Mystery!: Campion (1989–1990): Season 1, Episode 3 - Police at the Funeral: Part 1 - full transcript
THEME SONG PLAYING...
Perfect.
- Oh, oh!
- Go and see what the fuss is, my dear.
Oh, please, oh, please take it
away. Oh, please take it away.
What's the matter?
I bought him for you.
For you, Kitty dear.
You must have him in your
bedroom, as a companion.
- It's horrible.
- Are you afraid of him?
It would give me nightmares.
Oh, really?
He does look uncommonly
like your dear departed husband.
Oh, Joyce.
What are you
moaning about, Kitty?
What is that monstrosity?
One could hardly expect you to appreciate
a priceless work of art, my dear Julia.
It's Balinese, I am told.
You can't have him,
I bought him for Kitty.
I don't want it. I didn't ask for
it. Oh, tell him to take it away.
Uncle Andrew.
What the deuce
is this awful racket?
Go away, William.
All right, I will. Damn it.
What is it about you, Andrew, that makes you such a pig?
Nobody asked you to come
and live in this house.
You're a nuisance to us all and you
make poor Kitty's life of absolute misery.
And what do you want, woman?
My pepper's empty.
Enough pepper in that corseted
old body to last a lifetime.
- How dare you!
- Julia.
If I didn't hear that remark
then neither did you.
Which means, Andrew,
that you didn't utter it.
Look.
Good Lord, what was all that
fuss about upstairs?
I can't enjoy my food, Mother,
in this festering atmosphere.
Rather mildewed
for the time of year.
I didn't hear you, Andrew.
I was remarking
about the weather, Aunt.
Rather mild
for the time of year.
Liar.
How now brown cow?
Oh, you intolerable man!
Sit down, Julia.
Andrew, if you persist
in your childish behaviour,
I shall have no hesitation but
to ask you to leave the table
and go to your room.
I wish he would.
Man's as tight as an owl.
I'm not as tight as you are,
old boy.
What did he say?
That's the clock weight, madam.
That's made a dent in the wood.
It's an omen. It is an omen.
Nonsense, nonsense.
You all know perfectly well that clock
weight falls down once every 15 years.
- Am I right, Alice?
- Yes, madam.
And nothing unfavourable
happened last time, did it?
No, madam.
We just got that mended.
Very well then.
And since it appears
we cannot conduct ourselves
like grown people this evening,
I suggest we continue
our dinner in silence.
Cousin George is here.
The blaggard. What does he want?
- Money, of course.
- You're in check, Uncle William.
I must go to Aunt Caroline.
There's no need.
She's agreed to see him
in the library.
I have no intention
of meeting Cousin George.
Certainly not.
Sleep tight, William.
You've got me cornered there,
can't get out of it.
Going to my room. Good night.
Good night, Uncle William.
Why did they all run away?
Poor old George.
He only wants what we've
all wanted these many years.
A slice of that witch's cake.
Well...
Too late now,
she'll outlive us all.
And what are you doing in this
dismal old house?
You can make a dash for it, you
know, and still pick up your share.
She likes you.
I'm getting married in August.
Of course you are.
Yes, to young Marcus.
And that's very sensible.
You shouldn't have teased
Aunt Kitty, should you?
No.
But it made for a lively dinner.
Something to remember.
That...
And the clock.
All I'm saying is that if we'd
started off 10 minutes later
we wouldn't be forced to
travel at this centipede pace.
What on earth does it matter
what speed we travel at?
Your trouble is, you're vain.
You want extra time to preen
yourself in front of your mirror
so you can smirk at the
ladies during the sermon.
- I do no such thing.
- You're vain, William.
Vain, vain, vain. You're a vain,
glorious, pompous old hypocrite.
And you're a parasite!
Oh, will you stop it, please,
both of you!
And this, if I mistake not,
Watson is... Good heavens, the Force!
Campion!
Who's after you now?
I'm waiting for a client.
What are you looking for?
Oh, warmth and a little quiet.
This weather upsets my liver.
You know,
I didn't think there were
half a dozen men in London who
knew of this little hideout.
Yet the first time I drop by in
years, I find you sitting here,
in fancy dress.
Lugg put me onto it.
I needed somewhere
to interview a young lady
who's been
so grossly misinformed
that she believes
I'm a private detective.
Funny how
these stories get about.
If you've got some silly woman
coming here, don't you tell her who I am.
What's the problem anyway?
Scandal in high life?
No. I've had a letter from an old Cambridge
friend, Marcus Featherstone, lawyer.
Oh.
His fiancee has lost an uncle
and I'm supposed to find him.
Apparently she has a romantic
nature and leads a very dull life.
I thought this would provide
her with a peep of the underworld,
which was at once clean,
safe and edifying.
I do wish she'd turn up.
I gave Lugg
explicit instructions.
"The gods of chance
are always capricious."
"The
thrill of meeting the sleuth."
"Craving your services"?
I don't think I should cotton
on to your friend Marcus.
Quite frankly, any girl who's
pledged herself to Marcus
must be mentally stunted.
Besides, her trouble
seems absurd.
She's coming.
A lame man wearing
number 9 boots,
probably a
chandler's mate by profession.
Sounds like good
sensible shoes, anyway.
I do hope Marcus hasn't
picked a thundering English rose.
Oh, it's that bloke.
I don't like the look of him.
Ah, Mr Oates. I have a piece of information
which may save you a lot of trouble.
Oh, I didn't know you
had a companion with you.
Or a witness?
Miss Blount?
My name's Campion.
Bend her head down.
She'll be all right.
I'm sorry.
Where is he?
Oh!
But when you saw him,
you nearly fainted.
And when you recovered,
you said, "Where is he?"
No, you must have
made a mistake.
He conveyed nothing to me.
How could he?
Look, I'm afraid I made
a horrible fool of myself.
I dashed out this morning
without any breakfast
and there wasn't time for lunch.
And I just got
a bit giddy, that's all.
It is very dangerous not to eat.
You are "the" Mr Campion,
Marcus' friend, aren't you?
The sleuth?
I better be honest with you,
Miss Blount,
Marcus may have given you
the wrong impression.
If you want a real detective,
here's Inspector Oates, one
of the finest at Scotland Yard.
It isn't a matter
for the police.
You don't mind, do you?
Oh, I can assure you, miss, you couldn't
have found yourself in better hands.
I'll leave you
with your client, Albert.
Come on, I'm taking you back to Bottle
Street and giving you something to eat.
When I was here earlier,
I met rather an odd person
who sent me off to look for you.
Oh dear, yes. Lugg can sometimes
be rather abrupt with people.
Marcus has told you I've got
a bee in my bonnet, hasn't he?
Oh.
I thought you was alone.
