Original subtitles

- Jim Prideaux's been shot.

Look, the Czechs haven't got his real name yet.

They're using his work name:

Ellis.

- Jim?

Shot dead?

- Well, we're not sure. That was the first flash.

Since then, the word used is simply...

"Shot ll

The Czechs are saying that Prideaux, or Ellis,

traveling on false papers

and assisted by Czech counterrevolutionaries,

tried to capture a Czech general-unnamed-

in a forest near Brno

and smuggle him over the Austrian border.

They say that further arrests are imminent.

- Goon

- Well, according to our military,

there are heavy Czech tank movements

along the Austrian border.

Ah, Lacon's been on, and so's the minister.

They want to know what the hell and why.

- All right, Sam.

Now...

First thing we do:

you call this number.

It's Toby Esterhase.

Tell him you're speaking for me,

and he's to pick up the two Czech agents

we've had our eyes on at the London School of Economics

and lock them up now.

Straightaway, Sam.

Jim's worth a lot more than those two,

but it's a start.

I'll have a word with the chief hood

at the Czech embassy.

If they hurt a hair of Jim Prideaux's head,

I'll strip the entire Czech network in this country bare.

And he can pass that on to his masters.

- Ambassador Haydon was a treat to watch.

I used to find him a pretty erratic sort of devil.

Not that night, believe me.

He virtually dictated a press statement

for the Foreign Office to put out.

And there it was the next morning

in the Sunday papers:

"Prague Radio's sensational revelations

dismissed with dignified scorn."

I found it good light reading over breakfast at the Savoy.

- Sam, listen.

It was too late for Haydon's club

to be still running ticker tape, wasn't it?

He was making love to Ann that night.

You made a guess at that, and you were right.

You telephoned her.

She told you he wasn't there.

And then as soon as you'd rung off,

she pushed him out of bed,

and Bill turned up an hour later...

knowing about Czecho.

But you didn't tell Ann

about Czechs.

[telephone ringing]

I'll find my own way down.

- Mind how you go, George.

[intense, dramatic music]

II

II

[birds chirping]

[foreboding string music]

II

- Smiley.

- Jim.

- If you're not on your own,

I swear I'll break your neck.

- Quite alone, Jim.

[door clicks open]

[door slams]

- God damn you, George.

What the hell do you want?

- I'm sorry, Jim, but I have to know what happened.

- I'm finished, man.

They told me to draw the line. I've drawn it.

- How would you like schoolmastering?

I think you had a spell of it after the war, didn't you?

Was that at a prep school?

- Don't come round here

playing cat and mouse with me, George Smiley.

Look at the file.

- Circus file? Not available to me, Jim.

I'm blackballed.

- Hard luck.

- I've had access to a few papers,

which Lacon borrowed for me.

Pretty old stuff.

Part of it went right back to your undergraduate days

when you and Bill Haydon met at Oxford.

There's a letter Bill wrote about you

to his tutor, Fanshawe,

Circus talent spotter,

in which Bill named you as suitable material

for British Intelligence.

I can quote the odd line from memory.

"He has that heavy quiet that commands.

"He's my other half.

"Between us, we'd make one marvelous man.

"He asks nothing better than to be in my company,

"or that of my wicked, divine friends,

"and I'm vastly tickled by the compliment.

"He's virgin, about 8 foot tall,

and built by the same firm that did Stonehenge."

- Christ.

Oh, Christ, man. We were children.

- Yes, of course.

- What do you want to know?

- I thought we could at least be comfortable while we talk.

It isn't far.

[engine turns over]

[foreboding music]

II

[door clicks shut]

- I came round in a prison hospital.

Barred windows, high up.

They operated, after a fashion.

Next time I came round, I was in a prison cell,

and no windows at all.

I tried to work out a plan of campaign

to meet the interrogation.

I knew I'd never be able to keep quiet.

No chance of that.

If I was to stay sane,

possibly even survive,

there'd have to be dialogue.

At the end, they'd have to believe

I'd told them all I knew.

I decided, I'm gonna give them

my version of Operation Testify first,

the one Control spelled out for me.

I was head of scalphunters.

I mounted my own campaign

without the knowledge of my superiors

because I wanted to prove I was worth promotion.

