[theme music] [Customer] Thank you very much, keep the change.

Thank you very much, sir.

-Can I have my bill, please?

-Certainly, sir.

Bill for Table 7, please, Mrs. Crabbe.

Thank you.

Tell old Crabbe to put his tin opener away and come and have a drink, will you, my lovely?

I'll tell him, sir.

We'll have the bill, now, please.

Yes, sir.

-Bill for Table 5, please.

-[Margaret] Coming up.

Plummer wants you to have a drink with him.

Oh, God, doesn't that man ever give up?

What's he after?

He wants to supply us with meat and he just won't take no for an answer.

Oh, I've got a theory on butchers.

I reckon it's something to do with the constant proximity to death.

Henderson, that three-course meal I gave you earlier this evening was in exchange for the washing up, not for the meaning of life.

Well, what do you want me to tell him?

How are we doing in here?

It's all right, Nicola.

Leave it to Margaret, would you?

Margaret, please, could you get rid of Plummer for me?

I don't think it would do you any harm to talk to him, Henry.

I am not buying his meat, and that's that.

Well, it's got to be cheaper than Bedlow's.

The prices they charge, we could put a frame round the beef and hang it on the wall.

Margaret.

All right, all right.

I'm going.

-Keep the change.

-Thank you, sir.

-Whereabouts is-- -Top of the stairs, sir.

-Thank you very much, indeed.

-Thank you.

Have a good night.

Good night.

-Good night, sir.

-Thank you.

Good night.

There you go.

I am sorry, Henry's got a lot of clearing up to do.

I hope you enjoyed your meal.

Yeah, not bad, not bad.

Put it on the plastic, will you, my lovely?

While I go for a Jimmy riddle.

Right, 'night, then.

-Good night, Nicola.

-Good night, Nicola.

Thanks a lot.

God, don't these people have any homes to go to?

Are you going to be in there all night?

Oi!

Can you hear me?

Thank you very much.

-Yeah.

-Thank you.

That little fellow, I reckon he's fallen down your loo.

He's been there for ages, he has.

-Oh, dear.

-I was banging on the door.

I couldn't get a cheep out of him.

If he doesn't come out soon, I'll have to tie a knot in it.

I'm worried about Table 7.

He went to the gents' ages ago, there's no sign of him.

-I'll go and have a look.

-Thanks, John.

It's all goin' here, isn't it?

Sir, is everything all right in there?

Sir, are you all right in there?

Same sort of thing happened at my last place.

What was that?

Customer had a heart attack in the gents'.

I think you ought to kick the door down.

Ah, the man himself.

Could I have a word, Crabbe, old bean?

Not now, Plummer.

Oh, he's not, is he?

Yes, I think he is.

Right.

Margaret, downstairs with me.

John, stay here, make sure nobody else comes in.

Um, did he, uh, pay his bill?

[sighing] Oh.

You're telling me the geezer in the khazi's brown bread?

Keep your voice down!

There's a slight problem, sir.

Perhaps you wouldn't mind using the ladies'.

Everything all right, is it?

Oh, yes, sir, everything's under control.

Sorry, sir, to inconvenience you.

There's a slight problem, Mr. Plummer.

It's that little feller, isn't it?

He's in there?

Everything's under control.

He's popped his clogs, hasn't he?

-Please, Mr. Plummer!

-Can I have a look?

You don't have to worry about me.

I'm a butcher, I've seen everything.

If you wouldn't mind just using the ladies'.

Well, as a matter of fact, I do mind.

You can call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to hang out with the chaps.

Come on downstairs, and I'll show you where the staff lavatory is.

The staff lavatory?

I can't wait.

No, police and ambulance, please.

Don't mention a word of this to anyone, Henderson.

People get very irrational about this sort of thing.

You mean they'll think it's the food?

Thank you, thank you!

They're on their way.

Good, oh, no.

I've told Mr. Plummer he can use the staff lavatory.

Mr. Plummer, if you'd like to just step this way.

Very kind of you, but, on second thoughts, I think I'll wait 'til I get home.

Come on, my lovely, let's be off.

At least we're not going out feet-first.

I'm only joking, Crabbe.

Night, all.

Wait a minute, he's upstairs, all alone, isn't he?

