See How They Run (2022) - full transcript

Agatha Christie's
The Mousetrap.

In my opinion, a second-rate
murder mystery.

Not that I've seen it,
you understand.

But it's a whodunit.

You've seen one,
you've seen 'em all.

You know the drill.

An interminable prologue

in which
all the key players
are introduced.

You get a sense
of the world they inhabit,

and then
the most unlikable character
gets bumped off.

There's been
a murder?



Cue the entrance
of a world-weary detective,

who comes in
and pokes his nose around.

Talks to witnesses.
Takes a couple of wrong turns.

And then gathers
all the suspects
in the drawing room

and points the finger
at the least likely chump

because of the way the guy,

I don't know,

ties his shoelaces.

Now you've seen our play,
you're an accomplice
to murder.

And so,
we ask you to remember

that it is very much
in your interests

not to tell a soul outside
of this theater who done it.

But what do I know?

The Limeys,
they just lap it up.



The play's a smash hit.

Not to mention a cash cow.

Right there is
the milkmaid in chief,
Petula Spencer.

This lavish affair
is a party to celebrate
the 100th performance.

No wonder film producer
John Woolf

wants to turn the play
into a major motion picture.

Here he is now in the arms
of his slightly paranoid wife.

I sense that death
is close at hand.

It's probably
just a draft.

This is where
I come in.

Leo Kopernick's the name.

Big-shot Hollywood director.

Hired to make
the film adaptation

marginally less boring
than the play.

Easier said than done
when the writer's
a giant pompous ass.

Mervyn Cocker-Norris.

I say,
you're rather tall.

Am I? Haven't really
thought about it,
to be honest.

Is that what
happened here?

Sort of. I had
a bit of an accident
backstage.

Sure, he's educated
and he knows
a lot of $10 words,

but it's like
he's never seen
a film before,

let alone try to write one.

Oh, ma vattinne!

Chi e chistu?

No one important.

Omm, femmina o bestia,
basta che respira!

You know, at times
you do rather overdo
the temperamental Neapolitan.

That's a nice jacket.

Say, why don't you
scare me up a real drink,
will you, kid?

Like a pint of rye
or bourbon or motor oil,
if you have to.

Yeah. Hop to it,
now, huh?

In England, that actually
counts as good service.

I was stationed here
during the war

and, if anything,
the locals are
more uptight now

than when they had
the Luftwaffe overhead.

Mervyn?

Shouldn't you
be home?

I thought we had
a deadline.

I thought so too.

But then
our esteemed director
tore up the screenplay

and told me to start
all over again.

He's of the opinion
that a modern audience
will walk out in protest

if they're not served
at least one violent death
in the opening frames.

Suffice to say,
we are no longer
on speaking terms.

Merv!

London's most
sensitive writer.

How is
The Mousetrap, huh?

Did they catch
the guy who did it?

I will not stand here
and be insulted.

Well, I guess
he's gonna go over there
and be insulted.

Huh.

What passes for glamour
in these parts.

Sheila Sim
and Dickie Attenborough.

Kid likes the sound
of his own voice.

Even money,
he makes a speech.

I suppose
I ought to say
a few words.

Not too many.

And when have I ever?
Our wedding, remember?

We almost missed
the honeymoon.

Yes.

Darlings,
you're ever so kind.

I'd like to ask
you all to raise
a metaphorical bat

to the old pavilion.

The Mousetrap is 100,
not out.

- Cheers!
- Cheers!

I tell you
what else is 100 not out.

Petula's mother.

The old kook's
just crazy about seafood.

They just brought out
more langoustines.

Excuse me,
I just need to
deal with that.

Mother! Please,

you've had
quite enough.
Hi.

Now, I'm not one
to tell tales
out of school,

but the girls over here,

they go wild
for an American accent

and the promise
of a pair of nylons.

But the husbands...

Right. I think it's time
someone taught you
a lesson.

...they're not
so easily won over.

It's only fair to warn you
that I learned to box
in the RAF.

Yeah? Well, I learned
to fly a plane
in Gleason's Gym.

All of which explains,
in an admittedly
roundabout fashion,

how I come to be
in the theater's
backstage area

in need of
a change of clothes.

Hello?

Hello?

Aw, jeez.

I guess I should have
seen this coming.

It's always the most
unlikable character
who gets bumped off.

It's a whodunit.

You've seen one,
you've seen 'em all.

We're closed.

Clear off.

Honestly.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.
Inspector, uh, Stoppard, sir.

Sorry, I was under
strict instructions
not to let anyone in.

Just open the door.

Yes, sir. Of course.
Sorry, I didn't
recognize you, sir.

I've actually,
uh, just been
transferred myself.

Thought it was
Leeke and Priestley
on rotation tonight.

Careful, sir.

In you come.

Constable.
Stalker, sir.

God, you're all
wet through, sir.

Hope you don't
catch a cold
after that.

Yep, after you, sir.

Victim's name is
Leo Kopernick, sir.
The film director.

Suspected Communist,
blacklisted
in Hollywood,

so he came out here
to work on a picture
for John Woolf.

You know John Woolf,
the film producer.

He made
The African Queen
with Humphrey Bogart.

"Nature, Mr. Allnut,

"is what we are
put in this world
to rise above."

That didn't sound
anything like Bogart.

No, that was
Katharine Hepburn, sir.
She's in it too.

Wonderful actress.

I go to the pictures
quite a lot, actually.

It's the escape,
I suppose.

The romance of
the silver screen.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

Eh, signs of a struggle.

Actually, sir,
I believe that happened

when Mrs. Boyle
was killed.

Mrs. Boyle? Who's...

Yes, sir. Um...

She's that woman
in the front row there.

Well, she seems
to have bounced back.

Oh.

Sorry, sir. No,
she was killed in the play.
Also strangled.

Not that I've seen it,
although I would like to.

It's an Agatha Christie,
and I do like
a good murder.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

A ski did that, sir.

They use it
in the play,
apparently.

As I said,
I haven't seen it.

And then the large dent
in the cranium
is a sewing machine.

Seems he was killed
in the costume store
initially,

and then he was
deposited here.

Staged,
so to speak.

Sorry, sir.

Yeah, that's the ski
that he took
in the face, sir.

And, uh, I'm afraid
it was downhill
from there.

Oh. Sorry, sir.

That one just came out
on its own.

Seems he came
down here

for a change
of clothes.

Why?

It was a party to celebrate
the 100th performance, sir.

The other nought
must have...

When the victim
upset the sponge.

Um, and he then proceeded
to sit in the assortment
of crustaceans.

I'm told he was
intoxicated, sir,
as a newt.

This was actually
a lot more fun than
I thought it would be.

Then he left. No one
saw him again until
the body was discovered.

That's correct, sir.

Perhaps they were
all in on it together, sir?

