02x10 - The Good Samaritan

[bunniefuu]

[ Down-tempo orchestral music

playing]

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[ Choking]

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[ Theme music plays]

[ Woman vocalising]

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Irene Symonds, 43.

Her husband is a quantity

surveyor working in Cheltenham.

He's been informed

and is on his way.

- Any chance it could be

natural causes?

- Nice try, but she was

definitely poisoned.

Some sort of fast-acting

alkaloid, I conjecture.

Query How was it ingested?

And was it by accident

or intent?

I don't think it's su1c1de.

"Playing bridge with the girls.

Dinner's in the fridge."

- Sir, It's best you

don't go in there.

- Sir!

- Irene

Irene

♪♪

What happened to her?

- Well, we have to await

the results of a postmortem,

but it looks like

she was poisoned.

- Oh, God.

- I'm so sorry.

I have to ask

Could she have done it

deliberately?

No!

Irene would never

have tried to

We were devoted.

We were about to celebrate our

20th wedding anniversary

Oh, God!

- Do you want me to bag up the

contents of the fridge, Sister?

Uh, negative.

The poison wasn't ingested.

How do you know?

- The toxin was fast-acting,

and Irene was preparing

to go out for the night.

Look at these.

Traces of face powder.

And her lipstick

was freshly applied.

No food or drink passed

those lips after application

But before she leaves,

a last-minute touch-up

in front of this mirror.

♪♪

Then finished with

a generous spray of perfume,

judging by the smell

of the corpse.

Rather overperfumed for

a girls' night out, methinks.

Begging the question,

where is it?

Mm, Madame Luxe.

- No! Don't!

- No, no, no!

- Are you thinking

what I'm thinking?

What are you thinking?

- Catherine Jones.

- Catherine Jones.

- Oh, well, that makes things

perfectly clear. W-What?

- Catherine Jones was a victim

of the Good Samaritan.

Myrtle Hunnisweet.

On the surface,

a harmless old lady

who fancied herself

as a Miss Marple.

Good morning, Fred.

- But as well as sleuth,

she also cast herself

as judge, jury, and executioner

to those whom in her eyes

had escaped justice.

- Like Eddie Stevens

A well-known wife beater

whose wife d*ed

"falling down the stairs."

- So Myrtle made

the grieving widower

a beef and death cap mushroom

casserole.

Ah!

And then there was Dean Orum.

Got poor Violet Newton pregnant

and then denied responsibility.

Violet d*ed at the hands

of a backstreet abortionist,

and Dean d*ed

at the hands of Myrtle

who served him a lethal Bath bun

while manning the tea stall

at the Wurzel festival.

And Catherine Jones?

- Found guilty by Myrtle

for child neglect

after her toddler

fell in the river and drowned.

She won a bottle of perfume

that was poisoned

at the W.I. raffle.

And no prizes for guessing

who sold her the ticket.

- I'll get this back to the lab

for tests.

- Ah, what culinary delights

do you have for us tonight?

What does it look like?

- It looks

amazing Mrs Clam.

I heard about Irene Symonds.

Her poor husband.

Although there's some would say

it was a blessing.

- Ah, don't stop when things

are getting interesting.

- Well, I'm not one to speak

ill of the dead.

- Of course not.

- Never, Mrs Clam.

She was a Jezebel!

Flaunting a string of men

the minute his back was turned.

Why he put up with it

is anyone's guess.

- I'll do some digging

on Trevor Symonds

first thing in the morning.

Good man.

♪♪

Mmm! Delicious!

♪♪

Pub?

They might still have

some Scotch eggs.

I thought you'd never ask.

Thanks, Mrs Clam!

Delicious, Mrs Clam!

Who would poison Irene?

- That's what we're trying

to ascertain.

- Do you know where your wife

got this from?

- Uh, Kendrick's in Cheltenham

I expect.

Irene has

had an account.

She had several accounts.

