Original subtitles

It's an impressive collection. You have some very rare editions.

Are you sure you want to sell them?

They're no use to Father, not anymore.

Not since he's been this way.

His library was his whole world, now it's just

a painful memory.

Unbearably painful.

I understand.

Well, at a rough, preliminary estimate,

you have a collection here

worth around 00,000 dollars.

Yes, or thereabouts.

I've picked out

one or two volumes that merit special attention.

This "Persiles", for example, is important.

I'd hang on to that, it'll never depreciate. It's a good investment.

Valuable?

Very valuable.

As for this "Hypnerotomachia di Poliphilo"

by Colonna, Venice, 1545...

I'n sure I could find you a buyer.

But don't let the rest go for less than 500,000

under any circumstances.

It may take a month to place them.

In the meantime, be patient.

A month?

Yes, a month or two. Depends how much of a hurry you're in.

More hurry, less money.

That's my advice, anyway.

I'm sure you wouldn't want to rush things.

But feel free to consult another expert. You know where to reach me.

Incidentally... This four volume edition

of "Don Quixote" is quite nice but not particularly valuable.

Now, I could

take it off your hands...

right away.

How much were you thinking of...?

I couldn't go more than 4,000... 4,200 tops.

- You here? - Hello, Witkin.

You don't waste time.

There's a fortune in there. Help yourself.

You're a vulture, Corso. A vulture.

Who isn't in our business?

You'd stoop to anything.

For a "Quixote" by Ybarra? You bet.

Unscrupulous! Thoroughly unscrupulous!

Happy hunting!

Just got off the phone with Witkin. He's spitting blood.

Really? What's his problem?

He said you're a double-dealing, money-grubbing bastard.

He thought he had that deal sewed up, he said you queered his pitch.

He should be quicker off the mark.

He said your valuation was way over the top,

got those people coming out in a rash.

They're asking twice what the books are worth.

Let's face it,

you screwed him. That's what it's called.

That's what it's called.

He also said you snatched the "Don..."

Ybarra "Don Quixote", 1780,

all four volumes.

Fantastic, you are the best.

That client of yours, the Swiss. Would he still be interested?

I'd have Witkin on my ass. I told him I had no part of this.

Except 10%%% .

20%% %, the Swiss was my client.

No deal.

- 15. For my children's sake. - You don't have any children.

I'm still young, give me time.

Ten.

...and earlier, en 1580, in "De la DËmonomanie des sorciers"

by the Frenchman, Jean Bodin.

Bodin was probably the first to attempt

to establish a system- if the term

system may be applied to the Middle Ages- for classifying

contemporary perceptions of evil.

In Bodin we find one of the first

definitions of the word "witch".

I quote:

"A witch

is a person who, though cognizant of the laws of God,

endeavors to act through a medium of a pact with the Devil."

To assist them in their work, many witches kept familiars,

creatures such as cats or toads,

in which supernatural spirits or demons were thought to reside.

For those of you who wish to delve more deeply

into the controversial subject of witchcraft,

a great deal of information may be found in the following works:

Nicolas Remes "Demonolatria libre",

and "Compendium maleficam" by Francesco Maria Guazo.

I see you were stimulated by my little talk, Mr. Corso.

Did I snore?

It's nice of you to ask. No, not that I noticed.

- Don't you sleep nights? - Like a baby.

Strange.

I'd have bet a brace of Gutenberg Bibles you were up all night.

You're one of those hungry, restless types that put the wind up Caesar,

men who stab their friends in the back.

Not, I suspect, that you have many friends. Do you, Mr. Corso?

Your kind seldom does.

That makes two of us.

You're right, of course.

Your friendships don't concern me in the least.

Our relations have always been strictly commercial. I like that.

The professional and the personal should be mutually exclusive.

I came here to do some business, not shoot the breeze.

If you want to expound your personal philosophies, write another book.

You don't like me, do you?

I don't have to. You're a client and you pay well.

You're privileged, Mr. Corso. Very few people ever set foot in here.

This is my private collection.

