♪ Sweeping through the gates of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ wash'd in the blood of the lamb ♪

♪ sweeping through the gates of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ wash'd in the blood of the lamb ♪

♪ these, these are they who, in conflict dire ♪

♪ boldly have stood amid the hottest fire ♪

♪ Jesus now says, "come up higher" ♪

♪ wash'd in the blood of the lamb ♪

♪ sweeping through the gates of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ wash'd in the blood of the lamb ♪

♪ sweeping through the gates of the new Jerusalem ♪

♪ wash'd in the blood of the lamb ♪

Bless you, brethren, one and all,

for attending 'ere,

and blessed be

our dear brother and sister in the Lord

as is come from the haunts of the richness

and the riotous living of the west end

to join us in singing the songs of Zion.

Hallelujah!

We all know that many shall come

from the east and from the west

and sit at the Lord's feast.

Therefore, let no one say

that because this man wears a shiny eyeglass

and this woman a diamond necklace,

that therefore

they shall not wear a white gown and a gold crown

in the new Jerusalem.

We all of us are sheep that have gone astray,

and well may I say so,

as I was a dark and wicked sinner myself

until this here gentleman laid his hand on me

as I was a-bustin' of his safe,

and became god's instrument in turnin' me away from the path

that leads to destruction.

Right, brethren.

Till Monday next,

may the Lord keep us all safe till we meet again.

Hallelujah!

The Lord be praised!

♪ Hallelujah! ♪

'Night. See ya.

Well, thank goodness that's over.

All the preachin' and the singin'!

Ha ha ha ha!

And when you've done your business with bill...

Oh, your lordship, it's been a long time

since you've done us the honor.

Now, you will stay and join us in a bite,

won't ya?

A bit later? And the lady?

It's trotters!

Oh, well, that's very kind of you, Mrs...

you just call me Bella.

And trotters want a bit of beating, Bella.

We accept with pleasure, Miss Murchison?

If you're sure it's not putting you out.

No, no! Not at all.

Eight beautiful trotters they is,

and with a bite of cheese they'll go round easy.

Handsome, Bella, handsome!

Well!

Bless you, Lord Peter, bless you.

Sorry you missed the sermon.

Well, here we are again.

And as usual, I'm happy to do you a service,

knowing that it is the Lord's work.

Glory be!

It is a simple matter this time.

Then I'll leave you to the business.

And they're stayin' for supper.

Ah, good. Yes!

You do that, Bella, you do that, my dear.

Now, then, a chair for the young lady.

There we are, miss, there we are.

And for your lordship.

Thank you.

Well, now,

to this little matter, then, your lordship.

This young lady is inexperienced in locks.

I've brought her along for a bit of coaching.

Oh.

You see, Miss Murchison,

now that Billy here has seen the light,

he is the most excellent and honest locksmith.

Bless him that giveth the victory!

So when, as now, I need a little expert help...

in a righteous cause... bill obliges.

And what happiness it is, miss, to direct my talents,

which I so wickedly abused, to the service of the Lord.

Bless him for his manifold graces

that turneth good out of evil.

Yes, I'm sure.

And I'm sure we have an apt pupil here.

It is the question of a solicitor's deed box.

Deed box? That's nothing!

That is, that ain't nothing to field against a man's skills!

Robbin' kids' money boxes,

that's what them trumpery little keys are for.

There is not a deed box in all of this here city

wot I couldn't open blindfolded, in boxing gloves,

with a stick of boiled macaroni!

My dear bill, I know that.

But it's the young lady that has to work it.

She can work it, all right.

What kind of lock is it, lady?

Well, it's just an ordinary kind of lock...

I think.

I... I mean, they're just ordinary kinds of keys.

Nothing could be simpler.

Are these pick-locks?

That's wot they are, lady.

Instruments of Satan.

Many a time keys such as these

have led some poor sinner into hell through the back gate.

This time,

they're to let a poor innocent

out of prison and into the sunshine.

If any, in this beastly climate.

Blessed be him for his manifold graces.

And now, lady,

to understand the construction of a lock.

The barrel and the spring.

Of course, when the lock is in place,

you cannot use your eyes.

But you still have your hearing

and the feelings in your fingers

given by Providence... bless his name...

for that purpose.

...the jolly Miss Murchison had cracked open all his locks!

I hope you haven't started her on a career of crime!

Anything is possible, but I think not.

