Frenzy (1972) - full transcript

When I was a lad,

a journey on the rivers of England
was a truly blithe experience.

"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,"

as Wordsworth has it.

Brook lime and flag iris,

plantain and marsh marigolds
rioted on the banks.

And kingfishers swooped and darted about,

their shadows racing over the brown trout.

Well, ladies and gentlemen,

I'm happy to be able to tell you

that these ravishing sights



will be restored to us again
in the near future,

thanks to the diligent efforts
of your government

and your local authority,

all the water above this point
will soon be clear.

Clear of industrial effluent.

Clear of detergents.

Clear of the waste products of our society,

with which for so long we have
poisoned our rivers and canals.

Let us rejoice

that pollution will soon be banished
from the waters of this river,

and that there will soon be no -

- Look!
- What is it?

It's a woman!

What's that 'round her neck?



She's been strangled!

- Looks like a tie.
- Yes, it's a tie, alright.

Another necktie murder.

Come on. Move out of the way.

Please come away from here, Sir George.

- It's another necktie murder.
- What are the police doing about it?

- Why can't they find him?
- He's a regular Jack the Ripper.

Not on your life. He used to carve 'em up.

Sent a bird's kidney to Scotland Yard,
wrapped in writing paper.

That'll do. I'm sure the lady
doesn't want to hear more.

Or was it a bit of her liver?

I say, it's not my club tie, is it?

Cheers, Squadron Leader.

- Chin, chin.
- Good morning.

It may come as something
of a surprise to you, Blaney,

but in this pub we sell liquor,
we don't give it away.

Still less do we expect
our employees to steal it.

I was going to pay for it.

Yeah, I'm sure you were. Get out.

I told you I was going to pay for it.
I always pay for my drinks.

Even for your watered-down gin.

Don't come the innocent
with me, you bastard!

My stocks have been
well down this past month.

Watch what you're saying!

- What, you're a thief?
- What's going on?

Our friend here says that
I've been pinching his booze.

- Ridiculous! He always pays.
- How would you know?

- I work with him, don't I?
- And what else?

- What's that mean?
- Keep out of this. Blaney, outside.

- You're fired.
- He never stole nothing in his life.

He puts the money in the till.
I've seen him.

A thief or a boozer,
I don't need either one as a barman,

And he's usually pulling your tits
instead of pulling pints.

He can't keep his hands off you,
so the customers say.

What about you? Always fingering me.

Keep your lying mouth shut,
Babs, or you can get out as well.

I'm off. Keep the change!

I'll send for my things later.

Just a minute!

There's a little matter of ten pounds
I advanced you on your salary.

Are you planning to steal that as well?

There you are.

You know what to do with them.

- Don't let him talk to you like that.
- I know.

- What are you gonna do, luv?
- I don't know.

- Another pub perhaps.
- Are you alright?

- You just gave him back that tenner.
- I had to.

He didn't think I had it.
Don't worry, I've got a bit left.

This is Covent Garden,
not the garden of love.

How 'bout starting work?

Oh, get stuffed!

- Look after yourself.
- I'll call you.

Thanks, guv.

- Hello, Dick.
- Hello, Bob.

I was just coming over for a quick one.

Why aren't you back there polishing
the sausages or watering the gin,

or whatever it is you do there
before opening time?

I have just been given the push.

What for? You weren't pissing
in the beer again?

- Forsythe and I had a set-to.
- Oh, him.

- You duffed him up I hope.
- He's a bastard.

He was on my back right from the start.

From squadron leader to barman
in one easy lesson!

He's the boss' brother-in-law,
isn't he, Forsythe?

I think so.

Brother-in-laws are the worst.

Or should I say, "brothers-in-law"?

- What are you gonna do now?
- I haven't decided yet.

Well, if you're in "schtuk,"
you know where to come.

Thanks.

George!

- That's the last one.
- Thanks, Mr Rusk.

Why don't you go and see your ex?
She's doin' alright, isn't she?

I haven't seen her for ages, as you know.

- There's no use reopening all that.
- No, I suppose not.

Well, as I say,
you can always rely on me.

- You're alright for a few quid?
- Yes. Thanks all the same.

- Cos if you're not...
- No, no. Really. I just got paid.

Well... have some grapes.

Here you are. I'll get you a box.

Finest muscats, fresh in this morning.

Take one of these back
to your girlfriend, Babs.

Get her to peel you one.
"Beulah, peel me a grape."

That's what my ol' mum used to say
when I was a kid.

At least you won't starve to death.

- Are you sure you don't need cash?
- No, I'm OK.

Well, you don't look OK.
Anything else the matter?

- No. What should be?
- I don't know.

Remember, anything I can do,
anytime, it's a pleasure.

Ta.

It won't be the same in the Old Globe now.

- Well, Babs is still there.
- Yeah, that's true.

- And she's prettier than you.
- A matter of opinion.

- Bye, now.
- Wait a minute. Give us your paper.

Here you are.
This will make you a fortune.

This afternoon in the 3:00, Coming Up.

Never been out before,
but very well-fancied at home.

This is a four-horse race, and the
other three have all won before.

- So she'll start about twenty to one.
- Twenty to one?

Put your wad on it. She can't lose.

A little birdie told me,
and my little birdies are reliable.

Thanks again, Bob.

- Don't forget, Bob's your uncle.
- Good morning, Mr Rusk.

Hello, Sergeant. What's new?

Not much. But this necktie fellow's
giving them a bit of a headache.

Can't seem to get a line on him.

- Have you tried advertising?
- Funny! You're one for the birds.

Ask 'em all if they've ever had
a near miss with a bloke like that.

- Or if any of their girlfriends have.
- Sure.

Mind you, half of them haven't got
their heads screwed on right,

let alone knowing when
they've been screwed off.

Have you met my friend Dick B...

Funny fella.

- Don't worry. I'll ask around.
- Thanks, Mr Rusk.

A large brandy.

- What're you gonna have, Doctor?
- A pint and some cheese'll do me fine.

Let me order us a hot lunch.
We've plenty of time.

- Hello, Mr Usher.
- What's good today, Maisie?

Stick to the shepherd's, I would.

Right. That's two shepherd's pies, please.

And two pints.

I see our necktie murderer's
been up to it again.

I saw the newspaper headlines
as we came away from the court.

I wouldn't envy any medical man
giving evidence at that trial.

- Why not?
- Surely it's easier in these days of...

legally diminished responsibility.

In many cases you may be right.

But not here.

The man who's killing these women
is a criminal, sexual psychopath.

And the legal profession has never
really known how to treat them.

I suppose
you could call them social misfits.

We were just talking about
the tie murderer, Maisie.

- You better watch out.
- He rapes 'em first, doesn't he?

Yes, I believe he does.

I suppose it's nice to know
every cloud has a silver lining.

Oh!

On the surface, in casual conversation

they appear as ordinary, likable adult fellows.

But emotionally they remain
as dangerous children,

who may revert to primitive,
subhuman conduct at any moment.

- Large brandy.
- You mean they'll kill at any time,

- just as the mood takes them?
- Exactly.

And, being governed by the pleasure principle,

they're particularly dangerous when
their desires are being frustrated.

