Looks like the intruder gained entry through the back door, sir.
Lock's been tampered with.
For an art dealer, you'd think he'd have had more robust security.
Anything stolen, Sergeant?
We're... We're checking now.
Sir, I think you should come and look at this.
Flambeau.
"Justice and Divine Vengeance."
Father?
By Pierre-Paul Prud'hon.
The painting that was stolen.
So... So this Flambeau, he's your mate?
Well, I wouldn't exactly describe him as that.
I know how I'd describe him.
Look at those eyes.
But you know him, though? The world-famous thief?
And now murderer.
What, sorry?.
Are you all right, Father?
Doesn't make sense.
Chief Inspector. Sergeant.
Father. Mrs Devine. Sorry to intrude on breakfast.
Intrude away.
As you're no doubt aware, I'm conducting a manhunt.
And given your association with the guilty party,
Father, I'm placing Sergeant Goodfellow here on permanent watch.
On watch?
You'll be under his surveillance at all times.
Is that absolutely necessary?
It's for your own safety, Father.
Flambeau is not the man you once knew.
He's now a killer.
And if Flambeau tries to get in contact with you in any way,
you're to inform us immediately.
Understood?
Absolutely.
Chief Inspector, Flambeau is many things,
but he is not a cold-blooded killer.
The evidence says otherwise.
You don't really think he's going to show up here, do you, sir?
He'd know we'd be watching.
I'm not taking any chances, Goodfellow.
He escaped me once before, I'm not going to let it happen again.
You know, this is the opportunity I've been waiting for.
Opportunity, sir?
To say goodbye to Kembleford for good,
and get back to Scotland Yard where I belong.
Don't let me down, Sergeant.
Ego te baptizo
in nomine Patris, et Filii,
et Spiritus Sancti.
Deus omnipotens, pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi,
qui te regeneravit ex aqua et Spiritu Sancto.
Quique dedit tibi remissionem omnium peccatorum,
ipse te liniat...
What a lovely, well-behaved, little baby, Father.
Yes, he was, wasn't he?
I think he enjoyed himself.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Sergeant, I have to take confession.
A sinner in need of God's forgiveness.
Don't be fooled by appearances, Father.
It's actually a fine vintage from the Loire Valley.
I'm relieved to see that being on the run for murder
hasn't forced you to give up on life's little pleasures.
It's the only thing keeping me going.
For once, I'm innocent.
It makes a refreshing change.
And the real culprit?
Given the number of people I've double-crossed, stolen from,
or generally vexed over the years, it could be anyone.
And yet, I believe I know where he, or she is going to strike next.
Monte Carlo, three weeks ago.
A diamond theft.
I was nowhere near.
Four weeks before that, Berlin, a pearl necklace.
And now the painting.
They're connected?
I've stolen them all before.
An auction heist in 1929.
25 years ago.
One of my earliest exploits.
Still wet behind the ears, slightly less refined than I am now.
I sold them all on to private collectors.
And now someone's stealing them back. It would appear so.
And what is this thief's next target?
There was one other item I stole that day.
Top right.
"Gold bracelet engraved with the image of Saint Nicholas of Myra."
It's been put up for sale by an anonymous seller.
Someone is going to great lengths to flush you out,
and they're not afraid to kill.
Whoever it is will be at that auction - and so will I.
I'd like you there with me.
You do know, of course, that this is a trap.
If I'm to clear my name, I have no choice but to walk into it.
With me.
He's already killed.
Twice.
If we don't stop him, there's no reason to think he won't kill again.
Good morning, Sergeant.
Thought you might like a cup of tea.
Three sugars, two biscuits.
Thank you very much indeed, Father.
Any sign of Flambeau?
Not yet. Inspector Sullivan has half the county out
looking for him, though.
Well, I'll keep my eyes peeled.
I think that's sufficient cushions.
Tell me again.
Make occasional appearances at the window,
always keeping my back turned.
If the Sergeant comes in, for any reason,
I hide in your room and pretend to take a nap.
Yeah, fool-proof.
Afternoon, sir. Sign in.
Thank you, sir,
Sign in, please. I'm Edwin Blythe. Auctioneer.
Joe Bloom. Head of Security. Why are none of you carrying guns?
We're not licensed to carry firearms, sir.
There is a master criminal on the loose. Arms up.
And I am responsible for a roomful of valuables
which I have no doubt he would love to get his hands on.
