Original subtitles

Any sign of him, Harriet?

Not yet.

But he won't come.

Of course he'll come.

I made the most stringent inquiries with regard to his activity. Of course he'll

come, Georgina.

If you say so, Harriet.

Why, I know it's wicked of me, but I really am looking forward to this.

So you should, after the trouble it took planning it.

Here he comes now.

Here.

Here, he's here.

Ready, Georgina? Ready, Harriet.

I will surprise him.

It's really quite chilly this evening.

No, no!

My mother would never forgive me.

Nephew. Dear nephew. A very happy birthday to you. A happier birthday.

Aunt Harriet, Aunt Georgina.

What a lovely surprise.

We meant it to be. We planned it that way. We brought you these.

For your birthday. We do hope you liked them.

Delightful. Absolutely delightful.

Thank you very much, Auntie. Thank you.

Rhonda, some tea. Would you like some tea?

Please.

And a large whiskey for me.

Whiskey? We're disappointed in you.

Purely for medicinal purposes.

We thought you'd have five fingers of old red -eye.

What? We read all the spy books, you know. Five fingers of old red -eye is

conventional thing.

Oh, I see.

Five fingers of old red -eye.

Well, dear nephew, what's been happening, eh? Are you just back from an

assignment?

Yes, I am.

Then you're healed at the moment.

Healed? Yes.

Are you carrying a gat, a rod? A good old equaliser?

No, I'm afraid I'm not carrying a gat.

Karate's enough for you, eh? The good old killing blows. I suppose you

like to chop that table in half for us, would you?

No, no, the matter of fact, I haven't been too well recently.

Well, could you arrange a trip for us round the Black Museum?

Or the morgue?

Either would be equally entertaining.

No, I'm afraid that won't be too easy. We hoped you'd amuse us.

We really hoped.

Well, I, um... I, uh... What about a story?

An inside story?

A story?

A true story.

Taunt from the annals of time.

Every fiber of emotion laid bare.

Every gory fact presented in its...

A story.

The real thing.

A true story.

Well, now.

The great, great Britain crime.

The crime of the century.

Wow.

How did it start?

With a killing, eh?

Yes, I'm afraid it did.

See, one of our agents was on the trail of something inexplicable.

Something big.

He had been lured to a night rendezvous, but found it to be a trap.

Two arch -villains awaited him intent on... Running him out?

Intent on engineering his demise.

He tried to make his escape up some scaffolding nearby.

Why do they always run up?

Because... Because they always do, that's why.

He couldn't shake his pursuer.

They stalked him relentlessly.

But one of the villains planned to put a spanner in the work.

Things looked black.

And then, putting all strength into one last effort, summoning all his reserves,

he made one prodigious leap and gained safe ground.

But then... But go on, go on. What happened then?

He fell.

As soon as the news of this agent's death reached me, I knew I was onto

something big, inexplicable.

You've already said that once.

I was just reinforcing the point.

What happened next?

A second agent stumbled on the same trail.

He, too, became a hunted animal, running from an armed villain.

He's the one who put this banner in the works.

Our man continued his... Desperate run to get away.

But then he spied sucker.

A prisoner of war camp?

A fire post.

He told to get there, to call headquarters.

Alas, he was foiled in his indus.

Gosh, you were really having bad luck, weren't you? It happens.

It happened again.

This gang organization knew no bounds.

They were ruthless.

Utterly ruthless, they struck again.

Catching our man off guard when he was enjoying a quiet pint in a local

hostelry. But... This time, our agent managed to contact headquarters

with a message before he was gunned down.

Convenient. The message consisted of one word.

Help?

Intercrime. Surely that's two words.

Intercrime.

To the first hint that we had that this organization was really organized, I put

the word out. Find out all you can about Intercry.

That's seven words.

Informers were primed.

I was prepared to pay any amount for information.

Then I sat back and waited and waited.

And waited.

That was when we got our first nibble.

A man named Cartwright contacted Steed and said he had information we might be

able to use. He would deliver it at Steed's apartment personally.

But what he didn't know, and what we didn't know... Was that he was driving

straight into a trap. An ambush.

His car was blocked.

Stopped. And Cartwright himself dragged from it brutally.

with utter disregard that his suit might be creased, torn, irreparably ruined.

