Original subtitles

How's that?

Good morning, Steed.

Good morning, Mrs. Peel. Like to make yourself useful? Not at all, but you

didn't bring me here just to be a gun bearer. No, I want you to meet someone.

Willie Fair used to be a top agent, now relegated to traffic control.

Traffic control?

Yes, for incoming spies. He looks after their accommodation, money, that sort of

thing. Why should I meet him? He had an accident last night. His pram...

That was my lunchtime refreshment. His pram ran out of control.

Hate to see good beer going into orbit.

In the pram was a dead man in full evening dress.

And what did Mr. Willie Fair have to say about it?

He just isn't saying anything. Not a darn thing.

Well, that's not like Willie, not like him at all.

Usually quite talkative, isn't that so, Willie?

Remember the old days? Back and forth across the wall like you gave a ping

-pong. That's a bit of a comedown from those days, isn't it? Making you do

dreary old disposal work.

Who was he, Willie?

Who was the man you were trying to dispose of?

And why the evening suit?

Of course, it could be delayed concussion.

A case of good old -fashioned stubbornness, that's all. What about the

Where does he lead? Completely unknown to us.

Here's the suit he was wearing.

Pockets empty, all labels removed.

They've been recently dry -cleaned. No clues at all, unless you count the fact

that it didn't fit him properly.

The evening suit. Not a proper fit for the dead man.

Perhaps he had it. Possibly.

But where does that take us?

No. Our only hope of identifying him is this.

The only label they couldn't remove.

It was tattooed on the dead man's arm.

Ah, here, Rob.

Hey, that's the one there.

Now, that's one of my most popular designs.

Comes right behind.

I'll log whoever it is.

And what is home without a mother's loving touch?

Hey, a lovely thought, is that?

What is home without... Of course, that's only good for the big ones, you

It's plenty of room, you see.

I tried to put it on a skinny one, what?

Oh, disastrous.

I ran out of space, you see.

So it finished up, what is home without a moth?

Ridiculous. Mind you, it's poor what should have been a lovely sentiment, you

know. Now, which desire would you like, miss?

Well, I...

And grave garter around your left leg.

I enjoy doing them.

No, actually... No, no.

Rosebuds. Pretty pink rosebuds.

One on each.

Do you recognise this?

You wouldn't be his wife, would you?

That one who had Lucille tattooed on his arm. No, I'm not his wife.

Face to be cautious, you see.

Very discreet business is this.

Hey, I knew a chap once had to keep his shirt on in case... Then you do

recognise it. Oh, aye, of course. That's my work, all right.

Lucille with two L's.

And Miss Spelling can be very tricky in this business.

And the man who had the tattoo, do you remember him? Mr. Beaver.

Are you sure you won't indulge?

There's a bird's -eye view of Sydney I've always wanted to... What was Mr.

Beaver like?

Oh, he was a funny little chap.

Thin in hair, middle -aged, nervous, glassy.

There we are then.

Lovely girl, lovely.

Thank you.

He wasn't married, you know.

Piva. Oh, you get to know a lot about folk in this business, you know.

You get some of their skin, so to speak.

No, Piva wasn't married, I'm fairly sure of that.

What's he done, anyway?

Done? Well, asking all these questions about him, he must have done something.

Well, he was involved in an accident.

What you might call a write -off.

Identification removed, but we overlooked the

dress suit. It was hired from Lichten.

Yes, sir, this is quite definitely one of our suits. I recognise the cut.

But the wearer must have worn his medals very clumsily, sir. I mean, these

holes, we'll never get these invisibly mended.

The wearer can't exactly be mended either.

Sir? Do you remember who he was? Oh, quite definitely, sir. I fitted him

I remember he was long in the arm but short in the leg. It's a most unusual

combination. Who was he?

Sir?

The man who hired this suit.

But don't you know, sir? I mean, after all, you are returning the suit. And

these holes, sir.