Department stores,

beauty salons, dressmakers.

I'm surprised that you

could afford it

with a quantity surveyor's

salary.

Although, judging by the size

of your overdraft,

you you couldn't.

- What sort of man doesn't want

his wife to look her best?

- The type whose wife wants to

look her best for other men.

It was common knowledge,

Mr Symonds,

that your wife engaged

in many extramarital affairs.

Every marriage is different.

Whatever "understanding"

we may have had

is none of your business.

- You recently took out

a life-insurance policy

to pay out

£10,000 in the event

of her death.

I refuse to say another word

until I have

a solicitor present.

That can be arranged.

A word, please, Inspector.

[ Sighs]

- Let him go.

My office.

- Mr Symonds,

you're free to leave.

- The Good Samaritan's

calling card.

One was sent to the police

after each m*rder.

- The flower is symbolic

of their alleged crime.

A red tulip for Eddie Stevens.

Aggression, wrath, and danger.

Dean Orum's was a black dahlia,

denoting betrayal.

And a red dahlia?

Infidelity.

Right.

Surely Trevor Symonds

could have sent this.

- The information

was never made public.

We couldn't trace it back

to Myrtle

so it was never submitted

as evidence.

Who else knew about this?

Just us.

- Does this mean

that she wasn't guilty?

- Oh, no, she was guilty,

all right.

She'd cultivated a poison patch

in her garden.

Geo-thingies.

Geoforensics.

Thingies.

Matched the plants to the poison

found in the victim's

stomach contents.

- Her kitchen was a veritable

minefield of residues

from concocting

her lethal brews.

- Could she have had

an accomplice?

- The evidence didn't point

to that.

And it doesn't explain

why there's five years

between murders.

- Then she could have shared

the information with someone.

Another prisoner who has

now been released?

Myrtle wasn't in prison.

She pleaded not guilty

on the grounds of insanity.

[ Birds chirping]

♪♪

Oh, what you making?

I'm knitting a tea cosy!

- Oh, lovely. I look forward

to seeing the end result.

Thank you!

- Nice lunch?

- Oh, yes, thank you.

Any news today?

Jenny Popplewell's had twins.

Isn't that lovely?

Lovely.

The, uh, police have requested

a visit.

- Oh. Whatever do they want

to see me for?

I'm just the messenger.

I know you're not fond

of the police.

- Oh, no, well, that young

Inspector Gillespie

was most impertinent.

No manners whatsoever.

I don't know what his parents

were thinking of.

Shall I say no, then?

Yeah.

Oh

I do confess

I'm rather curious

as to the reason.

Oh, and ask if they can send

that little nun.

She's rather entertaining.

Okeydokey.

Thank you, dear Brenda.

Oh, and any news of your

young man's promotion?

They gave it to someone else.

Ohh!

There's always another time.

I'll keep my fingers crossed.

♪♪

[ Bell rings]

Mr Oswald Blower?

- I wondered how long

it would take you.

Wipe your feet.

♪♪

You've been expecting us?

- The world and his wife know

you arrested Trevor Symonds

only to let him go.

People are starting to talk.

And what are they saying?

- That it was

the Good Samaritan.

- On the 3rd of May,

you visited Myrtle.

You're her only visitor

since she arrived at Sanctum.

May I ask you why?

- I'm writing a book

claiming the case

was a classic miscarriage

of justice.

Myrtle Hunnisweet was

a well-meaning old busybody

with a slipping grasp

of reality.

She was ripe

for taking the fall,

whereas the evidence against her

and convicting her

was overwhelmingly

circumstantial

and based on the crackpot

scientific theories

of a Catholic nun

engaged by the police

as some form of experiment.

- And do you have a publisher

for this book?

Not as yet.

But in light of recent events

I'm expecting a veritable

flurry of interest.

We'll show ourselves out.

♪♪

- Oh, how nice to see you again!

