The Duchess of Duke Street (1976–1977): Season 2, Episode 7 - The Patriots - full transcript
It's 1915 and Louisa is upset that one of her guests, the apparently able-bodied Mr. Appleby, has not yet enlisted in the armed forces. She wants him to leave as soon as possible. On another issue, she is warned by a Lieutenant in Naval Intelligence that either a guest or a member of the staff may be spying for the Germans. It turns out that there is both a guest and a staff member spying resulting in the death of one and the arrest of the other.
MAN: Mrs. Trotter's a real
culinary artist, isn't she?
SECOND MAN: Marvelous
one. Do you know,
she used to cook for the Kaiser
before the war, and
when it all started,
she had his signed portrait...
Evening, Starr. How are you?
Very well, thank you.
You seen Gaspard, Mr. Starr?
Sent him down to the cellar
to fetch these ages ago.
Had to run down
and fetch them myself.
He's just gone into
Mrs. Trotter's room.
Must be handing out tips, then.
Poor little Belgium.
That little frog's
made a fortune
since he's been here.
You on leave?
Yes. Just off a new
stunt with Freddy Brydon.
- All very hush.
- Good fun?
Hope so. Better than sitting
in some bloody
battleship off Gallipoli
being slowly eaten to
death by mosquitoes
or sitting in the North Sea
waiting for the Grand Fleet
to come out and give battle,
which they won't, if
they've got any sense.
I must confess to a feeling
of shame, Mrs. Trotter.
Yes, shame and anger.
When I look around this room
and see the faces of
these gallant young men
going off to face death
with such courage,
I am bitterly ashamed
of my country's neutrality.
I shouldn't feel too bad
about it, Mr. Brewster.
After all, the Americans are
sort of neutral on
our side, aren't they?
Their hearts and
minds are with you.
I firmly believed that
the sinking of the Lusitania
would bring their
physical support, too.
As I wrote to my
sister in Milwaukee...
Oh, yes. How is your sister?
See you had a letter
from her the other day.
Well enough, thank
you, but worried.
Since the zeppelin attack,
she appears to
think that the country
is under continuous
aerial bombardment.
I am obliged to
reassure her of my safety
by writing to her at
least once a week,
or she would suspect the worst.
Oh, dear.
Oh, I'm so sorry, madam.
I should think so!
This is a party, not a
Band of Hope meeting.
Get some more.
It was very kind of you
to invite me to your
celebration, Mrs. Trotter.
May I inquire as to just
what the occasion is?
It's not my party. It's
young Freddy Brydon's...
Oh?
Naval lieutenant that's
talking to the major.
He's been posted.
Off to join a ship tonight.
I swear if I was a younger man,
I'd volunteer myself.
You're doing your
bit, Mr. Brewster.
All that steel we
get from America
to make the shells and guns.
We got enough
shirkers of our own to get into uniform
before we start on Americans.
Got one in the
hotel, as it happens,
though that was an accident.
I wonder, Mrs. Trotter,
if... well, I hesitate to ask
lest you consider it an
example of American brashness.
You can't get shot for asking.
I would like to...
well, to do my bit
in a small way, if I may.
Mrs. Trotter, may I pay for
Lieutenant Brydon's party?
Please, I intend no offense.
I'm sure he'd be delighted.
The no-treating law don't apply
to the Bentinck.
I'll see it goes on your bill.
I'd feel privileged.
I would also like
to shake the hand
of Lieutenant Brydon
and wish him safe waters.
That's easy enough arranged.
I'll bring him over.
Freddy, someone
here wants to meet you,
say bon voyage.
Delighted, Louisa.
Just point me in his direction.
In your state?
You sit down again.
You wouldn't see in which
direction I was pointing.
I say, old boy, I don't
think you've got time, really.
Good Lord, you're right.
I've got a train to
catch at half past 6:00.
Starr hasn't even
brought my bags down yet.
You'll miss that
one. It's 6:15 already.
Oh, I don't know. I could drive
him to Charing Cross in no time.
In fact, I could drive
him down to uh...
To Folkestone.
In your state in my bus?
No, you don't.
Merriman, you pop outside.
You ask Starr the
next train to Folkestone.
But I'm serving
the guests, ma'am.
Couldn't Gaspard...
You get on with it.
And you can ask Mary to
make a pot of coffee...a big one.
Mr. Brewster, this
is Lieutenant Brydon.
Mr. Brewer...
Brewster.
♪ Da da da da da ♪
Bye, Louisa!
I'll be seeing you!
Mind your head.
That was a very kind
thought you had, Mr. Brewster.
My pleasure, Mrs. Trotter.
A most likable
fellow, young Brydon.
I wish we'd had time
to get better acquainted.
Oh, well.
Good evening, Mrs. Trotter.
Some excitement, it would seem.
Just seeing someone
off to defend his country,
Mr. Appleby.
Mr. Brewster, there's
some more Champagne left.
Oh, thank you.
Oh, wait, Gaspard.
Yes, Mr. Starr.
Post office.
Get your coat on. Look smartish.
Tres bien.
He's a shirker, that's
what he is. A shirker!
If you feel so strongly
about it, Mrs. Trotter,
I'm surprised that you
gave Mr. Appleby a room.
It was Mary that done that.
I wasn't here when
he arrived, you see.
He was limping.
She thought maybe
he'd been discharged
because of a war wound.
We had a bit of trouble
about that a while back.
I've been careful ever since.
If the Bentinck made
its guests register,
I'd have spotted him for
a shirker straightaway.
But we don't,
so it was a while
before I found out.
I've been meaning to
chuck him out ever since.
I just haven't got round to it.
Still, if Mr. Appleby was
unfit for active service...
he told the major
he sprained his ankle
falling off a horse.
He's got a job at
the Foreign Office
translating things...
a cushy billet for the duration.
He make me feel
ashamed, he does!
Why should you feel ashamed?
It's a funny thing,
Mr. Brewster.
I don't come from
the upper crust meself,
not by long shot.
But they've always been my sort.
I've stood up for them,
even if some of the things
said about them were true.
I have long held that
the English aristocracy
is an ornament to your society,
and I speak as a
Republican-voting American.
And when it came to this
country's hour of need,
they didn't need
to be asked twice.
I felt proud of
them, Mr. Brewter,
I really did.
I know there's a lot
of ordinary men dying
out there in France,
but a fair bit of blue
blood's been spilt
into the ground as well.
Yes, one has only to
look at the casualty list
to see the terrible
toll among the officers.
And Mr. Bleeding Appleby's
making sure his name's not on it.
Most likely used his
connections to keep out of it.
That makes him even worse
than the ordinary shirker.
When he goes, I
won't have him back,
and he might be going
sooner than he thinks.
Bartlett!
Ah!
Nice to see you again.
Thank you.
I thought we might
have our discussion here.
So much pleasanter
than my office.
Care for a drink before lunch?
Uh, thank you. A seltzer.
A seltzer? You're sure?
Disgusting beverage, I agree,
but as a lifelong teetotaler,
I've become reconciled
to being punished
for the sin of total abstinence.
Totality is to be deplored
in anything, except war.
Sherry Amontillado
and a seltzer.
Certainly, sir.
Good God! Waitresses
in the Athenaeum.
The present conflict
has reached a stage
of unimaginable ferocity.
I imagine a naval
intelligence officer
might have a very clear view
of just how ferocious
it could become.
The U-boats could
become a decisive factor.
Still, you're unlikely to be
torpedoed at the Admiralty,
though come to think of it, I've
just fired one at the War Office.
Really? What were
you trying to sink?
A suggestion, a proposal of
mind-reeling folly and futility ...
this Brussels business -
Nurse Cavell affair. You
have some knowledge of it?
Some, yes. I've heard a British
nurse has been charged with spying.
She isn't a spy, of course,
but she certainly offended
against the German military code.
There's been a suggestion
that we might mount
a military operation
to rescue her.
Difficult, I should
have thought.
Not difficult. Impossible.
The whole idea's
quite preposterous,
and I've had to say
so in very direct terms
to some very important people.
But when a woman is
threatened with a firing squad,
emotion overcomes reason.
You don't really think the
Germans will shoot her?
They wouldn't be so silly.
They might pronounce a sentence,
but it would be
modified in the light of...
..diplomatic protest
from the neutrals.
The Americans have
already indicated such a move,
and we believe that
Spain will do likewise.
But a military
operation... preposterous!
I seem to have caught
you at a bad time.
My dear chap, these
days, it's always a bad time.
Well, your health, Vickers.
And yours.
Now, what can I do for you?
I'd like the cooperation
of the other
intelligence branches,
the police and whoever,
and I'd like it with a
minimum of red tape,
since I'm dealing with a
matter of some urgency.
You've, uh, heard
of the Q-ships?
Gunboats disguised
as tramp steamers?
They are a most effective
weapon against a submarine.
Crew is dressed in mufti.
Keep as far away as possible
from other naval personnel
and tell nobody what they are.
They have strict
operational instructions
in the event that their
vessel is torpedoed.
They have to give the...
appearance of being a stricken,
defenseless merchantman,
until the submarine surfaces
to finish them
off with shellfire.
At that point,
the U-boat becomes vulnerable
to their own concealed guns.
Sound scheme.
We know the German
navy is short of torpedoes.
They wouldn't
waste two on a tramp.
They did. That's just the point.
Our Q-ship, the Menai Trader,
was torpedoed
twice in the channel,
and the U-boat didn't surface.
Taking no chances, eh?
There's more to it
than that...much more.
That same day,
the U-boat itself was
sunk by a destroyer,
and some of the crew
were taken prisoner.
I was present when they
were being interrogated,
and it soon became clear
that the submarine
commander knew very well
what the Menai Trader was.
Good Lord! How could he?
There were no
survivors from the Q-ship,
but I questioned
several of the relatives,
and one had more than an inkling
of the vessel's purpose.
The fiancee of
one of the officers,
a Lieutenant Brydon,
received a letter from him
in which he
described his training,
said where he was being sent,
and, worst of all,
named the ship.
Anyone reading it could
have made an intelligent guess.
Poor indiscreet dead chappie.
I suppose she talked
about it all over the place.
She says not,
and I'm inclined to believe her.
So, the other possibility is
that Lieutenant Brydon
himself did the talking.