Excuse me, miss, being
negligent, as it were.
Lugg, this young lady has
had nothing to eat all day.
See what you can do, would you?
Leave it to me,
I'll serve you up a treat.
No herrings.
All right, don't spoil it.
He's absolutely charming
when you get to know him.
He used to be a burglar.
- Lost his figure.
- Poignant story.
It cramps your style
when your only means of exit
are the double doors
in the front hall.
So, Marcus is the family lawyer.
He's rather young
for all that, isn't he?
Old Mr Featherstone
retired last month,
so Marcus has had to take it
all on, poor dear.
And it's Uncle Andrew
who's disappeared?
Last Sunday week.
If you knew our household,
you'd realise that was
extraordinary in itself.
Sunday is the day
when Great Aunt Faraday
has us under her eye
practically the whole time.
Besides, he hadn't any money.
When I came out of the church, I
heard Andrew and William arguing.
Wait for me!
- What've you done with the car?
- I've sent it off.
We're walking home today.
- Walking? In this weather?
- Pleasant enough.
It's damned awful. Mist.
Ah. Well, I'm walking down through
Grantchester Meadows along by the river.
The meadows? That's a
ridiculous long way around.
We won't be home till tea time.
That's what I'm gonna do!
You can do as you
damn well like.
That was the last I saw of him.
And Uncle William?
He came home alone. We
were halfway through lunch.
He was very hot and angry,
and surprised that Uncle
Andrew hadn't got back before him.
Apparently they had separated
soon after I saw them walking away.
Here you are.
Potted shrimp, gentlemen's
relish, eggs and a nice bit of ham.
I made tea. I like cocoa
me self, but I made tea.
Thank you. Looks delicious.
Hope you enjoy it.
Tell me about Uncle Andrew.
I notice his name
isn't Faraday, but Seeley.
Yes, he's a son of Great
Aunt's younger brother.
He lost his money
in some company swindle
and came to live with the
family about the same time.
It must be about 20 years ago.
Twenty years? And he hasn't
done anything since then.
They were never much good
at working, any of them.
That's why Great Aunt holds
the purse strings so tightly.
If Uncle Andrew has any money,
he'll go straight to the bookmakers.
Well, he may have
won something. People do.
No, he hadn't. Not then.
I haven't told you
the whole story.
Great Aunt thinks that backing horses
is not only wicked, but rather vulgar.
To save furious rows all round,
we used to keep Uncle Andrew's
investments as quiet as possible.
Must seem all rather
childish to you, I suppose.
Not at all. Carry on.
When he hadn't returned
by Sunday evening...
I went into his room.
There were some letters
waiting to be posted.
One was to his bookmaker.
And one he was still writing when
the bell for church must have rung.
So you see, he couldn't
have meant to go off.
When he still hadn't returned
by Wednesday morning...
Bad blood. No sense
of personal discipline.
Poor wayward Andrew.
How you, of all people,
can say that.
Don't suppose he could have
lost his memory?
Nonsense.
No one even faintly connected with
the Faradays has ever done such a thing.
Perhaps we should send out
an SOS broadcast.
That would involve the police.
And I'm not having them
in my house.
Quite right.
Out of the question.
And something else.
The weight on the
grandfather clock is missing.
We've hunted everywhere,
there's no trace of it.
- Difficult thing to lose.
- And a letter came for him.
I opened it.
It was from his bookmaker.
He'd won nearly £750 on an
outsider called Turkey Carpet.
I put it in his room and felt
much happier because I knew,
well, I felt certain that Uncle Andrew would
come back during the day to collect it.
But when he didn't, you
at last confided in Marcus.
He thinks I'm being silly.
But I'm frightened.
I want to know something
terrible hasn't happened.
Do you think you can help me?
Miss Blount, I think
we ought to start square.
You've got something else
on your mind, haven't you?
The inspector isn't here,
so won't you tell me now
who the man was in the yard
who gave you such a shock?
You're right.
I did recognise him.
But he's got nothing
to do with this.
Please, forget all about him.
Telegram.
The kid's waiting.
It's from Marcus.
"Can you come back
with Joyce at once.
"Rather terrifying
developments here.
"Would appreciate your
professional assistance.
"See evening papers."
I think I know
what you're looking for.
Terrifying developments?
What's happened?
Uncle Andrew.
Socrates Close. I remember
this house from when I was young.
I saw the carriage once,
coming through these gates.
Hasn't altered outside one jot.
Or inside. There's
something eerie about it.
Are you sure you want to go in?
- Why not come and see Marcus first?
- No.
I don't think I will,
if you don't mind.
They may all need me
rather badly.
Even if it is only to fetch
them more hot water bottles.
Goodbye. Thank you for coming.
There's no need
to see me to the house.
Goodbye.
First I heard of it
was this afternoon.
I got a visit from Alice,
told me to come to the house.
There's no telephone up there.
The place was in a kind of
a suppressed ferment.
Apparently an Indian student
found the body,
he was caught up
in some willow roots.
Been there for days.
- We've not been introduced.
- What?
- Still the same damn fool, Campion.
- Still the same.
His name's Foon.
Written "Featherstonehaugh".
How do you do, Foon?
Albert Campion.
Naturally, at first we thought
Andrew had drowned.
Then at the morgue, we
discovered someone had tied him up
- and practically blown his head off.
- Have they found the gun?
No, they haven't. Not yet.
I need hardly tell you,
that in a place like this
it's not only considered
unfortunate, but atrocious bad form
to have one of your relations,
or clients, mysteriously murdered.
My dear fellow, I'll do
anything I can to help, of course.
Without being offensive, it'll be
very useful to have someone here
who's not bound by the
scruples of police convention.
Someone who might hold
an intelligent watching brief.
And if you'll forgive me,
my dear Campion,
for using such a revolting term,
someone who's a gentleman.
- Sort of handyman, do you mean?
- Perfect.
The police may not care
for it, but tell me the worst.
I'm a ferret for information.
It's the family
that frightens me.
I mean, there they are.
Forty years out of date.
All, save for the old lady,
without their fair share of brains.
Herded together in that
great mausoleum of a house,
tyrannised over by one of the
most astounding personalities
I've ever encountered.
And there's no escape.
No vent to their
suppressed hatreds.
Petty jealousies.
Desires.
- And Joyce is in the thick of it.
- That's the snag.
- Charming girl, Marcus. Congratulations.
- Yes.
- We must get her out.
- Well, I'm doing my best. I'm marrying her in August.
- You're invited, by the way.
- Honoured.
She seems bound by some
strange loyalty to the place.
Her parents died a few years ago
and Great Aunt Faraday
took her in.
But she's just a general
dogsbody as far as I can see.
Why do you suppose anyone
should want to murder Uncle Andrew?