Brenda has kindly

arranged refreshments.

- Sugar?

- Yes, please. One.

Okay.

There.

You certainly have a talent.

- Oh! [ Chuckles]

The Archangel Gabriel.

Yes, revered as one of

the two archangels

mentioned in the Bible

and also as the bearer

of very good news.

Although I conjecture

it isn't good news

that brings you here.

- It's about a lady

called Irene Symonds.

- No, I-I don't think

Oh!

Was she the girl

Frank Peter's youngest married?

No, no.

No, that was Irene Siberry.

So, no, in that case, no,

I can't help you.

Well, she was poisoned

with a bottle of perfume

laced with ricin.

- Ohh.

Oh, like poor Catherine Jones.

- And the next day

the police received this.

- Oh, yes, this I recognise.

Yes.

The police showed me some

of these when I was arrested.

You know, they say, um,

that imitation is the

sincerest form of flattery.

Though, personally, I've always

thought that was rather off.

To put in the work only

for someone else to take credit.

Though we can only assume

that someone else

knew about these messages

other than you.

That is correct, yes.

The person responsible

for all these awful crimes.

Because I-I know for a fact

that I could never,

never have done something

so wicked!

No.

- I-I think she's had enough.

Yes, of course.

Oh, of course you do know

what this means?

Whoever did this

well, they've started again.

[ Papers rustling]

♪♪

[ Telephone ringing]

Albion Bugle.

- [Distorte] This is

the Good Samaritan.

Uh, can you repeat that?

I-I can't understand you.

This is the Good Samaritan.

Listen carefully

to what I have to say.

- Where did you get

that information?

- I see you felt the need

to bring a posse.

- In case we need to tear

this place apart.

So you might as well

tell us now.

It's your time.

And unlike Ruth Penny,

this journalist never

reveals a source.

- Cut the crap, Clem.

That is evidence.

I can quote you on that?

You aren't denying that

Irene Symonds' k*ller

sent you a calling card,

the same calling card you chose

to withhold from the public?

Norman Whalley.

Something to tell us?

No.

He's lying, sir.

He looked the same

when he put a mouse

in Miss Totton's desk at school.

The whole class was punished

because no one owned up to it,

but we all knew it was you.

Zip it.

- All right, Felix, arrest him.

What for?

- Obstructing the course

of justice.

Aiding and abetting a felon.

How long's the sentence?

Up to 15 years.

- All right!

All right.

Were they male or female?

- We don't know, sir.

They used a, um

Colonel Mesmericon

voice changer.

A whaty?

- A children's toy that makes

you sound like

Colonel Mesmericon, sir.

- Who?

Oh, never mind.

Well, it's a ruddy great spanner

in the works, and no mistake.

- Is it possible that Myrtle

could be innocent?

- Possible, yes.

Probable, less so.

You see, Myrtle transpired

to be a prolific writer

of complaining letters

to The Bugle.

It was Ruth who spotted

the connection

to all of the victims.

- Sir, I write in regard

to the rising incidences

of domestic v*olence

Sir, I write in regard

to the increasing number

of unmarried mothers

- Turns out, she complained

several times

to the police as well.

The witnesses

confirmed it was her

delivering Eddie Stevens'

lethal casserole

and sold Catherine Jones

the winning raffle ticket.

[ Telephone ringing]

- Well, it was

an open-and-shut case

as far as we were concerned.

The jury thought the same.

- Which leaves us in conclusion

that she must have

shared details of her crime

with someone else.

Query Oswald Blower?

Her only visitor and author of

a book claiming her innocence.

Sir, there's been another one.

Saul Cropper.

88, lived alone.

His only family

is a granddaughter.

She's been informed,

and she's on her way.

He was 88.

Are you sure this isn't

natural causes?

- Now, it looks like parsley,

but note the glossy sheen.

I'd wager a pound to a penny

this is hemlock.

Hmm.

Find out where

that came from, Button.

