Drama series. Father Brown investigates the murder of a Colonial Postal Service officer when the fair comes to Kembleford.
Browse content similar to The Tanganyika Green. Check below for episodes and series from the same categories and more!
Oh, look, they must be here for the antiques marquee.
It's new this year at the county fair.
They say they may be having fully qualified experts
coming from London. Just think of it!
We might have an undiscovered fortune right under our noses!
I fear Mammon is upon us.
Mrs Coombes at the station
said they'd all sorts in the luggage racks.
I wouldn't be a bit surprised if half the thieves in the county
are making their way to Kembleford as we speak.
They've already had one theft.
I got one of each kind so we can test them all.
I'm going to try the Worcester Pearmain first, I think.
Welcome to Kembleford.
-Are you here for the county fair?
-We are, yes.
I'm sorry, I do apologise, this is my daughter, Grace.
My wife was Tanganyikan.
Aldous, Aldous Kemp.
Africa! You must find everything here very different.
-Are you planning on staying?
-I'm going to medical school.
If we can find one that will have me.
Oh, come on, any medical school will be proud to have her.
I'm sure they would.
Britain has a fine tradition of scientists
inspired by apples.
Come on, Grace, let's check in.
And yours is this way, sir.
And that was delivered for you this morning, sir.
-KNOCK ON DOOR
-Can I come in?
You see, it has exactly the same pattern as that old bracelet
they dug up at Chedworth.
Penelope, do you know anything about antiquities?
Never get anything valued unless you can afford the insurance.
Oh, yes, just my luck -
the only two people in Kembleford
with no interest in worldly riches.
I wouldn't be so sure about that.
Father, you can't sell that, it was a gift!
Just curious to see what it felt like...
..to hold a new church roof in my hands.
"An early example of Harper's English futurist style,
"carved in the trenches of Arras." £300!
Well, I have always said I thought that oil lamp rather...
Clearly, you don't love her enough!
Be careful with that, it's Roman.
I was wondering if it mightn't date from around the same time
-they found all those coins at Chedworth?
not an auction house. If you want it cleaned, it's one and six.
It's in lovely condition.
And the pin and hinge fastener has been in use since Roman settlement.
Well, at least someone knows what they're talking about.
John here went to art school.
Oh, is that an antique as well?
She's a real beauty.
Sorry, no weapons.
How many times do I have to say it?
We do not turn customers away.
If a man wants a sword cleaned, he gets a sword cleaned.
You think we can afford to throw money away?
I know how things are.
I came back to help, didn't I?
Let's go back to work, son.
I say, I don't suppose you've come across the antiques man from London?
The only reason you want to know is because the innkeeper's wife
has been telling everyone how dashing he is.
-He's staying at the inn! Thanks, Mrs M!
Hello, may I deposit an item in your safe?
I'm sorry, sir, we don't have one.
There's woodworm in the bureau and the sheets have barely been ironed.
Bunty Windermere. May I assist in any way?
If you know of any alternative accommodation in Kembleford
other than this hovel, I'd be most grateful.
From Chapman & Saunders, the auction house.
Have we met?
I rather think I would.
So shall I send someone up to collect your luggage?
Well, you can't stay here.
We'll put you in the Chinese Room. Wonderful view of the sunken garden.
That's very good of you.
Just give me five minutes to fight the woodworm off my suitcase,
and I shall return.
Look, I'm sorry.
-I thought the fair was that way?
-Ran out of petrol!
Dodgy ticker, poor thing.
You know, Hornby thinks she might have been siphoned.
Riff-raff from the fair.
Can we offer you a lift?
No, I'm afraid I am on official business.
A death at the inn.
A man called Aldous Kemp.
His poor daughter.
Did you know them?
I met them briefly when I was checking in.
I think I met them, too.
Papa goes off to bed,
but the daughter stays and cries into the tablecloth.
Something was going on.
Requiescat in pace.
Is there anything I can do?
Would you like to pray?
I'm an atheist.
I don't want prayers.
I want to know what happened.
If you're done, Padre...
Looks like he was planning to get something valued at the fair.
