Mr Martin, the accountant for a Scottish tweed weaving company, wanders the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, picking up whisky and cigarettes as if they were careful steps toward fate. He is urgently summoned to the deathbed of the old owner, Old Macpherson, at Moray Place. When Macpherson offers a glass, Martin refuses, and the elderly man quietly drinks for the pair before dying. The moment sets a strange tone: a man who will soon be drawn into a moral maze that tests his sense of purpose in a world where power and tradition collide.
The company’s succession brings a new owner, a young and confident figure named Robert Macpherson, who is captivated by a zealous American visitor, Angela Barrows. She arrives as an “efficiency expert,” determined to modernize a craft that has long clung to its roots. Her plan is sweeping: visit the “factory” on the Hebrides, where the work is still done by old couples on crofts that knit the wool by hand. She envisions replacing the 700 scattered weavers with a single, sprawling factory and pivoting the business toward synthetic fibres. Her drive is a blunt reimagining of a cherished way of life, and her presence unsettles everyone who believes in the value of a slower, more intimate craft.
The modernization push collides with a vivid sense of place and mood. While being chauffeured through the city, Angela proclaims that the company must change course, and the driver ends up colliding with the back of a brewer’s dray—an incident that feels almost symbolic, a small crash in the larger collision between old loyalties and new ambitions. The intrusion of this new world into the old one stirs up tensions that will push Martin toward a radical choice.
Inspired by a viewing of a Sherlock Holmes film, Mr Martin toys with murder as a means to protect the status quo or perhaps to test his own nerve. He decides to kill Angela Barrows, convinced that a dramatic act could force a new balance and thwart the plans that threaten the company’s traditional way of life. Because Martin is a non-smoker and a non-drinker, he figures he can stage the crime in a way that would mislead any future investigation—smoking, drinking, and a carefully arranged scene become his tools. He buys a half-bottle of whisky and a packet of cigarettes, preparing for a confrontation that feels almost like a moral experiment rather than a desperate act.
Yet the plan falters in her flat, where a series of botched attempts exposes the fragility of his resolve. His conscience, which never fully relaxes in this moral maze, begins to tilt the scales away from violence. Into the drama steps the younger MacPherson, and Martin manages to avoid detection as the situation grows more complicated. The sense of danger shifts from a simple crime to a tense chess match, where every move is weighed against what is just and what is expedient.
Back at the office, the newly minted manager and his ally, MacPherson, press Martin to explain himself. The younger man’s questions are sharper, and his probing reveals that Martin’s denial may seem more plausible than Angela Barrows’ version of events. The clash reaches a verdict: Angela cannot take the pressure any longer, and she finally walks away, muttering that everyone around them must be mad. In the end, Martin appears to have won a peculiar victory—the so-called "battle of the sexes"—by choosing restraint over lethal action.
Yet the ending remains quietly humane. As Angela weeps at the station, Martin is moved by a fleeting sense of compassion and buys her a flower, a small gesture that hints at a recognition of shared humanity amid their contested ideals. The film resolves its sharp satire with a gentle reminder that even in battles of power and progress, kindness and mercy can endure.
