Murder Most Foul

What's all this?

You may choose, members of the jury,

to believe the prisoner -

that returning from a walk,

he found the hanging Mrs McGinty

and was about to release the rope

when Police Constable Wells

appeared on the scene.

On the other hand, you may think

the accused intended

to cover manual strangulation

of Mrs McGinty

for motives of greed,

with clumsy attempts to make

his mean crime appear to be suicide.

Madam, either

you will have to cease knitting

or I will have to cease judging,

which shall it be?

It helps me to concentrate, m'lord.

- It does not help me, madam.

- Oh.

Very well.

Thank you.

Ah, yes.

If what I have said

is the truth of the matter,

then the prisoner was delayed in

the execution of his evil subterfuge

by the desperate fight of his victim.

Those scattered banknotes,

that pathetic crushed rose

torn from her dress...

He was delayed, I say, long

enough for the timely intervention

of the alert Police Constable Wells.

Summing up

for a conviction, Inspector.

- Stand you a beer afterwards, Wells.

- Thank you.

..had every opportunity

of knowing that the unfortunate widow

kept her life savings there

instead of in the bank

and that Harold Taylor was bent

on securing her meagre fortune.

If the facts as presented to you

admit of any reasonable doubt,

then the accused is entitled

to the benefit of that doubt.

Members of the jury,

if you have been convinced by the

evidence beyond all reasonable doubt,

that the accused

committed this heinous crime,

then it is your solemn duty

to return a verdict of guilty.

You will retire

and consider your verdict.

Might just have time

for that beer, Wells.

There's absolutely

no doubt in my mind he's guilty.

He was caught

red-handed by the policeman.

Prisoner at the bar,

have you anything to say...

Not yet, m'lord,

the jury is still out.

Surely the time is more appropriate

for a very dry Martini, Johnson?

Very good, m'lord.

- Not more tea?

- No. They're coming back.

Are you agreed upon your verdict?

No, sir.

What did you say?

We're not able to reach

an agreement, m'lord.

Silence. I will not have

my court turned into a bear garden.

I suggest you retire for longer.

I'm afraid

it would be a waste of time, my lord.

I see.

Very well. There will be

a retrial at a later date.

Jury dismissed.

If ever there was

an open and shut case, this was it.

One jury member

was deliberately perverse.

Many more than one,

Inspector, I assure you.

Oh?

That woman's made a mockery

of my one and only murder.

No! No! No, Mr Swanbridge!

You mustn't turn your back

on the audience.

I want them to see

the surprise on your face.

Allow me.

Just once more, Miss Rusty, please.

Right.

Ah, our lady president.

Carry on, please.

Try again.

Do please try harder, Mr Swanbridge.

My arm's getting awfully tired.

A little rough at the moment,

but it'll be all right on the night.

- Tea?

- No, thank you.

You found him guilty, of course.

They did. I did not.

Miss Marple, surely...

Remember our play for the renovation

fund, The Lodger's Dilemma?

Unforgettable.

You remember, Mr Stringer,

that the victim in that play

wore a rose to receive her paramour.

He murdered her

and the lodger was blamed.

Exactly. Mrs McGinty

wore a rose on the fatal night.

Oh!

Was it to receive her lodger

when we have no evidence

of any dalliance between them?

- I hardly think so.

- Then she wore it for someone else.

- Her murderer, you think?

- I do.

Excuse me, Mr Stringer.

I'm sorry, but he still keeps

turning away. What can I do?

We'll have to recast him.

I know, ask the vicar if

he'll be kind enough to have a try.

Yes.

If what you say is so, then an

innocent man's life may be at stake.

What can be done?

We can begin by inquiring

rather more closely

into the private life of Mrs McGinty

than the police have seen fit to do.

Yes, but how?

By returning to

the scene of the crime, as it were.

Oh, very good, vicar.

Excellent! Excellent!

Whoa!

Mr Stringer, if our plan works,

you're sure you know your part?

- Yes, I think so.

- Down! Down! You may be observed.

- Yes?

- I'm collecting...

I'm collecting jumble

for the church bazaar.

You're a Christian, surely?

- I should hope so.

- Well then?

If it's for the church,

there's plenty here.

Oh, thank you.

Got all her stuff here.

You've heard of my sister?

Yes, the poor lady.

I always thought she'd come to

a bad end - one of those theatricals.

Really? I thought she was a barmaid.

Oh, yes,

but she used to be on the stage.

Did it in there you know,

with his bare hands.

Gloved ones?

It comes to the same thing

in the end. This way.

She was always

sticking her neck out, that one.

She did leave you her cottage.

Didn't have time to arrange her will.

No, it would seem not.

Still I mustn't decry her,

my own sister.

Blood's thicker

than water I suppose.

Here's her stuff, nothing of value -

probably got it

from a jumble sale herself.

She used to swear

these rat-tails were mink.

I wouldn't be seen dead in this coat.

Can't imagine why she dressed

in rags when she had money.

A real little slut she was.

I remember when she was a kid -

always wanted to be an actress.

An actress, I ask you!

Mean, she was, you know, mean!

A touch of rheumatism.

I find this beneficial.

- Oh, really?

- Yes.

Try rubbing linseed

and vinegar into the joints.

- It makes a new woman of me.

- I'll bear that in mind. Thank you.

That'll be

the insurance man paying out...

They don't like it

when the unforeseen does occur.

Persistence, Mr Stringer.

Persistence. Foot in door.

- I hope you've brought it in cash.

- Brought what?

I don't want the same trouble

as when my John passed away.

- I don't understand.

- Aren't you from the insurance?

Oh, no, madam. I was hoping to

interest you in improving your mind.

I was wondering if you'd allow me

to show you the new Wonder book.

Do.

Come in, Mr... come in.

Murder She Said,

Murder She Said, Murder She Said.

This section on our feathered friends

is most comprehensive.

Everything

from an albatross to a shrike.

- A what?

- A shrike.

So named for its incessant chatter

and predatory instincts.

It has a habit of impaling its prey.

How interesting.

I've got a woman upstairs. I'll get

rid of her and we'll have some tea.

Please don't do that.

I can't trespass on your generosity.

Oh, dear, poor Mr Stringer.

Fancy me mistaking you for the

insurance man. You're much too nice.

- Oh, really?

- Well, of course you are.

You don't really

look like a salesman, do you?

- Don't I?

- No.

- So you're a bachelor, Mr Stringer?

- Er, yes.

Oh, I can always tell

and I'm a widow.

I'd never have believed it.

How do you do?

- I see you got what you wanted.

- Yes.

Perhaps the gentlemen

would care to help me with these?

- Indeed.

- Thank you.

I'll leave you the book, Mrs Thomas.

Brood on it, will you?

- What about the tea?

- Good day, Mrs Thomas.

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