If I could believe that,

I could bury deep inside myself

all thoughts of a traitor inside the Circus.

No mole.

No meeting with Control.

No Tinker, Tailor.

I was there to turn General Stevcek,

and just that.

Then I thought

I could throw them the names of one or two other

Soviet and satellite officials who'd been turned recently.

I might even give them the rundown

of my entire Brixton stable,

anything, so long as I forgot the mole

and Tinker, Tailor.

I kept to myself our Czech networks.

You know I recruited the founder members?

- Yes, a fine piece of work.

- That's the joke.

They couldn't care less about the networks.

Knew it all. Rolled them up, have they?

They knew damn well that Testify was my private brainchild.

I began exactly where I wanted to end:

with the briefing in St. James's.

All they wanted to talk about was

Control's rotten apple theory,

Tinker, Tailor, the Circus spy.

- Did they actually know the address

of the St. James's flat?

- Yeah, they knew the brand of the sherry.

- What about the charts?

Control's charts on General Stevcek's career,

did they know abut those?

- No.

Not at first.

Tell me about the networks.

Did anyone get out?

- No.

It seems they were shot.

The story is you blew them to save your own skin.

I know that isn't true, of course.

[footsteps thudding]

- [retching]

[water running]

[tense music]

II

They moved me about a lot.

Different rooms, different prisons,

depending on who was doing the interrogating

and what methods they wanted to use.

There was quite a lot of muscle.

Electrical, most of it.

Yes, movement.

Cars, lorries,

corridors, cells,

once in a plane.

I was hooded for it

and passed out soon after takeoff.

Punished for that.

[chuckles weakly]

Think I was in Russia part of the time.

- Would you like to stretch your legs?

It might help.

[bird calling]

- They went straight to the heart of it.

Why did Control go it alone?

What did he hope to achieve?

"His comeback," I said.

That got a laugh.

The tinpot information about Czecho military emplacements

wouldn't get him a square meal at his club.

So I said

maybe poor old Control was losing his grip.

That bored them.

Back to the cooler. Punished again.

[crows cawing]

[engine humming]

You know, I hoped I'd go mad.

And, no, they knew how to stop that.

They left me alone for a couple of days.

Got me ready for the long one.

That was when I

Gave--

Gave them what they wanted.

- It's a matter of health as much as anything.

- Yes, you don't break exactly.

You just run out of stories to tell.

I'd reached the point

where the things I'd locked away deep down

were the only things coming into my brain.

That was when I told them about Control's charts on Stevcek.

- And also about Control's rotten apple theory?

- Yes, the mole.

The code names we'd worked out for Control's suspects.

Tinker: Percy Alleline.

Tailor: Bill Haydon.

Soldier: Roy Bland.

Postman". Toby Esterhase.

Beggarman: George Smiley.

- What was the reaction?

- He thought for a bit.

Then he offered me a cigarette.

- Who did?

- What?

Oh, sorry.

By this stage, there was some frosty, bearded fellow left.

Seemed to be head boy.

Just him and a couple of guards

standing back a bit while he made his kill.

I hated that damn cigarette.

. Why'?

- It was a foul American thing. Camel, actually.

I remember the packet.

- Did he smoke them?

- Never stopped.

- And was that the end of it?

- More or less. More or less, yes.

- I have to know everything, Jim.

- The rest was just gossip.

He wanted to know a lot of Circus tittle-tattle:

who was going up, who was going down,

lot of tripe.

- About what? Who?

- Bland: how much was he drinking?

Esterhase: how could anybody trust a man

who dressed like that?

Lot of tripe.

- What did he say about me?

- He showed me a cigarette lighter,

said it was yours,

a present from Ann.

'With all my love." Her signature engraved.

- Did he tell you how he came by it?

- Some confrontation years ago. Said you'd remember.

- Anything else?

Oh, come on, Jim.

I'm not going to weaken at the knees

just because some Russian hoods made a bad joke about me.

- He reckoned that after Bill Haydon's fling with her,

she might care to redraft the inscription.

I told him to his face he could go to bloody hell.

You can't judge Bill by things like that.

He's got different standards.

- He was certainly never one for regulations.