- Are you deaf?
- I distinctly said a large brandy.

There's scarcely enough in that
to cover the bottom.

Actually, make it a triple.

I wonder if the police have got
any sort of line on this fellow.

Oh, I shouldn't think so.

With psychopaths there's
usually no linking motive.

Let's hope he slips up soon.

In one way, I rather hope he doesn't.

Well, we haven't had a good, juicy
series of sex murders since Christie.

And they're so good for the tourist trade.

Foreigners expect the squares
of London to be fog-wreathed,

full of hansom cabs and littered
with ripped whores, don't you think?

Hey, Dick!

What about Coming Up then?

No, I'm afraid I haven't any time.
Thanks all the same.

No, Coming Up, the horse.
It won by a mile.

Twenty to one! What did I tell you?

- Made a fortune. Thanks a lot.
- Anytime.

Hey, wait a minute!

This is my ma. Ma, meet Dick Blaney,

the best pilot
who ever pulled a pint of beer.

- Hello, Mrs Rusk.
- Pleased to meet you, I'm sure.

She lives down in Kent,
in the Garden of England!

- Still got the grapes then?
- Oh, yeah. Keep 'em for later.

You tell her to take the pips out.
They're bad for the appendix.

- Ta-ta!
- Bye. Thanks again for the tip.

I told you, Bob's your uncle.

Twenty to one!

Twenty to bloody one!
Christ! Dammit to hell!

Well, my dears,

I'm sure I can say on behalf
of Mrs Blaney as well as myself,

that it's moments like this that make
all our efforts here worthwhile.

You mean, you just don't do it
for the money?

Mrs Davisson, this is a business,
and financial considerations prevail.

But our ultimate satisfaction is the
making happy of two lonely people.

Nice of you, Miss Barling.
Keep up the good work!

Well, it's up to us now, I guess, eh?

Yes. And good-bye, Mr Salt.

Bye, Miss Barling. Thank you.

It's been our pleasure.
And I know you'll both be very happy.

After all, I know you're
both mad about beekeeping.

- It's good to share an interest.
- I'm sure we will be.

Come on, Neville. Best foot forward.

We should go straight and
get the marriage license, my dear.

What's your rush?

Let's go to my place first.

Did you know, Neville,
that my late husband, Mr Davisson,

was up at 5:30 every morning of his life?

By the time he brought me my cup
of tea, which he did at 9:15,

he would've cleaned the whole
house; and he was so quiet about it,

that in 14 years, he never woke me once.

Not once!

Oh, a neat man, was he, then?

He liked a tidy place. So do I, come to that.

Dandruff. We'll have
to get you something for that.

Afternoon.

You're new here, aren't you?

I've been here for over a year now.
What can I do for you?

You can inform Mrs Blaney

that one of her less successful
exercises in matrimony is here.

- And who shall I say is calling?
- Mr Blaney.

Or if you preferred it,
ex-Squadron Leader Blaney,

late of the RAF
and Mrs Blaney's matrimonial bed.

I see. Is Mrs Blaney expecting you?

She must be. Everybody expects a
bad penny to turn up sooner or later.

Mrs Blaney, there's a Mr Blaney to see you.

Mr Blaney? Send him in, please, Monica.

- Hello, Brenda.
- Hello, Richard.

What are you doing here?

I just thought I'd call around.

- Well, come in. Take a seat.
- Thanks.

It's good to see you.

You too. You look fine.

I'll be with you in a minute.
I've got to finish writing up a few notes.

How is everything, Brenda?

- You making a fortune?
- Things are going very well.

Streets of London full of lonely
hearts beating a path to your door?

That's it.

I'm amazed that in an age where
we nearly all think marriage is hell

- that you can find any clients.
- If you've just come to insult me -

- I'm not insulting you!
- Please lower your voice.

Why? I don't care if Vinegar Joe
out there does hear me.

Why don't you get her
married off, by the way?

Preferably to a 700-pound Japanese wrestler.

That should iron out some
of her creases a little.

Monica, dear, it's nearly 4:30.

Why don't you take
the rest of the afternoon off?

I'm sure there's some shopping
you'd like to do.

Well, thank you, Mrs Blaney,
if you're sure you don't need me.

I'm quite sure, thank you. Good night.

Why do you always come
to see me when you're drunk?

I don't always come
to see you when I'm drunk.

I don't always come to see you.
I haven't seen you for over a year.

You were half seas over then,
and violent.

- I'm not going through that again.
- Me violent?

Don't be bloody ridiculous.

Would I raise a hand
to the goddess of love?

What Brenda Blaney brings together
let no man put asunder!

I didn't say you were violent to me.

But you certainly acted the fool
and threw the furniture about a bit.

Just look at the state you're in!

- Really!
- Oh, leave me alone.

Bachelors are supposed
to be untidy, aren't they?

Isn't tidiness most women's dowry,
or don't you preach that here?

Oh, we are bitter today.

- What's the matter?
- I'm sorry.

I had a bad day, that's all. I lost my job.

How?

I got fired, that's how.
What do you think, I mislaid it?

For pinching a glass of brandy.

My employer thought I wasn't going
to put the money in the till.

Till?

I was working,
until this morning, as a barman.

And I was given a very good horse
by a friend of mine, one Bob Rusk.

It came in at twenty to one, and
I didn't have enough cash to back it.

I'm sorry.

Well, these things always go in threes.

I wonder what the rest of the day
has in store.

Dinner with me, I hope.

That, of course, would be delightful, but -

I mean, of course, on me. We'll go to my club.

But I must finish these letters first.

Here's the address, in case you've forgotten it.

How will it be if we meet there
'round about 7:30?

Fine.

Thanks for a lovely evening.
It was great. I mean that.

Thanks for joining me.

It was a damn sight better
than the leftovers at The Globe,

not that I'm in for more of those.

You ought to get married again, Richard.

Oh, no. You ought to know I'm no
good at it. How long did we have?

- Nine years, was it?
- Ten.

Ah, ten years. It was a good job
you got out when you did.

I don't know. I suppose I was lucky
the agency worked out for me.

You mean, you're lucky
you haven't had to rely on me.

- I didn't say that.
- But you meant it.

I suppose some people are good
at organisation and others aren't.

- That's all I meant.
- And I'm not, I suppose.

Rubbish! You know what filthy luck I had.

Was it my fault that the roadhouse didn't go?

- It was OK before the motorway.
- I know.

Was it my fault the council
tore down the riding stables?

I know. I know life can be very unfair.

But you never used to be sorry for yourself.

Where's the Richard Blaney I married?

Richard Blaney, DFC.
Do you remember the citation?

"For inspiring leadership, skill,

and tenacity of purpose. '

You divorced him.
That's what happened to him.

Tell me, what sort of skill do
you need to deal with shopkeepers

- and interfering bureaucrats?
- Shh. Everyone's listening.

Let them. I'll bet they've never had
to tear down their own livelihood.

It's alright for you. You just go
and build it up somewhere else.

You're like that. You're good at business.

I'll bet they're all good at business here.

I'll bet you're making a fortune
out of that agency.

And why not?
If you can't make love, sell it.

