Alfred!
CREDITS
What do you say, Bobby Jones?
A direct shot through the bunkers, Sir.
Get a good angle to the cliff.
Excalibur, I think.
- Are you sure, Sir? - Not remotely.
Unforgiving you called it.
Not at all, Sir. Man's club.
Don't say a word, Bobby Jones. Not a single word.
Sir.
You see, it's the "Sir" that's throwing me.
Corporal's as far as I got, two stripes, one leg.
- Whereas you... - Lieutenant.
Navy of course, that doesn't really count.
- Do you miss it? - Sometimes.
Right, you are. So, you're cruising the Pacific,
you see a brochure for Marchbolt Golf Club
and the spread of adventure rises within you.
Marchbolt is not the long term plan.
I should bloody well hope not.
Right. What do you suggest now, Sir?
The 3-iron, Dr Thomas.
Show an old man how it's done.
That's an order, Lieutenant.
Do you hear that?
Thought I heard something.
- Careful, Bobby. - Telescope.
Oh, God.
No, no, no, no.
Is he all right?
He's alive.
I can't...
I'll have to go and get help.
Try and keep him warm.
And say a prayer.
They're coming. Help is coming.
Why didn't they ask Evans?
Everything all right?
No. There's been an accident.
I've sent for help. Can you see anyone?
You...
Bloody hell.
My God. What happened here?
I don't know. He must have fallen.
- He's... - Dead, looks like.
Dr Thomas has gone for help.
- Did you see him? - No, no. Not a soul.
This place is like a graveyard.
I'm sorry. It's a... bad choice of words.
Poor beggar.
Is he a friend of yours?
No. I've never seen him before.
Never seen me before either, have you? How rude.
Roger Bassington-ffrench, two small f's.
Just don't ask me what they stand for.
Bobby Jones.
Listen, I hate to ask you this.
Dr Thomas has gone for help.
- I am supposed to be... - You need to get off, do you?
Do you mind? I mean,
there's nothing more to be done.
But even so, I don't want to leave him alone.
No, no. Absolutely. Doesn't seem right.
I'll stand guard. Dr Thomas, was it?
Yes. You can't miss him. He has a wooden leg.
Well, I didn't see anyone, of course.
That's why I came,
looking for a new house, bit of peace and quiet.
Not... not this much, though.
Right. Well...
I really must be off.
- Thanks for doing this. - No, don't mention it.
You are dismissed, Bobby Jones.
"Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee
"as thou hast served us."
Don't crush the ends
and when you lick it, you got to imagine
you were kissing a beautiful...
Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Bloody hell. You could have done some damage there.
Not really. These things are pretty solid.
- Why aren't you two in church? - Why aren't you?
Good point. Excuse me.
_
At 3pm on Sunday, the 19th.
Mrs Morgan has very kindly agreed to host once more.
And I'm sure she would appreciate, as we all do...
punctuality.
Hymn 84.
**
- Lovely to see you. - Thank you.
- Pa, I'm sorry. I got... - Excuse me.
Bobby, you don't have to do it.
No, I know. I know. I want to do it.
Yeah, well you agree to it, that's the thing.
- I didn't force you, did I? - No.
**
- I can easily ask Janice. - Janice...
Can't play the organ, I know, but at least she can be here.
Father.
Who is that?
That is Lady Frances Derwent.
Frankie.
She's grown up.
Yes, Bobby. She has.
Your friend, Mr Beadon telephoned.
Knocker?
What did he say?
Apparently, he has the lease and you're going to be busy.
Yes, Pa. I've been meaning to talk to you about this.
A £120 for a garage, Bobby.
It's not a garage. It's a sales room.
For crying out...
Knocker's put in a lot more than I have.
He's got three cars already
and I promised him that I would go halves.
Have you indeed? Well, I have not.
Thank you, Mrs Roberts. That was delicious.
- Finished? - Was it local?
- Local soup? - The fish.
From Bennett's in the high street.
And I've made some extra for the weekend.
- Carnival. - Yes. Of course.
Thank you.
A man died on the golf course this afternoon.
Died?
Fell off a cliff.
Broke his back.
I was caddying for Dr Thomas. We found him on the 17th.
I sat with him.
Then he died.
From the village?
I don't think so. Just a chap.
You sat with him, dear me.
Did you say a prayer?
Yes.
