Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 8, Episode 15 - Tinker, Tailor, Liar, Thief - full transcript
Jessica gets involved in a British Intelligence operation's cover-up of a double agent's murder.
JOHN: "He who is
tired of London..."
JESSICA: "is tired of life."
FEMALE NARRATOR:
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.
He was here. He was dead.
Are you on some sort of
medication, Mrs. Fletcher?
They moved him again!
When J.B. Fletcher says she
saw a body, there was a body.
Who was the woman you
were talking to in the hotel?
Who is Nigel Atkins?
She's threatening to
go to the newspapers.
Do you authorize
the radical solution?
Jessica.
John! How wonderful to see you.
Am I late?
Punctual as always.
Well, I just got here myself.
You look absolutely radiant.
Oh!
I don't know how you do it
on the schedule you keep.
Well, to be truthful, I finished the
meetings with my publisher yesterday
and I've decided to
stay on a couple of days.
You know, just relax
and do a bit of shopping.
How are things at the embassy?
Controlled chaos.
The congressional junkets
are arriving like migrating birds.
But snagging Jessica
Fletcher for lunch takes priority.
Oh, am I famished.
I'd like to get rid of these.
Albert? Yes, Mrs. Fletcher?
Albert, could I leave these with you
while I have lunch in the dining room?
With great pleasure. Thank you.
Hello, Nigel.
Why, Thurston, how are you?
Jessica, this is Nigel
Atkins from the home office.
Jessica Fletcher the writer.
How do you do, Mr. Atkins?
(STUTTERING) J.B. Fletcher.
Yes, of course. What a pleasure.
Are you enjoying your stay
in London, Mrs. Fletcher?
Oh, it's one of
my favorite cities.
Good. Excellent. Well,
yes, nice to meet you.
Nice to see you again, Thurston.
I'm delighted to learn that
you're staying on for a few days...
Mmm.
Because I have two tickets for
the new Stephen Sondheim musical.
Who did you have to kill?
Did you enjoy
your lunch, darling?
I don't know why you like that
place. The salmon was so dry.
Why didn't you send it back?
Because you were
in a hurry, darling.
Well, I do have to get back to
the office. You going home now?
No. I've got some
shopping to do.
Again? Weren't you just in
town for shopping on Tuesday?
Was I?
And last Friday.
I don't know. Look,
I'd better be off now.
I'm gonna get the 4:00 train.
What time will you be home?
7:00-ish.
Okay.
Bye, darling.
Roger still makes the best
seafood crepes in London.
You know, if I'm not careful, I'm going
to put on 10 pounds while I'm here.
You'll just have to work
it off. Shopping, Jessica.
(CHUCKLING)
Surrounded with temptation.
"He who is tired of London..."
"is tired of life." You know, Samuel
Johnson never went to Harrods.
So we have a date Thursday?
JESSICA: Well, the next two tickets
may not come up until next Christmas.
I'll call you. We'll firm
it up. Goodbye, dear.
Thanks.
There you are, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, thank you so much, Albert.
Oh, and your key.
Oh, yes. Fine.
Thank you.
(WOMAN SCREAMING)
Mr. Atkins?
(DOOR CREAKING)
Yes. This is Mrs.
Fletcher in Room 414.
Would you please
connect me with the police?
(SIREN WAILING)
But he was here
a few minutes ago.
Where?
Well, right here on the couch. He had
some sort of puncture wound on his chest.
Only one who's been in
here is the maid, Inspector.
Yes? Well, apparently there's
been some mistake, Mrs...
Fletcher. Jessica Fletcher.
And there's no mistake.
Inspector Stillwell,
I checked his pulse.
He was here, he was dead.
His name is Nigel Atkins.
He has a small mustache,
a birthmark on his cheek,
and I met him
earlier in the lobby.
Oh, you met him in the lobby?
And he invited
you up to his room?
You want to be careful about
gents you meet in the lobby, ma'am,
even in the best hotels.
Oh, for heaven's sakes,
it was nothing like that!
Oh, now look here, Inspector. A
man has been murdered in this hotel.
I insist that you take the
details and file a report.
(SIGHING)
JESSICA: Inspector,
I told you three times,
Mr. John Thurston of the
American Embassy can verify it.
I did not imagine it.
Yes, well, I think that's all the
information we'll need, Mrs. Fletcher.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
I mean, it seems quite obvious to me, that
somebody moved Mr. Atkins away from there
while I was on the
telephone calling the police.
Checked every room
on the floor, Inspector.
Nobody fitting that
description, dead or alive.
Well, if you should see this
man again in the lobby, ma'am,
I'd report him to the hotel
security people. Good day.
Hello, Operator, could you connect
me with the American Embassy, please?
Hello. This is Jessica
Fletcher calling.
May I speak to
Mr. John Thurston?
Oh, he hasn't come
back from lunch.
Well, would you ask him
to phone Jessica Fletcher?
Yes. Thank you, he
has the number. Thanks.
JESSICA: Albert?
Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.
Albert, I wonder if
you can help me.
Anything I can
do, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh! This is so embarrassing, but I was
supposed to meet a publishing agent here
at the hotel. Mmm.
And this is so silly, but I've lost the
scrap of paper with his name on it.
And he's staying here?
Well, yes, that was my understanding.
Ah, now, he's an English gentleman,
he's about so high. Hmm.
He has a mustache and a
small birthmark on his face.
Oh, yes. Yes, that does
ring a bell. Uh... Of course.
He registered this morning.
Now... Oh, but under what name?
Well, oh, it's on
the tip of my tongue.
Um, as I remember
it, it was Room 412.
Yes. Yes. That's our man.
Just a moment. Please.
Let me see.
JESSICA: Oh.
Oh, no. No. That's odd.
What?
There's no registration
card for 412.
Oh. I would have sworn...
Well, thank you
very much, Albert.
But I tell you if I see him, I'll get
his name. I'll leave a note for you.
(COOKS CHATTERING)
Uh, hello!
Can anybody help me?
Hello there! Is anyone there?
(SIREN WAILING)
Next time you lose
your parcels, madam,
you might try calling
lost and found.
No. He was here. I saw him!
Are you on some sort of
medication, Mrs. Fletcher?
Certainly not. They've
moved him again!
Yes, apparently.
Unless, of course, he made
himself invisible. In which case...
Oh, now just a minute. Now,
look, here is his driver's license
and his ID and look. There
is his name, Nigel Atkins.
You found this
here in the rubbish?
No, I found it in his pocket! He
was dead, right here in the elevator.
I'll take this and see
that the owner is notified.
Aren't you gonna do
something about it, Inspector?
Mrs. Fletcher, here in
England it is a criminal offense
to make a false police report.
Excuse me, Inspector. Excuse
me for interrupting, Mrs. Fletcher.
There's been a rather nasty incident,
sir. Would you mind following me?
STILLWELL: All
right. Come along.
All right, stand aside.
Move back there, please.
Move aside there.
We seen him jump,
guv! From way up there.
(GASPING) That's him!
That's him, Inspector.
That's Nigel Atkins!
I mean, the whole
thing is so bizarre, John.
And they seem to think that
I'm some sort of addled airhead.
I'll straighten out this
Inspector Stillwell right away.
When J.B. Fletcher says she
saw a body, there was a body.
Excuse me. Inspector
Stillwell will see you now.
Who exactly was your
friend Nigel Atkins?
I really didn't know Atkins that
well. Bumped into him a few times
at government receptions.
Well, at least you can verify that
he was at the hotel and back me up.
Now, just let me
handle this, Jessica.
Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.
Sorry to keep you waiting.
Inspector Stillwell, this is John
Thurston from the American Embassy.
Vice Consul.
How do you do, Mr. Thurston?
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Won't you come in and sit down?
Would you like
something? A cup of tea?
Oh, no. No, thank you.
Well, Inspector, in case
there's any doubt in your mind,
Mrs. Fletcher is a highly
respected mystery writer
in the United States.
So I'm told.
She teaches criminology, and enjoys a
high reputation in law enforcement circles.
Now, I was there.