Some bibliophiles specialize in Gothic novels,

others in books of hours.

All my own rare editions have the same protagonist:

The Devil.

- May I take a look? - Yes, that's why

I brought you here.

Beautiful, aren't they?

The soft sheen, the suberb gilding...

Not to mention the centuries of wisdom they contain.

I know people who'd kill for a collection like this.

The "Ars Diavoli"!

You'll never see as many books on the subject anywhere in the world.

They're the rarest, the choicest editions in existence.

It's taken me a lifetime to assemble them.

Only the supreme masterpiece was missing.

"The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of the Shadows".

- You're familiar with it? - Yes. Venice, 1.

The author and printer, A. Torchia, was burned by the Holy Inquisition,

along with all his works.

Only three copies survived.

One.

Catalogs list three copies: The Fargas, the Kessler and the Telfer.

You know your business, but you're mistaken.

According to my research, only one is authentic.

Three are known.

That's the trouble.

- Where did you get it? - I bought it from Telfer.

- Telfer? - He finally sold it to me.

The day before he killed himself.

It's good timing.

- "Silence is golden". - Precisely.

Never heard of the "Delomelanicon"?

I've heard of it. It's a myth, isn't it?

A book reputed to have been written by Satan himself.

No myth. That book existed.

Torchia actually acquired it.

The engravings you're admiring were adapted by Torchia

from the "Delomelanicon".

The form a kind of satanic riddle.

Correctly interpreted with the aid of the original text

and inside information, they conjure up the Prince of Darkness

in person.

You don't say.

Are you a religious man?

I mean, do you believe in the supernatural?

I believe in my percentage.

Don't you get dizzy standing there?

What is it you want from me, Balkan?

I want you to go to Europe and investigate.

The other two copies are in Portugal and France, I want you to

find some way of comparing them with mine:

Every page, every engraving, the binding, everything. I'm convinced

only one is authentic. I want to know which.

That could be an expensive trip.

That's to get you started. Spend what you need.

- What if I find yours is a forgery? - It's quite possible.

It doesn't appear to be.

Even the paper sounds kosher.

Even so. There's something wrong.

You mean the Devil won't show up?

If all three copies turn out bogus or incomplete, your work's done.

If one of them turns out to be genuine, I'll finance you further.

I want you to get it for me,

at all costs, never mind how.

"Never mind how" sounds illegal.

Wouldn't be the first time you've done something illegal.

Not that illegal.

Hence the size of the check.

Do a good job, I'll double it.

There's something wrong with it if you're letting it out of your hands.

I have the utmost faith in you, Mr. Corso.

There's nothing more reliable than a man who can be bought for cash.

Good morning. Dean Corso.

I'm terribly sorry to disturb you at a time like this.

It would be very helpful, if you could tell me what you know about

this book.

Isn't this one of my husband's books?

It was in his collection until recently. He sold it to my client.

I'm trying to authenticate it.

He sold it, you say?

How strange. This was one of his most treasured possessions.

- He never mentioned the sale? - No, it's news to me.

- Who bought it? - A private collector.

May I know his name?

I'm afraid that's confidential.

- I suppose he has a bill of sale. - No problem there.

Is this your job, authenticating rare books?

And tracking them down, yes.

You're a book detective.

Kind of.

Do you recall when and where your husband acquired this book?

In Spain.

We were vacationing in Toledo. Andrew got very excited.

He paid a great deal of money for it.

He was a fanatical collector.

So I gather.

I'll show you.

Impressive...

Andrew used to spend many hours in here.

Too many.

Did he ever try it out?

I don't understand.

The book.

Did he ever use it to perform some kind of ritual intended to...

produce a supernatural effect?

- Are you serious? - Yes, absolutely.

Andrew was a trifle eccentric, Mr. Corso,

but he wasn't insane.

It's true he'd been acting strangely

those last few days.

He shut himself up in here. He seldom emerged except for meals.

That morning I was woken by the screams of the maid.

He'd hanged himself.

Whatever he was up to,

I can't see him chanting mumbo-jumbo or trying to raise the dead.

