Where are we going, Mommy?

St. Mary Mead.

Not far.

Aunt Jane will look after us.

Louisa!

Oh!

You'll be safe here tonight.

Tomorrow we'll go somewhere Philip can't find you.

Here we are.

Katherine Greenshaw needs a secretary.

You can hide away here.

Beware Decimus.

He is prone to toppling.

Ms. Greenshaw's father.

And eminent scientist.

His laboratory still occupies the east wing.

Strictly out of bounds now, mind.

Far too dangerous.

This is Mrs. Creswell, the housekeeper.

Hello.

You must be Archie.

Archie, this is your mommy's room and that one there is yours.

And I'm going to look after you both.

I do all the work round here.

Hello, Mrs. Oxley.

It's very decent of you to help us out.

We're in a bit of a pickle.

Ms. Greenshaw helps everyone out here.

Isn't that right, Mr. Cracken?

Aye, it's her nature.

If you come to the window you can see her in person.

There.

She's weird.

Don't touch!

Oh, let him be.

Heavens, it's only a harp.

If you can play the National Anthem on that, I'll give you a toffee.

Sit down.

Oh, why in heaven's name would he want to sit down?

I wouldn't want to sit down and listen to a couple of old biddies dribbling on.

Just go and explore, boy.

-Go!

-Be careful, darling.

Has he got spirit?

I like a lad with spirit.

He has, Ms. Greenshaw.

But he's had rather a rum do of late.

We're extremely grateful to you for taking us in.

Well, it's all Jane's doing, Mrs. Oxley.

Yes, Aunt Jane has been wonderful.

I didn't know she was your aunt.

Oh, she's not really.

We just call her that.

I'm compiling a codex of medicinal plants.

It is my life's work, but I can barely see the wretched book any more.

Right, so tell us your qualifications.

-Can you read and write?

-Yes.

Yes.

-Typing?

-Bearable.

-Bad habits?

-Men.

You'll do.

But I warn you, there's no mucking about, no running off into town to play bingo.

We've got 7,000 species to get through.

You can stay here as long as you like and I'll pay you the same as the girl at the solicitor's-- What's her name?

-Cynthia.

-Yeah.

Cynthia.

Is that all settled?

Thank you.

Thank you both so much.

I think we'll get on very well, Cynthia.

-I'm Louisa.

-Well, who's Cynthia?

Cresswell?

Where the devil's our tea?

Are you boiling it leaf by leaf?

No, I'm not, boiling it leaf by leaf.

I'm just waiting until you asked for it, Ms. Greenshaw.

That just means it's probably cold.

Have you brought my drops?

How are they, Katherine?

They're absolutely awful!

Oh, this is empty.

I've got to brew another batch.

Who are you?

Are you sure, Jane, you don't mind looking after Archie while his mother's working?

I'd be delighted.

Not far to come.

He's a good little chap.

Archie, what's the matter?

-There was a man.

-What kind of man?

He had blood on his hands.

Did he have black hair and dark eyes?

That's Alfred, our new gardener.

He is nothing to be afraid of.

But he was cross with me.

Well, gardeners usually are.

As a rule, they're rather ill-mannered.

Have some cake.

-Afternoon, folks.

-Oh, Nat!

Have you met my nephew?

He's an actor.

My first dress rehearsal is tonight.

I'm just taking every opportunity to run through my lines.

The Tangled Web for one week only at Boreham Theater.

Lucky I found some good digs, eh?

Toodle-oo.

You'll find all my reference books in here.

Ah!

Hard at work, Mr. Bindler?

I fear my task is endless, Ms. Greenshaw.

You have a superfluity of treasures.

Horace Bindler.

Architectural historian.

-How do you do?

-How do you do?

Mr. Bindler's also staying with us.

He's preparing a book on 19th century country homes.

That is so.

And this one is a prime example of what one might loosely call the catastrophic style.

My grandfather designed it himself.

Entirely by himself.

He's visited the Gothic cathedrals of France and also it seems the minuets of Istanbul at some point.

It's not called Greenshaw's Folly for nothing.

Thank you for tea, Katherine.

I really must go.

Oh.

Do you have a pressing appointment?

Just my knitting circle at the local orphanage, Mr. Bindler.

It's an engagement I never miss.

Well, then, please.

Allow me to convey you.

I have for some time been planning to sample the fleshpots of Boreham Lovell.

The life of Decimus Greenshaw is unaccountably shrouded in mystery.

Do you know anything about him?

I believe he was a scientist.

He had a laboratory here, but they won't let me in it.

Could make a nice detail for my book.

Do you happen to know where they keep the key?

Why don't you ask Ms. Greenshaw, Mr. Bindler?

Decimus was her father after all.

Oh, I have, but she just pulls a face.

Perhaps someone in the village will know something.

Well, perhaps they do.

If you spend enough money in the fleshpots of Boreham Lovell, I daresay they'll offer it up.

Do you know what this is?

Deadly nightshade.

-That's poisonous!

-Quite right.

But plants are awfully like people.

Even the bad ones have a good side.

You see, I use these roots to distill the chemical called atropine.

It soothes sore eyes like mine.

Thank you, Cracken.

All right.

Cracken will look after you for a little bit.

Very good, ma'am.

Afternoon, Cicely.

Ladies.

Why didn't you invite your friend in?

Well, hardly a friend, Grace.

I made his acquaintance an hour ago.

He just drove me back from Greenshaw's Folly where he's writing a book.

What were you doing up there?

I just went to visit Katherine Greenshaw, Cicely.

