All language subtitles for 625. Love All

(theme music playing)

(honky-tonk piano playing)

Put an edge on this

like you've
never seen before, sir.

Stroke that way,
stroke that way,

little polish.

Fine steel, this, sir.

Yeah, very fine,

like a surgeon's scalpel.

Thank you, sir.
Thank you very much.

Steed:
Welcome, gentlemen.

My name is John Steed.

Mr. Haller,
Mr. Straddlestoff,

Mr. Valarti, Mr. Grunner,

may I welcome you on behalf
of the British government.

Has a steam pipe broken
or something?

Eh?
Oh, that's fog.

That's fog, Mr. Haller.

We still lead the world
in that department.

Now I do want your stay to be
a happy and secure one,

so if you are
in any trouble,

all you have
to do is to contact me.

- Good-bye.
- No, no, no.

(speaking foreign language)
Steedski.

- (speaking foreign language)
- I apologize for the accent,

but you understand
what I mean.

Now there's a car waiting for
you to take you to your hotel.

(glass shatters)

Oh!

Mr. Haller, Valarti,
Mr. Straddlestoff.

And where is Mr. Grunner?

What?

Oh, I don't know.
I thought he was following us.

- See them back to the hotel.
- What?

I'll try and find him.

(speaking foreign language)

Woman: Heather,
lucky white heather,

lucky white heather.

Who will buy?

Please, Stablé Mews.

Lucky white heather, sir?

Stablé Mews.

Stable Mews.

Right over there,
sir.

(speaking foreign language)
Thank you too much.

- Hello.
- Lucky white heather.

(honky-tonk piano playing)

(doorbell rings)

- Good-bye.
- Good-bye.

Steedski, Steedski,
Stablé Mews.

Oh, yes, Mr. Steed
lives here,

but he's not in
at the moment.

Pip pip, old chap.

- Uh, yes, won't you come in?
- Thank you very much.

You see, he's not here at
the moment, Steed, Steedski.

Steedski!

(speaking foreign language)

Now he's not here,
and he might not be back.

He might be delayed
by the fog.

Fog, fog.
Fog.

Lovely weather we're having
for time of year.

Good-bye.

What's your name?

Name... uh.

My name is Tara King.

- Me, Tara King.
- King?

King, King!

- Buckingham Palace.
- Buckingham Palace.

This could go on forever.

You see, Steed has gone
to meet

a very important
foreign delegation,

and he...
The Disarmament Committee.

Are you a member of
the Disarmament Committee?

Wait a minute, come here.

- (speaking foreign language)
- No.

Now...

Disarmament Committee,
you?

(speaking foreign language)

Good!
Now you sit down there...

- (speaking foreign language)
- No!

You sit down there,
and I'll go and see Mother.

Yes?
Now I'll find Steed.

Steedski!
(speaking foreign language)

Or something.

- Right. Good-bye.
- Hello.

Mother!
Mother!

I'm here.

Oh, Mother,
I just left Steed's apartment,

and there's this man
there waiting for him.

Foreign fellow,
speaks no English?

- Why, yes.
- Oh, I shouldn't worry.

Steed has gone to collect him.
You missed him by seconds.

Oh, thanks, Mother.

(telephone rings)

Good-bye.

(speaking foreign language)

(garbled speech)

Woman: Who will buy?
Who will buy?

Lucky white heather, sir?

Lucky white heather.

(speaking foreign language)

Bless you, sir.

(speaking foreign language)

Man: (screams)

(hoofbeats)

A beard, top hat
and cape.

And a cricket bag.

A Victorian swordstick,
I'd say.

That ties in
with the Hansom cab.

Yes, the Hansom cab.
I'd forgotten about that.

You know, this has
all the makings

of an international
incident.

Grunner, a revered member
of the Disarmament Committee,

only been in the country
a half an hour and...

Mother, Tara,
no sign of Grunner.

Grunner has been found.

Really?
Where?

Gunthorpe Street.

Mother: No doubt, Steed,
as a student of crime,

you will recall
Gunthorpe Street.

Well, naturally.

It was the scene of
the Gaslight Ghoul murders.

When was it?

October, November 1888.