The respectable kind, of course.
The married kind!

Now look what you've done.

- Oh, sir. Let me help you.
- Leave me alone!

I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.

Come on. We'd better go.

Will you be alright?

You did say you hadn't
enough money to put on that horse.

Don't worry.
You've done enough for one day.

- You had a coat too, didn't you?
- Yeah. That one there.

Mine's the pink one.

No, no, no. That's not allowed.

Rules of the club.

Thank you.

It's alright, Richard.
I've got it here. Thank you.

So, this is it, huh?

Can I come in?
I'd like to see where you live.

Go along now. Run along home. It's late.

- You call this late?
- It's late enough for a working girl.

Come on, Brenda. I won't be long, I promise.

Alright, but only for a few minutes, mind.

OK, thanks. I won't need you.

It just fell out of your pocket
onto the floor.

And I was just putting it back...
when you were asleep.

It sort of jerked out like on the floor.

I was putting 'em in quiet like
so as not to waken you.

Keep your hands out of my pockets,
or I'll break your arms!

Honestly, there's nothing I detest
more than someone taking liberties

with a fine gentleman like yourself.

Oh, it's you again, Mr Robinson.

Yes, I'm afraid so.

I'm having my lunch just now.

If you want an appointment,
perhaps you'd see my secretary.

- By the way, how did you get in?
- No problem, really.

Just a question of using your head.

I waited in the courtyard
'til I saw her go out to lunch.

- It all seems a bit elaborate.
- Yeah, perhaps, but -

You're the one I wanted to see.

I thought I'd already explained
to you that we cannot help you.

Oh, come on now. I know that you
can be most helpful, when you try.

Look, Mr Robinson,
you want women of a specific type.

How shall I put it?

Certain peculiarities appeal to you,

and you need women to submit to them.

Here we have, I'm afraid,
a very normal clientele.

As I say, we can do nothing for you.

Now if you'll kindly let me
get on with my lunch.

I don't think you're really
trying your best for me.

I mean, if you can fix up a lot
of idiots, then why not me? Hmm?

I've explained. You're different.

How so?

I have my good points.

I like flowers,

and... fruit.

People like me.

I've got things to give.

I'm sorry.

I thought matrimonial agencies were
supposed to bring people together?

Not people like you.

Somehow I don't think
our clients would appreciate

your conception of a loving relationship.

I get on with all sorts of people.

Good. Then you don't need us.

- There are other marriage agencies.
- Then go elsewhere.

Not that any reputable agency
would service you.

I've been elsewhere.

But... this one, for me, is the best...

because... I like you.

You're... my type of woman.

- Don't be ridiculous.
- I'm serious.

I respect a woman like you,

and I know how to treat you as well.

You know, in my trade we have a saying.

We put it on the fruit.

"Don't squeeze the goods 'til they're yours."

Now, that's me.

I would never do that.

You know that, don't you?

Excuse me. I've just remembered
a call I've got to make.

There's no need to call the police.

What made you think
I was going to call the police?

Just intuition, I suppose.

Oh! English?

Yeah, of course it is.

That's a very frugal lunch
you've got there.

Frugal...

and mean.

Certainly not enough to support
a lady with your opulent figure.

Rather too opulent, I'm afraid,
these days; hence the frugality.

Why don't you come out and have
a slap-up lunch with me?

I really can't leave the office just now.

- I'd buy you the best lunch in town.
- No, I c-

Alright. It's a deal.

You mean it?
You'll come and have lunch with me?

Of course.

Just let me wash my hands. Aah!

- I thought we were going to lunch.
- Yes, of course we're going to lunch.

Afterwards.

Aah!

Alright. I know what you want, but not here.

- Let's go back to my place.
- But this is your place.

You've got nothing to worry about here.

- My secretary may come back soon.
- Really?

How long do you give her
to eat her frugal lunch?

Fifteen minutes. She may be here any minute.

The outside door is locked.

She's got her own key.

I don't believe you.

Do you know what happens
to wicked girls who tell wicked lies?

Don't worry. Don't worry.

You've got nothing to worry about.

Agh!

Leave me alone. Please!

T-Take the money out of my bag,

but please, leave me alone.

In my bag there's enough money to
buy any woman you want. It's yours.

Take it! Just take it!

I don't buy women.
It's you I want. You're my type.

You are. Yes.

You are my type of woman.

L-Let me answer the telephone.

If you don't,
the caller will come here in person.

I told you, I locked the outer door.
We won't be disturbed.

Oh, God!

Leave me alone.

Alright. Alright, I won't struggle.

But I like you to struggle.
A lot of women like to struggle.

Please, don't tear my dress.

I'll take it off if you like.

Lovely.

Lovely.

Lovely.

Thou shall not be afraid
for the terror by night.

Lovely.

Nor for the arrow which flieth by day.

Lovely.

Nor for the pestilence
which walketh in darkness.

Lovely!

Nor for the destruction
that wasteth at noonday.

Lovely.

He shall give His angels charge over thee,
to guard thee in all thy ways.

Lovely!

Lovely!

Lovely!

Lovely!

Lovely.

You... bitch!

Women! They're all the same.

They are.

I'll show you.

My God! The tie!

Dear Jesus, help me. Help me.

Hello?

Anyone there?

Brenda, it's Richard.

Hello.

Hello, Globe?
May I speak to Barbara Milligan?

Is that you, Blaney?
Listen, you've got a bloody nerve

ringin' up here in my busiest time.

I don't know where she is.
She's probably in the other bar.

I most certainly will not nip 'round
and fetch her. She's busy.

- Hello, Dickie. Is that you?
- Hurry up. It's not a singles club.

- Here, guv. Give us a pint.
- Yeah?

I'm fine. How are you?

I'm OK. Look, I need my things,

but I don't particularly fancy
meeting Forsythe.

Do you think you could put 'em in
my bag and meet me this afternoon?

Are you sure?
I don't want to mess things up for you.

Don't worry. It's my half day today.
Where shall I meet you?

I'll be opposite the Leicester Square
Odeon, 4:00. OK?

OK, at 4:00. I've gotta run now. Bye.

Don't start lending him money.
You'll never get it back.

Mind your own business.

- He's no good for you, Babs.
- And you are?

Hey, guv! Take a whiff of this!

How far from here was the place
you had lunch, Miss Barling?

About five or ten minutes.

Good afternoon, sir.

Good afternoon, one and all.
This is Miss Barling, sir.

- Would you do the honours?
- Certainly, sir.

The murdered woman is a Mrs Brenda Blaney.

She ran this business, and was found
by her secretary, Miss Barling,

on her return from lunch
at approximately 2:00, sir.

- Afternoon.
- Afternoon, sir.

- Has Miss Barling any ideas?
- She certainly has.

She says she saw
the murdered woman's ex-husband

leaving the building
just as she came back, sir.

I saw him clear as day.
It was Blaney, alright.

He came out of the door downstairs
and walked down the alley.

The beast!

I'm sorry, Miss Barling. I must press you.

Are you sure it was Mr Blaney?

Absolutely! I'd know him anywhere.

He came here yesterday afternoon,
and was perfectly horrid.

