Original subtitles

- For Miss Dunlap? Gail Dunlap? - That's me, all right.

I've arranged this parcel for you.

- Ooh, let's have it. - Sign here first.

- Thanks very much. - That's all right, dearie!

- What is it, Gail? - Looks like a present.

- Who from? - I don't know. I can't recognise the name.

Come on, what's in it?

I can't tell till I open it, can I, silly?

- Who sent them to you? - I don't know. No notes, no card.

I know. It's a present from an unknown admirer

and he wants to take you to the races.

I do hope you choose the winner.

Beautiful!

They must have cost at least twenty pounds.

- Can I have a look? - No, no, they're mine.

I'll have a look first.

Who possibly could have sent them to you?

My eyes!

My eyes!

Now, Peggy, try to remember.

- Who were her gentlemen friends? - I don't know.

I'd be glad to tell you if I knew.

We made it a sort of rule never to bring anybody home.

It's a small flat and we always kept it respectable.

Didn't you ever go out with Gail as a foursome?

Once we did.

There were two travellers from Manchester.

Jolly mild men.

That was nearly a year ago and then...

Oh, it couldn't have been them.

Didn't she ever mention the names of her admirers?

Only to say, Jim did this, and Eddie did that,

and Billy's lots of fun.

It meant nothing to me.

Ever talk about having any trouble, any threats?

No.

At least, she said nothing to me.

Mostly we went our separate ways, minding our own business,

and sharing the expenses of the flat.

That's why we never had any word.

Did she receive much mail?

Bills, but not too many of those.

Did she receive any presents before?

Oh, at Christmas she got a woollen sweater from an aunt in the country.

That's why she got so excited about the binoculars.

She thought it was to take her to the races!

But it was to kill her!

There, there, Peggy. You try and calm yourself.

You'd better go back to the flat.

We'll keep an eye on it.

And thank you very much for coming along.

- Good morning, Inspector Lodge. - Oh, it's you, Bancroft.

I know I'm not welcome but you needn't make it that obvious.

Don't you ever wait to be announced before entering my office, Bancroft?

Superintendent Graham,

I'd have thought by now that I'd be welcome in your office anytime.

Ah, these are the binoculars.

I assume they have been checked for fingerprints?

They have.

- Do you mind if I have a look at them? - Help yourself.

Just be careful.

Thank you for warning me.

Clever. Fiendishly clever.

Ingenious enough to give us the third brutal murder in two weeks.

Yes, I know.

Aren't these similar to the pair you have in your "Black Museum"?

I imagine that's where the fiend got his inspiration.

The museum is not open to the public.

We take great pains to keep out the curious and the morbid.

Yes, I know, but since you've not caught the murderer,

how do you know where he comes from?

It could be someone who had legitimate access to the museum.

Even a disgruntled police officer leading a secret life of crime.

Look, Bancroft, is that going to be the tone of your article this week?

I'm sorry if I rub the Yard the wrong way,

but just remember, I don't write for you.

My books, my magazine articles, my column,

all this I write for a large public.

Without too much conscience.

But with accuracy.

That remains to be seen.

Have I published anything that isn't true?

Three young women have been killed in London within the space of two weeks,

each murder more horrible than the last.

And the police...

Have done everything possible to catch the murderer.

Murderer?

What makes you so sure it's a single killer?

Do you have any clues? Did anyone see him?

- Perhaps the killer's a woman. - That's it, spread more confusion.

We're quite sure the killer is a man.

Then what will he use next?

Is that going to be the subject of your next article?

I don't even have to read it.

In my view, it will be just a mixture of conjecture and sensationalism.

You're trying to work the readers up into a state of panic.

London in terror. Tripe!

Well, I'm glad my readers don't think so,

and certainly my editor disagrees with you.

Not that I enjoy being sordid but they pay me a great deal of money

for my analysis of crime.

In every war, the historian receives more money than the foot soldier.

Not a bad line. Do you mind if I quote you?

Graham here.

Yes, sir. At once.

Sorry, we have an important meeting now with Commissioner Wayne.

Well, give the old man my compliments.

Whenever he wishes, I'm at his disposal.

You might ask him to consult me.

I'll let you ask him. Show him out, Lodge.

As you see, I've marked up the areas where the three murders took place.

It's quite obvious this killer feels safer in the crowded sections of London.

His victims are usually young women who live alone in London.

No family, few ties.

- That's correct, sir. - Have you been able to get any leads?

- No, sir. - Any information at all?

Not a word. I've talked to all my sources.

My stool-pigeon, most reliable, has been trying desperately.

Not a word.

I checked with my undercover girl, no tips, no leads.

Nobody seems to have the slightest inkling where all this springs from.

- They're not holding anything back? - No, sir.

I'm sure they're not shielding anyone.

They feel as badly about these kind of killings as we do.

How about the sender's name and address on the wrapping?

Fictitious.

There's no such name in the directory and the street number doesn't exist.

Also, we checked with the Marylebone Post Office where it was sent.

No information there.

There's no doubt we're dealing with a brilliant maniac.

With no apparent motive.

A deranged killer, operating alone,

using weapons similar to those we have in our Black Museum.

I know it's difficult but the public wants results.

Protection, detection, arrest and punishment.

You must run down every possible clue, everyone on the alert.

I'm leaving it to you two.

- Very good, sir. - Right, sir.

Yes, yes, Mrs Jones.

Well now, you'll see that Gary takes those tablets three times a day,

but if he's no better tonight, let me know and I'll come in and see him.

Yes. Yes, right.

Goodbye, Mrs Jones.

- Well, doctor? - Put that away, Bancroft.

Come, doctor! This is my only vice.

You're wrong. It's an indulgence.

I'll tell you what your real Vice is.

- What? - Overwork.

Really?

Yes, Bancroft. You seem to eat, sleep and drink crime.

