Get out here, you weasel!
Easy, Thommo, mate.
That's enough damage for one night.
I've got all the dirt on you, Chambers.
Give it a rest, would ya? He's gone.
Happy now?
Gutless, conniving bastard.
But you didn't have to take a swing at him.
Come on, mate. It's your shout.
Well, that's it... I'm skint now.
Stony-broke.
Thanks to you. Oh, dry up, will ya?
Here's your ruddy pound back. You'll get yours next pay.
Now get off my back. Take it!
Pack it in, you two! Bloody hell.
I tell ya, you've got a cheek doing that, that's for sure.
Thommo! HEY! HEY! Hey, you alright?
Thommo!
It's alright.
Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells http://UKsubtitles.ru
What can you tell us about the vehicle?
Not much.
The lamps were shining full in my face.
Something big and flash.
Did you see the registration number?
So the three of you stopped here before for a drink?
Yeah? So?
What about Thommo? A few beers? More than that?
Shouldn't you be out there finding whoever it was did this?
Tell us again exactly what happened just before the accident.
That wasn't no accident.
We've heard Mr Birmingham and Mr Cliff were having a disagreement.
Heard? From who?
From Cliff.
They had a few words, that's all.
Just words? There might have been a bit of shoving.
Which left Mr Birmingham in the path of an oncoming vehicle.
You reckon Ronnie did this on purpose?
That car came straight at us!
Ah! Ma petite Phryne.
Veronique Sarcelle?!
Mr Butler, cafe au lait, s'il vous plait.
Certainement.
What brings you all the way to Melbourne?
To surprise you, ma chere, what else?
Can I take your scarf? No, no, I am fine.
What a surprise. After all these years!
Oh, I wanted to see this part of the world.
Pierre always talked of making the journey.
He wanted to paint in this light.
Which I am still not accustomed to.
How long has it been?
Whew! Nine years, at least.
Good times, oui?
Interesting times. Ah.
Surely you still have some of his paintings?
I had to sell them all.
It broke my heart, but, oh, the bills...
You had to survive somehow.
It was never easy, even before.
But how happy we were. You remember?
I remember the singing and the dancing
and all those mad, bad parties.
The war was over, Paris was free.
We were intoxicated with life.
And Sarcelle, he was inspired to paint.
He was like a demon, day and night.
And now it is lost.
At least I know this one has a safe home.
Do you remember sitting for this?
I remember too much wine for lunch.
'Don't move,' Pierre kept saying.
'I'm not moving!' 'It's the room!'
Pierre could not then sell a painting.
After he died, everyone wanted a Sarcelle.
When it was too late.
This was always one of my favourites.
But there was one I wanted even more.
Oh...!
It cannot be. She was sold to a dealer.
A dealer commissioned by me.
Ma petit Phryne.
This was the one you truly wanted.
Sarcelle would not part with it.
Ah, Pierre, mon amour. How I miss you.
I'm sorry. I never thought to see it again.
You know this was his best work.
That's what he always said. He would never sell it.
We will never know what happened that terrible night.
Ah.
Coffee is ready downstairs, Miss Fisher.
Thank you, Mr Butler.
If a French luncheon is in order,
I noticed that the butcher's shop has duck in the window.
That's very considerate, but we will be dining out.
Very good, miss. Mr Butler.
The painting in the parlour. You know the one I mean.
Could you please lift it down and wrap it?
Madame Sarcelle will be taking it with her.
Of course. Phryne, no!
I did not come here... But it belongs with you.
And it's what Pierre would have wanted.
You must understand, I cannot pay you.
Which is just the way I want it.
How many times do you need to hear the same bloody story?
The car headed straight for us. That's all we know.
Look, we just need to finish your statements, alright?
Excuse me.
Track down any witnesses?
The bloke from the bakery says he saw a car parked out front
just before closing.
A blue Rolls. Did you say Rolls?
Do you know anyone who owns a blue Rolls?
Hector bloody Chambers. The bookie?
That slimy, double-crossing little toad.
First he fleeces us, and then...
Then he tries to run you down? Why?
We got the nod on a horse in the fourth at Flemington yesterday.