I introduced Mrs. Fletcher
to Nigel Atkins in the lobby
a little before
1:00 this afternoon.
Yes, of course. No one is
disputing that, Mr. Thurston.
In fact, Mr. Atkins
told us that himself.
I beg your pardon?
We contacted Mr. Atkins
about the wallet you found.
He came in and picked it up.
When?
About an hour ago. He
identified himself with his passport.
As a matter of fact, he was extremely
grateful to you for finding his wallet.
Apparently he lost it in the men's
room. And that would have proved
very difficult for him
because he was booked
this evening on a
flight to Australia.
But that's
impossible! He's dead!
His body was thrown
out of the hotel.
You saw it yourself, Inspector!
Oh, that man. Yes.
Well, we've identified him.
He was a Mr. Brown from
Birmingham. And, uh...
He wasn't thrown. He jumped.
Look, now just a
minute, Inspector, I...
We have two witnesses that saw the poor
devil jump from a seventh-story apartment.
Obviously a suicide.
The Birmingham authorities tell
us that he'd recently lost his wife.
He's got no other
family, so, uh...
Apparently he just
became despondent.
But that can't be true! That
was the man I met in the hotel,
that I found in the hotel
room, and then in the elevator.
Nigel Atkins was murdered.
I'm afraid that's impossible.
Mr. Atkins is very much alive.
Thank you very much for
your help, Mrs. Fletcher.
Mr. Thurston.
Now, if you don't mind, I have
got rather a lot of forms to fill in.
Is it possible that it was
someone else, Jessica?
John, I know what I saw.
Absolutely. It's so frustrating.
They don't believe me.
Well, I certainly believe you.
Except the police seem so sure. I
really don't know what you can do about it.
John, a man was murdered today.
And whether his name is Nigel
Atkins or Mr. Brown from Birmingham,
somebody is going to a great
deal of trouble to cover it up.
Now, that bothers me.
I'm sure he's registered
here. Name of Nigel Atkins.
I have already told you, sir, we
have no Mr. Atkins staying here.
Well, would you check again?
As I said, sir. No
Mr. Atkins. Good afternoon.
Pardon me. I wonder
if I could have a word?
Yes, madam. I'd like a
word with you, too, in private.
I'd suggest some tea in the
lounge, but it's so expensive.
Oh. Never mind, I'll pay.
Fact is I'm making inquiries about
a gentleman named Nigel Atkins.
Well, before this conversation
proceeds, I'd like to know who you are.
Name's Archie Potter.
Oh, you're a
private investigator?
Reasonable rates, total
confidentiality, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, you know who I am?
Oh, it's my trade. I know
you're registered in Room 414.
And I was wondering if you noticed
anything going on in Room 412.
And who wants to know?
I'm afraid that must remain in
total confidentiality, Mrs. Fletcher.
Did you see Mr. Atkins
leave Room 412?
No. No, I didn't.
Hmm. I think he's registered
here under a false name.
If you should see him again, would
you be so kind as to telephone me
on the number on that card?
Well, if I see him again, yes.
MAN: Telephone for
Mrs. Jessica Fletcher.
Oh. Oh, well, thank you
so much for your
time, Mrs. Fletcher.
And you know, there's no real
need to order anything here.
It's so frightfully expensive.
Hello. Oh, John, hello.
Why, yes, I just stopped by
the lounge for a few minutes.
I know it's short notice, Jessica,
but are you free this evening?
Well, yes, as a
matter of fact. Why?
I just got an invitation from a
friend of mine at the home office.
A little party in Chelsea.
The odd part of it is he
asked if I could bring you.
Archie Potter,
isn't it? Hello, Mick.
Now, what's an old scumbag
like you doing stepping
out of a hotel like that, hey?
Nothing, Mickey.
Nothing?
Do you know what I hate, Archie? I
hate people who ain't honest with me.
Come with me, you rat.
Sure, I'll take it easy. I just
wanna have a little chat, don't I?
Now, you been asking
around town about a man
by the name of Nigel Atkins.
I'm just doing my job.
That's all. So where is he?
I don't know!
Didn't quite catch that.
Yeah. I can't find him
either, Mickey. I swear.
He was registered in the hotel
this morning, but he's gone missing.
Who was the woman you
were talking to in the hotel?
Who is the woman you
was talking to in the hotel?
(PIANO MUSIC PLAYING)
I can't tell you how delighted I was
when John told me he was bringing
the celebrated J.B. Fletcher.
Well, I feel very flattered
to have been invited.
I had no idea so many people
knew that I was in London.
Someone mentioned it
to me. Was it you, John?
No, I don't think so. Oh. It must have
been someone else at the embassy.
It's such a small
world. Government.
Speaking of small worlds,
John was telling me that you work
for the home office.
I met someone who works at
the home office, just this morning.
A Mr. Nigel Atkins.
Really? Isn't that
a coincidence?
And what do you do at the
home office, Mr. Fontaine?
I'm a consultant. Would
you excuse me for a moment?
That's her!
Who?
That's the woman
who came out of 412.
Mrs. Fletcher, may I present
Edward and Penelope Cadwell?
FONTAINE: J.B. Fletcher.
A pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher.
How do you do?
And I don't think you've met John
Thurston from the American Embassy.
How do you do?
I have a feeling that we've
met before, Mrs. Cadwell.
Have we? Well, not formally,
but I'm sure I saw you
this afternoon in my hotel.
Hotel? No, you must be
mistaken, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, look, there's Peter and
Lorna. Would you excuse us?
Of course. John, would you mind?
I'd like to show Mrs.
Fletcher something.
Of course.
Please.
I have some first editions
here, Mrs. Fletcher,
that I thought
might interest you.
What interests me more,
Mr. Fontaine, is why you invited me here
this evening.
I thought that was obvious.
I wanted to meet you.
Nothing is obvious. Something
very strange is going on here.
And I intend to
find out what it is.
I can't imagine what you mean.
Did you want to find out if I'd
recognize Penelope Cadwell?
Or is it something else?
John mentioned that you
worked with Mr. Atkins.
Now I remember how I learned
you were Thurston's friend.
Nigel Atkins told me
when I drove him to
the airport this afternoon.
Mr. Fontaine,
Nigel Atkins is dead.
That's impossible,
Mrs. Fletcher.
I had a drink with him at Heathrow,
just before he boarded his flight.
Is that why I'm here?
To try to convince me
that I didn't see what I saw?
Well, perhaps the police would be
interested that the couple who witnessed
the so-called suicide at my hotel
this afternoon, are working for you.
That would be a grave
mistake, Mrs. Fletcher.
Nigel Atkins is not dead. You
will only embarrass yourself
by maintaining otherwise.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
Who is it?
MAN: Room service.
(STAMMERING) Look, whoever
you are, you have the wrong room.
Please leave.
Sorry to burst in on you so late, Mrs.
Fletcher, but I need some information.
Yes. Hello! Operator! Operator!
I don't think we need to get
through to the hotel people. Do you?
Unless you won't tell
me what I want to know.
I'm looking for the whereabouts
of a man called Nigel Atkins.
But why have you come to me?
Well, I bumped into this bloke
earlier today. Archie Potter.
I think you know him, right?
And we was chatting away and
he said that you happen to have
some information about
what's become of Nigel Atkins.
Yes, but who are you?
Oh, excuse my
manners. Mickey Dawks.
Oh. Businessman.
What kind of business?
I lend money to people
with bad credit ratings.
Like Nigel Atkins?
Yeah. Now, that, as
they say, is the problem.
You see, Nigel
owes me 10,000 quid.
Now, to a lot of people
that's not a lot of money, right?
But to me, in my
line of business,
I gotta take care of
small sums like that.
Now, Nigel promised to
pay me today without fail.
Now, I get very disappointed in
people when they let me down.
Unless he's done a bunk.
A bunk?
Yeah. He's like skipped
off. You know, disappeared.
Oh, yeah.
And that would make
me very unhappy.
You see, what I can't understand
is that Mr. Potter was sure
that you knew where he was.
Who is Nigel Atkins?
