Mystery!: Campion (1989–1990): Season 2, Episode 6 - Flowers for the Judge: Part 2 - full transcript

THEME SONG PLAYING...

Let the whole of London
say what they will.

I will not listen
to their vile gossip.

And who are they,
these petty people,

with their lust
for cheap sensation?

It was an accident.

It was.
I don't know what or how.

But Mike did not kill Paul.
Did not!

Gina.

Someone murdered your husband.
I think you know that.

- No.
- I think we all know that.



(YELLING) Help me!
Help me, someone!

(WHIMPERS) Please.

Thank you for driving me home.

Please.

Can I see him?

It would be very much better
if you didn't.

Mr Campion,

I think I know what
you're going to tell me.

You had no idea
he was in love with you.

Isn't that just too awful?

What he must think. How
shallow he must find me now.

I don't believe he does.

We go back quite a long way,
you know.

And you are quite right.



Mike didn't kill your husband.

You can be sure of that?

I don't think he did.

We Barnabases. Oh!

Poor John.

Takes himself so very seriously.

Don't suppose you know.
Or do you?

The way Paul was killed,

taken from the plot
of a novel we published.

- Really?
- Mm-hm.

When?

Hmm. Two years ago.

Who saw it through
to publication, Mike?

I did.

Do the back lists of the company
contain any more surprises?

Possibly.

- It's just, I couldn't help noticing...
- Ah, yes.

You noticed we once
published a book under my name.

My own work. That's
very astute, Mr Campion.

If you're suggesting
my humble tome,

also a plot to murder someone,

afraid not.

What was the title of the book you mentioned
as having similarities with the murder?

Flowers for the Judge.

Modus operandi, identical.

We've published a lot of
such books. Murder mysteries.

And you take personal charge
of many of them?

This was the first.

And only.

You may have noticed, I'm the
unworldly Barnabas. (CHUCKLES)

Matter of fact,
I detest this firm.

This is Mr Richard's book.

The Life of the Circus
by Richard Barnabas.

Oh, please. Was it a bestseller?

Put it this way,

you could make yourself a
garden wall from the unsold copies.

(CAMPION LAUGHS)

Is Mr Ritchie unworldly,
would you say?

MISS CURLEY: What on earth
gave you that idea?

And Mr Brande?

Do you mean,
what did I think of him?

I thought he was a fool
and a cad.

Good book?

- Well written?
- This bloke knows his stuff.

- You've worked in the circus, have you?
- Page 100.

He mentions a Gerald A. Murray.

Known to my father
as Jedda the Strongman.

Comes the end of the Boer War,
this Jedda says to me old man,

"I'm off, me old china, for a
life of ease and the open road."

"What's that then, Jed?",
says me old man.

"The circus,
me dear old darling."

See? Well, your bloke
has got it bang to rights.

"The Man Mountain,
of Marsh Lane,

"and scrooge of public houses
the length and breadth of Lambeth."

- Scourge, possibly.
- That's what I said.

Hm.

Does Ritchie
really know his stuff?

Well, I'll say this.
It is art, isn't it?

Uh, next cab on the rank.

A rather pasty individual
called Riggett.

Left his last job
in a bit of a hurry.

I'd like you to nose around,
Lugg.

(LUGG GIGGLES)

If you can spare the time.

Tell me what you told
Sergeant Pillow, Mr Riggett.

Should I do that?

Am I supposed to?

Yes, or we'll go to
the head of the firm together.

I was only thinking of my job.

The day before Mr Paul was
killed, the Wednesday morning,

I happened to overhear this quarrel
between Mr Paul and Mr Michael.

- And how did that come about?
- Sir?

You heard them talking
through the wall?

Through a half-open door.
That one.

And what was said?

Well...

If you can tell me without bringing
a blush to your maiden cheek.

Mr Paul said, "You mind
your own damn business.

"She's mine. And I'll manage
my own life in my own way."

Was that it?

Then he said,

"Make love to her, if you want.

"Don't think
I'm going to stop you."

And what did
Mr Michael say to that?

Nothing.

Then he... I happened to
notice him walk away.

