Original subtitles

(music)

(theme music)

(thunder, rain falling)

We therefore commit his body to the ground.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life

through our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

All: Amen.

(dirt clumps fall on grave)

(rain falling)

Who is that man?

I never saw him before.

Do you know him?

No. Must be local.

(thunder)

(thunder)

Quite satisfied, Mr. Benson?

Absolutely.

You handled everything splendidly, splendid.

Words can't express...

You know, we don't take testimonials.

I'm delighted.

It all went like clockwork.

Then this is farewell.

Thank you once more.

Thank you, doctor.

Thank you, Mr. Benson.

Uh, one last word.

I know. Utter secrecy.

- You needn't worry. - I'm glad.

You see, the contracts won't be destroyed for three months.

Gives us a measure of cover.

Goodbye.

Another sucker loose on the world.

He won't be able to spend the money fast enough.

He must watch his blood pressure.

It's high for a young man.

You want a drink?

Hmm, why not?

Well, it's on the National Health.

Four-star Napoleon.

Well, here's to instant death.

What's the matter?

The Hippocratic Oath. The life so short.

The craft, so long to learn.

Well, let's drink to the short life.

Oh, I see you took my advice.

They do a good smoke, these people.

Should do at 12 and 6 a throw.

Roy?

Yeah?

I've been thinking.

We've completed nine cases.

We've done very well for ourselves.

Very well indeed.

I think we should call it a day.

You do?

Yes. Retire, get out while we can.

The more you have, the more you want.

What you mean, doctor,

is that the Rolls on the meter outside is paid for.

There's a hefty balance in the bank,

and you'd rather be in Scotland salmon fishing.

- Yeah, something like that. - That's a lot like it.

When I came to you with my scheme,

the shingle outside your door was a lot tackier

than it is today.

Well, that was only a temporary...

Oh, come on, doctor, don't let's fool ourselves!

Another year and you'd have been finished in London.

Never!

I spent three months looking for the right man.

A doctor whose plight was greater than his professional honor.

I found you.

Yes, but it's almost impossible to keep up to date.

I mean to say, I've tried.

I've read articles.

It's not the same.

As you say, we've done quite nicely.

Well, doctor, I'm not ready to quit.

Perhaps my ambitions have more appetite than yours.

Look, we've made enough to live in luxury

for the rest of our lives.

Still, another 20,000 a year

shouldn't be so unacceptable.

Is there another client?

There is.

Male or female?

An aspiring widow, age 43, but looks a lot younger.

Well, what's the matter now?

Carrara marble.

It was presented to me by the hospital in Glasgow

for services to medicine.

Name, Turner.

Husband's age, 48.

Names, Arthur George William...

Just a minute. Do you mind?

Not quite as fast as that.

Name, Turner. Husband's age, 48.

Names, Arthur George William.

Address, The Grove, Hemel Hempstead...

(water lapping)

(fog horn)

Steed: Anybody home?

Oh, go away.

Fire.

What? Where?

What do you want?

A chat.

Oh, we're having a party?

An evening with the YWCA.

Ah.

Ooh.

Sit down if you can.

And what can I do for you?

I came to talk to you about your father.

Too late, my friend. He's dead.

That's just what I want to talk about.

Who are you?

A friend of the family.

I remember seeing you at the funeral.

Wasn't it cold?

You don't have a match, do you?

Sorry.

Keep talking. I'm with you.

What'd he die of?

Heart, coronary.

How'd he come to be buried in Cornwall?

My mother was Cornish.

Sounds schmaltzy, I know.

But it was there in the will.

There's sentiment in all of us, you see.

Ah, that's better.

The world's too harsh

unless you see it through tobacco smoke.

Had he been ill for long?

Oh, off and on, ever since he retired.

He used to be in, what you call it?

Security executive.

I can see you don't believe in a long mourning.

No, I don't.

It's a nice game.

When do I get a turn with...

Help yourself, help yourself.

Who are you? What are you doing here?

What's the point of it?

My name is Steed. I came to see you.

And I'm interested in your father's death.

Professionally or personally?

- That depends. - What on?

On your answers.

What's your interest?

I used to work with him.

So?

Well, we were in a few scrapes together.

Berlin, one or two other places.

Ah, it's going to be another war story.

No, it isn't, no.

How much? How much do you want?

(fog horn)

Not to worry. It's one of ours.

What is it?

The Old Comrades Fund?

Bed socks for the veterans?

Your father gave me a letter.

What did it say?

- I haven't opened it yet. - Why not?

