..making Arnold Hardy...
(Buzz of conversation)
..then that idiot Dickie Bird gets his light meter out...
..can only have four wives, surely? The rest are concubines.
..they shall have to review what they had initially.
(High-pitched electronic whistling)
(Voices become muffled)
(Whistling changes pitch and distorts)
(Whistling continues over muffled conversation)
Very successful party, don't you think, Quinn?
(High-pitched bleep)
(Distinct) Very successful party, don't you think?
Very, Dr Bartlett. Yes, very successful.
(Whistling and crackling)
(indistinct droning of voices)
(Whistling and interference)
(Speech remains muffled)
(Muffled) Excuse me, Mrs Height.
May I introduce Mr Christopher Roope?
(Static)
ROOPE: I told you there wouldn’t be.
(Muffled speech)
My son does not deserve to pass an exam.
You look as though you could do with a breath of fresh air, Nicholas.
Philip... Philip, I must speak to you at once.
Please.
Bartlett is selling the Syndicate's secrets.
You're drunk.
No. No, I heard them...in there.
Roope and Bartlett and the Sheik. They're all in it together.
(Bells toll)
(Electronic alarm bell rings)
Good. Well done, girls.
Good time.
(Alarm continues)
Are you all right, Donald?
Fine. I got caught short.
All present and correct, Dr Bartlett.
Thank you, Donald.
Not bad. 15 seconds outside our record.
Everybody inside, please.
Would you mind if I skipped your usual homily on safety and security, Tom?
I've got to get down to the press.
I think that the deputy secretary should be there, Philip, if you don't mind.
If there's nothing important, Lewis, I might as well stay home, catch up on the paperwork.
Oh, yes. Yes, lots of it.
Yes, well, all right. You know where I am.
Cheers. Thanks.
Romantic clarinet concerto
Bloody Daedalus!
(Rumble of thunder)
(Train rumbles in)
All change.
Hello. What's this?
The Dean of Lonsdale traveling second class?
Oh, Roope. You.
If my publisher wants to see me, he has to stump up a first-class return.
There's money in physics, no doubt.
- Chemistry, actually. - Really?
There's none in palaeontology, alas.
What did you make of the party the other night?
It was very satisfactory. The Sheik was delighted with the Syndicate.
I’m just on my way over there now to give some bumf to Bartlett.
- Can I give you a lift in my taxi? - No, thank you.
As a Syndic, I do think our president should travel in proper style.
I always walk to college, Roope.
(Rumble of thunder)
- Looks like rain. - I have my umbrella.
Foreign Examinations Syndicate, please.
(Clattering)
Hello, Noakes. ls Dr Bartlett in?
No, sir, he's gone to Banbury.
He won't be back till gone five.
Right.
I’ll have a word with one of the others.
I don't think there's anyone else here, sir... except Mr Quinn.
It'll have to be him, then.
Not there?
No.
He must be somewhere, sir. Car's still out the back.
Dear, oh, dear. The secretary wouldn't like that.
He's not supposed to leave his office with the filing cabinet open.
- Dear me. - All sorts come in here. You'd be surprised.
- We can't be too careful. - Indeed not.
I can't wait.
I only came to leave some papers for Dr Bartlett.
It's not important. I'll leave them on his desk.
I was just going to make a cup of tea, sir, if you'd like one.
No, thank you. I must be off.
Thanks all the same.
- Shall I call you a cab, sir? - No, I'll be all right. Cheerio.
Bye, sir.
FRANCK: Symphony In D
(Phone rings)
Hell!
Hello. Morse.
What?
What the bloody hell...?
Oh.
Well, where are you?
Right, I’ll meet you there.
(Police radio in background)
Excuse me, sir. Here comes the Chief Inspector now.
Who is it, Lewis?
LEWIS: A chap called Quinn, sir. Been dead a good while
by the look of him.
Works for the...Foreign Examinations Syndicate.
- Worked. - Sir?
Worked, Lewis. He's dead, isn't he?
Nice place.
They do themselves all right,
these academics, don't they?
Did.
ls Max here?
Looking at him now, sir.
Don't fret yourself, Morse.
He went quick enough.
Take a whiff of that.
Cyanide?
Well done, Morse. You're coming on.
How long's he been dead, Max?
Don't know. Four or five days.
Did it Friday night/Saturday morning, at a guess.
Shall know more accurately when we've been through the stomach.
- Anything? - No, just his prints all over the place.
What about on that bottle?
They look the same as all the others.
ls it all right if we move the body now, sir?
Mm.
Better go through the pockets. You do that, Max, would you?
Getting squeamish, Morse?
Oh, by the way...
..he wore a hearing aid.
History.
And what is his story, I wonder?
A note from his cleaning lady.
Might help us establish the time of death.
Nothing much here.
All right, take him away.
Shut the door, Lewis.
ls there a draught under that door?
Bit of a one, yeah.
That's funny.
If I sat in this room, I wouldn't sit in a draught. Would you?
What's this?
- His shopping. - ls there a bill?
We might be able to establish some sort of time from that, Lewis.
Oh, and we'd better have a list of all the food in the house.
Fridge, larder, cupboards.
Everything.
Who's this bloke who found him?
Mr Martin, sir. One of his chums from the Foreign whatsit.
Chums, Lewis? You know Morse's Law.
There's always a 50:50 chance that the man who found the body did the deed.
Well, I was going to arrest him on the spot, sir, but I thought I'd let you have the pleasure.
You'd better check these pockets, too.
POLICE RADIO: Tango 1-7...
Roger, 1-7. Stand by.
- Mr Martin, Chief Inspector Morse. - How do you do?
- Must've been a shock for you. - It certainly was.
May I ask what brought you here to see him this morning, sir?
Dr Bartlett sent me.
The secretary of the Syndicate, my...our boss.
Quinn didn't turn up for work yesterday. When he didn't turn up this morning...
Why was no-one bothered yesterday?
Oh, well... Dr Bartlett doesn't insist on office hours,
as long as we get our work done on time, you know.
And what did you expect to find, sir?
I didn't expect to find anything.
I mean... I don't know.
I suppose I thought he must be ill or something.
When I looked through the gap in the curtains
and saw him lying there...
Yes.
Thank you very much. I expect you want to report back to the Syndicate.
- You mean I can go now? - Oh, yes.
Thank you for your help. ls that your car there?
Yes.
You don't happen to know if Mr Quinn had a girlfriend, do you?
I've no idea. I didn't know him that well.
He's... He'd only been with us three months.
No-one he fancied in the office?
Not that I know of.
But he was a bachelor, I take it?
- Oh, yes. - Are you a married man, sir?
Yes.
Then I expect you've forgotten what it's like to be single.
