02x05 - St George's Defence

[bunniefuu]

Oh, Reverend Mother!

Sister Peter said

you wished to, um

Reverend

- Mother!?

- Close your mouth, dear.

You look like a goldfish.

It's your father

Is he ill?

Worse!

He's driving me up the wall!

He's convinced he's discovered

secret messages

hidden in the back pages

of his chess journals.

Secret messages?

He's been obsessing

about them for weeks.

Neglecting his university work.

Even tried to alert MI-5!

I'm worried he's losing

his marbles.

You must do something.

Yes.

I shall pray for him.

Something useful!

Spend time with him.

Get him to stop

this ridiculous behaviour!

He's never been the same

since you took the veil.

Well, maybe if he'd talk to me

about it, he'd understand

Oh, why a

once-in-a-generation intellect

chose to lock herself up

in a convent!?

You two used to be so close.

Very well.

I'll come to Oxford

Oh, no need. He's here.

I left him in the car

with a book on astrophysics

and a thermos of Bovril.

He's fine.

I wound the window down.

This came from a tournament

in London last month

Then this turned up two weeks

later from a game in Moscow

Ta-da!

But what do they mean?

Isn't it obvious!?

They mean somebody

at The British Open

Chess Championship

is a Russian spy!

P.T.R.V.D.E.F.

Petrov's Defence!

No doubt a codename

for some Russian plot.

B.O.C.C.

The British Open

Chess Championship.

It's on this weekend.

Right, so

so you think that?

"Meet post final."

The spies plan to meet

straight after the tournament.

Well, you've, um, you've

certainly invested a lot of time

- into this, Father

- It makes perfect sense!

Moves are submitted by players

then wired to various journals.

How better to get messages

in-and-out of Russia

without the authorities

catching on?

Point taken.

However, the, um,

well, the monkey concept,

enough monkeys

at enough typewriters,

suggests that these messages

could simply be down to chance.

Must be thousands of matches

each year

Well, that's what

I've been saying!

"Put-fut-wut"

could mean anything.

Or, more likely, nothing at all!

Like that, is it?

My wife, my daughter,

my own flesh-and-blood,

treating me

like a raving lunatic!

Conversely,

Claude Shannon estimated

the game-tree

complexity of chess

at approximately 10

to the power of 120.

So, even factoring in errors

well, it's certainly worth

looking into.

So you'll talk to the police?

Yes.

Yes. Absolutely.

What am I looking at?

Well, it's a chessboard.

Sorry.

So each square represents

a letter or number.

Hypothetically,

moves spell out words,

using the board as a cypher.

"Hypothetically"?

Well, Father was

always eccentric.

I suspect he's tilting

at windmills.

But I promised to investigate

so investigate I shall.

I volunteer to help.

You think there's a Russian spy

in Great Slaughter?

No, but I was planning to

attend the tournament anyway.

It's a fascinating game, chess.

You know, I was captain

of my school team.

- Were you really? Marvellous!

- Of course you were.

Well, in that case, be my guest!

Take Peggy with you.

And let me know if you uncover

any espionage.

Try not to ruffle any feathers!

- You know we should play a game.

- Yes!

- Shouldn't we!

- Yes!

Are you alright, Father?

Marvellous!

Crikey!

Might have to get myself

one of these contraptions!

Vivienne's no idea

what she's missing.

Oh, I expect Mother will be

happier on the train.

That's Oliver Canning!

Let's introduce ourselves!

Oh, um.

Pleasure to meet you, Mr

Call me Malise. Big fan.

Studied your games from Paris.

Exemplary use

of the Sicilian Dragon!

If I could extricate my father.

I need to register

for the qualification rounds.

You're playing

in the tournament?

I've always admired a woman

with brains.

Oh. You'd be amazed

how many of us have them.

I should check in.

Just got back from

an all-play-all in Leningrad.

Could use some shut-eye

before the opening rounds.

Did you hear?

Leningrad!

Oh, look, police reinforcements!

There's nothing to worry about.

You're the best in the country.

And I intend to remain so.

I can't have any distractions

this weekend, understand?

Of course, Anthony.

So, what do you do, Mr

- Boniface?

- Bonham-Crane.

I'm the Emeritus Professor

of Mathematical Physics

at Oxford University.

I'm sure she won't be long.

Even the qualifying stages

are incredibly competitive.

Considering the entry fee,

wouldn't you be better

finding a nice,

local club to play in?

Thank you, but I think

it'll be awfully good fun!