If so, to whom?
Hmm.
- May I see the letter?
- Oh, yes, of course.
I didn't know you
were here, sir.
I just done the bedroom.
I'll come back and finish
in here later, if you like.
No. I'm off again in a minute.
Where's the maid who
usually does my room?
She's been off sick
for the past few days.
Can't get a replacement
what with the war
and them all going
into munitions.
Ah, the war!
What a wearisome
business it is, to be sure.
Wearisome? I wouldn't
call it wearisome, sir.
Oh, the drabness of it all.
One's eyes get quite sick
of the sight of all that khaki.
Damnably difficult to
get a decent meal, even.
Still, I suppose the
Bentinck's doing its best
to maintain some
sort of standards.
We're managing all right.
Some things are a bit short,
but Mrs. Trotter knows how
to get hold of them.
Mr. Merriman says it's all
the fault of these U-boats.
Merriman?
Oh, the happy-go-lucky
octogenarian
with the soup-stained thumb.
What does he know about it?
He would, seeing as
how he'd been to sea.
As Nelson's cabin boy, perhaps.
No. He was a steward
on a liner once.
Anyway, he says that the Germans
are sinking all our ships
because they want
to starve us out.
How very uncivil of them.
I believe the British
blockade has the same object.
But that's different.
I mean, after what the
Germans did in Belgium
and places like that.
You want to ask
Gaspard about that.
Rather not bother,
if you don't mind.
There's others have to bother...
them that's in the
trenches getting killed.
For me?
Oh, no. No.
I don't hold with
that sort of thing.
Must have come out the cushion.
Of course, and now
that I look more closely,
I can see that it
isn't pure white...
more of a lightish brown.
Still, perhaps that indicates
a qualified contempt.
I told you, sir, it came
out of the cushion.
And you shouldn't
speak to me like that,
especially when...
especially when?
Especially when you're
the only one in this place
that ever gives me a smile?
I didn't say that, sir.
Didn't have to.
What's your name?
Mary Phillips, sir.
Then I think you should
know, Mary Phillips,
that I do not consider
the opinions of servants...
be they favorable
or otherwise...
to be matters of
any consequence.
Do I make myself clear?
You used some long words
to tell me to mind
my own business.
They appear to have
been understood.
That's the rooms
all done, ma'am.
Is there anything else?
No. Off you go
and enjoy yourself.
You haven't had a day
off in weeks, have you?
I won't be back late. Heard
from Lord Haslemere?
No. Not for a month.
This is his last.
Don't know why
he hasn't written.
I expect he's busy
out there in France.
They're all busy
out there in France!
I'm worried sick, Mary.
I heard some of them
talking the other night.
Seems there's going
to be a big battle soon,
if it hasn't started all ready.
Somewhere called Looz.
Never heard of it.
Still, he might not be in it.
I heard that's where
the Guards are.
Since Charlie's in the Guards,
that means he'll be
in the battle, don't it?
Oh, no. Probably be well
away from the fighting,
in the rear with
all the generals.
If there's a fire,
he'll blooming be there, Mary!
He'll be in the thick of it!
I didn't mean...
I meant, with him
being so important.
Yeah, yeah. I know
what you meant.
Oh, sorry I flew off the handle.
It's just I wish I
knew where he was.
That's all.
They're not allowed to say
that sort of thing, are they?
Laundry maid got a letter
from her young man this morning.
Hardly said anything by
the time they'd censored it.
Just that he missed her
and thanked her for the socks.
At least she knew he was alive.
Or he was when he wrote it.
Looz...I must look
it up on the map.
What's that, ma'am?
Mud.
Mary, that's dried mud from Flanders.
From where he is...
where they all are,
most of them.
Mrs. Cochrane is on
at me to sign the pledge.
Says she has.
Well, that won't be
much of a sacrifice.
She never has more
than a glass of stout.
No, not that pledge.
The other one, where you promise
not to go out with any
man who isn't in uniform.
Well, Charles
will be a fine thing.
Still, shows her
heart's in the right place.
I'll be off now.
Mind how you go.
LOUISA: Ah, lovely!
Is Mrs. Trotter in, Starr?
One moment, sir.
Uh, Mr. Appleby's
outside, madam.
Wonders if you'll see him.
Yeah, all right. Show him in.
Come in, sir.
Good evening, Mrs. Trotter.
I apologize if I've
interrupted your meal.
You have. What do you want?
I'd like a word with the maid
who cleaned my
room this morning.
Mary, I think she's called.
She is, and you
can't. It's her night off.
Oh, if you see Gaspard,
tell him to get his
coat on, will you?
You'll have to
leave that for now.
Mr. Starr wants you
to take round the post.
All right, Mr. Appleby.
I'll ask her about it
when she comes in.
I'd be obliged.
Good night.
When are you
leaving, Mr. Appleby?
A direct question.
Why do you ask?
Because I need the
room for someone else.
No, that's only half true.
Because you're here under
false pretenses, that's why.
It's the policy of this hotel
to take only servicemen
or them that's been
wounded in the war,
and you're neither.
Your persistence
as a recruiting officer
can only be
admired, Mrs. Trotter.
You've got to be persistent
with them that
won't take a hint.
The management of this
hotel reserves the right
to refuse admission.
But hardly the right to evict
without good reason?
I've given you the reason,
and I'll have Starr chuck
you out, if needs be.
Then I shall feel obliged
to make the circumstances
very public, indeed.
Why do you want to hang
about where you're not wanted?
Plenty of other
hotels less choosy.
But few, I imagine,
whose kitchens can
provide such fulsome,
if unpatriotic, fare as the Bentinck's.
What do you mean... unpatriotic?
Come, come, Mrs. Trotter.
You know perfectly
well what I mean.
I'm not afraid of...
fiddling a little
bit, here and there.
We feed fighting men here.
Like bantam cocks,
if they can afford it.
But in these times
of scarcity and deprivation,
a certain public
opprobrium attaches
to those who
manage to avoid both.
I'm sure for the sake of
your guests, if not for yourself,
that you would
not wish to attract it.
You're a clever
Dick, aren't you?
You wouldn't come
out of it too well, neither.
Yes, but as I'm
sure we'd both agree,
I am a creature without shame.
Good night, Mrs. Trotter.
Beans, ma'am? That all?
Undercooked. Give him
a bit of cabbage as well.
See that the life's
boiled out of it.
Mr. Appleby's menu
receives my personal attention
from now on.
Merriman, since
claret's in short supply,
he'll have to make
do with barley water.
Barley water?
Oh, Ma'am!
I never thought
you'd serve a meal like that.
I don't know how you
can bring yourself to do it.
I'm gritting me teeth, Mary.
And see that his room's
done last, if it's done at all,
because we're short of staff
because there's a war on.
There's a Lieutenant Bartlett,
Royal Navy, would like a word.
I've shown him into your room.
I'll be there. There's the menu.
Take it down to Mrs. Cochrane.
Oh, and ask her to save
some cabbage for his dinner.
To serve a gentleman with beans
and cabbage and barley water,
I'd be ashamed to
look him in the eye.
Where's Gaspard?
I'm sorry. I can't let you
have that information.
If you could, Mrs. Trotter,
I assure you, you would
be helping the war effort.
War or no war, the
business of the guests
that stay at the
Bentinck is private.
You're not checking up on
those that hasn't registered?
My duties have nothing to do
with the National Register.
That's just as well,
because you'd be
wasting your time.
My guests are either
too old or in uniform
or foreigners.
Foreigners?
Well, Americans...
though they're not
strictly foreigners,
in a manner of speaking.
It's their manner of speaking
that makes them foreigners,
but I take your meaning.
Mrs. Trotter, I can officially
requisition the hotel records
if I have to,
but I would rather rely
on your cooperation.
Naval Intelligence?
Something to do
with spying, isn't it?
In essence, yes.
I'm not having you
spying on my guests!
The question is, are
any of them spying on us?
Oh, I don't know. I don't know.
What's it all coming to?
First barley water, now seltzer.
I don't know.
Uh!
Freddy Brydon.
It was young Forbes-Maltby
week before last,
Binky Feathergill
week before that.
He got shot down in one of them
observation balloons.
They're all going...
every one of them.
I don't think it's got anything
to do with the Bentinck.
Got no spies here.
Only secret we've got,
my recipe for quail pudding.
Kaiser Bill didn't care
much for that, as I remember.
The line of my inquiries
is a tenuous one,
but it's the best we
have at the moment.
With the high-ranking
military people you have here...
Oh, to be a German fly on
the wall when they're talking.
Well, I'd like to take this,
and I must ask you for a
complete list of your staff,
including any that
may have left recently.
All right. I'll see to it.
Good.
The one further thing.
You will understand
that what I have told you
is completely confidential.
It must go no further.
And that is not a request.
Starr, Major?
Gone to the dispense
for a cup of tea.
Can I help?
Yeah. I'll be obliged.
Ask Merriman to
send in a pot for me.
Oh. Right.
Are you sure, Mr. Merriman?
Of course I'm sure. I
got eyes...not that bad.
Merriman, Mrs. Trotter's back.
She'd like tea in
the parlor at once.
Major, what do you
make of this, sir?
It's a German newspaper!
We thought it might be.
Can you read German?
Not exactly fluent, but enough.
Says they're winning the war.
Blooming liars!
Says it'll be all
over in 18 months.
There's a bit here
about the allies
mistreating German
prisoners of war...
I say, Starr, where on
earth did you get this?
We keep old newspapers.
Mrs. Cochrane uses them
for cleaning out the oven.
I just happened to come
across it in a bundle.
Yes, but this is
only a fortnight old.
How on earth did it get here?
That's what we was wondering.
Mr. Merriman thinks he
saw Gaspard reading it.
Not thinks...I saw him
with it. That's a fact.
And he looked guilty
when I caught him.
Thought at the time it was
because I found him slacking.
What would he be doing
with a German newspaper?
Gaspard's a Belgian.
Ah! Says he is.
Now, look, this
could be very serious.
There is some suspicion
that the Germans
may have planted spies
among the refugees.
What did I tell you?
Well, nothing much so far.
Just that you caught
Gaspard reading a paper
when he should have been working
and he looked guilty, which
is no more than I'd expect.