Hmm.

Looks like the killer
tried to pull out
the victim's tongue.

Why would anyone
do a thing like that?

Excuse me,
Chief Inspector.

It's just
"Inspector."

Yes. Of course.
Inspector.

I hate to interrupt,
I do.

There really is
nothing worse...

Petula Spencer, sir.
Prominent theater
impresario.

Yes, thank you,
Constable.

Tell me, how much longer
do you intend to keep us
all hostage here?

Or is that
the idea?

"Let the galled
jade wince."

Gather all
the suspects
under one roof

and then interrogate
each of us in turn until
the mystery is solved?

Mervyn Cocker-Norris,
overrated playwright.

Celebrated
playwright.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.

I can't read
me own handwriting.

Not that
we are suspects,
necessarily.

Are we suspects?

It was just
a reference to
Agatha Christie

and her penchant
for denouement,

in which the detective
gathers the susp...

I dare say,
that's not...

Please continue.
Yes, thank you, Mervyn.

Inspector,
I want you to know

that I have nothing
but the utmost respect

for the Metropolitan Police.

But, well, do you think
you might be finished

in time for curtain up
tomorrow night?

Oh, for goodness' sake.

John Woolf,
esteemed
film producer.

Yes, thank you,
Constable.

This is
a murder
investigation.

Surely that
takes precedence,
sold out or not.

Yes, it's all going
to plan for you,
isn't it, Woolfie?

You want the run to end.

I want nothing
of the sort.

It's the decent thing
to do, that's all.

Close the theater
out of respect for Leo.

Such a tragic loss.

Inspector,
I implore you
not to overreact.

I would hate
to have to go
over your head and

talk directly
to your superiors.

Oh, we wouldn't
want that, now,
would we, madam?

But I'm afraid that
under the circumstances,

as a precaution...
Precaution?

He's already dead.

He is, madam.

But until we have an idea
as to a likely motive,

who's to say
this is the end
of it?

What is that
supposed to mean?

We are no longer
merely suspects.

We are also
potential victims.

Oh.

Mmm.

Oh, God,
I wasn't in that, was I?
I must look dreadful.

Excuse me, sir.

Stoppard!

My office.

Hello, sir.

What in God's name
possessed you

to close down
the Ambassadors?

Uh, protocol, sir.
It's a crime scene.

No, it's a public relations
disaster, is what it is.

Public what, sir?

Stalker!
Sir.

Not to put too
fine a point on...

Yes, please.
Here.

Not to put
too fine a point
on it, Inspector,

but your latest blunder
is front page news.

Fleet Street
is all over this,

like hot jam
on a Devonshire scone.

You are slap-bang
in the crosshairs.

Now, we need to do
everything we can

to make sure the bullet
doesn't miss you and hit me.

Yeah, of course, sir. Yes.
Good.

Then you'll inform
the theater at once.

Well, I thought
as a precaution, I...

The Home Secretary

is a close, personal friend
of Agatha Christie.

His brother-in-law
is Rex Harrison.

Wonderful actor.

Yes, thank you, Constable.
Sir.

It's actually worked
in our favor to have the press
distracted like this.

It means we can keep a lid on
the Rillington Place murders.

Rillington Place murders.
Yes. What's that?

Blimey.

Haven't you heard?

We have
a serial killer
on the loose.

You didn't think
all of this was for you,
now, did you?

No, of course...
No.

Of course not.

Well, have all the resources
been allocated
to this other investigation?

No, not all of them, no.

I understand you,
uh, met WPC Stalker
last night?

I did, yes.

Constable.
Inspector.

A very capable
officer.

Or at least she will be
once she gets
the proper instruction.

Sorry, sir,
I'm not sure I, uh...

You don't mean
you want me to...

Yes, I do. I'd like you
to show her the ropes.

I'm hoping some of her
enthusiasm for police work
might rub off on you.

But the, uh, bullet, sir.
Is that why...

This is not
a debate, Stoppard.

I have a reputation
as a modernizer.

I have to be seen
to keep it up.

I have said in public

that I think
women are the future
of the force.

Absolutely, sir,
I agree.

But we're not looking

for stolen sweets...
Sweets.

...or a lost
bleeding bicycle.

This is
a murder investigation,
and she is inexperienced.

They were
inexperienced
in the war.

Ask Jerry
how that turned out.

Yes, sir. But, uh...

That...
Huh?

...will be all.
Thank you.

Commissioner.
Inspector.

Constable.
Inspector.

Commissioner.
Constable.

Um, sorry again
about last night, sir.

With the rain
and everything...

Water under
the bridge, Constable.
No harm done.

You all right?

Yeah. Do we have
an address
for the victim?

Yep. It is
"Laurel Canyon,
Hollywood, USA."

Where was he staying
in England, Constable?

Oh. Um...

Right.

If I am honest,
Monsieur Kopernick,

he was not
a very good guest.

In arrears,
was he?

La, non,
but he did not pay
for his room.

Monsieur Woolf did.

Hmm.

What part of France
are you from, sir?

Belgium.

Ah, right.

Oh, my, my.

What a bloody pigsty.

They don't clean
the rooms
at the Savoy?

Helas, not this one.

Hmm.

The maids,
they refuse.

We offer them more money,
but still they say non.

There was

an incident.

Always avec
Monsieur Kopernick,
there was an incident.

Hmm.

Ooh.

Thank you,
Constable.

Oh. Sorry, sir.

Did one of these incidents
ever turn violent?

Oui. Une fois.

How dare you
call me a bad writer!

I didn't say that.
I said it's bad writing.

I did the best
I could within the confines
of the genre,

and Woolf loved it!

Woolf wouldn't know
a good script if it came up
and bit him on the ass.

It's horseshit!
No, it isn't!
Not all of it!

All right, what I read
is horseshit!

You mean you didn't
even finish it?

I read enough, pal,

to know that
nobody gets killed
in the first 10 pages!

You charlatan!
Give it back!

Listen. Listen to me. Listen!
Give...

We need to go
in a completely
different direction!

I'll kill you for this,
Kopernick, you bastard!

That's that then, sir.
It's as good
as a confession.

Let's not jump
to conclusions,
Constable.

No, sir.

The least we can do is
talk to this other party.

Yes, sir.
Cocker-Norris, sir.

Tell me,
do you write
everything down

in that little notebook?

Only if it's
important, sir.

How do you know
if it's important?

Well,

uh, I'll just sort of
put everything in
as we go,

and then down the line
when we know
what's important,

we'll know
that it's already
in the notebook.

So you do write
everything down.

Yeah, everything.

That's what I thought.

Make yourself
comfortable.

You're just in time
for elevenses.

Oh.

Oh!

You must excuse
the desordre,

it's research for
the film adaptation.

Police statements,
court reports,
newspaper cuttings.

