TUESDAY, JANUARY 21st1925

SCENE 90

EXT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE STABLE YARD. MORNING

The next morning, Mary and Tom, both dressed for work, come walking into the yard together. They halt outside the agent's office.

MARY: He's going into Thirsk? In his state?

TOM: Hastings says they have the Doctor's blessing. And it's only for a few questions.

MARY: Yes, and I can imagine what those questions will be.

TOM: I know. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him yesterday. I did my best.

MARY: I know that. Well, this is what we went to all the trouble for, isn't it? We're about to find out how good our defences really are.

TOM: You see it all as a game, don't you?

MARY: No. But it's easier to think about it this way. Well, just let me know what they've found out this time, as soon as you're back.

TOM: I can't. I'm not invited. They're just borrowing a car.

Mary's eyes widen in alarm.

MARY: But we can't let them go alone! If they -

TOM (impatiently): Well, what do you want me to do, tamper with the brakes?

His voice has risen in anger, and they both realise a little too late that they're not alone. Thomas is approaching from the direction of the house. As Tom has his back to him, Mary sees him first. She raises her eyebrows in warning.

MARY: Tom, no more of that, please. (She deliberately wipes her face blank, then turns to Thomas.) What is it, Barrow?

THOMAS: His Lordship asks Mr Branson whether ten o'clock would suit.

MARY: I'll leave you to it.

She nods to Tom, then enters the agent's office, closing the door behind her.

TOM (to Thomas): Ten is fine. (He frowns.) We'd already settled that at breakfast.

THOMAS: Yes, I know.

They stand staring at each other for a moment. Tom's eyes narrow.

TOM: What do you want?

THOMAS: I wanted to let you know that I haven't told Mr Poirot about the gun. Not yet.

If this was supposed to unsettle Tom, it isn't working.

TOM: So?

THOMAS: I thought I'd give you the chance to tell him yourself. In case there's some innocent explanation that I'm not aware of.

TOM (coldly): How thoughtful. Then let me give you a chance, too. The chance to back off before you burn your fingers. Because if I were you, Mr Barrow, I'd tread very carefully right now. Very, very carefully indeed.

In the background, waving cheerily, Captain Hastings appears to fetch the promised car. Tom goes to meet him. Thomas follows him with his eyes, his brows drawn together, looking intrigued rather than discouraged.

SCENE 91

INT. DOWNTON ABBEY. THE LIBRARY. MORNING

Cora is at the writing desk when Edith enters, looking rather downcast. She sits down in an armchair close to the desk, but says nothing. Cora finishes her sentence, then closes her fountain pen and turns to face her daughter.

CORA (with a frown): You don't look well at all.

EDITH: I didn't sleep very well, I'm afraid.

CORA: Is anything the matter?

EDITH: No… I just wish we would see the back of Hercule Poirot.

CORA: What's he done now? I thought you'd gone and made your peace with him.

EDITH: I did, yes. And he was really quite nice to talk to. But I'm afraid I've given him some very strange ideas.

CORA: What do you mean?

EDITH: He thinks I'm being blackmailed. Over Marigold. He thinks that's what Philip Coyle was here for.

Cora sits up in alarm.

CORA: Edith – did you tell him about Marigold?
EDITH: No. But he knew, somehow. (With a rueful smile) I can tell now why he's a famous detective.

CORA: Well, is any of it true? The blackmail thing? (She takes her daughter's hand.) You would tell me, wouldn't you?
EDITH (shaking her head): No, it's not true. That's what's so strange. I'd never heard the name Philip Coyle in my life until Mr Poirot came here. And no one's blackmailing me, nor has ever tried to. (Cora heaves a sigh of relief.) It's just – (Her eyes fill with tears.) Can I just sit here and cry for a bit and not answer any more questions?
CORA: Oh, my darling.
Cora takes her daughter into her arms and holds her, gently stroking her back, while Edith weeps silently on her shoulder.

