Original subtitles

- There should be a file of some size,

and we need to see it.

- That's Circus material, George.

I can only deliver from the Minister.

- I know that look, George.

I'm breaking into the Circus, am I?

Playing Burglar Bill?

- If you wouldn't mind, Peter.

And while you're enjoying yourself,

I shall visit Oxford to look up

an old and invaluable friend.

- Please, don't take any unnecessary risks.

[lock clinking]

- [whispering] Come on...

[intense instrumental music]

II

[despairing instrumental music]

II

[bell tolling]

[doorbell buzzes]

[dog barking]

[dog barking]

- Shut up, Flush.

Stop it!

Stop it, old boy.

It's only a dunderhead.

[(109 growls]

Flush, shut up.

[(109 barks]

George Smiley.

Oh, well, you lovely, darling man.

You haven't come to sell me a-a Hoover.

You're my gorgeous George.

- Connie.

- Oh, George.

Oh.

Jingle, darling, could you possibly

make it tomorrow?

Oh, don't be cross, Jingle.

It isn't often my oldest, oldest lover

comes to see me.

Oh, George, if only I had seen you first.

I'll give you a whole hour all to yourself.

Honestly, I will, darling.

[door slams shut]

One of my dunderheads.

I will teach.

I don't know why.

Oh, George.

Of all the lovely, darling men I ever knew.

He walked, Flush.

Did you see his shoes?

[sighs]

Oh.

Bless you, darling.

God bless.

Mm.

Did he walk alone, Flush?

Not accompanied, were we?

- Quite alone, Connie.

- So what does George want from Connie,

the bad boy?

- Her memory.

To go over some very old ground, Connie.

- Hear that, Flush?

First they chuck us out a little bone,

then they come begging to us.

I was the best head of research the Circus ever had.

Everyone knew that.

And what did they say the day

they gave me the chop?

That personnel cow:

"You're losing your sense of proportion, Connie.

It's time you got out into the real world."

Well, l...

I hate the real world.

I like the Circus and my-my lovely boys.

- Polyakov.

Aleksey Aleksandrovich Polyakov.

Cultural Attache, Soviet Embassy, London.

- Born March 3, 1922, in the Ukraine.

Graduate of Leningrad State University.

Height 5'10".

Color of eyes: green. Color of hair: black.

Married but unaccompanied by wife,

and a six-cylinder Karla-trained hood

if ever I saw one.

But don't tell Percy Alleline or Toby Esterhase.

Oh, no.

Aleksey Aleksandrovich was as pure as the driven snow.

He was parcel white, wasn't he, Flush?

And Connie's an old silly,

'cause if she doesn't lay off and do as she's told,

we'd have to pack our bags and go.

- He's come alive.

Polyakov.

Just as you predicted.

- Course he has.

Of course he has.

I knew it in my bones.

The day he arrived, lthoughL

"Hello. I'm gonna have some fun with you."

Tough as a button.

Culture attache? Balls.

Army written all over him.

But not declared, George- not a mention.

Oh, he had a lovely voice.

Mellow like yours.

I used to play the tapes over and over

just to-to bathe in it.

Bottom-pincher too. [chuckles]

I just know.

Not that we ever caught him at it.

We might have done if Tobe had played along

and offered him a bum or two,

but Tiny Tobe wouldn't.

Eight years.

I watched pretty Poly for eight years.

Then last Remembrance Day,

I got him.

There he was that smashing November morning

at the wreath-laying,

and we photographed his medals:

two gallantry and four campaign.

Oh, yes.

Aleks Polyakov was a star soldier,

just as I told them,

and not a word.

So I said to Toby,

"Listen, you two-faced ferret.

"Ego has got the better part of cover,

"and that's nothing new.

"Now will you turn pretty Poly inside out for me,

because Connie's little hunch has turned up trumps."

- And what did Toby Esterhase say?

- Oh, I got the dead fish voice.

"Tell Percy Alleline. Percy's in charge."

- And then?

- "Not every ex-warrior's a Karla agent," says Percy.