The Devil, Mrs. Telfer.

This book is designed to raise the Devil.

"Thus let the line shine."

Son of a bitch. Where did you get this?

Balkan.

He wants me to research it.

Balkan owns a "Nine Gates"?

Recently acquired from the late lamented Andrew Telfer.

Trust Balkan.

What does he need you for? I don't suppose he plans to sell it.

He wants me to compare it with the copies in Portugal and France.

So I'm off to Europe.

Compare it?

Yeah. Only one of the three is authentic, he says.

Well, this looks genuine enough.

Christ, it's got to be worth a million. Take care of it.

That's why I'm here. I need you to stash it for me.

Because I'm starting to see things.

- Like what? - Uninvited visitors,

unfamiliar faces.

I don't trust anyone, not even Balkan.

Come to think of it, I'm not even sure I trust you.

I'd only screw you for a good reason: Money, women, business.

Other than that, you can relax.

I'll pick it up on my way to the airport.

These engravings are terrific.

Or horrific, whatever.

Sensational.

May I come in?

Please sit down.

I've come to talk business.

Yesterday, when you came to see me

about that book,

I was too surprised to react as I should have done.

I mean, it really was one of Andrew's favorites.

So you said.

I'd like to get it back.

That could be a problem.

Not necessarily. It all depends.

- On what? - On you.

I don't understand. That book is not mine to dispose of.

You work for money, I take it?

What else?

- I have a great deal of money. - I'm very happy for you.

You could stage a theft.

I imagine your client is well assured.

- I'm a professional, ma'am. - You're a professional mercenary.

- They work for the highest bidder. - I make a living.

I could throw in a bonus.

- This has happened before someplace. - I know. In the movies.

And she had an automatic in her stocking.

No automatic.

- Like a drink? - Why not?

Okay, where is it?

Where is what?

Don't fuck with me!

I thought I already did.

Bernie's Rare Books, please leave your message after the beep.

Pick up!

Give me a minute, I won't be long.

- You can take me on to Kennedy. - No problem, sir.

No problem?

Stop at that phone booth, pull over.

No problem, sir.

He isn't available at this time. Who's calling?

- Would you like to leave a message? - No, I have to talk with him.

I'm afraid he's in transit.

If you give me your number, I'll have him call.

No, I'm in a phone booth! It's an emergency!

I have to speak with him right now. Right now! You hear me?

One moment.

- Are you there, Mr. Corso? - Yes.

I'll patch you through.

Mr. Corso, what have you got for me?

More than I bargained for.

- What do you mean? - I mean I quit.

I want to return the book. Where are you?

I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Corso. You've never let me down before.

Well, this is different.

You remember Bernie Orenstein?

- The dealer? - I gave him your book to stash,

and now he's dead. Murdered.

- Because of the book? - What else?

I never said it would be easy. If it's a question of money...

It isn't the money. I want out.

This matter means a great deal to me, Mr. Corso.

I'm not an ungenerous man, you know that.

Proceed as arranged, and you can tack another zero onto your fee.

Hey, where are you?

I would like to get your opinion on this.

What a habit for a bookbinder!

"The Nine Gates". Suberb edition. Very rare.

The Telfer copy.

Yes. You used to own it, right?

- We used to, yes. - We sold it.

When the opportunity presented itself. It was too good to...

...it was too good to miss. An excellent sale.

An excellent buy, impeccable condition.

Impeccable. Are you the present owner?

No, a client of mine.

I never would have believed she would part with it, never.

- She? - Mrs. Telfer.

I understood

that it was Mr. Telfer... that bought it.

He paid for it.

Mrs. Telfer made him buy it. He didn't seem particularly...

...interested.

An exceptional specimen.

- Do you think it could be a forgery? - A forgery? You hear that, Pablo?

I took you for a professional. You speak too lightly of forgeries.

Far too lightly.

Forging a book is very expensive.

Paper of the period, the right inks. Too expensive to be profitable.

- Still, it can be done. - Of course.

