All language subtitles for Fantom

THE PHANTOM
OF MORRISVILLE

Detective Novels
THE PHANTOM OF MORRISVILLE

It was a dark and foggy night.

In the light drizzle,
the guard of the state prison

at Middlesouthborough Stone

Middlesouthborough Stone

half opened a tiny
window in the iron door

and bid his sight in vain,

penetrate

the impenetrable fog.

You wouldn't let a dog out
in this foul weather.

He mumbled and
closed the window again.

Out of the shadow
of the prison wall,

two sneaky figures appeared.

The taller one, Dixie,
called Beanstalk,

pulled out of his pocket
a pistol.

What's up?
- Asked the shorter one,

called Rosie.

If it’s anybody but Micky,
I'll slay him instantly.

One could hear light footsteps.

The third gang member,

Micky, alias Chicken,
was coming.

All right?
- The weather seems favorable.

If nothing unexpected
crops up,

Manuel Diaz

will be freed tonight.
Let's get to work!

Cut it short!

Until the boss is free,
I'm in charge and give the orders.

Let's get to work!

Thread.

String.

Rope.

Few men succumb to sleep,
when their life is at stake.

One man alone was able
to fall asleep on death row.

Your last wish
is granted, prisoner.

I wanted a banjo
and manicure set.

Prison management
forbid the second item.

It contains a nail file.

Pliers.

Saw.

Okay.
Roll it up.

This very presence, stop!

Although the moment
isn't exactly pleasant.

Unharness time...

Third window from the left.
No, fourth!

... and wait for a while.

And make her come back!

Let her be happy with me!

My darling, whom I adore.

Let my flag be in rags,

let tomorrow
be lost in darkness.

Let the devil himself
hold me in his clutches,

I don't know, DON'T KNOW!,
the word fear.

If it has to be,

let the punishment come.

As a bold man

I'll bear it.

Let the executioner come,

let the black wall come,

I'll be only laughing.

Please, just for now,

this very presence stop,

and my star keep shining.

No hurry,

just wait for a while.

I'm terribly missing

that familiar face,

you know, the one I adore,

THE ONE I adore,

THE ONE I ADORE.

Once the day will come,

me being a big boss,

I want to sail a white ship

across the blue ocean.

There nobody has a clue

That I escaped from jail.

There I can hang out at the bar,
YEEES!, like a Persian sheikh.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

Once I'll lose my YIPPIE YAAAY,

devils can take me farAWAAAY.

Now, I understand why
he's called Singing Manuel.

He won't be quiet
till morning.

Don't you like singing, jailer?
- Well, his singing behind bars I enjoy.

... ho, ho!
And I'll be having fun.

whiskey by the barrel

and a fine leather jacket.

And I'll regularly sleep,
YEEES!, with the sheriff's wife.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

It's a great voice.

Yes, father.

And even greater crook.

From the luxurious study
of M.C. Pelham,

the publisher of LADIES & GENTLEMEN
journal, came this announcement:

Allan Pinkerton is called by M.C.

M.C. calls Allan Pinkerton.

Allan Pinkerton is called by M.C.

M.C. calls Allan Pinkerton.

One moment, madam.

Tea?

Whisky?

My dear Pinkerton, tonight at midnight
at Morrisville is taking place

the wedding of Sir Hannibal Morris
and Clarence Hamilton.

You'll attend as a
representative of our journal.

My pleasure.

Thank you, sir.

Do you know each other?
Who is the lady?

My mysterious benefactor.

During my studies at Oxford,
she always appeared at Christmas.

She had me...

called to the dean's office, and
there she kissed me on the forehead.

Then she disappeared again.

How did you get to know her?
- She came to me, with a silly request.

I told her I won't send my best
criminal reporter to the wedding.

But she insisted.

It turned out she's the majority
shareholder of our journal,

so I couldn't say no.

Besides, who could
say no to a lady?

I get it.

Sir Morris is entitled
to such an honor, however.

We studied together and
served in India in the same regiment.

I was even present when
he proposed to his first love.

I didn't know he had been married.
- Only engaged, dear boy.

It was called off, when he introduced
his fiancee to his family.

Financial reasons?
- Oh, no! Social ones.

