Go!
What's that?
It's a man!
- What? Is he dead? - No, sir.
He's writing!
Repeat!
He's writing,
sir, he's writing in a notebook!
That man was not mad. He was working
with shrapnel whistling round him because he couldn't wait.
The contents of that notebook were too important
to write it down later.
He had to do it when his mind dictated,
he couldn't put it off a single second.
What was so important that he would risk his life for it?
What was he writing that stopped him from standing up
and running, like any other man would have done?
The "Tractatus Logico-philosophicus",
the most influential philosophical work of the twentieth century.
That soldierwas called Ludwig Wittgenstein,
the man who set the limits on ourthoughts.
The enigma that he tried to decipher
was the following:
Can we know the truth?
All the great thinkers throughout history
have sought a single certainty,
something which no one can refute,
like "two and two make four".
In orderto find that truth,
Wittgenstein used, in fact,
mathematical logic. What better means of obtaining a certainty
than an immutable language, free from the passions of men?
He advanced slowly, using equation after equation,
with impeccable method, until he reached
a terrifying conclusion.
There is no such truth
outside of mathematics.
There is no way of finding
a single absolute truth,
an irrefutable argument
which might help answer the questions of mankind.
Philosophy, therefore, is dead.
Because "Whereof we cannot speak,
thereof we must be silent."
Don't touch that, please.
This is an Enigma machine!
Just a copy. The original's in the Imperial War Museum in London.
Sorry to sneak in like that... The doorwas open.
Of course it was open. You surely didn't expect me to get up
and let you in on these legs, did you?
I'm...
Martin, our new overseas student lodger, I presume.
- This man in the photo with you... - Yes.
That's Turing, Alan Turing,
the man who deciphered the Enigma code.
Thanks to him, we won the war.
Poor man died such a strange death...
a poisoned apple, like Snow White.
And the one on the left?
My husband, Harry.
Harry Eagleton. He developed the concept of fractional dimensions...
He deserved a bloody Nobel prize, but he hated sucking up
to politicians. Politicians or anybody.
He never had many friends.
He had one at least. Arthur Seldom.
Poor boy. He spent day
after day in the house, tidying Harry's papers.
He'd go without lunch or dinner, going overthe equations.
Eagleton tutored his doctoral thesis on the logical series. In 1960,
- wasn't it? - I see you've done your homework.
I know everything there is to know about Arthur Seldom.
In fact, Mrs. Eagleton, it's because of him that I'm here.
In Oxford, I mean.
I know what you mean. Seldom is... unique.
Every prize, every acknowledgement
he's received overthe years has been a real joy for me.
Careful, mother, or your secret will be discovered.
What secret?
After daddy died, you tried to marry him.
How dare you! That's not true.
He's always been like a brotherto me.
Only because there was no chance of him being anything else.
Beth!
There's no doubt Professor Seldom is a genius,
but there's one area he's no different from other men.
He likes young girls.
Beth, darling, couldn't you stop being so spiteful just for a second?
Sorry, mother.
Take no notice of us. We're like two bitter old spinsters.
Thank you, mother, fortarring me with the same brush.
I'm sorry,
you are...?
I sent a fax a few weeks ago, about renting a room.
Ah, our overseas student.
Why don't you show him to his room?
If I'd known, I'd have rented a tux.
You look stunning.
My daughter has a concert tonight. That's all.
A concert?
I play the cello in the Sheldonian.
- It's the local amateur orchestra. - Yes.
We're not quite the London Symphony.
I... I love the cello.
Me too. Maybe it's because it's all I get to cuddle
- these days. - Beth.
Please. You'll scare the young man.
Mother.
My daughter's suitors tend not to be
around very long.
Difficult character, you know.
Having an old lady hovering in the doorway doesn't exactly help either.
Are you calling me a busybody?
No, mother. You just want to protect me, don't you?
Of course.
My mother has this theory
that unless a man lived through the Second World War
he's not to be trusted.
My daughter
thinks I've gone a bit
gaga, but she knows
I'm right.
