Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 6 - It Runs in the Family - full transcript

I've never been one to
put much faith in doctors.

I've got a couple of months,
Emma. Not much more.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

It's as if he suddenly found
a reason to go on with his life.

- So the killer knew she
wouldn't eat it— - It's the sort

of thing that my cousin
Jessica would have thought of.

I want that relationship
terminated— now!

We found him in his bed,
stiff as a board and cold as ice.

- What are you suggesting?
- Poison.

Poison. Oh, good Lord!
And he suspects me.

That old persimmon?
He's too mean to die.



I engaged him myself at the
music hall a few years back.

Oh, that was the sorriest
three weeks of my life.

I don't know which was
worse— The horses or the gin.

Thank you.

Ever think about goin' back
up on the stage yourself, Em?

Me? Sing again?

Oh, this voice isn't what it used to be.
It's got more cracks than an old teapot.

Not to mention the rest of me.

Excuse me, Miss Emma MacGill?

- Yes!
- The same Miss MacGill who played
the Newberry Music Hall...

- the summer of 1943?
- My goodness, you've got...

- a good memory, uh— -
Humphrey Defoe, madam.

Oh, a solicitor. I have to speak to you
immediately, on a matter of grave urgency.

Privately.



- Well, we'll be off, love.
- All right, dear.

Now come on, Pru, tomorrow's
another a workin' day.

Be seein' you, Em.
Good night, love.

Nice meetin' you. Come
on, old girl. Come on.

Come here and sit. Pull
up a chair. Thank you.

Now what's all this
about the old Newberry?

An old friend of yours wishes
to see you again, Miss MacGill...

The 18th Viscount Blackraven.

Oh, go on with you—
Viscount what of who?

You're putting me on.

Perhaps you remember him better
as Lieutenant Geoffrey Constable.

Geoffrey? Geoffrey's a Lord?

And he wants to see
me after all these years.

I've been authorized
to give you this.

Oh, exciting.

- A thousand pounds?
- A gesture. For your time and trouble.

Well, he must be daft. Thinkin' he
has to bribe an old friend to pay a call.

- He was afraid you wouldn't remember.
- Oh, I remember, Mr. Defoe.

I—Oh, yes I do indeed.

And, uh, well, I'd be honored
to pay a call on His Lordship.

- And delighted.
- Good.

9:00 tomorrow
morning, then. All right.

I'll pick you up at
your flat. Very good.

Oh, and Miss MacGill, there's
something you should be aware of.

The urgency of which I spoke.

The viscount is dying. He
has only a short time to live.

I'll have Hoskins
get your luggage.

Oh, uh, I wasn't planning to spent
the night here. But of course you will.

It's all been arranged. Oh.

What's the matter? I-I—I can't
imagine what I was thinking.

I-I mean, it's 40-some-odd
years ago, Mr. Defoe.

I mean, we were barely
kids then— That is to say,

the way Geoffrey remembers me...

Well, I'm not exactly
19 anymore, now am I?

And the viscount
isn't exactly 22.

But if I may be
permitted an observation,

the years have treated
you both very kindly.

Well...

Miss MacGill.

How do you do?
I'm Sybil Constable.

Geoffrey's sister. Oh, I'm
pleased to meet you, I'm sure.

I congratulate you, Humphrey.

I was certain my brother had
sent you on a fool's errand.

Mother! I will not
change my plans.

Derek, I won't put up with this
insolence any longer, nor will your father.

And I am not going to sit
deathwatch for that senile old man...

who can barely
remember what day it is!

Pauline! This is Miss MacGill.
Geoffrey's friend from London.

Oh. How do you do?
Please excuse me.

Derek, wait!

At least tell me where I can reach
you. Don't you understand, Mother?

I don't want to be reached.

- Geoffrey's son?
- Lord, no. Grandnephew.

Pauline's been pampering
him since the day he was born.

As you can see, 19 years of unbridled
indulgence have left their mark.

Humphrey, are you sure we're talking
about the same Geoffrey Constable?

My Geoffrey was so—so
real, so salt of the earth.

He was, and he is.

Sybil and Pauline are
birds of a different breed.

Although Sybil came by it
naturally, Pauline had to learn it.