Poor Hannibal fell in love
with Miss Arabella.

Pardon. - It's likely
beyond your field of interest.

But what Sarah Bernhardt
was to the stage,

Miss Arabella was to the circus tent.

She was popular
on both hemispheres.

She was world famous.

Tamer?

Show rider.
- I get it.

That wasn't the worst of it.

Old Lady Morris liked horses too.

Tea, please.

But when she found out Arabella's
mother was a noted bearded lady

and father was a clown

she refused to accept the daughter
of such socially marginal people.

This story,
for some strange reason,

excites me.

What happened next? Did they break up?
- Actually, they did.

She disappeared
without a good-bye.

And Sir Hannibal?

Desperate.

Later he received a letter.

Not a love letter but an entirely
impersonal notification saying

Arabella is taking the first opportunity
after her puerperium

to tell him he has become
the father of a child

he'd never get to see.

Signature, period, and that's it.

Poor Sir Hannibal.

So, Allan, go there and make
out of Sir Hannibal's naivety

at least a column
for our Sunday issue.

Yes, sir.

Apropos, Allan,

can you fly a plane?

A bit.

I know your "a bit"
means "fair enough".

You can take my personal biplane.
Good luck!

Hallo!

Allan's manly,

chisel-sculpted, face

is a sportsman's face which
affirms a sole denomination,

a faith in oneself.

There's something of a falcon
in his gaze.

However, at the bottom
of those two steel gray ponds

await the waggish warm sparks
for the significant one

whom Allan Pinkerton

has yet to meet.

The glorious organ tunes
in the Morrisville chapel

resounded solemnly
into the velvet night.

Sir Hannibal Morris,

do you take Clarence Hamilton
as your lawful wedded wife?

I do.

And you Clarence Hamilton,

do you take Sir Hannibal Morris
as your lawful wedded husband?

I do.

From this moment on,
I pronounce you man and wife.

Congratulations!

This very presence, stop!

Although the moment
isn't exactly pleasant.

Unharness time

and wait for a while.

And make her come back!

Let her be happy with me!

My darling, whom I adore.

Hello, Brumpby,

lively, old Scotland Yard slave!

How is it, Pinkerton, you're always
there, when something happens?

How is it you look like a cop,
even at a wedding?

So far, it resembles
rather a funeral.

Advise me, Brumpby, where
can I get myself a bit more civilized?

Miss Mabel, let me introduce you to
my personal enemy, Allan Pinkerton.

Journalists say
he should be a detective.

In my view,

he could be a good journalist, if he
didn't worry about Scotland Yard matters.

Please, look after him and disregard his
appearance. In reality he's much worse.

Sir Hannibal's secretary.

Excuse me, please.

Thank you, Brumpby.

Where am I?

In your bedroom, my dear,

by your husband.

Forgive me, Hannibal! I feel so ashamed
I fainted, but I felt so nervous.

Don't worry, darling.
Do you feel better?

I'm fine now.

Is it serious, doctor? - Not at all,
it's a normal wedding fainting.

Do you think then,

my wife can attend, without any risk,
the upcoming ancient ceremony?

In exactly 8 minutes,
she'll be perfectly fine.

Otherwise, she'll be confined
to bed for 2 to 3 weeks.

Why are you giving me this?
- Not giving, but returning. - Oh, I see.

Then, I could think as well,
this was sent...

by you.

IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, LEAVE!

Which one is yours?
- You choose!

What will you do?

Well...

Look, I'm already old enough, and I won't
spoil my character for a few more years.

How about you?

I'll stay too.

My God, Manuel, you're alive?!

I'm alive.
More than alive!

Don't forget I'm married.

I'm not forgetful.
But your memory seems short.

When night falls and
the smell of violets spreads,

the moon unfolds
its nets across the pond.

Then, nothing in the world
burns more acutely

than loneliness.

When the sky is
sprinkled with stardust,

a nightingale calls
in the quiet shrubs.

Then, I think only of you,

my dearest, and it saddens me
to have empty arms.

My arms are empty

like the palms of an impoverished man,

empty like an abandoned house.

So, I roam the world,

paying tax to love,

due to which
I'm losing my mind.

My arms are empty

like a faded flower

and deserted
like a dry savannah.