The Mousetrap is
actually based on
a real-life case.

Nettle tea?

I appreciate you've
not yet had time
to come to terms

with the death of
Mr. Kopernick, but...

Is it true
his tongue was
pulled out?

I'm afraid I can't
divulge details

of an ongoing
investigation.

It was disgusting.

Amore, non pozzo
fatica cosi!

What?

E na cos' 'e pazz!

That's Gio.
Nephew of mine.
Very hotheaded.

I wonder if it isn't
all the fumes.

You know,
from the chemicals.

He's an amateur taxidermist.

He has a fascination
with the macabre.

I call it his
Stymphalian Bird series.

Hmm.

Macabre in a strictly
"ornithological" sense,
that is.

You wanted to ask me
about Leo?

We heard
there was an argument
at the Savoy,

and I noticed you had
the other half of this.

Inspector,
that was a contretemps,
nothing more.

Read that part.
Yeah.

"I'll kill you for this,
Kopernick, you bastard."

Well, obviously, I...

Taken out of context, I...

Those words were spoken
in anger and under
extreme provocation.

We had creative differences,
that's all.

Hmm.

How did you
like The Mousetrap?

Oh, yeah, the play?
Mmm.

Yeah, I, uh...
I didn't see it yet.

Well, if you'd like,

I can precis this...
No, no, no.

I got the basics.
It's a whodunit, right?

So, you got
a dead body,
a detective,

and then all the suspects
rather conveniently

end up in a remote
country house together.

In a nutshell.

Our task will be to
present this improbable
series of events

to an audience of
moderate intelligence

in a manner
that does not cause
too much offense.

Easy.

Flashbacks.

No.

No what?

No flashbacks.

They are crass, lazy,
and they interrupt

the flow of the story.

In my opinion,
they are the last refuge
of a moribund imagination.

Whatever next?

A caption that says,
"Three weeks later"?

Merv. Merv,
will you come on?

This is crazy.
Will you open the door?

I'm not coming out
until Woolf gets here.

What is it this time?

I'll tell you
what it is.

I pitched
a new ending,

Cockamamie-Novice over here
locks himself in the bathroom.

Is this instead
of the car chase?

As well as.

I think he thinks
"denouement" is French
for "shootout."

Will you at least
hear me out first,

and then tell me
you don't like it?

Come on,
I storyboarded it for you.
Come on, have a seat.

Why can't we just
have the detective gather
everyone in the drawing room

and then
reveal to them
who did it?

Why? 'Cause it's old,
it's tired.

It's been done
a thousand times.

So then who explains
to the audience
what on Earth's going on?

No one.

I don't know.
The killer.

Now you see
what I have to
put up with?

Will you please
have a seat?

So, a remote
country house.

We got all the, uh,
suspects gathered in
the drawing room, right?

So far, soporific.

Suddenly,
the lights go out.

Our hero grips
his Colt Special,
edges into the hall.

The killer's got a hostage,
can't get a clear shot.

Suddenly, kaboom!

The place goes up
in flames.

Blam! Blam!

Our hero
plugs the killer.

One in the gut!

One in the knee!

Then, all of a sudden...

His goddamned gun jams.

He's a sittin' duck.

Sorry, not that one.

I'm sorry about this.

He's a sittin' duck.

Our killer,
dying but not dead,

takes aim.

Boom! He fires.

Out of nowhere,

our hero cop's partner
dives in slow motion!

Takes a bullet!

Our hero cradles his partner
like a father would his child.

His face
a gumbo of emotions.

We hold on the inferno,

and we pan left,
to a dead butler.

Hank Williams plays us out.

I Saw The Light.

You hate it.
No, no,
I don't hate it.

But you don't love it.
Of course he doesn't!

It's preposterous

and totally out of keeping
with the rest of the film.

Oh, who cares?

The audience
only ever remembers
the last 20 minutes.

Oh, poppycock.

Uh, Hitchcock,
actually.

How does
he get the gun?

He's a cop!

Uh, police are
not armed in England.

What?
How do they kill
the bad guys?

They don't.

They ask them to stop
in the name of the law.

Huh.

Well, he fought
in the war,

so he kept
his service revolver.

God damn it,
we're gonna have to
pick this up another time.

Say, uh, Merv.

You wouldn't want to
lend me this pad,
would you?

Just for the night.

Only I got this dame
parked outside
I wanna impress.

As in,
she actually
is a dame.

And, well, you know.

My place ain't exactly
the Savoy.

I thought his place
exactly was the Savoy.

No, he didn't take up
residence there
till a month later.

And the production company
footed the bill when he did.

How he finagled that,
I'll never know.

Either I need a new agent,
or he had dirt on Woolf.

Hmm.

Did you ever meet
these women?

Who were they?

Oh, girls he met
during the war

who had low standards
and even lower self-esteem.

I never had the pleasure.

Oh, wait.

Tell a lie.

Merv! Come on.

When I said we should
tear up the script,

I didn't mean literally!

Hello, Leo.

What is that
doing here?

He was
Kopernick's son!

Peas in a pod.

And the mother?

I didn't get a good look.
A plain girl, rather homely.

Dark hair, glasses,

thick lenses.

So there we have it, sir.
Cherchez la femme.

What?

It's Belgian, sir.
It means,
"Look for the woman."

I know what it means,
Constable. What woman?

The mother
of Kopernick's
illegitimate son.

Cocker-Norris
couldn't remember
her name,

but I bet it's in
that little black book.

You know,
the one that you found
in the hotel room, sir.

If we find her,
we have our answer.

We need to get
a police sketch artist
down here at once

before he forgets
anything.

Mmm. I'm doing it again,
aren't I, sir?

Jumping to conclusions.
Conclusions, yeah.

Little bit.

Sorry.

Constable.

I have a very important
mission for you.

Mmm-hmm.

I need you to find
a telephone box.

Call the station.

Get an address
for John Woolf,
the film producer.

And I'll wait
for you here.

Uh, "Romulus Films, Soho,"
sir. I wrote it down.

You did?
Mmm-hmm.

Right.

Well done.
Thank you.

Shall we?

Uh, telegram
came for you.

Bad news?

It's the studio.

Grace Kelly's doing
a Hitchcock picture
for Warner,

so it's Dial M for
Maybe Next Time.

Grace Kelly?
Yes.

For the part
you promised Sheila?

Yes, that's right.

Which is why
this is such
good news.

Ann?

Darling,
what's the matter?

You do know a promise
is only a promise
if you keep it.

What do you mean?

I mean you promised me
a night out months ago.

I have been
so busy lately.

Yes, I know.
I am your assistant.

I promise,
as soon as I have
a moment to spare...

Well, you're free
on Wednesday.

Am I?
Are you sure?
Mmm. Yes.

I thought I was...
No.

No, well,
you should know.

You are my assistant,
after all.

