Part 1
Your tea, Miss Marple.
Thank you, dear.
A very pleasant young man.
Rudi? Hmm.
For a foreigner, I suppose.
Archie?
There's going to be a m*rder.
Bloody man Nehru's too clever by half,
that's his trouble. Jolly good.
I said there's going to be a m*rder.
- What time?
- Seven this evening.
Short notice.
A m*rder?
Hinch?
Hinch?
Hinch?
- Hinch?
- What is it, Murgatroyd?
- Where are you?
- Hen-house,
Listen to this in the ''Gazette''.
''A m*rder is announced
and will take place
on Friday October 5th,
at Little Paddocks at 7pm.''
That's this evening.
''Friends, please accept
this, the only intimation.''
Daft.
What do you think it means?
It means a drink.
Bad sherry, probably.
People don't announce murders.
Marriages, yes, but not murders.
Put that dreadful paper down
and have a look.
- It isn't a dreadful paper.
- You're not even a worker.
- I'm writing a book.
- I mean real work.
It's some sort of party, I expect.
Aren't there some rather boring
bright young things staying at Little Paddocks?
They'll pin pieces of paper on you
and then draw lots.
Somebody's the victim
and somebody's the detective.
Then they turn out the lights
and everybody screams.
Bourgeois escapism, Mother.
The opium of the people.
''Friends, accept this, the only intimation.''
- Sounds very exciting.
- Sounds extremely tedious.
Nonsense, Edmund.
I'm going, and you're coming with me.
Opium? Surely there won't be opium.
- Morning, John.
- Morning, ma'am.
- Good morning.
- Good morning.
A m*rder, it's scrumptious.
What time did you say it was?
Seven?
Yes, at Little Paddocks.
Oh, I have a confirmation class.
What a shame! You do
so love a good m*rder.
May I see?
Yes, it's there.
Amongst the second-hand pianos and
old teeth and c*ck spaniels.
It really is an extraordinary announcement,
and so uncharacteristic of Miss Blacklock.
- Patrick, is this your doing?
- No, indeed, Aunt Lettie.
Whatever gives you that idea?
I thought it might be
your idea of a joke.
I can think of much better jokes
than announcing murders in the local rag.
- Julia?
- Of course not.
Do you think Mrs Haymes?
I don't think aunt Phillippa
would try to be funny.
She finds it difficult enough being serious.
Or anything.
It's obviously
some sort of silly hoax.
But why? It's very stupid.
And in very bad taste.
Bunny, there's nothing to get worked up about.
It's obviously somebody's idea of humour.
But it says today.
Today at seven o'clock.
What do you think is going to happen?
Easy. The angel of death
will spread his wings on the blast.
I'll tell you exactly what's going to happen.
At seven o'clock this evening,
half the village of Chipping
Cleghorn will be banging
on the door, agog with curiosity.
I'd better go and see
if there's any sherry in the house.
Poor Lottie, she's so worried.
Two words, five letters and six letters,
''Terminal stiffening of sinews.''
Rigor mortis.
Of course.
Good old rigor mortis.
I wish you wouldn't talk about things like that.
Oh, Hannah, we shall need a bottle of sherry
for this evening. I'm expecting visitors.
- I will not be here this evening.
- What do you mean?
- I am giving you my notices.
- There is no need to give notice.
There IS need, Miss Blacklock.
In the newspaper. They are coming to k*ll me.
Nobody is coming to k*ll anybody. It's a joke.
Murdering people is a joke!
In England, everything is a joke.
In Europe, k*lling people is not a joke.
That is why I escaped.
I promise you, my dear, you are perfectly safe.
You promise?
If somebody was going to m*rder you,
they'd hardly advertise the fact in the newspaper.
Perhaps in England they would,
but perhaps it is you they mean to m*rder,
Miss Blacklock.
(BELLS CHIME)
You've had the central heating lit, Aunt Lettie.
The whole house felt clammy.
Our precious, precious coke?
It was that or our
even more precious coal.
I remember when there
was plenty of coal,
plenty of coke.
Plenty of everything.
- Was this in the olden days?
- Oh, yes, my dear.
Hello.
- Is there a party?
- Welcome to the scene of the crime.
Is it a joke? I'm very stupid
when it comes to jokes.
Indeed.
There is to be a m*rder in this room
in about...quarter of an hour.
Here you see the funeral wreaths
and here the funeral supper.
- I don't understand.
- Read this.
- I was explaining.
- It'll be quicker if she reads it for herself.
- I must go and lock up the ducks.
- I'll do it.
Certainly not. Last time,
you didn't put the latch down properly.
I've read what it says,
but I still don't understand.
Nor do we.
Great fun, isn't it?
You don't think anyone will come, do you?
- I shouldn't think so.
- Village people are very inquisitive, you know.
Well, there's a brand-new bottle of sherry
on the premises.
So that won't go to waste,
whatever happens.
Shall I fetch it, to be
on the safe side?
I think Lettie wanted you to
move the table into the bay.
Work, work, work. Will it never cease?
Thank you, Patrick.
When you've done that, would you...
Fetch the new bottle of sherry from the pantry?
My pleasure.
- Yes, that's better.
- How is that better?
We're prepared for guests,
but we don't look as if we're expecting guests.
We give a lovely performance of a quiet evening
at home and look astonished if anybody drops in?
- Precisely.
- I do hope nobody drops in.
(DOORBELL)
Somebody at the door.
Mr and Mrs Borgia from along the road.
They brought their own bottle.
Patrick, could you make a huge effort
and behave yourself?
I'll make a huge effort,
and we'll see what happens.
Colonel Easterbrook
and Mrs Easterbrook to see you.
Thank you, Hannah.
What a lovely surprise.
- Well, good evening.
- Good evening.
Happened to be passing. Quite a mild evening.
- Central heating on?
- The whole house felt clammy.
Well...
- Lovely chrysanthemums.
- A bit scraggy, in my opinion.
(DOORBELL)
We haven't started ours yet.
Your chrysanthemums?
Central heating.
Miss Murgatroyd and Miss Hinchcliffe.
Evening.
Good evening.
Good evening.
Such a lovely evening. We came out for a stroll.
I said to Murgatroyd, ''Why don't we pop in
and see how the ducks are laying?''
It's lovely and warm in here.
Have you got the heating on?
Yes. I'm told the house felt clammy.
(DOORBELL)
- Well, this is jolly nice, isn't it?
- Bang on.
Bang on? Is that what they say nowadays?
I'm afraid so, Colonel.
Mrs Swettenham and Master Swettenham.
- Here we are.
- Indeed we are.
I just popped in to see whether
you might be interested in a kitten.
A kitten?
Our cat is about to...
Be blessed with issue.
Father unknown,
but probably various.
- The result will certainly be a monster.
- Edmond.
- Do sit down, Mrs Swettenham.
- It's jolly warm in here.
- They put the central heating on.
- The house was a bit clammy.
(DOORBELL)
Bet you never had that trouble in India, Colonel.
The odd flood during the monsoon.
No clamminess to speak of.
- Mrs Harmon.
- Hello, everyone.
- Hello, Mrs Harmon.
- Hello, Miss Blacklock.
Not too late, am I?
When does the m*rder begin?
- No, you're not too late.
- Everybody's still intact.
Julian's simply frantic with
rage he can't be here.
He adores murders.
He writes his best sermons
when he's in the middle of a good thriller.
With four or five decent corpses
littered about the place.
- Oh, sorry. I'm talking too much.
- No, you're not.
When is the m*rder
going to begin?
If it's going to begin,
it ought to happen soon.
It's just one minute to seven.
- Time to pour the sherry, I think. Patrick?
- Yes.
Phillipa, be a dear.
What do you mean, if?
I know no more about it than you do.
Oh!
Well, now. Yes, perhaps a cigarette.
(CLOCK CHIMES SEVEN)
- Oh!
- It's beginning!
- Archie? Archie, where are you?
- I'm here, dear.
- Ow!
- So sorry.
- (SCREAMING)
- Stick 'em up!
- Stick 'em up, I tell you!
- Isn't it wonderful?
I must say, it's quite impressive so far.
(g*nshots)
Somebody switch the lights on!
- Anybody got matches or a lighter?
- Yes, I have.
- Try the switches.
- They're off at the mains.
(KNOCKING)
- Get the candles, Patrick.
- On my way.
- He's knocked himself out.
- Serves him right.
She's locked in!
I was cleaning the silver and a man locked me in!
And then I heard sh**ting!
- Now, stop it!
- Get the candles!
Miss Blacklock!
- You're bleeding!
- Something grazed my ear.
There's blood all over you.
Well, ears bleed. Everybody knows that.
Patrick, where are those candles?
We can't do anything...
- Phillipa's mending the fuse.
- Thank goodness.
Better take a closer look at the fellow.
Good God! The man's dead!
- It was just the one fuse gone.
- Better see who it is.
Anyone know him?
- Never seen him in my life.
- Nor me. He looks so young.
Do you think he shot himself?
Could have been an accident
if he tripped over that cloak thing.
- I know him!
- You do?
Lettie, it's that young man
from the Spa Hotel at Medenham Wells,
who came asking you for money.
- So it is.
- He might have k*lled you.
He came here to k*ll you, Lettie!
Phillipa, give Bunny some brandy.
Julia, run upstairs and get
some sticking plasters.
My blood seems to be
upsetting everybody.
Ring for the police.
Rudi Scherz.
Swiss nationality.
Employed here as a receptionist.
Yes, this is... he.
How long was he working for you, Mr Rowlandson?
I took the liberty in checking in my files
before you arrived.
A little over three months.
Good credentials, references, permits, et cetera.
Would you like to have a look at these?
I'll take your word.
Was he satisfactory?
Um, quite satisfactory, Inspector.
- That sounds to me like a negative judgment.
- Purely conjectural.
There were a couple of misunderstandings
about the bills,
items charged that oughtn't to have been.
- We assumed it was carelessness, inexperience.
- But it wasn't?
You now tell me
that he was some sort of criminal,
so I suppose he could have been
trying to cheat our customers.
But it's still different from an armed hold-up.
Any women in his life?
- One of our waitresses.
- Name?
Myrna Harris.
You were friendly with Rudi Scherz?
- I didn't know what he was like...
- We don't know what he was like.
I want you to help me find out.
Well, you always think that anybody
who works in reception's bound to be all right.
They're very careful when they employ people,
especially foreigners.
- Was he with a g*ng?
- We think he was working on his own.
He was a lovely dancer, nice to go out with.
Best seats at the pictures
and bought you flowers and...
I'm sorry he's dead.
Er, there's one.
Thanks.
Stuff's been going missing, you know.
- What sort of stuff?
- From rooms.
A diamond brooch, I think,
and a little gold locket.
Might not have been him.
Might've been me.
But it wasn't.
- You liked him?
- Yeah.
He talked big, mind you,
but I got used to that during the w*r.
The Poles were bad enough.
The Americans were even worse.
How did he compare to them?
He talked as big.
Said he came from a rich family in Switzerland,
only he couldn't get his money here
on account of the currency regulations.
That's what he said.
He didn't wear rich clothes. Very ordinary.
Not real class, you know?
I know.
And he'd saved all kinds of people
from certain death in the Alps.
I didn't believe that, either.
Did he ever mention Miss Blacklock?
No, I don't think so.
She sometimes comes here for lunch
so he might have met her, but...
Did he ever mention the village
of Chipping Cleghorn?
I think he asked about the buses once.
What time they went.
Not sure if it was Chipping Cleghorn.
Might've been some other Chipping.
There's a lot around here.
I wouldn't have gone out with him
if I'd known he was a crook.
But I'm still sorry he's dead.
Oh! Good morning, Inspector Craddock.
You've checked the house?
Sir. No fingerprints.
No signs of forced entry.
But the doors seem to be unlocked
most of the time anyway.
Scherz seems to have come
from Medenham on the bus.
It arrives in Chipping
Cleghorn at 6:30.
Why did the lights go out?
The drawing room and the hall
are on the same circuit.
If you can organise for them
to fuse at exactly seven...
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.
As you might say, sir.
Tell me about the people here.
Miss Blacklock?
- I think she's all right, sir.
- Miss Bunner, is it?
Nice woman, sir.
But, with respect, a bit scatty.
- Patrick Simmons?
- Fancies himself as a joker.
- Julia Simmons?
- Just fancies herself.
Philippa Haymes.
I haven't met her yet.
Out for work all day.
Good.
Pretty garden.
This is where the incident occurred?
- Yes.
- But we tidied up, of course.
Such a mess! Tables knocked over,
people barging about in the dark.
And a nasty cigarette burn.
But that happens
all the time these days.
Bunny. I think we should
answer the questions.
Thank you, Miss Blacklock.
Tell me when you first saw Rudi Scherz.
- Was that his name?
- Yes.
Oh, it was about three weeks ago.
We went shopping for the day in Medenham Spa.
We had lunch at the hotel.
He came over to our table
and said he was the son of the proprietor
of the Hôtel des Alpes in Montreux,
where my sister and I stayed during the w*r.
- Did you remember him?
- Oh, no!
All these boys at reception desks look the same.
- And then he came to see you?
- Yes, ten days ago.
He had some absurd story about
his mother being dangerously ill
and needing the money to
get back to Switzerland.
- You didn't give him any money?
- Certainly not.
Very wise.
I was secretary
to a financier for many years.
I know all about hard-luck stories
and appeals for money.
When he came here, did
you sense that he might
have been spying out the land,
so to speak?
- You mean casing the joint?
- Yes, that's what I mean, Miss Bunner.
Yes, it is quite possible.
I remember he took a keen interest in the house.
But all that elaborate nonsense.
The advertisement in the newspaper.
I just really don't understand any of it.
- Do you keep much money here?
- A few pounds, no more.
- Jewellery?
- A couple of rings and brooches.
- These cameos.
- There's nothing worth stealing.
It was revenge, Inspector.
Lettie refused to give him the money,
and he came here to k*ll her.
That's where he shot at you, Miss Blacklock?
Just a scratch. Made a lot of blood, but it...
Tell me what happened.
- The clock struck.
- Seven.
And then the lights went out.
- And next?
- The door opened.
- Which door?
- That door.
- What about that door?
- Never used.
That's a hangover from when this was two rooms.
So, this door opened and...
Well, there he was.
- A man with a revolver.
- A masked man with a revolver.
And I thought...
I mean we all thought that it
was just some silly joke.
- And then he said something.
- ''Hands up, or I sh**t.''
- Something like that.
- You put your hands up?
Oh, yes.
It seemed like part of the game.
He shone his flashlight in my eyes.
It dazzled me. I began to get annoyed about it.
And then?
Well, then there was the first shot.
Somebody screamed, I think.
And then I felt the pain in my ear.
You see? It wasn't just a scratch.
Where were you standing,
Miss Blacklock?
Over here by the table.
- I was reaching for the cigarette box.
- There are the b*llet holes!
He WAS trying to k*ll you.
You tell her, Inspector. She won't believe me.
And having failed to sh**t you,
he then turns the g*n on himself?
Obviously.
Do you think it's obvious?
Of course I don't inspector.
I think it's absolutely ludicrous.
He wasn't the sort of
man to sh**t himself.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
Oh, will you take those away? I hate dead flowers.
I picked them fresh yesterday.
Even flowers don't last the way they used to.
- Is Miss Bunner a relation of yours?
- No, an old friend.
We were at school together.
About a hundred years ago.
- A companion.
- We keep each other company.
And the other people who live here?
Patrick and Julia.
They call me Aunt Lettie,
but they're actually distant cousins.
Oh, sorry.
Aunt Dora says the police want
to cross-examine everyone. Is that so?
This is Julia.
Since you're kind enough to volunteer,
Miss Simmons, Inspector Craddock.
- This is Sergeant Fletcher.
- We've met.
- Have you finished with me for now?
- I think so.
Oh, will you be speaking to Hannah?
Hannah is?
- My cook.
- She screams a lot.
- The poor girl is a refugee.
- Nationality?
I asked her that. She said, ''I do not know.
I have not read ze papers today.''
Please don't be prejudiced against her,
just because she tells lies.
There are a lot of atrocity stories around now,
but I think there is a real core of truth
in some of hers.
I can't help feeling sorry for her.
- And she is a very good cook.
- When she feels like it.
I shall bear all that in mind.
Thank you.
- Would you tell me about last night.
- I told Sergeant Fletcher.
- He wrote it all down.
- I'd like you to tell me.
Well, a lot of tiresome people called round.
- Who?
- In order of arrival?
Colonel and Mrs Easterbrook,
Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd,
Mrs Swettenham and Edmund Swettenham,
and Mrs Harmon, the vicar's wife.
They all said the same things,
''Lovely chrysanthemums'' and ''I see
you've got your central heating on.''
Except Mrs Harmon.
She said what everyone
else was thinking.
''What time's the m*rder?''
- You like Mrs Harmon?
- She's the best of the bunch.
And then?
The lights went out and
this man walked in
and said, ''Stick 'em up''
or something equally ridiculous.
Then the sh**ting started.
It wasn't ridiculous any more.
Was the only light from the man's torch?
Yes.
And from what you could see,
when he fired the shots,
was he aiming at Miss Blacklock?
I shouldn't think so.
A revolver in one hand,
a torch in the other,
having to keep that door open,
everybody all over the place,
he'd do well to hit anyone.
If he wanted to take
a pot-shot at Aunt Lettie,
I can think of better
ways of doing it.
Stand behind a hedge and do it. Bang!
Understood.
But to fill the room with neighbours
and put that advertisement in the newspaper...
It's more like a student rag.
You're a student, I believe, Miss Simmons.
I'm training as a dispenser
at Milchester General Hospital.
But if I'd planned last
night, as a joke I wouldn't
have filled the room
with colonels and vicars' wives.
And if you were planning a m*rder?
I'm a dispenser.
I'd mix a lethal potion.
Quick and clean and quiet.
Ah. Should I make a note of that?
Better not, in case anyone else
pops off in suspicious circumstances.
- Is your brother at home?
- No, he went out somewhere.
- He's a student too, did you know?
- Really?
Milchester University.
Reading engineering. Occasionally.
He's a bit of a waster.
But I like him, considering he's my brother.
And I believe he was
quite heroic during the w*r.
I might have a word with Hannah, in that case.
Crazy foreign cook?
An obvious suspect, Inspector.
All my life I am pursued by men in uniform.
I escape to England, thinking I will be safe.
Still I am pursued by men in uniform.
- We're not here to arrest you.
- No?
- I want to know about last night.
- Last night?
I see the announcement in the paper
and I know I am going to be m*rder*d.
I try to leave, but she will not let me.
- She is a very strong woman.
- Miss Blacklock?
Yes. The others are silly
but she is strong.
You stayed, and then what?
The doorbell rings. I answer the door.
The doorbell rings again.
I answer the door again.
The doorbell rings again.
I answer the door again.
After the people had arrived.
Oh... I go to the dining
room to clean the silver.
I hear shots.
I scream!
I try the door. It is locked.
I scream again.
Somebody turns the key and let me out.
I scream again.
Somebody hits me. I see blood.
- You scream again?
- I think so.
- Are you going to arrest me?
- Not today.
(WHISTLES TUNE)
Gosh.
