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This is a story about one of the most powerful men in the world.

More powerful than any tribal king.

More powerful than any politician or priest or even psychoanalyst.

His office is a combination of cabinet room and confessional.

All over the western world,

thousands look to him to save them from poverty, ruin and despair.

Look, you've got to help me, Mr. Sidley. This tax business is killing me.

I lie awake at nights thinking about it.

The truth is, I just can't afford to earn all this money.

Is there no way I can make a complete loss in one year?

You must realize as a self-employed writer,

there's virtually nothing you cannot claim off your tax.

Everything is deductible.

Have you got a secretary? No.

Well, get one. A maid? No.

Get one. A wife? No.

But I've got a girlfriend. That's not deductible.

But I don't want a wife. Of course you do.

I calculate a saving of 12 to 15 percent on those three items alone.

Everyone in your tax bracket should have a wife.

Could you enlarge a little on these doubts?

What would you say if your wife came in all hours of the night

and left first thing in the morning? With no explanation?

Well, this morning she said she wanted to watch the sun come up from Parliament Hill.

And this seems to you improbable?

Damn it, man. You think I'm a fool? No, no.

Yesterday morning she came in at 1:20.

Did you ask her where she'd been?

If I ask her anything, I get a shrug, a silence and then a sulk.

Of course I don't count.

I'm a square, and squares have no feelings. It's as simple as that.

The moral of this shabby story is very plain.

Marry someone of your own background,

or better still, don't marry at all.

Good day, Mr. Mayhew. There's no point in continuing this.

My dear sir, there's every point.

Now, please. Please.

One's marriage is at an end, and that is that.

You've no real evidence to assume so, Mr. Sidley.

Evidence? She's seeing someone else. It's obvious.

Probably several.

She comes from California, and it's apparently required there

to bed down with a different partner every night.

Oh, this is despicable. Forgive me for wasting your time.

My dear sir, it's not despicable to be jealous.

In my view it's even noble.

This is our Mr. Parkinson.

He can be relied on absolutely.

How do you do? How do you do?

It is now the 28th, Mr. Sidley.

Mr. Parkinson will start investigating your wife immediately

and will see you in your office in two weeks' time.

That will be September the 11th.

If the lady is innocent, no harm will have been done.

If regrettably she is not,

well, then what harm will have been done anyway, hmm?

Oh. Good morning, Mr. Sidley. Good morning.

You only have two appointments this morning.

Yes. One at 10:00 with a Mr. Parkinson?

You seem to have written him in yourself. Yes, that's right.

Show him in as soon as he arrives, will you?

And a Mr. Scrampton at 11:00.

Thank you, Miss Framer. Would you get my wife on the phone, please?

Oh, don't... bother, Miss Framer. I'll get her myself.

Hello?

Hello?

Hello.

It's you, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Say something. I dare you. Go on.

Come on. Say something.

It's all right. I'm alone.

It is you, isn't it?

Say something, you beast.

Overwhelming.

Hmm.

Your reference books. They're overwhelming.

Who are you? What are you doing?

And how imposing they look on the shelves.

Sacred ranks of learning.

- How did you get there? - Through the door.

And how long have you been up there? Half an hour.

Half an hour? Mm-hmm.

You didn't notice me, did you?

No, don't apologize, please.

Very few people do.

Anyway, it's a positive joy to wait in a room like this.

Webster's Dictionary.

Chambers's Encyclopaedia. Whitaker's Almanack.

Even the names have a certain leathery beauty. Don't you agree?

Are you a salesman?

Ah, forgive me. I was lapsing.

Well, I was once. But then I was everything once.

I had 23 positions before I was 30. Really?

Oh, I know what you're thinking.

A striking record of failure, but you are wrong.

I never fail jobs. They fail me. The life goes out of them.

Forgive me. Am I talking too much?

I presume you want to see me professionally.

Well, it's rather more that I have to.

Not that I don't want to see you, of course.

I'm rather busy this morning.

Let me make an appointment for next week.

Would you bring the book, please, Miss Framer?

I must say I hardly approve of your methods of entrance, Mr....

Cristoforou.

Cristoforou?

Yes. It's a little downbeat, I admit.

It suggests Balkan cigarettes and conspirator mustaches.

I don't care for it. However, it's not to be avoided.

My father was a Rhodes scholar.

I mean by that he was a scholar from Rhodes.

Why don't you just call me Julian?

That's a good between-the-wars name.

That's my mother's influence.

She was almost defiantly English.

When can I make an appointment for this gentleman, Miss Framer?

Well, your earliest would be Tuesday morning, Mr. Sidley.

Tuesday morning? Mm, I don't really like Tuesdays.

They are an indeterminate sort of day.

Mr. Cristoforou, I'm hardly noted for my patient disposition.

I'm delighted to hear that.

"Patience too long controlled

turns to cruelty."

It's an old Persian proverb. Or it could be Hindu.

Will you please tell me when you want to see me?

Well, it's more when you want to see me, isn't it?

I have no special relationship with the day of the week, Mr. Cristoforou.

No more have I in the final analysis.

They don't actually prevent me from doing things on them.

They merely encourage or discourage.

Well, shall we say Tuesday then?

All right. If that's the soonest you can manage.

I must confess to feeling surprised.

I'd imagined you differently.

You're in some kind of trouble?

"Your trouble is mine, sir."

It's one of my little mottoes.

Not inappropriate, I think.

Still, of course, I mustn't be unreasonable.

After all, you're paying.

I'm what?

Paying.

Mr. Cristoforou, wait a minute.

We seem to be talking at cross-purposes. Would you like a macaroon?

Would you state your business with me precisely?

What? You mean you don't know it?

How can I? Well...

You mean you don't know why I'm here?

How appalling.

I'm really agonized.

Well? Well, what must you think of me?

Chattering away, with you not even knowing why I'm here.

Well, I'd assumed...

Then you shouldn't assume anything,

least of all in my business.

I'm afraid it's typical of me.

My wits are scattered when they should be most collected.

Who are you?

I'm Parkinson's replacement.

Replacement? Mm-hmm.

From Mayhew & Figgis.

You know. "No stone unturned, no pound unearned."

And where is he?

Oh. Ten days ago,

he was thrown down an elevator shaft in Goodge Street.

They're very dangerous things.

Mr. Parkinson was killed?

Hmm. Incapacitated.

Why?

Oh, hazards of the game.

Ours is a dangerous life, Mr. Sidley.

Oh, don't worry.

Parkinson wasn't on your case when it happened.

Shh. Come back into the office.

You haven't got a spoon on you by any chance?

Spoon? Yeah, for my yogurt.

I always eat when I'm embarrassed or, as in this case, agonized.

Are you free now? I won't keep you a moment, Mr. Scrampton.

Ha. Where there's a secretary, there's always a teaspoon.

The office was meant to telephone and say I'd be here.

They obviously forgot. Come in and close the door.

Yeah, very embarrassing for both of us.

You mustn't worry, Mr. Sidley.

I really am a superb detective.

You see, it's one of the few jobs where being a nondescript is an advantage.

I would hardly describe you as nondescript.

Oh, yeah. I attained nondescript a long time ago.

Last year I became characterless.

This year I became superfluous.

Next year I shall be invisible.

Would you give me your report?

Ah, I'd prefer to read it myself.

I've taken a lot of trouble with the style.

All right. Only get on.

Ah.