Sir.

Mr Cropper's granddaughter.

What happened?

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Brenda and I have met.

She's a psychiatric nurse

at Sanctum Hospital.

He was fine on Sunday.

Was it a stroke?

- Did your grandfather

have any enemies?

- Well,

he wasn't exactly popular

on the account of him being

a conchie in the first w*r.

A conchie?

A conscientious objector.

Why are you asking?

Do you think he was m*rder*d?

By the Good Samaritan?

Like the woman in the newspaper?

We can't comment on that.

But can I ask,

did Myrtle ever discuss

details of the case with you?

How?

She doesn't remember a thing.

Dementia-induced fugue.

It says it on her notes.

- Did you ever talk to Myrtle

about your grandfather?

We aren't allowed to discuss

our personal lives

with the patients.

D-Does this mean that she's been

locked up all this time

and she didn't do it?

♪♪

- The greengrocer's boy

makes a weekly delivery.

But Mr Cropper disliked

talking to people,

so he always left it

on the doorstep.

- It can't be a coincidence that

Saul Cropper's granddaughter

is Myrtle's favourite nurse.

But what motive would she have

for k*lling him?

- About £7000.

- What?

- The value

of Saul Cropper's estate,

which he has now left to his

only surviving relative

Brenda Bristow.

- This arrived.

No surprises there.

- Oh.

A yellow rose for cowardice.

- The bad news is

that Myrtle's solicitors

have lodged an appeal.

Top brass has ordered

the original case be reopened.

- It's a waste of our time.

There's a poisoner on the loose.

We should be focusing

our efforts on catching them.

- Well, your efforts

are not requested.

I've been ordered to

take you off the case.

Sir!

- Conflict of interest,

all that sort of thing.

I suggest you go home and enjoy

some extended leave.

- Do you really think

we could have got it wrong, sir?

- We're policemen, not psychics

Of course we could have.

But I stand by our evidence,

as did a jury

of 12 good men and true.

Needless to say,

if we can't cr*ck this case

you'll be on traffic duty

for the rest of your days.

And as for you, Sister,

our experimental collaboration

will be up the swanny.

- Do you play golf?

- No.

- Maybe it's a good time

to take it up.

Now, I know what

you're all thinking

Man down, body without a head.

But nil desperandum.

I'm willing to step up

until necessary.

Lordy, is that the time?

I'm teeing off with the deputy

lord lieutenant in an hour.

So, ha ha!

Duty calls.

Good luck everyone,

and remember

I'm behind you every step

of the way.

♪♪

♪♪

Where have you been?

- Forgetting my troubles

with wine, women, and, uh

I never did actually get around

to singing that song.

Sam, this won't help.

Really?

Because tomorrow

I will be sober,

and you

You will still have a career.

It won't come down to that.

- The whole world thinks that

I convicted

some innocent old lady.

I suppose you're one of them?

I never said that.

And you should get to bed

before Mrs Clam hears

Oh.

- The inspector has had

a very trying day.

May I suggest that you help him

upstairs before something

is said which will

be regretted in the morning.

- Yes, Mrs Clam.

And thank you, Mrs Clam.

- Thank you.

Thank you.

- Those with known connections

to Myrtle Hunnisweet.

Oswald Blower,

Myrtle's only visitor.

And author to the book

protesting her innocence.

- Perchance the gentleman

doth protest too much.

Exactly.

- Trevor Symonds had plenty

of motive for k*lling his wife

but was in Ipswich at the time

of the original murders.

- With no known connection

to Myrtle.

And Brenda Bristow,

Myrtle's confidante

and now a wealthy woman

after her grandfather's

untimely demise,

but no known connection

to Irene Symonds.

It's like a cat's cradle.

It's a spider's web.

With one constant.

♪♪

Myrtle Hunnisweet is the spider

in the middle.

[ Telephone rings]

DS Livingstone.

Yeah, we'll be right there.