Don't worry, sir. Me and my men are more than a match for Flambeau,
with or without weapons.
Thanks, gentlemen.
Afternoon, sir. Sign in, please.
It could be any one of them.
Do you know anything about the
previous owners of the items you stole?
The auction records are long since gone.
There it is.
Beautiful, isn't it?
Lester Garrick.
Collector of fine antiquities.
Christopher Lane.
Museum curator.
Father Brown. Friend.
What interests you in the bracelet, if you don't mind me asking?
I've always admired Saint Nicholas -
friend and protector to all those in trouble or need.
Not to mention, the inspiration for Santa Claus.
Are you planning to bid on it?
I haven't decided yet. I hope so.
It's no fun if there isn't a bit of good-natured rivalry.
If you're an anonymous seller, why bid yourself?
He has no intention of paying for it.
Your drinks and cigarettes, sir. I didn't order any.
They were left at the bar, along with a note, and a sizeable tip.
You ARE Christopher Lane?
Is something wrong? Should I call security? No.
"From a lifelong student of your work."
Bidding will begin in 15 minutes.
Please make your way to the auction room.
The game's afoot.
Oi! Father Brown said, "Make appearances in the window,"
not, "Parade around the garden."
There's no point in putting on a costume if I'm not going to perform.
Get back inside!
When I've finished getting rid of these weeds.
No, he's coming over.
Wonder if I could trouble you for another cup of tea, Father?
Father?
Father Brown woke up with a bit of frog in his throat this morning.
Well, he was all right with me when I was speaking to him earlier.
Well. I'll get you a cuppa, Sergeant.
Nap. I need a nap.
Wait! A minute.
Lot number one.
Queen Cleopatra French neoclassical sculptural bust
with a polished basalt finish and gold accents.
That's a prison tattoo.
I think you're right.
You keep an eye on him.
I'll keep an eye on Lester.
Bidding begins.
He asked you to dress up in his spare cassock,
and he didn't tell you why?
He said the less we know, the better.
But he is with Flambeau?
We didn't see Flambeau.
That's not what I asked.
I'm sorry, Inspector. I know how this looks.
It looks like obstruction of justice.
I'll make it up to you, I promise.
Do you ever stop? I meant with a nice Sunday roast or something.
For the last time, did Flambeau make contact with Father Brown?
Answer me right now.
Sir. We've had a tip-off. Anonymous.
Flambeau's been spotted at an auction house.
You better pray I catch him.
24-carat gold bracelet with a dropped medallion
with a depiction of Saint Nicholas of Myra.
Burgundy, in 15th century,
attributed to the goldsmith known as the Master of Bruges.
I'll start the bidding at £100.
I have £100, do I hear £110?
Ten! We have ten.
And 20. 120 from the gentleman in the second row.
30. I have £130.
Any more bids?
Going once. Going twice.
Sold to the gentleman in the first row.
Sergeant, seal off the drive.
I want all the doors covered.
Everyone stay where you are.
We have reason to believe Hercule Flambeau is on the premises.
What did I tell you?
Search everyone thoroughly, Sergeant.
He's likely to be in disguise.
Keep a look out for... Father Brown.
I know it's a lot, darling, but she only turns 16 once.
How could I consult you? It's an auction, everything moves so fast.
Of course we can afford it.
An impersonator?
With a vendetta against Flambeau.
He has led you up the garden path, Father.
A path known as aiding and abetting.
How did you know he was here?
Anonymous tip-off.
That was the plan all along.
To have Flambeau caught red-handed.
What are you doing?
I'm just making sure nothing's missing.
That's a prison tattoo, isn't it?
That was a long time ago.
I don't want you anywhere near these valuables from now on.
Understand?
How'd you know it's a prison tattoo?
I have a wayward past.
I told you you should carry a gun.
I don't think we've been formally introduced.
Flambeau! Flambeau's here!
No!
Innocent, is he?
Who are you? What do you want?
I want to see you twisting on the end of a rope.
We don't have time.
They're coming!
Get in the car!
Just get in the car!
He's over there. Flambeau's over there!
I'm trusting you with the one bargaining chip we have left.
Hands on your head.
On your knees.
Hercule Flambeau,
I am arresting you for robbery and murder.
You are not obliged to say anything,
but anything you say will be given in evidence.
