JERRY: 'And so I found myself on another night, 'in another bedroom, with another girl.

'Yet again, on the verge of oblivion.

'I'd spent several years fighting for king and country.

'Several more fighting lethargy and drink.

'And I decided the time had come to do something about it.

'I rode out of town and into the night.'

TYRES SCREECHING WHEEL RATTLING 'And that was that.

'Or so I thought.'

OWL HOOTS THUNDER RUMBLES CREAKING GUNSHOT "Owe no man anything but to love one another.

"For he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law.

"For this, thou shalt not commit adultery.

"Thou shalt not kill.

"Thou shalt not steal.

"Thou shalt not bear false witness.

"Thou shalt love they neighbour as thyself.

"Love worketh no ill to his favour, "and, therefore, love..." TYRES SQUEAL JERRY: 'It was not long after that, 'the day of the colonel's funeral, 'that we arrived in Lymstock.'

Ah!

Smell that country air.

'My sister Joanna had decided to take me in hand.

'My doctor had prescribed a good dose of clean living 'and sleepy village life, 'and she was determined to see it through.

'A torture, in fact, for both of us...' SHE GIGGLES '..as we had 'an absolute loathing for the country.'

A freckle.

They'll think I'm Scottish.

Watch out!

TYRES SCREECH 'Perhaps country life wasn't going to be so dull after all.'

What's the point of mirrors if you can't look in them?

Isn't it sweet?

GATE CREAKING MISS BARTON: Things are so different nowadays.

Taxation, of course.

And now my stocks and shares.

So safe, I'd always imagined, but now they seem to be paying nothing at all.

Foreign, needless to say.

And really, it makes it all so difficult, which is why I've decided to let.

Where will you be staying, Miss Barton?

Oh, I shall be most comfortable, Miss Burton.

I'm lodging with my old parlour maid, Florence.

Such a nice girl.

She lives with her husband in the high street.

My maid Partridge has agreed to stay on and look after you.

I'm sure you'll find her highly efficient.

This is the drawing room.

JOANNA: Very nice, isn't it, Jerry?

Still exactly as it was when Mother was alive.

Ninety-seven, she was, when she died.

How marvellous.

MISS BARTON: One doesn't like the idea of letting to strangers.

Having seen you, my dear, I feel quite reassured.

You've no need to worry, Miss Barton.

Do you smoke, Mr Burton?

- Like a chimney, Miss Barton.

- Don't worry about my brother.

He's quite harmless.

Especially on sticks.

He's been on his back for the past five months.

MISS BARTON: Oh, dear.

- Came off his motorbike.

- How did it happen?

- His fault entirely.

Wasn't it, Jerry?

- It was an accident.

He rides like a demon.

Needs a bit of time to get back to full working order.

Doctor's orders.

Fresh air and a quiet life.

Then you've come to the right place.

BICYCLE BELL RINGS No slouching at the back there.

Come on.

Heads up, big breaths.

Morning!

JOANNA: Dinner with the Symmingtons, whoever they are.

- More coffee, miss?

- Not for me, Peacock.

- It's Partridge, miss.

- That's the one.

And we've been invited for coffee at the vicarage.

- Oh, God.

- Now, Jerry, don't be a grump.

And Mr Cardew Pye, organist of St Peters Church, requests the pleasure of our company for afternoon tea.

There's a jolly day.

I can hardly contain myself.

It'll be very nice and rather sweet.

Whist drives and spinsters.

The whole point is to get you well and fighting fit.

After all, nothing ever happens in the country.

Poison-pen letters?

Yes.

Been going on for weeks.

That's why the colonel shot himself.

Now, Maud, we don't know that for sure.

Near as damn it, Jane.

Always had an eye for the girls, you see, and one suspects this ghastly letter spelt it out in no uncertain terms.

- But why shoot himself?

- Hit a nerve, it seems.

Probably accused him of betraying the memory of his dear wife.

Poor woman.

Dropped dead during evensong last year.

They seemed a most devoted couple.

Oh, yes.

And he would see it as the only honourable action.

falling on his sword, so to speak.

HE SPEAKS IN LATIN Absolutely bang on.

All too much for the poor chap.

Of all people, Heracles Appleton strikes me as the least likely to take his own life.

And what type would you consider most likely?

Did you know him well, Miss Marple?

MISS MARPLE: No, Miss Burton.

He was a friend of... someone I used to know.

I wanted to pay my respects, and Maud very kindly invited me to stay at the vicarage for a short while.

So, what do you think happened, then?

I can't say, Mr Burton, as yet.

So desperately sad, isn't it, to be driven to the edge like that.

MAUD: Perhaps Jane will be able to find the bounder who's sending them.

- I doubt that.

MAUD: She's an expert, you know.

MISS MARPLE CHUCKLES Now, Maud... Has a nose for rotten apples.

SHE LAUGHS I'd better watch my step, then.

MAUD: Better had.

JOANNA: Have you had any letters, Mrs Dane Calthrop?

Oh, yes.

Silly nonsense it was, too.

Something about my husband and the verger's wife.

Quite absurd, because the Reverend has absolutely no taste for fornication, have you, Caleb?

No, my dear.

MAUD: He never has had.

Good thing he's a vicar, I suppose.

Lives entirely for his books.

The Reverend is a great classicist.

And his knowledge of the early church is really quite formidable.

MAUD: Always thought he'd make a jolly fine saint, if he hadn't been just a little too intellectual.

PYE: Mrs Dane Calthrop, of course, is not your average vicar's wife.

Everyone is ever so slightly afraid of her.

And that's not only because she looks like one of those gargoyles above the west door.

She's terrifyingly on the spot, if you get my drift, and represents, to an uneasy conscience, the deity personified.

Have you met the Reverend?

Oh, yes.

A being more remote from everyday life I have yet to encounter.

He always has his nose buried in Horace or the younger Pliny.

And he will insist on spouting Latin.

I tend more towards the Greek.

And you, Mr Burton?

What is your "inclination"?

Head first over the handlebars, eh, Jerry?

PYE CHUCKLES Ahem!

Oh, a tongue with a tang.

May I say, Miss Burton, what a pleasure it is to welcome your distinctive style to our little community.

I hope you don't think me impertinent, but your make-up, it's... Grecian Ivory No 2, isn't it?

It is, actually.

It's charming.

Really charming.

Now, if you were a local, you'd have a dab of powder to take the shine off your nose, possibly a soupcon of lipstick, not very well applied, and would almost certainly be wearing all of your eyebrows instead of only a quarter.

- Oh, dear.

I'll look frightfully out of place.

PYE: Not at all, my dear.

They'll just think you're a little queer.

And what, I ask, is wrong with that?

Have you received any letters, Mr Pye?

Letters, Mr Burton?

Yes, of the poison-pen variety?

I have, since you ask.

Perfectly horrid, isn't it?

Mrs Dane Calthrop was telling us about the poor colonel.

Terrible business.

Miss Marple thinks he wasn't the type to top himself.

What do you think?

I have no opinion on the matter.

He certainly clammed up when you mentioned the letters.

That chap could pout for England.