- I know

it was against the rules,

but I thought it was harmless.

What did you talk about?

Me and my fiancé

have been saving to be married

for five years,

except he keeps getting

passed over for promotion.

I asked my grandfather if

he could loan us some money.

It's not like it wasn't

gonna come to me one day.

He refused?

- Said he didn't want me married

till after he'd gone.

I didn't think anything of it.

And then this morning

- Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry to hear

about your grandfather.

Thank you.

How did you know?

Um, I-I overheard

one of the wardens talking.

Now, I expect you're feeling

very bleak,

but you know, sometimes these

things are meant for the best.

The best?

- Yes, you know, the pagan

Nordics practised rituals,

a senicide known as attestupa.

When the elderly become

a burden to their tribe

they throw themselves off to

their deaths from a precipice.

Oh, that's horrible!

- Eh it's an honour!

They sacrificed their lives

for the good of the tribes.

Now you and your young man

can get married

before it's too late.

- Her talking about

those poor old people.

I was that shaken that it didn't

strike me till later.

What didn't?

- She couldn't have heard

from a warder.

I'd only gone in to tell

the governor

about my grandfather,

and I hadn't spoken to anyone.

- Could she have seen it

on a newspaper?

All the papers are censored.

She only takes The Bugle

for the classifieds.

She likes to keep up with

the births, marriages, and

I'm sorry I can't be

any more help.

- On the contrary.

You've been a great help indeed.

May I use your telephone?

♪♪

- So I did what you said, Sister,

and started from the date

the bodies were discovered.

And I found this.

Two days

before Irene Symonds' death.

"The package is in transit."

- And the day after

bodies was discovered.

- "The package

has been delivered."

Await your next order."

- And the same for Saul Cropper.

- Our copycat is in cahoots

with Myrtle.

Top job, Button!

[ Laughs]

Can you, um can you find out

who placed the ads?

- Already on it, sir.

- Ah. [ Chuckles]

"Await your next order."

These communications

are two-way.

So if it's Myrtle,

how is she communicating back

with her accomplice?

Well, get your skates on.

Because according to this,

that package could

already be in transit.

- The only communication she's

allowed is with her solicitor,

and that's under supervision.

[ Sighs]

"Autumn perennials."

Oh, That's just her column

for The Chronicle.

It's harmless.

She just witters on about how to

plant perennials in the shade.

So I see.

You're welcome to take one.

It's just they are a shilling

for noninmates.

All the profits do go

to the excursion fund.

- This is on sale

to nonresidents?

Every week.

The visitors buy it,

and then we sell copies

to the local newsagents.

- Well, thank you, Brenda.

- Thank you.

- So, you're saying any Tom,

d*ck, or Harry

could have read these?

Affirmative.

The articles seemed innocuous

until this article,

published a week

before Irene Symonds' m*rder.

Then a change.

Strange sentence construction.

Grammatical errors.

Myrtle Hunnisweet isn't

the sort of woman

to muddle her prepositions

with her pronouns.

It's a code.

- Yes, a Vigenère square,

to be precise.

A 16th-century cipher

using a keyword to generate

a series of different Caesar

shifts within the same message.

It resisted all efforts

to break it for over 300 years,

thus earning the nickname

"le chiffre indéchiffrable."

The undecipherable cipher.

- You're hardly filling us

with much optimism, Sister.

- Well I do have

some acquaintance

with this particular cipher.

I just need to identify

the keyword,

which, experience suggests,

will have some pertinence

to the oper to the, um, case.

- But that could take months,

years,

and you might never find it.

- Well. Then the sooner

I get started, the better.

Evening, Sam.

We were just talking about

Saul Cropper.

Did you receive

a calling card, Inspector?

- No comment.

- I'll take that as a yes.

My guess is a yellow rose.

- Me and Mr Blower

have been swapping notes.

