Do I look like a sex murderer to you?
Can you imagine me creeping around, strangling women with ties?
That's ridiculous. For a start, I only own two.
Well, it's true. That jacket was a bit smelly.
And if you had known about the money,
you wouldn't have stayed with old men like that.
Then you believe me?
Thousands wouldn't.
Thanks.
I must be soft in the head lettin' a suspected strangler
put his arms around me.
- Shows you trust me. - I suppose so.
Hey, what we gonna do? The police will be looking for you!
I don't know. I haven't thought yet.
There's only one thing you can do. Tell them what happened, like you told me.
- No, I can't do that. - You've got to!
- They'd never believe me. - Why not? I did.
You're not the law. I'm probably their only suspect.
You have to go along and persuade them to search for someone else.
I mean, one look at you and they'd know you wasn't a sadistic killer.
- (Man) Blaney! - Come on!
Dicko!
Haven't done any of this cloak-and-dagger stuff since the Suez business.
That's when I first met Dicko, in the squadron, you know.
He was a bit of a split-assed type then too.
# (Whistling)
Hetty, you remember Dicko, don't you?
Of course. Come in.
- This is Miss Milligan. - Hello, Miss Milligan.
- Pleased to meet you. - I bumped into them in the park.
How fortunate! We haven't seen you in ages, Dick.
How's Brenda? Do you still hear from her?
Well, uh, she's dead... I'm afraid.
- Yes... and you killed her! - Steady on, Hetty. He didn't do it.
- He's just been telling me all about it. - Has he, now?
See, he was seen near the place where Brenda was murdered.
So the police think he's the strangler chap. But he's not, of course.
All he wants is a place to hide out.
And you suggested he should stay here.
Well, yes. It seemed a good idea.
Nobody ever knows who's staying here.
You're a bloody fool, Johnny, getting yourself involved like this.
- But he didn't do it. - (Hetty) Of course he did it!
- What, old Dicko? - Yes, Dicko, the chivalrous knight!
(Hetty) He always treated her like a chit!
I think you're absolutely wrong.
Don't you remember that disgusting divorce petition?
The things you did to her!
- Divorce petition? - Oh, didn't he tell you?
He was divorced from his wife on the grounds of extreme cruelty.
Thank you very much.
Well, is it true?
Yes!
Both extreme mental and physical cruelty.
Depravity was mentioned, I think.
It had to read that way, but there wasn't a word of truth in it!
The lawyers made it all up.
We didn't want to wait three years for a divorce based on desertion,
so I allowed her to divorce me on the grounds of cruelty.
Extreme cruelty.
I wonder if the police have read a copy of it.
My God!
(Hetty) Yes, I'm sure they'll be fascinated.
- He's innocent, I know he is. - You know it? How do you know it?
As you say, they'd been divorced. He had no call to do her in.
There's no spiteful act I'd put past old Dicko here,
especially if he were drunk.
Were you drunk when you did it? Was that it?
I didn't do it, Hetty.
I didn't do it! I swear!
Then why don't you go to the police instead of involving Johnny?
I didn't want to involve him. He insisted.
That's right, I did. Can't abandon a chap in trouble.
I still say, why don't you go to the police and inform them?
They'd never believe him, that's why.
He's the only suspect they've got, and with the evidence against him,
they'd lock him up without so much as a by-your-leave.
Please hide him, Mrs. Porter, just for tonight,
until we can think what's best to do.
'Course we'll hide him. Can't throw an old comrade to the cops.
Well, if you want to be arrested for harboring a wanted man,
or subverting the course of justice or whatever,
on your own head be it, Johnny.
But I wash my hands of the matter.
Thank God we're off to Paris tomorrow. That's all I can say.
That is, if we're not all in jail! I'm going shopping.
- Perhaps I'd better go. - Nonsense, old chap.
Don't worry about Hetty. I'll calm her down. Use the sofa tonight.
I must be off. I'm ever so late already.
- What do you do, Miss Milligan? - I work in a pub.
- Same place he used to be. - Really?
Why don't both of you slip out of the country 'til this thing's blown over?
- Give me a hand at the Bulldog. - Bulldog?
It's an English pub I've opened in Paris. They're the new thing there.
That's a great idea. Why don't we?