The Nazis changed the wheels
on that damned machine every bloody day,
that altered the code, and we had to decipher it all over again.
There were no computers in those days,
calculations were done by hand.
You must have been very young.
Time for me to go.
Fancy a game of Scrabble?
Well, this is your study.
I trust you'll be comfortable.
It's perfect.
You should also be thinking of a supervisor
foryourthesis.
I've had one in mind for a long time; Arthur Seldom.
Your parents?
Yeah.
Very American. Is it close to the beach?
Not at all. It's the desert, Arizona.
It actually happens to be my home.
Really? Lovely.
Anyway...
all the studies are shared.
Your colleague is also an overseas student.
I'm sure we'll get on fine.
By the way,
I think you'll find Professor Seldom only works as a researcher now.
I know, but the college told me that he could supervise my doctorate.
Who told you that?
I've got a fax...
here.
I see.
I'm sorry to say Mrs. Keeman
was being rather over-optimistic. Also,
she no longerworks here.
But there must be some way, perhaps if I speak to him...
You're free to talk to whoeveryou want,
of course, but I must warn you Professor Seldom
is not one for this sort of spontaneity.
If you take my advice,
I suggest you approach your studies in a more realistic way.
I'm sure you'll find some excellent tutors among ourteaching staff
who will more than understand the nature of yourwork.
- Don't take it out on the wall. - Walls?
Don't talk to me about walls. That's all you get in this fucking city.
Sorry, just letting off a little steam.
Well, at least they come in handy for doing your homework.
These? I was just trying to save myself 16 years of practice.
See, I'm trying to calculate where I need to run,
depending on where the ball bounces,
and what height it makes contact
with my racquet.
Makes it easier. Here.
See? It works.
Yeah, and what would happen if you played against a person?
There would be more variables
but it would still be possible to work out the trajectory.
Please.
Give me time.
I have to rethink my calculations.
Okay.
Thanks forthe beating.
Do you want to continue letting off steam
on your own or do you prefer company?
Wednesday, same time?
Yes. Bring a proper squash racquet. Makes life much easier.
Okay.
I see you're picking up the local customs very quickly.
I try my best.
Maybe she can help you with your doctoral thesis,
since uncle Arthur is out of the question.
- Can nothing be done? - No.
And if you're suggesting my mother have a word with him, forget it.
I wasn't suggesting anything.
Do you really expect me to believe you chose this house by chance?
No, not by chance, no.
Nothing happens by chance.
I wanted to meet your mother, that's true,
but I never planned to use her.
There's no need to apologize.
I like people who go forwhat they want.
I wish I was more like you.
You're not missing much, I assure you.
Oh, really?
You come here from another country, all on your own,
and no sooner do you get here than you make friends with a girl.
With two, I hope. At least that's what I thought
- until a moment ago. - It's not just that.
You're happy,
you only have to look at yourface to see that.
I try to be.
How do you do it?
It's easy.
It's a case of going with the flow.
And what if it goes badly?
I'd rather make mistakes than do nothing.
I'd rather mess up than miss out completely.
It works for me.
You should try it.
Just a minute!
I thought you might find this interesting.
Seldom is giving a lecture on his latest book
at Merton College on the 24th!
There's your big chance!
There is no way of finding a single
absolute truth, an irrefutable argument that might help to answer
the questions of mankind.
Philosophy, therefore, is dead.
Because "Whereof we cannot speak,
thereof we must be silent."
Oh, it seems that someone does wish to speak.
It appears you are not in agreement with Wittgenstein.
That means eitheryou have found a contradiction in the arguments
of the Tractatus, oryou have an absolute truth to share with us all.
I believe in the number Pi.
I'm sorry, I didn't understand you.
What was it you said you believed in?
In the number Pi, in the Golden Section, the Fibonacci Series.
The essence of nature is mathematical.
There is a hidden meaning beneath reality.
Things are organized following a model, a scheme, a logical series.
Even the tiny snowflake
includes a numerical basis in its structure. Therefore,
if we manage to discover the secret meaning of numbers,
we will know the secret meaning of reality.
Impressive!
