Original subtitles

I wonder

how many wives there are in the world

who would actually murder their husbands if it

was positively guaranteed they would get away with

it.

Quite a few.

Here is one way that is worth considering.

Go out and buy 13 oysters in the

shell.

Bury one of them in the soil of

a potted plant for 48 hours.

Then dig it up and squeeze just one

drop of its juice onto each of the

six oysters you are serving to your beloved

spouse for supper that evening.

Your own six you leave alone.

Later on, I promise you, the wretched man

will be smitten with shellfish poisoning so virulent

that he will succumb before dawn breaks.

And not one finger of blame will be

pointed at you.

The poor fellow ate a bad oyster and

that's all they'll ever be able to say

about it.

Now watch this storey.

Mr. Appleby was about to open his fourth

antique shop.

His rather unusual methods of business had got

him into the habit of disposing of a

wife and the shop in a different town

every few years.

Mr. Appleby hated to sell anything.

He loved his bric-a-brac.

Consequently, three successive marriages to three well-to

do ladies had to date made good his

life.

Appleby antiques absorbed other people's candour.

You don't believe in bad luck, missus?

Yes.

I'm not open for business yet.

Oh dear, I see just the thing I

need.

What?

That.

It's perfect for a friend I loathe.

I shall be open tomorrow.

How much?

It's not for sale.

Not till tomorrow.

You remind me of my father.

Really?

Yes.

He was a stickler, everything in its time

and place.

Please.

What?

A cigarette.

Ash never hurt a rug.

Couldn't be there.

That's far too...

Everything's at sixties and seven.

I'm terribly sorry, madam.

Miss...

Miss Sturgess.

Miss, if you insist.

You seem rather attached to that awful rug.

The sentimental value.

That's all.

You positively can't bring yourself to sell the

vase until tomorrow?

No, not till I'm straight.

I'm sorry.

Pity.

My friend would have hated it so much.

But I'm prepared to pay a good price,

Mr. Appleby.

I'm not without money.

Shall we say I'm one of the fortunate

few?

Perhaps I'll pop by again tomorrow.

By all means, do.

Hello again.

Have you cracked a bottle of champagne over

it yet?

What?

The shop.

It's the official opening day, isn't it?

Yes, but no champagne.

No.

I imagine you still have that unspeakable vase.

Oh, yes.

It's even worse than I thought.

Perfect.

Right, how much?

Well, I...

It's not for sale, no, as a matter

of fact.

Oh, come now, Mr. Appleby.

We mustn't be silly.

You have a living to make.

Besides, I'm sure you're dying to get rid

of it.

I knew I would be.

You see, I...

Please, Miss Sturgess, would you come through?

How sweet.

You remembered my name.

I have rather a good memory.

Really?

Oh, you're obviously very tidy.

Yes, I like things in order.

Just like my father, obsessive.

I was saying...

Oh, yes, yes, here you are.

I only sell objet d'art.

What?

Works of art.

What, this joke?

Oh, please.

My shop is my life, and furthermore, it

is the policy of the shop never to

sell anything unless the prospective purchaser shows a

true appreciation of the article in question and

can assure it the care and attention to

which it is entitled.

Really?

Then you must be a flat broke.

Oh, well, no, no, no, I wouldn't say

that.

Well, you can't make a living.

Oh, I survive, but that's not the point.

If I sell, I must be quite sure

that the article goes to a good home.

Any other policy would be a betrayal, a

desecration.

What an unusual man you are, Mr. Appleby.

Fascinating.

Of course, I was only teasing about the

vase.

My friend will adore it, cherish it.

But I must know I'm keeping you.

No, no, no, no, I hope I haven't

kept you.

Oh, no, no, no, I'm a woman of

leisure.

I don't have to work for my living.

You know, it's quite uncanny.

You even dress like my father.

You were with him to the last?

Yes, yes, I was.

Then if I may say so, Miss Sturges,

you deserve your reward because, well, a woman

such as yourself could have married at almost

any time and left the nursing of an

aged father to someone else.

You must have made a considerable sacrifice.

Well, I don't deny I've had my dreams,

Mr. Appleby, but that's all they were.

I dare say all they'll ever be now.

I don't see why.

Because I've never met the man who could

fit those dreams.

No?

No.

I'm hardly a simpering schoolgirl anymore, am I?