The date of this thing
needs some explaining.
He's a spy. That explains it.
A blooming careless one,
if he left that lying about.
Just what does he
get up to at night?
What?
That's what I'd like to know.
Big mistake putting him
up there in that topmost attic.
Zeppelins.
What about them?
Easy enough to signal
zeppelins from up there.
Perfect place for it.
Bring a bomb down on top
of us one of these nights.
He'd get killed himself.
He's probably made some
arrangement to avoid that,
but I tell you this: he
gets up to something.
Couple of times I've come
home late in the night,
and there's the lights
blazing away in his attic.
See it as plain as
you like from the street.
Merriman, don't let
your imagination run riot.
Eh?
This had better be investigated
before it goes any further.
I will undertake to do so.
In the meantime, on no account
let Gaspard see
you're suspicious.
We'll keep this whole
matter to ourselves.
Run out of tea, then, have we?
No progress at all, I'm afraid.
I had to take Mrs.
Trotter into my confidence
to some extent,
and she's promised
to keep an eye open
for anything odd,
but I'm not very hopeful.
Although I did have
another look at that letter
Lieutenant Brydon
sent to his fiancee.
I noticed the letter
was dated the 14th
but postmarked the 15th.
Hardly significant.
I habitually forget
to post letters.
Carry them about in
my pocket for days.
Yes. True.
I'm grasping
at straws, I'm afraid.
I very much doubt whether
our inquiries at the Bentinck
will lead us anywhere.
They already have...
to the Rue de la
Culture, Brussels.
Edith Cavell's hospital?
Poor lady.
Von Bissing,
the governor-general,
is not noted for
his sentimentality.
I think she'll be shot.
You don't sound particularly
outraged at the thought.
One has to be realistic.
In assisting the escape
of allied prisoners,
nurse Cavell was of some value.
As a prisoner
herself, she's not.
But as a martyr...that's
a different story.
It could add 100,000
volunteers to the colors
and produce a
most significant effect
on world opinion.
That is very realistic.
The view is not simply my own.
I've heard it expressed
at much higher levels.
I think I shall go into a
monastery after the war.
I doubt if you'd find one
with a reputation
for making seltzer.
What bearing does this
have on the Bentinck?
Possibly quite a lot.
When nurse Cavell was arrested,
more than 30 Belgian civilians
were arrested at the same time,
one being mademoiselle
Justine Gaspard.
Recognize the name?
Yes! I saw it on that
list Mrs. Trotter gave me.
There's a...
There's a waiter at the
Bentinck named Gaspard.
He's her brother.
We checked his
record most carefully,
and there's no doubt.
The lady is at
present being held
in the prison of Saint-Gilles
while the German
military authorities
decide whether or not
she should stand trial.
Hardly a circumstance
that would predispose him
to spy for them.
It would if the alternative
was having his sister shot.
I'm sorry, sir. I've
run out of stamps.
Perhaps Mrs. Trotter's got some.
Ah.
Mr. Brewster, ma'am.
Oh, yes. Show him in, Starr.
Good evening, Mrs. Trotter.
I do apologize
for disturbing you
on what must
seem a trivial matter.
It's always a pleasure
to see you, Mr. Brewster.
What can I do for you?
I'm most anxious to
get this letter off tonight
to my sister, and I
appear to have run out
of postage stamps.
Well, that's easy enough.
There you are. Help yourself.
Going to need quite a few
for America, aren't you?
You have them on the Bentinck.
Oh, thank you.
Have a glass of
something as well?
Why, that's most kind of you.
Gaspard, will you bung
Mr. Brewster's letter
in the post on your way out?
Ah, thank you.
Monsieur.
Uh, brandy suit you?
Lovely.
Right.
Monsieur.
Oh, just going to
empty it, Gaspard.
Ah.
There.
Merci.
You wouldn't mind taking Fred
for a stroll, would you?
He's looking a bit restless.
Stroll?
Yeah. A walk. A run.
Ah, stroll. C'est walk.
But it's a pleasure
Patience, mon petit Fred.
Gaspard will not be long.
How long is he usually gone?
Usually about 10 minutes.
There's a few lamp standards
between here and the post office,
so Fred should slow him down.
I don't like it, Major.
I don't like it at all.
What don't you like?
I don't like Fred getting
mixed up in this sort of thing.
I mean, it's bad
enough you sneaking up
into Gaspard's room when
he's out, but to use Fred!
I am not sneaking anywhere.
I am conducting
an investigation,
and may I remind you
that both yourself and Fred
are under military orders...
my orders.
I have every intention
of reporting the matter
to the proper authorities
if I find anything to
justify such action.
If not, then we can
assume that Merriman
was mistaken, and
there's no harm done.
Evening.
Mr. Appleby.
See he gets a decent run.
Yes. Come on, come on Fred.
STARR: Go, Fred.
LOUISA: Major!
Oh, there you are.
I want a word with you.
Oh, what? Now?
Come on. Won't take a minute.
Ah, good evening, Major.
Hello, Brewster.
Mrs. Trotter has suggested
that you might be kind enough
to offer me some
advice on a little project
I have in mind.
Come sit down, Major.
What do you want? Brandy?
Oh, no, thank you.
As a matter of fact, I'm
rather pushed for time.
Where are you off to?
Oh, I...thought I'd go
and look at the bus.
Noises under the bonnet.
It's pitch dark out
there, freezing cold.
Shut the door.
Come and sit down.
You can let that wait.
What are you waiting for?
Now, then, Mr. Brewster,
you tell him what
you have in mind.
Major, I am in regular...
indeed, weekly...correspondence
with my sister,
who is the president
of the Milwaukee Ladies
Arts and Literature Society,
and in the course of
my correspondence,
I have described to
her, at some length,
the heroic sacrifices
being made by the people
of these gallant islands
in their struggle against
the forces of darkness...
A struggle, sir,
which I firmly believe
should be America's, too.
That's very thoughtful of you.
Oh, no, not at all, sir.
It is my constantly
stated conviction,
and at last it is
bearing some fruit,
however small.
Now, my sister,
whose name, by
the way, is Sarah,
has used my notes
as a basis of a lecture
to her society,
and the Milwaukee
ladies were impressed, sir.
Oh, yes, indeed,
they were impressed.
Oh, good.
And they reached a
unanimous decision, Major:
they want to help.
It's extremely kind of them.
I...I don't quite
see how they can.
Well, use your loaf!
They want to send
over food parcels
and comforts and woollies
and things like
that for the troops.
I'm sure they'd be
very much appreciated,
but I don't quite see
what it's got to do with me.
Well, you said since you
finished with the refugees,
you've gone into supply.
Oh, not that kind
of supply, Louisa.
Bullets and shells!
You could supply
them with whatever
the Milwaukee
ladies what's-its-name
sends over.
I can assure you, my dear,
that I have nothing to
do with that sort of thing.
Well, some of your
brass-hatted friends
will know who has.
Has he come back yet?
No, but you'd better look nippy.
Oh! Damn!
Tell your sister
that her thought
is much appreciated,
Mr. Brewster.
Me and the major
will make inquiries.
A pleasure, Mrs.
Trotter, a pleasure.
Ah, Major.
Um, I'll do what I can.
What's wrong with you, then?
I've never known you
refuse a drink before.
Louisa, I have a matter
of the utmost seriousness
to report to you.
Well?
I have just made a search
of Gaspard's room.
You've what?
Believe me, I had good
grounds for doing so,
and as it turns
out, I was right.
He has some letters
hidden under some shirts
in his chest of drawers.
They are this evening's post
from the Bentinck's mailbox.
How do you know?
Because one of them
is a letter I wrote myself
to my turf accountant.
Gaspard back?
Not yet, madam.
All right. Come on.
They were here, I'm
sure of it. I saw them.
Hmm. They're not there now.
Why didn't you take them?
I didn't want him to come
back and find them missing.
I don't want him suspicious
before I've informed
the authorities.
They already know.
What?
Had a visit from a naval officer
a few days ago...
Lieutenant Bartlett.
Something to do
with intelligence.
Seems they've had
their eye on the Bentinck.
Naval Intelligence?
My dear, you
should have told me.
No, I shouldn't have,
because he said not to.
Come on. Don't want
him walking in on us
as he comes up the back stairs.
He won't. He's got Fred
with him. He'll come in front.
Gaspard's back, madam.
Do anything? Say anything?
Just that he'd taken Fred
for a walk round the houses.
Got a flea in his
ear from Merriman.
He'd find that normal enough.
Right, Starr. Mum's the word.
I think I'd better
take this round
by hand immediately.
What? This time of night?
Bartlett left his
office hours ago.
Probably, but even if
they can't contact him,
he'll get it first
thing in the morning.
All right.
Here, Major,
what made you think of
Gaspard in the first place?
Where is he, Mr. Starr?
You send him out to
walk the dog again?
I got 6 early-morning
calls this morning.
Supposed to help me with
the breakfast trays,
he is...not walk dogs.
Fred's out in the hall.
What are you talking about?
Gaspard, that's
what I'm talking about.
No sign of him anywhere.
Never is when he's wanted.
Perhaps he's slept in.
If he has, I'm not running
all the way up to his
room to wake him.
There's not much point in that.
I've just been up,
and his door's locked.
This won't go in.
It's locked on the inside.
The key's still there.
Major, do you smell anything?
Uh! The window!
I'll get an ambulance.
Bit late for that.
Ah, good morning, Mrs. Trotter.
I hurried round as soon
as I received your note.
I'd like to speak to Gaspard.
I'm sorry. You've
just missed him.
MERRIMAN: Had
a right job, they did,
getting the corpse
down the back stairs
with that sharp turn
on the second landing.
Should have taken
him out the front.
Still, I expect we'll all
leave the same way.
Use the servants'
entrance when you're alive,
use it when you're dead.
Good enough for Gaspard, though.
I didn't know you
could talk like that.
You got no feelings, you have.
He was a nice little
man, was Gaspard.
Gassing himself...
Why did he go and
do a thing like that?
I expect he had his reasons.
I expect he had,
and I wonder you're not ashamed
the way you treated him...
with him a refugee
that lost everything
when the Germans came.
Here, here! Don't you
get on at me, my girl.