I sing softly

and can only envy

duvets which count your heartbeats.

I'd like to kidnap you

to who knows where,

maybe to a dew-strewn
meadow in the spring,

maybe I'll succeed some time.

But for now,
my arms are empty.

My arms are empty

like a desolate sea bed,

empty like a blind man's sight.

I sing softly,

paying tax to love,

and the whole world
is just a one big shipwreck,

one big SHIPWRECK,

ONE BIG SHIPWRECK.

Give me that!

You're too late.

Given where I'm coming from
and how they treated me there,

I've come just in time.

Did you escape prison?

I escaped death row, darling.

What if I call the police?
- It can be done without a phone.

The old cop Brumpby
is sitting downstairs.

Call him!

And we'll see

what the law and Sir Morris
might say, if I show them this.

Mercy!
Don't ruin me.

Leave.

Leave my life.

My wedding gift will be your
compensation. - Don't tug at it.

Or you'll damage the clip of
the Morrisville emerald necklace.

And what next?

I could send you money.
- How much?

To afford a carefree life.

You could hardly get that much.
- I'm not saying now.

But in time.
Later.

Hannibal made me the sole
heir to his vast fortune.

Now, we're beginning to
understand each other, girl.

I'd be a stupid fool,

if I was content with a tiny bit,
when I could have everything.

How so?

If you belong to me, then
so does everything that's yours.

But I'll become rich only
after Hannibal's death.

I don't wish his death.

You don't have to.

I'll take care of it.

Excuse me!

I'd like to familiarise you
with an old Morrisville ceremony.

Take this cup, which
you'll hand to Sir Hannibal.

This man,
Sir Elwood George Morris,

was married at the beginning
of the 17th century.

His rival in love,
Commodore Campbell Putney,

decided, with the help of a bribed
servant, that he'd poison Sir Elwood.

Fortunately,

Sir Elwood's favorite hunting dog

jumped onto his master's lap

and overturned the poisoned cup.

On his master's order, the dog had to
lick up the spilled wine from the floor.

He licked once,

twice,

and after the third lick
dropped dead.

What was the dog's name?
- Bahadur.

Posthumously, he was
promoted to the peerage.

To avoid a similar case repeating,

ever since 1608,
we've a habit in our family

that the wedding cup,

which the bride
hands her husband,

is first tasted by the dog,

descendant of the
aforementioned Bahadur,

and only then
does his master drink.

Thereafter follow
the normal wedding festivities.

To your health.
- To yours. - To yours.

Barely had Clarence appeared...

Barely had Clarence appeared...

Barely had Clarence appeared,

than there was whispering in the choir,

how beautiful she was.

How beautiful!

How beautiful!

How beautiful!

Seven.

Seven.

Indeed, a lucky number!

Do you know
who was born on 7 July?

La Fontaine.

And who else?

Wait...

R. B. Sheridan.

And then?

Well, me.

Call Berry.

Fifty-seventh Earl
Berry of Bahadur.

The dog instinctively sensed
the wine was poisoned.

Don't touch it!
Hands off!

It's a police matter.

Fetch a box!

We must send it off for analysis.

Analysis can be done on site.
Is the laboratory open?

We would need to
bring one more witness.

There's one.
- Let's go.

I'm innocent.

No one suspects you, dear.

Still, I'd like
to talk with you alone.

Come with me, please,
to the terrace.

Damn, that's too much!

45 calibre,

pistol of Belgian production
with a long barrel.

Do you think that bullet
was meant for me?

I don't want to jump to conclusions,
but someone is striving for your life.

But who?

Do you always make notes?

Recently yes.

There are moments I tend
to forget the whole world.

Pardon.

So...

Now we'll see,

if your hypothesis

is correct.
- Mhm, mhm, mhm.

This, please,

mix with the wine.
- Okay.

Here.

Not yet, please.

I'll tell you.

Now!

Congratulations, Inspector!

There truly was
a strong poison in the wine.

Very strong!

Reputation, Pinkerton,
wrongs the tigers.

They're not nearly as bloodthirsty
as human beasts.

What about that up there?
- Well, you know...

Heartless beasts are
among the animals too.

The one inside...

was he a friend of yours?
- No, a cook.