And we're just entering
the month of November now.

Can you recall any other facts
about those murders?

Of course.
They never found the ghoul,

and he always got away
in a Hansom cab.

And the weapon he used?

A swordstick,

a Victorian swordstick.

Tara found Grunner's body.

She will show you
exactly where.

It'll be safer
in there, Steed.

(gasps)

So now we know how,
when and where.

Can I have my sword?

- We still don't know why.
- Or who.

Oh, you've already
found that out.

Top hat, beard, cape,

carrying a cricket bag,
Hansom cab, whatever.

You don't believe me,
do you?

If the Gaslight Ghoul
was still riding around,

he would be, oh, I'd say,
150 years old by now.

Oh, it's no good.
We'll never find him in the fog.

Well, at least,
we're not left empty-handed.

- Has it got a label?
- Yeah, look.

Mask and Face Theatrical
Costumiers, 15 Corder Street,

what they call in the trade
a clue.

- You better follow it up.
- What are you gonna do?

I'm gonna find out where
this came from.

Man:
Knives to grind,

knives to grind.

(indiscernible)

Knives to grind.

(doorbell rings)

What do you want
at this time of night?

I'm returning some of
your property.

Bring it back tomorrow.

Oh, no, I can't do that.

All right, all right,
you better come in.

You theatricals
have no sense of time.

All this fog is bad
for my chest.

What costume is it then?

Well, I was hoping
you'd be able to tell me.

I found it in the street.

She found it in the street.

Gunthorpe Street,
to be precise.

That's a coincidence.

- That's where the Gaslight
Ghoul committed...
- His first murder.

- Correct.
- But I don't think
it's been lying there

for the past 80 years.

No, no, no, of course not,

but it is part of one
of our Gaslight Ghoul outfits.

You have more than one?

Oh, yes,
very popular line, Miss.

The macabre element, you know.

Any way of telling
which outfit this belongs to?

Of course.

Every garment is numbered.

Here we are.

This is number seven.

I don't suppose your records
would show who hired it.

Yes, it's all in the book.

Let's see now.

The addresses
aren't in this book,

but we should find the...

(chuckles)
There we are,

Mr. C. Osgood.

Dr. Watson.

Mr. Holmes, what brings you
to this neck of the woods?

Just followed the trail.

- All roads lead to Rome.
- So it appears.

- Osgood's toga?
- Part of it.

- Yes?
- Ah, Mr. Osgood back yet?

Back?
He hasn't been out, sir.

Are you sure?

He told me he was
going to bed early.

And he's there now?

As far as I know, sir.

Then we'd like to see him.

I don't know about that, sir.

He doesn't like
to be disturbed.

Do you recognize this?

Why, yes.

It looks like part of
his Gaslight Ghoul costume.

Perhaps you'd be good enough
to check for us.

- Come in.
- Thank you.

Mr. Osgood?

Well, there's
a strange thing.

Not here?

No, sir, and I never
heard him go out.

Is he wearing
his Gaslight Ghoul outfit?

I'll just see.

Thank you.

The old curiosity shop.
Hello.

He moved.

"Hundred guineas reward
for information leading"

to the arrest of the person
known as the Gaslight Ghoul,

"perpetrator of many vile
and grisly murders."

Steed, what year did
the Gaslight Ghoul

commit his first
crime?

- 1888, why?
- Look.

His costume's
not there, sir.

So I suppose
he must be wearing it.

Ah, it's you again, sir.

We'll soon put an edge
on this for you, sir.

Restore the luster for you.

There we are, sir,

as sharp and as keen
as ever...

again, sir.

(piano playing)

- (speaks foreign language)
- Evening.

- Man: (screams)
- (music stops)

(piano plays)

Thank you.

- (footsteps)
- Somebody coming.

Plan 14.

Subsection D, Gaslight Ghoul.

(footsteps)

Mr. Osgood.

- You again.
- The proverbial bad penny.

Is it incumbent upon you
to be so rough?

Better safe than sorry.
Have a look in the bag.

- Well?
- Hmm, quite
an interesting assortment.

- Swords?
- Sandwiches.

Ham, cheese, lettuce.