It was only to be opened

unless he died a violent or a sudden death.

Why'd he give it to you?

I told you.

We were in a few scrapes together.

This was no violent death. He was in his own bed.

Then it was sudden.

No.

No, as a matter of fact, it was a marvel

the old boy lasted as long as he did.

Well, everyone knew he was going home, everyone.

The doctor. He even knew himself.

He was punch-drunk with coronaries.

He must have had a heart like a bull.

He was strong.

Well, you know that.

Took a lot to kill him.

That old man was tough.

He was only 64.

I served with him and I'm not Methuselah.

Well, it wasn't sudden.

You should have seen the doctor's bills.

Put 'em end to end.

The maze we went through.

Platoons of them.

Who nursed him?

At the end? I did.

That's why I had this blind.

Hangs over you, doesn't it, death?

The machinery of it.

Throwing out the medicine bottles

and the boxes of pills, pajamas.

Ah, sick.

Oh, Mr. Steed?

What about this letter?

What about it?

- What will you do? - I'll call the bank.

Yes?

And I'll tell them to destroy it.

After all, we don't want to upset you anymore, do we?

No. No, I don't want to see it.

Destroy it. That's good enough for me.

I think you can get something back from the empties.

Thanks.

Keep talking. I'm with you.

What did he die of?

Heart, coronary.

And why was he buried in Cornwall?

My mother was Cornish. Sounds schmaltzy, I know.

But it was there in the will.

There's sentiment in all of us, you see.

Young Benson's father had no more affection

for his wife than I have for old Jolly Jet Jawsnapper there.

How do you know?

He booked her everywhere in dicey airlines.

He used to permutate for the next air disaster.

Happy family.

If there was fog in the air, Mrs. Benson was in the air.

Then there's no truth in his story.

Not that part of it.

Well, there's no sentiment in security.

That I know.

Where were you carrying this?

In my pocket.

I had a microphone lead led up to my scarf.

Well, your old boss has come to a sudden end.

I don't see there's anything you can do about it.

Don't be too sure of it.

Young Benson looked pretty sick when I left him.

Well, thank you for the cream.

Huh, I take it with Swiss cherry jam,

thin brown bread and Indian tea.

And at about a quarter past four.

Do you?

I like it for breakfast.

Read that.

"Joey, a King Penguin at Edinburgh Zoo

spent 56 days trying to incubate..."

(chuckles)

The other side.

Oh, really?

"Notice of a funeral service at Tenby."

That's the place you went to?

Uh-huh.

"2 p.m. funeral service. Church of St. Alban's Tenby.

No flowers."

And the same again, and the same again.

All within the past three months.

Well, people do die.

But Tenby is a ghost village.

You mean, nobody lives there?

It used to support a tin mine.

The tin mine went out of action eight years ago,

and all the villagers have moved to Bodmin.

Must have a strong attraction for corpses.

So strong that people die in London

and are transported up to Cornwall.

Why?

He quizzed me up one side and down the other!

Well, don't worry.

It's easy for you to say that.

It wasn't you he was talking to.

He's probably nosy.

That's one version.

What if he were on business?

Whose business?

Anyway, it doesn't matter.

You've got nothing to bother about.

And if they exhume the body?

- They won't. - If they do?

They'll find nothing.

But I read in the papers somewhere that...

It doesn't matter what you read.

They'll find nothing.

Now forget all about it and go home.

No, don't give me the brush-off.

This cost me a packet of money.

You got what you wanted, didn't you?

Now go on. Off you go.

I don't want the law breathing down my neck.

No sense in being the richest man in prison.

You won't be.

We're specialists in this field.

Remember one thing, doctor.

The Medical Council wouldn't approve.

Yes, we're well aware of reminding ourselves of the obvious.

Don't forget, we have a contract signed by you.

I wouldn't do anything rash.

(birds chirping)

Morning!

Mrs. Gale: Morning.

A tourist in Tenby this time of year?

Surely not.

No, it's a job of work.

Vicar?

Whyper, Adrian Whyper.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

Job of work?

Yes, I'm writing an article for an American magazine

on the English country churchyards.

You don't mind, do you?

My dear lady, of course not.

But it's my brother Julian you should see.

He wrote a paper on it.

What you call it? A thesis.

When we were up Oxford, I rode behind him in the Varsity Eight.

Fine oarsman, Julian.

Where do I find him?

Ah, where indeed?

He's somewhere up the Congo, missionary.

Stranger in a strange land.

Yes, I know the feeling.

You don't know Cornwall?

Not well, no.

Where are you staying?

At the White Bear.

