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Oh, god!

Oh, no!

No, no, no!

If man will begin with certainties,

he shall end in doubts,

but if he will be content to begin with doubts,

he shall end in certainties.

Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live

and is full of misery.

He cometh up and is cut down like a flower.

He fleeth, as it were, a shadow...

The German border, Bunter.

You may put away the cognac and produce the schnaps.

We shall need a clear head

in Berlin in the morning, my Lord.

A trifle censorious, Bunter.

If I have a good night's sleep, I will have a clear head.

Think of it as a medicinal draft,

not something to be enjoyed.

Very good, my Lord. Two fingers.

Three.

Danke.

Guten Abend, meine Herren. Also, Sie sind Deutscher?

Ich und mein Diener sind Engländer.

Dann muss ich ihre Pässe sehen, bitte.

Ah, ein englischer Aristokrat.

Put like that, it sounds like an insult.

In Germany, it is the people who rule.

I see from the paper that there will be elections soon.

Ja. It is likely.

Chancellor Bruning's emergency powers will be short-lived?

Vielleicht.

You are interested in our domestic politics?

If no man is an island, then assuredly no country can be.

Except yours, Lord Wimsey.

You are here on business?

Yes. A spot of sightseeing, too, I suppose.

And you occupy this compartment alone?

I do.

Not everybody's so fortunate

in their travel arrangements.

As I have observed.

This is your manservant?

He is.

Ja. Gut.

Danke.

Enjoy your visit to Germany, Lord Wimsey.

Thank you.

Auf Wiedersehen.

Did I detect a faint whiff

of germanic disapproval, Bunter?

I thought so, my Lord, though whether on account of race

or travel arrangements, I couldn't say.

Both, probably.

An englishman travelling with his valet

and occupying an entire suite

must be somewhat provocative to the puritanical spirit.

And, uh, now for the schnapps.

And pour one for yourself, Bunter.

Thank you, my Lord.

Damn.

Nonsense.

You're doing beautifully.

Light as a feather,

quite in the style of Fred and Adele, I think.

Your Fred, maybe. My Adele, no.

My Lord.

Bunter.

Prosit.

Salud.

Would you mark me

for a melancholy man, Bunter?

I would say that every man

has that in him to be so, my Lord.

That is philosophic and evasive

at the same time.

Full marks for tact.

One does try, my Lord.

Perhaps another schnapps.

It would not be a cure for melancholia.

But it would make it more agreeable.

Always a temporary expedient.

Life is temporary, Bunter.

So is the relief.

Well, well, quite the moralist.

Your bed is made up, my Lord.

Do you ever doubt that we can bring it off?

Affairs of state, my Lord?

I think we are uniquely qualified

to go where the foreign office fear to tread.

Hmm. How about affairs of the heart?

Ah, that is, uh, uncharted sea.

Wracked by storm and tempest.

However, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

We should sometimes take on

that which we do not understand.

Miss Vane, I'm sorry to say

things have taken a turn for the worse here.

I need to talk to you urgently.

You are expecting a lot of me, warden.

I write crime mysteries.

That doesn't make me a criminologist.

You were at this college.

You know some of the tutors,

some of the domestic staff.

You're intelligent and observant,

and, well, you are a woman.

You think it's a woman?

Circumstances seem rather to exclude men

from the inquiry.

Men running about the college at night isn't likely.

I can't agree with you there, warden.

Just look at the state of that book.

Yes, but even so the difficulty remains.

A man here... conspicuous.

He could always disguise himself as a woman.

Yes, and he could easily hide in the grounds

before the main gate was locked at night

and get away again in the morning.

Has to be a possibility.

Yet it doesn't quite have the male touch.

What do you mean by that?

Well, there is a quality of what one might consider

feminine insight to these happenings.

But what woman would want to destroy a book like that?

Oh, unhappily, all we have is questions.

It occurs to me that if I were to be of any use to you

as an investigator, I should need some plausible excuse

for spending time here.

Yes, of course.

Oh, what about Miss Lydgate and her book?

A very plausible excuse.

She's always in need of editorial assistance.

She's writing a book on the metaphysical poets.

It's the long vac, so there isn't much going on.

Um, well...

Yes, I'm afraid there will be.

We have an event fast approaching.

