All language subtitles for Ripping Yarns - 7 - Whinfreys last case

Good evening.

London, England. A busy, modern city.

I want to ask you, if I may, tonight,
to join me in an experiment.

An experiment to turn back time,

to suspend belief in the here and now
and journey into the past.

Come with me, now,
to a London before two wars,

when the city was very different
to the one we live in now.

This house you see behind me

was the London home of one of the most
powerful men in this country.

Through this elegant doorway,
with its charming Regency motif,

came and went the greatest names
of pre-war days.

At these graceful downstairs windows
on my left...

What's going on? What are you doing?

...stood Kaisers,
tsars and cabinet ministers.

Directly above me, you can see the balcony

at which stood the King of England himself,

its delicate, graceful ironwork

still reflecting the gentility
of this quiet London square.

The owner of this elegant residence
was the legendary Gerald Whinfrey,

the man who saved governments

- and ended wars.
- Come on, Get it out!

Behind these doors,

behind these windows,
our journey back in time must begin.

Take one last lingering look at this building.

Imagine yourselves back in the year 1913,

the year of wars and rumours of wars.

The year that saw the extraordinary tale
of Whinfrey's last case.

How was that? Felt good?

Once again, love.

What?

Not quite right.

Ah, Jefferson, glad you could get here.

Something pretty big has come up.
Sit down.

What's the problem, Archie?

Well, we think the Germans

may be trying to start the war a year early.

God!

I thought they were the one nation
we could trust.

We all did, Harry.

Oh, damn it all. It's not the best sort
of people to have a war against.

But suppose this infernal rumour is true,

I mean, are you ready to start a war now?

Oh, well, Jefferson,
I don't know about your boys,

but we shall need at least
another six months.

We're short of heavy cannon,
two-fire mortars, trestle tables...

Trestle tables?

The catering. We've only got six.

You can't expect to train a man
to the peak of military achievement

and then ask him to feed off his lap!

I mean, if you spill things
on some of those uniforms...

What about the navy, Jefferson?

We're short on spoons, mainly.

I meant weaponry.

Ah, well, we have 15 dreadnoughts at sea
and 12 under construction.

- And the Germans?
- Oh, they've got everything.

Spoons, forks, knives...

Ships, Jefferson.
Destroyers, dreadnoughts?

Ah, well, the last they told us,

they had 12 at sea
and nine under construction.

When was this?

Well, I spoke to old Tirpitz
at a sherry party only a month ago.

And since then?

Well, I haven't heard anything.

That's what worries me.

Intelligence think the Germans
are up to something very underhand.

Bloody Intelligence!
They never did like the Germans.

I'm afraid, gentlemen, that it is certain

that the Germans
have somehow opened hostilities

without letting us know.

How the hell could they?

I don't know how or where or when.

No, but we must find out.
And we must put a stop to it before...

- What was that?

Sorry.

My stomach.

Before the whole bloody country
starts to panic.

Now, we can save this war...
and it can still be a great war.

But if we should fail,

I need hardly say, gentlemen,

it could jeopardise our chances of ever
having a war with the Germans again.

What do you propose, Archie?

I think we have only one
effective course of action.

We must call in Gerald Whinfrey.

- By Jove!
- Whinfrey?

The answer is no. Not this time.

Why ever not, Whinfrey?

Gentlemen, in the last four months,
I have brought the Balkan Wars to an end,

averted a revolution in Russia
for the second year running,

started a civil war in Persia,
annexed two new colonies.

I've been saving this country every year
since 1898 and I need a holiday.

Holiday? But for how long?

Oh, a year.

- A year?
- Two years.

But the war?

Well, the war, I hear, is your little problem.

After all, you're the ones who get paid for it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen,

I really must go and see George.
He's lending me some fishing tackle.

Uh, George?

The fifth.

Good day, gentlemen,
and good luck with your war.

Don't forget, you're giving my wife
brain surgery on Friday, Whinfrey.

Have to be after the holiday, old bean.

Truth be told,
I was jolly fed up of being a hero.

Having to save the country
two or three times a week

meant I could get nothing done at all.

Well, now, at last, I was going to sit back
and live a life of my own.

I'd taken a short let on a cottage
on the Cornish coast,

as far away as I could possibly be
from Whitehall.

Ah, hello, this is Torpoint, isn't it?

Um, no. No, not really.

The guard on the train put me off here.

He must have been lying. Next stop.

Hello?

Hello?

Yes, sir?

Can I help ee, sir?

Oh! Oh, yes. Hello.

Yes, I'll have a pint of bitter, please.
Best Cornish bitter. Mmm.

- You from Penzance?
- No, no, London.

Where's that?

Where's that?

Oh, well, it's sort of east of here.

- Bodmin way?
- Oh, no, no, no, further than that.

- Oh, Russia!
- It's not Russia.

- Latvia?
- No, not as far as Latvia.

- Estonia?
- Yes. How much is that, please?

That will be tuppence, my dear.

Right.

