(thunder) (whimpers) (names announced indistinctly over speakers) (indistinct loudspeaker announcements continue) If one of you could turn them over... You'’re students of mathematical probability.

Conclusion?

You cheated.

Give that man a double-first.

PHILIP: "And the sunlight clasps the earth, "And the moonbeams kiss the sea.

"What are all these kissings worth if thou kiss not me?"

(birds chirping) That'’s nice.

It'’s that guy, you know, Shelley.

Do I get a kiss?

I'’m working.

(geese honking) ♪ ♪ Come on.

(phone ringing) STRINGER (on recording): I'’m sorry.

I'’m not available to answer the phone.

But if you'’d like to leave a message, please do so after the tone.

(machine beeps) CHAPMAN: It'’s me.

I'’m in the ... What are you doing here?

Nobody'’s died.

No.

You'’ll be missing your targets.

No, this is a social call.

I'’m having a party.

It'’s a... special sort of birthday.

Think of a number, then forget about it immediately.

Thank you.

Oh, if you'’d like to bring anybody... Well, I haven'’t really got anybody.

You could always bring the dishy Sergeant Hathaway.

Hathaway?

Dishy?

PARTYGOERS: ♪ Happy birthday, dear Laura ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you.

♪ Hooray!

Hip, hip, hooray!

(cheering) Happy birthday.

Oh, thanks, Robbie.

I didn'’t think you'’d turn up.

You having a nice time?

Yeah, considering.

Considering?

Well, I'’m out of practice with parties and such.

And it'’s louder than I expected.

Well, they were all, um, medical students once upon a time.

A couple of glasses of this stuff and they revert.

Hey, do you play cards?

A bit of cribbage with my granddad years ago.

But just for matches.

Some of the guys are organizing a late-night poker session.

Probably not for matches.

Not my scene.

Where'’s James?

I have no idea.

(lively chatter and laughter) Ah, I thought so.

I didn'’t fancy being scowled at by a room full of doctors and nurses.

It'’s bad enough with civilians.

But you're having a good time?

Well, you know what they say.

If you'’ve heard one joke about gallstones, you'’ve heard them all.

They'’re planning a poker school indoors.

Do you play poker?

No.

I play chess.

Why doesn't that surprise me?

I suppose what I'’m really thinking is, what time can I decently get up and leave?

We could invent an emergency call.

(siren wailing) Maybe there is a God.

If I was sure about that, I wouldn'’t have joined the police force.

It sounds quite serious.

Come on.

Inspector Lewis.

We thought you might need backup.

We didn'’t ask for any.

No, there'’s nobody there.

Evening, sir.

Evening.

Who made the call?

Chap who lives here.

Name of Stringer.

Some sort of professor by the looks of things.

Lots of books.

Reported seeing an intruder in the garden.

That'’s him.

I think he might appreciate the reassurance of a senior officer, don'’t you?

You could try asking him.

Don'’t go anywhere.

We, uh, need a lift back to town.

There'’s a surprise.

Detective Inspector Lewis.

I simply reported an intruder in my garden.

I wasn't expecting a four-power conference.

Coincidence.

We were at a party across the road.

Dr. Hobson'’s.

Yes, I know Dr. Hobson, though not well enough to be invited to her party.

Mercifully, by the sounds of things.

Doctors.

One or two glasses of champagne, they revert to being medical students again.

This intruder, if he were to find his way into your house, is there anything worth stealing?

Well, there are some first editions, which are probably quite valuable.

Though I can'’t imagine the average burglar knowing which ones to steal and then selling them off down the local pub.

I suppose if such a burglar existed, Oxford might be the place to find him.

But you saw an intruder.

I heard the neighbor'’s dog barking.

Ah, dogs.

It'’s what they do best.

I looked out of the window and saw, which is to say, I thought I saw, somebody in the garden.

There have been a number of burglaries in the area, so I called the police, as recommended by the leaflets from Neighborhood Watch.

Though I think I was putting my faith in the deterrent effect of the flashing blue lights.

It seems to have worked.

Could it be personal?

You'’ll have to explain.

Well if, as you say, there'’s nothing of obvious street value in the house...

I think the sergeant'’s wondering whether you might have enemies.

I teach English Literature.

My specialty is the Romantic poets of the early 19th century.

Keats, Shelley, Byron, the rest of the guys in the band?

Among others.

It'’s not a profession which tends to attract violent enemies.

Now, would I be right in thinking we have exhausted the possibilities of this discussion?

I think so.

Don'’t you, Sergeant?

Unquestionably.

Laura, hi.

Listen, sorry to be party poopers, but something'’s come up.

Taxi!

If I'’d wanted to be a minicab driver... You need Latin, sir.

Sir?

I'’ll call you tomorrow, okay?

NELL: Soon these burning miseries will be extinct.

I shall ascend my funeral pyre triumphantly and exult in the act, agony of the torturing flames.

The light of that conflagration will fade away.

My ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds... For God'’s sake, is there much more of this?

(chuckling) (snickering) It'’s good, isn'’t it?

Speaking as the English student in the room, I think it'’s terminally naff.

Speaking as the mathematician, I agree.

WILLIAMSON: But you read quadratic equations for fun.

COUPLAND: No, he doesn'’t.

He reads the starting prices from Newmarket.

Are you going to let me finish?

I think we should put it to the vote.

COUPLAND: Yeah, and I second the motion.

I'’d rather you told us about Tolkien playing the banjo.

(others laughing, Coupland imitating banjo) NELL: It was here last November that a fully grown crocodile was spotted.

Photographs appeared in the press.

There were items on the national news, and although the creature was never caught, there were unconfirmed reports that two dogs disappeared without a trace at the time, as well as a prize-winning Siamese cat belonging to a professor of biochemistry.

Phillip has some photographs of this crocodile.

which make very attractive and rather unusual postcards.

available at a nominal charge as a lasting souvenir of the secret Oxford they would rather you didn'’t know about.

And that concludes our tour.

Thank you for being such a lovely audience.

You'’re a credit to Charles Darwin.

(murmuring appreciatively) Might I have a word?

You have a question about the crocodile?

Golly gosh, a formidable police presence.

Hand on heart, I was just passing.

And I much enjoyed the bit of your tour I saw, but I have to tell you there have been complaints about you.

Oh, well, we can'’t give people their money back-- it'’s a free service.

Who'’s been complaining?

Tourists office say you just tell people a pack of lies.

Well... lies are more fun than the truth, don'’t you think?

You know, and politicians lie all the time-- you don'’t follow them about, do you?