My illustrious predecessor's portrait

is being unveiled in the library

by the chancellor, no less.

I see.

Well...

Maybe I better start asking questions.

Have you got a list of students who are still up?

I anticipated that.

I suppose you're here to look into our little mystery.

Well, no, as a matter of fact.

I'm here to help my former tutor Miss Lydgate with her book.

Oh, yes?

Imagery and symbolism of the metaphysical poets?

Riveting.

I suppose it might be if you're studying boiler-making.

Don't mind brother Haydock, Miss Vane.

She's just naturally bitchy.

I'll take that as a compliment.

Ladies, ladies, as our dear warden says,

"behave yourselves."

But seriously, Miss Vane,

a celebrated mystery writer, well-known companion

of Lord Peter Wimsey... you have to be interested

in our college poltergeist.

Well, yes,

apart from my research, I am.

A poltergeist of rather less spirit

and more substance, if you ask me.

Have you anyone in mind?

If you're looking for suspects,

any member of the senior common room would do.

Why them especially?

Just because they're the sort that would.

Every one a self-selected nutter.

Really, I'd expect a remark like that

from a male junior common room, but from Shrewsbury ladies?

Come off it, Miss Vane. You've met them.

You've got to admit, they're pretty eccentric.

Is the female academic world in Oxford

odder than the male?

She does admit they're odd.

Maybe a bit.

Indeed, a friend said the very same thing only a few days ago.

But being odd doesn't necessarily incriminate anybody.

For all I know, it could be any one of you.

Anyway, I can tell you why I think it's a Don.

None of the letters have any spelling mistakes.

That doesn't follow.

The writer could be using a dictionary.

It could be a scout.

Wouldn't that be a comforting thought to us all?

I don't think it proves anything either way.

The scouts probably spell better than any of us.

Well said, brother Layton.

Tell me something.

Next term, you'll all be third year, won't you?

The light shineth at the end of the tunnel, as they say.

I remember the feeling.

My point is this.

After two years, you're as experienced as anybody

about this college and the people in it,

and you're all perceptive, so come on now.

What could have happened to cause these events?

I don't think there has to be a specific cause.

Why not?

Life isn't capricious. There's always a trigger.

Maybe I don't understand you.

Nobody understands Cattermole.

It just comes from resentment,

something harboured which feeds upon itself.

It isn't anything that needs a specific external mechanism.

Well, yes, the letters and the willful damage

do suggest resentment.

And they're all against women.

And all I can say is, "can they be blamed?"

Will you excuse me?

Oh, dear.

Clearly I said the wrong thing.

No. She was speaking personally.

Someone swiped her young man.

Oh, I see. Is it known who?

We have a femme fatale amongst us, one brother Flaxman,

who specializes in stealing other people's toys.

Cattermole recently lost her favourite toy to her.

Young Farringdon of corpus.

Whereupon cattermole put pen to paper,

for which one cannot blame her, really.

Not a very original story.

But a bit unfortunate when there are so many

poison letters flying round the college.

I understand brother Flaxman tore it up.

Doesn't seem to have had much effect.

Which is a pity.

It's about time somebody got even with Flaxman.

And speaking of the devil...

How conspiratorial we all look.

I feel my ears burning.

Please, don't let me interrupt the conversational flow.

May I present the notorious brother Flaxman

to you, Miss Vane?

Not the Miss Vane?

I'm afraid so, Miss Flaxman.

And sleuthing, no doubt. How fortunate.

And just when I've received yet another letter.

Oh, really?

Yes, a beauty,

all about there being a reward in hell

for women who "go my way."

Have you got it with you?

Regrettably, no.

I forwarded it to my future address...

By way of the fireplace.

Hello, Annie!

Oh, hello, Miss.

Just the person I wanted to see.

Really, Miss?

Can I have a word with you sometime?

Of course, Miss.

When would be convenient for you?

Well, it's my break now.

Excellent. Let's go and sit in the gardens.

Oh, no, Miss. What?

Servants aren't permitted.

The warden won't mind.

It's for members of the college only, Miss.

That's the rule.

And their guests.

I'm not standing round here chatting.

You're my guest. Come on.

But surely, Annie,

you must have thought about it a bit.

Oh, yes, I have had many thoughts about it, of course.

All us scouts have, as you might expect.

Any conclusions?