I said, "Listen, Percy,

"Polyakov's running an English mole."

So I get the rude letter.

"Stop it or else."

So I wrote at the bottom, "Yes. Repeat: no."

So here we are.

Flush and me.

Please kiss me, George.

Hey, ho.

Halcyon days.

Did I start the landslide, George?

- You were always dead-right, Connie.

- And is George now picking up the pieces?

- Something of the sort.

- Poor loves.

Trained to empire.

Trained to rule the waves.

Englishmen could be proud then.

They could, George.

All gone.

Taken away.

Bye-bye, world.

If it's bad, George,

don't come back.

Promise?

I want to remember you just as you were.

My lovely, lovely boys.

Promise?

[despairing instrumental music]

II

[horn blaring]

- The pages have been removed with a razor blade.

No mention whatever of Ricki Tarfs cables from Lisbon.

No Irina, No Boris, no Tarr.

There's a note scribbled on the next page,

which says "all inquiries to Head of London Station."

It's in Toby Esterhase's handwriting.

The janitofs attendance list has also been removed.

Nothing to tell us who was duty officer that night,

nor even who was in the building.

- Connie's appraisal matches the story Irina gave Ricki Tarr.

The implications, the indications,

are that Karla has managed to build himself

a cadre of senior men placed about the globe

who work directly and exclusively to him

at Moscow Center.

Polyakov is Karla's executant in London.

- You offer that as a working hypothesis.

- Operation Witchcraft.

That vital of flow of Russian intelligence

which happily came Alleline's way.

"Supplementary estimates to the Treasury.

"Special accommodation in London.

'Wider exploitation.

See also: secret annex."

May I see it?

- The Minister keeps it in his personal safe.

- Do you know the combination?

- Certainly not.

- What's the title of this unobtainable document?

- It doesn't have one.

It's highly secret,

and we've done everything humanly possible

to keep the readership to a minimum.

- The supplier of the Witchcraft material

is our old friend Merlin.

Does the file give his identity?

- Don't be ridiculous.

The Minister wouldn't want to know.

And Alleline wouldn't want to tell him.

- What does "wider exploitation" mean?

- I refuse to be interrogated, George.

I entirely fail to see why you should waste your time

pursuing this line of inquiry.

By right, I should have you specially cleared

before I let you see any of this.

- Witchcraft cleared?

- Yes, George.

- Do we have a list of people who've been cleared in that way?

- I hope you're not going fey, George.

Please stick with the primary problem:

the mole, Gerald,

instead of rootling around in extraneous matters.

This is no time to be whimsical.

- Oh, are you off?

You won't forget Prideaux, will you?

Anything at all you can get on him-

even scraps would help.

- He has a point, George.

Witchcraft and Merlin.

Polyakov and the mole.

Prideaux getting himself shotup

on some wild goose chase of Control's

in the rural charms of Czechoslovakia.

You think it all connects?

- I think, Peter, I'm not the first

to make this journey of exploration.

I believe Control was here before me.

He might even have made the full distance

but for the bullets in Prideaux's back.

"There are three of them and Alleline."

Control's words.

He meant Operation Witchcraft, of course.

Merlin's minders, or inventors,

or programmers,

or marionettes,

or what?

- Why was Control always so hostile to Alleline?

Percy wasn't a complete fool.

- Percy can flirt, Peter,

and Control hadn't reckoned on the power

of the Alleline lobby.

- Who were they? - Golfers.

Golfers and conservatives is what Control said to me.

I got a call from Control one day,

very sharp, very combative.

"George, come in here, or there'll be bloodshed."

- Hmph.

Brother Percy's trying to twist my tail.

Take a look at this nonsense.

Top level Soviet naval dispatch,

specially prepared for the Soviet High Command.

Isn't it, Percy'?

An appreciation of the naval exercises

in the Mediterranean and Black Sea,

which our sailors have been screening for details,

haven't they, Percy'?

- Topicality's always suspect.

- Yes, George.

Would you like to repeat that for Percy'?

- Who made the translation?

- God made it, didn't he, Percy'?