What do you mean?
Nothing, nothing.
Oh, I see. You're looking for a reason.
- A reason, sir? - Why he should want to do himself in.
Oh, it wasn't suicide, sir. No, no, no, no. It was murder.
Definitely murder.
- What are these examinations you run, sir? - O-levels and A-levels,
but for students in foreign countries, you see.
Don't these countries have their own examination boards?
The large, developed ones, yes, but there are many places - you'd be surprised how many -
where they're still grateful for the expertise and the status that Oxford can offer.
So you're a service industry, are you, sir?
We're of...very great service, if that's what you mean, Inspector.
Examinations are a matter of life and...
You see, in some parts of the world, passing our exams is the only way forward.
They can make the difference between abject poverty and extreme wealth.
We take our responsibilities here with the utmost seriousness.
Indeed so, sir.
Let me show you what I mean.
Question papers alone go through at least five stages.
For instance...
next December's biology papers.
First draft, second draft,
first proofs, first revises,
second revises.
Everything is checked and double-checked
for absolute fairness.
Our Syndics keep a very close eye on us.
- Syndics? - Our board of governors, you might say.
All distinguished members of the university.
So, you see, we have to have absolute security at every stage.
If even one draft question were to go astray,
the integrity of the whole syndicate would be undermined.
I had no idea.
Oh, well... You'll find, I’m sure, during the course of your investigations,
that I've got something of a reputation as a stickler for security in all its aspects.
Fire and theft.
In fact, I’m fairly sure it was at the fire drill last Friday...
..that I last saw poor Nicholas Quinn.
Yes, he was certainly there. He ticked his name off on the list.
How well did you know him, sir?
Not as well as I should have liked, really.
Of course, he hadn't been here long.
- And his deafness did make things difficult. - How deaf was he?
The prognosis was he would have been completely so in five years.
Rather a curious appointment, then, wasn't it?
Well, you know, apart from the telephone, you could hardly tell. He coped amazingly.
At work, that is. I know very little about his social life.
And you last saw him...?
It must have been...
at the fire drill. I don't think I saw him after that.
No, I had a meeting, in Banbury, of headmasters.
And what time did you leave the office?
As soon as the fire drill was over.
I had to get down to the press.
What time was that, would you say, sir?
Well, the drill was at 12.
By the time Bartlett had given us his usual address, it was...
- 15, 20 minutes past. - And you didn't see Mr Quinn again?
Alas, not.
Hello, darling. You are home. Good. Listen...
Really? Oh, Lord.
Listen, Sally, I’m going to be a bit late, I’m afraid.
Well, I’m still at the Syndicate.
Oh, not very long, I hope.
No.
All right, darling. I just didn't want you to worry, that's all. Bye.
(Phone receiver is replaced on hook)
Not that she would worry, I'm sure.
- How old is your daughter, Mrs Height? - 16.
Really?
I married young, Inspector.
Much too young, if it's anything to do with your inquiries.
Background information can always be useful.
What age did you marry, then?
I didn't.
Very wise.
- I don't always think so. - Take my word for it.
Mr Quinn was wise, then.
He never married.
No.
Did he er...
Did he ever raise the issue with you?
Good heavens, no!
We didn't know each other very well.
He hadn't been here long.
Did he never ask you out, then?
No... Well, we did go to the pub together, once or twice.
- For lunch, you know. - Which pub?
Horse & Trumpet, up the road.
So, you quite liked him?
Well, he was a colleague, you know...
not a close friend.
And you last saw him
at the fire drill?
I think so.
It's ridiculous. Only five days ago, but I can't seem to fix it, when and where.
- It can happen like that if you've had a shock. - Can it?
Can you at least remember what he had to drink?
Sherry. Medium, I think.
That's better than the stuff that passes for ale in there.
Of that I wouldn't know. I don't drink much at the best of times and never at lunch.
I like to be in complete command of myself when I'm working, Inspector.
Really?
I like to let go. I always drink at lunch time.
It helps my imagination.
I’m sorry.
It's the shock, sir. Delayed shock.
ls it?
You know... I’m not sure I saw Quinn last Friday at all.
I just can't remember.
We’ll leave it for now, then, sir.
If it does come back to you...
Of course.
- Good night. - Good night, madam.
Good night.
LEWIS: Some people get all the perks.
MORSE: Very interesting woman. Very...
Very...
self-possessed.
Get anything out of her?
- He liked sherry. - We knew that.
No, no. We only thought we knew it.
Chief Inspector, the keys you wanted to Quinn's office and his filing cabinets.
Thank you.
You will remember that the material in those cabinets is strictly confidential?
Yes. Don't worry, sir, I got my A-levels 30 years ago.
And...you will remember to lock everything after you've...?
Oh, yes, we will. Won't we, Lewis?
Yes, sir.
- Good night, gentlemen. - Good night, sir.
MORSE: Good night, sir.
Thank God for that. Come on, we've got work to do.
- Anything interesting? - Don't think so.
His predecessor's stuff, mostly.
A bloke called Bland.
Bland?
Good name for a villain - Bland.
So that explains it.
What?
He went for lip-reading classes.
Headington Tech.
That's what explains this.
- What? - I couldn't get this drawer open properly.
What does AED stand for?
Al-Jamara Education Department?
How the hell do you know that?
They do a lot of business with Al-Jamara, wherever that may be.
It's the Gulf, Lewis, the Gulf.
Wait a minute. What the hell's going on here?
Where?
This letter, Lewis, this strictly private and confidential letter,
about the perfectly ordinary dispatch of entry forms for exams,
is dated May the 3rd this year, isn't it?
Yeah.
Why does it say they have to be in by Friday the 20th?
Friday was the 21 st, Lewis.
He made a mistake about the date, I expect.
Oh, no, he didn't.
''All entry forms and fee forms
should be ready for the final dispatch to the Syndicate by Friday the 20th,
or at the very latest, I’m told, by the 21 st.''
Fat chance. Academics working on a Saturday?
In bloody Arabia? You read that carefully and you'll see.
I said it was murder. Well, I was bloody well right.
It's schoolboy-simple, Lewis. It's an acrostic.
Read the words down instead of across.
Dear greetings letter all for...
The end of the lines, not the beginning.
- George. Your package ready Friday 21 st. - You see?
Room 3 after lunch.
- Good God! - Now, that was private and confidential.
Ah, but Quinn wasn't called George.
But Bland was. Bland is.
But he didn't clear out his cabinet properly before he went off to Al-Jamara.
Yes, Mr George Bland is a villain, you see.
But careless, Lewis.
Careless.
All the same...
- All the same what? - Even if something fishy was going on...
- If? If? - We don't know Quinn knew anything about it.