But if you want to go down in history as arresting a poor, struggling art student, then now'’s your moment.

Put the cuffs on me; I'’ll come quietly.

Art student?

So this is all... art?

Naturally.

I mean, everything that matters is art.

If we gave you a free postcard, would that count as a bribe?

Absolutely.

Give us a free postcard.

Philip?

Give the nice policeman a postcard.

I need a word with the dynamic duo.

Would that be us, ma'’am?

It would.

The desk had a complaint about you two.

From?

Last night, from a man named Stringer.

Dr. Stringer, lecturer in English literature.

The same.

He said you turned up on his doorstep uninvited and that you were both drunk and facetious.

Well, we'’d been drinking at Dr. Hobson'’s party, but we were not drunk.

And...

I don'’t understand "facetious."

Something to do with dogs barking and Romantic poets.

Ah, that would'’ve been me.

I referred to Keats, Byron and Shelley as the guys in the band.

Fairly harmless jest, I would'’ve thought.

To an Oxford academic, that counts as facetious.

I don'’t even want to know about the barking dogs.

We promise not to do it again?

Good.

You see, the principle behind a partnership such as yours is that the junior officer matures to the level of the senior, rather than that the senior officer should regress.

I'’ll bear it in mind.

Was it a good party?

Compared with what?

Serves me right for asking.

(groans): Facetious?

All that and dishy, too?

Yeah, but, you see, I got the names right.

As long as you get the names right, you can get away with murder.

(phone ringing) Hathaway.

And they said?

A suspicious death.

WOMAN: There are over six million items in the library.

We have books, manuscripts and related material.

They'’re stored across several acres on several floors.

Anything you order at the front desk is with you within the hour.

Tell me about the dead man.

Mr. Chapman, yes.

He works here-- worked here-- as a senior maintenance engineer.

They found him in the basement stacks.

Through there.

Thank you.

Jim!

Ma'’am.

We need to know who had access to this area.

Only the people that work down here.

We wouldn'’t have found it without a guide.

HOBSON: Hi.

He was, uh, shot at close range.

LEWIS: With?

A small-caliber handgun.

One of those... pretty little design accessory weapons that dealers like to carry.

It'’s not the sort of place you'’d lie in wait on the off chance, is it?

Any sign of a struggle?

Some bruising to the face, as if he'’s been in a fight-- but probably not today.

You realize what we'’ve got, don'’t you, sir?

What?

The body in the library.

Now, that is definitely facetious.

(camera shutter clicks) Yes, that'’s Reg.

Thanks, Mrs. Chapman.

Cup of tea and a chat, then we'’ll find you a car to take you home, all right?

(door closes) ♪ ♪ It'’s amazing.

What is?

They just found a dead body at the Bodleian.

A body at the Bodleian.

(chuckles) "I weep for Adonais-- he is dead!

"I weep for Adonais!

"Though my tears thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!"

What'’s that?

Your main man, Shelley.

He'’s writing about death.

Hmm.

I like him better when he writes about... kissing.

You know: "The moonbeams kiss the sea," that bit.

Death... kissing, they'’re all parts of the same thing.

Sort of heads and tails.

Oh, got to go to work.

Come on.

Do as you'’re told.

I always do as I'’m told.

Sorry about the house.

We used to have a lovely house.

Then he lost his job.

Which job?

His proper job.

He was an engineer at the car factory.

Then it all went belly up.

I think that'’s what hurt him most.

"I'’m a skilled man," he'’d say, "and look at me now, doing odd jobs for a bunch of librarians."

The librarians seemed happy enough with his work.

(sighs) He could do it in his sleep.

But the money was crap, so it didn'’t help with the problem.

Problem?

Has nobody told you yet?

No, not yet-- what problem?

His gambling.

Oh, he'’s a gambler.

Oh, he could bet on anything.

Horses, dogs, football, flies crawling up a window.

Except you don'’t really see flies anymore, do you?

I wonder where all the flies have gone.

Funny that.

Tell me about his gambling.

Cost him his job, his proper job.

Cost us our home, our proper home.

And any day now, it was going to cost him his marriage.

Who'’s the reader?

Reg.

He said working in the library, he got interested in old books.

He said they were beautifully made.

He liked beautiful things.

He said no one knew how to make things anymore.

You'’re not really supposed to take things from the Bodleian.

He always returned them.

Would you like me to return them?

I'’m past caring.

Well, thank you.

I'’ll let myself out.

NELL: It was here in this public house in the late 1940s that J.R.R.

Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, played the banjo in a traditional jazz band called the Thames Valley Cotton Pickers.

Now, although none of this is actually stated in any of the official biographies, there are still people in Oxford who will remember the great man, after a couple of pints of locally brewed beer, giving a sensational performance of "I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate."

Now, if you could all follow the parasol... MAN: Suppose I say to you I don'’t believe a word of any of this stuff.

But there are photographs of the crocodile.

And I would say to you, sir, do you believe that all men and women are created equally with certain inalienable rights, such as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?

I hold those to be self-evident truths.

It'’s easier to believe in a crocodile swimming in the Cherwell.

She'’s quite extraordinary, isn'’t she?

Indeed, she is.

WALTERS: She seems to be impressing our American friend.

Americans impress easily.

Yeah.

He had a fiver on each.

This one finished fourth; the other one was a non-runner.

So at least he gets half his money back.

He doesn'’t, I'’m afraid.

Why not?

He'’s dead.

We found these in his pocket.

What happened?

It seems he was murdered.

Wow.

Did you take those bets?

No, that was me.

Sorry, couldn'’t help overhearing.

What happened?

You are...?

Eric Jameson.

He'’s our resident genius.

Second-year maths.

Working my way through college.

You knew Mr. Chapman?

Same as you know any of the regulars.

You know '’em and you don'’t know '’em.

How did he seem this morning?

Well, same as usual.

He never had much to say.

Just placed his bets and left.

He never hung around, but, uh... (sighs): well, he was officially at work.

And I shouldn'’t really be here.

I'’ve got a seminar.

Yeah, off you go.

Is that all right?

Oh, I never stand in the way of scholarship.

See you in the morning.

Mr. Chapman was heavily in debt-- can you shed any light on that for me?

He didn'’t owe us any money, if that'’s what you mean.

Do you allow credit betting?

With people like Reg it was strictly cash.

We'’re like banks.

We only lend money to people who don'’t really need it.

(chuckles) You seen his family?

We'’ll be seeing his wife, yeah.

Well, we owe her a fiver, for the non-runner.