Translating his words into
the Queen's English,
we find ourselves faced with a fresh,
rousing defence of mathematics, as if numbers
were pre-existing ideas in reality.
Anyway, this is nothing new.
Since man is incapable of reconciling mind and matter,
he tends to confer some sort of entity on ideas,
because he cannot bearthe notion that the purely abstract
only exists in our brain.
The beauty and harmony of a snowflake.
How sweet!
The butterfly
that flutters its wings
and causes a hurricane on the other side of the world.
We've been hearing about that damn butterfly for decades,
but who has been able to predict a single hurricane?
Nobody!
Tell me something...
Where is the beauty and harmony in cancer?
What makes a cell
suddenly decide to turn itself into a killer metastasis
and destroy the rest of the cells in a healthy body?
Does anyone know?
No.
Because we'd ratherthink of snowflakes
and butterflies than of pain,
war
orthat book.
Why?
Because we need to think that life has meaning,
that everything is governed by logic
and not by mere chance.
If I write 2 then 4 then 6, then we feel good, because we know
that next comes 8.
We can foresee it,
we are not in the hands
of destiny.
Unfortunately, however,
this has nothing to do with truth.
Don't you agree?
This...
is only fear.
Sad...
but there you go.
You must
be Martin.
At last we meet.
But, I don't get it, are you leaving?
Yes, I'm leaving. It was a mistake. It was all a big mistake.
Things have not turned out as you expected, I guess.
No, they haven't. You bet they haven't.
I hope the hastiness of your decision
has nothing to do with
Professor Seldom.
News travels fast in Oxford.
We are a little village of gossips.
Anyway, I think you are wrong about the great sage.
He was the best in his day, but...
now he just wants to sell books. Like those assholes.
A real Seldom fan, eh?
I have a framed photo of him in my room.
So he refused you too?
I would rather jump out of a window than ask him for help.
I want nothing to do with him or his books.
I preferthe Reader's Digest.
Taxi!
Hello.
Ah, we've got the book you wanted!
There.
Fucking hell!
What are you doing here?
I live here. What's your excuse?
I came to visit an old friend.
I'm sorry about before.
No, don't apologize. I talked a lot of rubbish.
I tend to overact when I have an audience.
The truth is I just wanted to attract your attention.
You succeeded.
Septemberthe 24th,
1993. Inspector Petersen, Oxford police station.
Investigating the murder of Mrs. Julia Eagleton.
According to this report, you and ProfessorArthur Seldom
discovered the body... at the same time.
Yes, we entered the room together.
Are you one of Professor Seldom's students?
No.
- Do you work for him? - No.
Can you explain why you were there together?
No.
To tell you the truth, I can't.
I was also surprised to see him there.
So it was pure coincidence?
Everything seems to point to that being the case.
And was this the first time you'd seen Professor Seldom?
Not exactly. I was at a conference he gave this morning.
I asked him a few questions.
What sort of questions?
Mathematical ones.
It's not by chance that I went
to Mrs. Eagleton's house this afternoon.
I went there because the murderertold me to.
The murdererwarned you?
Yes, I received a note during the conference.
What did it say?
Just one sentence:
"The first of the series,"
written in capital letters. Underneath,
Mrs. Eagleton's address
and the time.
Can we see it?
No.
Why?
I threw it away.
You threw away a vital piece of evidence?
Yes, well, let me explain.
Afterthe conference,
I signed a number of copies. When I'd finished, I set off home.
And that is when I realized that the address on the note
was familiar
but honestly, I...
it just never occurred to me that anything like this could happen.
Of course, when I got there, it was too late.
We should call the police.
You're right.
Call them.
999.
Hello,
I'm calling to report a death.
3 Cunliffe Close.
It's an old woman.
Thank you.
What do you think happened?
I don't know.
We should wait outside. We'd better not touch anything.
I shouldn't have even used this phone.
Try to etch on your memory everything you can see.
This moment is crucial.
She was playing Scrabble when it happened.
Was she playing on her own?
Yes, she has both the letter racks on her side.
You don't think she's been killed?
