Original subtitles

Any news from the Kyber Pass, Colonel?

Oh, well, don't fret, sir. We can always send for the 7th Lancer.

Ah, yes, yes.

Stout fellas.

Oh, yes, sir.

Good evening, Mr. Slade.

Oh, good evening, sir.

The natives are restless tonight, sir.

Then it's time to run out the flag.

Your nightcap, sir.

Oh.

Nothing like a glass of good warm milk, hmm?

You got the information?

Right, Elgar.

Yes, Colonel.

Today, England.

Tomorrow, the Empire.

Tomorrow, sir?

Tomorrow.

Whom the bell tolls.

It tolls for thee, Mr. Beaumont.

Move in, Mr. Slate.

Hi, sir.

Eccentricity is no crime in England, Mr. Waverley.

And you can prove nothing more.

The way you play the game, Mr. Beaumont, is whether you win or lose.

And you've just lost, I think.

Our witness will identify you as number one thrush man in England. And our

testimony will convict you of treason. Miss Dancer.

You can drop the disguise now.

Yes, sir.

An admirable disguise.

Yes, a lot of blood, sweat and tears.

Well, Mr. Beaumont, I'll see you in court.

I doubt that very much, Miss Donser.

Thrush also has its master of disguise.

Our top executioner is known as the man of a thousand faces.

You'll be seeing him, but you won't know it until it's too late.

Get inside the pub.

Stay with Waverly. I'll go after him.

1, 2, 3, 4.

Did you catch the peglet?

It disappeared.

Then who are you fighting with?

He's in the drink.

I doubt if it were the man with the thousand faces.

Just a dockside footpad, more likely.

Anyway, we'll put out a... put out a description on him.

What did he look like?

Well, there was something vaguely familiar about him, sir.

As a matter of fact, he was quite good looking.

Let's be professional, Mr. Slate.

Stand by for a fugitive report.

Now, can you give me a description of him? What was he wearing?

All right, sir.

He was wearing flared hip boots, a sword on the sash, a yellow tunic, a big

plumed hat on long curls, a white lace collar and cuffs. All right, all right.

Never mind.

Disregard.

That was just the drill.

All right, Mr. Slade.

Your work on the Beaumont case entitled you to a little hysteria.

We understand.

But I'm not hysterical.

Oh, here's our man.

Chief, I'd like you to meet Miss Dancer.

How do you do? And Mr. Mark Slade.

Your Lordship.

Eh? Oh, my Lordship.

Oh, you heard correctly, my Lord.

You just became the 14th Earl of Maddington.

You're pulling my leg.

I'm a sixth cousin or something. Last time I checked, there were seven people

between me and the title.

Four as of last Whitsuntide. They have been dwindling at the rate of one a

in a series of unfortunate accidents.

I have here the papers of transfer, including the deed to Maddington Manor.

Who's that?

sworn there was somebody standing in that hallway.

I can't tell you how timely Mr. Sleeve's windfall is.

His nerves are badly in need of a rest.

You know, with all your hallucinations and hysteria, I'm going to miss you.

Miss me?

I wouldn't leave you alone and unprotected at a time like this. I

your reaction, Mr. Sleeve.

And I approve of your loyalty.

Actually, can you think of a better place to hide out before the trial?

Tucked away in the country, days shooting now and again, bit of fishing

there, leisurely English country life, and safe from thrush.

Be it ever so humble.

Solid.

Real hunk of English history.

Time -enduring.

They don't make them like this anymore.

And no, the insurance companies won't let them.

You Americans just don't dig, do you?

We've been expecting you, my lord.

I'm Trico.

Trico, this is Mr. Arthur, my houseguard.

The

family's in

the drawing room, my lord.

If you'll just follow me.

Come in.

How do

you do?

Dear Cousin Mark, I'm Lady Bramwich.

My son, the Right Honourable Cecil Bradwich. You have my complete sympathy,

boy.

Don't let's dwell in tragedies.

Mark just got here. He doesn't want to be bored with the curse of the

Maddingtons.

How quaint.

Perhaps you've inherited a ghost too.

No,

I don't believe any of that supernatural nonsense.

Oh, sure.

Some say it's just an old mad dog what lives on the moors. Others say it's your

great -grand -uncle Toby who got lost in a bog.

I'll buy the mad dog.

Good grief, it's Uncle Toby.

If you'd stir your lazy bones, Treacle, you'd close the shutters.

There's a storm brewing.

Uncle Toby.

I just brought Miss Dancer down here for a well -earned rest, Lady Bramish.

Never mind all that, Your Lordship.

I'm Heathcliff, your tenant.

And he is hoping that you'll live long enough to mend the flaming leak in the

roof of me blasted cottage.

As next in line to the title, I'll second that.

Yes, well, we'll talk about that.

Heathcliff.

You see, April, that's a logical explanation for everything.

Call the blooming aristocracy.