Then why was he murdered?
Well, we don't know that he was murdered.
Cyanide is what people do take for suicide, if they can get hold of it.
It's quick...
It's what we're supposed to think, Lewis. That's why we don't think it.
You know where the drinks are. Pour us a couple of sherries.
Do you mind if I have a beer, sir?
If you ever want to reach the dizzy heights of inspector, Lewis, learn to do as you're told.
Sherry.
Nice place, this.
Glad you like it.
- Cheers. - Cheers.
I wish I had time to read books.
- Well, you haven't. You're dead. - What?
I put cyanide in the sherry.
Well, then you're dead, too.
No, I’m not. I haven't touched mine.
Oh, God, and they're my prints on the bottle.
All I have to do is pour the sherry down the sink, wash the glass, put it back in the cupboard and...
Suicide.
- Exactly. - Someone still has to get in to poison the bottle.
Not necessarily. Someone could have given Quinn the bottle as a present.
You don't give people opened bottles, though.
And you couldn’t reseal a bottle of sherry. Well, I couldn’t, anyway.
Eugh.
I can't think on this stuff.
Let's go and have a proper drink, shall we?
(Buzz of conversation)
There you go. That'll be £1.98, please.
Thanks.
Cheers.
I want to know what Quinn's colleagues were doing on Friday afternoon.
- All right. - But I want them to know I want to know.
- But if you do that... - They'll all have their stories ready. Precisely.
Let's see what they cook up.
All right, so whoever killed Quinn will have a pretty good alibi for last Friday.
That should help, I admit.
If Quinn was killed on Friday.
Wasn't he?
I don't know. Do you?
Come on. Drink up, Lewis. We've got thinking to do.
Sir! You can't park there, sir!
That's Dr Bartlett's place.
- I’m sure he won't mind. - He will. He gets very upset...
Well, where the hell can I park?
You can have Mr Quinn's space, I suppose.
He won't be wanting it, will he?
When did you last see Mr Quinn?
Ten to five last Friday, sir.
What?
I watched him back his car out of his space there and drive off home.
Are you sure? Couldn't it have been someone else?
No, I know all the cars.
Anyway, Mr Quinn's was the only one there that afternoon.
- Really? - Yes, sir. I said to Mr Roope...
- Who? - Mr Roope, one of the Syndics.
He came looking for Dr Bartlett. He'd got some papers for him,
but, of course, Dr Bartlett was over at Banbury.
- We looked in all the offices but no-one was in. - You said Quinn was here.
He was, sir. I don't know where, but he must have been somewhere. His coat was there.
- What sort of coat? - That old anorak of his.
Always wore it when it was, like, wet, you know.
And it was wet Friday.
Why I know he was here was, he left one of his filing cabinets open.
They're not supposed to do that, staff. Not ever.
- Dr Bartlett's particular about them cabinets. - Why would he have done it?
Just stepped down the hall, I suppose.
- A call of nature. - Very interesting, Lewis.
The only member of staff here last Friday afternoon was Quinn himself.
- He was? - Oh, yes.
He backed his car out of his space there...
I was over there in my...
Well, I call it my cubbyhole, see.
- Dr Bartlett, he... - Quinn was here.
Till ten to five.
That's a good start, anyway.
Yes. Come on.
Jukebox plays pop music
Not good for the brain cells.
Brewer's swipes and added carbon dioxide?
No. What can I get you to drink?
It is after working hours.
Cinzano and soda, please.
Are you sure?
Positive. Lots of soda.
- Cinzano and soda, please. - Ice and lemon?
Please, and lots of soda.
I understand you want to know where people were last Friday afternoon.
Yes. Yes, I do.
I expect you'd have found out sooner or later anyway, but I was with someone.
I know.
Your place, I presume.
There's no such thing as a secret, Mrs Height. Not that I've ever come across.
It didn't need too much beer to tell me that if he's a married man and your daughter's at school...
Congratulations.
I suppose Donald told you.
- He's ever so proud of having an affair. - How long has it been going on,
- you and Donald? - A year. 14 months.
Does it really matter?
I don't know.
Was Quinn jealous?
Why do you keep going on about him? He had nothing to do with it.
So,
you went off at lunch time, right?
Together?
Of course not.
And you went to your place?
Yes. And he left at...
I don't know. Fourish.
Sally's usually back by quarter past, so...
Why do you have to know all this?
I don't know yet. Perhaps I don't.
But...
That's it?
Yes, that's absolutely it.
She's not telling the truth.
I don't know why, and I don't know what about, but she's not telling the truth.
Check her out with her boyfriend?
Or perhaps it's not the whole truth.
I do hope this is not going to be one of our sordid cases, Lewis.
As president of the Board of Syndics,
I shall do everything in my power to see the Syndicate is not damaged.
I’m sorry this unfortunate young man should choose to kill himself.
I don't think he did, sir.
I remain unpersuaded.
Nothing you said convinces me that his death is in any way connected
with the activities of the Syndicate as such.
How long have you been president, sir?
Six years.
Would you say that the Syndicate's been a happy place all that time?
As far as one can judge. Certainly very efficient. Made very great progress.
No little jealousies or personal animosities?
Well, any academic institution, you know.
Would you like to give an example, sir?
These are internal matters. I don't see what concern they can be to you.
No trouble about promotions? That's the sort of thing we get in our job.
Ogleby was disappointed we passed him over in favour of Bartlett, if that's what you mean.
- If you're suggesting... - I wasn't suggesting anything.
What about Mrs Height?
In the late 20th century, Inspector,
we are obliged to give women equal status in the academic world.
She seemed rather attractive to me.
Did Mr Quinn think so?
Quinn? Good God, no, it wasn't...
There's no need for all of this to come out, is there?
All depends.
What time did you say you left her house?
About four, I suppose.
And you didn't go near the office?
No. No, I came straight here.
A nice surprise for the wife -
hubby home early.
I've only...
There's only ever been Monica.
Are you in love with her?
Oh, God.
I don't know.
This business has just about put paid to it, anyway.
LEWIS: You were right, sir. - Shh.
12 minutes. Not bad.
Not the record, but not bad. What did you say?
They weren't at Mrs Height's. Her daughter was there revising for O-levels.
Then she was lying.
Why, Lewis, why?
What do you make of all this stuff we got from Quinn's pockets?
- Not a lot. - No, nor me.
I wonder if he won the raffle.
What about this? ''Rear lounge,
102, number 93550.''
- Cinema ticket. - That's funny.
Why two lots of numbers on one ticket?
Fool.
That's not ''102''. That's half of ''Studio 2''. l-O 2.
I wonder what's on there. Give me the paper.
No, not The Times, Lewis. The local paper.