Seems to be the perfectly normal old
nuisance. Had no money to speak of.
Should have ensured
him a long life.
Unless, of course,
he stood to inherit
and somebody wanted
his share of the plunder.
No.
Strictly in confidence, though I
fancy the whole family know this,
Mrs Faraday altered
her will recently.
Andrew Seeley, her nephew,
was to receive nothing at all.
He'd either have starved,
or depended on
the problematic charity
of his cousins.
Uncle William.
- Show him up, Harriet.
- Yes, sir.
Enter a murderer?
Marcus, my boy,
I wanted to have a word... Ah.
May I introduce Mr Albert
Campion. Mr William Faraday.
- How do you do?
- How do you do?
Mr Campion's an old friend. We
were up at Ignatius together, William.
Oh, my old college, too. My
father was Master, you know.
- He was a legend, sir, in my time.
- Really?
Look, if you have
something to discuss...
No, no. Please don't
leave on my account.
I expect Marcus has told you
about this disgusting scandal, has he?
I have nothing to conceal,
just wanted a chat, really.
Ah, don't mind if do.
Campion's all right.
This is a bad business, Marcus.
We shall need some good
brains to get us out of it.
Extraordinary.
Typical of Andrew, he
couldn't even leave this world
without making
a lot of bother for us all.
Well, I've told the police
all I know.
But they don't seem satisfied.
Keep questioning me
about our walk.
What time it was
and where I left him.
It seems that Andrew's watch had
stopped at 1:10 when they found him.
The second thing I have to
say is rather more serious.
If you ask me, it's the most damned
obvious thing I ever saw in my life
who did this.
Cousin George.
By the way,
I must ask you, when this matter
comes out, to use your discretion.
Not tell the old lady that it was
I who put you on the right track.
I've never heard
of Cousin George.
Your father would have.
George Make peace Faraday.
Son of a dissolute
uncle of mine. And uh...
A trial and embarrassment
to the family
ever since the governor,
God bless him, died.
Hmm? Oh, thank you.
My mother wouldn't soil her
lips by mentioning his name.
Blackmailing four-flusher.
Blackmail? Why?
Ah. No idea. But...
He was round at the house
on the Saturday night
before Andrew
got himself killed.
I remember
it was Saturday night because
the clock weight
fell down at dinner.
Very disturbing. Thank you.
George came in
immediately afterwards.
Mother saw him in the library.
I don't know
what passed between them,
but he came out looking as
pleased as a couple of fighting cocks.
And he was still in Cambridge
on the Sunday.
Half-seas over
at 11:00 in the morning.
Barrel-shaped, unshaven object.
Has he got a puffy red face,
bright blue eyes,
a faint air of respectability about
him and a very deep-cultured voice?
Height about 5'7"
and inclined to squareness?
By Jove, you've hit him exactly.
Especially that faint air of respectability,
but that's misleading.
Are you clairvoyant
or some sort of detective?
Some sort of the latter, sir.
But tell me,
has George Faraday been seen
in Cambridge since that Sunday?
Not a sign of him.
- What do you suppose his motive might be?
- Well, it's not my business.
Andrew was a damned
cantankerous, unpleasant fellow.
Is that a motive? If so,
anyone might have done it.
I was up at Ignatius
with Andrew.
He muffed his finals twice,
took up medicine, muffed that.
When he came
into his money he lost it.
And mine with it in some infernal
company promotion scheme.
Water under
the bridge now, of course.
I am observant.
I am also scientific.
I formed many conclusions,
but the police did not value them.
You're an entomological
student, are you?
Yes, I was hunting for bugs
by the river bank.
Here. To be precise.
A black shape in the water.
Also... An odour.
- The corpse had swollen. I pulled it out.
- You weren't squeamish?
I am occidental, Mr Campion. I have
the inquiring mind of the investigator.
My first observation was
that the man was a tramp.
This was my error. The beard,
I now find, grows after the
decease has taken place.
Mr Cheetoo,
I wonder if you'd be so kind,
purely in the interest
of abstract science,
to demonstrate on me exactly
how the tying up was done?
I have purchased a ball of string and
a fine pair of scissors for this purpose.
Why certainly.
I measured accurately the
amount of cord on the body.
About two and a half yards.
What sort of stuff was it?
What thickness? Was it new?
Your question is curious.
It is what I asked myself.
It broke easily
when I touched it.
And I concluded it had been put to
use before this disagreeable purpose.
It was in the nature
of a clothesline.
He had a hat when he left
church. A bowler, I believe.
Of the hat, there was no sign.
I observed in this morning's paper
it had not yet been discovered.
Come on, Foon.
- The scene of the crime's over here.
- Consider the completeness.
Ah, yes.
But not professional. They're
ordinary knots. Not sailors'.
That is so. The cords around
the wrist, already rotten, no doubt,
and buffeted by his time
in the water, had frayed
and come apart.
And from my deduction,
it occurs to me that
this unfortunate did not
drift very far downstream.
You see the footbridge?
The water is very low
at this time of the year.
In my opinion, the body
was thrown in the water
from the bridge itself.
This is my opinion.
You are enlightened, Mr Campion?
Allow me to congratulate you
on your powers, Mr Cheetoo.
You have the true
investigator's gift.
Come on, Foon.
Back to your master.
Though it seems
scarcely credible,
I'd say things are looking
rather hot for Uncle William.
He was the last
to see Andrew alive,
he didn't arrive back
until halfway through lunch
with no proper explanation
for his movement.
I'm so pleased you've come.
I'm afraid I blabbed
to Aunt Caroline about you,
and she immediately
insisted on meeting you.
Apparently, she knows
your grandmother.
- She want to see me?
- No, darling. But I do.
- Thank you, Alice.
- How do you do?
Aunt Caroline is in the
library. Come with me.
By the way, don't sit
in the rose Dansk chair.
It used to belong
to Great Uncle Faraday.
- The whole room is a shrine to him.
- Thank you for warning me.
Come in.
Thank you, Joyce.
You may sit down, Mr Campion.
Yes, I see the family in you.
You grandmother, Emily, and I
have corresponded regularly
for the past 40 years.
So I've heard all about you
from her.
But I will not expose you.
My grandmother and I
are partners in crime,
in the eyes of the family
at least.
According to my mother,
she aids and abets me.
I had gathered that.
Now, to this terrible business.
I understand from Joyce that
Marcus has asked you to assist him.
I should like you
to act for me directly.
The spare room will
be prepared for you.
And the firm of Featherstone
will be instructed to
pay you 100 guineas if you remain
in my employ for less than one month.
Be quiet. You can refuse
afterwards if you wish.
But I am no longer young
and it is very necessary that
someone in this household
should consider things from
an intelligent point of view.
