All language subtitles for 608. All Done With Mirrors

(theme music playing)

- Man: Hello?
- Tobin?

- Speaking.
- Baines here.

I'm in the computer section.

You better get down here
right away.

- Why? What's wrong?
- It's George.

I think he's thrown
some sort of fit.

- Tobin.
- When did it happen?

About five minutes ago,
soon after I fed him.

He looks in a bad way,

and he was desperately trying
to tell me something.

I've tried all
the emergency procedures,

but he isn't responding.

George!

Attention.

I have a message

of the most...

vital importance.

Steed, I was on my way
to a party.

- Fancy dress?
- Yes.

I hope this is very important.

Very important, murder.

One of the best brains
in the country.

Oh.

Could set us back years.

That's a rather cold-blooded way
of looking at it.

Very cold-blooded fella.

- Tara: Computer.
- George.

Oblique Stroke XR40...

The finest electronic brain
in the country.

- Who's he?
- Dr. Ardmore.

He's a cybernetic surgeon.

No, there's nothing for it.

We're gonna have to operate.

But can you risk
moving him?

Operating is our only chance.

Now let's see.

I'll, um,
I'll perform it here.

Have the whole of this area
scrubbed and vacuumed.

I shall need two
technical nurses,

a standby programmer,
and an electrical anesthetist.

Oh, Dr. Ardmore,
this is Tara King.

She's on her way
to a fancy dress party.

Mr. Tobin, Mr. Baines.

- Tara: How do you do?
- Bad business, this.

Oh, senseless,
quite senseless.

It's the work of a psychopath.

12-bore shotgun, eh?

Yeah, both barrels,
close range.

Murder!
Cold-blooded murder!

Poor George never had a chance.

Was it... he,
working on any special project?

I don't think so.
Nothing strategic,
was it, Tobin?

No, just routine equations.

Uh, Baines fed them in.

- That's when he took sick.
- Huh?

George went haywire.

Thought he was goin'
to blow a fuse.

Ardmore: Well, I've never known
that happened before.

That was just after you fed
the equations in?

Baines: Yes.

Uh, can we by any chance
see the equations?

None at all.

They're locked away inside
George's memory by now.

But my original calculations
are at home.

Maybe I could reconstruct them
for you?

You don't own a dog,
do you?

- No.
- Well, let's reconstruct.

Better get scrubbed up, Doctor.

Huh? Oh, yes, yes.

Steed, you going to stay?

I can't leave poor ol' George
to face it alone.

Besides you might pop up
the answer to Baines' equation.

The lift's always out of order,
I'm afraid. Primitive.

But my apartment itself, aha,
that's another matter.

I designed it myself,
the purity of the right angle.

Not a curve anywhere.

Why, to have curves in my place
would be sacrilege.

Um, in that case,
perhaps I'd better...

No, no, the furnishings.

I don't like right-angled girls,

although I don't mind girls
with the right angle.

Ooh.

Only one more flight.

I hope this equation
of yours is worth it.

Oh, it's not mine.
I'm not that brilliant.

Sir Wilfred Pelley devises
the equations

and sets the problem
for George.

I just assemble them.

Sir Wilfred gave you
the problem?

Yes, I was up at the house
the other day.

He gave it to me then.

Hey!

(thumping)

(crackling)

How's the pulse?

Man:
A bit weak.

- But I can boost the voltage
when you're through there.
- I'm nearly finished.

I just have to open up
another three inches,

make the incision here.

(drilling)

Pulse erratic.
You haven't got long.

Pulse failing.
Can't hold it.

Switch over to pure AC.

Responding.

I don't think
he can take much more.

I'm nearly there.

(drilling)

Forceps.

Clamp.

Small cutters.

Failing.

Only a few more seconds.
Swab, nurse!

- Failing.
- Full power!

- Pincers.
- But he can blow a fuse!

Full power!

Almost through.

Can't hold this much longer.

All right, you can drop
to 250 volts.

I don't think there's
much more I can do now.

- How was it?
- Ooh, touch and go,
touch and go.