Well, that's settled, then.
It's a date.

I promise
I will take you out.

I'm afraid, Mr. Woolf,
you really must be
going now,

otherwise
you'll be late.

Ah, right.
Thank you.
Mmm.

No, I'm serious.

You do actually
need to get back
to Romulus.

Oh. Right.
Okay. Yes.
Yes.

This is exciting,
isn't it, sir?

I'd say this is
the type of thing

that made you want to
become a police officer,
was it?

Me? I just sort of
fell into it, really.

They needed people
after the war,

and I needed
the money, so...

No, it's true.
The hours
can be unsociable,

but I can't type
or stand the sight
of blood,

so that ruled out
secretary for me.

Mmm.

You don't mind
if I pick your brains,
do you, sir?

Only I have sergeants'
exams in a month,

and I just have one or two
questions that I'd love to
run by you.

Um...
Actually, Constable,

I've just remembered
that I have a, uh...

...dentist appointment.

Oh. Sorry, sir.
I didn't know
you were suffering.

Just a routine checkup.

What shall I do, sir?
Wait here.

But what if Woolf
turns up, sir?

Won't be long.
And you have
your, uh,

notebook.

Keep your eyes peeled.
Yes, sir.

- Gin.
- Gin?

Yeah, please.

Oh, you're joking.

Oh, no.

Oh, God.

Follow this up
with another, please.

There you are,
Constable.

I've been looking
all over for you.

So, I gather
it was you that, uh, paid

for Mr. Kopernick's
rather extravagant
hotel suite.

Oh, nothing unusual
in that, Inspector.

I'm afraid a producer
is expected to indulge
the whims of the talent.

Especially when
they're American.

But still,
a pretty penny,
a room at the Savoy.

Par for the course.

When I was in the Congo
for The African Queen,

Huston and Bogart
refused to drink
the water.

Insisted on bourbon,
even to brush their teeth.

Not so easy to get
hold of in the jungle,
I can assure you.

Huh. You know,
Constable Stalker here is
a great admirer of that film.

Aren't you, Constable?

It's a marvelous film, sir.

Why, thank you, Constable.

Encyclopedia.

Cinematic encyclopedia
up there.

I wouldn't say that.
Yeah.

Right.

Being humble.

I'm not.

So, it's not true
that Kopernick
had dirt on you?

Who told you that?

Well, now,
what do we
have here?

Huh, Woolfie?

Sittin' in
a quiet corner,

all very nice
and intimate.

Hmm?

Say, you wouldn't mind
if I joined you, would you?

Not at all,
old boy.

Uh-huh.

And you must be
Mrs. Woolf, huh?

Swell to make
your acquaintance.

No, no. Leo,
this is Ann.

She's my assistant.

Ah.

Workin' late, huh?

If you'll
excuse me...

Um, I'm sorry.

You have
a nice night, now.

Well, now.

This puts me
in a tough spot.

That I'm afraid I'm gonna
have to take advantage of.

He asked to be put up
at the Savoy, and I agreed.

I knew
it wouldn't be for long.

That is,
just until I found
the right moment to...

tell my wife.

I see. Well,

we'll be in touch
if there's anything else.

Uh...

Constable.

Shall we?

But, sir,
Woolf killed Kopernick
to hush up the affair.

Case closed.

I think if that
was the case,

he wouldn't have
volunteered
the information.

So, then
he's in the clear?

No, not necessarily.

He might have
killed Kopernick for
another reason entirely.

I tell you,

I'll never get
the hang of this in time
for sergeants' exams.

Constable,
about earlier.

I know it looked like
I'd just come out
of the pub.

You had
just come out
of the pub.

That's right.

But I'd only
gone in there

to get rid of the taste
of the mouthwash.

So you had
a gin, sir.

It's an antiseptic.
I had a filling.

I thought you said
it was a routine checkup.

I see we've read the chapter
on interrogation techniques.

Sir,

I know I haven't
done anything yet
to impress you

or to inspire
any confidence, and...

I know
you'd probably rather
that I wasn't on the case.

But I didn't ask to be put
on this case either, sir.

I was nervous,
and I still am,

and I'm probably
trying a bit too hard.

But, you know,
even if I do
make mistakes

or if I jump
to conclusions

or talk
a little bit too much,
that has been said,

I just want you to know
that you can trust me.

Sir.

Okay. Good. Um...

Oh, you're joking.

Constable.
Commissioner.

Stoppard about?

Er, no, sir.
He's not yet made it in
this morning.

It's almost eleven o'clock.

He, uh... He had
a dentist appointment, sir.

A filling, I think
he said it was.

A molar,
it might have been?

I have been summoned
to the Home Secretary.

He wants a debrief.

I said
I had good news.

Have you seen
the play, sir?
Huh?

Oh. Yes.

I'm afraid
I took the wife
for her birthday.

Oh.

Of course,
it didn't fool me
for a moment.

I knew who did it
right away.

She was baffled, though.

Even after the chap
explained everything.

It was a trying night
for all concerned.

Mmm.

I'll stick to flowers
in future.

Yes, always
a safe bet, sir.

Sorry.

Police.

Please try to be
more careful, sir.

Good morning.

Commissioner.
Inspector.

Is it wise to eat
so many mints?

How do
you mean, sir?

Well, haven't you
just been
to the dentist?

Yes, that's right, sir.

Yeah. It was
just a checkup.

Although I did have
a filling as well.

Since I was there.

I've come down here
for an update, Inspector.

We have
good news, sir.

We do?

Yes, sir. Isn't that
what you told
the Home Secretary?

Yes, that's what I told
the Home Secretary

on the telephone.

I came down here
to get it.

So we don't have
good news?

We do have
a witness, sir.

To the murder?

Yeah, that would be nice,
wouldn't it?

Um, no. One of the ushers
saw a suspicious character.

He's waiting
for us inside.

Very well.

I'll tell the Home Secretary
we have a promising lead.

And I'll rely on you
not to make
a liar out of me.

Constable.
Commissioner.

Inspector.

Commissioner.

Constable.

Inspector.

So, Dennis, um,

I understand that
you saw something
the other night.

Yeah.
What'd you see?

Well, I'd gone to get
a bottle of Scotch
for the dead man.

Um... This was before,
you know, he died.

Um...
And then
you came back,

and that's when you saw
the suspicious character?

Exactly.

Well, sort of.

I didn't get
a very good look,
if I'm honest.

He had on, like,
a darkish overcoat.

I see.
Anything else?

A pair of trousers.

And a hat.

It was on his head.

Right. Yeah.

Yeah. A soft, felt hat.

Mmm-hmm.

What about
a physical
description?

Was he a tall man?
Short? Thick set?

Oh... Just average,
I'd say.

Average height
or average build?

Um...

Both?

No, don't ask me.