On a fixed race, no doubt.
Don't know nothing about that.
So we all had a tipple. Fifty to one.
Bet a pound each with Chambers.
And the horse came in first? By four lengths.
So we front Chambers in the back bar.
When Thommo tried to get him to cough up, he just laughed at us.
Said he wouldn't pay out on a tip-off.
That's when there was a bit of biff.
We told Thommo, Chambers wasn't worth it, but it was too late.
He took a swing. Birmingham hit Chambers?
Bert! Oh, you blokes are a sight for sore eyes.
Just been to see Thommo's missus at the hospital.
And?
Not good.
Out of my road, Tarzan.
What now, sir?
We have a word with Chambers, Constable,
before Bert and his mates do.
Trust me, Seth.
This nag's had so much rocket fuel pumped into her
she could run to Sydney and back.
Yeah, no problem.
Hector Chambers?
Who wants to know?
Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.
Bit early in the day to be drinking, isn't it?
Pure health tonic.
Kicked alcohol years ago. Gives me gout.
No ill effects from smoking, though?
None at all.
Why don't you tell us how your motor vehicle
came to be involved in a hit-and-run last night?
Or you could tell me.
You had a dispute about a bet with the victim.
I understand he gave you that shiner.
I'm a well-to-do gentleman.
I've got better things to do
than run down diggers for the sake of 150 quid.
So you admit they did place bets with you?
I admit nothing.
Mm.
Oh! Never seen that before.
It's a public bar. Nothing to do with me, so you can't charge me.
How about we charge you with murder instead, hmm?
Murder? What?
Birmingham and his colleagues placed a bet,
but there was a dispute when you refused to pay out.
Then he struck you a blow to the eye
and you retaliated by running him down.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your horses.
The Police Association clubrooms
must be in need of, what, a couple of new punching bags, yeah?
Some new table tennis paddle sticks, yeah?
Add bribery to the charges. Yes, sir.
Look, my Rolls was stolen.
How convenient.
I might even have half an idea who stole it.
His name?
I'm bad with names.
Something, uh, foreign.
Describe him.
Foreign-looking.
Doesn't sound like much of an alibi. Sure you want to stick to that story?
The foreigner stole my Rolls.
C'est Cafe Anatole!
Re-created down to the last tiny detail,
as Cafe Replique, for obvious reasons.
Mademoiselle Fisher!
It has been too long.
And who is your charming friend?
Anatole, c'est moi! Veronique!
Veronique? Oui!
Sarcelle? Oui! Ma chere! I hardly recognise you!
You are well? Oui, oui, of course.
And you? Life is good.
An early luncheon is highly in order. Is that onion soup I smell?
Made fresh this morning.
With cognac? Naturellement. Ah bon.
Jean, soupe a I'oignon for two.
Yes, sir. May I take your coat?
Oui.
Ah, merci, Jean.
Not your usual table, Mademoiselle Fisher,
but Veronique will like this one much better.
Regardez vous.
The opening of Cafe Anatole of Paris.
Ah...
Oh!
Without you, we would have starved.
Such a great artist.
I like to think I helped him in some small way.
Oh, Pierre.
But it is good...
the French police have reopened the investigation into his death, oui?
Have they?
It was reported in the French newspapers.
I have La Presse posted to me. I keep them all.
What prompted the reopening of the investigation?
Now that his work is famous, now they care.
You are here with the police?
No. I came only to see my old friend, Phryne.
Have they found the Australians who saw what happened?
The gendarmes, they do not confide in me.
Excusez moi.
Do you know what line of investigation
the police are pursuing?
Perhaps I could be of assistance.
That's right, you are now the detective.
If there's any way that I could help.
It is a thing of the past.
There's nothing the police can do that will bring Pierre back.
Some things cannot be undone.
Ah. Voila.
Merci!
Ah, merci, merci! Voila.
Bon appetit.
Does Anatole still give the room to the artists after closing?
Yes. Ah.
But it's not the same as it was.
Ah, Pierre, mon amour.
Mm. Veronique, je t'aime.
Ah, the cognac!
Ah, Rene, we thought you were not coming! Mwah!
Mon ami!