Well... not really.

There's so little to go on.

I mean, they're all so peculiar.

The fellows I take it you're referring to?

I'm sorry, Miss. I really shouldn't.

It's all right, Annie. I do know what you mean.

They are a little bit removed from ordinary life.

But have you noticed anything in particular?

I'm not sure it's right to say, Miss.

You see, I've undertaken to make some discreet inquiries.

I've nothing to go on, Annie.

I will respect your confidences.

Well, the servants have noticed

that all the strange happenings have occurred

since one particular person came to the college.

Which one?

Who?

Annie...

I think I've already said too much, Miss.

Somebody here is doing some very mischievous

and potentially dangerous things.

We've got to get to the bottom of it before it's too late.

That's as may be, but I'm just a college servant.

I see nothing, I hear nothing.

I go about the business I'm paid to do.

That's not true, Annie.

You do see things, you do hear things.

I have to go.

I'm asking for your help.

If you know anything,

I think you have a moral duty to tell.

Tell me, anyway.

The one who was provost of Flamborough.

It's since she came here.

I must go.

I hate scandal.

When I started work on it at Flamborough, I thought,

"what an uncomplicated subject for research."

I do so sympathize, Miss Devine.

I know it's a little after your period,

but wasn't it Lytton Strachey

that said the contradictions of the Elizabethans

baffle one's imagination and perplex one's intelligence?

Yes, I think it was.

Speaking of perplexing the intelligence,

how is your own research going, Miss Vane?

My... helping Miss Lydgate with her book?

Or do you mean more recent perplexities?

I meant the latter.

Well, as far...

savoury, Miss Lane?

I rather think the prunes and custard

conclude an elegant sufficiency.

Thank you. Thank you.

What is it?

Welsh rarebit.

I think I could manage that.

Second time this week we've had prunes.

Like being back at boarding school.

And for the same reasons, I shouldn't doubt.

How do you mean?

Antidote to costiveness.

Somebody obviously feels that all the trouble we're having

arises from irregularity of the bowels.

Glad to see you polished off your prunes, Miss Lydgate.

They're good for you.

Just what I was saying.

I believe the kitchens have been given instructions.

A clean mind in a clean body.

Good heavens, Miss Burrows.

Isn't that rather a swiftian view?

Sound physiology, Miss Lydgate.

Somebody evidently has taken a very practical approach

to the hysteria which is afflicting us.

Was the savoury for you, Miss Devine?

It was, Emily. Thank you.

Miss.

Emily, why do we keep getting prunes?

I really don't know, Miss Burrows.

Well, ask the cook. There's a good girl.

Very good, Miss Burrows.

I must say I am looking forward to getting away next month.

I'm going to have a look at the tumulus at halos,

though I'm told it's untypical.

What about you?

France with Cedric.

Oh, a fellow of Shrewsbury college

going to France with a man.

Early liturgical music in manuscript.

Not terribly carnal, I'm afraid.

I sometimes think that's what's needed here...

a good dose of old-fashioned carnality.

I say, that's a bit down to earth

for a classicist.

Oh, no. Ancient Greece by no means disdained the flesh.

Puritanism has its roots deep in the northern mists.

Now, that is interesting.

James Hogg and confessions of a justified sinner.

All that heady Calvinism.

In fact, didn't you touch on the subject

in one of your crime stories, Miss Vane?

The Albigensian factor, yes.

It was set in a closed religious community.

Rather strange material for light fiction...

early Christian heresy.

Why? Surely all human activity

is legitimate material for the novelist.

Oh, and is that why you're here, Miss Vane?

I think you know why I'm here, Miss Burrows.

I must say, one does feel

a little like a goldfish in a bowl.

Do you see yourself as the cat looking down at us

as we swim around?

Nothing so predatory, I'm glad to say.

Except in the sense that, of course,

writers are predatory.

Writers, like academics, pick over other people's bones.

Otherwise, how should any of us make a living?

By the way, I chanced to look into the fellows' garden

just before lunch.

I saw you.

Yes? Talking to Annie Wilson?

Precisely my point, Miss Vane.

The servants aren't permitted there.

I realize that.

And one should not embarrass them by inviting them.

The Dean will tell you that.

Brutal.

It was intended to be.

It is a custom more honoured in the breach

than the observance.