He's comatose.

It'll take electrical shock
therapy to bring him around now,

but at least I think I've saved
his memory circuits.

Electro-spasm!

Keep the voltage steady.

Pelley.

Oh, well, that's perfectly
understandable.

You see, Sir Wilfred Pelley
designed George XR40

and in moments of despair,
we always turn to our creator.

Steed:
Pelley... traitor.

Sir Wilfred Pelley
a traitor?

Well, let's look
at the facts.

It starts with the equation.

Pelley gave it to Baines,
who fed it into George.

Baines is dead...

and George is disabled,
perhaps for good.

Still doesn't add up.

- Unless.
- Right.

Well, does George
have judgment of his own?

I mean, can he interpret
facts for himself?

I don't quite know what
you're driving at.

Well, suppose Pelley
is a traitor, and suppose,

I don't know how, just suppose
he betrayed himself

in one of his equations.

It's fed into George and George
sees the implications.

George is going to tell
the world...

Watch out
for Sir Wilfred Pelley.

So George is attacked,

his mechanism
is ruined forever...

And Baines' too.

Not a bad theory, really.

It fits in with another factor,
Pelley.

Now he's on leave,
he's staying quietly at home,

but he flatly
refuses to come back

even in George XR's
time of need.

- You stay close to George.
- A bedside vigil.

I'm going to gate-crash
Sir Wilfred Pelley.

(doorbell rings)

Good morning, sir.

Good morning,
your master at home?

- Yes, Sir Wilfred
is at home, sir, but, uh...
- Yes?

Well, he has given instructions

he does not wish
to be disturbed.

He'll see me,
John Steed.

Yes, sir, but...

Uh, don't worry,
I'll take full responsibility.

Thank you very much, sir.

Excuse me.

A Mr. Steed,
Sir Wilfred.

I made Mr. Steed aware
of your instruction...

Entirely my fault,
Sir Wilfred. I insisted.

Steed?

From the Ministry.

M-ministry.

I-I-I'm seeing no one.

- But, Sir Wilfred.
- Just go away, please.

Steed: I don't think you fully
understand the implications.

I-I-I'm on holiday.
I'm-I'm resting.

It's about George XR40,
your pet project.

I don't wish to discuss it.

Excuse me, Sir Wilfred,
it's not my place to say this,

but this gentleman has driven
all the way from town.

We've always had a reputation
for hospitality, sir.

Oh, very well.

- Can I get you a drink, sir?
- That's very thoughtful.

It is a little early.

George XR, you said.

He's been shot,
you know that?

Yes, I heard about it.

Aren't you concerned?

Ardmore is working on it.
He's a g-good man.

Excellent, but he's not up
to your standard.

Get this straight, Steed.
I'm not giving up my holiday,

not even for G-George XR.

I worked on that project

for th-three years
without a break.

Before that,
five years at Harwell.

Now you, remember that.

This is an emergency.

It's always an emergency.

Is that your last word?

Well, I won't bother you again.

Good day, Sir Wilfred.

I'm very sorry, sir.

You did your best.
He seems upset.

Sir.

How long has he been drinking
like this?

Sir Wilfred is overstressed,
sir.

You're loyal anyway.

I think if your business
is not terribly urgent, sir,

Sir Wilfred really does need
some rest.

He really does need
to be left alone.

Yes, very loyal.

Man:
Steed was here.

I didn't t-te-tell him
anything.

Nevertheless,
he's suspicious.

You are a fool, Pelley,

feeding that information
into George.

- You are a fool.
- G-George has been
taken care of.

Temporarily.

They're operating,
repairing him now.

I'll have to stop George
from talking,

take him out of action.

You'll have to tell me
how to do it.

Miss King?

Just look at those
calculus circuits.

Aren't they magnificent,

capable of carrying out
2,000 calculations at once?

You just imagine
a shot disabled him.

Now from the moment
it was fired,

George could compute
the range, velocity,

mass, kinetic energy
and the impact ratio.

Only one thing
he couldn't do, really.

- What's that?
- Duck.