Yes, yes, Hercule Flambeau was apprehended at approximately
1:20pm this afternoon, putting an end to a decades-long
career of theft, fraud, and recently, murder.
He will remain at Kembleford police station overnight,
and then appear at Kembleford Magistrates' Court tomorrow.
I would like to personally thank my team,
who performed with skill and bravery, leading to
the capture of one of the most notorious criminals of our century.
Was anyone else injured?
Did you manage to recover the stolen item?
I have my officers searching the auction house as we speak,
I have no doubt it'll turn up.
Was anyone else injured?
Tragically, a security guard, Joe Bloom,
was killed by Flambeau at the scene.
No.
He must've found it.
Hidden it somewhere before he was caught.
Well, he's behind bars. He's going to hang. That's what you wanted.
And?
And, you said that when you'd got him,
we would go away together, and live out our lives somewhere...
You know how much that bracelet means to me.
We're not going anywhere until I get it back.
The auctioneer?
He killed the security guard and stole the bracelet.
You must think I'm as gullible as Father Brown.
On the contrary, I value Father Brown's acumen a great deal -
if only it was a trait more commonly possessed
by serving police officers.
And yet, here you are - behind bars.
A temporary situation, I assure you.
There are two guards posted outside your cell,
three on watch outside the station,
and tomorrow I will personally accompany you to court.
You're finished, Flambeau.
The only way this ends is with you on the end of a noose.
Give me one - one reason I shouldn't charge you
as an accessory after the fact.
And not just you - but your darling little accomplices, too.
Mrs Devine and Miss Palmer were acting under my instructions.
I take full responsibility.
Yes, well, luckily for you, given my recent victory,
I'm feeling somewhat charitable.
Not to mention, that by the end of the week, with any luck,
I'll be out of here, and won't have to deal with your interfering,
tiresome meddling ever again.
Now get out of here before I change my mind.
Hercule Flambeau's right-handed. What?
The stab wound in the security guard's back was on
his left-hand side. The auctioneer is left-handed -
I noticed when he was banging his gavel.
Careful now, Father.
And the strands of hair in the victim's hand were blonde,
as was the auctioneer.
Except they had no cuticles, which means he was wearing a wig.
Flambeau has you chasing shadows, Father.
Perhaps.
But might it not also be that
your desire for career advancement is blinding you...
Blinding me?
...blinding you to the facts of this case.
Did you see anyone other than Flambeau
running from the building? No.
Did you witness the murder? No.
Do you have any other evidence apart from a few strands
of blonde cuticle-less hair? No.
Then the facts, Father, are these - you simply do not want
to believe that your friend is a cold-blooded killer,
that he's beyond redemption,
that you've failed one of your flock.
And after all these years,
the truth is, what difference have you made? None.
You cannot save him any longer.
May I have a few minutes alone with Monsieur Flambeau?
Spiritual guidance.
Father.
I've got out of prison before.
That was when you went in with a plan.
A plan that went catastrophically wrong, if you recall.
I got out of that, I'll get out of this.
In the meantime, your job is to clear my name of murder.
And how do you propose I do that?
The auctioneer, whoever he is, desired that bracelet a great deal.
It means something to him.
He was furious to let it go.
Even if I lure him out, then, what?
Well, you do what you do best - get him to confess and repent.
Given his behaviour, I suspect he's a psychopath,
and unlikely to do either.
Then we are both doomed.
Where have you been?
We've been worried sick.
Early morning walk to clear my mind,
consider my next move.
You've brought half the field in with you.
Our next move.
You're not in this alone.
This man is dangerous.
All the more reason that we're by your side.
I will not put either of you in harm's way.
You don't have a choice.
So, what's our next move?
Well, I think I know where to start.
Thank you, Commissioner.
That's very good of you to say, but a leader is only as good
as the men under his command, and I give due credit to my team who...
Well, I try to be, sir.
I was practically famed for my magnanimity back at the Yard.
Of course, I'd be delighted.
Let me just check my diary.
Friday lunchtime is perfect.
Yes, I know the one.
Bistro round the corner from the Yard.
I look forward to that, too, sir.
Thank you. Goodbye.
"I look forward to discussing your future."
Were sweeter words ever said?
Goodbye, Kembleford, you muckspreading little...
Sir?
Yes, Sergeant, what is it?
Sorry to interrupt, sir.
No, no, no, go ahead.