I don't know.
I'm asking you.

Average height,

medium build.

Would you say
like the Inspector?

Yeah.

Suppose so.
Pretty much.

So what did he do
that made you
suspicious?

It wasn't so much
what he did,

it was more, you know,
the way he did it.

Right.
How'd he do it?

Well, sort of...

suspiciously.

This has been great.

Off you go.

Thank you.
Thank you.

Thank you.

That was good.

Do you think
that went well?

I think it's time
we talk to that actor

who had a fight
with Kopernick.

Mr. Attenborough, sir?

That's the one.
Famous, is he?

You're pulling my leg, sir.
You've never heard
of Dickie?

Richard Attenborough?

Pinkie Brown?
Brighton Rock?
You must have.

"You wanted a recording
of my voice.

"Well, here it is.

"What you want me
to say is
'I love you.'"

Keep in mind
that we're here to
conduct an interview

as part of
a murder
investigation,

not an article for
Sight & Sound
magazine, yes?

Yes, sir.

Come in, darling.

Inspector Stoppard.

I say,
a real-life detective.

Scotland Yard
and everything.

And you are?

This is...

...Constable Stalker.
Stalker.

Oh, I like the way
you did that.

Very natural.

I hope you don't mind, sir,
but I just want to say bravo.

And, uh, encore.
Oh.

All right,
thank you, Constable.

Yes, thank you,
Constable.

Are you a lover
of theater?

I can get you tickets
if you like.

I would like, sir.
Yes. Very much.

It would be good
to get a professional take
on it.

Mmm-hmm.
- Yeah.

I have
so many questions.

I have one or two
of my own.

I dare say
that you do.

I understand
that you and,
uh, Kopernick

came to blows
the night in question.

Was there
a particular reason
for the ill feeling?

Tell me, Inspector,
did you get your limp
during the war?

It's very slight.

I noticed it
the other night

- when you were on stage.
- I, um...

Well, I thought
I might borrow it,
if you don't mind.

It's always good
for the lead character
to have a physical defect.

Speaks to
a troubled soul.

It was me, Inspector.
You need look
no further.

I arrest you

for the murder of Leo...
No, no, no.

No. Not yet.

Oh. Sorry, sir.

I was
the particular reason
for the ill feeling.

Yes, well,
Leo had his eye
on Sheila, you see.

And I took exception.

He was a real hound,
Inspector.

Come on,
play nice.

Maybe I can help you.

Help me?

To do what?

Bag the lead role
in the film of
The Mousetrap.

Top billing.

Make you a star.

But I have bagged
the lead role.

Yeah, who told
you that, Woolfie?

He is the producer.

Honey, he just
cuts the checks.

I'm the director.

Without me,
there is no movie.
You understand?

You got
a problem, buddy?

Keep the change.
And the glass.

And the studio,
don't they have
a say in it?

Rumor is
they want to put
a name in the picture

that people have
heard of.

Bona fide
Hollywood star.

They like Grace Kelly.
You ever heard of her?

Don't worry.

They can be
talked round.

I've got a very,
uh, silver tongue.

I won't lie,
Inspector.

I was not entirely sorry
to learn of his demise,

but I had
no part in it.

Much like the film adaptation
of The Mousetrap,
it would seem.

Oh, come now, darling,
you don't know that.

Woolf promised you
the role.

He's a man of his word.
He went to Eton.

Wake up, Dickie.

He's a man of
whatever word will
get his film made.

And that contract business
with Choo is coming
apart at the seams.

Choo?
Bless you, sir.

No, as in
Petula Spencer.

She sold Woolf
the film rights.

Well, about
those tickets.

Is there a day
that suits you better?

Uh, I'm generally free
on Tuesdays
and Wednesdays.

And Thursdays.

Well, thank you, sir.
Thank you, madam.

No, no, not at all.
We'll be sure
to let you know

if anything else
springs to mind.

I'm sure it's always
the insignificant detail

that catches
the killer
in the end.

Isn't that so,
Inspector?

I don't usually
have a lot on
on weekends either.

Or Mondays.
For the...
For the tickets.

Constable.
Sir.

Right.

She'll see you now.

So, you own
this theater?

Yes. Humble
beginnings.

You'll have to
excuse Mother.

She's not been herself
since Father died,

in the first
Great War.

It's been
a long 30 years.

It's nice that
you gave her a job.

Well, how else is she
gonna pay the rent?

I let her have
the spare room
at a discount as it is.

Yes, no.
You can stop there.

We get the idea. Bravo.

I understand that
you handled the sale

of The Mousetrap
film rights
to John Woolf?

Yes, that's right.
I did. Wait... Why?

What's he been saying?

Oh, he's such a crybaby.

Honestly, he acts as though
I put a gun to his head.

Oh!

Hang on a minute.
Is this important?

I doubt it.
What does it say?

"No motion picture
based on the stage play
The Mousetrap

"is to enter
into production

"until a minimum
of six months
have elapsed

"since the end
of its first
theatrical run."

Oh, you don't
need to worry
about that.

It's a whodunit.

As soon as
word gets out
who did do it,

audiences are
bound to drop off.

Come on, sign on
the dotted line,
and I'll make a toast.

Ann, darling,
the next contract
I sign

will be our
marriage certificate.

Well, first it'll be
the divorce papers.

But then
our marriage
certificate.

Edana, darling.

What a pleasant surprise.

You know Choo
and, uh...
Mmm-hmm.

...Ann.
I do.

Dear girl, what on Earth
are you doing down there?

I just fell over.
Excuse me.

Honestly, it's like
having Buster Keaton
for an assistant.

Now, I've just come
from Madame Zena...

Oh, darling,
I really wish
you wouldn't see that...

Please don't call her
a charlatan.

I was going to say
"crackpot."

- What's this?
- It's a Tarot card.

I can see that.
What does it mean?

Betrayal.

Ooh.

Betrayal as in
his affair,
not the contract.

That was above board.
Is above board.

Agatha insisted on
that clause, not me.

No, she's fiercely protective
of her own work, you see,
because...

Well, she has to be.

People get so riled up.

She's had death threats,
you know.

Poor girl can't write
so much as a letter
to The Times

without a deluge
of legal action

and spurious claims
she stole this plot
or that character.

Isn't that what
happened here,
though?

Isn't The Mousetrap
based on a true story?

Yes. Well, originally.
I mean, tangentially.

In any case,
that's the reason

Woolf was so keen
to shut the theater
the other night.

He can't make his film

until the play
ends its run
in the West End.

As it is, what with
the play being such
a phenomenal success,

he's stuck in
theatrical purgatory.

Mmm-hmm.

He's a ruthless
customer, is Woolf.

He'll stop at nothing
to get his film made.

It's definitely
Woolf, sir.

Well, not 100%.

More like 73-74%,
I'd say.