Don't ask him anything. He won't tell you.

- Shore-to-sea strike power,

radio activation of enemy alert procedures.

This is hardly my territory.

- Don't let that worry you.

Total ignorance of subject matter doesn't bother Percy.

- [chuckles]

- Whose initials are these?

- Zharov.

Admiral, Black Sea Fleet.

- What do our own evaluators say?

- They've not seen it,

and what's more, they're not going to.

- However, my brother in Christ, Lilley, of naval intelligence

has passed a preliminary opinion, has he not, Percy'?

Percy showed it to him last night.

Over a pink gin, was it, Percy'?

- At the Admiralty.

- Note that, George.

They battened down the hatches

and bunged up the portholes for Percy.

Brother Lilley telephoned me a half an hour ago

to congratulate me.

He believes this material to be neither a plant

nor chicken feed, but genuine gold dust,

and he seeks our permission to-

Percy's, I suppose I should say-

to apprise his fellow sea lords of its conclusions.

- Quite impossible.

It's for his eyes only,

at least for another couple of weeks.

- It's so hot, you see, George.

- But where does it come from?

Who's the case officer?

- You'll enjoy this.

- Source Merlin has access to the most sensitive levels

of Soviet policymaking.

We've dubbed his product 'Witchcraft."

- And ask him who "we" are, George.

- Merlin is the fruit of a long cultivation

by certain people in the service-

people who are bound to me as I am to them;

people who are not at all entertained

by the failure rate about this place.

Been too much blown, too much lost, wasted.

Too many scandals.

I've said so many times,

but I might as well have talked to the wind

for all the heed he paid me.

- "He" means me, George.

- The ordinary principles of tradecraft and security

have gone to the wall in this service.

It's all divide and rule stimulated from the top.

- Me again.

- We're losing our livelihood, our self-respect.

We've had enough.

We've had a bellyful, in fact.

Please?

Thank you.

- And like everybody who's ever had enough,

he wants more.

"This service."

Percy Alleline would sell his mother for a knighthood

and this service for a seat in the House of Lords.

- Suppose Merlin's genuine.

- Suppose Merlin would pick Percy'?

- It seems somebody has.

- I gather Percy's under the impression

he picked himself and the whole team.

You're sure he left you out, are you, George?

- What are you going to do about it?

- Depends on "it".

I'll wait for "it" to show itself.

In the meantime, I see nothing to deal with

except Percy's envious eye on my chair.

And I've put my thumb in that optic before.

[phone ringing]

- George, tittle-tattle Tuesday again.

- All right, Percy.

- By:

This time.

- Oh, Lord.

I thought we'd be half over by now.

Have you got a rabbit to pull out of your hat today, Percy'?

You've got that "Britain can make it" look about you.

Very intimidating.

Should we have brought our sandwiches?

- I'll be brief, Bill, so long as I'm not obstructed.

- I'm sorry. Traffic.

Should have walked.

- I think you and Percy between you

are contriving to keep me off the streets.

- They're all here now, sir.

Would you go in, please, gentlemen?

- How often do I have to emphasize

the extreme sensitivity of the source

of the Witchcraft product?

I must insist there is no existing method

of Whitehall distribution to meet the case.

Do I have to remind you of that disgraceful incident

when an undersecretary-

albeit overworked, so be it.

But the fact remains the man actually gave

his dispatch box key to his personal assistant.

We simply cannot afford that kind of ludricrous insecurity

when we are handling Witchcraft.

Now.

[match scrapes]

[puffing]

I have already discussed the problem

with Lilley of naval intelligence,

and he is prepared to put at our disposal

a special main reading room in the Admiralty main building

where Witchcraft material can be seen by our customers

and watched over by a senior janitor

of this service.

- Wouldn't you rather have secure recall?

- The reading room will be known for cover purposes

as the conference room of the Adriactic Working Party-

the AWP room for short.

- [guffaws] Thank you.

- Customers with reading rights will not have passes,

since these can be too accessible,

like keys.

Instead they will be appear on a special list

with their photographs,

and they will indentify themselves personally

to my janitor.