Now, this is interesting.
Have you ever seen this?
No.
Me neither.
My doctor says I should lose some weight,
stop eating butter, start eating polyunsaturates, whatever they are.
Not quite the same, though, is it, Lewis?
I can't tell you exactly, but this is one of the first tickets that was issued last Friday afternoon.
Doors open 1:15 and there's usually half a dozen or so waiting.
- I’m not surprised. - Yes. It's a popular film.
- We've held it over a second week. - Held it over what?
Would you like free seats, Inspector?
That's very kind of you, but my sergeant's a little too young,
to say nothing of being a married man.
Most of our customers are married.
You know, you've just reminded me of something.
Now, I don't know if this is of any interest to you,
but I was only saying the same thing to a gentleman last week.
A detective story writer. He wanted to know about our ticket numbers, too.
- When was this? - Just a minute, I’ll think.
Friday or Saturday, I think.
What did he look like?
I didn't meet him. It was a phone call.
MORSE: What sort of voice?
A nice voice.
I do remember that... Educated, if you know what I mean.
- And he didn't give you a name? - No.
No, he just launched straight into the subject.
You know, I’m almost certain it was Friday.
There is a lot of story writers live in Oxford, sir.
This isn't a story. It's a bloody murder, Lewis!
But who the hell wants to know what we want to know?
We do.
You didn't get a lot out of Ogleby, did you?
Tamnavulin?
One of the finest of all malt whiskeys, Inspector.
Close to Glenlivet.
Really?
One of the few true pleasures of the bachelor life,
as I am sure you have found for yourself...
..is the opportunity for guiltless self-indulgence.
- Cheers. - Cheers.
Mm. Very nice.
Do you often bring your work home?
Oh, that's not work, that's my other secret vice.
I set crosswords.
Do you? Which paper?
Different papers, but always the same name. Daedalus.
He built the great maze of Greek legend, you know.
You're Daedalus? I've been wrestling with you for years.
- (Chuckling) Really? - Yes. And a right sod
you are too, sometimes.
I once spent a whole day on one of your ''five downs''.
Well, I do try to be just a little bit cleverer than the solver, you see.
I always try to make ''five down'' just a little tricky.
Who told you I wasn't married? Mrs Height?
No.
But what an attractive woman, don't you think?
If I wasn't as comfortable as I am...
But a woman would get in the way of my work. That's my excuse. What's yours?
No woman would put up with me.
I play my records too loud.
You could get her earplugs.
Who did tell you?
I looked you up. No need to ''chercher la femme''. I like to do my own legwork.
Did you think I might ask some awkward questions, then?
No. My conscience is clear.
I wanted to see who you were, if you were up to the job.
Now that I know you do my crosswords, of course...
How can I help you?
I want to know how to cheat the system,
how to nobble the exams without getting caught.
Not easy.
We keep exact records of how each school does year by year.
If the average suddenly changes, well...
Crooked examiners?
No.
Everything's checked by randomly-chosen
second examiners.
That might work in England, but abroad...?
We have our own foreign centers... and our own supervisors.
Like Mr George Bland? Quinn's predecessor.
An ideal man.
All the right connections,
- here and in the Middle East. - Connections for what?
For overseeing examinations.
What did you think I meant?
What if he were crooked?
Oh, well. If the man at the top in any organization falls by the wayside...
He could leak the exams in advance.
Only to one or two people at the most,
or we'd catch him at once.
It would have to be made very much worth his while.
And who could afford to do that?
Got any suspicions, sir?
- Of what? - Someone cheating.
Suspicions of cheating? No.
Well...
Just what did you do after you left the university press last Friday, sir?
I went back to the office.
- I got there about half past three. - And left?
About five.
- Are you quite sure about that? - Absolutely.
As I understand it, the only person there that afternoon was Mr Quinn.
Then you understand wrong. I was in the Syndicate building till after five o'clock.
Another Tamnavulin?
I find malt whiskey
helps me think.
Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr Roope's room.
Oh, yes. Just go through the archway and it's the second on the right.
Thanks.
I’m sorry, I was looking for Mr Roope.
Inspector Morse? I am Roope.
Come in.
It's not just the policemen getting younger, you know.
Sorry I have no beer.
Oh, that's all right, sir.
An awful business, this.
Of course, I hardly knew the chap.
You are sure it wasn't suicide?
Oh, yes.
I thought he might be, well...
the suicidal type.
Very lonely being deaf.
It must be.
Right...
Well, you want to know my movements.
I took the 8:05 to Paddington.
I got to my publisher's before they did.
- New book, sir? - My magnum opus.
Industrial chemistry.
Roused them up a bit,
then I went to the National Portrait Gallery for illustrations.
Famous chemists and so on.
Then I had some lunch, took the 3:07 back here.
I took a taxi to the Syndicate. I got there about 4:30.
There was no-one about. Only Noakes.
So I left some papers I had for Bartlett on his desk and I came home.
You didn't see anyone else there?
Only Noakes. I looked in all the rooms. He did, too.
- You didn't see Mr Martin or Mr Ogleby? - No.
Quinn was around somewhere, we decided.
But we didn't actually see him.
He'd left a filing cabinet open.
Bartlett would have given him hell for that.
Bit of a sod, you know, Bartlett.
Very...conscientious, I believe.
- You could call it that. - Don't you like him, sir?
Not much.
Bartlett didn't want Quinn. He thought his deafness would be a handicap.
I’m all for positive discrimination.
I pushed him through.
Now, of course...
Quite certain it wasn't suicide?
Poor chap.
Could I...
Could we leave this until Inspector Morse gets here, Sergeant?
Well, he's asked me to conduct this interview.
All right.
So you've talked to my daughter?
Yes, madam.
(Door opens)
So where were you?
I lied to you, Inspector, because it...
Well, I was ashamed, if you really want to know.
We were in a lay-by on the Banbury Road.
Really?
I didn't know Studio 2 was out that way.
Shall we have the truth now, Mrs Height?
I’m sorry. It's just so...
so...
so very...
So very sordid - carrying on in a pornographic cinema.
- But you had some idea? - Well, I tried to ignore it.
Well, yes, but that's where they were.
But what you say about Bland, Inspector, now that truly appalls me.
(Classical music inside)
Meistersinger. Which recording is that?
I’m afraid I wouldn't know. It's my son Richard who's the Wagnerian.
WAGNER: Die Meistersinger Von Nürnberg
Richard!
There has to be someone this end, obviously.
I can't believe that anyone...
Someone passing the stuff on to Bland.
Now, it can't be Martin.
He's too wet.
And he's too busy with Monica.
And not her...
It has to be Ogleby.
Oh, I can't believe...