I could see what
he was thinking.

Could you indeed?

Oh, yes.

But then, of course, that's
not really evidence is it?

Not in a court of law.

He sounds absolutely loathsome.

How well do you know the staff?

Hardly at all.

Netley, the girl who's
Paul's secretary.

Conceited little thing.

Is it possible... I'm casting
around a bit, I have to confess...

Did she mean anything to Paul?

I don't know.

Supposing Riggett did hear something
passing between Paul and Mike

to the effect, you know,

"Do what you like,
it makes no difference to me."

Could that mean...

I'm really sorry to have to
ask you this, Gina.

Did he have another woman?

I don't know.

It is possible
there was someone else.

- But not Miss Netley.
- I wouldn't have thought so for a moment.

Though you don't know her.

When will this ever end?

The trial begins
the day after tomorrow.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

(HEAVY FOOTSTEPS)

LUGG: Office manila. Postmarked
Holborn, 4:30 yesterday.

Disguised handwriting,
or I'm a Dutchman.

Good man. Coffee, Lugg.

It helps, does it,
to make the place untidy

by sleeping in the chair
all night?

Coffee!

- What was it?
- A post office savings book.

Well, pro bono publico!

What is Latin for, a leg up.
From a secret admirer.

Yes, of course it's mine.

- And where do you normally keep it?
- In my bag.

And your bag?

How on earth did
you get a hold of it?

May I?

I can't help noticing you're a
thrifty young woman, Miss Netley.

You save 10 shillings a week
from your wages, it seems.

- That's not a crime.
- Oh, a virtue.

And this sum you pay in just down the road
at the Holborn office on a weekly basis.

We take the post there.
It's the nearest.

Hm.

But then there are these other
irregular payments.

- Birthdays.
- Ah.

People give you money and
you pay it into your account.

How many birthdays
a year do you have?

- Give me back my book.
- I don't think so.

It's theft!

Yes. Let's go and make
a complaint to the police.

We'll go together.

This particular year, did you
have a birthday on the 11th?

And the 13th?
And the 17th of January?

I mean, to add to the birthdays you had
in November and December of last year.

I don't have to talk to you.

You may find it less painful
to talk to me.

There's very nearly half a year's
wages of these... birthday presents.

Paid in at post offices from
King's Cross to St. James's.

What is this?
The rewards of blackmail?

You cad.

What a rotten thing to say.

Answer me.

You're not stupid.
What else could it be?

Presents for favours received?

From a man?

Only a man could think of that.

Then what are these payments?

I do not need to answer.

The reason you do not
need to answer, Miss Netley,

is that your little book
will speak for you.

You can be sure of that.

I came to see you
on quite another matter.

I want to ask you again about the last
few minutes you shared with Mr Paul.

I've told the police all I know.

It was in this very office,
wasn't it?

At close to half past three,
the afternoon post arrives.

I'll be Mr Brande, shall I?

There's just the one letter,
so I'll open it. Thank you.

Aha!

Now. What do I do
with the envelope?

Mr Paul scrumpled up the envelope
and the letter and threw them on the fire.

Like this? Did they burn?

- Or did you manage...
- They were burnt to ashes.

Yes, of course you'd have
checked that after he'd gone.

Anyway, I jump up. I'm Mr
Brande again, by the way.

I put on my hat and coat.
I'm excited, I think you said.

Now do I just go
without saying a word?

No. Mr Paul asked
if a parcel had come.

From Fortnum and Mason's.

- From?
- It arrived an hour after he left.

What did you do with it?

It's in the cupboard over there.

Still?

What business is it of mine?

You silly little fool.

It won't bite you.

You've looked inside.

I don't have to.
It's crystallised fruit.

Open it.

Who is the lady, Miss Netley?

You've found me, then?

- Yes.
- Come in.

(WHISTLES) Hello!

Be quiet, George!

He's absurd, isn't he?

Can I get you a drink?

- Whisky?
- Thank you.

Paul was really
a very simple man.

He could have had a girl with
nice long legs

and a collection
of dance-band music,

but he was happy here,
my dear old boy.