I can't tell you how grateful we at St.

Faith's are for all your support, ladies.

Your scarves and matching mittens always go down a storm at our bazaars.

How many do you have in the orphanage at present, Father Brophy?

Thirty-two, Ms. Beauclerk.

How we manage to feed them all I don't know.

Now, then, young man, have you heard of the Greenshaw ghost?

Just a little lad, he was, not much older than you.

They say he met a terrible end and this his ghost, his spirit, still roams the Folly, looking for folk to lure to their doom.

I've only seen him the once, just out there on the landing.

But he was as pale as that milk of yours, Archie.

As pale as milk.

Archie Oxley, I'm sure Mr. Cracken has better things to do.

I'll be needing the long ladder.

Surely it can wait until tomorrow.

No, it can't wait.

It's dark.

Someone will have an accident, and we don't want that, Mrs. Cresswell.

It went bloody well, actually.

The director says he's got me on line for a lead.

What are you hoping for?

Hamlet, of course.

Come here, you little blighter.

Did Mr. Cracken tell you the house was haunted?

Well, I wonder who the ghostie is coming for next?

Me, perhaps?

You?

Boo!

So he was found at midnight?

Well, there was rather an almighty crash.

I almost jumped out of my skin.

I thought the old place was finally falling down.

And did Mr. Cracken have any health issues that you were aware of?

We believed he'd conquered his demons.

That was full yesterday afternoon!

I'd say his demons got the better of our Walter Cracken.

Accidents will happen, one supposes.

Especially where single malt is involved.

But for all these years he hasn't touched a drop.

I just don't believe my butler was a drunk!

Oh, Jane!

Do you know Ms. Marple, -Inspector Welch?

-Ms. Marple.

Yes, of course I know Ms. Marple.

How do you do, Inspector?

Sgt.

Cayley?

Yes, well, thank you, Ms. Greenshaw.

You've been most helpful.

-Come on, boys, keep up!

-Hurry up!

Watch where you're going.

He's clammed up.

He doesn't trust anyone.

Are happy to stay here, Louisa?

Given what's happened?

Surely Cracken's death was nothing but a dreadful accident.

We have nowhere else to go, Aunt Jane.

I have to be somewhere no one would think to look, especially Archie's father.

And he has your address, you know.

Aunt Katherine was wondering if you could come down for some dictation.

She wants to work, take her mind off things.

Understandable.

She's had a shock.

I'll look after Archie.

When's your first night, Mr. Fletcher?

Tonight.

Oh, well, break a leg, isn't that what they say?

Poor old Cracken.

Must've fallen a fair distance.

I ought to go and offer my condolences to Ms. Greenshaw.

Coppers probably think I done it.

Must be your face.

It's rather a large house, isn't it?

Sometimes when I'm alone in my house, I get scared of all the creaks and groans.

-Really?

-Well, that's a secret.

Don't tell anyone.

I don't want them to think -I'm completely bonkers.

-No, Miss.

Has anything funny ever happened to you?

I promise to keep it a secret, if it did.

I saw a ghost.

-Did you?

-Yes.

-Where was that?

-Here.

-Here?

-On the landing.

Just like Mr. Cracken said.

As pale as milk.

Mr. Cracken was spinning a yarn, Archie.

No, I did see the ghost!

-When was that?

-Last night.

I was going to-- The intrepid explorers.

Where are you going?

Archie and I have been viewing the splendors of the house.

We've just seen the crockets on the East Tower.

Remarkable, aren't they?

Indeed they are.

I don't think I could be as brave as you if I'd just seen a ghost.

In fact, I think you could do with a reward for being so courageous.

How would you like to go and see Mr. Fletcher in his play tomorrow?

Afternoon, Miss.

Archie, isn't it?

Ever held one of these?

Go on.

Here you go, get your hands on that.

Archie the archer, eh?

How did you get those bruises?

I got into trouble.

Right.

Come here.

One finger above, two below, all right?

Eye on the target, pull as hard as you can.

That's the one!

Good lad.

"Polio Trials."

The sap of Betula lenta, more commonly known as sweet birch, is a source of methyl salicylate M-E-T-H-Y-L. What is it, Louisa?

I'm sorry, Ms. Greenshaw, it's getting late.

I really ought to fetch in my son.

Archie?

Aunt Jane?

Archie, it's getting dark!

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania!

I know where they are.

Come with me.

What were you doing in the bushes?

Audition speech.

Shakespeare sounds better in situ.

-He's playing bows and arrows.

-Steady.

Arms straight.

Eye on the target.

Are you out of your mind?

You don't give a weapon to a child.

It's just a game, Louisa.

He's perfectly safe.

Sorry.

Your hands are filthy.

We're going inside.

Nice when you make -a good impression, isn't it?

-Great.

A toast.

To a fine butler, -a true gentleman and-- -Please.

Father Brophy, that's quite enough.

Mr. Bindler.

-Mulled wine?

-Mulled wine before dinner!

How exquisitely rural.

Yes, please.

Are your investigations bearing fruit?

Well, Greenshaws are a fascinating family.

The fruit hangs low on the bough.

All one has to do is pick it.

Thank you.

So, when is everyone coming to Boreham Theater?

Think what it will be like when I'm famous, to say you saw me in a nearly role.

Those film stars earn good money, don't they?

I'm a classical actor, sir.

I have no ambition to be a film star.

Can one make a living on the stage, Mr. Fletcher?

Well, not in a Number Two Tour, no.

The rewards are so meager that I've often considered setting up a charity, like yours, Father, just to make ends meet.