All you'll be thinking
about now is the tips
you'll get that people
used to give him
because he didn't go round
with his feet
tripping over his face
like some I could
mention, but won't!
Eh? Eh? Nice little man, was he?
That's all you know.
I could tell you a thing or
two about your Mr. Gaspard,
if I had a mind to.
And it'd all be lies and gossip.
Never had a kind
word to say for him, you!
And I was right.
Your little
Mr. Belgium was a spy.
Didn't know that, did you?
Don't talk rubbish!
Then what was he doing
reading a German newspaper?
Caught him at it meself.
Starr and the major
thought so, too.
German newspaper? When was this?
Oh, a few days ago.
Found it in the pile over there.
So that's where it got to.
What?
Mr. Appleby was looking for it.
Eh?
I took it by mistake
when I was cleaning his room.
He asked Mrs.
Trotter if I'd seen it.
I looked, but I couldn't
find it anywhere.
What's Mr. Appleby
want a thing like that for?
Oh, something
to do with his job.
Or maybe you think he's a spy!
BARTLETT: That being so,
it would seem that you were
on the right track for
all the wrong reasons.
Great pity, because if Gaspard
wasn't working on his own...
and he probably wasn't...
he might have led
us to his accomplices.
You had your eye on him, eh?
Yes, as of last night.
When he left the... Oh,
thank you very much.
When he left the
hotel, he was followed
by a plain-clothes detective.
He went round
to the post office,
posted some
letters, and returned.
I'm told he had a dog with him.
Starr's. He was
taking it for a walk.
Rather a strange
walk, it would seem.
Gaspard returned to the hotel,
went in by the back entrance.
A few minutes later, he
emerged, walked round,
and came in by the front.
Can you think of any reason
why he should do that?
Why, no. Really can't imagine.
Well, I bleeding can.
You left the light
on in his room.
He'd have seen
it from the street,
nipped up the back stairs
to see what was going on.
By jove, yes. You're right.
And while I was collecting you,
he could have gone in
and removed the letters.
That's possible, in which case,
since they're no
longer in his room,
they must be concealed
somewhere in the hotel.
Or destroyed or flushed
down the what's-it.
I really must nip round
and see my turf accountant.
He was becoming quite insistent
about that check.
Be very guarded in
your explanations, Major.
I don't want Gaspard's
death to be viewed
as other than an accident.
Of course.
I don't understand.
What was Gaspard
doing with the letters?
I think that's fairly
obvious, Mrs. Trotter.
He was in the habit
of collecting the mail
from Starr for delivery
to the post office.
Instead, he would
take it up to his room,
pick up the previous day's mail,
which had already
been scrutinized,
and post that instead.
Ungrateful little...Belgian!
Without going into
detail, I think I may say
we suspect he was
under some pressure.
Well, Mrs. Trotter,
I have some further inquiries
to make elsewhere meantime,
but I would like to
return later, if I may.
Yes, of course. I'll be here.
In fact, I'm giving a
little dinner party tonight,
if you'd care to join us.
With the greatest of pleasure.
Yes, she's in, Mr. Appleby.
I'll just see if she's free.
So that's Mr. Appleby, is it?
Yes.
Well, Mr. Appleby.
Come down to
compliment the cook?
The memory of
your recent cuisine
will stay with me always.
No, that's not why I'm here.
I will be leaving tomorrow.
Oh. I'll get your bill ready.
Found another hotel, have you?
Let's say your gentle prodding
has caused some thought.
I have decided to respond
to the country's call.
Well, I think that's
a splendid idea!
And I'm very glad to hear it.
I thought you might be.
Now, since I've announced
my intention of marching
towards the sound
of the gunfire,
do you think that
this evening's dinner
might be a little
more adventurous?
You shall have the
best we can offer.
In fact, I'll do even
better than that.
Mrs. Trotter would like
you to go straight in, sir.
Oh, Starr, it's possible
that a communication
will arrive for me during
the course of the evening.
Will you see I get
it immediately?
Very good, sir.
LOUISA: Mr. Bartlett,
you know the major.
This is Mr. Appleby
and Mr. Brewster.
I'm proud to shake
your hand, sir,
or that of any other
British naval officer.
Thank you. I would hate
to sail under false colors,
Mr. Brewster. My job tends to be
civil service rather
than senior service.
I am with Naval Intelligence.
How fascinating!
And have you learned any
interesting secrets lately?
I confess the only
worthwhile intelligence
I've gathered
recently is information
that soon brandy
will only be available
on a doctor's prescription.
Good God.
As a teetotaler, I
view the prospect
with a complacency
bordering on smugness.
Well, I don't!
Do you hear that, Merriman?
You get the cellar filled up
before it happens.
Bloody hell!
If you will excuse
me, Mrs. Trotter,
I will decline the brandy,
excellent as it is.
I have an early
start in the morning.
I'd like to have a clear head.
But thank you for
a memorable meal.
It's taken the taste of
cabbage away, has it?
It's fit for the prodigal son,
except that he was returning
whilst I'm leaving.
Mr. Appleby's off
tomorrow to join up.
Oh, good man!
Army, Navy, or this
flying corps nonsense?
None of those, actually.
That don't leave much
except the boy scouts, do it?
It would seem that I have
inadvertently misled
you, Mrs. Trotter.
I am not volunteering
for the armed forces.
Misled? What was that
about the country's call
and marching
towards the gunfire?
A spot of shooting
at my uncle's estate in Norfolk.
Good evening, gentlemen,
and my thanks once
again, Mrs. Trotter.
MAJOR: Never mind, my dear.
Fellow's a bounder.
There's no more to be said.
There's plenty more to be said!
Say it in the morning.
Pity to spoil a
pleasant evening.
All right. I will.
Yes, Starr? What do you want?
A note for Lieutenant Bartlett.
It is shocking, I
agree, Mrs. Trotter,
but fortunately,
not at all typical
of the spirit I find around me.
It's getting a good
deal too typical
of the Bentinck!
Don't know what the
place is coming to,
what with shirkers and...
spies?
Spies, lieutenant?
Yes. Yes.
The Belgian waiter,
Mr. Brewster...Gaspard.
He was a spy.
The one who had the accident?
Yes. It was certain
that he was engaged
in some clandestine
activity for the Germans.
His death was
more likely suicide
in the face of
imminent discovery...
or so we believe.
Well! You do amaze me, sir.
Still, I can scarcely
credit that he would be
in possession of any
valuable information.
He had access to every letter
in the hotel mailbox.
And as the place
is full of top brass,
I imagine quite a
lot could be gleaned
from their correspondence.
But how did he
get hold of the post?
Starr would give it to him
to take to the post office.
When I think of
that little bleeder
sitting up there
steaming open
my guests' letters.
Oh, nothing so
primitive, Mrs. Trotter.
Oh, no. Here.
We've come across these before.
You simply push it under the
flap of the envelope and twist
till the letter is wrapped
round these prongs.
You see? So you pull it out.
The letter can be
returned in the same way
without disturbing the
seal on the envelope.
Most ingenious,
but it would take
a devil of a time, wouldn't it?
Oh, yes. Even with practice,
it would take half the night
to work through,
say, 20 letters.
It's a wonder he was fit
for his work in the morning.
Oh, Gaspard didn't do it.
No. His accomplice
was the insomniac,
someone in the hotel.
Aye? What?
Are you saying, sir,
that an enemy agent
is in residence at
this very moment?
I shall say that that is a
reasonable conclusion
on the evidence.
What evidence?
You saw last night's mail
in Gaspard's drawer, Major.
I think we can presume
that it wasn't posted last night.
True.
But one letter was.
As you know, all
overseas mail is censored,
and as the Bentinck has
been under some suspicion,
we asked the censors to
keep a very close watch
on any letters written
on hotel notepaper.
And they found one?
Yes. From Mr. Brewster
to some relatives in Milwaukee.
The date and the
postmark were the same.
The letter was posted on
the night it was written...
last night.
Now, there's an
extraordinary thing.
How do you suppose
that came about?
Well, there are
two possibilities:
one, Gaspard simply
made a mistake;
the other, that he
thought his accomplice
would already be aware
of the letter's contents.
I don't see how
he could think that.
I do.
You gave it to him in here.
It would seem to me
that you are implying
something very serious,
and I would warn you
against any further
such speculation.
I am an American citizen.
Oh, you are, indeed,
Mr. Brewster. Yes.
From Milwaukee, a
city which has, I believe,
quite a substantial
German population.
A proportion of our citizens
are of German origin...
I must tell you,
sir, that your letter
already is in the hands of
our experts in room 40 O.B.,
and our decoders have
already made some progress.
I really don't think
I'm prepared to sit here
and listen to this...
this slanderous
and preposterous
nonsense any longer!
If you will excuse
me, Mrs. Trotter.
Do sit down, man,
and finish your brandy.
The detectives
outside are in no hurry.
Starr, which is
Mr. Appleby's room?
BARTLETT: My
apologies for disturbing you,
Mr. Appleby.
Not at all. What
can I do for you?
Well, I have this. I
believe it is yours.
I thought you might need it.
That's very kind of you.
It's of no importance now.
May I ask how you came by it?
I have been pursuing
a certain matter
at the Bentinck,
and it came my way.
You left the table too early.
Mr. Brewster has
just been arrested...
for spying.
Well, well.
Such doings!
Norfolk will seem
excessively dull.
I entertained some doubts
about you, Mr. Appleby,
but only briefly.
Sir Adrian Vickers assured
me of your bona fides.
Vickers. I don't
believe I know him.
Nor he you, but he
knows about you...
Austrian mother,
educated in Heidelberg,
fluent in German,
well-informed about the
country and its people.
What a knowledgeable
fellow your friend sounds.
Still, I'm obliged to
him for assuring you
that I'm not a spy.
He assured me
that you were, sir.
Talkative fellow,
too, it would seem.
He had to tell me,
you understand?
My inquiries might
have jeopardized
the very brave service you
are rendering this country.
You were resting between
your travels, he said.
And my travels resume tomorrow.
Germany?
Norfolk.
Quite so.
Then I wish you better
luck than Mr. Brewster...
in Norfolk.
Thank you, lieutenant.
I imagine the most
hazardous part
of the journey
will be getting past
Mrs. Trotter in the morning.