We could arrange for a policewoman to come home with you, help with the children.

No need-- we'’ll probably go to my brother'’s.

Did your husband ever get counseling for his gambling problem?

Yes, I think he did.

Do you know who he saw?

No, it'’s anonymous, that sort of thing, isn'’t it?

Like alcoholics-- a sort of secret society.

It would work for bit.

It was all ups and downs.

One minute there'’d be no money, then there'’d be money, and... then it was back to square one.

It got quite good about a month ago.

But that could be because he'’d had a couple of winners.

Did he ever get into fights?

Came home Saturday night with a bruise over his eye.

But I didn'’t dare ask him about it.

Where had he been?

Dogs, probably.

Can I go now?

We'’ll organize you a car.

Mrs. Chapman, I'’ve got something for you.

From the bookmakers-- apparently, your husband backed a horse and, uh...

He won?

Just like him to back a winner today.

It was a non-runner, actually, so... the money'’s returned.

It'’s only five pounds, but...

It may only be five pounds to you.

STRINGER: I was somewhat alarmed to see so many of you insist on referring to the writer'’s intentions when grappling with the mysteries of the great Romantic poets.

You're not in the sixth form now.

You're supposed to be grown-up and mature.

So, let us spell this out.

Keats, Shelley, Byron, Coleridge and the rest of what a passing stranger recently called "the guys in the band," generally had no idea what their intentions were.

They were too intoxicated with drink, with drugs, with love, with their own vanity.

Even after writing their poems, they had no clear idea.

Which, happily, gives me something to teach and you something to learn.

(cell phone beeps) Hands up-- who is the guilty party?

I think it might be you.

Mea culpa.

You will be happy to know that this is a message written in clear, grammatical... unambiguous English.

Intentions made clear?

Perfectly.

Because this is a message, not from a poet or an artist, but from a mathematician.

Now, where were we?

Here are details of all the people who work in the library-- full-time, part-time and temporary.

LEWIS: Well, I did ask.

Thank you.

Tell me about the security here.

You'’ve got more than six million books, original manuscripts.

All that lot must be worth a fortune.

Yes.

Their price is beyond rubies.

And if I tell you our security system, you probably won'’t believe me.

Try me.

Everyone who joins the Bodleian has to read out loud: "I hereby undertake "not to remove from the Library, or to mark, "injure or deface in any way, any volume, document, "or other object belonging to it "or in its custody; not to bring into the Library "or kindle therein any fire or flame, and not to smoke "in the Library; and I promise to obey all the rules of the Library."

Sounds like my old wolf cub promise.

Does it work?

Yes, it does, as a matter of fact.

We lose far fewer items than any other library in the country.

There'’s no mention of murder.

Yeah, fair point.

But it is the first one we'’ve had in 500 years.

And we did discover these at Chapman'’s house.

Ah.

Hmm, that'’s interesting.

Are they valuable?

Uh, they'’re quite old-- early 19th century-- but old age in itself doesn'’t necessarily make things valuable.

The older I get, the more I realize that.

No, it'’s just, um, if his gambling debts were as large as you tell me, then these wouldn'’t scratch the surface.

But I'’ll check with the experts and get back to you with some figures.

How easy or-or difficult is it to check whether something'’s gone missing?

Uh, not impossible, but time-consuming.

We'’ll do our best.

(bell tolling outside) WALTERS: Okay, here's one last teaser for you.

We'’re in the final of a darts tournament.

Player A needs 117, which, as I'’m sure you'’ll work out in a trice, means a finish of treble 19, a single 20 and a double 20.

Player B needs 83, where the standard finish is treble 17 and double 16.

However, Player A has a career success rate of 80%, Player B has a career success rate of 65%.

And this time next week you will tell me who you think'’s going to win and what odds the bookmakers should be offering on the results.

Well, if it was easy you'’d all be at Reading or Keele.

That'’s all, folks.

(indistinct whispering) Eric, could you spare a minute?

Yeah, sure.

See you later.

Let me put it this way.

If I have a friend who has a gambling problem and I come to you for help, what is the first thing that would happen?

(bustling conversations) Yeah, I understand about confidentiality, but it'’s a murder enquiry, so it takes priority.

Yeah, a name, address and phone number would be deeply appreciated.

Hang on a minute, let me write this down.

(snaps fingers) She'’s a professor of mathematics, apparently.

With a gambling problem?

I don'’t know whether that'’s a qualification.

Isn'’t that how alcoholics work?

We'’ll be big and grown-up and ask.

We'’re hoping you can tell us something about Gamblers Anonymous.

Try me.

Uh, please sit down.

Well, for a start, where do you fit in?

Well, if someone has a problem and he or she rings the number in the phone book, then I'’m the one who'’s the initial point of contact.

Does that mean you have, or... or used to have a gambling problem?

I gamble, but I don'’t have a problem.

What sort of gambling?

I play bridge.

For high stakes?

Sometimes.

But I usually win, so that does somewhat minimize the risk.

I suppose it would.

But if you usually win, how did you get involved with the organization?

Well, a friend of mine did have a problem, and I tried to help him.

And once I'’d dealt into the game, I found it difficult to walk away.

It'’s fascinating, and no point in being coy, it relates to my academic work.

I specialize in probability theory.

How to beat the bank?

That'’s one way of putting it.

We'’re investigating the death of a man called Chapman.

We know he had gambling problems.

We think he might have come to you for help.

Well, let me check.

(rummaging through files) Reginald Chapman.

Is that the man?

Yeah.

I can confirm he came to us.

And what happened then?

He attended group sessions, and we gave him a mentor-- somebody he could go to if he was in trouble.

Could you give us the name of the mentor?

Well, I'’ll need to ask his permission.

Yeah, well, if you could speak to him, let us have his name by the end of the afternoon?

It shall be done.

Anything else?

I have a facetious question.

Which is?

Where did you get the necklace?

Ah, it is rather fun, don'’t you think?

She'’s a student.

Nell Buckley-- makes jewelry out of bits of recycled rubbish.

Call it my meaningful gesture towards saving the planet.

And will we do it, do you think?

Save the planet?

Applying your laws of probability.

I think it'’s on a par with beating the bank.

Another academic nut-case?

You'’re reading my mind.

I know.

(phone line rings) STRINGER: I'’m sorry, I'’m not available to answer the phone, but if you'’d like to leave a message, please do so after the tone.

Hi, it'’s me.

Could you give me a call when you'’ve got a moment?

Fairly quickly, for preference.