Am I too late for the sleuths?
Mr Patrick Simmons.
Am I under suspicion?
There is a feeling that placing the advertisement
was your style of joke.
It is the sort of thing I go in for.
Habitually?
Occasionally.
At some point, we'd like your version
of what happened last night.
It'll be as confused and
contradictory as everybody else's.
Perhaps you'll tell us
where we'll find Mrs Haymes.
Our Phillipa?
She works at Dayas Hall, assistant gardener.
- I know it, sir. Along the road.
- Phillipa doesn't say much.
She's nice in an anonymous sort of way.
Not the murdering kind. But then, nobody is.
- Somebody must be.
- Unless the fellow shot himself.
Peculiar way to commit suicide.
Equally peculiar way to commit m*rder.
So, what is your conclusion?
It's easier being an engineering student
than an ace detective.
You arrived home at what time?
About six.
I had a bath, got changed,
then found some sort of party
was about to happen.
When you arrived home, which door did you use?
The side door. I'm generally a bit mucky,
so I never use the front.
Was the door unlocked?
- Yes. I locked it when I came in.
- I see.
Tell me about the... hold-up.
The lights went out exactly
as the clock was striking seven.
The door opened and...
..this man shone a torch on us and flourished
a revolver and told us to put our hands up.
Which you did?
No, I didn't, actually.
I thought it was just fun.
And I'd been working all day, so I thought,
''Bother it, I'm not putting my hands up.''
You were bored by the whole thing?
Yes, I was, rather.
Where were you standing?
By the mantelpiece. I was looking for my lighter.
When the man shone the torch around the room,
did you get the sense
that he was looking for somebody?
No.
He wasn't looking for anybody?
Thinking about it since it happened,
he did it in a vague
sort of way,
waved the torch about aimlessly.
As if he hadn't the faintest
idea what he was there for.
- When you saw the body, did you know the man?
- No.
But then, I can't really afford to eat
at the Royal Spa Hotel.
That being so, presumably you don't keep
any valuable jewellery at the house.
I wish I could.
My engagement ring and a couple of brooches.
Are you aware of anything valuable in the house?
Not what you'd call loot.
Some quite nice silver.
But nothing out of the ordinary.
Miss Blacklock likes to wear her strings of pearls,
but they're just costume.
I'm sorry to be so unhelpful.
Patrick says I'm too sensible for my own good.
It's not a bad thing being sensible, Mrs Haymes.
And he stood there,
a shadowy figure with a revolver
and that blinding torchlight
sweeping around the room,
and he said, ''Your money or your life.''
He said nothing of the sort, Mother.
I've never enjoyed myself so much for years.
Until the b*ll*ts started.
Then it was quite dreadful.
- Where were you standing when this happened?
- I've no idea. Where was I standing, Edmund?
I don't know.
- Do you remember who you were speaking to?
- Either Mrs Harmon or Colonel Easterbrook.
- I think. Edmund?
- I haven't the faintest idea.
Do you remember who YOU were speaking to?
I was in the middle of the room,
talking to Julia Simmons.
When the man shone the torch,
did he hold it still or move it around?
It was right in my eyes for ages.
I couldn't see a thing.
He moved it around slowly,
so as to see what we were all doing.
Three shots were fired. Two of them hit
the wall, one of them injuring Miss Blacklock.
The third k*lled the intruder.
Was it suicide or an accident?
It certainly seemed to me like one of those.
Though I did say to Edmund
it felt more like m*rder.
Except that, it doesn't really
make sense, does it.
You've just told the inspector
that it was all three.
- Don't be silly.
- m*rder, suicide, and an accident.
I'm simply trying to be helpful.
And I appreciate it, Mrs Swettenham.
Psychology, There's your answer,
- Psychology?
- Understand the criminal mind.
Why put the advertisement in the paper?
Psychology.
Wants to draw attention to himself.
Had a rough time at the hotel,
staff looking down on him
because he's a foreigner. Can easily happen.
Chances are some pretty girl turned him down.
He wants to win her affection.
How will he do it? He'll be the tough guy.
The gangster, the masked man
with a g*n, the hero.
A Robin Hood with an audience to play to.
Robbery with violence.
Steal from the rich.
- And it all goes wrong.
- Took the words right out my mouth.
The crucial moment comes,
loses his nerve. Panics.
- Shoots blindly in all directions.
- You thought he shot blindly?
Oh, no doubt about it.
Room full of people, he misses the lot.
Suddenly it becomes real to him.
The dream becomes a nightmare.
Can't face the truth about himself.
Decides to put an end to it all.
Psychology.
Isn't it wonderful, Inspector?
Archie knows exactly what happened.
Yes, Mrs Easterbrook. Wonderful.
Do you like pigs, Inspector?
I love 'em.
Make a nice rasher by Christmas, this one.
Yes, I'm sure.
Well...
What can I tell you?
Anything you remember
about the incident last night.
Incident?
We used to have incidents in the ARP
during the w*r.
Saw some incidents then
would make your hair curl.
Enjoyed every minute of it.
You mean,
where was I when the sh**ting started?
Yes.
Leaning up against the mantelpiece,
hoping to God somebody would offer me a drink.
Tell me about the shots. Were they fired blindly
or aimed at one particular person?
No idea.
The torch was whirling around dazzling everybody.
And...the shots were fired.
All I could think was, it was
that damn fool Patrick up to his silly games.
- You thought it was Patrick Simmons?
- Process of elimination, really.
Edmund Swettenham's some sort
of intellectual communist who writes books.
Bit soft if anything.
The Colonel isn't one for jokes.
Patrick's wild enough for anything,
though not robbery with violence.
What about your friend Miss Murgatroyd?
Did she see anything?
- Murgatroyd!
- Here!
She's up a tree.
Police!
She won't be much help.
Listen to her, by all means,
but don't take too much notice.
- Is it Scotland Yard?
- Inspector Craddock from Milchester.
Oh, even better. Have you found any decent clues?
All he wants to know is where you were
when the crime took place.
Oh, dear, of course.
I ought to have been prepared.
Alibis.
Uh, now, let me see.
- I was with everybody else.
- You weren't with me.
I remember that girl screaming
and a voice saying, ''Put them up, please.
''Stick 'em up!''
And he certainly didn't say please.
Oh, dear, I'm sorry
I can't be more helpful.
I get so confused.
It's all such a blur.
- Is there anything else you want to know?
- No, I don't think so.
The Inspector's already made up his mind
about you, Murgatroyd. No question of it.
I'll say anything that'll help.
If it's likely to help.
I think you'll find the vicar's wife
more value than the two of us.
We're more used to pigs.
You've both been extremely helpful
and I'm very grateful.
Thank you.
Oh, Hinch, was I very awful? I get so flustered.
As usual, you were quite astonishing.
Thank you.
Well, you see, I hate being dazzled,
so when he shone the torch I shut my eyes.
And I hate loud noises,
so when he fired the shots
I shut my eyes even tighter.
I wish it had been a quiet m*rder.
When did you open your eyes?
When I was quite sure
that the bangs had stopped.
Some people were out in the hall with candles.
Then the lights came on
and everybody was normal again.
People in the dark are
quite different, aren't they?
What did you see then?
The young man, Scherz. Is that the name?
Yes.
Was lying there dead with a revolver beside him.
He looked so young and surprised.
It doesn't make sense.
All this, in Chipping Cleghorn.
I agree.
Except I have to make it make sense.
They all tell different versions,
Even if they told the same version,
it still adds up to nonsense,
- An important question, Fletcher,
- Sir?
How good is your typing?
Rough, but accurate.
Good. The Chief Constable likes accuracy.
I'll try not to disappoint him.
- Sit down, Craddock.
- Thank you, sir.
- Anything new since you wrote this report?
- Information from the Swiss police.
- Scherz had a criminal record.
- Ah.
Petty thieving. Falsified entries, cheques.
- A dishonest man?
- But in a small way.
Don't small things lead to larger things?
- I'm not sure, sir.
- It seems very clear to me.
Scherz travelled by bus
to Chipping Cleghorn,
evidence of the conductor
and two passengers.
He got into the house, probably by the front door.
He held up the company, assembled
by placing an announcement in the newspaper,
which we know he did,
evidence of the cashier in the ''Gazette'' office.
He then fired three shots.
Two go into the wall
and one goes into him.
In my practical world, that means
that a coroner's jury
is going to bring in a verdict
of suicide or accidental death.
Either way, we can draw a line across the ledger
and turn to the next page.
I have the feeling that
that silence indicates that you disagree.
- I disagree, sir.
- Why?
- I don't know exactly.
- Offer me a theory.
Miss Bunner insists that
Scherz intended to m*rder Miss Blacklock.
Is Miss Bunner a reliable witness?
Utterly unreliable.
She's a very sweet, slightly scatty old lady.
But she's totally sincere
and it's all her own idea.
Nobody's put it there, and she insists.
A personal question, Craddock.
How do you get on with scatty old ladies?
I have nothing against them in principle, sir.
Good. Because there's one
staying at the Royal Spa Hotel.
It's a Miss Marple,
Miss, eh, Jane Marple.
She's an old friend of Sir Henry Clithering,
His opinion is you should take Miss Marple
into your confidence,
Show her your report, if you like,
She's entirely trustworthy,
Well, thank you
for letting me see those, Inspector.
Any observations, Miss Marple?
- Yes, but may I digress a little first?
- By all means.
I should like to show you something.
I'm staying here for a few days,
taking the spa waters.
Rheumatism, you know.
Well, you don't know,
but when you're my age, I'm afraid you might.
Of course, I couldn't afford to stay here
but I have a generous nephew called Raymond.
Now, then, here we are.
- A cheque?
- Yes.
- He altered it.
- He?
The young man who worked at the desk
and who is now dead.
You see, it was for seven pounds
and he altered it to seventeen.
A stroke in front of the seven
and a ''teen'' added to the word ''seven''.
Yes. Very neatly done.
A certain amount of experience
and practice, I should say.
As you say, very neatly done.
The bank sent me my cheques this morning
and I noticed it at once.
- What made you notice?
- I never write a cheque for £17.
- But you do for seven?
- Oh, yes, quite often.
Of course, what struck me
was that the young man had a shifty eye.
- A shifty eye?
- Yes. The kind that never blinks.
It reminded me of Fred Tyler.
- Should I know Fred Tyler?
- Oh, no. No.
He worked at the fish shop in my village.
Always adding an extra one
to the shillings column.
You know, people very rarely check their bills.
Fred Tyler would look people in the eye
and smile
and steal enough money to take Jessie Sprague
to the pictures and buy very loud ties.
Well, as you suggested,
you were quite right in your diagnosis.
Rudi Scherz had a...
- More coffee?
- No, thank you.
- Miss Marple?
- No, thank you. I shall last until teatime now.
Thank you.
Have you talked to her inspector?
I'm sure you have.
- Yes, I did.
- Talk to her again. There's more to come.
She brought me kippers this morning,
instead of herrings, and forgot the milk jug.
You see, he may have told her who it was.
- I'm sorry, who what was?
- Who it was put him up to it.
You think somebody
put him up to it?
Well, I... Yes, I think
that's obvious, don't you?
To be truthful,
it's not all that obvious to me, Miss Marple.
I am so sorry. Do forgive me.
But, you see, here is a personable young man.
He filches a little here and there, a petty thief,
likes to show off to the girls.
Then suddenly he goes off with a revolver
and holds up a whole room of people.
Well, he'd never have
done a thing like that.
We have witnesses to say
he did precisely that.
Oh, no. You have witnesses to say that
he flung open the door and shone a torch.
- And pointed a g*n.
- But it was dark.
How could they possibly have seen the g*n?
- You mean...
- They thought they saw a g*n.
They heard shots. They heard him say,
''Stick 'em up'' or words to that effect.
Afterwards, they saw the g*n lying on the floor
but they couldn't have seen it when he came in.
- Which means somebody else fired the shots.
- That's logical.
The same person who persuaded Rudi Scherz
to put the advertisement in the paper
and to burst open the door,
shine a torch and say those ridiculous words.
You're telling me to look for a Mr X?
A Mr, Mrs, or Miss X, I should say.
You know, Inspector,
some of the best murderers are women.
Especially in an English village.
You turn over a stone,
you have no idea what will crawl out.
- Somebody who wanted to k*ll Miss Blacklock.
- Well, it has that appearance.
Well, I must say,
you've turned my entire investigation inside out.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean to interfere, Inspector.
- May I cause you yet more trouble?
- If you like.
May I change my mind
and have some cheese and biscuits?
And talk to that girl again.
She's very frightened.
- Frightened?
- Someone shot Rudi Scherz.
Somewhere in Chipping Cleghorn,
a k*ller is at large.
Keep scrolling for part 2
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01x03 - A m*rder Is Announced
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Series based on the Miss Marple m*rder mystery novels by Agatha Christie, starring Joan Hickson in the title role.
Series based on the Miss Marple m*rder mystery novels by Agatha Christie, starring Joan Hickson in the title role.
Re: 01x03 - A m*rder Is Announced
Part 2
You didn't tell me everything, did you, Myrna?
About Rudi Scherz?
Yeah, I told you everything.
I told you...
nearly everything.
- Tell me the rest.
- My mum said that I'd been an...
..an accessory before the fact.
- Do you know what that means?
- Sounds dope.
I'm sure your mother's wrong.
What happened?
Well...
..the night Rudi died,
we were supposed to be going to the pictures
and then he said he wouldn't be able to come.
And I got cross 'cause I'd just had me hair done.
I told him I didn't fancy
being stood up by a foreigner.
And he got mad at that and showed me
that advertisement in the paper.
The one that said ''A m*rder is announced''?
He said it was a silly English joke.
He was always going on about silly English jokes.
What exactly did he say he was going to do?
He told me he was gonna stage a sham hold-up,
pretend he was a gangster,
and scare all the people.
- Why was he doing this?
- Somebody was paying him.
He said he'd be well into pocket,
he was going to buy me...
..a watch.
Somebody paid him to put the advertisement
in the paper and do the hold-up?
Yeah.
- Who?
- He never said.
- You're sure?
- Sure. Honest.
I'd tell you if I knew, now that I know
it don't make me into an accessory.
Did you know he had a g*n?
I wouldn't go out with a bloke
if I thought he had a g*n.
Anyway, I don't believe he did.
He told me it was just a silly English joke
and that he'd enjoy laughing
at their silly English faces.
He wouldn't have done it
if he thought he was gonna get shot, would he?
''It'll be very funny,'' he said.
Some joke...
Inspector Craddock,
have you had any success with Myrna?
You're were quite right, Miss Marple.
She hadn't told me the full story.
No, I thought not.
As you suggested, somebody
paid Rudi Scherz to
place the advertisement
and stage the hold-up.
- And no indication as to who it was?
- None at all.
I shall be staying in Chipping Cleghorn
for the next few days.
I don't suppose there's anything I can do
but I shall, in fact, be at the vicarage
in case you should want me.
The vicarage?
Mrs Harmon, the vicar's wife, is a distant niece.
So I took the liberty of inviting myself.
So I may perhaps see you again
in Chipping Cleghorn.
I dare say.
Guess what?
Um...they want me
to be Archbishop of Canterbury.
- Close. Aunt Jane's coming to stay.
- Oh, even better.
I knew you'd be pleased.
Aunt Jane is coming to stay.
I seem to remember telling
you so a minute ago.
A man dies in highly suspicious circumstances
here in Chipping Cleghorn
and suddenly Aunt Jane is coming to stay.
Yes, I noticed that, too.
Hmm.
So, whoever paid Scherz
to play these silly games
is the person who tried
to sh**t Miss Blacklock?
It's possible.
He or she could've crept up
behind Scherz in the dark,
fired and dropped the g*n.
- He or she?
- We have to keep an open mind.
You mean that refugee woman who works
up at the house? She's a bit hysterical.
No, I don't mean the maid.
I mean we have to keep an open mind.
It seems obvious that Scherz
wasn't the murdering kind,
and there's no
evidence the g*n was his.
It was a German automatic.
Since the w*r, the whole country's
awash with German g*ns.
Anybody who was in the services
might have kept it as a souvenir.
Laura, my dear.
I can't find my p*stol.
- You don't need it today, do you?
- That isn't the point.
- You mean you really can't find it?
- I thought that's what I said.
Oh, my goodness.
It should be in here.
- When did you see it last?
- God knows. Months ago.
I remember clearly, I saw it on Saturday.
On Saturday? Are you sure?
Absolutely certain.
You were grumbling about your collars...
- Come, come, my dear, I never grumble.
- You were.
I looked in this drawer and the g*n was there.
It was the day after that business
at Little Paddocks
and I remember thinking,
''At least it wasn't your g*n he used.''
Unless he took it, did the job, replaced it.
And then stole it again?
Rather tricky,
as the young man was dead.
Well spotted. Still, we needn't bother the police
about it. It's just an old w*r souvenir.
No b*ll*ts. No licence, come to that.
Mum's the word.
You're my old w*r souvenir.
I've got a couple of letters I must write.
The story Rudi Scherz told you
when he visited the house was a lie.
He wasn't the son of the proprietor
of the Hôtel des Alpes.
Which is why I didn't recognise him. Who was he?
He'd had various jobs,
a hospital orderly in Bern,
a waiter, a shop assistant.
Wherever he went, things tended to disappear.
A picker-up of unconsidered trifles?
Exactly. The Swiss police became tired of him
so he armed himself with forged papers
and came to England.
Another displaced person with a good cover story.
- Yes, but why pick on me?
- Yes. Why should he want to m*rder Lettie?
- He didn't want to m*rder you.
- It looked as if he did.
- He burst in here with a g*n and...
- He was paid to do that.
- Paid?
- Yes.
Somebody else wanted to have me m*rder*d?
- Is that what you're suggesting?
- That is what the evidence suggests.
Nobody could want to m*rder Lettie.
It's ludicrous!
Please try to understand, inspector,
I have no hidden Rembrandts,
no enemies that I'm aware of
and no guilty secrets about myself.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
I'd like to speak to your maid.
Is she at home?
Hannah's in the kitchen.
Because she's a foreigner, she's
an automatic suspect? Is that it?
No, that's not it.
She works hard, and her papers
and permit are in perfect order.
The same applied to Rudi Scherz.
The late Rudi Scherz.
Oh! I'm beginning to lose patience
with Inspector Craddock.
He's only trying to protect you.
I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself.
- But don't you see?
- See what?
If somebody paid that young man to k*ll you
and it didn't work,
then whoever it is, well,
he's likely to try again.
I guess I'm sorry. I've been a
bit slow on the uptake, haven't I.
It's natural. You've had a difficult time.
Apart from that, I think you should
tell Mr Craddock everything.
What does it matter what I say?
I am just a refugee.
If I say the wrong thing, you can send me home.
Unless you send me to prison.
Besides, you shouldn't be talking to me.
You should be talking to
that nice English lady.
- Which nice English lady?
- Mrs Haymes.
Why should I be speaking to Mrs Haymes?
The young man, he comes to the house
and asks Miss Blacklock for money.
- You know about that?
- Miss Blacklock told me.
I watch him go.
He stops and talks to Mrs Haymes
in the summerhouse.
What might they have talked about?
I don't know. How to steal
Miss Blacklock's money, I expect.