Having fun?

Well, she was saying yes
to something.

Doubtless.

- How's George?
- Oh, hanging on.

The last thing he computed
was two plus two equals five.

I'd always suspected that.

Ah, Dr. Ardmore,
what are the chances?

Well, the next few hours will
be critical, very critical.

We're feeding electricity
into him,

hoping that he'll respond,
but to be perfectly frank,

I am amazed that
he has held on so long.

You know, shock, amnesia,
multiple lacerations,

to say nothing
of severe internal injuries.

Still, things may be better
when Sir Wilfred arrives.

- He isn't.
- Hmm.

Full of the holiday spirit,
determined to keep it that way.

I'd like to see his file.

- Huh?
- Sir Wilfred Pelley's.

Well, I suppose Tobin
is the man for that.

The man for what?

Personnel files.

Certainly.
Who is it you want?

Sir Wilfred Pelley.

Certainly, get it for you.

This way.

Looks like Pelley's
turned crook.

Well, he's behaving
very suspiciously

and full of more
than the holiday spirit.

Here we are.

What's the old boy been up to?

Oh, it's just a routine check,
that's all, thank you.

Tobin, there's no point in us
all missing lunch, is there?

I mean, poor ol' George
won't be in a fit state

to talk for some time yet.

You run along.
I'll keep an eye on him.

If there should there be
any change or...

Oh, Tobin, will let us know
immediately.

(sizzling)

Looks as though
Sir Wilfred Pelley

is as clean as a whistle.

It looks.

Well, everything since the day
he was born and recently.

In charge of computers at Foley,
Berkshire and Mapleton.

In fact, a totally
unblemished character.

Hmm... but there
is something wrong.

He was frightened.

He definitely had something
to hide.

The way he turned his back
on poor George,

left him wounded,
defenseless.

Tobin you can go... Tobin!

Sound the alarm!

- Tobin!
- (alarm bell rings)

Come on, what happened?

Oh, oh,
someone behind me.

Oh, my head.

Doctor, quick!

He's been poisoned.

- Poisoned.
- Yes.

Acid poured into him,
about half a pint, I'd say.

You saw no one?

As I said,
I was working at the bench

and then suddenly...

it's all I remember.

Of course, the grounds
were searched immediately,

but whoever did it
had a head start.

That's it, then,
poor George.

No, not quite.
I have an idea.

- This is Fred.
- Is it?

Mark III.

George's ancestor
as it were,

but of course
by comparison with George

a half-witted,
empty-headed fool.

- A moron.
- What are you thinking?

I was thinking
of a transplant.

You see,
George's brain is destroyed,

but his memory circuits might,
just might, be unimpaired.

Now, if I were to take
Fred's brain and...

But it's never been done.

Oh, I know, but there's
a chance, just a chance.

Anything's worth a chance.

- I agree.
- It's impossible!

Well, maybe,
but why not give it a try?

I agree with Miss King.
Why not give it a try?

Come on!

We'll prepare
to operate at once.

Tobin, you've had quite
a day.

I won't expect you to stop.

Oh, no, no,
I want to help.

I want to be there
when you do it.

- How long will it take?
- Oh, several hours.

Well, I'll be back later.
You'll stay on.

Steed.

It looks as though my theory
could be right.

Someone's awfully anxious
to stop George talking.

I have a shrewd idea
of who that someone might be.

Pelley?

I'm gonna push him
a bit harder.

Offer him some bait,
see if he bites.

Steed, what kind of bait?

Me.

(doorbell rings)

- Oh, Mr. Steed.
- I'd like a word
with Sir Wilfred.

- Uh, sir, um...
- Oh, just a very quick word.

Well, if you'll just
wait here a minute.

Thank you.

- Sir Wilfred
will see you now, sir.
- Thank you.

Uh, how is he?

- Much the same.
- (clicks tongue)

Sorry to bother you again,
Sir Wilfred.

I wanted to be the first

to convey the good news
about George.

He's on the mend.

But that's not possible.

From the d-description
of the damage,

I'd have thought him
beyond repair.