Cartwright was taken away by the murky minions of Fuller. Who's Fuller? I was

coming to him. Fuller, second in command of the intercrime England.

Nerve them.

Ice cold.

He cared not for life, limb, or status.

His only joy was money. So imagine his delight when he found Cartwright's piggy

bank.

Meanwhile...

It was over.

Cartwright was dead.

Things looked very grave indeed.

Or did they?

Well, did they? On the surface, yes.

But... But?

Beneath the surface, Fuller and his execution squad satisfied that all was

made their getaway. But little did they know that Cartwright had survived.

Cartwright lives.

Just a minute.

Cartwright was riddled with bullets.

Precisely. Then how could he... Bulletproof vest.

He was one of those sort of fellows.

Cartwright struggled out of his grave in his bulletproof vest and

made his way to where Tara King and John Steed were waiting for him.

What's your information, Cartwright?

You'll pay me? That depends.

You know that Intercrime are after me? What's Intercrime?

The opposite to Interpol.

Interpol helps the police against the criminals.

Intercrime helps the criminals against the police.

That's a robbery that Intercrime has set up for tomorrow.

Bond Street jewellers? Well, that's not my line at all. You ought to know that,

Cartwright. It's a diamond consignment worth three quarters of a million

Well, ask Art and Yard. They'll help you.

I know something that is for you.

What?

They're planning on a big crime. The crime of the century, they call it.

The crime of the century. It was our first intimation that such a crime was

planned. But it was being planned in the headquarters of Intercrime, the most

powerful criminal organization in the whole world.

Those against?

The motion fails.

Before our next annual general meeting, which will take place in Tokyo.

I should like to urge our members from the United States and the USSR to

reconsider the application of the Chinese Tong society.

The political differences of our governments are no concern of ours.

Well, gentlemen, I think that concludes today's business.

We haven't dealt with the robbery.

I should like to postpone discussion on that subject for the time being. Look

here, Dunbar, we're all over this country of yours for one reason.

To see if Intercrime can pull off what you call the crime of the century.

What I would like to know is what century?

There are still preparations to be made, Mr. Jackson.

Look, if you're up to your old tricks again... Mr. Dunbar is our elected

president. Yeah, and I know how he rigged that.

The cars are waiting?

Yes, Mr. Dunbar.

Well, gentlemen, your sightseeing continues today with Buckingham Palace.

Buckingham Palace? Do you think they could be planning to raid Buckingham

Palace? Well, if they did, how would they come in?

Several approaches.

This way.

Or Hyde Park Corner, Buckingham Palace Gardens. I say, old man.

Birdcage Walk and the Horse Guard Parade. I say, old man, this suit is

well cut. Very well cut. You look awfully good, Freddie.

Do you really think so?

Don't you, Steve?

Yes, I do.

Oh, good.

I say, old man. The brandy's over there, old man.

Thanks, old man.

The Queen's Apartments there.

Banqueting Room.

Picture gallery.

Of course, they might have come in from the embankment along the sewers the back

way. That would mean they'd surfaced alongside the flamingo pool, outside the

stables, or in the middle of the parade ground.

Well,

there's always the direct approach.

Sorry. What time is the robbery?

What? Not this.

The Bond Street diamond consign. Oh, 2 .30.

There'll be two men and a woman. The men will be dressed as window cleaners.

Two men dressed as window cleaners?

Some might have said they looked like complete fools, but, well, appearances

be deceptive.

Rossi? Yes.

Kruger? Yes.

What's the alarm system?

Thompson Partridge Mark 6 electronic eye -warning system locked from head

office, two meters from door height, 30 centimeters.

Haven't you verstanden?

All common, verstanden.

The regular window cleaners go in exactly 1 ,500 hours.

Make sure you're there by 14 .30. Yeah. Good luck.

Intercrime had planned a dual robbery, and we'd planned to let it happen.

Why?

A stakeout.

Isn't that it, Hans?

Let the heist happen.

Follow the hoods back to their pad.

Bring up the heavy mob.

Open fire with tommy guns, gats, tear gas.

That's how it happens, isn't it?

No, no, it doesn't really, no.

Now, where were we? The Bond Street heist. Ah, the Bond Street heist. Just a

minute. You make Tara King a blonde?

