Original subtitles

Rounded gums.

Slight prognathism.

Arched nostrils.

Normal nasolabial spacing.

Slightly flattened septum.

Fleshy lower lip.

Prognathous jaw typical of non-European races.

Narrow forehead.

Low hairline.

Hair is thick, oily and shiny.

Normal ears.

Lobes not fixed.

Slanted.

Slightly drooping upper eyelids.

Swarthy skin.

More or less Jewish facial expression.

Non-Jewish body language during examination.

Now walk.

Naturally large and flaccid hips.

On tiptoe now.

Soles of the feet are flat.

Arch is totally absent.

Get dressed.

In the opinion of the undersigned,

based on morphological and behavioral data,

the subject could well belong

to the Semitic race.

Her ancestry could be either Jewish,

Armenian,

or Arab.

For now, the case must be considered doubtful.

You can go.

How much do I owe you?

See my secretary.

You'll be notified by the prefecture of police.

Fifteen francs.

How did it go?

All right.

- What about you? - All right.

Did he tell you anything?

And you?

- Mr. Klein? - Yes, that's me.

Would you please come in?

I wanted to see you.

I have something that might interest you.

Did a mutual friend send you?

I don't believe we've met.

I was told you might be interested

in purchasing paintings.

Well,yes, I might be.

I have a painting here.

It's a work by Adriaen van Ostade,

a portrait of a gentleman.

It's an authentic painting, signed and dated.

It appears in the catalog.

Snow

woven of quartz and crystal,

pendant drops,

lacy arabesques,

webs of icy silk.

Fables, dreams,

spells, illusions.

And suddenly

the blue glare and the red blaze

of the young Phalangists.

The flower,

the pride of France.!

The paladins.!

On the horizon, the pinnacles of Leningrad

appear and disappear

like a mirage.

Six hundred louis.

Three hundred.

You must be joking

At that price, I'd rather keep it.

As you wish.

It's easy for you, when a man is forced to sell.

But I'm not forced to buy.

I'm not a collector.

For me

it's just a job.

Make me a reasonable offer.

Three hundred.

Robert!

Go back to bed.

- Why? - "Why?"

Why do you think?

- Wait a minute. - Later. Go back to bed.

If it were a matter of francs,

instead of gold louis...

It's true that francs are worthless abroad,

but if you need money in France --

I don't need it in France.

Very well.

Let's make out a receipt.

It's just a formality. It's for me.

It'll stay in my safe.

Here. Write it yourself.

Unless you have a receipt from whoever sold it to you.

We've always had it in our house.

Always.

Well, perhaps my grandfather,

when he came from Holland.

Or perhaps his father.

Yes.

It's a long time ago. It doesn't matter.

It's just a formality.

Now would you write

"I, the undersigned" --

Name, surname and address.

No, never mind the address.

Name, surname.

"Declare that I hereby make over

to Mr. Robert Klein

for the agreed amount

acceptable to me --

the agreed amount acceptable to me --

a painting by Adriaen van Ostade,

measuring 20 inches by 12,

this painting being the portrait of a gentleman

from Holland.

Paris, January 16, 1942."

And your signature.

Have you got something to put it in?

No, but it doesn't matter.

Don't you want to count it?

Wait. I'll give you a present.

No, thank you. Don't bother.

May I take one?

I have friends in the same situation,

and perhaps they...

Yes, of course.

Although I'd rather--

That is, recently, I've seen many clients like you,

urgently needing to sell.

And I assure you it's most unpleasant for me.

Embarrassing

Very often I'd rather not buy.

Then don't.

Your newspaper.

You must have dropped it.

J FWISH NFWS

You're right.

It's my name and address.

The postman left it by your door.

Good-bye.

Bon voyage, and good luck.

Good luck to you, Mr. Klein.

Blue:

indifference.

A straight line suspended in the sky.

White: cruelty.

An acute angle with its point driven into the ground.

Black: arrogance.

A pyramid with its base sunk into the sea.

And purple: greed.

In the central circle, we see

remorse:

a vulture.

Its heart is pierced by an arrow, yet it continues to fly.

In each of the four corners,

woven in different colors,

are ancient cabalistic symbols.