He'd been drinking
and insisted on seeing Mrs Blaney.

- And did he see her?
- Yes. She'd never turn anyone away.

- What happened?
- Oh, I don't know.

They started having a row
almost immediately.

Mrs Blaney came out and said I might go.

Quite naturally I didn't want
to embarrass her, so I left.

I couldn't help overhearing that
Mr Blaney was becoming very violent,

both in his language and his behaviour.

- Did he strike Mrs Blaney?
- Yes, I think so.

- There was the sound of a blow.
- I see.

Miss Barling, could you
describe Mr Blaney for us?

What he looked like,
what he was wearing and so on.

Yes, I think I can.

He was a man in his thirties,
about an inch or so under six foot tall.

He had dark hair, green eyes and a moustache.

I estimate his weight at about 155 pounds.

He was wearing a rather old-fashioned jacket

with leather patches
on the shoulders and elbows.

In my opinion, it was
quite unsuitable for London.

He was also carrying a raincoat.

That's an extraordinarily
precise description, Miss Barling.

In my job I've learned to keep
a sharp eye on men, Inspector.

Excuse me.

I found this handbag on the desk,
and there's no sign of any money.

That doesn't make sense.

I cashed a cheque for 50 pounds
for her yesterday lunchtime.

It makes perfect sense to me.
Where does she put her money in this bag?

- Sometimes she zips it in the pocket.
- Mmm.

Have this face powder identified,
will you, Sergeant?

There might be some on the stolen money.
We might be lucky.

Alright, sir.

What about fingerprints?

With all the clowns who come
in here, there'll be dozens.

Coburg Hotel, Bayswater.

Hey, wait a moment.
How can you afford a hotel?

- I'll tell you later.
- OK.

- So, what you been up to, Dick?
- Well, last night

I allowed myself to be pampered
at a Salvation Army hostel.

I tell you, after mixing
with some of the types in there,

one's clothing needs fumigation.

- Smell that.
- Whew!

- You mean you slept there?
- Yeah... spasmodically.

- What? With all the old men?
- Yes, that's it.

We had a high old time.
The conversation was mature,

the Red Biddy flowed down
the odd throats,

and the good fellowship
of the open road prevailed.

- Red Biddy. What's that?
- Blended red wine.

Half vino, half metholated spirits.

- But why, Dick?
- Reasonable terms for bachelors.

- Thirty pence a night, in fact.
- I don't understand.

How can you afford the Coburg?

Well, I managed to get some money.

- Since last night?
- Yeah.

- I, uh, I collected an old debt.
- That was lucky.

Yeah.

OK.

Oooh!

Thank you.

- Double room, please.
- What are you up to? Not here!

- Ssh.
- Would that be with two singles,

or the, uh, matrimonial-size bed?

The mat... Double bed.

- Please.
- Yes. I see.

Three-two-two should suit you.
The Cupid Room.

- Really?
- Yes. It's very cozy.

- If you'll just sign the register.
- Yes, of course.

Mr and Mrs Oscar Wilde.

- Now, look here, Dick Blaney!
- Oscar, if you don't mind.

- Will you stop playing games!
- Excuse me.

That'll be ten pounds,
plus service charge of two pounds.

Perhaps you'd care to settle now?

- There we are.
- Thank you.

- Room, please?
- Three-two-two, Bertie.

Follow me, please.

You've got 322. That's nice.

Yes. The Cupid Room, I think she called it.

Love's little arrows have struck quite
a few hearts in there, I can tell you.

Oh, yeah.

Can I get you anything
from the pharmacy, sir?

No, thank you.

- Ta.
- Thank you, sir.

- Hey!
- Sir?

Hang on. Can you send this
to the cleaners for me?

- Certainly, sir.
- And this. Tell them that it's urgent.

And, uh, might as well take
the other half as well.

Tell them that I want them sprayed.

Sprayed, sir? With what?

- DDT, my good man. What else?
- Sir?

Death to the lurking roach, porter.
Confusion to the insidious louse.

- Get 'em cleaned and pressed, eh?
- Yes, sir.

Oh, dear!

Hey, Glad, take a look at this.

Oh! Oh, that poor woman.

It's the jacket I'm talkin' about.
The jacket! See what it says?

"The police want to interview a man
seen leaving the matrimonial agency

about the time of the murder."

"When last seen he was wearing
a tweed jacket with leather patches

on the shoulders and elbows
and carrying a raincoat. '

- What an odd way to patch a jacket.
- It's meant to be like that!

The party in 322 was wearin' it.

Do you mean... Do you mean Mr Oscar Wilde?

That's not his real name, silly.
Oscar Wilde, indeed!

He's the fellow the police are looking for.

Don't you see? He's the necktie murderer.

And we've got him upstairs
at this very minute!

Oh, dear! I only hope that girl isn't
wearing a necktie right now.

I can't believe it! Not in the Cupid Room!

You know, Glad, sometimes just
thinkin' about the lusts of men

makes me want to heave.

Hello. Will you give me the police, please?

Hello, police? I'm the porter
of the Coburg Hotel, Bayswater.

Could you come at once?
I've got this fellow you're looking for here.

You know, the necktie murderer?

He came here with a girl.

Come away, Glad.
You're not to do anything suspicious.

Open up!

Open up! Police!

They must've gone down the back stairs.

But I ask you, in all conscience,

is it likely I would murder a woman
I'd been married to for ten years?

If it was true, it would be horrible.

And rape her... after ten years of marriage?
Violently rape her?

I don't know. Perhaps you was jealous of her.

- Of Brenda? Oh, come off it.
- I didn't know Brenda. It's possible.

Maybe you wanted to get rid of her.

But I had got rid of her.

We were divorced, remember.
We had been for two years.

There was no question of alimony.
She earned far more than me.

You got that money from her, didn't you?
You never collected a debt.

Well, yes, I did.

But she gave it to me the night
before when we had dinner.

- Twenty pounds.
- Why lie about it, then?

I suppose I was ashamed
to admit it, that's all.

That makes sense, I suppose.

But if Brenda gave you that money,
why'd you sleep in the doss house?

You could've afforded a hotel.
I didn't realise that I had it.

She slipped it into the pocket of my raincoat.

Oh, go on, Dick. Why don't you pull
the other one? It's got bells on it.

But it's true! I suppose
she didn't want to embarrass me.

You've got to admit, it is pretty tall.

Not as tall as me sleeping in a doss
house with 20 quid in my pocket!

If I knew I had it,
I'd never have gone there, would I?

- Maybe.
- Maybe! You smelled that jacket!

Would you sleep there if you didn't have to?

It wasn't that bad, that jacket.

I still think it's a bit suspicious,
your sending it to the cleaners.

Suspicious of what?

In them sex cases,
they always do a lab test on the clothes.

It stank to high heaven!

That's why. You know it did.

Barbara, I swear I'm telling the truth.

Do I look like a sex murderer to you?

Can you imagine me creeping around,
strangling women with ties?

That's ridiculous. For a start, I only own two.

Well, it's true. That jacket was a bit smelly.

And if you had known about the money,

you wouldn't have stayed
with old men like that.

Then you believe me?