If you're some species
of cutpurse,

you're welcome
to my wallet.

I detest violence.

Seems we're at
cross purposes, Mr. Osgood.

Let's give you a hand.

Glad to hear,
upon my life, I am.

Why were you running away
in Gunthorpe Street?

Well, did you expect me
to do otherwise?

Some dissolute dog
and his accomplice,

advancing menacingly
towards me in a dark alley.

Why did you attack me?

Well, we thought you were
the Gaslight Ghoul.

Oh, I see.

(laughs)

How exceedingly droll.

May we share the joke?

My card.

Charles H. Osgood,
Gaslight Ghoul Club.

Formed to investigate
the unsolved murders

of the Gaslight
Ghoul.

Bit late in the day,
don't you think?

Well, the identity of the ghoul
has remained a source

of constant fascination
through the years, Miss King.

Tonight, it seems
he stalks again

through the alleys of
the East End.

It seems...
with somebody else's weapon.

Where on earth
did you get that?

- Gunthorpe Street.
- When?

Tonight after the murder.

- But it's mine.
- I know.

Can you explain it?

Well, I didn't even
know it was missing.

It's kept in the club's
Black Museum.

Then any of the members could
have taken it?

You're surely not suggesting
that one...

No, all we're suggesting

is that you take more
personal care

of your possessions,
Mr. Osgood.

Have a good night.

Good night, sir,
Mr. Steed.

I'm obliged to you.

Was it a good idea to leave
the sword with him?

- I doubt if he's our man.
- Why?

No murderer
in his right mind

would return to the scene
of the crime an hour later.

Man: (screams)

(hoofbeats)

The Gaslight Ghoul Club?

Society of harmless eccentrics.

- Harmless?
- So far.

- You were thinking of joining?
- Steed: Yes.

But it won't be easy.
Restricted membership.

My great Aunt Florence will
smooth the way.

She kept a diary.

Did she?

No, she didn't.
I made it up.

It contains an account of
a Gaslight Ghoul murder,

hitherto
undiscovered.

It goes something like this...

"Twas the very witching hour
of midnight..."

"And I passed
a disheveled maiden

of no more than
17 summers."

"And she was hurrying
in the direction

of Great Tower Street."

"At the entrance to the Saddle
of Mutton Public House."

"A monster in a black beard,
a top hat, and a cape,

carrying
a cricket bag."

"Dragged his victim
into Millers Yard,"

her bloodcurdling scream

"echoed over
the cobbled streets."

Mother, I don't suppose
we need to take it...

"As his knife
flashed in the gaslight..."

Mother, we need to take...

"Her crumpled body
fell like a broken doll

upon the place beneath."

Mother.

I'm sorry, Steed.
I was carried away.

It'll be delivered
to your apartment

within the hour.

How is your breaking
and entering?

Hmm. Rusty.

- Here's a chance
to brush it up.
- Where?

Home of
Mr. Geoffrey Armstrong,

president of
the Gaslight Ghoul Club.

And what am I looking for?

I have no idea.

- Well, that could
be difficult.
- I know,

but as my Aunt Clara
used to say...

"Life is not
a bowl of cherries."

I didn't know you'd met her.

Well, your aunts are all
so predictable.

But where are you going?

Well, as they always say,
life is not a bowl of cherries.

If you can't beat them,
join them.

All that glitters
is not gold.

What's that?

Steed: My entry card.

Bearded in the den.

May I direct your attention
to the notice outside?

These are private premises.

So I should hope.

I'm not in the habit of
frequenting public houses.

No.

When I say private,
I mean exclusive.

Oh, quite right.

We don't want any Tom, Dick,
or Harry wandering in do we?

- "We"?
- We members.

I didn't know the club
was open for new membership.

- Well, didn't poor old Charles
put you in the picture?
- Charles?

Charlie Osgood,
he's dead, you know.

Yes, we just heard.
Tragic news, tragic.

Ah, well, it's an ill wind
and all that.

Here I am.

- Well, Mister...
- Steed, John Steed.

Steed, perhaps you'd like
to explain why.

To drop a bombshell.

Ah, a bombshell.

This, my favorite
auntie's diary,

page 194, paragraph two.