My new model, Mademoiselle Phryne.
Tu approuve?
What treasure is this?
Rene Dubois, at your service, mademoiselle.
Quite lovely, isn't it? Mm. Very.
The way her... Hello.
Dot! Hugh.
Uh...
You said you wanted to go to the pictures tonight.
What, tonight?
I... don't think I can.
Uh, it's your favourite. The Sheik.
Oh.
But I have sewing and baking to do for the fete.
Well, I thought ice-cream at Kerby's, and then maybe... a...
a walk along the pier afterwards.
I... I can't, Hugh. I've got a headache.
I think I should just take a powder and have a quiet night.
Uh, maybe tomorrow night, then.
Maybe.
I... I hope you feel better.
Thank you for the tea, Mr Butler. Mm.
What is it, Dorothy?
I was down at the church, helping to organise for the fete,
and Fr Grogan made me go to confession.
Made you?
It's been a while.
He said he's tried to be understanding
ever since I started working for Miss Fisher.
Like when I pretended to be in the family way
to help catch Butcher George,
or... when I helped the Latvians with the bank robbery.
You were taken hostage at the time.
But he says he draws the line at...
What?
Kissing a Protestant.
He said I'm not to see Hugh again.
Oh, dear.
Thommo, you right mate?
Right as rain.
What?
He said 'Right as rain'. Sure you are.
I'll get you some water.
Nurse.
Nurse!
I'm sorry.
There's plenty of room. You're more than welcome to stay.
Merci, non. You have been more than generous.
But I am tired.
Such a good lunch.
At least let me give you a lift home.
Ah, the Seascape Hotel is not so far from here.
The walk will do me good. In Paris, I walk everywhere.
You'd tell me if there was anything I could do to help you?
Of course.
And you will come back for dinner?
I look forward to that.
Ah.
Merci beaucoup.
You will never know how much this means.
You were always his favourite model.
You're beautiful on the outside and the inside.
Au revoir. Au revoir.
Ah, carotte? Oui.
Parfait!
Voila!
Rene, you waste your talent.
This dadaism is just empty parody.
There can be no brave new world if there is no brave new art.
Well, if this is the new art,
then I will happily remain in the Dark Ages.
- A dinosaur, that is you, mon ami. - Mwah!
It's a crime... wasting a beautiful body like this black cat
on the likes of you.
And you, Monsieur Rene...
what would you do with my body?
I think you are so brave, miss,
to stand in a room full of men, with no clothes.
I didn't have two centimes to rub together after the war.
My ambulance unit had been disbanded,
and my family had no idea where to send me money.
And it was exhilarating.
But you were all alone in a foreign country. Weren't you scared?
I don't think I was sensible enough to be scared.
I'll let Mr Butler know he'll need to buy that duck after all.
Sorry to disturb you, miss.
Mr Johnson and Mr Yates would like a word.
What's this?
I've got another couple of quid, too.
I want to hire you, same as anybody else would.
I suggested we call in the professional.
My money's as good as any toff's.
I'm at your service, Bert.
And there is no question of me charging you.
It will be my honour to help.
So, you think this Hector Chambers is responsible for your friend's death?
The baker saw the Rolls just after it collected Mr Birmingham.
The driver then continued on round the next corner,
drove on the wrong side of the road...
Not a lot of crime out there today?
Ah, Miss Fisher.
I was wondering when Bert would wheel in the heavy artillery.
Bert is naturally keen to see some movement in this tragic matter.
And as movement in copper speak means 'slower than a wet week'...
Mr Chambers claims his car was stolen, Bert.
Stolen my ar... Aunt Mary.
We're trying to re-create the scene of a crime.
So I see. Yours?
They're... it... my... They're my... it's my nephew's.
Uh, and if you could please not touch.
Beep beep!
Looks like the driver's had a few too many sherries.
Can't have been Hector Chambers, then.
Why?
He doesn't drink. His preferred vice is cheap cigars.
What are these? Collisions.
As I was saying,
the driver then clipped the milk truck,
drove over the bollard and drove off.
Must have done some damage.
And left a lot of bloody evidence.