Miss Blacklock isn't a rich woman.
She is richer than me.
She's richer, too, than Mrs Haymes.
Mrs Haymes is a fine lady who loses
her husband and no longer has any money.
She sends her son to school
and has to work as a gardener.
That is not a proper job
for a fine English lady.
Will you excuse me, please?
I need the kitchen to myself.
I have to make a very careful sauce.
Wrong door, Inspector.
That one doesn't open.
It's from when there were two rooms.
- We used to have a table against it.
- When was the table moved?
A couple of weeks ago.
Something to do with flowers.
Phillipa, Mrs Haymes,
did a big vase, all twigs and branches
and people getting their hair tangled up.
So we moved the table.
- Is it nailed up?
- No, just locked.
Do you have the key?
Yes. In here, I think.
Oh, yes, here.
There.
Careful. There might be something
resting against the inside.
This door's been opened quite recently,
Miss Bunner.
The hinges and the lock have been oiled.
Good gracious.
- Which means...
- You'd like to wash your hands?
Which means?
When Scherz came in this door
and did his party piece,
anybody could've slipped out the other door,
stood behind him
and fired the shots at you, Miss Blacklock.
Are you suggesting that one of my neighbours,
one of my nice, commonplace neighbours,
slipped through that door and tried to m*rder me?
Who's your main suspect, Inspector?
The vicar's wife?
We have to be very direct about this,
Miss Blacklock. If you die, who benefits?
Patrick and Julia. Oh, and Bunny here gets
a small legacy and all the furniture in the house.
I didn't know that!
Thank you, Lettie!
- It's hardly the sort of thing one talks about.
- But I still think you should tell the Inspector.
Yes, I know what you think
and I am going to tell him.
I think we should like a cup of tea,
if you'd be so kind.
I'm sorry. I'll see to it.
What is Miss Bunner anxious for you to tell me?
I'm not worth murdering now, Inspector.
But in a few weeks' time, I might be.
Why?
Because I shall be a very rich woman.
Please sit down.
Does the name Randall Goedler
mean anything to you?
Perhaps you're a little too young.
He was a financier. Died just before the w*r?
Yes, 1938.
Well, until his death, I was
his personal secretary.
Well, more a junior partner, really.
When he died, he left all his money
in trust for his wife Belle.
But if she dies before me, I inherit.
A great deal of money.
Randall Goedler was a millionaire
so, yes, a great deal of money.
You said you might very soon be a rich woman.
Is Mrs Goedler likely to die?
Yes. It may sound callous, Inspector,
but you asked the question
and that's a truthful answer.
Belle Goedler is a very sweet creature
and an invalid.
We exchange cards and letters at Christmas-time
and her nurse keeps me informed
of her medical condition.
I gather it may now be only a matter of weeks.
- Where does Mrs Goedler live?
- In Scotland.
- Perhaps you give me the address before I leave.
- Yes.
Going back three spaces, Patrick and Julia
are the beneficiaries in the event of your death?
- Yes.
- But what if you die before Mrs Goedler?
Belle and Randall had no children.
So, when he made his will
he nominated the offspring of his sister Sonia.
And who are they?
Please don't laugh, Inspector,
but I only know them as Pip and Emma.
- Pip and Emma?
- Yes,
- Who and where are they?
- Nobody knows,
Goedler's sister Sonia married a smooth-talking
Greek called Stamfordis. More or less a crook.
They lost contact with the Goedlers.
It's known that they had two children
born in the early 1920s.
- So they'd now be...
- 25, 26.
The same age as Patrick and Julia.
- Yes.
- Is that possible?
Miss Blacklock's never seen them,
Mrs Goedler's never seen them, so yes.
You have a lot of checking to do.
- Where are we going?
- Back to HQ.
No, we're not. I want to speak to Mrs Haymes,
see what she was doing in the summerhouse.
I'm happy to verify a statement
if it means I can stand up straight.
The dead man, Rudi Scherz,
you said he was a stranger to you.
Yes.
Did you at any time have a conversation with him
in the summerhouse at Little Paddocks?
In the summerhouse?
It's absurd. Who told you that?
The statement was made to me
that you were seen speaking to him.
I expect it was Hannah.
She tells lies.
I've never met Rudi Scherz in my life.
And I couldn't have seen him.
I'm here every day.
Thank you, Mrs Haymes.
- Good morning, Colonel.
-Good morning, Inspector.
You're up bright and early.
Habit of a lifetime, up with the lark.
Check the defensive perimeter.
I'm told you have a German p*stol.
Yes. Unofficially, of course.
Souvenir of victory and all that.
May I see it, officially?
Well, fact of the matter is,
Inspector, damn thing's disappeared.
I see. When?
All I can tell you is
my wife saw it in my drawer last Saturday.
You mean it dissapeared after the k*lling?
Well, according to my good lady, yes.
I see.
Well, I'll leave you to check
your defensive perimeters.
You know, the English village
has changed since before the w*r,
That's really because
the whole world has changed,
A village like Chipping Cleghorn,
it may look the same,
simple and peaceful and eternal,
but it isn't,
You see, in the old days
everyone knew each other.
If someone new came to the village,
then they brought letters of introduction.
They'd either been
in the same regiment, ship or colony
as someone already living in the village.
- And that no longer applies?
- Oh, gone forever, I suspect.
The big houses are sold, the cottages converted,
and people simply come in from anywhere,
from India, Hong Kong, or Italy,
and made a little money and are able to retire.
No letters of introduction, no roots.
You had to believe their stories
and take them at their face value.
Plus their ration books and identity cards.
Oh, can you really believe
in a ration book and identity card?
Horrible things.
Inhuman.
- So, Pip and Emma could be Patrick and Julia?
- Oh, quite easily, I imagine.
But I think they sound rather fun
and not at all the homicidal type.
But I'll try and find out.
- You will be careful, won't you?
- Oh, of course.
A policeman asking questions
is open to suspicion.
But an old lady asking questions
is just an old lady asking questions.
- Who's the old biddy?
- Mrs Harmon's aunt.
I could go to my room and pretend to work.
Oh, Mrs Harmon's quite fun.
Pick of the village idiots, really.
Shall I be charming and terribly amusing?
No. Not a good idea.
It must have seemed dreadful to you.
Like Chicago come to Chipping Cleghorn.
I was scared stiff.
Well, it was rather an alarming experience.
It must have seemed quite providential
when the young man tripped up and shot himself.
Burglary is so violent nowadays.
There used to be a certain grace
and decorum about it.
- I blame the w*r. Don't you?
- And the Viennese waltz.
Absolutely.
- Was that the door that he came in at?
- Yes.
- I'm told there were b*llet holes.
- Over here, Miss Marple.
I've never seen a b*llet hole. May I?
Yes, of course. Please.
It's a miracle Lottie wasn't k*lled.
- Good gracious!
- But you were severely wounded, weren't you?
- Are you fully recovered?
- Yes, it was a scratch.
I only wear this plaster to get sympathy
from my nearest and dearest.
It doesn't work.
Unfortunately.
- So you were over here?
- I'd gone for the cigarette box.
Then the lights went out.
Oh, what a delightful lamp.
Dresden. It's one of a pair.
- The other's in the spare room.
- Really? I'd forgotten about that.
- I like nice things, don't you?
- Oh, yes, indeed. Yes, very much.
I'm afraid I can't work up
any enthusiasm for possessions.
Do you like nice things?
- I prefer naughty things.
- Julia!
I have very few possessions,
all of them precious
and each one a cherished memory.
As for photographs, people don't
seem to keep photographs nowadays, do they?
I do. I have hundreds, all my nieces and nephews
when they were babies and children
and grown-up and parents.
Got a horrible one of me
with a squint and a fox terrier.
And despite all your aunt says,
I'm sure she's got hundreds
of photographs of you all tucked away.
- We're only distant cousins.
- To tell you the truth, Miss Marple,
I didn't remember these two existed
until this year.
I had a letter from their mother
saying they were studying in this area.
- When did you last see my mother?
- Oh, about 30 years ago.
- I remember she was very pretty.
- Luckily we've both inherited her good looks.
Not only that. You're quite right, Miss Marple.
Aunt Lettie has a marvellous photograph album.
- We looked through it the other day.
- But I'm not obsessive about the past.
Well, I have more past than future.
Oh, don't be silly, Aunt Jane.
My dear, you've married a vicar. You must know.
We're allocated three-score years and ten.
And I shall soon be overdrawn.
You did it on purpose, didn't you?
- What, my dear?
- Talked about photographs.
I now know that Miss Blacklock
had never seen Patrick and Julia in the flesh
till they turned up on her doorstep.
- And rang the bell.
- Exactly.
Tomorrow, I shall explore your village.
It's quite small. Won't take long.
There are more things in Chipping Cleghorn,
Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
I dare say.
Horatio? I thought he had a bridge.
- Morning, Phillipa.
- Hello.
- What are you doing?
- Can't you see?
Well, I'm no gardener.
I mean, you seem to be
poking around aimlessly in the soil.
- I'm pricking out winter lettuce.
- And, um, exquisitely, too.
Please go away, Edmund.
You've no business to be here.
I have business.
Mrs Lucas rang my mama this morning,
very anxious to trade one of her surplus
vegetable marrows for, um, a pot of honey.
Yes, we're swamped with vegetable marrows.
So I have my alibi,
using the word loosely and incorrectly.
- There's no question of dalliance.
- Good.
''Faultily faultless, icily
regular, splendidly null.''
- I beg your pardon?
- It's Tennyson writing about Maud.
But it's really about you, Phillipa.
Splendidly null.
- It isn't much of a compliment.
- It isn't meant to be.
It's meant to stir you into speaking.
- What are you like? What do you feel?
- That's my business.
It's mine, too. Oh, can't you see I'm smitten?
I didn't want to fall in love with you.
I just wanted to worry about the working classes
and write my book about the world's misery.
Then you came along.
And you won't even talk to me.
- I'm talking to you now.
- Not really talking.
Tell me about anything.
Tell me about your husband, if you like.
We met. We got married.
Harry was born.
Ronald was k*lled in Italy.
Harry's a nice kid. I like him.
I think he likes me, too.
Oh, let's get married, Phillipa.
You can go on gardening and I can go on writing
my tripey book, and we can sponge off Mother.
My eyesight is defective, but I'm very sincere.
No. I don't think so.
Well, very well.
In that case, you'd better lead me
to that vegetable marrow.
Sergeant Fletcher. Are you keeping an eye on us?
- Inspector Craddock's orders.
- We're going to the village.
It's Hannah's day out, so there's nobody in.
- So if you could...
- Watch the house.
- The sergeant could make a cup of tea.
- Yes, please do.
The door's open. We never lock doors.
Come along, Bunny, we'll be late.
Oh! Oh, you startled me, Sergeant.
- I thought you were another burglar.
- No, Mrs Swettenham, it's only me.
- You came through the back door.
- Yes. It's always open.
I just brought up some of my quinces. Perhaps
you'd tell Miss Blacklock when she comes back.
I'll leave them here.
It seems anybody can walk
in here just as they like.
Of course. How else could we leave quinces
on the kitchen table?
Murgatroyd?
Yes, Hinch?
- I've been doing a bit of thinking.
- What about?
Well, that pantomime the other night.
It's all too fishy.
Now, take this revolver.
- Well, that's a trowel.
- I know it's a trowel.
- We don't stock revolvers.
- I suppose not.
And this torch.
Go outside, come back in, wave the torch round
and the revolver, like he did,
and say, ''Stick 'em up.''
Why?
Because what happened was fishy
and I want to find out what made it fishy.
I'll try.
Stick 'em up!
The door won't stay open.
Exactly. That's the fishy bit!
The door at Little Paddocks is just the same.
Lettie Blacklock bought that huge glass doorstop
from Elliot's.
Perhaps the burglar used that to keep it open.
That's a non-starter, Murgatroyd!
You fling the door open,
you shout, ''Reach for the sky!''
And then you say, ''Excuse me
while I adjust the doorstop.''
It's all so awkward.
Give me that revolver.
You'd have shot yourself by now.
He did sh**t himself, didn't he?
Somebody must have held the door open for him.
I'm not at all sure he did sh**t himself.
You mean,
somebody else shot him?
That's the only alternative to sh**ting oneself,
in my experience.
- You've had experience?
- Of crimes of violence? Lots.
Pa-choo! Pa-choo!
Two-g*n Hinchcliffe,
the terror of Kidderminster.
I don't believe you.
Neither do I.
But if it wasn't one of us who k*lled that boy,
it was somebody very like us.
- Miss Marple.
- Oh!
- Do sit here.
- Oh, how kind. Thank you so much.
- I'm on my own.
- Oh, dear. Oh, such a sharp wind.
- My rheumatics, you know.
- I had sciatica last year. Agony.
Oh, dear, yes. Now, then, coffee and cakes?
- Yes, please.
- For two. Thank you.
The cakes here don't look so delicious
as the ones in your house.
Hannah made those. Our cook. She's very good.
Some sort of a foreigner. Swiss, I think.
Pity she screams so much.
Oh, well, it's a sign of life.
And the other person I didn't see?
The young lady who lives with you?
Phillipa? We call her our lodger.
I suppose she is, in a way.
Whom?
Phillippa?
- Haymes.
- Haymes? Oh, yes. Really.
Yes. I knew a Colonel Haymes
in the Indian cavalry.
- Her father, perhaps?
- She's Mrs Haymes, a widow.
Husband was k*lled in Sicily. Or Italy.
Oh, how sad.
Oh, here we are.
Now, then, would you like me to pour out?
- Yes, please.
- Now, coffee.
They're terribly pink, aren't they?
Probably an artificial substitute for flavour.
Thank you.
And has she many admirers?
That waitress? I doubt it. Much too surly!
Oh, yes. No, Mrs Haymes.
Oh. Well...
..young Edmund Swettenham
moons around her a bit.
He's a very odd young man.
Writes books, and I...
I have heard that he's a communist.
Oh, really? Well, he must be rather lonely
in Chipping Cleghorn.
I'm told they can grow out of it.
Do you believe that?
- Yes, I think that's quite likely.
- Good.
And have you known Miss Blacklock long?
Oh, we were at school together.
Then we lost touch for years.
She was secretary to this
millionaire Goedler and...
Tell me...
I didn't do wrong, Miss Marple?
I'm afraid I don't know
what you're talking about.
I was living on my own,
just with my pension, in a bedsitter.
I saw Lettie's name in the local newspaper.
She was at a charity luncheon
in aid of the Milchester Hospital.
And I wrote to her.
Not a begging letter.
It wasn't that.
Oh, no, no, of course not.
No. You wrote a friendly letter
to an old school chum and you met.
She was lonely and you were lonely and
she asked you to move in with her. That's all.
You do understand.
I understand everything about lonely old ladies.
I can tell. You're very comfortable
to talk to, Miss Marple.
You see, I get so angry when I see
people taking advantage of Lettie
and I do hope that I'm not like that.
She's left me all the household goods
and an annuity!
But that's her decision.
I haven't taken advantage of her, truly.
Oh, no, no. I'm quite sure you haven't.
No.
And do other people take advantage?
Young...
..Patrick.
He's had money from her twice
at least, to my certain knowledge.
All Lettie will say is, ''The boy's young.
Youth must have its fling.''
That's true, you know.
And, of course, he is handsome and a trifle
insolent, I agree. But on the other hand...
I saw him with an oil can in the garden.
Really?
And the other door
to the drawing room has been oiled.
And I heard him having an argument
with Julia the other day.
But that's human nature, isn't it?
Arguments between brothers and sisters.
Shepherds and shepherdesses.
I beg your pardon?
The lamp.
On the table.
I noticed that it was the shepherdess,
and not the shepherd.
Coffee and gossip, Bunny?
Good morning, Miss Marple.
Good morning. Won't you join us?
Thank you, but we are rather late.
Have you done your shopping, Bunny?
I must call at the chemist.
I need some aspirin and... and corn plasters.
Please, can I pay?
Oh, no. I wouldn't dream of it.
Come along, Bunny.
That's it. Goodbye, Miss Marple.
- Excuse me.
- Goodbye, Miss Bunner.
She's terribly sweet, Miss Marple.
Such a good listener.
I don't suppose you gave her
much choice, Bunny dear.
- No, not that one.
- No?
No, I tried one of those. They taste of salmon.
Oh. I think I'll just have the coffee.
Very wise.
- So, what were you talking about?
- Family loyalty.
I hope it wasn't as tedious as it sounds.
No, on the contrary. Very revealing.
Nearly everyone assumes
that people m*rder out of hatred.
But it may be out of loyalty or even love.
Love?
Tell me again who was in the room that night.
Miss Blacklock, Rudi Scherz...
And devoted Dora and handsome Patrick...
Mrs Swettenham of the honey-pot
and her serious son Edmund. Yes?
The pukka sahib Colonel Easterbrook
and the fluffy Mrs Easterbrook.
Not forgetting
the cool and distant Phillipa Haymes.
- And?
- Am I forgetting somebody?
- Yes.
- Julia!
- That's right. Julia, yes.
- Julia. Pretty Julia is peculiar.
Three and six. And I'm not a peculiar.
I've always been a good C of E.
Oh, I'm so sorry. I was just quoting an old song.
I didn't know your name was Julia.
- No offence, I'm sure.
- There. Thank you very much.
Thank you very much, Mrs Marple.
Well, yes. Now, do we believe in Pip and Emma?
Miss Blacklock says they exist, so we have to.
Even though she's never seen them?
But they are the only people to benefit
from Miss Blacklock's death.
Not necessarily.
Either of them might have married.
Their mother and father might be alive.
You see, they'd all be interested parties.
So the police should be looking
for a m*rder*r who...
Who is either male or female,
in the middle twenties,
or someone nearly as old as I am.
You also said somebody
who would m*rder out of love.
Yes, but a very special kind of love.
A deep and abiding passion
for large sums of money.
- Except...
- What?
That waitress thought you were talking about her.
Oh, it's just a simple mistake.
Yes.
Mrs Goedler's looking forward
to your visit, Inspector,
Is she really? That makes a change.
She has very few visitors, for obvious reasons.
There's one question I have to ask.
I can guess what it is.
- Well?
- She's a dying woman.
She's surviving on drugs and on her willpower
but it can't last for more than a few weeks.
And our dear Miss Blacklock
was not hurt by the attempt on her life?
A grazed ear.
Oh, poor Blackie.
You know about her family background?
No.
Is it important to your investigation?
- I have no idea.
- Well, let me ramble on
and stop me if it becomes boring. Agreed?
Agreed.
Two sisters. The father,
an old country doctor and a tyrant.
Lettie rebelled, ran away to London,
made herself into a chartered accountant.
The other sister, Charlotte, was an invalid.
Now, when the old man died, Blackie left the firm
to go and look after her sister.
Randall was furious with her, shouted at her,
but she was determined.
She took her sister to Switzerland.
- Tell me about your husband's sister.
- Sonia?
She was wild. I was fond of her.
But we've lost touch.
She married this chap Stamfordis,
a genuine crook, have no doubt.
You'd have enjoyed locking him up.
Randall disapproved of the marriage,
but Sonia took no notice.