Well, if he's not from the village,
I doubt they want him buried here.
Still. By the way, Graham Morris died.
That's not a bad thing, is it?
Not really.
They're gone, finally.
Made a right bloody mess in the galley.
Also, they got to call you at the inquest.
Blimey.
Lady Frances, a pleasure.
Good afternoon, man behind the counter.
- Albert. - Alb.
Care to sell me a round of golf, Alb?
Alas, Lady Frances, the course is closed.
We had an incident here yesterday.
And the council... Well, you know what councils are like.
I emphatically do not, Albert.
What sort of incident?
- A very unfortunate one. - Yes.
Making me beastly.
Perhaps I ought to play a round of golf just to take my mind off it.
And of course, this, for the caddy.
Hello, Frankie.
I beg your pardon.
I got you, Bobby Jones. I got you good and proper.
The last time I saw you,
you were on a pony called Ottoline and I think you were 12.
As if I was ever 12. Madness.
What about you?
You played rugby for the under 18s when you were 15?
Too dreaming.
And they said, you ran away to sea.
- Sort of. - But you've run back.
Sort of.
Great story, Steve. Dragged a bit in the middle.
- Who 's Steve? - Always called you Steve.
I don't remember you calling me anything.
Not out loud.
And what about you?
What brings you back to Marchbolt?
Nothing. London sent me back.
You've heard of London. No wonder baffle you with jargon.
Well it's full of people and yet there's nobody there.
Explain that to me, ancient mariner.
What are you doing?
Well, the first hole is a longish par-4, so,
I thought you might want to loosen up with a lofted wood.
- You're speaking Welsh now. - I thought you wanted to play.
Golf?
Well, that is why I'm carrying your bag, isn't it?
Picnic.
- This is it? - It is.
Now, the police have been here all day.
We probably shouldn't... Here we go.
Silent upon a peak in Marchbolt.
Do you have any balls?
One dromedary. Two dromedaries.
Three dromedaries.
Three and a half dromedaries of knowing your life is ending.
A matter of fact, it didn't end then.
He was alive when I found him.
- Only just but... - You were with him?
Bobby. What did you do? Did you say anything?
- Nothing to say. - Did he?
I don't think he knew where he was.
Probably just as well.
Well, how? There are balls everywhere.
Yes and they're mine, all mine.
Once a month, the caddie's climb down
collect the balls and resell them at the shops.
It's one of the perks.
She's a lucky girl, whoever she is.
Hungry?
Wait a minute.
- He did say something. - What?
I think he said...
"Why didn't they ask Evans?"
And it beats me.
Last words are supposed to be a statement.
The will is behind the walnut bureau.
Tell Edith I love her.
You're not supposed to ask a question, then just die.
It's possible he didn't know they were his last words.
Sloppy.
So how are you going to answer it?
- Answer it? I can't. - But you have to.
- Why? - Why?
Because the man spoke his last words to you.
That's a bond or something. It's well known.
Frankie, the man was dying.
He had no idea what he was saying.
Poor Alex Pritchard.
Thought I was Steve.
You do continue to disappoint me.
Alex Pritchard is the name of the man who died.
How do you know that?
"The victim of the tragedy has been named
"as Alex Pritchard..." That was my first clue.
"who was identified by means of a photograph he was carrying
"of his sister, Mrs Leo Cayman.
"Mrs Cayman journeyed to Marchbolt
"from Paddington late last night to identify the body.
"Inquest will be held tomorrow." All that for a thruppence.
Apparently, there's one every day.
His sister.
- _ - Who?
I saw a photograph. It was in his pocket.
You went through his pockets?
Certainly not. I just...
I meant you went through his pockets, I hope.
- I would have. - I know you would have.
I was trying to work out what had happened.
Of course you were.
Because you wanted to know if he was pushed.
All hands ** twice!
- Knocker. - Hey, Bobby, old son.
All right, watch the suit.
* Way, hay, roll and go *
* Maybe one day she will have my baby *
* Gonna spend my money on Sally Brown *
That is very fine work, midshipman.
Thank you, Sir.
- Should we take for a run? - No, Sir. We shan't.
- Why not? - No engine. It's 25 quid.
But up and running this thing worth 300 anywhere in the world.
Knocker, how are you going to sell a car without an engine?
I'm not.
You are.
Come on, man.
Yeah?
Move back, man. Move back.
