Original subtitles

Tired?

Exhausted.

No Stamina.

No comment.

I know just how you feel.

How?

How would you know?

Serve at river temperature.

Didn't like to take a chance on the weather, so I thought I'd be on the safe side.

Got a hold of a little rose.

Pretty adaptable little wine.

Let's hope it may give you the strength to make the return journey.

I hope it gives me the strength to pull the cork.

You know, in this estuary, there used to be all sorts of lovely martlets.

"The temple haunting martlet."

Macbeth, act 1, scene 6, banquet.

Here. Well, now there are no martlets.

Agreed, there are no martlets. Why should you care?

Well, think of the poor birdwatchers.

Their gumboots and disappointed faces.

Cheers. - Cheers.

Ah, I like a wine that fights back.

Steed, what about the martlets?

I don't know.

That's why I'm here, eavesdropping on a lot of harmless birds.

Eavesdropping?

It's indecent. It's wasting time.

Not entirely.

How do you mean?

Just behind you.

Don't look.

A martlet?

A man.

He's in a tree, with a pair of binoculars, focused on us.

I have to get back to London.

Find out what he wants.

Oh! Oh, you shouldn't have done that.

You gave me quite a turn.

Why were you watching me?

Watching you? You're mistaken.

I was watching for the birds. - Oh?

Yes. - Any particular one?

Yes. - Tell me.

The black capped petrel. - No.

Yes.

What is your name?

Quince. Mr. Quince.

Nobody's seen a black capped petrel in England for 100 years.

You know it and I know it, so don't let's play games.

1850 it was. Norfolk.

Let's assume we both know something about birds, shall we, Mr. Quince?

I can ask you something you don't know.

Oh? - Where have all the martlets gone?

79% less wrens. 58% less thrushes.

Eagles, kites, osprey, virtually extinct.

Even affects the butterflies.

Can I help you? No, I'm fine.

I warned you before, Quince.

This is private land. Now get out.

It's my fault. I didn't know.

Master's got a partridge shoot back there.

Doesn't want you putting them to flight.

We didn't do any damage.

We didn't see any partridge either.

Are you calling me a liar?

Now what is it, Mellors?

Trespassers, sir.

I was just telling them that... - All right, Mellors, I'll deal with it.

There's a break in the fence about a quarter of a mile back.

Fix it, will you? - Yes, sir.

I must apologize for Mellors.

He means well.

He lacks charm, that's all.

I know you, I've seen you around. But I don't recognize you, miss.

Perhaps I ought to keep tabs on trespassers.

I'm Mrs. Peel, from the British Trust For Ornithology.

This is Mr. Quince. - Are you looking for anything in particular?

Martlets. - Oh, what's special about them?

There aren't any. - Really?

I wouldn't know. If you can't hunt it or shoot it, I'm not interested.

I see. - We'll argue that out one day Mrs. Peel.

Do you ride? - A little.

I've got a middle weight bay hunter. Suit you to a tee.

Any time you want to shake up your liver.

Good day to you.

Morning, Juggins.

All right.

Thirsty work?

Home brew.

Not for me, thanks.

30 miles to the gallon.

Tomorrow night. Think you can make it?

What do you think?

Shouldn't take much longer, a couple of sessions, I should think.

I slaughtered a bullet yesterday. I dropped the ribs in.

You bloodthirsty villain.

Lucky for you I am, isn't it?

It's this country air.

My daughter's wedding, I wore a carnation, even that gave me hay fever.

I'll put the division up.

Division? Well, surely not...

Oh yes, of course. These things always give me a kick.

Yes, well, um, little things, you know.

You were saying.

I was about to say...

Yes.

Well, that's terrible. That's terrible, terrible.

Tell them to move Harding across to right back.

I don't mind if he likes it or not. Tell him it's an order.

Still running the Ministry hockey team?

Oh, yes. They can't find anyone else. Ridiculous.

So, I was right. - No martlets.

Not so much as a feather. That's how it all began last time.

I don't follow.

Now you understand why I asked you to come with me.

Where are we going?

Manderley.

Very nice day for it. - For what?

The hockey match. Well, I hope Harding does well at right flank.