I actually saw a couple of male students there.

Who said that?

Hmm? Me.

No, no. That saying one knows so well.

Oh! Oh, the prince of Denmark, I think.

Oh.

Just one minute.

Miss Barton.

I hope I'm not disturbing you.

Not at all. Come in.

I can only stay for a moment.

I just felt I had to apologize...

firstly, for some of the comments

of my colleagues over lunch.

They were quite unforgivable.

I have the feeling

some people aren't happy at my presence here.

No, and may I say I'm not one of them.

Secondly, for my own indiscretion.

Last week, when we met before the gaudy,

I'm afraid I was rather abrupt with you.

My comment about your having helped

to send a man to the gallows was impertinent.

I'm really very sorry.

All I can say in all our defences

is that the senior common room

is under considerable stress at the moment

as the result of all these recent happenings.

Of course. I do understand that.

And can I say how very shocked I was

about the attack on your book.

It must have hurt you a great deal.

Ah, I see you have it here.

Yes, it did hurt... Deeply.

Collegiate life implies a fellowship of mind, Miss Vane,

so that vandalism of this nature in our midst

is doubly shocking.

One no longer knows who one can trust.

No. And then I suppose at the same time

it must be very difficult not to speculate

as to who might or might not have done it.

I think we are all of us speculating continually

with considerable anxiety.

And of course this leads to rumour and gossip.

For instance?

Well, currently, everyone seems obsessed

by the fact that these outrages

only began shortly after Miss Devine arrived here.

Personally, I don't hold much store by that.

Mm.

To get back to your book... do you think

there's any significance in the subject matter?

Place of women in modern society?

Well, the contents could certainly provoke a man,

but a regular male intruder in a woman's college?

That seems very unlikely.

Yes, I'm afraid I do have to agree with you there.

Of course, Padgett hardly fits the bill.

No.

Well, I must be on my way.

Would it be in order

to ask how your inquiries are proceeding, Miss Vane?

Well, there's nothing conclusive as yet.

Forensically, I've not got very much to go on,

and I can hardly expect

to police the entire college single-handed.

So all I can do for the time being

is absorb the atmosphere, be around, talk to people.

By which you mean we are all under suspicion.

May I say one thing?

Behind these outrages

lies a bitter mind, Miss Vane,

a very bitter mind.

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Oh, Miss Barton. Yes?

I'm sorry. Stupid of me. I meant to ask you.

You are the librarian, aren't you?

Could you tell me the situation as regards the keys?

There are three sets... mine, the Dean's,

and Padgett keeps one at the Porter's lodge.

Whoever got in must have used one of those keys

unless the windows were left open.

Oh, but they weren't.

We're most careful in matters of security.

The library contains some priceless manuscripts.

And there's the new portrait of Dr. Baring's predecessor,

Dame Agatha Browning, in store there.

Oh, yes. The warden did say something about that.

Look, Miss Barton, would you have any objections

if I were to use the library from time to time?

I gather Miss Lydgate keeps her research notes there.

Yes, that's so.

I can begin to familiarize myself with them

and at the same time keep an eye on the library.

I might even go there later tonight.

Well, I would have no objection,

but remember you'll need a key.

Thank you.

Afternoon, Miss Vane.

Good afternoon. I was just coming to see you.

Something I can do, Miss?

I wondered if I could have the key to the library.

Well, it's open now, Miss.

No, I mean later tonight.

Oh...

I just don't want to disturb anyone's studies.

I see.

I could bring it to your room later this evening, Miss.

If you would, that would be kind.

Thank you. Very good, Miss.

I trust today has so far passed without event?

Is lunch an event?

What was lunch?

Stuffed breast of lamb and, dare I say...

Not prunes again?

What else? Tea, warden.

Thank you. I really must speak to cook

about this absolute deluge of dried plums.

It's quite like one of the biblical plagues.

Clearly a mistake by the suppliers.

A mistake which we are forced to remedy by devouring.

Would that all mistakes were so easily dealt with.

I had luncheon at Somerville,

where, happily, prunes were not in evidence.

Miss Hillyard.

Thank you.

Oh, um, talking of events,

do either of you know

how Miss Vane's inquiries are going?

Oh, a touch irksomely.

Oh, really? I hope not.

Having someone around the place observing

is bound to get under the skin a bit, warden.