- Bobby. - Ivy.
He's stronger than you, innit?
Who? Knocker? Much.
I'm proud of you, boy.
But you've got the brains though?
No. He's got those, too.
What'd I tell you?
So, what have you got, Bobby Jones?
That's it, boys and girls. That's it.
Rum.
Lieutenant, what me say, man?
No thanks, Knocker.
Bit of a day tomorrow.
Night, Ivy.
Both the wedge fractures of the thoracolumbar sections
and the intra-abdominal damage are fully explained
by the force of a body striking the rocks
from a considerable height.
You said the path was overgrown.
Enough to obscure the way?
Perhaps, if someone wasn't familiar with the terrain.
But you are familiar, Dr Thomas.
In your opinion, was the path a safe thoroughfare?
One that you yourself would have attempted?
I have a wooden leg.
You're a friend of Frankie's?
Cousin.
Right.
Distant or...
Norfolk.
- No. I meant in terms of... - Norfolk branch.
Derwent-Broxley.
Robert Jones.
You are Robert Jones and you reside at the vicarage in Marchbolt.
- I am and I do. - Your occupation?
All dead ends, mostly.
I picked fruit for Mr Barrett.
I worked on the school roof after the storm.
I'll be operating carnival rides this week...
Yes, yes. All right.
And you were with Mr Pritchard
at the moment of his demise, is that correct?
It is.
I heard a shout.
And I climbed down,
and there he was, at the bottom of the cliff.
Were there words exchanged?
Yes.
What words exactly?
I...
told him that help was coming.
All right. Thank you, Mr Jones.
Amelia Cayman.
Please state your name and address.
Amelia Cayman,
17, St. Leonard's Gardens, Paddington.
Mrs Cayman, when did you last see your brother?
Three days ago.
He told me he was going on a walking tour of Wales.
He'd been away for some time and wanted to see the country.
Away doing what? What was your brother's occupation?
Prospecting, is what he told me.
He spent a lot of time abroad.
What about his temperament?
Was your brother given to bouts of melancholy or depression?
Never. He was always very cheerful.
He was looking forward to this walking tour.
Yes.
Mrs Cayman, do you recognise this key?
The Police suspect that it was from a hotel or a boarding house.
Which would explain why there was no luggage by the body.
Not even a knapsack.
Can you identify it?
No idea.
I know that Alex didn't like carrying a knapsack.
He meant to post parcels on alternate days.
He posted one the day he left.
He addressed it to Darbyshire, rather than Denbighshire.
So, it only got here today.
I see. Now, your brother always carried a photograph of you.
With the name of the studio printed on the back.
Did you know he was carrying this picture?
I did not.
It was taken a long time ago.
Would you like to pause?
No, no. I just um... I just...
had no idea Alex carried that picture all this time.
I just wish I had one of him.
Thank you, Mrs Cayman.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury...
Well played, Jones.
Coroner is a bit of a goon, but he does the job. Listen.
In all the hoo-ha, I forgot to pay you for losing my ball.
Right here, all right?
They don't have a ticket, they're off.
End of the night,
return the tickets in the kettle,
so we can pay our taxes.
You're boxman.
Three minutes in the afternoon. Two after sunset.
Mr Miller, can I be boxman?
I mean, I get seasick on the outside.
- Do you get seasick? - No.
Then switch.
And remember, kids have got to be over five.
Mothers have got to be under 30.
Mr Miller?
What happens to the trucks over the weekend?
They rust.
_
Bobby. We have visitors.
You have visitors, I should say.
Leo Cayman. How do you do?
Did he suffer much do you think?
I don't believe so.
It was very...
peaceful, I would call it.
That's something.
And he didn't speak at all? No last messages?
No.
- Regarding a burial it's... - Could he hear you?
Amelia said you told him help was coming.
We wondered if he could hear you.
I don't know.
But I said it anyway.
And a prayer, I'm also happy to say.
Well, not happy.
So, he could hear you.
I don't know. He said...
I thought he didn't say anything.
He didn't.
Well, at least I didn't think it was, anything.
He said, "Why didn't they ask Evans?"
What does that mean?
I don't know.
That's why I didn't attach any importance to it.
Amelia, did Alex know anyone called Evans?
I don't believe so.
Do you know anyone called Evans?
We're in Wales.
Well, we are very much in your debt, young man.