Oh, good choice, capital.

Have you been up to the Minstrel's Gallery?

Not yet.

Oh, you must. And you must try their ale.

Brewed on the premises.

"Wine is a mocker."

"Moderation in all things."

"Total abstinence is easier than perfect moderation."

Oh, I don't know that one.

No, you've got me there.

St. Augustine.

Oh, yes, of course.

Multi quidem facilius et cetera.

I shouldn't worry with these new stones.

It's the old ones that have all the character.

These are only peace, perfect peace,

lay the dead to rest.

Very unimaginative.

There used to be one in Penryn.

Now how did it go?

"Here lies returned to play.

"Miss Arrabella Young

who upon the first of May began to hold her tongue."

(both laugh)

Great sense of humor, your Cornishmen.

Yes.

Is there anything particular and personal

to your own graveyard?

Oh, yes, there's something you can mention.

Just here by the lichgate,

there used to be a mandrake root.

Mandrake? The mandrago drug?

Yes, that's right. Mysterious plants.

No end of properties.

It was supposed to shriek if you touched it,

and pull it up and it groaned like a dying man.

Should be good for a paragraph.

(chuckles)

Yes, we've got an awful lot of deadly nightshade.

Must be something to do with the soil.

Have you been as far as the lizard?

Not yet.

Nice little story for you.

When they built the first lighthouse in 1619,

all the locals were up in arms.

Said they'd lost God's grace.

What did they mean by that?

Their pickings from the ships

that would have been wrecked on the cliffs.

(laughs) God's grace indeed.

- That's grim. - Very.

Come let me show you the church.

I haven't done me grand tour for years.

Yes, I'd love to see it.

Perhaps I might even be able to sell you an illustrated history.

Proceeds to Congo Relief.

Yes, there's been a Whyper here ever since Queen Anne.

I lost two brothers in the Great War.

Lost a lot of fine men.

- Senseless carnage. - Mm.

Freddy was chaplain of Passiondale.

He knew Woodbine Willie.

Did he?

Allen died with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge.

Vicar?

Yes, my dear.

Who's buried here now?

I mean, now that the village is gone?

Oh, not many, you know.

Just a few who were born in Tenby.

They like to be brought back.

Really, then it's only locals?

Oh, no.

We do get the odd soul from places like London.

Seems a long way to come.

It's a long journey.

Quite.

But it must be very expensive.

Oh, I don't know.

It's probably cheaper to be buried in the country.

I haven't been into the economics of it.

I look at it like this.

If you've lived in the city all your life,

all that noise and bustle,

you've earned a little peace, perfect peace.

Yes, I suppose you're right.

Man: Look in here...

Hello? Who's this?

I say, we're getting quite congested.

Why, Hopkins, my dear fellow. How nice to see you.

How are you?

Fine, fine, Vicar.

I'd like you to meet Mrs. Turner.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

This is... oh, my dear. I'm so sorry.

I don't know your name.

- Mrs. Gale. - Mrs. Gale.

- Mrs. Gale, Mrs... - Turner.

- Turner, Mr. Hopkins. - How do you do?

Will you excuse me, Vicar?

I've got work to do and the sun's very precious.

- Why, yes, of course. - Excuse me.

Bit of a writer.

St. Augustine, I won't forget.

Oh, right.

Nice girl.

Vicar, I want you to see if there's anything

you can do for Mrs. Turner.

Well, I'd be delighted.

Mrs. Turner is arriving at the end of a long and comfortless journey.

Oh?

It's my husband, Vicar. He's dying.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

It could literally happen any minute.

This is the first time Mrs. Turner

has left his side for weeks.

Ah, "a virtuous woman is a crown to her husband."

Her price is far above rubies."

When it happens, when, she'd like him to be interred at Tenby.

Yes, of course.

He is a man of the country?

- No, not... - In spirit.

Yes, in spirit.

Oh. Well, excuse me a moment.

Fond of his garden, wasn't he?

Of course, you can't say exactly when it will be?

- No. - I'd say Saturday.

Saturday?

Then or thereabouts.

Oh, dear.

Well, we'll step outside in a moment.

I do have one very beautiful plot just by the west wall.

Very sheltered.

Gets the noon sun in winter.

The first crocuses come up there.

I had thought of it for Julian, my brother.

Oh, it sounds perfect.

Well, I'll just take some particulars.

Good day.

Bit late to take them pictures, isn't?

Depends what for.

What was she doing?

Taking photos of them headstones.

Can't be bad, can it?

Could be.

Well, shine your spade up. We're in business.