- Mmm. Tell me, is this Torpoint?
- Yes, that's right.

Hmm. I'm renting a little spot around here
by the name of Smuggler's Cottage.

Terrible place!

- What?
- Terrible place to get to.

- Oh?
- Terrible dangerous.

'Tis only village taxi
dares go along that road.

Hmm. That doesn't worry me too much.
When does the taxi leave?

Ooh, uh, five minutes?

Oh, suits me perfectly.

Was at Smuggler's Cottage
that a retired vicar went mad.

Chopped his wife into 865 pieces.

Bits of her was found
in people's shoes for years after.

Press that pedal down, me lover,
while I change gear.

Well, 20 years after that,
another retired vicar took it.

He used to run knitting circles.

"Balaclavas for the Boer War," he called it.

And not one of the old ladies
ever come back from them knitting circles.

Years later they was found
embedded in the brickwork.

I think you'd better stop here.

Ah, don't like the gory details, eh?

Well, a year ago,
a retired bishop took the cottage over.

Now, he had a huge cheese grater.

Look, honestly, drop me off here.

Oh. Right, sir.

Oh, don't you worry, my dear.
Pay me tomorrow when I bring the milk.

Do you have to do everything around here?

Oh, yes.
Ain't no one else to do this sort of work.

All the young men are gone.

- Into the army, I suppose?
- Yes. I expect so.

What a waste!

Mind how you go now.

- And you.
- Oh, I'm all right.

I knows this road like the back of me hand.

Hello? Hello!

It's all right, my dear!
I'm used to it!

Mr Whinfrey?

- That's right, yes.
- Welcome to Smuggler's Cottage.

Why, thank you.

This is very kind.

I am your housekeeper, Mrs Otway.

- Well, I say, this is most kind of you...
- This is my assistant, Mrs Partington.

Mr Carne, the head steward.

Good evening, sir.

McKendrick, the butler.

Mr Rothman and Mr Vickers,
assistant butlers.

McKerras, the boot boy.

Mr Ferris.

- And here we have...
- Just a moment.

Mr Ferris, I didn't catch what you do here.

Uh, osteopath, sir.

Osteopath?

- Ostler.
- Ostler, sorry. Ostler.

Ostler, he looks after the horses.

- That's it.
- But surely, in a place like this...

Mr Campbell and Mr Rowley
are bed makers.

Monsieur Bientôt, the cook.
Kitchen boys, Mr Rolfe and Mr Tipkin.

- I don't know what to say.
- Say nothing, Mr Whinfrey.

It's just traditional Cornish hospitality.

I'll introduce you to all the gardeners
in the morning.

- Carne?
- We want you to feel absolutely at home

here at Smuggler's Cottage.
It's your holiday, enjoy it as you will.

But don't go into the small bedroom
at the end of the passage, whatever you do.

- In the basement.
- Shh!

- The basement?
- She meant the basins, Mr Whinfrey.

Don't get in the basins.
They won't stand it.

Mr Carne, would you show Mr Whinfrey
to the bottom of the stairs?

Yes, of course. This way, sir.

Mrs Partington will show you
to the top of the stairs

and Mr Rothman will meet you
and take you around the corner.

And Mr Vickers will take you
to the door of your room

where Mr Girton, master of the bedchamber,
will take you inside,

and then Mr Campbell and Mr Rowley
will take you across to the mantelpiece.

I trust you'll be comfortable.

My name is Girton, sir.
I'm in charge of the upstairs section.

This way, sir.

Passing through the door here, sir,

you will find on your right is a bed.

You'll notice it is laid with two pillows.

But a further two pillows
or one bolster are available on request.

- Yes.
- Should you require the pillows

to be turned at any point,
Mr Rawlinson here will oblige

until a properly trained pillow boy
arrives tomorrow.

Thank you.

The, uh, curtains here, sir,

can be drawn left, right, left...

Yes, thank you, Mr Girton.
That will be all.

Yes, of course, sir.

Will you require a call, sir?

No, no, thank you.

Well, I'll call you anyway.
But don't in any way feel bounded by it.

- Oh!

Who the hell's that?

Vinney, sir.

I'm in charge of the under mattress area.

Go away!

Sorry, sir.

So began my first night
at Smuggler's Cottage.

I couldn't say it was the holiday I expected,

but I'm sure they were all good people
trying to do their best for me.

And anything was preferable to the
company of the warmongers of Whitehall.

As I sat and listened
to the silence of the night,

there was something unutterably satisfying
about not having to be anyone's hero.

They're the new gardeners, sir.

There must be 70 or 80 of them!

There's a lot to do in the garden
this time of the year, sir - weeding, planting,

cutting off the deadheads.

Uh, breakfast?

What's going on here, Mr Girton?

- Going on, sir?
- Yes, all these people.

Oh, they're all villagers, sir.

We are just a normal, happy,
Cornish fishing community.

I never saw any fishermen.

Oh, they're always to be found, sir.
Usually in the pub.

There was no one at all
in the pub yesterday.