I mean, of course, other people's crimes.

And you've been particularly affected

by these three dreadful, gruesome murders in London.

Do you realise you've been here for practically emergency treatment

three times in the last two weeks?

It's a curious relationship.

Cause and effect.

After each murder, you go into a sort of state of shock.

- But I come out of it. - Yes, you do.

I suppose after you've written about it, analysed it,

you return to yourself.

- Am I myself now? - Not yet.

Pulse is rapid. Blood pressure high.

Your heart reflects strain and tension.

If you continue this way, the results might be fatal.

I'll have to risk it.

- I know I'm sensitive to murder. - Over-sensitive.

You seem to require immediate help after each of these murders.

I'll tell you what my theory is.

You're involved. I mean, vicariously.

And the treatment is clear.

I shall have to put you under sedation.

No, Bancroft, if you could cut down on your work

and learn to relax, you'd be as fit as a fiddle.

Not yet.

I can't pamper myself with tranquilisers and sedatives.

Not while these murders are unsolved.

Why don't you leave it to the police?

Leave it to the police and they might never be solved!

No, I must concern myself with them,

as you say, "Eat, sleep, and drink crime."

I promise you, after these murders are solved,

I will have a long, long rest.

As your physician, your health is my responsibility,

but I need more co-operation from you.

You can't go on hunting down maniacal killers,

writing books about them, taunting Scotland Yard,

and still enjoy normal health.

Dr Ballan, when the killer is caught,

I will become your most obedient patient.

Till then, thank you for telling me that I'll live.

Well, Mr Bancroft, come to write me up?

Not yet. I don't think you're vicious enough.

Although you do look it.

Thanks for the compliment.

I wish all my customers were so gallant.

They'd be bringing me flowers instead of complaints.

Then why don't you stop cheating them?

I never cheat.

I like to make something to keep me alive,

but "live and let live," that's my motto.

I put something aside for you.

A gift for a young lady, that's if you have one.

A cigarette box.

Open the lid and it plays music.

Smart and cheery, don't you think?

Put it away! I can't stand that!

You know, I don't want that. Just close it!

Perhaps this.

Caught your fancy, eh?

Where did you get this?

I didn't pinch it, you know. I came by it honestly enough.

Like all your things.

Like everything here.

I buy gold and silver things from refugees, they need the money,

and I go to auctions.

Look, I don't care where you got it.

Have you put a price on it?

I'll let you have it for £3.10.

I won't haggle.

I'll pay you £2 and pretend I haven't been robbed.

The way you put things, literally, like!

Think I can't resist you.

Take it or leave it.

£2.10, it's yours.

Settled.

Shall I wrap it up?

Hurry, will you.

By the way, Mr Bancroft, what do you really think of these killings?

Well, I said it all in my weekly column.

If you can read, you know what I think.

You blame the police.

What do you really think?

Not that I want to make you more conceited than you are, Mr Bancroft,

but let me tell you you have a way with words, you do,

especially when it's about murder.

It's my favourite subject.

Oh, don't I know! I read all your books,

and study your articles every week.

But this last group of murders gives a girl the shivers!

Listen, Maggie, until this murderer runs out of younger victims...

you're safe enough.

Mr Bancroft, you give a woman confidence, you do!

- Good afternoon, Mr Bancroft. - Hi, Rick.

Coming along all right?

Yes, sir, almost finished.

- Took quite a bit of research. - Just make sure that it's accurate.

When you're attacking, you've got to be sure of your ammunition.

Yes, sir.

- Would you like a drink? - I need one.

Any messages?

A few cranks. Even one or two threats because of the last article.

Let them.

If you're worth your salt as a writer,

you're bound to rub some people the wrong way.

I'm sure, sir.

I just tell them to put it in a letter and hang up.

That's it. Any other messages?

Your tobacconist phoned. Your cigars have arrived.

- Shall I pick them up? - Not yet.

And the mail clerk from your paper, they have a bundle of letters

from readers for you. Shall I fetch them?

Later.

Now, we have more important work to do.

Let's go downstairs.

Rick, unlock the door.

Here, Rick.

Add this interesting little item to our ever-growing collection.

Someday it may serve its purpose.

I'll put it with the small weapons.

Our museum is really growing.

They have nothing like this in Scotland Yard.

I'm sure ours is better.

You know, Rick, the Black Museum in Scotland Yard is not really selective.

A great deal of clutter.

A meagre little collection of guns and knives.

Trunks in which hacked-up bodies were shipped.

Death masks.

Ropes and neckties in strangulation.

All-in-all, a dead collection that belongs to the past.

But mine is alive.

Not only it pays tribute to the past, but it's part of the present.

And with the new electronic equipment, the future too.

Yes, I know.

And what do their little weapons add up to?

Failure.

Each one represents some stupid murderer who was caught.

But I shall demonstrate that my weapons can be used again and again.

Freely, successfully, and that the murderer will never be caught.

Mrs Carter can be released from the hospital next Tuesday

and continue treatment at her own home.

Put today's date on this, Miss Strite,

and add the following to the Edmond Bancroft file.

I examined Mr Edmond Bancroft again today and found his pulse very rapid.

Over 120,

and his blood pressure 200/110.

A very abnormal dilation of the heart.

The pupils of his eyes were noticeably very small,

although I am convinced he does not take drugs.

I'm quite confused over his entire condition,

as his visits here during the last two weeks have become very frequent

and on each visit he manifests a high state of unnatural excitement.

While his talk is controlled,

I suspect he is the victim of some aberration

which is driving him from a sane and normal mental base.

I feel he is in definite need of psychiatric treatment

and should be hospitalised, or his condition might become fatal.

- Did you get all that down, Miss Strite? - Yes, Dr Ballan.

Right, now, add this to the pile of Mr John Garland.