I'm sure you made an excellent choice, Minister.

The usual, please. Nines, please.

Thanks.

Stand still, there's a good fellow.

Thank-you.

Manderley.

What happened?

Silent dust. - What's that?

Well, it should have been an organo chloride fertilizer.

Fertilizer?

Unfortunately it went wrong.

Instead of renewing, replenishing, it killed.

Best pesticide I ever saw.

It is lifeless. Just like dust.

Kill the earthworm, Steed, and ultimately, you kill everything.

Soil, birds, animals, man.

Fantastic.

Been like this for nearly ten years now.

Will it recover?

No-one can tell.

Do we know when it's going to happen?

It even has it's own early warning system.

All the birds disappear.

Another one.

Um... Peach Melba.

That's delicious. Not in the least like fertilizer.

Exactly. Whole thing's gone too far.

It has?

Yes, the Egyptians started it all.

Used to douse the Nile with cedar oil.

Now it's a 6 million pound industry.

Even started putting smells back.

Make an old car smell like a new one.

Make doggie's rubber bone smell meaty.

Really? - Should appeal to jaded canine palates.

Man's faithful friend deserves a fresh slobber.

Oh, I've got another one: Jasmine scented water-proof baby pants.

You're pulling my leg.

Give baby a new start in life.

If it smells like peaches, people won't believe it does any fertilizing.

We had a winner last year. Smelled like old socks.

Dr. Manfred? - Yes?

I know you're a busy man. - Get to the point. That's what I tell all my salesmen.

Silent dust. - What? What'd you say?

Silent dust. - Sh! I won't talk about it.

Those words haven't been mentioned here in years.

You've read the report.

Now if somebody gets a large quantity of that, we must have your help.

Mr. Steed, there isn't an atom, molecule, call it what you will,

of that unmentionable product in the world today.

Who was working on the project? The man in charge?

Chemist named Prendergast.

Can I talk to him? - Well, that's very silly to hear from you.

He was sacked. We couldn't get him out of the building fast enough.

Would personnel have a file on him? - Possibly. I don't want to talk about it any more.

Prendergast had a daughter. Girl called Clare.

Keep still.

Fine subject you are.

I'll bet Picasso doesn't have all this trouble.

Oh, dash.

Miss Prendergast? - Yes?

My name is Steed, John Steed. I spoke to you earlier.

Oh, yes. Come in Mr. Steed.

Thank-you.

Well, do sit down, won't you? Thank-you.

You said you'd been to the company. Spoken to Dr. Manfred.

That's correct. Then why come here?

Surely you must have heard it all by now.

There are two sides to every story, I always say. Not to this one.

Oh, really? - My father was sacked.

Humiliated. Treated like a lab boy.

Miss Prendergast, I should like to see your father.

Now, I'm sure I can help him.

It's too late for that, Mr. Steed.

A very still life.

I had no idea.

You remember the cold snap at the end of March?

That's what killed him.

That's what finally killed him.

I'm very sorry. - So was I.

And the two other people that followed the coffin.

They say to err is human. To forgive, divine?

Not a lot of divinity in the world, is there, Mr. Steed?

If there's anything I can... - There is. I just want to be left in peace.

Dead six months, and still they won't leave him alone.

He wanted to help father.

Help? That's a laugh.

If you hadn't been around, we'd have starved.

What's his name?

Steed.

Steed.

Tell me what you think of the scent.

It's beautiful.

The fairest things have fleetest end, their scent survives their close.

The rose's scent is bitter less, - to him that loved the rose.

Francis Thompson.

Quite right.

Ne'er a rose without a thorn.

Heddick?

Fifteen all. Your service.

I grow them.

Or rather, I create them.

Crossing, inter-pollinating...

This little beauty took me ten years.

Whimsical Folly, out of Bate's Joy, and Whimsy Dan.

Whimsy... oh, of course I know it. I've seen it at several shows.

Yes, you would.

They're growing in half the gardens from here to Timbuktu.

My brainchild. And not a penny piece do I get for it.

But I thought... Royalties for rose growers?

Yes. They've changed that now.

It's too late though. Too late for me.

I'd have been a rich man if they done it 10, 15 years ago.

Too darn late!