We got a letter about 18 months after the wedding
to say she'd had twins, just after midday.
so she intended to call them Pip and Emma.
We forgot about them.
A terrible thing to say about one's relatives.
But Mr Goedler left his estate to the children
in the event of Miss Blacklock predeceasing you.
The lawyers pestered him.
He told them that Blackie was strong as a horse
and I was delicate,
but they insisted. Lawyers do.
They're so serious about life and death,
things like that.
But you have no idea where they may be,
your sister-in-law, her husband,
or their children?
They may be dead. They may be anywhere.
They may be...
..in Chipping Cleghorn.
Indeed they may.
Don't let them hurt Blackie.
She's too good to lose.
Sardine sandwiches, and tomato
and some of those little scones you do so nicely.
And I want you to make your special cake.
My cake? Is it a party, you want such things?
It's Miss Bunner's birthday,
people are coming to tea.
Birthdays! Parties!
At her age, it's better to forget.
She doesn't want to forget.
She wants a cake. I want her to have a cake.
I have nothing to make such a cake.
I need butter, sugar, chocolate, raisins.
Butter.
Sugar.
Chocolate.
Raisins.
- Where do you get such things?
- None of your business, Hannah.
Very well, I shall make such a cake! With icing.
And on the top, I will write,
- ''Good wishes.''
- Thank you, Hannah.
I will show your English friends
what such a cake should taste like.
English cakes taste like sand.
My cake will taste like heaven.
I'm sure it will.
- You must tell Mr Patrick not to call it names.
- I'm sure he wouldn't dream of it.
My last cake, he calls it ''Delicious death''.
Oh, but that's a compliment!
Death is a compliment?
# Happy birthday to you
# Happy birthday to you
# Happy birthday, dear Bunny
# Happy birthday to you #
Delicious death!
Hannah doesn't like you talking like that.
- She disapproves of everything I do.
- Well, it looks a lovely cake.
Foreigners. They make damn good cakes.
Mind you, it's plain boiled
pudding that stumps them.
Got a new gardener?
Saw a chap snooping round the hen-house.
- No, that's our own special detective.
- Detective? Why?
- To protect Lettie.
- Isn't that all over?
- They adjourned the inquest.
- Police not satisfied.
- They never are.
- As I see it, we're all under suspicion.
- Suspicion of what?
- Here and now, I'd say loitering with intent.
That sounds amusing. What sort of intent?
Intent to commit m*rder
upon the first opportunity.
Please don't, Mr Swettenham. It's so awful.
- Oh Bunny.
- I should nobody want unwell
- Don't distress yourself.
- Come on, Bunny.
It's usually me
who spoils the party with a bad joke.
Mrs Easterbrook. Colonel.
Afternoon.
Sergeant.
We thought you might like a piece of cake.
Oh, thank you. That's very kind.
All the suspects have gone home now.
Are you under orders to stay?
Another ten minutes, then I
hand over to the local Bobby.
We do sleep sounder for the police presence.
Good.
- Did you enjoy your party?
- I did. But I've got a dreadful headache.
Too much excitement.
Too much cake.
Those lovely chocolates. Where did you find them?
It's easy, if you don't mind breaking the law.
Oh, I...I think I'll take a couple of aspirin
and lie down for a while.
Shall I shut up the ducks, Aunt Lettie?
Well, if you can do it properly.
There's no guarantee,
but I promise to try my hardest.
Just make sure that the latch is down firmly.
- I knew there was a secret.
- Don't worry, Aunt Lettie.
I'll make sure it's all right.
I seem to have mislaid the aspirin
I bought in the village.
This house is chock-full of aspirin.
They fall out of every cupboard.
- There's a bottle on my dressing table.
- Take mine. They're by my bed.
Thank you, Lettie.
Ducks.
All you have to do...
is see that the latch is down firmly.
- Patrick.
- Julia.
Imagine you were Pip and Emma.
What would you do?
- I come to England penniless.
- Yes?
Then, assuming I'm of criminal mentality,
I seek out any rich relations I might have.
I know my uncle, Goedler, left a vast fortune,
so I inquire about his widow,
discover she's still alive
and that the only obstacle between me and the
money is Letitia Blacklock of Chipping Cleghorn.
- Therefore...
- m*rder Miss Blacklock.
Have we checked about Patrick and Julia?
Yes. They are precisely what they claim to be.
Patrick has rather a good w*r record.
Fletcher's been busy, too.
So I see.
- Wee dram?
-Oh, please.
I waited hopefully for somebody to offer,
but Scotland appears to be totally dry.
Helps the concentration.
Bunny.
Philippa.
Yes... yes I see.
Thank you.
Has been an hour.
Dora Bunner?
But that's most unfair.
The vilage policeman was on duty.
He's called the doctor..
There's to be an autopsy, but it
looks like narcotic poisoning.
But she's a complete innocent.
Is it the fate of the innocent to suffer?
It very offten it is, yes.
In spite of her innocence?
Or because of her innocence?
Keep scrolling for part 3
You didn't tell me everything, did you, Myrna?
About Rudi Scherz?
Yeah, I told you everything.
I told you...
nearly everything.
- Tell me the rest.
- My mum said that I'd been an...
..an accessory before the fact.
- Do you know what that means?
- Sounds dope.
I'm sure your mother's wrong.
What happened?
Well...
..the night Rudi died,
we were supposed to be going to the pictures
and then he said he wouldn't be able to come.
And I got cross 'cause I'd just had me hair done.
I told him I didn't fancy
being stood up by a foreigner.
And he got mad at that and showed me
that advertisement in the paper.
The one that said ''A m*rder is announced''?
He said it was a silly English joke.
He was always going on about silly English jokes.
What exactly did he say he was going to do?
He told me he was gonna stage a sham hold-up,
pretend he was a gangster,
and scare all the people.
- Why was he doing this?
- Somebody was paying him.
He said he'd be well into pocket,
he was going to buy me...
..a watch.
Somebody paid him to put the advertisement
in the paper and do the hold-up?
Yeah.
- Who?
- He never said.
- You're sure?
- Sure. Honest.
I'd tell you if I knew, now that I know
it don't make me into an accessory.
Did you know he had a g*n?
I wouldn't go out with a bloke
if I thought he had a g*n.
Anyway, I don't believe he did.
He told me it was just a silly English joke
and that he'd enjoy laughing
at their silly English faces.
He wouldn't have done it
if he thought he was gonna get shot, would he?
''It'll be very funny,'' he said.
Some joke...
Inspector Craddock,
have you had any success with Myrna?
You're were quite right, Miss Marple.
She hadn't told me the full story.
No, I thought not.
As you suggested, somebody
paid Rudi Scherz to
place the advertisement
and stage the hold-up.
- And no indication as to who it was?
- None at all.
I shall be staying in Chipping Cleghorn
for the next few days.
I don't suppose there's anything I can do
but I shall, in fact, be at the vicarage
in case you should want me.
The vicarage?
Mrs Harmon, the vicar's wife, is a distant niece.
So I took the liberty of inviting myself.
So I may perhaps see you again
in Chipping Cleghorn.
I dare say.
Guess what?
Um...they want me
to be Archbishop of Canterbury.
- Close. Aunt Jane's coming to stay.
- Oh, even better.
I knew you'd be pleased.
Aunt Jane is coming to stay.
I seem to remember telling
you so a minute ago.
A man dies in highly suspicious circumstances
here in Chipping Cleghorn
and suddenly Aunt Jane is coming to stay.
Yes, I noticed that, too.
Hmm.
So, whoever paid Scherz
to play these silly games
is the person who tried
to sh**t Miss Blacklock?
It's possible.
He or she could've crept up
behind Scherz in the dark,
fired and dropped the g*n.
- He or she?
- We have to keep an open mind.
You mean that refugee woman who works
up at the house? She's a bit hysterical.
No, I don't mean the maid.
I mean we have to keep an open mind.
It seems obvious that Scherz
wasn't the murdering kind,
and there's no
evidence the g*n was his.
It was a German automatic.
Since the w*r, the whole country's
awash with German g*ns.
Anybody who was in the services
might have kept it as a souvenir.
Laura, my dear.
I can't find my p*stol.
- You don't need it today, do you?
- That isn't the point.
- You mean you really can't find it?
- I thought that's what I said.
Oh, my goodness.
It should be in here.
- When did you see it last?
- God knows. Months ago.
I remember clearly, I saw it on Saturday.
On Saturday? Are you sure?
Absolutely certain.
You were grumbling about your collars...
- Come, come, my dear, I never grumble.
- You were.
I looked in this drawer and the g*n was there.
It was the day after that business
at Little Paddocks
and I remember thinking,
''At least it wasn't your g*n he used.''
Unless he took it, did the job, replaced it.
And then stole it again?
Rather tricky,
as the young man was dead.
Well spotted. Still, we needn't bother the police
about it. It's just an old w*r souvenir.
No b*ll*ts. No licence, come to that.
Mum's the word.
You're my old w*r souvenir.
I've got a couple of letters I must write.
The story Rudi Scherz told you
when he visited the house was a lie.
He wasn't the son of the proprietor
of the Hôtel des Alpes.
Which is why I didn't recognise him. Who was he?
He'd had various jobs,
a hospital orderly in Bern,
a waiter, a shop assistant.
Wherever he went, things tended to disappear.
A picker-up of unconsidered trifles?
Exactly. The Swiss police became tired of him
so he armed himself with forged papers
and came to England.
Another displaced person with a good cover story.
- Yes, but why pick on me?
- Yes. Why should he want to m*rder Lettie?
- He didn't want to m*rder you.
- It looked as if he did.
- He burst in here with a g*n and...
- He was paid to do that.
- Paid?
- Yes.
Somebody else wanted to have me m*rder*d?
- Is that what you're suggesting?
- That is what the evidence suggests.
Nobody could want to m*rder Lettie.
It's ludicrous!
Please try to understand, inspector,
I have no hidden Rembrandts,
no enemies that I'm aware of
and no guilty secrets about myself.
Or anyone else, for that matter.
I'd like to speak to your maid.
Is she at home?
Hannah's in the kitchen.
Because she's a foreigner, she's
an automatic suspect? Is that it?
No, that's not it.
She works hard, and her papers
and permit are in perfect order.
The same applied to Rudi Scherz.
The late Rudi Scherz.
Oh! I'm beginning to lose patience
with Inspector Craddock.
He's only trying to protect you.
I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself.
- But don't you see?
- See what?
If somebody paid that young man to k*ll you
and it didn't work,
then whoever it is, well,
he's likely to try again.
I guess I'm sorry. I've been a
bit slow on the uptake, haven't I.
It's natural. You've had a difficult time.
Apart from that, I think you should
tell Mr Craddock everything.
What does it matter what I say?
I am just a refugee.
If I say the wrong thing, you can send me home.
Unless you send me to prison.
Besides, you shouldn't be talking to me.
You should be talking to
that nice English lady.
- Which nice English lady?
- Mrs Haymes.
Why should I be speaking to Mrs Haymes?
The young man, he comes to the house
and asks Miss Blacklock for money.
- You know about that?
- Miss Blacklock told me.
I watch him go.
He stops and talks to Mrs Haymes
in the summerhouse.
What might they have talked about?
I don't know. How to steal
Miss Blacklock's money, I expect.
Miss Blacklock isn't a rich woman.
She is richer than me.
She's richer, too, than Mrs Haymes.
Mrs Haymes is a fine lady who loses
her husband and no longer has any money.
She sends her son to school
and has to work as a gardener.
That is not a proper job
for a fine English lady.
Will you excuse me, please?
I need the kitchen to myself.
I have to make a very careful sauce.
Wrong door, Inspector.
That one doesn't open.
It's from when there were two rooms.
- We used to have a table against it.
- When was the table moved?
A couple of weeks ago.
Something to do with flowers.
Phillipa, Mrs Haymes,
did a big vase, all twigs and branches
and people getting their hair tangled up.
So we moved the table.
- Is it nailed up?
- No, just locked.
Do you have the key?
Yes. In here, I think.
Oh, yes, here.
There.
Careful. There might be something
resting against the inside.
This door's been opened quite recently,
Miss Bunner.
The hinges and the lock have been oiled.
Good gracious.
- Which means...
- You'd like to wash your hands?
Which means?
When Scherz came in this door
and did his party piece,
anybody could've slipped out the other door,
stood behind him
and fired the shots at you, Miss Blacklock.
Are you suggesting that one of my neighbours,
one of my nice, commonplace neighbours,
slipped through that door and tried to m*rder me?
Who's your main suspect, Inspector?
The vicar's wife?
We have to be very direct about this,
Miss Blacklock. If you die, who benefits?
Patrick and Julia. Oh, and Bunny here gets
a small legacy and all the furniture in the house.
I didn't know that!
Thank you, Lettie!
- It's hardly the sort of thing one talks about.
- But I still think you should tell the Inspector.
Yes, I know what you think
and I am going to tell him.
I think we should like a cup of tea,
if you'd be so kind.
I'm sorry. I'll see to it.
What is Miss Bunner anxious for you to tell me?
I'm not worth murdering now, Inspector.
But in a few weeks' time, I might be.
Why?
Because I shall be a very rich woman.
Please sit down.
Does the name Randall Goedler
mean anything to you?
Perhaps you're a little too young.
He was a financier. Died just before the w*r?
Yes, 1938.
Well, until his death, I was
his personal secretary.
Well, more a junior partner, really.
When he died, he left all his money
in trust for his wife Belle.
But if she dies before me, I inherit.
A great deal of money.
Randall Goedler was a millionaire
so, yes, a great deal of money.
You said you might very soon be a rich woman.
Is Mrs Goedler likely to die?
Yes. It may sound callous, Inspector,
but you asked the question
and that's a truthful answer.
Belle Goedler is a very sweet creature
and an invalid.
We exchange cards and letters at Christmas-time
and her nurse keeps me informed
of her medical condition.
I gather it may now be only a matter of weeks.
- Where does Mrs Goedler live?
- In Scotland.
- Perhaps you give me the address before I leave.
- Yes.
Going back three spaces, Patrick and Julia
are the beneficiaries in the event of your death?
- Yes.
- But what if you die before Mrs Goedler?
Belle and Randall had no children.
So, when he made his will
he nominated the offspring of his sister Sonia.
And who are they?
Please don't laugh, Inspector,
but I only know them as Pip and Emma.
- Pip and Emma?
- Yes,
- Who and where are they?
- Nobody knows,
Goedler's sister Sonia married a smooth-talking
Greek called Stamfordis. More or less a crook.
They lost contact with the Goedlers.
It's known that they had two children
born in the early 1920s.
- So they'd now be...
- 25, 26.
The same age as Patrick and Julia.
- Yes.
- Is that possible?
Miss Blacklock's never seen them,
Mrs Goedler's never seen them, so yes.
You have a lot of checking to do.
- Where are we going?
- Back to HQ.
No, we're not. I want to speak to Mrs Haymes,
see what she was doing in the summerhouse.
I'm happy to verify a statement
if it means I can stand up straight.
The dead man, Rudi Scherz,
you said he was a stranger to you.
Yes.
Did you at any time have a conversation with him
in the summerhouse at Little Paddocks?
In the summerhouse?
It's absurd. Who told you that?
The statement was made to me
that you were seen speaking to him.
I expect it was Hannah.
She tells lies.
I've never met Rudi Scherz in my life.
And I couldn't have seen him.
I'm here every day.
Thank you, Mrs Haymes.
- Good morning, Colonel.
-Good morning, Inspector.
You're up bright and early.
Habit of a lifetime, up with the lark.
Check the defensive perimeter.
I'm told you have a German p*stol.
Yes. Unofficially, of course.
Souvenir of victory and all that.
May I see it, officially?
Well, fact of the matter is,
Inspector, damn thing's disappeared.
I see. When?
All I can tell you is
my wife saw it in my drawer last Saturday.
You mean it dissapeared after the k*lling?
Well, according to my good lady, yes.
I see.
Well, I'll leave you to check
your defensive perimeters.
You know, the English village
has changed since before the w*r,
That's really because
the whole world has changed,
A village like Chipping Cleghorn,
it may look the same,
simple and peaceful and eternal,
but it isn't,
You see, in the old days
everyone knew each other.
If someone new came to the village,
then they brought letters of introduction.
They'd either been
in the same regiment, ship or colony
as someone already living in the village.
- And that no longer applies?
- Oh, gone forever, I suspect.
The big houses are sold, the cottages converted,
and people simply come in from anywhere,
from India, Hong Kong, or Italy,
and made a little money and are able to retire.
No letters of introduction, no roots.
You had to believe their stories
and take them at their face value.
Plus their ration books and identity cards.
Oh, can you really believe
in a ration book and identity card?
Horrible things.
Inhuman.
- So, Pip and Emma could be Patrick and Julia?
- Oh, quite easily, I imagine.
But I think they sound rather fun
and not at all the homicidal type.
But I'll try and find out.
- You will be careful, won't you?
- Oh, of course.
A policeman asking questions
is open to suspicion.
But an old lady asking questions
is just an old lady asking questions.
- Who's the old biddy?
- Mrs Harmon's aunt.
I could go to my room and pretend to work.
Oh, Mrs Harmon's quite fun.
Pick of the village idiots, really.
Shall I be charming and terribly amusing?
No. Not a good idea.
It must have seemed dreadful to you.
Like Chicago come to Chipping Cleghorn.
I was scared stiff.
Well, it was rather an alarming experience.
It must have seemed quite providential
when the young man tripped up and shot himself.
Burglary is so violent nowadays.
There used to be a certain grace
and decorum about it.
- I blame the w*r. Don't you?
- And the Viennese waltz.
Absolutely.
- Was that the door that he came in at?
- Yes.
- I'm told there were b*llet holes.
- Over here, Miss Marple.
I've never seen a b*llet hole. May I?
Yes, of course. Please.
It's a miracle Lottie wasn't k*lled.
- Good gracious!
- But you were severely wounded, weren't you?
- Are you fully recovered?
- Yes, it was a scratch.
I only wear this plaster to get sympathy
from my nearest and dearest.
It doesn't work.
Unfortunately.
- So you were over here?
- I'd gone for the cigarette box.
Then the lights went out.
Oh, what a delightful lamp.
Dresden. It's one of a pair.
- The other's in the spare room.
- Really? I'd forgotten about that.
- I like nice things, don't you?
- Oh, yes, indeed. Yes, very much.
I'm afraid I can't work up
any enthusiasm for possessions.
Do you like nice things?
- I prefer naughty things.
- Julia!
I have very few possessions,
all of them precious
and each one a cherished memory.
As for photographs, people don't
seem to keep photographs nowadays, do they?
I do. I have hundreds, all my nieces and nephews
when they were babies and children
and grown-up and parents.
Got a horrible one of me
with a squint and a fox terrier.
And despite all your aunt says,
I'm sure she's got hundreds
of photographs of you all tucked away.
- We're only distant cousins.
- To tell you the truth, Miss Marple,
I didn't remember these two existed
until this year.
I had a letter from their mother
saying they were studying in this area.
- When did you last see my mother?
- Oh, about 30 years ago.
- I remember she was very pretty.
- Luckily we've both inherited her good looks.
Not only that. You're quite right, Miss Marple.
Aunt Lettie has a marvellous photograph album.