It's still sad.
- Of course.

You can't imagine, what a delicious
woodcock in wine he used to cook!

Where did I leave off?
- With human beasts.

As if by magic a gun
appeared in Allan's hand.

But the bullet jammed in the barrel.

What's going on?

Did somebody shoot?
Oh, sir...

I wanted to, but I didn't shoot.

What if it was a lady?

We can consider it certain
that our suspect, he or she...

So far, we can't exclude the crime
was committed by a woman.

So, the perpetrator

took a spear from the other room

and tried to kill
your Lordship with it.

After an unsuccessful attempt

he or she escaped
through the window.

Thus, the perpetrators must
be sought (point A) in the garden,

and (point B) due to the speed
of the escape also outside the garden.

Well, and if we exclude the other...

Your procedure, Inspector, although
strictly logical, won't get you very far.

If you exclude all those who
couldn't have committed the crime,

you'll conclude that it could have
been committed by anyone else.

Do you know a better method?

Certainly! I already know, f.e.,
our suspect is not a woman.

May I ask, why not?

Try to pull the spear out of the oak
panel and you'll find out.

Inspector, the tip is poisoned!

I think, Pinkerton, you're right.

A woman couldn't have done it.

I'm rarely wrong,

sir.

And what's your opinion, Mabel?

I'm convinced,
Mr. Pinkerton is never wrong.

Sir Morris sought happiness,
and almost found death.

Allan and Mabel seek nothing,

but it seems
they found each other.

It's, however, just the beginning of the
trail and clues lead who knows where?!

Hello,

young man, didn't you notice
anything suspicious around?

I mean, anyone.

Not at all! Who would hang out
here in such bad weather?

This is the private property
of Lady White.

Besides the inmates, nobody
is allowed to enter this garden.

Good night!

One more question!

What about this ladder?

It's on your side
of the wall.

Right.

Otherwise, you could
hardly climb up,

sir.

That's also right.

So,

our perpetrator is a man

who is 6 feet 3 inches tall.

His weight is 163 pounds.

He has a short-cut mustache,
dark eyes, auburn hair,

and a special sign,

protruding ears.

Now, tell us his name, Inspector,
and we'll know all we need to know.

No problem.

He's Hanswana Kakerlak

who was born on 14 July 1897,

in Krimpendam, Netherlands.

Those are just your speculations.

Nope,

those are plain facts.

Did you deduce all of this
from clues in the garden?

Well, actually, yes!

If we take as a "clue" the club
card of North Wales Weightlifters,

lost during a headlong escape.

I'm sorry, Inspector,
to disprove your bold deduction,

but Hans Kakerlak

is my longtime gardener.

Which doesn't mean,
he's out of suspicion.

Excuse me, but you're wrong.

Two days ago, before he left for the
Netherlands to buy tulips, he told me

he's missing his club card
without which he's not allowed

to attend the annual meeting
of North Wales Weightlifters.

You've not proceed far, Inspector.

Keep it!

Do you have a light?

What's up, John?

Excuse me, sir, but I noticed
Lady Clarence hasn't yet left

her room.

Are you by any chance
following me up to Her Lady's bedroom?

On duty, I can even stay by your side
the whole wedding night, sir.

Why did you cry out?
- Me?

I didn't cry out at all.

Can you

explain to me
your strange behavior?

I can't, Hannibal.

I can say only as much as...

that you're in danger,
my dear and beloved.

Travel somewhere far away,

or hide in some remote place.

Don't ask for elaboration. If I reveal
more, our mutual happiness is over.

Our mutual happiness?
- Yes.

Don't try to fool me.

Whom are you hiding here?

Me? Hopefully, you'll soon realize
how much you have hurt me now.

Please, Inspector Brumpby,
take a look!

Why not me?
It's my right!

Because

your single brave step
may take you closer to death.

Sorry, I've to carry out
my duty now!

Thank you, Allan!

C'mon, men,

I'm in full control
of my gun.

You silly!

Inspector,

take this box
full of emeralds.

They'll be safer
in a strongbox.

Don't you agree, my dear Clarence?

Thank you.

Just for your information, sirs.

These are my last wills.

If anything happens to me,

you two

I appoint as their executors.