Well, that was a
shaker, no mistake.
Mm-hmm.
Who'd have thought...
Mr. Brewster! I'd
never have guessed.
He wouldn't have been
much of a spy if you had.
Dirty business, spying.
Here, are we going to need
a doctor's prescription
for Champagne?
culinary artist, isn't she?
SECOND MAN: Marvelous
one. Do you know,
she used to cook for the Kaiser
before the war, and
when it all started,
she had his signed portrait...
Evening, Starr. How are you?
Very well, thank you.
You seen Gaspard, Mr. Starr?
Sent him down to the cellar
to fetch these ages ago.
Had to run down
and fetch them myself.
He's just gone into
Mrs. Trotter's room.
Must be handing out tips, then.
Poor little Belgium.
That little frog's
made a fortune
since he's been here.
You on leave?
Yes. Just off a new
stunt with Freddy Brydon.
- All very hush.
- Good fun?
Hope so. Better than sitting
in some bloody
battleship off Gallipoli
being slowly eaten to
death by mosquitoes
or sitting in the North Sea
waiting for the Grand Fleet
to come out and give battle,
which they won't, if
they've got any sense.
I must confess to a feeling
of shame, Mrs. Trotter.
Yes, shame and anger.
When I look around this room
and see the faces of
these gallant young men
going off to face death
with such courage,
I am bitterly ashamed
of my country's neutrality.
I shouldn't feel too bad
about it, Mr. Brewster.
After all, the Americans are
sort of neutral on
our side, aren't they?
Their hearts and
minds are with you.
I firmly believed that
the sinking of the Lusitania
would bring their
physical support, too.
As I wrote to my
sister in Milwaukee...
Oh, yes. How is your sister?
See you had a letter
from her the other day.
Well enough, thank
you, but worried.
Since the zeppelin attack,
she appears to
think that the country
is under continuous
aerial bombardment.
I am obliged to
reassure her of my safety
by writing to her at
least once a week,
or she would suspect the worst.
Oh, dear.
Oh, I'm so sorry, madam.
I should think so!
This is a party, not a
Band of Hope meeting.
Get some more.
It was very kind of you
to invite me to your
celebration, Mrs. Trotter.
May I inquire as to just
what the occasion is?
It's not my party. It's
young Freddy Brydon's...
Oh?
Naval lieutenant that's
talking to the major.
He's been posted.
Off to join a ship tonight.
I swear if I was a younger man,
I'd volunteer myself.
You're doing your
bit, Mr. Brewster.
All that steel we
get from America
to make the shells and guns.
We got enough
shirkers of our own to get into uniform
before we start on Americans.
Got one in the
hotel, as it happens,
though that was an accident.
I wonder, Mrs. Trotter,
if... well, I hesitate to ask
lest you consider it an
example of American brashness.
You can't get shot for asking.
I would like to...
well, to do my bit
in a small way, if I may.
Mrs. Trotter, may I pay for
Lieutenant Brydon's party?
Please, I intend no offense.
I'm sure he'd be delighted.
The no-treating law don't apply
to the Bentinck.
I'll see it goes on your bill.
I'd feel privileged.
I would also like
to shake the hand
of Lieutenant Brydon
and wish him safe waters.
That's easy enough arranged.
I'll bring him over.
Freddy, someone
here wants to meet you,
say bon voyage.
Delighted, Louisa.
Just point me in his direction.
In your state?
You sit down again.
You wouldn't see in which
direction I was pointing.
I say, old boy, I don't
think you've got time, really.
Good Lord, you're right.
I've got a train to
catch at half past 6:00.
Starr hasn't even
brought my bags down yet.
You'll miss that
one. It's 6:15 already.
Oh, I don't know. I could drive
him to Charing Cross in no time.
In fact, I could drive
him down to uh...
To Folkestone.
In your state in my bus?
No, you don't.
Merriman, you pop outside.
You ask Starr the
next train to Folkestone.
But I'm serving
the guests, ma'am.
Couldn't Gaspard...
You get on with it.
And you can ask Mary to
make a pot of coffee...a big one.
Mr. Brewster, this
is Lieutenant Brydon.
Mr. Brewer...
Brewster.
♪ Da da da da da ♪
Bye, Louisa!
I'll be seeing you!
Mind your head.
That was a very kind
thought you had, Mr. Brewster.
My pleasure, Mrs. Trotter.
A most likable
fellow, young Brydon.
I wish we'd had time
to get better acquainted.
Oh, well.
Good evening, Mrs. Trotter.
Some excitement, it would seem.
Just seeing someone
off to defend his country,
Mr. Appleby.
Mr. Brewster, there's
some more Champagne left.
Oh, thank you.
Oh, wait, Gaspard.
Yes, Mr. Starr.
Post office.
Get your coat on. Look smartish.
Tres bien.
He's a shirker, that's
what he is. A shirker!
If you feel so strongly
about it, Mrs. Trotter,
I'm surprised that you
gave Mr. Appleby a room.
It was Mary that done that.
I wasn't here when
he arrived, you see.
He was limping.
She thought maybe
he'd been discharged
because of a war wound.
We had a bit of trouble
about that a while back.
I've been careful ever since.
If the Bentinck made
its guests register,
I'd have spotted him for
a shirker straightaway.
But we don't,
so it was a while
before I found out.
I've been meaning to
chuck him out ever since.
I just haven't got round to it.
Still, if Mr. Appleby was
unfit for active service...
he told the major
he sprained his ankle
falling off a horse.
He's got a job at
the Foreign Office
translating things...
a cushy billet for the duration.
He make me feel
ashamed, he does!
Why should you feel ashamed?
It's a funny thing,
Mr. Brewster.
I don't come from
the upper crust meself,
not by long shot.
But they've always been my sort.
I've stood up for them,
even if some of the things
said about them were true.
I have long held that
the English aristocracy
is an ornament to your society,
and I speak as a
Republican-voting American.
And when it came to this
country's hour of need,
they didn't need
to be asked twice.
I felt proud of
them, Mr. Brewter,
I really did.
I know there's a lot
of ordinary men dying
out there in France,
but a fair bit of blue
blood's been spilt
into the ground as well.
Yes, one has only to
look at the casualty list
to see the terrible
toll among the officers.
And Mr. Bleeding Appleby's
making sure his name's not on it.
Most likely used his
connections to keep out of it.
That makes him even worse
than the ordinary shirker.
When he goes, I
won't have him back,
and he might be going
sooner than he thinks.
Bartlett!
Ah!
Nice to see you again.
Thank you.
I thought we might
have our discussion here.
So much pleasanter
than my office.
Care for a drink before lunch?
Uh, thank you. A seltzer.
A seltzer? You're sure?
Disgusting beverage, I agree,
but as a lifelong teetotaler,
I've become reconciled
to being punished
for the sin of total abstinence.
Totality is to be deplored
in anything, except war.
Sherry Amontillado
and a seltzer.
Certainly, sir.
Good God! Waitresses
in the Athenaeum.
The present conflict
has reached a stage
of unimaginable ferocity.
I imagine a naval
intelligence officer
might have a very clear view
of just how ferocious
it could become.
The U-boats could
become a decisive factor.
Still, you're unlikely to be
torpedoed at the Admiralty,
though come to think of it, I've
just fired one at the War Office.
Really? What were
you trying to sink?
A suggestion, a proposal of
mind-reeling folly and futility ...
this Brussels business -
Nurse Cavell affair. You
have some knowledge of it?
Some, yes. I've heard a British
nurse has been charged with spying.
She isn't a spy, of course,
but she certainly offended
against the German military code.
There's been a suggestion
that we might mount
a military operation
to rescue her.
Difficult, I should
have thought.
Not difficult. Impossible.
The whole idea's
quite preposterous,
and I've had to say
so in very direct terms
to some very important people.
But when a woman is
threatened with a firing squad,
emotion overcomes reason.
You don't really think the
Germans will shoot her?
They wouldn't be so silly.
They might pronounce a sentence,
but it would be
modified in the light of...
..diplomatic protest
from the neutrals.
The Americans have
already indicated such a move,
and we believe that
Spain will do likewise.
But a military
operation... preposterous!
I seem to have caught
you at a bad time.
My dear chap, these
days, it's always a bad time.
Well, your health, Vickers.
And yours.
Now, what can I do for you?
I'd like the cooperation
of the other
intelligence branches,
the police and whoever,
and I'd like it with a
minimum of red tape,
since I'm dealing with a
matter of some urgency.
You've, uh, heard
of the Q-ships?
Gunboats disguised
as tramp steamers?
They are a most effective
weapon against a submarine.
Crew is dressed in mufti.
Keep as far away as possible
from other naval personnel
and tell nobody what they are.
They have strict
operational instructions
in the event that their
vessel is torpedoed.
They have to give the...
appearance of being a stricken,
defenseless merchantman,
until the submarine surfaces
to finish them
off with shellfire.
At that point,
the U-boat becomes vulnerable
to their own concealed guns.
Sound scheme.
We know the German
navy is short of torpedoes.
They wouldn't
waste two on a tramp.
They did. That's just the point.
Our Q-ship, the Menai Trader,
was torpedoed
twice in the channel,
and the U-boat didn't surface.
Taking no chances, eh?
There's more to it
than that...much more.
That same day,
the U-boat itself was
sunk by a destroyer,
and some of the crew
were taken prisoner.
I was present when they
were being interrogated,
and it soon became clear
that the submarine
commander knew very well
what the Menai Trader was.
Good Lord! How could he?
There were no
survivors from the Q-ship,
but I questioned
several of the relatives,
and one had more than an inkling
of the vessel's purpose.
The fiancee of
one of the officers,
a Lieutenant Brydon,
received a letter from him
in which he
described his training,
said where he was being sent,
and, worst of all,
named the ship.
Anyone reading it could
have made an intelligent guess.
Poor indiscreet dead chappie.
I suppose she talked
about it all over the place.
She says not,
and I'm inclined to believe her.
So, the other possibility is
that Lieutenant Brydon
himself did the talking.
If so, to whom?
Hmm.
- May I see the letter?
- Oh, yes, of course.
I didn't know you
were here, sir.
I just done the bedroom.
I'll come back and finish
in here later, if you like.
No. I'm off again in a minute.