He's hit the milk truck here,
and then continued over the bollard there.
The local constables were all over this.
And they found the glass from the broken head lamp?
It's all in the report.
So they noticed the engine oil? Uh...
And if he's done his sump, he wouldn't get far.
He could've knocked the plug loose.
Wouldn't come out right away. Up the street a bit, maybe.
Just...
How far exactly did these constables look?
I... J...
Just...
Here's some more oil.
Not a lot left. Sump'd be running dry by this time.
Can't be much further. Engine would've seized up.
Just what we need, an amateur detective on the job.
With us professionals?
Nothin'.
It didn't bleeding vanish off the face of the earth.
I suspect not, Bert.
Should we add psychic powers
to your already considerable list of accomplishments?
No, just an exceptionally good sense of smell.
You mentioned something about cheap cigars.
Chambers.
Get back. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
I'd prefer you not to let all of Fitzroy know we're here.
You got a better idea? Yeah.
You two ladies stay here with Miss Fisher.
She won't be going anywhere, not in that skirt.
Keep your shirts on, gentlemen.
No need for anyone to miss out on the fun.
Morning, sir.
Lovely car.
Had a bit of a bingle, did we?
Where's Chambers?
Hey...! Who? Give me that, you idiot!
Hector Chambers.
Never heard of him. But you just happen to have his car.
I come home from me shift,
there she was in the laneway, right outside my gate.
Only thing missing was the wrapping paper and gift card.
I found her, right? Not a word of a lie.
Problem is, this car was used in a hit-and-run incident.
A man was killed. Bloody hell.
Well, no wonder he scarpered.
Who, the driver? Yeah.
Can you describe him?
So high. Hat, jacket.
Is this the man?
That don't look like him. The other bloke, though, he was um...
Uh, foreign-looking? Yeah. Yeah, that's it.
Looks like Hector Chambers was telling the truth.
Well, there's a turn-up for the books.
But let's do a thorough check of the car.
The Church fete?
Fr Grogan is determined
to make more money than St Christopher's this year.
Two more nut loaves.
I think he has a wager on it.
I thought gambling was a sin.
Well, I hope he appreciates all your efforts...
sewing, baking...
especially given his lack of understanding
about Hugh being a Protestant.
Fr Grogan says he's merely God's messenger.
But there must be something you can do to convince him
that stepping out with a nice young man like Hugh Collins
isn't a sin.
What would Miss Fisher do?
She'd probably make a big donation, or pull a gun on him.
Though I don't think either of those things would even budge my priest.
You're a woman with influence, Dorothy,
though you may not realise it.
How?
Well, you're crucial to the success of the fete.
If, for some reason,
you decided not to fulfil your commitments to the Church,
then I suspect you,
along with your handicrafts and mending and baking
would be sorely missed.
I would.
But isn't that... blackmail?
Oh, Miss Fisher wouldn't see it like that.
It'd be... calling his bluff.
Shall I keep the confit de canard warm, miss?
I'm sure it will be just as delicious tomorrow, Mr Butler.
But it does seem that Madame Sarcelle will not be making an appearance.
Is that the Seascape Hotel?
I'd like to speak with one of your guests, Madame Sarcelle?
S-A-R-C-E-L-L-E.
It's French.
Could you please check again?
You have no idea where she might be staying?
No, but wherever it is, I suspect she's fallen on hard times.
Not going to stay for another cocoa?
Got some nosing around to do.
Since the coppers aren't up for much.
Chambers' story about his car being stolen seems to hold water.
Isn't it possible that someone else had something against your Thommo?
It was Chambers. Dead cert.
Yeah, and if it wasn't him behind the wheel,
it was one of his cronies.
Thanks for the cocoa.
Thanks, miss.
You think they're wasting their time?
It doesn't add up, Dot.
A career criminal like Chambers
doesn't seem the type to run over one of his punters in a fit of pique.
There's some other angle to this.
Stay here.
Mr Butler! Help!
He had a car parked in the lane. I'll telephone the police.
No, Mr Butler, it can wait till morning.
But what if he returns? He won't.
He got what he was after.
There's only one French-bound vessel
due to sail from Melbourne in the next month,
and there's no Sarcelle on the passenger list.