He killed Kopernick
in the theater
to force it to close down

so that he could
make his film.

He could marry
his mistress.

And then
he could get shot
of a blackmailer.

It's not Woolf.
It's too elaborate.

Burn the place down,
if that's what you want.

Besides, doesn't he need
a director to make a film?

Well, then it's back
to Cocker-Norris.

Process of
elimination.

No, it's not
Mervyn.

Yeah, but
the tongue
business.

And he clearly
didn't like Leo,
did he?

People don't rip out
other people's tongues

because of
creative differences.

They do it
out of revenge

or rage because
they've lost
a loved one.

They can't forgive
or forget,

so they just stew
and fester
alone in the dark

until finally
it all comes out

in a sudden,
frenzied act
of violence.

How did you get
the limp, sir?

If you don't mind
me asking.

Uh, in the war.
Got shot
in the Italian Alps.

Hmm.

Sounds painful.

What do you...

Sorry, sir.

No, that's very funny.

Is there
a Mr. Stalker,
Stalker?

Uh, I'm afraid he died
in the war, sir.

Children?

A boy
and a girl.

Can't be easy.

What about you?
Do you have
any family, sir?

Uh,
I came close, once.

Yeah, I had
an unfaithful wife.

Oh.

She was
eight months pregnant

when she told me
I wasn't the father.

I'd made a cot
and everything.

That's awful, sir.
I'm sorry.

- Landlord.
- Yes, sir?

Another round.

Oh, I don't know.

Should we maybe
get going, sir?

Got work tomorrow.

Go on, steer off
before I call the police!

Sorry again.
Thank you.

Are you sure
you're all right
to drive, sir?

Absolutely.

Oh!

I could
run you home if you like.

Now.
Just gonna
pop you there.

I can
take it from here,
Constable.

Oh.

Sir.

There we go.

Morning, sir.

What do you want?

Uh, the other night, sir.
The dead Yank.

Inspector Stoppard
got the call and not
Leeke or Priestley.

So?

Leeke was in Skegness
on his honeymoon,

and Priestley took
the Rillington Place call.

What time?

Half-past 11:00.
Book at Bedtime was on.

Did you ever meet
Stoppard's wife, sir?

I did.

You don't happen
to remember
her name, do you?

It was...

Mrs. Stoppard.

Brilliant.

Hello, is this Abigale?

Hello, is this Beryl?

I am a friend
of Leo Kopernick's.

Beryl?

Is Geraldine there
by any chance?

- Oh, Constable.
- Sir.

Did Dickie ever
come through on
those theater tickets?

I thought of going,
and, uh...
Maybe the play's the thing

Ties this all together.
Would you like
to tag along?

Yes, sir. Um...

What is it, Constable?

Uh, nothing, sir.
Oh.

Do you, um,
want a cup of tea?

Listen
to me, Stalker.

No one is ever going to
take you seriously
as a police officer

if you act like
a tea-lady,
do you hear me?

Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir.

Milk and two sugars.

Commissioner.

I said,
"Who do you want?

"Agatha Christie or
Mervyn Cocker-Norris?

"Anyone can do her,
but only I can do me."

Stronzo.

The Mousetrap
in the house style,
as it were.

I'll take
the bare bones
of the story,

a rather mundane tale
of child abuse,
and make it my own.

Here we are.

Oh. These aren't
together, sir.

Oh.

Well, we can cover
more ground that way.

Keep your eyes peeled.

Yes, sir.

Cheers.

Hello?

Hello?

Is anyone there?

Who's calling
at this late hour?

Yes?

All right then.

That was Scotland Yard.

They're sending out
an inspector.

In this
unseasonable
blizzard?

What on Earth for?

Good Lord.

Inspector.

Thank you.

Good evening.

I am Detective
Sergeant Trotter.

Please excuse
the limp.

An old war wound
playing up in the cold.

I'm assuming
you were warned
of my arrival?

Apropos of nothing,
I'm a magistrate.

Also, he looks
too young to be
an inspector.

Well, I'm old enough
to remember
the Corrigan Case.

Yes, a dreadful
business.

Two brothers
who put their faith in
the British social services.

A sorry tale of abuse
that ended in tragedy.

Yes, it was
in all of the papers.

Gio, I can't
sit through this again.

I'm sorry.
Will you excuse me?

One died,
the other left traumatized.

I shudder to think
what an ordeal like that

might do to
a vulnerable mind.

Won't be a moment.

I'm just going to try
and catch Mervyn.

Oh, bother.
I forgot the tea.

By God,
that has to be

the worst cup of tea
I've ever had.

I agree.

Did you make it
in a teapot
or a plant pot?

Pardon me.

- Excuse me. Thank you. Sorry.
- Oh, dear.

Pardon me.
Excuse me.
Sorry.

I've already had
another disaster
in the kitchen.

I left out the steak pieces
in my steak and kidney pie.

Gloves.

Kidney pie
just doesn't have
the same ring to it.

Sorry.
Excuse me.
Pardon me.

Excuse me.
Terribly sorry.

Bleeding gloves.
I'm so sorry.

There they are.
Thank you.

Sorry. Sorry.
Terribly sorry.

I'm beginning to think

it was
a dreadful mistake
to skip lunch.

Excuse me.

I'll open
a tin of peas.

We interrupt Book at Bedtime

to warn residents
in the Colney Hatch area
of London

to be on the lookout
for an escaped lunatic.

Hmm.

You startled me.

You startled me.

Turn the lights on.

Stop in the name
of the law!

Bollocks!

Well,
that's a good thing.

The limp,
was it too much?

Oh.
Oh, God.

Oh, sorry, sir.
I thought you were
somebody else.

No, no, it's all right.

And thank you
for the tickets.

Very welcome.

There ya go.

Bottoms up.

Cheers.

What brings you
to this neck of the woods?

Oh, a murder investigation.

Yeah? Anyone I know?

You.

I'm sorry, I thought...

No, no, no.
It's all right.
It's all right. Uh...

Say, uh, Inspector.

Tell me,
was anyone, uh...

you know,
sad to see me go?

Ah.

Figures.

I'm sorry, sir,
you can't go
in there.

Ah...

You can only go in
if you have a ticket.

I had a ticket.
It was in my pocket.

That's... I could have
sworn I had on
a pair of trousers.

I had trousers on.

Where's my ticket?

I'm sorry, sir.

I can't let you in
unless you have
a ticket.

I had a ticket.
I just don't
have it on me.

Let me in!
Stop mucking about.

I've gotta go in.
No, please, sir.

You. I know you.

What are you doing?

Sir. Sir.

I've got a ticket!

The hell
is going on?

What am I
doing here?

What happened
to my trousers?

You asked me
to press them, sir.

I did?

Yes, sir.
You were adamant.

How long
have I been here?

Eighteen hours.