On my way.

-Table 5 have gone.

-Thank God.

[tires screech] -Where is he?

-Upstairs.

-Sorry about this.

-What?

Well, he's sort of, um... ...gone.

Um.

[Cambridge] We've got a male Caucasian, aged between 50 and 70.

Gray hair, ginger hair, or no hair at all.

Possibly a mustache, possibly not.

Three votes for glasses, two against, and one abstention.

Thank you all very much.

Right, you lot, back to work.

Henderson, go and get me some King Edwards.

Right, bye.

-Bye.

-Bye.

Really, how much did he have to drink, Mrs. Crabbe?

Oh, two large gin-and-tonics, one bottle of claret, two Armagnacs.

Well, that's an awful lot, isn't it?

Would you like me to work it out in units for you, Sergeant?

That won't be necessary, sir.

All I'm saying is-- I know what you're saying, Cambridge.

He had too much to drink and passed out in the lav, where I mistakenly pronounced him dead.

And then 10 minutes later, he comes to, stimulated, no doubt, by my pathetic attempts at the kiss of life, and wanders out into the night.

Well, it does seem the most likely explanation, Margaret.

I know, it's just, oh, there was something.

Shouldn't you be doing some origami on your napkins, John?

Yes, Mr. Crabbe.

Now, while I've got all your attention, can we please put the events of last night behind us?

Morbid speculation is gonna get us nowhere.

-Yes, Mr. Crabbe.

-Morning, all.

Oh.

Brought you a present.

Nice bit of beef.

Look, Plummer, we are extremely busy.

Look at that, prime Scotch beef.

Hung for 15 days.

Eat it in the next two or three.

Look at that marbling of fat, look at the color.

No, no, I'm sorry, I can't.

No strings attached.

You like it, and, believe me, you will, I can let you have that at 1.70 a pound on the bone.

Hello.

What's this?

It's a bit of rump.

Sometimes we use chuck, it depends on the marinade.

-Bedlow's rump, is it?

-Bedlow's organic rump.

Organic, eh?

How do you know it's organic?

What are you suggesting by that?

You can look at a bit of beef and tell if it's got enough fat in it, can't you?

-Yeah.

-You can tell, by the color, if it's been hung too long, and when you eat it, you'll soon know if it hasn't been hung long enough, but it could have more hormones in it than a Russian weightlifter, you wouldn't notice the difference.

It's a question of trust, Plummer.

My point, exactly.

Well, I must love you and leave you.

Oh, by the way, when Bedlow's delivers, do you weigh everything?

No, why?

Just a thought.

Toodle-pip.

What a nerve!

I've just found some car keys.

Oh, just put them behind the bar, John.

Somebody will claim them, eventually.

From under his table.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Something has just occurred to me which should've occurred to me yesterday.

-What's that?

-Well, if he wasn't local and he was within walking distance of where he was staying, that can only mean-- -The Crown!

-Exactly.

You know, he's probably just tucking into his Olde Worlde English Breakfast Special at this very moment.

Well, if he is, that will be the end of him.

[Hotel Manager] Sounds like the bloke in 23.

Here we are, Mr. Jones.

Little bloke, gray hair, gray suit.

On brief acquaintance, I'd say that gray was the key word, here.

Yes, well, that sounds like him.

He must've forgotten to write his address.

Is he in?

I'd like a word.

He's not here anymore, he checked out last night.

Oh, he didn't stay overnight, then?

Last-minute change of plan, apparently.

Paid the full whack, so I can't complain.

Hmm, well, at least he's all right.

Or, rather, his friend did.

His friend did what?

Returned his room key and paid the bill.

Young chap.

It seems that Mr. Jones bumped into some friends at your restaurant and decided to spend the night with them.

What about his car?

He didn't come in a car.

He came in a minicab from the station.

Look, what's this all about, anyway?

I'm just trying to return some property of his, that's all.

Can't help you there, I'm afraid.

Yeah.

Well, thanks, anyway.

Um... did he make any phone calls at all?

I'd have to check his bill.

Oh, thanks very much, indeed.

But he didn't meet any friends here, did he?

Well, perhaps he met someone when he left the restaurant.