Mm-hmm.

My dear fellow,

this is a fantastic revelation!

Yes, it is, isn't it.
I thought you'd be interested.

Interested?
Another Ghoul murder?

This will give the old club
a new lease of life.

Gentlemen,
this is Mr. Steed,

who has unearthed a tenth
Gaslight Ghoul murder.

Would you like to sit down?

Thank you.

The club was first founded
about 80 years ago

after the first
Ghoul murders.

When it became apparent

the police were
getting nowhere,

several amateur detectives
decided to form a society

to bring the murderer
to justice.

- And you're carrying on
the good work?
- Yes.

Of course, nowadays the chances
of discovering anything new

are remote, but the motto
of the club is...

Never say die.

Geoffrey: Ah, Travers.

Meet our new member,
Mr. Steed.

Mark Travers, our secretary
and black sheep.

- Always glad to welcome
a fresh face.
- How do you do?

Mr. Travers
treats the society

with a little less respect
than one could wish.

Well, it doesn't do to get
too involved.

One must keep a sense
of proportion.

Come along and I'll show you
the nasty things

in our woodshed.

It's a cozy little place,
isn't it?

Right out of the pages
of my favorite author.

Edgar Allan Poe would have
approved of this.

Quite a home from home.

Take a look at this.

Some of these figures

are remarkably
life-like, aren't they?

- Gave me quite shock, sir.
- Me, too.

Now, Wellbeloved, this is
Mr. Steed, a new member.

- Pleased to meet you, sir.
- How do you do?

Wellbeloved is the curator
of the museum.

Now this'll interest you,
Steed.

What do you think of that?

- Absolutely ripping.
- Victorian scalpel.

They don't make them
like that anymore.

I should hope not.

Can you imagine that
in the wrong hands?

Clean, quick, and efficient.

19th century dueling pistols,
aren't they beauties?

Depends which way
you're looking at them.

Guaranteed accurate
at 50 paces.

Hello.

Something missing?

Swords and some of them
quite valuable.

- Wellbeloved.
- Yes, sir.

- Have you seen this?
- Gracious.

- When did you last
check the swords?
- This morning.

They were all present
and correct then.

Then they must have been stolen
earlier this evening.

I don't see how.

Sir Geoffrey was here
all the time.

Rowley,
where is the president?

- Gone home.
- When?

Ten minutes ago,

sent his apologies.

Does Sir Geoffrey often
dash off like this?

It happens quite often.
He is permanently on call.

You know how it is
with these surgeons.

Perhaps you'd like to explain
what you're doing.

Just admiring your toys.

But they are not toys for
little girls to play with.

Just when I was having
such a good time.

Now put them down.

There's a good girl.

- I'm a ghoul!
- Steed.

Didn't fool you, eh?

No, I'd recognize
you anywhere.

How?

Oh, the nape of the neck,
unmistakably primitive.

That's a family
characteristic.

- All the Steeds have it.
- Oh.

It's a bit hard on
the Steed girls, though.

Did you find out anything
at Sir Geoffrey's place?

No, just that the furniture
is breakable.

- Trouble?
- Nothing a healthy girl
couldn't handle.

Why the disguise?

The Gaslight Ghoul Club.

That's the standard kit.

Oh, so Auntie's diary
worked a treat.

They welcomed me
with open arms.

- There's been another murder.
- Anyone we know?

A chap called Valarti,

another member of the World
Disarmament Committee.

- Where?
- Near the scene
of the other killing.

Several people say that they
heard a Hansom cab driving away.

Well, I mean, how many Hansom
cabs can there be in London?

We can only find out.
Here's the address.

Bartholomew Sanders,
Conveyances of Quality.

It's a Hansom cab
hire service.

It should be
a mine of information.

- What's that?
- These are the remaining
two names

of the Disarmament
Committee.

I've got to get to them
before the ghoul.

Morning, Mr. Haller.

Not much chance
of a cab tonight.

I walk.

Well, I'll see about
that later.

Steed: Excuse me.

Can I help you, sir?

I'm looking for
Mr. Haller.

Oh, you only just
missed him, sir.