The deed is planned for today,

and we will soon find out whether Urquhart

is Simon pure or Simon shady.

All this effort on your part, Peter...

I really am most grateful.

Always at your service.

I just wish...

What do you just wish?

I wish I weren't so jealous of Philip Boyes.

I oughtn't to be, but I am.

And you always will be.

Oh, no.

If you married me, I shouldn't be jealous.

Because then I should know that you really liked me.

You think you wouldn't be, but you would.

Should I? Oh, surely not!

It's just the same as if I married a widow.

Are all second husbands jealous?

I don't know,

but it isn't quite the same thing, is it?

You'd never really trust me... we should be wretched.

Perhaps it would help if you were jealous of me.

I wish you would be.

And it would prove that you took an interest in me.

Perhaps I should tell you about Barbara.

Who's Barbara?

Oh, a girl.

I owe her rather a lot, really.

You see, when she married the other fellow,

I took up sleuthing as a cure.

She really bowled me over.

I even took a special course in logic for her sake.

Good Lord.

Yes, to have the pleasure of repeating

"Barbara, celarent darii ferio baralipton."

The thing had a romantic, mysterious lilt to it

that was expressive of passion.

Many's the moonlit night I have murmured it

to the nightingales that haunt the garden of St. John's.

Though I'm a Balliol man myself,

but the buildings are adjacent.

If anybody does marry you, Peter,

it will be for the pleasure of hearing you talk piffle.

As a matter of fact,

I used to talk piffle rather well myself.

Harriet...

Dammit!

Oh, bother!

Miss Murchinson,

do you realize that you've left out a whole paragraph

of the first page of this affidavit?

Oh, have I? I'm very sorry!

It's most annoying, as it is the longest

and most important of the three,

and urgently required first thing in the morning.

I can't think how I made such a silly mistake.

I'll stay on and retype it.

I'm afraid you'll have to.

It's most annoying, as I shan't be able to look at it myself.

But there we are, nothing can be done.

Please, check it carefully this time.

And make certain that Hanson's have it this evening.

Yes, Mr. Urquhart. I'll be extremely careful,

and I'll take it by myself.

Very well. Don't let it happen again.

I'm very sorry.

Ohh!

More typing to do this evening, Miss Murchison?

The whole bally thing again!

I left out a paragraph on page one!

It would be page one, of course,

and he wants it round at Hanson's tonight.

Those typing machines make you careless.

Now, in the old days, we clerks worked accurately.

Yes, Mr. Pond.

I know all about the old days,

and I'm very glad I missed them.

We worked accurately and neatly.

Good night, Mr. Urquhart.

Good night.

I expect you will have finished

before the cleaner goes.

If not,

kindly make sure all the doors and windows are closed,

and leave the keys with Mrs. Hodges

in the basement.

Yes, Mr. Pond.

Good night, then.

Good night, Mr. Pond.

Right.

Now, you say there is a will,

but it isn't in the box.

How do you know there is one, then?

There were several documents,

not, I think, of much interest to you, Lord Peter.

But a letter did seem interesting,

and I made a note of it.

It was from Mrs. Wrayburn to Mr. Urquhart,

and dated may 15th, 1920.

In it, she refers to her will which is just made.

The letter doesn't indicate what's in the will?

No, Lord Peter.

But... and this seemed significant...

it mentions a deed of trust she proposed to make

in Mr. Urquhart's favour.

That is significant. Do you have its terms?

Yes.

Mrs. Wrayburn said in her letter,

"so I have determined

"to put my property in trust with you

"for my lifetime,

"so that you may have full power

"to handle everything

"according to your own discretion

without having to consult me every time."

Hmm.

So, although she can leave her estate to somebody else

after her death,

Urquhart has the control of it during her life.

You have done famously, Miss Murchison.

Have another glass of sherry.

Oh, thank you, Lord Peter.

But I must deliver this to Hanson's tonight.

Are you quite sure?

Positively so.

You have been most resourceful, Miss Murchison,

and I am in your debt.

Oh, I'll answer that.

Good night, and thank you.

Thank you, Lord Peter.

Wimsey.

Important news, Peter,

though I don't think you'll find it altogether good.

The publican at the nine rings

has found the packet...

it slipped down behind some pipes.

Yes, we've analysed it.

Traces of bicarbonate of soda.

Yes, puts paid to the suicide theory, I'm afraid.

And that's no help to Harriet Vane.

No...

No help at all.

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