For this splendid tapestry,

the bidding will start at 150,000 francs.

Yes, 200,000.

250.

In the back, 300.

Robert, you promised to advise me.

- On the tapestry? - No, the console table.

- Did you forget? - The console table.

There's still time.

I'm going to get a coffee. I'll be back.

What do you think of the tapestry?

I think it's bad luck.

NOJ FWS ALLOWFD

Hello.

Thank you.

I just phoned.

This morning I received your paper

addressed to me.

I'm not a subscriber, and I have no intention of--

I mean, I have no reason to be.

Isn't your paper sent only to subscribers?

It's our only way to keep the community informed

about meetings, decisions

and new measures set up by the authorities, and so on.

I understand,

but I don't belong to your--

Yes, I understand.

It's strange.

Unless someone else --

perhaps a friend of yours --

subscribed for you.

That's impossible.

No one would play that sort of joke on me.

You think we make a good subject for jokes?

No, I didn't mean that.

But the very idea seems so absurd.

Please excuse me.

So you no longer wish to receive our newspaper?

Exactly

I would also like to know why you sent it to me.

I understand. Unfortunately,

we must wait until the prefecture returns our list of subscribers.

Then we can check.

- The prefecture? - Yes, the prefecture of police.

You give your lists to the police?

They're the ones who've allowed us and advised us to publish this newspaper.

As I told you, it's the only way we have --

Yes, I understand.

Where is the prefecture?

The Commission for Jewish Affairs.

Robert Klein, did you say?

Yes.

Like that?

Address?

136 Rue du Bac.

How long have you lived there?

About seven years, since I came to Paris.

Yes, in fact, there is a Robert Klein.

But at another address.

Obviously a man with the same name.

May I have his address?

What would you say if I gave yours to anyone who asked for it?

Take it away.

Where did you say you lived?

136 Rue du Bac.

The fact remains, someone wrote my name on the paper. Why?

You understand my concern?

Perfectly.

It's more curiosity than anxiety. The fact someone would --

I'm sorry. I'm taking up your time.

Such things can't interest the police.

Luckily for me.

What does "Moby Dick" mean? Is it a name?

Yes.

A woman's name?

No, a whale's.

He's exactly like me.

Who's that?

Ishmael.

Listen to this.

"Sixteen hours in bed.

The small of my back ached.

I felt worse and worse.

At last, I got up

and threw myself at her feet,

beseeching her to beat me,

to do anything, indeed,

but condemn me to lie in bed

for such an unendurable length of time."

Can I get up?

Do me a favor: Get a different book.

The one with the pink cover.

"Chloé."

From the beginning?

Wherever you'd like.

Page 47.

"Pale and trembling like doves,

the three maidens entered the room.

In the dancing firelight,

it looked even more imposing and fantastic" --

It can't be.

Go on.

I can't.

Go on.

"Imposing and fantastic.

That enormous penis,

tumescent,

superb,

alive."

Go on.

I know very little about him.

I never saw much of him

The girl took care of everything.

A brunette,

pretty sexy.

I think she was a whore

or a dancer.

He only went out at night when I was in bed.

Around midnight, after curfew,

I'd hear him come down the stairs.

And the morning I saw him,

it was about 5:00. I was taking out the trash.

There he is!

You're Mr. Klein, aren't you, from the second floor?

No, I'm sorry.

I'm not your Mr. Klein.

Pardon me.

I thought you were him.

Same height, same hair,just as slim.

The same look.

Because I never saw the other one's face.

What do you want?

I've come about the apartment. Is it still available?

- If you don't mind waiting a minute. - Not at all.

We're finished. What about the calling card?

Yes, it's right here.

Wait, I'll write down the address for his mail.

- Does he still get mail? - Yes, but not much.

A newspaper, a letter.

Nothing else.

So you want to move in here?

No, it's for a friend who's coming to Paris.

- Here you are. - Thank you.

If you hear anything, call us.

Yes, certainly.

Good-bye.

Do you really want to see the apartment?

The wallpaper needs changing. It's all moldy.

The ceiling needs painting.

The toilet bowl's got to be changed.

And you'd have to get rid of the rats.

- Rats? - Yes, rats.