But you found nothing in the room?
Someone could've taken it. There's only three rooms on the landing.
His daughter's in that one,
and the one at the end of the corridor is empty.
-Wouldn't have been difficult.
-Yes, thank you, Goodfellow.
I hope you're not interfering with a murder weapon, Padre.
I don't think it is a murder weapon, Inspector.
It hasn't been fired.
And he wasn't struck with it.
But it's rather old.
Perhaps that was what he was taking to the fair to be valued.
You may know about many things, Padre, but guns aren't one of them.
Colonial handgun, popular with civil servants stationed abroad.
Not exactly a surprise,
considering our victim worked for the East African Postal Service.
But it is a surprise that it's out here in an herbaceous border.
Goodfellow, collect the evidence and search the area.
-Thank you, Sergeant.
Have they found something?
Your father's handgun.
My father didn't have a gun.
He abhorred violence.
He threw his in the river the day we left Tanganyika.
This is all so...
I keep imagining he's simply going to walk in and sit down beside me.
As long as I don't leave this table,
he's just late for breakfast.
And I can't leave, because if I leave...
it will make it real.
I said some awful things.
-You were angry?
I just couldn't understand.
How could he suddenly not have the money for medical school?
It's what we'd come here to do.
We made up before he went to bed. I managed that much, at least.
-I'm so ashamed, I should never have...
-No, no - sh, sh.
Keep it safe.
I'll explain everything tomorrow.
Just now...I've got to rest.
Did you open the envelope?
Should I have?
Please can I have a hot whisky with honey and cloves
and two sticks of cinnamon?
I asked them to make your drink.
Shall I bring it in?
You don't need to apologise, Grace.
But if you leave it by the door, I'm sure it'll find a home.
I've put it outside.
These were found by your father's bed.
Can you confirm they're his?
He took them for malaria.
Grace Kemp, I'm arresting you for the murder of Aldous Kemp.
You're not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so,
but whatever you say may be taken in writing and given in evidence.
-I've just come from the pathologist.
He believes your father's death was caused by sleeping pills
interfering with his malaria medicine.
And what appears to be sleeping pill residue was found in the drink
beside his bed.
You took him this drink, did you not?
-I did, but...
-And you're a student of medicine.
I believe you put those pills in his drink,
knowing they would react with his malaria medication and kill him.
Anybody else could have had the same opportunity.
Why would I do that? He's my father.
Several witnesses saw you arguing
shortly before you made him the drink.
You were reported to be weeping inconsolably after being told
you couldn't go to medical school.
And we both know how generous Colonial Service death benefits are.
You think I'd kill my father for that?
-What kind of monster do you think I am?
-We'll soon find out.
-You stick to your business, Padre, I'll stick to mine.
I placed my salvation in a rational world,
in books - but now I place it in the church.
Please, Father, help me find it.
Yes. I will.
More coffee, please.
And none of that powdered stuff this time.
It's real gold.
It came into my family from a doctor in Blackfriars, but I believe...
It's a mass-produced costume piece.
Worth no more than five shillings, I'm afraid.
No, no, I think you must be mistaken.
You see, my grandmother told me that Great-Grandpa Roberts
sold his best horse to buy that.
Well, then, he was either robbed or extremely stupid.
That is downright...disrespectful.
They're always the same, these yokels,
getting worked up over their cheap trinkets.
Or they got caught up in an opium ring at the governor's house?
The colonies are rife with that sort of thing.
-Aldous Kemp didn't seem the type.
-I suppose you're right.
Ah, Boudica herself!
Do tell, do we have a Roman horde on our hands?
Boudica wasn't Roman.
Come on, Mrs M, spill the beans!
I shall be seeking a second opinion
from someone who has time to examine it properly.
Mrs McCarthy, can we enlist your help?
Grace Kemp has been arrested.
Oh, now, why doesn't that surprise me?
I mean, it isn't exactly natural for a young woman to be interested
in cutting up bodies, now, is it?
And her being godless, too.
But the Father doesn't think she did it.
I have seen many people mourn their parents. Her grief is genuine.