Checkmate. Sorry.

I'm so sorry. Checkmate.

Terribly sorry. Checkmate.

Must've had help from above.

Perk of the job.

Poppycock! Pure brains.

This young lady was

three-time Chess Champion

at Cambridge University!

Sorry, couldn't help

overhearing.

Fellow alumnus.

Congratulations on making

the main draw.

Oh. Well, thank you.

Is that Evelyn Thurleigh?

Rising star of the chess scene.

Let me introduce you!

I'm Jack, by the way.

Evelyn! Meet

Oh, Sister Boniface,

and my father,

Professor Bonham-Crane.

Read your interview

in Chess Magazine.

Some year you're having!

Clawing my way up the rankings.

He's too modest.

In a couple of days,

he'll be British Champion.

Stop it, Jack!

- And are you playing, too?

- No!

I'm merely Evelyn's

private secretary.

I arrange travel, hotels,

generally keep him

out of mischief.

And the small matter

of being my trainer.

Jack convinced me

I was good enough.

Claimed he could make me

a champion in a year.

- And here we are.

- I haven't won it yet!

You will.

Excuse me a moment. Need to

double-check the schedule.

Udachi!

Sorry?

Um, he said "Good luck."

In Russian.

Thank you.

Oh, there's Mother.

Lovely to meet you!

It worked in 'The Great Escape'!

Table number seven.

- I'll find some seats.

- Right.

There's strong competition here.

Anthony Whitlock.

British Champion.

Let's hope he's not your first-

round opponent or we're toast.

Whitlock's wife, Nadiya.

Highest ranked female player.

Russian ex-pat

and my prime suspect.

Who's more likely to be

passing information

to the USSR

than one of their own!

Shame about Leningrad.

Humiliating

not to win a single game.

I'd be more concerned about

my own "performance"

if I were you, Anthony.

Boys!

No doubt you'll meet

in the later rounds.

Then you can compare

the size of your

intellects.

Mr. Whitlock,

we're about to begin.

- Please take your seat

- Stop pestering me,

you imbecile!

I should join your mother.

Good luck.

Don't lose!

Ladies, Gentlemen,

welcome to Montgomery Hall

for the first round

of the British Open

Chess Championship.

I now declare the main

tournament officially open!

Whites, make your first move.

She's ceded the centre

to her opponent.

Is, is that bad?

Disastrous!

That's it! She's done for!

Wait. I think she has a plan.

A plan to embarrass herself!

Don't make a scene, darling.

Checkmate!

You were saying, dear?

Take it from me, never get

on the wrong side of a bishop!

I taught her everything

she knows!

Well done, Sister!

Cheers!

Cheers. You were amazing!

Oh, thank you, Peggy.

Do you play?

Of course! Love chess!

Really? You never said.

Oh, yeah, yeah.

All the, the moves

An' the rules

An' how the black player

an' the white player

get to pinch

each other's pieces!

No, no, I meant that

Don't slouch, dear!

Oh. Sorry, Mother.

Lucky-lucky-lucky!

Stronger opponent would've

eaten you alive!

Need to sharpen up!

Mmm, yes, maybe you could help?

Play some games.

Give me advice.

Just like when I was little

Don't sabotage the dynamic

potential of your knights

by restricting them

to the periphery!

Such fun!

Well, anything

to catch this spy!

After dinner, then.

Nowt I do's good enough

for my folks, either.

Yes. Well, admittedly

they were

discombobulated by my calling.

Committed atheists, yes.

Assumed I'd be a famous

scientist like my father.

Or successful musician

like my mother and sister.

Still, I'll win them

over eventually!

Nadiya Whitlock seems like

the prime suspect,

but there's also her husband,

naturally.

And Oliver Canning's

just back from Russia.

Evelyn Thurleigh's

a fascinating character.

Nobody'd heard of him

a year ago,

and he's since beaten

three of the top ten!

Oh, if only you'd shown

such ambition.

You do know your sister

is now First Chair?

I'm sure Persephone

must be thrilled.

She's always made

good life decisions.

You could have been

running MI5 by now.

Instead you're busy making

homemade wine and singing hymns!

There's a little bit more

to the job than that, Mother.

Oh, Malise, back me up, please!

As a scientist, I was surprised

you opted to bat

for the other team.

Theologically speaking.

Exactly.

And after all we taught you

to disbelieve in!

Help! Anthony!

Open the door.

Can somebody help me?

Anthony!