Not likely. I never was any good at French.
You don't have to be. It's an English pub.
As long as you can say "non," you'll be alright.
- Well... - Come on, Babs.
You don't like the Globe any more than I did.
Meet me at the flower stall at Victoria Station tomorrow at 11am.
We can get a day trip to France. You don't need a passport.
- OK. - Splendid!
Froggies will roll over and die at the sight of a real English barmaid.
I must go now, really. You know Forsythe.
Mum's the word, eh? Don't tell a soul I'm here.
Cross me heart and hope to die.
Thanks for lookin' after him. Not at all, my dear.
I'll come see you to the lift.
Enjoying that, are you, sir?
Sergeant, my wife is currently taking a course
at the Continental School of Gourmet Cooking.
Apparently they don't know the principle: To eat well in this country,
one must have breakfast three times a day.
And an English breakfast at that. I don't mean your café complet.
- Beg pardon, sir? - A cup of coffee half an inch deep,
in floating bits of boiled milk, and a sweet bun full of air.
- That's what I had this morning. - I see what you mean, sir.
- I'm a... Quaker Oats man, myself. - (Chuckles)
(Knock At Door)
Excuse me, sir.
This has just come in. It's the lab report on the ten-pound note
- that Blaney paid the hotel bill with. - Yes.
As you'll see, the note bore traces of face powder
identical to that which we found in Mrs. Blaney's handbag.
- Thank you. - Thank you, sir.
Well, Sergeant, we were in luck after all.
- That just about does it for him. - Looks very much like it.
I've never run into any of these jokers before. What are they like?
Oh, they vary, but not a lot.
The thing to remember is they hate women, and are mostly impotent.
- Impotent? - Don't mistake rape for potency.
In the latter stage of the disease,
it's the strangling, not the sex, that brings them on.
Above all, of course, they're sadists.
- You know what they are, I'm sure. - Oh, yes, sir.
If you don't, read all about it in here: Mrs. Blaney's divorce petition.
It tells you a great deal about the habits of our hero.
(Phone Ringing)
Yeah?
Right. Put him on. Yes, Chief Inspector Oxford speaking.
My name is Forsythe, Inspector. Felix Forsythe.
I run the Globe Public House, Covent Garden.
I see from the newspaper you're in charge of these strangling cases.
Yes, that is so.
Good, because I've got some information to impart.
Now, this man you're looking for, the one with the patches on his suit.
I know him. He worked here as a barman.
His name is Richard Blaney. He's a right bastard.
Are you quite certain it's the same man?
Gone off with your barmaid? What exactly do you mean by "gone off"?
She's been out all night with him and hasn't yet returned.
I felt it my duty to tell you that I consider her to be in great danger.
That is, of course, if she's still alive and kicking.
Thank you for your information, Mr. Forsythe.
Tell me, what does this barmaid of yours look like?
I can set your mind at rest. She was alive at 8:00 this morning.
8:00 this morning?
Well, where is she now? We opened at 11:00!
But is she coming back here or not? She's left all her clothes!
I expect she'll turn up.
Today, ladies abandon their honor more readily than their clothes.
Thank you for your information, Mr. Forsythe. I'll send someone over.
That was Forsythe, manager of the Globe Pub, Covent Garden.
I tell you what, Jim, I'm glad I'm not in the potato business.
- Got enough troubles of me own. - You're not a bad judge, Bob.
The potato business is poison, always was.
It costs a fortune to dig 'em up, another fortune to transport them.
And what do you have at the end? Hardly any money for them.
Mostly you can't sell them.
I've got to send a truckload back up to Lincolnshire tonight.
And what will they do with them? They'll plow them back in.
(Jim) Can you beat it?
And they say there's people hungry in this world.
True, Jim. And there are a few thirsty as well.
Come on, have one with your Uncle Bob.
Good afternoon!
Where do you think you've been? Your half-day was yesterday!
You took a hell of a chance, spending the night with a murderer.
- How do you know what I did? - Now come off it.
You took his clothes. You didn't come home. It stands to reason.
- Mind your own bleeding business! - Don't talk to me like that!
I was worried you might be next. I even phoned the police.
- Police? - Yeah. They wanna talk to you.
- They're sending a fella over. - Why?