- And you were never one to see him straight.

That's it.

Everything.

[intense music]

II

- Bill made a huge fuss about your repatriation.

He said any price was fair

to get one loyal Englishman home.

I remember his verdict on Control's handling of Testify.

"The most incompetent operation ever launched

"by an old man for his dying glory.

And Jim Prideaux paid the cost of it."

- Proud of your memory, aren't you?

- Did you see Bill at all after you got back?

- No.

- Your oldest, closest friend?

- I was in quarantine, wasn't I?

- Well, yes, but...

Never mind.

Let's just go over your debriefing at Sarratt

to wrap it up.

Were the inquisitors sympathetic or not?

- Never appeared. No questions at all.

I was in limbo:

ate a lot, drank a lot, slept a lot.

Then Toby Esterhase turns up.

New suit, full of himself.

Tells me the Circus had nearly gone under

because of Operation Testify,

and I'm currently number one leper.

Control's out of the game,

and there's a reorganization going on

to appease Whitehall.

- They sent Toby.

- Yes, the little charmer.

He told me not to worry.

- About what?

- My special brief, whatever Control had told me.

- Did Toby spell it all out?

- He said a few people knew the real story,

and I needn't worry, because it was being taken care of.

All the facts were known.

- Were they indeed?

- And then he gave me 1,000 quid in cash

to add to my gratuity.

- Who from?

- Didn't say.

- Didn't all this strike you as a bit odd?

No inquisition?

Toby throwing loose money around?

After all, through you, the Russians had discovered

the exact reach of Control's suspicions

about a traitor in the Circus.

He'd narrowed the field to five,

and no one's asking you anything.

- The facts were known, man.

Toby ordered me not to approach anyone

or to try and make my story heard.

The Circus was back on the road.

I could forget Tinker, Tailor, and the whole damn game,

moles, everything.

"Drop out," he said.

"You're a lucky man, Jim.

"Forget it, yeah?

Forget it."

- So Toby actually mentioned Tinker, Tailor to you.

However did he get hold of that?

- That's what I've been doing.

Obeying orders and forgetting.

[distant voices]

[bell clanging]

[glass shatters]

[suspenseful music]

II

[thunder rumbling]

[indistinct conversation]

- [mutters]

- George, old boy.

What an amazing thing.

Trust you, popping up out of nowhere.

- How are you, Jerry'?

- George, this is terrific.

What are you doing now?

How's the demon wife? How's everything?

No, damn it. First things first.

What'll you have?

You don't fancy a bottle of the bubbles, do you?

Shall we?

- A brandy and ginger ale would suit me very well, thanks.

- You sure? All right.

Hey, Linda, sweetheart.

Give us a double brandy, a bottle of ginger ale,

and another bucket of gin, will you?

Good girl, lad. I think I'll marry her.

- How many would that be, Jerry'?

- I'm a divorce addict, a hopeless case.

Not lucky like you, George.

But there's only one Ann.

Now, I'll do a deal with you, an offer you can't refuse.

I'll shack up with Ann and be the envy of London,

and you can have my job on The Comet.

You've got just the turn of phrase

for the women's Ping-Pong.

Inscrutable Chinese, wasn't it?

Do you fancy it?

- Is that the task for today'?

- Oh, much bigger stuff, old boy.

Footer, the opiate of the people.

Heap big transfer.

"Scottish Thunder-boots to Rescue of Ex-Champions

Now on the Slide."

Thanks, Linda, my love.

- Do you want me to write it down, Mr. Westerby?

- Uh, please, Linda.

Cheers, George.

- Cheers.

This isn't entirely a chance meeting.

I got the letter you wrote me

last football season.

I burnt it straightaway.

- Right. Thanks.

Stupid of me.

Talking out of school. Sorry.

- No, no, no, you obviously did what you felt

was the best thing at the time, and so did I.

- Haven't seen many of the boys and girls lately,

as a matter of fact.

I guess they've put us both on the shelf.

With me, I can hardly blame them.

Firewater not good for braves.

They think I'll blab, crack up.

- I'm sure they don't.

I expect they're just resting you up for a bit.

They do that, you know.

In case you've been wondering,

I didn't tell anyone else about your letter.