It'll be alright.

What's happened?

Anthony's not answering.

I heard Nadiya calling.

Open the door!

Can we help?

Competitors are trying to sleep!

Something's wrong, I know it!

Step back.

The Federation won't be

held responsible for damages!

Can't leave you

for five minutes, can I?

So, the main door was locked

from the inside.

The key was still in the lock.

Adjoining door

into his wife's suite

was also locked from within.

Mr. Whitlock must have suffered

a heart att*ck,

or an aneurysm maybe.

AKA natural causes.

Which is exactly what

the m*rder*r wants us to think.

- Excuse me?

- Well,

I saw the key in the main door

when I first entered.

But I didn't notice the key

in the adjoining door

into Mrs. Whitlock's room

until after

we'd inspected the body.

So you're saying the k*ller

could've escaped

through the adjoining door,

locking it behind them

and then replace the key later,

during the chaos

of finding the body?

Exactly!

Giving the impression

the victim d*ed alone.

Fact.

Signs of bruising

on the victim's lower face.

A hand clamped

over his mouth, perhaps.

And, er, see this pinprick wound

and reddening on the neck?

Indicates the victim

was forcibly injected.

With what?

Oh, excellent question.

No idea.

No!

That must be a coincidence.

Or is it!?

See the way these two knights

mirror each other's positions?

This opening's known

as Petrov's Defence.

Like in the message.

Thought Isn't

faking natural causes

the sort of trick

professional spies go for?

Hang on!

We treat this like

any other suspicious death.

Yes. Quite right!

Sir!

Look!

Looks like maths equations.

It's chess annotations.

Probably from the victim's

last few matches.

But why hide it in a teasmaid?

No doubt paranoid

about someone stealing it

to study his tactics.

May I borrow that?

Someone I'd love to take a look!

This m*rder must be connected

to the secret messages!

Stop shuffling, Malise.

You're giving me a headache.

At last!

Think Whitlock found out

about the Russian spy?

Got himself bumped off?

It's possible.

Here, take a look at this.

It belonged to the victim.

Fascinating

Sweetheart

What are you doing!?

You asked me to help.

To dispel his delusions,

not indulge him!

You're beginning to believe him!

Well, he might be

onto something.

If he's discovered

secret Russian messages,

this m*rder may be connected.

So if I can identify

the m*rder*r,

we might also find his spy!

I give up!

You always were peas in a pod!

Barmy, the pair of you!

I told you everything

last night.

Just a few more questions.

So you and your husband

always have separate bedrooms?

Anthony was preparing

for his match

with Evelyn Thurleigh tomorrow.

We loved each other

very much, Inspector,

but during a tournament

Anthony never let anything

disturb his concentration.

Even me.

So Anthony was in his room

and you

You were in the bath?

When I got out,

I went to say goodnight,

and Anthony's door was locked.

He didn't reply.

He never goes to sleep

until 11:00.

So I raised the alarm.

Is there anyone

who'd wish your husband harm?

Except

The tournament director.

Quentin Waterford?

He has a drink problem.

At the last tournament,

he fell asleep

while he was supposed

to be officiating.

Anthony lodged a complaint.

If it's upheld, Mr. Waterford

could lose his job.

What about Mr. Canning?

They were great rivals.

No!

No, Oliver and Anthony loved

antagonising each other,

but underneath

there was great respect.

Will you catch whoever

did this, Inspector?

We'll do everything we can.

We're sorry again for your loss.

Just me, or doth the lady

protest too much?

Ah, how d'you get on?

Oh, yes, I'm through

to the next round!

No

Oh, you mean in the lab?

Well, the toxin doesn't match

any common poisons.

Chemical composition's

quite unusual.

Can you identify it?

Oh, absolutely. Just might

take a while, that's all.

Anything to help us narrow down

the list of suspects?

Well, if I'm correct,

and the m*rder*r

left through the adjoining door,

then later replaced the key,

that means they must

have been present

when the body was discovered.

Of course! In that case,

we have Nadiya Whitlock.

The "grieving widow."

She'll also inherit

the victim's wealth.

Oliver Canning,

he's Anthony's long-term rival.

And shameless flirt!

Evelyn Thurleigh.

With Whitlock gone,

he gets a clear route

to the finals.

And his friend, Jack Denbury

Whose livelihood depends

on Evelyn's continued success.

And don't forget

Quentin Waterford.

Yes.

Allegedly a secret alcoholic

being investigated

by the British Chess Federation,

thanks to our victim.