- It's very charming.
- Do sit down.

I knew him for 18 years.
We met at the end of the war.

Nothing could ever come of it.

He was awfully cut up when
he married that little thing.

But I said it didn't make a
blime bit of difference. Not to me.

He had to marry someone, I
knew that. That's what happens.

He didn't love her.

She didn't love him,
I shouldn't think.

But we struggled along.

You're very kind
to see me, um...

Teddie.

I suppose you must find it odd.

We were very happy.

Teddie, you realise whatever you
tell me is a confidence between us.

Thank you.

- Do you know about The Gallivant?
- The Gallivant?

Some old play or something.

I can't say
I understand it all myself.

The firm have got
the only copy of this thing.

Paulie wanted to exhibit it. Display it
or something. You know, make a splash.

Sell it, maybe. Supposed to be
incredibly valuable.

A large part of the equity
of the firm is bound up in it.

That's the ticket, yes.

But he wasn't a Barnabas.

He did most of the work.
He tried to modernise the firm.

But those three cousins
froze him out at every turn.

The Gallivant
was a particular example.

Poor lad. He was practically
chewing the carpet.

When did you last see him?

That Thursday.

He came to tea. About 5:00.

We had our little cuddle.

I wanted him to stay.
Make an excuse and to stay.

But he said,
"I can't, old thing.

"I'm off to Camden Town,
of all places, to get a key.

"Then I'm off
to the British Museum."

He said he'd ring.
As per usual on Sunday.

First time I saw his wife
was at the coroner's inquest.

I couldn't believe
how beautiful she was.

But he loved me. Do you see?

Yes.

I know how clever you are,
Mr Campion.

What you really want
to know is, what key?

May I make a guess?

It was a new key
for the office safe.

That's why he was killed,
wasn't it?

Until I met you,
I wouldn't have known that.

You may have
saved someone's life.

That won't bring
my dear old lad back to me.

Phew.

Good Lord!

Your man just sent me packing!

Do come in.

Says you're terribly busy.

May I ask, the Netley girl.

Her post office book?

Me. Stole it from her bag.

Shot in the dark. Any use?

You wouldn't be free
later on tonight?

Say, in a couple of hours?

Here?

I have some rather good
white burgundy.

Couple of hours.

I say, Ritchie...

There is something you
could do for me straight away.

The key to the
Golden Quill premises.

Who has one? Ritchie?
This is it. He just gave it to me.

Mike, John, Paul presumably,
and Miss Curley.

- The strongroom.
- I've just finished laying!

Now, wait a minute.

The strongroom.

The key to the strongroom.
Who has one?

There is only one. It's
kept in Miss Curley's desk.

A very security-conscious firm.

Yes, but then it's nothing more
than a stationary cupboard really,

except that it houses

the safe.

The key to the safe.

There must be a key. It
was locked when I first saw it.

- What sort of safe?
- Oh, pantomime effort really.

Duff and Eglinton,
maybe 40 years old.

Should be in a museum.

The key to the safe.

How many copies, normally?

Just the one for the old D&E.
It'd be a big old thing and all.

So, just the one.
The senior partners.

Oh, yes. Now what?

Burglary, Lugg.

I'll get me coat.

Good man.

- A little expert advice.
- Hm?

Good Lord, no!

You're a gentleman's
gentleman, Lugg.

I have a much more
congenial task for you.

Oh, yes.

I want you to run this round
to the British Museum.

Awfully good class of people
there, Lugg.

Hand it in, wait,

and then escort the gentleman

back here.

LUGG: And what'll you
be doing meanwhile?

CAMPION: Oh, just a little
harmless sleuthing.

(GROANING)

Just relax!

Ow.

I live with my parents.

They're both very respectable.

They don't know
anything about this.

They don't have to.

I'm evil. I'm not stupid.

It'll all come out.

I'm a filthy, evil,
little nobody.

If you say so.

When did you copy this key?

Last summer.

It was putting
temptation in my way.

We only have the one key.

It was asking for it.

But I didn't kill him.

We'll come to that.

Why did you copy the key?