Look at this.

All over the place.

No, this is no place for you.

If you're interested,

it's 150 francs a month.

Outrageous.

Plus electricity and a maintenance fee.

He had a dog?

Yes, a German shepherd.

Sometimes he'd bark and then whimper

as if he were being beaten.

My husband always said you could judge a house by the bathroom,

and he was right.

Well? Haven't you seen enough?

- The shower? - It's out of order.

What's wrong?

I'm sorry,

but since my husband has been gone,

I get funny.

Every now and then,

I have these hallucinations.

Is your husband dead?

No, he's in Germany.

Prisoner of war.

Yes, I remember.

A pretty girl and a beautiful dog.

You, on the other hand,

your face was hidden.

But you're recognizable.

Do you still have that sidecar?

No, it got blown up.

May I?

Good evening.

Who's that skeleton in your house?

What skeleton?

That whore!

What do you mean?

A girl called Janine.

A friend.

Why did I find her here?

Because you got here after her.

She was alone in the house.

Because she got here first.

Is your husband here?

Yes.

And two policemen are waiting for you.

Good evening.

Sorry I'm late.

Listen.

They're waiting for you.

Yes, your wife told me.

- What's going on? - Nothing. I'll explain later.

Good evening.

I have the impression we've met before.

We have that same impression.

Did you rent that apartment for your friend after all?

No, I haven't made up my mind yet.

We brought back your card.

Thank you very much.

I have a terrible habit of handing them out everywhere.

- How about a drink? - No, thank you.

But you go ahead. We can wait.

Are we going somewhere?

The Pigalle police station.

Again? I went there after I saw you.

I spoke to the inspector just five minutes ago.

Pierre, please turn down the phonograph.

Nicole, would you get me a beer?

Maybe you should call him. That would save time.

Pigalle 30-30?

- Call him, François. - May I?

Go right ahead.

You bastard.

Inspector, we're here with Mr. Klein.

Yes, sir. Very well.

Who could this other Klein be?

I have no idea.

I first heard about him yesterday at the prefecture.

Our orders came from the prefecture.

Anyway, if you hear anything --

Don't worry. It's in my interest.

I don't like this business.

So there's a man who's got the same name, a Jew.

He's gone off and left you with his problem.

How could he know about me?

Your calling cards are all over Paris.

It doesn't make any sense.

Does he expect me to just shut up and take his place?

It's someone with a grudge against me

trying to get me into trouble, provoke me.

Why should he have a grudge against you?

And why not?

"My love,

what interminable months!

In two days, it'll be our January 26th.

I'm here, waiting for you.

The train to Ivry la Bataille still leaves at 6:15.

You mustn't miss it, you know that?

Because this time, I swear

you'd lose me.

And that would be awful, my darling.

Florence."

"You mustn't miss it, you know that?

Because this time it would be awful, my darling.

Florence."

Do you have any baggage?

Please follow me, sir.

Good evening, Mr. Klein.

Please come in.

They're expecting you.

May I take your coat?

Please.

Good evening.

I'm Charles-Xavier,

your host.

I know, it's a complicated story.

Come with me.

It's quieter in there.

Yes, then I can explain.

Florence, can you imagine Robert living in Pigalle?

In a furnished room?

Robert in Pigalle?

In lodgings, Rue des Abbesses.

That's impossible. It's absurd.

This gentleman has the same name.

Really? Just like Robert?

Isn't that funny.

Please.

What was Robert doing in Pigalle?

Nothing.

I don't think he was ever there.

Then God only knows why this letter was sent to him in Pigalle.

That's right.

There's a letter.

They're waiting for us.

Couldn't we read it after dinner?

It's only a few lines.

We're all starving.

Yes, I see your point.

But if you knew Robert as well as I do --

I can't accept your theory.

We can't be talking about the same person.

Let's go in to dinner. Will you stay?

No, thank you. I must return to Paris.

My train leaves soon.

I don't believe there are any more trains tonight.

No, only on odd days.

You see? Now you have no excuse.

There must be a hotel nearby.

Requisitioned.

Don't worry. You're my guest.

Anyhow,

we did invite you in a way, didn't we?