Oh, yes, he wanders out into Middleton High Street at 11:00 at night, having been unconscious for 20 minutes, and bumps into some old friends and decides, then and there, he's gonna spend the night with them, yes.

Yes, why not?

Did you know Bedlow's are supplying the Crown?

Henry, you're not listening to a word I say.

I mean, The Crown!

I was amazed.

Remember, we had a meal there before we bought the restaurant.

I had steak, it tasted like a carpet tile.

It can't have been Bedlow's.

Henry, I want to talk to you, outside, now.

Henry, I just think there is something odd going on.

All right, let's just imagine that Mr. Jones shuffled off this mortal coil in our upstairs loo.

What happened then?

Well, somebody moved him.

Who?

The restaurant was empty.

What about the couple on Table 5?

They were still there when John and Plummer came down.

Oh, they took Mr. Jones?

But why, opportunistic theft?

Look, Margaret, I know people pinch our ashtrays, but making off with dead customers is a bit over the top, isn't it?

Well, I don't know why, for heaven's sake, I'm not the detective!

All right, well, we know that Jones made a couple of phone calls from The Crown Hotel.

Cambridge is having them traced, so maybe we'll have a chance to sort this thing out once and for all.

Ah, so you do think there's something odd going on here, don't you?

Come on, Henry, admit it.

[sighs] Look, I think Mr. Jones is wandering around his house, somewhat hung over, wondering where on Earth he left his car keys.

Well, I hope you're right.

The Disappearing Diner made a phone call to a private address in Carthage.

Subscriber's name: Mrs. G. Burgess.

And another to a garage in Heathrow, long-term parking, car serviced while you fly.

Thank you, Cambridge.

You will get your reward in heaven, if not before.

Thank you, sir.

Mmm, I must go.

Aren't you gonna give me the other half?

Afraid not, sir.

I'm working with this team from Regional Crime.

They think we've got a perfume factory on our patch.

-A what?

-Imitation-perfume, sir.

Expensive labels, worthless muck, huge industry.

Well, I don't doubt it.

It destabilizes the economy, sir.

It should be of concern to us all.

Well, string 'em up, I say.

Bye, sir.

Bye, Cambridge.

And thanks.

[doorbell rings] [door opens] -Mrs. Burgess?

-Yes?

Hello, my name is Henry Crabbe.

I'm looking for a Mr. Norman Jones.

I believe you might be able to help me find him.

Are you selling something?

No, no, no, no.

I've got something that belongs to him: a set of car keys.

Oh, I see.

Well, actually, Mr. Jones is my brother.

Do come in, please.

Thank you.

I'm sorry about the mess.

Some friends came round for tea, I won't be a minute.

Can I get you anything, Mr. Crabbe?

No, no, nothing for me, thank you.

[glass clinking] -It's very clever, that.

-Yes, it is, isn't it?

My brother loves that sort of thing.

[glass clinks] And I like the duck over the door.

Oh, you noticed him, did you?

Yes, well, we call him Clyde.

Very nice.

So your brother lives here with you, does he?

Yes, but he's away an awful lot.

He's away on business at the moment.

That's why he was at your restaurant, I suppose.

How was he?

Uh, well, he was, um... Well, to be honest with you, I didn't see much of him.

Oh, dear, well, I hope he wasn't overdoing it.

He has to be very careful.

-Doctor's orders, you know.

-Really?

So he dropped his car keys, did he?

Typical.

Well, he didn't come to the restaurant in the car, so that's probably why he didn't notice when he dropped the keys.

It's a red BMW, isn't it?

Do you know, I think it's black.

But I'm not very good about cars, I'm afraid.

Um.

Ha.

Um, well, you're not gonna believe this, but I think I've lost the keys, myself.

Oh, dear.

Yes, I've just got a picture of them behind the bar in the restaurant.

Never mind.

Sorry about that, Mrs. Burgess.

Perhaps I could pop them in the post?

Yes, that would be fine.

Right.

Oh, better still, get your brother to give me a call at the restaurant.

Yes, there's my card.

You haven't spoken with him today at all, have you?

Oh, no, I should think he's much too busy to ring me.

Right, I'd best be off, then.

How did you track us down, Mr. Crabbe?

It was very clever of you.