Nigel Atkins. He's got a weakness
for slow horses and fast women.
He has also got a very
bad credit rating at the bank.
Now, look, I've been really honest
with you about my business, right?
Now, why don't you
just tell me where he is?
Well, I hope this isn't going to seriously
upset your business arrangement,
but the police told me that
Mr. Atkins is on his way to Australia.
The police?
Uh-huh. You've
talked to the police?
Oh, several times. Yes. Today.
Hmm. Well, I mean, 10,000 quid is not worth
going to the police for, is it, really?
Look, I'm sorry to have disturbed
you. I've, uh... No hard feelings, eh?
Ta-ta.
What can I do for you
now, Mrs. Fletcher?
You can stop giving me
the runaround, Inspector.
I cannot imagine what
would make you think that.
Well, we'll get to what
I think in a minute.
First, let me tell
you what I know.
A man named
Nigel Atkins is dead.
He was murdered in my hotel.
But... Mr. Brown,
the suicide from Birmingham
was a total invention.
The couple who said they'd
seen him jump were lying.
Involved in some
sort of a conspiracy.
Mr. Atkins was having an
affair with somebody else's wife,
and last night I was threatened
by an underworld thug.
Are you with me
so far, Inspector?
Mrs. Fletcher, I give
you my assurance...
I don't want assurances. I
want some action from the police.
I mean, so far, your interest in
this matter seems to have been
in making me look foolish,
which leads me to what I think.
I think that the police,
and you personally,
are engaged in an
enormous cover-up.
Mrs. Fletcher, I am appalled that
you would suspect such a thing.
I promise you, I will personally
look into your allegations
most carefully.
Well, I certainly hope
so. Because if you don't,
I'm going to see a friend
of mine in Fleet Street.
And this little yarn will be on the front
page of every newspaper in London.
Thank you so much for your time.
(PHONE RINGING)
Hello?
Yes, Inspector, what
seems to be the trouble?
STILLWELL: That Fletcher
woman was just here.
I trust you didn't
tell her anything?
She's threatening to
go to the newspapers.
I believe she's serious.
I'll deal with it.
(PHONE RINGING)
Yes?
What is it, Fontaine?
Our Mrs. Fletcher is
becoming a problem.
She's threatening to go public.
We can't afford
to let that happen.
Do you authorize
the radical solution?
I'll get back to you on that.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
LANDLADY: Oh, up
already then, are you?
DAISY: Looks
like I am, don't it?
Well, there've been
complaints, my girl.
Gramophone,
playing till all hours.
And a gentleman using loud
and vulgar language here.
I have respectable tenants in
these flats to consider, you know.
Respectable? In this dump?
There's no hot water
after 10:00 at night.
And no proper light
on the stair neither.
Well, it's the three weeks back
rent, or you're out come Saturday.
And that's my final word!
Oh, give it a rest, will you?
What? Look.
Just to keep your mouth
shut from running off,
here is your 300 what's due and
here's another week in advance.
I'm giving you a
week's notice, right?
Well, I never.
I found lodgings
more to my liking.
In Mayfair, thank you very much!
Well, good riddance, I say.
Nothing but trouble, that one.
Stupid old cow. Oh!
Uh, Mr. Atkins, he never gets back
before 6:00. Sometimes much later, miss.
Uh, yes, well, I thought I
might just take a chance.
Can I give him a message?
Oh, what a pity. I
hoped I'd catch him.
Uh, you see, I sent him this
very important letter and, uh...
I wanted to be
sure that he got it.
(CAT MEOWING)
Oh, well, maybe
it's in one of them.
Well, if it's no bother.
You know how it
is with post offices.
No, I'm afraid it isn't here.
Do you work with Nigel then?
Oh, no. No. I barely know him.
I'm from the States.
Oh, I wanna visit
the States one day.
I want to see that Las Vegas.
Well, it certainly is different.
I've heard.
Uh, you must be on, uh, very
friendly terms with Mr. Atkins.
Well, he's a nice enough guy. I just live
down the corridor, so I often feed his cat.
Ah, that's very
thoughtful of you.
That's a very pretty
dress you're wearing.
Do you like it? I just bought it
new today. New from Selfridges.
Oh, yes. I thought so.
Oh. Oh, dear.
Oh, well, never mind.
I'm sorry about your letter. Still,
probably turn up in the post tomorrow, eh?
What's his name?
Wellington. Welly for
short. Poor little blighter.
He's gotta go over to
the pound tomorrow.
I'm moving to new digs,
and they don't take animals.
What a shame. Well,
thank you, Miss, uh...
Collins. Daisy Collins.
Oh, yes. Well, goodbye.
Any time.
Fancy bumping into you, in
this part of town, Mrs. Fletcher.
Mr. Fontaine, are
you following me?
Oh, keeping in touch is
the way I'd rather put it.
Or better still, I'm
here to make amends.
Oh? I had a word
with Inspector Stillwell.
I'm afraid we owe
you an apology.
Actually, I would
prefer an explanation.
Exactly what I had in mind.
If you'd let me give you a lift,
I think we can put
your mind at rest.
Well, I'm glad to hear that my
conversation with Inspector Stillwell
produced some results.
More than you can
imagine, Mrs. Fletcher.
I don't think this is the
way to Scotland Yard.
We're not going
to Scotland Yard.
We're going for a
ride in the country.
Please, stop the car.
I insist. Stop the car
and let me get out.
Mrs. Fletcher, it'd be so much
more pleasant if you'd just relax.
The doors lock automatically,
and we have such a
dreary ride ahead of us.
Where are we going?
I'd really rather not say.
I hope you don't think me rude, but
small talk does seem rather pointless.
Shall we listen to some music?
(RIDE OF THE VALKYRIES PLAYING)
I mean, this is outrageous. I... Look, I
demand to be allowed to use a telephone.
I'm afraid that's
out of the question.
You know the American
Embassy is going to hear about this.
Somehow, I doubt it.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
Would you be so kind?
Oh, come in, Mrs. Fletcher.
Before this charade
goes any further,
I really must insist
on an explanation.
You have put me and a number of others
to a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Fletcher.
And it is only after we've made
extensive inquiries about you,
that I have decided to tell you
our problems about Nigel Atkins.
He was some sort of an
agent. A spy, wasn't he?
I see that your deductive
abilities live up to your reputation.
Our sources in Washington
tell us you can be trusted.
Mr. Atkins worked for
British Intelligence, MI5.
Regrettably, he also worked for
the People's Republic of China.
A double agent?
Oh, we've known he
was a mole for years.
Actually, he was,
uh... Been very useful.
Feeding information
that we wanted leaked.
Now, as you're no doubt aware,
negotiations over the crown colony of
Hong Kong are at a very delicate stage.
And that is why it is imperative no
one must know that Nigel Atkins is dead.
So, you see, if it becomes
known that Nigel Atkins is dead...
You wouldn't be able to pass the
information over to the other side.
Precisely.
But, by keeping him alive,
we can play the game
for a few more months.
But who killed him?
That's a very good question.
We'd like to know ourselves.
But surely you must know a great
deal about Mr. Atkins' movements.
We were watching him. Not
closely enough as it turned out.
But we do know that he visited
a dead drop we had staked out
the morning he died.
Apparently, he had a
rendezvous with a woman,
as it turns out, at your hotel.
Penelope Cadwell.
Unhappily, someone
got there first.
I discovered him dead
moments before Mrs. Cadwell,
and shortly thereafter,
you walked in.
Then it was you
in the other room.
Yes. I managed to get his body out of
the room and onto the service elevator
while you called the police.
But then a hotel employee called the
elevator and your determined investigations
again blocked my plan.
Thanks to you, I was
forced to improvise.
So while I was calling the police,
you took him up in the elevator
and then tossed
him off the balcony?
Clumsy at best, Fontaine.
It took some nimble footwork, but we
made it stick with Scotland Yard until...
Thanks to the fuss you made, Mrs. Fletcher,
it became necessary to draw the police
into our little conspiracy.
And you still don't know
who committed the murder?
He was stabbed through the
heart with a slender-bladed knife.