Her chief defence is the gun.
If Aldous Kemp did not own a gun,
then someone else must have been involved in his killing.
Someone who owned a Colonial Civil Service handgun.
Oh, don't mind us.
We can ask the gunsmith.
If it was someone local, then they would have bought their rounds there
and it's the only one for miles.
Stuck in his mind because he usually orders cartridges for his shotguns.
Partial to rabbit stew, apparently.
Although I've never understood how killing them could be a sport.
Though it must take enormous skill to get close to an animal like that.
Hmm. Rather different than rabbits, I suppose.
Rabbits can be wily beggars when you're onto 'em.
Frightful pests, too.
Daddy used to defend our lawn with a handgun.
I think I've decided on this one.
The Father tells me you have quite the collection of shotguns.
Have you thought about showing any of them to the antiques man
at the Fair?
Shouldn't think he'd be that interested in a load of old guns.
Oh, the older the better.
A farmer brought one in, he was using it for foxes but turns out
it was a Boswell worth £50!
£50? For an old shotgun?
There are plenty of rich collectors out there.
I must confess, I'm a bit of an expert myself.
Would you like me to take a look at yours?
If it's not too much trouble.
Just through here.
SHOP BELL RINGS
Excuse me. Customer.
I'd love to talk to your son about his work.
-Not at all.
Well, guilty if ever I saw one.
You forget the giraffe.
A skilled engraver in this family has spent some time in Africa
and it is not Mr Hammond.
What was all that about, then?
Well, I would imagine that he saw that his son's handgun was missing
and then discovered that some shells has been recently ordered
and he's trying to protect him.
I doubt he'd hit anything that night -
he was practically on the floor of the Red Lion when I saw him.
We need to find John.
Do you think he knew the Kemps in Africa? Forbidden romance!
You've got five minutes, Father.
Did you find it? What did it say?
I don't know what it means.
Do you know a man called John Hammond?
He worked with my father.
Last year, in the East African Postal Service.
He owned the gun.
The one your father threw out of the window.
-Is the Father here?
-Not unless he's hiding under a table.
Which I wouldn't put past him.
Did he go with Grace?
You have released her, now you know it was John's gun?
You are aware that withholding evidence is a criminal offence?
Yes. Which is precisely why I came to alert you...
after I had ministered to Grace Kemp.
I'll deal with you later.
I've found him.
You remind me of another young person I know.
I think you know her.
You worked with her father in Tanganyika.
Must have been a surprise...when he came into the shop yesterday.
I suspect you had a lot to catch up on.
Or did you wait until later, when you went to visit him?
Why did you take your gun with you?
The police found it. At the inn.
I didn't do it.
I didn't kill him.
He was my friend.
If that's true, you have nothing to fear by confessing
what happened between you.
Your gun wasn't fired,
it didn't kill him.
It's got my fingerprints on.
It was found where he died.
If they print these...
they'll say I did it.
Ah. Good afternoon.
May I help you, Inspector?
By not interfering with our investigations
and letting our murderer get away.
But we don't know that yet, do we?
The prints we found on his gun match the ones in Kemp's room.
Your friend was there.
I'm afraid you've let your faith in people fool you again.
Why did you let him escape?
Oh. You don't think he did it, do you?
Why did John leave his prints on the gun
in the room
if he wanted to steal something?
Why not wear gloves?
George, is John a regular here?
Never even seen him before yesterday morning.
Drinking in the morning?
No, delivers his parcel, heads back to work,
never even glances at temptation.
Who was the parcel for?
Well, the, uh... You know.
Mr Aldous Kemp?
But the police didn't even find the parcel in his room.
Or any packaging.
It's just a cat.
Sweet Jesus, what on Earth are you doing?
In a dustbin?
Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?
It's just the general ambience.
And what exactly are you expecting to find?
I don't know.
Well, it's just as well you're both here.
Our so-called antiques expert told Mrs Trevithick
that her necklace was worthless!
And the same for Sergeant Goodfellow's sword!
In fact, I've yet to meet anyone
who's been offered more than a few shillings.