Well, a man not getting any younger,
passed over in favour of you, wants to make a bit of cash before it's too late.
And take a little sweet revenge.
God, he practically confessed to me.
(Phone rings)
(Music swells) - Hello?
Who?
What?
Oh, yes, right. I’ll fetch him.
Well, Quinn didn't think it was Ogleby.
What?
Excuse me! You're wanted on the telephone, Inspector.
Thank you. What did you say?
He rang me on the Thursday night.
I thought he was drunk. He had some wild story... What I thought was a wild story.
He accused me of selling our exams to the Sheik of Al-Jamara.
(Music reaches a crescendo)
Richard! I'm terribly sorry, darling.
But you...
(Music stops)
Richard... Well, he suffers...
It's his balance.
It's his emotional balance.
I’d better take that call.
- It's in the hall. - Thank you.
Morse here. Oh, Lewis. Yes?
What?
POLICE RADIO: Echo 5-1, 5-1 Echo...
(Siren wails)
Lewis tells me this is your prime suspect, Morse.
It seems someone got your man before you did.
(Siren wails)
When do you think they'll let me see Monica Height?
I don't know.
- Not before tomorrow morning. - Hell.
She's in deep shock, Morse. And no bloody wonder.
What was she doing here?
- I don't know. - How did she get in?
It looks like it was someone he knew.
Her?
Sir...
Look, I’m in shock, too.
Have one yourself.
His heirs will forgive you.
No, thanks.
- Of course, it doesn't mean he didn't kill Quinn. - No?
We've been supposing there's only one villain here at the Syndicate,
passing on exam secrets to Bland in Al-Jamara for sale to whoever.
But maybe they were all in it. All except Quinn, of course. The new boy.
He found out, accused Bartlett of being part of it...
- Did he? - Yes.
The thing is, who else did he tell?
Ogleby, perhaps.
Ogleby takes action...
Why's Ogleby dead now, then?
See, according to Morse's Law, sir,
there's a 50% chance Mrs Height did him in.
Shut up, Lewis.
Look at this.
Glaister and Rintoul.
The Poisoner's Bible.
Medical Jurisprudence And Toxicology to you, Lewis, if you want to make inspector.
Good grief, he's even marked the page. Cyanide.
So he did kill Nicholas Quinn.
Or did he?
Did he?
How could he have done?
He set the best crosswords in England.
I emptied his pockets for you, Morse, knowing your...sensitivity.
Oh, by the way, your friend was murdered.
He was killed by a blow of considerable force, probably administered by a right-handed man.
The central impact was approximately five centimetres above the occipital bone
and two to the right of the parietal foramen.
That should give you something to go on.
Man, you say?
I said ''probably''. Good night, Morse.
Night, Lewis.
Good night, sir.
This lot's not much help.
Look at this, though.
That's Quinn's cinema ticket.
Why on earth should he want to draw that?
If it is his ticket. What was the number?
9-3-5-5-0.
I don't understand.
''No human action happens by pure chance unconnected with other happenings.''
''And none is incapable of explanation.''
Dr Hans Gross, Professor of Criminology, University of Prague.
All right, so you know my favourite quotations.
Now, how about some explanation?
- And you're absolutely... - Two murders...
and a very nasty case of bribery and corruption.
Isn't there anything we could...
That's the end of the Syndicate.
You had a party, I understand,
for the Sheik of Al-Jamara.
What? Oh, yes.
Al-Jamara was our pride and joy.
Was there anything at that party, anything at all,
which now strikes you as relevant?
No, I don't think so.
Except...now I come to think of it,
I did see Quinn and Ogleby leaving together.
Do you realise, if you'd told me this before, Ogleby might still be alive.
You didn't ask me.
I didn't know.
You should have told me of your suspicions.
I tried to. You didn't want to hear.
I've no alibi whatever.
I didn't even dine in hall.
I worked on proofs all evening and had an Indian meal at about 11 o'clock.
Sorry.
That's no trouble, sir.
Not to me.
Not too long, now. She's still very shaky.
Right.
Hello.
Are you feeling any better?
A bit.
- I keep seeing... - I know. Yes, it's awful, terrible.
I know.
(Sobs)
There.
Would you like me to give you a hand? It's quite difficult today.
''Thirteen across'' held me up for quite some time.
Three minutes.
Are you good at crosswords?
Not bad.
I like all sorts of puzzles...
brain-teasers, anything where you have to use your logic.
My weakness is guesswork.
I leap to conclusions...sometimes.
Usually wrong.
You want to know what I was doing at Philip Ogleby's?
If you don't mind.
I was coming to cook his dinner.
Ah.
You thought he was the complete bachelor?
Well, he was...but the old-fashioned sort.
He couldn't boil an egg.
Well, I expect he could, but...
You had a key?
Yes.
How long had this been going on?
Oh, since his old cleaning lady left.
She used to leave food for him to warm up. But the new one...
I’m sorry, but...
Was that all there was to it?
No, of course not.
He was my greatest friend in Oxford,
the only person I could talk to about...
about...
Donald Martin.
..about my life, about life.
He was...
I can't tell you how much I'm going to miss him.
Any idea who or why?
Just one more question.
When you and Donald Martin went to the cinema last Friday,
- did you see Ogleby there? - No.
No-one came in while you were there?
Not that I recognised.
All right.
I've done most of the difficult ones
for you.
Thanks.
And thanks for coming. I've...
I've been so frightened. I keep thinking...
Suppose the man, whoever did it,
suppose he was still in the house?
I...
What would have happened to Sally?
There, there.
(Sobs)
Oh.
Ah, Mr Martin,just the man I want to see.
Oh, I was just going to see...
She's not seeing any more visitors for a while.
- What? Who said? - I did. Can I give you a lift somewhere?
- Look, I was told... - You were told wrong. My car's over here.
So you really do love her?
Yes.
And does she love you?
How would I know?
Not knowing is half the attraction, Inspector.
As you'd realise, if you've ever been in love.
Yes, it's all that...
Well, it keeps it on the boil.
People fall in love with what they can't have.
Don't they teach you that much in the CID?
They teach us enough, Mr Martin.
Does your wife know about the affair?
No...
At least, I don't think so.
I'm fairly sure not.
Sure or only fairly sure?
No man is absolutely sure of his wife, Inspector,
as you'd know if you were married.
Why did you lie about last Friday?
Monica thought it sounded less sordid.
So you were at that film?
- Oh, yes. - See anyone you knew there?
No.
Sure or only fairly sure?
Absolutely certain.
All right, you can see her now.
Oh, thanks.
Thanks a lot.
They were there all right. They saw someone and they're not saying who.
LEWIS: Quinn.
That's the obvious solution, yes.