Oh, I say, steady on, there's no-- No, no, I didn't mean that.

Just that actors and orphans have a lot in common, that's all.

Yes, but I rather think that orphans are more deserving of our generosity than actors.

Well, since I am both, Aunt Katherine I stand to profit either way.

-What is it?

-The ghost!

The ghost!

Where?

It's all right, darling.

I thought you could both do with a nice cup of cocoa.

Oh, thank you.

That's Mr. Bindler's bedtime snack.

Not yet.

It's too hot.

Oh, my God!

But where is Mr. Bindler?

Good morning.

I wish it was, Ms. Marple, but Horace Bindler has vanished in the night, leaving me with a shocking awful mess to clear up.

I saw the ghost again last night.

The same one?

Pale and cloaked?

I do think you're brave, Archie.

So you really have no idea who they're from?

Oh, what beautiful lilies!

Lilium rubellum, to be precise.

Louisa has a secret admirer.

It looks like there are presents for everyone today.

Archie.

From the nursery.

Unopened.

An archery set.

Take it out and shoot something!

Thank you.

Stay near the house.

He can't do any harm.

The cup that cheers.

His fire hasn't been lit.

Well, I tried to light it last night, but Mr. Bindler threw me out on my ear.

Said he was perfectly warm.

But it was such a cold night.

Oughtn't you to answer that, Mrs. Cresswell?

Yes, well, that used to be Mr. Cracken's duty.

I suppose I ought to get used to that now.

Just one more ruddy thing to think about.

The production of this organic compound is thought to be a natural defense against... That is odd.

Did you move the paperweight, Louisa?

I-- No.

Excuse me, Ms. Greenshaw.

Father Brophy is here to see you.

She let you out, then?

That's unusual.

Father Brophy.

Come to rattle his collecting tin?

A rather large one, I'd say.

Rubbish!

It's regarding St.

Faith's.

Your remark to Mr. Fletcher last night that an orphan's hand -might be more deserving than-- -Father.

-Remember the children.

-I will.

Along with your gambling debts and bar bills.

Every penny would go to those that most need it.

You promised me that the last time.

St.

Faith's will be taken care of, after I'm gone.

But if you could release some funds now.

The answer is no, Father Brophy!

In you go.

Are you off, Father?

Just heading for the bus stop.

Hop in with us.

Archie and I are going to the theater.

You?

How did you find me?

Damn your eyes, Parsons.

You've double-crossed me!

I'll see you in hell for this!

You'll be waiting a long time, Lambert!

-Here's Mr. Fletcher... -Hello?

Hello, yes, I wonder, do you have a reporter called Horace Bindler working at the Clarion?

No, I've found his notebook, I'm trying to return it to him.

You have a Horace Lethbridge?

Yes.

Dapper, certainly.

Does he wear a bow-tie?

Well, could I speak to him, please?

You haven't seen him at all?

But he... he was due to "file copy" yesterday!

Yes, thank you so much.

We've been running a sweepstake, Ms. Marple.

The boys have been taking bets on how long it would be before you put in an appearance here.

Oh, that is a pity.

-Why?

-Well, book-making for cash is, as you know, illegal, and I'd hate to think of the trouble your officers would be in when the authorities find out.

Now hang on, just a-- I'd like you to do something for me.

-And what would that be?

-A postmortem.

But you're still alive, Ms. Marple.

We generally reserve postmortems -for dead people.

-Very good.

But you can order a postmortem if the death is held to be suspicious.

And whose death is held to be suspicious?

Walter Cracken's.

A heavily drunk man falling from a ladder isn't what we regard as suspicious circumstances.

But can we be sure he was drunk?

A postmortem would prove it.

A known alcoholic up a ladder at midnight with a decanter of whiskey inside him.

We'd be laughed out of the coroner's office.

Well, I'm sure you know your business.

Good day.

Sir.

Something's come up.

We'll only be here for a little while, Archie.

And then we'll go to a new house and start a new life.

-Where?

-I don't know.

Another country, maybe.

I don't want to go to another country!

I want to stay here with Alfred!

What's the matter, Mommy?

Is it the ghost?

It can't be.

Mommy, I don't want to leave!

No, stop the car!

Please stop the car!

No!

Are you all right, darling?

Don't worry, everything's gonna be all right.

Do you hear me?

Everything is gonna be all right.

-Are you all right?

-Yes, yes.

Get out, come with me.

I'm as jumpy as Archie.

I was so sure I saw his face at the window.

It seems so silly now.

I was very young when I met my husband.

Philip was the debonair doctor.

But a sadist.

Each one of these came with a promise that he'd never hurt me again.

He's killed my belief that a person can change.

You don't think a person can change?

No.

I don't.

I should have left him a long time ago, but every time I tried, he'd convince me that a child needs a father.

A father who beat his own son?

That was the last straw.

I got out.

And now I'm terrified that it was him who sent me those flowers... just to let me know he's coming for me.

I've met quite a few thugs like him.

Once the others tumbled them, they didn't stand a chance.

The others?

Inside.

They'd get the bastards in an empty cell and teach him a lesson.

I moved around a lot when I was a boy.

Just one horrible situation to the next.

Prison was just the next step.

-Who's there?

-It's Nat.

Nat Fletcher.

I was coming back from the theater and I noticed your car was in the trees.

When I saw that it was empty, the alarm bells sounded.

I thought you and I could form a search party.

No need, it seems.

You've been out and searched already!

Yes.

Hit a wet patch of leaves, that's all.

Just a silly skid.