BICYCLE BELL RINGS Hello, I'm Megan.

Megan Hunter.

MONA: Megan, for goodness sake.

Joanna Burton.

Pleased to meet you.

- Gosh, you're a looker.

- Do you think so?

She's an absolute menace on that thing.

I'm her mother, Mona Symmington.

How do you do?

- How do you do?

Jerry Burton.

MEGAN: You're the new chaps, aren't you?

Mind if we join you?

BICYCLE BELL RINGS Awfully sorry.

- See what I mean?

- Came flying off yesterday and tore my stocking.

Look.

- She ought to be in a circus.

I told you to mend that.

Darning's such a bore, isn't it?

- How would you know?

- Crashed a lot, have you?

- Megan, really?

- It wasn't a crash.

It was an accident.

I had to swerve to avoid a child.

- Oh.

Lablanche.

- Yes, actually.

One has to be so frightfully slim to carry off Lablanche.

- And yours?

Do tell.

- Oh, this old thing... She's awfully pretty.

Not a bit like you.

JOANNA: Thank you for your invitation to dinner.

BOTH CONTINUE SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY JERRY: Brothers and sisters aren't always alike.

I suppose not.

I'm not very like my half brothers and they're not like each other.

Rum, isn't it?

- What is?

- The whole family thing.

So, will you always be a bit of a crock?

No, I won't.

I thought that's why you looked so miserable, being a crock all your life.

But if it's how you always look...

I'm just impatient, that's all.

Don't you ever get impatient?

What about?

Nothing ever happens.

- That's not what I've heard.

- And what's that?

Someone's been busy writing letters.

Oh, those.

It's such a gossipy old place.

So, have you had one?

- Most people have.

- What did it say?

Something about my real father being a bit of a villain and me being a lazy young bitch.

- Charming.

- Spot on, as it happens.

You see, people don't really like me around here.

And to be honest, I don't much like them.

Mr Symmington will see you now, sir.

SHE WEEPS Thank you.

- Good afternoon, Burton.

- Good afternoon.

Thanks for the invitation for Saturday.

Pleasure to welcome you here.

Erm, I've just got some share certificates I need transferring.

Very good.

I'll take a look.

SECRETARY WEEPING, SYMMINGTON CLEARS THROAT Your er...

Your secretary seemed a little... Oh, yes.

Poor old Ginch.

Got one of those blasted letters.

Fairly fruity, I must say.

Apparently, we're in the middle of a hot and steamy affair.

Imagine.

Ginch and myself.

Quite risible if it wasn't so nauseating.

Yeah, it's funny, isn't it?

People say, "You must be bored to death living in the country."

Little do they know, eh?

FAINT CHATTER CHILDREN LAUGHING JERRY: Are those your boys?

Yes, they are.

Little terrors, but good lads, really.

And she's their governess?

SYMMINGTON: Yes.

Yes.

Miss Holland.

JERRY: Lucky boys.

SYMMINGTON: They are lucky, yes.

She's very good.

Not sure I'd be able to concentrate on my lessons.

They're a bit young for that, old chap.

Yes.

Anything for me?

Jerry, what is it?

Welcome to Lymstock.

SHE GIGGLES That was quick off the mark.

What did it say, if you don't mind me asking?

Oh, well, it suggested that Joanna wasn't really my sister.

Though in slightly more colourful language.

Did she actually read the letter?

- Oh, yes.

- Oh, I do hope it didn't... didn't upset her too much.

She found it quite a hoot, actually.

Which I suppose is the best way to take it.

Except when it gets out of hand.

Oh, the colonel, you mean?

You... You've heard, then?

Almost as soon as we arrived.

Awful... Dre-Dreadful business.

I must say, you know, you're tending to use these as a bit of a crutch, you know.

I thought that was the general idea.

Well, yes, I'm fairly sure you could do without them, as long as you... you take it easy, of course.

Oh, right.

I see.

Well, I'll give it a go, some time.

So, the colonel... bit of a lad, I gather.

Yes, yes.

But it just goes to show, you know, how dangerous... how dangerous these things really can be.

You don't have any idea who's behind them, do you?

No.

No, unfortunately not.

There was something of this kind in my practice up north.

Got pretty nasty, actually.

Yes, of course, I've...

I've received one, as has Symmington the solicitor.

He's had one.

And I bet a few other people have had them but won't admit to it.

So, what did yours say?

Oh, well, the, erm... you know, the kind of... - If you'd rather not... - Oh, no, no, not at all.

No, it... it, er... Actually, it accused me of interfering with one of my patients, in the most... most graphic detail.

Ridiculous, of course, I have to say.

Ridiculous.

But I fear that it won't be too long before another one of these letters, you know, finds the old... bull's-eye.

Well, erm, next week, then.

Will he live?

Well, he's doing frightfully well, Miss Burton.

Oh, that is good news.

Yes.

Maybe he should try g-going a bit slower next time.

JERRY: I've never seen the point.

We'll be seeing you at the Symmingtons, Doctor Griffith.

- Oh, I-I-I-I-I... - I can't wait.

Ciao.

Ciao.

MONA: And this must not go beyond these four walls.

But one has heard, and on fairly good authority, it should be said, that Jamie Blackwell, a rather cocky young farm hand... PYE: Hmm... ..has left his wife Mary.

What, that half-witted girl who's expecting?

MONA: The very same.

PYE: But why, my dear Mona?

MONA: Far be it from me to interfere in these things... At home with the Borgias.

MONA: He received a letter suggesting he was not, in fact, the baby's father.

No!

He confronted the wretched girl with accusations, who was unable adequately to refute it.

I say.

MONA: This is, of course, only what one has heard.

You're very quiet, Doctor.

Do you find this gossip tiresome?

OWEN COUGHS SYMMINGTON: You all right, Griffith?

What?

My darling bro?

I should say not.

He's hopelessly addicted.

Something went down the wrong way.

I'm sorry.

AIMEE: One can only imagine what he picks up in the surgery.

And I expect Dickie gets a few choice nuggets, too.

I don't, you know.

Really, I don't.

And your saintly husband, my dear Maud, must be privy to, well, heaven knows.

Heaven may, but I don't.

Such a pity he couldn't join us.

He's battling with tomorrow's text.

Evil communications corrupt good manners.

Oh, wait, there's more.

Shall I clear, madam?

No, Agnes.

We'll let you know when we're ready.

Yes, madam.

The letter, one hears, and as I say, on fairly good authority, apparently goes further, and implies who the father actually was.

PYE: Gracious.

MONA: Yes.

MONA SCOFFS Colonel Appleton.

- The colonel!

- As I live and breathe.

Blimey, crikey.

- No wonder he shot himself.

- If indeed he did.

You suspect otherwise, Miss Marple?

Whatever the truth may be, Mrs Symmington, the poor man is dead, a young man has left his wife, and a baby will come into the world with little advantage.

MONA: Were you close to the colonel, Miss Marple?

MISS MARPLE: No, but, er...

I knew his qualities.

And his wife?

No closer than to the colonel.

By all accounts, Mrs Symmington, Colonel Appleton was the most devoted and loving husband.