I was out of favour, indeed, out of work by then.

Writing to me wasn't what put them off you,

if that's what you thought.

In your letter,

you said you were a bit worried about Toby Esterhase,

felt you ought to get something off your chest.

- Yes, well, I got all xenophobe and suspicious.

I thought Tobe had gone a bit haywire,

as a matter of fact.

I should talk.

- Tell me now.

You'd just come back from Czechoslovakia, hadn't you?

- Last job I did for Tobe.

Looks like the last I'll ever do.

- Letter box job?

- Yes.

Well, nothing to it, really.

Telephone kiosk, ledge at the top.

Dump a little package, ready for collection.

[chuckles]

No, that was Budapest.

The Czechoslovak thing I ran into by accident.

I had to go on to Prague, you see, for the Comet.

Nothing to do with Tobe.

Uh, Linda, sweetheart.

- And again, Mr. Westerby?

- Please, my beauty.

Oh, no, no, no, no,no,no,no.

You've got time to eat?

- Mm-hmm.

- Uh, we'll go Dutch on that, shall we?

I, um... [clears throat]

I was in this bar in Prague- always use it.

Locals go there, all sorts.

Anyway, I got in with this crowd at a corner table,

playing the squeeze-box.

We-we're all hugger-mugger to the music.

Oh, thank you, Linda, my love.

And there's, um- there's this kid

with a pudding bowl haircut.

Army. Obvious.

Anyway, he's on leave, well in his cups,

and he knows I'm English,

and he suddenly says,

do I want to know the truth about the British spy

who got himself shot up by the Russian secret police?

Just like that. Yells it right in my ear.

I play dumb, of course, and he goes right on with it.

You know, the Jim Prideaux shambles.

Well, the kid was bellyaching

about the trials and tribulations

of being a foot soldier of the line.

It seems that on the two nights in question,

he and his mates were being chased

around the place till they were dizzy:

make camp, break camp, move up, move back,

fix bayonets.

But the big point

was the Russian contingent:

full war paint, tanks,

motorbikes, tracker dogs,

and a big carload of very sinister civilians.

Dirty work afoot in the forest.

Up near the Austrian border, this was.

So...

my little friend, being a sassy little devil,

decides to ask his sergeant what's it all about.

"Look, Sarge," he says. 'What's going on?

Are we being invaded, Sarge?"

"No, son," says the sergeant.

"The Russians are after a British spy

who tried to kidnap a general."

- Are after? Or were after?

- Exactly.

That's what the kid wanted to tell me.

The Russians moved in on the Friday.

It was the day after when they got Jim.

As the kid said, they were ready and waiting for him,

knew the lot in advance.

Heap bad story.

Bad for our big chief.

Bad for tribe.

So...

as soon as I got back, I went and told all to Tobe.

- How did he take it?

- Well, to begin with it was,

"Thanks a million, Jerry, old boy."

He'd go and powwow with the top brass.

And then the next morning...

- You're so plastered these days,

you can't tell fact from fiction.

You're an embarrassment.

You go on a bender,

drink yourself into cloud cuckoo land,

and come staggering back here with a load of tripe like this.

You're pathetic.

- Now, look, old boy-

- I don't want to hear any excuses!

- I had to report what I heard.

- Yes, and you believed every stupid word of it, didn't you?

Swallowed it like...

like mother's milk.

A load of half-baked rumors.

You come spreading them round here...

What you can remember through your alcoholic haze.

- I didn't forget a thing.

- Well, you will now.

You'll forget the lot.

Don't you see? The boy was a plant.

Provocateur, in layman's language.

He was doing a job for Moscow Center.

Object: disruption.

Make the Circus chase our own tails.

And you fell for it, Jerry, that's all.

[telephone ringing in next room]

- Okay, Tobe. You know best.

If you don't want the story, that's your business.

I'll do it for the paper.

- You'll what?

- Not the bit about the Russians getting there first-

of course not-

but the rest of it's all good stuff.

The story wasn't covered very well at the time,

just the official statement.

Now, if old Jerry gets himself a splash

about the day the Czechs mobilized

for the Third World War,

except it was one lone Englishman

surrounding them all by himself,

that's a good piece, hmm?