Where's the maid who
usually does my room?
She's been off sick
for the past few days.
Can't get a replacement
what with the war
and them all going
into munitions.
Ah, the war!
What a wearisome
business it is, to be sure.
Wearisome? I wouldn't
call it wearisome, sir.
Oh, the drabness of it all.
One's eyes get quite sick
of the sight of all that khaki.
Damnably difficult to
get a decent meal, even.
Still, I suppose the
Bentinck's doing its best
to maintain some
sort of standards.
We're managing all right.
Some things are a bit short,
but Mrs. Trotter knows how
to get hold of them.
Mr. Merriman says it's all
the fault of these U-boats.
Merriman?
Oh, the happy-go-lucky
octogenarian
with the soup-stained thumb.
What does he know about it?
He would, seeing as
how he'd been to sea.
As Nelson's cabin boy, perhaps.
No. He was a steward
on a liner once.
Anyway, he says that the Germans
are sinking all our ships
because they want
to starve us out.
How very uncivil of them.
I believe the British
blockade has the same object.
But that's different.
I mean, after what the
Germans did in Belgium
and places like that.
You want to ask
Gaspard about that.
Rather not bother,
if you don't mind.
There's others have to bother...
them that's in the
trenches getting killed.
For me?
Oh, no. No.
I don't hold with
that sort of thing.
Must have come out the cushion.
Of course, and now
that I look more closely,
I can see that it
isn't pure white...
more of a lightish brown.
Still, perhaps that indicates
a qualified contempt.
I told you, sir, it came
out of the cushion.
And you shouldn't
speak to me like that,
especially when...
especially when?
Especially when you're
the only one in this place
that ever gives me a smile?
I didn't say that, sir.
Didn't have to.
What's your name?
Mary Phillips, sir.
Then I think you should
know, Mary Phillips,
that I do not consider
the opinions of servants...
be they favorable
or otherwise...
to be matters of
any consequence.
Do I make myself clear?
You used some long words
to tell me to mind
my own business.
They appear to have
been understood.
That's the rooms
all done, ma'am.
Is there anything else?
No. Off you go
and enjoy yourself.
You haven't had a day
off in weeks, have you?
I won't be back late. Heard
from Lord Haslemere?
No. Not for a month.
This is his last.
Don't know why
he hasn't written.
I expect he's busy
out there in France.
They're all busy
out there in France!
I'm worried sick, Mary.
I heard some of them
talking the other night.
Seems there's going
to be a big battle soon,
if it hasn't started all ready.
Somewhere called Looz.
Never heard of it.
Still, he might not be in it.
I heard that's where
the Guards are.
Since Charlie's in the Guards,
that means he'll be
in the battle, don't it?
Oh, no. Probably be well
away from the fighting,
in the rear with
all the generals.
If there's a fire,
he'll blooming be there, Mary!
He'll be in the thick of it!
I didn't mean...
I meant, with him
being so important.
Yeah, yeah. I know
what you meant.
Oh, sorry I flew off the handle.
It's just I wish I
knew where he was.
That's all.
They're not allowed to say
that sort of thing, are they?
Laundry maid got a letter
from her young man this morning.
Hardly said anything by
the time they'd censored it.
Just that he missed her
and thanked her for the socks.
At least she knew he was alive.
Or he was when he wrote it.
Looz...I must look
it up on the map.
What's that, ma'am?
Mud.
Mary, that's dried mud from Flanders.
From where he is...
where they all are,
most of them.
Mrs. Cochrane is on
at me to sign the pledge.
Says she has.
Well, that won't be
much of a sacrifice.
She never has more
than a glass of stout.
No, not that pledge.
The other one, where you promise
not to go out with any
man who isn't in uniform.
Well, Charles
will be a fine thing.
Still, shows her
heart's in the right place.
I'll be off now.
Mind how you go.
LOUISA: Ah, lovely!
Is Mrs. Trotter in, Starr?
One moment, sir.
Uh, Mr. Appleby's
outside, madam.
Wonders if you'll see him.
Yeah, all right. Show him in.
Come in, sir.
Good evening, Mrs. Trotter.
I apologize if I've
interrupted your meal.
You have. What do you want?
I'd like a word with the maid
who cleaned my
room this morning.
Mary, I think she's called.
She is, and you
can't. It's her night off.
Oh, if you see Gaspard,
tell him to get his
coat on, will you?
You'll have to
leave that for now.
Mr. Starr wants you
to take round the post.
All right, Mr. Appleby.
I'll ask her about it
when she comes in.
I'd be obliged.
Good night.
When are you
leaving, Mr. Appleby?
A direct question.
Why do you ask?
Because I need the
room for someone else.
No, that's only half true.
Because you're here under
false pretenses, that's why.
It's the policy of this hotel
to take only servicemen
or them that's been
wounded in the war,
and you're neither.
Your persistence
as a recruiting officer
can only be
admired, Mrs. Trotter.
You've got to be persistent
with them that
won't take a hint.
The management of this
hotel reserves the right
to refuse admission.
But hardly the right to evict
without good reason?
I've given you the reason,
and I'll have Starr chuck
you out, if needs be.
Then I shall feel obliged
to make the circumstances
very public, indeed.
Why do you want to hang
about where you're not wanted?
Plenty of other
hotels less choosy.
But few, I imagine,
whose kitchens can
provide such fulsome,
if unpatriotic, fare as the Bentinck's.
What do you mean... unpatriotic?
Come, come, Mrs. Trotter.
You know perfectly
well what I mean.
I'm not afraid of...
fiddling a little
bit, here and there.
We feed fighting men here.
Like bantam cocks,
if they can afford it.
But in these times
of scarcity and deprivation,
a certain public
opprobrium attaches
to those who
manage to avoid both.
I'm sure for the sake of
your guests, if not for yourself,
that you would
not wish to attract it.
You're a clever
Dick, aren't you?
You wouldn't come
out of it too well, neither.
Yes, but as I'm
sure we'd both agree,
I am a creature without shame.
Good night, Mrs. Trotter.
Beans, ma'am? That all?
Undercooked. Give him
a bit of cabbage as well.
See that the life's
boiled out of it.
Mr. Appleby's menu
receives my personal attention
from now on.
Merriman, since
claret's in short supply,
he'll have to make
do with barley water.
Barley water?
Oh, Ma'am!
I never thought
you'd serve a meal like that.
I don't know how you
can bring yourself to do it.
I'm gritting me teeth, Mary.
And see that his room's
done last, if it's done at all,
because we're short of staff
because there's a war on.
There's a Lieutenant Bartlett,
Royal Navy, would like a word.
I've shown him into your room.
I'll be there. There's the menu.
Take it down to Mrs. Cochrane.
Oh, and ask her to save
some cabbage for his dinner.
To serve a gentleman with beans
and cabbage and barley water,
I'd be ashamed to
look him in the eye.
Where's Gaspard?
I'm sorry. I can't let you
have that information.
If you could, Mrs. Trotter,
I assure you, you would
be helping the war effort.
War or no war, the
business of the guests
that stay at the
Bentinck is private.
You're not checking up on
those that hasn't registered?
My duties have nothing to do
with the National Register.
That's just as well,
because you'd be
wasting your time.
My guests are either
too old or in uniform
or foreigners.
Foreigners?
Well, Americans...
though they're not
strictly foreigners,
in a manner of speaking.
It's their manner of speaking
that makes them foreigners,
but I take your meaning.
Mrs. Trotter, I can officially
requisition the hotel records
if I have to,
but I would rather rely
on your cooperation.
Naval Intelligence?
Something to do
with spying, isn't it?
In essence, yes.
I'm not having you
spying on my guests!
The question is, are
any of them spying on us?
Oh, I don't know. I don't know.
What's it all coming to?
First barley water, now seltzer.
I don't know.
Uh!
Freddy Brydon.
It was young Forbes-Maltby
week before last,
Binky Feathergill
week before that.
He got shot down in one of them
observation balloons.
They're all going...
every one of them.
I don't think it's got anything
to do with the Bentinck.
Got no spies here.
Only secret we've got,
my recipe for quail pudding.
Kaiser Bill didn't care
much for that, as I remember.
The line of my inquiries
is a tenuous one,
but it's the best we
have at the moment.
With the high-ranking
military people you have here...
Oh, to be a German fly on
the wall when they're talking.
Well, I'd like to take this,
and I must ask you for a
complete list of your staff,
including any that
may have left recently.
All right. I'll see to it.
Good.
The one further thing.
You will understand
that what I have told you
is completely confidential.
It must go no further.
And that is not a request.
Starr, Major?
Gone to the dispense
for a cup of tea.
Can I help?
Yeah. I'll be obliged.
Ask Merriman to
send in a pot for me.
Oh. Right.
Are you sure, Mr. Merriman?
Of course I'm sure. I
got eyes...not that bad.
Merriman, Mrs. Trotter's back.
She'd like tea in
the parlor at once.
Major, what do you
make of this, sir?
It's a German newspaper!
We thought it might be.
Can you read German?
Not exactly fluent, but enough.
Says they're winning the war.
Blooming liars!
Says it'll be all
over in 18 months.
There's a bit here
about the allies
mistreating German
prisoners of war...
I say, Starr, where on
earth did you get this?
We keep old newspapers.
Mrs. Cochrane uses them
for cleaning out the oven.
I just happened to come
across it in a bundle.
Yes, but this is
only a fortnight old.
How on earth did it get here?
That's what we was wondering.
Mr. Merriman thinks he
saw Gaspard reading it.
Not thinks...I saw him
with it. That's a fact.
And he looked guilty
when I caught him.
Thought at the time it was
because I found him slacking.
What would he be doing
with a German newspaper?
Gaspard's a Belgian.
Ah! Says he is.
Now, look, this
could be very serious.
There is some suspicion
that the Germans
may have planted spies
among the refugees.
What did I tell you?
Well, nothing much so far.
Just that you caught
Gaspard reading a paper
when he should have been working
and he looked guilty, which
is no more than I'd expect.
The date of this thing
needs some explaining.
He's a spy. That explains it.
A blooming careless one,
if he left that lying about.
Just what does he
get up to at night?
What?
That's what I'd like to know.
Big mistake putting him
up there in that topmost attic.
Zeppelins.
What about them?