Hardly any blood.
There are a number of
possibilities, Mrs. Fletcher.
I'd hate to think it was Eddie
Cadwell, the lady's husband.
He was one of us, sir.
We had rather hoped that you might
have seen something that would be helpful.
I'd like Fontaine to debrief
you on all particulars.
Well, I'll help if I can.
I'd be glad to be of assistance.
Thank you, no.
This is a problem for MI5.
Fontaine will drive
you back to London.
Mrs. Fletcher.
I trust we can count on your
total discretion in this matter.
Of course.
Good.
I suppose, Mrs. Fletcher,
we must consider the
possibility that the competition
terminated Nigel.
Which would mean that
they're on to our game.
Well, it may be much
more simple than that.
Did you find any money in Mr. Atkins'
possession when you discovered his body?
47 pounds.
Did you know that he promised to
pay a loan shark named Mickey Dawks
10,000 pounds the morning
that he was murdered?
I never laid a finger
on Nigel Atkins.
We know about your
strong-arm tactics, Dawks.
All right, so maybe I
smacked him once or twice.
That doesn't mean to
say I killed him, does it?
JESSICA: You told me, Mr. Dawks,
that Nigel Atkins promised to pay you
the 10,000 pounds the
morning that he was murdered.
When did he tell you that?
I met up with him the
night he went missing.
We went to have a drink in this
pub, around the corner from his digs.
He was there with some
tart. That was half his problem.
He was always there
chasing the birds, right.
At least that part
of it rings true.
Yeah.
Well, anyway, he told me he
just come into a bundle of money.
Said he'd be able to settle his
debt with me the following day.
So I took his word for it.
I mean, up till then he'd always
been a very good customer.
You mentioned a certain dead
drop that he visited that morning.
Could he have been collecting
wages from his part-time job?
A distinct possibility.
All right, Dawks.
You're free to go.
Keep yourself available.
We haven't
finished with you yet.
Mr. Fontaine, was Penelope Cadwell's
husband aware of what was going on
between her and Mr. Atkins?
Even I didn't know until she
turned up in his hotel room.
I shouldn't think
Mr. Cadwell had a clue.
She was being followed
by a private investigator.
Was he one of your men?
Not that I'm aware of.
Thanks, guv.
There you go. Hey!
(HORN HONKING)
Bloody learn to look
where you're going!
Archie Potter, I presume.
Eh?
Well, what do you want
with me? Get your hands off!
Archie, you've got yourself
into some rather serious trouble.
I'd like to help you.
What sort of trouble?
It's come to our attention that you
were hired to follow a certain lady
to a certain hotel.
Hey, just a minute. Are you
a copper? What do you want?
Your cooperation, Archie.
Is that so much to ask?
Now, we know that Edward
Cadwell hired you to follow his wife,
and we know that you followed
her to a certain hotel room.
Now, you tell me what you know.
I don't know nothing.
Archie, I was hoping that
you'd make this easy for yourself.
All right, all right.
So, I followed her to the hotel.
She went up. She went to the
room. To see a man, I expect.
That's all I know.
I couldn't bleeding hang
around in the corridor, could I?
Who was the man?
Well, the name I was given was Nigel
Atkins. But I think it was a false name.
Anyway, he gave me the
slip. And I couldn't find him.
Under the circumstances,
that seems plausible.
Have you got any
identification, please?
Ah, of course. I'm sorry.
Archie, you seem
to have gone pale.
Might I recommend a
fortnight in sunny Spain?
And if I were you, I'd forget I
ever heard the name Nigel Atkins.
(CLEARING THROAT)
Who's Nigel Atkins?
That's a boy.
Bit early, isn't it?
You startled me, darling.
I didn't know you were home.
Took the afternoon off.
Have to go back this
evening, I'm afraid.
They're reshuffling
the workload.
I'm getting some
of Atkins' stuff.
Really?
How is Nigel?
I didn't see him
at Fontaine's party.
Had to go to Australia
on company
business. Short notice.
(PEOPLE CHATTERING)
I think Dawks is our man.
A stiletto through the heart.
Just what you'd
expect from his sort.
It just doesn't make any sense.
I mean, Mr. Atkins
promised to pay him.
Besides, if Mr. Dawks had wanted
the money, he simply would have
taken it from Nigel Atkins.
I've seen him in action.
Well, maybe we'll get something
from this Archie Potter chap.
Of course.
JESSICA: How
could I have forgotten?
When John introduced
me to Nigel Atkins,
he was carrying a
black attaché case.
Now, did you find the
attaché case with his body?
No. But it was in
his flat the next day.
The money must have
been in the attaché case.
No, I'm sorry, we went through his digs
with a fine-tooth comb the next morning.
There was no case.
Mr. Fontaine?
It's beginning to come together.
I think I know who
murdered Nigel Atkins.
Really?
But, of course, what I
don't have is solid proof.
But there may be a way if you
can persuade Inspector Stillwell
to cooperate.
I'm afraid you're rather
ahead of me here.
Mr. Fontaine, are you aware
that Nigel Atkins owned a cat?
You've finished
that, sweetheart.
Come on, darling.
In you go. There you go.
(MEOWING)
There's a good boy.
There you are, Welly.
Snug as a bug in a rug.
Don't know if you're gonna see
the week through though, poor...
What are you doing
coming in here like that?
Hello, Daisy.
I checked your other place. I
thought I might find you here.
You got something
that belongs to me.
I don't know what you mean.
How about 10,000 quid?
Get out of here, Mickey.
Now, you shouldn't take
things what don't belong to you.
Did your mother
never tell you anything?
Ah-ha.
You was having a drink
with Nigel at the White Horse.
You overheard him tell me that he
just come into a bundle of money.
So what did you do?
You followed him
down to that flash hotel
and then you stuck
him, didn't you?
All right, Mickey.
I stuck him.
And I'll stick you and
all. Now you give me back
that money or I swear I'll have
your bleeding guts for garters.
Just take it easy,
love. Take it easy.
(YELLING)
Now, you could do a lot of
damage with a knife like this.
Look. It's no skin off my
nose. I got what I come for.
Why did you have to kill him?
Mickey...
That money was gonna
get me out of here.
It was gonna set
me up in a better flat,
better class of clientele,
you know what I mean?
How else was I gonna get
that money away from him
without him going to the police?
Yeah. Well, take care, lovely.
Well, it's lucky for me, you
can't go to the police neither!
All on tape. Jolly good.
The knife?
I never ratted on
nobody in my life.
Well, if you don't tell
anyone, neither will we.
STILLWELL: Hey.
Haven't you forgotten something?
Thank you. Thank you.
I must confess I had my doubts
that your little charade would work.
Well, Mr. Fontaine...
Oh, do call me Julian.
Julian.
In my line of work, character
is really the mother of action.
I suspected that Daisy wouldn't
give up the money without a struggle.
And I was sure that
Mr. Dawks could handle himself.
And all that based
on that attaché case?
Well, that was part of it.
I knew that Daisy
had a key to his flat.
I suppose she put the empty case
back to throw anyone off the trail,
and if you remember Mr. Dawks
mentioned that Mr. Atkins,
when he told him he was
coming into some money,
had been drinking with a tart.
Yes, I suppose Daisy
does come to mind.
JESSICA: Well, she suddenly
had lots of cash to pay her rent,
buy new clothes.
And then, of course, there was
the business about Mr. Atkins' cat.
Yes. I never did
quite get that part.
Well, Daisy told me that she'd
have to take the cat to the pound,
which meant she knew that Atkins
was dead and wouldn't be coming back.
I take your point, especially
when we went to so much trouble
to tell everyone
that Nigel was alive.
What will happen to her?
Well, nothing for the moment.
Fortunately, there's no
statute of limitations on murder.
So when we don't need
Nigel's cover anymore,
I'm afraid she's in
for a rude surprise.
Mmm. More tea, Julian?
Thank you.
Mrs. Fletch... May
I call you Jessica?
Oh, please do.
Um, I was wondering if
you'd be free for dinner tonight.
By way of a little celebration.