That isn't the way I would have expected...

You see, I know my bank balance would

outweigh my looks.

I'm a realist, Mr. Appleby.

But I admit that what I yearn for

most is a decent, respectable man who would

devote himself to me and make the memory

of my dear father a living thing.

Oh, please, don't say anything.

I must go.

I've said too much already.

I'd given up hope.

Three days and you didn't call in.

Why didn't you?

Oh, I felt we both needed time to

think about our friendship.

I know I did.

And have you?

Yes.

Yes, I've thought about it a great deal.

I'm sure you have, too.

Yes, well, I remembered what you'd said about

your father and how you'd always hoped you'd

meet a man like him.

I'd nearly given up hope.

Martha?

Yes.

I believe you've met that man.

Do you, Arthur?

Do you?

Yes.

Yes, I do, with all my heart.

The truth is, I'm very lonely.

I believe you are, too.

Perhaps I am.

Oh, Martha, I'd give you respect, tenderness.

Could you, I mean, would you marry me?

You've made up your mind.

Absolutely.

I still believe it to be a somewhat

premature decision, Miss Sturges.

If your father were alive...

But he isn't, is he?

No, quite.

I'm sure you'll approve of him when you

see him.

I did.

Come in.

Ah, Dominic, dear boy.

Mr. Appleby, father.

Mr. Appleby.

Mr. Gainsborough.

Arthur, dearest.

Mr. Gainsborough knows about us.

You can trust him completely.

He's been our family solicitor for years.

I didn't quite know what to think when

Mr. Gainsborough telephoned me this morning.

Ah, well, don't you worry, dear.

Everything's arranged.

Now, do sit down, Mr. Appleby.

Thank you.

Thank you, Dominic.

Now, our valued client, Miss Sturges, has intimated

to us her intentions towards you.

Marriage, that is.

My congratulations.

Thank you.

And while she agrees with me that her

fortune might well be part of her attraction...

Oh, no.

She realises, of course, that that is not

so with you.

Quite.

Mr. Appleby, have you been married before?

Yes.

Divorced?

Good heavens, no.

Good.

Forgive me, the question may have seemed somewhat

impertinent, but in these days of moral laxity,

I myself am perhaps somewhat old-fashioned.

No, no, I quite agree with you.

Good.

That's settled, then.

Now, we act not only as Miss Sturges's

solicitors, but also as her trustees.

And she has instructed us to make certain

adjustments in your favour to the deed of

trust.

But that's wonderful.

Yes, it is.

You're a fortunate man, Mr. Appleby.

You still

think it's all been a bit hasty, don't

you?

It's love, father.

Oh.

Oh, don't look so gloomy.

The old boy doesn't get a penny till

she dies.

Just off to the shop, dear.

So soon?

Half past nine.

I hope they open at ten precisely.

I didn't mean that.

What then?

Well, when I said so soon, I meant...

How long have we been married, Arthur?

Three weeks.

And already you're forgetting your promise, aren't you?

No, I don't think so, dear.

No.

To devote yourself to me.

But I am devoted, dear.

I am.

But you can't be, dear, if you're at

your shop.

A man must work.

My man mustn't, dear.

My money is more than enough.

Your income wouldn't keep me in cigarettes.

I do wish you wouldn't smoke.

Are you criticising me?

No, no, no.

It's just...

No.

Good.

That's settled then.

This morning, no shop.

You'll help me with the crossword, then I

shall cook you a nice lunch to build

you up.

Well, I don't take lunch, dear.

I did say...

Yes, I know you did, dear.

But a husband who only eats soft-boiled

eggs is never going to satisfy me.

Eat up, there's a good boy.

Of course, lady.

I don't take condiments.

My father was a pernickety eater.

So like you.

I'm fine, Mr. Gainsborough.

A joyful bride.

Arthur's become so...

so devoted.

Yes.

Yes, I'll ring you tomorrow night.

Same time.

Bye.

Oh.

I'm just going up, Arthur.

Oh.

You and your glass of water.

My father always had a glass of water

at nine o'clock.

It settles my stomach, dear.

Yes.

Big time.

Arthur.

I'm ready, Arthur.

Do come along, Arthur.

Joe.

Yes, dear?

Anything nice?

Nothing much.

Just a postcard.

Who is it from?

I don't know.

It's for you.

Suit?