My poor children have not
been blessed with brains.
I must guard against such emotions
as anger, grief or excitement.
Which I have not now
the strength to support.
Now, I want you to understand
that I have nothing to conceal,
that is, from the police.
The sooner this thing
is resolved, the better.
I shall be delighted to do
all I can to help, Mrs Faraday.
But if I'm not to be a source
of embarrassment to you,
I must know of any pitfalls
into which I may stumble.
Besides your immediate
household,
was there anyone else
visiting the house
round about the time
of Mr Seeley's disappearance?
You have heard already
of George Faraday.
From William?
I was afraid this would
have to come out.
Yes, he was here the night
before Andrew disappeared.
Oh, I do not think for a moment
he has anything to do with his death.
The only death which could
possibly assist him is my own.
In my will, he receives
a small annuity
subject to his
emigrating to Australia.
On the Saturday night,
he came to borrow money from me,
and actually obtained £10.
That is all I wish
to say about him.
I shall expect to see you at my
dinner table this evening, Mr Campion.
We dine at 8:00.
I'm to be a buffer.
Not an old buffer, you know,
but a sort of pad,
as in railway carriages,
to deaden the shock she
believes are in store for her.
- What shocks?
- I don't know.
Is there anything at all
you haven't told me?
The smallest point
may be significant.
I'm not sure
how important this is,
but Alice told me
that she'd gone to the nursery
and she'd seen that the window
cord was missing from the skylight.
- As if it had been cut with a knife.
- Right. That settles it.
You're not staying here
in this house.
Marcus is anxious that I
should go and live in sin with him
till this is all over.
I didn't mean that at all,
you obstinate girl.
I've an aunt you can stay with.
I can't leave Aunt Caroline,
not at this time.
Besides, if Mr Campion is coming
to stay, I shall be perfectly safe.
Won't I, Albert?
What is your exact line
of business, Mr Campion?
People come
to Mr Campion for help.
Don't they?
- What sort of help?
- In solving things, Aunt Kitty.
Murder?
- Sometimes murder.
- Then who killed Andrew?
I thought Campion and I might
smoke a cigar after dinner, Mother.
Certainly, William.
Mr Campion,
if I should have retired
before you return,
the rising gong rings at 7:45.
- Have you everything in your room that you require?
- Everything is most charming.
In here's best.
The library always reminds me
of the governor, God bless him.
I'm afraid I can't
offer you a drink.
She's locked up
the tantalus again.
When people grow old, you
know, they get ideas in their heads.
- Anyway, have a cigar.
- No, thanks.
It's because we've got a guest
in the house, thank the Lord.
Anyway, damn it all.
When a chap's gone through what I've
gone through today, he needs a drink.
Here, help yourself.
Damned police had me back
all afternoon, questioning.
Wanted to know whether
I'd ever kept a revolver.
Well, I had one in the war, of
course, in the service. We all did.
- Didn't tell them, of course. None of their business.
- Quite.
- What happened to it?
- Hmm?
Well, it's with my kit.
Up in the old nursery.
Not the sort of thing
you need in private life.
Let's go and have a look.
What, now?
Devil, it's cold up here.
No fires allowed in the bedroom,
except in the case of illness.
Spartan regime
of the old school.
Here it is.
Well, bless my soul.
My revolver isn't here.
- Albert...
- Shh.
- Where's Great Aunt Caroline?
- Safely tucked up in bed.
What have you done
with Uncle William?
He's gone out for a walk.
He's had a bit of a shock.
- I've got a key.
- Too late.
Some people laugh
when they see me do this.
Some people kick me
out of the house.
Don't tell Marcus.
I know what you're thinking.
He liked to pretend
he was the poor relation.
He used to bring visitors
up here to show them
how badly he was treated. Which,
of course, was absolute rubbish.
I enjoyed my dinner.
Though my etiquette book
rather let me down.
It says that polite
conversation may be made
while passing the cruet.
In this I was frustrated.
Otherwise, I should have been
the life and soul of the party.
Look, if this place
is getting you down,
I think you should go
and stay with Marcus' aunt.
No. It's not me I'm afraid for.
It's the older generation.
I feel I'm looking on, helpless,
while something awful
is working itself out.
I tried to explain to Marcus,
but he just got angry with me.
Who is the man in London
who frightened you?
Was it Cousin George?
You must tell me.
Yes.
But he's got nothing to
do with this. I promise you.
It was for Aunt Caroline's sake.
Please don't try and find him.
It would kill her.
Just sign the thing and
backdate it. That's all I'm asking.
- I won't. It's fraudulent.
- It's not fraudulent, it's the truth.
Look, Marcus, I'm in a jam.
Campion. Thank God you're
still up. Come in. Shut the door.
He knows what I mean.
Someone's stolen my gun.
What? Why didn't you tell me?
We only found out an hour ago.
Uncle William has just
raised me from my bed.
I explained to him that, as a
solicitor, I cannot do what he's asking.
He insisted we come here
to discuss the matter with you.
He can read it for himself.
I'm not ashamed.
It's a sworn statement
to convince the police
that I'm suffering
from this malady.
You can see the position I'm in.
These attacks. Can you
describe them in more detail?
Well, yes. Of course I can.
It's just that I... I forget
where I am sometimes.
Then after a bit, I remember.
I forget what it's called.
Amnesia, or something.
- Has it happened often?
- No, but, it is getting worse.
Last June,
I was walking down Petty Cury,
and my mind suddenly went blank.
Next thing I knew, I was standing
outside the Roman Catholic church
with a glass tumbler in my hand.
And then, last Christmas,
after a dinner party,
I walked down to the gate with
Andrew to get some fresh air.
Three hours later, I was
shivering in a cold bath.
Might have killed me.
And since then?
Well, the Sunday
that Andrew disappeared...
That's what's so worrying.
I remember standing in the
road leading to the meadows,
having an argument.
And then, suddenly I was back
at the house, lunch half over.
The state of your health
must have concerned you.
Didn't you feel like
taking medical advice?
Well, yes, I did.
This makes it even more awkward.
I went to see Sir George Woodthorpe,
the Harley Street nerve man,
end of January.
Only, I can't confirm it.
Because I thought it
prudent to change my name.
Used the name of Gregory.
Fellow in my club,
Levett's in Brook Street.
He'll be a bit
touchy about it, too,
because I wasn't able
to pay the bill.
Perhaps he'll remember the case.
It may be our only hope.
What do you mean, "hope"?
I'm as innocent
as a newborn babe.
Don't you believe me?
Good night, William.
I'll speak to you
in the morning.
Damn disobliging young pup.
I thought the father was
an uncivil old fool.
Didn't expect the boy
to be difficult.
Wake up, Julia, dear.