Friend of yours?

Oh, yes. Excuse me.

I found out something.

About the martlets? - Could be.

I'd like to show you. - Where is it?

Do you know where I saw you that first morning? - Yes, I remember.

Yes. Well, I'll see you there, nearby, at the spinnet, 10:00 tonight.

How will I find you?

Cut off in mid warble?

And I haven't heard from him since.

Do you know what he was trying to tell you?

Well, he would have told me there and then, but something frightened him off.

Oh?

Mellors.

Who's he?

Local gamekeeper.

Mellors, not the gamekeeper.

He works for Peter Omrod, who's the local squire type.

Hunting, shooting, fishing, sitting... on every committee.

Old county family, eh?

By the way, how's your connection with industrial science?

Well oiled.

Check up on a chemist called Prendergast.

Used to work for Fellows Fertilizers. I'll see what I can pick up here.

I'm sure you will. Pick up something.

I don't know what's the matter with him. There's nothing but sweat and keep biting his stomach.

Sounds nasty.

Constantly trying to lie down.

Raving drunk! I beg your pardon.

If it's a man, raving drunk. And if it's a horse, raving colic.

You think so?

All the classic symptoms.

I agree. But my vet seems to have some doubts. Anyway I sent for him. Mr.?

Steed. John Steed. Well, you did right, then.

Fire the vet.

Don't let the horse lie down, keep him walking.

I've already done that.

You've nothing to worry about.

That's very reassuring.

Tell me, do you know a lot about horses, Mr. Steed?

Do a bit of steeple chasing.

Oh, I would have thought you were a little too tall in the saddle.

Oh, I don't know.

Comes in handy.

Pop the old feet down, help the animal over the sticks.

Uh, what'll you... what'll you have to drink then, eh, Miss, Miss...

Beryl Snow. Thank-you, I'd love one.

Well, Miss...

Time we were off.

Oh, most awfully sorry. Meeting you know. Some other time?

Soon, I hope.

Charming little filly.

Double brandy, please.

They're all on the hunt committee.

Omrod's the master of hounds.

Probably some last minute arrangements.

Oh, so that's Omrod. Carrying on the family tradition, eh?

Oh no, Omrod's new to these parts.

Only been here, let's see, 14 years.

Not like Miss Snow. The Snows have been here centuries.

Setting the style, well, until recently, that is.

What happened?

They lost all their money. Soil turned sour on them, or something like that.

Where the devil have you been?

I just slit a sow's throat.

You could hear the squeal three mile away.

You measured it, no doubt.

Vicar told me.

Scrumpy, anyone?

So, daughter.

Come on, put some meat on your bones and some fire in your belly.

Thank-you, I can manage without.

Aye, you should have heard that sow. It were like music.

All right, that's enough, Juggins. Let's get down to business.

Have we got clearance from the farmers?

All we need.

We don't want to upset anyone, do we?

Not around here, anyway.

And Beryl, what about the hounds?

Ready and raring to go.

I trust they're in good voice, that's important.

Tank 'em up on scrumpy before we start.

And they'll all fall asleep, no thanks.

What sort of turnout will it be?

One hundred percent.

Do you have any last minute invitations.?

Yes, I might have.

One or two.

Stop playing. That one can take of itself.

If I remember correctly, Prendergast didn't have a particular assistant.

Oh, he was a lone wolf.

Exactly. Yes, that describes him very well.

Did you know him?

Oh, he was a star in his own way, you know.

Quite out of my weight.

What's this photograph?

Oh, that's the annual general conference, you know.

Representatives from all branches subsidiary companies.

Oh, it's a wonderful evening.

There's a seven course dinner, corsage for all the ladies, cigarettes for all the men.

What's wrong?

This man. Who is he?

Oh, that's Mr. Omrod.

Charming man, not that I've met him myself.

What has he to do with the company?

Nothing, nothing. He's, um, oh what do you call it?

One of these farmers who try experimental products,

uh, um... agricultural adviser.

It's agreed then.

Forty million pounds. Made available in a Zurich bank.

Switzerland, eh? Lovely country for roses.

Yes, that's fine.

Beryl?

Forty million? Adequate compensation, I'd say. Yes.