Mr Garland suffers from a mild attack...

I'll have one more for the road, Joan, and leave you to your pretty dreams.

Nightmares would be more like it.

After an evening like this, what could upset you?

Eddie, I've run out of money.

Again?

Well, I only buy things to make me look pretty for you.

That's why I'm broke.

- In that case, you'll have to do without. - Oh, now, Eddie, darling...

And don't call me, Eddie! It irritates me!

You do get into a mood fast, don't you?

- I don't like to be used. - But I must have some money.

Call it a loan, if you like.

You can give me less next month.

£20 would do.

£15, if that's all you have on you.

Not a penny.

You must think that money grows on trees.

It seems to for you.

All you have to do is write another story about Jack the Ripper

or Dr Crippen, or this new maniac.

It's not that easy.

Hard or easy, can I have the money?

No.

Well, then,

I'll just have to find someone else to give it to me, won't I?

That's a cheap manoeuvre, trying to make me jealous.

Well, you don't exactly own me, you know.

Well, you can at least try to make it look that way while I'm here.

Master of all you survey and all that rot!

You want an awful lot for your miserable money.

Oh, it's not enough that I put up with you when I have to.

Do you want me to set off fireworks as well?!

Who do you think you are anyway?

'Cause you're less than an answer to a girl's prayer, I'll tell you that!

Let's not have an ugly scene.

"Ugly" is the word all right.

I ought to get a reward just for being with you.

The way you keep me cooped up in here,

meeting on the sly, never taking me anywhere.

I'm the one who deserves a medal for putting up with you!

If you had a little surface polish,

some good manners, or could drink like a lady,

I might be able to present you to one or two of my friends,

take you to a party.

I wouldn't want to be seen with you!

The way you hang on to me, if we went into a restaurant or a cinema,

tapping away with that cane so the whole world knows I'm out with a cripple!

You fiend!

Oh, come on, dearie!

Show me how fast you can chase me round a room now!

Give me back my cane!

Not until I've told you everything.

I've been saving it up for you.

Without your cane, you're only half a man!

Without your money, you'd be no man at all!

Oh, acting like a big-shot, keeping me hidden away here!

You pay my measly food and rent.

And don't forget it's a roof over your head, too, when you need it.

With a pretty woman around!

Begrudging me a little money, when I've given you love!

Correction, I bought it!

Well, you've had more than your money's worth.

There's no more for sale.

And don't come snivelling around here begging for another chance.

I'll show a real scene, I will, and it won't be so private.

Give the neighbours a look in, let them see what I have to put up with!

Joan. Maybe I was a little hasty.

Well, it's too late now, not even if you made it up to me.

Why don't you calm down?

You know nothing about women,

even if you do know everything about murder.

What do you mean, everything?

Oh, you brag in your cups.

In my arms, you grow, oh, so tall and brave.

You laugh at the police.

They're blunderers. They haven't a farthing of what goes on.

You, only you, know the real murderer.

- I said that? I said I knew the real... - That's what you said, dearie!

I didn't make it up.

You say lots of things. You do go on you know.

- Anyway, I'm fed up. - Where are you going?

I don't have to tell you, but I'm going out.

I haven't reached the rocking chair age yet.

I'm going to find myself a man, a real man!

A whole man.

A man I can do things with. Things I can't do with you!

You know I haven't danced in months.

Oh! Oh, we'd make a fine couple on the dance floor, wouldn't we?

Me dragging you around.

Well, at least we'd give everyone a good laugh.

Here, take your precious cane,

and take yourself out, too.

For good!

Come on, sweetheart, why don't you have a drink with me?

Thanks, dearie, but I already have my drink waiting for me.

Maybe some other time, huh?

Come on, honey, let's get away from the people and the noise,

and go back to my flat for a few drinks.

Yes, that's a very good idea.

Look, why don't you go up there first?

If I don't show up, start without me!

Now, don't be smart, honey.

I was just trying to be nice.

If that's the way you want it, well, it's all right with me.

Oh!

Fred, give me a whisky for the road.

It's the first time we've seen you here, Joan, in over a month.

Where have you been keeping yourself?

Oh, I've been very busy, Ted, but now I'm free.

I think I'd better have one more before I go home.

I want to tell you something.

You really livened my place up tonight.

You certainly made it a lot of fun.

Here's one on the house, from me.

Cheers.

Yeah, from now on, Ted, I'm always going to have a lot of fun.

You know, it's funny,

I was just thinking

when my mother and dad were alive, they never had any fun.

Really, Ted, they never went out.

They lived in a small joint.

They had seven kids and stayed home every night.

Oh, my mother was always washing,

cooking, darning socks,

making clothes for the kids.

Always working.

And one day, boom!

They both got killed by a stinking bomb.

Do you know what? I'm going to have fun.

I'm going to live.

No man is going to own me.

Do you hear that, Ted? No man is going to own me!

- Goodnight, dearie. - Goodnight, Joan.

Drop in again. Real soon.

I'll see you tomorrow night.

Goodnight, everybody. Goodnight.

- Goodnight, Joan. - Goodnight.

Joan, how about one more drink?

Goodnight, dearie. I know when I've had enough.

You scared me, you did.

- Not frightened of the law, are you? - Of course not.

I'm glad to see you.

With this murderer loose, you're a welcome sight.

Then why are you out alone at night? You're bound to draw some attention.

I had something on my mind.

Walking home now, are you?

Yes. I feel better now I've had my constitutional.

I have to have a breath of fresh air before I can sleep.

And something else, too, I gather.

A bit stronger than air.

I did wet my lips.

I like to have a nip with friends.

- No law against it, is there? - Not here, there isn't.

On a chilly night, it cheers a body.

- It certainly does. - Do you live far from here?

Oh no, only down the street. Number thirty-one.