I got the address from your brother's hotel.

Look, I'm sorry about those keys.

Oh, that's all right.

Thank you for going to so much trouble.

It was no trouble, bye, now.

Bye.

What the flaming heck was that all about?

Maybe he was just trying to return the car keys.

Jason, pigs will fly before your uncle writes his real address in an hotel register.

Something's happening.

Something's happening, so he's keeping his head down.

[Ripley] It's the bloke from that restaurant.

What's he doing here?

Are we missing something?

[Purvis] I don't know.

[Ripley] Well, whatever.

I think we ought to wait here, don't you?

You're the boss.

Okay, we'll wait here.

Sooner or later, one of them's gonna make a move, don't you reckon?

[knocks on door] How can I help you, sir?

Detective Inspector Crabbe, Barstock CID.

I'm looking for a black BMW.

Well, we've got a few of them.

What, been nicked, has it?

Well, it might have been.

We don't know the registration number, but we think the owner's name might be Jones.

Jones?

Here it is.

-Registration, K315 UUT.

-Could I have a look at it?

No problem, I'll show you where it is.

-[telephone rings] -Oh, just hang on.

Hello, could you just hang on for a minute, please?

Thank you.

It's row D, three cars down.

Cheers.

Yeah, sorry about that, how can I help you?

[alarm chirps] Any joy, Inspector?

Was he a little fellow, then, was he?

Gray hair and gray suit?

Yeah, that's right, a little bloke.

What's he done, then?

Well, we're not sure.

When's he picking it up?

He's paid up until next Friday.

Oh, would you give me a call on this number when he does?

Pie in the Sky, what's that?

I'm sorry, that's a restaurant I went to once.

There's the card.

[alarm chirps] Well, hard to say, really, but there must've been about, oh, quarter of a million pounds.

Good heavens!

Yeah, and the car was registered to Norman Jones.

Mrs. Burgess wasn't overkeen to acknowledge he was her brother, until I happened to mention the car keys.

[laughs] Well, why didn't you give them to her?

Aha!

Well, you see, Margaret, I've spent half my lifetime sitting in people's kitchens, being systematically lied to, so I know the signs to look out for, do you know what I mean?

Besides, there'd been somebody else in the house.

There were cups and saucers for three, the teapot was full and piping hot.

They must have scarpered right after I rang the bell.

What are you gonna do?

Well-- ah, Steve.

I've got some of these herb sausages.

I thought we might try them tomorrow with a parsnip and potato mash and a cucumber relish I want to try.

Cucumber relish, eh?

-Yeah.

-Henry.

Just a minute.

You slice them very, very thin, then salt them generously and let them stand for, oh, about an hour.

Then rinse off the salt, pat them dry, and then add sugar, white wine vinegar, and some finely chopped parsley.

Right.

And you might wanna try some thyme as well.

Henry, what are you going to do?

Well, I thought I would sneak into the garage late tonight, I would grab the money and stash it somewhere safe, leave it there for a couple or three years... And then... who knows?

Buy a little farmhouse in the Vallee de la Loire, bit of a vineyard, Chateau Crabbe, what do you think?

I'm not in the mood for jokes.

Look, Margaret, I am not gonna get involved because it's not my problem.

I've given all the information to Cambridge.

She can make a name for herself if she wants to.

I just don't understand why you've got such a bee in your bonnet about this one.

It's that poor little man, Henry.

I keep seeing him, lying on the floor.

I just wanna know what's happened to him, that's all!

Jason's on the move.

This could be it, you reckon?

Well, let's follow him and find out.

Table for one, is it, sir?

Yeah, looks like it.

In the window, perhaps?

No, this will do.

As you wish, sir.

Can I get you a drink or anything?

Yeah, Scotch and Coke.

-Yes, sir.

-Lots of rocks.

Yes, sir.

Hold on.

-[John] Yes, sir?

-Is Crabbe about?

I think so, sir.

'Cause he's got my Uncle Norman's car keys.

I'm sorry?

My Uncle Norman, he left his car keys here the other night.

Oh, I see.

I will tell Mr. Crabbe that you're here, sir.

Mr. Crabbe, there's a gentleman on Table 7.

It's the little bloke's nephew.

He says he'd like to speak to you.