A formidable bridge player.

Though I always found his bidding a little aggressive.

Agnes!

Sorry, miss.

A farm girl's baby.

It would test the forbearance of a saint!

Time to let the poor man rest, I'd say.

MONA: Oh, well, he'll keep.

Oh, Megan.

SHE CLEARS THROAT Say hello, dear.

Hello.

I hope Mother's not boring you.

MONA: Megan.

She talks all the time, but in fact, says very little.

SYMMINGTON: Good night, Megan!

Why don't you get your milk, dear, and go to bed.

Good night, then.

ALL: Good night.

JOANNA: I must say, Mrs Symmington, you have the most delightful daughter.

MONA: Do I?

- Feisty.

I like that.

She's at that awkward age.

But she's 20!

MONA: She's been at that awkward age ever since she was mewling in nappies.

If only she had talent or looks.

JOANNA: I think she has a lovely face!

MONA: All she does is potter around looking plain.

Perhaps you could give her some tips.

Is the wine all right, Dickie?

The girl's bone idle.

Her father was definitely a wrong 'un.

Prison, I believe.

For blackmail.

It's hardly surprising her mother's like she is.

I do hope, Miss Marple, you've not found our discussion too discomfiting.

Not at all, Mrs Symmington.

One merely repeats what one hears.

Yes indeed.

I sometimes wonder if the tale-bearer is not as guilty as the tale-maker.

Oops!

My dear Miss Marple, you are being moral and forget that you are among friends.

I would like to think I am, Mr Pye.

BOYS SCREAMING Give me my plane back, Colin!

Miss Holland!

Get those boys out of here!

Yes, Mrs Symmington.

I've a killing head!

Come on, boys!

JERRY: 'Mrs Symmington.

I hardly knew the woman, 'but had decided already that I heartily disliked her.

'Miss Holland, on the other hand, 'was growing more delectable by the day.'

BOYS CHATTERING Chop, chop!

Your father's here.

Hang up your jackets quickly.

That's a good boy.

- A-ha.

BOTH: Daddy!

Hello, boys.

Been behaving yourselves?

BOTH: Yes!

- Good evening, Miss Holland.

ELSIE: Hello, Mr Symmington.

BOYS ARGUING Thank you.

Mona?

Mona!

ELSIE: You can't see Mummy until she's had her nap.

BOY: But I want to see Mummy!

Mr Symmington?

I've just heard something.

Terrible, it is.

Shocking!

Don't tell me.

The bring-and-buy has been cancelled.

It's Mrs Symmington.

She's dead.

POLICE BELL RINGING HE SNIFFS HE READS SOFTLY: Tongued, tongued.

Tongued.

- Mr Burton!

Isn't it awful?

- Yes.

You've just missed the inspector.

You've also come to offer your condolences, I expect.

- Well... - Those poor boys.

Megan, too.

It'll be very hard for all of them.

Miss Holland is being most solicitous.

Another suicide, Miss Marple.

Or have they got it wrong again?

- I would've thought you were clever enough to work that out yourself, Mr Burton.

Ooh, no sticks!

Better watch your step.

Good morning.

Morning.

SYMMINGTON: I just want to be left alone.

ELSIE: Of course.

Well, just call if you want me.

I'm sorry.

The door was open.

I...

Sorry.

Burton.

Jerry Burton.

Holland.

Elsie.

We keep seeing each other, but we've never... - No.

- Yeah.

I'm afraid Mr Symmington's not in the mood for visitors at the moment.

It's all been such a shock.

Yes, of course.

I don't wish to intrude, but, erm...

It did cross my mind... Well, my sister Joanna's, actually, that maybe Megan would like to come and stay with us for a few days.

ELSIE: Megan?

Stay with you?

SHE SCOFFS Well, why?

Well, we thought it might be a help.

She must be terribly shaken.

- She's such a queer thing.

You never know what she's feeling.

If you think we're being presumptuous... No.

No, it's, erm... it's probably a very good idea.

A very KIND idea.

I see that you've... What?

Got rid of your sticks.

Oh.

Huh.

Yes, I have.

And you're still upright.

Yes, I am.

Well, I do hope you manage to stay like that.

KNOCKING AT DOOR Megan?

Joanna and I were wondering if maybe... you'd like to stay with us for a little?

SHE SNIFFLES Stay with you?

- Yes.

- At your house?

That's right.

Oh, yes.

SHE SOBS Take me away!

Please take me away!

I'm such a coward.

I didn't know what a coward I was.

Yes, these things can be a little shattering, can't they?

It's so awful being here and feeling so wicked.

Why should you feel wicked?

I don't know.

I'm sorry, I'm being silly.

But, you see, it's rather dreadful when your mother dies.

Yes.

If you don't like it... No.

It's...

HEAVEN!

Whoo!

Ah!

Megan!

Are you all right?

SHE LAUGHS I do hope that poor Megan... that she hasn't been too much upset by all this.

Losing one's mother is a dreadful thing.

Yes.

Yes, of course.

But what I really meant was the unpleasantness behind it.

Ah, the unpleasantness.

Tell me, Miss Barton, do you think there might be any truth in it?

MISS BARTON: Oh, no, surely not.

I'm quite certain that Mrs Symmington never... That the boy wasn't...

I mean, it's quite untrue.

Have you received any unwanted mail, Miss Barton?

Oh, no!

No, indeed!

Oh, that would be dreadful!

Mm... You see?

Away with the fairies!

She looks at you sometimes as if she doesn't understand a word.

Or perhaps she's just not interested.

Or one banana short of a bunch.

Look, if she becomes too much of a nuisance... No, she's no trouble.

It's not healthy, lounging about at her age.

It's hardly surprising.

Her mother treated her like a 12-year-old.

Strictly entre nous, I couldn't stand the woman!

Of course, we don't want to speak ill of the dead, but, oh, what an acid tongue!

Gossip was all that interested her.

No, I'm afraid I didn't think very much of her.

But I never suspected the truth.

INSPECTOR: Mrs Symmington was alone in the house.

Her husband was at his office, her daughter out cycling, and the governess, Miss Elsie Holland, was out with the two boys.

CORONER: And the maids, Inspector?

It was their day off, Sir.

- When did the letter arrive?

- By the afternoon post, Sir.

Apparently, Mrs Symmington was so disturbed by its contents, that, in a state of agitation, she wrote the words, "I can't go on," before taking cyanide dissolved in water.

I had been treating Mrs Symmington for a neuralgic condition for... for quite some time.

CORONER: Would you say she was generally of a nervous disposition, Doctor?

Oh, yes.

Yes, I would.

Yes.

CORONER: What is your estimate of the time of death?

Oh, between three and four... four o'clock.

SYMMINGTON: The allegation contained in that letter was a calumny.

A foul calumny.

Mona was the most devoted wife, the most loving mother.

Her health was fragile, her soul sensitive.

Such a vile lie would have shocked her greatly.

Whoever wrote this foul letter murdered my wife as surely as if they'd stabbed her through the heart.

CORONER: I condemn utterly the writing of these wicked and despicable letters.