Well, you can't stay here in this dump.

Hot baths and your own beds are what you need.

I'll take you back.

Come on.

Come on, little chap.

Wakey-wakey!

Yes, thank you.

Archie?

Archie, darling?

Good morning, Alfred.

Lovely day.

Is it?

Father Brophy tells me you've become quite the regular up at Greenshaw's Folly.

Well, it is a fascinating place.

In fact, I've been wondering if you might be able to shed some light on some of Mr. Bindler's notes that have come my way, since you've lived in Boreham your whole life.

Now, there's something about St.

Faith's and Decimus Greenshaw.

The old professor?

Well, he was no philanthropist as far as I'm aware, anyway.

What was his connection with the orphanage?

What is "The Great Race?"

I'm sorry.

I suddenly feel rather faint.

Cicely?

I haven't been feeling myself recently.

Sorry, I'll get you some water.

-There you are.

-Thank you.

Good morning.

Oh, you've caught me before I'm properly up and about, Ms. Marple.

Your commitment puts me to shame.

Can I help with preparations for the bazaar?

Oh, no.

Thank you.

I'd like to see the orphanage records if I may?

If you're up to showing me, that is.

Thank you.

That's odd.

There's a gap.

The years between 1900 and 1910 are missing.

It's before my time, I'm afraid.

Alfred!

What the devil's going on?

Are you stealing from me?

I think we ought to have a talk.

You're right.

People can't change.

Least I've still got a job.

Who's there?

Oh, Jane.

Have you heard about Mr. Bindler?

The police have found his car in the bottom of a lake.

Yes, I heard.

And Mr. Bindler himself?

Any sign?

Strange business.

Mrs. Cresswell asked me to give you that.

It was on the mat.

"Remember the children.

St.

Faith's Orphanage, 1899."

Sent anonymously, I take it?

From someone with some connection to my late father's work, I fear.

I had no idea the orphanage was tangled up in it all.

Want to tell me about it, Katherine?

What did he do?

What was "The Great Race?"

Well, they were trying to find a cure for polio.

It was all very urgent.

I was too young to understand what went on in his laboratory, but there were rumors.

I recall hearing ambulances coming and going, raised voices in the night.

And these recent uncertainties have brought back those memories thefts, accidents, objects mysteriously moved.

And have these incidents continued since Mr. Bindler's disappearance?

Yes.

What is going on, Jane?

I ought to get around to making my will, just in case I'm next!

Cicely!

The candlesticks were a gift from my father when I graduated from Oxford.

I took a double first in chemistry, you know.

But it didn't teach me a lot about people.

I was convinced that if I took that young man under my wing, that he would mend his ways.

You may still be right.

No.

When he came here, Alfred had just served three months in Barlinnie Prison for theft.

Old habits, it seems, die hard.

He's certainly proving a tonic to Archie.

And Louisa.

"Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee calls back the lovely April of her prime."

Shakespeare's sonnet, number?

Three.

I say, Alfred.

Auntie wants you to turn over the compost heap.

Now, if you don't mind.

Toodle-pip.

Yes, well, I should be getting back to work too.

No rest for the wicked, eh?

What makes you think I'm wicked?

Everybody is.

Can I give you a ride into Boreham, Miss Marple?

Oh, are you going that way, -Mr. Fletcher?

-Half-hour call's at 2:30.

In fact, you can hear my lines on the way!

I'll bring the motor round.

If you need anything else Mrs. Oxley, I'll be in my quarters itemizing the accounts.

Thank you, Mrs. Cresswell.

Another job the butler's meant to do.

I'm still in here!

Help!

He shot me!

Miss Greenshaw!

Mrs. Cresswell... Get help!

Help!

Help!

Help!

You take the bus from Holborn Station.

And it stops right outside Somerset House.

Now, your instructions are in there.

A mission to London!

Cicely and Grace will be green with envy.

Yes, Minnie.

Let's keep this to ourselves for now.

I suppose I should really take a message for Father Brophy.

He's most likely visiting some needy parishioner.

Yes, most likely, dear.

St.

Faith's orphanage.

Can I help...?

A what?

Your... voice is very faint.

Yes, she's here.

Miss Greenshaw?

Are you there?

Hello?

Katherine?

Kath...

The line has gone dead.

She sounded most peculiar... garbled, drowsy... What did she want?

Fish.

-Fish?

-Yes.

A mound of cod... or a pile of carp.

No, a heap of haddock.

I think that's what she said!

But surely it can wait?

No.

I don't think so, Minnie, I...

I fear it can't.

Can you hear me?

Miss Greenshaw!

I've called the police.

They're on their way.

Oh, come and let me out!

I can't.

I'm locked in too!

Oh, God... Archie... Help!

Help!

Don't be afraid...

I won't let them hurt you again.

Greenshaw's not going to get away with it this time, Edwin.

It's no good!

I can't climb down from here.

Do be careful, Mrs. Oxley.

Oh, thank goodness.

Please!

Please hurry, Miss Greenshaw's been attacked!

She's in the house!

Please hurry!

She's been badly hurt!

Oh, please, Edwin, do as I say.

It's for the best.

My name is Archie.

Who are you?

Here's a stroke of luck.

Please, can you please help dear Edwin?

The Greenshaw's are trying to kill him!

Oh, you'd better hop in then, Archie.

-No, Daddy!

-Archie!

Archie!

Archie!

Archie!

Come here.

Archie!

Constable!

Oh, what's he doing down there?

Archie!

Alfie!

Let's see if we can get in the back.

Oh, oh, thank heavens.