Before she married
Arthur— that's Geoffrey's

nephew— she was
a baker's daughter,

and the local ladies
have never let her forget it.

Come in?

- Emma.
- Y-Your Lordship.

Lordship? What on earth
kind of greeting is that?

Well, isn't she just
as I described her?

- Indeed.
- Humphrey and I were in Burma together—

Oh, so many years ago.
You remember Burma, Emma?

Oh, yes.

Yeah. Damned war.

Haven't forgiven that
wretched Tojo fellow yet.

Poor old Humphrey!
I—I spent every waking

minute in those jungles
telling him about you.

Kept my sanity. Don't know
what it did to his though.

- If you'll excuse
me— - By all means.

I can't believe this.

Well, no, it's... me, Emma.

Not quite so, uh, so
sprightly, perhaps?

Oh, I wouldn't say that. I think it's
me the parade's passed by, love.

Uh, I mean, Your Lordship.
I don't know what to call you.

Well, how about Geoffrey?
Sit down, sit down.

Mm-hmm.

Humphrey told you
about my, uh... condition?

Oh yes, he told me, but, uh,

I've never been one to put much
faith in doctors. I can tell you...

I've got a couple of months,
Emma. Not much more.

No, it doesn't—doesn't matter.
I've come to terms with it.

But I did want to see you
one more time before I—

I-I should have tried to get
in touch with you before, but—

Anyway, I-I've kept track
of you, over the years.

The music hall—I know
how much you loved it.

And I read about that dreadful business
with Oliver Trumbull and his daughter.

Uh, somehow I always thought
you'd end up marrying him.

Marriage? Me? Oh, no.

- Never fitted into me plans.
- Never?

Now look, Emma,

I asked you down here because I wanted to
tell you about some arrangements I've made.

I've got a little
house in Tuxford,

on the River Trent, and
I'd like you to have it.

I-It comes with a
bit of income too.

A house? Mm-hmm.

Oh, no, I couldn't possibly
accept anything like that.

Please, Emma. You must accept.

Look, I wa— I was
married for 34 years.

A loveless, childless
marriage, arranged by my father.

Oh, she was a good
woman, but, uh—

But nothing about her
did ever... touch my heart...

Perhaps because I'd left it
behind in a music hall in Newberry.

Charming, Arthur? That
woman? Surely you’re joking.

She's not only charming,
she's quite funny as well.

Hmm. I thought she
was common and ill-bred,

and your uncle's
losing all grip on reality.

Oh, damn this tie. Blame
Uncle Geoffrey, darling.

His idea, dressing for dinner. He
really does live in the past, you know.

Oh, do leave him alone,
darling. He can't last much longer.

And then you, my pet,
will be the 19th Viscount

Blackraven, and I shall
expect you to behave as such.

It really does mean that
much to you, doesn't it?

Do you seriously expect me to put up
a plaque at my desk at the bank saying,

"Arthur Constable, Senior
Partner and Local Viscount"?

You're making fun of
me. Well, of course I am.

And I don't suppose
that you even care that

he's giving that woman
the house in Tuxford.

Frankly, I don't. No.

Since my, uh, grandfather
only died a few weeks ago,

poor old Geoffrey's days
as a Viscount are numbered.

At least let him enjoy them.

Oh, good Lord! It's your brother
Johnny with one of his friends.

Well, at least it'll give Miss
MacGill someone to talk to.

Blimey, Johnny. It's
like a bleedin' palace.

Aunt Syb, there's my girl!

Are you here, Humphrey?
What happened? Somebody die?

- Happily, John, your uncle
is reasonably well today.
- Ah.

Say hello to Gwen Petrie.

Gwen, my Aunt Syb,

and Humphrey
Defoe, family solicitor.

- Charmed.
- Humphrey,

perhaps Miss Petrie would like some
refreshment after her long journey.

Yes, of course. May I fix
you something, Miss Petrie?

Oh, I could use a pint,
now that you mention it.

How dare you bring that woman
into this house at a time like this?

That woman? Whatever
do you mean, Aunt Syb?

I mean cheap, obvious!

Speaking of that, I hear she came—
Uncle Geoffrey's music hall queen?