One death has already resulted, that of Colonel Appleton, and now Mrs Symmington.

In my opinion, the writer is morally guilty of murder.

I find that the deceased, Mona Patricia Symmington, committed suicide whilst being temporarily insane.

INDISTINCT MUTTERING So, gin's your tipple, is it?

Absolutely.

I always have one about now.

What's yours?

Lemon barley water.

You are nice, you know.

You treat me like a real person.

Look.

Well done!

I know.

I've made a fearful hash of it, haven't I?

You know, it's much better if you suck rather than blow.

Yes, of course.

I wasn't thinking.

People think I'm stupid.

- I don't.

But you're not like the others.

See, what they don't realise is that, inside, I know exactly what they're like, and that, all the time, I'm hating them.

Hating them?

You'd hate people too if you knew you weren't wanted.

SHE INHALES Mummy never liked me.

Of course, she did.

She didn't, because I reminded her of my father, and he was very cruel to her, and what she really wanted was to be left alone with my stepfather and the boys.

SHE CHUCKLES And now she's left us alone.

It's difficult, I know, to see things clearly... ..but in time, I promise, things do get easier.

It's all out there, all to play for.

We should all remember that.

Do you mean leave here?

Why not?

You mean, like, earn a living?

If you wanted.

What would I do?

Well, we'd have to think of something.

"We"?

You'd have to think of something.

Any chance of a top-up?

I didn't know you were here.

Yes, yes, yes.

I've just popped round to take Joanna out for a bit of a, uh...

HE STUTTERS A bit of a what?

What?

For a walk.

F-For a walk, actually.

Well, make sure you don't overexcite her.

N-N-No...

Uh...

BIRDS SQUAWKING, ORGAN PLAYING IN DISTANCE Miss Marple.

Good afternoon, Mr Pye.

I'm afraid my fingers have forgotten how to dance.

They have of late become accustomed to a more funereal pace.

Yes.

A most distressing time for you all.

Quite so.

I understand you knew the colonel.

A little, and many years ago.

He fought with a friend of mine who was killed in the Great War, and was kind enough to inform me of the circumstances of his passing.

And you, Mr Pye?

- Oh, I hardly knew the man.

We occasionally locked horns over a rubber, but that was the extent of our acquaintance.

I must confess, I would never have imagined him taking his own life.

Would you, Mr Pye?

Well, the man is dead, Miss Marple.

Can that not be an end to the matter?

This village used to be such a peaceful little pocket.

That is how I see this country, full of little pockets.

But, tragically, this particular pocket has become rather grubby.

One rotten apple and we are all contaminated.

So you too, Mr Pye, have been contaminated?

Yes, I have.

Let them do their worst.

I'll not go under.

No more hole and corner for me, Miss Marple.

Goodbye.

MAUD: Poor thing.

Poor thing.

JOANNA: Suicide's such a ghastly business.

Oh, you mean Mrs Symmington?

Ah, a heron!

So when you said, "poor thing", who did you mean?

The person who wrote the letters, of course.

Don't you understand how desperately unhappy somebody must be to sit down and write these things?

How lonely... how cut off from people... poisoned through and through.

Poor soul!

Have you any idea, Mrs Dane Calthrop, who it might be?

- Oh, yes, but then I might be wrong, mightn't I?

Poor Dickie Symmington.

How awful for it all to come out at the inquest.

He was adamant there wasn't a word of truth... Well, he'd say that, wouldn't he?

He's a real gentleman, isn't he?

I've known him a long time.

Really?

I thought your brother only bought this practice a few years ago.

- He did, but he used to come and stay in our part of the world, up north.

I know him very well.

He's quite reserved, but proud, and he can get very jealous.

Perhaps that's why Mrs Symmington was afraid to tell him about the letter.

Good heavens, Mr Burton, do you seriously think any woman would swallow cyanide if the accusations weren't true?

An innocent woman would laugh it off, throw it away.

That's what I...

I would do.

We should all have a career, Mr Burton.

I wanted to be a doctor, but my parents wouldn't hear of it.

- I'm sorry.

- Oh, don't be.

I'm one of the happiest people I know.

Toodle-oo!

Good morning, Miss Burton.

Not finding it too dull, I hope.

Hardly.

Look.

INSPECTOR: "You painted trollop, go back to your bastard child."

Nice.

Very nice indeed.

Yes.

The words have been cut from an old book.

Early 19th century, I'd guess.

Probably no fingerprints of any distinctive nature as the culprit is always very careful to wear gloves.

Now, the envelop was typed on this.

A Windsor Seven typewriter with the letters A and D out of alignment, you see.

So, who does it belong to?

The Women's Institute.

It's an old model donated by the office of Galbraith, Galbraith and Symmington.

- So, it could be... - Yes.

Any one of them.

The ladies are always in there, sir.

You can probably tell by the touch, sir, that that was typed with one finger.

So, it's... it's someone not used to typing?

Or somebody who is, but doesn't want us to know.

Huh.

Well, that's interesting.

INSPECTOR: What is?

The U in Burton seems to have been changed from an A, I think.

Perhaps she's not such a good typist after all.

Or maybe cleverer than we think.

- I wonder how she feels?

- Who knows?

But this little beauty is going back.

And mark my words, the pitcher will go to the well once too often.

TELEPHONE RINGING - Can I have a word, sir?

- Yes, what is it, Partridge?

- That was Agnes, sir.

JERRY: Oh, yes?

She was in service here.

And coming from the orphanage, she got in the habit of talking to me so I could tell her what's what, you see.

- Get to the point, Partridge.

- Well, she works for the Symmingtons now, and I'm wondering if you might give your permission for her to come to tea with me this afternoon.

It's her day off, see, and she's got something on her mind.

She seems upset.

Yes, of course.

Thank you, sir.

I must go home.

- What?

- Today.

Today?

Why?

It's been awfully good of you having me.

I expect I've been a fearful nuisance.

But I have enjoyed it awfully, really I have.

Only, now I must go back, because, after all, it is my home.

I can't stay away forever.

Bye.

JOANNA: We had a lovely tea with Miss Barton, Partridge.

PARTRIDGE: Pleased to hear it, miss.

JOANNA: How was yours with Agatha?

Agnes, Miss.

- That's the one.

- She didn't turn up, miss.

- Oh, I am sorry.

- Doesn't matter to me.

Good.

She wanted to meet and then she didn't show, and not a word of apology either.

JOANNA: Perhaps she's not well.

And perhaps she's just ill-mannered.

What is the matter?

I've never been able to bear it when you sulk.

- I'm not sulking.

- You are sulking.

You've been sulking ever since Megan left.

In fact, you've been sulking ever since you were a child.

JERRY: I haven't.

JOANNA: Yes, you have.

You were sulky then and you're sulky now.

You're the sulky type.

I could do with a drink.

Might cheer me up.

Then, why don't you have one?

I might just do that.

In fact, have as many as you want, and when you're so drunk you can't remember who you are, then why not go for a spin and, this time, make damn sure!

It was an accident.

You're a hopeless liar.

It's really pathetic!