So it is quite clear!
Wynford Collins is a charlatan!
Oh, well, perhaps we should call Scotland Yard and set up
a sting operation to expose him(!)
That's exactly what I was thinking.
Well, I can see I am going to have to find justice on my own.
Yes, well, that explains how the gun got into Mr Kemp's room.
But why did John give him a gun?
What have you done? The police said that dead man's from Africa!
-Just keep yourself out of this.
-I warned you, didn't I?
But, no, you had to have your foolhardy job in Africa!
Which you made me leave to come back here to save your business!
Like you've spent my entire life trying to make me stay here,
rather than working on my art, pursuing a career!
Career?! A career's something you get paid for!
And that's what it's always about, isn't it? Money!
Not me. Not even you.
We've spent our entire lives trapped by it.
And finally - finally! - I get the chance to pay off the mortgage
on the workshop and free us both.
You killed a man for that?
I'll turn you in myself!
I didn't kill him!
I was protecting him!
And now I have to save myself.
Do not come after me!
Ah, World War I trench art.
Popular way of passing the time between being shot at.
Not particularly valuable in itself,
but it's an interesting design and I do collect such pieces.
I could offer you... 15 shillings?
You know very well it's worth more than that.
£300 more, in fact.
And I am not the only person around here that you have tried to cheat.
If I could have a penny for every person who's brought me
the purported "early work" of a famous artist.
Tell me, have you even heard of provenance?
Of course I have!
It's in the south of France.
Provenance means a chain of title,
proving that a piece is by who it claims to be by.
Without proof, a work like this could be by anyone.
Which, in this case, it probably is.
If you observe...
perfectly reasonable detail on the front...
Hello, Freya. Hello, Evie.
-Hello, Father Brown.
Wherever have you two been?
Penelope, you need to make enquiries about that man immediately!
-He has been swindling people right, left and centre.
Am I right in thinking you're referring to
-our esteemed antiques expert, Wynford Collins?
-Yes, your guest!
And that you have borrowed our treasured oil lamp
to solicit a valuation.
Well, I didn't think you'd mind, seeing as criminality was involved.
He actually tried to cheat me.
He made out that your oil lamp wasn't by Robert Harper at all,
as if Robert hadn't given it to you with his own hand.
But no, Mr Collins said there was an insignia at the back.
Post Office Rifles.
And he was certain of it because he had started out
as a Postal Services clerk before he went into the auction business.
And he knew that no Robert Harper had ever served in that corps.
Then he had the temerity to say
-should check my facts!
-I'm sorry, we're closed.
-This won't take long.
Have you ever been in Tanganyika?
What's this about?
Do you know anything about this party at the governor's residence?
I've never been to... whatever country that was,
let alone any party there.
I thought so.
Now, if you'll excuse me.
Turn yourself in!
He's a thief and a liar!
And if the law won't force the truth from him, then I will!
Father, if you let him get away, they'll hang me.
You need to tell me the truth.
I've seen your engravings.
You and Mr Aldous Kemp used to work for the East African Postal Service
in Tanganyika, didn't you?
And you engrave stamps.
Among them the Tanganyika Green which is worth, well,
enough for one - or two men -
to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.
How do you...?
Was it yours or Mr Kemp's idea?
It was all for Grace.
He'd never have done it for himself.
He was a clever man, but his family had modest means.
It was hard for him, watching lesser men rise above him
because of their money and connections.
He didn't want to fail her.
But she was set on medical school.
That's the only one?
I've changed the plate so it's up the right way now.
How much do you think they're worth?
Depends on the collectors.
..four for us.
'He said we should wait a year. Sell them through a provincial dealer
'back here to avoid attention.'
As agreed, Mr Kemp returns to England,
and after hearing about thefts at the inn,
you left your gun there for him to protect himself.
But then something went wrong.
He saw Wynford. At the inn.
And Mr Wynford Collins recognised Mr Kemp,
because they used to work together at the British Postal Office.
he cancelled the planned meeting
and came to tell you that the sale was off.