How soon?

The Vicar will tell you about it.

You've got the number. Ring me if anything happens.

Trust me, Gov.

Ta. Could bring me some jellied eels or something, saveloys.

It's this local grub, it's killing me.

If she comes snooping around again,

we might have to take steps.

Make it a double booking.

Now, Mrs. Turner, we'd like to recap

on a few of the more personal questions.

Any idea as to the present size of your husband's estate?

About 200,000.

Net?

Mm-hmm.

Any other living relatives besides yourself?

I've checked. One sister.

- Sister? - She lives in Perth.

Perth in Scotland?

- Perth, Western Australia. - Oh.

And she's bedridden, arthritis.

Nasty complaint, there. None of the drugs...

What about close friends?

We don't have any.

- Think carefully now. - I don't need to.

My husband didn't make friends or influence people.

He just made money.

Any other beneficiaries in the will?

No.

Insurance?

He always said his business was his insurance.

Now most important of all, when did he last see a doctor?

About 1950.

He had his appendix out.

You sure he hasn't seen one since?

He's an apple a day man, a throwback to Adam

without any of Adam's more interesting characteristics.

He's not on any doctor's panel?

No, the appendix business was before we moved.

He's a member of a club?

No.

You understand, we have to be very careful.

Of course.

- Doctor? - I'm happy if you are.

Well, I think we can help you, Mrs. Turner,

if you still want to go ahead.

Thank you.

You realize, of course, you'll have to do exactly as we say.

Your neck may depend upon it.

I know.

Be a shame for those pearls to lose such a nice home.

(chuckles) Wouldn't it?

Our first sordid detail: money.

- We'd like a check. - Now?

Would you like to sit here, Mrs. Turner?

There you are.

Who do I make it out to?

Mandrake Investments, 5,000 pounds.

The other half is due after the ceremony.

You don't stint yourselves.

It's a very exclusive service.

Did Whyper find a suitable plot?

Most accommodating, that man.

Sheltered position, gets the noon sun.

He was saving it for his brother Julian.

That's awfully good of him.

Thank you.

Now what happens?

No color, no taste, no smell.

Three in one.

The instructions are on the bottle, which we want back.

Safety precaution.

How long does it take?

30 minutes to an hour.

Seldom more than 30 minutes.

How much do I use?

All of it. It's a fatal dose.

And what are the...

Symptoms?

Intense thirst, stomach cramp, vomiting.

But it'll all be over very quickly.

Feeble, irregular pulse, cold, clamminess...

Doctor, this is not a medical lecture.

And when it starts, I call for you?

Correct.

I shall do everything that I can.

But, alas, you'll be too late.

From then on, everything goes like clockwork.

Very well then.

Goodbye, Mr. Hopkins.

Goodbye, Mrs. Turner.

- Thank you, doctor. - Not at all.

Uh, going shopping today?

Yes, I thought I might.

Buy black. It'll suit you.

I'll think about it.

Well, perhaps this may be the last one after all.

I wouldn't bank on it.

She'll see through you soon enough.

Now you stick to medicine, doctor.

Steed: Well, we know that one.

(snaps fingers)

Pretty good for a still life.

Yes, I took it at a 250 up at 5.6.

Fare thee well. Each to his own exposure.

(snaps fingers)

Don't do that.

Why not?

I feel like a projectionist.

Oh, Montgomery always did it.

So?

They do a rattling good trade down there, eh?

Not bad for a ghost village.

(snaps fingers)

You're wasting your time, general.

Why?

There aren't any more.

Oh, house lights.

(snaps fingers)

Well, how many were there?

Out of the 11 you took... oh, nine are in Who's Who.

And seven of them left estates of over 100,000 pounds.

So the majority of them are rich and reasonably eminent.

At some stage of their lives.

Can you find out who were their doctors?

I wish I knew.

Who was young Benson's doctor?

That's next on the agenda.

Young Benson, he dealt with a Dr. Macombie.

How do you know?

I had him followed. He went off like a shot.

Does he know you're on to him?

He will when I'm ready.

Odd, though, wasn't it about that Cockney gravedigger?

He was so obviously a recent import.

Oh, did you find out about that man I met down there?

- Roy Hopkins? - Mmm.

Was his car registration a London one?

Yep.

There are only two Roy Hopkins in the phone book.

One is an accountant

and the other runs a cracker factory.

Let me give you a hand!

Oh!

Please don't bother.

Oh, I say, my goodness.

Well, the customer's always right.

Thank you.

No, no, no, you keep your flag on the summit.