He went down that passageway
a minute or so ago.

Mr. Haller?

Mr. Haller!

- (screams)
- Mr. Haller?

- Mr. Haller.
- Thank heaven you come.

- You saved my life.
- (door slams)

- For the moment.
- (hoofbeats)

Now, look, I'll send
my security people to you,

but I think it would
be wise until then

to go to your hotel.

Surrounded by bright lights
and lots of people.

She's a little beauty,
Miss King.

Trim and easy to handle.

Oh, I'm sure she is,
Mr. Sanders.

It's just that I've got
my heart set on another one.

Oh, what does she look like?

Oh, that's the trouble.
I haven't seen her.

You've set your heart on
something you haven't seen?

Oh, but I've heard her.

She just sounds so luxurious.

The door shut with
such a satisfying click.

Hmm, well, that's not much of
a description to go on.

Here.

- Anything like that?
- No.

- What about that?
- No.

- Ring a bell?
- I'm afraid not.

It's obviously
still out on hire.

Well, where did you hear it?

Just about everywhere really.

I just can't find anyone
who's actually seen it.

- That's odd.
- It is, isn't it?

You'd have thought something
as large as a Hansom cab

would be difficult
to miss.

I can't see how I can
help you, Miss King.

I see.

Well, if you do hear
of any cab owners

who've been driving
around an awful lot lately,

will you let me know?

- With pleasure.
- Thank you.

Never seen it,
only heard it.

Only heard it?

Oh, good evening, sir.

Sanders here.

I'm sorry to trouble you
at this time of night.

You remember that cab you hired
from me the other day?

You wanted it for a special
purpose, you said.

Do you mean to tell me he drove
away in a horse-drawn vehicle

- and you couldn't catch him?
- I can't understand it.

He seemed to disappear
into thin air.

I don't know what
the department's coming to.

- Any suspects?
- Too many.

All the members of the Gaslight
Ghoul Club for a start.

What do you know about
Sir Geoffrey Armstrong?

Eminent surgeon,
served as a fighter pilot

in the Battle of Britain,

politically extreme
right wing

and a member of
the SADOB.

Eh?

The Society Against
the Disintegration

of the British Empire.

- Interesting.
- Why?

What would constitute to him
a threat to the British Empire?

Defense pacts,
trade agreements.

Disarmament conferences?

Yes, I see what you mean.

I suggest you put
a round-the-clock guard

on the other
delegates.

Power thinking, Steed.

And I'll keep an eye
on Sir Geoffrey.

Travers: It's not cricket,
is it, Steed?

Is it, Steed?

No, it isn't,
but I'm a rowing man.

What were you looking for?

A wolf in wolf's clothing.

Burning the midnight oil,
eh, Sir Geoffrey?

What?

Oh, hello, Steed.

I didn't recognize you.

It's time you grow a beard.

- Successful operation?
- Beg your pardon?

The one you were called away
to perform.

No complications?

Oh, no, no,
went like clockwork.

I just came back here to relax

half an hour before
going home, you know.

Our profession plays
absolute havoc on the nerves.

Oh, I can imagine.

Well, I'm off.

- You're going?
- Soon.

I think I'll just soak up
the atmosphere a bit.

A brave man.

I wouldn't care to be left
alone in here for a night.

Lock after you go,
will you?

And don't forget
to turn the gas off.

And fog.

Of course.

- Good night, Steed.
- Good night.

(hoofbeats)

(phone rings)

Hello?

Oh, it's Sanders here,
Miss King.

You asked me to telephone you

if I discovered anything
about your elusive cab.

Yes?

Well, I think I can
explain the mystery,

only it's a little more
complicated than you thought.

Could you come 'round
and see me?

Be there in five minutes.

Oh, it's you, sir.

Come to hire another...

(gasps)

Mr. Sanders?

Mr. Sanders?

(door slams and hoofbeats)

Man:
Where to, miss?

Oh, Steed.
What are you doing here?

Making sure the fox doesn't
break cover.

- Oh.
- Any news?

- Yes, Sanders.
- Dead?

Yes.

Found this in his garage.

Mm-hmm, looks as though
we're barking up the right tree.