Run that by me again, would you, John?

I see there's someone in the hot seat.

There's a bloke on Table 7, it's the little chap's nephew, and he's come to collect the car keys.

Oh, God!

Oh, my God.

He's sitting at the same table.

[Nicola] The table of doom!

Spooky.

I'll get him his drink.

Tell him I'll be out in a minute, John.

Yes, Mr. Crabbe.

Hello, Detective Sergeant Cambridge, please.

Mr. Crabbe will be out shortly, sir.

May I take your order?

I'll have pie and chips.

A very good choice, sir.

Where's your bog?

Top of the stairs, sir.

Thank you.

Anyone else comes back down those stairs, you know what to do.

One pie-and-chips, please.

Where's he gone?

The loo, where do you think?

Did you tell him about the door?

-What door?

-The door to the gents'.

Didn't Mrs. Crabbe tell you?

It sticks since you kicked it in.

[Henry] Nobody told me about that.

The curse of Table 7.

You have to be firm with that, it sticks.

What?

The door sticks, give it a good shove.

-[knob rattles] -Oi, do you mind?

Well, it won't open if there's someone in there, will it?

[door rattling] -Oi, are you still out there?

-Yes.

Well, give us a hand, I'm stuck in here.

[chuckles] The gents' door is causing problems, John.

You'd better take a look.

Bye, all, back at 5.

Stop right there!

Detective Sergeant Purvis, Regional Crime Squad.

Give me that briefcase, now.

I beg your pardon!

-I think you ought to, uh-- -Shut it.

I said, give me that briefcase.

Certainly not.

I really think you ought to-- I said, shut it!

-Oh!

-[dishes clatter] Move away from that door.

I see you've met DS Purvis, sir.

Okay, one more time.

Are you ready, in there?

Here we go!

Sir, DI Ripley, DS Purvis, Regional Crime.

I told you about them.

[Henry] Oh, yes, the perfume patrol.

Perfume business was a smokescreen.

We've been on this investigation 12 months, now.

I don't want the local woodentops going round flapping their mouths.

Uh, what investigation?

The target is Norman Jones.

Real name, James Henry Burgess.

One of the top forgers in Europe and never been nicked.

He was in your restaurant the other night.

Now, his son, Jason's, in there, feeding his face.

I see.

Jimmy Burgess has been turning out the best 20-quid drinking vouchers ever seen.

Last week, he left home with a suitcase full.

We reckon over a quarter of a million, face value.

And what went wrong?

Well, we followed him, we wanted to nick him and whoever he was selling the forged notes on to.

That's how we ended up here, but somewhere along the way, Burgess pulled a stroke and dumped the money and we don't know where.

-Cambridge.

-Black BMW.

Registration number Kilo 315 Uniform Uniform Tango.

That's Burgess's car.

I reported the whereabouts of the vehicle and its contents, sir.

It's under observation.

Thank you, Cambridge.

You found Jimmy Burgess' car?

[Henry] Yes.

With a boot full of money.

Quarter of a million pounds, probably.

So the local woodentops were able to help you, after all, Ripley.

Your thanks and apologies are gratefully received.

He's asked for his bill and the uncle's car keys.

Right.

Wait a minute, what are you doing?

Hmm?

Well, I thought I'd give Jason the keys, then you could all go and watch the car and wait for Jimmy Burgess to come and collect his dosh.

There's a problem.

What's that?

It's Jimmy Burgess.

He's dead.

[Margaret] I knew it.

So Jimmy Burgess is in the hospital as an unidentified DB.

When he's been positively IDed, he'll be moved to the coroner's office.

Ripley thought that might buy them enough time to recover the counterfeit money.

And I'll bet they thought it'd give them a chance to try and find the middle man, whoever's been buying Burgess's 20-pound notes.

Are you telling me they dragged that poor man out of here, knowing he was dead, and dumped him in the hospital, without even telling his family?

Yeah.

Well, I don't care what that man has done.

He's done forgery, Margaret.

He makes counterfeit money.

Yes, that is a dreadful crime.

It destabilizes the economy, it causes terrible uncertainty, but nonetheless, nonetheless, that poor man deserved better than being manhandled by a pair of so-called police officers!