- We looked through it the other day.
- But I'm not obsessive about the past.
Well, I have more past than future.
Oh, don't be silly, Aunt Jane.
My dear, you've married a vicar. You must know.
We're allocated three-score years and ten.
And I shall soon be overdrawn.
You did it on purpose, didn't you?
- What, my dear?
- Talked about photographs.
I now know that Miss Blacklock
had never seen Patrick and Julia in the flesh
till they turned up on her doorstep.
- And rang the bell.
- Exactly.
Tomorrow, I shall explore your village.
It's quite small. Won't take long.
There are more things in Chipping Cleghorn,
Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
I dare say.
Horatio? I thought he had a bridge.
- Morning, Phillipa.
- Hello.
- What are you doing?
- Can't you see?
Well, I'm no gardener.
I mean, you seem to be
poking around aimlessly in the soil.
- I'm pricking out winter lettuce.
- And, um, exquisitely, too.
Please go away, Edmund.
You've no business to be here.
I have business.
Mrs Lucas rang my mama this morning,
very anxious to trade one of her surplus
vegetable marrows for, um, a pot of honey.
Yes, we're swamped with vegetable marrows.
So I have my alibi,
using the word loosely and incorrectly.
- There's no question of dalliance.
- Good.
''Faultily faultless, icily
regular, splendidly null.''
- I beg your pardon?
- It's Tennyson writing about Maud.
But it's really about you, Phillipa.
Splendidly null.
- It isn't much of a compliment.
- It isn't meant to be.
It's meant to stir you into speaking.
- What are you like? What do you feel?
- That's my business.
It's mine, too. Oh, can't you see I'm smitten?
I didn't want to fall in love with you.
I just wanted to worry about the working classes
and write my book about the world's misery.
Then you came along.
And you won't even talk to me.
- I'm talking to you now.
- Not really talking.
Tell me about anything.
Tell me about your husband, if you like.
We met. We got married.
Harry was born.
Ronald was k*lled in Italy.
Harry's a nice kid. I like him.
I think he likes me, too.
Oh, let's get married, Phillipa.
You can go on gardening and I can go on writing
my tripey book, and we can sponge off Mother.
My eyesight is defective, but I'm very sincere.
No. I don't think so.
Well, very well.
In that case, you'd better lead me
to that vegetable marrow.
Sergeant Fletcher. Are you keeping an eye on us?
- Inspector Craddock's orders.
- We're going to the village.
It's Hannah's day out, so there's nobody in.
- So if you could...
- Watch the house.
- The sergeant could make a cup of tea.
- Yes, please do.
The door's open. We never lock doors.
Come along, Bunny, we'll be late.
Oh! Oh, you startled me, Sergeant.
- I thought you were another burglar.
- No, Mrs Swettenham, it's only me.
- You came through the back door.
- Yes. It's always open.
I just brought up some of my quinces. Perhaps
you'd tell Miss Blacklock when she comes back.
I'll leave them here.
It seems anybody can walk
in here just as they like.
Of course. How else could we leave quinces
on the kitchen table?
Murgatroyd?
Yes, Hinch?
- I've been doing a bit of thinking.
- What about?
Well, that pantomime the other night.
It's all too fishy.
Now, take this revolver.
- Well, that's a trowel.
- I know it's a trowel.
- We don't stock revolvers.
- I suppose not.
And this torch.
Go outside, come back in, wave the torch round
and the revolver, like he did,
and say, ''Stick 'em up.''
Why?
Because what happened was fishy
and I want to find out what made it fishy.
I'll try.
Stick 'em up!
The door won't stay open.
Exactly. That's the fishy bit!
The door at Little Paddocks is just the same.
Lettie Blacklock bought that huge glass doorstop
from Elliot's.
Perhaps the burglar used that to keep it open.
That's a non-starter, Murgatroyd!
You fling the door open,
you shout, ''Reach for the sky!''
And then you say, ''Excuse me
while I adjust the doorstop.''
It's all so awkward.
Give me that revolver.
You'd have shot yourself by now.
He did sh**t himself, didn't he?
Somebody must have held the door open for him.
I'm not at all sure he did sh**t himself.
You mean,
somebody else shot him?
That's the only alternative to sh**ting oneself,
in my experience.
- You've had experience?
- Of crimes of violence? Lots.
Pa-choo! Pa-choo!
Two-g*n Hinchcliffe,
the terror of Kidderminster.
I don't believe you.
Neither do I.
But if it wasn't one of us who k*lled that boy,
it was somebody very like us.
- Miss Marple.
- Oh!
- Do sit here.
- Oh, how kind. Thank you so much.
- I'm on my own.
- Oh, dear. Oh, such a sharp wind.
- My rheumatics, you know.
- I had sciatica last year. Agony.
Oh, dear, yes. Now, then, coffee and cakes?
- Yes, please.
- For two. Thank you.
The cakes here don't look so delicious
as the ones in your house.
Hannah made those. Our cook. She's very good.
Some sort of a foreigner. Swiss, I think.
Pity she screams so much.
Oh, well, it's a sign of life.
And the other person I didn't see?
The young lady who lives with you?
Phillipa? We call her our lodger.
I suppose she is, in a way.
Whom?
Phillippa?
- Haymes.
- Haymes? Oh, yes. Really.
Yes. I knew a Colonel Haymes
in the Indian cavalry.
- Her father, perhaps?
- She's Mrs Haymes, a widow.
Husband was k*lled in Sicily. Or Italy.
Oh, how sad.
Oh, here we are.
Now, then, would you like me to pour out?
- Yes, please.
- Now, coffee.
They're terribly pink, aren't they?
Probably an artificial substitute for flavour.
Thank you.
And has she many admirers?
That waitress? I doubt it. Much too surly!
Oh, yes. No, Mrs Haymes.
Oh. Well...
..young Edmund Swettenham
moons around her a bit.
He's a very odd young man.
Writes books, and I...
I have heard that he's a communist.
Oh, really? Well, he must be rather lonely
in Chipping Cleghorn.
I'm told they can grow out of it.
Do you believe that?
- Yes, I think that's quite likely.
- Good.
And have you known Miss Blacklock long?
Oh, we were at school together.
Then we lost touch for years.
She was secretary to this
millionaire Goedler and...
Tell me...
I didn't do wrong, Miss Marple?
I'm afraid I don't know
what you're talking about.
I was living on my own,
just with my pension, in a bedsitter.
I saw Lettie's name in the local newspaper.
She was at a charity luncheon
in aid of the Milchester Hospital.
And I wrote to her.
Not a begging letter.
It wasn't that.
Oh, no, no, of course not.
No. You wrote a friendly letter
to an old school chum and you met.
She was lonely and you were lonely and
she asked you to move in with her. That's all.
You do understand.
I understand everything about lonely old ladies.
I can tell. You're very comfortable
to talk to, Miss Marple.
You see, I get so angry when I see
people taking advantage of Lettie
and I do hope that I'm not like that.
She's left me all the household goods
and an annuity!
But that's her decision.
I haven't taken advantage of her, truly.
Oh, no, no. I'm quite sure you haven't.
No.
And do other people take advantage?
Young...
..Patrick.
He's had money from her twice
at least, to my certain knowledge.
All Lettie will say is, ''The boy's young.
Youth must have its fling.''
That's true, you know.
And, of course, he is handsome and a trifle
insolent, I agree. But on the other hand...
I saw him with an oil can in the garden.
Really?
And the other door
to the drawing room has been oiled.
And I heard him having an argument
with Julia the other day.
But that's human nature, isn't it?
Arguments between brothers and sisters.
Shepherds and shepherdesses.
I beg your pardon?
The lamp.
On the table.
I noticed that it was the shepherdess,
and not the shepherd.
Coffee and gossip, Bunny?
Good morning, Miss Marple.
Good morning. Won't you join us?
Thank you, but we are rather late.
Have you done your shopping, Bunny?
I must call at the chemist.
I need some aspirin and... and corn plasters.
Please, can I pay?
Oh, no. I wouldn't dream of it.
Come along, Bunny.
That's it. Goodbye, Miss Marple.
- Excuse me.
- Goodbye, Miss Bunner.
She's terribly sweet, Miss Marple.
Such a good listener.
I don't suppose you gave her
much choice, Bunny dear.
- No, not that one.
- No?
No, I tried one of those. They taste of salmon.
Oh. I think I'll just have the coffee.
Very wise.
- So, what were you talking about?
- Family loyalty.
I hope it wasn't as tedious as it sounds.
No, on the contrary. Very revealing.
Nearly everyone assumes
that people m*rder out of hatred.
But it may be out of loyalty or even love.
Love?
Tell me again who was in the room that night.
Miss Blacklock, Rudi Scherz...
And devoted Dora and handsome Patrick...
Mrs Swettenham of the honey-pot
and her serious son Edmund. Yes?
The pukka sahib Colonel Easterbrook
and the fluffy Mrs Easterbrook.
Not forgetting
the cool and distant Phillipa Haymes.
- And?
- Am I forgetting somebody?
- Yes.
- Julia!
- That's right. Julia, yes.
- Julia. Pretty Julia is peculiar.
Three and six. And I'm not a peculiar.
I've always been a good C of E.
Oh, I'm so sorry. I was just quoting an old song.
I didn't know your name was Julia.
- No offence, I'm sure.
- There. Thank you very much.
Thank you very much, Mrs Marple.
Well, yes. Now, do we believe in Pip and Emma?
Miss Blacklock says they exist, so we have to.
Even though she's never seen them?
But they are the only people to benefit
from Miss Blacklock's death.
Not necessarily.
Either of them might have married.
Their mother and father might be alive.
You see, they'd all be interested parties.
So the police should be looking
for a m*rder*r who...
Who is either male or female,
in the middle twenties,
or someone nearly as old as I am.
You also said somebody
who would m*rder out of love.
Yes, but a very special kind of love.
A deep and abiding passion
for large sums of money.
- Except...
- What?
That waitress thought you were talking about her.
Oh, it's just a simple mistake.
Yes.
Mrs Goedler's looking forward
to your visit, Inspector,
Is she really? That makes a change.
She has very few visitors, for obvious reasons.
There's one question I have to ask.
I can guess what it is.
- Well?
- She's a dying woman.
She's surviving on drugs and on her willpower
but it can't last for more than a few weeks.
And our dear Miss Blacklock
was not hurt by the attempt on her life?
A grazed ear.
Oh, poor Blackie.
You know about her family background?
No.
Is it important to your investigation?
- I have no idea.
- Well, let me ramble on
and stop me if it becomes boring. Agreed?
Agreed.
Two sisters. The father,
an old country doctor and a tyrant.
Lettie rebelled, ran away to London,
made herself into a chartered accountant.
The other sister, Charlotte, was an invalid.
Now, when the old man died, Blackie left the firm
to go and look after her sister.
Randall was furious with her, shouted at her,
but she was determined.
She took her sister to Switzerland.
- Tell me about your husband's sister.
- Sonia?
She was wild. I was fond of her.
But we've lost touch.
She married this chap Stamfordis,
a genuine crook, have no doubt.
You'd have enjoyed locking him up.
Randall disapproved of the marriage,
but Sonia took no notice.
We got a letter about 18 months after the wedding
to say she'd had twins, just after midday.
so she intended to call them Pip and Emma.
We forgot about them.
A terrible thing to say about one's relatives.
But Mr Goedler left his estate to the children
in the event of Miss Blacklock predeceasing you.
The lawyers pestered him.
He told them that Blackie was strong as a horse
and I was delicate,
but they insisted. Lawyers do.
They're so serious about life and death,
things like that.
But you have no idea where they may be,
your sister-in-law, her husband,
or their children?
They may be dead. They may be anywhere.
They may be...
..in Chipping Cleghorn.
Indeed they may.
Don't let them hurt Blackie.
She's too good to lose.
Sardine sandwiches, and tomato
and some of those little scones you do so nicely.
And I want you to make your special cake.
My cake? Is it a party, you want such things?
It's Miss Bunner's birthday,
people are coming to tea.
Birthdays! Parties!
At her age, it's better to forget.
She doesn't want to forget.
She wants a cake. I want her to have a cake.
I have nothing to make such a cake.
I need butter, sugar, chocolate, raisins.
Butter.
Sugar.
Chocolate.
Raisins.
- Where do you get such things?
- None of your business, Hannah.
Very well, I shall make such a cake! With icing.
And on the top, I will write,
- ''Good wishes.''
- Thank you, Hannah.
I will show your English friends
what such a cake should taste like.
English cakes taste like sand.
My cake will taste like heaven.
I'm sure it will.
- You must tell Mr Patrick not to call it names.
- I'm sure he wouldn't dream of it.
My last cake, he calls it ''Delicious death''.
Oh, but that's a compliment!
Death is a compliment?
# Happy birthday to you
# Happy birthday to you
# Happy birthday, dear Bunny
# Happy birthday to you #
Delicious death!
Hannah doesn't like you talking like that.
- She disapproves of everything I do.
- Well, it looks a lovely cake.
Foreigners. They make damn good cakes.
Mind you, it's plain boiled
pudding that stumps them.
Got a new gardener?
Saw a chap snooping round the hen-house.
- No, that's our own special detective.
- Detective? Why?
- To protect Lettie.
- Isn't that all over?
- They adjourned the inquest.
- Police not satisfied.
- They never are.
- As I see it, we're all under suspicion.
- Suspicion of what?
- Here and now, I'd say loitering with intent.
That sounds amusing. What sort of intent?
Intent to commit m*rder
upon the first opportunity.
Please don't, Mr Swettenham. It's so awful.
- Oh Bunny.
- I should nobody want unwell
- Don't distress yourself.
- Come on, Bunny.
It's usually me
who spoils the party with a bad joke.
Mrs Easterbrook. Colonel.
Afternoon.
Sergeant.
We thought you might like a piece of cake.
Oh, thank you. That's very kind.
All the suspects have gone home now.
Are you under orders to stay?
Another ten minutes, then I
hand over to the local Bobby.
We do sleep sounder for the police presence.
Good.
- Did you enjoy your party?
- I did. But I've got a dreadful headache.
Too much excitement.
Too much cake.
Those lovely chocolates. Where did you find them?
It's easy, if you don't mind breaking the law.
Oh, I...I think I'll take a couple of aspirin
and lie down for a while.
Shall I shut up the ducks, Aunt Lettie?
Well, if you can do it properly.
There's no guarantee,
but I promise to try my hardest.
Just make sure that the latch is down firmly.
- I knew there was a secret.
- Don't worry, Aunt Lettie.
I'll make sure it's all right.
I seem to have mislaid the aspirin
I bought in the village.
This house is chock-full of aspirin.
They fall out of every cupboard.
- There's a bottle on my dressing table.
- Take mine. They're by my bed.
Thank you, Lettie.
Ducks.
All you have to do...
is see that the latch is down firmly.
- Patrick.
- Julia.
Imagine you were Pip and Emma.
What would you do?
- I come to England penniless.
- Yes?
Then, assuming I'm of criminal mentality,
I seek out any rich relations I might have.
I know my uncle, Goedler, left a vast fortune,
so I inquire about his widow,
discover she's still alive
and that the only obstacle between me and the
money is Letitia Blacklock of Chipping Cleghorn.
- Therefore...
- m*rder Miss Blacklock.
Have we checked about Patrick and Julia?
Yes. They are precisely what they claim to be.
Patrick has rather a good w*r record.
Fletcher's been busy, too.
So I see.
- Wee dram?
-Oh, please.
I waited hopefully for somebody to offer,
but Scotland appears to be totally dry.
Helps the concentration.
Bunny.
Philippa.
Yes... yes I see.
Thank you.
Has been an hour.
Dora Bunner?
But that's most unfair.
The vilage policeman was on duty.
He's called the doctor..
There's to be an autopsy, but it
looks like narcotic poisoning.
But she's a complete innocent.
Is it the fate of the innocent to suffer?
It very offten it is, yes.
In spite of her innocence?
Or because of her innocence?
Keep scrolling for part 3
Re: 01x03 - A m*rder Is Announced
Part 3
- Oh, may I go into the house sargeant?
- Of course, you're beyond suspicion, Miss Marple.
Nobody is beyond suspicion.
- Good morning.
- Forgive my disturbing, Miss Blacklock.
But the vicar had a dying parishioner
and Mrs Harmon had to rush a child to hospital
so they asked me to deliver that to you.
- Thank you, Miss Marple. Do sit down.
- Thank you.
It contains the funeral arrangements, I believe.
Yes, of course.
If there're any messages.
The vicar is a very understanding man.
No fatuous consolation...
Please tell him the arrangements
will do very well.
Bunny's favourite hymn was
'Lead Kindly Light.'
I realise I am merely a stranger,
but I am so very very sorry.
I just realized what I lost!
Bunny was my only link with the past.
The only one who remembered.
I know.
One is quite alone when the last
one who remembers is gone.
I have very kind nephews and nieces and friends,
but noone who remembers the old days.
You're a very understanding
woman, Miss Marple, and I thank you for it.
I must write a few lines for the vicar.
- The police.
- Thank you, Hannah.
Good morning, Miss Blacklock.
Miss Marple.
Miss Marple dropped in with
a note from the vicar.
But, I am on my way
quite quickly now,
unless there is any question
you'd like to ask me.
- Were you at the tea party yesterday afternoon?
- No, no I was not.
Then there is nothing you can tell me.
She really did come with a note from the vicar.
And I really do recognise a
nosy parker when I see one.
I won't waste time offering
sympathy, Miss Blacklock.
I hope you'll take that for granted,
I feel very sorry about Miss Bunner's death.
- We should've prevented it.
- I don't see what you could've done.
There were lethal tablets in
a bottle at your bedside,
and we'd been guarding the house for days.
You could hardly have searched
everyone who came to the house..
I suppose not.
At any rate, whoever it is has tried to sh**t
and has tried to poison you, so who is it?
I haven't the faintest idea, inspector.
Let me off with some suggestions.
I went to Scotland and talked to
Belle Goedler.
The only people who can benefit
by your death are Pip and Emma.
I thought Patrick an
Julia were likely contenders,
but we've checked their background...
- You've what?
That's my job, Miss Blacklock.
Oh, yes of course.
I'm sorry.
And it is clear that Patrick and Julia
Simmons are exactly who they claim to be.
So, I then thought about their mother,
Sonia Stamfordis, Goedler's sister.
Tell me, would you recognise
her if you saw her?
Yes, I suppose I would...
It's thirty years since I saw her.
She must be an elderly
woman by now.
How do you remember her?
She was small, dark...
a very lively young woman.
She'd be gray and weary by
now, like the rest of us.
Well, there's no shortage of elderly
ladies in Chipping Cleghorn.
You are suggesting that Sonia is living somewhere
in this village under an assumed name.
I have to examine the possibillity.
I can think of three women
who match in terms of age,
Mrs. Swettenham, Miss Murgatroyd
and Miss Hinchcliffe.
...All three were here yesterday,
as they were
on the night of the sh**ting.
The whole idea is ludicrous, Inspector.
Help me to prove it, Miss Blacklock.
Do you have a photograph of Sonia?
Only very old photographs.
They're in an album
in the attic somewhere, I think.
May I see them?
Julia's in the house somewhere.
Ask her to show you.