You know, I'd love to, Julian, but I'm
going to the new Stephen Sondheim musical.
tired of London..."
JESSICA: "is tired of life."
FEMALE NARRATOR:
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.
He was here. He was dead.
Are you on some sort of
medication, Mrs. Fletcher?
They moved him again!
When J.B. Fletcher says she
saw a body, there was a body.
Who was the woman you
were talking to in the hotel?
Who is Nigel Atkins?
She's threatening to
go to the newspapers.
Do you authorize
the radical solution?
Jessica.
John! How wonderful to see you.
Am I late?
Punctual as always.
Well, I just got here myself.
You look absolutely radiant.
Oh!
I don't know how you do it
on the schedule you keep.
Well, to be truthful, I finished the
meetings with my publisher yesterday
and I've decided to
stay on a couple of days.
You know, just relax
and do a bit of shopping.
How are things at the embassy?
Controlled chaos.
The congressional junkets
are arriving like migrating birds.
But snagging Jessica
Fletcher for lunch takes priority.
Oh, am I famished.
I'd like to get rid of these.
Albert? Yes, Mrs. Fletcher?
Albert, could I leave these with you
while I have lunch in the dining room?
With great pleasure. Thank you.
Hello, Nigel.
Why, Thurston, how are you?
Jessica, this is Nigel
Atkins from the home office.
Jessica Fletcher the writer.
How do you do, Mr. Atkins?
(STUTTERING) J.B. Fletcher.
Yes, of course. What a pleasure.
Are you enjoying your stay
in London, Mrs. Fletcher?
Oh, it's one of
my favorite cities.
Good. Excellent. Well,
yes, nice to meet you.
Nice to see you again, Thurston.
I'm delighted to learn that
you're staying on for a few days...
Mmm.
Because I have two tickets for
the new Stephen Sondheim musical.
Who did you have to kill?
Did you enjoy
your lunch, darling?
I don't know why you like that
place. The salmon was so dry.
Why didn't you send it back?
Because you were
in a hurry, darling.
Well, I do have to get back to
the office. You going home now?
No. I've got some
shopping to do.
Again? Weren't you just in
town for shopping on Tuesday?
Was I?
And last Friday.
I don't know. Look,
I'd better be off now.
I'm gonna get the 4:00 train.
What time will you be home?
7:00-ish.
Okay.
Bye, darling.
Roger still makes the best
seafood crepes in London.
You know, if I'm not careful, I'm going
to put on 10 pounds while I'm here.
You'll just have to work
it off. Shopping, Jessica.
(CHUCKLING)
Surrounded with temptation.
"He who is tired of London..."
"is tired of life." You know, Samuel
Johnson never went to Harrods.
So we have a date Thursday?
JESSICA: Well, the next two tickets
may not come up until next Christmas.
I'll call you. We'll firm
it up. Goodbye, dear.
Thanks.
There you are, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, thank you so much, Albert.
Oh, and your key.
Oh, yes. Fine.
Thank you.
(WOMAN SCREAMING)
Mr. Atkins?
(DOOR CREAKING)
Yes. This is Mrs.
Fletcher in Room 414.
Would you please
connect me with the police?
(SIREN WAILING)
But he was here
a few minutes ago.
Where?
Well, right here on the couch. He had
some sort of puncture wound on his chest.
Only one who's been in
here is the maid, Inspector.
Yes? Well, apparently there's
been some mistake, Mrs...
Fletcher. Jessica Fletcher.
And there's no mistake.
Inspector Stillwell,
I checked his pulse.
He was here, he was dead.
His name is Nigel Atkins.
He has a small mustache,
a birthmark on his cheek,
and I met him
earlier in the lobby.
Oh, you met him in the lobby?
And he invited
you up to his room?
You want to be careful about
gents you meet in the lobby, ma'am,
even in the best hotels.
Oh, for heaven's sakes,
it was nothing like that!
Oh, now look here, Inspector. A
man has been murdered in this hotel.
I insist that you take the
details and file a report.
(SIGHING)
JESSICA: Inspector,
I told you three times,
Mr. John Thurston of the
American Embassy can verify it.
I did not imagine it.
Yes, well, I think that's all the
information we'll need, Mrs. Fletcher.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
I mean, it seems quite obvious to me, that
somebody moved Mr. Atkins away from there
while I was on the
telephone calling the police.
Checked every room
on the floor, Inspector.
Nobody fitting that
description, dead or alive.
Well, if you should see this
man again in the lobby, ma'am,
I'd report him to the hotel
security people. Good day.
Hello, Operator, could you connect
me with the American Embassy, please?
Hello. This is Jessica
Fletcher calling.
May I speak to
Mr. John Thurston?
Oh, he hasn't come
back from lunch.
Well, would you ask him
to phone Jessica Fletcher?
Yes. Thank you, he
has the number. Thanks.
JESSICA: Albert?
Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.
Albert, I wonder if
you can help me.
Anything I can
do, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh! This is so embarrassing, but I was
supposed to meet a publishing agent here
at the hotel. Mmm.
And this is so silly, but I've lost the
scrap of paper with his name on it.
And he's staying here?
Well, yes, that was my understanding.
Ah, now, he's an English gentleman,
he's about so high. Hmm.
He has a mustache and a
small birthmark on his face.
Oh, yes. Yes, that does
ring a bell. Uh... Of course.
He registered this morning.
Now... Oh, but under what name?
Well, oh, it's on
the tip of my tongue.
Um, as I remember
it, it was Room 412.
Yes. Yes. That's our man.
Just a moment. Please.
Let me see.
JESSICA: Oh.
Oh, no. No. That's odd.
What?
There's no registration
card for 412.
Oh. I would have sworn...
Well, thank you
very much, Albert.
But I tell you if I see him, I'll get
his name. I'll leave a note for you.
(COOKS CHATTERING)
Uh, hello!
Can anybody help me?
Hello there! Is anyone there?
(SIREN WAILING)
Next time you lose
your parcels, madam,
you might try calling
lost and found.
No. He was here. I saw him!
Are you on some sort of
medication, Mrs. Fletcher?
Certainly not. They've
moved him again!
Yes, apparently.
Unless, of course, he made
himself invisible. In which case...
Oh, now just a minute. Now,
look, here is his driver's license
and his ID and look. There
is his name, Nigel Atkins.
You found this
here in the rubbish?
No, I found it in his pocket! He
was dead, right here in the elevator.
I'll take this and see
that the owner is notified.
Aren't you gonna do
something about it, Inspector?
Mrs. Fletcher, here in
England it is a criminal offense
to make a false police report.
Excuse me, Inspector. Excuse
me for interrupting, Mrs. Fletcher.
There's been a rather nasty incident,
sir. Would you mind following me?
STILLWELL: All
right. Come along.
All right, stand aside.
Move back there, please.
Move aside there.
We seen him jump,
guv! From way up there.
(GASPING) That's him!
That's him, Inspector.
That's Nigel Atkins!
I mean, the whole
thing is so bizarre, John.
And they seem to think that
I'm some sort of addled airhead.
I'll straighten out this
Inspector Stillwell right away.
When J.B. Fletcher says she
saw a body, there was a body.
Excuse me. Inspector
Stillwell will see you now.
Who exactly was your
friend Nigel Atkins?
I really didn't know Atkins that
well. Bumped into him a few times
at government receptions.
Well, at least you can verify that
he was at the hotel and back me up.
Now, just let me
handle this, Jessica.
Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.
Sorry to keep you waiting.
Inspector Stillwell, this is John
Thurston from the American Embassy.
Vice Consul.
How do you do, Mr. Thurston?
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Won't you come in and sit down?
Would you like
something? A cup of tea?
Oh, no. No, thank you.
Well, Inspector, in case
there's any doubt in your mind,
Mrs. Fletcher is a highly
respected mystery writer
in the United States.
So I'm told.
She teaches criminology, and enjoys a
high reputation in law enforcement circles.
Now, I was there.
I introduced Mrs. Fletcher
to Nigel Atkins in the lobby
a little before
1:00 this afternoon.
Yes, of course. No one is
disputing that, Mr. Thurston.