Juggins?

Aye, well, I'll leave the wordify to you. I mean, that's not my department.

Forty million, you say? You reckon that's enough, do you?

Oh, yes. Don't you?

Split four ways, you know.

It's still ten million each.

Aye.

I've got my eye on an Aberdeen Angus.

I've always wanted to cross one with my Holstein Friesien.

You'll be able to cross an Aberdeen Angus with a cottage loaf.

Aye, and have plenty left over for scrumpy, eh?

More than you'll ever be able to drink.

Fair enough, then.

And if they don't pay up?

Oh, they will.

After we destroy Dorset.

And we'll destroy county after county until they do pay.

If need be,

we'll destroy the whole country.

That's far enough, Mr... - Morning, squire, beautiful weather.

Having my morning constitutional.

Road's back that way.

Oh, and Mister, I almost took you for a poacher just then.

I've orders to shoot poachers.

That'll keep them down.

You're sure Mr. Steed didn't leave a message.

Yes, Miss. Went out right after lunch. I saw him from that very window.

Well, did he say anything about dinner?

Ordered it before he went.

Good evening, Mrs. Peel.

Mr. Omrod.

You still haven't taken me up on my invitation.

It's still in my "In" tray.

Beautiful three year old, just waiting to be exercised.

You ever done any hunting, Mrs. Peel?

A little.

Fascinating.

Pit your wits against a master of craftiness and deception.

Point and counterpoint.

Finally cornering him, and killing.

It's a wonderful day's sport.

Well, what about it?

I'll let you know.

Boyfriend let her down.

Who's that?

That chap that runs that vintage job. Name of Steed.

I prefer you clean shaven. - Are you all right?

Oh!

It's fleshy, but not serious.

I ran into Mr. Mellors down the unfriendly end of a 12 bore.

Don't I get a shot of that red-eye?

This is a dry town, pardner.

Are you feeling well enough to stand another shock?

Peter Omrod was an adviser with Fellow's Fertilizers.

He holds a pilot's license and he's an expert crop sprayer.

Don't confuse me with the facts.

You're as sound in mind and limb as you'll ever be, so I'll leave you to it.

I have an appointment with Clare Prendergast.

You may have more success there than I did.

Admire the brush strokes, keep your feet off the mantlepiece.

I'd like an opinion on this.

What is it?

It could be "silent dust".

And why are you telling me all this?

You might happen to be passing the analyst's.

Inevitably.

Spare a thought for me as I lie here, spent, alone.

Not quite alone.

Huh?

You have company.

Oh?

Hm. Quince.

Where?

In that cupboard.

I think I shall retire to the country.

Lead a contemplative life.

Small cottage and a handyman.

You're not a country girl, are you?

No, I'm not.

It's a charming village.

Glad you like it.

I suppose like everything else, it's changed a great deal.

Hm, I suppose so.

You can take a rest now, Mrs. Peel. - Thank-you.

Are these for sale?

Most of them.

What happened to the fountain? It's not there any more, is it?

Oh, a lorry ran into it. Council decided to remove it. Wasn't safe.

When was this?

Two years ago.

Do you do much riding?

There's a saying in the village, Mrs. Peel:

"No point going up top farm, to get to midsummer meadow."

What does it mean?

It means: "Come to the point."

If you want to get to the meadow, you don't go 60 miles out of your way to do so.

When your father lost his job, you had the whole of this country to choose from.

Yet you chose this village. Why?

My father not only lost his job,

He lost all his friends.

Only one stood by him.

One good friend.

He brought us down here.

Oh, that one's not for sale.

No?

He's the one good friend.

I'm sure you won't mind. I told your butler not to bother.

We haven't met, have we?

My name's Steed.

Sorry. Oil.

Sorry. Buckshot.

Oh.

What a nice gun.

Should be. Weatherbys.

I've got its brother. Only with a walnut stock.

Better use them while we can, hadn't we?

What do you mean?

Birds are getting scarcer minute by minute.

I hadn't heard.

Oh, you better ask your gamekeeper.

Mellors?

He mistook me for a partridge.

Seriously ruffled my wing feathers.

I must speak to him.

I must tell him to be a little more...