It won't have been Ogleby. He phoned the manageress for information, if you ask me.
Where did he get to see and copy Quinn's ticket, and when?
Back at the office. It's where he said he was,
and where Quinn's anorak was, and it was in the anorak that we found Quinn's ticket.
God, you're right.
- Right about what? - Yes.
Yes, you've done it again, Lewis.
That's where we found the ticket. That's where we were meant to find it.
Yes, that's it.
Quinn didn't go to the cinema at all.
- Oh, but... - Well, he couldn’t, you fool.
He was dead already.
That's her, sir.
Mrs Evans? Hello, I’m Chief Inspector Morse.
- You know Sergeant Lewis. - Hello, Mrs Evans.
Anything strike you about the room, Mrs Evans?
That chair. Someone's gone and moved that chair.
He'd never sit there. Well, no-one would. It's right in a draught.
That chair belongs over there.
No, nothing funny there.
Oh, my Lord!
This milk's off.
Now, what did he want to go and buy that for?
What's that, Mrs Evans?
Salted butter. He never ate salted butter.
Fussy about that, he was.
And he's got a whole pound of unsalted here already.
- Look. - Lewis?
- Sir? - The shopping.
- Salted butter, was that in Quinn's shopping? - I think so, yeah.
Then it wasn't Quinn's shopping, was it?
Did I say something?
You're forgetting Noakes the caretaker.
He saw Quinn leave the Syndicate at ten to five.
No, he didn't. He saw Quinn's car leave the Syndicate.
- The driver was wearing Quinn's anorak. - It was raining, he wanted to look like Quinn.
- He? - Or she.
I haven't ruled out she.
Where are we going now?
We're going to prove me wrong, I hope.
- About what? - About Ogleby killing Quinn.
Philip Ogleby hadn't long to live.
Less than a year, I’d say.
What was it?
Brain tumor. Inoperable.
- Did he know? - Oh, yes.
I always tell my patients.
In any case, I could never have kept it from him.
He had a very inquiring sort of mind.
He thought he knew more about his case than I did.
- A doctor's nightmare. - Was he in pain, sir?
- He would have been, eventually. - Did he know that?
He knew everything. If he was working on his own murder, he'd have the case sewn up.
Not that I mean that you...
Would you say he was the sort of man to take his own life?
When he'd had enough, I mean.
Possibly...yes, very possibly.
But nothing messy. Something simple and inconveniencing others very little.
What would you have recommended, Doctor?
He wouldn't have needed my advice.
He knew all about cyanide, I’m sure.
The trouble with my method, Lewis, is it's inspirational.
And, as a result, I sometimes...sometimes...
get things arse-about-face.
- Yes, sir. - However, this case is crystal clear now.
I shall make an arrest tomorrow morning.
You can't do that. You've got to go to the inquest.
I’ll make the arrest immediately after the inquest.
- What if he's not there? - Oh, he or she will be there, all right.
He or she is a witness.
Thanks, darling.
What time will you be home, Donald?
Usual time, I imagine. Unless they decide to arrest me.
- Morning, Martin. - Morning.
I’m absolutely positive. Just relax.
All present and correct except Monica.
All rise.
Where the bloody hell is she?
Mr Bartlett asked me to go to Mr Quinn's house to see if he was all right.
When I got there, I could see the curtains were still drawn.
But I could see through where they didn't meet very well that Quinn was lying on the carpet.
So I went and phoned the police.
The smallest dose of cyanide to prove fatal is a half drachm of pharmacopoeial acid,
or 0.6 grams of anhydrous hydrocyanic acid.
In this case, the cyanide was administered in the form of anhydrous hydrocyanic acid,
mixed with sherry.
Postmortem appearances were such as to lead me to believe
that death must have occurred almost immediately.
Chief Inspector, I believe you're in charge of the investigation into the death of Mr Quinn.
Yes, sir.
Are you prepared to indicate to the court the present state of your inquiries?
Not yet, sir.
I’d like to request the inquest be adjourned for a fortnight.
Am I to understand by that that your inquiries are likely to be completed by that time?
Yes, sir.
Am I right in saying that no arrest has yet been made?
Yes, sir.
Will a fortnight be sufficient time to compete your investigation?
I believe so, sir. An arrest is imminent.
As a matter of fact, I have a warrant here.
And although it may be unusual to introduce a touch of melodrama into your court, sir,
I should like, with your permission, to execute it immediately after the adjournment of the inquest,
- if, of course, you allow the adjournment. - Very well.
I declare this inquest adjourned for two weeks.
All rise.
Christopher Algernon Roope, I have here a warrant for your arrest
in connection with the murder of Nicholas Quinn.
- It is my duty to tell you... - Are you quite mad?
- I hope you'll be sensible, sir. - You're making the most absurd mistake.
- I hope you realise... - Let's keep all that till later.
This way, sir.
I should have been quicker. You gave me the clue, sir, that first day.
- I did? - You said you were a stickler for security.
Everyone confirmed that.
And yet there was Quinn, who'd only been in the place a couple of months...
Three. Three months.
- Would you say he was a conscientious man? - Oh, yes.
Always left a note to say where he was going, that sort of thing?
He was extremely scrupulous.
And yet apparently... apparently that Friday afternoon,
he broke all the Law and the Prophets. He committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.
- Inspector, please. - He left a filing cabinet open.
A cabinet full of exam questions.
Now, either he was idle and careless...
He wasn't that, not at all.
Then it was entirely uncharacteristic of him to do it.
So he didn't do it. Someone else did it.
Someone else who then came back
and drew Noakes's attention to this uncharacteristic breach of security.
That Quinn was in the building was confirmed by the presence of his anorak.
DEAN: I don't understand. Where was Quinn? - In the car park.
In the boot of his car all the time.
- What...? - I'm sorry, gentlemen,
I must get back to the station to hear what Mr Roope has to say for himself.
It's all a question of logic, you know.
Just the application of logic.
Right, Lewis, where have we got him?
Interview Room 1 , sir.
Right, whatever you do, don't interrupt.
Just keep your mouth shut and your face straight, even if you think I’m quite barmy.
- Right, sir. - Good.
Does that mean you've arrested him on inspiration, sir?
I don't know what you're talking about.
No?
Do you know what's been the trouble with this case, Lewis?
Everyone's been so damned clever.
It began well, though, didn't it?
Everything just as you planned.
You said good night to Noakes,
walked out of the Syndicate, disappeared down the road,
turned round and came back again.
Noakes obligingly went off to make a cup of tea,
you went quietly in,
along to Quinn's office, put on his anorak,
crept out the back,
got into his own car using his own keys, and drove off.
The ever-obliging Noakes even saw you out of the window.