I've brought you your tea.
Mmm.
Joyce! Oh, Joyce!
Perfect.
- Oh, oh!
- Go and see what the fuss is, my dear.
Oh, please, oh, please take it
away. Oh, please take it away.
What's the matter?
I bought him for you.
For you, Kitty dear.
You must have him in your
bedroom, as a companion.
- It's horrible.
- Are you afraid of him?
It would give me nightmares.
Oh, really?
He does look uncommonly
like your dear departed husband.
Oh, Joyce.
What are you
moaning about, Kitty?
What is that monstrosity?
One could hardly expect you to appreciate
a priceless work of art, my dear Julia.
It's Balinese, I am told.
You can't have him,
I bought him for Kitty.
I don't want it. I didn't ask for
it. Oh, tell him to take it away.
Uncle Andrew.
What the deuce
is this awful racket?
Go away, William.
All right, I will. Damn it.
What is it about you, Andrew, that makes you such a pig?
Nobody asked you to come
and live in this house.
You're a nuisance to us all and you
make poor Kitty's life of absolute misery.
And what do you want, woman?
My pepper's empty.
Enough pepper in that corseted
old body to last a lifetime.
- How dare you!
- Julia.
If I didn't hear that remark
then neither did you.
Which means, Andrew,
that you didn't utter it.
Look.
Good Lord, what was all that
fuss about upstairs?
I can't enjoy my food, Mother,
in this festering atmosphere.
Rather mildewed
for the time of year.
I didn't hear you, Andrew.
I was remarking
about the weather, Aunt.
Rather mild
for the time of year.
Liar.
How now brown cow?
Oh, you intolerable man!
Sit down, Julia.
Andrew, if you persist
in your childish behaviour,
I shall have no hesitation but
to ask you to leave the table
and go to your room.
I wish he would.
Man's as tight as an owl.
I'm not as tight as you are,
old boy.
What did he say?
That's the clock weight, madam.
That's made a dent in the wood.
It's an omen. It is an omen.
Nonsense, nonsense.
You all know perfectly well that clock
weight falls down once every 15 years.
- Am I right, Alice?
- Yes, madam.
And nothing unfavourable
happened last time, did it?
No, madam.
We just got that mended.
Very well then.
And since it appears
we cannot conduct ourselves
like grown people this evening,
I suggest we continue
our dinner in silence.
Cousin George is here.
The blaggard. What does he want?
- Money, of course.
- You're in check, Uncle William.
I must go to Aunt Caroline.
There's no need.
She's agreed to see him
in the library.
I have no intention
of meeting Cousin George.
Certainly not.
Sleep tight, William.
You've got me cornered there,
can't get out of it.
Going to my room. Good night.
Good night, Uncle William.
Why did they all run away?
Poor old George.
He only wants what we've
all wanted these many years.
A slice of that witch's cake.
Well...
Too late now,
she'll outlive us all.
And what are you doing in this
dismal old house?
You can make a dash for it, you
know, and still pick up your share.
She likes you.
I'm getting married in August.
Of course you are.
Yes, to young Marcus.
And that's very sensible.
You shouldn't have teased
Aunt Kitty, should you?
No.
But it made for a lively dinner.
Something to remember.
That...
And the clock.
All I'm saying is that if we'd
started off 10 minutes later
we wouldn't be forced to
travel at this centipede pace.
What on earth does it matter
what speed we travel at?
Your trouble is, you're vain.
You want extra time to preen
yourself in front of your mirror
so you can smirk at the
ladies during the sermon.
- I do no such thing.
- You're vain, William.
Vain, vain, vain. You're a vain,
glorious, pompous old hypocrite.
And you're a parasite!
Oh, will you stop it, please,
both of you!
And this, if I mistake not,
Watson is... Good heavens, the Force!
Campion!
Who's after you now?
I'm waiting for a client.
What are you looking for?
Oh, warmth and a little quiet.
This weather upsets my liver.
You know,
I didn't think there were
half a dozen men in London who
knew of this little hideout.
Yet the first time I drop by in
years, I find you sitting here,
in fancy dress.
Lugg put me onto it.
I needed somewhere
to interview a young lady
who's been
so grossly misinformed
that she believes
I'm a private detective.
Funny how
these stories get about.
If you've got some silly woman
coming here, don't you tell her who I am.
What's the problem anyway?
Scandal in high life?
No. I've had a letter from an old Cambridge
friend, Marcus Featherstone, lawyer.
Oh.
His fiancee has lost an uncle
and I'm supposed to find him.
Apparently she has a romantic
nature and leads a very dull life.
I thought this would provide
her with a peep of the underworld,
which was at once clean,
safe and edifying.
I do wish she'd turn up.
I gave Lugg
explicit instructions.
"The gods of chance
are always capricious."
"The
thrill of meeting the sleuth."
"Craving your services"?
I don't think I should cotton
on to your friend Marcus.
Quite frankly, any girl who's
pledged herself to Marcus
must be mentally stunted.
Besides, her trouble
seems absurd.
She's coming.
A lame man wearing
number 9 boots,
probably a
chandler's mate by profession.
Sounds like good
sensible shoes, anyway.
I do hope Marcus hasn't
picked a thundering English rose.
Oh, it's that bloke.
I don't like the look of him.
Ah, Mr Oates. I have a piece of information
which may save you a lot of trouble.
Oh, I didn't know you
had a companion with you.
Or a witness?
Miss Blount?
My name's Campion.
Bend her head down.
She'll be all right.
I'm sorry.
Where is he?
Oh!
But when you saw him,
you nearly fainted.
And when you recovered,
you said, "Where is he?"
No, you must have
made a mistake.
He conveyed nothing to me.
How could he?
Look, I'm afraid I made
a horrible fool of myself.
I dashed out this morning
without any breakfast
and there wasn't time for lunch.
And I just got
a bit giddy, that's all.
It is very dangerous not to eat.
You are "the" Mr Campion,
Marcus' friend, aren't you?
The sleuth?
I better be honest with you,
Miss Blount,
Marcus may have given you
the wrong impression.
If you want a real detective,
here's Inspector Oates, one
of the finest at Scotland Yard.
It isn't a matter
for the police.
You don't mind, do you?
Oh, I can assure you, miss, you couldn't
have found yourself in better hands.
I'll leave you
with your client, Albert.
Come on, I'm taking you back to Bottle
Street and giving you something to eat.
When I was here earlier,
I met rather an odd person
who sent me off to look for you.
Oh dear, yes. Lugg can sometimes
be rather abrupt with people.
Marcus has told you I've got
a bee in my bonnet, hasn't he?
Oh.
I thought you was alone.
Excuse me, miss, being
negligent, as it were.
Lugg, this young lady has
had nothing to eat all day.