SCENE 92

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. MORNING

Hastings is driving himself and Hercule Poirot to Thirsk. They sit side by side in one of the larger and more comfortable Downton cars. Poirot's mood doesn't seem to have improved much since the night before.

HASTINGS: I've finally got hold of the office at The Albany in London. The current occupant of Flat 36 is a Mr Ahmad Ben Youssef Al-Alaoui, a younger son of the Sultan of Morocco. The former occupant, until his marriage last December, was Lord Viscount Gillingham. He was there for years.

POIROT: Are you telling me that we've drawn yet another blank?

HASTING (in a slightly injured tone): You should know me better than that, Poirot. Of course I asked about the tenants' servants as well. The Arab gentleman has two native men from his own country with him, but Lord Gillingham used to have a valet called Alex Green. He died in a road accident, back in 1922. That settles it, doesn't it? Philip Coyle did check into the Golden Fleece Hotel under a false name. He must have known Green. Maybe they'd been friends, or colleagues. So he took the dead man's name when he needed an alias.

POIROT: That's a possibility, yes.

Hastings glances at his friend, a little disappointed that Poirot doesn't share his conviction.

HASTINGS: We started out looking for one missing man, Philip Coyle. Then we stumbled across another, Dr Clarkson's mad vicar. And now we've found a third, Alex Green. Doesn't this make your head spin? I at least find it a relief to think that number one and number three are the same.

POIROT (pedantically): Went by the same name, you mean. Well, Hastings, I prefer to postpone my conclusions until I am in possession of all the facts. But you are very much mistaken in one thing. I am Hercule Poirot, and Hercule Poirot's head does not 'spin'.

He sinks down a little deeper into his scarf and overcoat, looking ahead at the road with an ill-humoured expression on his face. Hastings sighs.

SCENE 93

EXT. DOWNTON ESTATE. MORNING

On the brow of a hill, Robert and Tom stand looking down at a small patch of woodland, Tom holding a map, Robert holding a pair of binoculars. Their car is parked nearby.

ROBERT (looking through the binoculars): And we want to take the plantation right down to the creek? (When his son-in-law doesn't answer, he takes the binoculars down and glances at him with a frown.) Your mind's half-way across the Atlantic already, isn't it?
Tom, who has been gazing into the middle distance, shakes off his preoccupation.

TOM: Sorry. I'm a bit – I don't know. I was miles away, for sure. Down to the creek, yes. It makes sense as a natural border.

Robert nods, then turns and trains his binoculars onto the road.

ROBERT: I'd say we're good for another turn. There's nobody in sight.

TOM: If you want.

ROBERT: You're not impressed with me, are you.
TOM (with a small smile): You may impress me yet. We've still got a week to go.

SCENE 94

INT. CAR. MORNING

Poirot and Hastings continue their journey to Thirsk, and their discussion.

HASTINGS: By the way, I saw Branson and your Mr Barrow talking together in the stable yard just before we left. It didn't look friendly at all.
POIROT: Was he threatening him?
HASTINGS: Maybe he tried, but Branson didn't look daunted or intimidated to me.

POIROT: That's not what I was asking.

HASTINGS (with an irritated glance at his friend): Why have you got it in for Tom Branson? He's been nothing but helpful, and I think he's a fine chap and excellent company. Not to mention that he's brilliant with cars.

POIROT: The latter being an infallible testament to any man's moral character, of course.

HASTINGS: Come off it, Poirot. What's he done to make you so suspicious?
POIROT (in a mock-apologetic tone): Why, mon ami, you are right, of course. Apart from his unrestricted access to the house's guns, his urgent need to go to confession ahead of his precipitous flight to America, and his very transparent attempt to stop you finding out about Alex Green at the Golden Fleece Hotel yesterday, I'd say there was no reason to be suspicious of him at all. (In a sudden sharp exclamation) Mind that cart, Hastings!

A horse-drawn cart has moved out of a farmyard into the road ahead of them. Hastings, distracted – and indeed deeply shocked - by Poirot's words, slams on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision. Poirot braces himself against the dashboard with a grimace. The car comes to an instant, screeching halt. The horse and cart trot off. Hastings takes a deep breath, collecting himself.