SILVERWARE CLATTERS So, I'm sulky, I'm a drunk and I can't even lie properly.

Is it any wonder that... What, Jerry?

Is what any wonder?

What does it matter?

How could you do it?

If that's what you want to believe... How could you think that it wouldn't break my heart?

It breaks my heart even now to think you could feel so wretched.

You know, it strikes me as the most extraordinary irony that you survived the war with such flying colours, yet seem to find the peace so utterly defeating.

JERRY: Ghastly dump, isn't it?

JOANNA: We could always go back.

And miss all the fun?

Do you know, it's exactly a week ago since Mrs Symmington's death?

You'd think the police would have something by now.

A fingerprint or something.

- Exactly a week ago?

- Mm-hm.

Maids have one day off a week, don't they?

Yes.

The same day every week?

That's the usual sort of thing.

Apparently.

So, exactly a week ago, Mrs Symmington was alone in the house because it was the maid's day off.

I'm afraid the penny's refusing to drop.

THUNDER RUMBLING Megan?

JERRY: She was supposed to come to tea with Partridge, but didn't turn up.

And why would that be of particular concern to you?

I'm not very sure.

I felt uneasy for some reason or other.

With every cause, it now transpires.

You have sensitive antennae, Mr Burton.

So do you, Miss Marple.

Just passing, were you?

Ooh, Mr Burton.

Miss Holland, I was wondering, is Megan all right?

She's having a lie-down.

- Mr Burton?

- Sorry.

Did Agnes say anything to Partridge, do you know?

She'd have been far too anxious to divulge anything over the telephone, Inspector.

Thank you, Miss Marple.

Well... Agnes normally went out after lunch.

But it appears she never left, because she was wearing her apron and cap when you found her.

D'you have any idea of the time of death?

Yes, between eight and ten thirty.

And... and how was she killed?

Sharp blow to the back of the head, followed by a skewer inserted in the base of the skull.

Good God!

Quite appalling, isn't it?

But why?

Well, we may never know exactly, but we can make a guess.

Well, she knew something, didn't she?

INSPECTOR: That would be a fair assumption, yes.

On the afternoon that Mrs Symmington died, when the two maids were supposed to be out, Agnes, she came back rather early.

You see, she has a boyfriend.

Freddy Firbank from the fish shop.

Yes, and on that particular afternoon they had a row when they first met.

I gather that young Firbank received a letter suggesting that Agnes had other fish to fry.

But there is something else.

The letter that Mrs Symmington received was never actually posted.

It was faked to make it look as though it was posted, but it was, in point of fact, PUSHED through this letterbox here before the afternoon delivery.

Now, my guess... is Agnes was looking through the window, waiting for her boyfriend to turn up and apologise... And she saw the culprit deliver the letter.

Exactly.

But how would the letter writer know she was home?

Well, it's a kind of miracle, Mr Burton, how things get around this place.

I may be wrong, of course, but, erm... Temptingly simple, isn't it?

But tell me, Inspector, if Agnes knew who the letter writer was, then why, I wonder, didn't she say something?

WOMAN CRYING Miss Holland.

Mr Burton!

I'm sorry.

I didn't mean...

I don't know what's come over me.

I think it's the shock.

- Pretty grim, isn't it?

- That poor girl.

Just think, it could have been any of us, even those two little angels, murdered in their beds like princes in the tower.

The awful thing, Mr Burton, is that yesterday afternoon we were having tea with Mr Symmington up in the schoolroom, and all the time, Mr Burton, that poor girl was squashed into that cupboard, dead as a dodo.

Thank you.

And what about the other week, Miss Holland?

You can call me Elsie, you know.

Right.

I'm sorry, what did you ask?

What happened last week?

The day Mrs Symmington...

Yes.

Well, she always rested after lunch, you see.

She suffered from neuralgia and it would come on after meals, so she'd take a cachet Dr Griffith had given her and try to sleep.

So, did anyone bring up the post to her?

Turned detective, have you, Mr Burton?

Why not call me Jerry?

Jerry.

Yes.

Well, Jerry, she'd often come down and get it herself.

She didn't necessarily sleep the whole afternoon.

And sometimes she'd stay down, other times she'd go back up.

- The letter she received... - Disgusting!

And the very idea that little Colin...

It doesn't even bear thinking about.

Mrs Symmington loved her husband.

She was a sensitive woman and very particular.

Anything of that sort would have appalled her.

I mean, it's... it's evil.

DOOR SLAMS Elsie, have you had any letters?

No, I haven't.

They're not nice to get, I know, and sometimes people don't like to admit...

But I haven't.

Really, I haven't.

ORGAN PLAYING A SOMBRE TUNE JERRY: 'Agnes's inquest brought no new facts to light.

'The only possible verdict was returned... 'murder by person or persons unknown.

'So, poor little Agnes was duly dispatched, 'her killer, no doubt, witness to her passing.'

You look all in.

Do I?

Do I?

I'm sorry.

STUTTERS: I've rather a lot on.

I hear you were there quite early.

- Where?

- The Symmingtons', the morning after the murder.

Oh, yes.

Agnes was supposed to come for tea but she didn't show.

So, you feared the worst.

Jolly smart!

It's our first murder.

Terrific excitement!

Whacked in the head, then stabbed through the neck!

Such an insignificant little thing.

Looks like the boyfriend to me.

What do you think?

I haven't a clue.

Very inbred 'round here, you know.

It must have given the Hunter girl a shock, finding her in the cupboard.

- It did.

- Not too strong in the head department, that girl.

She's one of the brightest people I know.

Well, blah-blah fishcakes, but a thing like this could send her completely off her onion.

By the way, Miss Griffith, was it you persuaded Megan to return home?

She can't shirk her responsibilities, Mr Burton.

Tongues wag, and I felt it my duty to drop the hint.

I don't think for a minute there's anything in it, but she's young and good-looking, and, well, boys will be boys.

What do you mean?

A thoroughly nice girl, but people will talk.

They're saying she has her eye on becoming the next Mrs Symmington.

I feel sorry for her.

People are saying such nasty things.

Which is why I more or less told Megan that she ought to go home.

It looks better than having Dickie and that girl in the same house.

You look shocked, Mr Burton, but I'm afraid our little village likes to think the worst.

MAN: All rise.

And the Lord said unto the sinful, "I will cast my net over you "and haul you on high in my net... "..and cast you into the mud and mire."

The village parliament!

What would we do without it?

We're all agog, aren't we, Miss Barton?

Shocking, quite shocking!

What must you think of us, Miss Marple?

It strikes me as rather a quiet little place.

I fear we're going to the dogs.

First the letters, then murder.

MISS MARPLE: You think the two are connected, Mr Pye?

PYE: One can't help but wonder.

MISS BARTON: Such a nice girl!

She used to be in service with me, you know.

I really can't... SHE SOBS If you'll excuse me.

Something of a period piece, I've always thought.

- Mm.

JERRY: Do you have a favourite suspect, Mr Pye?

Oh, I'd rather tear out my tongue, Mr Burton, than commit a slander, but, suffice to say that, as a student of abnormalities, I often find the most unlikely people doing the most surprising things.