Listen, their valuer knows I work for the Postal Service,
so if he catches even a whiff of that stamp,
he'll know what we've done. It'll be worthless to us.
-Let me sell it to him, then.
-Well, that's not suspicious,
me cancelling our meeting one day, and you offering him
rare stamps the next(!) No, we'll have to wait.
-Find another buyer.
-I can't wait any longer. They're going to take this
place unless we pay the arrears this month.
You're not the only one letting down someone you love.
Clearly you don't love her enough!
But you went to Mr Collins, anyway.
What sort of stamp is it?
A Tanganyika Green.
Obviously, I'd need to see it.
If it's damaged, that may diminish the value significantly.
But if you'd like to bring it along tomorrow,
I'd be happy to examine it.
I couldn't find the stamps.
So you just sat at the bar
for the rest of the night while some mystery thief
happened to hear about the stamps and drug Kemp to get them?
It's the truth.
But there was someone there who knew about the stamps
and wanted to take them for themselves.
And knew that his victims could not complain
for fear of revealing their fraud.
You've gone off the deep end this time, Padre.
The innkeeper told you that the room next to Mr Kemp's was empty,
but that was exactly when Mr Collins was packing,
and when Grace Kemp left her father's drink outside his door.
Nice try, Padre.
But no sleeping pill I know would've had time to work
before he'd left for Montague,
where, I have it on good authority,
he stayed that night.
And where Miss Windermere's car suffered
a mysterious loss of petrol
Thank you so much for waiting till now to share this(!)
He'll be miles away.
Inspector, I think his getaway vehicle is, uh...
They must have emptied the whole tank last night, damn them!
Only a woman wouldn't carry any spare.
There's a garage about half a mile down the road.
Whatever does he want?
I believe he's coming for your confession.
Is this some sort of practical joke?
I assure you not.
I urge you to confess to the murder of Aldous Kemp
and save an innocent young man from the gallows.
Ah, the drunk with the shotgun.
Provincial fairs. There's always one disappointed customer
who's spent too long in the cider tent.
Although I've never been accused of murder before!
The Tanganyika Green is a very valuable stamp.
I'd expect any dealer worth his salt to recognise it.
But when I showed you four on an envelope, you said nothing.
Because you are the one who broke into the room to steal the stamps,
and killed Aldous Kemp.
I think your friend's been in the cider tent, too.
I'll get the garage to send someone.
POLICE BELL RINGS
Sorry, Father. I don't think I've dented it.
Always happy to help, Inspector.
I-I didn't kill him!
Oh? So what did you do, then?
It was an accident!
They brought me the stamp.
A postal services officer and an engraver.
Of course I realised what they'd done.
I didn't plan to take it, but...
-I've put it outside.
What can I say?
All men have their weaknesses.
You waited for the sleeping pills to take effect....
..and then you returned in Miss Windermere's car
to fetch the stamps.
He should have been asleep.
What are you doing?
Let's keep this simple. I know what you did.
So you give me the stamps or I tell every auction house in the country
-and nobody makes any money.
They're not there. I haven't got them.
He was alive when I left him. That's all I know.
But you did not know that your sleeping pills
were reacting with his malaria drugs.
-And that would kill him.
-You see, it was an accident.
It might not be murder,
but you're still looking at manslaughter, in my book.
for his unrepentant soul, I fear.
I don't have them! The priest does!
Yes, he's a big stamp collector.
I can't take them.
Those tiny scraps of paper are the difference between my father
being dead or alive.
Or the difference between a life fulfilled
and a life frustrated.
Grace, take them.
The patients whose lives you will save will be glad you did.
But she can't sell them! I mean, that would be fraud!
Nonsense! They're genuine stamps. And I could introduce you
to genuine buyers. If that's what you'd like?
I never imagined I'd be persuaded of anything by a Catholic priest.
But there's something I must do first.
I always had my father's support for my ambitions.
He's come this far with none.
The Lord sets a hard road for those he entrusts with a talent.
But a hard road
is easier with a friend.
It must be nice, to excel at something.
You do excel at something -
getting into trouble. Just like him.