We'll walk home with you, if you don't mind.

Not at all.

It's not often I get two handsome escorts to my very door.

Been living long in this place?

No, about four months or so.

This is the first time we've seen you.

Yes, mostly I keep to myself.

- I read quite a bit. - Oh, the studious type, eh?

Exactly! And music, I love music.

Sometimes I keep the radio on all night.

Oh, low, of course, but every now and then I just break out!

Bird in a gilded cage and all that.

I understand completely.

Here we are, and a pleasant walk it's been.

- Need any help to find your key? - Thank you.

I keep everything in my purse, except a change of linen.

Oh, here we are.

I've got the key.

Well, thank you very much.

If I knew you any better, I'd kiss you both goodnight.

A wave of the hand will do.

- Goodnight. - Goodnight, miss.

- The screams came from in here. - Miss Bartley?

Miss Bartley?

Call the police! Call the police!

- Did you get a good look at him? - I did! I certainly did.

And I'll never forget it till my last day on Earth!

- What did he look like? - A horrible old man.

- So it was. The very face of evil. - An old man?

The devil himself!

In his fifties, I should say, but he was running so fast.

Well, that's just it. Listen to your own words, he was running so fast.

He was old. I saw him clearly.

Heaven help me!

He had the speed and the strength of the unholy.

He did at that! Nearly knocked me over with a shove.

Pushing everybody out of his way as he ran for the door.

His clothes wasn't old.

That's right. He was wearing one of them zipper jackets.

You know, the kind all the teenagers are wearing.

What's his clothes got to do with it?

It's his face I'll never forget.

Old and wrinkled, and steeped in evil,

and eyes burning in his head.

And the devilish speed of him!

I ran for the door and screamed,

and in a blink, he was gone into the night.

Thank you very much.

- Now about Miss... - Miss Bartley. Joan Bartley.

At least that's the name she called herself.

What do you mean, called herself? Did you know her by any other name?

Oh no, no, we wasn't friends or anything, but a young woman living by herself...

That's no crime, and please just tell us what you saw

and let the police draw all the conclusions.

I'm for that.

Did you know anything about Miss Bartley?

No, not really.

She'd only been here a few months.

Rented the flat from a girl who got married.

Not neighbourly at all, that Bartley woman.

- Did she do any work? - Not so you'd notice it.

- Did she have any callers? - I think she lived quietly.

Kept to herself.

Put on airs, she did.

Late one night, I was coming back from a wedding party,

I saw her walk in, a bit tipsy if you ask me, with a soldier.

An American soldier, I think he was.

Of course, when he left... Well, I wouldn't know.

I'm going back to the flat. You remain here.

Thank you all very much, and I suggest you all go to bed.

- I saw a man knock on her door. - Oh, you and your stories!

- I did! I did! - Tell me about it.

Late at night. Mummy didn't hear me when I tiptoed out of bed.

I opened my door ever so quietly and there he stood.

There was something wrong with his foot.

And he had a cane, and he was using it to rap on her door.

What do I get for telling you all this stuff?

A slap's what you get and what you deserve, too, you naughty girl,

for telling fibs.

Always making up stories she is, just like she was seeing it on the television.

Overexcited she is, ought to be in bed.

Yes, all of you better go to bed.

Don't worry, the house will be well guarded.

Thank you very much and goodnight.

- What do you make of it? - It's the same killer.

Have you got anything?

That's the most gruesome sight I've ever seen.

- Was it an axe? - Axe, cleaver blade...

It wasn't left behind.

We can't find her head either.

If this was the time of the French Revolution, I'd say it was a guillotine.

The most horrible murder in my experience.

- How about prints? - Loads. All over the place.

Only hope I can get some that are clear.

I'll let you have a report as soon as we develop them.

We should get a lead from all this. She was entertaining someone.

There must have been a brawl.

Yes, it's a pity. All this glass shattered.

Oh, well, we may end up with fragments instead of fingerprints.

- Any finger scrapings? - Nothing.

I don't think she had a chance.

News sensation! Woman's head cut off! Read all about it!

Read all about it! News sensation!

You're not even safe in her own bed!

Looks that way with a killer still loose.

This one's like a wild animal.

Cutting heads off, knocking people down.

Running faster than the eye can see.

What's the police doing?

Traffic, that's what they're doing. Traffic.

Helping old ladies across the street and writing out parking tickets.

News sensation! Killer strikes again!

News sensation! Read all about it!

- Champagne, madam? - Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Well, Superintendent Graham, you're the last person

I expected to see at a literary cocktail party.

Especially one given by my publisher to launch my new book.

- I do read, you know. - Even my books?

Especially yours.

Give the devil his due. You do know your crime history.

He certainly does.

This book is going to be very popular.

It's what you stir up with your writing that I don't like.

Surely, Superintendent Graham, you're not trying to blame me

for what's going on in London?

You could have a share in the responsibility.

That's a pretty broad accusation.

Why not blame magazines, radio, TV or the cinema?

They don't quite slant it deliberately like you do.

I see, and you'd rather debate with me than pursue the murderer?

That won't be necessary.

Don't tell me Scotland Yard gave up?

Oh no. Well, haven't you heard?

We picked up the murderer three hours ago.

- Well, that's wonderful. - What's his name?

Tom Rivers, and that's all I can tell you about him now.

Thank you, that's quite enough.

While you were taking your well-deserved bows,

we got a full confession, all four crimes.

- Congratulations. Remarkable work. - Thank you. I knew you'd be pleased.

Public interest and all that.

I'm sure you'll be around for the details.

Not really. I don't compete with scoops.

It's what I say in my follow-up column that counts.

But just the same, thank you for your offer and my compliments.

You'll see, I can be just as full of praise in my column as of criticism.

You relieve my mind.

We don't work for praise. We're public servants.

I think I'll be getting back to the Yard.