Now are you sure
Sir Geoffrey's at home?

He arrived
a few minutes ago.

(door creaks)

Who's there?

The next thing
I knew I was lying

on some very hard cobblestones
and there was no sign of him.

So you waited for him here?

Well, he must've be on
his way to deal with Sanders

when you lost him.

When you arrived,
he ran away.

That fellow has
the luck of the...

Shh.

Steed: He's got some more
business at hand.

My car's down there.
Take it and follow him.

- I'll look around
the house.
- Right.

Sir Geoffrey.
What happened?

Stabbed.

Do you see who did it?

No, but he took a file
from the cabinet.

What file?

See which number
is missing.

One, two, three,
four, five, seven.

Six is missing.

What was in it?

Names and addresses
of club members.

And professions?

Yes,
but what do you mean?

His profession could have been
the clue to his motive.

Yes.

He said something curious.

What was it?

Said, "That's the cure
for your fever."

Fever?

Fever, fever,
of course.

Is there a duplicate?
Is there a duplicate file?

- At the club.
- I was afraid of that.

We haven't much time.
I must get you a doctor.

Can you find out who did it?

I know who did it.

- Lucky white heather, lady?
- No, thank you.

(door slams and hoofbeats)

(screams)

(screams)

(gasps)

I warned you not
to interfere.

I can't allow anyone to come
between me and my objective.

The disruption of
the Disarmament Conference?

Of course.

Why? What did you think
you'd achieve?

Protection of my livelihood,
armaments, guns, ammunitions,

all the trappings of war.

These fools want
to disarm the world.

A bunch of wooden-headed
idealists

who make me as extinct
as the dodo.

I couldn't have that,
could I?

I'm conducting my own fight
for survival.

But this club
is a perfect cover.

Until you and Steed appeared.

(hoofbeats)

Steed!

Ah, not so good at long range,
eh, Travers?

- We shall see.
- We will.

But I don't think you'll be
curing my fever.

You know you gave yourself away
when you said

that you could cure
Sir Geoffrey's fever for him.

How does the poem go?

"The lingering illness
is over at last."

" And the fever called
'living' is conquered."

That's it!
That's it.

Edgar Allan Poe.

I remember you saying that Poe
was your favorite author.

Not so effective at long range,
aren't I?

I have another poem,
"The Couplet".

"Contrive to stay alive."

Kazorkia of the Russian
Imperial Guard

taught me the saber, Travers.

He was unique.

He used to fire darts,

faster than the eye
could see.

Instinctive reflex
training he used to call it.

If those darts stuck,
they hurt.

I wasn't often hurt.
Now that's a problem.

Easily solved.

Ah! Phew.

Well, I saved you from
a fate worse than...

- Do you mind?
- Not at all.

I think I prefer you
with an umbrella.

Oh, Steed, you're a gentleman
and a scholar.

Thank you very much.

How's your ankle?

I just can't bear traps.

Ooh.

- All right?
- Hmm.

I'll take you out
into the...

Oh,
bright clear daylight.

No fog.

Wow, that's marvelous.
Makes life a lot easier.

For everyone.
Hey, including Mother.

Oh, poor, Mother.

Wonder how
she's getting on.

Steed: Tara?

Over here, Steed.

Steed:
Is your glass full?

I can't see.
Wait a minute.

No, it's empty.

I'll recharge it for you.

I can't seem to locate
the drinks table.

Straight ahead.

- But look out for...
- (shatters)

my favorite china ornament.

Ah, here we are.

Pity about your
air-conditioning system.

Great pity.

Going into reverse on a foggy
day like this.

Now where are you?

Tara: Over here.

Keep talking, keep talking.
I'll soon find you.

What shall
we talk about?

Oh, that reminds me,
Mother.

I wonder if his navigation
systems work.

Ooh, undoubtedly.

- Mother is bound to...
- (horn honks,
engine approaches)

Mother: That's it,
Rhonda.

Left here,
then on we go.

We're on
the home straight now.

(horn honks, tires squeal)

(glass clatters)

(horn honks)

- (glass shatters)
- Steed: Tara?

- Yes?
- I think you left
the front door open.

(theme music plays)