Please, Inspector.

Miss Greenshaw has been shot with an arrow!

She stumbled into the house!

And we're locked in!

I want the whole place searched.

Seal it off!

Nobody leaves!

Archie!

Where are you, darling?

I wouldn't go down there, Miss.

I have to find my son.

Oh, Aunt Jane!

Archie's disappeared.

I think Philip -may have found us!

-Miss Marple.

-Mrs. Oxley.

-My son's been kidnapped!

I need you to stay calm.

You must find him!

Right now, my primary concern is the murder of Katherine Greenshaw.

Katherine... murdered?

Mrs. Oxley.

That is a murder scene.

I don't want you disturbing the evidence.

Let's get everyone in to the library.

Please.

Inspector Welch will have my guts for garters, ma'am.

Could you please, please do what I ask?

Come and wait in the library.

I asked you to remain in the library, Miss Marple.

Yes.

Yes, it's just that I have some information, I-- I thought you might be interested in.

At two minutes past four, I had a very odd phone call from Miss Greenshaw, asking for a "heap of haddock" or some such thing.

Miss Marple, at two minutes past four, Miss Greenshaw had just been shot in the neck.

You'd think she might have mentioned that before she asked you to go to the fishmonger's.

All I'm interested in at the moment is establishing who might have been here at the time.

Now go and wait in the library!

-No one goes in or out.

-Yes, Sir.

You see anyone coming in you come straight to me.

You understand?

What the hell's going on?

-Nathaniel Fletcher?

-Yeah.

I'd be grateful if you'd go and wait with the others, please sir.

Others?

What others?

Follow me.

Round the back.

Come to the library, sir.

Please.

-Mummy!

-Oh, my darling.

Thank God.

I've been so worried.

Where have you been?

With an old lady.

Then Daddy came and tried to take me away.

But Alfred wouldn't let him.

He punched him on the nose!

Daddy was bleeding!

Where is daddy now?

He gave us the slip, I'm afraid, Mrs. Oxley.

We couldn't catch him.

So as an alternative you've arrested the man who protected my son?

We haven't arrested him.

We've asked him in for questioning.

Pollock's, sir.

Found it in his cottage.

Seems he was all packed and ready to scarper.

If you would care to have a seat, Miss Marple.

Sir?

That MG we passed on the way up?

With the door open?

The lads on the gate said it's gone.

Got a feeling it was Philip Oxley's.

Have you told Control?

If you'd care to have a seat, Miss Marple.

Did you notice anyone hanging around the vicinity when you arrived in Mr.

Inch's taxi?

I did.

Father Brophy.

He was hurrying towards the bus-stop.

Brophy?

Bring him in.

But sir, he's a man of the cloth.

Bring him in!

And your mistress definitely shouted, "He shot me!"

Loud and clear, Inspector.

Mrs. Oxley and I both heard her.

And then what happened?

Then she pointed across the lawn.

In which direction?

Towards the cottage where... Alfred Pollock lives.

And you say he always finishes at four o'clock exactly?

It's my fault.

I saw him stealing.

Do you think he did this to keep her quiet?

One of yours?

And you had your eye on these as well, so I hear?

Where were you at four o'clock this afternoon, Mr. Pollock?

In the grounds.

Digging the compost heap.

Want to come and dust it for prints?

Was anyone with you?

No.

No alibi, a motive to silence the victim, rucksack packed, ready for a quick departure.

Oh, and a criminal record.

Nearly forgot.

Who would do a thing like that?

We're pretty close to establishing that, -Mr. Fletcher.

-Are you?

Good.

I mean, it's unbelievable.

I understand that in the absence of a will, you would be named sole beneficiary of your Aunt's estate.

I don't think so.

My understanding is that she's left everything to St.

Faith's Orphanage.

Alfred Pollock was one of your charges at St.

Faith's, I believe?

Did he ever get himself in any trouble?

Oh, you know the usual rough and tumble.

It was a bit more than the usual "rough and tumble" that landed him in Barlinnie though?

Resisting arrest?

Theft?

Well, he was a good lad when he left me, but he fell in with a bad crowd.

Scottish.

But you stayed in touch with him?

Became "friends", even?

And you say you saw him this afternoon?

Yes, I often come for a stroll around the Folly.

I saw him gardening from across the field.

-And what time?

-Oh,... about four o'clock, I should say.

I'd like to thank you all for your co-operation.

We don't expect this will take very long.

I would like you to remain in the house until I return.

Is that clear?

We have an officer stationed outside.

Do not attempt to leave without permission.

Let's head back via Boreham Theater, make sure our Mr. Fletcher was on stage when he says he was.

Stay put, Jenkins.

I'm rather envious of you, old sport.

Envious of Archie?

-Why?

-Well.

Because he has a mother who would stand between him in any danger.

Someone to smooth his way in life.

Didn't you have anyone to smooth your way in life?

My mother died in childbirth.

I killed her.

I've had to live with that.

I'm so sorry.

But I'm sure she's proud of all you've achieved.

One does hope so.

You told mummy that an old lady took you away this afternoon.

The police thought I meant the ghost, but it wasn't him.

It was a live woman.

She was in the science place.

Oh, you found the lab?

Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.

What did she look like?

Well, old.

-Like me?

-Yes, Miss.

But she was scary.

She kept on saying... "Greenshaw won't get away with it this time".

And did you mention this to the Police Inspector when he spoke to you?

And she kept calling me Edwin.

Everyone here's a bit weird, aren't they?

Let's have some music!

This is my Auntie's favorite song.