I'm afraid, sir, we shall have to claim his deposit.

The deposit is yours.

I made it quite clear to Mr. Peaver, sir.

I said if there's any damage, sir, then I'm afraid you forfeit your deposit.

Peaver? Sir? Do you have his address?

Well, it'll be in my book, sir, but that kind of information, it's strictly

confidential. Not between business associates, surely?

Hmm? Baggy Pants Limited.

Baggy Pants? Top secret work.

Diplomatic Corps only.

Baggy Pants?

You've seen pictures of those visiting Russian diplomats?

Where do you think they get those terrible clothes from?

I'll get Peavey's address to you right away, sir.

Excuse me.

I wonder if you could help me.

I can't fix it, the toy.

I often thought of buying one of those made -up ones, you know. Oh, I couldn't

have thought that would never do. No? No, sir.

Is that the mark of a true gentleman?

That he actually ties his tie himself.

In fact, sir, there are one or two places where I believe they simply won't

Such a terrible thing. The Lichens, too.

We'd dress the entire nation, you know. Why, without us, Ascot Race Week would

look like a nudist convention.

This ledger is your only record?

Yes, I'm afraid so, sir.

Tell me, Mr. Peaver, now, he must have left a deposit.

Could he have paid by cheque? Oh, very likely.

And that would be on record. If he did pay by cheque, we'd have the name of his

bank. Would you mind checking for me? Oh, of course.

I thought the pockets were empty.

Oh, all our suits have a gentleman's secret pocket, so it must have been in

there. Shoe repair ticket.

Oh, for Piedes. No ordinary shoe repair, then.

Well, Piedes, sir, the most exclusive shop in town.

Everything handmade.

So pale.

So slender.

So exquisitely elegant.

Oh, senor, they are a poem.

They sing and they soar.

Santa Lucia.

They're also very useful for, um, walking on.

You take it to Mickey, huh?

But it's true what I say, senor.

Static's breath of feet.

Look, they talk to me.

You know the little chatterboxes, you.

Bernard, I shall cherish them.

I shall compose a shoe for them.

I shall encase them in the softest leather.

Push off.

Finely tooled, superbly sewn, devastatingly designed.

I shall treat them with delicate care.

Piedi never measures.

He molds.

Twin treasures.

Carissima.

Signora.

I am at your feet.

Yes, Arthur Peaver had an account here.

Had? Then you know.

He is sad. Very sad.

Very, very sad.

Quite a shock.

Oh, shocking. Very shocking. When he came in here this morning, this morning,

walked right in and closed his account.

Bad. Very bad.

Very, very bad.

Did he leave a forwarding address?

Yes, he was rather reluctant about that at first, but when I explain, I have to

send details of his balance.

Do you have the address?

Yes.

Here of Perbright and Company, McEdochie Street.

We'll soon be there, senor.

Presto.

An excellent cast.

A truly beautiful reproduction.

Right down to the tiniest baby toenail.

Burn it.

And now we will pour in the wax.

And very soon we'll have two pairs of foot.

Those attached to your legs.

And a duplicate pair for me. For me to make a pair of shoes that will be like

puffs of air upon your feet.

No, senor.

Is there anything else I can do for you, huh?

A pair of slippers for the boudoir.

Wellington boots.

And the kinkiest black leather.

I've come to collect these.

A repair?

Mm -hmm. They're for Mr. Peaver.

You know Mr. Peaver, don't you? Right down to his tiniest toenails.

It saddens me to admit, but these shoes were not specially fitted.

Even a craftsman must corrupt his standard on occasion.

Although these were part of a job lot that we had delivered.

All different sizes.

Who was the job lot for?

A team of dancers.

You know, ballroom dancers.

Men with tails and women with tulle frocks and sequins and...

All of them thrashing their poor asses to distract me. This team of dancers,

where do they come from?

The top decorian.

Training.

Technique. Good day.