HASTINGS: I thought you suspected the servants.

POIROT: I never said that I suspected them, mon ami. I merely said that I wanted to talk to them. No, at the moment, I am far more interested in the family than in the staff. They strike me as quite unusual people. Very independent, very self-sufficient, very confident. Or have you ever seen an estate of this size that is managed by a daughter of the house?

HASTINGS: Oh, Lady Mary, yes. She strikes me as a bit frosty, if I'm honest. I find Lady Edith much more engaging, now that she's come round to your point of view regarding that damned ugly business with her fiancé. (He restarts the car, and they continue their journey.) Branson tells me she has quite an active life of her own, did you know? She owns a publishing company and runs up to London every so often to keep an eye on it. That's not what Earl's daughters usually do, either.

POIROT (drily): Take care, Hastings. You have a history of letting a beautiful lady's smile make you blind to the imperatives of our work.

HASTINGS (with a laugh): Surely not in this case. What could Lady Edith have to do with anything?

POIROT: I hope you are aware, mon ami, that of all the people who live and work at Downton Abbey, Lady Edith is the one person who knows exactly where both Philip Coyle and Alex Green went on the night of January 6th, and why neither of them ever came back?

For the second time in the past few minutes, Hastings is in grave danger of crashing the car.

HASTINGS: The devil do I know that! How on earth do you make that out?

POIROT: Lady Edith has confided to me an aspect of her past that she prefers not to discuss publicly. She was worried that I might discover it, and that I might think it was linked to our search for Philip Coyle. But she is adamant that there is no connection whatsoever.

HASTINGS: And you think she's right? How do you know?

POIROT: No, no, Hastings. You are asking the wrong question again. The real question, of course, is: How does she know?

SCENE 95

EXT. DOWNTON VILLAGE. THE DOWER HOUSE. MORNING

Isobel and Violet take a walk in the wintery garden of the Dower House. Violet, in a fur coat, is leaning heavily on her stick as they pick their slow way across the sodden lawn. The scraggy rose bushes and bare, leafless trees give the scene a melancholy air.

ISOBEL: You were right about Hercule Poirot shamming his illness.

VIOLET: Of course I was. How did you find out? Did you challenge him?

ISOBEL: No. I employed a little sham of my own, I'm afraid. I feigned a professional interest in the salve Dr Clarkson had prescribed for him. He hadn't used any of it.

VIOLET: And Dr Clarkson is in on it?

ISOBEL: He must be.

VIOLET (with a sigh): I'm not surprised. That man really has no sense of family loyalty.

ISOBEL: I refrain from pointing out that he isn't family.

Violet dismisses this with a wave of her hand.

VIOLET: You know what I mean. What about Mr Poirot's devoted nurse, then?

ISOBEL: Barrow, you mean? He's a complication, that's true.

VIOLET: He'd be flattered to hear that, I'm sure. (They exchange a wry smile.) Well, have you told Robert and Cora?

ISOBEL: No, not yet. I still need to think what to do with this knowledge, now that I have it.

VIOLET: Well, don't think too long, or I shall intervene.

ISOBEL (slightly alarmed): Please don't. I'll sort it out.

VIOLET: Well, if you insist. But I will not stand by and watch my son and his household be taken for a fool forever.

SCENE 96

INT. THIRSK. THE GOLDEN FLEECE HOTEL. MORNING

Poirot and Hastings stand at the reception desk of the Golden Fleece Hotel, much like Hastings and Tom Branson did on the day before. But the manager behind the desk has now been joined by a chambermaid, a very young woman in cap and apron with red hair and freckles. She's very nervous, kneading her hands as Poirot addresses her. Hastings has his notebook at the ready.

POIROT: Please, Mademoiselle, it is very important that you tell us what exactly the man whom you know as Mr Green looked like.

CHAMBERMAID (with a shrug): Just – normal, like. On the shorter side. Brown hair. I can't tell you more than that. I just took him his meals and made the bed when he was out, and such things.