Really?

I thought she liked Schubert.

There's so many things I don't know about her, Miss Marple.

Aunt Katherine and I were just starting to get acquainted.

My mother, Nettie, married beneath herself, you see, and the Greenshaws, well, they weren't too impressed.

They kicked her out.

I'm a bit like the black sheep returning to the fold.

It's a very luxurious fold, Mr. Fletcher.

I dare say you won't go short of straw.

To me, art is more important than money.

I'm glad you stayed.

You must be the only one who is.

No.

There's someone else.

Who?

Archie.

Is it him?

-I don't know.

-Stay here.

We shouldn't have let him go.

He's dangerous.

What the hell is he doing?

No.

Let me go, you brute!

Jane!

Oh, it's all right, Alfred, you can let her go.

She's a friend of mine.

Then what was she doing in the lab?

Oh, Cicely, come with me into the kitchen.

So what were you doing -in the Greenshaws' laboratory?

-Jane,... the things I've been doing!

Living in the past!

I'm haunted by the thought that I killed him.

That I killed my own brother!

-So you were both at St Faith's?

-Yes.

And when they came to take Edwin away, there was nothing I could do but stand and watch.

And then today in the lab when I saw the little boy, Archie, something in my mind seemed to say, rescue him!

I thought the Professor's experiments we're starting up again!

Cicely, listen to me.

You and Edwin were children.

You could not have stood up against Decimus Greenshaw.

He was a monster.

Yes.

He was.

This is his journal?

Yes.

I needed to see it.

Jane.

Am I going mad?

Oh, no, of course not.

Is everything all right?

Yes, we're absolutely fine, thank you, Mrs. Cresswell.

Good.

Well, I said I'd make tea for everybody.

What's that book?

Oh, I was just looking at it.

We're putting it back.

Jane?

-Are you all right?

-Yeah, just-- Dear God, Mr. Bindler!

What's that he's holding in his hand?

-Oh, no.

Oh, no.

-It's only a power cut.

Stay calm.

And I'll fetch some torches.

Help!

Well, isn't there supposed to be a policeman here?

Let's try the telephone.

-There is no line.

-Oh, we're trapped!

No!

Archie!

Stay back!

Philip!

Don't hurt him!

Archie.

Let me out!

Let me out.

I've done nothing wrong!

I just want to see my son.

Let me out of here!

He can't get out, can he?

No.

He's going nowhere.

Archie?

Don't be scared.

I promise you, as long as I'm around, nobody is going to hurt you.

Nobody!

All right?

A little early for that, I would have thought, Father?

Early?

I've been up all night.

I'm sure Inspector Welch will return soon, Father.

And once the facts are established, we can all go home, can't we?

Where's Jenkins?

I left him on guard.

What's that in his hand?

A button?

It looks like it's off Pollock's jacket, the one we found in his rucksack.

Get it checked.

Careful, now, Father.

We don't want you to end up like Mr. Cracken.

Walter Cracken didn't touch a drop for 10 years or more.

Not since his wife passed.

House fire.

Folks thought he caused it.

Because he was drunk.

It's amazing the things people tell you when you're a priest.

Right.

I ask you all to stay put and keep calm for a few hours, and what do I find when I return?

A constable is missing, the telephone line cut, and a decomposing corpse outside the kitchen.

Greenshaw's Folly.

What a place.

Hey!

Let me out of here!

Let me out!

Let me out!

-What's that?

-This is ridiculous.

That's the bloke I locked in a cupboard.

-Archie's dad.

-Get me out of here.

Hello!

Jenkins?

-You, over there.

-Sir.

Over here!

You seriously assaulted a police officer, fought with the gardener... kidnapped your son whilst brandishing a knife.

You'd do the same to get your boy back.

Did you also remove the lady who stood in the way of your plans?

-What?

-Katherine Greenshaw.

The owner of this house.

-Did you kill her?

-No!

Why do you say that?

We know you are a violent man, Dr. Oxley.

That's why they locked you in a cupboard.

What about that thug who coshed me?

You should be handcuffing him!

Aren't we lucky to have been let out for a breath of air, Archie?

The police inspector thought my idea was very "sensible".

Yes, he did, didn't he?

How did you find out about this place?

Miss Greenshaw showed me.

She showed me her plants.

Yeah.

Deadly Nightshade.

-Don't eat the berries!

-Oh, no.

"Atropa Belladonna".

It's for her eyes.

How could I have been so absurdly slow?

Not a "heap of haddock," Archie, but a "pile of carp"!

So who would want to kill Horace Lethbridge?

He told us his name was Bindler.

Probably not reason enough to push him down a lift shaft, Mrs. Cresswell, but interesting nonetheless.

So why would anyone kill Horace Bindler?

Well I, I think I can tell you that.

I've put Archie to bed.

He's exhausted.

Thank you.

I'm afraid this will make painful listening for Miss Beauclerk.

Well, Horace Lethbridge or Horace Bindler was actually a reporter working for The Clarion newspaper.

So he wasn't an expert on historic buildings?

Oh, certainly not.

Remarkable, aren't they?

Anyone with the slightest interest in architecture would have known that Greenshaw's Folly doesn't have any crockets on its East Tower.

Not a one!

So, after he vanished, I visited his room.

I discovered that he had been working here undercover, pursuing a scoop, which would expose the late Professor Greenshaw and his barbaric polio trials.

Trials, which involved injecting, orphaned children with the Polio virus in order to develop a vaccine.

Many were left paralyzed.

Even more left dead.

Now.