Depends how sensitive one's skin is.

That's true.

Does Miss Vane get under your skin, Miss Hillyard?

In general, no,

but an outsider in a community like this

is bound to be something of an irritant.

Miss Vane is one of us.

Is that a fair assumption?

What is it you're trying to say, Miss Hillyard?

I'm not trying to say anything,

but if you wish me to amplify, I will say this.

Miss Vane is so far from being one of our number

that she does not know or has quite forgotten

basic college proprieties.

Oh, I say, for such a trivial matter,

aren't we making rather heavy weather of it?

Since I don't know the substance of it,

I can hardly advance a view.

I do not accept that the conventions

of a civilized community are trivial.

Ladies, what is this convention

that has been so grievously flouted?

The disregard of customary observances

leads to social friction.

We're not discussing the decline and fall of the Roman empire.

What is it that has so vexed you?

Oh, dear. This is going to sound awfully petty now.

I happened to observe Miss Vane

with one of the college scouts in the fellows' garden.

I merely pointed out that it was not the done thing.

Good heavens, Miss Hillyard.

Was it the convention or you who was outraged?

It's easily dismissed, I know,

but Oxford is none the worse for such customs.

Oh, I sometimes wonder about that.

Well, I'm more concerned about Miss Vane.

She is our guest.

Does one preserve one convention by outraging another, I wonder?

Is that a reprimand, warden?

Oh, come now. I merely air the question.

Intellectual honesty can surely permit that.

Yes, but it is so easy to laugh old customs out of court.

Yes, it is, but I'm not doing that.

At least, I hope I'm not.

But Miss Vane is here because convention was outraged.

Does it make sense to censure her for a minor infraction

when her whole purpose in being here

is to investigate major affronts... To the senses?

I'm sure Miss Vane is far too level-headed

to take exception to a perfectly proper reminder

of college rules.

I accept the reprimand, Miss Devine.

I didn't mean it as a reprimand.

But I accept it, with good grace.

I hope Miss Vane will, too.

Hello, Miss Burrows.

Miss Vane.

Mind if I join you?

Do, please.

I'm afraid the teapot's empty.

I don't want any. Thanks all the same.

How's the Charnel house?

I beg your pardon?

Your stirring over other people's bones.

Oh. A slow and dusty business, I'm afraid.

You're used to that, of course.

Am I?

In your capacity as a writer.

Do you mind my being about the place?

Why should I mind?

I've no idea. I've just sensed a lack of warmth.

I rather wondered why.

Another one who wants to be loved.

No, just to get on with a job I've been asked to do.

Does your professional curiosity as a writer

qualify you to understand what's going on here?

I had hoped that my writer's imagination

might lend some insight into it.

That's an aspect of make-believe.

I don't think you should underestimate

the imagination's ability to make sense

out of disordered reality, Miss Burrows.

And I don't think you should underestimate

the academic world's ability

to understand its own disorders.

I'm not patronizing you. I didn't ask to come here.

I just hoped for a little cooperation

rather than thinly veiled hostility.

Have you something to hide?

Miss Vane, I don't question the special attributes

of a writer of popular fiction.

Indeed, it would be an impudence to do so

since I know little of your work.

But allow me to say it is dangerous to approach reality

as though it were a work of fiction.

You say you're not being patronizing.

That's just what you are being in poking around

as if you had some key to the situation.

I don't pretend that at all. That's quite unfair.

What do you know of our lives?

A limited association as an undergraduate

several years ago?

What do you know of her life?

An even slighter association, I should think.

Your participation in art may be considerable,

but what of your involvement in life?

Oh, Miss Burrows.

Now, if you'll forgive me, I have work to attend to.

Happenings like this at a ladies' college...

it's hardly surprising, is it?

Ladies' college? What do you mean?

Academic ladies cloistered together,

celibate, some sexually ambivalent...

Bound to throw up the odd hysteric.

I don't believe what I'm hearing.

Harriet... no.

This mighty male attitude.

I knew I shouldn't have told you.

I express no male bias.

You must know me better than that.

I'd say the same about public schools,

monasteries, any closed society.

I'm sorry. Maybe I'm oversensitive on the subject.

Well, of course, uh, if it comes to it, I'll help,

though I do have to go away.