Easy enough to signal
zeppelins from up there.
Perfect place for it.
Bring a bomb down on top
of us one of these nights.
He'd get killed himself.
He's probably made some
arrangement to avoid that,
but I tell you this: he
gets up to something.
Couple of times I've come
home late in the night,
and there's the lights
blazing away in his attic.
See it as plain as
you like from the street.
Merriman, don't let
your imagination run riot.
Eh?
This had better be investigated
before it goes any further.
I will undertake to do so.
In the meantime, on no account
let Gaspard see
you're suspicious.
We'll keep this whole
matter to ourselves.
Run out of tea, then, have we?
No progress at all, I'm afraid.
I had to take Mrs.
Trotter into my confidence
to some extent,
and she's promised
to keep an eye open
for anything odd,
but I'm not very hopeful.
Although I did have
another look at that letter
Lieutenant Brydon
sent to his fiancee.
I noticed the letter
was dated the 14th
but postmarked the 15th.
Hardly significant.
I habitually forget
to post letters.
Carry them about in
my pocket for days.
Yes. True.
I'm grasping
at straws, I'm afraid.
I very much doubt whether
our inquiries at the Bentinck
will lead us anywhere.
They already have...
to the Rue de la
Culture, Brussels.
Edith Cavell's hospital?
Poor lady.
Von Bissing,
the governor-general,
is not noted for
his sentimentality.
I think she'll be shot.
You don't sound particularly
outraged at the thought.
One has to be realistic.
In assisting the escape
of allied prisoners,
nurse Cavell was of some value.
As a prisoner
herself, she's not.
But as a martyr...that's
a different story.
It could add 100,000
volunteers to the colors
and produce a
most significant effect
on world opinion.
That is very realistic.
The view is not simply my own.
I've heard it expressed
at much higher levels.
I think I shall go into a
monastery after the war.
I doubt if you'd find one
with a reputation
for making seltzer.
What bearing does this
have on the Bentinck?
Possibly quite a lot.
When nurse Cavell was arrested,
more than 30 Belgian civilians
were arrested at the same time,
one being mademoiselle
Justine Gaspard.
Recognize the name?
Yes! I saw it on that
list Mrs. Trotter gave me.
There's a...
There's a waiter at the
Bentinck named Gaspard.
He's her brother.
We checked his
record most carefully,
and there's no doubt.
The lady is at
present being held
in the prison of Saint-Gilles
while the German
military authorities
decide whether or not
she should stand trial.
Hardly a circumstance
that would predispose him
to spy for them.
It would if the alternative
was having his sister shot.
I'm sorry, sir. I've
run out of stamps.
Perhaps Mrs. Trotter's got some.
Ah.
Mr. Brewster, ma'am.
Oh, yes. Show him in, Starr.
Good evening, Mrs. Trotter.
I do apologize
for disturbing you
on what must
seem a trivial matter.
It's always a pleasure
to see you, Mr. Brewster.
What can I do for you?
I'm most anxious to
get this letter off tonight
to my sister, and I
appear to have run out
of postage stamps.
Well, that's easy enough.
There you are. Help yourself.
Going to need quite a few
for America, aren't you?
You have them on the Bentinck.
Oh, thank you.
Have a glass of
something as well?
Why, that's most kind of you.
Gaspard, will you bung
Mr. Brewster's letter
in the post on your way out?
Ah, thank you.
Monsieur.
Uh, brandy suit you?
Lovely.
Right.
Monsieur.
Oh, just going to
empty it, Gaspard.
Ah.
There.
Merci.
You wouldn't mind taking Fred
for a stroll, would you?
He's looking a bit restless.
Stroll?
Yeah. A walk. A run.
Ah, stroll. C'est walk.
But it's a pleasure
Patience, mon petit Fred.
Gaspard will not be long.
How long is he usually gone?
Usually about 10 minutes.
There's a few lamp standards
between here and the post office,
so Fred should slow him down.
I don't like it, Major.
I don't like it at all.
What don't you like?
I don't like Fred getting
mixed up in this sort of thing.
I mean, it's bad
enough you sneaking up
into Gaspard's room when
he's out, but to use Fred!
I am not sneaking anywhere.
I am conducting
an investigation,
and may I remind you
that both yourself and Fred
are under military orders...
my orders.
I have every intention
of reporting the matter
to the proper authorities
if I find anything to
justify such action.
If not, then we can
assume that Merriman
was mistaken, and
there's no harm done.
Evening.
Mr. Appleby.
See he gets a decent run.
Yes. Come on, come on Fred.
STARR: Go, Fred.
LOUISA: Major!
Oh, there you are.
I want a word with you.
Oh, what? Now?
Come on. Won't take a minute.
Ah, good evening, Major.
Hello, Brewster.
Mrs. Trotter has suggested
that you might be kind enough
to offer me some
advice on a little project
I have in mind.
Come sit down, Major.
What do you want? Brandy?
Oh, no, thank you.
As a matter of fact, I'm
rather pushed for time.
Where are you off to?
Oh, I...thought I'd go
and look at the bus.
Noises under the bonnet.
It's pitch dark out
there, freezing cold.
Shut the door.
Come and sit down.
You can let that wait.
What are you waiting for?
Now, then, Mr. Brewster,
you tell him what
you have in mind.
Major, I am in regular...
indeed, weekly...correspondence
with my sister,
who is the president
of the Milwaukee Ladies
Arts and Literature Society,
and in the course of
my correspondence,
I have described to
her, at some length,
the heroic sacrifices
being made by the people
of these gallant islands
in their struggle against
the forces of darkness...
A struggle, sir,
which I firmly believe
should be America's, too.
That's very thoughtful of you.
Oh, no, not at all, sir.
It is my constantly
stated conviction,
and at last it is
bearing some fruit,
however small.
Now, my sister,
whose name, by
the way, is Sarah,
has used my notes
as a basis of a lecture
to her society,
and the Milwaukee
ladies were impressed, sir.
Oh, yes, indeed,
they were impressed.
Oh, good.
And they reached a
unanimous decision, Major:
they want to help.
It's extremely kind of them.
I...I don't quite
see how they can.
Well, use your loaf!
They want to send
over food parcels
and comforts and woollies
and things like
that for the troops.
I'm sure they'd be
very much appreciated,
but I don't quite see
what it's got to do with me.
Well, you said since you
finished with the refugees,
you've gone into supply.
Oh, not that kind
of supply, Louisa.
Bullets and shells!
You could supply
them with whatever
the Milwaukee
ladies what's-its-name
sends over.
I can assure you, my dear,
that I have nothing to
do with that sort of thing.
Well, some of your
brass-hatted friends
will know who has.
Has he come back yet?
No, but you'd better look nippy.
Oh! Damn!
Tell your sister
that her thought
is much appreciated,
Mr. Brewster.
Me and the major
will make inquiries.
A pleasure, Mrs.
Trotter, a pleasure.
Ah, Major.
Um, I'll do what I can.
What's wrong with you, then?
I've never known you
refuse a drink before.
Louisa, I have a matter
of the utmost seriousness
to report to you.
Well?
I have just made a search
of Gaspard's room.
You've what?
Believe me, I had good
grounds for doing so,
and as it turns
out, I was right.
He has some letters
hidden under some shirts
in his chest of drawers.
They are this evening's post
from the Bentinck's mailbox.
How do you know?
Because one of them
is a letter I wrote myself
to my turf accountant.
Gaspard back?
Not yet, madam.
All right. Come on.
They were here, I'm
sure of it. I saw them.
Hmm. They're not there now.
Why didn't you take them?
I didn't want him to come
back and find them missing.
I don't want him suspicious
before I've informed
the authorities.
They already know.
What?
Had a visit from a naval officer
a few days ago...
Lieutenant Bartlett.
Something to do
with intelligence.
Seems they've had
their eye on the Bentinck.
Naval Intelligence?
My dear, you
should have told me.
No, I shouldn't have,
because he said not to.
Come on. Don't want
him walking in on us
as he comes up the back stairs.
He won't. He's got Fred
with him. He'll come in front.
Gaspard's back, madam.
Do anything? Say anything?
Just that he'd taken Fred
for a walk round the houses.
Got a flea in his
ear from Merriman.
He'd find that normal enough.
Right, Starr. Mum's the word.
I think I'd better
take this round
by hand immediately.
What? This time of night?
Bartlett left his
office hours ago.
Probably, but even if
they can't contact him,
he'll get it first
thing in the morning.
All right.
Here, Major,
what made you think of
Gaspard in the first place?
Where is he, Mr. Starr?
You send him out to
walk the dog again?
I got 6 early-morning
calls this morning.
Supposed to help me with
the breakfast trays,
he is...not walk dogs.
Fred's out in the hall.
What are you talking about?
Gaspard, that's
what I'm talking about.
No sign of him anywhere.
Never is when he's wanted.
Perhaps he's slept in.
If he has, I'm not running
all the way up to his
room to wake him.
There's not much point in that.
I've just been up,
and his door's locked.
This won't go in.
It's locked on the inside.
The key's still there.
Major, do you smell anything?
Uh! The window!
I'll get an ambulance.
Bit late for that.
Ah, good morning, Mrs. Trotter.
I hurried round as soon
as I received your note.
I'd like to speak to Gaspard.
I'm sorry. You've
just missed him.
MERRIMAN: Had
a right job, they did,
getting the corpse
down the back stairs
with that sharp turn
on the second landing.
Should have taken
him out the front.
Still, I expect we'll all
leave the same way.
Use the servants'
entrance when you're alive,
use it when you're dead.
Good enough for Gaspard, though.
I didn't know you
could talk like that.
You got no feelings, you have.
He was a nice little
man, was Gaspard.
Gassing himself...
Why did he go and
do a thing like that?
I expect he had his reasons.
I expect he had,
and I wonder you're not ashamed
the way you treated him...
with him a refugee
that lost everything
when the Germans came.
Here, here! Don't you
get on at me, my girl.
All you'll be thinking
about now is the tips
you'll get that people
used to give him
because he didn't go round
with his feet
tripping over his face
like some I could
mention, but won't!
Eh? Eh? Nice little man, was he?
That's all you know.
I could tell you a thing or
two about your Mr. Gaspard,
if I had a mind to.