Why in two envelopes?
- It's simple.

In this original,

I bequeath all my belongings
to my unknown descendant.

The other testament
cancels the original

and appoints as
sole inheritor my wife,

Lady Clarence.

I still hope,

we'll afford irreversible
proof of her innocence.

Thus I leave both
eventualities open.

Before marriage,
she was completely different.

Why did she change?

Why so suddenly?

It's all riddles and mysteries.
- Leave riddles to me!

If everything's
not clear within 24 hours,

I'll eat my hat.

Looking for something?

It seemed to me,
we're not alone.

Do you know the feeling

of somebody staring at you?

Here?

Somewhat lower.

Feelings are deceptive, huh?
Nobody is observing us.

What would you say, Inspector,

if I stayed here
for the rest of the night.

I'd say, it's a good idea.

I only regret
it wasn't my suggestion.

If there is any safe place
in this mansion, then it's certainly...

here.

Where does this hole
in the ceiling lead?

On the roof.
It's ventilation.

Ah, so!
It's too tight even for a mouse.

I hope so, at least!

The door will be guarded
by one of my men.

Mabel, please, call for John!

John,

step in!

How did you know
I'd need those things?

Just anticipating, sir.
- It's unbelievable.

What did you anticipate?
- Nothing, Inspector.

And what brought you here then?
- Just an instinct!

His instinct.

Follow me!

John thinks of
anything and everything.

You're too kind, sir.

Thank you, Mabel.
Thank you, friends.

Now, all of you, hurry up
to the delayed wedding dinner.

Good night.
- Good night.

Anything else, sir?
- Some whiskey, John.

It's cooled in the thermos flask, sir.
- Thanks.

Good night, John.

Good night, sir.

If anything moves,

whistle!

Or just push

this button.

If I'd be a somnambulist,

and you a somnambule girl,

we'd walk hand in hand
over the roofs in the darkness of night

like two shadows
in the moonlight.

In case,

you've decided

to give me a hot kiss

which has no end,

all I could do then

would be to tell you,

Let's climb together the lookout tower,
holding the wire of the lightning rod.

Morris!

What happened, Sergeant?

I can't say for sure. Something exploded
inside. I knocked, with no response.

Something's burning there.
- What can it be?

The walls of stones or
a strongbox of steel?

Or did Sir Morris
happen to catch fire?

Dead...

dead...

deadly gas!

Equipment from
the world war.

St-p b-k!

Step back!

On the typically British misty morning,
Manuel's gang was gathered

in a neighboring shelter for
the unreformable criminals.

Her Lady might be looking for us.

You should grab the
necklace immediately!

It won't run away.
- I hope so.

All your promises...

You rats!

Don't you have in your degenerate
skulls even an ounce of brain?

At stake are not a few pebbles,
but everything!

I'm the lawfully wedded husband
of Lady Clarence and I don't care

that she considers me dead

and has remarried.

She's in my clutches!

That's the word
of a bold man, boss!

I dare even to say

each and every word of yours
is imbued with a fervent anger.

You damned arse-licker!

The phantom

overheard the scheming of the villains.

Stop it!
Give each other a break.

We've to wait until the fuss
of Morris's death is over.

Dixie!

Chicken!

Rosie!

Get lost!
- Let's go!

Top secret!

It's an unnecessary torment of your inner
self. Sir Morris is lost without trace.

He's disappeared
as if he'd just evaporated.

He couldn't evaporate,
only sublimate.

But even then, the buttons
and cufflinks would be left.

From a scientific point of view,
it's a mystery.

Please, spare me
all this reasoning.

Okay, but I assure you once again
the room is completely empty.

Go in!

Dear lady,

it's no pleasure to be
a carrier of bad news

but it seems that
you're a widow.

Did you happen to find
a clue to this mystery?

I've found a tiger hair.

Well, that's nothing unusual.
Maybe it got stuck

on Sir Morris's sleeve,
while he was passing through

his trophy room.

I might agree, if it'd be
a dead hair. But it's not!

The follicle hasn't dried out yet.

Well,

it's nonsense.

The nearest tiger
is in the London Zoo.

You're mistaken, Inspector.

Here in the castle, in Sir Hannibal's
private menagerie are kept two tigers.