Fair enough.

and swing those feet and watch that balance and up, up, up on our toes and

Oh. Well, just sit down there for a moment, would you?

I'm Lucille Banks, the principal here. Can I help you? Peele, Mrs. Emma Peele.

Oh, yes, and you wish to train to trip the Terpsichorean Light. Fantastic.

Actually, I'm looking for a job.

Oh. Yes, I saw you were advertising for an instructor. I thought the poster

would still make it. You're rather tall.

It could be a disadvantage.

Well, we'll just put you to the test, shall we?

Oh, I want us in time. Now, this is Mrs. Peel. I've a brace. Well, he's our

senior male tutor.

Would you just take Mrs. Peel around the floor?

Delighted.

Yes, you move quite well.

Have you had... had much experience?

Of a very limited kind.

My father, he entertained a good deal, a preponderance of heavy, elderly

gentlemen. It was important I made them feel as though they could dance.

Yes.

Yes, well, then, that'll do, thank you.

Yes, well, I'll give you a chance to show what you can do, Mrs. Peel. We'll

you a week's trial.

Nicky?

Oh, Nicky, would you show Mrs. Peel around the establishment?

Yes, certainly. We'll see how you shape up by the end of the week.

I'd say she shapes up pretty well.

We're expected to take six pupils each per day at hourly session.

It isn't hard work so long as you have an unlimited amount of energy, the

constitution of an ox and cast iron feet.

What's the matter with that?

Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Reid.

Afternoon. This is Mrs. Peel. She's just joined us. How do you do?

How do you do?

Chester Reed, our pet band leader.

Drinks too much.

Dance night's our busiest time. Every one or two weeks we have a dance for all

our budding pupils.

We finally limp home at about midnight.

Lucille sees to it that we don't rest for a moment.

Lucille? Miss Banks.

Lucille Banks.

Oh.

Our prized toe crusher.

Well, I suppose you have to start somewhere. It might as well be him.

Well, well, well. Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

My, we are looking debonair today.

And just in time to meet our latest instructor.

An unrivaled expert in Latin American.

May I present Emma Peel.

How do you do?

Mr. Arthur Peaver.

Thinning hair?

Timid.

Marcy. There's a superficial resemblance to the man found in the pram. Seems we

have two Arthur Pevers.

One dead.

And one loaning to swing a dainty foot.

The trouble is, which was the real Arthur Pever? What do you think,

Oh, I... Oh, you must forgive him. A slight tightness of the throat.

Yes, this will help. I'll let the bank manager have it. Good idea, don't you

think, Captain? Glad you agree. Now, you, Mrs. Peel, back to your pupils and

quick, quick, slow about it. I intend to.

This was made for Arthur Pever. And if the shoe fits... Good day, Captain.

I know, but...

out of your territory, aren't you? I took the wrong door, I'm afraid.

Little girl lost.

Big girl lost.

Don't worry. I'm just going to lead you back to where you belong.

I can find my own way, thank you.

It pays to be nice to me.

I'll remember that.

Mr. Bracewell, I am so sorry.

Igor.

Mrs. Peel...

Have a pupil awaiting tuition.

Yes, Miss Banks. Please attend to it. Yes, Miss Banks.

What are you doing in here?

I found her looking in the locket.

Which one?

That one.

Forward, back, step, step, step. Back, forward, step, step, step.

Forward, back, step, step, step.

Back, forward, step, step, step. My, you're making enormous improvements, Mr.

Watkins. So light on your feet.

Thank you.

He's murdering mine.

I think I need a bone graft.

Forward, back, step, step, step, back.

Forward, step, step, step, forward, back, step, step, step, back.

Forward, step, step, step, forward, back, step, step, step, back.

Right, gentlemen, that's the end of another delightful session.

Now run along and we'll see you both again tomorrow.

Oh, girls, are we ready for our next session? So soon?

Do I detect a tiny note of discontent in the camp?