Why? Because they want your lover.
They wanna put him where he can't strangle any more women!
And you'd better help 'em. The sooner he's behind bars the better.
Don't you talk about him like that!
You don't realize how lucky you are to be alive!
Christ Almighty, Babs, if I wasn't shorthanded, I'd take you myself!
- As it is, right after closing time - - I won't be here!
You can stuff your rotten job right up your jacksie!
- Come back, you! - Oh, balls!
Got a place to stay?
- Oh, it's you, Bob. - Yeah.
- I heard you argue with Forsythe. - Oh, he's a right bastard.
Of course he is.
You can stay at my place 'til you get something sorted out... if you want.
I won't be in your way. I'm going up north for a few days.
- No strings? - Do I look like that sort of a bloke?
All blokes are that sort of a bloke.
- Are you really goin' away? - Sure! Tonight.
You can have the place to yourself. I'll take you there now.
If you like, I'll go back to the Globe and pick up your stuff for you.
Now, I can't say fairer than that, can I?
Oh, thanks, Bob. I'll just stay the one night if you don't mind.
- Suit yourself - Tomorrow, I'm gonna go to, um...
I'm going to my sister in Southall.
Leaving your boyfriend in the lurch a bit, aren't you?
He has to make up his own mind what to do.
I'd like to help him if I could. Where's he hiding out?
- Can't tell you, Bob. I promised. - Ohh!
Come on, Babs. Dick and me have always been mates. You know that.
I can't.
Alright. Keep your little secret.
Changing jobs can be a blessing in disguise. It gets you out of a rut.
A girl like you ought to travel, see the world a bit.
The Cape, California, Jaffa. Where the fruit comes from,
that's where I'd like to go if I wasn't tied down here.
But you, you can do as you please!
You've got the whole of your life ahead of you.
Here we are. I'm on the second floor.
I don't know if you know it, Babs,
but you're my type of woman.
(Footsteps, Cars Passing)
- (Mrs. Oxford) Is that you, Tim? - Hello, dear.
- Hungry? - Yes!
Good. I'll bring it right in.
It's a soupe de poisson, dear.
- I know you'll enjoy it. - I have no doubt of it.
Don't wait for me. I'm just going to see to the next course.
Well... what's new in the case? Any sensational breaks?
No. I'll be glad when we get Mr. Richard Blaney inside, though.
Any idea where he is?
No, our only lead to him left her job this morning.
- I don't know where she is either. - You're certain he's the one?
Oh, yes, he's... the one, alright.
There's not even the complication of another suspect.
It has to be him.
We have him identified as leaving the matrimonial agency
at the time his ex was killed.
We have the clothes which he sent off to the cleaners in a hurry.
And we have the evidence of the face powder
and the Salvation Army hostel.
I don't follow you, my dear.
I didn't think the Salvation Army girls used makeup.
No, Blaney slept in a Salvation Army hostel the night before last.
- Did he, dear? - Yes.
He was incautious enough to tell them his name.
I don't think an ex-RAF officer would sleep in such a place
- unless he was broke, do you? - No, I don't.
So, let's assume he was.
Last night, however, he slept in the...
Coburg Hotel in Bayswater,
and paid for his extremely expensive room with a ten-pound note.
The note bore traces of Mrs. Blaney's face powder.
I mean, the murderer not only strangled Mrs. Blaney,
he stole money from her handbag as well.
Ergo... Blaney is the thief and also the murderer.
That ties it up then.
Well, I think so.
And furthermore, there is a waitress
at Mrs. Blaney's club who can also testify
to Blaney's aggressive behavior towards his wife the previous night.
He doesn't seem to have been very discreet, does he?
No. Discretion is not traditionally the strong suit of the psychopath.
Believe me, that's what we're dealing with.
You ought to read his wife's divorce... petition.
What exactly is in this soup?
Why? Don't you like it?
Mmm! It's delicious.
But I find the...
ingredients somewhat mystifying.
They're smelts, ling,
conger eel, John Dory,
pilchards and frog fish.
Now, since that must've been fairly satisfying,
I thought a simple roast bird would be enough.
Caille aux raisins.
Hmm?
Quail with... grapes.
Ahh!