I'll follow up with the ponies.

Oh, did I hurt you?

No, no, it's only a flesh wound.

Come on, confidence.

(both laugh)

Only a few.

Oh, it's no use.

I've got till next Christmas to clear them up anyway.

I'm delighted to hear it. How do you do?

How do you do?

Now I think it's my turn to insist now.

- Really? - Yeah.

Ham... and cheese and tomato.

Well, mustard?

- Of course? - French?

Well, is there any other?

Enchanté, mademoiselle.

(chuckles)

Can I help you?

Mr. Hopkins in?

No, he's lunching with some Japanese businessmen.

They make the goodies that go in the crackers.

Well, the little masters of miniature.

Hey, what do you got in season, eh?

For piping your puddings aboard.

(chuckles)

Hey, careful!

(coughs)

Oh, um, that's very good on an x-ray plate.

Yeah. Well, we don't give them to the very young.

I should hope not.

The Chancellor's Balloon.

Prevents inflation.

(chuckles)

Look, I really wanted to order three dozen boxes

of crackers for an old folks' anniversary.

Oh, hey, they mustn't crack too loud.

Of course not.

We have the most discreet crackers in the business.

Try this for size.

Oops. Sorry.

(soft pop)

Oh.

Strength C. D is softer.

Oh, dear.

Perhaps we'd better try a B, eh?

Yep.

Allow me, madame.

Oh, thank you.

There you go.

All right.

Oh, marvelous!

That's very good indeed. It will do really fine.

The old folks will love that. I'll have three dozen boxes.

Does Hopkins have an office around here?

Uh, yeah. First floor.

Is he around all the time?

Oh, some of the time.

He's not exactly wedded to the business.

- No? - No.

He inherited it. His uncle died last year.

Where was that?

Cornwall.

Oh, fateful part of the country.

Hmm? Of course, he'd sell out tomorrow if he could.

Why doesn't he?

LLC. What the banks don't own, his partner does.

Oh, doesn't the business do too well?

It's a very short season.

Mr. and Mrs. Public just aren't cracker-minded.

Oh, Christmas, yard kiddies' party, fine.

But they're not on a weekly shopping list.

(chuckles)

I mean, it's not going to replace vitamin C.

You can live without them, can't you?

- Yes. - There you are.

What's he like?

Hopkins?

Oh, a fat, decadent bourgeois capitalist

exploiting the proletarian masses.

Really?

No, actually he's rather nice.

Who should I make the invoice out to?

The Twilight Home, Camberley.

I'll come and collect them.

Anything else?

(humming)

Compliments of the house.

My goodness me. You sure took me by surprise.

Aren't they lovely?

Thank you.

Hey, don't believe all you read in the motto.

You know I won't.

Oops, terribly sorry, your honor.

Who was that?

A customer.

- What did he want? - Crackers. What else?

I've seen him before somewhere.

Send me up a pot of tea, will you, darling?

All that Japanese rice wine.

Eight of them treated by the same Dr. Macombie.

According to the death certificates.

It's fantastic.

He's a busy man.

But he's very happy to fit you in, Mrs. Gale.

In best pine?

Six foot by two foot, silk lined?

Hey, what should I have wrong with me?

Well, what would you like?

Well, I can offer him any amount of bruising.

That's all that vigorous company you keep.

How about a slipped disc?

He is a doctor, Steed.

Hmm?

Well, it's a pretty treacherous area.

No. Probe around, scare him.

See if he drops his thermometer.

What if he prescribes a trip to Cornwall his style?

Say you don't feel quite up to it.

As a matter of fact, I booked you on the 7:40.

Arriving midnight.

- When? - Tonight.

Ooh.

It's an enlarged lymph gland, and the spleen's puffy, yes.

Well, I'd like to bring her to the clinic.

All right. Well, I'll call you back.

Will you send in the next patient, please?

Thank you, nurse.

Would you come in, please? Sit down.

Be with you in a moment.

What a very unusual surgery.

I wouldn't have thought factories in this area

would be felicitous.

You'd be surprised. Would you like to sit down?

Thank you.

Ah, now, Mrs. Gale, isn't it?

Yes.

It was kind of you to see me at such short notice, doctor.

Not at all.

Well, now, what's the trouble?

I've got a bad eye.

How did you do it?

I was hit with a hockey stick.

When was this?

Yesterday.

Is it swollen?

No, but it's very sore.

Is it watering up?

Ever since.

Right.

Well, perhaps you'd like to get on that couch,

would you please, Mrs. Gale?

I'll take a look at it.