Come on. Now you have no more excuses.

No, don't move.

Don't turn on the light.

Don't turn on the light.

My letter.

Would you mind giving it back to me?

Would you mind turning around?

Why?

Because I sleep in the nude.

Tell me.

Does your friend happen to be Jewish?

Robert? I don't think so.

As far as I know, he's an atheist.

Yet he subscribes to a Jewish newspaper.

That's possible. He reads a lot.

And talks very little.

Who told you that? On the contrary.

Then what did he tell you about me?

Nothing.

He never mentioned you.

No letter, then.

I know what Robert would say if he were here.

First, he'd compare you to an animal or an insect.

His theory is based on what he calls

the infinite variety of specialized instincts.

- How fascinating! - Isn't it?

He claims that in animals and insects,

this variety manifests

in a series of different species.

But in man this is not possible,

since there's only one human species.

- Therefore -- - I get the point.

The eyes are important,

the mouth,

the curve of the lips.

A feeling of being superior to others,

a love of freedom,

egoism.

A bird.

Of prey.

A falcon.

- A vulture. - Why?

Do I eat corpses?

You don't return letters.

How about your friend?

What animal did he choose for himself?

The eagle? The lion?

The snake.

A hibernating snake, waiting for a better season.

I can't understand why he got you into this mess.

So he could hide, I think.

To disappear behind another man.

Me.

No, he's no coward.

He wouldn't harm anyone.

Fxcept himself, perhaps.

Or else for revenge. Yes, then he might.

But revenge for what?

I don't even know him.

You know what I thought when I saw you come in?

That Robert himself had sent you.

Why?

To explain to me why he hadn't come,

to see how I'd react, to provoke me,

to humiliate me.

I don't understand.

Yes, as if to tell me,

"I'm sending another man in my place, but it will be all the same to you."

Yes, he's capable of that.

That seems a little excessive, don't you think?

He's quite capable of that.

What if it were true?

Suppose that's why I came.

He loves that sort of situation.

So do I.

What about you?

Fven if it's really untrue?

Especially

Or let's suppose --

It's very late. I must go.

My husband must be looking for me.

We forgot to say good night.

I can't sleep when that happens.

I see you have the same problem.

Do you realize I could go to the police?

Then you must talk.

Where is he?

I swear I don't know.

Let's start at the beginning.

Where did he live before Pigalle?

In a hotel on the Rue de l'Université.

When did you learn about Pigalle?

Two months ago.

Through a messenger boy

who brought me his flute and a note.

What did the note say?

Nothing.

Jokes, as usual.

He said he was going into hibernation,

and I was to keep his flute until a better season.

Where did he go into hibernation?

I don't know.

He didn't say.

Very well.

The police will find out.

And you, your husband and every member of your musical zoo

will be called in for questioning.

Please don't do that.

I'm sorry, Florence.

But one way or another, I must find out

what this man wants from me.

Good-bye.

It's a shame about last night.

Just a moment.

All right.

But first, you must swear you won't go to the police.

I swear.

136 Rue du Bac.

You have the present?

I didn't sleep all night.

Neither did I. Have you got it?

You could have told me. Some people came looking for you.

What did they want?

I don't know.

Pierre.

Is it serious?

Tell me, are the Kleins full-blooded French,

or are there Jews in your family?

Indifference

is like a still, flat sea

surrounding a drowning man.

It's like a flock of sheep

grazing in the ruins of a village.

Or like a worm

crawling over a putrid wound.

A man can be stingy, selfish, hypocritical, anything --

as long as he's aware.

The result is the same.

No, not exactly.

- Have you ever heard of remorse? - Yes.

It's like a vulture

pierced by an arrow,

yet it continues to fly.

Oh, it's you!

What's the matter?

- Why have you come? - To see you.

Yes, of course. But what else?

Nostalgia...

for my roots.

I want the birth certificates of my grandparents

on both sides.

And mine too, naturally.

Why?

I told you.

Nostalgia, curiosity.

Don't be an idiot, Robert. Tell me why.

It's nothing.

A formality, a routine check.

These days, the Paris police

want to prove they exist.

So a slight misunderstanding must be cleared up.

What kind of misunderstanding?