Well, it requires great skill, but yes, it can be done.

Do you think that could be the case here?

What makes you ask?

My client wishes to satsify himself on the book's authenticity.

His name is Boris Balkan. Boris Balkan of New York.

- All books have their own destiny. - And their own life.

Mr. Balkan is a celebrated collector.

He's no fool, he must know this book is authentic.

- We know it. - We had this book for years.

Many years.

We had ample opportunity to study it thoroughly. The printing,

the binding are great examples of 17th century Venetian craftsmanship.

Finest rag paper, resistant to the passage of time!

None of your modern wood pulp!

Watermarks, ink,

type faces...

If this is a forgery,

or a copy with missing pages restored, it's the work of a master.

Have you studied the engravings? They seem to have some underlying

significance.

But of course.

Here, for example.

This one could be interpreted as a warning.

"Venture too far," It seems to say, "and danger will descend on you."

This tye of books often contain

little puzzles.

Especially in the case of such an illustrious collaborator.

Collaborator?

You cannot

have proceeded very far with your research, Seòor.

Here, look close.

Don't you see? Only six of the nine engravings were signed by

Aristide Torchia.

Yes. And the other three?

But this is one of them.

Who is LCF?

Think.

Lucifer?

Very perceptive of you, seòor.

Torchia was burned alive because he wrote this book in collaboration.

Come on! You can't honestly believe...

The man who wrote this book did so in alliance with the Devil

and went to the stake for it.

Even Hell has its heroes, Seòor.

- I've seen you before. - Have you?

- Are you traveling in this car? - The next one.

The sleeper. I travel on the cheap.

- You're a student? - Something like that.

I like trains.

- Trains I'm on? - Just trains.

What's your name?

Guess.

- Green eyes. - That'll do.

- What's yours? - Corso.

Strange name.

Italian. It means "run".

You don't look like a runner to me. More the quiet type.

Give my regards to Balkan. Tell him I'm doing my best.

Never mind.

See you around.

Maybe.

I wouldn't be surprised.

Yes, Dean Corso, Mr. Fargas.

Corso, oh, yes. Please come in.

Home, sweet home.

You won't say no to a brandy, I take it.

What handsome glasses.

They're the only ones I have left.

- Must have been a beautiful place. - It was.

But old families are like ancient civilizations:

They wither and die.

There they are, 834 of them.

A pity you didn't see them in better times.

I used to have 5,000.

But these are the survivors.

So this is the Fargas collection.

Not quite as I imagined it, I must say.

C'est la vie, my friend.

I keep them in perfect condition, safe from damp, light, heat, rats.

I dust and air them everyday.

These are the occults.

- What do you think? - Not bad.

Not bad indeed. At least ten of them are extremely rare.

Here, Plancy's "Dictionnaire Infernal",

first edition, 1844.

Leonardo Fioravanti's "Compendi di Secreti", 1571.

And there it is,

in perfect condition.

After three and a half centuries, it may have been printed yesterday.

Is it in order? You haven't detected anything unusual?

The text is complete, the engravings, too. 9 & the title page,

just as the catalogs state. Just like the Kessler and the Telfer.

It isn't the Telfer anymore.

Telfer killed himself.

But he sold his copy to Boris Balkan first.

If he sets his heart on a book, no price is too high.

Not that I would ever sell this one, not at any price.

It's strange he should have sent you here,

if he already had...

You have it here?

May I see it?

Superb.

Beautiful, identical.

Two of the only three to escape the flames,

reunited for the first time in over three centuries.

Yes.

Look at this slight imperfection, the damaged "S".

The same type, the same impression.

And you see? If it weren't for this

slight discoloration on the back of your copy,

no one could tell them apart.

If you don't mind, I'd like to stay and examine them in detail.

What are you looking for, Mr. Corso?

I'm not quite sure.

Some books are dangerous. Not to be opened with impunity.

It's very true.

Hello again.

- You didn't say you'd be in Sintra. - Neither did you.

What are you doing here?

Reading.

I can see that.

And bumping into people unexpectedly.