That's it. Make yourself comfortable.

Put your head well back, will you?

There we are.

You can't be too careful with these things.

The eye is not the delicate instrument people imagine.

On the other hand,

it doesn't take much to detach the retina.

Hmm.

It seems to be all right, Mrs. Gale.

- I think you're lucky. - Good.

Perhaps it'd be a good idea

to keep the dark glasses on for a few days.

- Yes, I will. - Well, do you live in London?

No. My home's in Cornwall.

I have a cottage just outside a little village.

I don't suppose you'd know it.

- Whereabout? - Tenby.

No. I... I don't know the area very well.

Oh, I'll get you some drops.

And if you have any further trouble,

don't hesitate to go to your own doctor.

No, I won't. Thank you.

I'll not keep you.

Admiring my rockery?

Yes.

What a lovely monsteriosa.

Yes, it is rather.

Now, don't use these like an ordinary eye drop.

They're a wee bit stronger.

And you'll find the dropper in the cap.

Thank you very much, doctor.

You've got your car here?

Yes. Yes, I have.

Good. Tell me, Mrs. Gale,

how did you come to choose me

out of all the doctors in London?

I know a patient of yours.

Oh? Who's that?

John Benson.

Oh, yes, yes. I... I know him.

Well, good day to you, Mrs. Gale.

Goodbye, doctor. Thank you.

Now pull yourself together!

Of course, we're not backing out!

She'll go through with it as planned,

and so will you, understand?

(banging)

We say we'll deliver, we'll deliver.

Bye.

Problems?

Ah, business.

What else is it but headaches and problems?

- Profits? - Yes, you show me.

(chuckles)

Oh, that man didn't come back again, did he?

Man? What man?

Your friend in the fancy waistcoat.

The other afternoon?

Oh, no, he hasn't.

If he does, tell me, huh?

- Yeah. - Okay.

(banging)

(church bell tolls)

(organ music plays)

♪♪

Hyah!

Aah!

(breathing hard)

Unh!

Unh!

Mrs. Gale?

I think you owe me an explanation.

(laughs)

Oh, come on, dear.

Well, maybe just a bubble or two.

Tell me, do all your clients qualify

for champagne lunches and orchids.

Oh, Eve, shame on you.

What do you think this is, a PR do?

Chatting the client up?

Sorry.

I'll forgive you... just.

It's been a long time since I lunched in the West End.

Promise me something, Roy.

- What? - You won't add up the bill.

If they want to overcharge you for the Brussels, let them.

He used to do that.

Oh, practically a ritual.

We should be careful.

We will be.

Afraid of being recognized?

Luncheon with a prominent cracker manufacturer,

anything is possible.

Oh, my chauffeur is discreet.

I wink with the right eye. That means straight home.

And a wink with the left means through the park,

and if it takes less than 40 minutes, you're fired.

(laughs)

And which eye is it to be today?

Well, seeing as Nelson was my uncle,

I'll let you do the winking.

Mm-hmm.

Have you decided when it's time?

Yes.

- Soon? - Tonight.

Good.

Well, let's drink to that.

No, I'd rather not.

Let's go, Roy.

Relax, Eve.

He won't feel anything, you know.

Woman: Lord, Lord, methought what pain it was to drown.

What dreadful noise of water in mine ears.

What sights of ugly death within mine eyes.

Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks.

A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon.

Wedges of gold...

I would speak with Clarence

and came hither on my legs,

as the First Murderer.

(chuckles) How did you get in?

Ah, 'tis not... It isn't open.

Well, it should be. It's early closing.

I know it says closed. I grant you that.

So now you know.

I'm a would-be actress.

Yeah, I think I got that part.

- Waiting in the wings. - What for?

Parts for women.

Eh?

Well, could you see Mrs. Siddons or Sarah Bernhardt

riding a motorcycle scratching themselves?

(chuckles)

Must be something for a pretty girl like you.

Yeah, working in a cracker factory.

Oh, don't you let Mr. Hopkins hear you.

Oh, he wouldn't mind. According to him,

the firm's losing a fortune anyway.

Well, he obviously doesn't come from the poor home.

Drives a fast car, eats in swanky restaurants.

Hey, you've been spying, haven't you?

Guilty.

Hopkins said he recognized you.

Oh, where from?

Couldn't remember.

Well, good for him.

So what's your interest?

- Entre nous? - Strictly.

Well, I have a little capital to invest.

I thought this might be a cushy little billet.

Oh, this isn't it, believe me.

I do.

Of course, he has another string to his bow.