- I must say, I'm very worried. - About Mr. Blaney?
Yes. He's gone off with a barmaid he used to work with.
I think she's in very great danger.
You're wrong, Tim. Absolutely wrong.
It can't be this fellow.
How long did you say he was married?
Ten years.
Well... there you are.
A crime de passion after all that time?
Look at us. We've only been married eight years,
and you can hardly keep your eyes open at night.
That's as may be, but I don't knock you about,
or make you do degrading things.
No, the evidence speaks for itself.
You can't make normal judgments about psychopathic killers.
They can be triggered off at any time.
We've got to find him before his... appetite is whetted again.
(Clock Chiming)
(Clock Strikes 1:00)
(Grunting)
(Men Laughing)
Christ all-bloody-mighty!
(Man) See you, mate.
(Footsteps)
(Truck Door Closes)
(Engine Starts)
(Coughing)
# (Whistling)
Ah... Ah...
(Muffled Sneeze)
You bitch! Where's that bloody pin?
# (Whistling)
(Brakes Squeal)
Hey, you're spilling your load!
- What? - The potatoes are falling out.
(Bone Cracks)
(Truck Shifting Gears)
# (Music From Inside Cafe)
(Footsteps)
(Indistinct Chatter)
Hey, do you see what I see?
(Siren Wailing)
(Tires Screeching)
- Here, what's wrong... Who is it? - (Policeman) Perhaps you can tell us.
- Wake up! - What?
- Get out of here! - What is it?
Brenda wasn't enough for you. You had to kill another girl too!
- What girl? - That girl you were with yesterday.
- Babs? - As if you didn't know.
You strangled her like all the others!
She's been strangled?
Don't you playact with me. Get up and get out of here.
I'd call the police myself if I knew how to without getting involved.
I don't believe it. I just don't believe it.
It's true, Dicko. It just came over on the radio.
They found her in a potato truck in Lincolnshire.
The fellow at the pub where you worked identified her.
He knows where they found her. He put her there!
What are you talking about? I haven't left this room all night.
Liar. I don't believe you.
It doesn't matter whether you believe him or not,
because it said on the radio she had been dead for at least 12 hours
when they found her at 3:00 this morning.
She must've been killed before 3:00 yesterday afternoon.
Dick was with us from the time she left to the time we went to bed.
So he couldn't have done it.
- Poor kid. - (Hetty) I still don't believe it.
They're only guessing when she was killed.
We didn't go to bed 'til 11:00, and Dick was here with us then.
They can't be eight hours adrift. Dicko?
Don't you see? You're in the clear! We can give you an alibi.
Yes. Yes, I suppose you can.
There's no supposing. We'll simply tell the police you were here with us.
Would you do that? Would you do it now before you go away?
- Of course I would. Delighted. - You'll do no such thing!
Not unless you want to go to jail for harboring a wanted man.
- But he's not a criminal. - The police think he is!
And they have a lot of evidence against him.
We know he didn't kill her. We must tell them he was with us.
But we don't know he didn't kill Miss Milligan!
For all we know the time given on the radio might've been a trap.
What is certain, if you go to the police,
they will probably charge you with being an accessory after the fact.
And they certainly won't allow us to go abroad,
and they will probably put us in jail.
Well, Hetty's right, dammit. You can see that, Dicko, can't you?
You mean you won't come to the police with me?
- How can I? You heard Hetty. - You're my only alibi!
I'm sorry. I've got to get to Paris today. I can't afford to be kept here.
But you can afford to stand by and see me go to jail for life!
- Is that it? - It's not as bad as that.
I mean, they'll find this strangler chappie.
Of all the cowardly shits!
It's "I'm alright Jack, and haul up the ladder," isn't it?
You pair of bastards!
If that's how you feel after all we've done for you, you better had go!
I'll call the manager.
And involve yourself? Don't worry, I'm going.
I'm a little choosy with whom I spend my last hours of freedom.
Look, I'm sorry. I'd suggest that you came to Paris and worked in a pub,
but they're watching all the ports and stations. It said so on the news.
Well, that lets you out then, doesn't it?
Your responsibility for me ends here.
Clear this area, please. Thank you, madam. Stand back, please.
Looks as though we've got half the law in London in the market.