Certainly not. She's only teasing you, gentlemen.

You're her favourite pupil.

Now, Mrs. Peel, you will partner Mr. Marsh, the fox -top, the bloomber and

black -bottom. Watch out for flying glass.

Mr. Peaver, you... Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. Mr.

Peaver. Now, I've warned you before.

Nails protruding will absolutely ruin our beautifully thrown floor.

Oh? Oh.

Oh, I'm sorry. Come along. We'll see if we can find you another pair, shall we?

Well, get on with the lesson, Mrs. Peel.

One, two, cha -cha -cha.

Cha -cha -cha, one, two, cha -cha -cha. One, two, cha -cha -cha. One, two, cha

-cha -cha. One, two, cha -cha -cha. One, two, cha... Yes, come on, don't...

English, I've told you, only speak English here.

What's it all that about? Nothing that may concern you. Now...

No, just Arthur Peaver, that quiet English gentleman, remember?

Yes. Now, get into these.

Get back in there.

Get hold of the commander. It's

urgent, very urgent.

What's the matter? The tattooist. We've forgotten about him.

Yes, that's him.

You're sure?

Very sure. Very, very sure?

Positive. That is Arthur Peaver.

I see.

Yes, I never forget a face.

And despite the fact that I only met him once, my memory has never yet failed

me. You only met him once?

Yes. The day he came in to close his account.

So he may still be an imposter. After all, the bank may have been dealing with

the real Arthur Peaver, but the fake one closed the account.

Yes or no would be more practical, Captain. Did you phone Mrs. Peel? Did

the address of that tattooist? Good.

I'll see what he makes of the photograph.

Oh, by the way, Captain, it may be a trade secret, but when you phoned Mrs.

Peel, how did you...

Come in.

Come on in.

Do you mind holding on a minute?

Little fad of mine is this. Garlic sausage.

Helps keep me handy when business is slack.

A very delicate touch is needed.

One false move and the skillet's torn.

Oh, that's nice.

It's not mine, of course.

I can always appreciate another man.

Offer you some refreshment, Mr. Fever? You're most kind. Nonsense. It's all

of my job.

Besides, I want a chance to get to know you better.

Have a bicky.

Well, if we're to be seeing a lot of each other in the future... I regret

will not be the case, Mrs. Peel.

I shall soon be passing out.

I beg your pardon? I'm within a fish tail of receiving my diploma in ballroom

dancing, and when I have that, I shall have no further need to attend classes.

I shall pass on, Mrs. Peel.

And we will not meet again.

Excuse me.

Put them above your head.

Oh, these poor abused feet.

If you put them up in the air, it soothes them to such an extent that the

is only excruciating.

Nicky, Mr. Peaver's just been telling me he's about to get his diploma.

Yes, that's right. Well, I've danced with him, if dancing's the right word. I

know, he's terrible. Then why the diploma?

Good for business, I suppose.

Take their money, a few lessons, hand them a diploma, and another satisfied

customer.

Funny, though, how Lucille hands out those diplomas.

Isn't everybody who gets one just the selected few?

Diploma in hand, and he disappears.

Disappears? Well, as far as we're concerned, I've never known one to come

Well, now, here we have our most exclusive dance studio.

It's the most beautifully sprung floor.

And we have instructors in attendance at all times, so you can just see how well

equipped we are, Mr. Steed.

Very well equipped.

Yes, well, shall we just take some particulars, then?

Ask you. Oh, thank you.

Jonathan... Steed. Well, that's a fine old English name. Thank you.

Came over with the Vikings.

They were between raids and discovering America at the time.

Then you're British by birth. First nature and inclination.

I just love the old country. Of course, I haven't seen much of it lately. I've

been abroad, you know. Just recently returned?

A week ago.

To see your family?

I have no family.

Oh, so you must have many friends here.

I'm afraid I've lost touch.

And you wish to learn to dance?

Brush up more than anything.