Oh, you've done all right on the rump, haven't you?

It's almost a pound over.

It's all right, I won't tell anyone.

I'll let you off this time.

Will you be wanting to weigh the lamb as well?

No, no, no, that's fine, thanks, fine, fine.

[Driver] Okay.

-See you next week.

-Yeah.

Well, you certainly kept him on his toes, didn't you?

-Morning, sir.

-Morning, Cambridge.

-Are you all right, sir?

-I'm fine, thanks.

What do you want?

DI Ripley would like to see you, sir.

Well, I don't want to see him.

Well, my new chum Crabbe's gonna change all that.

Assuming he can follow a few simple instructions.

Yeah.

[chuckles] Okay, Lorna.

Later.

You're working with the big boys now, Crabbe.

I'll just have to try and control my excitement.

I want you to break the tragic news to Mrs. Burgess.

Oh, you want me to tell her her husband's dead?

But don't say Burgess.

Tell her Norman Jones is dead.

My guess is, she'll be gutted when she sees her old man lying there, and she'll identify him, why not?

You don't know anything about Jimmy Burgess, the master forger, you're just the local plod.

Oh, right, yes.

And when you tell her you've located the old boy's car, she won't be able to resist.

She's hard as nails.

Widowed or not, she'll try to cut a deal with that money.

She'll be down that garage before she's dried her eyes.

That's when we take over.

[Cambridge] Not keen on friend Ripley, are we sir?

[Henry] No.

Well, he's more interested in his career than he is in his work.

Some people, Fisher for instance, think they're both one and the same thing.

They're not.

[Cambridge] Do you think I'm one of those people, sir?

[Henry] No, Cambridge, not yet.

Not yet.

[doorbell dings] Something wrong, sir?

Don't be silly, Cambridge.

[door opens] You're the man from the restaurant, aren't you?

Yes, Mrs. Burgess, but I'm afraid I'm wearing a different hat today.

Detective Inspector Crabbe, Barstock CID.

I don't understand.

It's about your brother, Norman Jones.

I'm afraid I've got some very bad news.

Mrs. Burgess.

Yes, let's get it over with.

[sobbing] Mrs. Burgess, Can you identify this person?

Yes, yes, I can.

I'm sorry, I must ask you formally.

Can you identify this man by name?

Well, it's Norman, isn't it?

Norman, my brother, who do you think?

You can identify this man as Norman Jones, your brother?

Yes, of course I can!

It's what she just said, isn't it?

Are you absolutely sure?

Yes, of course I'm sure!

He lives with me, he lived with me.

It was just a few days ago that I made his breakfast for him.

I'm not gonna forget what he looks like since then, am I?

It's all right, Mum.

What's your problem, Crabbe?

I'm sorry, um, it's very upsetting, I know.

Why don't you take your mother into the next room?

So what do you think?

Well, either this is Norman Jones, her brother, or she's the best liar I've ever met.

Well... let's see what happens when you tell her about the car.

[sighs] Goodbye, whoever you are.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Burgess.

And please accept our deepest sympathies.

There is just one other thing.

We've managed to locate your brother's car.

I know you don't wanna be bothered with trivialities at a time like this, so if you'd like me to arrange to have it collected?

That won't be necessary.

Just tell us where it is, Crabbe.

It's in a carpark near Heathrow Airport.

I have the address here.

Perhaps your husband could pick it up?

I beg your pardon.

There is a Mr. Burgess, I take it?

There is, but he is no longer a fixture.

We don't mention his name.

[Henry] You know, a visit to the mortuary always gives me a terrific appetite.

Reaffirmation of life or something, I suppose.

[Cambridge chuckles] [Henry] Good God!

[Cambridge] Something wrong, sir?

Pull over just here, would you?

[driver whistling] Oh, hello.

[Henry] Just been having your lunch, then?

What, in there?

Not likely.

You were never delivering there, were you?

Are you following me or something?

No, no, no, I just happened to be passing by and I saw your van and I stopped and I thought, Bedlow's.

I mean, Bedlow's can't be delivering their prime, grass-fed beef to Bob's Big Burgers, can they?

We supply 100% pure beef burgers, that's the official description.

I see, 100% pure beef.