Oh, no, they weren't here yesterday, sir.
They were out all day on, erm...

the mackerel boats.

But they'll be back today, though, definitely.
I'll put your kippers on, sir.

I've convinced him.

He mustn't leave here. It's as simple as that.
Do you understand?

- I've got his things.
- You really think that will stop him?

- He'll look very silly!
- You'll have to do better than that!

Drug his kipper.

I don't think you can drug kippers.

Just show some intelligence!

Mr Whinfrey, sir?

Yes?

I've just come to say
that I forgot something earlier on.

Oh, yes. What was that?

Very sorry.
It's just an old Cornish custom.

Whatever was going on, it
certainly wasn't my idea of the ideal holiday.

I decided it was probably best
to forgo the kippers.

However, a brief inspection of the room
was more than enough to convince me

there was absolutely no way
I could escape.

Doors and windows were both triple locked
and there was no other entrance or exit.

But I had forgotten one thing.
This was smuggling country.

No smuggler's cottage would be complete
without at least one secret passage.

And this seemed to be no exception.

In fact, I discovered 23 different
secret passages hidden in my room alone.

The only problem was -
which one to take and where did they lead?

We have to kill him, Mr Girton.

It's against
all the laws of hospitality!

He knows too much already.
Out of the way!

Forget the kipper! Get the gun!

That way! Quick!

I staggered on blindly
until, at last, I saw light ahead

and found myself free of the dank,
brandy-smelling tunnels.

I decided to make straight for the village
and seek help there.

Morning.

My name is Whinfrey, Gerald Whinfrey.

Uh, this is Tony.

Hello, Tony. Pleased to meet you.

And this is Eddie.

Hello, Eddie, how are you?

Oh, and, um... Tony.

Another Tony, uh...

Wolf, uh, Wilf. Sorry, Wilf, uh...

Eddie, another Eddie,
and next to Eddie is, uh...

Eddie.

Yeah, another Eddie.

I'm glad to be amongst sane people again,
I can tell you.

Look, I know this may sound
rather ridiculous,

but I've just come from Smuggler's Cottage

where some of the servants
are trying to kill me.

Can you help?

Someone's trying to kill me,
don't you understand? Can you help?

I congratulate you
on your persistence, Mr Whinfrey.

You survived the taxi drive,

then you survived a night
at Smuggler's Cottage,

but then Gerald Whinfrey would.

- Carne!

Alfred Von Kahn, Mr Whinfrey.
German intelligence.

Fräulein Gerta Ottweg, my assistant.

Herr Gurtheim, head of our British division.

British division?

Just time for a final beer for Mr Whinfrey.

So long as the beer is not German as well.

Oh, no, no. The beer is authentic.

Lotte, ein kornische Bier für mein Freund.

Jawohl, mein Kommandant.

What's the game, Kahn?

Oh, it's not a game, Mr Whinfrey.

We're trying to start a war.

A war by other means, if you like.

A war in which everyone gets a bit
of territory and no one gets hurt.

Except the poor blighters
who used to live here!

They're very happy.

- Well, where the hell are they?
- In Germany.

You captured them, I suppose?

No. We offered them a two-year
inclusive holiday in the Bavarian Alps.

They all accepted very happily.

Oh, apart from the vicar.

He chose Dortmund.
He has a sister there.

And you take their place over here!

Absolutely! We have a highly-trained force
waiting to move into England.

600 vicars, a thousand shepherds.

Two divisions of Cockneys.

Forty-four judges, a dozen eccentrics,
850 private nannies.

And you expect to keep this a secret?

We have succeeded until now, Mr Whinfrey.

Until you came along.

No, no, no, no, no.
Let him have his drink first.

What do you want, Kahn?

I want to say...

goodbye and thank you.

Me, too, Mr Whinfrey.

I'm sorry about the little business earlier on
with the knee.

Wait till I get back to Germany
to tell my children I've...

I've met Gerald Whinfrey.

Believe me, Mr Whinfrey, I would not
have surrendered to anyone else but you.

You're a brilliant man
and you have made fools of us all.

- Yes, you're quite a man, Whinfrey.

We thought this operation was fool-proof,
but we reckoned without you.

I salute you.

All right! Get hold of them!

It has been an honour
to be caught out by you.

Superb job!

What the hell's going on?

What are you doing?

Well done, Gerald, you've saved us again.

We damn nearly believed all that stuff
of yours about taking a holiday.

Oh, those chaps
won't see much of the war.

But surely there won't be a war now.
I've caught them all for you.

Oh, there will, Gerald.

And it will be a proper one, thanks to you.

Not one of those mean, little jobs
run by Intelligence.

We got definite dates
from the Kaiser earlier today.

August the 4th, 1914, in France.

And if this one's successful,
they'll want to do a follow-up!

You are a genius, Whinfrey.
You really are.

I don't know how the hell you do it.
Drink?

No, no, no.
You, uh, have a beer on me.

I must get back to the holiday.

Marvellous chap.