Ardmore has come up
with a new approach,

so you'll get the answer
to your equation after all.

M-my equation?

The one you gave to Baines
to feed in.

What was the substance of that
by the way?

- What?
- The equation.

What was the problem
that you fed him?

Oh, it was something to do
with metal fatigue.

- I-I can't remember
the details.
- Oh, never mind.

I'll find out for myself
at firsthand.

You'll find out at firsthand
for yourself?

Yes.

Baines was a good man.
He was very thorough.

He kept a duplicate set of notes
in his apartment.

Well, I'll be on my way
to pick 'em up.

Good day, Sir Wilfred.

Duplicate set of notes.

Jacobs!

Woman: Jacobs!

Thank you.

Who's the lady friend?

It's... sir?

I don't want to put you
in an invidious position.

I know you're the soul
of discretion.

And I have served Sir Wilfred
all my working life, sir.

And doubtless very well, too.

You know,
you're the sort of chappie,

just like the dodo that
cracked its egg, extinct.

Oh, well.

Thank you, sir.

Steed, the man just leaving,

he's on his way to Baines'
apartment.

- I know the place well.
- Kill him.

- No!
- Follow him and kill him.

Your mistake started this thing,
now we have to finish it.

(whistles)

(whistles)

- He took the bait?
- Hook, line and sinker.

So what do we do now?
Send in the Marines?

No, not yet.
We've no real proof.

We don't know exactly what
Pelley's up to.

No, we've got to be more subtle,
someone inside the house.

Infiltration?
But how?

- Surely Pelley's got...
- Uncle Wilfy.

Pelley has a niece.
She's an American.

She's brunette,
about your age,

and Pelley hasn't seen her
for years.

- You want me to...
- I want you to.

Oh, but surely Uncle Wilfy
is gonna realize...

Oh, no, I think there's kind
of a resemblance.

Now, the last time that
Pelley saw her,

ain't she sweet,

- was exactly like that,
Prunella.
- Prunella.

And all the relevant details
about Prunella are in there.

Oh, by the way,

I should make friends
with the butler.

His name is Jason.
Very nice fella.

Where's the resemblance?

The knees.
Good luck.

Prunella.

Right.
Here we go.

Well?

Jacobs is dead.

Don't ask me how.
Steed, I imagine.

Then Steed is still alive?

All I know is
I saw Jacobs' body

being carried out
of the house.

I didn't stay around
to ask questions.

Jacobs is dead,
but Steed's alive.

Still alive!

Pull yourself together.

They'll find out.

They'll find out
and they'll burst in here...

They can only find out
if George talks,

if he blabs out
your information,

and we still have Tobin.

He'll prevent that.

(doorbell rings)

Yes, miss.

Jason.

Oh, but, of course,
you don't remember me.

Tell me, is that
old ghost still here?

You know, wasn't there
a story about a ghost

in the west wing
or somethin'?

Well, yes, there was some
local tale about it, uh...

Oh, I think I'm going
to love it here.

I beg your pardon, miss.

Tell me,
how is Uncle Wilfy?

- Uncle?
- Uncle Wilfy.

Sir Wilfred Pelley.

- Sir Wilfred's your uncle?
- But of course.

Don't tell me
you didn't get my letter.

But you must have,
I got the address from Dad

and I wrote it down
on an envelope very...

And I forgot to mail it.

- Oh, Prunella.
- Miss, um...

Prunella,
I'm his niece.

You see, I wrote him
this letter from America

saying I was coming over here

and I'd love to spend
a few days with him.

Well, never mind,
it'll be a surprise.

Tell me, is he home?

- Yes, miss, but...
- I can't wait to see him.

Is he in here?

Uncle Wilfy?
It is Uncle Wilfy.

Now surely you recognize me.

The good ol' Pelley knees,
I mean, the nose.

Prunella.

Prunella?

Oh, oh, yes.

Of course, Pru-Prunella.
This is a surprise.

Well, it really
wasn't meant to be.

What a beautiful place
you have here.

Really, it's... it's lovely.