Really?

Is it far away?

Please, follow me!

Doctor,

check it in the lab
to find out

what substance was inside.

All of this is such
a mind-blowing riddle!

If Morris was killed by poison,
how come he disappeared?

And if he disappeared,
how come he's back?

And if he's back,
how come he isn't back alive?

Damn, where did I put the key?

All these mysteries drive me nuts.
- The key is in the keyhole, sir.

But no need to lock the door.
I'll stay as guard of honor to my master.

That guy's loyalty is quite touching.

Anything similar is hard to find
beyond good old Britain. - Mhm.

Shiva bless you, Abu!

Likewise!
- Are you busy?

I'm making my bed.

I know, what brought you
and the sahib here.

Now, listen to an old tale

about a wise Brahmin.

He always speaks in parables.

In Benares used to live

a Brahmin whose name
was Rashid Ali Suhab.

He desired to know

if his young wife would
grieve after his death.

Thus he swallowed
a herb called Pangha

which means in Hindi

"eyes and ears are vigilant,

while the body seems dead".

In such a body, the spirit is as clear
as a cloud mirrored in a temple well.

It's crazy.

Do you get it?

"Eyes and ears are vigilant,

while the body seems dead".

Let's go!

Calm down!
We know what happened.

Sir Hannibal,

can you speak?

Let's have a try!

I'll ask questions
and you try to respond.

Keeping eyes closed
means YES.

Opening them
means NO.

Can you hear?

Can you see?

Can you move?

Do you wish to be considered dead?

Do you wish Lady Clarence
to know you live?

Is your secret

supposed to remain undisclosed?

The villain used gas which
leaves no traces. - Nevermind!

I don't need chemistry or dactyloscopy!
I'll use my old proven method.

Your proven method?

Um... well...
I mean, questioning!

Asking people!

What or how they know? From where?
And if they maybe know something more.

And so on.
- What if they don't know anything?

Then I ask why they didn't.

In short, asking, asking, asking,
until you know everything.

Be brave, strong...

Someone has been attempting
your husband's life for as long

as it takes to succeed.

Let me ask frankly! Do you know
something more in this matter?

I do, Inspector. It seems,
I can't hide any secret from you.

I wanted to tell it already
this morning, but...

What was it?

That she's too disturbed
by the present tragic situation

to be able to respond
to your harrowing questions.

Who are you?
- Doctor Lepierre,

the attorney of Lady Morris.

And based on this document

an administrator of her property.

It's true.

I've no right to intervene into
your private matters, Lady Clarence.

I just hope that choosing
your attorney was done with

due consideration.

I'll arrange the funeral myself.

Now, let me move the body of
the deceased into the castle chapel.

No! Nowhere!
No relocation of anything.

The coroner with an examination
commission is on the way.

Until then, no funeral!
- Of course!

The dead body has to
undergo an autopsy.

For such an autopsy to be
done correctly, means...

encephalotomia

et

visceratio.

In other words, extraction
of the brain from the skull.

And all the internal
organs have to...

I strongly object!

If the autopsy proves
that Sir Morris was poisoned,

the administration of his assets
will be taken over by the court.

And until the whole case is solved,
nobody can use a single penny.

Manuel then realized he must
prevent the autopsy happening.

Abu was soothing his homesickness
by smoking hashish.

His spirit was wandering through
the temples of his remote homeland.

Let's go, cats!

Cats with eyes like tacks.

Let's go!

Chh-chh-chh!

Follow my Cat Song.

Let's go, cats!

Put down your paws
softly like snow flakes.

Let's chase the mouse,

without being heard.

I'm a cat too, actually.

I love cats.

It was always my pleasure

to bring cats in my room

and there to play with them.

C'mon, let's go!

This world full of cages

is governed solely by
the law of the cat jungle.

Every man is a bit like a cat,
sneaking through the darkness.

In each of us is a half bucket
of cat persona.

It's almost scary!

Deep inside us

Darwin's theory is freshly alive.

My dear cats, the whole world
is full of cat tricks and bullshit.

One cat said to the other cat,

"All good things to those who wait."

And thus, chh-chh-chh!

Ho, ho, ho!
Let the cats be merry!