Thank you.
It's terribly dusty, I'm afraid,
and full of junk.
At the moment, I have a brain like that.
JULIA: We keep meaning
to clear it out.
So do I, Miss Simmons. So do I.
I'm sure the photograph album's in here.
Patrick found it when we first arrived.
We wallowed in nostalgia
and laughed at the silly hats.
God, look at all this.
Aunt Letty just won't throw
anything away.
Are you familiar
with your family history?
I suppose so.
Most of it's pretty boring,
but if I can be of any assistance.
Were these photographs missing
when you looked at the album?
No.
Nothing was missing.
Sonia, self and R.G.
R.G., Randall Goedler.
Sonia and Belle on beach,
picnic at Skeyne,
Charlotte, self, Sonia, R.G.
May I?
All the pictures of Sonia have gone.
I suppose it's a sort of a clue,
isn't it?
Mmm.
Definitely a sort of clue.
Do you think your aunt would mind
if I looked around for more?
I'm sure you don't need a warrant to
protect someone from being m*rder*d.
Bearing in mind
we've failed twice already.
Shall I leave you?
In case you wish to be indiscreet?
Thank you.
It's a breach of confidence,
Miss Marple,
but I'd like you to read these.
Oh, oh, very... Oh, thank you, yes.
I love breaches of confidence.
They're such fun.
I sometimes wish I'd married a priest.
Oh, my dear.
Except it's impossible, of course.
- And, er, have you read these?
- Yes.
What conclusions did you come to?
Miss Blacklock was devoted
to her sister.
Wrote to her two or three times a week,
and their father was a tyrant,
an old-fashioned Victorian doctor
who couldn't stand new ideas.
Probably k*lled hundreds
of his patients.
I think I rather prefer
old-fashioned doctors to young doctors.
They remove our teeth,
administer very peculiar glands,
take bits of our inside out and then
say they can do nothing for us.
Generally because there's very little
of the original us left.
No, I prefer old-fashioned medicine.
Big black bottles, you know,
of tonic, because you can always
pour them down the sink.
Oh, did you trace the revolver
that shot that young man?
It belonged to Colonel Easterbrook.
Yes. Mrs. Butt told me
the colonel has a revolver.
There's some confusion about
when it was taken.
Did Miss Blacklock's sister
die of consumption?
I believe so.
We know she was in a Swiss sanatorium.
Oh, really?
I mean, fancy using
the colonel's revolver.
Yes, but I don't think Colonel
Easterbrook is Sonia Goedler.
All we know about Sonia
is that she was small and dark,
with something of a temper,
according to those letters.
Oh, yes, oh, these are fascinating,
even if they are a breach of confidence.
I'll leave those with you till
tomorrow, if that's all right?
Oh, thank you. If you would, yes.
I think we're destined for
several hours of fascinated silence.
No, my dear,
I shall prattle on non-stop.
Oh, by the way, is
Miss Blacklock short-sighted?
Yes, but too proud to wear spectacles.
When she comes to church
she sings the hymns she knows by heart
and la-la's her way through the others.
Really?
- I'll see you to the door, Inspector.
- Do be careful, Delilah!
- Delilah?
Yes my husband christened her that.
I'm very much afraid her
moral standards are similar.
Oh, Aunt Jane, I'm sure you
can't see properly.
Well, I do seem
a little cluttered don't I?
Let's get you properly organized.
Well, shouldn't there be
a switch up here.
It's on the flex. Oh, Delilah!
You silly cat!
Oh, oh, my dear, oh, what have I done?
Oh, it's all right Aunt Jane.
It's not your fault,
it's Delilah's. Oh.
Probably fused all the lights in here
now thanks to her. What a nuisance!
No, it isn't a nuisance.
- It's wonderful!
- Oh, look!
You can see, where she's been
chewing at the flex.
That's why it fused.
With the assistance of a shepherdess...
What are you talking about?
m*rder, my dear.
And I won't have a word said
against that remarkable cat.
I think you told me, Mrs. Haymes,
your husband was k*lled,
fighting in Italy.
That's right.
It isn't true. He was a deserter.
I know.
You should have told me.
Do you have to rake up
the dirt about everybody?
Yes, I do, and it's amazing how
many people are able to provide it, too.
I don't want my son to know.
I don't tell him lies about his father.
I just don't talk about him at all.
Silence isn't quite the same
as telling lies.
You were seen speaking to a man
in the summerhouse
the week of the sh**ting.
Was it your husband?
- I didn't talk to anybody.
- Did he come to you for money?
I haven't seen my husband for years.
You're sure about that?
Silence can be exactly the same
as telling lies, Mrs. Haymes.
RYDESDALE: Yes. Is this intended
to clarify the problem?
Yes. Three people can benefit
from Miss Blacklock's death,
Sonia Stamfordis,
- or her children, Pip and Emma.
- Mmm-hmm.
These are the people who match
in terms of age and sex.
Mrs. Swettenham, Miss Hinchcliffe
and Miss Murgatroyd
for the older generation.
Patrick Simmons, Julia Simmons,
Phillipa Haymes, Edmund Swettenham,
Mrs. Harmon...
At least you've had the decency
to put a query beside the vicar's wife.
Yes, she's strictly on the older side.
Plus the Easterbrooks.
- The Colonel had a p*stol.
- Had?
It went missing the week of the m*rder.
Why didn't he report it?
- Didn't notice at the time.
- Ah.
His wife swears it disappeared
after the m*rder.
My honest opinion is she's
lying to protect her husband.
Needlessly, because I think
he's a nincompoop.
Would you like my honest opinion?
I need all the help
you can give me, sir.
A m*rder was committed in the
presence of a group of people.
By logical deduction you have
proved that the likely m*rder*r
was a member of that group.
- Well, I think we already knew that.
Come in.
Er, sir, I thought you should see this.
- I knew she was lying.
- Who?
10 days ago a chap got knocked down
and k*lled by a lorry in Milchester,
no papers on him,
nobody reported him missing,
he's just been identified
as Ronald Haymes.
Ex-captain in the South Loamshire.
Phillipa Haymes' husband.
It seems like it.
He had some money on him,
and a Chipping Cleghorn bus ticket.
Oh, what date was the accident?
It was the day before the m*rder, sir.
I took note of that.
And with respect sir, I think we
should take note of how he died.
What do you mean by that?
He ran into the road to push a little
kiddie out of the way of the lorry, sir.
- I see.
- I mean, a good death.
Uh, as death goes, sir.
Yes, we've taken note, Sergeant.
Phillipa. I just heard about... Well...
Just say the name.
He can't hurt anybody.
Your husband. I...
- Do we have to go through it again?
- Yes.
Because whoever bumped off Rudi Scherz
did the same to poor old Dora Bunner
and I take exception to that.
Well, of course.
It could be any one of us next,
and I'd take exception to that as well.
Now then,
everybody who was at the sh**ting party
was also at the birthday tea,
except for Mrs. Harmon,
so that lets her out.
Well, I should think so, too.
And I think it's a man doing this,
because we all know
what dirty dogs men are.
Well, anybody could have
put the tablets in the aspirin bottle
the day of Dora's party.
Anybody? How?
We all went to the loo, didn't we?
All that tea and sherry
they poured down us,
you'd have had to be
superhuman not to go.
So, back to the first m*rder.
Now, that little Swiss idiot
comes in here, stands here,
- waves his torch around.
- And the revolver.
No. Not the revolver.
Somebody else had the revolver.
Now, I'm the Swiss idiot.
Where were you?
- I can't remember.
- Of course, you can remember!
I was behind the door.
When it opened, it knocked my toe,
and hurt my corn.
When are you going to go to
a proper chiropodist?
You'll give yourself blood poisoning
the way you poke around at your feet.
Now come and stand behind the door.
Mind your toe.
Now, I'm leaning against the mantelpiece
with my tongue hanging out
waiting for a drink.
Whoever does the sh**ting
has to slip out into the hallway
through the other door.
There isn't another door.
Not here there isn't,
but at Little Paddocks there is.
Now, think. Who could you see?
More important, Amy Murgatroyd,
who wasn't there?
You're standing behind the torch,
you see a series of faces.
I remember Mrs. Harmon sitting
on the arm of the chair
and Dora Bunner with her mouth open.
And...
That's extraordinary.
...Damn and blast!
Hello, Hinchcliffe.
Make sure you don't forget.
- Hello.
- Hello.
- Hello, Miss Hinchcliffe.
- Speaking.
- Your dog's arrived.
- What?
He came on the milk train
earlier this morning...
- Do you realize what time it is, now?
- It's about 5:15.
Oh, never mind.
I might have guessed it would be
somebody else's fault.
The dog's arrived.
Came on the milk train,
damn fools didn't think we'd be up yet.
Can't stand people doing
my thinking for me.
Damn fools.
But don't you want to know
what it is I've remembered?
We'll carry on when I get back.
Don't forget!
Don't you realize, she wasn't there!
Don't forget.
She wasn't there!
♫ Got no diamonds, got no pearls
♫ Still I think
I'm a lucky girl
♫ Got the sun in the morning
and the moon at night
Oh, do go in, you'll get wet.
I'll only be two minutes.
♫ Sunshine, give me a sunny day
♫ Give me the milky way
♫ Oh, with the sun in the morning
and the moon at night
♫ I'm all right ♫
Miss Marple!
- Oh.
- Hop in, Miss Marple. You'll get wet.
- Oh, thank you.
- All right?
- Can you manage?
- Yeah.
I'll do that.
- Come and have a cup of coffee.
- Oh.
We'll ring the vicarage
and tell them you're on the town.
Don't mind the dog, will you?
Setters, mad as hatters.
100% heart, 1 % brain.
Murgatroyd! We've got a visitor.
Come on, Miss Marple,
a nice hot steaming cup of coffee.
Better let the dog out.
If Murgatroyd hasn't got the kettle on,
there'll be trouble.
Come on, cutie.
Murgatroyd!
That's her name, Cutie.
Have you ever heard
anything more feeble and wet?
Murgatroyd!
She hasn't finished bringing
the washing in.
Better go and see what that dog's up to.
Must have taken leave of her senses,
such as they are.
Murgatroyd! Come on! Come on! Get...
I'll k*ll whoever did this.
When I get my hands on her.
We must call the police.
Why did you say "her"?
We'd been playing a silly game,
trying to find out
who shot that Swiss boy.
My idea.
My fault.
No. Just tell me what happened.
I was trying to work out
by a process of elimination
who could have slipped out
into the hall that night.
Murgatroyd could see better
than anyone what was going on.
I see.
And as I was going to fetch
the dog, she got all excited
and started shouting out,
"She wasn't there."
- "She wasn't there"?
- That's right.
She wasn't there.
So, you see,
I must find out who "she" is.
Whoever it is will pay the price.
I hope Hannah's prepared an epic feast.
- I've worked quite hard today.
- You surprise me.
Skipped three lectures.
Most days I only skip two.
Julia!
Is something wrong?
This letter.
It's from Julia Simmons.
I thought you were Julia Simmons.
Oh, God.
Caught in the act.
Well, not quite in the act.
What are you talking about?
PATRICK: Well, the fact of
the matter is, Aunt Letty,
it seemed like a bit of a lark.
Just a minute,
you called me "Aunt."
Does that mean you really are
Patrick Simmons?
Oh yes, I really am Patrick.
It's onlyJulia who...
Who isn't Julia.
And whom exactly are you?
I was christened
Emma Jocelyn Stamfordis.
I'm Sonia's daughter, Emma.
- Emma?
- Yes.
But how did you two come together?
At a big party in London,
soon after I was demobbed.
And what is the realJulia
doing in Perth?
PATRICK: She wants to be an actress.
She's been working with a rep company.
We knew mother would have seven fits
so we planned this lark.
She'd go up to Scotland
and get on with her acting.
And I'd come here, pretend to be Julia,
and keep peace in the camp.
Also,
we wanted to be together.
Oh, I see. You two are...
Madly in love.
I think that's the phrase.
Yes, I'm told that can happen.
And was part of this lark the idea
that you might share
- in the Goedler inheritance?
- Yes.
That's not quite what was in
mind, Aunt Letty.
What exactly was in your mind,
Miss Stamfordis?
My parents split up
three years after they were married.
They split us up, too.
- You and Pip?
- Yes.
Pip went with my mother.
I went with my father.
He was a villain, of course,
a thoroughly bad father,
but charming.
Then the w*r came, and I lost him too.
I worked with the French Resistance,
came to England when
the world had calmed down a little.
Alone and penniless, but knowing there
was money somewhere in the family.
Then I met Patrick,
a marvelous stroke of luck.
He said he was coming here
and I thought you might take pity
on a poor orphan girl
once you knew the full story.
Pity?
A small allowance, nothing excessive.
Why didn't you just tell the truth?
EMMA: Well, we were working up to it,
then suddenly people started
firing revolvers and there were
aspirin tablets causing instant death.
I thought my best plan was
to keep quiet for a while.
We calculated the Inspector
would be bound to suspect
somebody who'd been telling lies.
Yes, I suppose that is reasonable.
But if you are Emma, where is Pip?
I truly have no idea.
We were separated
when we were three years old.
I haven't seen Pip or my mother
for over 20 years.
Is that the whole truth?
The whole truth is,
I came here hoping for a small allowance
from my family's money.
I didn't come here to commit m*rder,
so that I could inherit the lot.
Yes, I...
I suppose I have no
alternative, but to believe that.
Just a moment, you said you were
in the French Resistance?
Yes.
- You learned to sh**t?
- I can sh**t.
- In which case...
- If I had shot at you that night,
Letitia Blacklock,
I wouldn't have missed.
Inspector Craddock would like
to speak to all of you.
- Thank you, Hannah.
- All of us?
- Yes.
- But we've only just come in,
- we haven't had time to...
- Miss Amy Murgatroyd
was m*rder*d earlier today.
To be precise, she was strangled
in her garden, just before noon.
I want a precise
account of everybody's movements.
Whoever's doing these
things, Inspector, must be mad,
quite mad.
It doesn't necessarily follow.
Ah, my pearls!
My pearls!
I've never seen her so upset.
- Good day, Miss Marple.
- Good day, Sergeant.
- How is Miss Hinchcliffe?
- Very shocked, I'm afraid.
She seems to have aged 10 years.
We must do something, Sergeant.
- Missing?
- Yes.
- How long has she been missing?
- Oh, about two hours.
She went along the road
to speak to Sergeant Fletcher.
- That's what, about five minutes away?
- Ten at the most.
It doesn't help because
I've lost Fletcher as well.
She suddenly became very
excited about pearls.
- Pearls?
- Yes.
Well, she'd been making
this list in her notebook.
Lamp, violets, aspirins, Bern,
Letty, old age pension, pearls.
Does Miss Blacklock
always wear those pearls?
Yes. We laugh about it sometimes.
I'm very concerned about Miss Marple.
The minute you hear anything,
- you must telephone the station.
- Yes, of course.
Inspector Craddock!
Fletcher, what the hell
are you playing at?
- So you see it's been quite a day.
- So I see.
- But only the one m*rder.
- Oh, Julia!
PHILLIPA: I understood she wasn't Julia.
Well, I still think of her
as Julia.
Well.
And then, on top of everything else,
that nice Miss Marple has disappeared.
- Perhaps she's on the run.
- On the run?
If she m*rder*d Miss Murgatroyd.
Phillipa!
Can't you
stop talking about m*rder?
Don't you understand,
I'm frightened. God!
Don't worry, Aunt Letty,
I'll look after you.
Mind you, I could do it better
on a full stomach.
I am hungry, Hannah.
I am frightened.
- Are we having supper tonight?
- You can make it yourselves.
I do nothing more in this house.
If they k*ll Miss Murgatroyd,
they can k*ll anyone.
I am going to lock myself
in my room until tomorrow
and then I leave this house for ever.
Good night, Miss Blacklock.
I'll see to dinner.
Might be less embarrassing all round.
Don't be silly, darling.
Nobody wants to sit at table
with an imposter.
Oh, Patrick, if you're acting as
protector, you better taste the food.
I don't want to be accused
of poisoning the omelets.
- Omelets all right for everybody?
- Fine by me.
It's all I can cook anyway,
but I'm outstandingly good.
Do you need any help?
No.
There's something I want to say to you.
Save it! I've had enough drama
for one day.
If you've fallen madly in love
with Edmund Swettenham,
- that is strictly your business.
- It isn't that.
Look, why don't you
make yourself useful.
Go and lay the table in the dining
room or something.
Which is a polite way of saying
"leave me alone."
When I sh**t, I sh**t to k*ll.
I'm on your side, Emma. That's all.
- That was excellent.
- Thank you.
Have you eaten anything?
I had mine below stairs,
thank you kindly, Mrs. Haymes.
I'll answer it.
Hello.
Every time the phone rings, I assume
somebody else had been bumped off.
Let's count our blessings.
At least it was none of us three.
You're being amazingly cheerful
all of a sudden, Phillipa,
considering we're surrounded
by death and deceit.
Thank you, Inspector.
Oh, do you think we might have
coffee in the drawing room?
We're expecting company.
Not another announcement
in the newspaper?
Inspector Craddock
has invited himself over.
Well, he hasn't been to see us
for at least 20 minutes.
And he's bringing
the Easterbrooks and the Swettenhams.
- How terribly thrilling.
- Coffee in the drawing room?
- Very well, ma'am.
I don't have to explain why we're here.
Today, Miss Amy Murgatroyd
was m*rder*d, very brutally.
And there's every reason to believe she
was m*rder*d by somebody in this room.
More than that, we believe
the m*rder*r was a woman.
Good God!
I'm going to ask
the ladies present to tell me
what they were doing today between
the hours of 11:00 and noon.
Starting with the young lady who has
been calling herselfJulia Simmons.
- Calling herself?
- Hush, mother.
Between 11 and 12, I was
in Milchester, meeting Patrick
for a secret walk along the river bank.
We have no witnesses.
We could easily have driven in a fast
car to Miss Murgatroyd's cottage,
but we didn't.
I throw myself
on the mercy of the court.
Mrs. Swettenham.
Me?
What were you doing
at the time in question?
Well, either turning the heel of a sock
or cleaning out the gutter,
depending what time the rain started.
CRADDOCK: It started to rain
at 10 past 11.
Ah, well, that means
that I was turning
the heel of a sock until ten past.
Then the rain started and pours
into our passage by the cloakroom
where the gutter's stopped up.
So, I put on my coat and gumboots
and I cleaned out the gutter
with a broom handle.
Do you have witnesses to
the sock-turning or gutter-cleaning?
No.
I called to Edmund but he didn't answer
so I assumed he was at
an important place in his novel.
And were you?
No, I was asleep.
Do you need a witness to that?
I don't think so.
Mrs. Easterbrook?
Oh.
I was in the study with Archie.
We were listening to the wireless.
Can you confirm that, Colonel?
- Er, no.
- No?
We were listening to
the wireless at 11:00.
Are we not talking about 11:00?
We are talking about
between 11:00 and 12.
- Precisely.
- And bear in mind
that you withheld vital information
about a revolver,
so may I have some accuracy
on this occasion?
I was in the study with Archie,
listening to the wireless
and then I toasted some scones,
and in between I went for a little walk.