That is another matter
entirely. Look here, Auntie.

I'm here because— Well,
things being as how they are,

I don't want to see myself
get sliced out of the family pie...

when Uncle Geoffrey wanders
off into the great hereafter.

I'm a dancer. Well, actually,
not a real dancer yet.

I'm taking lessons,
four times a week,

And at three quid an hour, it
ain't cheap, I can tell ya that.

Then what? You hope one day to perform
Swan Lake at the Royal Opera House?

Opera? Oh, no, Your Ladyship.

I can't sing, not a lick.

And—And what do you do, Miss
Petrie, when you're not studying?

Do? Oh, you mean,
like a job or something?

Well, I— Gwen is my
personal assistant.

That's right. Anything
Johnny wants done, I do it.

What's the matter, Em?

- Pickled herring.
- Oh, it's ordered especially for you.

Emma and I found this wonderful little
restaurant just off Leicester Square.

Used to gorge ourselves
there every night after the show.

Wonder what
happened to that place?

Oh, they closed it
down soon after you left.

There was a rash of food poisoning
from the, uh, pickled herring,

and I got a touch of
it myself, and haven't

been able to look a
herring in the eye since.

But it was a lovely thought.

Well, please yourself,
old girl. All the more for me.

Hmm? Go ahead.

♪

♪

Th-That's excellent,
Pauline. Thank you.

Now, I think it'd be nice if we
had a song from one of our guests.

How about it, Emma? Me?

Mm-hmm. Oh, no.

Oh, please.

Oh, but I haven't sung in years.

- For me. Like the old days.
- Splendid idea.

I agree. Please, Miss MacGill.

Oh well, all right.
I'll do my best,

but, uh— My pipes
are a bit rusty.

Ta.

♪

♪

That's lovely, Em. But
it's not what I want to hear.

Play—You know, you know.

Oh, Geoffrey, not here.

I-It's so many years ago, I...

- I'm not sure I can remember the words.
- Well, I can.

♪

♪

I would.

I would.

♪

Oh, that woman! Pauline, please.

It's late, and we're both tired.

You actually seemed
to enjoy her! Yes, I did.

And I suppose you think your uncle
also should have married her 40 years ago.

Darling, he's a dying man.

Let him have these last moments. And
let her have that house in Tuxford as well?

God, no, Arthur.

Over my dead body does she
get anything out of this family.

Now. Ever.

I studied voice,
oh, ever so long,

but Mrs. Shaughnessy—
That was my teacher...

She said I had a constricted
larynx, or something like that.

Well, there's lots of
other teachers. I mean,

maybe you should have
engaged somebody else.

I did. This French fella said he
was gonna teach me to breathe.

I said, I know how to breathe, my
good man. If I didn't know how to breathe,

how was it I was talkin' to him
'stead of pushin' up daisies?

Breathe, indeed.

Derek?

Good morning, Aunt Sybil.

I know I look bloody awful.
Well, I don't feel much better.

- Good morning, Uncle John.
- Good morning, Derek.

Care for a spot of coffee,
or something stronger?

Hair of the dog? I'll
settle for a hot shower...

and a warm bed.

I thought you had plans.
Yeah, the lady and I had a tiff.

Well, I see we're all here—
Awaiting the inevitable.

And how is the old boy?

Much better, actually. I've
just examined your uncle, and...

Well, I can't
explain it, actually.

His blood pressure's normal, his
heartbeat regular, his eyes clear...

- Oh, thank the Lord.
- Well, that's one explanation.

I certainly don't
take any credit for it.

It's as if he's suddenly found
a reason to go on with his life.

You mean he's
actually getting better?

Well, if what I just
saw is any indication,

the viscount could go on
living for another 20 years.

Good morning, good morning.

There you are, Em!

My, you look chipper
this morning. Yes, brother.

- I've never seen you better.
- Nor I, and I'm delighted.

Well, I can't spend the rest of my life
rolling around in that wretched chair.

Well, why don't I fix you some
nice scrambled eggs with sausages?

Just coffee for me, Em. I
don't want to spoil my appetite.

Well, you've got to eat
something. Oh, I intend to.