Yes, unexpectedly is right.

Are you on a business trip? Is that why you always carry that?

- Is this part of your course? - My course?

Winning friends and influencing people. You said you were a student.

Did I?

So I am. In a way.

I like books. Do you?

- You've been traveling long? - Awhile.

I don't suppose you ever travel by motorbike?

For me? Are you sure?

My God! How did you find me?

- Made any progress? - Progress? You could call it that.

Well?

I can't talk here, I'm in the lobby. Let me call you back. Where are you?

Never mind that. Get them to transfer it to your room. I'll wait.

Could you send this up to my room, please?

- You still there? - Yes.

All right, I've examined the Fargas copy.

It's authentic enough, at least it looks that way.

It's like yours. But there are discrepancies.

Discrepancies?

The engravings. They're not identical.

It's like keys in different hands,

doorways open in one copy and bricked up in the other.

- And there's another thing. - Yes, yes, go on.

The ones that differ aren't signed by Torchia. They're signed "LCF".

You still there?

Where are you, anyway?

I must have that copy,

Mr. Corso. Get it for me.

The old man wouldn't sell it to save his life. He said as much.

Did he?

Just a minute.

- What time is it? - Early, but you have to go.

Go? Go where?

- The Fargas place. - I've already seen Fargas.

You should see him again.

Is this some kind of joke? Who are you? What do you know about Fargas?

Get dressed, I'll wait for you outside.

Don't bother. He isn't there.

- Really? Then where is he? - Over there.

Want to get inside?

I had thought about it, yes.

You wait here.

Well, did you find it?

It's coming to my attention that you know too goddamn much.

Why do you keep following me around? Who are you working for?

You're wasting time, asking these questions. We'd better leave.

There's a flight from Lisbon to Paris at noon. We can just make it.

- What's with the "we"? - There are two of us, aren't there?

What happened back there?

The old man caught someone stealing, I guess.

- What do you guess happened to him? - He drowned.

- With a little help from who? - He's dead. Who cares?

I do.

I could easily wind up the same way.

Not with me around to look after you.

- I see. You're my guardian angel. - Lf you say so.

- Someone's playing a game with me. - Of course. You're part of it.

And you're getting to like it.

Hello, Mr. Corso, delighted to see you again.

We don't have any vacancies, but...

I'm sure I'll be able to organize something.

- Hello. The Kessler Foundation? - The second floor.

I'm Dean Corso. I have an appointment with Baroness Kessler.

You have 30 minutes.

I've heard a great deal about you.

- Nothing good, I hope. - You hope right.

Well, I'm reassured, Baroness.

In my trade, to be spoken well of can be professionally disastrous.

There it is, the Kessler Collection.

You know, I know your catalog almost by heart.

Strange we haven't met. Your name is byword among dealers and collectors.

But I imagine you know your own reputation better than I do.

Yes, well, it does keep the wolf from the door, so to speak.

I'm sorry, were you in the middle of something?

My latest work:

"The Devil: History and Myth", a kind of biography.

It will be published early next year.

- Why the Devil? - I saw him one day.

I was 15 years old and I saw him as plain as I see you now.

It was love at first sight.

300 years ago you would have been burned at the stake for saying that.

300 years ago I wouldn't have said it.

Nor would I have made a million by writing about it.

What is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Corso?

There's a book in your collection I'd like to examine, if possible.

"The Book of the Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows".

"The Nine Gates"? An interesting work.

Everyone's been asking me about it lately.

Is that so?

Follow me.

You truly believe in the Devil, Baroness?

Enough to devote my life and my library to him,

not to mention many years

of work.

Don't you?

Almost.

This book demands a certain amount of faith.

I'm afraid my faith is in short supply these days.

I know this book extremely well. I studied it for years.

You have any doubts about its authenticity?

None whatsoever.

- You're sure? - My knowledge

of this book is profound.

I wrote a biography of its author.

Yes, I read it: "Aristide Torchia, the Devil's Apprentice".

Excellent work.

A courageous man.

He died for the sake of this very book in 17.