My head is
killing me.

It's bloody
freezing
in here.

Did you make
an arrest?

We did.

Who was it?
Was it Gio?

Gio?

Yeah, Gio. The...
The Italian chap,
the killer.

The man in
a darkish overcoat,
soft felt hat...

I chased out
the theater.

Inspector,
that man was you.

What?

You are the man
in the darkish overcoat

and the soft felt hat
that Constable Stalker here

chased from the theater.

I'm sorry,
I'm not following.

I think I might have
a concussion.

Or the shakes?

No,
this is ridiculous.

What possible reason

could I have
for strangling
a playwright?

I haven't seen
anything he's done.

No, but Mervyn saw the woman
who visited Kopernick
at the Savoy.

So?

Inspector,
have you spoken
to Joyce lately?

Joyce?

Your wife.

Ex-wife.

Yes. I met her once
at a police social.

A plain girl.

Very homely.

What does Joyce
have to do
with anything?

Uh, her name was in Leo's
little black book, sir.

Oh, come on.
You don't...

You don't seriously think
that Leo and...

Didn't your wife
leave you for a Yank?

Leo was an American G.I.

Will you listen to yourselves?
You hear what you're sayin'?

Constable.

"They do it
out of revenge
or rage

"because they have
lost a loved one and
can't forgive or forget.

"So they just stew and fester

"until it all comes out
in a sudden, frenzied
act of violence."

You wrote that down.

That was
a private conversation.

Well, I thought
it could be
important, sir.

Unbelievable.

We found her.

Who?
Joyce.

Joyce.
Joyce is here?

Constable.

That's not my wife.

I'm sorry?
I said that's
not my wife.

But it is
your ex-wife.

Never seen that woman
before in my life.

But your name
is Joyce?

Uh...

Well, it's a common name.

'Course it is.
Yeah.

'Course it is.

Well, Inspector,
in that case,
I believe

you are owed
an apology.

Constable.

Uh... Yes, sir.
O' course.

I'm...
I'm so sorry, sir.
I just...

I just got the wrong end
of the stick, and I have
no excuse. I just...

I jumped to conclusions again.
I'm so sorry.

Commissioner, why don't you
run along back to the office,

look over
the quarterly accounts.

Let me handle
the murder investigation.

Inspector.

Sorry.

It's Dickie
and Sheila.

Hello, Woolf.
Didn't expect
to see you here.

Perhaps, it is

Miss Rams... bottom.

Get that...

If you have
broken down,

there is a garage
not 15 miles
from here.

No, we're here
for dinner.

I don't think so, sir.

This is
Winterbrook House?

The Christie residence?

It is.

Uh, we have
an invitation.

We do, yes.

Richard Attenborough.
Friends call me "Dickie."

I do hope you haven't
traveled far.

Fellowes!
Who is it?

No one, sir. Tinkers.

What, in this
unseasonable blizzard?

Come on, man.
Open sesame.

Richard Attenborough.
Friends call me "Dickie."

Max Mallowan,
eminent archaeologist.

Good God, man,
you're frozen solid.

It's cold.
It's cold, yes.
Come in.

Hello, Sheila Sim.
Hello.

John Woolf.
How do you do?

Ann Saville.

We're friends of
Petula. Spencer.

Oh, yes.
I know Choo.

We thought
we'd been invited
for dinner.

Yes, we
received this,

but apparently,
not from you.

Extraordinary.

You know who's going
to love this? Agatha.

It's just like one
of her confections.

She's in the kitchen now

trying to figure out
some new ending.

It helps
to do the dishes,
apparently.

Ooh, hello.
Who else didn't
we invite to dinner?

Ah, it's Petula.

Why, so it is.

Come in out of
the cold, Choo!

What on Earth
have you got there?

It's not Mother,
is it?

'Fraid so.

Oh, God.

Better make that eight
for dinner, Fellowes,

and let Agatha know.
Yes, sir.

And get a shovel
to clear the path.

Yes, sir.

And do we have
enough coal?

Yes, sir.
Three bags full, sir.

Hello, Maxie.
Hello, darling.

Oh, it's a full house.

Yes.

Mother.

Come on in.
Straight through
to the drawing room.

- Here.
- Now,

I have a rather potent
Mesopotamian aperitif

that'll have you
thawed out
in a jiffy.

I'm sorry again
that you had to
find out like this.

Oh, I can't say
it came as a surprise.

Leo was a bad seed.

Always in trouble,
he was.

He picked a fight
the night
he took us out.

Mmm.
Mervyn Cocker-Norris
at the hotel.

No. At the pictures.

Oh.

He turned
on this tall fella
who came in after us

and shouted,

"What are you
following me for,
buddy?"

And, um...

Did he know
a good dentist,

'cause he was
about to lose
a lot of teeth.

Hmm.

Right, who's ready
for a top-up?

No.

Where's
the old girl?

Not gonna play
the recluse card,
is she?

Oh, no, no, no.
She'll be down
soon enough.

That will be Fellowes.

The man's an oaf.

A tall fella,
you say?
Mmm.

Had a funny accent.

Italian?

No, not that funny.

More like...

a village idiot.

I'm sorry,
but you have to
get out.

Oh. No.
Good heavens.
No. Uh...

Che cosa succede?

Poli... Polizei.

Telefono, por favor.

Telefono?
Yes. Si.

Sta la.
Gracias.

Scotland Yard,
Sergeant Bakewell
speaking.

Yes, Stoppard here.

Police, stand back.

He keeps a key...

...under the mat.

Let me guess,
Inspector.

You're after
an address.

How did you
know that?

Constable Stalker, sir.

She called just now
for the same information.

Stalker?

Agatha?

Gosh, is she
all right?

Where's Agatha?
What have you done
with her?

It was
the usher, sir.
I know.

He was under
our noses
all this time.

Is he in?
No, sir.
But I found this.

If we get going now,
sir, we can...

I can take it
from here,
Constable.

Oh, right. And...
And me, sir?

Go back
to the station.

Yes, sir.

Oh, and, Constable?

Yes, sir?

Make a start
on the paperwork.

Yes, sir.

Is it me,
or does he look
awfully familiar?

It's Dennis. He's an usher
from the Ambassadors

Oh, Dennis!

So nice
to see you.

This is a strange
coincidence.

What are you
doing here?

Well, I invited you.

Oh, my God.

You killed Leo
and Mervyn!

I did.

I wanted to stop
the film and the play.

What film?
What play?

The Mousetrap!

Now, look here,
Dennis.

We all have
strong opinions
on the theater.

In a sense,
that's what
it's there for,

to provoke emotion.

And I appreciate
you don't care for
The Mousetrap.

I'll be the first to admit
it's not exactly Hamlet.

But you must see

that this is
a bit of an
overreaction.

That's not
what this is.

Then, what...
what is this?