Yes, now, what does that actually mean?

Look, if you got any queries, you see the top man and stop giving me aggravation.

I just deliver the stuff.

Which is what I should be doing now, not standing around here, arguing the toss with you.

Are you listening?

Ducks.

That's right, ducks.

100% pure duck, as it happens.

Real feathers and all.

Or do you think I stuck them on meself?

Right, Cambridge.

Back to Mrs. Burgess' house.

Oh, why?

Ducks.

Ducks?

Well, about a thousand years ago, I had the dubious pleasure of arresting an elderly housebreaker called Albie Potts.

Anyway, while I was searching Albie's abode, I came across a sheaf of blank MOT certificates.

-And?

-Well, they were forgeries, Cambridge.

Very good ones, actually.

Go on.

Well, Albie had nicked them from a little bungalow owned by a Mr. Francis Battle.

Naturally, Mr. Battle denied any burglary had taken place at all.

But what I've just remembered is that, on Mr. Battle's front garden, there were some rather beautiful model ducks.

Ducks.

-Mrs. Burgess'.

-Yes, sir.

[Cambridge] So you think this man, Battle, is actually Jimmy Burgess?

Yes, but the Jimmy Burgess I knew was 6-foot tall and at least 16 stone.

Even with the passage of time, there's no way he could be confused for Ripley's Burgess.

So you think Burgess is still alive?

Oh, yes.

[chuckles] Norman Jones really is Norman Jones, Mrs. Burgess' brother.

But Mr. Burgess, he was never arrested.

There's no record of him, he's not on file anywhere.

Ripley and Purvis don't even know what he looks like.

They've been following the wrong man.

We ought to inform DI Ripley, sir.

Oh, I don't see any need to do that yet.

-After all, I might be wrong.

-[vehicle approaches] Look, sir.

Well, sir?

Hang on, what's this?

It's Jason.

Was that Burgess?

How should I know, Cambridge?

It was a very long time ago.

Now, for heaven's sake, get the car started.

I'm trying, sir!

What did I tell you?

-Sweet as a nut.

-On your marks, everyone.

The eagle has landed.

He's going into the garage.

Don't let Ripley and Purvis know we're here.

Well, we don't want to get in their way, do we?

There's the car, Mrs. Jones.

Thank you.

Got those Granada discs for you, mate.

What discs?

Well, it says, here, "Granada discs for Pilkington's."

This ain't Pilkington's.

Pilkington's on the other side of the airport.

I don't believe it, this is my first day and all.

What's my best way to Pilkington's, then?

[engine starts] Stand by.

[tires screeching] Go, go, go!

[tires screeching] [siren wailing] What seems to be the trouble, officer?

Let's have a look in the boot and find out, shall we?

Here comes the van, sir.

Pull the car apart, it's in there somewhere.

Well, this is the bit you say "go, go, go," sir.

Kindly stop the van, please, Sergeant.

[tires screeching] Well, come on, Cambridge.

[chatter on walkie-talkie] [Ripley] Well, go on, then, get out there!

Ugh, God, I hate cars.

[Henry] James Henry Burgess?

You probably don't remember me.

We're all finished here.

Thanks.

He's gonna claim it all for himself, you know?

Well, it's the work that counts, not the career, right?

[Henry] Hmm.

[Steve] John, pass us that mustard, would you?

Mmm, that's a fantastic bit of meat.

Thank you, Henderson.

It's marvelous beef.

Beautifully cooked, of course, Mr. Crabbe, but it is marvelous beef.

It is actually the tenderest bit of beef we've had in ages.

Great flavor, too.

What is this, a commercial for the Meat Marketing Board?

Come on, Crabbe, what do you think?

It's not bad.

"Not bad"?

Come off it, Crabbe.

It's bloody marvelous and you know it.

Everyone working hard, I see.

Have some of this beef, Mrs. C., it's the real thing.

Not remotely like those beef-flavored crisps you keep in the car.

Oh, that's excellent.

Excellent!

If it's any help, Margaret, I've already made an arrangement with Mr. Plummer, so there's no need to pretend you can taste anything.

-Good.

-Yeah.

That's the genuine article, that is.

You can always tell the genuine article.

Oh, if only that were true.

[ending theme music]