POIROT: Brown hair, eh? Do you remember the colour of his eyes?

CHAMBERMAID: No.

POIROT: Then please try and recall for us the morning when he was gone. Was it you who cleared out his room and put together his belongings for the auction?

CHAMBERMAID: Yes. Me and Mrs Barker, our housekeeper.

POIROT: What things did you find in his luggage?

CHAMBERMAID: Nothing special. Toiletries. Spare clothes, shirts and socks and the like.

Hastings takes notes of all of this.

POIROT: Any books or papers?

CHAMBERMAID (shaking her head): No. Just some magazines, but Mrs Barker burned those right away.

POIROT: No personal documents? Letters? Or an address book?

The chambermaid shakes her head again.

MANAGER (grumpily): He took good care that we wouldn't be able to trace him.

POIROT (to the chambermaid): And on his last evening here, were you on duty then, too? (The chambermaid nods.) Then please to tell us what happened then.

CHAMBERMAID: Well, that message came, and I took it to him, to his room. Then later, I took him his dinner. He ate in his room most of the time. I think he didn't like mixing with the other guests. Then I don't know what happened next, but - (with a glance at the manager) – as Mr Barker's told you -

MANAGER: He went out around nine, and that was the last we ever saw of him.

POIROT: When was he first missed?

CHAMBERMAID: He'd ordered his breakfast for eight the next morning, but he didn't answer when I knocked. We tried again at half past, and at nine, and then Mrs Barker opened with the master key, and the room was empty.

POIROT: Was the bed slept in?

CHAMBERMAID: It was a bit rumpled maybe, sir. I didn't really look.

She's still constantly lacing and unlacing her fingers.

POIROT: Hmm. (A pause.) Well, tell me, Mademoiselle – the message that came for the supposed Mr Green, do you know when that was?

CHAMBERMAID: Oh, yes, I took it meself. (With another glance at the manager) Mr Barker wasn't here for a moment, and the page boy was out in the yard, I think, so there was no one but me in the hall. It was late afternoon. After tea, but way before dinner. Maybe around six?

POIROT: And did it come by post, or by telephone?

CHAMBERMAID: Neither, sir. It was delivered by hand.

Poirot and Hastings exchange a surprised look.

MANAGER: What? Why did you never say that, Lucy?

CHAMBERMAID (blushing): I didn't know that it mattered, sir.

POIROT: It may matter a great deal, Mademoiselle. Can you tell us anything about the messenger? Was it anyone you knew, from the telegraph office, or…?

CHAMBERMAID: No, he was a stranger. He came by car, because I heard him drive away again when he left.

HASTINGS: Did he speak to you?

CHAMBERMAID: Yes, but he just said, 'This is for Mr Green. Please let him have it immediately' or something like that, and pushed the note across the counter.

POIROT: Did you see what the message was?

CHAMBERMAID: No, it was in a cover.

POIROT: Can you describe the man?

CHAMBERMAID: Well, I didn't see much of him, because he never took off his hat and had it pulled down over his face a bit. But he was young. Lightly built, but tall. Very dark hair, dark brown or even black. (She bites her lip and frowns as she recalls the details.) Fine-boned face, delicate, like. Nicely dressed, too. He had a scarf on, against the cold, but underneath, a fine white shirt and tie. Like our waiters when we do big dinners.

HASTINGS (to Poirot, alarmed): But -

Poirot waves his friend into silence.

POIROT (to the chambermaid): And is there anything else that you recall about him? Anything that stood out to you?

CHAMBERMAID: Well, yes, sir, there was. He wore a strange glove.

POIROT: Strange, in what way?

CHAMBERMAID: It caught me eye when he handed over the message. It only covered his palm. (She holds out her hand and points to demonstrate.) The fingers were cut off, but irregular, like. Some half covered, some not at all. I don't know why. I've never seen anything like it.

Hastings lets out a long breath.

HASTINGS: Well, I'll be damned.

Poirot, however, doesn't look surprised in the least.