See what you can do, would you?
Leave it to me,
I'll serve you up a treat.
No herrings.
All right, don't spoil it.
He's absolutely charming
when you get to know him.
He used to be a burglar.
- Lost his figure.
- Poignant story.
It cramps your style
when your only means of exit
are the double doors
in the front hall.
So, Marcus is the family lawyer.
He's rather young
for all that, isn't he?
Old Mr Featherstone
retired last month,
so Marcus has had to take it
all on, poor dear.
And it's Uncle Andrew
who's disappeared?
Last Sunday week.
If you knew our household,
you'd realise that was
extraordinary in itself.
Sunday is the day
when Great Aunt Faraday
has us under her eye
practically the whole time.
Besides, he hadn't any money.
When I came out of the church, I
heard Andrew and William arguing.
Wait for me!
- What've you done with the car?
- I've sent it off.
We're walking home today.
- Walking? In this weather?
- Pleasant enough.
It's damned awful. Mist.
Ah. Well, I'm walking down through
Grantchester Meadows along by the river.
The meadows? That's a
ridiculous long way around.
We won't be home till tea time.
That's what I'm gonna do!
You can do as you
damn well like.
That was the last I saw of him.
And Uncle William?
He came home alone. We
were halfway through lunch.
He was very hot and angry,
and surprised that Uncle
Andrew hadn't got back before him.
Apparently they had separated
soon after I saw them walking away.
Here you are.
Potted shrimp, gentlemen's
relish, eggs and a nice bit of ham.
I made tea. I like cocoa
me self, but I made tea.
Thank you. Looks delicious.
Hope you enjoy it.
Tell me about Uncle Andrew.
I notice his name
isn't Faraday, but Seeley.
Yes, he's a son of Great
Aunt's younger brother.
He lost his money
in some company swindle
and came to live with the
family about the same time.
It must be about 20 years ago.
Twenty years? And he hasn't
done anything since then.
They were never much good
at working, any of them.
That's why Great Aunt holds
the purse strings so tightly.
If Uncle Andrew has any money,
he'll go straight to the bookmakers.
Well, he may have
won something. People do.
No, he hadn't. Not then.
I haven't told you
the whole story.
Great Aunt thinks that backing horses
is not only wicked, but rather vulgar.
To save furious rows all round,
we used to keep Uncle Andrew's
investments as quiet as possible.
Must seem all rather
childish to you, I suppose.
Not at all. Carry on.
When he hadn't returned
by Sunday evening...
I went into his room.
There were some letters
waiting to be posted.
One was to his bookmaker.
And one he was still writing when
the bell for church must have rung.
So you see, he couldn't
have meant to go off.
When he still hadn't returned
by Wednesday morning...
Bad blood. No sense
of personal discipline.
Poor wayward Andrew.
How you, of all people,
can say that.
Don't suppose he could have
lost his memory?
Nonsense.
No one even faintly connected with
the Faradays has ever done such a thing.
Perhaps we should send out
an SOS broadcast.
That would involve the police.
And I'm not having them
in my house.
Quite right.
Out of the question.
And something else.
The weight on the
grandfather clock is missing.
We've hunted everywhere,
there's no trace of it.
- Difficult thing to lose.
- And a letter came for him.
I opened it.
It was from his bookmaker.
He'd won nearly £750 on an
outsider called Turkey Carpet.
I put it in his room and felt
much happier because I knew,
well, I felt certain that Uncle Andrew would
come back during the day to collect it.
But when he didn't, you
at last confided in Marcus.
He thinks I'm being silly.
But I'm frightened.
I want to know something
terrible hasn't happened.
Do you think you can help me?
Miss Blount, I think
we ought to start square.
You've got something else
on your mind, haven't you?
The inspector isn't here,
so won't you tell me now
who the man was in the yard
who gave you such a shock?
You're right.
I did recognise him.
But he's got nothing
to do with this.
Please, forget all about him.
Telegram.
The kid's waiting.
It's from Marcus.
"Can you come back
with Joyce at once.
"Rather terrifying
developments here.
"Would appreciate your
professional assistance.
"See evening papers."
I think I know
what you're looking for.
Terrifying developments?
What's happened?
Uncle Andrew.
Socrates Close. I remember
this house from when I was young.
I saw the carriage once,
coming through these gates.
Hasn't altered outside one jot.
Or inside. There's
something eerie about it.
Are you sure you want to go in?
- Why not come and see Marcus first?
- No.
I don't think I will,
if you don't mind.
They may all need me
rather badly.
Even if it is only to fetch
them more hot water bottles.
Goodbye. Thank you for coming.
There's no need
to see me to the house.
Goodbye.
First I heard of it
was this afternoon.
I got a visit from Alice,
told me to come to the house.
There's no telephone up there.
The place was in a kind of
a suppressed ferment.
Apparently an Indian student
found the body,
he was caught up
in some willow roots.
Been there for days.
- We've not been introduced.
- What?
- Still the same damn fool, Campion.
- Still the same.
His name's Foon.
Written "Featherstonehaugh".
How do you do, Foon?
Albert Campion.
Naturally, at first we thought
Andrew had drowned.
Then at the morgue, we
discovered someone had tied him up
- and practically blown his head off.
- Have they found the gun?
No, they haven't. Not yet.
I need hardly tell you,
that in a place like this
it's not only considered
unfortunate, but atrocious bad form
to have one of your relations,
or clients, mysteriously murdered.
My dear fellow, I'll do
anything I can to help, of course.
Without being offensive, it'll be
very useful to have someone here
who's not bound by the
scruples of police convention.
Someone who might hold
an intelligent watching brief.
And if you'll forgive me,
my dear Campion,
for using such a revolting term,
someone who's a gentleman.
- Sort of handyman, do you mean?
- Perfect.
The police may not care
for it, but tell me the worst.
I'm a ferret for information.
It's the family
that frightens me.
I mean, there they are.
Forty years out of date.
All, save for the old lady,
without their fair share of brains.
Herded together in that
great mausoleum of a house,
tyrannised over by one of the
most astounding personalities
I've ever encountered.
And there's no escape.
No vent to their
suppressed hatreds.
Petty jealousies.
Desires.
- And Joyce is in the thick of it.
- That's the snag.
- Charming girl, Marcus. Congratulations.
- Yes.
- We must get her out.
- Well, I'm doing my best. I'm marrying her in August.
- You're invited, by the way.
- Honoured.
She seems bound by some
strange loyalty to the place.
Her parents died a few years ago
and Great Aunt Faraday
took her in.
But she's just a general
dogsbody as far as I can see.
Why do you suppose anyone
should want to murder Uncle Andrew?
Seems to be the perfectly normal old
nuisance. Had no money to speak of.