I can't see any other alternative.
Whoever did this obviously intended to smother her
with the cushion while she was sleeping.
She wakes up, puts up a struggle,
he presses down harder, using both hands perhaps,
breaks her nose, hence the blood.
Or it could have been a woman,
using her knee to add extra pressure.
When the killer removes the cushion, sees the blood,
he drops it on the carpet and doesn't even bother
to put anything back in its place.
Scared, probably.
In the book
that I based my conference on, I unfortunately
compare logical series with serial murders.
And since its publication I've received
dozens of totally absurd letters,
which is why I attached little importance to this one.
And you're sure you destroyed it?
Well, no, I threw it away in the street.
Where?
Well, somewhere near the Sheldonian Theatre.
Scott, get on to it, it might still be there.
The road sweepers will have passed through by now.
It doesn't matter. We'll search the dustcarts, if necessary.
Now is there anything else? Anything else that caught your attention?
Oh, uh, underthe text
there was a hand-drawn circle,
a perfect circle,
also in black.
About...
this size,
approximately.
A circle?
Like a signature?
Oh no, I'm almost convinced it was a symbol,
the first element of a logical series.
Well, excuse my ignorance,
I must have been off school the day they taught
logical series.
A logical series
is a group of elements that succeed one another,
following a particular rule.
Could be 1, 2, 3, 4...
or even numbers, 2, 4, 6, 8...
Or of course it could be the Fibonacci series.
Fibonacci?
A 12th-century mathematician.
Each element is the sum of the two previous ones: 1, 1, 2, 3, 6,
- 8, 13... - Look, I still don't see
the relationship between the murder and these series.
I'm sorry. In my book I sustain the theory that the murder committed
for intellectual reasons does not exist in the real world.
In general, the patterns followed by a serial killer
are crude, monotonous and repetitive,
cases that can be analyzed psychologically, not logically.
So you think the murderer is killing to prove something to you?
Yes, sadly, I believe that to be the case.
Murdererwants to prove me wrong.
He wants to show that he's more intelligent than I am
and that he can beat me
at my own game. Somehow he knew of my friendship
with Mrs. Eagleton, and decided to begin there.
How about this circle? How do you explain this?
Oh, a circle's a good way to start a logical series.
There's no symbol more indeterminate.
Could mean almost anything.
So you mean there's gonna be another murder afterthis one?
I'm afraid so.
And if we don't discover it in time,
could be many more.
Okay, we are going to change
some notes please in part 12.
We knew she was going to die at any time,
but never like this.
The doctors gave her 6 months to live, 6 years ago.
Thanks to Beth's nursing she had an extra lease of life,
like a blessing from heaven.
Maybe that's why the murderer chose her.
How do you mean?
If he is trying to demonstrate something purely intellectual,
maybe the deaths in themselves don't interest him.
Maybe his aim is to inflict as little harm as possible.
He chose someone that should have died.
He probably knew Mrs. Eagleton was receiving treatment...
She went every week to St Joseph's hospital.
He could have found out about her illness there, and that made her
the perfect victim for him.
Go on.
If he hadn't broken her nose,
it would have looked like death by natural causes.
In that case, only you would have known what happened.
The police would never have been involved.
It would have been a private challenge.
A murderthat almost isn't a murder.
That makes sense.
What do you think he would do next?
I suppose he'll try to be more careful.
He'll commit another murder that almost isn't a murder.
An imperceptible murder...
Excuse me.
Excuse me, officers, but I need to speak
to Miss Eagleton first, to break the bad news,
to her, if that's all right. Thank you.
You have a C,
B flat, and C sharp.
Excuse me, please, I can talk to him?
Yes, so
you have a C, B flat,
and C sharp.
Oh, no, no, no. You have a B, a C sharp, and C natural...
Oh, okay,
let's do a break, please.
The police told me that you were the one who found the body.
Forgive me, Beth. I'm really sorry.
They asked me to try and remember every detail and...
It's no problem. I understand.
It must have been difficult foryou to go through all of this.
Two hours of interrogation.