Comet might even run an ad on the telly.

Well, the day after that,

I was called for by the editor.

The editor, I mean, not the sports bloke.

He tells me some clown has been on the phone

with a formal warning.

"Keep that baboon Westerby off the Czecho spy story."

"Any further reference against the national interest."

End of message.

So I didn't get the Reporter of the Year award.

Can't, can you, when your story's on the spike?

Cheers.

- But you didn't spike it entirely.

I mean, you wrote to me,

dropped the letter in by hand.

Must have been the same day you talked to Toby Esterhase.

- Yes, well, as I said at the time,

it just felt odd.

My mistake, old boy.

When I heard you'd got the heave-ho anyway,

I felt an even bigger damn fool.

I thought it was you who'd phoned the editor, you see.

- It wasn't.

- Course not. Sorry, old boy.

Anything untoward going on is there, old boy?

I mean-

tribe hasn't gone on the rampage or anything.

But are you hunting alone?

I mean, I know I'm not the brightest,

but when you start asking questions,

there's got to be something.

All I'm saying is,

anytime, old boy.

- Thank you, Jerry.

- Rum chap, Toby Esterhase.

- But good.

- By god, first rate.

Brilliant, my view. But rum.

Don't forget to give my love to Ann, will you?

One of the great marriages; I've always said so.

- Oh, come on, Jerry. Out with it.

Did Toby say something about Ann?

- Some story he'd got.

I told him to stuff it up his silk drawers.

[all yelling]

- Pete! Pete!

- I suppose I should have been prepared

for something like this.

Take on a temporary,

the last thing you can expect is loyalty.

Well done, fat boy!

We're gonna lose this match.

So much for Prideaux's coaching.

I'm absolutely furious with that man.

He's monstrous to clear off.

- Did he say what's wrong with his mother?

- No, he did not.

[sniffs] She is supposed to be dying.

- Well, that's one excuse for absence

that he can hardly use again.

- Not at all, Mother. It's quite the reverse.

One false alarm can easily lead to another.

I shall ask for a full medical diagnosis next time.

[whistle blows]

[scattered applause]

Those front-row forwards of theirs look overage to me.

- Did he ever tell you how he got that awful shoulder?

- Oh, fell off a bus with a bottle of vodka-

- What?

- Fell off a bus with a bottle of vodka inside him,

I shouldn't wonder.

I suppose I shall have to take his French.

- Oh, come on, Thursgood!

Be tough!

- He's gone in the Alvis

because he'd never trust any other form of transport.

But if he'd gone for good,

he wouldn't leave the caravan behind, would he?

Stands to reason, that.

[sniffs]

Besides, he'd have said good-bye properly, Rhino would.

Wouldn't just go, not Rhino.

Not like a juju man.

[intense music]

II

[siren wailing in distance]

- I've come about the furs.

- Hello, Toby.

- Peter.

- It's not exactly five-star,

but then, we are shopping a bit down-market.

- Safe houses I have known.

- Take the weight off your feet.

Won't be long.

- So we're expecting a Pole, are we, Peter?

A Pole in the fur trade

you think I might like to take on as a courier?

- I'd like him on my own payroll for preference.

Looks useful.

But what's the point?

My lads are underemployed as it is.

- Very generous of you, Peter.

[buzzer sounds]

- Stay put, TobY-

- Sorry about this, Toby.

- Against the wall, Tobe.

- Did he come alone,

or is there some little friend waiting down in the square?

- Looks all clear to me, sir.

- Go back to the other room

and don't take your eyes off the street.

You've seen something?

- Turn the light out a moment.

[engine hums, dog barks]

Just a shadow, I suppose.

Yes, I think so.

I want to put a thesis to you, Toby,

about what's been going on.

Let's cast our minds back, say, about 18 months,

when Control is still with us.

Percy Alleline wants his job. Everyone knows that.

But although Control is sick and past his prime,

Percy can't dislodge him.

It's a time of uneasiness in the Circus.

Morale is low. Activity is low, yes?

- I remember, George.

- Well, Percy's door opens one day,

and one of our senior men walks in.

We'll call him "Gerald."

Oh, it's just a name.