Oh, I've so much
to tell you.

Mother sends her love.

- Ho-how is your mother?
- Oh, she's well.

Everyone's fine, fine.

May I introduce my niece,
Prunella, this is Miss...

- Loris.
- How do you do?

She-she's staying here.

- She-she's my...
- Helping your uncle.

Sort of general factotum,
correspondence,

finance, keeping hours.

Do you have time
to have tea with me?

Oh, well, I was hoping to stay
here for a few days.

- Stay?
- Why, isn't that
convenient for you?

- Well, I...
- But of course you must stay.

Have to promise to keep out of
your uncle's hair, though.

Of course.

He's been overworking recently.

Jason, put Miss Prunella
into the blue room.

If you will accompany me,
Miss Prunella.

Certainly.

I'll see you later,
Uncle Wilfy.

Yes, all right,
later, my dear.

We'll have a long chat.

Staying for a few days.

- Wha-what will you do now?
- Well, what do you think?

She's just a gi-girl,
an innocent girl.

Loris, I beg of you.

Well, our work here
is almost finished.

If we can manage to keep her
out of the way long enough.

Make sure she doesn't
stumble on anything.

Will that be all, miss?

Yes, thank you, Jason.

Vandalism!
Sheer vandalism!

How about the memory circuits?

Well, if the acid
has seeped that far,

there's no point
in continuing. Probe.

Torch.

Well?

Unmarked.

Still in perfect condition.

Then we're in luck.

There's still the next step.

There is still the transplant.

But if we succeed?

George will remember.

George will talk.

(door closes)

Wilfred: I'm so tired.

Terribly tired.

Loris: But we're near the end
now and you promised.

You promised us full details
of your work

on
The seek-and-destroy mechanism

of the antimissile system.

You promised full details,
Sir Wilfred.

What kind of range,
guidance ratio?

Wilfred: The direct equation

would be
nine stroke four seven.

Woman: Sir Wilfred,
Uncle Wilfy.

Minus GR

10 squared.

Now we're getting somewhere.

(door slams shut)

AC terminals.

- Check.
- DC terminals.

- Check.
- Rotary circuits.

- Check.
- Primary circuits.

What happens now?

Well, we have temporarily linked
Fred's brain to George,

but when we switch on,
George may reject Fred's brain.

It is the crisis point.

Start at 100 volts.

Switch on.

- Pulsation?
- Normal.

Well, push it up
to 250 volts.

Responding?

Responding.

The limit.

Full voltage.

This is the moment of truth.

Now he will either accept
or reject.

- (phone rings)
- Answer it!

Hello?

Hello, can I speak
to John Steed?

He's in theater
at the moment.

Well, tell him it's urgent.
It's Tara King.

One moment.

Response?

Normal.

All absolutely normal.

You've done it, sir!
You've done it.

- Masterly.
- Thank you.

What now?

Well, we make the temporary
connections permanent

and then George will be
a well computer again.

Mr. Steed,
a call from Miss King.

- Thank you.
- Come on!

Soldering iron,
flex, sutures!

- Hello?
- Hello, Steed,
I'm phoning from the house.

Isn't that taking
an awful risk?

I thought you ought to know,
now just listen.

Pelley's giving away secrets,

giving them away
by the mouthful.

- And there's a woman here.
- I suspected that.

I don't know what her
relationship is with Pelley,

what kind of hold
she has over him,

but she carries
a hypodermic in her handbag.

All getting very complex.

Well, it may be simpler
than you think.

And there's someone else here,

someone hiding behind
a locked door.

- The mastermind.
- That's my guess.

Well, I intend finding out.

- Now look,
don't go charging in!
- Call you later.

- Tara, Ta...
- (dial tone)

Come on, Tobin,

you handle
the mandatory circuits.

Certainly.

- Steed, have you gone...
- Stark raving mad?!

- Tobin.
- Sabotaged the whole operation.

But... but why?

Well, perhaps
he can tell us.

Not for some hours,
he won't.

What on earth
did you hit him with?

With a great deal of venom.