Is this the foreign office?

Of course, if you need me,

you can always get me through the embassies.

Who's for an after-dinner stroll

in the garden?

I have some letters I must write.

Miss Vane, would you like to come?

No, thank you.

I thought I'd go to the library.

At this time?

That shows great devotion to scholarship.

No, I just work better in the evening.

Maybe tomorrow. Good night.

Good night.

Good night, Miss Devine.

Good night.

Oh, that is a nasty bump.

But don't worry. You'll be all right in no time.

Oh. What a fright you gave us.

Who found me?

I did. I came over to do some organ practice.

What... ow!

I'm afraid you will have

a bit of a headache.

What on earth was it that knocked me out?

Some sort of bolster thing

dressed up in a cap and gown.

Whose gown? Was there a tag?

It had been cut out,

but there was a note pinned to it, in Latin.

In Latin?

Yes, it's from the Aeneid.

Roughly translated, it means,

"no monster more baneful than these,

"no fiercer plague or wrath of the gods

"ever rose from the Stygian waves.

"These birds have maiden faces.

"Foulest filth they drop.

"Clawed hands are theirs,

and faces ever gaunt with hunger."

Not the most attractive passage, I'm afraid.

Oh, my Lord.

What's the matter?

Did anybody find the key?

What key?

To the library.

I had it in my hand when I was attacked.

Oh, no!

I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting.

Miss Vane, do please take a seat.

Well, you all know of the events of last evening.

We are indebted to Miss Vane for her efforts on our behalf,

and I'm sure we all share a sense of outrage

at the assault upon her.

It is clear that whoever is responsible

for the mischief with which this college has been afflicted

for the past two months

intended a particularly damaging occurrence,

and it is due to Miss Vane that

that plan has largely been frustrated.

Now, tomorrow we honor Dame Agatha Browning.

Apart from what she did for Shrewsbury college

during her almost 22 years as warden,

Dame Agatha was a guiding light in the cause

of university education for women in this country.

Now, for that occasion to be dishonoured in any way

would be both a personal insult

and an affront to all that this college stands for.

As you know, the unveiling of Dame Agatha's portrait

was to have taken place in the library, but...

Now that cannot be.

The bursar has consulted decorators,

but there just isn't time to put things to rights.

So I have decided

that the ceremony will proceed as planned,

but in the fellows' garden.

I understood the painting had disappeared.

Again we have Miss Vane to thank.

One should never take them at face value.

Some of the mythology

doesn't bear too close examination.

Oh, you mean Europa and the bull and all that?

Not to mention Lucius Apuleius...

quite a te fait rougir!

Yes, of course, I do agree, absolutely.

Mind you, the Ambrosian rite can still be heard.

Of course, Ambrose and Gregory

were both so very much influenced by Constantinople.

Don't remind me.

I remember looking into that garden

with awe and trepidation the summer before I came up.

It must have been 1920.

People still quaked at the name "Dame Agatha Browning."

Oh, yes, Dame Agatha Browning.

One didn't leave out the surname lightly.

Not twice, anyway.

Can that be the Cedric?

Looks quite personable. A touch overbred, perhaps.

Really? Oh, yes.

Look at the receding chin.

Can anything be done?

Put him to some common stock.

Good healthy country girl.

Like sweet Fotis in the golden asse, perhaps.

He's an Oxford man himself, of course.

Oh, is he? I heard him give a lecture

at kings college London about two years ago.

In the "music that has meant much to me" series, I think.

Yes, he's very knowledgeable... musically.

Yes, and very much

a man of the world, too, I should say.

Too much so.

At the moment, he's working abroad somewhere.

Car all right outside, Mr. Padgett?

Perfectly safe, Mr. Bunter.

Would you look favourably on a cup of tea, Mr. Bunter?

Very favourably, Mr. Padgett.

Thank you.

But isn't that...

it most certainly is.

Ladies and gentlemen,

it gives me great pleasure

to invite the chancellor of the University of Oxford,

Lord Tintagel, to unveil in her distinguished presence

a portrait of Dame Agatha Browning,

sometime warden of this college.

Lord Tintagel.

Dr. Baring.

Ladies and gentlemen,

university chancellors are called upon to officiate

at many and varied occasions,

but none gives me so much personal and public pleasure

as to do so here today.