And Gerald says, "Percy,

"I've stumbled on a major source of Russian intelligence.

It could be a gold mine."

Perhaps they take a walk in the park

or drive in a car, but whatever, Percy listens,

because what Gerald goes on to say

is music in Percy's ears.

Some of us, Gerald tells him,

are worried sick about the state the Circus has got into.

I mean, look at our operational losses:

agents, networks.

He's careful not to suggest

there's a traitor inside the Circus,

but he emphasizes that slovenliness at the top

is leading to failure all round.

That is to say, it's all Control's fault.

My thesis, you understand.

- Sure, George.

- Another notion

is that Percy Alleline was his own Gerald,

that he went out and bought himself a top Russian spy

and manned his own boat from then on,

but I don't believe that's what happened.

I think he'd mess it up, don't you?

- Sure, George.

- So the next thing is for Gerald to say to Percy,

"I and a little group of like-minded friends

"want you to be our father figure, Percy.

'We're not political men.

'We don't know our way in the Whitehall jungle,

but you do."

Did you bring a babysitter, Toby?

- George, why should I?

I came to meet Peter

and some Pole in the fur trade.

- Do you want Fawn to go down and have a look?

- No. Need him here.

Can't take the chance.

Yes, well, Gerald says

that if Percy will handle the committees,

he and his friends will handle Merlin,

"Merlin" being the Moscow intelligence source

and 'Witchcraft" the name of the material he supplies.

And how well it all worked.

Merlin's material proved excellent,

as everyone agreed,

except Control.

And eventually, Control was out,

and Percy was king.

- So what's new, George?

- Ever bought a fake picture, Toby?

- Sold a couple once.

- The more you pay for it,

the less inclined you are to doubt its authenticity.

Merlin's price was 20,000 francs a month

into a Swiss bank,

according to the file.

Oh, yes, Toby. This is official.

There came the day

when Gerald admitted Percy

to the greatest secret of all:

that the Merlin setup has a London end.

Aleksey Aleksandrovich Polyakov,

cultural attache

at the Russian embassy in London.

You're on record as grading him snow-white, Toby,

quite untainted with the mischief of espionage.

In fact,

he's Merlin's London representative.

That's the start, I should tell you now,

of a very clever knot.

Now, everything to do with Witchcraft

is secret, of course,

but inevitably, a lot of people are involved:

transcribers, translators, codists, evaluators,

god knows what.

Doesn't worry Gerald, of course.

He likes it.

Because the art of being Gerald

is to be one of a crowd.

But when it comes to Polyakov,

that's a different story.

Who knows it?

Only you.

Roy Bland,

Bill Haydon,

and Percy.

Three of you and Alleline.

You're the magic circle.

Who meets him, Toby?

- For god's sake, let me sweat the bastard.

[exhales]

- You all meet him.

How's that?

Percy represents the authoritarian side,

asks after his wife,

suggests it's time he took a little holiday.

Very paternal, Percy would be.

Bill Haydon, I think,

would see Polyakov much more often.

Bill's a Russian expert, for one thing,

and he's good entertainment value.

I'd expect Bill to shine

when it comes to the briefings and follow-up sessions,

making sure the right messages

went back to Moscow.

Roy Bland's good on economics,

as well as being top man on the satellite countries,

so he'd have plenty to chat about.

Then there's you, Toby.

You'd have your solo sessions with Polyakov

because there's tradecraft to discuss

and all those little snippets

about goings-on inside the embassy,

which are very much your field.

And if the magic circle wanted Polyakov

to do some photography inside the embassy,

it would be you who would supply the film.

Replenish his stock from time to time.

Take him little sealed packets.

[bell ringing in distance]

Toby, you wouldn't be lying, would you?

Did you bring a babysitter?

- No, cross my heart, George. I swear to you.

- What would you use for a job like this?

Cars? - No.

On foot.

Keep walking them through.

- How many? - Eight.

Ten, maybe.

- What about one man, alone?

- One? Never.

Impossible.

- I can call Mendel to take a look.

- I'm sure Toby's right.

- Listen, George,

I know Polyakov works for Moscow Center.

Of course I do.

We all know.

But come on.