It'’s about Reg Chapman.

Love you.

Inspector Lewis, it'’s Naomi Norris.

Um, we seem to have turned up something rather interesting about the books that Reg Chapman took home.

Yes, half an hour is fine.

Bye.

(cell phone rings) Yeah.

I'’ll see you there.

(camera shutter snapping) LEWIS: What'’s the story?

BAXTER: Guy out jogging along the tow path, saw the body, called up on his mobile.

Any identification?

Yeah.

Students Union card.

She seems to be called Nell Buckley.

Rings a bell.

And she had this in her pocket.

"And the sunlight clasps the earth, "And the moonbeams kiss the sea "What are all those kissings worth If thou kiss not me?"

Shelley.

One of the boys in the band?

Yeah.

He was a student at Oxford for a while, then got sent down for having an affair with a married woman.

LEWIS: Sounds like every student'’s favorite role model.

Oh, God.

What?

Well, I-I met her, just the other day.

She was running guided tours that were a pack of lies.

She was lovely.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

Do we know who she is?

An art student.

Nell Buckley.

Well, I don'’t know what I hope to find.

Come again?

Students have an above-average tendency to commit suicide, especially when there'’s a... convenient river.

I never met anybody less likely to commit suicide.

You don'’t smack yourself in the back of the head before you throw yourself in the river, either.

Quite so.

She bribed me with a postcard of a crocodile.

(indistinct conversations) Yeah, that's her.

Hmm... We were just putting up a new exhibition of student work.

I'’m no expert, but this is very good, isn'’t it?

Yes, Philip is quite remarkable.

Philip?

Uh, Philip Horton.

He'’s something of a throwback.

You'’ll have to explain that.

Well, this art school, by a long tradition, has always focused on the more academic, old-fashioned virtues of drawing and painting.

Um, obviously, that'’s all changed now.

It'’s a very broad church, as you can see.

I can see.

But when Philip turned up, he reminded us of what was said about Claude Monet.

"He'’s only an eye, but what an eye."

I mean... obsessed with setting down what he sees in front of him-- no more, no less.

I'’m surprised he wasn'’t there.

Where?

Where you found Nell, by the river.

They'd sit there for hours, painting the sky and the water.

Are you saying they'’d go there together?

Oh, most days, yeah.

Where might we find Philip today?

Well, if he'’s not by the river, you'’ll probably find him in the Ashmolean.

He stares at Turner and Constable, trying to figure out how they did it.

Thank you.

HATHAWAY: Philip Horton?

Hmm.

Constable.

He wanted to get better at painting clouds, so he went out day after day, painting clouds.

You see, that'’s the way the clouds looked on that day.

They'’d never looked like that before, and they'’ve never looked like that again.

I think that'’s amazing.

Nothing is ever the same again.

LEWIS: We'’re told Nell Buckley is a friend of yours.

I think so, yes.

Girlfriend?

Well, you might say.

But you'’re not with her today?

No.

We had a row.

Would you like to come with us and tell us about this row?

I gave you a postcard.

You'’re the policeman.

Yes.

I'’m the policeman.

Come and tell us about the row?

All right.

Now, Philip, do you understand why we need to talk to you?

Not really, but it'’s interesting.

I'’ve never talked to a policeman before.

Apart from the other day, so that'’s twice in a week.

Is it all right if I, um...?

It's fine.

You see, the thing is, we'’re hoping you might be able to help us with some inquiries we'’re making about Nell Buckley.

You should ask Nell about Nell.

She'’d know.

HATHAWAY: You said you had a row.

What was that about?

Same thing as usual-- art.

Well, if you told us what the argument was about, do you think we'd understand?

We argue about... what it is.

And what is it?

Nobody really knows, it'’s why we argue.

See, I-I-I can'’t do what she can do, and she can'’t do what I can do.

What can she do?

She'’s really good at making up amazing things.

LEWIS: Like crocodiles in rivers?

Yes.

Amazing things like that.

I can'’t do that.

What can you do that she can'’t do?

Well... That.

That's terrific.

You can have that if you like.

Are you sure?

I can easily do another now that I know what you look like.

(phone ringing) Excuse me.

Yeah, speaking.

Would you like me to do one of you?

LEWIS: Okay.

I'’ll be right there.

Yeah, please.

Is it, it's all right if I move?

It really doesn'’t make any difference.

The girl'’s parents are at the hospital.

And I need to talk to Dr. Hobson, so...

I'’ll talk to our young genius, ask him what he was doing this morning.

I wish you luck.

Have you always been good at drawing?

I suppose so.

It'’s fairly easy.

Faces are easier to draw than clouds or water, '’cause they stay still.

Did you go down to the river today?

Nell told me to meet her at 10:00.

I got there at 9:37, she wasn'’t there.

She still wasn'’t there at 10:00, so I went to the gallery.

Did she sometimes not turn up?

She'’s always forgetting things.

I remember things.

Was Nell your girlfriend?

Was?

Before the row?

Some people say so.

JACKSON: Yeah, hi.

Yeah, it'’s me.

Have you seen the local newspaper?

Yeah, well, the question is, should I be concerned?

(sighs) Yes, yes, I would like to be reassured.

Thank you.

He drew that in about 60 seconds.

And it was as if he didn'’t need to look at me, just one glance.

I'’m not a psychoanalyst.

I wasn't going to quote you in evidence.

I just wanted a friendly opinion.

Could the lad be...

I don'’t know, autistic?

Is that the word?

I mean, I only know what I'’ve seen on TV documentaries that I wasn'’t watching properly.

The trouble is, all these words are dangerous-- autism, dyslexia, bipolarity, schizophrenia.

We throw people into those boxes, and we kid ourselves that we'’ve explained everything and solved the problem.

And we'’ve done neither.

Am I allowed to say he'’s a bit weird?

Or do I have to say, uh... differently normal?

Well, you can say anything you like to me.

That'’s something, these days.

Listen, the boy'’s obviously got exceptional skills.

He can see things and reproduce them on paper with no apparent effort.

And you could argue that all artists are abnormal in that respect.

The same way a musician can listen to an entire symphony orchestra and hear the one instrument that plays a wrong note.

He reckons he'’s no good at ideas.

That may well be true.

He may have trouble making connections.

Joining the dots to make sense of his world.

Or it'’s possible that all his life, people have told him he'’s no good at ideas, and he'’s ended up believing them.

And would he be capable of murder?

Ugh, I don'’t know.

(sighs) It'’s... unlikely except... What?

He might... he might if someone told him to do it.