That's everyone.

Perhaps we should

pass these on to MI-5?

You said your father

was tilting at windmills!?

Wouldn't harm to hedge our bets.

Alright, I'll get Special

Branch to send over a list.

Wait. How could

the m*rder*r leave

via Mrs Whitlock's room?

She was in there the whole time!

She was in the bathroom.

Still a big risk to leave

via an occupied suite.

You know, perhaps we should

talk to her again?

It's funny you should

say that

Still have friends in Russia?

Not anymore.

Why do you ask?

No reason.

If you'd had a bath, why were

you still wearing full make-up?

I like to look at my best when

I wish my husband goodnight.

Yet you weren't wearing

your wedding ring?

So it wouldn't tarnish

in the bath.

That must be 18-carats.

No more likely to tarnish

than a m*rder*r's

likely to escape

via an occupied hotel room.

That's why the police suspect

you're the k*ller.

And you?

Do you think

I k*lled my husband?

No.

But I am curious as to where

you really were last night.

That's checkmate, by the way.

With Oliver Canning!?

No wonder she played down

the rivalry between the two men.

Didn't want to draw suspicion

to her lover!

We'll speak to him.

Even if Canning

does give Nadiya an alibi,

it doesn't mean much. The affair

means they both had motive.

Oh, by the way, Special Branch

spoke to their contacts at MI-5.

None of our suspects

have ever been on their radar.

As suspected, your father

is clutching at straws.

It's the professor!

Thank you so much, Doctor.

Father? Are you alright?

No! Been poisoned

by the Russians!

Now stop attention-seeking,

Malise.

It's nothing,

he had a funny turn

The doctor says he's been

over-exerting himself.

Not enough sleep.

We need to talk.

You need to rest.

He has been looking

at that notebook all night!

You said that you will help!

I suppose Father's enthusiasm

always has been contagious.

I'll speak to him.

Now, about this whole

spy thing

You did it!

You found proof!

Proof?

I'm not going mad, after all!

So we met up a few times,

en passant.

Couldn't resist breaking through

Nadiya's icy shell.

It was nothing serious.

Perhaps she felt differently?

Got rid of her husband

so she could be with you?

Never!

Nadiya and Anthony were

a meeting of minds.

All the other physical stuff,

he was happy

to let her roam free.

Mrs. Whitlock

mentioned a dispute

between her husband

and Quentin Waterford?

Waterford!? Now he's a man

who likes to drink

but, well, frankly,

it could've been anyone.

Anthony was always far better

at making enemies than friends.

Take poor Evelyn, for example.

What about him?

Anthony got it into his head

that Evelyn and Jack

are more than just chums

Seems we're doing battle

tomorrow morning.

I'm looking forward to it.

Something funny?

I know your dirty,

little secret.

Sorry, I, I don't quite

I've seen those

looks between you.

I'll prove it.

When I do, you'll be blacklisted

from every tournament

in the country!

Hey!

So he was planning to

report them to the authorities?

Anthony was a terrible loser.

His form's been patchy.

He'd've considered

losing to Evelyn

an unbearable humiliation.

If Whitlock found proof Evelyn

and Jack were in a relationship,

it would've ended

Evelyn's career.

He got a foolish idea

in his head.

And he couldn't prove it

because it's not true.

So you and Mr. Denbury

aren't lov

lovers?

This about Anthony Whitlock!?

Nothing but vicious rumours

from a sad little man

who was scared to face Evelyn

in the next round.

Evelyn was with me all evening.

Working on his tactics.

We have to follow up every lead.

- Something I need to show you!

- Not now, Sister.

We're in the middle

of something

Trust me.

You'll want to see this.

Excuse us.

This notebook is

an encoded diary,

using the same cypher

as messages hidden

in recent chess journals.

Never seen this before.

Then I'll elaborate.

The section that

my father's translated

describes a chemical formula,

along with dosages,

results, and side effects.

For example

"Lisowski Cup, San Francisco,

27th July.

Two-point-five micrograms.

Improvements in strategic

planning and improvisation.

Side effects, mild nausea."

No wonder your husband

was keeping this diary hidden.

It proves that he was using a

drug to aid mental performance!

The formula matches

the substance

I isolated from

your husband's blood.

Although he was injected

with an extremely high dose.

A fatal dose, in fact.

This is a fantasy.

With access to

mind-enhancing dr*gs,

the Russians could seize

the initiative in science,

m*llitary technology,

space exploration

This could swing the Cold w*r

in their favour!