Why do you think?

Hm?

Because it's exciting.

I can't stop myself.

I go through
the secretaries' desks.

That bitch Dora Netley and
Miss Marchant and...

The strongroom
is too great a temptation

I can't help myself.

It's power.

Over them.

All of you.

Rich people.

Stupid.

What were you looking for?

Not what I found.

Listen to me.

Murder, Riggett, somebody's
going to hang for it.

Real, plain, no-nonsense murder.

- That Friday...
- The day after Mr Paul disappeared.

Yes, of course.
I hid in the lavatory.

I waited till they'd all left.

I came down here, I
opened up, he was over there.

I was afraid...

I saw that he was dead,

and I thought...

What do people like you know
about me and my kind?

I felt a thrill.

Nobody would find him
until Monday or even later.

But I knew.

I knew all about it.

It was...

I don't go with women, but...

It was...

Why did you move the body?

Oh, no, nothing like that.

I didn't touch him, I swear.

Listen to me.

When you came down here that
night, was this door open or shut?

It was locked. I told you.

He had locked himself in.

So how could you open the door?

When I put my key in the lock,
it must have pushed his out.

When I unlocked the door, his
key was lying on the floor just inside.

So Mr Brande went into the room.

Locked himself in.

Why?

Was the safe open?

(STUTTERING)
Oh, I didn't touch anything.

I'm too scared for that
sort of thing. I never steal.

Answer my question.
Was the safe open?

Yes.

And the key was in the lock?

Yes.

But when the body was found,
the safe was locked.

Because I locked it and put
the key in my pocket.

And then you picked up his key,

the key that belongs
in Miss Curley's desk.

You locked him in again, put the
office key back in Miss Curley's desk...

And left. Is that right?

Yes.

And from all that followed
in those few moments,

it gave you pleasure to see a man,
Mr Mike, start on his way to the gallows.

Oh, no. I've told you...

You can't begin to understand.
I was trapped!

Give me the safe key.

I don't have it. I swear.

You took it away.

Back to your sainted parents,
did you?

Along with what?
Netley's lipsticks?

Little Miss Marchant's comb
or stockings?

And you watched while a man
was indicted for murder.

You're right, Riggett, you are
an evil being.

They'll say I did it!

Perhaps you did. I should certainly
go to the lawyer's tonight if I was you.

Oh, no, you can help me!

I don't think so, but you'll
help me. Here's a pound note.

You'll leave here now,
this instant,

walk up into Holborn,
and get a cab!

Go home and get the key to that
safe. Return it to me here within the hour!

Sixty minutes, Riggett!

Before I set the whole
of Scotland Yard on your tail.

Nobody will believe me.

I shouldn't think they will.

Ow!

- You're really awfully good.
- Hm.

And he didn't move the body?

You can be certain?

Well, certain's going a bit far. I don't
think he did. He's a terrible maggot but...

Mm-mm, nearly done.

But, if he left it
where it was...

It was quite possible for Mike
to have gone to the strongroom

and not discovered Paul, yes.

Hm, very dim light, figure
huddled up in a corner...

Exactly.

- However...
- My God!

Mm-hm. Sometime on the Sunday someone
did come down and did move the body.

And whoever did that was more
or less ensuring Mike's arrest.

This blows the whole thing
wide open.

Would it be better to say
it changes our point of view?

Ritchie, this is a key
to the safe.

I think Paul had it cut for
an especial reason.

I think he picked it up from a
locksmith that Thursday night,

and came down here
expressly to open the safe.

He even locked himself in,
secrecy was so important to him.

He was poisoned by carbon
monoxide in the course of his search.

Search? Search for what?

Now, current contracts,

fire insurance,

letters.

Oh, letters from the great
and good! To my uncle, I think.

Let's see.

Arthur Clough!

Look here! Tennyson! Letters!

You've seen it before,
of course.

Only once. At the bank.

Where it should be kept.

Valued at £20,000
on the balance sheet.

CAMPION: "O Sir, since Lady
Flippert hath a bee in her bonnet,

"you must allow if the bee
is not a queen

"the bonnet is at least
a la mode."