- We're going on a picnic.
- Oh, splendid idea, Uncle Geoffrey.

Emma and I. You scare
up your own entertainment.

- Now, sir, really, I
must insist— - Blandings,

when I want a medical
opinion, I'll ask for it.

Food. That's your department, my
girl. So you hop off to the kitchen.

We don't want to waste
any more of this beautiful day.

No.

Oh, my old dad would rap me
over the knuckles properly, would he.

He'd say to me, "Emma darlin'," he'd say,
"it's unlikely you'll ever become a lady,

but there's no reason you
shouldn't behave like one."

I think I would have liked him.

Oh, you two, you would have
gotten along like bread and cheese.

I-I'm not quite so sure
about the rest of your family.

Ah well, you have to understand, Emma,
that, uh, snobbery runs in the family.

And it's-it's an inherited gene.

Well, Arthur's not
so bad, I suppose.

But easily the best of
the whole bunch was my

old father, Rupert,
the, um, 17th Viscount.

- He died just a few weeks ago,
did I tell you that?
- No!

Yes, good old boy.

He loved good women, good
whiskey, bad cigars and chocolates.

And they finally got to him.

But he was 87
years old at the time.

That's something
for you to aspire to.

Towards the end,
Dr. Blandings tried to keep

all those— those sort
of things away from him.

Had him on boiled
beef and vegetables,

but the old boy still managed
to sneak in a few chocolates...

and some brandy, and had
himself a midnight feast...

long after everybody else
in the house— Oh, go on.

Yeah! Thought he was
tucked up safely in bed.

And then one day, uh— It
was six weeks ago on Sunday...

We found him in his bed, stiff
as a board and cold as ice...

Oh. Mmm, and a half-filled
brandy snifter on the night table,

and, uh, chocolate wrappers
all over the floor. Oh, dear.

Oh, there it is, over
there. There. There.

It is your fault, Humphrey,
for bringing that woman here.

I was merely following
your brother's wishes.

Was it necessary to find her?
You should have shown more sense.

Pauline, must you?
What is done is done.

No, Humphrey, I expect
you to see it's undone.

- I beg your pardon.
- My brother is a hopeless romantic.

If we don't sever this relationship now,
Lord only knows what might happen.

Yes, I should certainly hope so.

I'm grateful to have been able
to arrange this reunion, Sybil.

Very grateful.

You see, many years ago,

I was the one who persuaded Geoffrey not
to return to Miss MacGill after the war.

I have never regretted anything more
in my life than thwarting that romance.

We are all very much
aware it was you...

who smuggled brandy in to our
father Rupert, against doctor's orders.

I saw no harm— When
my brother passes on,

the family will decide whether
or not to retain your services.

I suggest you consider very
carefully just where your loyalties lie.

I want that relationship
terminated. Now!

Nice pickled herring,
just the way you like it.

This is a treat, Em.

Whoo!

Looks lovely and cool.

Now, before we
start— To you, Em,

and to one of the happiest
days I've spent in years.

To even better days.

And you're welcome to
all of that, because I'm just

going to have a nice
peach, and a bit of cheese.

What did you mean by that?
Even— Even better days?

Well, what the doctor said,
about how well you looked.

You've got many good years ahead of
you, Geoffrey. There's no doubt about it.

Well, they could be good years, Em,
if I had someone to share them with.

Know what I'm driving at?

Now don't be silly.
No, I'm not being silly.

I mean, who's gonna
stop us? Family?

Well, the devil with them. No,
we-we've wasted precious years, Em.

Let's not go on making
fools of ourselves—

Geoffrey? Geoffrey, what is it?

Geoffrey!

Oh, I can't, can't breathe...

- We must get you to the doctor.
- Go for help. Go! Now!

Run!

Everything is just the
way we found it, Inspector.

What about the woman that
was with him? Miss MacGill?

Back at Blackraven. I thought it
best she not return to the scene.

And the family? How much
do they know? Oh, nothing yet.

Ironic. Heart attack,

and only this morning he
was feeling so chipper...

I thought he could go
on for another decade.

A heart attack? That's
what you think, Doctor?

- Why, yes, I've— - I want an autopsy
performed as soon as possible.

Inspector, may I
remind you this is...