But first you had to k*ll your

husband to cover your tracks.

Tell us, where did he get

the formula from?

That's enough!

My husband had no need

for such dr*gs.

He was already a genius.

And we weren't

at the Lisowski Cup.

Not his writing.

Nor mine.

Happy to provide samples

for comparison.

Whoever wrote this book,

it wasn't my husband.

Well, she's right,

they weren't in San Francisco.

Foolish of me,

I should have checked before!

Don't apologise.

Secret messages?

Encoded diary? Now we have

mind-enhancing dr*gs!?

I never knew chess

could be so exciting!

How do we work out which

of our suspects is the spy?

Right, cross-check

the handwriting

against everyone present

when the body was discovered.

I'll arrange for samples

to be collected.

There you are!

You're late!

Late?

The semi-final.

If you're not at your table

in two minutes,

I'll have no option

but to disqualify you!

Go. We've got this covered.

Your father not here today?

He's ill.

That's dreadful!

Wish him my best.

Nice chap.

You two seem close.

We used to be.

Remember, the Queen is

the most powerful of all.

She can be a formidable shield

or potent w*apon.

She can travel

in any direction she chooses

and go as far as she wishes.

With sufficient care,

she can achieve great things.

He believes my vocation

to be a waste of my intellect.

Seems to regard it

as a personal betrayal.

My advice?

Tell him how you feel.

Before it's too late.

I'm in the final!

It was touch-and-go,

but I turned it around.

Bought this knickerbocker glory

from the restaurant

to celebrate.

Thought we could share?

Well, no point wasting it.

I've missed this, you know.

You and me.

Playing chess.

Long chats about everything

and nothing.

You think I chose God

over science,

but it is possible

to combine both.

Just ask Sister

Mary Celine Fasenmyer.

I think you'll find

her dissertation

on hypergeometric polynomials

rather entertaining.

My point is

wimple or no wimple,

I'm still your little girl.

Mmm, yummy!

Short curlicue and three

continuous strokes on the B

Pressure, speed,

and pen-lift consistent

with the written line

Well, it matches

the encoded diary.

Evelyn Thurleigh.

Chemistry degree from

Cambridge University,

where he studied under

the country's leading expert

in cognitive enhancement.

I spoke to the department, and

they were working on a new drug

to alleviate

geriatric memory loss.

It seems like Thurleigh

stumbled across a formula

with wide-spreading

cognitive benefits

and is now trying

to sell it to the Russians.

Well, if he's taking

the drug himself,

that would explain his rapid

rise in the chess world.

Jack Denbury must be

lying to protect him.

Well, it makes sense.

Without Thurleigh,

Denbury's out of a job.

Thurleigh is planning

to meet a Russian spy

after the tournament.

It is our duty

to arrest them both.

Unfortunately, the message

in the chess journal

doesn't say where

the meeting's taking place.

So what's the plan?

You're due to play Thurleigh

in the final later today.

Keep him there long enough

for us to search his room,

procure enough evidence

and hopefully find out

the location of the meeting.

Don't lose too quickly. Roger.

No pressure there then!

Your two finalists,

Evelyn Thurleigh

and Sister Boniface!

Mr. Thurleigh, you may begin.

I heard you like to throw

your opponents off-guard.

Centre-ground's overrated.

I prefer to forge my own path.

- Search the wardrobe.

- Yes, sir.

Sorry.

Sir? Sir.

Where are the dr*gs?

Insulin injection.

Sorry, I should've

changed my shirt.

No need to apologise.

Must be horrid.

It's not that bad.

I make poor Jack

do the injections for me.

I'm a terrible coward when

it comes to that sort of thing.

Bet he does all sorts for you.

Like filling out those

boring registration forms?

Why would you say that?

You lied, didn't you?

You and Jack weren't together

when Anthony Whitlock

was m*rder*d.

Of course we were.

You've been lying for him.

What're you doing!?

If you leave,

you'll forfeit the match.

Sorry, but I have to.

Wait!

You don't understand.

Whitlock wanted to destroy me

How should we celebrate if

"Now I have proof.

Withdraw from the tournament

or face the consequences."

Jack went to confront him.

Things got out-of-hand

He said it was self-defence.

Jack only went there

to protect me.

It was an act of love!

Not like that.

Jack's not like me.

We'll only ever be friends.

Jack's been lying to you.

And he's about to do

something very bad.