Yeah. It makes it very difficult to give short weight.
I suppose they're trying to find out
if anybody saw Blaney put Babs on that potato truck.
- You think he did it, do you? - It stands to reason, doesn't it?
Why? Don't you?
I'm not as eager as some to turn on my old mates.
What are you talkin' about? Blaney wasn't a mate of mine.
- I had to sack him for stealin'. - Get off.
Yeah, Blaney was a thief, right bastard.
I even told that Chief Inspector, but he didn't believe a word, did he?
I expect he's laughing on the other side of his face now.
- You reckon? - Yeah, definitely, definitely.
He wasn't so cocky when I saw him at 7:00 this morning.
I've just been down to Scotland Yard to identify her.
From photos. They took 'em and they rushed 'em down special.
- She wasn't a pretty sight. - Some people have all the luck.
Yeah. I better get a move on.
Business will be pretty brisk today. You know how morbid people are.
Absolutely! Jumping up to identify dead girls at all hours of the night.
See you later.
My God, Dick!
Whatcha doin' here?
I'm sorry, Bob, but I had nowhere else to go.
The people I was staying with left for Paris this morning.
I wouldn't have come, but you did say if I needed anything, anytime...
Yes, of course! But you took a hell of a chance coming here today.
The whole place is teeming with coppers. Wait a minute.
You'd better hole up in my place for a day or two 'til we sort something.
Yes. I thought maybe if you had the room.
I know it's a hell of an imposition getting you involved and everything.
You've got to believe me. I haven't murdered anyone!
This whole business is insane! You know me.
- I wouldn't do anything like this. - Of course you wouldn't. No.
The police, as usual, have got the whole thing arse about face.
I mean, these sort of killings always boggle the mind.
That man must be a sexual maniac.
Mind you, there are some women who ask for everything they get.
But you? Don't make me laugh. You're not the type.
Now... don't worry.
You've done the right thing coming to your Uncle Bob.
Right. Well, let's get over to my place. You know where it is?
- Yeah. - I'll go first, and I'll take the bag.
- Then you'll be less conspicuous. - OK.
You follow, but go the long way. Go down to the Strand, you know.
And then work your way up Southampton Street. OK?
Yeah.
Well done, boy! Come in.
Make yourself comfortable.
- Very cozy. - Yes, well, it's my little nest.
You know, my home.
The place where when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
That's what my ol' mum used to say. You met my mum, didn't you?
- Yes. - Ah, great old lady.
- I'm off to the shop. See you later! - Yeah, sure.
There's something to eat in the kitchen. The booze is here.
So get on with it, right?
Bob, I'm really grateful for all this. You know that.
I told you, think nothing of it.
Hey, do me a favor, will you?
- Keep away from the windows. - Yes, of course. Sorry.
Ta-ta.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
(Door Opens)
Are you Richard Ian Blaney?
- Yes. What is this? - You're under arrest.
Come quietly, and you won't get hurt.
- Is this necessary? - We're careful with you bastards.
- Is this your bag? - Yes.
- Thank you for your help, Mr. Rusk. - Anything to oblige, Sarge.
No reward, I'm afraid. Better luck next time, eh?
You know what they say. "Virtue is its own reward."
I... Well, if you want any more help, I'll be in my shop.
Alright. We know where you are.
How's that kid of yours gettin' on with the violin?
- Richard Ian Blaney? - Yes.
As the result of my inquiries, you'll be detained in connection
with the willful murders of Brenda Margaret Blaney,
Barbara Jane Milligan and others.
You're not obliged to say anything unless you wish.
Anything you do say will be taken down in writing
and may be used in evidence.
Mr. Oxford, could you spare a second over here?
Rusk. It's Rusk!
Hold him back. Where was this found?
- Over at Henrietta Street. - Any identification?
"Miss Barbara Milligan, Globe Public House."
"Covent Garden, London, WC2."
(Clerk) Are you agreed upon your verdict?
We are.
Do you find the prisoner, Richard Ian Blaney,
guilty or not guilty of the murder of Brenda... (Fades Out)
... Ian Blaney,
you have been found guilty of a terrible crime.
On its ghastly and wicked nature I will not dwell.
I only tell you that you must entertain no expectation or hope
that you will escape the consequences of it.