Ask them to spend a penny to keep a poor bloke dry.

They go into a blank stare.

That's the man I fought on the dock.

What an interesting -looking man.

Who is he?

The first Earl.

He died at sea in 1682, fighting for the crown.

What about me leaky roof?

One more good storm and I'll die at sea.

I saw what I saw.

Don't be ridiculous, Mark.

He's been dead and gone for 300 years.

He might be dead, but don't count on him being gone.

Why do you think I'm the last tenant?

He drove them all away, he did.

of them all away.

All right, Treacle, I can manage.

Then I'll help the... Then I'll help the lady.

That's all right, Treacle, she can manage too.

Yes, my lord Nice to have

you with us

I'm a very practical man and I don't believe in ghosts, but I don't want you

involved if I'm wrong.

Oh, your nerves are really sharp.

Well, let Waverley decide that.

Now what's wrong?

I left my gun and communicator on that table.

Of course you did.

Do you want to use mine?

You're doing it again.

these problems if you remember where you put things there's a place for

everything and everything in its place

mark

i

think we have a problem

Seems as though your lordship has inherited a thief, too.

Do you think somebody's trying to scare us out of here?

I think he succeeded.

On the other hand, looks as if someone's trying to keep us here.

They both know the deduction down the drain?

We'll fool them. Let's walk.

I say, chaps, if you're thinking of a stroll, watch out for the bottomless

Don't want you to join Uncle Toby, you know.

I think I'd rather take my chance than the war.

Maybe that's what they want us to do.

Well, it looks like time for a logical decision.

Heads, we stay.

Tails, we go.

Does it matter? Even you and I know enough to come.

Hello? Uncle Toby?

Why don't you look for him in the bottomless bog?

Operator?

Operator, I'd like to make a call to London, please.

He's gone dead.

Nice.

Rusted phone's gone dead.

Oh, I know, sir. That wretched phone goes out every time we have a storm.

And the electricity's out, too.

Well, I hope the storm won't disturb your rest, my lord.

Good night.

Good night, Jekyll.

I'm going to get to your room and knock the door.

Somebody's going to get a music lesson.

Oh, this is no time to be a critic.

I'm in time, so I have to tell you it's my lord.

Go to your room.

Yes, my lord.

Wouldn't it have been simpler to use a key?

Broken.

I heard the concert end. What happened?

Oh, it was just some old bagpipes with the wind blowing through them.

I told you there was a logical explanation for everything.

Good. And you've got the rest of the night to explain it to me.

I won't sleep here with an unlocked door.

If you're so panicked, why don't you use my room?

You think I'm silly.

Absolutely childish.

Calling Thrush Central.

This is Mr. Beaumont.

Get me the liquidation department.

I don't care if the lines are busy. I can't wait. Cut in.

Miguel. April Dancer.

Has she been silenced yet?

You mean the man with a thousand faces hasn't even been able to find her yet?

How can you lose a girl in a little country like England?

I want results, not excuses.

See that Miss Dancer is dead before morning.

Don't tell me to relax.

I haven't been able to sleep since I've been here. And I won't be able to until

I know she's out of the way.

Star Trek.

Drops away to nothing.

Believe me.

He was standing at the foot of my bed, lodged at life.

Dripping wet and covered with seaweed.

Power of suggestion, love. It was only a nightmare.

Look, he was standing right...

I won't believe it unless my fist goes through it.

April, light a candle.

Johnny, good idea.

I suppose you have good reason for this ridiculous horseplay.

Why were you waving down the stairs like that? Because I couldn't see. The

beastly wind blew my candle out.

Perhaps you have another simple explanation.

For this.

No, sorry, old girl. I haven't the foggiest.

Found it in my bedroom.

I was coming down here to ask Treacle about it.

A likely story.

And I suppose you'd be just as glib about what happened in the drawing room.

Well, you're right, honourable ship.

What is your explanation of that?

I don't understand.

Neither do we.

Now, listen.

Whoever is playing fun and games with us better know right now that he is not

dealing with amateurs.

Right, April.

It's time we started leaning on someone. Let's gather up the evidence.

Good. All right, Cecil.

We'll start with that bit of seaweed.

Ah, well, you had it last, old girl.

Oh, never mind. There's more in the doorway.

It's right here.

It's not even down.

Quick, the bedroom.

One thing can be said about old Footloose.

He is neat.

Here comes a swing shift on the chain gang.

You know, when you bring a girl home to meet your family...

She certainly is in Forgather.

Oh!

Oh!

Who's asleep?

I haven't slept since we arrived.

Oh!

You know, I don't think your family died in accidents.

I think they were all killed by insomnia.

April, there's a lull in the storm. If we can make it to the village, we can

catch a train to London. Come on.

Thank you, my lord.

Look at you.

There's the blooming aristocracy for you, dry as a bone after a good night's

sleep and headed out for a morning's frolic.