Thousands wouldn't.

Thanks.

I must be soft in the head
lettin' a suspected strangler

put his arms around me.

- Shows you trust me.
- I suppose so.

Hey, what we gonna do?
The police will be looking for you!

I don't know. I haven't thought yet.

There's only one thing you can do.
Tell them what happened, like you told me.

- No, I can't do that.
- You've got to!

- They'd never believe me.
- Why not? I did.

You're not the law.
I'm probably their only suspect.

You have to go along and persuade
them to search for someone else.

I mean, one look at you and they'd
know you wasn't a sadistic killer.

- Blaney!
- Come on!

Dicko!

Haven't done any of this
cloak-and-dagger stuff since the Suez business.

That's when I first met Dicko,
in the squadron, you know.

He was a bit of
a split-assed type then too.

Hetty, you remember Dicko, don't you?

Of course. Come in.

- This is Miss Milligan.
- Hello, Miss Milligan.

- Pleased to meet you.
- I bumped into them in the park.

How fortunate!
We haven't seen you in ages, Dick.

How's Brenda? Do you still hear from her?

Well, uh, she's dead... I'm afraid.

- Yes... and you killed her!
- Steady on, Hetty. He didn't do it.

- He's just been telling me all about it.
- Has he, now?

See, he was seen near the place
where Brenda was murdered.

So the police think he's the strangler chap.
But he's not, of course.

All he wants is a place to hide out.

And you suggested he should stay here.

Well, yes. It seemed a good idea.

Nobody ever knows who's staying here.

You're a bloody fool, Johnny,
getting yourself involved like this.

- But he didn't do it.
- Of course he did it!

- What, old Dicko?
- Yes, Dicko, the chivalrous knight!

He always treated her like a chit!

I think you're absolutely wrong.

Don't you remember that
disgusting divorce petition?

The things you did to her!

- Divorce petition?
- Oh, didn't he tell you?

He was divorced from his wife
on the grounds of extreme cruelty.

Thank you very much.

Well, is it true?

Yes!

Both extreme mental and physical cruelty.

Depravity was mentioned, I think.

It had to read that way,
but there wasn't a word of truth in it!

The lawyers made it all up.

We didn't want to wait three years
for a divorce based on desertion,

so I allowed her to divorce me
on the grounds of cruelty.

Extreme cruelty.

I wonder if the police have read a copy of it.

My God!

Yes, I'm sure they'll be fascinated.

- He's innocent, I know he is.
- You know it? How do you know it?

As you say, they'd been divorced.
He had no call to do her in.

There's no spiteful act
I'd put past old Dicko here,

especially if he were drunk.

Were you drunk when you did it?
Was that it?

I didn't do it, Hetty.

I didn't do it! I swear!

Then why don't you go to the police
instead of involving Johnny?

I didn't want to involve him. He insisted.

That's right, I did.
Can't abandon a chap in trouble.

I still say, why don't you go
to the police and inform them?

They'd never believe him, that's why.

He's the only suspect they've got,
and with the evidence against him,

they'd lock him up without
so much as a by-your-leave.

Please hide him, Mrs Porter, just for tonight,

until we can think what's best to do.

'Course we'll hide him.
Can't throw an old comrade to the cops.

Well, if you want to be arrested
for harboring a wanted man,

or subverting the course of justice
or whatever,

on your own head be it, Johnny.

But I wash my hands of the matter.

Thank God we're off to Paris tomorrow.
That's all I can say.

That is, if we're not all in jail!
I'm going shopping.

- Perhaps I'd better go.
- Nonsense, old chap.

Don't worry about Hetty.
I'll calm her down. Use the sofa tonight.

I must be off. I'm ever so late already.

- What do you do, Miss Milligan?
- I work in a pub.

- Same place he used to be.
- Really?

Why don't both of you slip out of the
country 'til this thing's blown over?

- Give me a hand at the Bulldog.
- Bulldog?

It's an English pub I've opened in Paris.
They're the new thing there.

That's a great idea. Why don't we?

Not likely. I never was any good at French.

You don't have to be. It's an English pub.

As long as you can say "non,"
you'll be alright.

- Well...
- Come on, Babs.

You don't like the Globe
any more than I did.

Meet me at the flower stall at
Victoria Station tomorrow at 11am.

We can get a day trip to France.
You don't need a passport.

- OK.
- Splendid!

Froggies will roll over and die at
the sight of a real English barmaid.

I must go now, really. You know Forsythe.

Mum's the word, eh?
Don't tell a soul I'm here.

Cross me heart and hope to die.

Thanks for lookin' after him.
Not at all, my dear.

I'll come see you to the lift.

Enjoying that, are you, sir?

Sergeant, my wife is
currently taking a course

at the Continental School
of Gourmet Cooking.

Apparently they don't know the principle:
To eat well in this country,

one must have breakfast
three times a day.

And an English breakfast at that.
I don't mean your caf? complet.

- Beg pardon, sir?
- A cup of coffee half an inch deep,

in floating bits of boiled milk,
and a sweet bun full of air.

- That's what I had this morning.
- I see what you mean, sir.

I'm a... Quaker Oats man, myself.

Excuse me, sir.

This has just come in.
It's the lab report on the ten-pound note

- that Blaney paid the hotel bill with.
- Yes.

As you'll see, the note
bore traces of face powder

identical to that which we found
in Mrs Blaney's handbag.

- Thank you.
- Thank you, sir.

Well, Sergeant, we were in luck after all.

- That just about does it for him.
- Looks very much like it.

I've never run into any of these
jokers before. What are they like?

Oh, they vary, but not a lot.

The thing to remember is they hate
women, and are mostly impotent.

- Impotent?
- Don't mistake rape for potency.

In the latter stage of the disease,

it's the strangling, not the sex,
that brings them on.

Above all, of course, they're sadists.

- You know what they are, I'm sure.
- Oh, yes, sir.

If you don't, read all about it in here:
Mrs Blaney's divorce petition.

It tells you a great deal
about the habits of our hero.

Yeah?

Right. Put him on.
Yes, Chief Inspector Oxford speaking.

My name is Forsythe, Inspector. Felix Forsythe.

I run the Globe Public House, Covent Garden.

I see from the newspaper you're
in charge of these strangling cases.

Yes, that is so.

Good, because I've got
some information to impart.

Now, this man you're looking for,
the one with the patches on his suit.

I know him. He worked here as a barman.

His name is Richard Blaney.
He's a right bastard.

Are you quite certain it's the same man?

Gone off with your barmaid?
What exactly do you mean by "gone off"?

She's been out all night with him
and hasn't yet returned.

I felt it my duty to tell you that
I consider her to be in great danger.

That is, of course,
if she's still alive and kicking.

Thank you for your information, Mr Forsythe.

Tell me, what does this
barmaid of yours look like?

I can set your mind at rest.
She was alive at 8:00 this morning.

8:00 this morning?

Well, where is she now? We opened at 11:00!

But is she coming back here or not?
She's left all her clothes!

I expect she'll turn up.

Today, ladies abandon their honour
more readily than their clothes.

Thank you for your information,
Mr Forsythe. I'll send someone over.