Thought you were Quinn himself.
You then drove to Quinn's cottage, stopping to shop on the way.
Two steaks, to make it look as if he had a guest.
A mysterious, unseen guest, who poisoned him and then vanished.
Very, very ingenious...
..except you didn't check his fridge.
You bought butter.
He had plenty of butter already.
And you bought salted.
He never touched salted butter.
Silly mistake, really.
Overreached yourself, I’m afraid.
If anyone's overreaching themselves, it's you.
I've never heard such elaborate nonsense in my life.
- There's more to come. - In that case, I’d better speak to my lawyer.
I thought you didn't want to see him.
I didn't know that we'd be leaving the realms of fact for fantasy.
Well, it seemed fantastic to me at first.
But then, it was meant to, wasn't it?
I've no idea what you're talking about.
You deny the charges, then?
Charges? You haven't brought any charges yet.
You deny the sequence of events I...
Of course I bloody deny it! I've never heard such rubbish in my life.
Then let me explain.
Quinn's murderer had to establish an alibi.
You see, all the indications were that Quinn was still alive on Friday evening,
- but he wasn't, as you know. - Don't keep saying things like that.
I don't know anything of the sort.
Oh. Pity.
I’m still not exactly sure when he was killed.
I was hoping you'd tell me.
Look, I was in London all day.
I got back to Oxford at 4:15.
Can you prove that, sir?
Indeed I can. I met the Dean of Lonsdale College on the platform.
Does that phone connect with the real world?
- Yes. - Then phone him up and ask him.
Lewis, er...would you...
The number's 7-4-3-5-3.
And if Quinn was actually murdered before I got back to Oxford,
if indeed he was really murdered at all,
that puts me in the clear, doesn't it?
It would seem to, yes, sir.
LEWIS: Could I speak to the Dean, please?
Just one moment, please.
He won't be back till four.
Get over to the college at four o'clock and see him, will you?
Thank you. No, nothing important.
It's important to me, if you don't mind. Can I go now?
Well, yes...I see no reason to...
I’m sorry you've been troubled, sir.
Sergeant Lewis, would you drive Mr Roope back to his rooms?
No, thanks. I’ll walk.
I've had enough police hospitality for one day.
I wish you'd tell me what you think you're doing.
Too clever by half, Lewis.
Two clever by two or three and a half.
(No audible speech)
Thank you very much. See you next week. Bye-bye.
No, don't do that. I said...
Sorry.
I said, don't wipe out the words yet. I want to look at them.
Well, you can see the principle.
P, B and M are the most difficult letters to read.
T and D get easily confused as well.
Mr Quinn was very good, though,
one of the best lip-readers I've ever had.
Of course, even he made mistakes, but we all do.
- Was he very deaf? - Yes.
(Bell rings)
Can I rub this off now?
Would he be able to hear the bell?
Would Mr Quinn have been able to hear that bell?
What bell?
MOZART: Concerto in E Flat
(Phone rings)
Yes?
Who?
Yes...
Yes.
Yes, it all makes sense.
Right, well done, Lewis. I’m on my way.
Afternoon, sir.
Afternoon.
Come in.
Inspector. How nice.
Feeling better?
Well...
I couldn't stand hospital.
Work helps, you know.
And you like your work, Monica. I may call you Monica?
If you like.
And, yes, I like my work.
And your loyalty to the Syndicate is really something, isn't it?
What do you mean?
To the secretary, anyway.
Ah.
- You lied to me. - No.
You asked me if I saw anyone at the cinema. I didn't. I saw him coming out.
That's a bit Jesuitical, isn't it?
He's a married man.
I just couldn't see what his being there could possibly have to do with...
Anyway...he was leaving even before the film began.
Yes.
Why do you reckon that was, Monica?
He saw Donald.
Donald would have been out of there like a shot if he'd seen him.
- Yes? - Yes.
If you're going to call me Monica, what shall I call you?
Morse.
Everyone just calls me Morse.
Ah, just the man I wanted to see.
I want you to call an extraordinary general meeting of the Board of...Syndics?
- Syndics, yes. - For tomorrow morning.
That's impossible. They're all very busy people.
Tell them to cancel their lectures, their visits to their publishers, their college meetings,
in fact, the whole Hebdomadal Council, if necessary.
I want to see them at ten o'clock for a most important announcement.
I hope it proves more important than your announcement at the inquest.
I understand Mr Roope is considering suing for wrongful arrest.
Then he'll do it from jail. We've just arrested him again. Good afternoon, Dr Bartlett.
These dons. Look at them, there's enough brains here to sort out the whole British economy.
What do they spend their time on?
Obscure research and teaching ignorant louts of undergraduates.
A lot of important research goes on in Oxford - cancer and that.
Well, yes, of course, but...
Well, it's pretty rarefied - setting exams, don't you think?
Ogleby wanted to prove himself outside the academic world.
He knew he was dying.
He found himself in the middle of corruption and murder,
and wanted to have a go. That's what it was.
He wanted to solve it on his own. At the end of his life, he wanted to prove he'd lived.
LEWIS: And so he died.
Good morning, Inspector...
though hardly for the Syndicate.
Morning, sir. We were just talking about Mr Ogleby.
We may have done him an injustice.
We might not have had this trouble if we'd appointed him, not Bartlett.
Ah, well, we’ll never know, will we?
Dr Bartlett, what happened at 12 o'clock last Friday in this building?
We had fire drill.
Precisely.
(Alarm bell rings)
All right, ladies, thank you. Just practicing.
All right, that's enough.
Quinn couldn't hear that, and so as the alarm was sounding,
he was being offered a glass of sherry in one of the offices downstairs.
Sherry laced with cyanide.
He was dead within 20 seconds at the most.
And while everyone else was out front, the murderer rapidly took the body out the back
and dumped it in the boot of Quinn's own car.
He then joined the others, ticking his and Quinn's name off the list.
He then went to the cinema.
There he purchased a ticket, but he did not go into the film.
He came back here, leaving that ticket to be collected later and put in Quinn's pocket,
so that we'd all assume that Quinn was alive
long after he had, in fact, been murdered.
I must intervene.
You said Roope was the murderer. He couldn't have been. He was in London.
- I saw him getting off the train. - Oh, I know he was on the train, sir.
- But you said... - I said he'd been arrested
in connection with Quinn's murder. I didn't say he personally committed it.
No, one person couldn’t possibly have managed it on his or her own.
- She's here, sir. - Bring her in, then.
Mrs Height...would you like to sit here?
Mrs Height, you spent the early part of last Friday afternoon at the cinema, didn't you?
- Yes. - Which cinema was it?
The Studio 2 in Walton Street.
Were you alone?