While studying the black arts in Prague,

he acquired a copy of the dread "Delomelanicon".

This is Torchia's adaptation of that work, written by Lucifer

himself.

After they burned him at the stake,

a secret society was founded to perpetuate its memory

and preserve its secrets.

The Order of the

Silver Serpent.

A sect?

A kind of witches' coven.

For centuries they've met to read from the book and worship Lucifer.

Today they've degenerated

into a social club for bored millionaires and celebrities

who use its meetings as an excuse

to indulge their jaded sexual appetites.

I myself belonged to the Order

years ago,

but time is too precious at my age.

Besides, my orgy days are over.

I told them to go to the Devil.

You mean that it's all about sex, or...?

Of course not.

They're under the illusion they owe their money and success

to membership in the Order.

- Do they still meet? - Every year,

on the anniversary of Torchia's death.

They'll be meeting very soon now.

- And they read from this book? - Not this one.

I took mine back when Liana Telfer acquired the one in Toledo.

Victor Fargas is an unbeliever.

He always refused to participate, so they use the Telfer copy.

Not that it's ever worked.

Did Andrew Telfer take part?

Telfer? No, no.

That creature. Liana married him for his money.

She comes of an old and aristocratic French family,

the Saint-Martins, but they were penniless.

Liana used his dollars to restore her chateau

and buy "The Nine Gates".

If he ever finds out what his wife gets up to at these gatherings,

he'll probably kill himself.

Funny you should say that, Baroness. He hanged himself last week.

Who exactly are you working for, Mr. Corso?

My client's name is irrelevant, Baroness.

I'm simply trying to authenticate his copy,

which is the one Telfer sold him before he died.

How stupid of me! I should have guessed!

You've outstayed your welcome, Mr. Corso.

I was hoping to examine your copy in detail.

Certainly not.

Tell your client, who can only be Boris Balkan,

to come and examine it himself, if he dares.

Tell him not to send any more wolves in sheep's clothing.

And now,

kindly leave.

I'm sorry if I troubled you.

Thank you very much for your time.

You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Mr. Corso.

Get out before it's too late.

I'm afraid it already is, Baroness.

They're broken.

You should be more careful.

- I need a favor, Gruber. - Certainly, Mr. Corso.

Liana Telfer,

maiden name Saint-Martin. Fortyish, brunette, dishy.

Probably accompanied by

a black gentleman with

closely cropped

platinum blond hair and a mustache.

I want to know if they're staying at some hotel in Paris.

- It could take a little time. - Of course. Start

with the five-stars. That's your best bet.

Are you feeling all right?

I've felt better, Gruber. Thanks.

Let me know if you locate them.

Put this

against the back of your neck.

You were really great down there by the river.

I haven't thanked you for that.

I think it's about time you told me what's going on here.

- Someone's after your book. - No kidding.

And you? Where do you fit in?

May I take it in Reception, please?

All right, I'll be right down.

- Yes? - Anything new?

Oh, "His Master's Voice" again.

No, not much,

aside from someone trying to take my life a couple times.

Oh, yes, and Fargas has been murdered.

Murdered? How do you know?

I saw him... and his copy.

Or what was left of it anyway.

Someone had snatched the engravings and tried to burn the rest.

What do you make of it?

That's tragic, it's tragic.

What about Baroness Kessler, how did you get on today?

- Where exactly are you? - What about her copy?

No. Why do I get the impression you've been breathing down my neck?

You're an investment of mine. I'm merely looking after it.

The old woman swears her copy's authentic,

but I didn't get a chance to examine it closely.

She threw me out as soon as she guessed you were behind my visit.

You aren't in her good books, if you know what I mean.

You must see her again.

Are you kidding? Have you seen her secretary?

Try the lunchbreak.

Do you have a photocopy machine back there?

- May I use it? - Or course.

Hello, Baroness, it's me. The wolf in sheep's clothing.

I thought I'd made myself quite clear, Mr. Corso.

I've got something for you, Baroness.

A kind of peace offering. Will you allow me to give it to you?