Fortunately, Abu was familiar
with secrets of the Indian mystics.

By his extraordinary willpower,

he concentrated his mind.

Why is this No. 3?

The keys are three in number.

Sir Morris has No. 1,
I have No. 2.

No. 3 is a spare key.

Do you think
this is a safe storage?

I bet nobody will look for the
strongbox key in the tiger's mouth.

Sir Hannibal's maxim has always been...
- Safety first?

Safety first!

Just imagine! His two last wills are
recorded on photosensitive paper.

If someone unauthorized
took hold of them

and tried to read them,
the pages turn black.

It's even beyond your
imagination. Am I right?

Mabel, suddenly
you sound so personal.

But keep in mind
I'm mainly here as a reporter

and only then...

Then what, Allan?

Mabel!

Excuse me!

The Coroner's Commission has arrived
to examine Sir Hannibal.

Now, we're all present.

Doctor Lepierre is missing.
- That's his hard luck.

Who has the key?
- Me.

Take it.

I hope, everything was left intact.

Of course.

Let me go in first alone!

What's up?

He almost jumped on me.
- Sir Hannibal? - Tiger!

Two tigers are inside. - And
Sir Hannibal? - He's inside them.

No more feeding today!

The two last wills
are key to the riches.

The key to the last wills
is inside the tiger's mouth.

And Manuel knows it.

No need to apologize, Doctor.
Choose whomever you want!

Thanks.

All of them are reliable. Thanks to a
systematic approach and psychology!

Education by play, mutual trust and
kindness! I expect you know what I mean.

Upon arrival,
they suffered with neglect.

Now, see the difference!

It's a pleasure to behold.
They're like kids.

None of us would like

to be permanently reminded of the past
and be subject to constant criticism.

These poor boys keep hearing they
committed deeds against the common good,

they shot or stabbed people, did grenade
attacks, have no manners whatsoever.

Could you bear it, Doctor?

Well, Lady...

Such a one-sided standpoint is totally
unjust towards these poor darlings.

They strove to do their best...

Lady,

this tall boy!

Dixie!

Here everyone has a nickname
just like we all had in school.

Dixie, go with Doctor Lepierre to do
a little job. No need to change dress!

Didn't you drop your watch?
- Oh, yes, yes, thanks!

I'm so distracted and
keep losing things.

Take the suitcase.

Damn!

This is your share.

And thus we're done.

What's in the suitcase?

None of your business.
Get lost!

Why would I take the necklace
which I've given you?

Do you think I'm hiding
your suitcase in my pocket?

Get lost!

Get lost!

What's going on here, Doctor?

I scared a thief away.
He choked me and is gone.

Where are the last wills?

I've no clue.

But Lady Clarence
doesn't need them.

As a spouse of the deceased,
she's the sole heiress.

It's within the jurisdiction of the legal
department of the House of Lords.

Oh, of course.

We can't attach our signature,

but each and every line
is the sheer truth.

Manuel's misdeeds described below are
only a tiny part of his criminal record.

His wedding with Lady
Clarence was feigned...

Don't use rare words.
What's "feigned"?

It's a hoax, or scam.
- Mhm.

... as he has already
been married twice before.

His marriage certificate
was issued by Mr. Thompson

who can forge pounds
or other papers.

Just to illustrate
his characteristics,

instead of consummating his wedding
night, he went to rob the bank.

What are you writing boys?

It's a letter to his sister.

She became acquainted with a rascal,
so we're trying to warn her in time.

It's so nice of you!

However, it's full of typos.

"Murder" is written
with D and not T.

You were maybe misled
by the word "mortuary".

But it's a mistake.

And the word "villain"
is written with double L,

as there is BB in "robber",
or FF in "ruffian".

The seconds were ticking away

in an unrelenting rhythm.

And fate was proceeding

upon its winding road.

Mail, sir.

Good news?

Interesting.

But there is a word I don't understand.
- Which one? Let me check!

It's "integrity".

How would you define
"integrity", Doctor Lepierre?

We speak about "Integrity",
when two things hold close together.

Like this?

Manuel Diaz, I'm arresting you!

Wait a minute!

Where is the word
"integrity" mentioned?

It was an old proven police trap.

Bravo, Allan!