- Alone?
- I was talking
to Lampson, a farmer from Croft End,
about some chicken netting.
While your wife
took a little walk?
Why don't you ask the others
what they were doing?
That Haymes woman.
And Edmund Swettenham.
He writes books about m*rder
and he's a communist!
He's always saying that...
I've made it quite clear that we are
looking for a woman, Mrs. Easterbrook.
Before she died,
Miss Murgatroyd made a vital statement
about the k*lling of Rudi Scherz.
As you will all remember,
Miss Murgatroyd was standing
where I am standing now
when the unfortunate young
man entered through this door.
But it was dark.
Nobody could see anything.
Miss Murgatroyd
was standing here,
so she could see where
the torch was shining.
Only she could see who wasn't in
the room at the time of the sh**ting.
She saw everything.
I, too, saw everything!
That's impossible.
You weren't even in the room.
No. I am not in the room.
I am just a serving maid
and a foreigner.
I am not fine enough to be in the room
with the proper English ladies
and gentlemen.
You do not even ask me into the room
to answer your questions,
and I know the answers,
because I saw what happened.
Tell us what you saw.
The night of the sh**ting,
I am in the dining room
cleaning the silver
when I hear the shots.
I look through the keyhole
and I see her with the g*n in her hand.
I see Miss Blacklock.
Me?
You must be mad!
But that's quite impossible,
if you think about it, Inspector.
Of course it's impossible.
Because it was you, wasn't it?
Thank you, my dear. Perhaps you
could return to your kitchen now.
HANNAH: Always the kitchen.
You took the colonel's revolver.
You organized the advertisement
in the newspaper with Scherz.
We all know you have
a vivid imagination.
The whole idea is monstrous!
The lights went out, you slipped
through that door into the hallway,
shot at Miss Blacklock,
then k*lled Rudi Scherz.
EDMUND: And why would I do such a thing?
What possible motive could I have?
I hope you have an explanation
for all this, Edmund.
If Miss Blacklock dies,
two people inherit.
The two we know as Pip and Emma.
Julia Simmons is Emma, that we know.
- And...
- And you think that I'm Pip?
I'm Edmund Swettenham,
and I can prove it.
Birth certificate, schools,
university, everything.
PHILLIPA: He isn't Pip.
- I can prove it, too, Inspector.
- You?
I'm Pip.
Good God, Phillipa Haymes.
Everybody assumed that Pip was a boy,
but we were both girls.
We hadn't seen each other
since our parents separated.
I had the same idea as Julia.
I knew there was money in the family.
I found out where Miss Blacklock
lived, took a job in the area.
I just wanted a little money
to help with my son's education.
Murdering people
wasn't part of the plan,
and when the k*lling started...
Well, then the letter arrived today
and truly that was the first moment
we both realized...
Who we were.
EMMA: We're getting along famously.
Inspector, will you excuse me please?
Just two minutes.
I wouldn't try to k*ll Miss Blacklock,
she's been too kind to me
and neither would Edmund,
because he isn't Pip.
- But he is in love with you, isn't he?
- Well...
- Has he or has he not proposed to you?
- Of course, I have!
She's wonderful
and I'm going to marry her.
Edmund, you never tell me anything!
You couldn't possibly have seen me!
It is impossible!
What the devil are you doing?
Truth and lies.
- Liar!
- Charlotte!
- What are you doing in my kitchen?
- Watching you, Miss Blacklock.
- Are you all right, my dear?
- Did I do it properly?
- You were splendid.
I must ask you to come along with me
to answer questions about this incident.
And there will be other charges.
I have to warn you, Letitia Blacklock.
Charlotte Blacklock, Sergeant.
I'm sorry. Charlotte Blacklock.
I'm sorry.
I want to k*ll you.
I want to k*ll you!
It's your story, Miss Marple.
Oh, I only just helped a little,
here and there.
Like stage managing Hannah's
performance tonight?
She couldn't have seen Miss Blacklock
through the keyhole
because the key was in the lock.
Yes, you did your best
to ruin the whole thing.
- I was accused of m*rder, too.
- Really?
I'm almost sorry I missed it.
Edmund was part of our stage management
and he performed magnificently.
What gave you the idea
in the first place
that Miss Blacklock was the m*rder*r?
Oh, the way
the sh**ting was planned.
It had to take place in total darkness.
Therefore, there could be no fire.
Therefore, the central heating was on.
Everyone commented on it
and no one could arrange that,
except the mistress of the house.
The lights went out, Miss Blacklock
slipped out into the hall,
fired the shots, k*lled Scherz,
then slipped back into the room.
Then she nicked her ear with
a pair of nail scissors.
If you snip the lobe of the ear,
it releases quite a lot of blood.
And of course, Delilah helped, too.
- Delilah?
- Mmm. The cat.
Yes, if you fray the flex of an electric
lamp and then pour water on it,
the lights fuse.
You see, I didn't realize that
until Delilah demonstrated it to me.
Is that how Aunt...
How Miss Blacklock fused the lights?
Yes, she poured
water from the flowers
onto the frayed flex of the table lamp.
Poor Dora Bunner noticed that
the lamp had been changed.
No longer a shepherd, but a shepherdess.
Or the reverse, I'm afraid I can't
quite remember, but...
Yes, but why start all
the k*lling to begin with?
Because she
had a guilty secret.
It's a case of once upon a time.
Once upon a time,
there were two sisters,
Charlotte and Letitia Blacklock,
complete with a stupid, cruel
and old-fashioned father.
Letitia Blacklock was a very
successful professional woman,
personal secretary to Randall Goedler.
But Charlotte stayed at home.
She was d*sfigured.
She had a swelling in her neck.
You know,
a thyroid gland known as goiter.
An operation would have been possible,
but her father didn't believe in it.
But, er, however, just before
the w*r, her father died,
so she was able to go to Bern
and have an operation,
which was a success.
Except that the operation left
a scar around the neck,
hence the pearls.
Letitia left her job with Goedler
to look after Charlotte in Switzerland.
After the operation, they both
worked in the Red Cross during the w*r.
And then, quite unexpectedly,
Letitia died.
Charlotte knew that Letitia had
quite a large sum of money to inherit
and also that nobody had seen
her in England for many years.
So she changed identities.
She chose a very quiet,
out-of-the-way village
called Chipping Cleghorn
and waited there for Belle Goedler
to die, then she would be a rich woman.
But of course really, it was her
kindness of heart that let her down.
Dora Bunner wrote to her
out of the blue.
She'd been an old school friend
of both the sisters.
Charlotte was pleased to hear from her
and let her into the secret.
And Dora approved whole-heartedly.
It seemed only right to her in her
confused and muddle-headed mind
that dear Lotty should
not be done out of her inheritance
because of Letitia's untimely death.
So, Dora came to Little Paddocks,
and very soon Charlotte realized that
she'd made a terrible error of judgment.
Dora was unreliable.
She sometimes called her Lotty
instead of Letty.
And then Rudi Scherz turned up,
a much more serious threat.
Did he really know Miss Blacklock?
Yes. We checked.
He'd worked at the clinic in Bern.
I'm sure all he had in mind
was a little petty blackmail
but he was a threat to Miss Blacklock's
whole way of life.
She'd begun to believe in her fantasy,
you see, so she shot Rudi Scherz.
And then of course she found
that poor Dora was unreliable.
I'm afraid it was that conversation
with me in Blue Bird Cafe
that Charlotte partially overheard that
day that really sealed poor Dora's fate.
She tried to make her last day a happy
one by giving her a birthday party.
Really, it was like being kind to a dog
that you're going to destroy.
And Miss Murgatroyd?
Oh, no, she k*lled
Miss Murgatroyd out of fear.
Poor Aunt Letty.
Nice smile.
Stay where you are. Just one more.
- Miss Marple.
- Oh, Inspector.
- A handsome couple.
- Yes, indeed.
You're an honored guest, I assume?
Oh, well they were quite insistent,
and you?
Oh, no, no, I was just passing.
As a matter of fact,
I read about the wedding
in the Chipping Cleghorn Gazette.
- Of course.
How else would one know what
was going on in Chipping Cleghorn?
- Oh, may I go into the house sargeant?
- Of course, you're beyond suspicion, Miss Marple.
Nobody is beyond suspicion.
- Good morning.
- Forgive my disturbing, Miss Blacklock.
But the vicar had a dying parishioner
and Mrs Harmon had to rush a child to hospital
so they asked me to deliver that to you.
- Thank you, Miss Marple. Do sit down.
- Thank you.
It contains the funeral arrangements, I believe.
Yes, of course.
If there're any messages.
The vicar is a very understanding man.
No fatuous consolation...
Please tell him the arrangements
will do very well.
Bunny's favourite hymn was
'Lead Kindly Light.'
I realise I am merely a stranger,
but I am so very very sorry.
I just realized what I lost!
Bunny was my only link with the past.
The only one who remembered.
I know.
One is quite alone when the last
one who remembers is gone.
I have very kind nephews and nieces and friends,
but noone who remembers the old days.
You're a very understanding
woman, Miss Marple, and I thank you for it.
I must write a few lines for the vicar.
- The police.
- Thank you, Hannah.
Good morning, Miss Blacklock.
Miss Marple.
Miss Marple dropped in with
a note from the vicar.
But, I am on my way
quite quickly now,
unless there is any question
you'd like to ask me.
- Were you at the tea party yesterday afternoon?
- No, no I was not.
Then there is nothing you can tell me.
She really did come with a note from the vicar.
And I really do recognise a
nosy parker when I see one.
I won't waste time offering
sympathy, Miss Blacklock.
I hope you'll take that for granted,
I feel very sorry about Miss Bunner's death.
- We should've prevented it.
- I don't see what you could've done.
There were lethal tablets in
a bottle at your bedside,
and we'd been guarding the house for days.
You could hardly have searched
everyone who came to the house..
I suppose not.
At any rate, whoever it is has tried to sh**t
and has tried to poison you, so who is it?
I haven't the faintest idea, inspector.
Let me off with some suggestions.
I went to Scotland and talked to
Belle Goedler.
The only people who can benefit
by your death are Pip and Emma.
I thought Patrick an
Julia were likely contenders,
but we've checked their background...
- You've what?
That's my job, Miss Blacklock.
Oh, yes of course.
I'm sorry.
And it is clear that Patrick and Julia
Simmons are exactly who they claim to be.
So, I then thought about their mother,
Sonia Stamfordis, Goedler's sister.
Tell me, would you recognise
her if you saw her?
Yes, I suppose I would...
It's thirty years since I saw her.
She must be an elderly
woman by now.
How do you remember her?
She was small, dark...
a very lively young woman.
She'd be gray and weary by
now, like the rest of us.
Well, there's no shortage of elderly
ladies in Chipping Cleghorn.
You are suggesting that Sonia is living somewhere
in this village under an assumed name.
I have to examine the possibillity.
I can think of three women
who match in terms of age,
Mrs. Swettenham, Miss Murgatroyd
and Miss Hinchcliffe.
...All three were here yesterday,
as they were
on the night of the sh**ting.
The whole idea is ludicrous, Inspector.
Help me to prove it, Miss Blacklock.
Do you have a photograph of Sonia?
Only very old photographs.
They're in an album
in the attic somewhere, I think.
May I see them?
Julia's in the house somewhere.
Ask her to show you.
Thank you.
It's terribly dusty, I'm afraid,
and full of junk.
At the moment, I have a brain like that.
JULIA: We keep meaning
to clear it out.
So do I, Miss Simmons. So do I.
I'm sure the photograph album's in here.
Patrick found it when we first arrived.
We wallowed in nostalgia
and laughed at the silly hats.
God, look at all this.
Aunt Letty just won't throw
anything away.
Are you familiar
with your family history?
I suppose so.
Most of it's pretty boring,
but if I can be of any assistance.
Were these photographs missing
when you looked at the album?
No.
Nothing was missing.
Sonia, self and R.G.
R.G., Randall Goedler.
Sonia and Belle on beach,
picnic at Skeyne,
Charlotte, self, Sonia, R.G.
May I?
All the pictures of Sonia have gone.
I suppose it's a sort of a clue,
isn't it?
Mmm.
Definitely a sort of clue.
Do you think your aunt would mind
if I looked around for more?
I'm sure you don't need a warrant to
protect someone from being m*rder*d.
Bearing in mind
we've failed twice already.
Shall I leave you?
In case you wish to be indiscreet?
Thank you.
It's a breach of confidence,
Miss Marple,
but I'd like you to read these.
Oh, oh, very... Oh, thank you, yes.
I love breaches of confidence.
They're such fun.
I sometimes wish I'd married a priest.
Oh, my dear.
Except it's impossible, of course.
- And, er, have you read these?
- Yes.
What conclusions did you come to?
Miss Blacklock was devoted
to her sister.
Wrote to her two or three times a week,
and their father was a tyrant,
an old-fashioned Victorian doctor
who couldn't stand new ideas.
Probably k*lled hundreds
of his patients.
I think I rather prefer
old-fashioned doctors to young doctors.
They remove our teeth,
administer very peculiar glands,
take bits of our inside out and then
say they can do nothing for us.
Generally because there's very little
of the original us left.
No, I prefer old-fashioned medicine.
Big black bottles, you know,
of tonic, because you can always
pour them down the sink.
Oh, did you trace the revolver
that shot that young man?
It belonged to Colonel Easterbrook.
Yes. Mrs. Butt told me
the colonel has a revolver.
There's some confusion about
when it was taken.
Did Miss Blacklock's sister
die of consumption?
I believe so.
We know she was in a Swiss sanatorium.
Oh, really?
I mean, fancy using
the colonel's revolver.
Yes, but I don't think Colonel
Easterbrook is Sonia Goedler.
All we know about Sonia
is that she was small and dark,
with something of a temper,
according to those letters.
Oh, yes, oh, these are fascinating,
even if they are a breach of confidence.
I'll leave those with you till
tomorrow, if that's all right?
Oh, thank you. If you would, yes.
I think we're destined for
several hours of fascinated silence.
No, my dear,
I shall prattle on non-stop.
Oh, by the way, is
Miss Blacklock short-sighted?
Yes, but too proud to wear spectacles.
When she comes to church
she sings the hymns she knows by heart
and la-la's her way through the others.
Really?
- I'll see you to the door, Inspector.
- Do be careful, Delilah!
- Delilah?
Yes my husband christened her that.
I'm very much afraid her
moral standards are similar.
Oh, Aunt Jane, I'm sure you
can't see properly.
Well, I do seem
a little cluttered don't I?
Let's get you properly organized.
Well, shouldn't there be
a switch up here.
It's on the flex. Oh, Delilah!
You silly cat!
Oh, oh, my dear, oh, what have I done?
Oh, it's all right Aunt Jane.
It's not your fault,
it's Delilah's. Oh.
Probably fused all the lights in here
now thanks to her. What a nuisance!
No, it isn't a nuisance.
- It's wonderful!
- Oh, look!
You can see, where she's been
chewing at the flex.
That's why it fused.
With the assistance of a shepherdess...
What are you talking about?
m*rder, my dear.
And I won't have a word said
against that remarkable cat.
I think you told me, Mrs. Haymes,
your husband was k*lled,
fighting in Italy.
That's right.
It isn't true. He was a deserter.
I know.
You should have told me.
Do you have to rake up
the dirt about everybody?
Yes, I do, and it's amazing how
many people are able to provide it, too.
I don't want my son to know.
I don't tell him lies about his father.
I just don't talk about him at all.
Silence isn't quite the same
as telling lies.
You were seen speaking to a man
in the summerhouse
the week of the sh**ting.
Was it your husband?
- I didn't talk to anybody.
- Did he come to you for money?
I haven't seen my husband for years.
You're sure about that?
Silence can be exactly the same
as telling lies, Mrs. Haymes.
RYDESDALE: Yes. Is this intended
to clarify the problem?
Yes. Three people can benefit
from Miss Blacklock's death,
Sonia Stamfordis,
- or her children, Pip and Emma.
- Mmm-hmm.
These are the people who match
in terms of age and sex.
Mrs. Swettenham, Miss Hinchcliffe
and Miss Murgatroyd
for the older generation.
Patrick Simmons, Julia Simmons,
Phillipa Haymes, Edmund Swettenham,
Mrs. Harmon...
At least you've had the decency
to put a query beside the vicar's wife.
Yes, she's strictly on the older side.
Plus the Easterbrooks.
- The Colonel had a p*stol.
- Had?
It went missing the week of the m*rder.
Why didn't he report it?
- Didn't notice at the time.
- Ah.
His wife swears it disappeared
after the m*rder.
My honest opinion is she's
lying to protect her husband.
Needlessly, because I think
he's a nincompoop.
Would you like my honest opinion?
I need all the help
you can give me, sir.
A m*rder was committed in the
presence of a group of people.
By logical deduction you have
proved that the likely m*rder*r
was a member of that group.
- Well, I think we already knew that.
Come in.
Er, sir, I thought you should see this.
- I knew she was lying.
- Who?
10 days ago a chap got knocked down
and k*lled by a lorry in Milchester,
no papers on him,
nobody reported him missing,
he's just been identified
as Ronald Haymes.
Ex-captain in the South Loamshire.
Phillipa Haymes' husband.
It seems like it.
He had some money on him,
and a Chipping Cleghorn bus ticket.
Oh, what date was the accident?
It was the day before the m*rder, sir.
I took note of that.
And with respect sir, I think we
should take note of how he died.
What do you mean by that?
He ran into the road to push a little
kiddie out of the way of the lorry, sir.
- I see.
- I mean, a good death.
Uh, as death goes, sir.
Yes, we've taken note, Sergeant.
Phillipa. I just heard about... Well...
Just say the name.
He can't hurt anybody.
Your husband. I...
- Do we have to go through it again?
- Yes.
Because whoever bumped off Rudi Scherz
did the same to poor old Dora Bunner
and I take exception to that.
Well, of course.
It could be any one of us next,
and I'd take exception to that as well.
Now then,
everybody who was at the sh**ting party
was also at the birthday tea,
except for Mrs. Harmon,
so that lets her out.
Well, I should think so, too.
And I think it's a man doing this,
because we all know
what dirty dogs men are.
Well, anybody could have
put the tablets in the aspirin bottle
the day of Dora's party.
Anybody? How?
We all went to the loo, didn't we?
All that tea and sherry
they poured down us,
you'd have had to be
superhuman not to go.
So, back to the first m*rder.
Now, that little Swiss idiot
comes in here, stands here,
- waves his torch around.
- And the revolver.
No. Not the revolver.
Somebody else had the revolver.
Now, I'm the Swiss idiot.
Where were you?
- I can't remember.
- Of course, you can remember!
I was behind the door.
When it opened, it knocked my toe,
and hurt my corn.
When are you going to go to
a proper chiropodist?
You'll give yourself blood poisoning
the way you poke around at your feet.
Now come and stand behind the door.
Mind your toe.
Now, I'm leaning against the mantelpiece
with my tongue hanging out
waiting for a drink.
Whoever does the sh**ting
has to slip out into the hallway
through the other door.
There isn't another door.
Not here there isn't,
but at Little Paddocks there is.
Now, think. Who could you see?
More important, Amy Murgatroyd,
who wasn't there?