It's logical, though, bearing in mind I'm the chief suspect.
Did they tell you that?
No. No, they didn't have to.
You don't need to be a detective to realize
that I'm the one who most benefits from all this.
But you looked after her foryears. Seldom told me.
Five years...
Five years of waiting for herto drop dead.
Forgive me for being so cruelly sincere,
but if anyone wanted this to end, it was me.
Do you know what it is to wake up every morning
wondering when you're going to have a life of your own?
I couldn't abandon her, she was my mother.
She had cancer but it was supposed to be a question of months.
You want this person you're supposed to be looking afterto disappear
and at the same time you know
there's something evil in you forthinking that way.
You hate yourself
forthe thoughts that go through your head.
It's like being rotten inside.
Beth, you've no need to worry.
Seldom got a note.
Someone warned him of what was going to happen,
- and is threatening to do it again. - Who?
No one knows.
They made me go to the morgue to look at the body.
Her eyes were still open.
Don't think about it.
I don't think I can sleep upstairs tonight.
Is it okay if I stay here with you?
I'm sorry.
Don't be... it's okay.
I don't know what you must think of me. I'm so embarrassed.
Beth, please. Don't go.
Congratulations! Your name in the papers and with Seldom!
Knock off the old lady to attract attention, did you?
Not so fast!
Yourfriend is lucky.
Always close to death, but nevertouched by it.
Didn't you know?
Thirty years ago, the four of them
- were travelling together. - What are you talking about?
Mrs. Eagleton's husband and Seldom's wife were killed.
And guess who was driving.
And now the old lady is dead.
Three down, one to go.
This is Miss Scarlet
and she is in the dining room. Now we know that the murder
took place in the dining room,
don't we? And that the victim was killed with a cushion,
but since we don't have
a cushion, we'll use the nasty little knife.
Now I'll stick
my neck out and say that Miss Scarlet was the murderer
in the living room, with the knife.
What do you think?
Clue didn't figure into my degree course.
Cleudo!
It's recommended reading in police academies.
In the papers,
Beth appears as the chief suspect.
But the police know all the facts.
Ah, I forgot that I was talking to the champion of universal logic.
Thank you.
You and the police think that it's possible to demonstrate the truth.
On the basis
of certain axioms and by using valid reasoning,
you can reach a valid conclusion, isn't that so?
As sure as today is Wednesday.
And what if I say, "All Britons are liars"?
True, false or impossible to prove?
All right. There are mathematical formulations
that can neither be proved nor refuted starting from axioms.
Indeterminable propositions.
Exactly, Gödel's incompleteness theorem.
So, even in yourworld of mathematical purity,
there are things that can never be proven.
Yes, but that is not the case here.
There is a gap,
there is a gulf between what is true and what is provable.
We can never be sure
of all the facts about a phenomenon,
and to lack just one, could change everything. Even if we know
that the murder
took place in the dining room with the knife,
and that Miss Scarlet was there at the exact moment of the murder,
and that herfingerprints
were on the knife, we can never
affirm with absolute certainty that she committed the crime.
Oh, come on! It's 99% probable, forfuck's sake!
That's not absolute certainty, that is an opinion.
We could have absolute certainty
if we trusted the word of an eye-witness,
orwe saw it with our own eyes. I trust my own eyes.
No comment.
Things are here, under our noses.
These paving stones. They exist!
Or do you refute that as well? You can't.
Are you sure? Heisenberg wasn't quite as certain.
The physicist?
Yes, well, he tried to make an atom bomb forthe Nazis,
but he wasn't famous forthat.
What is this? An exam? Heisenberg's "uncertainty principle".
Bingo! Miss Scarlet is now an electron, okay?
And you're looking at her through a keyhole,
or a particle accelerator, as you wish.
And every time you look at her,
Miss Scarlet will have changed her appearance or...
her position.
Because the very fact that you observe her
alters her atomic state. How about that?
Don't try to confuse me with tricks.
Beth is not an electron, and neither is Mrs. Eagleton.
So, do you really think that criminal investigation
is more reliable than physics or mathematics?