Very much. Very...
delighted that you were there.
That somebody was there.
We've arranged for burial in London.
As soon as the coroner releases the body,
we'll have him transported by train.
And, Pa tells me you're in the navy.
Was.
Robert's at a crossroads just now,
the world is his oyster.
Well, don't let that oyster go bad, ey?
Ha! I wish you luck.
Thank you.
* Hooray, and up she rises *
* Parts from the floor come in many sizes *
Put your back into it, Jones.
Eyeballs with a ball of grease, man?
Be easier if I wasn't pulling you.
Makes a change.
That's not what I meant.
Forget the money. They're after the first month.
Knocker, listen.
If a man said something to you
as his last words before he died,
would you say that's...
I don't know, would you call that a bond?
Blimey!
We've got to get you to London, man.
Going through!
- Who was that idiot? - Almost kill him.
Come on, Frankie. Let's go.
Frankie!
Bobby? What were you thinking?
What do you mean, what was I thinking?
Well, I know what I was thinking. Are you all right?
I'm fine.
Me chain's come off.
Should we keep going?
The chain's come off. Whatever that means.
I'll meet you by the river.
I thought you were in London.
I was now I'm not. How does she do it? No one knows.
- Any developments? - In what?
The case, Steve. The case.
I sent Thicko to the inquest as my spy.
- Is that Thicko? - As they come.
He gave me a full report. He said you were facetious.
That Mrs... What's her name? It was vulgar.
Cayman.
Yeah, she certainly looked nothing like her photograph.
Really? That's not what Thicko said.
- Dead spit according to him. - How would he know?
Her picture was printed in The Carian
and The Express, can you believe?
Marchbolt in the national papers.
I shall have to buy a hat.
I thought she was odd.
Made me think about time.
The ravages thereof.
Ditch the jalopy and jump up here.
Can she take two?
Yes, he can.
Some detective you'd make.
Okay.
What is that?
Carnival.
Starts tomorrow.
Excellent, should we go?
Well...
I'll be there already.
You have before you, Madam a roustabout.
How exciting.
Am I safe?
We are an outlaw breed, it's true.
But we have hearts of gold.
Knew it. Hearts... Blast. Tomorrow.
I can't. I've got a party in London.
I'll be in London myself next week.
Really? The Cavendish?
I don't... I'm not sure.
But I'll be fairly busy.
Doing what? Come on. Let's go together.
I can introduce you as Mr Steve Roust of no fixed abode.
Are you turning me down, Bobby Jones?
Come on, give.
What's brewing in the old roustabouts?
I'm going to be a used car salesman, Frankie.
Is this a riddle?
No, it's a living.
A job.
I need a job and selling used cars is the one I've chosen.
I see.
I see what's going on here.
Poor old Bobby Jones, the vicar's son
is too far down the ladder to mix with the likes of,
Lady Frances Derwent.
That is disappointing. To say the least.
- Frankie, be honest. - No, you be honest.
And while you're at it consider how incredibly insulting is to call me a snob
when I've done nothing to deserve it.
I didn't call you a snob.
I called myself a used car salesman.
Implying that I care.
You could be John the Baptist and I would still call you as you are, you prig.
Which is funny, because only a snob would say that.
Well, only a prig would say that.
Morning, Bobby!
Someone's been tickling the swallows.
Still don't know what that means, Nigel.
- I hope it's good news anyway. - What is?
Express delivery, tuppence extra.
Who'd spend tuppence on bad news.
The bloody English that's who.
Yes, yes. I know. Honest mistake.
But you are Jones and I was expecting...
Buenos Aires, Bobby.
Fair winds blowing at last.
Posted in Gilford.
Well, of course, they have an agent here
and Robert Jones, ex-Royal Navy,
most clearly called their attention.
**
Good, God!
A thousand a year?
It is pounds isn't it? I don't wear glasses.
Starting in a week? Who are these people?
Henriquez Dallo Imports and Customs Brokerage, Buenos Aires.
But that's a six-day passage.
I'd have to leave now.
Fortune has but one hair upon her head.
I have to think about this.
My dear Bobby, this is the stuff young men dream about.
This is your chance to make a life.
To make a mark on the world.
- I can't. I promised Knocker. - Kno...
No! Bobby!
I've agreed to it, Pa.
He's sunk everything into this.
His pension. His life savings.