Well, I've been going through the witness statements,
and I couldn't find one from the auctioneer.
No-one saw him after the robbery.
Goodfellow, have you been talking to Father Brown?
No, no, sir.
No, it's just with my inspector's exams coming up, I just wanted to
make sure that I dotted all the Is and crossed all the Ts.
We don't need the auctioneer's statement.
We caught Flambeau at the scene.
The thing is, sir, I got his details from the auction house.
A man by the name of Edwin Blythe.
But when I telephoned him, that number was for dry cleaner's.
So the auction house had a wrong number. A clerical error.
Maybe.
But I also telephoned round some of the other auction houses,
asked around - no-one's ever heard of Edwin Blythe.
See if you can get his fingerprints from the gavel.
Cross match them against criminal records.
But do it quietly, Sergeant.
Righty-o, sir.
What are you looking at?
What are we even supposed to be looking for?
Well, to confront Flambeau's impersonator,
I need to know who he is,
and what the gold bracelet means to him,
and what it is that he has against Flambeau.
1929.
Bingo.
"Amongst the items stolen were a painting by Pierre-Paul Prud'hon,
"and a gold bracelet,
"offered for sale by the financier, Magnus Fleming."
What's a financier doing selling a bracelet?
Good question.
So, what now?
Keep looking.
"City Financier, Magnus Fleming, hangs himself".
Two weeks after the sale.
"City financier, Magnus Fleming,
"is destitute after the London Stock Market Crash.
"A widower, he leaves behind his only child,
"Sebastien Fleming, aged 12."
He'd be 37 now.
Do you think it were him?
Orphaned at 12. How awful for him.
What's going on? Power cut?
No, the microfilm reader's still working.
Who's there?
This is a blade in your ribs.
Keep struggling and it goes in.
I'm not scared of you!
Do as he says, Miss Palmer.
What do you want?
You. No, Father!
On condition that you leave them alone.
Agreed.
If you try to follow us, we'll kill him.
Understand?
Please, don't hurt him.
That depends on you.
Both of you. Shall we?
Brenda!
Your solicitor, Mr Barrington.
You've got 15 minutes.
If you touch me, he dies.
If you tell the Sergeant, he dies.
If I'm not back in half an hour, he dies.
Father Brown.
I started making this when I was 12-years-old -
a few days after I found my father hanging by the neck.
Not out of any sort of idolisation, you understand,
but because I needed to learn everything I could about you.
So that one day I could hunt you down and make you pay.
And now here we are, finally,
face-to-face.
You blame me for your father's suicide?
I blame you for lots of things.
Four years in an orphanage, full of torment and worse.
The theft of the only thing I had left of my mother. The bracelet.
She gave it to me from her death bed.
Told me the story of Saint Nicholas,
the patron saint and protector of children.
Said that he'd always keep me safe.
And when the cancer took her,
I clung on to those words, and to that bracelet,
until you stole it.
It was up for auction. You'd have lost it anyway.
It wasn't his to sell, and it wasn't yours to steal!
I begged him not to.
But he said it was all that we had left, that we'd be on the streets.
I'm sorry for your misfortune,
but I'm not to blame for turning you into a raving psychopath.
You took everything from me!
You owe me that bracelet,
and if you truly are the honourable thief you claim to be,
you'll tell me where you've hidden it.
Probably the last decent thing you do before you die.
Or alternatively, I could leave here and slit Father Brown's throat.
I'm going to choke the life out of you.
This is your last chance.
Sergeant!
I'll no longer be needing legal representation.
Bring him out, officer.
Speaking to one of the witnesses, sir.
The auctioneer wore gloves throughout the bidding process.
So no finger prints on the gavel. No, sir.
But the lab confirmed that the hair
that was in the security guard's fingers was from a blonde wig.
Now, I think we get a sketch artist in and...
I've got more pressing matters right now, Sergeant.
I'll deal with this later.
Flambeau, over here!
Is this the end for you?
I'm not going to have any trouble with you, am I, Flambeau?
Only the pleasure of my company. Good morning, everyone!
Flambeau!
Sergeant!
Father Brown's been captured. What?
Tell me, Inspector,
why is it that you're back in charming little Kembleford?
I thought you'd moved on to greater things.
It appears I came back to do important work,
like putting you behind bars. Indeed.
This must be the highlight of your career,
catching the great Flambeau.