First let me apologize.

I should have told you right away I work for Boris Balkan.

I was foolish to think I could deceive someone as astute as you.

So please forgive me.

Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Corso.

Get on with it.

These...

are for you.

What is this?

What is this supposed to be?

You said your knowledge of "The Nine Gates" was extensive,

but did you ever compare your copy with the other two?

Why?

Well, you should.

These are copies of the engravings in Balkan's book.

You'll find that some of them differ from yours.

So you question my book's authenticity, do you?

If that's your peace offering, you can take it and go.

My "Nine Gates" is absolutely genuine.

I don't dispute that, Baroness.

In my opinion, all three copies are genuine.

But the fact remains, they display variations.

Variations?

If that were true, it would be a revelation.

What makes you so sure?

I've already compared these

with the Fargas's engravings.

And in his book,

the keys were in the other hand...

Here, the doorway wasn't bricked up...

And in this one the man was hanging

by the other leg.

- Well? - Well what?

Look closely, Baroness.

The turrets.

Three in yours, four in Balkan's.

Amazing.

I'm convinced there'll be a third one in here somewhere.

Three variations in three copies makes nine.

Coincidence, or something more?

Maybe Torchia hid the secret of the Ninth Gate in three books, not one.

I must admit I'm impressed.

This puts an entirely different complexion on the matter.

You have my permission to investigate further, Mr. Corso.

Take as long as you need.

My permission did not extend to that, Mr. Corso.

Nobody smokes in my library.

Excuse me. There's something missing from my room.

- Has anyone been up there? - Only your wife.

My wife? I don't have a wife!

Yes, he's right in front of me.

All right.

For you, monsieur. Cabin two.

What news?

News?

Let me see... Well...

Yes. The good news is I got to examine the old woman's book

and three of her engravings were signed "LCF".

The bad news is that someone strangled her and

made a bonfire of her collection. Now that's tragic, wouldn't you say?

You took the words out of my mouth.

Yes, it's the Fargas story all over again.

I think they tore out the engravings before they torched the place.

That makes two sets they've got.

And my copy?

Well, I learned my lesson, fortunately.

I don't carry it around with me anymore.

Otherwise, it might have gone up in smoke.

Excellent. Good thinking.

Well, with two copies gone, that seems to conclude your assignment.

It only remains for you to return my book.

I'm staying at the Ritz, you can pick up your check at the same time.

Shall we say half an hour?

There's more bad news.

- I don't have it. - You don't have it?

Someone lifted it from my room.

Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Corso.

I think you may already have some idea

of the lengths to which I'm prepared to go when I want something.

Unless you recover my property in double-quick time,

you'll discover just how far that can be.

Where is it?

- Where's what? - The book. Where is it?

Would I be here if I took it?

You should know better by now.

I must apologize for my young colleague, Mr. Corso. It was

unpardonable.

Is that her?

No, monsieur. She was tall, dark hair, very chic, very elegant.

Which reminds me. I have

the information you wanted. The lady and gentleman you mentioned,

they're staying at the Plaza Athena Hotel,

suite 209-211.

Thank you very much, Gruber. I owe you one. I need a taxi, quick.

Send this to Mr. Balkan at the Ritz. That's B-A-L-K-A-N.

Fax that immediately.

Always a pleasure to be of service.

Coming?

What do you plan to do if you see them?

Probably hide behind you.

Hold it right here. That's them.

We should grab a taxi before they take off.

They're going.

Coming?

Couldn't you pick something a little less conspicuous?

Don't be so picky.

Some people would give their eyeteeth for a ride in this.

We can't sit on their tail forever. They're bound to smell a rat.

How do I look?

Ridiculous.

Sit tight!

Take your pick.

No, you. You know everything.

If you say so.

We lost them.

No, not at this speed.

They must have gone the other way.

You mean I don't know everything after all?

Turn around.

Thirtyish, brunette, dishy...

- What was her name again? - Telfer, Liana Telfer.

No, her maiden name.

- Saint-Martin. - Look.