Yes. I've seen her. She's a brunette.

That's right.

Now, look here, aunt.

This is my story.

And if I wish to make Tara King sky blue pink, I will. Oh, you're so forceful.

Now, let us get back to the robbery.

Simply planned.

Simply executed.

Kruger and Rossi overpowered their victims.

The spoils were theirs.

But outside, Speed and Tara were waiting with an equally simple plan.

Little did Rossi and Kruger know what fate awaited them.

But as they ran from the jewelers, the robbers were robbed.

They were two complete fools.

Well, I told you appearances could be deceptive.

Anyway, our plan had worked.

But we made two mistakes.

To continue, we made two mistakes.

The first was to assume that Intercrime had a sense of humor. They didn't.

Execution department, please. You said you made two mistakes.

Yes, Cartwright. You remember Cartwright.

The one with the convenient bulletproof vest.

Steed had lent him his suit.

Now, he foolishly left Steed's apartment wearing it. He was followed to a

restaurant by Intercrime's execution squad. And then...

Well,

well, well.

Forgot his bulletproof vest, eh?

It can happen.

What next?

Another attack on Steed. He was a marked man.

A telephone call lured him to some earthworks.

Steed found himself trapped at the bottom of a pitiless pit.

And the villains planned to fill him in.

Earth cascaded down on our dauntless hero.

Tons, hundreds of tons of shale and rubble fell in on him until all that

remained in sight was the last battered symbol of a very gallant English

gentleman, his bowler hat.

It seemed that intercrime had triumphed. But had they?

Had they?

No. Our indomitable hero was not finished yet. With one bound, Steed was

But Steed had proved too much for them. Another phone call, another lure.

this time to a house in the country.

Another attack.

But the attacker had not reckoned on Steve's physical expertise, his will to

win.

Time and again he eluded the clutching hands of his adversary. Steve absolutely

threw himself into the fight. His ability was starting to tell.

His ability to do what?

To fall so nicely.

His attacker was weakening.

Freaking? The chair was of very inferior manufacture.

Steed pulled every trick out of the book. Finally, the attacker made his

mistake.

He made Steed very angry.

Another failure.

Steed survived.

And then?

We had a lucky break.

Ah, I was waiting for one of those.

Dunbar, the European head of intercrime, took over from the hot -headed Fuller.

He forbade all murder attempts.

On the contrary, he had other plans for Steed.

The background is right.

We could use this man, Steed. But he stole from us, sir.

Execute him after.

And what about the girl?

Steed's accomplice.

We've traped her.

Bring her in.

So with Tara now in their clutches, Intercrime put part two of their plan

operation.

Steve.

Hello?

We want to talk to you, Mr. Steve.

Is it about putting holes into Freddy Cartwright?

Write down this address, Mr. Steve.

199 Royal Avenue, SW7.

I'll remember it.

Goodbye.

A vital contact had been made.

Intercrime were asking to see Steve.

He hurried to a waiting taxi, but Intercrime's skullduggery was still at

An armed man planned to escort Steve to their headquarters.

Steve had other thoughts.

He was alone now and driving straight into the jaws of Intercrime and untold

dangers.

First hurdle safely crossed.

The second hurdle to be encountered.

Good evening, Mr. Steed. Good evening. Will you come with me?

The last hurdle lay ahead.

Steed had penetrated the ugly heart of intercrime.

Now he had to meet the man on whose word his life might hang in the balance.

Dunbar.

My name is Dunbar.

I'm the head of intercrime in Europe.

Please, sit down.

Thank you.

Mr. Steed, you should be dead.

I gathered that.

You're here because I'm considering putting you on probation.

We have, of course, checked up on your record.

And I think we have a job for which you may be particularly qualified.

There is also the matter of 785 ,000 pounds worth of diamonds which you and

accomplice stole from us. We'll give you back the diamonds.

You can keep the diamonds, Mr. Steed, if you make a success at this job.

What sort of job?

The crime of the century.

There it was again. The crime of the century.

Steed had penetrated into crime.

But... His ploy in pretending to be a superior thief had worked.

What about?

Steed and Dunbar.

What is it then?

What about Tara?

Yes. What happened to her?

She was in another part of the woods, under the hot lights.

Where are the diamonds?