I can't let him down.
I would very much like to tell Mr Beadon
that you are sacrificing a remarkable career for his sake.
But I won't.
Thanks, generous offer. Stop.
Regret must decline. Stop.
Other plans conflict. Stop.
Jones. Stop.
Ten words.
Six punts for nine and a penny a word after.
- You could take out "regret." - But I do.
- "Generous" - It is.
- We've already taken out "very". - Tell you what?
I'll make other plans, one word for a kiss.
You drive a hard bargain, Ivy.
You know very well I don't.
Absolutely not!
A thousand a year?
Well, I'd be damned.
They're not looking for a one-legged doctor by any chance?
You left the army as a Corporal?
That was a choice wasn't it?
I mean, you could have tried for a commissioned.
Funny thing is, they didn't want me at all, to begin with.
Too old.
Until Passchendaele.
And then all of a sudden, "Beginners welcome!"
You heard of "Luck of the Welsh"?
- I thought it was the Irish. - Exactly.
That is the luck of the Welsh.
By the third day, my two best friends were dead
and I was minus a pin.
So what do you do?
Worry about what might have been
or tuck into what it is?
There's only one rule, Bobby. Your words.
- Play it as it lies. - Play it as it lies.
Ivy. Tickets please.
Thanks.
Have a heart, Bobby.
Young love.
All right.
I'll count two of you as one if...
you sit very close to each other.
Mr Miller said to give you this.
Well, thank you, Mr Miller.
Absent friends.
Insufferable, Thicko.
Leave me!
ĦThe Waltzer!
ĦLet's go to the Waltzer!
**
On it. One moment.
The finest seat of all.
You go here!
Ay, chap!
It's Bobby Jones, the vicar's son.
The vicar's son.
Let's see, what are we?
Five adults.
And, one utter child.
Come on, Thicko.
- There you go. - I don't have change for that.
Keep it.
Put it towards a new bicycle.
Keep your hands inside the car, please.
Ooh, you hear that?
Lucky me!
Give us a spin, vicar's son. Come on!
Let's spin us again!
Spin us, vicar's boy.
Spin us!
Bobby?
What's wrong?
"I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep,
"as watchman to my heart.
"But, good my brother.
"Do not, as some ungracious pastors do.
"Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven."
Are you wearing my clothes?
Yes, Sir.
"Gamine" is the word I think you're fumbling for.
- Why are you... - Policemen took my dress.
Alright, brace yourself Jones.
You were sick on me last night.
- I was what? - Sick.
Frogged up, woke the cat, right in my lap.
I ran towards you.
You went, blegh... All over my dress.
They pumped your stomach found traces of morphia.
So, the police took my dress to check that too.
I put on your clothes because the hospital gown
made me look like a rhino.
And I started doing Ophelia. It's a real square, I reckon.
Sorry, did you say morphia?
Ophe...
Yes morphia.
Theory is, if you hadn't got seasick you'd be dead.
I was not seasick.
Well, whatever you were,
the twirly thing got rid of the poison,
before the poison got rid of you.
Someone tried to poison me?
Unless you tried to poison yourself.
Why would I do that?
Apparently, you said my name in the ambulance.
Several times.
Frankie...
I hope you won't be offended if I tell you I'm not...
quite ready to kill myself over you yet.
I am a little stung.
And also sorry,
for what I said.
- No, I'm sorry. - No really I...
No, no I shouldn't have ever...
Bobby, dear boy, are you all right?
Fine, I think.
Can you remember what happened?
Nothing, total blank I'm afraid.
Apparently they found traces of morphia.
Indeed they did.
What we call an intentional amount.
Bobby this is awkward, but I have to ask you.
Were you trying to... you know?
Ease the pain of a broken heart?
Definitely not, no.
We just laughed that one right out the door up the high street.
Policemen took my clothes.
Well, can either of you explain how thirty grains of morphia
found their way into your stomach?
No idea. Is that a lot?
Enough to kill two men and their horses, I'd say.
If you hadn't been seasick...
I was not seasick.
You're a little touchy about that, not sure why.
Well, the local paper thinks you were drunk. Front page.
I was not drunk either.
Did have a bottle of beer, though.
The twins...
They said it was from, what was his name,
Miller maybe.
Do you have the bottle?
Unless it's in my pocket.
I think I'd have noticed.
Pity...