About my identity.

What's that got to do with your grandparents?

Your own certificate should be enough,

or mine and your mother's at the very most.

They want my grandparents' too to be sure.

Sure of what?

My origins.

Well, yes.

I must prove I'm not a certain man the police are looking for.

How long have they given you?

Two weeks.

That's quite enough.

It all sounds very strange.

Are you sure there isn't something more behind it?

It's just a formality.

There's no real doubt.

So why do they want the certificates?

Because it's the law.

And also...

because there's another Robert Klein.

And apparently he's a Jew.

A Jew?

Impossible!

Or it could be the Dutch branch.

Are there Kleins in Holland?

Quite a different breed.

- But we're related. - I tell you,

we've been French and Catholic since Louis XIV!

Yes, miss.

Hello. Yes.

What?

No, I'm all right.

Three of the certificates are here in Strasbourg.

But as for my maternal grandparents,

one of them was born in Marseilles.

Jules Marcel Bleard.

Yes, B-L-F-A-R-D. You got it?

And my grandmother in Algiers.

Yeah, Algeria.

- No, she wasn't an Arab. - Imbecile!

Her father was a Communard who was deported to Algeria.

Okay. Send someone to Algiers and Marseilles right away.

Okay.

See you tomorrow.

That was my lawyer.

So do you know any of those Kleins from Holland?

I've heard about them.

And this other Robert Klein?

Never.

Thank you.

And now I'm going to do

what they ought to do!

I will leave...

before you throw me out...

with a kick in the ass!

Please, let's go.

Mr. Klein!

Maybe it's not for me.

He could be hiding in the crowd.

You think I'm crazy?

What were you saying?

I sent my assistant to Ivry.

The house is closed. The owners left for Mexico.

Are they Jews as well?

Probably.

Look, you can play at being a detective, chasing ghosts,

but at least do what I say.

We can't go on waiting like fools

for papers that may never come.

Let's try to get a --

I told you. I'm not a horse.

I won't have my nose or ears or anything else measured.

I detest veterinarians.

I'll wait for the papers from Algiers.

How can a man as distrustful as you

suddenly show such boundless confidence in the post office,

the railways, the bureaucracy, and even the police!

Because I'm a good Frenchman.

I believe in our institutions,

including the phone system.

Was there a call for me?

No, no one called.

I'm Mr. Klein.

There's someone asking for you on the phone --

I mean, at the bar.

Well, he was here.

He must have left. That's strange.

What did he look like?

Tall with dark hair. Pretty much like you.

Do you really think this man --

You can't! The curfew's in 30 minutes.

- Then I'll spend the night. - Where?

I'll rent the place.

- Why not? - Well, first I have to see

the administrator.

I'll see him tomorrow.

Here's the deposit.

No, I'm not allowed to --

- Fven if it's for you? - For me?

- For your trouble. - I don't want it.

You don't really mean to sleep here, do you?

Why not?

The police told me not to let anyone in.

And if they check--

I just want to have a look.

But you've already seen it.

I must see it again to decide.

Did you hear from that man Klein?

What about the girl?

What's her name again?

Isabelle.

Isabelle. And her last name?

I never knew it.

Is that you, Robert?

I'm across the street.

I saw you at the window.

Did something happen?

Then why?

Why what?

Someone keeps calling all the time. Who was that?

I don't know.

It was a woman's voice.

Did you give her Mr. Klein's new number?

How stupid of me.

How could you know that?

There aren't any Isabelles here.

What is it, Gerard?

This man's looking for a girl.

Here I am.

Her name is Isabelle.

Too bad.

I don't know her.

There's no one here named Isabelle.

That's not Isabelle. It's Cathy.

She doesn't work here anymore.

She left a month or two ago,

maybe even three.

Do you know where she lives?

With him, I think.

God knows where.

Do you know him?

I saw him a couple of times when he'd come for her.

Why?

He's no good.

A Corsican or an Arab.

Something like that.

A gangster, you know, or a pimp.

And he plays the flute.

No, nothing.

In any case, he ruined her.

She was such a nice, funny girl.

I saw her recently.

She's changed. Tough, distant.

- And those horrible overalls. - Overalls?