Uh, Mandrake Investments.

That's what keeps him in clover.

Oh, you know anything about it?

Husher than hush.

I sent your crackers off.

Strength B?

Of course.

I hope those poor little dears are all right.

I haven't read anything about it in the papers.

(laughs)

- There's my check. - Thanks.

Hang on. I'll give you a receipt.

Where is he today?

Lunch.

Look, is it Japanese?

No.

In fact, his lady friend came to call for him,

a Mrs. Turner.

Loaded?

And cocked.

If he's out for another day, why don't you call me?

Why? Why should I?

We could have lunch.

I owe you for the sandwiches.

Nonsense.

I know a little place in Soho.

Soft music, muted corks popping.

Gentle zephyrs wafting garlic from the kitchen.

I don't like garlic.

And some of the best-known theater producers eat there.

Well, I don't actively dislike it.

Here's my card. It's a date?

Mr. Steed, you're on.

(organ playing "Funeral March")

(no audible dialogue)

Where's Macombie?

He'll be here. Don't worry.

How did it go?

Went.

What happened?

I gave him the stuff, left him.

When I came back, he was dead.

Easy, isn't it?

I'll tell you the answer to that when we've buried him.

You scared?

Are you kidding?

Relax, Eve.

It's all yours now.

That's right.

Sorry, I'm late.

Little chap went down with flu.

One thing after another.

I only wanted to see that everything had gone smoothly.

See you at the funeral.

Well, I've made out the certificate, Mrs. Turner.

And what did he die from?

Chronic gastric catarrh with colitis.

I've also invented a medical history for the patient.

Where are we now?

Last saw him three years ago. 1961, Asian flu.

Pleurisy last year. And now gastric catarrh.

There's only one thing I don't understand.

What's that?

Why not cremate? It would seem far safer.

Yes, I know it seems safer. But, you see, it isn't.

You see, it takes two doctors to sign the certificate.

This way, it's far simpler, much less fuss.

Mr. Turner never liked fuss.

(bottle clatters)

(dog barking)

(knocking on door)

Come out and drink your coffee before it gets cold,

Seems silly to waste it.

What do you want?

Just another chat while you're still with us.

Been having me followed?

Have I?

Thought you had me last time, didn't you?

Did I?

All that talk about the letter.

There was no letter.

Who told you that, Macombie?

How do you know about him?

How do you?

He was father's doctor.

You know what this is?

No.

The medical history, Steve.

And it lists all the treatment that Dr. Macombie

ever gave your father.

What about it?

Well, when you sign a death certificate,

you normally know your patient.

This goes back to 1956.

I'd call that knowing him.

July 8, 1956, he prescribed a gluten-free diet

and some blood tests.

So it says.

On July 8, your father was in Beirut arresting a man called Malick.

How do you know?

'Cause I was with him. And he wasn't on a diet.

What do you want?

How did you meet Macombie, and who put you onto him?

Was it Hopkins?

He's a member of the same club.

Club? So that's how he operates, hmm?

He belongs to about every club in London.

Knows everything about every member.

Does he know a good solicitor?

I expect so.

Maybe you should get in touch with him.

You're gonna need it.

♪ Lead, kindly light ♪

♪ Amid the encircling gloom ♪

Vicar?

Ah, Mrs. Gale, you're back.

Yes, as I promised.

You were up with the larks this morning.

I missed you.

I've been in Bodmin.

I found out more than I expected.

Well, I hope now you'll be able to give me a convincing explanation.

This is the analyst's report on the soil

I took from the graveyard.

What does it show?

The earth is heavily impregnated with arsenic,

over 200 parts per million.

Well, arsenic doesn't surprise me.

Why not?

Where there's tin, there's usually arsenic.

Yes, of course.

The mine was only a quarter mile up the road.

Well, that's the attraction your cemetery has, Vicar.

(chuckles) Attraction?

After a body's been buried for more than, say, two months,

it would be heavily impregnated with arsenic.

So it would be pointless to exhume it.

Who would want to?

The Home Office.

Home Office?

Well, if they thought that somebody had been murdered, yes.

Murdered? How?

Arsenic.

But who'd do such a thing?

Your friends, Hopkins and Macombie.

Do you mean to say that all those bodies

I buried recently were victims of murder?

Yes, I'm afraid so.

But this is terrible.

We must call the police immediately.

No, no. We must wait. We've got to have proof.

Mrs. Gale, we can't wait for another murder to be...

We're too late, Vicar.

Oh, what a horrible scheme!

How did you get involved?

Involved?

You don't think that I was involved?