Don't you agree, Miss Marple?

On the contrary, Mr Pye, I usually find the most likely people behaving exactly as I would have expected.

Morotorium te salutante.

SYMMINGTON: Don't just stand there looking pathetic, because it won't wash!

But, Mr Symmington, you know that can't be true!

- Do I?

Do I, Miss Holland?

To be honest, I'm not sure I know anything any more!

REVEREND: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay homage to a sister of our parish... ..Agnes Brown, known to one and all for her goodness and innocence.

What was that all about?

He's in a fearful state.

Hardly surprising.

Been knocked sideways since Mummy's death, now Agnes.

What did she mean when she said it can't be true?

He was sort of implying that she's been writing the letters.

What?

And maybe even did for Agnes.

JERRY SCOFFS That's ridiculous!

Is it?

Maybe you're right.

This murder's really perked things up.

Must be the most exciting thing that's happened to these people since Henry VIII smashed up the priory.

Except for Marple, of course.

Behaves as if she knew something the rest of us are too stupid to grasp.

What did he want?

If you mean Owen, he very kindly walked me home.

What's that?

Ugh!

It's a photograph of a diseased spleen.

Owen gave it me.

Hasn't he ever heard of chocolate?

He thought I might be interested.

I'm not entirely frivolous, you know.

He looked pretty ropey, I thought.

Mm.

There's something on his mind.

Yes, a rotting spleen, perhaps.

Or you.

SHE INHALES For heaven's sake, Jerry!

Miss Barton.

About as guilty as I am.

Stupid of me.

Of course, Miss Barton's not the type to go 'round slugging young women on the head.

Oh, don't be deceived, Mr Burton.

These little old ladies pack quite a punch, believe me.

What was Agnes hit with?

Well, we don't know as yet, but these ladies do carry rather large bags.

She'll probably evict us now.

Well, I'll test this for fingerprints, but I don't hold out much hope.

Not having much luck, then?

Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey.

Have you be able to eliminate anyone?

There are those who are more likely than less likely, but one wouldn't wish to leap to any conclusion.

No, no, I can see that "leaping" isn't the order of the day.

Take Aimee Griffith, for example.

Hmm?

She was due at a Brownie meeting the day of the murder, but she arrived rather late.

And then, of course, there's Mr Pye.

Didn't have an alibi for either day.

Said he was in the garden on both occasions.

Very strange man, Mr Pye.

Made a few enquiries.

Found that he'd come to the attention of my colleagues in the West Country.

In relation to what?

Matters of a... hardly savoury nature, shall we say.

And then, of course, there's Mrs Dane Calthrop.

Said she was bird-watching, apparently, the day Agnes was murdered, but we can hardly ask the birds, now, can we, sir?

It's incredible.

Makes you imagine things.

Yes.

Awful, really, wondering if the person you share a pot of tea with or buy your sausages from is, in fact, a criminal lunatic.

Actually, Inspector, I was wondering, on the subject of Mrs Symmington's suicide.

The powders Dr Griffith prescribed for her neuralgia, well, would an overdose have been fatal?

Not unless she'd taken about two dozen, no.

It was cyanide that did for her.

No question.

But if you had a choice, wouldn't a soporific be preferable to prussic acid?

That would be my preference, sir.

Actually, on the subject of Dr Griffith, a few days ago, on a visit to my sister, I saw him at the bookcase browsing through a book and... Well, I was just wondering if...

He was our man?

Well... Getting a taste for it, are we, sir?

The old sleuthing?

- No.

I just... - I can't help feeling, sir, that in this case, our man... is a woman, if you get my drift.

Joanna?

JERRY: 'There was something about Joanna's note 'that bothered me.

'In fact, the whole ridiculous charade 'was starting to bother me.'

FAINT LAUGHTER I'm so sorry, Mr Burton.

I didn't mean to startle you.

The back door was open, so I took the liberty of letting myself in.

I must have dropped off.

I thought we should have a little talk.

This horrid business, the letters and now murder.

It really can't go on, can it, Mr Burton?

No, it can't.

But I'm sure the police are doing their best.

I'm sure they are, but as relative strangers in the village, perhaps we're at an advantage.

I don't really see how.

Were you dreaming just now?

Yes, I suppose I was.

Dreams are funny things, aren't they?

Mine are usually just nonsense.

May I ask what it was?

Just a blur, really.

Half-remembered memories.

The odd scrap of paper... ..a telephone message, a girl's face.

Yes, I heard you mention someone's name.

Made no sense at all.

Nonsense.

But then it's all nonsense, isn't it, Miss Marple?

I look around at what's going on, how stupid and petty, and think to myself, "Is this really what we fought to save?"

We should all try and see the good in each other, Mr Burton, however much we disappoint.

Yes.

Probably the whisky.

Little bit of the old Dutch courage.

I'm sure you're courageous enough.

Some of us aren't as brave as people think.

Like your Colonel Appleton, for instance.

Wouldn't surprise me at all if he'd done away with himself.

After all, who knows what he was fighting?

Fear can come in strange disguises.

Couldn't tempt you, could I?

Cheers.

Cheers.

Tell me, Mr Burton, you made mention of a telephone message, was it?

Oh, yes.

Well, Joanna, you see, she left a message on the phone pad and there was something... something about it that bothered me.

Would you think me very inquisitive if I asked what the message was?

JERRY CHUCKLES It's pretty trivial, really, along the lines of, "If Dr Griffith calls, I can't go on Tuesday, "but I could go on Wednesday or Thursday."

I see.

Thought it might be something like that.

Like what?

Something quite ordinary.

SHE CHUCKLES Another thing that's been nagging away... the envelop that Joanna's letter came in, the U in Burton had been changed from an A.

Inspector Graves didn't seem to think there was anything particularly significant in that, but I can't help thinking, Miss Marple, that it's important.

I think you might be right.

You know, Mr Burton, you should have more confidence in yourself.

HE CHUCKLES You've received one of these letters, haven't you, Mr Burton?

Yes.

Well, so have most people, apart from Miss Barton.

Mm, so she says, but she's rather reticent when it comes to unpleasantness.

And Elsie Holland.

Miss Holland?

Yes.

She hasn't had one either.

Well, that is interesting.

The most interesting thing I've heard yet.

It wasn't Elsie, was it?

Whose name I mentioned when I was asleep?

Well, I can't be absolutely sure.

It sounded more like... Megan.

HARPSICHORD PLAYS ♪ Where have you been Billy boy, Billy boy?

♪ ♪ Oh, where have you been Charming Billy?

♪ ♪ I have been to seek a wife She's the idol of my life ♪ ♪ She's a young thing And cannot leave her mother ♪ ♪ Oh, where does she live Billy boy, Billy boy ♪ ♪ Oh, where does she live Charming Billy?

♪ ♪ She lives on the hill Forty miles from the mill ♪ ♪ She's a young thing And cannot leave her mother ♪ APPLAUSE Bravo!

- Bow nicely, that's right.

WOMAN: Well done.

Next time you might try the right key.

Thank you.

Thank you, Brian and Colin.