- The Yard never fails. - Never, never fails.

Now that the murderer is safely tucked away, London can sleep.

Unescorted women can walk the streets again at night,

sleep soundly in their beds, feeling safe and secure.

Kind of strikes a blow at your title.

- "Terror After Dark". - Not a fatal one.

We can always depend on London to provide another murder.

- Did you fetch them? - I told you I sent for them.

- Now calm down, Rivers. - I can't. It's a matter of life and death.

That's exactly the message I gave them. That's why they're on the way over.

- Good morning, sir. - Good morning.

I'm sorry to disturb you but he's been screaming for hours.

- I thought it might be urgent. - That's quite all right.

What do you want, Rivers?

I want to confess a few more crimes.

Are you doing this of your own free will?

Yes, they're on my conscience.

They give me no rest.

- I'm tortured day and night. - What kind of crimes?

Murders. All murders.

I never committed any lesser ones.

You sure of what you're saying?

Positive. Names, dates, places, as if it were yesterday.

I'll tell you everything.

Get me a shorthand reporter.

I want the world to have a complete record of this in black and white.

Where did these other murders take place?

I'll begin with my first.

You mean, before the four you've already confessed to?

Long before!

I had this urge to kill when I was sixteen.

It was like a ringing in my head.

- Kill... kill! - Where did the first take place?

Uh, Dover. I worked in a hotel as a second chef.

There was this little waitress there.

Pretty as a picture, but she wouldn't talk to me.

Too good for me.

So one night, I followed her.

- And then... - What did you use?

- What did I use? - Yes, what weapon to kill her?

My hands. They're powerful.

My hands can do it. I don't need anything else.

On this last one you said you used a guillotine.

Oh, I felt like it.

Saw a picture of one in a history book.

It inspired me to build one.

I'm clever with my hands.

I made it and I used it.

- Do you know what I'll use next? - Tell us.

A death ray.

I've been working on it secretly for years!

It's almost ready. Nobody will be safe!

I'll be able to shoot death ray out of my eyes.

I'll kill anyone!

Get me a shorthand reporter.

I have to confess!

Just be still, Rivers, and we'll give you a chance to confess to everything.

Poor wretch. He's barmy.

He looked it yesterday but he had all the details of the four murders.

They're usually very good on details. They memorise everything.

- Get anything? - Finally tracked him down, sir.

No police record, but he does have a medical discharge from the army.

Since the war he's been in and out of three mental institutions.

- Schizophrenia, but he's harmless. - Thank you.

I suppose we better have him committed to a hospital, quietly.

- If you don't mind, sir, not yet. - What do you mean?

Let's detain him here and play along with his confession.

Even build it up a bit, but keep the reporters away.

In the meantime, we can increase the patrols

around those areas at night. Every available man.

With Rivers in jail, maybe we can flush out the real killer.

Yes. Good idea, Graham.

Mass murderer talks,

and talks, and talks, and talks!

Yes, he confessed to everything.

Enough to make your hair stand on end.

Would they let us photograph the killer for your story?

It won't be necessary.

- No pictures? - No.

- Not even an interview? - No.

Not yet anyway.

Let Scotland Yard and the other papers gorge themselves

on this swill.

Tomorrow, we'll dig into my files under the heading "Unsolved Crimes".

You better write that down.

I have a record of some beautiful and harrowing confessions

made by the wrong people.

I'm beginning to understand, Mr Bancroft.

Some poor souls, when they read about a murderer,

get so worked up they confuse fact with fantasy.

No, Rick, we'll wait until the so-called murderer makes a fool

of everyone who believes in him.

- When will that be? - We'll just have to wait and find out.

I'm going out for two or three hours.

- Shall I drive you? - No, I can manage alone.

Besides, you've plenty to do around here.

- You're late, as usual. - I'm sorry, dear...

I've told you at least a dozen times,

to kiss me first and then make the excuses.

There, that's better, although I do wish you'd be punctual just once.

Angela, I've told you it's not up to me.

Mr Bancroft can always find something for me to do at the last moment.

Then why don't you stand up to him?

Oh, I couldn't do that.

Rick, I know you're thankful and loyal to him for all he's done for you,

but there's limit, even to gratitude.

What sort of a hold does he have on you?

I don't exactly know.

Even when I want to go against his wishes, I can't.

Something stops me.

I feel that I must do what he says.

Will it always be like that?

You know I've been trying to change things ever since I met you.

Then you must try harder, Rick, for your sake and mine.

- You know I love you. - I love you, too.

But we can't keep our love a secret forever.

You asked me not to say a word about us and so far I haven't.

But how long? When can I tell my friends?

They think I've been acting very mysterious lately.

When can I introduce you to my parents?

All that soon. I promise you, soon.

What kind of work detained you tonight?

There's no time to tell you.

I ran out for a little while but now I must get back.

We'll have more time together soon.

I'll try to tell him about you, about us.

Yes, I will tell him.

Good evening, Mr Bancroft. I've been waiting for you.

Indeed. Why did you think I would be here tonight?

Because, after each murder, regular as a clock, I expect you here,

and I prepare for your visit.

You see, Mr Bancroft, I've found something new for you.

A pair of ice tongs.

You know, Aggie, I think I could use these in my collection.

- How much do you want for them? - £1,200.

£1,200?!

You're out of your mind, Aggie.

No, Mr Bancroft.

Those ice tongs will cost you £1,200.

And you will buy them.

What makes you so sure?

Because you're paying off a debt you owe me.

After all, we've been partners for a long time.

But it's you who has reaped the profits, not me.

They've paid you a fortune for writing about the murders here in London.

Would they have happened without the weapons you've bought from me?

Well, I must say, Aggie, you do run a bit deeper than I ever suspected.

You must have a devil tucked away inside you.