- Who's janitor, Percy?

- Well, he's already got his own personal wizard.

The odd commissionaire seems modest enough domestic stock.

- [coughing]

- Allowing that all of this is necessary...

- Essential.

- My Minister will want to know a lot more about the cost.

He'll want it to appear to be borne by the Admiralty

even if you have to reimburse covertly.

- Yes, of course.

The reading room will have to be extensively rebuilt

to begin with.

Now, I would like to call your attention

to the Foreign Office comment

on the most recent Witchcraft product.

And I quote:

"This document sheds an extraordinary sidelight

on Soviet aggressive thinking."

- Does that mean they like it, Percy'?

- [chuckles quietly]

- Do you like it, Bill?

It's from the very heart of your territory.

- Buying their way in with counterfeit money.

Tell them that.

Tell them anything. I need time.

There are three of them and Alleline.

Sweat them, George. Tempt them.

Bully them, any damn thing.

Give them whatever they eat. I need time.

' [sighs]

[chuckles softly]

[urgent instrumental music]

II

[bell rings]

- [stamping]

Prompt as ever, Mr. Smiley.

- How are your children, Toby?

- Doing terribly well. Thank you, George.

- The boy's at Westminster. Have I got that right?

Your daughter's probably left school by now, has she?

- First-year medical student. Loves it.

- Good for her.

Toby, I have to ask you this.

Sorry to come prying-

Your department's a long way behind with its worksheets,

two months almost.

Now, why is that?

It's not lamplighter style.

- Well, we're not infallible, George.

Two months? Well, I won't question it.

Is it terribly important?

Of course if you say it is,

then I'll see its dealt with, of course.

- The question is why, Toby?

Let me be blunt.

- Not your style, George.

I'm allowed to say that, surely.

I am, after all, one of your oldest proteges.

Vienna was a long time ago.

- You haven't, perhaps, been using your staff

in any special jobs lately, have you?

Either at home or abroad.

I mean, the kind of special jobs, which,

for good reasons of security,

you haven't felt able to mention in your returns.

- Who would I do that for, George?

You know in my book, that's completely illegal.

- Well, if Percy Alleline, for example,

ordered you to do something and not record it,

that would put you in a difficult position.

- What sort of something?

- Clear a foreign letter box, prime a safe house,

watch someone's back, spike an embassy.

It's all lamplighter work.

If Percy told you to do it,

you might quite reasonably assume

he was acting on instructions from the fifth floor.

- I do like the service, George.

I may be sentimental about it, but I prefer to stay in it.

Now, you understand that.

You of all people.

My problem is promotion.

I mean the absence of it.

I've so many years seniority,

that I feel actually quite embarrassed

when these young fellows ask me to take orders from them.

- Who, Toby?

Which young fellows? Roy Bland?

Percy'? Would you call Percy young?

Who?

- When you're overdue for promotion

and working your fingers to the bone,

anyone looks young who is above you on the ladder.

- Have you been taking orders?

- You know the line of command, George.

- Perhaps Control could move you up a few rungs.

- Well, you know, actually,

I'm not sure he's able to these days.

Are you?

- So what's the deal?

- There isn't a deal, Roy, really.

It's just that Control feels the present situation

is unhealthy.

He doesn't like to see you getting mixed up with a cabal.

Frankly, nor do I.

- So what's the deal?

- What do you want?

- What about 5,000 quid out the reptile fund for starters?

- And a house and a car? - And the kid to Eton.

- Your father would turn in his grave.

- Let him rotate,

the old commie thug.

If there's no deal, George, you'll have to tell Control

he can get stuffed.

I've paid, you see. You know that.

I don't know what the hell I bought with it,

but I've paid a packet.

Poznan, Budapest, Prague, back to Poznan.

Have you ever been to Poznan?

Sofia, Kiev.

Two bloody nervous breakdowns and still between the shafts.

That's big money at any age,

even yours.

- Oh, no one can deny that, Roy.

- And you brought me in, remember.

If you think I'm going to the bag,

you've only got yourself to blame.