It's been most illuminating.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I have a veritable herd

of publishers

champing at the bit

for an updated manuscript.

Double whisky for the inspector,

please, Nancy.

Heard you were off the case?

If Myrtle Hunnisweet is innocent

are you going to resign?

- I'll buy my own drinks,

thank you, Nancy.

- No, he won't!

Give him a drink.

[ Speaking heavily accented]

[ Continues speaking]

Go on. Out.

♪♪

Thanks, Tom.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[ Code beeping]

- You're back, Bonham-Crane.

Almost didn't recognise you

in the wimple.

- It suits you.

- Mm. Thank you, sir.

Problem?

A keyword more elusive

than the Scarlet Pimpernel.

I've tried

all obvious associations

with the code setter

Dates, names, and places.

Religious and mythological

bringers of vengeance.

An entire dictionary of plants,

poisonous and otherwise.

- Floriography.

- Visual clues?

Nothing that stands out.

- If only we had a machine

that could do this.

That would be a miracle.

Oh.

- Well, that's odd.

- What is?

It isn't the Archangel Gabriel.

That's an hourglass, and

there's a classical temple.

This is the winged god Nemesis.

Obviously one of the first

I tried.

The question is,

why did she lie?

Stick with it.

And remember the human brain

is essentially

a digital computing machine.

Roger wilco, Mr Turing.

♪♪

♪♪

"Goddess who enacts retribution.

Symbols include sword,

lash, measuring rod,

hourglass, bridle.

Sometimes known as

Goddess of Rhamnous,

after a temple attributed

to her in Attica."

Hm.

Oh, dear.

♪♪

♪♪

- There you are.

[ Telephone ringing]

- Thank you.

- Thank you, Mrs Clam.

♪♪

No, Dottie.

I'm on the tombola.

You're on splat the rat.

[ Knock on door]

- Mrs Clam!

Mrs Clam!

- I'm sorry Dottie,

I'm afraid I have to go.

- Really!

- It's an emergency!

For a religious woman

she displays

a singular lack of propriety.

What on earth's the matter?!

Has the milkman been?

- I should jolly well hope so

by this time in the morning.

I have porridge to make.

The porridge is poisoned!

I beg your pardon?

- Correction

The milk is poisoned.

Don't eat the porridge!

Oh, dear, oh, dear.

Wolfsbane.

Um, call an ambulance.

If we can get their stomachs

pumped within 30 minutes,

there is still an approximate

4% chance of survival.

- Mrs Clam, there's no need.

We didn't eat the porridge.

You didn't eat my porridge?

Whyever not?

What was wrong with it?

Nobody's ever complained before.

Nothing, Mrs Clam.

One couldn't ask for

a finer start to the day.

It's It's just, um

it's just

The milk smelt off.

That would be the poison.

Am I right, Sister?

Oh, uh, very possibly, yes.

- And you didn't think

to mention it?

You work so hard, Mrs Clam.

We just didn't want

to trouble you.

[ Cat meows]

Tibbles?

Oh, tell me you haven't!

Of course not, Mrs Clam.

We wouldn't subject poor

Tibbles to

It's in my briefcase.

- Oh, excellent.

Saves me a job.

Oh, um, the keyword

was Rhamnous, by the way.

And the package in transit

was destined for Sam.

- You'd better get your suit on.

Looks like you're back

on the case.

- So each article contains a set

of coded instructions.

Ergo, in Irene Symonds' case,

10 mil ricin to 250 scent.

And a flower

for the calling card.

- What was

my calling card flower?

- Buttercup.

- Meaning?

- Meaning ingratitude, childish

behaviour, and unfaithfulness.

But I wouldn't take it

personally.

And you can rest easy.

Myrtle Hunnisweet

was the Good Samaritan.

Except now we have

two Good Samaritans.

We have an unknown

accomplice out there.

- Not for long.

Peggy.

- I traced the postal orders

used to pay for the ads.