I don't know what you're talking about. Miss King, it would go easier if you

made a statement.

I don't know anything. We know you and Steed took the diamonds.

I don't know anyone called Steed.

Oh, she was brave.

Stoical. She didn't squeal.

Squeal? I sincerely hope not.

Not a mouse, you know.

Now, where was I?

Into crime.

Oh, yes, yes.

Steed had got his feet under the table.

Dunbar was even offering him drinks.

We give our criminals legal aid, pension schemes, paid holidays.

Everything a good company man can hope to find on the other side.

Who's my company, you or Orpheus Tour? The same.

Orpheus Tours will take you on a tour anywhere.

That's extremely good of them.

To commit a crime.

Where's the one you want me to commit?

Here.

I want you to talk your way into a top security establishment.

Where? You will be taken.

Colonel Korf is in command.

Corp? You went to the same school, you belong to the same clubs, the same

background, more or less.

But I don't know him.

Here's a complete file on him.

Read it and use it to gain his confidence.

Then, without his knowledge, open his safe and photograph the entire contents.

What's in the safe?

Colonel Corp has a top security telephone.

The scrambler code is changed every 24 hours. The current code is kept in the

safe. I want a picture of it.

Why?

Dubois from my friend's section will go with you to open the safe.

Savard Dubois?

He's the best cracksman in Europe.

He's a criminal. He looks like a criminal. I couldn't get him into a

establishment. I doubt if I could even get him into a prison.

You must open the safe.

I suppose I could open it myself, but I prefer to use Miss King.

Well, test her.

Oh, dear.

Test her?

Did they make her sit for an exam or something?

No, no, dear, dear aunts. They were putting her up against the brilliant

Dubois, the man with the beret.

Tara was sent for, not knowing, poor child, what the fates had in store for

but determined to grit her teeth, keep her stiff upper lip, keep her back to

wall and charge fearlessly forward.

That's anatomically impossible.

She was brought to where Dubois had opened the safe in 59 .15 seconds,

flat.

Tara King was given the unenviable task of beating the fiendish Frenchman's tie.

She had to open the safe faster than he.

It was an acid test.

Steed could only stand by, powerless to help her.

But Tara did not flinch from the task.

She did not turn away from the job assigned to her. She did not avert her

from the dangers.

She did not... I imagine she agreed to do it.

Exactly.

She was alone on her own merit now.

Could she be to even equal Dubois' time of...

59 .15 seconds.

The tension mounted.

The seconds, fatal seconds, ticked by.

Nerves were drawn tighter than a violin string.

And then, just a traditional last moment.

Per file.

Sir.

You go with Steed. So Steed and Tara had achieved their first objective, to be

accepted by Intercry. They made their way to the security vaults. Now, to dupe

the razor -sharp mind of Colonel Corp.

Please, John Smith, please.

Sorry, sir. I mean, Governor.

Yes? John Steed, your security inspector. My assistant, Miss King.

Security inspector?

I didn't know we had one. Of course not. Security.

Ah. I haven't seen any of you chaps for years.

Changes at Downing Street, you know. Yes, yes. Well, what can I do for you,

I'd be very obliged if you'd show me around.

Show you?

Oh, no. No, no. I'm afraid I couldn't possibly do that. No, I'm awfully busy

the moment, I'm afraid. Awfully busy. It's nearly time for lunch. I'll tell

what. You come back some other day. Of course.

You'll like Corfe.

Huh? Bumble, Corfe, St. Justin's House.

Well, yes. There's a picture of you in the pavilion.

The time you took 10 for 17?

No, 10 for 16.

So, pretending to be an old school chum, recalling those good old days, Steed

infiltrated the security establishment.

Security establishment?

Sounds more like a dreary old warehouse to me.

That is the cover.

Down, more than 500 feet down is the heart of the matter, where Corfe kept

safe. That's why Intercrime sent them there.

Exactly. To photograph the scrambler cove that was kept in it. How did they

that? How did they fool Corfe and his razor -sharp mind?

Tara King feigned a feint, then Steed took Corfe off, and she

was left there alone.

What feinting?

Great Britain's heritage.

One of my favourites, sir.

I like animals, don't you?

Over there, Gainsborough.

Constables, etc.

Down that gallery, you've got your foreigners.