Was—the Viscount Blackraven...

I don't care if he was
the bleedin' Duke of York.

Sergeant, collect
this food. All of it.

I want a laboratory analysis on
my desk by the end of the day.

- Inspector, surely you don't
suspect— - Doctor, the autopsy.

Inspector Frost.

I'm Sybil Constable,
Inspector. My brother?

I'm afraid we were
too late, madam.

My condolences to you
and to the rest of the family.

Thank you, Inspector. The viscount
had been ill for quite some time.

His death was not
totally unexpected.

Uh, with your permission, ma'am,
I should like to talk to a Miss...

Emma MacGill.
She's on the terrace.

Ah, thank you. Inspector,

I'm Pauline Constable,
wife of the new viscount.

If you have any questions,
please direct them to me.

I will talk to Miss
MacGill myself.

Excuse me.

Insolent little man.

- Dead?
- I'm afraid so.

Oh, no!

Oh!

If it’s any comfort to you, Miss
MacGill, he died almost immediately.

There was nothing you
could have done for him.

I do have some questions I
have to ask in, uh—in private.

I think I'll stay, if you
don't mind, Inspector.

- Emma needs a steady arm
to lean on just now.
- And you are who, sir?

Humphrey Defoe. Oh, yes.
You're the family solicitor.

Yes, Mr. Defoe,
perhaps you should stay.

Uh, Miss MacGill, this
picnic— Whose idea was it?

It was Geoffrey's.

I see. And who
prepared the food?

- I did.
- Did you have any help?

Oh, not a bit. I mean, they gave
me the run of the kitchen, as it were.

In fact, Inspector, is there
any point to all these questions?

Yes, sir. We're not absolutely certain
that the victim died of natural causes.

- What?
- There was a sallowness to the skin,

a sort of cloudiness in the eyes,
and some of the food smelled tainted.

- What are you suggesting?
- Poison, Mr. Defoe.

Of course, we won't
know anything certain until

the results of the autopsy
have been disclosed.

I hope I'm wrong, but please
keep yourself available.

Poison? Oh, good Lord.

And he suspects me.

Let me assure you again,
Pauline, how much I deplore...

the dreadful behavior of some members
of the Flower and Garden Society.

Well, I shall personally
make certain that

those unfortunate
incidents are not repeated.

- How very kind.
- Several of us would like
to invite you to luncheon.

Perhaps tomorrow?
Oh. Oh, but of course.

I had merely assumed...

I think it's time that
the ladies of the shire

got acquainted with
the, uh, new viscountess.

Shall we say your house,
Mrs. Dexter-Hundley?

I like to eat precisely at
1:00 sharp. Something light.

I always believed that we should
try to, uh, watch our waistlines.

Oh, yes, of course,
Viscountess. Oh, thank you.

Bye-bye.

Arthur, please hurry!
We'll be late for the vicar.

It seems like only a few
days ago we gathered

here to put to rest
your dear father Rupert.

It was a few months ago, Reverend Twilley,
and after all, he was 87 years old.

Oh, but a strong and
energetic man nonetheless.

I have heard rumors—
Untrue I'm sure...

That Geoffrey may have
been the victim of foul play.

You'd have to ask Inspector
Frost about that, Vicar.

Oh, I'm sorry, Sir Arthur,
I meant no offense.

For pity's sakes, Vicar, do
drop all this title business.

But, sir, you have
succeeded to the title.

I'm afraid my wife...

is more enthusiastic
about that than I am.

Derek, don't you think
this is a bit inappropriate?

Sorry, Aunt Sybil.
Can't be helped.

I hate to bother you,
Mother, but Georgie

Tompkins is organizing
a trip to Grenoble, and...

Well, I need a few
hundred pounds.

We'll discuss it
later. No, Pauline,

we will discuss it now.

First, school was too
taxing for you, Derek,

and then working in the bank was
obviously beyond your skills as well.

Arthur.

It seems that your
interests are limited to

skiing, tennis, and
romantic entanglements.

I'm sorry, but the dole
has dried out. From now on,

if you want money to
finance your frivolous lifestyle,

you're gonna have to earn it.

Doing what?