All of them were bought

at a sub-post office

near Cheltenham station.

- See, the informant will need

to let Myrtle know

that the attempt

on your life has failed.

- That's genius.

- You see?

I told you we'd do just fine

without you.

- That'll be five shillings,

please.

♪♪

- On five occasions in the last

six months

you've bought postal orders

from the Archibald Road

sub-post office.

They were used to buy

classified advertisements

informing Myrtle Hunnisweet

of your progress.

- I have never met

Myrtle Hunnisweet.

Earlier this year

your company was engaged

to quote for roof repairs

for the Sanctum

Psychiatric Hospital.

You were the quantity surveyor

assigned to the job

and spent two consecutive days

carrying out a survey

with an access-all-area pass.

What did she offer you?

The means to k*ll your wife

and blame it

on the Good Samaritan?

And then, in turn, throw doubt

on her conviction?

- I reiterate

I have never met

Myrtle Hunnisweet.

It's over.

We know everything.

Including how she communicated

with you.

Using the cipher.

What I can't understand, though,

is how she forced you

into k*lling for her?

How dare you?!

I wasn't forced into anything.

I was an admirer of her

for years.

Obviously,

when our paths crossed

I couldn't resist

the opportunity.

Of course, at first

she didn't trust me.

May I say how much

I admire your work?

Oh, that's very kind of you,

but I could never have done

those wicked things.

- No, no, you mustn't

misunderstand me.

I'm not a sycophant.

It took a while to convince her

I wasn't some starstruck fan.

Wife lacks a moral compass.

- Oh!

- She's sleeping with other men.

- Oh, that's that's dreadful.

But after I explained

about Irene

And I rather feel that she needs

to be taught a lesson.

You certainly do.

- she recognised in me

a true kindred spirit.

- Now, I'm going to have

to think of a plan,

but just leave it with me

and I will get back to you.

- Agreed the world

would be a better place

without Irene.

You're very kind.

Bye.

- But you would have been

prime suspect.

So Myrtle shared details of her

crimes that only she knew,

making you accomplice.

I'm no accomplice.

We are equals.

Partners.

Collaborators in the same cause.

Once she was free, together

we would be twice as powerful,

ridding society of its flotsam

and jetsam

to make it clean again.

Together we would be

unstoppable.

We are the Good Samaritan.

- Trevor Symonds,

I'm arresting you

for the murders of Irene Symonds

and Saul Cropper.

You are not obliged

to say anything

unless you wish to do so

but anything you say

may be put in writing

and given in evidence.

I see.

- You'll be transferred to

HMP Sonning,

awaiting trial.

Your gardening and croquet days

are over.

You'll spend the rest

of your life

in a high-category wing

where you belong.

- No, I very much doubt

that will happen.

Because it wasn't me

that did it.

He told me.

Who?

The angel.

♪♪

- She's done it again.

Pulled the wool over their eyes.

They're testing her

for paranoid schizophrenia.

- Tests she'll no doubt pass

with flying colours.

So that's that, then.

- Not quite.

She wants to talk with you.

♪♪

Oh, do come in.

Now, I've made you

a nice cup of tea.

- I'll take that for you.

- Thank you.

Uh, one sugar, is it?

Yes, please.

♪♪

- I'll be outside

if you need me.

♪♪

Just what the doctor ordered.

Oh, poor Brenda.

[ Sighs]

The death of her grandfather

has knocked her for six.

But the decayed plants must

make way for the young roots

to flourish, don't you think?

- Yes.

The attestupa.

Although, by those standards,

would it not be you

standing on a precipice?

- Ah. Some elders were seers

and lawgivers, for example.

- Do you see yourself

as a lawgiver?

- Isn't that why you play

policeman, my dear?

- I like to think it's curiosity

for the truth.

And to comfort the bereaved

from the t*rture of uncertainty.

Though I'm sure you didn't bring

me here to talk philosophy.