We're looking for

Mme. De Saint Martin's house.

The chateau?

Chateau, I knew it!

Where is it?

Take the highway, behind the church.

Keep going.

See them anywhere?

Sorry to intrude on you like this.

What are you doing here?

Just dropped by to pick up the book you stole from my room.

- The book is mine! - We've been through all this before.

My husband

gave it to me, it wasn't his to sell.

Maybe he sold it to get back at you.

Did he catch you with that albino?

How dare you!

Keep an eye on her.

Careful,

she bites.

Don't move, either one of you.

Get the book.

Don't kill them up here,

you'll make a mess.

Take them downstairs.

You go first.

Then you.

Down.

Open the door.

Watch out!

I didn't know you had it in you.

You stay here and cover me, I'm going down.

Look around you, all of you! What do you see?

A bunch of buffoons in fancy dress.

You think the Prince of Darkness

would actually deign to manifest himself

before the likes of you? He never has and he never will.

You read from his book,

but you have no conception of its true power.

I alone have grasped its secret.

I alone have fathomed the Master's great design.

I alone am worthy to enjoy the fruits

of that discovery: Absolute power to determine my own destiny.

You're insane, Boris. Give it back to me.

As for you, Liana de Saint-Martin,

you're even guiltier than the rest of this pathetic rabble.

You have at least some idea

of what this book can do in the right hands,

yet you lend yourself to these farcical proceedings,

these orgies of aging flesh

conducted in the Master's name. You're a charlatan!

Let it be.

What is it with you?

He just murdered someone in public. You're off the hook.

For the other killings, you should be grateful.

I'm ecstatic.

You're out of a job.

- What more do you want? - You know what.

Not taking me for a ride?

You were working for him all along.

Funny, I thought you were.

They're dry now, sir.

Where is this?

Look, Bernard. Can you show him?

Yes. Yes, that's it, precisely.

All is in readiness.

One,

four,

three,

six,

seven,

five,

eight, two, nine.

The enigma is solved at last.

"To travel in silence by a long and circuitous route,

to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire.

To play the greatest of all games

and win, foregoing no expense,

is to mock

the vicissitudes of fate, and gain at last the key,

that will unlock the Ninth Gate!"

What were you expecting, an apparition?

You're not wanted here, Mr. Corso. Leave.

I'm the only apparition you'll see tonight.

You'll find a check waiting at my New York office. Payment in full.

You killed for those. They're worth more than money.

Infinitely more, but they happen to be mine,

not yours.

You know something, Corso?

Despite our differences,

I have a soft spot for you.

- I'm touched. - We have something in common.

We share the same passion. You've developed the same obsession.

Unfortunately for you only one of us is destined to fulfill it.

You're out of your depth, kindly go.

- I'm not leaving here empty handed. - Don't even think about it.

Stand aside.

I credited you with more finesse.

- You heard me, stand back. - Put that away, it's not your style.

It seems you've found your proper niche at last.

I like that.

Now,

you can watch.

I'm entering uncharted territory,

taking the road that leads to equality with God.

You can't come with me, I must travel alone.

But you may look on and marvel.

- It's very kind of you. - Indeed it is.

There have been men who have been burned alive

or disemboweled for just a glimpse

of what you are about to witness.

I give you my allegiance, Master.

I pledge myself to you body and soul.

Let me fear neither noose, nor fire, nor poison.

Erase me from the Book of Life and inscribe me in the Book of Death.

Admit me to the Ninth Gate!

Let it be so!

Let it be so now!

I can feel the power surge through me like an electric current,

rendering me capable of any feat of mind

or body.

I'm invulnerable. I'm invincible.

I could float on air. I can walk on water.

Behold! I plunge my hands into the fire.

I feel no heat.

That's just great, give us another one.

It's miraculous.

I feel nothing, nothing at all!

Is that it?

Is the game over?

For Balkan yes, not for you.

Why didn't it work for Balkan?

The ninth engraving was a forgery.

Where's the real one?

I want it.

You're running low on gas.

Do you speak English?