Think you may have stumbled
across the only clean line in it.

Scandalously...
What's the word? Rude?

Things have moved on a little
since then, Ritchie.

Don't know what you mean.

Paul and your cousin John were at
loggerheads over what to do with it?

John, most amazingly prudish.

I simply don't believe you.

Congreve was a very
accomplished playwright,

surely our ideas of what is and isn't
indecent have changed since then.

John absolutely incensed by the suggestion
it should be brought to the public,

under any circumstances.

Yes.

(CHUCKLES)
It's wonderfully funny.

- Where's the rest?
- Is it Congreve?

Ah, written well before, The
Way of the World, would you say,

but not included
in the collected works.

It's quite a find, Albert.

In his handwriting?

Oh, dear.

Thanks.

I'm afraid
Albert was an errant sort of scholar.

We were at school together.

No, it's hardly likely to be
in Congreve's hand.

It would be worth a fortune
as such.

You know, it could date later
than The Way of the World.

After all, he wasn't
an old fogey when he died.

Sandy, you can quite definitely
say it is not the original manuscript?

The Way of the World was
published in 1700, old thing.

Paper, Albert. Ink.

Mr Barnabas here
is a publisher...

Rather, a sleeping partner.

Oh, I see.

Well, this is written on
machine-made paper,

probably less than
100 years old.

Good heavens!

By which time Mr Congreve had
been buried in Westminster Abbey

for well over 100 years.

The ink is probably commercially
produced also, but I'd have to test that.

This is useful, Sandy.

The British Museum is open
to all for study.

We do make house calls
in exceptional circumstances.

Good of you to come round
here so late. Another glass?

No, thanks. I must go.
Bye, Albert.

If your family owns this
manuscript, Mr Barnabas,

I should encourage you
to publish it.

It would cause a sensation.

Of course, if you could
turn up the original...

CAMPION: Lugg will see you out.

Thanks.

Chin up!

(SIGHS)

What's it mean?

It means we have a second
motive for the death of Paul Brande.

Supposing Paul was on the verge of
discovering that the Gallivant manuscript

was not quite all it was
cracked up to be at the bank.

Not in the master's own hand,
but a 19th century copy.

- But the original?
- Yes.

The integrity of the
whole firm hangs on that.

Where is it? Does it still exist?
Can it be produced on demand?

- Perhaps Paul found not.
- Great Scott!

You know nothing of why
the copy was in the office safe?

I told you, Campion,
I'm not very good at that.

Curley will know.
Knows everything.

Perhaps...

Ritchie, we are party
to a secret.

I can keep mum, you know.
Quite good at that.

Where is John? I'm gonna
have to go without him.

There's plenty of time.
The cab will wait.

I want to do everything right
to support him.

I want to show him.

And so you will.

The legal process is stern
but just.

As far as the case against Mike
goes, you have nothing to worry about.

I promise you,
he'll be acquitted.

It's time to be
stout-hearted, Gina.

- I am terrified.
- Don't be.

You may not even
have to give evidence.

Then can't the trial
be stopped now?

It's one thing
to walk away innocent.

Quite another to have the
whole world know you're innocent.

Remember, he and you too have a point to
prove to the press and the general public.

It's better this way,
believe me.

I think I shall faint when
I see him in the dock.

- Oh, no you won't.
- Campion, good morning.

Good morning, my dear.

This is a most terrible day.

Good standing of the firm, such
a long and hon our able tradition.

But we are going to fight.

My word, we are going
to fight for him.

Gina, we must summon up
all our courage,

all our fortitude.

This is for you.

For me?

Aren't you coming with us?

I have one or two
loose ends to tie up.

Should I open this now?

They heavy object inside
is a key.

Good luck.

So. You're the real
Dora Netley, are you, miss?

That is my hon our.

And speaking as a lady, I'm in the
mood to come round behind that counter

and put my fist up your throat.

What do you want to know, Dora?

Who paid in £2.10

to my account, here,

on Jan 13th.

Well, if it wasn't
the Archbishop of Canterbury,

it was someone very like him.