All these are your Flemish school.

Primitives. I like them.

Yes, well.

More painting?

Sacred objects.

That is really beautiful.

Yes, isn't it? Here, take a look at that.

Five

forgeries

in the world.

Yes.

Very impressive collection, Colonel.

Thank you.

Thank you. Now then, how do you feel? Much better, thank you. Good girl.

Good girl.

There you are.

Hotline. Scrambled.

New scrambling code every 24 hours. Keep it in the safe.

Nothing wrong with our security feed.

No, I'm sure not.

What happens when you get the call, Operation Rule Britannia?

The faintest notion. Never had it, have I? Thank goodness.

So you don't know what Operation Rule Britannia means?

He did... No.

No. I'm not surprised.

He doesn't seem like a young man who knows anything much.

Hasn't got all his marbles, if you ask me.

Nobody knew anything about Operation Rule Britannia.

Nobody, that is.

Except for me.

An impasse was reached.

What's an impasse?

It is... When they run out of plot.

And that's when I made my own indispensable contribution to the case.

Did you get my message?

About Operation Rule Britannia, yes.

Well, what is it? And why is Colonel Corfe guarding a heap of forgeries?

In the event of war, Operation Rule Britannia is the signal to clear all art

galleries and palaces of their treasures and put them in the safety of Colonel

Corfe's vault.

Colonel Corfe's vault?

Yes, and hang the forgeries in their place.

Oh, and that will prevent alarm and despondency throughout the countryside.

Exactly, and to prevent panic. Now, what would you do if war was looming and you

saw them tucking all the Picasso, Cezanne's and Matisse's underground?

What would I do?

I'd go somewhere else as soon as possible.

Right, but...

They are part of our national heritage.

Ah. Something to rally round.

They must be seen proudly, aggressively, a symbol of our confidence.

And the real ones are all safely tucked away.

That is to decide the point.

I've got the point. The crime of the century.

What? Now, what would you think the chances are of robbing the National

Buckingham Palace, the Tate Gallery, all in one afternoon?

Nil. But...

Make an all -out, concerted effort on one area, however well guarded.

Well, I suppose there is a chance.

Yes.

Give the signal.

Operation Britannia. Put all your art eggs in one basket.

Colonel Corfe's vault. And then... I'm going back to Enterprise.

Gentlemen.

A scrambler code to Colonel Korff's priority telephone.

Yes.

Dunbar, now I will have that drink.

Who's taking the phone?

Nagushu, the best in the business.

From the territory of Mr.

Osaka.

Dozo.

Cleverly using a Japanese as the man most likely to be overlooked in a busy

European street, Intercrime put themselves in direct contact with Korf.

They now had the link, the scrambler code, and all that was needed to put

Operation Rule Britannia into effect.

Osaka, no?

You are now in contact with Colonel Korf, Mr. Dunbar.

Arigato, Osaka -san.

Send in Miss King instead.

Nogushu, get me Colonel Korff, please. You're doing it now?

The scrambler code changes every 24 hours. I wanted to speak to Colonel

Fuller, a drink for Miss King. Sir.

Tell him it's Operation Rule Britannia.

He can hardly be expected to believe me. He knows your voice.

You're on his hotline.

He can only believe that you're speaking from the Prime Minister's office.

Colonel?

Operation Rule Britannia.

Well, I had no idea the situation was so explosive.

I'm with him now.

There's no alternative.

Right, Steve.

The diabolical plan had worked. The ruse succeeded.

Colonel Koff was completely taken in by... I'm not surprised.

I'm perfectly aware of your opinion, of course.

He was taken in.

He opened his field instructions and started the ball that was Operation Rule

Britannia rolling. The biggest tickle in history. The most gigantic robbery in

the annals of crime had begun.

The mighty plan swung into action.

First, our national galleries, haven of our most revered artists, were emptied.

stripped of their most precious sculptures and canvases.

The Tower of London, repository of the crown jewels and of England's history.

Even the palace itself, the very seat of government, all were denuded of their

art treasures, and forgeries were put in their place, whilst the real treasures

were dispatched to the safety of Colonel Corfe's vaults.

But as the gallant colonel personally supervised the stowing of his precious

cargo, little did he know that the safety of his vaults was no longer safe.