I suppose George
is the only who can help us.

Is he badly damaged?

Ah, nothing we can't put right
fairly quickly.

- Let's get started.
- Come on, quick.

Perhaps he's the only one who
can provide us with the answer.

It's no good, Steed.

I just don't believe
your theory,

Pelley working
with the other side.

- That's the way it looked.
- Why should he?

Ideology, bitterness,

maybe you worked him too hard.

That stint at Harwell,
weeks without a break.

Uh, maybe.

Wait a minute,
you... you said Harwell.

- Pelley was never at Harwell.
- Are you sure?

I'm certain.
He was never there.

That's funny.
I'm sure he said Harwell.

In fact,
I know he said Harwell,

so he must have been lying

- or he was trying to tell...
- Steed!

Steed!
He started to talk.

Jason: (clears throat)

- Oh, Jason.
- Can I help you, miss?

Shh, not so loud.
What's in there?

It's just a cellar.

Have you been
in there recently?

No, I don't think,
but, um...

Listen, Jason,
I'm gonna have to trust you.

Now, you know Uncle Wilfy

has been acting
a bit strangely lately.

I know he's been overworking.

Oh, I think
it's more than that

and I think the answer's
in there.

I've already told you,
just an empty cellar,

hardly been used...

Well, I've got to open
it up.

Now you keep watch,
all right?

I'm beginning to suspect that
you are an impostor.

That's right.

I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to deceive you.

I had to get in here somehow.

Please don't apologize,
miss.

You see, I am an impostor too.

Help me.

I am being held a prisoner
in my own house.

I'm being drugged
and interrogated daily.

Systematically they are milking
every secret from me.

My staff are being
held as hostages.

They will kill them
if I do not cooperate.

Tobin is in with them.
Tobin is a traitor.

But the ringleader,
the man behind it all is...

The man who is posing
as Jason, my butler.

Jason! Tara.

What a brilliant bit
of cybernetics!

I sent her in there.
I told her to trust Jason.

Pelley fooled them
into believing that

it was a routine equation

and then George just converted
it into ordinary speech.

Brilliant!
Good ol' George!

What about her?

How are you doing with him?

A few fine details
and we're through.

- Keller.
- Sir?

It's a dry night.

That summerhouse,
it's wooden, dry as tinder.

If somebody was in there,

someone careless
with matches...

No, no, you can't!

Carry on, Keller.

(blows)

No, no, no.

Drop it.

Hands behind your back.

Chin out.

Tara, Tara.

Ah, my prince
on his fiery steed.

No an asbestos-clad Steed.

An un-inflammable,
un-fiery steed.

- They were going to burn me.
- Yes, just like Joan of Arc.

Come on.

- That's the lot?
- Everything he knows.

Oh, and you?

Then let's move.

Well, what about him?

Keller's started a fire
in the garden.

No reason why it shouldn't
spread to the house.

Yes, fire is so very cleansing,
don't you think?

Keller put this in the car.

So what's holding you up,
man?

- I am.
- Steed.

You expect to still pass,
one man?

- My strategy.
- Strategy?

I'm relying on a surprise
attack, from the rear.

Well, that's the way
to win wars.

Let's attend to the prisoners
and the wounded.

- Hello, hello, hello.
- Shh, careful.

What are you doing?

On the verge of
a major breakthrough.

I didn't know
you were a physicist.

It has nothing to do
with physics.

- Well, can I help?
- Hand me the scotch.

- Scotch.
- A thimble full.

We're nearly there.

Nearly where?

They allowed me to put a problem
into George Oblique Stroke XR40.

I asked him to give me
the recipe

for the most deliciously
potent cocktail in the world.

And he gave you the answer?

He hiccupped it up
in four seconds flat.

Do you realize that
would take 500 bartenders

- four years...
- Licensing house permitting.

To accomplish what George did
in four seconds?

- Mm.
- Final ingredient, an olive.

(explosion)

What now?

- This.
- Ah, and this?

Goes straight onto the
top secret restricted list.

Whoops!

(theme music plays)