You're standing behind the torch,
you see a series of faces.
I remember Mrs. Harmon sitting
on the arm of the chair
and Dora Bunner with her mouth open.
And...
That's extraordinary.
...Damn and blast!
Hello, Hinchcliffe.
Make sure you don't forget.
- Hello.
- Hello.
- Hello, Miss Hinchcliffe.
- Speaking.
- Your dog's arrived.
- What?
He came on the milk train
earlier this morning...
- Do you realize what time it is, now?
- It's about 5:15.
Oh, never mind.
I might have guessed it would be
somebody else's fault.
The dog's arrived.
Came on the milk train,
damn fools didn't think we'd be up yet.
Can't stand people doing
my thinking for me.
Damn fools.
But don't you want to know
what it is I've remembered?
We'll carry on when I get back.
Don't forget!
Don't you realize, she wasn't there!
Don't forget.
She wasn't there!
♫ Got no diamonds, got no pearls
♫ Still I think
I'm a lucky girl
♫ Got the sun in the morning
and the moon at night
Oh, do go in, you'll get wet.
I'll only be two minutes.
♫ Sunshine, give me a sunny day
♫ Give me the milky way
♫ Oh, with the sun in the morning
and the moon at night
♫ I'm all right ♫
Miss Marple!
- Oh.
- Hop in, Miss Marple. You'll get wet.
- Oh, thank you.
- All right?
- Can you manage?
- Yeah.
I'll do that.
- Come and have a cup of coffee.
- Oh.
We'll ring the vicarage
and tell them you're on the town.
Don't mind the dog, will you?
Setters, mad as hatters.
100% heart, 1 % brain.
Murgatroyd! We've got a visitor.
Come on, Miss Marple,
a nice hot steaming cup of coffee.
Better let the dog out.
If Murgatroyd hasn't got the kettle on,
there'll be trouble.
Come on, cutie.
Murgatroyd!
That's her name, Cutie.
Have you ever heard
anything more feeble and wet?
Murgatroyd!
She hasn't finished bringing
the washing in.
Better go and see what that dog's up to.
Must have taken leave of her senses,
such as they are.
Murgatroyd! Come on! Come on! Get...
I'll k*ll whoever did this.
When I get my hands on her.
We must call the police.
Why did you say "her"?
We'd been playing a silly game,
trying to find out
who shot that Swiss boy.
My idea.
My fault.
No. Just tell me what happened.
I was trying to work out
by a process of elimination
who could have slipped out
into the hall that night.
Murgatroyd could see better
than anyone what was going on.
I see.
And as I was going to fetch
the dog, she got all excited
and started shouting out,
"She wasn't there."
- "She wasn't there"?
- That's right.
She wasn't there.
So, you see,
I must find out who "she" is.
Whoever it is will pay the price.
I hope Hannah's prepared an epic feast.
- I've worked quite hard today.
- You surprise me.
Skipped three lectures.
Most days I only skip two.
Julia!
Is something wrong?
This letter.
It's from Julia Simmons.
I thought you were Julia Simmons.
Oh, God.
Caught in the act.
Well, not quite in the act.
What are you talking about?
PATRICK: Well, the fact of
the matter is, Aunt Letty,
it seemed like a bit of a lark.
Just a minute,
you called me "Aunt."
Does that mean you really are
Patrick Simmons?
Oh yes, I really am Patrick.
It's onlyJulia who...
Who isn't Julia.
And whom exactly are you?
I was christened
Emma Jocelyn Stamfordis.
I'm Sonia's daughter, Emma.
- Emma?
- Yes.
But how did you two come together?
At a big party in London,
soon after I was demobbed.
And what is the realJulia
doing in Perth?
PATRICK: She wants to be an actress.
She's been working with a rep company.
We knew mother would have seven fits
so we planned this lark.
She'd go up to Scotland
and get on with her acting.
And I'd come here, pretend to be Julia,
and keep peace in the camp.
Also,
we wanted to be together.
Oh, I see. You two are...
Madly in love.
I think that's the phrase.
Yes, I'm told that can happen.
And was part of this lark the idea
that you might share
- in the Goedler inheritance?
- Yes.
That's not quite what was in
mind, Aunt Letty.
What exactly was in your mind,
Miss Stamfordis?
My parents split up
three years after they were married.
They split us up, too.
- You and Pip?
- Yes.
Pip went with my mother.
I went with my father.
He was a villain, of course,
a thoroughly bad father,
but charming.
Then the w*r came, and I lost him too.
I worked with the French Resistance,
came to England when
the world had calmed down a little.
Alone and penniless, but knowing there
was money somewhere in the family.
Then I met Patrick,
a marvelous stroke of luck.
He said he was coming here
and I thought you might take pity
on a poor orphan girl
once you knew the full story.
Pity?
A small allowance, nothing excessive.
Why didn't you just tell the truth?
EMMA: Well, we were working up to it,
then suddenly people started
firing revolvers and there were
aspirin tablets causing instant death.
I thought my best plan was
to keep quiet for a while.
We calculated the Inspector
would be bound to suspect
somebody who'd been telling lies.
Yes, I suppose that is reasonable.
But if you are Emma, where is Pip?
I truly have no idea.
We were separated
when we were three years old.
I haven't seen Pip or my mother
for over 20 years.
Is that the whole truth?
The whole truth is,
I came here hoping for a small allowance
from my family's money.
I didn't come here to commit m*rder,
so that I could inherit the lot.
Yes, I...
I suppose I have no
alternative, but to believe that.
Just a moment, you said you were
in the French Resistance?
Yes.
- You learned to sh**t?
- I can sh**t.
- In which case...
- If I had shot at you that night,
Letitia Blacklock,
I wouldn't have missed.
Inspector Craddock would like
to speak to all of you.
- Thank you, Hannah.
- All of us?
- Yes.
- But we've only just come in,
- we haven't had time to...
- Miss Amy Murgatroyd
was m*rder*d earlier today.
To be precise, she was strangled
in her garden, just before noon.
I want a precise
account of everybody's movements.
Whoever's doing these
things, Inspector, must be mad,
quite mad.
It doesn't necessarily follow.
Ah, my pearls!
My pearls!
I've never seen her so upset.
- Good day, Miss Marple.
- Good day, Sergeant.
- How is Miss Hinchcliffe?
- Very shocked, I'm afraid.
She seems to have aged 10 years.
We must do something, Sergeant.
- Missing?
- Yes.
- How long has she been missing?
- Oh, about two hours.
She went along the road
to speak to Sergeant Fletcher.
- That's what, about five minutes away?
- Ten at the most.
It doesn't help because
I've lost Fletcher as well.
She suddenly became very
excited about pearls.
- Pearls?
- Yes.
Well, she'd been making
this list in her notebook.
Lamp, violets, aspirins, Bern,
Letty, old age pension, pearls.
Does Miss Blacklock
always wear those pearls?
Yes. We laugh about it sometimes.
I'm very concerned about Miss Marple.
The minute you hear anything,
- you must telephone the station.
- Yes, of course.
Inspector Craddock!
Fletcher, what the hell
are you playing at?
- So you see it's been quite a day.
- So I see.
- But only the one m*rder.
- Oh, Julia!
PHILLIPA: I understood she wasn't Julia.
Well, I still think of her
as Julia.
Well.
And then, on top of everything else,
that nice Miss Marple has disappeared.
- Perhaps she's on the run.
- On the run?
If she m*rder*d Miss Murgatroyd.
Phillipa!
Can't you
stop talking about m*rder?
Don't you understand,
I'm frightened. God!
Don't worry, Aunt Letty,
I'll look after you.
Mind you, I could do it better
on a full stomach.
I am hungry, Hannah.
I am frightened.
- Are we having supper tonight?
- You can make it yourselves.
I do nothing more in this house.
If they k*ll Miss Murgatroyd,
they can k*ll anyone.
I am going to lock myself
in my room until tomorrow
and then I leave this house for ever.
Good night, Miss Blacklock.
I'll see to dinner.
Might be less embarrassing all round.
Don't be silly, darling.
Nobody wants to sit at table
with an imposter.
Oh, Patrick, if you're acting as
protector, you better taste the food.
I don't want to be accused
of poisoning the omelets.
- Omelets all right for everybody?
- Fine by me.
It's all I can cook anyway,
but I'm outstandingly good.
Do you need any help?
No.
There's something I want to say to you.
Save it! I've had enough drama
for one day.
If you've fallen madly in love
with Edmund Swettenham,
- that is strictly your business.
- It isn't that.
Look, why don't you
make yourself useful.
Go and lay the table in the dining
room or something.
Which is a polite way of saying
"leave me alone."
When I sh**t, I sh**t to k*ll.
I'm on your side, Emma. That's all.
- That was excellent.
- Thank you.
Have you eaten anything?
I had mine below stairs,
thank you kindly, Mrs. Haymes.
I'll answer it.
Hello.
Every time the phone rings, I assume
somebody else had been bumped off.
Let's count our blessings.
At least it was none of us three.
You're being amazingly cheerful
all of a sudden, Phillipa,
considering we're surrounded
by death and deceit.
Thank you, Inspector.
Oh, do you think we might have
coffee in the drawing room?
We're expecting company.
Not another announcement
in the newspaper?
Inspector Craddock
has invited himself over.
Well, he hasn't been to see us
for at least 20 minutes.
And he's bringing
the Easterbrooks and the Swettenhams.
- How terribly thrilling.
- Coffee in the drawing room?
- Very well, ma'am.
I don't have to explain why we're here.
Today, Miss Amy Murgatroyd
was m*rder*d, very brutally.
And there's every reason to believe she
was m*rder*d by somebody in this room.
More than that, we believe
the m*rder*r was a woman.
Good God!
I'm going to ask
the ladies present to tell me
what they were doing today between
the hours of 11:00 and noon.
Starting with the young lady who has
been calling herselfJulia Simmons.
- Calling herself?
- Hush, mother.
Between 11 and 12, I was
in Milchester, meeting Patrick
for a secret walk along the river bank.
We have no witnesses.
We could easily have driven in a fast
car to Miss Murgatroyd's cottage,
but we didn't.
I throw myself
on the mercy of the court.
Mrs. Swettenham.
Me?
What were you doing
at the time in question?
Well, either turning the heel of a sock
or cleaning out the gutter,
depending what time the rain started.
CRADDOCK: It started to rain
at 10 past 11.
Ah, well, that means
that I was turning
the heel of a sock until ten past.
Then the rain started and pours
into our passage by the cloakroom
where the gutter's stopped up.
So, I put on my coat and gumboots
and I cleaned out the gutter
with a broom handle.
Do you have witnesses to
the sock-turning or gutter-cleaning?
No.
I called to Edmund but he didn't answer
so I assumed he was at
an important place in his novel.
And were you?
No, I was asleep.
Do you need a witness to that?
I don't think so.
Mrs. Easterbrook?
Oh.
I was in the study with Archie.
We were listening to the wireless.
Can you confirm that, Colonel?
- Er, no.
- No?
We were listening to
the wireless at 11:00.
Are we not talking about 11:00?
We are talking about
between 11:00 and 12.
- Precisely.
- And bear in mind
that you withheld vital information
about a revolver,
so may I have some accuracy
on this occasion?
I was in the study with Archie,
listening to the wireless
and then I toasted some scones,
and in between I went for a little walk.
- Alone?
- I was talking
to Lampson, a farmer from Croft End,
about some chicken netting.
While your wife
took a little walk?
Why don't you ask the others
what they were doing?
That Haymes woman.
And Edmund Swettenham.
He writes books about m*rder
and he's a communist!
He's always saying that...
I've made it quite clear that we are
looking for a woman, Mrs. Easterbrook.
Before she died,
Miss Murgatroyd made a vital statement
about the k*lling of Rudi Scherz.
As you will all remember,
Miss Murgatroyd was standing
where I am standing now
when the unfortunate young
man entered through this door.
But it was dark.
Nobody could see anything.
Miss Murgatroyd
was standing here,
so she could see where
the torch was shining.
Only she could see who wasn't in
the room at the time of the sh**ting.
She saw everything.
I, too, saw everything!
That's impossible.
You weren't even in the room.
No. I am not in the room.
I am just a serving maid
and a foreigner.
I am not fine enough to be in the room
with the proper English ladies
and gentlemen.
You do not even ask me into the room
to answer your questions,
and I know the answers,
because I saw what happened.
Tell us what you saw.
The night of the sh**ting,
I am in the dining room
cleaning the silver
when I hear the shots.
I look through the keyhole
and I see her with the g*n in her hand.
I see Miss Blacklock.
Me?
You must be mad!
But that's quite impossible,
if you think about it, Inspector.
Of course it's impossible.
Because it was you, wasn't it?
Thank you, my dear. Perhaps you
could return to your kitchen now.
HANNAH: Always the kitchen.
You took the colonel's revolver.
You organized the advertisement
in the newspaper with Scherz.
We all know you have
a vivid imagination.
The whole idea is monstrous!
The lights went out, you slipped
through that door into the hallway,
shot at Miss Blacklock,
then k*lled Rudi Scherz.
EDMUND: And why would I do such a thing?
What possible motive could I have?
I hope you have an explanation
for all this, Edmund.
If Miss Blacklock dies,
two people inherit.
The two we know as Pip and Emma.
Julia Simmons is Emma, that we know.
- And...
- And you think that I'm Pip?
I'm Edmund Swettenham,
and I can prove it.
Birth certificate, schools,
university, everything.
PHILLIPA: He isn't Pip.
- I can prove it, too, Inspector.
- You?
I'm Pip.
Good God, Phillipa Haymes.
Everybody assumed that Pip was a boy,
but we were both girls.
We hadn't seen each other
since our parents separated.
I had the same idea as Julia.
I knew there was money in the family.
I found out where Miss Blacklock
lived, took a job in the area.
I just wanted a little money
to help with my son's education.
Murdering people
wasn't part of the plan,
and when the k*lling started...
Well, then the letter arrived today
and truly that was the first moment
we both realized...
Who we were.
EMMA: We're getting along famously.
Inspector, will you excuse me please?
Just two minutes.
I wouldn't try to k*ll Miss Blacklock,
she's been too kind to me
and neither would Edmund,
because he isn't Pip.
- But he is in love with you, isn't he?
- Well...
- Has he or has he not proposed to you?
- Of course, I have!
She's wonderful
and I'm going to marry her.
Edmund, you never tell me anything!
You couldn't possibly have seen me!
It is impossible!
What the devil are you doing?
Truth and lies.
- Liar!
- Charlotte!
- What are you doing in my kitchen?
- Watching you, Miss Blacklock.
- Are you all right, my dear?
- Did I do it properly?
- You were splendid.
I must ask you to come along with me
to answer questions about this incident.
And there will be other charges.
I have to warn you, Letitia Blacklock.
Charlotte Blacklock, Sergeant.
I'm sorry. Charlotte Blacklock.
I'm sorry.
I want to k*ll you.
I want to k*ll you!
It's your story, Miss Marple.
Oh, I only just helped a little,
here and there.
Like stage managing Hannah's
performance tonight?
She couldn't have seen Miss Blacklock
through the keyhole
because the key was in the lock.
Yes, you did your best
to ruin the whole thing.
- I was accused of m*rder, too.
- Really?
I'm almost sorry I missed it.
Edmund was part of our stage management
and he performed magnificently.
What gave you the idea
in the first place
that Miss Blacklock was the m*rder*r?
Oh, the way
the sh**ting was planned.
It had to take place in total darkness.
Therefore, there could be no fire.
Therefore, the central heating was on.
Everyone commented on it
and no one could arrange that,
except the mistress of the house.
The lights went out, Miss Blacklock
slipped out into the hall,
fired the shots, k*lled Scherz,
then slipped back into the room.
Then she nicked her ear with
a pair of nail scissors.
If you snip the lobe of the ear,
it releases quite a lot of blood.
And of course, Delilah helped, too.
- Delilah?
- Mmm. The cat.
Yes, if you fray the flex of an electric
lamp and then pour water on it,
the lights fuse.
You see, I didn't realize that
until Delilah demonstrated it to me.
Is that how Aunt...
How Miss Blacklock fused the lights?
Yes, she poured
water from the flowers
onto the frayed flex of the table lamp.
Poor Dora Bunner noticed that
the lamp had been changed.
No longer a shepherd, but a shepherdess.
Or the reverse, I'm afraid I can't
quite remember, but...
Yes, but why start all
the k*lling to begin with?
Because she
had a guilty secret.
It's a case of once upon a time.
Once upon a time,
there were two sisters,
Charlotte and Letitia Blacklock,
complete with a stupid, cruel
and old-fashioned father.
Letitia Blacklock was a very
successful professional woman,
personal secretary to Randall Goedler.
But Charlotte stayed at home.
She was d*sfigured.
She had a swelling in her neck.
You know,
a thyroid gland known as goiter.
An operation would have been possible,
but her father didn't believe in it.
But, er, however, just before
the w*r, her father died,
so she was able to go to Bern
and have an operation,
which was a success.
Except that the operation left
a scar around the neck,
hence the pearls.
Letitia left her job with Goedler
to look after Charlotte in Switzerland.
After the operation, they both
worked in the Red Cross during the w*r.
And then, quite unexpectedly,
Letitia died.
Charlotte knew that Letitia had
quite a large sum of money to inherit
and also that nobody had seen
her in England for many years.
So she changed identities.
She chose a very quiet,
out-of-the-way village
called Chipping Cleghorn
and waited there for Belle Goedler
to die, then she would be a rich woman.
But of course really, it was her
kindness of heart that let her down.
Dora Bunner wrote to her
out of the blue.
She'd been an old school friend
of both the sisters.
Charlotte was pleased to hear from her
and let her into the secret.
And Dora approved whole-heartedly.
It seemed only right to her in her
confused and muddle-headed mind
that dear Lotty should
not be done out of her inheritance
because of Letitia's untimely death.
So, Dora came to Little Paddocks,
and very soon Charlotte realized that
she'd made a terrible error of judgment.
Dora was unreliable.
She sometimes called her Lotty
instead of Letty.
And then Rudi Scherz turned up,
a much more serious threat.
Did he really know Miss Blacklock?
Yes. We checked.
He'd worked at the clinic in Bern.
I'm sure all he had in mind
was a little petty blackmail
but he was a threat to Miss Blacklock's
whole way of life.
She'd begun to believe in her fantasy,
you see, so she shot Rudi Scherz.
And then of course she found
that poor Dora was unreliable.
I'm afraid it was that conversation
with me in Blue Bird Cafe
that Charlotte partially overheard that
day that really sealed poor Dora's fate.
She tried to make her last day a happy
one by giving her a birthday party.
Really, it was like being kind to a dog
that you're going to destroy.
And Miss Murgatroyd?
Oh, no, she k*lled
Miss Murgatroyd out of fear.
Poor Aunt Letty.
Nice smile.
Stay where you are. Just one more.
- Miss Marple.
- Oh, Inspector.
- A handsome couple.
- Yes, indeed.
You're an honored guest, I assume?
Oh, well they were quite insistent,
and you?
Oh, no, no, I was just passing.
As a matter of fact,
I read about the wedding
in the Chipping Cleghorn Gazette.
- Of course.
How else would one know what
was going on in Chipping Cleghorn?