Nonsense!

He's probably just gone

for a walk.

He loves exploring.

Always poring over

his silly maps.

He's a good man.

Maps! Maps!

There's nothing else here!

We'll have to follow Thurleigh

as soon as the match is over.

Alright.

Apparently, we're too late.

While we were busy

watching Evelyn,

the real culprit's got away.

But luckily, we know

how to catch him!

Pass me that map, will you.

And that chessboard.

Care to enlighten us?

Like chess, it's all about

calculating your opponent's

next move

I thought the messages

didn't give a location?

So did we.

But then I remembered

that after the second message

came a sequence of numbers.

Idiot that I am, I dismissed

them as random moves,

but my brilliant little girl

realised they're part

of the message!

Oh. Coordinates!

I favour opening with

Petrov's Defence, don't you?

Selling secrets

to commies, Jack?

Just out for a walk.

We thought it was Evelyn

that had stolen

his professor's research,

but it was you.

You've been using poor Evelyn

as your guinea pig, haven't you?

Mixing the drug

with his insulin?

How else could Evelyn have

gotten so much better

so quickly, hmm?

Anthony wasn't going to report

you two for being h*m*.

He was going to report you

for cheating!

That's why he stole

your notebook.

Hey!

The same notebook

he saw you scribbling on

during Evelyn's matches.

You see, he was obsessed

with uncovering the secret

behind Evelyn's success.

He would've known that

they weren't real chess moves

and deduced that it was code,

but how much he figured out

we'll never know.

Either way, he believed

he now had enough leverage

to force Evelyn to withdraw

from the tournament.

Seeing his note, you realised

that your plan

was at risk of being exposed.

So you went to confront him

Who is it?

The manager.

Need a word about your bill.

What the devil are you doing!?

Give me my notebook!

Ha!

You're the brains

behind the operation?

- I thought so.

- Give it to me.

Why should I?

I'm in the process

of deciphering it.

When I've discovered

how you're cheating,

I'll have Thurleigh banned from

every tournament in the world.

Alright, what d'you want for it?

What do I want?

For your little friend

to withdraw from the tournament.

In fact, I want him to step away

from chess altogether!

- If he refuses?

- He'll be publicly humiliated

and banned anyway.

He walks, you return the book?

You'll have to tell me

how you did it, too.

Call it an insurance policy.

Or I hand it over

to the authorities.

Fine.

But it's easier to show you.

But you couldn't find

the notebook.

Thankfully.

Now we have all the evidence

we need to put you behind bars.

How much did they

offer you, Jack?

You think this was about

getting rich?

Isn't it?

I spent years walking

the corridors of Cambridge,

watching the spoilt offspring

of the upper classes

revel in their inherited wealth.

This is about the future!

A w*r of heart and minds!

With my formula, communists

around the world will outthink

and outmanoeuvre

their capitalist enemies!

I'm arresting you

on the suspicion

of the m*rder

of Anthony Whitlock.

You are not obliged

to say anything,

but anything you wish to say

may be put into writing

and given in evidence.

I'll get it out there somehow.

You're on borrowed time,

all of you!

Once MI-5 get involved,

they'll make sure

that you and your formula

remain firmly

under lock-and-key.

Enjoy this place while you can.

I suspect

your next accommodation

won't be quite so luxurious.

Is it true?

You pretended to be my friend

to test out some drug?

For a while, the world

thought you were special,

instead of just

another pampered toff.

You should thank me.

Thank you.

For finally ridding me

of this foolish

infatuation with you.

Enjoy prison.

Sorry I didn't win

the tournament.

I'm the one

who should apologise.

You're the finest brain

in a generation.

Should've trusted you

to find a way

to use your gifts

for the greater good.

Oh, think what you could do

with MI-5!

I'm just saying it's never

too late to change your mind!

This is for you.

Oh. Erm, er, no.

Er, but I forfeited.

Thurleigh's been disqualified.

We can't allow

performance enhancing chemicals,

even if taken unwittingly.

You win by default.

I say, Malise?

Our daughter the chess champion!

Always said she could be

a Grandmaster!

Well, it seems congratulations

are in order, Sister!

Well played, Sister.

You also win a place

at the Royal Invitational

at Oxford next month.

Oh, erm, actually,

I'm retiring

from professional chess.

- What?

- Why!?

I prefer a career

with a bit more variety.

This is lovely, though.

Just the ticket for keeping

my spare corks in.

If everyone could smile

for the camera?