[bell tolling]

You're an educated sort of a swine.

An artist is a bloke who can hold

two fundamentally opposing views and still function.

Who dreamed that one up?

- Scott Fitzgerald.

- Well, Fitzgerald knew a thing or two,

and I'm definitely functioning.

As a good socialist, I'm going where the money is.

As a good capitalist, I'm sticking with the revolution

because if you can't beat it, spy on it.

Don't look like that, George.

It's the name of the game these days.

You scratch my conscience, I'll drive your Jag, right?

- No.

Did you get that from Haydon?

Is that one of Bill's jokes about materialist England?

The pigs-in-clover society?

- Did you like it? - Not much.

Of course there are competitive and inquisitive instincts

in Western society.

But they are offset against other concerns,

which you won't find in-

- Poznan, Budapest, Kiev, Sofia-

tell me all about it, George.

I'm just saying that's England now, man.

All you have to do is look out the bloody window.

- You're seen with Bill Haydon a great deal these days.

- Jealous, George?

You've got his job.

You're Control's high chamberlain.

What more do you want?

Long as it lasts.

[ominous instrumental music]

II

- Did you say you write the reports?

- I thought that was Roy's job.

- No, Bland makes the translations.

You write the covering reports.

They're typed on your machine.

The material's not cleared for typists.

- Percy Alleline won't do. Is that the premise?

Which means that Merlin won't do, either.

Poor old Control. He is in a pickle.

Merlin would do if he were my source, wouldn't he?

If dazzling bloody Bill here pottered along

and said he'd hooked a whacking big fish,

and wanted to play him alone and sod the expense,

what would happen then?

Control would say, "That's very nifty of you, Bill, boy.

"You do it just the way you want, Bill, boy.

Have some filthy jasmine tea."

He'd be giving me a medal now,

instead of sending you snooping around corridors.

[sighs]

We used to be rather a classy bunch.

Why are we so vulgar these days?

- He thinks Percy's on the make.

- So he is.

I also want to be head boy.

And Toby and Roy have designs on your spot.

[sighs]

Since when was ambition an offense

in our beastly outfit?

Is Ann at home?

Sent her out to play while you grill your old buddy.

- Who runs him, Bill?

- Percy?

Who do you think?

Karla runs him.

Stands out a mile.

Lower-class bloke with upper-class sources,

must be a bounder.

- Bill?

- Percy is sold out to Karla,

only possible explanation.

Percy is our house mole.

- I meant who runs Merlin?

Who is Merlin?

What's going on?

- This is a Callot, isn't it?

It's nice, very nice.

- Bill.

- Doesn't anyone think my nose should be out of joint?

I'm supposed to be in charge of the Russian target.

I've given it my best years,

set up networks, talent-spotters,

all mod cons.

You chaps on the top floor have forgotten what it's like

to run an operation

where it takes you three days to post a letter,

and you don't even get an answer for your trouble.

- That's hardly fair to Control.

You've heard him 100 times on how

he detests the glamour boy agents who hog the budget;

how he hates miracles

if they put the bread-and-butter networks out of focus.

- It's a pity he doesn't have the same hatred of failure.

Has he lived with it too long?

Face it, George.

It's Percy.

Percy's success.

It's thrown Control...

and me a bit.

Trouble is, my networks haven't been good enough.

This is new.

I fancy this very much.

- Ann gave it to me.

- Making amends?

- Probably.

- Must've been quite a sin.

How is she?

George, cut the cord.

Get away from Control.

He's cut you out of his life for weeks on end,

dispatching you about with errands

a probationer could handle.

What's he doing up there?

He's been going through files of old Circus folk heroes

from year minus one-

half of them under the earth already,

sniffing out the dirt

to see who was pink,

who was a queen.

He's given us all up, hasn't he?

- I don't think that's true.

- Senile paranoia.

Control's going potty,

and he's also dying.

It's just a question of which gets him first.

- And within six months of Bill Haydon's diagnosis,

Control was, indeed, dead.

- And what killed him?

Operation Witchcraft or Operation Testify?

- Neither.