And now my Harvest Soiree takes us further back in time, to the ancients, in fact.

A recitation from our most revered Reverend, who is going to regale us with... An ode, by Horace.

Rectus vivas.

You spoil us.

"Rectius vives, "Licini..." I didn't know Victorian sermons were up your street.

I...

I beg your pardon?

That book you were reading the other day, when I found you in the drawing room.

What...

I hope you're not suggesting that... MAUD: Shh!

"Sperat infestis, "metuit secundis.

"Alteram sortem bene... "..perpetuum Pectus.

"Informis hiemes reducit... "luppiter, idem summovet.

"Non, si male nunce..." Do you plan on staying?

- At the party?

- No, in Lymstock.

Oh, good heavens, no!

Only until the boys go away to school.

And then?

Who knows?

Another post in another town... ..or something else entirely.

Well, you never can tell.

- No.

I...

I'm sorry.

Don't be.

Now, this might hurt.

- Ow!

- Sorry.

Stay still.

Isn't that a bit much?

Arabian Rose?

My dear, it's the shade du jour.

You can never wear too much.

MEGAN: I want to go home.

- Don't be silly.

It's a giggle!

"Fulgura montis."

APPLAUSE PYE: Thank you, Reverend, thank you.

No-one does Horace... quite like you.

A breath of air, Mr Burton?

I had some unfinished business.

Is it finished now?

Yes, I think it is.

PYE: And so, ladies and gentlemen... Ah, Miss Barton.

What an unexpected pleasure.

I didn't know you were going to favour us with a turn.

I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr Pye, but this is not a turn.

I will be very brief.

I have lived in this village all my life.

It greatly saddens me, therefore, to know that people are talking behind my back... ..making insinuations.

Yes, the book from which the pages were torn was found in my bookcase... ..but it was not I who tore them.

I have nothing to do with the recent unpleasantness.

That is all I have to say.

Thank you.

Oh, Miss Barton.

Oh, dear.

Well... PYE: Thank you, Miss Barton.

And somewhat in the same vein, I would like to read you a letter.

"My dearest Cardew, "it is with a heavy heart that I write these lines, "but to continue as I have been would be unsustainable.

"Be true to yourself as I was never able, "or indeed brave enough, to be.

"Your loving friend, Heracles Appleton."

I can think of no more appropriate moment to follow the colonel's advice.

I hope this puts an end to the rumour and doubt surrounding his death.

There was no murder, only malice, no issue of paternity, only love he dared not express.

GASPING HE GRUNTS And I for one will always remember him.

Miss Holland, please take the boys home.

- More sherry, vicar?

- Go away.

Go away.

Ready?

AIMEE: I say!

Scrubs up well, doesn't she?

JOANNA: Shh!

Don't be mean.

MAUD: Oh, the dear girl.

JOANNA: Megan, no!

She's so highly strung.

Megan?

Megan!

HE SIGHS INSPECTOR WHISPERS: You would have to butt in!

JERRY WHISPERS: I'm sorry.

I thought I saw someone.

You did, but she scarpered.

Probably heard you.

- Why are you here?

- Why do you think, huh?

The typewriter's here.

She daren't risk using another one.

So you know who did it?

Somebody very cunning, Mr Burton.

Somebody who knows all the tricks.

- Right.

- Right.

Well, good night, then, sir.

Good night.

HE SIGHS JERRY NORMALLY: Megan?

Megan?

What are you doing?

I just needed to clear my head.

It's been a rather muddling night.

Y-you haven't just been in there, have you?

- The Women's Institute?

- Yes.

Why on earth would I do that?

I don't know.

What a very odd question.

You look jolly nice, you know.

Jolly nice?

I look like Coco the Clown.

- Megan, please... - I'll never be accepted here.

Listen.

What I want to say is... ..well, I rather think you like me.

Do I?

Yes.

And I rather like you.

And we get along together awfully well, don't we?

I think.

Sometimes.

So, it might be a good idea if we thought about, perhaps, one day... ..being together for quite a while.

You mean, you're in love with me?

Yes, I suppose I am.

Oh.

But I'm not in love with you.

Then I'll make you love me.

That wouldn't do.

I don't want to be made.

You're one of the nicest people I know, but I'm not the right person for you.

I don't believe that.

- It's true.

- I don't believe it.

I can see myself back.

SHE GASPS Poor Elsie.

I'm s-surprised it's taken... taken so long.

What did it say?

The usual muck.

Some rot about stepping into a dead woman's shoes, and if she didn't get out of town, she'd end up like Agnes.

JOANNA: It's like something out of a Western.

Yes, only, this is... the real thing.

DOOR OPENS - Hello, Inspector.

- Good afternoon, Doctor.

Terribly sorry to interrupt, just wondering whether I could have a word with your sister?

STUTTERS: With my sister?

What on earth for?

- Car lights again.

In private, sir.

Ridiculous!

As if I'd write this sort of tosh!

Do you deny writing this, Miss Griffith?

Yes, of course I do.

Then I must tell you that you were observed in the Women's Institute typing this envelop between the hours of one and one thirty this morning.

This is absolutely outrageous.

What's going on?

Aimee, what's the matter?

Would you like me to... - Please, Dickie, go away.

- You need a solicitor.

- Not you.

I couldn't bear it.

Aimee, what's... what's happened here?

- Aimee?

- Please, Owen.

I'll get Mildmay.

He's first class, really first class.

Aimee... MISS MARPLE: It isn't true.

I'm sure it isn't true.

JERRY: The police were lying in wait.

They saw her.

Perhaps they did.

And the pages torn from the book were found in her under-stairs cupboard.

Seems to have a penchant for hiding things under the stairs.

There's something else.

I remember Griffith telling me about a similar story that took place up north, which makes me wonder if maybe Aimee had been involved and was at it again.

The... torn pages, you say, were hidden in the house?

- Yes.

MISS MARPLE: That is horrible.

Really wicked.

What do you mean, dear?

What can one do?

There must be something.

You know who did it.

Tell us, Jane, tell us who it is.

MISS MARPLE: Not now, dear.

Not now.

I want a word.

You haven't been telling the truth, have you?

I don't know what you are talking about.

What were you up to last night?

- I told you.

- What, Megan?

I was clearing my head.

I don't believe you.

Is this your idea of being in love?

I don't think Miss Marple does either.

What was she saying to you?

It's got nothing to do with you.

Tell me, Megan.

I've got to know.

That day in your bedroom, when you said you felt so wicked?

Why did you say that?

- Leave me alone.

- And hating people?

Tell me!

Get off!

Get off me!

Of all people, I thought that you understood, but you're just like the rest!

SYMMINGTON: Quite unforgivable.

And in front of the whole congregation.

ELSIE: You've had a dreadful time and everyone knows it.

Megan...

I thought you were in bed.

I want to speak to you.

Alone.

Oh, I'll, erm...

So, what is it?

What do you want?

Well?

I want some money.

Couldn't this have waited till morning?

No, it couldn't.

You think your allowance is inadequate, do you?

I want much more than that.

In a few months time, you come of age.

The money entrusted by your grandmother will be turned over to you.