There are evident, irrefutable facts.
For Christ's sake,
can you turn that bloody thing off for a minute?
Unfortunately, the police were unable to find the note.
Consequently, we have no material evidence whatsoever.
Not a thing!
Imagine if that bloody psychopath
gets the wind up and decides not to kill again...
Beth will be declared guilty.
I'd love to know who it is you hate so much.
Myself.
I read the news in the papers. You're not to blame for anything.
The worst thing is...
This is embarrassing...
Thanks to that poorwoman's death,
I've just had lunch with Arthur Seldom.
Before, he didn't even know I existed, but now...
I'm sorry about what
has happened but at the same time, I swear I can't help feeling happy.
Never, in my life, have I enjoyed myself so much.
One hourwith Seldom is like a lifetime with anybody else.
Well, you know,
there's nothing embarrassing about sincere feelings.
Are you sure about that?
Spend an hourwith me?
You have something to drink?
- No. - Great.
- Are you okay? - Yeah, are you okay?
What's wrong?
Nothing, it's... Sorry.
It's Seldom.
Just strange that you should have read this book too.
- A nurse interested in mathematics. - Well, not really.
It was the authorwho interested me. He gave it to me.
- You know Seldom? - Of course I do.
- See him almost every day. - What?
He visits a friend at the hospital,
a terminal patient.
One day we began to chat and...
And what?
And he gave me the book.
- That's all? - You're jealous?
He could be yourfather... Your grandfather, come to think of it.
Yeah.
I just like mystery novels,
he was here for a while, we had a laugh,
I gave him a couple of my books and he gave me his.
- Is that a crime? - No... Of course not.
Can you get him out of your mind,
please?
I just don't understand why you didn't tell me to begin with.
What do you want?
A list of all the people who have passed through here?
- No. - Good.
Everything you read in the papers is a lie.
Did you know that?
No, uh... I don't pay much attention.
- Have you read the Bible? - Not all of it.
Jesus died on the cross and then rose on the third day.
But in body and soul,
at least so they say.
He ate fish and spoke to Peter.
That's how he spent forty days.
Forty days!
He must have been green, and have stunk to high heaven.
Hey, wait, wait.
Jesus was a terrorist.
All his life.
A revolutionary who kicked money changers out of the temple.
Do you know why he came back from the dead?
- No, theoretically... - Jesus
came back to life to avenge himself on his murderers.
Like in a horror movie.
Of course, that's not nice. That's not interesting.
You can go in now, your daughter
- is expecting you. - All right.
What are you doing here?
I had the urge to see you, that's all. Do you mind?
You're lying.
How do you know?
I didn't, I do now.
You're here to see Seldom's friend, aren't you?
You should have seen the look on yourface when I mentioned him.
And how are you going to explain what you're doing here?
I'll tell him I came to see you.
You swine.
Who is that guy? He's nuts.
Well, you would be too if your daughter needed a transplant
and you couldn't find a donor.
There were two people that could have been compatible,
but theirfamilies refused.
Now I get it.
You know, he thought of committing suicide
in orderto give her his lungs.
That's ridiculous.
Giving your life for someone you love is ridiculous?
His name is Kalman,
one of my most brilliant students.
He was quick in his conclusions,
clear in his exposition.
He designed intelligence tests. I initiated him
into the study of logical series.
He was meticulous, to the point of obsession.
He marked the tests himself,
one by one, and discovered
something really curious:
Some of the tests were perfect; the majority had a few mistakes.
But there was a third group.
The answers were absurd, incomprehensible,
illogical, random,
the sort of thing that a lunatic would write.
Kalman interviewed
the pupils of this third category.
The answers that he had considered absurd
were, in fact, another possible solution
and perfectly valid
to continue the series,
only with an infinitely more complex justification.
The intelligence of these pupils
went beyond the conventional solution and was
much more far-reaching.
It was then that I had to break the bad news to him.
Wittgenstein's paradox concerning finite rules.
Kalman found in practice
what Wittgenstein discovered decades before.
The series 2, 4, 8,
could obviously be followed
by 16, but also by 10
or 7004.