Well, at least we know she won't be leaving the country in a hurry.
I do know when this lady arrived in Melbourne, if that's any help.
It was only ten days ago on the Empress of Australia.
Apparently there was a passenger named Sarcelle
who spent the entire voyage in the sick bay.
She was travelling with her husband.
Husband?
She never remarried.
So we're looking for an accomplice.
Ron, open up!
Ronnie! Ronnie!
Ronnie, no!
There's nothing else that you could have done, Bert.
Thank God you're safe.
Ronnie's bed was on fire.
I did my best to get to him.
I could see him there.
Even at the last, he was waving me to get back.
But I couldn't help him.
This doesn't make... Just d...
So you finished the war in France?
Demobbed in Paris.
Took their bloody time getting us home.
Not that I'm complaining. There are worse cities to kill time.
Should have seen it. Just wall-to-wall diggers.
Making more noise than a flock of cockies at sunset.
Drunk cockies at that.
Ronnie was always the one to drag us out sightseeing.
Hey? Only sight you saw was the bottom of a glass.
Used to come stumbling back to the station at the crack of dawn.
Station? What station?
Don't know. What was the name of the one we left from?
♪ From Montparnasse, parlez vous? ♪
♪ Mademoiselle from Montparnasse, parlez vous? ♪
♪ Mademoiselle... ♪
Mont... Mont... Montparnasse.
♪ From Montparnasse... ♪
He dropped a painting.
We handed it in.
I thought it was next to the article
about repairs to the Eiffel Tower, but...
Ah. Voila.
'French police have reopened the case
into the death of well-known artist Pierre Sarcelle
nearly ten years after he was pushed under a train...
at Montparnasse Station in January 1919.'
♪ Mademoiselle from Montparnasse, parlez vous? ♪
'It is believed his killer
was attempting to steal Sarcelle's last painting...'
'Woman with Peignoir.'
It must be him.
Who else would kill for that painting?
Arch your neck, if you please.
Good. Good. Good.
Good, good.
- Let's go! - Rene!
On y va!
I told you I was working tonight.
And I told you no more. C'est fini!
Rene! Are you mad?
Rene, please, no trouble.
I'm coming.
You are the only one who understands me...
ma chat noir.
'The police are making every effort to assist
to find three Australian soldiers
who may be able to assist with enquiries.'
They're looking for Bert and his friends.
Rene got to two of them first.
Rene?
Rene Dubois?
To silence the men who saw him kill Pierre.
Yes, miss.
Uh, sir, it's Miss Fisher on the telephone.
Please explain to her that I'm not at her beck...
She said it's an emergency. She thinks Bert is in danger.
Miss Fisher?
Wait, please, slow down.
And did the barman at the Flora say where Bert was heading?
I'll be right there.
Six, seven, eight...
To Ronnie. To Ronnie.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...
Thanks heavens.
Thirty-one, thirty-two...
Bert!
You're not going anywhere.
I'm not about to be frightened off by some froggy with a peashooter.
But you are about to lay low for a while, well out of harm's way.
For me, Bert.
- Please. - I'll keep an eye on him, miss.
I suppose the cab could do with a wash.
Thank you, Bert. I appreciate it.
Miss.
Thank you very much. Goodbye.
Turns out the French authorities DID send a letter to the army.
It sat on a Second Lieutenant's desk for a month,
then moved to a Major's desk, then finally to a Brigadier's.
The wheels of international justice turn slowly.
I suspect Bert would have been contacted
before the century was out.
Le ce se ne...
I'm afraid my French isn't quite what it should be.
Bert and his mates were at Montparnasse station
when Rene pushed Pierre Sarcelle under a train.
Now Rene's here to make sure no one speaks with the gendarmes.
So he comes to the other end of the earth to track down the witnesses?
Then steal a painting or two while he's here?
Rene is an opportunist.
Any other ideas as to how we track him down?
Apart from Veronique, I have no idea who else he might be in contact with.
There is one person we know he had dealings with.
How did Dubois get in contact with you?
The traditional way. He came up to me, started talking.
What did he want?
And you are?