- No. I wanted to talk

about Mr Symonds.

I'm very worried about him, and

nobody will tell me anything.

- He's been declared unfit

for trial

and referred for

psychiatric evaluation.

Oh.

Yeah, well, it's probably

for the best.

Mm.

Um, he did appear very troubled.

And hospital is infinitely

preferable to prison.

Although there's no place

like home.

Which is a great shame

for both of us.

You, you're rather too clever

for your own good.

And it can't go unpunished.

Oh, dear.

- See, it wasn't me,

you understand?

The angel instructed me.

I mean,

laurel is the most biblical

as well as prolific plant.

- And contains the active

ingredient of cyanide.

- So it's too late

for calling for help. Mm.

It'll be quick at least.

And perhaps you should

prepare to meet your maker.

- Actually, I made confession

this morning,

so the slate

Fortunately, as turns out

Is squeaky clean.

Oh.

In which case,

may I lobby for a final request.

- Oh, of course.

I mean, if I can oblige.

- You see, um, I believe you are

as sane as me,

quite probably saner.

Ah.

- Your crimes weren't those

of a lunatic.

They were the work

of such precise planning

Dare I say brilliance?

That only luck

found you out in the end.

Satisfy my curiosity.

I want to know

your inner workings,

so that at least, before I die,

I may understand.

- Ah.

The fundamental axiom.

The greatest happiness

of the greatest number

is the measure

of right and wrong.

- A rather extreme take

on utilitarianism.

I prefer

the eudaemonist approach.

The right action is action

in accordance with the virtues.

Not forgetting

"thou shalt not k*ll."

- How many other wives

would Eddie Stevens have k*lled?

Or young girls been ruined

by Dean Orum?

They die so others can live.

I'm not a destroyer of lives.

I'm a saviour.

[ Coughing]

Oh.

Oh, I think that's probably

all you have time for.

[ Coughing]

[ Coughs]

Actually, um, I think it's just

a frog in my throat.

Oh.

Are you all right, Sister?

- Oh!

- Oh, yes.

Fit as a fiddle.

- We had you under surveillance

ever since you wanted to meet

with Sister Boniface,

and we saw you harvesting

laurel from your garden.

- I took the precaution of

a prophylactic dose

of sodium nitrite.

Oh.

- Oh, um, I think you'll

be wanting this.

Oh!

A full confession of sanity.

Just what the doctor ordered,

Sister.

And as for you, Miss Hunnisweet,

your carriage awaits.

Oh!

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[ Laughing] I know!

[ Indistinct conversations]

Oh, here we go.

Oh.

- Okay.

Back to the office.

Heard you made an arrest.

Care to make a comment?

- We'll release a statement

in due course.

[ Speaking heavily accented]

- I don't think there's any need

for profanity, Tom.

Even if it is the truth.

What are you doing here?

We've got a splash to print.

♪♪

[ Groaning]

- Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Well said, WPC Button.

And now if I can

just say a few words.

Once again Sister Boniface

has saved the town

from the clutches

of a crazed k*ller,

and, in the process,

put her own life at risk.

Actually I was perfectly safe.

The sodium nitrite displaces

cyanide from the haemoglobin

and allows oxygen conversion

to re

[ Clears throat]

Anyway, in recognition

of your frankly

marvellous contribution,

we'd like to present you

with a small gift.

- Oh, no,

that won't be necessary.

Tell me, Sister,

what's your heart's desire?

Hm.

Well, I suppose that would be

eternal life in heaven.

That's not what she told me.

- And always the latest

Agatha Christie, of course.

[ Laughs]

Da-da!

- But how?

It isn't even published yet.

- My wife's cousin plays golf

with her,

and good old Agatha

was good enough to oblige.

Actually she's written you

something inside.

Oh.

"To Sister Boniface.

Keep up the good"

- You've achieved a miracle, sir.

She's lost for words.

[ Laughter]

♪♪