But let's not be melodramatic.

Control would disapprove.

He died of old age...

a little early.

But Testify destroyed his function in life,

which was a form of murder.

I don't have nearly enough on Testify, Peter.

Would you please, uh...

- Of course, George.

[earnest instrumental music]

II

- Telephone for you, sir.

Ever such a rough voice.

Says it's someone from your garage,

and I can quite believe it.

- Right.

- Your rude mechanic has some bad news for you.

[telephone ringing]

[telephone ringing]

Personally, I find mechanics are bad news,

by and large.

- Which phone, Alwyn? - The one on the left.

- [laughing]

- Well, at least get on to the head office today

and find out when they can supply the damn thing!

Hang on a minute.

I think I got the number.

Alwyn, sling that bag across for me, will you, please?

- I will, sir.

There you go.

Open it for you?

- No, thanks.

Right, are you ready'?

The number you want is 4, 3, 7...

8,2...

9, 9.

[phone rings]

- It seems to be going according to plan.

- Thank you.

- Peter does sound jumpy.

He might have overdone it a bit there.

He was very loud.

I've seen it happen before-

tough ones who crack at 40.

You lock it all away, pretend it isn't happening,

and all of a sudden, you find them at their desks,

the tears pouring on the blotter.

I thought I ought to say what's on my mind.

- I think Peter will manage.

You heard something about his murderous assignment

in French North Africa, though, I suppose?

- Heard something. Whispers.

- Peter was overmatched, and he lost.

His agents were hanged.

No one recovers entirely from that sort of thing.

That is, I wouldn't trust a man who did.

[police siren wailing by]

[telephone ringing]

- Right. Bank, please.

[anxious instrumental music]

II

- Peter, I am sorry to disturb you,

but we have a tiny crisis.

Percy Alleline would like a word with you-

quite an urgent word.

Can you come now?

- Of course, Toby. Have you been waiting?

Didn't you tell Mr. Esterhase where I was?

- We've only just got here, Peter.

Your office told us you were doing a spot of divining.

Only Percy's anxious to speak to you now, you see.

- Alwyn, there's a midday shuttle to Brixton, isn't there?

- Yes.

- You might give Transport a buzz and ask them

to take that thing over me for me, will you?

- Will do, sir. Will do.

[elevator lift whirrs]

- Percy wants to consult you.

Peter...

Please.

[foreboding instrumental music]

II

- Wotcher, Pete.

II

- [chuckling]

No, she put them on again.

[sighs]

- Well, now, young Peter Guillam,

welcome to my house,

about which you've been making calls, I hear.

Are you lonely in the Brixton outposts?

Tired of chasing the local virgins?

If there are any in Brixton, which I would doubt.

[laughs]

If you'll excuse my freedom, Mo.

You do know that Mo Delaware is

our new head of research, do you?

Man with message and cleft stick does reach Brixton, does he?

- Barring the monsoon.

- I hear you've been hobnobbing

with the late, lamented Ricki Tarr.

Formally of your section,

dispatched by you to Lisbon,

and since then, has stood by this service as a defector.

How is he?

- That's right, chief.

Ricki and I have tea at Fortnum's every afternoon.

Jasmine.

- Peter Guillam,

you may not be aware of this, but I am possessed

of an extremely forgiving nature.

I positively seethe with goodwill.

All I require from you is

the matter of your discussion with Tarr.

I do not ask for his head

or any other part of his offensive anatomy,

and I will restrain my impulse personally

to strangle him or you.

I would even go so far as to consider

bringing you back into the palace from hateful Brixton,

where presently you linger in well-earned obscurity.

- In that case, I can't wait for him to turn up.

- And there's a free pardon for your friend Ricki,

until I get my hands on him.

- I'll tell him that word for word.

He'll be thrilled.

- [stifled chuckle]

- I'm very disappointed in you, young Peter.

I pay you honest money,

and you stab me in the back.

I consider that extremely poor reward

for keeping you alive

against the entreaties of my advisors, I may tell you.

Let us begin again.