I used to swing rather an elegant shoe, you know.

I'm afraid I'm a little rusty now.

If you'll forgive me, Mr. Steed, isn't your motive deeper than that?

You come here hoping to make friends.

Are you a lonely man?

I have no friends.

Yes, well, most of my clients are in the same boat.

I like to feel that I and my little establishment offer them some solace.

You know, help them to mix and to make new acquaintances.

Well, I hope you'll be very happy joining our little group, Mrs. Deed.

Now, you may have your first lesson whenever it's convenient to you. Why

Right now.

Very well.

I'll just make the necessary arrangements, if you'd excuse me.

Ding.

What are you doing here?

Looking for a killer with a rose tattoo.

What? Read it, then destroy it.

Oh, Mr. Thief.

Destroy? Eat it.

Yes, dear lady. I've decided to undertake your tuition myself,

An honor.

Hello. I'm surprised you're still a bachelor, Mr. Thief. You are still a

bachelor. I had a girlfriend once, but alas, she is no more.

Oh, how tragic.

Eaten by a crocodile, one of those Amazonian treks.

Lunch.

Oh.

Coast clear?

Yes.

Where's Nicky?

I don't know. I'll go find her. No, just see that she gets this.

Seen you before somewhere, haven't I?

I don't think so.

Sure I've seen you before.

How did you do, Nicky? No one else, see? Mm -hmm.

Very familiar.

Not in here.

You mustn't open that in here.

If Lucille saw what we were doing, we'd both get the sack.

I suppose Bernard told you about our little arrangement.

No.

Well, I suppose you'll have to know. I'll let you in for one third.

One third of what? What little arrangement? Well, Bernard works for

shoemaker. And Piedi supplies our pupils their first pair of dancing pumps.

Well? But only their first pay, you see. After that, Bernard sells them on the

side.

That's that, Katie.

That's that, the middleman.

Bernard makes his profit.

There's something in it for me.

Everybody's happy. Nobody suffers.

But isn't it rather dangerous for you? I mean, approaching the pupils right

here. Oh, Bernard sees to that. He waits for them after school and buttonholes

them then.

I see. So Bernard gets to meet all the pupils at one time or another. Yes.

Including Mr. Beaver? Of course.

I think we'd better get inside.

There you are.

I just heard the funniest thing, Lucy.

The funniest thing.

So that's the time, is it?

Mine must have gained a bit.

Steve. He's an imposter, a man who calls himself Peaver.

No tattoo lovingly inscribed to Lucille.

Trouble is, the tattooist, our chief witness, is dead.

Well, there may be another. A man at the shoe shop named Bernard.

He might be able to help.

Right now. I'm going to see him.

Oh, Miss Banks, the heel of my shoe's come loose. It's liable to break at any

moment. Could I go out? Yes, yes. Well, go and get it attended to, would you?

Oh, and hurry back.

Yes, Miss Banks.

Mr. Steed. There must be someone in this big city that you know.

I've been away for a long time. All my friends have gone away.

One, two, three. And I have no family at all.

Oh, you poor, poor man.

You mean if you disappeared tomorrow, no one would know or care?

Goodbye, Mr. Steed. You'll be on time for your next lesson, won't you?

keep me away, madam.

Easy. Nothing to it. Good. The commander will be pleased.

I'll tell him. You can also tell him about John Steed.

Who's he?

He's our next victim.

Bernard got himself plastered. I do so agree. So we've lost our last witness,

and now we go... Back to square one. ...to the heart of the matter.

Hever is an imposter. The dancing school is conniving at the deception.

So? Carry on dancing.

Oh, well.

Same mixture as before.

Gala dance happens once a fortnight.

Dance to Chester Reed.

A couple of currant buns, half a glass of lemonade, and they all go into an

ecstasy of rhythm.

Ho -hum. Uh, is this when the advanced students receive their diplomas?

Yes, only one this time, Mr. Peaver.