... accurate?

Careful.

Oh well, at 70 bob a hundred cartridges, my poor old father, he'd spin in his grave.

Can I be of any service, Mr. Steed?

I'm negotiating for some land.

I'd very much like your advice.

Perhaps you'd give me some idea about local prospects.

Do you intend to farm?

Yes.

Arable

A little bit of everything. Stock, sugar-beet, grain.

Forget it.

Save your money and try elsewhere.

Just a bit of friendly advice, country around here isn't any too good for farming.

Lots of problems.

Soil isn't very rich, you see.

So that's it.

I've been talking to the local suppliers.

That's why you've been buying up this enormous amount of phosphates.

Steed's become a problem.

I warned him, but I don't think it will do any good. Sherry?

What excuse has he got for snooping around?

He says he wants to buy land.

I give him some free, for nothing.

You will? - Aye, six feet of it.

Right, enough talking, let's have some action.

A little pole-axing party.

We're only a few days away from success.

Tomorrow we destroy Dorset.

And the next day the Prime Minister gets our ultimatum.

We can't afford to take risks. - And Steed is a very big risk.

Seems such a pity. He's just the sort of risk I fancied.

I'm not so sure of the girl, either.

Nor me.

Didn't you say she'd been quizzing Clare?

Is Mrs. Peel going to the hunt?

I invited her.

Aye, and a lot can happen on a hunt. Why, it was good to invite Mrs. Peel.

Get Steed there too, and then we can make a clean sweep of it.

Yes, you're right, it's the best way.

I've got a brand new cleaver that needs christening.

Wonderful blade.

Honed to a whisker.

No, Juggins.

Why not?

Must look like a hunting accident.

A double one?

That's more original.

Devil's dive. - How do we know they'll accept?

Just leave that to me.

Tally-ho. Tally-bloomin-ho!

Well, dear ken Emma Peel. - And when did you get an invitation?

This forenoon. The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.

Oh, I got the analyst's report.

You were right.

Silent dust?

Highly concentrated, one sackful would destroy an area of 40 miles.

Got the sandwiches?

After you, Lady Emma. Thank-you.

What did you think of Clare Prendergast?

She's in need of care and protection.

Pretty dodgy guardian.

A wolf in hunting pink.

Juggins?

He'll be in amongst the hounds when it comes to the kill.

And his dressage!

Croft?

Well, his roses bloom, but he got the blight.

And what about your friend, Miss Snow?

She's got a good seat.

She's got a good seat.

Omrod.

He cracks the whip.

Good hunting! - Good hunting.

Morning master.

Glad you could make it.

Hup! Thanks.

Marvellous.

Mr. Steed? - Yes.

I wonder if you could help me, it's my horse.

Anything for you, me dear, what's wrong with it?

Can't keep him away from the trough,

just seems to want to keep on drinking all the time.

Oh dear. Once had an Auntie like that.

Rightly athletic.

We don't want you left behind, do we, Mrs. Peel?

What's the matter, then?

What's the matter, eh?

All right now, spit it out.

Come on.

Come on!

Everything okay?

Smooth as clockwork.

What about Snow-drop?

She won't be a minute.

Well, there'll be no hitches with the helicopter.

Good. Aye, it's a grand day for it.

Not that I've got anything against Dorset.

My brother Jethro used to farm there.

Hurry up, Beryl.

Well, Juggins, celebration tonight.

A magnum of champagne for each of us.

Do you reckon this will bring the government to their knees, then.

Don't you?

Wouldn't mind betting a fiver on it.

Acre on acre of dead ground. Should do the trick.

It'll be the showplace of the nation.

A desert in Dorset.

Dorset.

Thank-you, gentlemen, for the warning.

Now, put your hands above your heads and turn around.

She's off across the fields. All right, let's get after her.

Aye, you wanted a day's hunting, didn't you?

Give her another chance and all that.

Normal hunting calls.

All right. First one to her gets the ears.

Tally-ho!

Are you sure you know how to control one of these things, Steed?

Absolutely, my dear.

Nothing to worry about. Just a question of throwing ballast overboard.

What happens when we run out of ballast?

subtitles: rick@peoplesguidetothecosmos.com