The sentence of this court is that you serve a term of life imprisonment,
for not less than 25 years.
(Blaney's Muffled Voice) Rusk did it! I told you all along!
Rusk!
I keep telling you. Rusk, where are you?
One of these days, you bastard!
Rusk, where are you? Rusk?
One of these days, I'm gonna get out and kill you, you bastard!
I've got nothing to lose now!
I might as well do what I'm being locked away for!
You remember that! You remember that!
(Door Locks)
(Blaney's Voice) Rusk did it.
Rusk did it. I've told you all along!
Rusk? Rusk, where are you?
One of these days I'm gonna get out and kill you, you bastard!
I've got nothing to lose now.
I might as well do what I'm being put away for.
You remember that! You remember that!
- Do you see the sign, Hartletts? - Yes, sir.
(Oxford) It's the fair-haired chap in the brown suit underneath it.
- Did you see him? - Yes, I did.
We'll go around once again, and I want a good, close mug shot.
(Monica) Yes, Inspector, I remember him well.
He came here on two or three occasions.
Every business has its own special cross to bear, I suppose.
- And yours is men like this? - That is so.
Most of them are easy enough to get rid of, but Mr. Robinson here
was particularly insistent.
- He wouldn't take no for an answer. - Mr. Robinson?
Yes, that is the man's name.
Here we are.
Mr. William Robinson.
You see, Inspector, he wanted us to find women for him who enjoyed,
well... certain peculiarities.
Who were sexual masochists? Who enjoyed being hurt?
- That sort of thing? - Quite.
Perhaps you'd better see it for yourself.
Naturally we told him we couldn't oblige, but he kept coming back.
Is it likely, do you think,
that if Mr. Robinson couldn't get what he wanted from your agency,
- he would go to others? - Oh, yes, very likely.
Men like this leave no stone unturned
in their search for their disgusting gratifications.
Excuse me, Inspector.
Do you have any special reason for seeing Mr. Robinson?
Yes, Miss Barling. And I'd like you to keep my visit confidential.
Of course.
(Guard) Get the doctor quick. Looks like an ambulance job.
(Sirens Wailing)
I told you it wasn't Blaney, didn't I?
I told you you were on the wrong track.
A woman's intuition is worth more than all those laboratories.
I can't think why you don't teach it in police colleges.
So you think it's Rusk, do you? You think he's our man?
Well, of course. Anyone can see that.
He knew both Mrs. Blaney
- and that Barbara what's-her-name. - Yes.
Well, there you are.
You told me the man's a sexual pervert.
That's why he kept the clothes and put them in Mr. Blaney's case.
We have no proof of that.
It stands to reason.
Don't you mean intuition?
What does your intuition tell you I want for dinner tonight?
Steak and a baked potato.
But you're getting pied de porc à la mode de Caens.
- (Oxford) It looks like a pig's foot! - That's what it is.
I put it in the same sauce the French use for tripe.
That's comforting.
Well, when are you going to arrest
this Mr. Robinson, or Rusk, or whatever he's called?
When I have the proof I need.
- It takes longer than intuition. - When will you have it?
In a few minutes I hope, dear.
Really?
You old slyboots. Tell.
Well...
we know that if Rusk is the murderer,
he traveled up in a potato truck with his victim.
How do we know that?
Did you ever hear of a corpse that cut itself out of a tied sack?
What would he want to take the corpse out of the sack for?
Obviously he was looking for something.
How do we know that?
The corpse was deep in rigor mortis.
He had to break the fingers of the right hand to obtain what they held.
(Cracking)
It would be so nice to get back to plain bread in this house.
What do you think they held?
A locket? A broach? A cross!
It had to be something that would incriminate him.
Something that he missed when he put the body on the truck.
A monogrammed handkerchief, perhaps.
Not a cross, I think.
Well...
I don't see why not.
Religious and sexual mania are closely linked.
Anyway, whatever it was, he found it,
which was unlucky for us.
But we did have one piece of good fortune.
The truck driver told us that he stopped at one place on his journey,
and that was at a pull-in somewhere out of London.
- A pull-in? - Hmm.
It's a... cafe frequented by truck drivers, dear.
They serve humble foods like bacon and egg sandwiches,
sausages and mashed potatoes and cups of tea and coffee.