I haven't the foggiest
notion. Arthur,

you and I will chat about this
privately back at the manor.

No, Pauline, I am the
Viscount Blackraven now.

A title which one day will
pass to you, Derek, and I

intend to see that you become
worthy of the succession.

Fine, Father. Whatever you say. Meanwhile,
what do I tell Georgie and the others?

Tell them to have a nice trip.

Strychnine. The
herring was laced with it.

Enough to kill an elephant.
Oh, dear. Poor Geoffrey.

Inspector, if it is your intention to
charge Miss MacGill— No, it isn't, sir...

Not at the moment anyway.

The family were very quick to tell me
about your inheritance, Miss MacGill.

And as you suspect, they are all
convinced that you are responsible.

However, I don't
share that dim view.

But I must insist, ma'am, that
you are totally candid with me.

Oh, yes, sir. This herring—

I understand that it was a
great favorite of the late viscount.

Uh, he mentioned
it at dinner last night.

Oh, yes. He did. I couldn't
stand the sight of it, meself.

So, this morning, you
prepared this herring?

Yes, I-I, well, I just used what
was left over from last night.

Hmm. I see. So, you packed
the basket, and then what?

Well, uh, then I went
upstairs to— to get into

somethin’ more
comfortable for the picnic.

Leaving the basket unattended.
For how long, would you say?

I see. You are suggesting
that anyone in the

house could have doctored
the food with poison.

Oh, not the food,
Mr. Defoe, the herring.

Specifically the herring.
You see, Miss MacGill

had made a big point
about not liking it.

Everybody at the table
must have heard you.

So the killer knew
she wouldn't eat it,

making her a perfect
foil for a murder charge.

I would correct you only
on one point, Inspector.

Not everyone heard Miss MacGill's
comments about the herring. Hmm.

Young Derek was out of the
house last evening, as I was.

One of the family killed
Geoffrey? But why?

He was such a dear, sweet man.

Where money is concerned,
or a title for the taking,

the human race is capable
of practically anything.

- Oh, dear me.
- What is it, Miss MacGill?

Oh, nothing. I was, uh, I was
just remembering something...

that, uh, Geoffrey
had said to me.

- Yes?
- Oh, no.

I'm being very—very suspicious,
and that's not like me, not one bit.

Oh, Emma, please. Whatever it is,
for your own sake, share it with us.

Well, sir, it's about what you said, you
know, about titles and money and all.

I mean, if someone was...

Was desperate enough
to have poisoned Geoffrey,

might not they also
have poisoned...

the old gentleman as well?

You mean Rupert?
Emma, he was 87.

He died in his sleep.
Maybe he did, Humphrey,

but maybe he didn't.

Now, Geoffrey told me
that his dad had this habit...

of drinking brandy and eating
chocolates just before he went to sleep.

He also said that when
they found him in the morning,

his body was ice cold...

Now that says to me that he must
have been dead for quite some time.

That's nonsense. Is it?

I think Miss MacGill has
made a very good point.

Well, i-it's the sort of thing that my
cousin Jessica would have thought of.

Cousin Jessica?
A mystery novelist.

And something of
an amateur detective.

Well, madam, there is nothing
amateurish about your supposition.

Nothing whatsoever.

Exhume my grandfather's body?

Inspector, you
overstep your authority.

On the contrary, sir.
As I've just told you,

the autopsy we conducted on
the late Geoffrey Constable...

does reveal large doses
of poison in his system.

Poison administered during a
picnic luncheon with Miss MacGill.

Obviously, that woman
murdered my brother to

protect the inheritance
he'd promised her.

No, Madam, what is obvious is
that two Viscounts Blackraven...

have died within
months of each other.

Both in very mysterious
circumstances.

And I have to satisfy myself
that there is no connection.

Hoskins? Hoskins!

- Oh, good morning, ma'am.
- Make sure the car is absolutely spotless.

I have a luncheon
engagement at 1:00. I

shall be leaving the
house promptly at 12:45.

- Uh, do you wish me to drive you, ma'am?
- No, that won't be necessary.

- Good morning, Pauline.
- I didn't expect to see you here, Ernest.

I thought you'd be at the churchyard.
I came by to pick up Miss MacGill.