The police still have my dress, though.
That tells them where the poison went,
not where it came from.
Frankie, where are you going?
To have it out with this Miller character.
No, you're not.
Relax Jones,
I wear the trousers around here.
Frankie, I've said less than ten words to the man.
And, "Why didn't they ask Evans?", is only five.
I did not poison myself.
Of course not.
If you were going to do it, you'd drown yourself.
Me, I'd take a large dose of phenobarbital under the willow tree,
so Mrs McCauley wouldn't have to clean up.
Those buggers who hang themselves
over perfectly good carpets.
Did you read about John Savage?
No, Reverend doesn't care much for newspapers.
Nor do I, but John Savage was this wealthy entrepreneur
and he committed suicide
because he had become convinced he had cancer.
Autopsy showed he was fit as a fiddle!
Right...
Well, I'm just pointing out the brain is a peculiar thing.
Mine isn't!
I did not put morphine in my beer, I have no reason to.
Shame...
Because the alternative is worse.
What alternative?
Bobby, you're a clever young man
and any employer would be lucky to have you.
But didn't you think it's odd that out of the blue
an Argentine shipping company
should ask you to leave so quickly?
No interview, no application, just first class ticket,
sail on the next tide?
Well,
sort of,
but no, I didn't really.
Well I did,
so I made some enquiries as they say.
There is no Henriquez Dallo in Buenos Aires or anywhere else.
- Hold on, you think... - Exactly!
Someone for some reason,
wanted you not to be in Marchbolt.
And when that didn't work,
they wanted you simply not to be.
If you put your foot down Arthur,
you wouldn't have to worry about what is behind you.
Yes, Miss.
It would save you having to look in the mirror quite so much.
I'd get into a lot of trouble
having my men drinking beer on a ride,
never mind putting morphine in it.
So, you wouldn't slip him a few bottles
in lieu of payment, perhaps?
He wasn't being paid. He asked to borrow a truck,
I told him he could work off the cost of it.
What's he want a truck for?
Not my business.
- Nor mine, I suppose. - You haven't said why.
Why would I poison one of me own lads?
Thank you, Mr Miller.
We may need to ask you further questions so,
hope you're not planning to leave town any time soon.
We are a travelling carnival.
Quite so. Good day, Sir.
Pass it. Go on.
Boys, Sammy, I need to ask you something.
I'm Sammy.
I know, I was just...
Listen, last night, you gave me a bottle of beer, do you remember?
I gave you the beer.
Right, Mickey, yes, you said it was from Mr Miller.
He said it was from Mr Miller.
Do you remember what he looked like, the man?
We never saw him, he was wearing a mask.
Do you believe in crystal balls, Arthur?
Fortune tellers, that sort of thing.
I had an aunt who had the gift,
she died of typhoid.
As she foretold when she was sixteen.
God, look out! Stop! Stop!
Stop, stop.
Bobby will you stop jumping out in front of me?
- You have to see this. - Why are you wearing that?
You know, funniest thing, someone stole my clothes.
Look at this.
Mrs Leo Cayman, sister of the deceased, arrives at inquest.
Well, Thicko was right. She's definitely on the frothy side.
As she was on the photograph found on the dead man's person.
Well done Thicko, we'll give him a biscuit.
Don't, because that is not the photo
that I saw in Alex Pritchard's pocket.
- You sure? - I'm certain.
That is not the same photograph and that is not the same woman.
I'd stake my life on it.
Not sure you should be saying things like that just now.
Two small F's.
Don't ask me what they stand for.
Lost me now, boss.
This chap said his name was Bassington-ffrench.
He came down to the beach while I was waiting for Dr Thomas.
There's nothing I could do,
so I asked him to stand in for me.
And what, do you think he swapped the photographs?
- Morning, Dr. Thomas. - Morning.
Angela... Angela.
_
Do as I say, not as I do.
So what else did he say, this geezer?
Not much, not a great setting for small talk.
But you didn't think he was from around here?
Definitely not, he said as much,
that he'd come to look at a house.
On a golf course? Fishy...
But if anyone's bought a house in Denbighshire,
the oracle will know.
Sorry, H, the police have my keys.
The kitchen door is always open, Lady Frances.
I'm not bringing Bobby Jones through the kitchen.
I've been through the kitchen, as it happens.
Long time ago, though.