Come on, hurry up!

You're on in 10 minutes!

- Will you wait for me? - Yes.

But first tell me where you saw her.

After the show.

Where did you see her?

In the metro, at the Balard station.

She was going to work.

Or so she said.

Excuse me, miss.

Do you know this girl?

Let me see.

I don't know her. You know her?

She's not the type to work in a factory.

What's she got on her face?

Foundation cream.

- Do you use it? - Sure.

Glycerin mixed with nitrate and a little sulfur.

It's great for the skin.

Are you sure she works here?

I was told she was here.

Yes, hustling.

Well, that's possible.

Is she your fiancée, by any chance?

No, not yet.

I'd like to know what she does.

Listen, the gentleman is looking for this girl.

He's been asking if we know her.

Yes, that's Françoise.

She's the new girl. She works in the detonator section.

Isn't her name Cathy?

No, it's Françoise.

We had lunch together a couple of times.

Michelle!

That girl works with her.

Look at little Françoise.

No, that's not Françoise.

Michelle, that was his picture.

Really?

I thought it was a joke.

I'm sorry.

Never mind. I've got the negative.

In any case, it's not Françoise.

I don't doubt it.

St. Lazare, Madeleine:

six minutes.

Etoile, Alma:

ten minutes.

République, Châtelet:

fifteen minutes.

Bastille, Montparnasse:

Twenty-five minutes.

Put that with the rest.

Hello, Inspector.

Report these gentlemen for trespassing and breaking and entering.

And for wasting my time, which is money!

Calm down.

- Don't be ridiculous. - Me?

They're taking my papers, my car, my paintings.

I'm not allowed to buy or sell.

No more bars, restaurants, movie theaters, nothing.

Everything's forbidden.

They say I can't go anywhere, not even to a public restroom.

Just because my grandmother's certificate hasn't arrived yet!

No, you can't take that one! It's not for sale.

This isn't a piece of merchandise. It belongs to me.

Inspector, you do have a warrant, of course?

Here you are.

Try to make him understand it's not personal.

I'm not doing this for fun.

It's the law.

I'm not questioning the law.

It doesn't concern me.

I refuse to pay for another man!

The prefecture reported your case.

But I'm the one who reported the case to the prefecture!

This has nothing to do with me!

That remains to be proved.

It wouldn't be the first time that a man came forward,

the better to hide.

What's that? I don't follow.

I was speaking in general.

Please come now.

You know the law. Don't make things difficult.

All right.

Pierre.

- And the girl? - She's vanished.

She hasn't shown up for work, and the address she gave them was false.

Nobody knows anything about her.

Yes. We'll leave.

That's about all of it.

When did you start writing music?

Investigate all this.

I'd forgotten.

You play, don't you?

- Just a little. - Give it a try.

What is it?

It's our friend's. It seems he composes now,

in the bathroom.

What is it, a military march?

The way you play, it could be anything.

Stop that!

Have you gone crazy?

Go on.

I knew you were stupid but not that stupid!

If I weren't an idiot, how could I trust you?

I know where to get a passport and a visa.

All it takes is money.

So first you find a buyer,

and when your passport's ready,

and at the last moment,

we'll sell.

I'll sell.

Well, yes, of course.

You'll sell.

And how much is all of this worth?

About 10 million.

Would you settle

for seven or eight?

Forget it.

Leave that to me.

What are you thinking?

Nothing.

In any case, I'm not selling, and I'm not leaving.

Morning, Georges.

- Is he yours? - No.

I found him wandering around here this morning.

He must be lost. He's starving.

Why don't you take him?

- Don't you like dogs? - Yes. Other people's dogs.

- See you tomorrow. - Good-bye.

Georges, call the dog. He's following me.

I don't know his name.

Go on. Go away!

This is incredible.

It looks like the same dog.

Absolutely identical.

He was all alone outside,

wandering around all night long.

No one could abandon such a beautiful dog, could they?

Come on.

Let's see if there's anything to eat.

Excuse me.

Robert, listen.

I'm going.

Where?

Have some coffee.

Sit down.

Pierre is right, you know.

Three articles today, just on the front page.

Apart from the usual cartoons.

Look.

