Father Brown

MUSIC BOX PLAYS

I do hope I get to see her workshop.

Anyone would think you're about to have an audience with the Pope.

Champagne?

Well, I'll admit to being a little...

Giddy? Enthused. Hm!

What are you doing here?

Nobody's died, have they?

This is an official constabulary event, Father.

I doubt you'll get in without a...

Signed by Agnes Lesser. Ah!

Who?

The woman you're here to honour.

To be honest, I'm just here for the food and booze.

And why does that not surprise me?

Chief Inspector.

Still a disgrace to the service.

At least you can't do much harm, out here in the sticks.

Oh, I'll be forever grateful for the transfer, sir.

You do know it's a formal event?

I've seen vagabonds look more sharp.

Sergeant. Sir.

My old boss from Durham.

He's a complete... CORK POPS

Pardon my French.

I still don't understand what all this fuss is about.

What do you mean?

That woman getting a commendation from the constabulary. And for what?

For building doll's houses?

How is that supposed to help the police catch criminals?

Holy Mother of God!

They're amazing!

Doll's houses are supposed to be, well, lovely little pictures

of domestic bliss.

Not these bloodbaths.

What kind of a sick mind could come up with something like this, hmm?

My daughter's.

Oh, well, of course, they are, er, well put together.

Don't worry, most civilians react the same way -

my wife included.

But, I can personally attest that, as a teaching tool in the art of

crime detection, they're remarkable.

Still, darling, don't you worry?

Why?

Hardly a normal hobby, is it?

I think they're beautiful.

And so sad.

Each tableaux, a story of human suffering...

..in such detail!

Ah! The guest of honour.

Thank you very much.

I'm not going to make any long-winded speeches

and I don't expect any of you to, either.

I mean it.

But, I do appreciate my father awarding me...

Not me, my dear. The constabulary.

I assure everyone, there's not a whiff of nepotism about this.

..the constabulary awarding me with a...

Sorry, what was it called again?

A Chief Constable Certification of Commendation.

Oh, you have one of those!

A true honour and one that I share wholeheartedly with my carpenter,

Daniel Abeson, without whose expert craftsmanship none of

my dioramas would be possible.

Thank you.

Now don't stand on ceremony. Please enjoy yourselves

and thank you again. Hear, hear!

Father Brown, thank you for coming.

Oh...

No, on the contrary, I was honoured and, erm...

..slightly bewildered at your invitation.

May I speak to you for a moment?

Of course.

We should probably get one thing out of the way first.

What's that? I'm an atheist.

Well, I won't hold that against you.

Thank you.

Erm, so you haven't invited me here for religious instruction.

I suppose you know you have something of a reputation.

For good works, I hope.

Well, I'd say catching murderers is good works.

Well, I prefer to think of it as saving souls.

And the thrill of the chase?

The intellectual challenge?

The exhilaration of connecting the clues?

Agnes,

have you invited me here to help you solve a murder?

I want to show you something.

Oh, I'm so sorry darling.

Margaret, can you do your job properly, please?

Bring up some extra crates of Champagne from the pantry.

Yes, ma'am.

Quite the little madam!

What?

I heard that she used to pose for a certain type of magazine.

You know what they say about idle tongues, don't you?

That they ought to be cut off.

I don't believe they say anything of the sort.

It's what I say.

It's like looking behind the magician's curtain.

If the magician's a grisly-minded ghoul.

Is that how you see yourself?

No, but...

But what?

Well, death's always had its shadow over this family.

My little sister, Violet.

She drowned a year after this photograph was taken.

And then my mother, ten years ago. fell down the stairs.

It wasn't long after that I started working on the dioramas.

A kind of therapy, I suppose.

Speaking for the dead.

Giving the victims a voice.

MUSIC BOX STARTS PLAYING

Belonged to my mother.

She used to let me and Violet play with it.

It sounds like it needs a spot of oil.

I've gotten used to its little creaks and cranks.

It's almost like they've become part of its personality.

Is that what you wanted to show me?

No.

"The Woman On The Stairs".

My mother.

So, this is where you've all been hiding.

My God.

What have you done?

I want to know what really happened.

You know what happened.

It was an accident.

Well, we'll soon find out what a roomful of professionals

have to say, won't we?

This is a disgrace to your mother's memory.

I'm not disgracing her. I'm honouring her.

Did you know about this?

She had no help from me.

This is all her own work.

Agnes, I assure you, I thoroughly investigated your mother's

tragic death at the time of the incident.

Maybe you made a mistake, sir.

What did you say?

Maybe you've had a bit too much to drink, sir.

I said maybe you made a mistake.

Gentlemen, please.

Let's listen to what Agnes has to say.

Victim, Florence Lesser, 48.

Witness, Wilbur Lesser, husband.

Mr Lesser reported that at 1.20AM,

his wife rose from bed to fetch a glass of water

and tripped down the stairs,

cutting her head on the banister,

simultaneously cracking her skull and breaking her neck.

This is sick.

So, please, your observations?

Er...

What are these lines?

Height lines. Me and my sister.

Our mother used to draw them in every year, until...

..she didn't.

Well, don't just stand there like lemmings.

Look at the diorama.

Study it. Tell me what you see.

Well, if you don't think she fell, then what?

She was pushed.

Exactly.

Look at the blood spatter.

It suggests force, speed. A fall wouldn't do that.

And who pushed her? Me?

You had reason.

Nothing happened between me and Wilbur until after your mother...

Oh, please!

I'd like to ask our guests to kindly return to the buffet.

Not until they've had a chance to fully study...

Enough!

You're deluded and obsessed.

Stop this!

Please!

What's the matter? Nothing.

Only you seem...

I'm quite fine, Father.

Thank you.

Oh, Agnes.

What do you think?

Am I deluded?

So blinded by grief that I can't face the truth?

My mother's death was nothing more than a stupid accident.

An almost trivial thing.

No drama or intrigue.

Worst of all, no-one to blame.

I think you should talk to Chief Inspector Webb.

But I've tried countless times.

Try again.

I think he's seen something in your diorama.

WOMAN SCREAMS

I want to be kept abreast of all of your findings.

I'll need statements from all the guests.

You can't take charge of this investigation.

You're a witness.

And a suspect.

With all due respect, sir, she's right.

We'll have to call someone in from Scotland Yard.

Given your antagonism towards the victim just before he was killed,