It's not your story
to tell, is it?
It's mine.

Oh,
I might have known.

A disgruntled
writer.

Don't tell me,
you had
the idea first?

No. It happened to me.

I'm sorry, I am
completely lost.

I don't have
a theatrical
background.

You're not
Dennis Corrigan,
are you?

Oh, you poor boy.

How do you mean?

He lost his brother
in real life.

Dreadful business,
it was.

It was years ago, now.
I told you about it.

It was the case
The Mousetrap
was based on.

Inspired by, Mother.
And loosely.

Oh, but you're
an usher.

You had to
watch that play
night after night.

It must've been
torture.

I thought
it would help.

He was only six
when he died,
my brother.

The Mousetrap is
actually based on
a real-life case.

Neglected
and left for dead
by the people

who were supposed to
look after us.

It sold a lot of newspapers,
but no one cared about us.

I thought the play
would be different.

A famous writer was
going to tell our story.

Two brothers
who put their faith in
the British social services.

But when I saw
what Agatha Christie had done,

used our pain and suffering
as a motive for
a deranged killer...

...my brother's death
reduced to
a cheap sideshow...

There's been
a murder?

...I knew
he wouldn't be able

to rest in peace
until the play ended.

But it didn't.

It just went on,
and on, and on.

The Mousetrap is 100,
not out.

When I heard
about the film adaptation,

I just snapped.

Without me,
there is no movie.
You understand?

You got
a problem, buddy?

I killed the director
to stop the film,

and thought
a corpse on the stage
would put an end to the play.

But they didn't even close
the theater.

Do you think
you might be
finished in time

for curtain up
tomorrow night?

And Mervyn's
new ideas for the film

made me
sick to my stomach.

I'll take
the bare bones
of the story,

a rather mundane tale
of child abuse,
and make it my own.

He left me
no choice.

You startled me.

I had to
kill him, too.

I thought that would be
the end of it.

But you all just carried on
like nothing had happened.

Shame on you.

Well, maybe you'll
take notice if I kill
Agatha Christie herself.

Oh, I think
she's tryin' to
say something.

Oh, for God's sake,
let her out.

I'll stop
the film.

And the play.
This is barbaric.

Fine.

Edana?

Darling, what...
what are you
doing here?

I followed you.

I suppose
I was going to
make a scene.

Hello, Ann.

Then this beanpole
assaulted me, and
I woke up in a carpet.

If you're not
Agatha Christie,
where the hell is she?

Good God, man.
You mean
you don't know?

What kind of a bumbling,
half-witted psychopath
are you?

Will you be quiet!
Please!

Let me think!

Yes, of course!
Of course.
Why don't you...

Why don't you
come in and sit down,
Dennis? Um...

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Have a little moment
to yourself.

What?

Uh, well... Um...

I, for one,
believe that, uh,

Dennis here
is owed an apology.

Yes.

He...
He's right,
of course.

The truth
is the truth.

It is not to be
manipulated
or played with,

and certainly not
for entertainment.

- No, no.
- No, no, no.

Art is
supposed to
reveal the truth...

- Yes.
- Yeah.

...not pervert it.

How would
Agatha Christie
like it

if someone took
one of her stories

and twisted it
and corrupted it

just for
the hell of it?

She wouldn't.

I... I think that
we should all feel

thoroughly ashamed
of ourselves.

Oh, here we are.
Tea for everyone.

There you are,
my dear.

Sorry to
have kept you.

No, no,
please don't get up,
not on my account.

There, there.

No, no, no,

no, no, it's fine.
Be careful.

Just as it was.
I think it was that way.

It is so nice to
see you again,
Agatha,

in spite of
the circumstances.

No, no, no,
not that one.

No, that's for Dennis.

It is Dennis,
isn't it?

There we are.

I put an extra
lump in.

Thank you.

Everyone else,
help themselves.

Now, Dennis.

How can I help?

Why don't we sit here
and drink our tea

and discuss the matter
like civilized people, hmm?

I want you to stop
The Mousetrap.

Oh, I am sorry,
but that
I cannot do. No.

I'm afraid it goes against
everything I hold dear
in life.

Yes. I'm a writer,
you see.

I can't be told
what to write
or what not to write.

It would be a denial
of one's freedom.

Do you see, Dennis?
Hmm? Do drink up.

Oh, good God,
Fellowes.

Get up. Get up.

Now, look here,
young man, I...

Max!

- Yes, good idea... Oh.
- Yes.

Oh, my God.
Now what's
happened?

Oh.

Dennis.

Put the popular author
down, please, Dennis.

No.

Sheila, darling,
now's hardly the time.

Dickie,
I need a light.

But you don't smoke.

Dickie.

Look out!

No, Dennis!

Don't do it, please!

Darling!

It's all right.

He's dead.
It's over.

Sir...

I'm bleedin'.

Hang in there,
Constable.

Sergeant's exam's
in a month.

It's funny, sir.
I actually...
I don't feel anything.

I think it mighta
just been a nick.

Yeah. Just the nick
of time, I'd say.

Very good.

I'm sorry,
Constable.

I haven't been
altogether honest
or open

or loyal
or fair to you
as a partner.

Truth be told,
I haven't been a partner
at all, you know.

Sir, you don't
have to say that.

No, I want you
to know...

I do trust you.

Thank you, sir.
That does mean a lot.

Um, but when I say
that I can't feel anything,

I think what I mean
is that, um,

I don't think
the bullet hit me, sir.

What do you mean?

Did you, um...

- Oh, I see.
- Oh, no. Yeah.

Oh. Well, you're right
again, Constable.

Are you
all right, sir?

I think you better
call an ambulance.

Yep.

Yes, I don't feel
so good.

A shoot-out
and a big explosion.

Perhaps it's for the best
that Mervyn wasn't alive
to see it.

Quite.

It's okay, everyone,
I'm... I'm fine.

Now that's what I call
a Leo Kopernick ending.

But before we go
our separate ways,

you'll be wanting to know
what became of
the heroes of this tale.

Constable Stalker,
as advertised,

sat her sergeant's exams
in the spring of 1953.

She aced them.

Detective Inspector
George Stoppard.

Inspector Stoppard
was awarded

the King's Police
and Fire Services Medal.

Oh.

Harrold Scott
received a Knighthood.

The play,
if you can believe it,

is still going strong
in London's West End.

Over 10 million people have
sat through The Mousetrap.

Two brothers
who put their faith

in the British
social services.

A sorry tale of abuse
that ended in tragedy.

Well, now that
you've seen our film,

you are
an accomplice to murder.

And so we ask you
to remember that it is
very much in your interest

not to tell a soul
outside of this...

Shh. Sir. Sorry.

But I've missed
the endin' once.

I don't wanna
miss it again.

No, of course not.
I'm sorry. Sorry.