That was Forsythe, manager of
the Globe Pub, Covent Garden.

I tell you what, Jim,
I'm glad I'm not in the potato business.

- Got enough troubles of me own.
- You're not a bad judge, Bob.

The potato business is poison, always was.

It costs a fortune to dig 'em up,
another fortune to transport them.

And what do you have at the end?
Hardly any money for them.

Mostly you can't sell them.

I've got to send a truckload
back up to Lincolnshire tonight.

And what will they do with them?
They'll plow them back in.

Can you beat it?

And they say
there's people hungry in this world.

True, Jim.
And there are a few thirsty as well.

Come on, have one with your Uncle Bob.

Good afternoon!

Where do you think you've been?
Your half-day was yesterday!

You took a hell of a chance,
spending the night with a murderer.

- How do you know what I did?
- Now come off it.

You took his clothes.
You didn't come home. It stands to reason.

- Mind your own bleeding business!
- Don't talk to me like that!

I was worried you might be next.
I even phoned the police.

- Police?
- Yeah. They wanna talk to you.

- They're sending a fella over.
- Why?

Why? Because they want your lover.

They wanna put him where he can't
strangle any more women!

And you'd better help 'em.
The sooner he's behind bars the better.

Don't you talk about him like that!

You don't realise how lucky
you are to be alive!

Christ Almighty, Babs, if I wasn't
shorthanded, I'd take you myself!

- As it is, right after closing time -
- I won't be here!

You can stuff your rotten job
right up your jacksie!

- Come back, you!
- Oh, balls!

Got a place to stay?

- Oh, it's you, Bob.
- Yeah.

- I heard you argue with Forsythe.
- Oh, he's a right bastard.

Of course he is.

You can stay at my place 'til you get
something sorted out... if you want.

I won't be in your way.
I'm going up north for a few days.

- No strings?
- Do I look like that sort of a bloke?

All blokes are that sort of a bloke.

- Are you really goin' away?
- Sure! Tonight.

You can have the place to yourself.
I'll take you there now.

If you like, I'll go back to the Globe
and pick up your stuff for you.

Now, I can't say fairer than that, can I?

Oh, thanks, Bob. I'll just stay
the one night if you don't mind.

- Suit yourself
- Tomorrow, I'm gonna go to, um...

I'm going to my sister in Southall.

Leaving your boyfriend
in the lurch a bit, aren't you?

He has to make up
his own mind what to do.

I'd like to help him if I could.
Where's he hiding out?

- Can't tell you, Bob. I promised.
- Ohh!

Come on, Babs. Dick and me have
always been mates. You know that.

I can't.

Alright. Keep your little secret.

Changing jobs can be a blessing in disguise.
It gets you out of a rut.

A girl like you ought to travel,
see the world a bit.

The Cape, California, Jaffa.
Where the fruit comes from,

that's where I'd like to go
if I wasn't tied down here.

But you, you can do as you please!

You've got the whole
of your life ahead of you.

Here we are. I'm on the second floor.

I don't know if you know it, Babs,

but you're my type of woman.

- Is that you, Tim?
- Hello, dear.

- Hungry?
- Yes!

Good. I'll bring it right in.

It's a soupe de poisson, dear.

- I know you'll enjoy it.
- I have no doubt of it.

Don't wait for me. I'm just going
to see to the next course.

Well... what's new in the case?
Any sensational breaks?

No. I'll be glad when we get
Mr Richard Blaney inside, though.

Any idea where he is?

No, our only lead to him
left her job this morning.

- I don't know where she is either.
- You're certain he's the one?

Oh, yes, he's... the one, alright.

There's not even the complication
of another suspect.

It has to be him.

We have him identified as leaving
the matrimonial agency

at the time his ex was killed.

We have the clothes which he sent
off to the cleaners in a hurry.

And we have the evidence of the face powder

and the Salvation Army hostel.

I don't follow you, my dear.

I didn't think the Salvation Army
girls used makeup.

No, Blaney slept in a Salvation Army
hostel the night before last.

- Did he, dear?
- Yes.

He was incautious enough
to tell them his name.

I don't think an ex-RAF officer
would sleep in such a place

- unless he was broke, do you?
- No, I don't.

So, let's assume he was.

Last night, however, he slept in the...

Coburg Hotel in Bayswater,

and paid for his extremely expensive
room with a ten-pound note.

The note bore traces
of Mrs Blaney's face powder.

I mean, the murderer
not only strangled Mrs Blaney,

he stole money from her handbag as well.

Ergo... Blaney is the thief
and also the murderer.

That ties it up then.

Well, I think so.

And furthermore, there is a waitress

at Mrs Blaney's club who can also testify

to Blaney's aggressive behaviour
towards his wife the previous night.

He doesn't seem to have been
very discreet, does he?

No. Discretion is not traditionally
the strong suit of the psychopath.

Believe me, that's what we're dealing with.

You ought to read his wife's divorce...
petition.

What exactly is in this soup?

Why? Don't you like it?

Mmm! It's delicious.

But I find the...

ingredients somewhat mystifying.

They're smelts, ling,

conger eel, John Dory,

pilchards and frog fish.

Now, since that must've been
fairly satisfying,

I thought a simple
roast bird would be enough.

Caille aux raisins.

Hmm?

Quail with... grapes.

Ahh!

- I must say, I'm very worried.
- About Mr Blaney?

Yes. He's gone off with a barmaid
he used to work with.

I think she's in very great danger.

You're wrong, Tim. Absolutely wrong.

It can't be this fellow.

How long did you say he was married?

Ten years.

Well... there you are.

A crime de passion after all that time?

Look at us. We've only been married
eight years,

and you can hardly keep
your eyes open at night.

That's as may be,
but I don't knock you about,

or make you do degrading things.

No, the evidence speaks for itself.

You can't make normal judgments
about psychopathic killers.

They can be triggered off at any time.

We've got to find him before his...
appetite is whetted again.

Christ all-bloody-mighty!

See you, mate.

You bitch! Where's that bloody pin?

Hey, you're spilling your load!

- What?
- The potatoes are falling on the road.

Hey, do you see what I see?

- Here, what's wrong... Who is it?
- Perhaps you can tell us.

- Wake up!
- What?

- Get out of here!
- What is it?

Brenda wasn't enough for you.
You had to kill another girl too!

- What girl?
- That girl you were with yesterday.

- Babs?
- As if you didn't know.

You strangled her like all the others!

She's been strangled?

Don't you playact with me.
Get up and get out of here.

I'd call the police myself if I knew
how to without getting involved.

I don't believe it. I just don't believe it.

It's true, Dicko. It just came over on the radio.

They found her in a potato truck
in Lincolnshire.

The fellow at the pub
where you worked identified her.

He knows where they found her.
He put her there!

What are you talking about?
I haven't left this room all night.

Liar. I don't believe you.

It doesn't matter whether
you believe him or not,

because it said on the radio she had
been dead for at least 12 hours

when they found her at 3:00 this morning.

She must've been killed
before 3:00 yesterday afternoon.

Dick was with us from the time
she left to the time we went to bed.

So he couldn't have done it.

- Poor kid.
- I still don't believe it.