It's always possible to find a rule,
a justification which allows
a series to be continued by any number.
It all depends on how complicated the rule is.
Suddenly, he realized that he couldn't even trust
the two times table.
His whole life was being sucked into a whirlpool
of meaningless numbers.
Normal thought seems to be guided by certain grooves
etched into our brain
which impede our leaving that track
and jumping it like the chosen few
who are able to think without limitations.
Kalman decided to take a strange path.
He began to try out his tests
in psychiatric hospitals, on lobotomized patients.
There was a remarkable similarity
between those symbols
and the results of the tests
of the highly-gifted subjects.
He was in the presence of pure thought,
without grooves,
but he couldn't understand it. The problem
was his own brain.
He saw everything from the outside. To understand
those symbols, he had to see them from the inside.
There was only one way of achieving it: To erase the grooves.
The idea might seem grotesque,
but not to a person who has been told
that he's suffering from terminal cancer.
His bones were rotting like wood
infested with woodworm.
All he had to look forward to
was the amputation of his limbs, one by one.
He was euphoric, he laughed, nervously, like someone about
to discover something incredible who can't contain his joy.
It was then
that I realized that my friend had gone completely mad.
He wanted to lobotomize himself.
His only problem was how to ensure
that the brain damage was not excessive.
He had to perforate the skull and reach
the brain, with something like
a small harpoon.
He asked for my help and I refused,
although I did promise I would try to collect the messages he wrote
from the other side.
He used a nail gun.
What does he write?
The symbols are becoming more and more illegible.
In all this time he's never drawn a logical symbol or a number.
So what are they, then?
Four letters that he repeats over and over.
A woman's name.
Where were you last night?
Beth, what are you doing here?
I was waiting foryou.
I'm sorry. I was out and...
I thought you felt something for me.
More than pity,
but I was wrong.
Of course I feel something foryou. We're friends.
I want to help you, but...
"We're friends, you want to help me".
That's worse than saying "you disgust me".
- Beth, please. - Don't touch me!
The kinderyou try to be,
the more humiliated I feel.
Beth, I don't mean to humiliate you.
Then treat me like a woman. You all treat me like I was a little girl.
Maybe this isn't the time for...
Now is the fucking perfect time forthis, Martin.
What's the matter?
You're embarrassed to be seen with me? Is that it?
Don't worry. I'm his mother.
I'm just making sure he does his homework.
Be quiet!
Beth, wait!
Found your killeryet?
Lorna? It's me, Martin. Do you know anything about Seldom's friend?
Kalman? What's wrong?
He's been murdered. Today, at two fifteen.
No... Wait a second.
Sorry, Sherlock, but he's alive.
Are you sure?
Yes, he's right in front of me.
If it's not him, then who?
It would have looked like death from natural causes,
if we hadn't discovered this little detail.
It's an intravenous injection,
and he wasn't receiving that kind of treatment.
What sort of poison was administered?
We don't know. We'll have to wait forthe post mortem report.
We know the time of death?
Exactly as it said on the note:
Quarter past two. It says so
- on the wristband. - Where did they find the body?
In the ward, before it was brought here.
All of these people have died in the last few hours?
Well, it's only to be expected. This is the terminal illnesses ward.
At least a couple of patients die every day,
according to the senior nursing officer.
He knew my movements, which encouraged him
to commit the crime here.
If he had meant to harm me, he would have killed Kalman.
Or he could have seen you
enterthe ward and didn't know which of the two was yourfriend.
A terminal patient
on the point of death.
A murderthat wouldn't have been discovered had it not been
- forthe note. - Another imperceptible crime.
And might I know what you're talking about, gentlemen?
The second sign gives the clue as to how the sequence should be read.
It could be figurative representations,
or could be semantic or syntactic, like geometric figures.
Can you translate that?
The professor means the signs
could represent things in the real world
or not represent anything, be abstract, like geometric shapes.
The second symbol is again astute, because,
being so schematic, it allows both readings.
It could be a game of symmetry, or it could simply be a fish.