Lady Clarence!

This power of attorney of Doctor
Lepierre alias Manuel Diaz is not valid.

An enclosed letter proves it.

I recommend to burn both.
- Thanks, gentlemen!

So, let's go
and no tricks!

I respect fair-play

and I admit a lost game.

Each song has
its last stanza.

Let me sing it, Inspector.

Keep it short!

John!

Your banjo, sir.

Thanks.

This is the confession
of a desperado.

He can hardly resist
becoming emotional.

In his youth
he liked very much

to sing in the temple

of the Lord.

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelululululuuujah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelululululuuu...

He's in the lab.

From the lab there's no escape.

Did you catch him?
- No.

Nothing.
No trace.

No clue.
Let's go.

Manuel is free of ties again.

Good night, ladies.

Good night, Mabel.

And lock the door!

We'll catch him.
Sleep tight!

Shouldn't we at least
leave them a pistol?

Well, a pistol under
the pillow can't hurt.

Mabel?

Mabel!

Take a look!

But be silent!

Otherwise, I'll make a signature
on your pretty cheeks.

Did you find a clue?

I did, Brumpby.

It also makes me realize
what I've just lost.

That's life!

If I don't come back,

you'll be buried alive here.

Two tender throats were choked by fear.
This is the end!

John!

Yes!

Isn't some secret passage
here in the castle?

Plenty of them, sir!
This place is full of hidden shortcuts.

Why didn't you tell us before?

Because only Sir Hannibal
knew the details.

What's this?

Pardon!

Some old plan, sir.

Let me do it!

That's terrific!

A map of the maze!

Really, sir?

I never thought of that.
Even though I dust it every day.

Let's load!

What was that?

A slap! I was slapped
on going inside.

Serves you right! Now, we're
without the map and doorway.

Everything is fixed now.
The villain might secure the doors.

Let's use another entrance.
- But how to find it?

Based on natural law!

Candlestick, John!
- Yes!

Where there's a gap,
there's a draught, i.e. a door.

Experience is valuable,
but education counts no less.

Watch out, sir!

Some years ago,
a plumber was here.

He said a waste pipe needed
to be fixed and entered.

We never saw him again.

Maybe he's still
trying to get out.

Terrible!

It might also explain the slap.
Terrible force!

The beat of my heart

is one big echo.

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Hello!

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!
- Hallelujah!

Sir, I heard someone has found
my weightlifters club card.

Ask Miss Mabel.

Mabel.

Mabel!

Mabel!!!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

One of Allan Pinkerton's merits was his
ability to intervene at the right time.

Now, you're my hostage!

Bravo, my boy!

But don't you think

you overreacted rather?

Anyway.

Let's go!

This outfit has become obsolete.

For 20 years I've roamed
the castle through the night.

But now,

I'm redeemed.

Take care of the fireplace!

I beg your pardon!
A certain lady is awaiting you, sir.

What can I do for you?

For me?

Nothing.

I'll do you a favor myself.

Pardon?

Let me reveal a secret!

It concerns your offspring.

Tell me more!
- He's getting married.

Personal pronoun
suggests it's a son.

You're as bright,
as you've ever been.

Did you know me?

Sure.

As a student.

Shorten the suspense, please.
Where is my son?

Here.

Allan!

Father!

It was her!

Miss Arabella.

Your mother, Allan!

I'll give it back!

Emil!
- Mhm?

Let's go home.
- Yes, Clarence. - What?

Yes, Helena!

This is the confession
of a desperado,

relieved of ties and myths.

He still likes to sing Hallelujah,

but he also likes another tune.

Everybody Hallelujah!
Everybody...

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujah!

While I'll be standing near
a crooked pasture fence,

the horse with mane fluttering
is gonna pass by at full gallop.

I'll jump on his saddle and
his hooves will raise the dust.

Thus I'll disappear right out of sight,
YEEES!, beyond the bluish horizon.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

Once I'll lose my YIPPIE YAAAY,

devils can take me farAWAAAY.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

Once I'll lose my YIPPIE YAAAY,

all the devils can take me farAWAAAY,

farAWAAAY,

FARAWAAAY,

farAWAAAY,

FARAWAAAY,

farAWAAAAAY.

THE END