No, I went with Donald Martin.
Together or separately?
Separately. Donald went first.
- We didn't want anyone to see us. - Quite.
And as you approached the cinema, did you see someone you knew leaving it?
Yes.
And is that person in this room today?
Yes.
Would you be so kind as to say who it is?
I’m afraid it was Dr Bartlett.
Dr Thomas Bartlett, I have here a warrant for your arrest.
I don't believe it. I just can't believe it. Bartlett, of all people.
He needed the money.
He has a perfectly adequate salary. Rather generous by academic standards.
- There's mental illness in the family. - What?
The son, Richard, he's being treated in the Little more.
Yes, not the first hospital he's been in, either.
As a matter of fact, the Bartletts have sent him to almost every clinic in Europe,
and not on the NHS.
Yes, Richard Bartlett's cost his parents a lot, in emotion and money.
Like £1,000 notes, those exams are.
And Bartlett was such a stickler for security, no-one would ever dream of suspecting him.
Quinn couldn't believe it. His own boss.
Neither could Ogleby, when Quinn told him.
Which is why Ogleby was here that Friday afternoon, just as he said.
Where? Nobody saw him.
He was right here,
searching for evidence that Quinn was right.
Yes, Bartlett was off in Banbury. The coast was apparently clear.
Nothing...
except here.
Quinn's keys, taken from his pocket
after the murder, and half a cinema ticket.
That's very odd, surely?
Left on the desk for someone, perhaps.
So what does he do?
He doesn't want anyone to know he's been snooping,
so he carefully copies the ticket into a diary.
Just as he's doing this... ''Oh, my God, voices.''
Roope and Noakes.
''What the hell do I do? They're coming here.''
I go in here, that's what I do.
And I hope to God Roope doesn't want a pee.
He doesn't. But he does, however, take the keys and the ticket.
I see that the keys and the ticket have gone,
and I’m extremely puzzled.
Ten minutes later, I hear a car start up outside.
Quinn's car, driven with the keys I've seen on this desk just a short while ago.
Ah, so Bartlett was the murderer and Roope drove away with the evidence?
Precisely. I expect the cyanide was Roope's idea. He is a chemist.
And I’m sure Bartlett never offers his staff anything stronger than sherry.
Ogleby was very close to the truth.
He phoned the cinema, you know, pretending to be a detective story writer,
asking about ticket numbers.
I always thought he was a very able man.
Of course, it never occurred to me...
Oh, look at this.
Poor old Quinn wasn't here long enough to get his name on the notepaper.
TG Bartlett, PhD, MA, Secretary.
P Ogleby, MA, Deputy Secretary.
We made him that as a sort of... a sort of compensation.
If we'd only known. What are you going to do about George Bland?
Interpol will deal with him.
Quite roughly, if I know Interpol.
Mrs MM Height, MA,
DJ Martin, BA...
Well, strike the first two off the list, what are you left with? Office adultery.
The office will have to close, you can be sure of that.
It's a dreadful thing for British education. The Americans are everywhere.
- They spell honor H-O-N-O-R. - Oh, Christ.
What's the matter?
Take this paper to the door and read the first and last names out loud. Please.
TG Bartlett, PhD, MA.
Just the names, just the names.
Bartlett, Martin.
Just whisper them. Just move your lips.
Oh, God.
And again... Dr Bartlett, Donald Martin.
Shit.
The wrong bloody brand.
And I've gone and arrested
the wrong man.
- Where is he? - What?
Did you clean the blood off for him?
- What do you mean? - Oh, for God's sake, woman! Was it you or him?
There must have been plenty of it, and brains.
Come on, come on! What are you trying to protect him for?
Monica wasn't the first, was she? Or likely to be the last.
Don't tell me you love him.
He said there'd been an accident.
He said...
it was in the Broad, just opposite Blackwells.
It was a girl, an undergraduate...
- Philip Ogleby. - Was knocked down by a car.
A poker, he used Ogleby's own poker. He smashed his skull in, Mrs Martin.
(Footsteps approach)
Donald!
Need a hand, sir?
Get that bastard off me!
You should get yourself in better shape, Morse.
You're getting flabby from all that beer.
Yes...
Must have a word with the superintendent about fitness and the over-40s.
I'm surprised at you, Morse.
Fisticuffs, at your age? I thought you didn't like the sight of blood.
All in the cause of duty.
You are sure you got the right man this time?
But I thought he was so clever at lip-reading.
No-one's perfect.
Then, he'd had a good deal to drink, hadn't he?
He'd done himself well enough.
Then when Roope deliberately drew suspicion on you
by asking you to meet him at the botanical gardens...
He said it was so we could talk
- without him implicating me. - They were very cunning.
Both of them.
But not as cunning as Ogleby.
They couldn't get past that crossword-puzzle mind.
Roope's never liked me, has he, my dear?
Envy, I’m afraid.
I have a little money of my own, you see.
So we've always been able to see that Richard got the very best attention.
Quite.
MRS BARTLETT: Poor Monica.
MORSE: Yes, indeed.
You've...
You've...had a bad time,
Mrs Height.
- Most of it my own fault. - If there's anything I can do...
Thank you, but my friends are very kind.
- Shall I pour? MRS BARTLETT: Yes, do.
How do you like it, Inspector?
I expect you'd rather have something stronger, wouldn't you?
Well, yes.
Doubtless you'd like some explanation of why I was...
Why I went to the um...
Oh, no, no. I understand.
I do assure you, I don't make a habit of visiting the cinema,
that kind or any other.
- Of course not. - But I'd heard so much about this film.
It's a classic, they tell me.
I believe so, yes.
So having half an hour to spare before leaving for Banbury...
I wasn't planning on seeing the whole thing.
Of course not.
You know, it's absurd,
but I feel almost worse about this than I do about the Syndicate. I...
I feel I've let myself down.
Monica understood that.
That's why she wanted to protect you.
I was wondering if...
if I shouldn't tell my wife.
Tell her what? That you didn't see the film?
Adultery in the heart is not really the same as adultery.
''Or who shall 'scape whipping?''
- We should have arrested Martin straightaway. - Why?
Morse's Law.
You said there's a 50:50 chance that whoever finds the body did the deed.
That isn't Morse's Law.
Morse's Law is there's always time for one more pint.
Only there isn't.
Come on.
Do you believe that about Bartlett only meaning to stop for half an hour?
Well, yes. Yes, he only wanted a little thrill.
Just a peep behind the magic curtain,
a glimpse of how the other half has a bit of the other.
Not everyone's like you, you know.
He is.
Oh, no, they've changed the bloody film!
Oh, 101 Dalmatians?
Great! I might pop home and fetch the wife and kids.