I also have eyes in my head and a brain that can put

two and two together.

For instance, when I sell you a pair of second-hand German binoculars,

then I see a picture of them in the newspaper as a murder weapon.

Nonsense! There are thousands of glasses like that in London.

But this particular one had my mark on it.

You see, I scratch my price in code on everything I sell.

Otherwise, I might cheat myself out of a profit and starve to death.

Oh, I know you polished them up a bit,

and, of course, you added something new to the lens,

like two murderous needles,

long enough to stab through the eyes to the brain and kill a young girl.

I put my magnifying glass on the picture in the newspaper,

and saw my mark.

And, of course, for chopping off her head, you could've used the wide blade

attached to the Crusader's axe I sold you.

With all this information, why don't you go to Scotland Yard

and tell the police?

In fact, as a good citizen, it's your duty to report this.

It's also my duty to worry a bit about myself,

what, with old age coming on.

Anyway, I shouldn't like to spend my last days in prison.

You see, Mr Bancroft, after the ways I've served you,

it's too late for me to go to Scotland Yard.

Then what do you want?

As a starter, my £1,200.

It's not much when you think how well you've done for yourself.

Your articles, your books, money and glory besides.

You live in a big house, you have a car,

you're your own master.

Well, it's time you thought of me.

I'll let you keep the glory but you will have to let me share the profits.

Aggie, you have a very convincing way about you.

- Then it's a bargain? - It is.

£1,200.

Now, Aggie...

I'm not in the habit of carrying such large amounts in cash.

Of course, I could write you a cheque.

No, I do trust you, but I'd rather have the cash.

Bring it tomorrow, around noon.

Noon sharp.

Noon sharp.

You know, Aggie, these are the most expensive ice tongs in history.

But a bargain for you.

I don't deny that.

A real bargain!

Woman shop keeper murdered. This sensational murder.

Read all about it.

Woman shop keeper murdered. Read all about it.

Woman shop keeper murdered.

Read all about it. This sensational murder...

Do you think they'll get very far with this one?

How can they without any clues?

No motive, no fingerprints.

Still, it'll be fun watching them try.

Shall I wait for you?

No, you'd better get on with your work. I'll take a taxi home.

- Here is the report from the lab. - Mm-hm.

Good morning, gentlemen.

Or is that the wrong thing to say?

Have you come to gloat?

Believe me, Superintendent Graham, I haven't.

In fact, there's never anything personal in my visit,

it's just that I have a job to do.

Then I think you'd have gone straight to the Old Curiosity Shop,

where the woman was killed.

That does sound logical.

All in due time.

I go over the scene of a murder the way you do, inch by inch.

But first, I'd like to have a chat with Rivers in his cell.

The man you named as the mass murderer.

What purpose would that serve?

The public, they have rights, you know.

First you lull them into safety and then...

You throw them into panic again.

An interview, even if it could be arranged,

would be playing into your hands.

But that's exactly the theme of my article this week.

The six unsolved crimes. I could name any number of them.

The Barnsdale case eight years ago, when an innocent man was nearly hanged.

More recently, the Gardener case.

A housewife axed to death in broad daylight.

Blood on the London streets. Still unsolved.

In fact, with regard to what is happening now,

my article will only show what you admit,

perhaps prepare the public to understand.

The police are not infallible.

Neither is the murderer.

Until you catch this killer,

that remains to be proven.

- May I now see Rivers? - You're too late. He's been released.

A man you describe as a dangerous menace to London, at liberty?

Not quite.

Rivers has a mental disorder.

Unfortunately, we learned about that too late.

For his own good, he's being confined to a mental institution,

and I am quite sure the last thing in the world his psychiatrist would prescribe

for his cure is more publicity.

In that case, I understand.

Better luck with the next murderer you arrest.

There's someone at the door upstairs.

See who it is.

He says it's a matter of life and death.

I insist on seeing you, Bancroft, and no one can stop me.

- I had to see you today. - Don't agitate yourself, Dr Ballan.

I certainly didn't expect you here.

This time I decided to anticipate your visit,

the one after each murder, and come to you.

Why?

Because I know now something I should have realised earlier.

You're a sick man, Bancroft.

Dangerously sick.

Are you trying to alarm me?

I don't think you frighten easily

and that makes your aberration even more serious.

After each horrifying murder in London,

you go into a state of shock.

- Why? - You tell me.

Because you have a close link with the murderer.

And now I've seen the morbid atmosphere in which you live and work,

things become even clearer to me.

I'm convinced you create murder so that you can write about it.

I've talked to you, read you books, your columns.

I'm convinced you live by murder.

That's quite a diagnosis.

I could have gone to the police first,

but out of consideration for our relationship,

which is a privileged one, doctor and patient,

I came to you.

I appreciate it but what do you want me to do?

I want you to surrender yourself into my custody.

I'll take you to Scotland Yard. I'll explain your aberration,

until an accredited psychiatrist can confirm it.

For your own good,

for the good of society, Bancroft, you must be put away.

Believe me, it'll be easier for you that way.

Well, I must say, that's quite considerate of you.

Do you actually think I'm the killer they're looking for?

I believe you're the force behind the killings,

and I know you're mad.

Well, Dr Ballan, although I can't agree with your diagnosis,

I must compliment you on your courage.

Goading the lion, a mad lion at that, in his own den!

I am not afraid.

I've dealt with deranged persons before and I can deal with you.

Now, Bancroft, do as I tell you,

otherwise I shall be forced to notify the police.

If you leave me no choice, then I have to go with you.

Yes, in that way you still remain in the capacity of being my patient.

Do you mind, doctor, if I just finish my notes?

- Won't you sit down? - No, I'll stand, and please hurry.

It's a pit you won't indulge a madman one moment longer.

Hurry up and finish whatever it is you're doing so that we can get out.