Have you told Philip what this is all about?

No, I haven'’t.

LEWIS: About Nell Buckley, Philip... You wanted to know if she'’s my girlfriend.

Do you know why we'’re so interested in her?

No.

It'’s because she'’s dead.

I see.

(keys rattling) I'’ve got a key.

This is our living room.

We share it.

Um, through that door is our kitchen.

We share that, too.

I'’m supposed to say: Would you like a cup of tea?

No, thank you.

And you have a bedroom each?

Yes, one each.

Would you like to see mine?

Yes, please.

Could we borrow one of these, Philip?

Only-only for a lend.

It'’s my schoolwork.

We'’ll give you a receipt for it.

You can have that one.

We'’ll take very good care of it.

Were you here today?

Yes.

I told Mr. Hathaway.

At 9:37 a.m.

But Nell wasn'’t there, so I went to look at the clouds.

Why is she dead?

We don'’t know, but we want to find out.

Think you might be able to help us.

May we look at her room now?

Yes.

She collected stuff.

So I see.

What'’s this one?

That was her explosion at Balliol.

She tried to blow up Balliol?

It was a concept.

I see.

And here'’s the famous crocodile.

That one was on News at Ten with Trevor MacDonald.

Sir... Forensics?

They like a challenge.

Well, lads, girl'’s bedroom, ground floor, first left.

Don't mistake the rubbish for rubbish.

It could be crucial.

Thanks.

Oh, God.

Is this about Nell?

It is.

Do you live here?

Yes.

Eric Jameson, studying mathematics.

We met at the betting shop.

(sighs) Is Philip at home?

We left him painting a picture of the kitchen.

Oh, how is he?

Sorry, silly question.

Why is it a silly question?

I'’ve lived in the same house as him for a year.

He'’s an amazing guy, but I never have the slightest idea what'’s going on inside.

How would you describe his relationship with Nell Buckley?

Well, weird, seriously weird.

She bossed him around, and he did as she told him.

Like a little puppy dog.

Except dogs sort of know how to live, don'’t they?

Philip doesn'’t.

It'’s like he was born without a proper book of instructions.

You didn't get on with him?

Philip?

You can sort of tolerate him, but Nell, we all loved her.

You can'’t love Philip, he won'’t let you get near enough.

But Nell was just... fabulous.

We'’ll be back later to talk to everybody, but we'’re here if you need us.

We need to get to the Bodleian.

I'’ve been keeping them hanging on all day.

(car remote chirps) (car engine starts) No, don'’t worry.

I can understand that a body in the river takes priority over a couple of old books.

These are the books you found at Reg Chapman'’s house.

Now, when we checked, we discovered that some of the end papers had been removed.

You see?

The blank pages that you find at either end of most books.

Why would anyone do that?

Well, one possible explanation is that they were used to make forgeries from the period in question, in this case the early 19th century.

And these?

Well, we did a little spot check on the period, and these turned up.

Love'’s Philosophy and A Dream of the Unknown.

They'’re both by Shelley.

HATHAWAY: "And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea."

How can you tell these are forgeries?

They look very good to me.

(chuckles) Well, I can'’t tell personally-- I'’m a mere administrator-- but this is Oxford.

There'’s a Shelley scholar on every street corner.

And you can do scientific analysis, can'’t you, on the paper and so on?

Expensive and time-consuming, and science only proves what an expert authority can spot using instinct and experience.

So that'’s what we did, we called in an expert.

Somebody steals the originals and sells them and replaces them with forgeries.

We imagine that'’s what might have happened, hmm.

And how much would these originals be worth?

Ooh, 20,000, 30,000 pounds a time.

Who buys them?

Someone with too much money, and too much vanity.

Who was your expert?

We might need one ourselves.

Dr. Stringer.

He lectures in English literature.

(birds chirping) This looks promising.

Yeah, that'’s it, isn'’t it?

Medical evidence is that Nell was banged on the head and dropped in the river early this morning.

And our young born-again Claude Monet admits that he was here this morning at 9:37 but says that Nell wasn'’t.

Yeah.

Do we believe him?

Well, he'’s very precise about everything.

I can tell you in great detail what he had for breakfast.

Obsessive neurotic.

Quite possibly... autistic, something along those lines?

Maybe he was sick of carrying out her orders.

Or old-fashioned jealousy, if she'’s seeing someone else, one of the other students in the house.

Well, I don'’t buy him as a jealous lover.

He doesn'’t... feel emotion quite the way that other people do.

Well, it could be rage and frustration.

She has all the ideas; he can'’t even manage one.

My best offer'’s a definite maybe.

All right, let'’s try coming in a different door.

We'’ve got two murders-- Reg Chapman and Nell Buckley.

Is there a link?

Yes.

Well, that'’s decisive-- what is the link?

Shelley.

(phone rings) Hello?

Oh, thanks for calling back.

(continues indistinctly) Good-bye.

Another link.

Make my day.

That was Professor Walters, who works for Gamblers'’ Anonymous.

She says that Reg Chapman'’s mentor was Dr. Stringer.

That bloke gets everywhere.

♪ ♪ (doorbell rings) Dr. Stringer.

Inspector Lewis.

Do come in.

STRINGER: Mea maxima culpa.

(sighs): Uh... four... five years ago, I developed a serious gambling habit.

Addiction, to be precise.

Cost me my marriage.

I sought help a little too late in the day, admittedly... What kind of gambling?

Cards.

Poker.

But then a good friend weaned me off it, and I started playing bridge, which is rather less lethal.

It'’s quite a leap, isn'’t it, from studying English Romantic poets to playing high-stakes poker?

Well... superficially, yes, but, um... Well, I'’ve talked about this a lot in group sessions-- you wouldn'’t believe how we all go on about our problems-- and, um...

I think I was looking for some kind of risk-taking in my life that I wasn'’t finding in my work.

And, of course, the poets in question-- Keats, Shelley, Coleridge, and the rest of the guys in the band, to use your striking phrase-- they all believed in living dangerously.

Tell us about Reg Chapman.

Gamblers and reformed gamblers try to support each other.

I had survived it, come through the other side.

If Chapman was in trouble, he would come to me for support.

That was the theory.

Did it work?

I'’m afraid not.

He was too far gone.

I saw my role as lending him support; he saw my role as lending him money.

Did you lend him money?

You don'’t lend money to men like Chapman; you give it to them, and you never see it again.

While we'’re in confessional mode, that night, when I called the police, I'’m... pretty sure it was Chapman who was in my garden.

Wanting to borrow money?