Should have ensured
him a long life.
Unless, of course,
he stood to inherit
and somebody wanted
his share of the plunder.
No.
Strictly in confidence, though I
fancy the whole family know this,
Mrs Faraday altered
her will recently.
Andrew Seeley, her nephew,
was to receive nothing at all.
He'd either have starved,
or depended on
the problematic charity
of his cousins.
Uncle William.
- Show him up, Harriet.
- Yes, sir.
Enter a murderer?
Marcus, my boy,
I wanted to have a word... Ah.
May I introduce Mr Albert
Campion. Mr William Faraday.
- How do you do?
- How do you do?
Mr Campion's an old friend. We
were up at Ignatius together, William.
Oh, my old college, too. My
father was Master, you know.
- He was a legend, sir, in my time.
- Really?
Look, if you have
something to discuss...
No, no. Please don't
leave on my account.
I expect Marcus has told you
about this disgusting scandal, has he?
I have nothing to conceal,
just wanted a chat, really.
Ah, don't mind if do.
Campion's all right.
This is a bad business, Marcus.
We shall need some good
brains to get us out of it.
Extraordinary.
Typical of Andrew, he
couldn't even leave this world
without making
a lot of bother for us all.
Well, I've told the police
all I know.
But they don't seem satisfied.
Keep questioning me
about our walk.
What time it was
and where I left him.
It seems that Andrew's watch had
stopped at 1:10 when they found him.
The second thing I have to
say is rather more serious.
If you ask me, it's the most damned
obvious thing I ever saw in my life
who did this.
Cousin George.
By the way,
I must ask you, when this matter
comes out, to use your discretion.
Not tell the old lady that it was
I who put you on the right track.
I've never heard
of Cousin George.
Your father would have.
George Make peace Faraday.
Son of a dissolute
uncle of mine. And uh...
A trial and embarrassment
to the family
ever since the governor,
God bless him, died.
Hmm? Oh, thank you.
My mother wouldn't soil her
lips by mentioning his name.
Blackmailing four-flusher.
Blackmail? Why?
Ah. No idea. But...
He was round at the house
on the Saturday night
before Andrew
got himself killed.
I remember
it was Saturday night because
the clock weight
fell down at dinner.
Very disturbing. Thank you.
George came in
immediately afterwards.
Mother saw him in the library.
I don't know
what passed between them,
but he came out looking as
pleased as a couple of fighting cocks.
And he was still in Cambridge
on the Sunday.
Half-seas over
at 11:00 in the morning.
Barrel-shaped, unshaven object.
Has he got a puffy red face,
bright blue eyes,
a faint air of respectability about
him and a very deep-cultured voice?
Height about 5'7"
and inclined to squareness?
By Jove, you've hit him exactly.
Especially that faint air of respectability,
but that's misleading.
Are you clairvoyant
or some sort of detective?
Some sort of the latter, sir.
But tell me,
has George Faraday been seen
in Cambridge since that Sunday?
Not a sign of him.
- What do you suppose his motive might be?
- Well, it's not my business.
Andrew was a damned
cantankerous, unpleasant fellow.
Is that a motive? If so,
anyone might have done it.
I was up at Ignatius
with Andrew.
He muffed his finals twice,
took up medicine, muffed that.
When he came
into his money he lost it.
And mine with it in some infernal
company promotion scheme.
Water under
the bridge now, of course.
I am observant.
I am also scientific.
I formed many conclusions,
but the police did not value them.
You're an entomological
student, are you?
Yes, I was hunting for bugs
by the river bank.
Here. To be precise.
A black shape in the water.
Also... An odour.
- The corpse had swollen. I pulled it out.
- You weren't squeamish?
I am occidental, Mr Campion. I have
the inquiring mind of the investigator.
My first observation was
that the man was a tramp.
This was my error. The beard,
I now find, grows after the
decease has taken place.
Mr Cheetoo,
I wonder if you'd be so kind,
purely in the interest
of abstract science,
to demonstrate on me exactly
how the tying up was done?
I have purchased a ball of string and
a fine pair of scissors for this purpose.
Why certainly.
I measured accurately the
amount of cord on the body.
About two and a half yards.
What sort of stuff was it?
What thickness? Was it new?
Your question is curious.
It is what I asked myself.
It broke easily
when I touched it.
And I concluded it had been put to
use before this disagreeable purpose.
It was in the nature
of a clothesline.
He had a hat when he left
church. A bowler, I believe.
Of the hat, there was no sign.
I observed in this morning's paper
it had not yet been discovered.
Come on, Foon.
- The scene of the crime's over here.
- Consider the completeness.
Ah, yes.
But not professional. They're
ordinary knots. Not sailors'.
That is so. The cords around
the wrist, already rotten, no doubt,
and buffeted by his time
in the water, had frayed
and come apart.
And from my deduction,
it occurs to me that
this unfortunate did not
drift very far downstream.
You see the footbridge?
The water is very low
at this time of the year.
In my opinion, the body
was thrown in the water
from the bridge itself.
This is my opinion.
You are enlightened, Mr Campion?
Allow me to congratulate you
on your powers, Mr Cheetoo.
You have the true
investigator's gift.
Come on, Foon.
Back to your master.
Though it seems
scarcely credible,
I'd say things are looking
rather hot for Uncle William.
He was the last
to see Andrew alive,
he didn't arrive back
until halfway through lunch
with no proper explanation
for his movement.
I'm so pleased you've come.
I'm afraid I blabbed
to Aunt Caroline about you,
and she immediately
insisted on meeting you.
Apparently, she knows
your grandmother.
- She want to see me?
- No, darling. But I do.
- Thank you, Alice.
- How do you do?
Aunt Caroline is in the
library. Come with me.
By the way, don't sit
in the rose Dansk chair.
It used to belong
to Great Uncle Faraday.
- The whole room is a shrine to him.
- Thank you for warning me.
Come in.
Thank you, Joyce.
You may sit down, Mr Campion.
Yes, I see the family in you.
You grandmother, Emily, and I
have corresponded regularly
for the past 40 years.
So I've heard all about you
from her.
But I will not expose you.
My grandmother and I
are partners in crime,
in the eyes of the family
at least.
According to my mother,
she aids and abets me.
I had gathered that.
Now, to this terrible business.
I understand from Joyce that
Marcus has asked you to assist him.
I should like you
to act for me directly.
The spare room will
be prepared for you.
And the firm of Featherstone
will be instructed to
pay you 100 guineas if you remain
in my employ for less than one month.
Be quiet. You can refuse
afterwards if you wish.
But I am no longer young
and it is very necessary that
someone in this household
should consider things from
an intelligent point of view.
My poor children have not
been blessed with brains.