This was sent to Miss Greenshaw yesterday.

Anonymously.

"Remember the children".

My brother.

And some of our friends.

I wanted Miss Greenshaw to see it.

And did you cross out these faces as well, Miss Beauclerk?

Those are some of the children disappeared here at Greenshaw's Folly with no family to miss them.

This can prove it.

"Greenshaw won't get away with it this time."

Your words I believe, Miss Beauclerk?

Are they?

I...

I was very upset.

-Upset enough to kill?

-No!

I wanted the killing to stop!

Inspector, Cicely is over 70 years old.

I can't really see her pushing an arrow through someone's jugular vein.

Now searching through the records at St.

Faith's Orphanage.

I discovered that the period from 1900 to 1910, as mentioned in Horace Bindler's notebook, had disappeared, no doubt destroyed.

On whose orders?

Professor Greenshaw's, I expect.

So it's possible that someone might have killed Horace Bindler to keep the secret safe?

Yes, it is possible, Inspector.

Miss Greenshaw herself, perhaps?

I wouldn't think that at all.

Katherine was as troubled by her father's past as anyone.

No, I suspect that... Horace Bindler may have stumbled upon something quite unexpected.

Something quite new.

A piece of information that someone would be prepared to kill for.

Sir?

There's a Mr. Fordyce here.

Miss Greenshaw's solicitor.

He's asking to speak to Mr. Fletcher.

-Did you know that?

-Yeah.

-Yeah.

-Sir.

Did you give any further thought to my request, Inspector?

Regarding Mr. Cracken's post mortem?

Look, I'm really quite busy right now, -Miss Marple.

-Yes...

I appreciate that, but if you could indulge me for a moment.

You see, Mr. Cracken had not touched alcohol for 10 years.

Says who?

His priest, Father Brophy.

I...

I know the butler's behavior may have seemed odd and irrational.

Yes, well, I'd agree with you there.

But I believe it was the behavior of a person under the influence of a drug, not alcohol.

-Go on.

-Atropine.

It's a chemical derivative from Deadly Nightshade, it was grown by Miss Greenshaw in order to produce her own eye drops.

But if ingested, it can promote the symptoms of drunkenness, dilated pupils, a flushed appearance and with two deaths since, I might suggest a post mortem be conducted on Miss Greenshaw too.

Now, wait just a minute, Miss Marple.

I'll admit that the information you've just given me seems plausible, but the Medical Officer has confirmed that Miss Greenshaw's jugular vein was severed by an arrow through her neck.

Yes.

But when?

This way out Mr. Fordyce.

Tell the coroner's office I'm authorizing a post mortem on Walter Cracken.

Blimey, do you know that solicitor chap said?

That this is all mine!

Do you think it's a joke?

I mean, why ever wouldn't Aunt Katherine have left a will?

I don't understand.

-Father?

She promised that the orphanage would be taken care of!

She promised to remember...

Yes, well, it seems like she didn't.

Sorry to bother you, sir.

There was another old lady here... -Not another one.

-A Minnie Tulliver.

Said she had some information from Somerset House.

That will be for me, Sergeant.

Thank you.

Right.

The button found in Bindler's hand matches those on Pollock's jacket.

What?

The fingerprint tests have come back too.

-I didn't kill anyone!

-Alfred Pollock, I am arresting you for the...

He is not your murderer, Inspector.

Miss Marple, I am in the middle of... Before you go any further, I must tell you that I am in possession of evidence which will prove Alfred's innocence and change the entire complexion of this case.

Now I promised that I had new evidence for you, Inspector.

All right, let's hear it.

I will come to that later.

We need to begin at the beginning.

Both Walter Cracken and Katherine Greenshaw were poisoned before they were killed.

Just a minute.

Poisoned?

My Aunt was found with an arrow through her neck!

Have none of you considered that Katherine's murder somehow seems a little too perfect?

We have a clear-cut suspect, to my mind.

Yes, exactly.

Too clear-cut.

The only crime of which Alfred Pollock is guilty his misplaced loyalty.

Mrs. Cresswell saw him stealing.

Did she?

You see I believe it was Father Brophy who stole the candlesticks.

Whilst Alfred in fact reclaimed them.

Eager to return them safely to the Folly.

Unfortunately, he was seen doing so.

And it was assumed he was the thief.

I don't imagine Alfred was ever a very successful thief whereas you, Father.

I...

I thought the silverware would raise a good sum for the orphanage.

Or perhaps pay off your debts?

Can you explain why Miss Marple saw you leaving the Folly just half an hour after Miss Greenshaw -have been murdered?

-Yes, yes, I'd come back to confess to the theft.

I couldn't let Alfred take the blame for me.

He's a decent lad.

I'm afraid I rather lost my nerve.

But you said you saw Pollock at the time of Miss Greenshaw's murder?

Yes.

Yes, I did say that.

I wanted to repay Alfred, somehow.

Look, we have a motive, a packed rucksack, fingerprint evidence and no alibi.

Short of a signed confession, it couldn't really be more conclusive!

Yes, so much so that it could almost have been stage-managed.

A ghastly melodrama, played out for Louisa and Mrs. Cresswell up in the dress circle.

Yes, but it isn't a play, Miss Marple.

Miss Greenshaw is dead.

And whoever killed her sedated her first with atropine.

The same as poor Mr. Cracken.

Atropine is a derivative of Deadly Nightshade, often found in eye drops.

Katherine was drugged using her own medicine.

Miss Greenshaw called you just after four o'clock?

Asking for pilocarpine, not a "pile of carp".

Pilocarpine.