How is it so fortunate that this driver stopped there?
It's not so much that he stopped,
but that he stopped only once that is important.
The only place our man could've got out of the truck was at that cafe.
I sent Sergeant Spearman to see
if he could find anyone who could remember Rusk being there.
I'm expecting him back at any minute.
Well, eat up, dear. You'll want to be finished by the time he arrives.
Tasty, very tasty.
Not a lot of meat on it, mind.
No sense in gorging, dear.
I'll take mine and eat it while I'm beating my eggs for the soufflé.
(Doorbell Rings)
- Good evening, Sergeant. - Good evening, sir.
- Am I interrupting your dinner? - No, not at all. Come in.
- Thank you, sir. - Put your hat and coat on the sofa.
Good evening, Sergeant Spearman. What would you like to drink?
Good evening, madam. I don't know that I...
Oh, that's alright. You're off duty.
How about a Margarita? It's delicious.
Tequila, triple sec,
fresh lemon juice and... salt pressed 'round the rim of the glass.
- You'll love it. - Thank you, madam.
Sergeant Spearman, you are positively glutinous with self-approbation.
- You might as well speak out. - Yes, sir.
The woman behind the counter at the cafe
positively identified Rusk from the photo I showed her
as being a man who was at the cafe the night the body was discovered.
And that's not all.
- Are you waiting for a drumroll? - No, sir. Sorry, sir.
The woman also said that Rusk was disheveled and very dusty,
and asked to borrow a clothes brush.
This is the brush she lent him, sir.
- You see there? - (Sniffs)
What do you say, Spearman? Potato dust?
Here you are, Sergeant.
Cheers.
- Cheers, madam. - Did you hear all that?
- Yes, I told you. I knew all the time. - (Oxford) Quite.
- Get this down to the lab quickly. - Very good, sir.
It rather looks like we put the wrong man away this time.
What do you mean "we"? You put him away.
- All right, Spearman, you can go. - Good night, madam.
You haven't finished your drink.
I'm sorry. I have to get down to the lab in a hurry.
Good night, Spearman. Good work.
- Very good work. - Thank you, sir.
Poor Mr. Blaney. You've got to get him out, Tim, immediately.
He's in hospital at the moment.
I'll talk to the assistant commissioner in the morning
and get the case reopened.
He won't like it, but there's quite enough evidence for a pardon.
Will they give him any compensation?
I expect they'll give him some money,
but there's no real way to compensate in cases like these.
Poor man.
I think the least you can do is ask him 'round for a really good dinner.
Let's see.
It will obviously have to be something substantial.
I think a Caneton aux cerises.
- What's that? - Duckling...
with heavy sweet cherry sauce.
After that jail food he's been having, I expect he'll eat anything.
Excuse me.
I must see if my soufflé's started to rise.
Hey! Are the pills working?
- He's sleeping like a baby. - Do you think we gave him enough?
Christ, mate, he's had half a dozen.
Good. Now I'm off to get that bastard Rusk!
Alright, alright. Let's make sure.
It's now or never! I'm due back inside tomorrow.
George? George!
Alright, George?
Right, son, better be going. Mind you do him up good.
Here, take this strip of mica.
You may need it to open his door.
(Knocking)
Doctor? Sister?
Get a trolley, nurse.
(Doctor) Sister, there seems to be no evidence of a cerebral accident.
We'll have to admit him for observation and then sort him out.
(Nurse) Could he be an epileptic or diabetic?
(Doctor) Not very likely in his sort of job.
We're certainly going to need blood samples.
Sleeping pills! They've given him all their sleeping pills.
- Good night. - Good night, sir.
(Alarm Ringing)
(Alarm Continues)
(Engine Revving)
(Phone Ringing)
Hello?
Good God! When was this?
Right. What's that?
Yes. Five minutes. I'll wait outside.
I'm off! Blaney's escaped, and I bet I know where he's gone.
I often wondered whether Blaney threw himself down those stairs
in a suicide attempt, or just as a means to get into the hospital.
Now, of course, we have our answer.
No. No!
- It's not - - (Thumping Noise)
(Thumping Continues)
Mr. Rusk.
You're not wearing your tie.
I-