Ah, here she is.

I needn't tell you how distressed
I am about this whole business.

So am I, I assure you.

Good morning.

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

Oh, that poor woman,
she really does

think that I bumped
off dear old Geoffrey.

They're all under a terrible strain.
This business of the exhumation...

That Inspector is out
of his bloody mind.

Johnny?

Good morning. Not planning
to shoot someone, I hope.

That would give the Inspector
something to talk about.

No. Derek and I are going to do
a little shooting at Brinley Woods.

Oh! Do you think
that's appropriate,

considering the events
of the last two days?

No less appropriate than your luncheon
to lord it over the ladies of the shire.

I've never been one for
false sentimentality, Pauline.

Neither have you.
Let's not start now.

Inspector, is this
desecration really necessary?

If it wasn't, Reverend,
I wouldn't be here.

Oh, dear, I feel very
nervous. What if I'm wrong?

You mean, what if we're
wrong, Miss MacGill.

Actually, the more chilling
question is, what if we're right?

- I see no evidence of the family.
- Oh, they're an angry lot.

I think they'd like to kill me.

If you're right, at least
one of them would.

- Johnny Constable.
- You've learned something?

My friends in London tell
me that young Mr. Constable,

the budding real estate tycoon,

is involved with some very
shady people from the Middle East.

He has money problems, Emma.

Perhaps severe enough to kill
for, but I couldn't get any details.

Well, could be you've been
asking the wrong person.

Oh, I'm not afraid
of work, Emma.

And dedication too. No time for
anything else— home, friends, family.

Forget all of that. Oh,
that's all right with me.

Oh, and how does
Johnny feel about that?

I mean, I felt that—
Well, you and he...

A fool could see, from
the way he looks at you.

Oh, Johnny’s all
right. He'll understand.

I couldn't help but notice that he
seemed a bit, you know, put off.

Are things not
going so well for him?

Dreadful, I can tell you.

He's in deep with
these Arab fellas.

Promised 'em all sorts of things,
he did, and now he can't deliver.

Nasty people, the
lot of 'em. Oh, dear.

Johnny came this weekend to
borrow 100,000 quid from his uncle,

but the old gentleman died before
he had a chance to talk to him.

He was so sure he'd
get the money, especially

after what happened
to the other gentleman.

Uh, his Great Uncle Rupert?

A couple of months ago, Johnny tried
to borrow the money from old Rupert.

Turned Johnny down flat, he did, and
after all Johnny'd been doin' for him...

Bringin' him those chocolate
bonbons from London all the time.

Bonbons? Well, I must say,
that was very considerate of him.

Oh, there was Holy Ned
to pay when Sybil and

Pauline found out about
it, but Johnny didn't care.

He was just tryin' to make the old
gentleman happy in his last days.

Yes.

And then, to turn
Johnny down like that...

Oh, Johnny was
mad, I can tell you that.

Oh, yes. Uh, Gwen...

- Emma! There you are.
- Humphrey! What is it?

We must return to
the manor at once.

There's been a hunting accident.

Young Derek Constable
has just been shot.

Derek shot? By who?

I don't have any details.

I only learned of it just now,
from the sergeant of police.

I must locate Pauline. Well, she was
going to have lunch with somebody...

- A Mrs. Dexter-something-or-other.
- Dexter-Hundley.

- That's it.
- She lives only a few minutes from here.

We'll stop by. Let's go.

We'd better hustle.

Luckily, I caught her
before they started to eat.

Oh? I thought— I
also called the manor.

Derek's wound was slight. He'd
been out hunting with his Uncle Johnny.

Johnny?

- Ernest? Derek?
- He's all right, Pauline.

It's just a flesh wound. He'll
be fine in a few days. Oh!

Derek, are you
all right? Luckily.

What happened? Isn't it obvious? Uncle
Johnny mistook me for a deer or something.

I didn't shoot you, Derek.
So you keep saying.

I heard a shot. I thought somebody—
All right, gentleman, all right.

Why in God's
name would I want to

- shoot you, Derek?
- Isn't it obvious?

With my son Derek
out of the way,

you stand in line to inherit the
title right after my husband Arthur.