I must guard against such emotions
as anger, grief or excitement.
Which I have not now
the strength to support.
Now, I want you to understand
that I have nothing to conceal,
that is, from the police.
The sooner this thing
is resolved, the better.
I shall be delighted to do
all I can to help, Mrs Faraday.
But if I'm not to be a source
of embarrassment to you,
I must know of any pitfalls
into which I may stumble.
Besides your immediate
household,
was there anyone else
visiting the house
round about the time
of Mr Seeley's disappearance?
You have heard already
of George Faraday.
From William?
I was afraid this would
have to come out.
Yes, he was here the night
before Andrew disappeared.
Oh, I do not think for a moment
he has anything to do with his death.
The only death which could
possibly assist him is my own.
In my will, he receives
a small annuity
subject to his
emigrating to Australia.
On the Saturday night,
he came to borrow money from me,
and actually obtained £10.
That is all I wish
to say about him.
I shall expect to see you at my
dinner table this evening, Mr Campion.
We dine at 8:00.
I'm to be a buffer.
Not an old buffer, you know,
but a sort of pad,
as in railway carriages,
to deaden the shock she
believes are in store for her.
- What shocks?
- I don't know.
Is there anything at all
you haven't told me?
The smallest point
may be significant.
I'm not sure
how important this is,
but Alice told me
that she'd gone to the nursery
and she'd seen that the window
cord was missing from the skylight.
- As if it had been cut with a knife.
- Right. That settles it.
You're not staying here
in this house.
Marcus is anxious that I
should go and live in sin with him
till this is all over.
I didn't mean that at all,
you obstinate girl.
I've an aunt you can stay with.
I can't leave Aunt Caroline,
not at this time.
Besides, if Mr Campion is coming
to stay, I shall be perfectly safe.
Won't I, Albert?
What is your exact line
of business, Mr Campion?
People come
to Mr Campion for help.
Don't they?
- What sort of help?
- In solving things, Aunt Kitty.
Murder?
- Sometimes murder.
- Then who killed Andrew?
I thought Campion and I might
smoke a cigar after dinner, Mother.
Certainly, William.
Mr Campion,
if I should have retired
before you return,
the rising gong rings at 7:45.
- Have you everything in your room that you require?
- Everything is most charming.
In here's best.
The library always reminds me
of the governor, God bless him.
I'm afraid I can't
offer you a drink.
She's locked up
the tantalus again.
When people grow old, you
know, they get ideas in their heads.
- Anyway, have a cigar.
- No, thanks.
It's because we've got a guest
in the house, thank the Lord.
Anyway, damn it all.
When a chap's gone through what I've
gone through today, he needs a drink.
Here, help yourself.
Damned police had me back
all afternoon, questioning.
Wanted to know whether
I'd ever kept a revolver.
Well, I had one in the war, of
course, in the service. We all did.
- Didn't tell them, of course. None of their business.
- Quite.
- What happened to it?
- Hmm?
Well, it's with my kit.
Up in the old nursery.
Not the sort of thing
you need in private life.
Let's go and have a look.
What, now?
Devil, it's cold up here.
No fires allowed in the bedroom,
except in the case of illness.
Spartan regime
of the old school.
Here it is.
Well, bless my soul.
My revolver isn't here.
- Albert...
- Shh.
- Where's Great Aunt Caroline?
- Safely tucked up in bed.
What have you done
with Uncle William?
He's gone out for a walk.
He's had a bit of a shock.
- I've got a key.
- Too late.
Some people laugh
when they see me do this.
Some people kick me
out of the house.
Don't tell Marcus.
I know what you're thinking.
He liked to pretend
he was the poor relation.
He used to bring visitors
up here to show them
how badly he was treated. Which,
of course, was absolute rubbish.
I enjoyed my dinner.
Though my etiquette book
rather let me down.
It says that polite
conversation may be made
while passing the cruet.
In this I was frustrated.
Otherwise, I should have been
the life and soul of the party.
Look, if this place
is getting you down,
I think you should go
and stay with Marcus' aunt.
No. It's not me I'm afraid for.
It's the older generation.
I feel I'm looking on, helpless,
while something awful
is working itself out.
I tried to explain to Marcus,
but he just got angry with me.
Who is the man in London
who frightened you?
Was it Cousin George?
You must tell me.
Yes.
But he's got nothing to
do with this. I promise you.
It was for Aunt Caroline's sake.
Please don't try and find him.
It would kill her.
Just sign the thing and
backdate it. That's all I'm asking.
- I won't. It's fraudulent.
- It's not fraudulent, it's the truth.
Look, Marcus, I'm in a jam.
Campion. Thank God you're
still up. Come in. Shut the door.
He knows what I mean.
Someone's stolen my gun.
What? Why didn't you tell me?
We only found out an hour ago.
Uncle William has just
raised me from my bed.
I explained to him that, as a
solicitor, I cannot do what he's asking.
He insisted we come here
to discuss the matter with you.
He can read it for himself.
I'm not ashamed.
It's a sworn statement
to convince the police
that I'm suffering
from this malady.
You can see the position I'm in.
These attacks. Can you
describe them in more detail?
Well, yes. Of course I can.
It's just that I... I forget
where I am sometimes.
Then after a bit, I remember.
I forget what it's called.
Amnesia, or something.
- Has it happened often?
- No, but, it is getting worse.
Last June,
I was walking down Petty Cury,
and my mind suddenly went blank.
Next thing I knew, I was standing
outside the Roman Catholic church
with a glass tumbler in my hand.
And then, last Christmas,
after a dinner party,
I walked down to the gate with
Andrew to get some fresh air.
Three hours later, I was
shivering in a cold bath.
Might have killed me.
And since then?
Well, the Sunday
that Andrew disappeared...
That's what's so worrying.
I remember standing in the
road leading to the meadows,
having an argument.
And then, suddenly I was back
at the house, lunch half over.
The state of your health
must have concerned you.
Didn't you feel like
taking medical advice?
Well, yes, I did.
This makes it even more awkward.
I went to see Sir George Woodthorpe,
the Harley Street nerve man,
end of January.
Only, I can't confirm it.
Because I thought it
prudent to change my name.
Used the name of Gregory.
Fellow in my club,
Levett's in Brook Street.
He'll be a bit
touchy about it, too,
because I wasn't able
to pay the bill.
Perhaps he'll remember the case.
It may be our only hope.
What do you mean, "hope"?
I'm as innocent
as a newborn babe.
Don't you believe me?
Good night, William.
I'll speak to you
in the morning.
Damn disobliging young pup.
I thought the father was
an uncivil old fool.
Didn't expect the boy
to be difficult.
Wake up, Julia, dear.
I've brought you your tea.
Mmm.
Joyce! Oh, Joyce!