You don't understand.

I want money from you.

Nobody's ever told me much about my father, but I do know that he went to prison and I know why.

Well, I am my father's daughter and I want you to give me money, because if you don't, I shall say what I saw you doing that day in my mother's bedroom.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Yes, you do.

I saw you tampering with her medication, one of the powder cachets by the bed.

You did, didn't you?

You really are a very foolish girl.

Perhaps you should buy some clothes.

At least try and look like a young lady.

Silly child.

JOANNA: Jerry?

Jerry.

THUNDER RUMBLES WIND HOWLING Megan?

She's the most honest person I've ever met!

Even Marple thinks she's guilty.

You've asked her, have you?

I saw her the other night outside the Women's Institute.

You're not thinking clearly, Jerry.

- Other things she said... - And it's not surprising!

Just suppose you've got the wrong end of the stick, which, let's face it, wouldn't be the first time.

- What does that mean?

- Accusing Owen, of all people.

He was lurking by the bookcase.

- And poor little Miss Barton?

- It's her book, for God's sake.

SOFTLY: Megan.

Just suppose that Marple's actually trying to help Megan.

And rather than drinking yourself stupid and feeling sorry for yourself, why the hell don't you go round and find out?

GAS HISSING Most crimes, you see, are so absurdly simple.

Quite sane and straightforward, in an unpleasant sort of way.

The truth was really very obvious.

You saw it, Mr Burton.

Did I?

But hadn't the confidence to put two and two together.

Misdirection, heh, the conjuror's trick, making everyone look at the wrong thing.

In this case, those horrid letters.

The whole point was, there were no letters.

JERRY: Of course there were.

I got one and Jerry got one.

Oh, yes, but they weren't real.

They simply didn't ring true.

Some hit the mark, others were wide of it, like the letters you received, for instance.

So, if we put aside the letters, just one thing actually happened.

Mrs Symmington died.

And the colonel, and Agnes, and Megan... well, nearly.

Midnight snack, old chap?

THUNDER RUMBLES Megan!

Richard Symmington, I am arresting you for the murder of your wife, Mona Symmington and Agnes Brown.

And the attempted murder of your stepdaughter, Megan Hunter.

Megan, are you all right?

Went rather well, didn't it?

HE SIGHS I'm sorry.

HE GROANS, WHIMPERS HE SIGHS IN RELIEF What a brave girl.

She could have died.

Something had to be done.

There was no evidence against this clever and unscrupulous man.

I needed someone to help me.

Megan fitted the bill perfectly.

It was too risky.

Of all people, Mr Burton, you should know that we are not put into this world to avoid danger when lives are at stake.

As I was saying, the only actual fact was Mrs Symmington died, and I'm afraid the very first person one thinks of in such a case is the husband.

Of course, there has to be a motive, usually another woman.

And there we have Miss Holland.

A radiant young creature, suddenly entering the life of this repressed, dry man.

'He wanted her, 'but he also wanted his reputation, his children, 'his home, his respectability.'

And the price he was prepared to pay for that was murder.

He typed all the envelops before donating the machine to the Women's Institute.

You unwittingly hit upon this, Mr Burton, when you noticed that the U had been changed from an A on your sister's envelop, originally addressed to Miss Barton.

'And taking the pages from Miss Barton's book 'would have been easy enough.

'He visited her on more than one occasion 'to give advice on financial matters.'

But it was what you told me about Miss Holland that was the most important thing of all.

That she had never received a letter.

It exposed Mr Symmington's one weakness.

How could he write a foul letter to the girl he loved?

I've never believed there's such a thing as the perfect murder.

There's always something that doesn't fit.

That suicide note, for example.

'It was all wrong.

'People don't leave suicide notes on scraps of paper.'

And I think that's what bothered you, Mr Burton, about your sister's message.

"If Owen rings up... "I can't go on... "Tuesday, but could manage Wednesday or Thursday."

I see.

Mr Symmington must have come across such a message from his wife, saw its possibilities, and kept it for when the time came.

Finally, he decided to stage the real thing.

'On the servants' day off.

'Before going to work... '..he put cyanide in the cachet 'his wife would have taken for her neuralgia, 'then he'd have got back to the empty house 'at the same time as Miss Holland and the boys.

'He put a little cyanide in his wife's glass 'to make it look like suicide, 'planted the note, 'and threw the poison-pen letter in the grate.'

But what he didn't know... was that little Agnes had, in fact, come home early, after a quarrel with her young man.

She stood at the window, waiting for her young man to come and make it up.

And she saw something?

On the contrary, she saw nothing.

That's the point.

No-one came to the house.

Not the postman, not anybody.

And, in time, she realised how odd this was if Mrs Symmington was supposed to have received a letter that afternoon.

AGNES: Miss Partridge?

It's Agnes.

The thing is, last week, the day the mistress died...

There's something I don't understand, that don't quite add up.

MISS MARPLE: 'The wretched girl had seen something, 'knew something, and he couldn't afford any chances.'

DOORBELL RINGS 'He pretended 'to leave the house... '..and waited until Agnes was alone.'

HE BREATHES HEAVILY JOANNA: 'What about Aimee?

'The police actually saw her write the letter.'

Aimee Griffith has been in love with Mr Symmington all her life.

Well, I never!

Poor thing!

Then the gossip began about Elsie Holland.

Aimee would have seen her as a designing minx, quite unworthy of her beloved Dickie.

Why not one more anonymous letter, frighten the girl away?

When Mr Symmington heard the police had actually seen her, he couldn't believe his luck.

'After her arrest, 'he'd have found an excuse to return to the Griffith house 'and plant the pages, 'thus clinching the case.'

And that would seem to be that.

An end, at last, to this frightful business.

Quite an eventful convalescence, Mr Burton.

- Yes.

MAUD: Everything mended now?

No bones still broken?

No bones broken, no.

MISS MARPLE: The Symmington boys start school next term.

Probably for the best.

Mm.

SHE CHUCKLES Children are very resilient.

More than their elders, I often think.

Your sister intends staying, I gather.

For a while, yes.

To see if she might take to being a doctor's wife.

Somehow I doubt it.

Love makes us do the strangest things.

And you, Mr Burton, what about you?

I'm going away.

To do what?

Do you know, I haven't a clue.

I expect I'll find something.

Perhaps what you're looking for is right here under your nose.

She doesn't want me, Miss Marple.

Faint heart, Mr Burton.

I once let someone go.

He had commitments, you see... ..a war to fight.

But I have often wondered if, under other circumstances, I would have done the same.

'It seems to me, Mr Burton, 'that we should count ourselves blessed 'if we are allowed just one shot at happiness.'

Thanks for pulling me out of the oven.

It's all right.

I don't suppose you've changed your mind?

No.

Because I'm absolutely sure, you see... ..quite, quite certain, that... to look after you... ..to make you happy and keep you from harm, is now the purpose of my life.

So, there's nothing I could say or do to make you reconsider?

Not even this?

JERRY: 'And so I found myself on another morning, 'with another girl... '..and for the first time in my life, 'on the verge of something bright and good.'

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