Your father, perhaps.

Oh!

Keep talking riddles, you
horrible little itinerant.

Tubby geezer. Lah-dee-dah voice.

No hair and a brandy nose.

- Come far, had he?
- He don't live round here.

Dora.

Most helpful.

I'm afraid I should
have knocked.

- Not at the trial?
- No.

Please don't stop on my account.

What? Oh, the...

Pure nonsense.

Office carpentry. Door wedge.

Poor little Miss Marchant
off at the trial,

and obliged to call downstairs
for my own coffee.

I know what you've come for.

I'm very sorry, Ritchie.

Worked it all out last night.

Sat down with a bit of paper.

Cold logic.
Put the memory to the test.

This business about The
Gallivant. That's it, isn't it?

The original no longer exists.

Well, John doesn't have it,
you know.

Now our uncle, very secretive
sort of chap...

I don't think
it does exist either.

I think it was lost
or destroyed or sold.

Long time ago.

We've been living a lie.

Paul suspected.

And you? Never?

Racking my brains.

Could John still have it?

Or could he have benefited in
some way from its disappearance?

It seems inconceivable to me.

(SIGHS) This business means
everything to him.

(SCOFFS) He's not like me.

Not like Mike.

His whole existence is bound up

in the greater glory
of Golden Quill publications.

And in his position among
his fellow publishers.

You never suspected the Gallivant
manuscript to have disappeared?

Well, didn't matter to me,
you see. Not that keen.

But would it be sufficient cause
for your cousin John to murder Paul?

What a question.

It's the rest of Mike's life
we're talking about, Ritchie.

Yes, I know!

I think John did kill Paul.

But I don't know how he did it.

The very idea!

And Master John not here!

- In any case I can't spare the time.
- Mrs Peel...

Peelie.

And don't you Peelie me,
Master Richard.

I haven't time for it.

All highly irregular.

- (CAMPION CLEARS THROAT)
- This is a friend, Peelie.

He's here to help Mike.

The disgrace. A Barnabas
on trial for murder.

Just two minutes
of your time, Mrs Peel.

For one of your
favourites, Peelie.

- I've told you...
- Thank you so much.

Thank you.

You won't find a thing
out of place in there.

MRS PEEL: Here!

The blind impudence.

I don't know what the neighbours
will make of this, I'm sure.

Mrs Peel...

The night the police have been
asking all these questions about.

The Thursday night. Yes.

Mr John was going to a
banquet. You laid out his clothes.

I should think he was ill,
if he tried to dress himself.

In he comes on the dot of
5:30 and asks me to run his bath.

- Which I did.
- That was your daily habit?

I should certainly think so.

But Peelie, perhaps on this
occasion something happened?

I'm sure I don't know
what you mean.

Maybe...

Maybe he was in his bath a very
long time on this particular day.

Ah! Just the contrary, see.

All the time that I thought
that he was in the bath,

he'd fallen asleep in his room.

Come quarter to seven,

he pops out in a fine old rage
and said his water's gone cold.

So, I run another one,

which he takes in a real state,

then jumps into his
dinner clothes and scoots off.

Without so much as having
time to shave, if you please.

Most unusual for Mr John.

Just goes to show.

It does indeed.

MRS PEEL: Lord! Oh mercy,
whatever does he think he's doing now?

The car. Ignition on.
Foggy night.

But close the door carefully,

don't bang, the hose over
the end of the exhaust.

The grating! God!

Was he mad?

Any one of a dozen
or so things could go wrong.

No, no.

He looked through
the grating first.

(RITCHIE CLEARS THROAT)

How did he know Paul
was down there?

He waited in his bedroom,
watching the street.

The Netley girl wasn't blackmailing
Paul, she was spying for John.

Maybe... Maybe the letter saying the new
safe key was ready didn't burn after all.

Maybe... oh!

Enough to convict?

John could have done it. I
think he did. But look at it.

More holes than a string bag.

There's hardly enough concrete evidence
for the police to make a charge even,

let alone get a conviction.

Mr Campion, a telephone
call from the court.