And here's me, catching me dead.

Yes, well, if I'm off down to the village, I'll send someone up to fix

blasted roof.

Now, if there was a way to the village, do you think I'd still be here?

The bridge is out, it is.

What have we got to do now, Mark?

There you go again, worried about your own blessed comforts. And here's me.

With the cottage what's once bailing out.

Now, me lord, this is your last chance.

One more unsolicited bath and I've had it. And, mighty silly, your

lordship will look without a single tenant to your name.

Now that you've suppressed the peasants' revolt,

me lord, what's our next move?

I think we should find out if the bridge is really out. I don't believe a word

anyone says around here anymore.

I'm very glad to see you.

Oh, we are uncle agents, and we absolutely must get to the telephone in

village. Ah, well, that won't be easy, miss.

Not unless you can walk on thy bottomless bogs.

The storm really did take the bridge out, eh?

With the help of person or persons unknown, I got some men coming out from

village to put in a new footbridge.

Where might you be staying, sir?

Maddington Manor.

Ah. Well, I'll come for you when the bridge is ready, sir.

Well, my lord, into the frying pan or into the fire?

Don't even need to toss a coin this time.

Calling Thrush Central. Calling Thrush Central via Dickie Bird 2.

Come in, please.

This is the man with a thousand faces reporting.

Tell Mr. Beaumont I've located the girl and I'm closing in.

Mark? Yeah?

A local Bobby would know that Mannington Manor is the only place we could

possibly go.

Not only that, but if the bridge was really down, how did he get across?

A woman has a right to change her mind. I won't feel safe until we're back in

the house.

Now it's all... When they get back in the house, I'll take care of the girl.

And you, Treacle, can kill Cousin Mark.

No, but, Mummy... There's been too much shilly -shallying. We haven't got time

to arrange for another fatal accident.

Madam, if I might suggest... You may not.

You wouldn't be in this mess now if you had got him with that cargo net in

London.

But, Mummy, do you think it's worth taking such a chance right here in the

house? For two million pounds?

And after all the others, of course it's worth it.

I'm expecting a visitor tonight.

You are?

Probably a policeman.

No matter what he looks like, don't let him in.

You can depend on me, sir.

Oh, my dear.

You'll catch your death in those clothes.

Now you hurry and get into a dry change and I'll bring you a nice cup of pop

tea.

Thank you, Lady Bramlett.

I don't usually, but would you mind putting a little something in it?

I intend to, my dear.

I don't know if you're interested, my lord, but the phone's been repaired.

Treacle, you're a lifesaver.

interested, Treacle, but the phone's gone dead again.

This will hit the spot.

Thank you very much.

It's my pleasure, my dear.

Now drink it down.

Just as soon as I finish brushing my hair.

Do you think Mark might enjoy a cup?

Fine, I think he might if he's around.

Come in, please.

This man with a thousand faces reporting.

Kindly tell Mr. Beaumont that I have just taken care of...

That I have just

taken care of a total stranger.

Mistake is of no importance.

Except perhaps to her.

I am presently disguised as the butler.

After I kill Agent Dancer, the butter will be blamed for both deaths.

Out.

Sorry.

The tea is getting cold, milord. This way.

Sir.

Worthy, old girl?

She was sitting in the chair.

Get back, April.

What's happening?

Nothing, ma 'am.

So it was Heathcliff all along.

You see, there's a logical explanation for everything.

Heathcliff, you're in trouble.

Seven murders are no laughing matter.

Six of those was done by your own ever -loving aristocratic family.

So Cecil could get the title.

Poor Cecil.

He was so determined to get the two million pounds.

Two million pounds?

That's what interests me.

Who the blazes are you?

Forthright, under Majesty's service.

Inheritance Tax Division.

At his club Cecil once mentioned, the title was worth two million pounds to

I've been watching you, my lord, and know you haven't found it yet.

Come clean, my good man. Where is it?

In the dowry of Cecil's sweetheart.

Her old man's the biggest meatpacker in Manchester.

He wouldn't let go of the loot, not until Cecil had married his daughter and

brought the title into the family.

Another little feather out of me cap.

What's your angle?

You'd know if you'd ever read the charter that binds the loyal peasantry

ruddy family.

When the last Maddington is dead, the title and estates goes to the loyal

tenants. And that's me.

The way you feel about the blooming aristocracy, you wanted the title?

If you can't beat him, join him, I always says.

I would have been lord and master of the manor with a decent dry roof over me

head. Never mind, Heathcliff. I'm sure you'll have a decent dry roof over your

head in Dartmoor Prison.

Take him away, customer.

Satisfied? Hardly, my lord.

There's still the matter of £85 ,000 due in death duties.

What if I haven't got it?

The estate goes to the Crown.

I think I'll leave before you change your mind.

April!

Haven't we had enough trick -or -treat?

Come on.

ask any questions, just drive.