And it'd all be lies and gossip.
Never had a kind
word to say for him, you!
And I was right.
Your little
Mr. Belgium was a spy.
Didn't know that, did you?
Don't talk rubbish!
Then what was he doing
reading a German newspaper?
Caught him at it meself.
Starr and the major
thought so, too.
German newspaper? When was this?
Oh, a few days ago.
Found it in the pile over there.
So that's where it got to.
What?
Mr. Appleby was looking for it.
Eh?
I took it by mistake
when I was cleaning his room.
He asked Mrs.
Trotter if I'd seen it.
I looked, but I couldn't
find it anywhere.
What's Mr. Appleby
want a thing like that for?
Oh, something
to do with his job.
Or maybe you think he's a spy!
BARTLETT: That being so,
it would seem that you were
on the right track for
all the wrong reasons.
Great pity, because if Gaspard
wasn't working on his own...
and he probably wasn't...
he might have led
us to his accomplices.
You had your eye on him, eh?
Yes, as of last night.
When he left the... Oh,
thank you very much.
When he left the
hotel, he was followed
by a plain-clothes detective.
He went round
to the post office,
posted some
letters, and returned.
I'm told he had a dog with him.
Starr's. He was
taking it for a walk.
Rather a strange
walk, it would seem.
Gaspard returned to the hotel,
went in by the back entrance.
A few minutes later, he
emerged, walked round,
and came in by the front.
Can you think of any reason
why he should do that?
Why, no. Really can't imagine.
Well, I bleeding can.
You left the light
on in his room.
He'd have seen
it from the street,
nipped up the back stairs
to see what was going on.
By jove, yes. You're right.
And while I was collecting you,
he could have gone in
and removed the letters.
That's possible, in which case,
since they're no
longer in his room,
they must be concealed
somewhere in the hotel.
Or destroyed or flushed
down the what's-it.
I really must nip round
and see my turf accountant.
He was becoming quite insistent
about that check.
Be very guarded in
your explanations, Major.
I don't want Gaspard's
death to be viewed
as other than an accident.
Of course.
I don't understand.
What was Gaspard
doing with the letters?
I think that's fairly
obvious, Mrs. Trotter.
He was in the habit
of collecting the mail
from Starr for delivery
to the post office.
Instead, he would
take it up to his room,
pick up the previous day's mail,
which had already
been scrutinized,
and post that instead.
Ungrateful little...Belgian!
Without going into
detail, I think I may say
we suspect he was
under some pressure.
Well, Mrs. Trotter,
I have some further inquiries
to make elsewhere meantime,
but I would like to
return later, if I may.
Yes, of course. I'll be here.
In fact, I'm giving a
little dinner party tonight,
if you'd care to join us.
With the greatest of pleasure.
Yes, she's in, Mr. Appleby.
I'll just see if she's free.
So that's Mr. Appleby, is it?
Yes.
Well, Mr. Appleby.
Come down to
compliment the cook?
The memory of
your recent cuisine
will stay with me always.
No, that's not why I'm here.
I will be leaving tomorrow.
Oh. I'll get your bill ready.
Found another hotel, have you?
Let's say your gentle prodding
has caused some thought.
I have decided to respond
to the country's call.
Well, I think that's
a splendid idea!
And I'm very glad to hear it.
I thought you might be.
Now, since I've announced
my intention of marching
towards the sound
of the gunfire,
do you think that
this evening's dinner
might be a little
more adventurous?
You shall have the
best we can offer.
In fact, I'll do even
better than that.
Mrs. Trotter would like
you to go straight in, sir.
Oh, Starr, it's possible
that a communication
will arrive for me during
the course of the evening.
Will you see I get
it immediately?
Very good, sir.
LOUISA: Mr. Bartlett,
you know the major.
This is Mr. Appleby
and Mr. Brewster.
I'm proud to shake
your hand, sir,
or that of any other
British naval officer.
Thank you. I would hate
to sail under false colors,
Mr. Brewster. My job tends to be
civil service rather
than senior service.
I am with Naval Intelligence.
How fascinating!
And have you learned any
interesting secrets lately?
I confess the only
worthwhile intelligence
I've gathered
recently is information
that soon brandy
will only be available
on a doctor's prescription.
Good God.
As a teetotaler, I
view the prospect
with a complacency
bordering on smugness.
Well, I don't!
Do you hear that, Merriman?
You get the cellar filled up
before it happens.
Bloody hell!
If you will excuse
me, Mrs. Trotter,
I will decline the brandy,
excellent as it is.
I have an early
start in the morning.
I'd like to have a clear head.
But thank you for
a memorable meal.
It's taken the taste of
cabbage away, has it?
It's fit for the prodigal son,
except that he was returning
whilst I'm leaving.
Mr. Appleby's off
tomorrow to join up.
Oh, good man!
Army, Navy, or this
flying corps nonsense?
None of those, actually.
That don't leave much
except the boy scouts, do it?
It would seem that I have
inadvertently misled
you, Mrs. Trotter.
I am not volunteering
for the armed forces.
Misled? What was that
about the country's call
and marching
towards the gunfire?
A spot of shooting
at my uncle's estate in Norfolk.
Good evening, gentlemen,
and my thanks once
again, Mrs. Trotter.
MAJOR: Never mind, my dear.
Fellow's a bounder.
There's no more to be said.
There's plenty more to be said!
Say it in the morning.
Pity to spoil a
pleasant evening.
All right. I will.
Yes, Starr? What do you want?
A note for Lieutenant Bartlett.
It is shocking, I
agree, Mrs. Trotter,
but fortunately,
not at all typical
of the spirit I find around me.
It's getting a good
deal too typical
of the Bentinck!
Don't know what the
place is coming to,
what with shirkers and...
spies?
Spies, lieutenant?
Yes. Yes.
The Belgian waiter,
Mr. Brewster...Gaspard.
He was a spy.
The one who had the accident?
Yes. It was certain
that he was engaged
in some clandestine
activity for the Germans.
His death was
more likely suicide
in the face of
imminent discovery...
or so we believe.
Well! You do amaze me, sir.
Still, I can scarcely
credit that he would be
in possession of any
valuable information.
He had access to every letter
in the hotel mailbox.
And as the place
is full of top brass,
I imagine quite a
lot could be gleaned
from their correspondence.
But how did he
get hold of the post?
Starr would give it to him
to take to the post office.
When I think of
that little bleeder
sitting up there
steaming open
my guests' letters.
Oh, nothing so
primitive, Mrs. Trotter.
Oh, no. Here.
We've come across these before.
You simply push it under the
flap of the envelope and twist
till the letter is wrapped
round these prongs.
You see? So you pull it out.
The letter can be
returned in the same way
without disturbing the
seal on the envelope.
Most ingenious,
but it would take
a devil of a time, wouldn't it?
Oh, yes. Even with practice,
it would take half the night
to work through,
say, 20 letters.
It's a wonder he was fit
for his work in the morning.
Oh, Gaspard didn't do it.
No. His accomplice
was the insomniac,
someone in the hotel.
Aye? What?
Are you saying, sir,
that an enemy agent
is in residence at
this very moment?
I shall say that that is a
reasonable conclusion
on the evidence.
What evidence?
You saw last night's mail
in Gaspard's drawer, Major.
I think we can presume
that it wasn't posted last night.
True.
But one letter was.
As you know, all
overseas mail is censored,
and as the Bentinck has
been under some suspicion,
we asked the censors to
keep a very close watch
on any letters written
on hotel notepaper.
And they found one?
Yes. From Mr. Brewster
to some relatives in Milwaukee.
The date and the
postmark were the same.
The letter was posted on
the night it was written...
last night.
Now, there's an
extraordinary thing.
How do you suppose
that came about?
Well, there are
two possibilities:
one, Gaspard simply
made a mistake;
the other, that he
thought his accomplice
would already be aware
of the letter's contents.
I don't see how
he could think that.
I do.
You gave it to him in here.
It would seem to me
that you are implying
something very serious,
and I would warn you
against any further
such speculation.
I am an American citizen.
Oh, you are, indeed,
Mr. Brewster. Yes.
From Milwaukee, a
city which has, I believe,
quite a substantial
German population.
A proportion of our citizens
are of German origin...
I must tell you,
sir, that your letter
already is in the hands of
our experts in room 40 O.B.,
and our decoders have
already made some progress.
I really don't think
I'm prepared to sit here
and listen to this...
this slanderous
and preposterous
nonsense any longer!
If you will excuse
me, Mrs. Trotter.
Do sit down, man,
and finish your brandy.
The detectives
outside are in no hurry.
Starr, which is
Mr. Appleby's room?
BARTLETT: My
apologies for disturbing you,
Mr. Appleby.
Not at all. What
can I do for you?
Well, I have this. I
believe it is yours.
I thought you might need it.
That's very kind of you.
It's of no importance now.
May I ask how you came by it?
I have been pursuing
a certain matter
at the Bentinck,
and it came my way.
You left the table too early.
Mr. Brewster has
just been arrested...
for spying.
Well, well.
Such doings!
Norfolk will seem
excessively dull.
I entertained some doubts
about you, Mr. Appleby,
but only briefly.
Sir Adrian Vickers assured
me of your bona fides.
Vickers. I don't
believe I know him.
Nor he you, but he
knows about you...
Austrian mother,
educated in Heidelberg,
fluent in German,
well-informed about the
country and its people.
What a knowledgeable
fellow your friend sounds.
Still, I'm obliged to
him for assuring you
that I'm not a spy.
He assured me
that you were, sir.
Talkative fellow,
too, it would seem.
He had to tell me,
you understand?
My inquiries might
have jeopardized
the very brave service you
are rendering this country.
You were resting between
your travels, he said.
And my travels resume tomorrow.
Germany?
Norfolk.
Quite so.
Then I wish you better
luck than Mr. Brewster...
in Norfolk.
Thank you, lieutenant.
I imagine the most
hazardous part
of the journey
will be getting past
Mrs. Trotter in the morning.
Well, that was a
shaker, no mistake.
Mm-hmm.
Who'd have thought...
Mr. Brewster! I'd
never have guessed.
He wouldn't have been
much of a spy if you had.
Dirty business, spying.
Here, are we going to need
a doctor's prescription
for Champagne?