It's Mr John.

My dear fellow, thank you
for coming.

And thank you for the envelope
you delivered this morning.

What's happening?
Aren't they in session?

The judge called a recess,
which ends in two minutes.

We haven't much time.

- I'm sorry.
- I can quite understand your suspicion.

May I take it that Ritchie
has been helping you?

It all hangs on The Gallivant, is
that your understanding of the matter?

- Um...
- Well, of course it does.

The Gallivant. The whole firm, not
just the good standing of our reputation,

but the continued
existence of our company.

How can someone like Ritchie
begin to understand a thing like that?

CAMPION: And does
the manuscript still exist?

What are you saying,
my dear chap?

John, a man is on trial
for his life.

Wouldn't it be better to be
frank at this point?

What in God's name has that fool
Ritchie been filling your head with?

The Gallivant is utterly
crucial to our funds and assets.

How many times must I explain?

Ritchie believes it to have been destroyed
or disposed of in someway in the past.

- If Paul Brande had been...
- If, if!

If! Of course the play
in the safe is a copy.

Brande? Ritchie? Do you realise
what harm this sort of thing can do?

- Theories, suspicions.
- And...

I'm afraid I've been most
stupid. The original does exist?

My very reason
for summoning you here.

It's in our warehouse in Vauxhall.
I have it hidden in the building.

JOHN: Go there and satisfy
yourself, bring it back with you.

I'll tell you exactly
where it's hidden.

One glance tells you
it's a frame!

Haven't you always taught me,
Lugg? Frames is evidence?

Don't do it.

I think I will, all the same.

(SIGHS)

"Top shelf, under ledger."

So far, so good.

Well, perhaps I have you
wrong after all, my dear John.

Go on! Up you go.

Use your feet. Use your feet!

You can do it. You can do it.

Frames is evidence,
right enough.

You can't speak to him now.

He's come back from the courts
in a black mood.

- I'm really not...
- He's in the bath!

He wouldn't speak to me, he
wouldn't let me help. You can't go in!

I'm really getting awfully
good at this, Mrs Peel.

So to save you threatening
it, why don't you call the police.

Mr John! Mr John!

(GAS HISSING)

Turn off the stove and
anything else with a naked flame.

RITCHIE: (ECHOING)
What? Oh, the...

Bit of nonsense.

Office carpentry. Door wedge.

Well, with little Miss
Marchant off at the trial,

I'm obliged to shout
downstairs for my own coffee.

Oh, Ritchie.

CAMPION: Perhaps I haven't
made myself clear.

Perfectly clear.

He'll walk away a completely free
man. I came here to bring you to court.

And then what?

Gina, he proved his innocence.

In a court of law, perhaps.

How many press are outside
now, 20? And in the court?

It will be painful.

I can't!

I just can't face
any more of it.

First Paul, then John,
now Ritchie.

I gather he's just vanished
into thin air.

I suppose the hunt for him
is on. Perhaps I was his lover.

Does it help to say
that Mike needs you?

Later.

When all this has blown over.

He loves you, Gina.

I have to have time.

I have to think.

Do you believe in
happy endings, Mr Campion?

What will you do?

I'm so ashamed.

Not to be able to just
run to him.

CAMPION: Happy endings?
I wonder.

Michael certainly
had reason to believe in them.

After the discovery of John's body,
the case against Mike was thrown out.

The general opinion, of course,
was that John committed suicide.

And the police were content
to leave it at that,

so long as Ritchie
didn't reappear on the scene.

As for Ritchie's part in the
whole affair, well, let's just say

he had assisted the course of
justice in his own inimitable way.

I often thought about him.

And then last year,
on a fishing trip to Ireland,

Lugg, as usual, having
completely lost his way...

Lugg?

Murray's Circus.
Friend of yours!

Not Jedda Murray, surely.
He must be in his 90s.

Want to go and have a look?

Love a duck!

Sleeping dogs, Lugg.

(CLEARS THROAT)

But I did write to Mike
and Gina Barnabas about Ritchie.

And yes, there are
such things as happy endings.

THEME SONG PLAYING...