I'll finish right now!

Help me with him.

I said come here and help me with him!

Remove his wrist watch and ring. We'll dispose of them later.

What's got into you, Rick? You're slow and fumbling. Be sharp now!

The door's open! Go and lock it.

Rick?

Put that chain on him.

All around him.

That's it, tight.

Now carry him up.

Rick, lower him in.

I said, lower him in.

Rick.

Put on the rubber gloves and apron.

Take him out.

Just in time. The bones are not affected.

Hang him up here.

Remove the chains.

I have an engagement at the bookshop,

and then I think I shall enjoy a quiet dinner.

Why don't you take the evening off, Rick?

Find yourself some innocent diversion.

Oh, Mr Bancroft, would you mind writing a little something in my book?

Like what? "With undying love, signed Edmond Bancroft"?

Not quite that much.

Just say, "To Myra, an old friend."

- And your signature, of course. - I'll be glad to.

Thank you.

- Just your autograph will do. - Whatever you say.

All this gush.

I'd like you to know, I'm buying this as a present for my teenage son.

I don't care for your style, but he gobbles this stuff.

Well, I must say, your son has excellent taste.

Thank you, Mr Bancroft.

Thank you so much, Mr Bancroft.

Would you believe it, we've sold over two hundred copies today?

That's remarkable for one little bookshop.

Indeed. I'm quite pleased, too.

You know an author lives on his royalties.

And you've earned all you get.

I do hope you have a sequel in mind.

Better than that, I'm in the midst of writing a new one.

And I believe that this will be my best and most successful book.

If I'm not too inquisitive, do you have a title for it?

I do. "The Poetry of Murder".

"The Poetry of Murder". Very good.

In fact, Mr Bancroft, it's a wonderful title.

Thank you.

Rick?

Rick?

Rick!

I thought you were dining out, Mr Bancroft.

I didn't expect you back so early.

This is Angela Banks.

How do you do, Mr Bancroft?

I haven't had the chance to tell you about her,

but Angela and I lately have been seeing quite a lot of each other...

Rick was just showing me around your museum.

Well, I suppose that's one way to entertain a girlfriend.

In a way, this is something of a distinction, Miss Banks.

You're the first outsider to see my... our Black Museum.

Thank you, Mr Bancroft, and I certainly hope I can come again.

Because someday soon, I expect to be part of Rick's life.

Say no more. Your shining face tells me the whole story.

In the meantime, Rick, my congratulations.

- You've managed to keep something from me. - Mr Bancroft...

I certainly hope you won't hold this against Rick and me.

But, you see, we didn't want anyone to know

until we were sure.

It's all right.

And let me compliment each of you on your choice.

You make a very attractive couple.

I suppose, in view of your plans, you'll be sharing each other's secrets?

Oh, we do already.

A woman can't begin training a future husband too soon.

Rick tells me everything.

Everything?

Certainly everything about his work. Where he goes, what he does.

Research for you. The talks with the police.

I want to encourage him to confide in me.

This way I feel I can help him.

When we get married, which will be soon,

I'm not going to be one of those wives

who stays at home and keeps the flat clean.

I'm going to stand shoulder to shoulder with my husband,

and help him in his career.

- A real helpmate. - Yes, Mr Bancroft.

And I'd certainly like to learn more about your work.

And so you shall, my dear. I'll have Rick bring you back soon,

and I'll personally escort you on a tour of our Black Museum.

I'll look forward to that.

And now, Rick, something's come up and we have work to do.

- Perhaps you'd better take Angela home. - Oh, please, no.

Rick and I have a date tonight.

He promised to take me to the funfair.

How's this for a compromise, Angela?

Just give me half an hour with Rick,

he can type out some notes I dictated, and I'll finish it alone.

That's very kind of you, Mr Bancroft.

Angela, why don't you wait upstairs in the living room?

Play some music, if you like.

I promise I shan't keep your Rick for too long.

Instead of music, I'll read your book.

I want to absorb all I can.

- Goodbye, Mr Bancroft. - I'll be along as soon as I'm through.

I do hope, Mr Bancroft, you're not angry with me

because I brought Angela here?

This goes deeper than anger, Rick, and you know it.

Why did you bring a stranger down here, you stupid fool?!

My back is turned for a little while

and you violate our most sacred rule.

You know I never allow any outsider to snoop round my workshop.

This Black Museum is our private world.

And now, thanks to you, it has been invaded.

But Angela's close to me. I can trust her.

But can I?

I tell you no woman can hold her tongue.

They're all a vicious, unreliable breed, Angela included.

If you wanted to be with her, why didn't you take her somewhere else?

She was so insistent, so curious to see where I worked, where I lived!

And you, you sop-headed idiot, fell for that and gave in to her.

What will you do when she becomes more insistent, more curious?

How will you appease her then?

Read through those cases and see how men have been hanged

because women babbled.

Read them again and see how often a careless remark,

a rumour, a false suspicion...

I'm sorry, Mr Bancroft.

It was wrong of me, I see that now.

But if I impress upon Angela that she must never talk about this...

Then you give her a weapon with which she can club you to death

and me too!

Don't forget by bringing her down here you've placed both of us in jeopardy!

The first time she wants to feel her strength,

the first time you quarrel,

she can start a toboggan that will crush us!

You're right, Mr Bancroft, and I'm wrong.

How can I repair the damage I've done?

Rick... it's not entirely your fault.

I must share in some of the blame.

I've allowed too much time to lapse between treatments.

It's like everything else in life,

flowers wither without sun and water,

humans perish without food.

The will to serve unquestioningly,

the gift of true obedience,

these too need to be nourished and reinforced.

Rick, look at me.

Roll up you sleeve.

Extend your arm.

Does anyone know about your date with Angela tonight?

No, sir.

Not even her parents, her closest friends?