I'm the woman who'll make you suffer, and suffer dearly,
if you don't start talking.
We're dealing with not one but two suspicious deaths.
Nothing to do with me.
I can smell an accessory-to-murder charge
in the wind.
Look, he must have seen Birmingham clock me, OK?
He sidled over, and he bought me a drink,
and then he told me how I should get even.
Then he offered me ã500.
For?
To knock 'em off.
What, the three of them?
Mm.
Thought he was having me on... but he didn't seem the joking sort.
So, what did you say?
I told him I'd, uh, I'd have to think about it.
ã500 don't seem like a lot for a hanging offence.
You thought you could get the price up?
I was stalling him.
He said he had a valuable piece of art to sell,
and if I helped him move it on, I'd get a piece of the pie.
I said I'd get back to him if I was interested.
How?
He gave me the card, uh, for some hotel he was staying at.
He said he'd be there for the rest of the week.
Here it is.
The Seascape Hotel.
Veronique was there the whole time, but under the name of Dubois.
Open the door! Veronique! Ouvrez la porte!
Right. Sir, wait, wait!
Out of the way.
Veronique!
Mon Dieu.
What has he done to you?
I am so ashamed.
After Pierre died, I was so lost,
and Rene, at first, was...
Charm itself.
For a short while, oui.
Now he has taken his bags and left me for dead.
No need to explain.
Do you know where he is?
No.
Rene killed Pierre.
No.
And now he's here to kill the witnesses.
And you, you are not safe either.
What did I ever do to Rene?
You broke his heart.
And for that, he want to kill you.
You are mine. You understand? Mine!
Not Sarcelle's!
Or anybody's.
Mine.
Body...
mind...
and soul.
You are not afraid?
He's the one who ought to be afraid.
Miss Fisher has come up with a plan to get you out of the cells.
You gonna post bail?
Better than that. I'm all ears.
I want you to get word to Dubois.
Tell him you know someone who can sell that painting.
Why would I do that?
I thought you wanted some fresh air, Hector.
But it's easy enough to keep you locked up indefinitely.
Tell him you'll meet him at Cafe Replique
this afternoon at 3pm.
So I'm the sacrificial goat in all of this, eh?
Hey? Is that it?
And a charming little goat you are, too.
Et pour Monsieur, escargots avec garlic butter.
Bon appetit.
To think I managed to avoid snails
the entire time I was posted in France.
Mm.
Not bad.
Like buttered pieces of India rubber.
The room is full of police.
You couldn't be more safe.
Just what we need.
Who invited the comrades? They must have followed us.
They're going to ruin everything. Phryne, no.
Dubois could be here any minute.
Here. Sit here. I'll keep an eye out for him.
Monsieur? W...
I don't feel I have your full attention, Miss Fisher.
Eyes front. Phryne.
Phryne!
Long time no see. This is from Thommo and Ronnie.
Bert, no!
Police! Out of the way!
My Phryne. It has been too long, no?
Agh.
Drop it, monsieur.
Stay back, Jack!
You would not shoot me.
I'm not afraid of you.
Are you alright?
I believe I am.
How was Church, Dorothy? Wonderful.
And the headache? Gone, completely.
Clothing, crafts, cakes, all delivered?
After I had a chat with Fr Grogan.
Was it a profitable chat?
I told him I was thinking of converting.
Very nice, Dorothy.
And what did Fr Grogan say to that?
Well, he says he thinks I should bide my time with my Protestant.
Perhaps he will follow God's shining beacon to the Catholic Church.
Oh! Wonderful news. Mm.
And where will you be biding your time tonight?
Hugh's taking me to the pictures.
Oh, you should take this along with you.
Miss Fisher wanted Constable Collins to have it.
For his nephew.
This is certainly a well-travelled work of art.
A little like me.
Thank you... for helping to retrieve it.
You're blushing.
I'm a grown man, Miss Fisher.
I'm not likely to blush at the sight of a little bare flesh.
That's what surprises me, Detective Inspector.
In fact... lately...
you're full of surprises.
It's all part of the job.
I have to get back to the station.
Excuse me.
Goodnight, then.
Goodnight.
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