They're only guessing when she was killed.

We didn't go to bed 'til 11:00,
and Dick was here with us then.

They can't be eight hours adrift. Dicko?

Don't you see? You're in the clear!
We can give you an alibi.

Yes. Yes, I suppose you can.

There's no supposing. We'll simply
tell the police you were here with us.

Would you do that? Would you do it
now before you go away?

- Of course I would. Delighted.
- You'll do no such thing!

Not unless you want to go to jail
for harboring a wanted man.

- But he's not a criminal.
- The police think he is!

And they have a lot of evidence against him.

We know he didn't kill her.
We must tell them he was with us.

But we don't know he didn't kill Miss Milligan!

For all we know the time given
on the radio might've been a trap.

What is certain, if you go to the police,

they will probably charge you with
being an accessory after the fact.

And they certainly
won't allow us to go abroad,

and they will probably put us in jail.

Well, Hetty's right, dammit.
You can see that, Dicko, can't you?

You mean you won't come
to the police with me?

- How can I? You heard Hetty.
- You're my only alibi!

I'm sorry. I've got to get to Paris today.
I can't afford to be kept here.

But you can afford to stand by
and see me go to jail for life!

- Is that it?
- It's not as bad as that.

I mean, they'll find this strangler chappie.

Of all the cowardly shits!

It's "I'm alright Jack,
and haul up the ladder," isn't it?

You pair of bastards!

If that's how you feel after all we've
done for you, you better had go!

I'll call the manager.

And involve yourself? Don't worry, I'm going.

I'm a little choosy with whom
I spend my last hours of freedom.

Look, I'm sorry. I'd suggest that you
came to Paris and worked in a pub,

but they're watching all the ports
and stations. It said so on the news.

Well, that lets you out then, doesn't it?

Your responsibility for me ends here.

Clear this area, please. Thank you, madam.
Stand back, please.

Looks as though we've got half
the law in London in the market.

Yeah. It makes it very difficult
to give short weight.

I suppose they're trying to find out

if anybody saw Blaney put
Babs on that potato truck.

- You think he did it, do you?
- It stands to reason, doesn't it?

Why? Don't you?

I'm not as eager as some
to turn on my old mates.

What are you talkin' about?
Blaney wasn't a mate of mine.

- I had to sack him for stealin'.
- Get off.

Yeah, Blaney was a thief, right bastard.

I even told that Chief Inspector,
but he didn't believe a word, did he?

I expect he's laughing
on the other side of his face now.

- You reckon?
- Yeah, definitely, definitely.

He wasn't so cocky
when I saw him at 7:00 this morning.

I've just been down
to Scotland Yard to identify her.

From photos. They took 'em
and they rushed 'em down special.

- She wasn't a pretty sight.
- Some people have all the luck.

Yeah. I better get a move on.

Business will be pretty brisk today.
You know how morbid people are.

Absolutely! Jumping up to identify
dead girls at all hours of the night.

See you later.

My God, Dick!

Whatcha doin' here?

I'm sorry, Bob,
but I had nowhere else to go.

The people I was staying
with left for Paris this morning.

I wouldn't have come, but you did
say if I needed anything, anytime...

Yes, of course! But you took a hell
of a chance coming here today.

The whole place is teeming with coppers.
Wait a minute.

You'd better hole up in my place for
a day or two 'til we sort something.

Yes. I thought maybe if you had the room.

I know it's a hell of an imposition
getting you involved and everything.

You've got to believe me.
I haven't murdered anyone!

This whole business is insane! You know me.

- I wouldn't do anything like this.
- Of course you wouldn't. No.

The police, as usual, have got
the whole thing arse about face.

I mean, these sort of killings
always boggle the mind.

That man must be a sexual maniac.

Mind you, there are some women
who ask for everything they get.

But you? Don't make me laugh.
You're not the type.

Now... don't worry.

You've done the right thing
coming to your Uncle Bob.

Right. Well, let's get over to
my place. You know where it is?

- Yeah.
- I'll go first, and I'll take the bag.

- Then you'll be less conspicuous.
- OK.

You follow, but go the long way.
Go down to the Strand, you know.

And then work your way up
Southampton Street. OK?

Yeah.

Well done, boy! Come in.

Make yourself comfortable.

- Very cozy.
- Yes, well, it's my little nest.

You know, my home.

The place where when you have
to go there, they have to take you in.

That's what my ol' mum used to say.
You met my mum, didn't you?

- Yes.
- Ah, great old lady.

- I'm off to the shop. See you later!
- Yeah, sure.

There's something to eat in the kitchen.
The booze is here.

So get on with it, right?

Bob, I'm really grateful for all this.
You know that.

I told you, think nothing of it.

Hey, do me a favour, will you?

- Keep away from the windows.
- Yes, of course. Sorry.

Ta-ta.

Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Are you Richard lan Blaney?

- Yes. What is this?
- You're under arrest.

Come quietly, and you won't get hurt.

- Is this necessary?
- We're careful with you bastards.

- Is this your bag?
- Yes.

- Thank you for your help, Mr Rusk.
- Anything to oblige, Sarge.

No reward, I'm afraid.
Better luck next time, eh?

You know what they say.
"Virtue is its own reward."

I... Well, if you want any more help,
I'll be in my shop.

Alright. We know where you are.

How's that kid of yours
gettin' on with the violin?

- Richard lan Blaney?
- Yes.

As the result of my inquiries,
you'll be detained in connection

with the willful murders
of Brenda Margaret Blaney,

Barbara Jane Milligan and others.

You're not obliged to say anything
unless you wish.

Anything you do say will be
taken down in writing

and may be used in evidence.

Mr Oxford, could you
spare a second over here?

Rusk. It's Rusk!

Hold him back. Where was this found?

- Over at Henrietta Street.
- Any identification?

"Miss Barbara Milligan, Globe Public House."

"Covent Garden, London, WC2."

Are you agreed upon your verdict?

We are.

Do you find the prisoner, Richard lan Blaney,

guilty or not guilty of the murder of Brenda...

... lan Blaney,

you have been found guilty
of a terrible crime.

On its ghastly and wicked
nature I will not dwell.

I only tell you that you must
entertain no expectation or hope

that you will escape the consequences of it.

The sentence of this court is that you
serve a term of life imprisonment,

for not less than 25 years.

Rusk did it! I told you all along!

Rusk!

I keep telling you. Rusk, where are you?

One of these days, you bastard!

Rusk, where are you? Rusk?

One of these days, I'm gonna get out
and kill you, you bastard!

I've got nothing to lose now!

I might as well do
what I'm being locked away for!

You remember that! You remember that!

Rusk did it.

Rusk did it. I've told you all along!

Rusk? Rusk, where are you?

One of these days I'm gonna get out
and kill you, you bastard!

I've got nothing to lose now.

I might as well do what I'm being
put away for.

You remember that! You remember that!

- Do you see the sign, Hartletts?
- Yes, sir.

It's the fair-haired chap
in the brown suit underneath it.

- Did you see him?
- Yes, I did.

We'll go around once again,
and I want a good, close mug shot.

Yes, Inspector, I remember him well.

He came here on two or three occasions.