In fact, Mr. Atkins
told us that himself.
I beg your pardon?
We contacted Mr. Atkins
about the wallet you found.
He came in and picked it up.
When?
About an hour ago. He
identified himself with his passport.
As a matter of fact, he was extremely
grateful to you for finding his wallet.
Apparently he lost it in the men's
room. And that would have proved
very difficult for him
because he was booked
this evening on a
flight to Australia.
But that's
impossible! He's dead!
His body was thrown
out of the hotel.
You saw it yourself, Inspector!
Oh, that man. Yes.
Well, we've identified him.
He was a Mr. Brown from
Birmingham. And, uh...
He wasn't thrown. He jumped.
Look, now just a
minute, Inspector, I...
We have two witnesses that saw the poor
devil jump from a seventh-story apartment.
Obviously a suicide.
The Birmingham authorities tell
us that he'd recently lost his wife.
He's got no other
family, so, uh...
Apparently he just
became despondent.
But that can't be true! That
was the man I met in the hotel,
that I found in the hotel
room, and then in the elevator.
Nigel Atkins was murdered.
I'm afraid that's impossible.
Mr. Atkins is very much alive.
Thank you very much for
your help, Mrs. Fletcher.
Mr. Thurston.
Now, if you don't mind, I have
got rather a lot of forms to fill in.
Is it possible that it was
someone else, Jessica?
John, I know what I saw.
Absolutely. It's so frustrating.
They don't believe me.
Well, I certainly believe you.
Except the police seem so sure. I
really don't know what you can do about it.
John, a man was murdered today.
And whether his name is Nigel
Atkins or Mr. Brown from Birmingham,
somebody is going to a great
deal of trouble to cover it up.
Now, that bothers me.
I'm sure he's registered
here. Name of Nigel Atkins.
I have already told you, sir, we
have no Mr. Atkins staying here.
Well, would you check again?
As I said, sir. No
Mr. Atkins. Good afternoon.
Pardon me. I wonder
if I could have a word?
Yes, madam. I'd like a
word with you, too, in private.
I'd suggest some tea in the
lounge, but it's so expensive.
Oh. Never mind, I'll pay.
Fact is I'm making inquiries about
a gentleman named Nigel Atkins.
Well, before this conversation
proceeds, I'd like to know who you are.
Name's Archie Potter.
Oh, you're a
private investigator?
Reasonable rates, total
confidentiality, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, you know who I am?
Oh, it's my trade. I know
you're registered in Room 414.
And I was wondering if you noticed
anything going on in Room 412.
And who wants to know?
I'm afraid that must remain in
total confidentiality, Mrs. Fletcher.
Did you see Mr. Atkins
leave Room 412?
No. No, I didn't.
Hmm. I think he's registered
here under a false name.
If you should see him again, would
you be so kind as to telephone me
on the number on that card?
Well, if I see him again, yes.
MAN: Telephone for
Mrs. Jessica Fletcher.
Oh. Oh, well, thank you
so much for your
time, Mrs. Fletcher.
And you know, there's no real
need to order anything here.
It's so frightfully expensive.
Hello. Oh, John, hello.
Why, yes, I just stopped by
the lounge for a few minutes.
I know it's short notice, Jessica,
but are you free this evening?
Well, yes, as a
matter of fact. Why?
I just got an invitation from a
friend of mine at the home office.
A little party in Chelsea.
The odd part of it is he
asked if I could bring you.
Archie Potter,
isn't it? Hello, Mick.
Now, what's an old scumbag
like you doing stepping
out of a hotel like that, hey?
Nothing, Mickey.
Nothing?
Do you know what I hate, Archie? I
hate people who ain't honest with me.
Come with me, you rat.
Sure, I'll take it easy. I just
wanna have a little chat, don't I?
Now, you been asking
around town about a man
by the name of Nigel Atkins.
I'm just doing my job.
That's all. So where is he?
I don't know!
Didn't quite catch that.
Yeah. I can't find him
either, Mickey. I swear.
He was registered in the hotel
this morning, but he's gone missing.
Who was the woman you
were talking to in the hotel?
Who is the woman you
was talking to in the hotel?
(PIANO MUSIC PLAYING)
I can't tell you how delighted I was
when John told me he was bringing
the celebrated J.B. Fletcher.
Well, I feel very flattered
to have been invited.
I had no idea so many people
knew that I was in London.
Someone mentioned it
to me. Was it you, John?
No, I don't think so. Oh. It must have
been someone else at the embassy.
It's such a small
world. Government.
Speaking of small worlds,
John was telling me that you work
for the home office.
I met someone who works at
the home office, just this morning.
A Mr. Nigel Atkins.
Really? Isn't that
a coincidence?
And what do you do at the
home office, Mr. Fontaine?
I'm a consultant. Would
you excuse me for a moment?
That's her!
Who?
That's the woman
who came out of 412.
Mrs. Fletcher, may I present
Edward and Penelope Cadwell?
FONTAINE: J.B. Fletcher.
A pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher.
How do you do?
And I don't think you've met John
Thurston from the American Embassy.
How do you do?
I have a feeling that we've
met before, Mrs. Cadwell.
Have we? Well, not formally,
but I'm sure I saw you
this afternoon in my hotel.
Hotel? No, you must be
mistaken, Mrs. Fletcher.
Oh, look, there's Peter and
Lorna. Would you excuse us?
Of course. John, would you mind?
I'd like to show Mrs.
Fletcher something.
Of course.
Please.
I have some first editions
here, Mrs. Fletcher,
that I thought
might interest you.
What interests me more,
Mr. Fontaine, is why you invited me here
this evening.
I thought that was obvious.
I wanted to meet you.
Nothing is obvious. Something
very strange is going on here.
And I intend to
find out what it is.
I can't imagine what you mean.
Did you want to find out if I'd
recognize Penelope Cadwell?
Or is it something else?
John mentioned that you
worked with Mr. Atkins.
Now I remember how I learned
you were Thurston's friend.
Nigel Atkins told me
when I drove him to
the airport this afternoon.
Mr. Fontaine,
Nigel Atkins is dead.
That's impossible,
Mrs. Fletcher.
I had a drink with him at Heathrow,
just before he boarded his flight.
Is that why I'm here?
To try to convince me
that I didn't see what I saw?
Well, perhaps the police would be
interested that the couple who witnessed
the so-called suicide at my hotel
this afternoon, are working for you.
That would be a grave
mistake, Mrs. Fletcher.
Nigel Atkins is not dead. You
will only embarrass yourself
by maintaining otherwise.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
Who is it?
MAN: Room service.
(STAMMERING) Look, whoever
you are, you have the wrong room.
Please leave.
Sorry to burst in on you so late, Mrs.
Fletcher, but I need some information.
Yes. Hello! Operator! Operator!
I don't think we need to get
through to the hotel people. Do you?
Unless you won't tell
me what I want to know.
I'm looking for the whereabouts
of a man called Nigel Atkins.
But why have you come to me?
Well, I bumped into this bloke
earlier today. Archie Potter.
I think you know him, right?
And we was chatting away and
he said that you happen to have
some information about
what's become of Nigel Atkins.
Yes, but who are you?
Oh, excuse my
manners. Mickey Dawks.
Oh. Businessman.
What kind of business?
I lend money to people
with bad credit ratings.
Like Nigel Atkins?
Yeah. Now, that, as
they say, is the problem.
You see, Nigel
owes me 10,000 quid.
Now, to a lot of people
that's not a lot of money, right?
But to me, in my
line of business,
I gotta take care of
small sums like that.
Now, Nigel promised to
pay me today without fail.
Now, I get very disappointed in
people when they let me down.
Unless he's done a bunk.
A bunk?
Yeah. He's like skipped
off. You know, disappeared.
Oh, yeah.
And that would make
me very unhappy.
You see, what I can't understand
is that Mr. Potter was sure
that you knew where he was.
Who is Nigel Atkins?
Nigel Atkins. He's got a weakness
for slow horses and fast women.
He has also got a very
bad credit rating at the bank.