The antidote to atropine poisoning.

She knew she'd been drugged.

But at four o'clock we saw her weeding, just before... the arrow.

Leucothoe?

Thimble campanula?

The real Miss Greenshaw would never have mistaken those lovely plants for weeds.

It was Archie's ‘ghost', which really made me start to think.

Ghosts don't exist.

People do.

Yes, I am aware of that fact, thank you, Miss Marple.

And people's appearances are surprisingly easy to alter.

In Mr. Fletcher's business for example, costume and make-up can produce astounding transformations.

Isn't that so, Mrs. Cresswell?

In a certain outfit, for example, a housekeeper might be mistaken for a ghost, whilst a different hairpiece and dress could give her the look of, say, an eccentric lady gardener.

Well, this proves nothing.

Nothing at all.

Let me remind you that Mrs. Oxley and I were each locked in our bedrooms at the time of the murder.

Apparently so.

Enter the police constable, stage right.

Police Constable?

Sergeant Cayley and I were the first officers on the scene.

Having received Mrs. Cresswell's call at a quarter past four.

A whole quarter of an hour after the murder?

How interesting.

No, Inspector, this officer had nothing to do with the Downshire Constabulary.

Another actor?

In costume?

Borrowed from Boreham Theater.

At four o'clock I was halfway through a matinee.

Oh, yes, your play.

Such a pity you only appeared in the first act.

Make your point, Miss Marple.

You leave the stage at 3:30, quickly changing into the policeman's uniform from the costume-rail, and speeding back here to play the "conscientious constable".

But you also stab the sedated Miss Greenshaw, before locking your accomplice, Mrs. Cresswell, in her room.

As she had earlier locked up both Archie and Louisa.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'd never miss a curtain call.

And you didn't, you speeded back there to take your well-deserved bow.

It's only 15 minutes in a fast car.

Your theater manager was happy to confirm "couldn't drag him off stage", I think his words were.

This is...

This is insane.

Why would I be in cahoots with Mrs. Cresswell?

Well... barely know each other.

Not according to these records from Somerset House.

-Finally.

-Yeah.

Miss Greenshaw's sister, Nettie, married the Folly's stable-man, Harry Fletcher, and they had a child together.

That much is true.

But because she had married a servant, her father Decimus cut them off completely.

So the Greenshaws would never have known that Nettie died in childbirth, nor that the child also died just a year later.

Neither would they have known that Harry Fletcher married again... a Miss Mary Cresswell.

And shortly afterwards they too had a son.

Nathaniel Fletcher.

It's not true!

I have a copy of the birth certificate.

So, Fletcher isn't even a Greenshaw?

He's Mrs. Cresswell's son?

And the love his mother has for him knows no bounds.

Mr. Cracken's discovery that you were mother and son obviously jeopardized the plan for Nat to inherit the Greenshaw fortune.

You had no choice but to get rid of him.

Come here you little blighter And that left Horace Bindler, whose prying unearthed an horrific fact that Katherine Greenshaw had an illegitimate son.

A rightful heir, one who would easily usurp Nat Fletcher's claim.

It was obvious in the way Katherine looked at you, she refused to lose faith even when she thought you had stolen from her.

Suspecting that someone had been interfering with her property, Katherine checked Alfred's precious birth certificate to find that it had indeed been torn by someone.

She removed it from the laboratory...

Hiding it instead in Shakespeare's "Sonnets"... bookmarking, sonnet number three.

"Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee... 'Calls back the lovely April of her prime."

You both searched high and low for the birth certificate, didn't you?

After you'd dealt with Mr. Bindler.

But it wasn't where he'd said it was, was it?

And without destroying it, you could never ensure that your son would inherit the Greenshaw fortune.

I knew I couldn't trust him.

Ten thousand in cash, old fruit.

You can't be serious?

For the photograph as well as the original?

A bargain, I'd say?

I can think of a cheaper alternative.

A murder committed with brute strength by the son, and expertly managed by the mother.

The old witch hid it in a book That's ridiculous.

Well, she always was a ridiculous woman.

And as for abandoning her own son.

You can only call that heartless.

On the contrary.

Katherine had always lived in fear of her father and his hideous experiments.

So when she had Alfred out of wedlock, her only thought was to hide him away as quickly as possible.

So she entrusted her son to St.

Faith's orphanage.

Where Katherine could keep the closest eye on him.

No one knew then that Decimus used the children from St Faith's.

It was his favorite hunting ground.

Nat didn't kill Miss Greenshaw...

I did.

She would have died anyway, the amount of atropine I gave her.

Please, mother.

When I found Miss Greenshaw, she was very much alive... Pile of carp... Hello?

Hello?

So, as long as Miss Greenshaw hadn't made a will, Fletcher could have masqueraded as her blood nephew, safe in the knowledge that he would inherit everything.

Yes.

They realized it could be a long time before they saw any reward.

And seeing Katherine's own son hanged for her murder must have seemed like a very neat way of killing two birds with one stone.

And they framed him beautifully, I have to admit, even down to squeezing his button into Mr. Bindler's dead hand.

The perfect plan.

Almost, yes.

There, another family.

What am I gonna do with all this?

I've never had any money.

Father Brophy could use a helping hand... the orphanage roof for starters.

It's what your mother would have wanted.

We'll be off first thing in the morning.

You can't go.

This is your house, there's no place for me here.

Stay.

Please.

Why, Alfred?

Because... well, I'll be needing my own secretary now I've got this old place to manage.

Won't I, Archie?

Mummy, can we stay?

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