Soup,
fish,
dessert.
Martin, show some respect
forthe inspector, please.
No possibility deserves to be overlooked.
Let me propose a puzzle.
What is the fourth
symbol...
in this other series?
No idea.
Did you miss class that day, too?
You just have to know how to look. The solution
is very simple, I assure you.
It's called the idiot series.
Anyone who can't work it out...
Thank you, professor. I get the message.
However, I incline to the idea that the symbols relate to mathematics,
ratherthan gastronomy.
So, you think a mathematician's involved?
It's possible, someone who seeks recognition of some sort,
or someone who's not a mathematician but wants to be.
A student?
That's unlikely.
Could you take
the second lieutenant out, Martin?
No, I haven't taught for a long time.
Well, can you tell us
what the third symbol
will be?
No.
Fartoo many options.
He's putting us to the test, and I wouldn't like to slip up.
Okay, let's see if I've got this right.
We are going to wait until he kills another person
because we can't decipher this bloody puzzle?
Tricky situation, isn't it?
- Could I get those there? - 2.60 please, sir.
Good evening.
Seldom!
Martin?
Why are you following me?
I'm not following anybody, for God's sake, least of all you!
So what are you doing here?
I'm going to that restaurant.
Do you find it so odd that I should be going out for dinner?
That's where I'm going, too.
Why, that's absurd.
I'm sorry.
I should have told you Arthurwas coming as well.
Excuse me, Lorna, but I'm the one who's annoyed
by the presence at ourtable of this good-for-nothing.
Good-for-nothing?
You couldn't see a joke if it stood up and bit you in the arse, Martin.
You're fartoo serious
- foryour age. - He called me at the hospital and I
just thought it would be best to bring you up to date together, so...
Forget it, I'm not bothered by it. I just hope I didn't hurt you.
Even if you had, I wouldn't admit it.
You're like two kids fighting over a ball.
- And you're the ball? - No, I'm the nurse who's gonna spank
your bottoms if you don't shut up.
Please.
I talked with the forensic expert.
And?
Nothing.
Not a trace of any toxic substance.
Whatever he was injected with is totally unknown.
Air, maybe?
No!
Let her speak, please.
He's right, it's unlikely. If he'd been injected with air,
they would have spotted it in the post mortem.
Howeverthere is another possibility. A substance
they extract from a poisonous mushroom: Amanita
Muscaria. But there are no reagents that detect it.
So it's a sort of secret among
- forensic pathologists. - How did you find out?
Lorna has a knack of finding out what she wants.
Her house is littered with murder mysteries,
but I imagine you know that by now.
Yes, I do.
What surprises me is that you haven't managed
to worm all the information out of Martin.
Martin is a good guy. He knows he can't tell anyone
what you orthe police have told him in confidence.
Well, he does right not to tell you anything.
After all, you're still on the list of suspects.
Me?
Well, don't look so surprised.
Both murders are closely linked with the hospital.
You could have gone into the room and injected
that substance which, curiously,
only you and the forensic pathologists know about.
That's ridiculous. She has no motive.
Of all the vast mountains of knowledge you have not yet scaled,
Martin, this slope is one of the most slippery. Be careful.
Don't even go there, Arthur.
Let it suffice to say
that our relationship transcended the purely intellectual,
and when it ended,
she took it anything but sportingly.
If you don't shut up I'll kill you, I promise.
There, you see?
Has she or has she not got a motive?
You are so obnoxious.
You enjoy playing with people.
Now do you understand?
Any formulation is valid in the series,
because we can always find a rule that justifies it.
Heart on a line, now you've got the eight...
now you give me the fourth.
Ah, well, well, young man. You are certainly not a total idiot.
One, two, three, four.
- This was easy. - The murderer's series
is infinitely more complex.
Tell me what the third symbol is.
Circle, fish...
What's the third?
I'm sorry, I can't say.
- Why not? Don't you trust me? - I trust you
implicitly but that's not the point.
If I tell you, then you'll stop thinking.
You might come up with a better idea
than mine.
No, there's something else. You could have easily told the police.