Nicky, have you noticed any changes in Mr. Peaver since he came?

Hardly. But then I wouldn't. He's more Lucille's client than mine.

I remember when he first enrolled.

She really kept him to herself.

Does she do that often?

Once in a while, but nearly always the mouthy, anonymous ones.

Keeps them under wraps.

Sometimes three or four weeks before I'm even allowed to see them.

See you.

Bye.

It's got to be absolutely smooth.

You must glide into it. No hesitation, mind.

Are you ready?

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two,

three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

One, two, three.

That's much better. That's splendid.

You'll be absolutely perfect for the takeover tonight. Now, one, two, three.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two,

three. One, two, three. One, two, three. I was looking for another door.

The door was locked.

Yes? Locked.

Hmm? The door.

Oh. Oh, uh, Lucille's rehearsing.

Lucille's rehearsing.

Rehearsing.

Rehearsing, yes.

Before...

Good evening, Mr.

Peaver. Oh, I'm so glad you could make it. I wouldn't miss one of your little

soirees for the world, Miss Banks.

Oh, hello.

Oh, I'm glad to meet you. Hello. Nice seeing you again. Thank you. Thank you.

Mr. Steed. Oh, how resplendent you look. Thank you, Miss Banks.

This is your very first visit to one of our little events. I do so hope you'll

enjoy it. I'm sure I shall.

Would you excuse me?

Black coffee.

Excuse me.

It's bigger than we think, Steve.

Some kind of swap system, a takeover.

Another man's personality.

I saw a whole dress rehearsal.

Lucille was dancing around a ballroom. Quick swirl out of sight. Quick change

partner. Perfect.

After an extraordinary one -way conversation with Captain Noble, I found

real purpose of this school. It's for infiltrating foreign agents into the

country. First select a lonely anonymous bachelor.

Whom no one will miss. Get rid of him, replace him with a highly paid agent.

Off with the old, on with the new.

Marvellous method.

I don't want to do anything right away.

I want to catch him red -handed.

You'll get your chance soon. They're planning another swap tonight.

Any idea who?

I don't know who yet, but... What? She?

No, no, my dear lady. Not even if you went down on your bended knees and

I'm not free, I'm afraid, until the 12th dance. I may be able to fit you in

between a Sir Roger de Cavalli and a Lancer. Oh, Mrs. T, we're just going

the ballroom now, if you're ready.

Any time you say, Miss Banks.

Excuse me.

If it's clear now.

All right.

You go through that door there and round to the back of the studio.

Now, you know what you have to do.

You'll be wearing a number nine, like you.

And no slip -ups.

The commander doesn't like slip -ups.

All right, off you go.

And now, competition time.

Chester Reid has kindly consented to do the judging, and as usual, the

contestants will be masked.

Oh, I must just mention to our new members that this is to avoid any

of favoritism. Chester will be judging you purely on your dancing ability

I've located the next victim.

Who? You'll be wearing a number nine. Mrs. Peel?

Please, and this is your card, number six. Thank you, Mrs. Banks.

That eliminates me. Mrs. Peel, I understand you've been chosen to partner

See, we are dancing together.

Allow me.

Oh, Mrs. Banks.

Oh, Mrs. Banks.

Something wrong?

Oh, are you attempting a reverse double -flip seat?

With you, Miss Banks, I reach for the rainbow.

You mad, impetuous man. Oh, Miss Banks.

You're number nine.

And you're dancing with garlic sausage.

Tis twasso. Shall we dance?

thought you. But I thought you.

It was that last reverse turn takeover that did it.

I did this.

When I should have done this.

Excuse me, Commander.

You lose your deposit.

Let it peel.

Did you know they just arrested a band leader for being drunk in charge of a

pram containing a man in full evening dress with a plaster cast on his head,

tattooed on his right wrist, clutching a dance diploma in one hand and a garlic

sausage in the other? Shall we dance?

you