No, sir. No one.

- You're quite sure? - Positive.

From the very beginning, we sort of made a pact.

I insisted on it.

Not a word about me, all our dates a secret,

until I found a way to tell you.

Well, you did use some sound sense there.

Of course, I never expected it to happen like tonight.

Rick, when I command you to do things,

you know it's for your own good.

I understand that, sir.

As you know, I have no offspring, no kin.

Yes, sir.

Someday all this will be yours.

Everything I possess...

My home, my money, my books, my files,

and our private Black Museum.

Yes, Mr Bancroft.

As an authority on crime, you will go far beyond me.

For you are sound of body, fleet of limb,

and you have the gift of obedience.

Someday,

you will go deep into the black soul of man.

Deeper than anyone on Earth

and you will remember that it was I who sent you on that journey.

Yes, Mr Bancroft.

Rick...

to prove how much confidence I have in you now,

I will let you in on something.

Of all the weapons in my museum, our museum,

this is the most valuable.

It makes reality out of legend, truth out of myth.

The world thinks that Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

were the figments of a great writer's imagination,

but no.

I have clearly demonstrated that it is a fact.

Man is born with a dual nature, good and evil.

Society tries to suppress evil, but not I, not you!

Rick, do you remember how it was the last time and the time before that,

the freedom, the strength, the black terror in others

but not in you?

The mastery you shared with me!

Yes.

All this will be ours once again.

Now, listen carefully.

Your future, my destiny,

our very lives, are menaced by Angela,

who stands in our way.

One must never put any trust in a woman.

It was no accident that Satan was able to tempt Eve before Adam.

Now, this woman...

Yes, Mr Bancroft?

Just follow my instructions and it will be easy for you.

You will leave now and take her to the funfair.

- Watch where you're going! - Rick, he didn't do it on purpose.

I don't like being pushed.

But it isn't like you to be mean.

I'm sorry, Angela. I lost my temper.

But I'll make up for it. We'll go on everything.

You know, Mr Bancroft advanced me next week's salary.

Don't you think that's generous of him?

He may be generous, but he frightens me.

It's a way he has. Authority.

You should see him with the police, with his publishers.

He likes to get things done fast, and his way, too.

Oh, he makes that clear, the way he orders you around.

From what I've learned from him and from what I'll amount to in the end,

it'll be worth it.

Come on, Angela, let's enjoy ourselves.

Try your strength here

and separate the men from the boys!

Show the little ladies who wears the pants in the house!

Ring the bell here and you can ring it in the home!

You, sir? You, sir?

How about you, young man?

You got any muscles or is that just padding in your jacket?

Well, perhaps you can't lift this heavy hammer.

Lift it! I can ring the bell!

Now, take it easy!

Don't bite off more than you can chew.

This hammer's made of iron, you know, not papier màché!

We don't want any hospital cases.

Bad for business when they faint!

- I'll ring that bell. - Cor, there's a hard one!

You'll ring the bell, will you?

You ring it and I'll give you the hammer

to take home as a souvenir!

Come on, Rick. Don't let him bully you.

- No, no. I'll show him. - Now take it easy, lad.

Give yourself a chance.

- Wind up for a starter. - Don't tell me what to do.

Oh, he's done it!

You can keep your hammer!

Well, I'll be!

Rick, dear, you're the one who said to have fun.

If you get angry, you'll spoil everything.

I'm sorry, Angela. He tried to make me a laughing stock.

I had to show him.

Perhaps it's working for Mr Bancroft that makes you so short-tempered.

I think it's time you struck out on your own, or got another job.

- I'd like to see you tell him off. - Leave me alone.

- Forget about my job and Mr Bancroft. - Okay.

It's a closed subject for tonight, but please don't get angry.

Rick, let's go in the Tunnel of Love.

Mmm!

Oh, come on, Eleanor, give me another kiss.

Marty, I told you to leave me alone.

You always want to come into the Tunnel of Love!

Oh, come on, Eleanor.

Fred, I told you to get your hands off me!

You're worse than an octopus.

Oh come on, honey, don't be like that.

Nobody can see anything in here.

Jim, kiss me again, please, I like it.

- Kiss me again! - Oh, leave me alone, will you?

Sit over on your own side and leave me alone!

- You always want to neck. - Oh, Jim!

Look over there, look!

Ooh! Ah!

Ooh! Look at me!

Oh, God, no!

Whoo!

Well, look what the wind blew in!

His face is worse than ours!

Can I borrow your face? I want to scare my boss.

There he goes!

Here's a draft of my article on unsolved murders.

I thought you might like to check it before I print it.

That is considerate of you. Are you concerned about us?

Perhaps we don't have enough reading matter?

I'm concerned about the truth.

You've accused me of slanting my stuff.

Read this and tell me whether or not I'm impartial.

Graham here. Yeah. Yes.

Yes, right at once.

They have the monster killer trapped.

Lodge, put out a flash to all squad and patrol cars

to surround the funfair at once.

A car with armed men to leave with us immediately.

- He's murdered another girl. - May I go with you?

If you like. Of course, it's your responsibility.

I want to go. This story I must get first hand.

Perhaps he'll listen to reason. We'd like to take him alive if we can.

Come down!

We'll hold our fire if you come down.

We'll give you once more chance. Come down.

Mr Bancroft! Mr Bancroft!

- He seems to know you. - Kill him. Why don't you kill him?!

The man's a dangerous menace!

Mr Bancroft.

Mr Bancroft, I did what you told me.

What are you waiting for? Shoot him down!

I said shoot him down! Kill him!

This is Bancroft's assistant.

In more ways than one.

Edmond Bancroft... crime expert and master criminal.

Now, it becomes clear how he could taunt us and delude us.

He created a reign of terror so he could write about it.

Well, the terror is over.

We can consider the case of the monster killer closed.