You're not going to the shop, are you?

Oh, yes.

I think I must today.

Really?

Oh, very well.

But you will have to make up for

it tomorrow.

Oh, it's from Isabel.

Do you remember?

I sent her that awful vase.

Oh, Arthur.

Imagine.

But for her, we might never have met.

Off you go.

Back by six sharp.

Client informs us three months in arrears rent.

Above mention property.

Unless hear from you by return of post.

Forced to take immediate action.

Appie?

Appie?

I'm sure you heard me the first time.

I do wish you wouldn't call me Appie,

dear.

But it suits you, dear.

You don't have to hang up your clothes,

you know.

I don't mind.

I like things tidy.

I know you do, Appie dear.

I don't.

I'm looking for a distinct improvement tonight.

Oh.

Your telephone called to Mr Gainsborough.

Yes, Appie dear.

I don't see why you have to telephone

him every night.

Don't you?

I do.

Martha?

I'd like a glass of water, please.

You would?

Yes.

Very well, Appie dear.

Is that what happened to the others?

Others?

What others?

Your other three wives, Appie.

What do you mean?

I don't understand.

Oh, surely you can't forget three wives just

like that.

Unless, of course, I've come to mean so

much to you that you can't bear to

think about the others.

That would be lovely.

I made it quite clear I'd been married

before.

Of course, of course you did, dear.

But you didn't say how many times, did

you?

Mr Gainsborough decided after we were married to

check.

Everything he found out about you only made

you seem in my eyes an ideal partner.

Ideal?

The moment I first saw you, I knew

you instinctively for what you really were.

Knew?

How could you?

I've told you many times.

You're the perfect image of my father in

everything, Appie.

Don't call me that.

From now on, I shall call you whatever

I like.

You're insufferably neat, just as he was.

Priggish and pompous.

I hated him all my life for what

he was and what he did to my

mother.

What?

Married her for her money, made every day

a nightmare and then killed her for what

was left of her fortune.

Killed her?

Oh, do you imagine you're the only man

who's ever been capable of that?

Yes, Appie dear, he killed her.

Murdered her, if you prefer.

Using a slip rug on a polished floor

to make it look as though she'd broken

her neck.

A method strangely similar to your own, is

it not?

Aren't you going to drink your water?

What happened to him?

Oh, Mr. Gainsborough thinks you know that perfectly

well.

He thinks you read the case and copied

it.

There were no witnesses, of course, but Mr.

Gainsborough was my mother's solicitor.

He became suspicious, demanded a hearing.

A doctor made it clear in court how

my father could have killed her and made

it look like an innocent fall, but before

a decision could be made, my father died

of a heart attack.

What has all this to do with us?

When he was gone, I swore that I

would find a man exactly like him and

make him suffer as my mother suffered.

I knew, of course, such a man would

only marry me for my money and I

determined he should never see a penny of

it until I was dead and I won't

be dead for a long, long time, Appie

dear, because you're going to care for me

until my last possible breath.

How can you make me do that?

A man whose wife can send him to

the gallows, all to no natural aid.

You can't prove anything.

Three wives, the same method, is too much

for coincidence, dear.

If I did it three times, I can

do it again.

Ah, but you see, that's where my arrangements

come in.

Arrangements?

Mr. Gainsborough has all the documents about your

marriages, the way your wives died, the way

you always got the bequests at the right

time to pay your shopsteads, and a letter

from me saying that in the event of

my death an inquest is to be held

immediately.

So you see, yes, you're going to devote

yourself to me, Arthur Appleby, for the rest

of your life.

You're going to care for and cherish me

and eventually I may, I just may, hand

over the letter and all the evidence to

you.

Nine days of service.

Mother!

Mother!

Oh, one more thing you must remember is

that if I don't telephone Mr. Gainsborough before

quarter past nine every evening and report that

I'm fit and well, he has instructions to

ring me.

I'll use the telephone in the bedroom.

Ah, Ben!

Wait.

Wait.

Yes.

Appleby?

Yes.

I wish to speak to Mrs. Appleby.

Really?

Well, she can't speak to you just now.

What is it?

This is Gainsborough, Appleby.

I give you ten seconds to have your

wife at this telephone.

Do you understand?

It's for you.

Ah!

The ten seconds are up, Appleby.

Do you understand?

Your time is up.