Nor was his personal safe -safe any longer, if you know what I mean.

Mute with violence.

Right at the back, please.

Careful, man!

Meanwhile, back at the... Ranch?

Back at Intercrime Headquarters, Steed's desperation mounted.

Watched though he was, he shirked not from his duty. He attempted to call us,

warn us, but... Who are you going to call, Mr. Steed?

My bookmaker.

Gambling can be terribly dangerous, Mr. Steed.

We took a gamble with you.

Get the girl.

I'm not going to lose now. You won't win without me.

Quoth trusts me. I made sure of that.

But you won't get in without me. And my fee is £100 ,000.

All right, Steed. You get us in, and we'll meet your price.

Good. And Miss King comes too.

Oh, no.

Miss King stays here.

You're hostage.

Put her in the cell.

Their villainy knew no bounds.

Steed found himself hopeless to their ploy.

The countdown had begun.

The final preparations were made.

Anesthetics.

Tranquillizers.

Hacksaw.

Nylon rope.

What's this?

Miniaturized transmitter.

Twenty pounds in gold sovereigns.

Before going on a mission...

Each man would be issued with one of these survival kits.

Good idea.

Phrase book.

In 15 languages.

I'm on the land from the police.

Kindly direct me to a suitable hideout.

Six.

Drug cigarette.

Cigarette lighter.

Turn the fuel screw round.

The mechanism is now primed.

Flick it.

In three seconds, there will be a concentrated explosion sufficient to

gap in a prison wall up to ten feet thick.

Of course, you have to release the safety catch.

The scene was set.

They were well equipped.

Yes, they were.

The time... Just one thing.

Yes.

What earth did they carry at all?

The time had come.

Dunbar and his nefarious nasties, his felonious felons, his cronies in crime,

made their final move.

They set out to accomplish their evil coup.

Steed could do nothing but accompany them, hoping for a lucky break. You've

your ration of those.

But the break did not come.

Steed's mind was troubled as he and the top brass of intercrime set off en route

to... Now, hold it.

Intercrime are going to commit the crime of the century, yes?

Right. And Steed's helping.

Right.

He had no option.

He tried to call us. Why did he give them Colonel Corfe's scrambler code in

first place?

Good question.

Ah. Well?

Steed had to go along with the whole plot.

Suppose the theft of the Scrambler Code was just a test, a test of Steed's

loyalty to Intercrime. Good answer.

It is, you know, Harriet.

Oh, well, I suppose so. But Miss Christie and Mr Earl Stanley Gardner

leave such loopholes.

May I continue?

Please do.

Intercrime made their move en route to pillage the vault, and Steed forced to

accompany them.

However, they had overlooked one factor, the courage and resourcefulness of Miss

Sarah King.

She launched into the attack and disposed of her adversary, but the game

yet won.

Excuse me, could you help me for a moment?

Come in, Tokyo.

I'm retrieving you.

Come in, Tokyo.

Hey!

Ah!

You blooded my stocking!

My goodness.

They were an awfully noisy lot, weren't they?

Awfully. As I told you, they were ruthless, utterly ruthless.

They cared not who they aroused. They were unconcerned that little children,

tender babes, might be awakened by the noise of their shootings.

Dreadful, despicable, beyond the pale.

They certainly were not gentlemen.

They certainly were not.

Now, shall I continue?

Please.

Where was I?

Steed, hoping to penetrate into crime, set himself up as a thief, achieved his

aim, and was given the task of getting Colonel Corfe's scrambler code.

Corfe's balls, being the repository for the real art treasures of Great

Britain... in times of emergency, fake ones having been put in their place, and

intercrime, holding Tara as a hostage, forced Steed to accompany them on the

heist. Tara, however, engineered her escape and was on her way to foil the

Well, dear aunts, you have been paying attention.

Tara was on her way to foil the plot.

Tara. Brilliant.

Gallant, blonde Tara, the last hope of foiling the plot, climbed into Korff's

security area, where even now the last of the forgeries were being dispatched.

She ran pell -mell to find Colonel Korff to warn him what was afoot. If she

could reach him in time, while there were still precious minutes to spare

the intercrime mob arrived, she could... Now, just a moment.

You said the intercrime team left ahead of Tara.

That's right.