- Pauline, you're off your head, love.
- Am I, Johnny?

Everyone knows
that you need money.

Poor old Geoffrey was poisoned,
and much as the idea sickens me,

Rupert may have been
poisoned as well. What is it?

Not by me. Inspector, I
don't think that he did it.

No? Pauline, that's a
monstrous suggestion.

I agree. Things are difficult
enough without accusing each other.

You tell 'em, Your
Lordship. Gwen...

My Johnny might be a bit on the gamy side,
I'll admit. But he didn't shoot anyone.

Thank you, Miss Petrie,
for that contribution.

- Don't be such a bloody snob.
- Watch your tongue, Johnny.

Arthur, I did not
shoot your son.

Well, somebody did. I did
not imagine this bullet hole.

Gentlemen, ladies. Could I
have your attention please?

Thank you. I think justice
will best be served...

if Mr. Constable here comes
with me down to the station.

Like bloody hell I will. I'm putting
that in the form of a request, sir.

If you prefer, I'll
place you under arrest.

Why not? I have nothing to hide.

Wait, Johnny. I'm
coming with you.

Well, I'm nearly packed, and
the Inspector says I'm free to go.

- Did he?
- Yes, I'll just get my things.

I can't believe this.
My own brother.

Oh, Frost's a very
obstinate man, Arthur.

If I were your brother, I'd
retain a barrister immediately.

Really? No telling
what may happen.

- I could recommend someone.
- It's okay.

Edgar March will be home by now.
I'll, uh—I'll go around to his place.

I'll, uh—I'll ring you
from Edgar's, darling.

Chin up!

Can I get you something, pet? No.
I've had enough of this for one day.

I'm going upstairs to lie down.
Don't bother calling me for supper.

Ah, Emma. Ready already?

Oh, as well as I'll ever be.

There's a 4:45 to London,
Miss MacGill. Do hurry.

- I wouldn't want you to miss it.
- Oh, on that we agree.

Oh, what a pity. It won't start.

It seldom will when you
remove the distributor cap.

Well, Emma, wish us both luck.

Oh, Pauline, it won't start.

May I borrow your car? Well,
why don't you take Derek's?

I can't fit in it.
Where are the keys?

- Ah, here they are.
- No!

I mean, I'd rather
you didn't. Pauline, for

heaven's sakes, let's
get her to that train.

Is there some reason why we shouldn't
borrow your car, Mrs. Constable?

- Of course not.
- Then what appears to be the problem?

- I saw you drive away.
- Uh, that was my sergeant.

Do you have any objection to my
looking in the trunk, Mrs. Constable?

I could send for a court
order if needs be, ma'am.

Inspector, what is
the meaning of this?

Uh, Miss MacGill says that
she observed this car being

washed this morning,
Mrs. Constable. Is that true?

Yes, but I— Then perhaps you could
explain why you have mud on your tires.

Were you perhaps
driving through the forest?

- Perhaps through Brinley Woods?
- No!

You left this house at 12:45, for a
short trip to Mrs. Dexter-Hundley's.

For a luncheon that
started at 1:00 sharp.

However, at 1:35, lunch
had not been served. Why?

Because the guest of honor—

You, Mrs. Constable—
Had not arrived.

At least 35 minutes
unaccounted for.

Could you tell me where you
were during those 35 minutes?

That car is registered
to me, Inspector.

Open the boot.

Excuse me.

Tried to kill your own son?

No! I wouldn't hurt him.

Not seriously.

But I had to do something!

I had to make them think it
was Johnny who— Who what?

Killed my father and my brother?

Oh, don’t you
look at me like that.

You have always
been the great lady.

You don't know what it's like to have
people laughing at you behind your back,

because you're a baker's daughter
and you won't be anything else.

Well, I am something else!

I'm the wife of the 19th
Viscount Blackraven,

and I...

I'll take her inside, Inspector.

I'm sorry, Miss
MacGill. Truly sorry.

Smartly done, Miss MacGill.

If you hadn't noticed
the mud on the tires...

Have you ever considered,
uh, becoming a detective?

Me? Oh, go on with you.

No, really. You
have a knack for it.

Do I?

Well, let's just say
it runs in the family.