Now, look, I've been really honest
with you about my business, right?
Now, why don't you
just tell me where he is?
Well, I hope this isn't going to seriously
upset your business arrangement,
but the police told me that
Mr. Atkins is on his way to Australia.
The police?
Uh-huh. You've
talked to the police?
Oh, several times. Yes. Today.
Hmm. Well, I mean, 10,000 quid is not worth
going to the police for, is it, really?
Look, I'm sorry to have disturbed
you. I've, uh... No hard feelings, eh?
Ta-ta.
What can I do for you
now, Mrs. Fletcher?
You can stop giving me
the runaround, Inspector.
I cannot imagine what
would make you think that.
Well, we'll get to what
I think in a minute.
First, let me tell
you what I know.
A man named
Nigel Atkins is dead.
He was murdered in my hotel.
But... Mr. Brown,
the suicide from Birmingham
was a total invention.
The couple who said they'd
seen him jump were lying.
Involved in some
sort of a conspiracy.
Mr. Atkins was having an
affair with somebody else's wife,
and last night I was threatened
by an underworld thug.
Are you with me
so far, Inspector?
Mrs. Fletcher, I give
you my assurance...
I don't want assurances. I
want some action from the police.
I mean, so far, your interest in
this matter seems to have been
in making me look foolish,
which leads me to what I think.
I think that the police,
and you personally,
are engaged in an
enormous cover-up.
Mrs. Fletcher, I am appalled that
you would suspect such a thing.
I promise you, I will personally
look into your allegations
most carefully.
Well, I certainly hope
so. Because if you don't,
I'm going to see a friend
of mine in Fleet Street.
And this little yarn will be on the front
page of every newspaper in London.
Thank you so much for your time.
(PHONE RINGING)
Hello?
Yes, Inspector, what
seems to be the trouble?
STILLWELL: That Fletcher
woman was just here.
I trust you didn't
tell her anything?
She's threatening to
go to the newspapers.
I believe she's serious.
I'll deal with it.
(PHONE RINGING)
Yes?
What is it, Fontaine?
Our Mrs. Fletcher is
becoming a problem.
She's threatening to go public.
We can't afford
to let that happen.
Do you authorize
the radical solution?
I'll get back to you on that.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
LANDLADY: Oh, up
already then, are you?
DAISY: Looks
like I am, don't it?
Well, there've been
complaints, my girl.
Gramophone,
playing till all hours.
And a gentleman using loud
and vulgar language here.
I have respectable tenants in
these flats to consider, you know.
Respectable? In this dump?
There's no hot water
after 10:00 at night.
And no proper light
on the stair neither.
Well, it's the three weeks back
rent, or you're out come Saturday.
And that's my final word!
Oh, give it a rest, will you?
What? Look.
Just to keep your mouth
shut from running off,
here is your 300 what's due and
here's another week in advance.
I'm giving you a
week's notice, right?
Well, I never.
I found lodgings
more to my liking.
In Mayfair, thank you very much!
Well, good riddance, I say.
Nothing but trouble, that one.
Stupid old cow. Oh!
Uh, Mr. Atkins, he never gets back
before 6:00. Sometimes much later, miss.
Uh, yes, well, I thought I
might just take a chance.
Can I give him a message?
Oh, what a pity. I
hoped I'd catch him.
Uh, you see, I sent him this
very important letter and, uh...
I wanted to be
sure that he got it.
(CAT MEOWING)
Oh, well, maybe
it's in one of them.
Well, if it's no bother.
You know how it
is with post offices.
No, I'm afraid it isn't here.
Do you work with Nigel then?
Oh, no. No. I barely know him.
I'm from the States.
Oh, I wanna visit
the States one day.
I want to see that Las Vegas.
Well, it certainly is different.
I've heard.
Uh, you must be on, uh, very
friendly terms with Mr. Atkins.
Well, he's a nice enough guy. I just live
down the corridor, so I often feed his cat.
Ah, that's very
thoughtful of you.
That's a very pretty
dress you're wearing.
Do you like it? I just bought it
new today. New from Selfridges.
Oh, yes. I thought so.
Oh. Oh, dear.
Oh, well, never mind.
I'm sorry about your letter. Still,
probably turn up in the post tomorrow, eh?
What's his name?
Wellington. Welly for
short. Poor little blighter.
He's gotta go over to
the pound tomorrow.
I'm moving to new digs,
and they don't take animals.
What a shame. Well,
thank you, Miss, uh...
Collins. Daisy Collins.
Oh, yes. Well, goodbye.
Any time.
Fancy bumping into you, in
this part of town, Mrs. Fletcher.
Mr. Fontaine, are
you following me?
Oh, keeping in touch is
the way I'd rather put it.
Or better still, I'm
here to make amends.
Oh? I had a word
with Inspector Stillwell.
I'm afraid we owe
you an apology.
Actually, I would
prefer an explanation.
Exactly what I had in mind.
If you'd let me give you a lift,
I think we can put
your mind at rest.
Well, I'm glad to hear that my
conversation with Inspector Stillwell
produced some results.
More than you can
imagine, Mrs. Fletcher.
I don't think this is the
way to Scotland Yard.
We're not going
to Scotland Yard.
We're going for a
ride in the country.
Please, stop the car.
I insist. Stop the car
and let me get out.
Mrs. Fletcher, it'd be so much
more pleasant if you'd just relax.
The doors lock automatically,
and we have such a
dreary ride ahead of us.
Where are we going?
I'd really rather not say.
I hope you don't think me rude, but
small talk does seem rather pointless.
Shall we listen to some music?
(RIDE OF THE VALKYRIES PLAYING)
I mean, this is outrageous. I... Look, I
demand to be allowed to use a telephone.
I'm afraid that's
out of the question.
You know the American
Embassy is going to hear about this.
Somehow, I doubt it.
(KNOCKING AT DOOR)
Would you be so kind?
Oh, come in, Mrs. Fletcher.
Before this charade
goes any further,
I really must insist
on an explanation.
You have put me and a number of others
to a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Fletcher.
And it is only after we've made
extensive inquiries about you,
that I have decided to tell you
our problems about Nigel Atkins.
He was some sort of an
agent. A spy, wasn't he?
I see that your deductive
abilities live up to your reputation.
Our sources in Washington
tell us you can be trusted.
Mr. Atkins worked for
British Intelligence, MI5.
Regrettably, he also worked for
the People's Republic of China.
A double agent?
Oh, we've known he
was a mole for years.
Actually, he was,
uh... Been very useful.
Feeding information
that we wanted leaked.
Now, as you're no doubt aware,
negotiations over the crown colony of
Hong Kong are at a very delicate stage.
And that is why it is imperative no
one must know that Nigel Atkins is dead.
So, you see, if it becomes
known that Nigel Atkins is dead...
You wouldn't be able to pass the
information over to the other side.
Precisely.
But, by keeping him alive,
we can play the game
for a few more months.
But who killed him?
That's a very good question.
We'd like to know ourselves.
But surely you must know a great
deal about Mr. Atkins' movements.
We were watching him. Not
closely enough as it turned out.
But we do know that he visited
a dead drop we had staked out
the morning he died.
Apparently, he had a
rendezvous with a woman,
as it turns out, at your hotel.
Penelope Cadwell.
Unhappily, someone
got there first.
I discovered him dead
moments before Mrs. Cadwell,
and shortly thereafter,
you walked in.
Then it was you
in the other room.
Yes. I managed to get his body out of
the room and onto the service elevator
while you called the police.
But then a hotel employee called the
elevator and your determined investigations
again blocked my plan.
Thanks to you, I was
forced to improvise.
So while I was calling the police,
you took him up in the elevator
and then tossed
him off the balcony?
Clumsy at best, Fontaine.
It took some nimble footwork, but we
made it stick with Scotland Yard until...
Thanks to the fuss you made, Mrs. Fletcher,
it became necessary to draw the police
into our little conspiracy.
And you still don't know
who committed the murder?
He was stabbed through the
heart with a slender-bladed knife.
Hardly any blood.
There are a number of
possibilities, Mrs. Fletcher.