Yes.

Couldn'’t he just knock at the front door?

I think he'’d moved beyond that stage.

He'’d gone over the edge.

I was genuinely concerned for my safety.

Could his death be connected to the forged Shelley manuscripts?

I gather you'’d seen them.

Truly, I have no idea.

But you'’ve seen the manuscripts-- how good are they?

Well, they'’re good enough to fool a casual observer.

They could have lain in the archives for years unnoticed.

How do you feel about forgery of that kind?

It'’s contemptible.

Couldn'’t be clearer.

Well, thank you for talking to us, Dr. Stringer.

LEWIS: Is it like being an alcoholic?

I'’m sorry?

Well, I'’ve never been either, but I'’m told that you never stop being alcoholic.

You'’re an alcoholic who'’s chosen not to drink.

Is it the same with gambling?

I don'’t think people are that simple.

We'’re all different.

That'’s what makes us interesting.

He'’s a glib sod, isn'’t he?

One day you'’re gonna meet an Oxford academic who you actually like.

I think I liked him better when he was being nasty.

"Lost Angel of ruin'’d Paradise!

PHILIP: "She knew not '’twas her own; "...as with no stain "She faded... ...like a cloud which had out swept its rain."

For God'’s sake, Phil!

It'’s all Shelley'’s fault.

So will you shut it?

All right.

GRAY: Nell was remarkable, but she didn'’t always know where to draw the line between a genuine work of the imagination and... well, let'’s be kind, a pathetic adolescent practical joke.

The explosion at Balliol.

We saw the photograph in her room.

She left an empty cardboard box on the steps of Balliol, then made anonymous phone calls in a sinister foreign accent to say there was an empty cardboard box on the steps of Balliol.

Bomb squad moved in, they had a controlled explosion, and Nell made a video of it, posted it on the Net, and also submitted it as part of her course work.

And the crocodile in the river.

The same.

A pain in the ass, but is it art?

(chuckles): Mm.

Uh, this is what I wanted to show you.

We had an exhibition of student work last year, and Phil Horton and Nell Buckley showed some pieces together.

In fact, it was the first time we heard they were working as a team.

When you say "team," do you mean romantically?

Or do kids not do romance anymore?

I'’m not sure if sex came into it or not.

I mean, you'’ve met Phil-- we never know what he'’s thinking or feeling.

But Nell seemed to make some sort of connection.

There.

What am I looking at?

Well, this is a letter from Shakespeare to his leading actor, Richard Burbage, complaining about his performance in Hamlet.

Uh, this is from Walter Raleigh to Elizabeth I.

And this is a love letter from Shelley to Mary Godwin before they were married.

So these are joke letters?

Yeah.

If you look carefully, you'’ll see that, uh, Raleigh tells the queen not to forget the note to the milkman.

Uh... Shakespeare has a bit of a moan about Arts Council grants.

And Shelley apologizes to Mary about leaving her mobile on the Northern Line.

Did they sell any of these?

No.

But I'’m told the local English lit club are very impressed.

I mean, it'’s all balls, but apparently, Phil had the handwriting off to perfection.

What had she been doing recently?

She said it was something big, but she wouldn'’t tell us what it was.

"Prepare to be amazed," she told me.

I mean, she might have talked to some of the other students about it.

You could talk to her friends at the house.

It'’s being done.

Hmm.

We'’re two short.

Phil'’s probably painting the bloody river.

Again.

And, uh... Charles Williamson?

He'’s got a tutorial-- he'’s groveling for a First.

Will he get one?

JAMESON: Past the post and weighed in.

Betting-shop talk.

Sorry.

Do you enjoy working there?

Beats the hell out of selling alcopops to teenagers in the wine bar.

Right?

That'’s what you do.

Yes.

It would be great, except I'’m allergic to puke.

Did, um, did Nell ever have any part-time work?

No.

She sold one or two pictures when the students had their exhibitions.

And she made jewelry; she made this.

It'’s... recycled tat, but it'’s sort of fun.

It'’s very cheap.

EVANS: Yeah, well, I didn'’t pay for it.

I did her laundry.

But she took serious money from the grown-ups who bought this stuff.

Like, uh, like Professor Walters.

You been talking to Professor Walters?

EVANS: She'’s his prof. That'’s why he'’s gone pale.

Bollocks.

HATHAWAY: Did Nell ever talk about Shelley?

Shelley?

Yes.

She and Phil used to recite his poems to us in the early hours of the morning, when we were seriously pissed.

And stories from Frankenstein.

Unless we stopped them, which we usually did.

(chuckles) Well, I'’ll let myself out.

And there'’s something else I should say.

Say it.

We all adored Nell.

And if we were to find the guy who did this, we'’d happily tear him limb from limb.

(sighs) How'’s it going?

This is number 17 in a series of over a hundred video installations on Nell'’s computer.

It'’s called "Paint Drying."

I wonder if you can guess what it'’s about.

LEWIS: Well, it might have dried by the time I get back.

I'’ve got a date.

What?

(quietly): You don'’t date.

(sighs) (exhales) HOBSON: What'’s this about, autism again?

LEWIS: No, not autism.

Gossip about your neighbors.

Any particular neighbor?

Dr. Stringer.

Ah, the one that shopped you for being drunk and facetious.

One and only.

Did you know he had a gambling problem?

I played bridge against him at the university bridge club a couple of times.

They were all way too good for me, but I-I didn'’t know he had a gambling problem, no.

He says it cost him his marriage.

That'’s not what I heard.

Oh?

What did you hear?

According to Mrs. Collinson, who does my ironing, it was good, old-fashioned adultery with his bridge partner.

A maths professor called Sandra Walters?

You see?

You are a good detective.

No matter what the neighbors say.

♪ ♪ Does it put you off if I watch?

No.

I went round your house today.

I think it'’s a nice house.

Hmm, me, too.

Your friends told me that you sometimes recite poetry to them.

Yes.

Do you know lots of poetry?

Lots.

Have you always been good at learning things?

One of the nurses in the foster home taught me Wembley Cup-winning teams from 1923 onwards.

When you were a kid?

Yes.

Bolton Wanderers.

Newcastle United.

Sheffield United.

Bolton Wanderers.

Cardiff City.

Blackburn Rovers.

Bolton Wanderers.

I think I'’d rather hear some poetry.

All right.

"I dream'’d that as I wander'’d by the way "Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, "And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mix'’d with a sound of waters murmuring..." That one'’s about a dream.

That was lovely.

Thank you.

I could never remember any poetry when I was at school.

