Murder at the Gallop

I don't think we'll be very | welcome here, Miss Marple.

I know Mr Enderby's rich, | but he's eccentric to say the least.

He may close his door | on the world, Mr Stringer,

but he must expect | to be knocked on sometimes.

He never gives anything away, | not even to charity.

Perhaps he's never had the chance.

I must be getting back | to the library, Miss Marple.

It's a worthy cause, no doubt, | but my employers...

- You must be entitled to your tea? | - Yes, but I haven't had it.

Oh, but you shall.

This is our last call. Then | you must come back to my cottage.

I've prepared a very special tea | to reward us for our labour.

Perhaps I'd better leave him to you, | Miss Marple.

Pull yourself together. | He can't eat us, can he?

No, I suppose not.

He must be out.

You know he never goes anywhere.

Mr Enderby?

Mr Enderby?

Don't be alarmed, Mr Enderby, | we've just...

My goodness! | What could have happened?

How is he?

Dead, I'm afraid.

- What is it? | - It's a piece of mud

from some recent visitor | apparently...

But...

...who still seems to be here.

Stay with him.

Miss Marple, you mustn't... | Please be carefuI.

What was it?

A cat.

I thought he hated cats.

He did. He was frightened | to death of them.

Frightened to death!

Miss Marple! | This is an unexpected pleasure.

Good morning, Inspector.

Could I have | a few words with you privately?

Yes, of course. Do come in please.

Do sit down, Miss Marple, please.

Now, you're not here to tell me I've | overlooked another crime, are you?

Well, as a matter of fact, I am.

A very grave crime, one of murder.

Oh, no, not again.

This time | there is no mistake, Inspector.

Well, let's get it over with. | Who murdered who this time?

As to the murderer, that will | naturally require an investigation.

The victim is old Mr Enderby.

Enderby? He died of heart failure.

Ah, but what caused | his heart to fail so unexpectedly?

I read the doctor's report, | Miss Marple, it was not unexpected.

He had a severe heart condition.

Exactly. A very wealthy man | with a chronic heart condition.

Yes, the circumstances | are precisely the same.

I don't know what they're the same | as, but they don't add up to murder.

Surely you have read Agatha | Christie's novel, The Ninth Life?

I haven't had the pleasure.

That's why you failed | to make the connection.

Agatha Christie should be compulsory | reading for the police force.

Doom came to her victim | in the shape of a cat.

Look, Miss Marple, enough is enough.

A wealthy old gentleman | with a weak heart

had a pathological horror of cats.

What easier than for some interested | party to slip a cat into the house?

A cat that the old man | will find unexpectedly.

Yes, old Enderby | was frightened to death.

A very ingenious theory,

but my advice to you, Miss Marple, | is to read fewer thrillers.

A love story | would be much more soothing.

Am I to assume that you | won't do anything about this?

Nothing at all. I'm a policeman, | so I'm only interested in facts.

Well, there is only | one course open to me.

- Wait a minute, Miss Marple. | - No, Inspector. I know my duty.

I shall have to investigate myself.

Good day.

You will hear from me again | when my case is completed.

My pastry.

They look good.

- Oh, dear. | - Not one of my failures.

Deliberate, I assure you.

I cooked the piece of mud we found in | old Enderby's house

and then filled | the hole with plaster.

Lo and behold, | preserved in plaster forever.

I see. Ingenious, Miss Marple.

It is rather, isn't it?

Although it went against the grain to | overcook my pastry.

A perfect match... | but what do you make of this?

The mark of a stirrup iron.

- Then it was mud from a riding boot. | - Yes.

From a boot with | a very distinctive scar on it.

That piece of fresh mud was stuck | between the sole and heel

of someone's riding boot...

...someone who visited Mr Enderby | just before he died.

The murderer?

We can't call him that, since it | hasn't been decided he was murdered.

True, but when Inspector Craddock has | considered your theory...

Inspector Craddock has assured me

that that is exactly | what he is not going to do.

No, Jim,

you and I must pursue | this trail entirely on our own.

Then where shall we begin?

We must find out who benefits | by the death.

We'll have to wait until the will | is published in the newspapers.

Not necessarily.

- That's the lot, Fred. | - Tea's up. I'll see you inside.

Right.

Fortune favours the brave.

I beg your pardon?

That dray under the very window.

This calls for a certain amount of | ingenuity. We have to get up there.

What if anyone sees us?

We're screened from | the high street by the archway.

We're taking a grave risk | of seeming inquisitive.

A calculated one, Mr Stringer. | On we go.

I trust something pithy | will be said after all this.

Oh dear... Here we are...

"...and though it is with some regret

that I finally satisfy | the greed of my relatives,

I nevertheless do devise and bequeath | that my entire estate

be divided equally between: | My fourth cousin, George Crossfield,

in order that he no longer need | borrow from his clients' funds.

My niece, Rosamund Shane, in order | that she may support her husband

in the style to which | he would like to be accustomed.

To my nephew, Hector Enderby, | in order that he may be able

to afford to hunt every day | rather than once a week -

thereby providing more opportunity | for breaking his neck.

Finally, my sister, | Cora Lansquenet, out of gratitude

that she stayed out of the country | for 30 years and didn't bother me.

The money is to be given outright | to all parties concerned

with the hope that it will make them | all as miserable as possible."

That is the important part | as far as you're concerned, I'm sure.

No, the important part is how much | money am I going to get?

Really, George, | you shouldn't say things like that.

Why not? I want to know.

Of course, we all want to know.

Well, a rough estimate, | mind you very rough,

each of your shares should be | about 20,000 to 25,000.

Hector, I don't think you should | have used the word 'suddenly'

in the newspaper announcement | of your uncle's death.

What do you mean, Aunt Cora?

Well, it might make people wonder.

Anyway, it's all been | hushed up very nicely, hasn't it?

What are you talking about?

Well, after what he said when | he came to see me last month,

it can't do any good | making it public.

It should be kept strictly | in the family.

My dear Mrs Lansquenet, would you say | plainly what you mean by this?

That he was murdered, wasn't he?

What?!

Really, Aunt Cora, | that's a very silly thing to say...

Good morning.

Good morning, Inspector.

Thank you.

Miss Marple, when I thought it | was you, I thought, 'No',

but it is.

- Allow me. | - Thank you.

Miss Marple, you do realise | if I didn't know you well,

I would be detaining you | for loitering with intent?

Loitering with intent to what | conceivably, Inspector?

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