Well, then how did it come about?

Well, I first met Hopkins when his uncle died over at Coad's Green.

- I buried him. - Here?

Yes, just by the west wall, nice plot.

They were local people, so it's very likely

that Hopkins could have known about the arsenic in the soil.

And told the doctor he was working with.

But it can't be true. It never occurred to me.

They seemed such nice fellows.

I must write to the Bishop.

Vicar?

What were you getting out of it?

Oh, just a few guineas for Congo Relief.

Good heavens.

Congo children educated on blood money.

This is an evil business, Mrs. Gale.

How are we going to stop them?

Well, we've always got your pistol.

Oh, that.

I found it in my cassock last night.

I confiscated it at choir practice in Bodmin.

(knocking)

Ah, thanks be. I thought I'd missed you.

Another minute, you would have done.

I'm sorry I didn't get your message.

Well, that's all right.

You've odd hours, don't you?

It's an odd business. Now what do you want?

Tomorrow is D-Day.

Eh?

Hopkins is out of town.

Tomorrow, huh?

Thought I would exercise my option.

Hmm?

Garlic. Theater producers. Remember?

I'm terribly sorry.

Look, Judy, I can't make tomorrow.

Oh.

It's not that I'm trying to back out.

It's just that I have to go out of town in the morning.

How about next week?

Well, it depends on Mr. Hopkins.

Prettiest cracker in the shop.

How about Monday?

Come on.

200,000 pounds, isn't it?

About that.

What next?

Some winter sunshine.

Canaries?

Nassau.

Hmm, very nice.

I've earned it. 14 years with him.

Still, just over 10,000 pounds a year, darling.

Anyway, you married him.

Well, now there weren't so many alternatives.

When I married the late Mr. Turner,

I had a few shillings in my purse,

a pair of holey dance pumps,

and 12 years experience in the chorus.

Plus the firm conviction that any striptease I did

would be strictly for an audience of one.

Well, you have another audience now.

I'm retiring from the business.

Yes, but only temporarily.

I don't think so.

This all sounds very final.

It is.

What do you mean, Eve?

As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Hopkins,

you're just another tradesman.

Now look, Mrs. Turner...

I've traded with you, Mr. Hopkins.

End of story.

And I... go back below stairs.

Isn't that what they call it?

Where you go, sweetheart, is strictly up to you.

Well, they're almost ready, Mrs. Turner.

And the Vicar would like a word with you.

Vicar: We therefore commit his body to the ground.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection

to eternal life

through our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Amen.

- Good morning, Mr. Hopkins. - Good morning, doctor.

Good morning.

Fine day for a funeral.

Did you want something?

Yes. I wanted you.

Look here, if we're going to catch that train,

I think we'd better be off...

I won't delay you long, doctor.

This is rather an inopportune time.

This lady has just been through the ordeal

of burying her husband.

Who was poisoned

along with Benson and a good few others.

- Hopkins: What are you talking about? - Murder.

Absolute nonsense.

Now would you mind letting us pass?

This is hardly the time for jokes.

Steed: I'm very glad you agree.

Even if your allegations were true,

- you could never prove it. - Mrs. Gale: Why not?

- Because the ground here... - Quiet!

Arguing while Mr. Turner, God rest his soul,

- lies in his grave. - He doesn't.

What do you mean?

He isn't in his grave.

He's in the mortuary.

Post mortem an hour ago.

Result: acute arsenic poisoning.

Dr. Macombie: You fool! You incomparable...

This is a bluff. I don't believe a word of it.

All you buried were four sacks full of sand.

A fine return for my money! 10,000 pounds.

Scott?

Scott! Come on, man. Don't just stand there.

- (thunder) - Hey!

What? Unh!

- Hey! - All right, all right.

Take 'em away.

Mrs. Gale: The police are with the Vicar at the vestry door.

Right-o, Mrs. Gale. See you later.

How much?

100 pounds and Queen's evidence.

Ooh, you could have gotten him for 50.

What about me?

That's all right, my dear. Plenty of room in the big car.

It was their idea.

Of course.

- They planned it. - Naturally.

They even gave me the poison.

All you had to do was administer it.

Hopkins, I could understand.

But what went wrong with Macombie?

New techniques, better qualified men.

He just couldn't keep up.

And neither can I. What's the hurry?

I'm hungry.

Steed, do you know what I'd settle for right now?

What?

Some of your brown bread, cherry jam and Cornish cream.

Oh, at 11:15 in the morning?

Told you I always have it for breakfast.

(thunder)

(theme music)