Then how did she get there first?

They took the pretty route. They wanted to see the sights.

On their way to a crime?

This is my story.

Go on.

Please go on. I will endeavor to.

Now, where was I?

Tara had arrived at the warehouse.

Oh, yes.

She tried to persuade the skeptical Colonel Korth that his warehouse was in

danger of a mass raid.

She told him... of how she'd opened his safe before, and she even opened it

again to prove it.

Now do you believe I photographed your coat? Excuse me, please.

Yes.

Yes, I do.

And, of course, I know what's going on. When Steve rang me, I was suspicious.

I read the newspapers, you know, Miss King. What does that mean?

This country's not in danger of going to war. That's what I've been telling you.

And it was Steed who gave that false alarm. Yes.

As a security check on me and my little unit.

No. Yes.

New room, sweep clean. Oh, I know all about Whitehall, Miss King.

This is not a security exercise.

This is a plan by a criminal organisation called Intercrime.

They're going to break in here and steal all of this.

And what should I do, Miss King? Let them in.

Once they're here, seal the place off and make an armed arrest.

Yes, but it's a little complicated for my taste. But then I suppose that's how

security minds work, eh? This is not a security check.

One thing I can't understand.

What? This Colonel Corfe. How did such a fool come to be in charge of a top

security vault?

Oh, Harriet, let him go on.

We're almost at the big fight, aren't we?

Indeed we are.

Now, Tara hid herself in the vaults whilst Korth... Did he marry into an

important family? Is that how he got the job?

Whilst Korth, thinking the whole thing to be an elaborate exercise, awaited the

arrival of the intercrime team.

He didn't have long to wait.

In the Queen's name, gentlemen, you're my prisoners, and I must ask you to lay

down your arms. Be your age, Colonel.

You are our prisoner, Colonel.

You can't say that.

I said it first.

Where's the umpire?

These men are criminals. They're trying to steal the most valuable pieces. But

that's what Miss King said.

Miss King?

Find that woman.

So, whilst armed men were dispatched to dispatch Miss King to hunt her down like

an airy beast,

Dunbar and co. indulged in a different kind of hunting, ferreting out our art

treasures, blicking them up amongst themselves.

And you'd hear a violin there gloating over the Gainsborough, drooling over the

Da Vinci, sharing the profits of their ill -starred scheme.

They were worth and fellow signs.

They were villain signs.

Art to them was just loot, cabbage, spondulics, cold, hard cash.

They showed no respect for anything.

Anything at all.

Ah, yes.

I'm afraid we'll have to break this one up, gentlemen.

It's rather a pity, isn't it?

Britain's crown jewel.

Go on, go on.

Why have you stopped?

You can't stop now.

I haven't stopped.

But you... Merely pausing. I have run out... Of ideas?

Of breath.

My throat is dry. I think I'll take a glass of... Five fingers of Old Red Eye.

Ah, that's better.

I will continue.

It's a double cross, isn't it, Dunbar?

All right.

Check the office.

We'll take the corridor.

Well done.

Look out!

Hold it.

Oh.

Yes.

Bye, Jeff.

Your gun, Colonel.

Thank you. Thank you.

It's the only one I liked.

Game, set, and match.

It all ended happily ever after.

Naturally.

Always end like that.

Couldn't we have a downbeat ending for once?

Well, as a matter of fact, there was a slight tragedy.

Really? Oh, tell us.

Deed sprained his thumb and Tara, poor girl.

A fate worse than death?

Worse.

Worse?

The shock.

Turned her brunette.

Your card, Steed.

It's astonishing.

What?

Rhonda.

She is rather tall, isn't she?

I don't know. I don't mean that.

I mean, after all this time, I haven't heard a squeak out of her.

I sincerely hope not.

Rhonda, squeaking?

That would mean skullduggery afoot.

No, no, I mean, I've never heard her say a word.

What word?

Or any word.

She's not the chatty type. I like her that way.

Yes, but you would have thought, say, once a month or so, that she'd say a

Bothers you?

Unaccountably, yes.

Ah.

Rhonda.

Say hello to Mr. Steed.

Hello, Mr. Steed.

That's her?

No. It was me.

Rhonda's lost her voice. I was practising my ventriloquial art.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, God look out, B, D, O.