Bobby Jones who bowled me twice on the south lawn.
I think you let me bowl you, as a birthday present.
That doesn't sound like me.
Your father is in the library with Mr Bragge.
Right.
Nice to see you again, Mr Robert. Welcome back.
Last one, yeah a little signature there.
Bassington?
Yes, that's right. Fortyish, we think.
He's French you say?
No, that's his name, Bassington-ffrench.
Mean anything?
I should be going.
Lady Frances, delight as always.
You're not staying for lunch, Mr. Bragge?
- Well... - God, he's on the 12 o'clock!
- Sadly. - Catch the 3 o'clock.
- You know, I... - Takes forever!
Dead before you get there.
It is rather slow.
Thank you all the same, Lady Frances.
Lord Marcham.
Come on, Pa, back to work.
Bassington-ffrench, do you know him?
Never seen him before in my life.
No, that's Bobby Jones and yes, you have.
Two whole summers he practically lived here.
- The vicar's son. - Hello, Sir.
So who's Bassington-ffrench?
A pal buying a house.
He was in the navy.
Before he left me, he gave me a salute, with the palm down.
He was in the navy.
Where is my dress?
There was a commodore Bassington at Jutland.
There she is, the dress thief!
Dress borrower, Ma, please.
Not French, though.
Now Hari tells me the police are involved,
which delights me, no end.
Can you give me a good reason
why I should not have you arrested?
I'm your daughter.
I find that increasingly hard to believe.
Knocker, it's me.
Why didn't you call me, man?
Because I've been in hospital.
Girlfriend injury was it?
It's bad enough that you lost Emily's suede gloves.
That is not true.
I lost one of them.
Listen, Knocker, does the name Bassington-ffrench ring a bell?
Pretty sure he was in The Andrew.
- Bassington? - Ffrench, two small F's.
- Why? - Why?
It's two small F's in "ffrench". It's how it's spelled.
But why do posh people do that?
You're not going to become Jones with two small J's, are you?
- You have my word. - Good.
Because they just delivered the sign.
_
I blame myself of course for not instilling in you,
a sense of personal property.
I wonder if you fully understood how gloves work?
Mother, I promise I will have your dress cleaned and returned to your wardrobe.
You will go nowhere near my wardrobe,
my wardrobe is out of bounds!
Do hear, it's been nothing but a string of petty thefts.
I will drive down tomorrow.
Will you, in what? A stolen car?
I did ask Mrs Harris.
There's no point in asking her, poor woman.
The maid's the only one who knows what's going on in a house.
Did you learn nothing at that ridiculous school?
Now, the dress that I wore on our 25th anniversary
is at the police station drenched in the vomit of the vicar's son! Teddy!
Am I being unreasonable?
- Do you mean the green one? - No, not the...
Do you mean to tell me that you cannot remember
the colour of that dress?
Whatever it was, you looked very beautiful.
Why...
Didn't they ask Evans?
I was gonna say why does the navy have a different salute?
Sailor's hands were always filthy.
Covered in tar from the rigging.
So we keep the palm down out of respect.
You never had filthy hands, did you?
You were an officer with white gloves.
I wore white gloves, yes, but I think once, to gut a fish.
I bet you looked dreamy in uniform, Jones.
But who for? Ship full of men with filthy hands.
Except when you're in port, of course.
*All the nice girls love a sailor*
But, why didn't they ask Evans?
Or, why didn't they ask Evans?
It's... Driving me nuts.
Maybe we'll never know.
We don't have to know, we can make it up.
We can sleuth and deduce, and hypothesise and
wear belted raincoats, and smoke pipes in alleyways.
We could do that.
But we're not going to.
I have to go to London tomorrow,
Knocker's opening the business.
I should be there.
This is the used cars caper I hear about?
I promised Knocker and...
And you're a man of your word.
Well,
next case maybe.
* Bright and breezy, free and easy *
* He's the ladies' pride and joy! *
* Falls in love with Kate and Jane, *
* Then he's off to sea again...*
This is very good of you, Mr Crowe, thank you.
Lady Frances is a generous person.
You want the vicarage?
No, actually the surgery, if you don't mind.
Are you ill?
No, no, I just...
What happened to your uniform by the way?
Dry cleaners, mud.
Stop, stop!
Excuse me, excuse me.
What! What is it?
It's terrible, this is just terrible.
CREDITS