It'’s easy.

Do you just read it and know it?

No.

I write it and I know it.

Do you write it down by hand?

That'’s how I do writing.

(chuckling) We found a piece of paper in Nell'’s pocket, with poetry written on it.

"And the moonbeams kiss the sea."

Yeah, that bit.

Did you write it?

I said it one day and she said, "That'’s nice.

Will you write it down for me?"

and I did.

Do you know what forgery is, Philip?

Yes.

It'’s a crime.

So, you'’ve never written a poem to make it look like somebody else had written it?

Why?

Everyone would know I'’d written it, and it would be a crime.

Yeah, it would.

Nell wouldn'’t let me do a crime.

Thanks for talking to me.

It was nice.

Nell used to talk to me, but she isn'’t here now.

(birds twittering) Nell Buckley, conceptual artist and brilliant at having ideas.

Girl who fooled the bomb squad.

Philip Horton, who can draw and paint anything you set down before him.

Then over here, Reg Chapman, the maintenance man at the Bodleian.

Total access to all parts of the library.

He brings out the originals, Philip makes the copies.

But the boy claims Nell Buckley wouldn'’t have let him commit a crime.

Well, she could have lied.

He'’d have believed her.

And Forensics found gum arabic and iron sulphate in a cupboard at the house and a mortar and pestle.

Everything you need to make authentic 19th century ink.

And Nell was apparently working on some top-secret project.

How do the originals get to Horton?

Via Eric Jameson.

He lives in the same house as Philip and Nell, but also works part-time in Reg Chapman's favorite betting shop.

And having made these forgeries, what happens next in this dream scenario?

Well, the originals are sold on the open market and the forgeries are replaced in the Bodleian.

A little bit more complicated than that.

These were found in Nell'’s locker at the art school.

They're forged letters from Shelley to his wife Mary.

These letters, if they were genuine, would be the Holy Grail to Shelley scholars all over the world and worth an absolute fortune.

Why is that?

You know that Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein?

I'’ve even read it.

There have been mischievous suggestions down the years that it was all his idea.

A mere man.

And these letters apparently support that theory.

I have to say, speaking as a woman, I'’m delighted that they'’re forgeries.

While we'’re in here, see if you can find any goose feathers.

I thought that was a Marx Brothers film.

You sharpen them to make authentic quill pens.

Right.

Sorry to interrupt.

We'’d like a word with Eric Jameson.

We all would.

Went out about two hours ago to get some pizzas.

We haven'’t seen him since.

Do you mind if we come in and wait?

Not at all.

(knocking at door) It'’s open.

Philip, is it all right if I come in and take a look around?

Yes.

It'’s all right.

I'’m looking for goose feathers.

Uh, it's in this drawer.

In this top one?

Mm.

Philip... Philip?

Yes?

Do you know what this is?

That'’s easy.

It'’s a gun.

Anything?

Yes.

The sergeant found a gun.

You'’ve never seen this before?

No.

Positive.

How did it find its way into your room?

I don'’t know.

Give in.

Do you keep your room locked?

I can'’t.

Why not?

There'’s no key.

Philip, we'’d like you to stay here for a while.

That-that'’s okay.

There'’s lots of paper.

Can I use it?

I was hoping you might.

Try to think where Eric Jameson might have gone.

We really need to talk to him about Nell.

Do you understand what I mean?

Is it to do with Nell dying?

Yeah.

All right, I'’ll try to think about Eric.

Look, I don'’t know who you are and how you got my number, and I don'’t know where he is and will you please leave me alone?!

Hi.

It'’s me.

I'’m getting funny phone calls.

You, too?

HATHAWAY: No, it'’s just a casual inquiry.

It'’s our problem.

Thanks for your help.

(phone hanging up) What'’s our problem?

Finding Eric Jameson.

Hasn'’t been to college, hasn'’t been back in touch with the betting shop.

His parents are in Verona, listening to operas.

(sighs) I'’ve been watching the highlights of Nell'’s Magical Mystery Tour.

NELL (on video): And what better way, to, uh, cover their tracks than to hold their clandestine meetings here in Oxford?

Now we shall go down to the crocodile-infested river.

Come on.

Let'’s concentrate on finding Jameson.

That'’s very good.

Yes.

Where is it?

You asked me to think about Eric.

I did this for Eric last year.

Jameson'’s father'’s in the church.

Do you know where this is, Philip?

No.

Eric gave me a photograph to copy, but I remember it.

It looks like this.

May I?

I know where that is.

Oh, from your spiritual background?

No, I played there last year with a band.

Thanks, Philip.

Look.

All ready for a quick getaway.

Mr. Jameson?

I'’m Inspector Lewis.

I have Sergeant Hathaway with me.

No need to be running away.

Two people have died.

Safest place you can be at the moment really is with us.

Good decision.

Why don'’t we take a pew?

You can tell us what'’s been going on.

Is this good cop, bad cop?

No.

You'’re a very lucky lad.

This is two good cops.

Start with the gun.

The one you planted in Philip'’s room.

Honestly, I don't know anything about that.

So, why did you run away?

'’Cause I'’m scared.

I'd forgotten my folks were away.

All right, let'’s do the easy bit: the forgeries.

Reg Chapman delivered some packages to the betting shop.

He gave them to you.

What happened to them after that?

I gave them to Nell.

And when she'’d finish with them, she'’d give them back to me, and I'’d return them to Reg.

You really have no idea what it was all about?

No.

I assumed it was one of her... wacky projects.

You know... art.

With Nell... everything was art.

Mr. Jameson?

It is.

Are you all right?

Mr. Jameson is with a couple of honest English cops.

(chuckling) Quentin Jackson?

My father adored Duke Ellington.

Quentin Jackson was a trombone player in the Duke'’s band.

In my universe, Quentin Jackson is better than Michael Jackson.

Antiques, first editions, original manuscripts?

That's correct.

And you were on Nell Buckley'’s heritage tour.

I saw the video.

Mr. Jackson, this could be the start of a very special relationship.

Do you want to tell us what you're doing here?

Well, a, um, a client of mine in the States bought two Shelley manuscripts.

And he was offered the chance to buy the Frankenstein letters.

The Holy Grail?

Precisely.

But he was a little concerned about their provenance.

So, he commissioned me to come to Oxford and...

Check out the small print?

Correct.

Well, when I arrived, I felt like I was surrounded by murder and mayhem.

And I became genuinely concerned over the safety of the boy, after what had happened to the girl.

How did you know he'’d be at this church?