If you won't give me a straight answer,

perhaps you will unburden to somebody more persuasive.

Roy.

- [coughing]

- Ricki Tarr's got a daughter, hasn't he?

- Yes. He calls her Danny.

- Talk about her a lot?

- He told me he was fond of her.

That's all I know.

- What the hell are you shrugging at us like that for?

I'm accusing you of playing hooky behind my back,

with a damned defective from your own damned section;

of playing damn-fool parlor games,

when you don't know the stakes,

and all you do is shrug at me?

There's a law, Guillam,

about consorting with enemy agents!

Do you want me to throw the book at you?

- I haven't seen him!

Who's playing games? Not me.

You are. So get off my back.

- Who's Danny's mother?

- Eurasian girl.

But Tarr likes to think she passes for full European

and the child.

- 12 years old, long blond hair,

brown eyes, slim.

Is that Danny'?

- It could be.

- So if I told you that Danny and her mother were due

to arrive in London three days ago

on a direct flight from Tunis,

I take it you would share our perplexity?

- Yes, I would.

- And you'd keep your mouth shut

when we let you out of here?

- It isn't ordinary flight information, Peter.

The source is very private.

- Ultra, ultra sensitive, in fact, Peter.

- In that case, Toby, I'll try and keep my mouth

ultra, ultra shut.

- So what do you make of it, young Peter?

Come on.

You were his boss, guide, philosopher, friend.

Tell me why Ricki Tarr is in London.

- You didn't say that.

You said his girl and his kid were expected.

- Don't be obtuse, man.

Where little Danny goes, there goes Tarr.

Except he'd move first and have his impedimenta follow...

Yes?

- That would be favoured.

All right, Tarr was supposed to be sitting in Moscow,

and now he's supposed to be back here on the Russian payroll?

Well, why is it all so hot?

What kind of plant can he be

when we know everything about him?

Down to his last attack of swine fever,

from which he's only partially recovered in my view.

Excuse my freedom, Mo.

I'm sorry, but what kind of plant is that?

- Well, never mind what sort.

Muddying pools, poisoning wells.

Maybe that damn sort.

Pulling the rug out.

Now, listen, just you remember this:

at the first peep,

the first whisper of Tarr or his lady

or his wee bairn,

young Peter Guillam,

you come to one of us grown-ups-

anyone you see at this table,

but not another damn soul.

The name on the passport is Poole.

P-O-O-L-E.

All three of them.

Tarr told his woman, so we understand,

in case of difficulties, she should come to you.

- Sign that, Peter, would you?

- Stupid bloody cabaret.

Percy gets more insufferable every day.

[gate squeaking]

[tense instrumental music]

II

[horn blaring]

- Damn you, sodding snail. - Peter.

- Tam That bastard Tarr!

- Peter, slow down.

Slow down.

- The file on Testify seemed a bit thin.

I hope it was worth the sweat.

- Ricki Tarr has not lied to us, Peter.

Not in any material way.

He's simply done what agents the world over do:

fail to tell us the whole story.

On the other hand,

he has been rather clever.

- Are you actually pleased with him?

- Well, yes.

We now know that Source Merlin works to Moscow Center,

because that's where Merlin's information

on Ricki Tarr must have come from-

from Karla.

[Song of Simeon]

- ♪ Lord ♪

♪ Now lettest thou ♪

♪ Thy servant ♪

♪ Depart in peace ♪

I ♪

♪ According to Thy word ♪

I ♪

♪ For mine eyes ♪

♪ Have seen Thy salvation ♪

I ♪

♪ Which Thou hast prepared ♪

♪ Before the face ♪

♪ Of all people ♪

I ♪

♪ To be a light ♪

♪ To lighten ♪

♪ The Gentiles ♪

♪ And to be the glory ♪

♪ Of Thy people ♪

♪ Israel ♪

I ♪

♪ Glory be to the Father ♪

♪ And to the Son ♪

♪ And to the Holy Ghost ♪

♪ As it was in the beginning ♪

♪ ls now and ever shall be ♪

I ♪

♪ World without end ♪

♪ Amen ♪