Every business has its own
special cross to bear, I suppose.

- And yours is men like this?
- That is so.

Most of them are easy enough to get
rid of, but Mr Robinson here

was particularly insistent.

- He wouldn't take no for an answer.
- Mr Robinson?

Yes, that is the man's name.

Here we are.

Mr William Robinson.

You see, Inspector, he wanted us to
find women for him who enjoyed,

well... certain peculiarities.

Who were sexual masochists?
Who enjoyed being hurt?

- That sort of thing?
- Quite.

Perhaps you'd better see it for yourself.

Naturally we told him we couldn't oblige,
but he kept coming back.

Is it likely, do you think,

that if Mr Robinson couldn't get
what he wanted from your agency,

- he would go to others?
- Oh, yes, very likely.

Men like this leave no stone unturned

in their search for their
disgusting gratifications.

Excuse me, Inspector.

Do you have any special reason
for seeing Mr Robinson?

Yes, Miss Barling. And I'd like you
to keep my visit confidential.

Of course.

Get the doctor quick.
Looks like an ambulance job.

I told you it wasn't Blaney, didn't I?

I told you you were on the wrong track.

A woman's intuition is worth more
than all those laboratories.

I can't think why you don't
teach it in police colleges.

So you think it's Rusk, do you?
You think he's our man?

Well, of course. Anyone can see that.

He knew both Mrs Blaney

- and that Barbara what's-her-name.
- Yes.

Well, there you are.

You told me the man's a sexual pervert.

That's why he kept the clothes
and put them in Mr Blaney's case.

We have no proof of that.

It stands to reason.

Don't you mean intuition?

What does your intuition tell you
I want for dinner tonight?

Steak and a baked potato.

But you're getting
pied de porc ? la mode de Caens.

- It looks like a pig's foot!
- That's what it is.

I put it in the same sauce
the French use for tripe.

That's comforting.

Well, when are you going to arrest

this Mr Robinson, or Rusk,
or whatever he's called?

When I have the proof I need.

- It takes longer than intuition.
- When will you have it?

In a few minutes I hope, dear.

Really?

You old slyboots. Tell.

Well...

we know that if Rusk is the murderer,

he traveled up in a potato truck
with his victim.

How do we know that?

Did you ever hear of a corpse
that cut itself out of a tied sack?

What would he want to take
the corpse out of the sack for?

Obviously he was looking for something.

How do we know that?

The corpse was deep in rigor mortis.

He had to break the fingers of the
right hand to obtain what they held.

It would be so nice to get back
to plain bread in this house.

What do you think they held?

A locket? A broach? A cross!

It had to be something
that would incriminate him.

Something that he missed
when he put the body on the truck.

A monogrammed handkerchief, perhaps.

Not a cross, I think.

Well...

I don't see why not.

Religious and sexual mania are closely linked.

Anyway, whatever it was, he found it,

which was unlucky for us.

But we did have one piece of good fortune.

The truck driver told us that he
stopped at one place on his journey,

and that was at a pull-in
somewhere out of London.

- A pull-in?
- Hmm.

It's a... cafe frequented by truck drivers, dear.

They serve humble foods
like bacon and egg sandwiches,

sausages and mashed potatoes
and cups of tea and coffee.

How is it so fortunate
that this driver stopped there?

It's not so much that he stopped,

but that he stopped
only once that is important.

The only place our man could've
got out of the truck was at that cafe.

I sent Sergeant Spearman to see

if he could find anyone who
could remember Rusk being there.

I'm expecting him back at any minute.

Well, eat up, dear. You'll want
to be finished by the time he arrives.

Tasty, very tasty.

Not a lot of meat on it, mind.

No sense in gorging, dear.

I'll take mine and eat it while I'm
beating my eggs for the souffl?.

- Good evening, Sergeant.
- Good evening, sir.

- Am I interrupting your dinner?
- No, not at all. Come in.

- Thank you, sir.
- Put your hat and coat on the sofa.

Good evening, Sergeant Spearman.
What would you like to drink?

Good evening, madam. I don't know that I...

Oh, that's alright. You're off duty.

How about a Margarita? It's delicious.

Tequila, triple sec,

fresh lemon juice and... salt
pressed 'round the rim of the glass.

- You'll love it.
- Thank you, madam.

Sergeant Spearman, you are positively
glutinous with self-approbation.

- You might as well speak out.
- Yes, sir.

The woman behind the counter at the cafe

positively identified Rusk
from the photo I showed her

as being a man who was at the cafe
the night the body was discovered.

And that's not all.

- Are you waiting for a drumroll?
- No, sir. Sorry, sir.

The woman also said that Rusk was
dishevelled and very dusty,

and asked to borrow a clothes brush.

This is the brush she lent him, sir.

You see there?

What do you say, Spearman? Potato dust?

Here you are, Sergeant.

Cheers.

- Cheers, madam.
- Did you hear all that?

- Yes, I told you. I knew all the time.
- Quite.

- Get this down to the lab quickly.
- Very good, sir.

It rather looks like we put
the wrong man away this time.

What do you mean "we"? You put him away.

- All right, Spearman, you can go.
- Good night, madam.

You haven't finished your drink.

I'm sorry. I have to get
down to the lab in a hurry.

Good night, Spearman. Good work.

- Very good work.
- Thank you, sir.

Poor Mr Blaney. You've got
to get him out, Tim, immediately.

He's in hospital at the moment.

I'll talk to the assistant
commissioner in the morning

and get the case reopened.

He won't like it, but there's
quite enough evidence for a pardon.

Will they give him any compensation?

I expect they'll give him some money,

but there's no real way
to compensate in cases like these.

Poor man.

I think the least you can do is ask
him 'round for a really good dinner.

Let's see.

It will obviously have
to be something substantial.

I think a Caneton aux cerises.

- What's that?
- Duckling...

with heavy sweet cherry sauce.

After that jail food he's been having,
I expect he'll eat anything.

Excuse me.

I must see if my souffl?'s started to rise.

Hey! Are the pills working?

- He's sleeping like a baby.
- Do you think we gave him enough?

Christ, mate, he's had half a dozen.

Good. Now I'm off to get that bastard Rusk!

Alright, alright. Let's make sure.

It's now or never!
I'm due back inside tomorrow.

George? George!

Alright, George?

Right, son, better be going.
Mind you do him up good.

Here, take this strip of mica.

You may need it to open his door.

Doctor? Sister?

Get a trolley, nurse.

Sister, there seems to be
no evidence of a cerebral accident.

We'll have to admit him for observation
and then sort him out.

Could he be an epileptic or diabetic?

Not very likely in his sort of job.

We're certainly going to need blood samples.

Sleeping pills!
They've given him all their sleeping pills.

- Good night.
- Good night, sir.

Hello?

Good God! When was this?

Right. What's that?

Yes. Five minutes. I'll wait outside.

I'm off! Blaney's escaped,
and I bet I know where he's gone.

I often wondered whether Blaney
threw himself down those stairs

in a suicide attempt,
or just as a means to get into the hospital.

Now, of course, we have our answer.

No. No!

It's not -

Mr Rusk.

You're not wearing your tie.

I -