Think how many other operations we've run this way.

We've bought Polyakov, right?

He's a Moscow hood, but he's also our Joe.

Now, he's got to pretend to his own people

that he's spying on us,

so we've got to give him one or two goodies

now and again.

Sure, I've passed him the odd sealed packet.

Chicken feed

so he can send them home

and Moscow Center clap him on the back

and tell him he's a big man.

It happens all the time.

Now, come on, George.

You know the game.

- So are you Polyakov's agent inside the Circus?

Someone has to be.

If Polyakov's cover for meeting you people

is that he's spying on the Circus,

then he must have a man on the inside, mustn't he?

Polyakov can't report back to Moscow Center

after he's picked up a great load of Circus chicken feed

and just say, "I got this from the boys."

He's got to have a whole history.

How he selected his man,

courted him, bought him,

how they meet and where.

The whole paraphernalia of running a double agent.

And all this in Moscow Centefs archives.

You, Toby?

Toby Esterhase masquerades as a Circus traitor

in order to keep Polyakov in business.

My hat, Toby.

A dangerous job like that

deserves a whole chestful of medals.

- You're on a damn long road, George.

What happens to you if you never reach the other end?

- With Lacon and the minister behind me?

- Why pick on the little guy?

Why not go for the big ones?

Percy Alleline, Bill Haydon.

- Thought you were a big guy these days.

- You're the perfect choice, Toby.

Resentful about slow promotion,

sharp-witted,

fond of money.

With you as his agent,

Polyakov has a cover story that really sits up and works.

The big three give you

the little sealed packets of chicken feed,

and Moscow Center thinks you're all theirs.

The only problem arises

when it turns out you've been handing Polyakov

the crown jewels

and getting Russian chicken feed in return.

If that's the case, Toby,

you're going to need some good friends,

like us.

Gerald, of course, is a Russian mole,

and he's pulled the Circus inside out.

- But Witchcraft material isn't chicken feed.

It's the best.

- It was good at first.

- Listen, George. Suppose you're wrong.

. Toby-

- Who told you to muzzle Jerry Westerby?

The same person who sent you down to Sarratt

with 1,000 pounds for Jim Prideaux

and the instruction, "Get lost"?

- Speak UP-

- Was it Percy'?

- I think so.

Maybe it was Bill, though.

Well, listen, it was a big operation.

Sometimes Roy.

It never seemed to come straight from one.

There was a committee.

I took a lot of orders.

- You told Prideaux to forget about Tinker, Tailor.

Where did that come from?

- I never knew what that meant.

Now, George, that's the truth.

- Poor Toby.

Yes, I do see.

What a dog's life you must have been leading,

running between them all.

- George,

if there's anything I can do of a practical nature,

well, you know me, George.

My boys are pretty well trained.

Now, if you want to borrow them...

I'd have to speak to Lacon, of course,

but, well, you'd expect that.

All I want is for this thing to be cleared up,

for the good of the Circus.

I want nothing for myself.

- Where's the safe house

you keep exclusively for meeting Polyakov?

- 5, Lock Gardens, Camden Town.

- You're going to be staying here for a night or two.

Fawn will look after you.

- Fawn.

- You'll have to make appropriate explanations

to the Circus

by telephone.

You're having girl trouble,

or whatever sort of trouble you're in these days.

Then there's your wife, of course.

- Sure, George. I can handle that.

- If he's any bother, Fawn, use your own discretion.

- Peter, I want you to watch my back.

Will you do that for me?

Look for one man, but look.

- We'll join up at Sussex Gardens.

[Song of Simeon]

- ♪ Lord ♪

♪ Now lettest thou ♪

♪ Thy servant ♪

♪ Depart in peace ♪

II

♪ According to Thy word ♪

II

♪ For mine eyes ♪

♪ Have seen Thy salvation ♪

II

♪ Which Thou hast prepared ♪

♪ Before the face ♪

♪ Of all people ♪

II

♪ To be a light ♪

♪ To lighten ♪

♪ The Gentiles ♪

♪ And to be the glory ♪

♪ Of Thy people ♪

♪ Israel ♪

II

♪ 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 ♪

II

♪ World without end ♪

♪ Amen ♪