Dame Agatha Browning was... is responsible

for the first generation of women students

to be awarded the degree of bachelor of arts

of this ancient university.

They and we are the richer for her wisdom,

her integrity, her sense of purpose.

Hear, hear!

Without her, the cause of higher education for women

could not have been so smooth.

And so, colleagues and friends of Dame Agatha...

I knew when I saw him

his lordship was one of our young gentlemen.

Yes, Balliol, before the war.

History. Got a first.

Lot of them sort didn't bother, you know?

Swanning around in fast cars, parties, and that.

No need to work. Know what I mean?

I didn't mean to imply that Lord Peter...

do not be fooled by the eyeglass

and the manner.

I wasn't suggesting...

no, but many's the time I've seen that mistake made.

Mind like a razor, he has.

More tea, Mr. Bunter?

Thank you, Mr. Padgett.

Oh, uh, Miss Vane!

Ha ha ha ha!

I do so want you to meet Dame Agatha Browning.

You won't know Harriet Vane, I think.

Rather since your time.

Miss Harriet Vane, Dame Agatha Browning.

Good afternoon, Dame Agatha Browning.

And what do you do, Miss Vane?

I write novels, Dame Agatha.

What sort of novels?

She writes mystery novels. And very good they are, too.

Oh, uh, Lord Peter I believe you know.

Good afternoon, Miss Vane.

Lord Peter.

First time I come across him...

well, fell across him, to be exact...

was in a shell hole in France,

up to his neck in mud

and choking from cordite fumes.

"Sergeant," he says.

"Sergeant, war is a damned noisy business."

Utmost composure.

What the Froggies call "sang-froid."

Yeah. Always remember that.

Bet they don't teach that here, eh, Mr. Padgett?

Composure?

Bred in you, isn't it?

I quite thought you engaged elsewhere.

I was, I was,

but then I thought affairs of state should give way

to the former warden of Shrewsbury, don't you know.

Oh, uh, permit me, Lord Peter.

Dame Agatha, I do so want you to meet...

Explain yourself.

Have you been an old lady's companion for long?

Oh, no, not very.

Um, flew back only yesterday.

Telephoned from town, but you were out.

Didn't like to leave my name, somehow.

And?

Well, it so happens that the chancellor

is the expert on the background

to the knotty little problem

I'm looking into at the foreign office.

So, um, two birds with one stone, I thought.

I mean, I didn't know

how delicate things had got here for you, and, uh,

I thought a ceremonial entrance

would look sufficiently unsleuthlike.

Forgive me, but, um, you are looking a little delicate.

There speaks the great detective.

As a matter of fact, I was attacked last night.

Forgive me for interrupting,

but I do feel I should be looking after you, Miss Vane.

Have no fear. I am in good hands.

May I introduce you?

Lord Peter Wimsey, Miss Martin, the Dean.

Dean Miss Martin, how do you do?

Lord Peter. I do hope you're not wearing Miss Vane out.

She has had a most shocking experience.

So I've been hearing.

Not so much upsetting as ridiculous. It was nothing.

She was knocked out, poor thing.

I'm all right, really.

Good. Yes, indeed.

Lord Peter, may I ask...

were you intending to be in Oxford

for any length of time?

For a few days, yes.

Capital.

Then I am instructed to convey to you

the fellows' invitation to high table tomorrow evening.

Shall you come?

An invitation to dinner

and in the future interrogative mood...

a most challenging form.

And I shall... Come, that is.

Till tomorrow, then.

What happened exactly?

I'd gone into the chapel.

I'd heard somebody in there messing around, I thought.

Suddenly I was knocked to the ground

by this absurd thing dressed up as a Don.

Nothing, really.

The important thing is that attached to it

was yet another note, in Latin this time,

which does rather narrow the field,

it being highly unlikely that the scouts

should express themselves in Virgilian hexameters.

Hmm.

Things are looking rather bad for the senior common room.

Very possibly.

Well, now short of watching at windows

for creeping figures in the quad,

I'm not sure what my next move is.

Look, I'm bidden for sherry

and then dinner with the chancellor.

I'm staying at the mitre.

I'll telephone you, if I may.

Do take care.

Uh, I intend to take a punt on the river in the morning.

Shall you come?

I never resist a challenge.

That's why I love you.

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