Well, I told Professor Walters (with Bronx accent): in my best Bronx accent I wanted to make an offer he couldn'’t refuse.

(normal voice): So she gave me his home address.

And when I discovered it was the vicarage and there was nobody there, I... yeah, I took an educated guess.

Professor Walters?

Yes, she'’s a mathematician.

How does she fit into your equation?

Oh, she sold my client the manuscripts of the poems.

And uh, offered to supply the uh, letters.

Do you carry a gun, Mr. Jackson?

(laughing) In my country, I have the constitutional right to bear arms, but I'’ve always chosen to ignore it.

Like my father, I have an enduring love of the music of Duke Ellington.

Nobody can love that music and be a party to the taking of human life.

LEWIS: I'’d like a written statement of all your dealings with Professor Walters.

I am at your disposal, Inspector.

Quentin.

Thank you.

LEWIS: Did you write these?

With that?

Yes.

They'’re, they're lovely to write with.

You can do thin lines or thick.

But Nell told you what to put, hmm?

I'm no good at making things up.

You know forgery'’s a crime.

She said it would only be a crime if, if she sold them.

She wasn'’t going to tell them.

It was her project.

It couldn'’t be a crime if it was a project.

She taught me how to spell Frankenstein.

Oh, very good.

I'’m not sure I could spell Frankenstein.

I can spell Prometheus as well.

Come with me, Philip?

All right.

Can Philip have your desk?

Am I going to play at being a policeman?

Why not?

We do it all day.

LEWIS: Pretend you'’re a policeman trying to find out what happened to Nell on the day she died.

That'’s a sad thing to do.

Yeah, sometimes policemen have to do sad things.

Philip, would you spell Prometheus for me?

P-R-O-M-E-T-H-E-U-S. HATHAWAY: Gone.

Whatever was there'’s been wiped.

Leave it.

We'’re going to do some applied mathematics.

(knocking) Come in, darling, I'’m decent.

But it doesn'’t have to be permanent.

Aw!

Mistaken identity.

Seemingly.

You can probably guess why we'’re here.

Well, as you know, my area of expertise is probability.

It seems to me the probability is, you'’re going to accuse me of marginal involvement in some kind of criminal activity.

Aiding and abetting the distribution of forged and stolen manuscripts via the good offices of a gentleman called Quentin Jackson.

With the further probability that you will obtain a search warrant so you can delve around in all my correspondence and computer files.

Where as a matter of simple fact, you'’ll find no mention of anybody called Jackson.

That'’s not a probability.

That'’s a certainty.

Well, let me save you the trouble.

Help yourself.

Do it now.

(knocking) LEWIS: This sounds like darling.

What'’s happening?

I'’ve just invited the forces of law and order to make a thorough search of all my records.

I'’ll settle for the necklace.

What's that.

USB stick-- all the files on her computer, or the ones she didn't want anyone to see.

What, hanging round her neck?

Once a gambler... Prometheus?

(dramatic music playing) Walter'’s stolen Nell'’s files.

She could have planted the gun as well.

PHILIP: Finished.

Well, that'’s very good.

Tell us about it.

PHILIP: It'’s the man by the river bank the day Nell wasn'’t there.

Do you know the man'’s name?

No.

Could you draw him?

The man was too far away to see, but he, um... he got into this car with that woman and then they drove away.

You'’ve written the number plate down.

Yes.

I remember numbers.

(tires squealing) Do you think the probability is, these people are planning to run away?

We'’re going to a bridge tournament in Aylesbury.

We had thought we might make a push for the Mexican border before nightfall.

Why should we be running away?

We have a witness who was by the river on the day you killed Nell Buckley, and who saw you get into a car-- this car, to be precise-- driven by your good friend and bridge partner, your very good friend Professor Walters.

A reliable witness?

Or that idiot boy from the art school?

That idiot boy is the best witness I'’ve ever met.

Who will be torn to shreds by any self-respecting defense lawyer.

Yeah, unlike Quentin Jackson.

I'’ve never heard of him.

Alistair... HATHAWAY: According to the information that we found hanging around your neck and supported by a statement from Mr. Jackson, you two received $50,000 from an American horror movie buff for the first in a series of letters from Shelley to his wife Mary, detailing the plot of Frankenstein.

Why would we jeopardize good academic careers for such a bizarre enterprise?

Over the last year, you'’ve played in bridge tournaments in Paris, Geneva, Rome, New York.

You'’ve stayed in five-star hotels.

You've flown first-class.

All on university salaries?

But it isn'’t that, is it?

You did it to see whether you could.

The ultimate gamble-- beating the bank.

It's not about beating the bank.

It'’s about beating fate.

And we very nearly did.

LEWIS: Not only that, you almost got away with murder.

That was nothing to do with me.

And the cock crowed a third time.

LEWIS: You were also at the Bodleian the day Reg Chapman was murdered.

I don'’t deny it.

It'’s an old-fashioned library, and the old-fashioned librarians will confirm that I was at the main entrance at 10:00 and left a couple of hours later.

Yeah, but the new-fangled security cameras at the rear of the building will confirm that you did meet Chapman a little later, when he came outside for a cigarette.

Then you both went back inside.

I assume Chapman wanted more money.

If you didn'’t pay up, he was going to blow the whistle on the theft of the manuscripts.

Chapman was a gambler, and pathetic into the bargain.

Nell Buckley was a little bit more complicated.

You recruited her and Philip Horton to forge the Shelley poems.

Then she came to you with an even more exciting idea-- the Frankenstein letters.

All you had to do was authenticate them.

HATHAWAY: And wait for the money to start rolling in.

LEWIS: You assumed that like any decent 21st century citizen, she was only in it for the money, but she wasn'’t.

She was only interested in art.

She kept a record of the whole story.

You found out she was going to submit it as part of her academic portfolio.

It wouldn'’t have done your reputation much good, would it?

A leading authority on the Romantic poets suckered by a second-year art student?

I hate students.

And I hate artists, all of them.

The writers, the painters, the poets...

The guys in the band?

Even Shelley?

Especially bloody Shelley.

How are you, Philip?

Okay.

We'’ve charged the man who murdered Nell.

Will he not kill any more people now?

He won'’t kill any more people.

Good.

And this is Shelley?

Yes.

His name'’s written there.

Of course.

"And the sunlight clasps the earth.

"And the moonbeams kiss the sea.

What are all these kissings worth if thou kiss not me?"

He wrote that?

It was Nell'’s favorite.

Yes... he made it up.

I wish I could make things up.

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org