I'd have hoped for a little gratitude.
Gratitude? For raising your profile.
Sharing the limelight.
Whatever becomes of you after this will be entirely due to me.
I'll be sure to send you a thank you note for my good fortune.
I'm not talking about good fortune.
I'm talking about embarrassment.
Embarrassment?
Stop the van or I'll shoot him. Keep going.
I'm throwing him out in five seconds.
Five, four, three, two...
Do not stop!
Don't worry, I won't rest until I find him.
Neither will we. Thank you, Sergeant.
Get inside. Lock the doors.
Flambeau, give yourself up!
Time's running out, isn't it?
Yeah, you've got one minute left.
It seems Sebastien will sacrifice everything to gain
his heart's desire.
Even you, Lila.
And if he's anything like Flambeau,
he will be using you.
And he uses all women.
Sh. Sh, sh, sh, sh.
Only insofar as they are helpful to him.
Lila, I know where...
Well? Sebastien?
He didn't tell you where it is, did he?
Which means he's signed your death warrant.
He didn't tell you because he doesn't know.
What are you saying?
He gave it to me.
Where is it?
I think I know why the bracelet is so important to you.
Because no matter how many disguises you use...
...you can't hide the frightened little boy in that photograph.
Where is it?
It's not yet clear how Hercule Flambeau escaped from police
custody, but residents of Kembleford
and the surrounding area are advised to stay indoors...
He must be miles away by now.
Not quite.
Where's the bracelet?
Is that all you can think about? Father Brown's been kidnapped.
And that bracelet's your only chance of seeing him alive again.
Where is it? How should we know?
He didn't tell you where he hid it? Well, he didn't tell us he had it.
Maybe the study. Or the church.
He wouldn't have kept it so close.
Lavender! On his boots.
When he came back from his walk this morning.
What? The lavender fields! It's worth a shot. Where is it?
Well, we'll take you to them. No, I only need directions.
We weren't asking for permission.
We're coming!
We'll get there in my Hercules.
Your what?
Well, how do we know where he hid it?
He would have left a marker of some kind.
Good afternoon!
I think he recognised you.
Which means he's calling the police.
The clock's ticking. We'll split up. Get down!
How long do you think it'll take for them to find it?
Not long enough.
Sebastien will cut his throat after he gives him the bracelet.
You wrapped it up.
Why did you do that?
Because it's precious.
Give my regards to Flambeau on his execution day.
What was that?
What are you doing here?
Come any closer and I'll knock your block off.
Answer her!
That's not very gentlemanly of you - threatening a young lady.
Reports of my incarceration have been greatly exaggerated.
We need to go.
Sebastien, please.
Run if you want, I'm staying to finish what I started.
You promised!
No!
If you kill him, you are no better that he is.
Hercule!
Perhaps I'm not doomed after all, Father.
No, no, no. Not my car! Not my Hercules!
What is this?
Where is Flambeau?
And who is this?
It's the killer you were looking for.
Sullivan?
Commissioner, before you say anything,
I want you to know that I have every man available
canvassing the entire...
We believe Flambeau used a staple to unlock the handcuffs and...
I don't know, sir, but I am, rest assured,
I am conducting a full investig...
Of course not, no, the last thing I'd want to do
is cause the department any embarrassment.
I will give you a full report on Friday when we meet for...
I understand.
Perhaps we can reschedule for...
Do you think they'll catch him?
I doubt it.
You sound pleased about that, Father.
Flambeau may well deserve a prison sentence,
but I still believe there's a good man in there.
And you still believe that?
Even after he was throttling that bloke?
Sorry to interrupt. Door was open.
Good morning, Sergeant. What can we do for you?
We found your car, Mrs Devine.
Abandoned in some woods about 20 miles away.
Thank you!
And Flambeau?
I think we owe you an apology, Sergeant.
I think you do.
Yes. I know.
I'm sorry. Sorry.
Sorry.
But you must admit, I completely captured Father Brown's mannerisms.
It's no wonder you couldn't tell the difference.
Apology accepted, I suppose.
As for Flambeau, well, he's disappeared into thin air.
But we did apprehend Sebastien's accomplice,
and we recovered the bracelet.
And the Inspector, dare I ask?
Few cuts and bruises.
But it's his pride that's hurting him more than anything else.
Dear.
- Perhaps I should pay him a visit? - No!