This one's pretty funny.

Don't you like it?

Well,

perhaps it's a bit vulgar.

But Pierre is right.

They're getting the public ready for something.

It's obvious.

Let's see the classifieds.

Lost and found.

No, nothing about the dog.

Shut up.

I read about it in the paper.

Did they all die?

Yes, all five of them.

There was enough TNT in the sidecars to blow up half of Paris.

Not just the Gestapo headquarters.

The poor devils didn't have much luck.

You should leave now.

The guard must have finished his meal.

I'll show you out.

Was he a relative?

A friend?

Don't worry.

I'd do the same thing if I was a bit younger,

or braver.

- Did you bring my papers? - It was very difficult.

Here's your passport.

"De Guigny." An aristocrat?

Probably.

That's the end of the Robert Kleins.

One got blown up, and the other--

Here's your ticket to Marseilles, and one for the ship.

It leaves in two days.

The money?

Of course. But at the last minute --

How much?

- Or should I say, how much less? - Half a million.

Let me explain. The buyer argued over the gold.

In francs, he would've paid twice as much.

That doesn't matter. Half a million, well --

It's quite reasonable and correct.

- Or almost. - You don't think I --

No, of course not.

- Should I count it? - Yes, I want you to.

I'll deny you that pleasure.

Here you are.

Keep your promise.

Don't worry. I've always wanted a dog like this.

But he isn't just any dog.

You can count on me.

Well, good-bye.

- Good luck, Robert. - Good luck to you.

I must admit I was getting fed up with France.

We're too civilized, too polite.

Too many tabs are kept on us.

Cheer up.

You have half a million,

a fine dog,

and above all, Nicole.

Nicole told me.

- When will you be back? - I don't know.

- Soon? - I don't know.

- After the war? - Maybe. I don't know.

What about me?

I really don't know.

I left the dog with Pierre.

But I don't trust him. Promise to look after the dog?

Yes.

Hello, Françoise.

Hello, Cathy.

Hello...

Isabelle.

Here.

Hello, Nathalie.

Hello.

See? You've got the wrong person.

Do I?

No. You're wrong not to trust me.

You don't know it, but we're old friends, in a way.

We have an old friend in common.

Robert Klein.

You know Robert?

Robert Klein, 3 2 Rue des Abbesses, second floor.

Poor Robert.

We've left him all alone

with his ghastly, lovesick concierge.

He called her his kangaroo.

No, you're not a friend of Robert's.

You just saw him at the station

and didn't even say hello.

You're quite right.

I'm not his friend, nor is he mine.

Excuse me.

- What is it? - Open up. It's me-- Robert.

Quick!

- What's happened? - Nothing.

I need to make a call.

Hi, Nicole.

Go back to bed.

What about your ship?

I may not need to go now.

I don't get it. Who are you calling?

- Mr. Klein. - But isn't he dead?

So you found his number?

It never changed.

He never left.

He put up a "For Rent" sign, gave my card to the concierge,

and returned home every night.

Who's calling?

I was looking for you too.

I'd like to talk to you.

Fine. When?

- Whenever you like. - Immediately.

All right. Where?

At your place in half an hour.

- Do you have my address? - Yes, I have your address.

Good. I'll come down in half an hour to let you in.

You're not really going, are you?

That's why I came back.

What do you mean? This is ridiculous.

Send the police.

- This is personal. - But if you --

I said it's personal.

I had to do it.

He's a criminal.

And I was afraid for you.

Mr. Klein?

Robert de Guigny.

Where do you think they're taking us?

I don't know.

But there's no need to worry.

Is there?

It's just a routine check.

I don't know.

I hear they're going to turn us over to the Krauts

and send us to Germany.

But it can't be true.

The French police would never do that.

Don't you agree?

I don't know anything. How could I?

This has nothing to do with me!

I'm sorry.

Come on!

Look! I've got the certificates!

- I'll be back. - Robert, what are you doing?

I'll be back.

Six hundred louis.

Three hundred.

You must be joking

At that price, I'd rather keep it.

As you wish.

It's easy for you, when a man is forced to sell.

But I'm not forced to buy.

Make me a reasonable offer.

Three hundred.