I'd hate to think it was Eddie
Cadwell, the lady's husband.
He was one of us, sir.
We had rather hoped that you might
have seen something that would be helpful.
I'd like Fontaine to debrief
you on all particulars.
Well, I'll help if I can.
I'd be glad to be of assistance.
Thank you, no.
This is a problem for MI5.
Fontaine will drive
you back to London.
Mrs. Fletcher.
I trust we can count on your
total discretion in this matter.
Of course.
Good.
I suppose, Mrs. Fletcher,
we must consider the
possibility that the competition
terminated Nigel.
Which would mean that
they're on to our game.
Well, it may be much
more simple than that.
Did you find any money in Mr. Atkins'
possession when you discovered his body?
47 pounds.
Did you know that he promised to
pay a loan shark named Mickey Dawks
10,000 pounds the morning
that he was murdered?
I never laid a finger
on Nigel Atkins.
We know about your
strong-arm tactics, Dawks.
All right, so maybe I
smacked him once or twice.
That doesn't mean to
say I killed him, does it?
JESSICA: You told me, Mr. Dawks,
that Nigel Atkins promised to pay you
the 10,000 pounds the
morning that he was murdered.
When did he tell you that?
I met up with him the
night he went missing.
We went to have a drink in this
pub, around the corner from his digs.
He was there with some
tart. That was half his problem.
He was always there
chasing the birds, right.
At least that part
of it rings true.
Yeah.
Well, anyway, he told me he
just come into a bundle of money.
Said he'd be able to settle his
debt with me the following day.
So I took his word for it.
I mean, up till then he'd always
been a very good customer.
You mentioned a certain dead
drop that he visited that morning.
Could he have been collecting
wages from his part-time job?
A distinct possibility.
All right, Dawks.
You're free to go.
Keep yourself available.
We haven't
finished with you yet.
Mr. Fontaine, was Penelope Cadwell's
husband aware of what was going on
between her and Mr. Atkins?
Even I didn't know until she
turned up in his hotel room.
I shouldn't think
Mr. Cadwell had a clue.
She was being followed
by a private investigator.
Was he one of your men?
Not that I'm aware of.
Thanks, guv.
There you go. Hey!
(HORN HONKING)
Bloody learn to look
where you're going!
Archie Potter, I presume.
Eh?
Well, what do you want
with me? Get your hands off!
Archie, you've got yourself
into some rather serious trouble.
I'd like to help you.
What sort of trouble?
It's come to our attention that you
were hired to follow a certain lady
to a certain hotel.
Hey, just a minute. Are you
a copper? What do you want?
Your cooperation, Archie.
Is that so much to ask?
Now, we know that Edward
Cadwell hired you to follow his wife,
and we know that you followed
her to a certain hotel room.
Now, you tell me what you know.
I don't know nothing.
Archie, I was hoping that
you'd make this easy for yourself.
All right, all right.
So, I followed her to the hotel.
She went up. She went to the
room. To see a man, I expect.
That's all I know.
I couldn't bleeding hang
around in the corridor, could I?
Who was the man?
Well, the name I was given was Nigel
Atkins. But I think it was a false name.
Anyway, he gave me the
slip. And I couldn't find him.
Under the circumstances,
that seems plausible.
Have you got any
identification, please?
Ah, of course. I'm sorry.
Archie, you seem
to have gone pale.
Might I recommend a
fortnight in sunny Spain?
And if I were you, I'd forget I
ever heard the name Nigel Atkins.
(CLEARING THROAT)
Who's Nigel Atkins?
That's a boy.
Bit early, isn't it?
You startled me, darling.
I didn't know you were home.
Took the afternoon off.
Have to go back this
evening, I'm afraid.
They're reshuffling
the workload.
I'm getting some
of Atkins' stuff.
Really?
How is Nigel?
I didn't see him
at Fontaine's party.
Had to go to Australia
on company
business. Short notice.
(PEOPLE CHATTERING)
I think Dawks is our man.
A stiletto through the heart.
Just what you'd
expect from his sort.
It just doesn't make any sense.
I mean, Mr. Atkins
promised to pay him.
Besides, if Mr. Dawks had wanted
the money, he simply would have
taken it from Nigel Atkins.
I've seen him in action.
Well, maybe we'll get something
from this Archie Potter chap.
Of course.
JESSICA: How
could I have forgotten?
When John introduced
me to Nigel Atkins,
he was carrying a
black attaché case.
Now, did you find the
attaché case with his body?
No. But it was in
his flat the next day.
The money must have
been in the attaché case.
No, I'm sorry, we went through his digs
with a fine-tooth comb the next morning.
There was no case.
Mr. Fontaine?
It's beginning to come together.
I think I know who
murdered Nigel Atkins.
Really?
But, of course, what I
don't have is solid proof.
But there may be a way if you
can persuade Inspector Stillwell
to cooperate.
I'm afraid you're rather
ahead of me here.
Mr. Fontaine, are you aware
that Nigel Atkins owned a cat?
You've finished
that, sweetheart.
Come on, darling.
In you go. There you go.
(MEOWING)
There's a good boy.
There you are, Welly.
Snug as a bug in a rug.
Don't know if you're gonna see
the week through though, poor...
What are you doing
coming in here like that?
Hello, Daisy.
I checked your other place. I
thought I might find you here.
You got something
that belongs to me.
I don't know what you mean.
How about 10,000 quid?
Get out of here, Mickey.
Now, you shouldn't take
things what don't belong to you.
Did your mother
never tell you anything?
Ah-ha.
You was having a drink
with Nigel at the White Horse.
You overheard him tell me that he
just come into a bundle of money.
So what did you do?
You followed him
down to that flash hotel
and then you stuck
him, didn't you?
All right, Mickey.
I stuck him.
And I'll stick you and
all. Now you give me back
that money or I swear I'll have
your bleeding guts for garters.
Just take it easy,
love. Take it easy.
(YELLING)
Now, you could do a lot of
damage with a knife like this.
Look. It's no skin off my
nose. I got what I come for.
Why did you have to kill him?
Mickey...
That money was gonna
get me out of here.
It was gonna set
me up in a better flat,
better class of clientele,
you know what I mean?
How else was I gonna get
that money away from him
without him going to the police?
Yeah. Well, take care, lovely.
Well, it's lucky for me, you
can't go to the police neither!
All on tape. Jolly good.
The knife?
I never ratted on
nobody in my life.
Well, if you don't tell
anyone, neither will we.
STILLWELL: Hey.
Haven't you forgotten something?
Thank you. Thank you.
I must confess I had my doubts
that your little charade would work.
Well, Mr. Fontaine...
Oh, do call me Julian.
Julian.
In my line of work, character
is really the mother of action.
I suspected that Daisy wouldn't
give up the money without a struggle.
And I was sure that
Mr. Dawks could handle himself.
And all that based
on that attaché case?
Well, that was part of it.
I knew that Daisy
had a key to his flat.
I suppose she put the empty case
back to throw anyone off the trail,
and if you remember Mr. Dawks
mentioned that Mr. Atkins,
when he told him he was
coming into some money,
had been drinking with a tart.
Yes, I suppose Daisy
does come to mind.
JESSICA: Well, she suddenly
had lots of cash to pay her rent,
buy new clothes.
And then, of course, there was
the business about Mr. Atkins' cat.
Yes. I never did
quite get that part.
Well, Daisy told me that she'd
have to take the cat to the pound,
which meant she knew that Atkins
was dead and wouldn't be coming back.
I take your point, especially
when we went to so much trouble
to tell everyone
that Nigel was alive.
What will happen to her?
Well, nothing for the moment.
Fortunately, there's no
statute of limitations on murder.
So when we don't need
Nigel's cover anymore,
I'm afraid she's in
for a rude surprise.
Mmm. More tea, Julian?
Thank you.
Mrs. Fletch... May
I call you Jessica?
Oh, please do.
Um, I was wondering if
you'd be free for dinner tonight.
By way of a little celebration.
You know, I'd love to, Julian, but I'm
going to the new Stephen Sondheim musical.